Chapter Text
Your fingers were beginning to go numb on the steering wheel. Your breath erratic, every exhale billowing thick mist. Wind whips against your cheeks. This was the best way to keep yourself awake on your long drive home from work. Windows down, music blasting, rapid breathing, and below freezing temps work better than most other things you've tried. Thankfully, you were only 15-20 minutes away from home.
The home you inherited was in the beautiful countryside of butt fuck nowhere. The drive there during any other season was scenic, breathtaking even. It was haunting in the winter, the trees became veiled, weeping giants. The winding road had heavy tree coverage, hiding ponds and lakes that you and your grandparents would swim in when you were young.
The memories of your grandparents move your focus elsewhere. Muscle memory is the only thing keeping you from driving into a tree. You had so few memories with your grandparents when you were a kid, you had only reconnected with them in the past couple of years. Their wrinkled faces flash in your mind, the warmth of their hugs when their grandchild finally returned home. Even now, the weight of their love blooms through you. You can almost taste your grandpa's tater tot hotdish from the night you found your way back to them. Grief swells in your chest. You miss them. You focus on driving, hoping that it'll keep the tears at bay.
It was just a moment, as tears threatened to spill, that a dark figure made its way into your periphery.
“The fuck?” you look in your mirrors, confirming you weren't seeing things again.
Your eyes didn't betray you. A person with orange goggles, strange mouth cover, and thick jacket was trudging in the snow. Seeing a person out at this time wasn't rare, but it was concerning. Your neighbors would usually be home at this time of night, and it was a bit too cold for a runaway teen to be living in the woods. You slowly reverse back to them. No matter this person's circumstances, they weren't surviving the night. The figure stops. You park. Your eyes locked onto orange goggles.
1 minute.
2 minutes.
“Fuck it.” you sigh and lean out your driver side window. “Hey! You good? Need a ride?” You shout.
They twitch. Neck popping loud enough to hear from your truck.
You can’t help but cringe at the sound. ‘That sounded like it hurt.’
“I don't huh-have any mo-money to give you.” They shout back, voice deep and gravely. You assume they were dehydrated and hadn't talked for a bit.
“That's fine hun, it's too cold out for me to give a shit about money right now. Hop in.” You smile and roll the windows up. You crank the temp settings to high and rummage through your backseat for a water bottle that wasn't completely frozen. The passenger door creaks open, the stranger standing, tense.
“Well, don't let all the hot air out, hop in.” You're genial in your tone, hoping not to come off as a threat to this half-frozen stranger.
They stiffly plop into the passenger seat and close the door. You hand them water and a pack of hand warmers from your center console.
“Where you headed, hun?” you ask, making sure to add extra warmth on the ‘hun’.
“I'm not sure…I just needed to get away…” he says, his voice void of emotion and tired.
“Oof, bad situation?”
“Bad situation.”
“Alright, there's a place down the road that you can stay for a bit. The owners have an open guest house for hunters and folks like you who are out too late at night. It's less than 10 minutes away. Another option is to drop you off at the motel in town. That's the more costly option. Which would you like?”
He swallows his water with difficulty and rasps, “The close one.”
“Alright. Name's Y/n.”
“Toby.”
“Nice to meet you, Toby, let's get you warmed up.”
Gears squeal from park to drive, and you two are on your way. You didn't specify that this guest house was on your property, in case you accidentally picked up a creep. You were thankful he chose the easy option for you.
The rest of the drive, you both sit in silence. He stared out the window, and you would glance at him when you had the chance. Trying to get as much information as you can without asking. His brown hair was plastered to his forehead by sweat, his other features were too hidden, and he smelled. It was a familiar scent. Blood, sweat, fear. It stung your nose and made your stomach twist. You once smelled like him, too. It made your chest ache and your head pound as you were fighting off that part of your past from reemerging.
Breathe
Hold
Exhale
Repeat
It wasn't long before you were bumping along the gravel road to your guest home. The guest house was a cozy two-floor log cabin. 4 beds, 3.5 baths, and a large fireplace in the living room. Smoke drifted from the chimney. To your surprise, Old Man Larry's shit box was there. Larry would stay there when he drank with Les down the road. Bo would kick his ass back to the 1980s if he came home drunk after the incident of 2007. Lar and Bo damn near tore up the entire neighborhood with that fight. Shivers run down your spine at the memory. It was part of the neighborhood peace treaty that if you're too drunk to go home, you stay at the L/n's guest house. Which is the most cozy place to be on a freezing night like this.
You park your truck and turn to your mysterious passenger.
“Alright, Toby, let me give you a tour.” you chirp
He was fast asleep.
You shake him gently.
Nothing.
You shake him harder.
Nothing.
His breathing and pulse seem to be fine. Maybe his body had undergone too much stress and finally hit its breaking point. Again, a familiar experience.
“Ahh shit.” You hiss. Shaking your head, you get out of the truck and walk into the cabin.
“Lar!” Your voice echoes through the cabin.
“Oh whuat the fhuck! Whoda hel-,” Lar’s haggard face pops over the couch by the fireplace, “Hey, Y/n, whuat the hell are you yellin’ ‘bout?”
“I've got a sleeping beauty in the truck and need a hand bringing him in.”
“Well shit, never thought you'd bring a boy home like this.”
“It's not like that, Lar. Dude seems to have gone through something traumatic.”
“Alright, alright, should have led with that. Let's get him in.” He stands on unsteady feet but sobers up. “Should I give my boy a call?”
“Wouldn't hurt.”
“Jussa moment then.” Lar pulls his phone out with some difficulty and makes a phone call.
Toby was still out cold in your truck when you and Larry got out there. With only a couple of bumps and slips, you two got Toby up to one of the guest bedrooms with an attached bathroom.
“Fucker is a lot heavier than he looks.” Lar pants
“No shit.” You Puff. “He's taller than I thought, too.”
“Musta been slouching like crazy. I'm surprised he could walk in the cold in his state. I mean, look at 'im! Boy looks like he was coyote bait!” Lar exclaims.
You can't help but agree with Larry's assessment. With the light now revealing that Toby must have gone through hell that night. There are holes in his torso that were caked in dried blood, all bare skin had some form of damage, and blood caked around his goggles and mouth guard.
Three staccato knocks ring against the cabin door.
“I'll get it.” you say calmly but hustle out of the room
Lar grumbles out an acknowledgement and disappears into the bathroom. You hear the sink faucet spurt to life as you head downstairs.
You hop down the stairs and open the cabin door to the sight of your childhood friend, with tired eyes and wind-burnt cheeks.
“Hey, Y/n. It's good to see ya.” He says as he pulls you into a side hug.
“Good to see you too, Caide.” You squeeze him. “Your da fill you in on everything?”
“Yup! Da and I will take care of him for the night.” Caide asses your face for a moment. “You look exhausted.”
“Yeah,” you sigh, “I just got off work not too long ago.”
And certain memories are threatening to snap your skull in half.
“Shit, yeah get to bed. I'll give you a call if anything happens.” He pats you on the shoulder and moves toward the stairs.
“Thanks, Caide.”
“You owe me a cold one, Y/n!”
You shake your head and leave with the warmth of the cabin curling around your laugh.