Chapter Text
Toby ran through the woods as fast as he possibly could without tripping over any fallen branches or roots, the sound of his own heavy panting was the only thing he could make out as he ran blindly, everything was a blur around him, and his ears rang loudly. Toby doesn’t know what happened, he can’t tell why his skin feels so sticky and wet, but whatever it was, it was drying by the second, it was uncomfortable and made his skin feel tight. He really needs a bath, he needs to find somewhere to wash off whatever the hell was on him, but he didn’t look.
He kept running as fast as his legs could take them, because he knew that something was after him. He didn’t know who, or what—but he knew it was dangerous, so he ran. He must have been at least a few miles deep into the woods before his legs gave out under him, and he landed face first into the ground with a startled grunt. Toby shakily pushed himself up, and felt a thick liquid dripping down over his lips. His fingers brushed over his lip and he looked at his hand, which was now smeared with a little blood. God damnit, he needs to be more careful while running, he remembers someone had told him that before, many times, but who was it?
Toby let out a huff and his arms shook, pushing himself off of the ground and looking around wearily. The paranoia was eating at him, and he felt eyes on him. He knew it, he knew someone was watching him, they weren’t fucking slick. He wiped his nose against his sleeve and licked at his bloodied lips, turning to start running again.
Before he could even take one step, he sees a man in the distance, several yards away from where Toby stood, half hidden behind a tree. Whoever this guy was, he clearly saw the boy, and was startled at the sight of him. His expression twisted into bewilderment and uneasiness at the sight of Toby. Who the fuck was this? Was this someone Toby was meant to be running from? He can’t remember. Why can’t Toby remember?
The man was still for a while, watching Toby as if the boy were a wounded animal. This guy didn’t seem too dangerous, he was bigger than Toby, sure, but Toby was a fast runner. The ugly side burns also didn’t necessarily scream “danger” all that much, either.
The boy narrowed his eyes at the man, his hand tightening around a hatchet, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked down at it. When did he grab this? Why does he have it? It’s covered in blood, like something had been hacked open with it. He couldn’t have done that, right? There was another one on the ground next to him too. He didn’t even realize he was carrying these. The man’s gaze followed Toby’s, and quickly raised his hands in mock surrender, stepping out from behind the tree.
“What the hell happened to you, kid?”
Toby stiffened as the stranger spoke, and let out an uneasy breath, taking in the guy's appearance carefully. The man’s voice didn’t match his face. He looked older, maybe early to late thirties, especially with the ugly side burns. But the man sounded quite younger, but still older than Toby. Maybe early twenties. Toby hesitated to answer, his fingers twitching around the wooden handle of the hatchet he held. The man noticed Toby’s hesitation, and sighed heavily.
“I’m not looking to hurt you, ‘kay? Are you hurt?”
Toby’s eyes narrowed and looked down at himself. Oh. Toby froze in terror when he saw his clothes and skin were stained in a sticky, red liquid. It was blood, it had to be. This must be what was bothering him earlier. Was it his? Toby’s breath hitched and dropped his hatchet, his hands pulled up his hoodie and sweater to look at his torso, where most of the blood seemed to have stained. Toby was unscathed, his shoulders slumping in relief at the discovery. But then he realized that it wasn’t his blood. Whose blood was this? Did he hurt someone? His head jerked to the side, an involuntary movement, and there were suddenly firm hands on his shoulders, briefly snapping him out of his growing panic. Wow, this guy moved fast.
“Relax, man. You aren’t hurt, so that’s good.” The man paused, looking over Toby once more, checking over Toby himselfbefore meeting his panicked gaze. The stranger hesitated for a moment, not really sure what to do next. He huffed again, mumbling. “My name is Tim, you’re safe.”
Toby’s shoulder jerks back, and the man—Tim, or so he’s told—let’s go. The scrawny brunette watches Tim wearily, his shoulders jerking back again. This whole situation was so freaking weird, and his discomfort was really messing with his tics.
“Tuh- Toby.” He introduces himself, letting out a whistle and clicking his tongue. The man gave him an odd look, but didn’t ask about it. Instead, Tim bent over and grabbed Toby’s forgotten hatchets, tucking them into some sort of tool belt he was wearing, and pats Toby on the shoulder with his other hand.
“Pleasure to meet you, Toby. Now, care to tell me what happened?” Tim asked, watching as Toby jerked and made random noises. It was clear that Tim was trying to avoid asking about Toby’s ticking, and it annoyed the young brunette a bit. But Toby thought about the question instead, biting his lip as he stared at the ground.
“Nuh- N- No… Don't remember.” Toby forced out, and felt the man stiffen next to him. The teen peered up to the man, and was surprised to see that the man looked almost horrified. Jeez, what was this dudes problem? When Tim noticed Toby looking at him, his expression shifted to a more neutral one. He let out a heavy sigh, holding Toby’s shoulder.
“Are you lying to me?”
“Um… No.”
“Goddamnit.” Tim grumbled, gently urging Toby to walk forward. Tim didn’t say anything else, but it was clear that Toby not remembering what happened had Tim on edge. Tim silently led Toby through the woods, making their way to the road, where a parked car sat waiting next to the ditch. The man patted Toby’s shoulder and forced the boy to turn to him, holding his shoulders carefully.
“Listen, Toby. I have a cabin I stay in with a friend, and we are going to help you. Understand?” Tim’s voice was low, careful, and promising. Toby clicked his tongue and cleared his throat, offering a slow nod of his head.
“Okay.”
The ride back to Tim’s cabin was uncomfortable, and Toby mentally berated himself for willingly getting into the car with a stranger, even if the man didn’t seem too dangerous. He idly tapped his finger against his knee, the habit comforting as he watched the blur of green outside the window. It was about a half an hour before Tim turned onto a bumpy dirt road, which only spiked Toby’s irritation, but it wasn’t long until they pulled up to a small cabin.
It almost resembled something he would see in a movie, but it wasn’t well taken care of, at least on the outside. There was a small porch in the front of the cabin. On the right of it, there were a couple yard chairs, a stump of wood between them—presumably used as a table of sorts. On the left, an axe, a snow shovel, and a small stack of wood. It looked comfortable enough, but the paranoia was still eating away at Toby.
Tim opened the driver side door but didn’t step out of the car. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, which Toby caught Toby’s attention. Tim lit his cigarette, pocketed the rest of the pack and the lighter, and took a quick hit off of his cigarette. Toby noticed that Tim held it away from him, near the open door, and appreciated the gesture. He didn’t like the smell of cigarette smoke. Tim then turned to Toby, forcing a small smile.
“Ready to head inside, kid? I’m sure my friend Brian is home, so you’ll meet him. He’s a kind man, so don’t be too nervous.” Tim said, then turned to get out of the car. Toby followed suit.
The inside was a lot nicer than the outside, the many trinkets and mismatched furniture making it feel homely. Tim kicked off his boots by the door, next to another pair—which presumably belonged to this “Brian” character that Tim spoke of. Toby nudged his shoes off as well, and peered around at the cabin from where he stood. The kitchen, dining room, and living room were all in the same space, and there was a dark hallway to Toby’s left that he couldn’t really see down.
“Is that you, Tim? You’re back early.” A new voice said, and Toby stiffened and turned to look at who it was. A man with short brown hair, wearing a loose, grey t-shirt stood in the opening of the hallway. The man had what Toby assumed was a goatee, with a stubble on his chin and a mustache. The new stranger paused and looked over at Toby, then glanced at Tim in surprise.
“Who the hell is this?”
“This is Toby. Listen, Brian, he’s gonna stay with us for a bit.”
Brian did not seem very pleased at the information, Toby could tell that much. Brian turned to him then, and the young brunette could pinpoint the exact moment that Brian noticed the blood and grime all over him. Not even a second later, Brian was pulling Toby’s stained hoodie up and over his head, leaving Toby in his black turtle neck, surprised by the sudden manhandling.
“Jesus Christ, what happened to this kid?” Brian said, throwing the hoodie over his shoulder as Toby stepped back. Tim sighed and tapped his cigarette against an ash tray on the coffee table, then turned back to look at Brian.
“I think you may know the gist of what happened, Bri.”
Brian frowned and let out a frustrated noise, but his expression softened with pity as he looked down at Toby, his hand gently settling on Toby’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring nod.
“I’ll get this cleaned for you, buddy. Do you wanna take a shower? You have blood and dirt all over your face.”
Toby relaxed under Brian’s head at the mention of a shower, and gave a jerky nod. Yeah, Toby wants a shower. He wants to get this blood off of himself as soon as possible. Brian gave him a small smile and led Toby to the bathroom, telling Toby he can use whatever soap he finds in there, and gave him a clean towel.