Chapter Text
The first thing you did when Toby had opened the cabin door, ushering you inside, was find the nearest plush surface (a ratty couch) and collapse down into it. Toby closes the door, fingers running over the multitude of locks on it, checking to make sure each one was in place. He goes around the room to check the windows too--all still shut, no indication of an intruder. To be safe, he checks the rest of the cabin, the bedroom, the tiny kitchen, and the bathroom. All secure. He leans up against one of the dreary walls with a heavy but relieved sigh. When he went to go check back in on you, you were taking a much needed nap.
Toby chews at the inside of his cheek a little. He hovers awkwardly. He really, really wanted to wake you up to move you to the much comfier bed and retreat as well as redress your wounds. But the last thing he needs is to keep actively pissing you off. He wants you to like him again. He really does. Desperately. So bad that it physically hurts him inside. He wants you to stay with him because you want to, not because your life is merely at risk without him.
Once again, your perceived distaste towards him is entirely his fault.
He knows that, damn, okay?
Maybe it's a bit much to ask. It'd all happen too quick, and he'd have a hard time believing it himself if you suddenly L worded him again. He's not gonna say that word or think it because then he's gonna want it too badly and maybe he'll fuck up again. That's how it went last time. Toby thumbs at the pocket of his pants. He wonders if you L worded him before he...he'd ask you that later. Maybe. Sudden. That's how it feels. Fast moving, and you'd say the same thing he bets.
But then again, your life had also been completely uprooted again in two days. So...never say never? Things just seem to happen pretty fast to you. Is that his fault also?
For him, things go so slow when you're not around...
He...he thinks he might have lead those two right to you--the man in the mask and the one in the hood. They'd felt familiar n the worst of ways. And he knows why. While fighting, it'd been like he knew all of their weak spots, all of their shortcomings, like he's seen them before in action. But he doesn't know their names. He can't recall their faces. And he can never recall ever meeting them before then. Not clearly, anyways. But he'd known them. Part of him knew them.
A dark cloud churns at his insides. Toby frowns. There was a time before he could feel. A time before you. It seems so distant and unfamiliar now.
You start to stir under his absent gaze. You give him a strange look as you sit upright, power nap ruined by his creepy staring habit. He blinks and his dark eyes get clearer. He mumbles a shy apology to you, insisting that he wasn't looking at anything in particular and that he'd just been lost in thought. Then he asks if he can tend to your wound again. Hesitantly, you nod.
Toby fetches the first aid kit from under the bathroom sink. His movements are a bit hurried. Disinfectant...small pair of scissors...bandages...gauze...bottle of drugstore painkillers...it's really not much. But it's gonna have to do. Can the two of you ever catch a break? Toby gestures for you to lift your shirt again, not wanting to touch you and make you uncomfortable. You oblige, lifting it just far enough up for him to observe the wound in your side. The makeshift bandage of fabric hasn't held up well. It's stained and all around pretty nasty. Toby grimaces a little bit, irritated at his own shoddy work.
Face still screwed up, brows knotted, he works to unwind the fabric wrapped around you. It's hardened with your dried blood. But at least it had stopped the bleeding. Toby gives a soft sigh of relief when your wound doesn't suddenly start weeping with blood once more. He sees your jaw tensed. It must be hurting you a lot still. Even sitting up is taking a great deal of your strength. God, you just want to get some real sleep. Your eyelids feel so heavy.
You barely notice the sting of disinfectant you're so tired and drained. Toby keeps checking for any reaction from you. There's none. Even as he starts to rewrap your wound. That startles him. Maybe a soft exhale every now and then. He takes special notice that you don't do the "thing"--where you get all stiff and mean and snatch yourself away from him. Your exhaustion outweighs the age old instinct of trying to get away from him. That...and your desperation for more information, something to fill in the gaps in your mind. And how you don't...hate him. As much. Anymore. That's troubling. You think about the turmoil you feel regarding Toby being near you or talking to you or touching you or breathing ear you or-
"So what's your theory--and you still didn't tell me how you managed to find me," you suddenly say, voice cracking with dehydration and lack of use.
You don't want to think about it anymore. You just want concrete answers now. Something real and solid. A logical explanation. Points A and B and anything in between. That's it. None of this...feelings garbage right now.
Toby looks up at you. "Let's move to the bedroom. I don't like being near the fr-front door."
You're about to protest, but grimly remind yourself of what happened last time you'd tried interrogating him near a door. Right. The front door was where the masked man had come from before. You know if something wants to come through, it's gonna come through. But he's right. It's better that the two of you are farther away from it. It'll give you both a better chance of escaping or fighting back.
He takes your arm in his hand, helping you up off the couch. In his other hand, is an extra roll of gauze, with the neck of the painkiller bottle pinched between two of his trembling fingers. He leads you near the back of the cabin, past a doorway that seemed to lead to a small kitchen. Nifty. But it looks like it hasn't been in use for a long time. There's some knives on the counter that you catch a glimpse of, which makes you uneasy. You don't have much time to think about it as Toby practically sweeps you into the bedroom, shoulder the door shut. He side eyes it a little before letting go of your arm.
The bed does look really cozy.
It's made. Which is off putting. Does he ever use it? How long has he not even been staying in the cabin for?
"I...I usually would just sleep on the cou-couch," he admits, apparently able to pick up on your confusion for once. "The be-bed feels t-too big when I-I'm alone. B-but it's okay now. 'Cuz. 'Cuz you're here."
You look up at him, your face flushing a little. You don't know what to say. "What happened to your glasses," you blurt out.
His brows knot a little. He reaches up to his head and pats around a bit lamely. "Uhh...lost th-them...in the fight? Ma-maybe?"
He refocuses on getting you settled into the bed. You take the right side. He stands awkwardly nearby, fingers tracing over the dusty surface of the wooden nightstand. You sat up, back straight against the headboard, legs crossed.
"Y-you're probably ha-happy about that th-though, huh? 'Cuz they're stupid, reme-remember?"
"Stupid fucking glasses," you remind him. There's no smile on your face. But he can't help but crack one. Just a little. It's a strange sight considering his scars and chewed up lips.
But then his smile disappears. Can't dance around your demand forever...he knows you want answers but he so badly doesn't want to give them to you. Toby's afraid if he tells you what he thinks is the truth that you'll hate him again. That you'll blame him for all of this. It's his fault...so he should expect that. But is it so unreasonable to still think he deserves you? A bubble of frustration builds in him. Better talk before it bursts. If he lies you'll find out eventually. If he doesn't tell you at all you'll never forgive him.
"Bare wi-with me," Toby warns you, gaze wandering away from yours.
He'd set the painkillers on the nightstand. You have no interest in taking any right now. The gauze is there too. He's expecting to keep taking care of you.
Toby doesn't want to look at you. Still, you nod, indicating you're listening. You're too desperate for an explanation--you don't care about what he tells you or how long it takes him to get it out. As long as he tells you something. It must have been heavy based on how his stammering and twitches and jerks worsen.
Toby explains everything to you. The Operator induces those episodes he has. The murder ones. Where he's not in control anymore, where he's a wandering husk of a man with nothing inside. Or at least that thing has something to do with that static and white noise and the dots that flash in his vision and the voices in his head. All of which happen right before he truly loses himself. And that monster does the same for those two other freaks--the hooded and masked man. The Operator--He can't do anything Himself, physically at least it seems. Only mentally. So that's what Toby and the other murderous blockheads are for.
"So..." you draw out the 'o', trying to gather your thoughts. "You're like...his stand in?"
"May-maybe? I g-guess that's a goo-good way to p-p-put it. It's biz-bizarre isn-n't it?"
Then Toby sighs. He tells you how your boyfriend wasn't his only victim (no duh, you figured that on his own). That there's a large period of his life, from about 17 to 21 where he can't remember a thing. He suspects he was on a killing spree. Or simply no longer at the wheel. Not lucid. And...he thinks he killed his dad in that fire, the one that burned his house down. He set it. Which was the first time he had an episode. The stuttering was getting really bad now. He had to take breaks here and there to steady himself, to breathe properly and try to ignore the frustration of forcing his words out.
His working theory was that you, for a lack of better, less cheesy words, grounded him. You make him normal. Regular. Calm him down. However you wanna cut it to make yourself wince less and feel less awkward. Connect him to his humanity and mind again. Something. Anything. You distract him from his thoughts--not his thoughts, The thoughts. The least weird way of putting it. Less. Least. Less. It's all too much to process. It feels like a dream.
But it's true and he knows it. Why else would he be feeling the most lucid he's been in years. Right now. Here. With you.
You interfered with the Operator's control.
And so Toby thinks the Operator wants you out of the picture.
And some part of him, beyond the Operator's power, had known that. Beneath all the delusion and self-told lies, he'd been searching for you so desperately for a reason. He told you that he'd just wandered for years, looking for you. In every direction. To every nearby town. Praying you happened to be in one. Which was undoubtedly creepy. But luck had smiled down upon him for a reason. Or...perhaps misfortune had just befallen you.
For the first few moments of his crackpot, abandoned asylum wall graffiti theory, you thought he was joking. Telling you a joke with a really, really long set up. Or maybe being annoying and manipulative and giving you a "reason" to stay. You stubbornly think about how you're not gonna be a "grounding" person for him. You can't be. You won't be. You're your own fucking person and you're not gonna sacrifice your freedom to keep this loony fuck serial killer from ever going off the rails.
But the more he talks, the more you hate to admit his theory makes sense. And to his credit, Toby sounds like he genuinely doesn't have any other ideas as to why you're being targeted as well. He's just as stumped as you are. There's so many holes. His explanation just creates more questions. Why him? Why does He need control over Toby too? Are the other two men not enough? Can he control you? Anyone? Is He plotting something? Or is He just...just Him.
Ughh...your head aches. And not just from the confusion.
As much as you hate it, Toby's theory is the first rational thing that's come out of his mouth in a long time. He also mentions he recalls starting to slip around the time the two of you were drinking in the forest. He'd been weaker. More vulnerable and not "there". And that's when the thoughts and voice came back. That's when the thing in the woods came back too.
"Is He...is it real, y'think?" you suddenly ask. You don't want to accidentally feed into Toby's delusions if he really is just a nut. But you're curious. And to his credit, you swear to God you've felt that static he's been describing too. You've felt that clouding, foggy thing in your brain. Mass hysteria? Mass delusion maybe?
If only you'd also remembered seeing it in your sleep all those years before. And if only Toby had known then.
Toby gives you a questioning look as you sit up in the bed more. You'd been slouching unintentionally, exhaustion still seeping into you.
"The way you describe it--the Operator. He messes with your head. But he can't touch or hasn't touched anything or anyone. So he needs you and the other guys to do that. Something to control, I guess, right?" You attempt to string together more of a theory.
You need more concrete facts, decisive evidence and proof. Something to clear the way through this abstract, insane jumble of nothing. Although you'd deemed it rational, it's all still so confusing and hard to process. Like it's not real. Something like this can't be real. This doesn't happen to real, breathing, living people. Toby flinches a little. He doesn't like admitting to being under anything's control. Especially not some creepy white thing in the forest. But you're not wrong. Not one bit. About any detail. So he nods. He gives you the validation you so obviously wanted to continue.
"So maybe...it's like a shared hallucination or something? Or some type of hysteria? There's been stuff like that before in history, y'know? Nuns that meow, people that dance until they die? Just all in your heads. But with consequences all the same."
You want so fucking badly for this terrifying creature not to be real. You're spitballing and brainstorming more for the sake of your own psyche. If that thing can really roam the earth, amongst people like Toby and you, there is genuinely no God. There is no plane in reality where that thing can exist if God is real to any degree. It's less of an explanation you're offering, and more of a prayer, really. And if there is no God if that thing is real, then your prayer is not to be answered.
Toby looks at you for a long moment. You raise your hand defensively.
"I-I'm not a psychologist or anything. That's just the best way I can think of explaining why you and two other strangers see the same. Um. Thing. And all act the same way when you do see it. Like...maybe they're normal-ish too when it's not around. Like you. Have you met them outside of-"
"I don't want to meet them." Toby cuts you off hotly, his face darkening. His fingers grip into the comforter. "Not e-ever again. I don't care who they are when they're not psychotic freaks. Th-they. They tried t-to-"
He cuts even himself off too, stuttering with rage. Sweet, cruel irony dawns on him. A soft, exasperated exhale escapes him as his head drops in defeat momentarily. Still looking at the ground, he speaks again, voice considerably lower. His fingers relax, unclenching at the comforter. His hand slides off the bed entirely.
"I'm g-gonna go for a walk. I ne-need to think."
It's the calmest you've ever seen him get so quickly. That's worrying. Toby begins to turn away. Quickly, you lunge across the edge of the bed (ignoring the dull throbbing pain) and you grab his arm, pulling him back and preventing him from leaving. "I'd...I'd rather you don't. Please."
For once, you actually want him around you. Maybe it's just the newfound fear of the Operator. Or of the mask guy and hoodie dude. Toby knows you're both too far away for those two dolts to ever find you. At least not for awhile. But the Operator...that's a different story. Whether it's hallucination or a real thing or...or neither of those...Toby doesn't want it near you. Come to think of it, he hasn't seen the damned thing since the motel. Not even in the forest.
...
It's crazy but...is it possible that he's finally escaped it too? That maybe, as long as he's with you, he can live in peace. It's a wistful, longing dream.
You grip tightens on him noticeably. Toby looks down at you through dark eyes you can't quite read. But he stops pulling and comes to stand motionlessly before you once more.
"Sorry," he quickly apologizes. "I-I'm being dumb. I wo-I won't leave you. Promise."
It feels good to be needed.
A shaky sigh of relief escapes you. Slowly, you seem to be settling back down into the bed, returning to your side. Your legs absentmindedly shift under the comforter. The light amount of weight is needed. You feel a little calmer. And you can't feel springs in the mattress like in your motel.
"I just..." you start again. "If it is real. Not just a hallucination, y'know? Maybe...maybe it's better for us to stick together. At least for now. Until we figure things out. Obviously."
You fucking hate admitting it. But he doesn't look super overjoyed when you say that. You find that strange. You were expecting him to be all smiles when you admitted your dependence on him. Fueled by fear and desperation of course. Nothing else. Not a single thing else. You just need him to survive--that sounds way worse, fuck.
"I have more control wh-when I'm w-with you," Toby blurts out suddenly, having been thinking about something entirely different the whole time.
You, once again, don't know how he wants you to react. How else are you supposed to respond to being told you're practically the reason an AX MURDERER isn't snapping and becoming well. AN AX MURDERER again??? It's heavy. But it's true and Toby needs you to know it. Even if it's some coincidental pattern. It could be the key to making him better again. Or more stable. You could help him. And if he's all better, it means you'll stay. Right? 'Cuz then he can keep being better.
"You already said-" you start to say, exasperated before he cuts you off.
"Can I sit on the bed with you?" Toby asks.
...It is his house. You feel bad for taking up so much room suddenly. It's queen sized anyways. Big. Like he'd described. It won't kill you if he sits down too. So you hesitantly nod. He had gone through all the effort of patching you up and taking care of you. He'd brought you here, to safety. Despite you reluctance, Toby looks happy that you'd agreed to his request. He circles over to the other side of the bed, settling down into it with a bit of a sigh. He left his hatchets sitting on the other nightstand. For easy access of course. And maybe it'll ease your mind if they're not strapped to his body.
You always relax when the hatchets aren't within his immediate reach. Usually he never takes them off. But for you, Toby can make that change. If it'll just make you stop looking at him all wary like that...just when you'd been getting all soft with him too...damn. But he can be patient. It'll take time. He knows that.
But he aches. And not because he's hurt. Yearning. What he feels is inescapable, all consuming yearning.
Pushing his luck a little, Toby awkwardly scoots closer to you.
"T-talk to me though," you suddenly demand. You'd readjusted so your head was on the pillow finally. You turned over to face him fully. "It distracts me. From the pain."
He wants to be eye level with you. He shifts down lower as well, back leaving the headboard. He doesn't crawl under the comforter with you. He doesn't want to make you hate him again. It's awkward at first, looking into those dark eyes of his. It's dim in the room. They almost look black. But he does exactly what you asked of him. He talks.
Toby tells you about his father. About something you hadn't heard about before--his mother and sister, who died in a car crash years ago. When he was young. When he wasn't Like This. He says he looks exactly like her. He has her eyes and her nose. He says they both have a mole on their neck in the same spot (he lifts his head to point it out to you). Once, he'd had her lips too. There's not enough of the tissue left for you to really agree. They died before the fire and murders, Toby told you. You can't deny how much more...alive he looked when he talked about his mom and sister. Even though it sounded like he didn't remember much of them.
You'd thought maybe his mom had left or something. He'd never mentioned her before. But it was the exact opposite. She'd been taken tragically from him. His first loss.
He's being vulnerable, talking about his childhood, so you can't help but share details from your own. Before you know it, you're pressed up against his side and the two of you are going back and forth about little anecdotes from the past. Only the comforter borders his body from yours. You can't resist falling back into the old ways, the old habits, of what it was like when he was the only one in the entire world you trusted and cared about. When he was the only one in your world at all, you came to realize.
Toby suddenly looks at you for a long time, silent, as you ramble on about some fourth grade story about the time some kid pushed you off the swing set and you beat his ass and got in-school suspension for two weeks. With a soft chuckle, your words begin to die on your lips as you focus on him. Suddenly, you're painfully aware of his wistful staring. Your brows furrow.
"What's wron-" you start, before he cuts you off, like the words are jumping out of his mouth.
"C-can we..." Toby swallows, hard, with his usual nervousness. "I'm sorry. Can we...tr-try this all again? Please?"
You're taken aback for a moment. And horrified. Not because you don't want to. Because you're horrified that your first reaction isn't immediate disgust. You're embarrassed that you first action isn't to turn him down instantly, to put a stop to this. To what he's trying to initiate. You're horrified because you don't want to tell him no. You're forced to confront your painful, deceptive truth. You missed this. And you missed him. You missed Toby so fucking bad and you had no idea until this very second. You missed the feeling that someone, anyone out there cared about you this much. That no matter what, someone would be listening to every word out of your mouth, no matter how stupid they are. If it's not him...then you at least miss the feeling he gave you when he was like this. Clear in his mind. Functioning regularly. Not trying to kill you. Or kill anyone else. Or burn down your house.
HE BURNED DOWN YOUR HOUSE, screams the rational voice in your head again, as you regard Toby's offer in hesitant silence. He's still staring, patiently, through those dark eyes. HE KILLED PEOPLE. HE STOLE. HE LIED. HE THREATENED TO KILL YOU TOO, HE- HE-
But that voice only seems to become quieter and quieter. Less and less impactful. Until it might as well have just been a whisper of an echo, a mere semblance of any actual strain of logic in your mind. It's nothingness soon enough. Like it'd never crossed your brain at all. Lost in the fog that those dark eyes put in your head.
Because at the end of the day, you're looking at Toby. And you don't hate him. It's not that you can't summon the energy to hate him anymore, to feel angry. It's that you don't. And that's scary. You look at that mop of curly brown hair, those thickly lashed eyes, that crooked nose, at the bruises purpling on his face. The little beauty marks and freckles and moles and tiny scars and everything else and you don't hate any of it.
With some difficulty, you find your voice again.
"I...I...maybe. Uhm..."
Hate no longer plagues you. Rage no longer squeezes at your heart. But indecision does.
Toby, slowly, takes your chin between his calloused pointer and thumb. The comforter isn't doing much to keep him apart from you know. His hand is shaking. You don't care. He leans in. You don't shy away.
And he kisses you.
You're not opposed. You're not afraid. In that moment, you're not afraid of the man who'd been taking center stage in your night terrors for years. You used to see him surrounded by flames. Maybe not him exactly. But his shadow at least. Something that was meant to represent him. Symbolic of the destruction he brought about, you'd once theorized during yet another a sleepless night. But now those very flames consume you whole. They swallow him up too. And all that matters is you're both burning together.
He shifts his jacket off--his body is hardened beneath his shirt with lean, practiced muscle. You feel a little light headed.
Can you not even trust your own mind anymore?
That doesn't matter at the moment. Because suddenly he's holding you in his arms, pulling you onto his lap as you kick the comforter off. A hand drifts over your thigh as his kiss becomes more passionate. A soft moan comes from you, muffled by his mouth. Toby's suddenly very thankful that he'd kicked that habit of chewing his lips all those years ago. He's grateful to have a portion of his lips left. It would've been totally lame if he didn't have anything at all to kiss you with right about now. Excitement thrums through him--real, MEANINGFUL feelings that-that FEEL good? His fingers tighten at your leg.
His hips grind up into you, almost out of his control. One of his hands traces up your side, still trembling a little. You don't stop him. His palm rubs up over your chest, before settling there. He breaks the kiss and you gasp for air. Toby takes advantage of how your head lolls back slightly, biting and sucking at your neck feverishly. His soft moans permeate in your ears, as your own hands grip at his sweater tighter. He squeezes at you, bringing you even closer. One of your hands settles over his own--the one on your chest, almost guiding him into touching you more. You lift your head even higher to give him more skin to mark.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!
Just shut the fuck up already.
Just stop fighting. It all hurts too much to fight.
Toby's hand leaves your chest, his other abandoning your thigh as well. He breaks away from your throat, speckled with red and his eager saliva. He finds a grip at the hem of your shirt. Briefly, he glances up at you, gauging your reaction. Your head inclines slightly, just the hint of a nod. He lifts your shirt, up over your head, flinging it off to the side of the bed. Palms, calloused and rough, cup your sides and slow their way upwards, fingers dragging over your skin. He does his best to avoid the wrapped wound. They hold at the cups of your bra briefly. He leans forwards, head down, to kiss at the top of your cleavage.
"Y-you're really pretty," he stammers out. "S-so...so pretty..."
The bra is the next to go. Toby's blood heats a little, from more than just arousal, when he sees some of the older bruises developing along your body from the earlier struggle back at the motel. He reminds himself for the billionth time to be gentle, despite his very obvious eagerness. He returns to your neck again, slinging the bra over to where you balled up shirt now was. A soft exhale brushes over your shoulders as he travels over them. You're fully settled into his lap, both of his hands kneading slow at your chest. His thumbs brush over the soft skin, almost playing.
"Y-you don't know how long I've--mmnnn...wanted th-this," Toby breathes out against your skin. His head rests momentarily in the crook between your shoulder and neck. "W-wanted you..."
"I feel like that should freak me out," you mumble, face flushing violently from his affections.
Toby pauses briefly. "Does it?"
You glance out of the corner of your eye. He's not looking back up at you. In fact he's motionless. Just waiting for a response, chin over your shoulder, awaiting a go-ahead. His lashes are dark and thick. You observe the scars criss-crossing through his eyebrows. Then, you just shrug your shoulders, speckled with soft red blotches from his sucking and nipping.
"Weirdly enough, no."
"B-Back then," Toby suddenly says, like he's been working up the courage to this whole time. His hands still feel all over your body, as if he can't believe you're actually there in his lap. In his pants, you feel the shameless erection hardening up against your ass. A bit of a huff escapes him. "Back then, before all that-that s-stuff...would you ha-have done th-this with-with me? L-Let me d-d-do this to you? Did you wa-want me too? Did you..."
He doesn't have the courage yet to ask his most pressing question. The matter of the L word of course.
You don't respond. Not yet. You're not sure. You think you wish he'd go back to finding all the little sensitive spots on your neck instead of talking about this... The last thing you need is further confusion.
Toby keeps chattering away. Like all those words locked in his head, all those regrets and sorrows, come spilling right out.
"That time you got dru-drunk with me. And fell asleep. And I ca-carried you b-back to your house in my arm-s. I don't remember much. But I...I remember I want-wanted to get in be-bed with you. I wasn't gonna do nothing. Sc-scout's honor. I just. I just wanted to be th-there with you. All close. L-Like this. Not-not exactly like this but, y-y'know what I mean. I shoulda done that inst-instead...I regret not staying there with you-you...I shoulda st-stayed, y'know?"
You just nod. Faintly, but it's there. Enough for him to take notice. He always takes notice. He takes a breath to continue. Words are getting harder. Much harder. His neck jerks a little bit and he grits his teeth in frustration. He wants to show you, not tell you how he feels. But he doesn't want to make you afraid either.
"N-now I just wanna make u-up to you. Ma-make it u-up, to you? Th-that's how you say it, right?"
His cheek pushes up against yours. Like he can't get enough of touching, smelling, feeling, tasting you. The burn scar texture on his face roughs up against yours. But it doesn't bother you. Not that you can even see, but he's blushing something awful. A shade of dark scarlet unlike anything before. Toby wonders if it's enough to overheat him too much...should he go slower with all this? No.
No.
What if he never gets this chance again? Or what if he wakes up and it's all just a dream?
He's had dreams like this before. And he hates waking up from them.
"I wanna..." Toby mumbles a little, so strange and shy and embarrassed compared to his usual dumb, overly confident self, "I wanna ma-make you feel all-all good. S-So you don't hurt as b-bad. Jus' for a few minutes. If you want. Me to. I dunno. I just wan-na make you happy an-and I can't figu-figure out how. Cuz' you ma-make me happy. And I wanna sh-share that with you. Mutual fee-feelings and all that stuff."
He goes to thumb mindlessly at the waistband of your pants. His hand sneaks a little lower beneath them, between your legs, underneath the waistband of your underwear next. You inhale a bit sharply, but you don't shove him away. Instead, your hips seems to push up into his hand. His thumb grinds slow into your, in a circular motion, interrupted by little unpredictable jerks. He's so excited it's hard to keep his hand steady. He's proud to elicit another moan from you, as your eyes fall shut in pleasure. The last thing you'd ever expected Toby to be was...experienced? To a degree? He misses a little, but he's a quick learner and gets a fast sense of your anatomy.
"Cuz' don't freak out, promise not to fre-freak out, you pro-promise?" Toby asks.
Does he ever be quiet for more than 3 seconds? But you nod, panting a little as your head drops back against his chest. You've slumped down into his arms, too in a stupor to really support yourself. It's been a long time since you've been touched like this. You haven't been with anyone since...you haven't even kissed anyone since Toby. You'd been too afraid.
"Say you pr-promise. S-Seriously."
You sigh, exasperatedly. "I promise, Toby, now what the fuck is it?"
"I-I think-" he swallows a little. "I th-think I-I love you. Re-really, I do. With ever-rything in m-me, I love y-you."
You take a moment to process what he's just said. It's kinda hard when he's been working you up so well. He's so damn good at it too..you almost want to pry at his dating history. Now isn't the time.
"Yeah, I kinda figured that," is all you have to say in response, sounding a little strained. How are you genuinely supposed to respond to something like that from someone like him? Sure you don't hate him right now. But that doesn't mean you're in love with him, right?
Toby sits up, thumb drawing far away from you. He stiffens beneath you, fully. For him it's the actual equivalent of a cheesy movie record scratch. Pause. Freeze frame. "Th-that's it?"
You sigh and shrug your shoulders. Awkwardly, you bring your arms to wrap around yourself, over your bare chest. You're happy you're not facing him directly on his lap. "Dude, you hunted me down again. The only feasible explanations are insanity or...or love and those two are kinda the same thing. So..." You bite the inside of your cheek a bit awkwardly, voice softening. "So...I was kinda hopin' it was love."
You voice sounds dry. Like you're tired. He can't tell if you're joking. If you are, it's not all that funny. Are you all frustrated and snappy cuz' he stopped?
"I'm going down on you," Toby suddenly announces.
Gently, he pushes you off his lap. You're forced to uncross your arms to catch yourself as you fall forwards into the mattress, shooting him a confused look over your shoulder. He moves in front of you, grabbing at your shoulders and shoving you onto your back, pushing you into the pillows. He starts to straddle himself over top of you. The tent in his pants is unbearably noticeable. You don't even notice the thrumming ache from the wound in your side, because you're too focused on the much different type of throbbing between your legs. God that's annoying.
"W-wait what?" you suddenly ask, fully having processed what he just said. From his position, it seems like he's being serious. You're surprised by his returned streak of boldness. It reminds you of the him you knew back in the forest. All those years ago...was that love confession making him nervous this whole time????
Toby sniffs a little, glancing off to the side. "I d-don't feel comfortable doing anything el-else to you. F-for you, I mean. You're st-still hurt."
You hadn't thought Toby had actually thought this far ahead. You kinda thought the steamy make out session would just fade off. That eventually you'd get tired again and tell him to stop and roll over and go to sleep. And maybe, just maybe let him hold you while you slept. At the look of shock on your face, Toby speaks again.
"If yo-you don't want me to, then that's fi-fine. I just-"
"Back then, I loved you too," you suddenly burst out. Your lips thin for a second, like you're regretting what you're saying. But your horrible truth is out now and there's no going back. The stiffness leaves you, like the weight off your shoulders. And you relax beneath him with a heavy sigh. "A lot. You were my world, Toby. Maybe it's 'cuz I thought I was the only thing you had. So you became the only thing I had too."
His eyes are wide. His hands go to shakily grasp at your wrists, sliding up to grab at your palms. His fingers tighten around your hands.
"Y-you mean it?"
You nodded. Not slightly, not hesitantly. With a swift aggressiveness. There is no mistaking what you'd just said as being true. Your eyes wander from his. "I was lonely, Toby. The world felt like...nothing. But you were there, all the sudden. And you were...good to me. At first."
"I can be good again. I can show you I-I c-can be good again, I-I swe-swear," he babbles suddenly, frantically, lowering himself down.
His weight rests at his elbows, dug in on either side of the mattress, on either side of you. He releases your hands so he can stroke over the sides of your thighs. He starts to pull your pants down. You let him.
"I wish you'd never done what you did," you said to him softly.
Hesitantly, your hand lowers down to his hair and he starts to shift down the length of the mattress. At your touch, he smiles, even if your words aren't particularly sweet. They're bittersweet if anything. They tear him apart inside. Fill him with regret and longing of what could have been. They are agony. He loves it. Loves how you make him feel.
Loves you.
Toby kisses down your body with his scarred, rough lips, hands splayed open palmed and fingered on either side of you. He looks up through thick, dark lashes, up at you, between every peck against the old bruises on your skin. He'd imagined once in his fantasies that this would all be so much rougher. Like he's seen before in some movies, or what some drunk people do out in the woods. Once, he'd gotten off to the idea of you pinned between a big tree and himself, with his hands buried in your hair and tears in your eyes and his cock deep inside of you. But that had been years ago. That fantasy isn't so appealing to him anymore. Now he's living the only fantasy he'd ever really wanted.
Slow and gentle and sweet and soft. That's what he wanted to be for you. Something that doesn't hurt you. Not anymore. Something that you can forgive. The one thing you can rely on to not turn on you. The one person you can go to for protection and the only person you can ever love again. He knows it's obsessive. Toby knows it's unhinged. And he knows if he'd ever shared those detailed desires with you, you might just run away from him again. So he buries them deep down. And he's simply happy with where he is now.
Your fingers stroke through his hair.
This is better than some half-baked, horny fantasy he'd kept to himself.
What you'd said earlier...about wishing he hadn't done what he had. He doesn't agree. Not at all. He'd never regret killing that scumball ex of yours. Not one bit. He'd do it again, over and over. But he'd be cleaner about it, if given the chance. Cleaner so you'd think it was just a convenient disappearance and never connect him to it at all. As much as he'd want credit for being your protector, your savior, your all of the above, he'd do just that.
But he regrets those other things he did after. Those he can apologize for just fine. He'd been waiting to do so for awhile now.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs against your skin, between kisses on every bruise. "I'm s-sorry for everyth-thing I've sa-said to you. N-Not the love part. I'll ne-never be sorry for that. But e-everything before. What I did. Those years ago. I could never hurt you. I won't ever. N-Never, ever, e-ever. On my life. You-you don't have to be scared of me any-anymore. Y-you don't have to f-fear me. 'C-Cuz I love ya. I'll show you that. Every day, I'll m-make sure you know how I love you."
Toby pulls your underwear down as your head sinks back into the pillow. He kisses lower and lower. A soft sigh sounds from your lips. Your fingers still arch and tangle through his curls. God that feels good. Your touch is God.
You stiffen a little beneath his tongue, a sharp gasp escaping you. A thrill sweeps through him. Has no one touched you like this for awhile? Is he the first to do this for you in years? Maybe part of you had been waiting for him all this time. Touch starved. He bets your touch starved and lonely just like he is. He can fix that. He can remedy that. He can make you feel good again. Like how you made him happy again.
Despite his excitement, Toby gives you a few moments to adjust. When you relax once more, his fingers squeeze a little at your inner thighs, like a "hey, I'm here". Your fingers loosen a little in his curls. His tongue starts to lap up against you once more. The heat of his breath on top of it is overwhelming enough. Your head jerks to the side as Toby moves further up, starting to suck at your clit. A strangled moan escapes from you. He feels your nails at his scalp--you don't mean to hurt him.
He can't feel it anyways. Just the pressure of your hands on him. And it's enough to drive him fucking wild. You moan his name, short bursts of syllables between gasps. His eyes squeeze shut as he tries to ignore the way he's tearing up. He can't help it. He's just. So. Happy. Here. Between your thighs. Hearing you cry out his name. Toby's pants are still straining against his erection. A soft groan escapes him as well, up against your pussy, and you quiver beneath his mouth.
He can't help but sneak a hand beneath his pants, beneath his boxers to stroke along himself in rhythm with the laps of his tongue against you. God he loves you. He could finish right now, just thinking about how wonderful it is that you're with him, in his bed, in his cabin, letting him touch you like this, like he's always wanted to. He'd always wanted to bring you here, so you could scream where no one could hear you. Where he could rock the bed against the wall and hit the bed frame up against it like in the movies.
Your fingers tighten even more in his hair, your back beginning to arch, eyes squeezing shut. A moan rips from your throat, as you finally reach your climax and cum on his waiting tongue. Toby ignores your writhing as he keeps on licking and sucking, tongue carving into you, all the way through your orgasm until you were begging him, voice raspy, to stop, tears rolling down your cheeks in sheer pleasure. Toby finishes around the same time, stiffening up against you momentarily, cussing loudly. His head comes to rest right above your pubic bone with a heavy, satisfied sigh. He licks what little of you is left on his lips, savoring the taste. His hand drifts out from beneath his boxers.
Toby would clean up later. He's terrified you're suddenly gonna disappear from beneath him, or he's gonna wake up alone again. But he lays there with you for twenty seconds. Thirty. Forty. A minute. Minute and a half. He counts it all. And you're still there, breathing heavy, trying to regain your composure.
He crawls up to be beside you, bringing you into his arms. Toby's head drops a little so his hair pushes up against yours. His eyes are half shut. He's just as wiped out as you were. His stamina wasn't exactly the greatest, as much as he wanted to be doing this to you for hours. Maybe he could build up to that. But for now, his hands caress over you, finally lulling you to sleep. You don't protest. You don't push him away. You let him.
Toby doesn't have to say anything at all, as he too, drifts to sleep.
Waking up with you still there was a mixture of shocking and exciting and awkward all the same. The silence extends all the way until you're out of the house, walking in the woods with him. You figured it can't be that dangerous if you're both together. As he'd walked alongside you, his hand had drifted a little close to yours, back of his hand brushing over your own. Like he wanted to hold your hand. But he didn't dare.
"Are you...okay?" he suddenly asks. "You've been quiet. D-did I do some-something wrong?"
You just shrug. "I'm just...trying to figure out how I...feel about all this."
"Oh...uh...uhm. I th-think. Uh." He's all flustered now.
He'd proposed earlier as you'd gotten dressed with your old clothes that he wants to teach you how to chop wood. Just so you can help around the cabin until the two of you can...figure things out? You're not actually sure how long you'll be there. But it would be nice to be able to fend for yourself if you have to. He said he didn't want you swinging the hatchets or touching them the first few days. You're still injure and he doesn't want the healing wound to reopen with the movements. You can just watch instead.
You don't mind. It's something to keep your mind off of all the recent events. It's not like you and him can fuck 24/7 anyways. You still don't know how to feel about that. Or if you want it to happen again. To continue. Maybe. You don't know. You'd slept sound in his arms but the usual exhaustion still plagues you.
You can't just leave this place once you're recovered either. You know that. You don't want to say it out loud, but Toby would 1000% just end up hunting you down all over again. Like you'd have a fighting chance all alone in the woods anyways...
It's...endearing? There's not quite a word for it. Terrifying, but endearing. If any of what he said last night was to be believed or taken seriously, that is. You know from experience people will say anything and everything in the heat of the moment. Death threats, promised love, it's all the same. You suppose only time will tell. And that time seemed more and more like it would be spent at his side for the next foreseeable days. Weeks. Months. Years. The expanding time doesn't bother you as much as you thought it would.
"Hold on," he suddenly says, stopping in place. "I th-think I see something in the w-woods." He starts to turn towards it. You don't like that he doesn't elaborate on what it is, but you don't want to be left alone.
Toby whirls around, grabbing you by the shoulders and sitting you down rather aggressively on the nearest flat stump. You're scared. You freeze up. Looking up at him, you start to panic.
"Don't move," he tells you, strangely stern. Completely out of character.
Still, when you go to get up and protest, he slams you back down. You wince, biting back a yelp of pain as you go to grasp your side. Most movement is painful. Toby doesn't care. Forcing you to stay there, still, away from him, is his top priority. He'd apologize later once he was sure he didn't just...see what he thought he did. All he cares about now is protecting you. And he's not gonna let that...that thing come to him first this time. It won't have the upper hand. It won't get the drop on him. No. This time, he's going straight to it.
His face darkens. "I'm fu-fucking serious, (Y/N). Don't. Mo-move."
You realize quickly that it's a very real possibility the two of you have been found again.
"What did I say?" he suddenly asks, standing back up again. His hands go to his hatchets. The metal shines as he unsheathes them. You barely get the chance to open your mouth to respond before he cuts you off. "That's r-right. St-stay fucking put. I me-mean it." He gives them a spin to secure the handles in his hands and runs off into the woods.
For a moment you think about ignoring Toby's order and following him anyways. Hadn't you just both agreed that it's dangerous to run off alone? What if he gets attacked? What if you get attacked? It's not true that you won't be able to defend yourself--you still have that knife. You'd grabbed it before leaving, to which Toby had nodded approvingly. But you won't be able to do much with the way the wound in your side is still paining you. The lack of energy on top of all that...you start to get frustrated that he left you here alone. For awhile, you simply sit there, drawing your arms around yourself. You feel...unsafe without him.
There's a good amount of daylight out. But this part of the forest is silent. There's no birds. No leaves falling or rustling. No wind. No sound. Nothing at all.
Fuck.
After what feels like far too long, you have no choice but to disobey. Hesitantly, you rise from the stump, half expecting Toby to appear out of thin air and sit you right back down, telling you it was all a test and he was messing with you and blah blah blah usual Toby antics. But he doesn't. He's still gone. He shouldn't have been gone for this long.
So you leave. Acting against the voice in your head screaming that you shouldn't, you start to head off in the same direction as him. With the complete lack of sound, it's suddenly very easy to hear yelling, him yelling, something incoherent. You're too far away to make it out. You start to pick up the pace. And you start to panic. It reminds you vaguely, of a distant memory, one you'd thought was long buried, one you hadn't thought about in years. The time when you'd saw him in the forest arguing with nothing. Further panic fills you.
There's a muffled sound. Like a struggle. And strange silence.
"TOBY!" you shout.
No response.
It takes you a few more moments of running to find him in a nearby clearing. Why had he sounded so far away? You're a little embarrassed with how out of breath you are. He's on the ground, twitching violently. Not just tics. Convulsions, seizing. You drop down to your knees quickly, pine needles and dead leaves crunching below. As you go to touch him, to see if he's alright, you make the mistake of momentarily looking up to scope around the trees.
And you SEE IT.
THE OPERATOR.
It disappears. So fast you might have thought you imagined it. You don't care if it's real or not. Toby is real. And he's in front of you in the middle of seizure. The body temperature thing he mentioned in the woods--was that it? Something to do with that maybe? Your head already feels like it's spinning as you reel back in horror, not wanting to make things worse by touching him. You sit back on your heels, cold shock sweeping through your body as you desperately rack your brain. What do you do. What do you do. What do you do.
Stay with him. Just stay with him. What's important here. His breathing. He needs to breathe. He's gasping out...but air is going in and out. His fingers are gripped into the dirt. You try to clear any sharp looking sticks or leaves away, not wanting him to hurt himself on accident. His hatchets are there too, his fingers extend towards the handles now and then, like he's desperate to reach them. Quickly, you grab both and move them away, putting them behind you. It's hard to watch, but you don't know what else to do. Heart pounding in your chest, you focus your eyes on the back of his hand. You don't want to watch his face.
You wish you'd let him hold your hand back there.
It couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes. But it felt like forever. Eventually, his fingers stop convulsing and grasping. His breathing steadies more. A few twitches roll through his body, but they seem more akin to his usual twitches. You finally look up from the back of his hand, tears brimming in your eyes. There's sweat rolling down his face. His eyes are closed, eyelids twitching with movement.
Right. His body temperature. He's overheated. He must have worked himself up too much between the running and the jacket and the screaming and the stress...fuck. You grab the handle of one of the hatchets you'd dragged away from him. You leave it near him, convinced he won't convulse near the blade, that the worst of it is over. With a bit of difficulty, you lift him a little to drag the jacket off of him. You hate to let it fall in the dirt, but you have to work fast. Taking hold of one of the hatchets, you carefully work it under the hem of his sweater, blade end angled away from his abdomen and up. Carefully, you use it to tear at the stitches and fabric of the material, until you've managed to cut it open. It's soaked with sweat as well.
His body shines with perspiration as well. You work the halves of the sweater open, over his shoulders, off his arms, trying desperately to cool him off. Where's the breeze that tormented you at night? You look up, you're in the shade of a tree. There's not much else you can do. Unless...maybe you can find a stream and take some of the torn fabric and soak it and bring it back in time and then-
Toby's hand suddenly reaches up shakily. He's able to reach the side of your head with you on your hands and knees. Gently, he strokes over your head, his eyes still closed. He swallows with a bit of difficulty, tears starting to roll down his face. It's such a sad, wrenching sight. The tears burning at your own eyes finally spill over. You'd been terrified. You sink down lower to the ground, the torn up fabric of his sweater clenched in your fist as his fingers continue to stroke through your hair.
Toby's voice is faint, as he speaks, with a degree of difficulty.
"He-he beat the ev-ever living G-God out of me y-y'know. A-All the time. A-A-A lot of the tuh-time. I didn't de-deserve it. I was a k-kid. Ididn'tknow. Whatthefuck. W-was wrong with me. E-either. I did-didn't deserve it-t. Y'know?"
It takes you a moment to process what he's mumbling about. His...his dad. Maybe his dad. "W-what?" you whisper out, through tears and soft gasps.
"S-stay with me. For-forever. One. T-Two. Thr-three. Four. Forever. P-please. Five t-too."
Nothing he's saying sounds right. Delusional. His babble is almost meaningless, the way he mutters it, words slurring and blending into each other. You don't catch much more of it. The hand near your head suddenly goes to weigh heavy on the back of your neck, dragging you further down. He reaches over your back to bring you closer. He's weak. But you're weaker. Your cheek rests against his bare chest. He's sticky with drying sweat still. But it feels like he's cooling off more. Old scars stretch all over him. The bruises from the earlier brawls were still colored vibrantly.
You stayed there with him for much longer. He starts to gain back a bit of clarity. His eyes peek open. His open palm stops over your back, ending the slow, repetitive cycle of rubbing it had entered. Almost unconsciously. You're still sniffling up against him. But his breathing's back to normal now. He's dry. A sigh escapes him.
"What happened," you whispered out.
Toby's voice is still shaky. It's less airy though.
"I saw i-it. I tr-tried to kill Him. Didn't work."
He sounds bitter. Despite his failure to kill the Operator, he'd still driven him off. For now. Toby looks down at you, scarred brows knotted with an unexplainable emotion. At his sudden silence, you angled your head so your gaze could meet his.
"I Left you. And he c-came. So ple-please. Don't lea-leave me. Don't le-let me leave y-you. There wo-won't be a. A next t-time if you do."
You don't understand. But you nod. Solemnly, you nod. Weakly, Toby holds out his other arm for you, turning to envelop you whole. Without convincing, you settle fully into his arms. They wrap you in a tight embrace on the forest floor. His fingers dig into your back.
Toby tells you that he Loves you, in that low, whispery, trembling voice.
And you know now.
You can't Leave.