Chapter Text
It had been about a week since Toby had started staying with Tim and Brian, and it was kind of nice. He had quickly adjusted and started to fall into a fairly simple routine that mocked the one of his new guardians.
Toby wakes up to Tim and Brian’s bedroom door opening at around eight in the morning, they aren’t particularly quiet about it waking up. They eat whatever breakfast Tim or Brian make — they can’t cook together without it leading to bickering, the teen learned — that amused him. He then goes back to his room to make his bed, changes his clothes, does whatever chores either man tells him to do, and then spends the rest of the afternoon in his bedroom.
During Toby’s free time in the afternoon, he likes to write in the notebook Brian gave him earlier in the week. He left the first few pages blank, which were reserved for whatever memories he happened to remember. It wasn’t much yet, he hoped that would change. He felt out of place without them.
Toby used the rest of the pages in his book as a diary. The teen wrote about his daily life; things he does with Tim and Brian, the chores he’s done, etcetera. It was calming, and Toby found that he quite enjoyed writing, even writing the little details about his day that didn’t really matter.
In truth, the details did matter. He didn’t want to admit it, but Toby was scared he would lose his memories again. If for some reason Toby were to forget everything, assuming he had some sort of amnesia disorder he had forgotten, he would at least have his notebook. He could read through all of his entries, all the details, so he could remember what he may have potentially forgotten.
Toby may just be paranoid, but the notebook did make him feel better.
In the evenings they eat dinner — again, the men can’t cook together — and then Toby showers. Around 9 to 10 o’clock, Brian and Tim sit out on the porch while the latter smokes. Toby occasionally sits with them, listening to whatever plans they have for projects in the near future and the chirping of the crickets.
But as much as Toby liked writing and hanging out with the other guys, he was growing bored, and his journaling was getting repetitive. He wanted something else to do besides cleaning, writing, eating, and all that.
So when Tim mentioned that today he was going to teach Toby how to chop wood, Toby was excited and very eager to do something new.
The backyard was nice, with plenty of open space and a fire pit far enough away from the forest and the house. The sun was out, and was accompanied by an occasional, gentle breeze which ruffled his hair.
He would’ve assumed it would be warm since the sun was out, but Tim had insisted that Toby put on a jacket. Toby was never good with guessing the temperature.
To the right, there was a small garden next to the house with a shitty looking scarecrow guarding the vegetables. The plants appeared to be lush and thriving, all a very vibrant shade of green and well taken care of. Toby remembered when he offered to pay the men back for their hospitality, and Tim said he could help Brian in the garden. Gardening seemed like a very tranquil chore.
Tim didn’t pay as much attention to his surroundings as Toby did, already familiar with the area, and led the boy straight to the tree line. There was a tree stump with a pile of logs beside it. The man lifts a single log and balances it on the sump.
Toby watches carefully stands beside the man, his head cracking awkwardly to the side, making him grunt. Despite his ticking, he watches with rapt attention.
Tim looked at him. “Your stance is wrong, fix it. Line your feet up with your shoulders.” Tim directed.
Toby was quick to righten his bearing, shifting his feet a little further apart with a click of his tongue. “Luh- Like this?”
“Yep, better. Pull your goggles down, don’t want wood flyin’ in your eyes.” Tim stood opposite of Toby and mirrored his stance.
Toby did as he was told, pulling his goggles down over his eyes and then adjusting his grip on his hatchet. He chose to use the one with the orange handle, the blade was sharper, so he assumed it would be easier to cut wood with.
“‘Kay, pay attention, kid.” Tim said, holding his own axe now.
“When you hold your hatchet, you’re gonna put your dominant hand right up here,” His right hand moved just under the head of the axe. “Then your other hand is gonna go down ‘ere.” His left hand sits at the end of the handle.
“‘K- Kay…” Toby mutters, his shoulder giving a small jerk. He carefully observes the placement of Tim’s hands, then mimics it on his hatchet.
Tim looks it over and nods in approval, then steps closer to the stump. He beckons Toby over, pointing at the log.
“You’d think that you’d have to aim in the middle, but don’t do that. You see this split here?” Tim points to a small crack in the middle of the log. “When ya see a split like that, it’ll be your target. This one is in the middle, so this is a rare time you’ll be swingin’ there. Usually the cracks are off to the sides a bit.” Tim says, and Toby nods along.
“When you swing, don’t use any muscle, let gravity do its job. When you’re ready to swing, just let it fall.” Tim steps back now, standing on the other side of the stump. He fixes his stance and holds the axe above his head, his hands moving into place. “When ya let it fall, move your top hand down.” Tim moves the axe down in slow motion so Toby can see, Tim’s top hand slides down the handle until it comes into contact with his other one, and simultaneously the blade of his axe taps the log.
Great, seems easy enough.
When he was given the okay, Toby took position. Feet aligned with his shoulders, hatchet raised above his head, dominant hand under the head of the hatchet, his other hand at the butt of the handle.
Toby took a deep breath to steady his limbs, not wanting his tics to mess him up. Then, he let his hatchet fall.
The log split a little, but not all the way. Toby’s eyebrow creased, he thought he messed it up. He knew he was going to make mistakes, it was his first time doing this—but he was still disappointed.
His frustration must have been more obvious than he thought, because Tim came up behind him and set a heavy hand on his shoulder. “That’s normal, kid. Just gotta keep goin’.”
So Toby kept going, for hours. He found that he actually liked splitting wood, it was something he didn’t have to think about too much when he got the hang of it. He was on autopilot for a while, barely thinking as he chopped away.
It wasn’t until Tim came back outside — he went in about an hour ago — that Toby stopped. Toby was proud of the massive pile of wood he had split, and Tim seemed surprised too.
After dinner, Tim and Toby hauled and piled all the wood into a woodshed. Toby thought it wasn’t much of a shed at all, just a roof and supports, but he didn’t comment on it. And after, Tim gave him another pat on the shoulder.
Toby felt accomplished.
When Toby got up and went into the kitchen for breakfast, Brian said they were going shopping.
This would be Toby’s first time out in public since… Who knows. But, he knew he didn’t want to look bad, so he got dressed into the best clothes he owned. They were hand-me-downs from Brian, just a black t-shirt and jeans, but they looked nice. Toby got changed and then they were on their way.
The car ride to wherever they were going was pretty quiet, save for whatever music Tim and Brian took turns playing from an assortment of different CDs. Toby noticed that they had very diverse tastes.
The CDs Tim played seemed a bit older, they had a more “retro” sound. The Beatles’ Please Please Me and Rubber Soul, and then The Kinks’ Kinks album. Tim let the teen look at the track listing, and wrote down which songs he liked in his journal.
Brian heard the scratching of pencil against paper and turned in his seat. “D’you like The Beatles, Toby?”
“Um, kind of. I- I- I… Jesus Christ. I’ve heard of ‘em, I th- think.” Toby stuttered.
“You like this song?”
“Sure.”
“Me too, but they have better albums than these ones. Tim, where’s the Sergeant Pepper album?”
Tim sighs, “Glovebox,”
The glovebox clicks open and Brian rummages through it. He finds what he’s looking for, and pulls out two CDs with a low whistle. “Found it. Also got Magical Mystery Tour. You seem like the type to like this one, Toby.”
“Don’t play that album.” Tim said.
“Dude, why?” Brian asked.
His partner shot him a sideways glance that firmly said do not argue with me.
Brian sighs and looks down at the track list, his lips pressing into a thin line as he understands. “Alright, sorry man.”
And that was the end of that conversation. Brian played an album called Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band. Brian mentioned something about the album being a bit odd, and he was right. It was a bit odd, but he liked it. His favorites were “A Day In The Life” and “Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite!” The latter reminded him of an old circus, and for a fleeting moment he wondered if he will ever get to go see a circus.
After the whole album played, Brian switched the discs and played his own custom CD, which incorporates many different artists unlike Tim’s album CDs.
Brian had also written down the track list on the case, this made it easier for Toby to keep track of which songs were playing.
Toby wrote his favorites down in his notebook.
—
Tim pulled the car into a little parking lot belonging to an equally small building. There was a sign outside the place that said: Tallulah’s Thrift. There was a small patch of pretty flowers next to a couple drop boxes on the side of the petite building. This place was clearly well taken care of, Toby noticed, very loved by its owner.
Tim turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, turning in his seat to face Toby. “Your job is to pick out whatever clothes you want, kid. Don’t worry about grabbing ‘too much,’ this place is pretty cheap. Don’t grab anythin’ stupid like socks or underwear though, we will buy you new ones.”
“Uh, oh- okay. Thanks.” Toby said.
Tim just nods and they all slip out of the car.
The inside of the store was nice, too. The walls were painted with flowers and stars in the kid’s section to the left, and other floral patterns were painted all around the shop. There was a note of floral and powdery scents, almost vintage. The shop had a calming atmosphere, and Toby liked it.
There was a kind looking lady who sat behind a table and greeted them and greeted and Brian by name, then her gaze settled on Toby. She looked puzzled for a brief moment before her gaze softened and smiled at him, Toby forced an awkward smile back. He could only assume that she was Tallulah.
In the men’s section of the thrift, Tim had insisted that Toby pick out a thick, heavy coat, and reminded the boy about the cold winters. Toby took a look at the rack that sat in a lonely corner of the room while Tim and Brian wandered off to browse shelves.
After several moments of nitpicking every coat and trying to decipher which one seemed “warmest” — he was purely guessing, Toby didn't know warmth — he eventually settled on a dark olive coat. The inside was lined with thick fleece and a plaid pattern, burgundy and navy blue stripes overlapping each other. He didn’t try it on in fear of it being unwashed, but it seemed big enough.
It also kind of reminded him of Tim, the plaid. But he would never admit that out loud.
Both Brian and Tim approved of the coat, and Toby kept looking for more clothing.
The trip was relatively successful, and Toby had a new wardrobe of new(ish) clothing. He had five long sleeve shirts, three short sleeved shirts, three pairs of jeans, a pair of cargo pants, two black hoodies, and three pairs of sweatpants.
It was bagged all up, Toby didn’t care to listen to whatever total price Tallulah said it all was, and they made their way out to the car.
Brian and Toby both loaded the bags in the trunk while Tim wandered over to a utility pole that was decorated with posters, a lit cigarette in hand, of course.
Brian and Toby were already in the car when Tim returned, a paper crumbled in his fist and he wore a grim expression.
Brian’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your issue?”
Usually Tim would’ve snapped back, but the man just sighs and unscrambles the paper in his fist. Toby had to lean over a bit to see what it was.
It was a wanted poster. His face plastered to the middle with a vague description of his appearance. In bold text, it says: “WANTED BY POLICE.” Then, in smaller text, says he was armed and dangerous, do not approach, call the police if seen. Wanted for murder.
Toby’s eyes are blown wide as he reads the page, and he slowly leans back in his seat, his shoulders jerking.
Murder? He was wanted for murder?
So that means he actually murdered someone that day, the day he met Tim and Brian. That wasn’t the blood of an animal he was caked in like he wanted to believe, but rather a human. How many people did he kill? One? Three? The poster didn’t go into specifics. The thought made his body twitch. What happened to him which led him to murder?
“I- I don’t remember…”
“We know, kid. We know.” Tim said in a low voice Toby thought it was a bit too calm.
Brian ran a hand down his face, deeply troubled by the revelation. He turned in his seat to look at the teen, eyebrows pinched together. “We still have to make another stop, so put on one of your new hoodies and keep the hood up.”
Toby gives a jerky nod of his head, and slips out of the car to rummage through the trunk. He pulled on the hoodie and a medical mask Tim handed him, and didn’t say another word.
They drove another half an hour to a super center, which sells both groceries and plenty of other things. Like clothes, toys, furniture, and an assortment of other things.
They walked about the store and Toby had tucked his head down, out of view. He kept a hand onto the shopping cart that Brian pushed around, blindly following them. They grabbed an array of medical junk, prescribed medication for Tim, lighter fluid, beer — the men liked different brands — nails and tools, and blueberry muffins.
Brian said they should go look at canned food, which is helpful for the winter.
Toby was zoned out most of the time, following after his new guardians and his chin pressed against his chest. He stopped when he saw her.
A girl, not much older than himself, walked past Toby and the other men. She was talking to someone on her little flip phone, and pushed a nearly empty cart, her voice could have soothed him if he weren’t so suddenly overwhelmed with emotions. She had pretty blonde hair that went just past her shoulders, pulled back into a neat ponytail and kind brown eyes — almost, if not — the same shade as his.
Toby’s throat felt tight, he suddenly felt like crying, but he kept watching her.
Everything about her seemed fine, lovely, even. Her face wasn’t. Her face was distorted, her mouth drooping a bit. What the hell was wrong with her? Why was her mouth like that? It didn’t seem to be a condition she had, because the corners of her lips were actively melting.
Brian and Tim didn’t notice that Toby didn’t follow, and stopped at the end of the aisle to browse the shelves of canned soup. Brian turned to check on Toby, maybe ask what soup he’d like, but he wasn’t there. Brian’s heart nearly dropped and whipped his head to the side, and noticed Toby halfway down the aisle.
Brian murmured to Tim about how he’ll be right back, and ran a hand down his face once more as he went to fetch the teen.
Toby didn’t even realize the others walked away from, his attention was solely on the girl. He didn’t know her, that he knew of. But she felt familiar, recognized her despite her droopy face. He felt a little overwhelmed at how distressed he was. He didn’t look away until Brian quietly called his name.
“Toby,” Brian grabbed his shoulder. “You gotta stick with us, kid. Can’t have anyone recognize you.”
Toby jumped a little, his eyes wide before his gaze settled on Brian. He didn’t look at him long before he looked back at the blonde woman.
Her mouth wasn’t drooping anymore, it seemed normal. She had such a normal, pretty face. But Toby was still unsettled.
His hand came up and loosely grabbed Brian’s shoulder, offering the older brunette a distracted nod, looking down at the ground. “Suh- Sorry.”
Brian’s eyes narrowed, wrapping an arm around the boy’s shoulders and gently led him away. “It’s alright, kid. Are you okay?”
Toby swallowed. “She- She felt fam- m- familiar.”
Brian was quiet for a moment. He wondered if Toby’s memories were slowly coming back to him. “There’s a chance that you may have known her, or knew someone who looks like her..”
Toby’s shoulders dropped. “Oh,”
Brian looks down at the boy. It was evident that the boy was unsettled, he had every right to be. Clearly, whoever this girl was — or whoever she subconsciously reminded Toby of — meant a lot to him.
“Make sure to make a note about her in your book.”
“Okay.” Toby said meekly.
The rest of the shopping trip went well, Toby got the underwear and socks he was promised, and Tim made sure to give Toby a firm talking to in the car for not sticking with them. It was a little embarrassing, being lectured like a child, but the teen didn’t snap back.
He thought a lot about that blonde girl on the way home.
Who was that woman to Toby? Or was she nobody to him, and only looked like someone he used to know, like Brian said?
Maybe she was a close friend, a sister, perhaps a girlfriend? He had a feeling she was too young to be his mother, even if he didn’t know how old she was in the first place. He also didn’t really feel attraction at the thought of her, either. Maybe she wasn’t a girlfriend.
The probability of that girl he saw at the store being the girl — the girl he didn’t know, but understands that she meant something to him — was low. If Toby was a murderer like that poster said, then that blondie was too content with her life. If he had personally known her, she had to have been more troubled, right?
If Toby had found out that Tim or Brian had killed someone, he wouldn’t be as pleased as she seemed to be. In fact, he’d probably be second guessing everything.
But she wasn’t, so Toby didn’t know her. He only knew someone who looked like her, someone he can’t remember yet.
Hopefully he will. Eventually.