Chapter Text
He stayed in this hotel too long this time.
Waylon sat himself uncomfortably on the bed, knowing full well that he had enjoyed this solitude too much. Last time he was found in a week, but had already left well before that point in time, allowing himself a decent escape route. He was unsure how exactly those Murkoff employees kept finding him, but it was easier to ignore it and move ahead. Well, he thought that was the case…
The room began to spin as the reality of the situation caved in on Waylon; he’s been on the run for a year, surely he’d run out of money soon, and surely they would find him soon. Without a proper way to leap ahead of those on his tail, Waylon simply simmered in his anxiety, there was nothing he could do. The sound of the machines, of the alarms, of that riot that tumbled around him when he wrote that email two years ago, it was all clouding his brain again and he couldn’t focus on anything else in his darkened and musty hotel room.
Without his senses forward, Waylon didn’t notice the approaching vehicles, the chattering outside, or even the gentle knock on his door. Just his own thoughts trying to hide his mind away from the outside world in hopes he won’t feel anything when he was captured and maybe the rumors about the other Murkoff experiments were sorely exaggerated.
The knocks rang out again, but this time a little bit harsher.
The bubble of anxiety popped around Waylon as he had to face the real world again. He stared at the door; he really didn’t want to cause a fuss but his legs wouldn’t move. How was he supposed to willingly walk into his own mental grave like that?
A fist now slammed on the door, jiggling the handle as well. “WAYLON!” The voice rang out.
That was odd, he expected something uncharacteristically formal from them, as if he was simply being gently guided to a dinner downtown and not being dragged into the claws of a machine with dubious intentions. He had to get moving and answer, Waylon didn’t want to find out what would happen next if he continued to play dead.
With a sudden jolt to life, Waylon stood up from the tornado of sheets laying on the bed and made his way to the door, almost robotic. He really didn’t want to walk headfirst into this, but maybe with the bad mental blocks, good ones came as well? Who knows. He raised his hand to the door and pulled it open carefully, somewhat looking blankly forward to fade out what he was about to see.
That’s not what he expected.
There was only one person, standing there alone, no secondary set of guards and no fleet of vehicles in the background. Waylon found himself in such disarray from shock that he forgot to pay attention to the man infront of him. And thus, he looked ahead, but he realized that he instead was looking at someones chest rather than face. Waylon wasn’t a big guy by any means, but breaching six feet of height, he didn’t often have to look up.
But he had to today.
Surprisingly the man before him hadn’t actually said anything and was merely waiting for the thin ball of nerves to finally adjust. Waylon looked over the man and there was a rush of familiarity blown over him, how could he recognize anyone though. He travelled as quick and as quietly as he could all year, he never kept track of the people he met, not even the hotel clerks. The only way he would know someone at this point would be if he met them while at Mount Massive. . . Oh, he knew who it was now.
Eddie Gluskin
The Groom to many other inmates at the asylum, Waylon recalls finding the records of him around the floors of the dirty asylum as he did his best to survive. He knew many emergency vehicles got to the asylum quickly, but he never thought they would have made it in time for Gluskin, he had seen the life fade from those icy eyes. Or so he thought.
“Waylon,” his voice broke through Waylon’s circling thoughts, “I am certain I will seem like a bit of a ghost to you, but now is not the time to drop into your mind again.”
“Why are you here? How the hell did you even find me? How are you alive?” Waylon began to snap to his senses and alerts were going off in his head at this whole situation.
“I can explain further once you gather your belongings and you quickly make your way to my vehicle.”
“Vehicle?”
“I do not mean to be pushy, Park, but back and forth will not help you at the moment, and frankly that’s who you need to worry about the most right now.” Eddie’s voiced pushed harder at that point, his seeming sing song voice arching more into his threatening tone from when the chase had begun for Waylon.
Waylon shut his mouth at that point, a spark of panic in his eyes as he rushed back into his hotel room, slamming the door behind him as if that was some sort of protection. But even with that turn, he was actually complying, gathering his duffle bag of used and over used clothing.
“Oh I really hope you aren’t planning on hiding-,“ Eddie began before Waylon pulled the door open again, and Eddie sighed, “Oh wonderful.”
“So you want me to follow your car?” Waylon began.
“Heaven’s no, you are leaving your vehicle behind. You’ve already got them hot on your trail, no need to continue leaving them bread crumbs, Darling.” Eddie paused and shook his head a bit, waving off the turn of phrase. “Just come along”
“I didn’t know you could drive,” Waylon spoke to break the tension as he followed after the Groom.
“Just because I had been stuck in that dreadful asylum all my life doesn’t mean I one, couldn’t learn new things in your year of absence, and two, doesn’t mean I didn’t already know.” He took Waylon’s bag, looking it over and bit incredulously before placing it in the trunk of his car; some sort of Buick from the 80s perhaps? Nonetheless he made his way back up to the driver’s seat and waited for Waylon to gather his bearings again.
Waylon stumbled into the passenger seat of the car. He was tense, scared, panicked in more ways than one. The help was appreciated, but this situation was moving fast, he had so many questions, and he was unsure if he really should be trusting this man. If he was anything like he was in the asylum, well, hes got a twisted-up mind, even without the engine having scrambled it further, right? And from there, why would he want to help him? Waylon’s basically set out to kill him.
Goodness, that scene often played in his nightmares. The feeling of being choked, the weightless pain into mere floating as he crossed over into yet another blast of adrenaline. The snapping cords that screeched to a halt when they met with Gluskin’s limbs. That sweet and sincerely sounding voice that gripped onto him right before he was gone. The memory sunk deep into him and he often couldn’t take it.
Maybe he needed to take the moment for himself.
Eddie let Waylon’s mind cycle as he backed up and took off, he didn’t exactly have time to let him catch up and thus he had to be more aggressive than he would like. And it sadly pressed on his thoughts like a headache.
With the difference of vehicle, even if those Murkoff employees showed up to the hotel right then, that fact Waylon’s car was still there would muddy the trail for a while, giving quite the jump to Waylon’s pursuit. But they really needed to think of something more permanent than this act of vagabonding all over the country.
“Gluskin,” Waylon broke the silence this time, “Why are you helping me?”