Chapter Text
Tim gripped the steering wheel tighter and leaned forward, struggling to see in the pitch black darkness and the dizzying flurry of snow that flew at his windshield. He doubted his battered red pick up truck was suited to handle slick ice and snow, so he drove slowly despite the urgency in the back of his mind. Even after a year he couldn't shake the feeling that he had to keep moving, and he rarely found himself sitting still. Tonight however, he had begrudgingly decided it safer to spend at least one night at the closest motel to wait out the storm. Growing up in Alabama he had never seen snow fall this heavily, and he felt on edge and out of his comfort zone. He hadn't been this far north before, but he had heard about the peaceful and beautiful tranquility of Colorado and decided it a decent place to spend a few weeks. should've waited until spring to make this trek, he thought with a grimace.
Just when he thought he was going to go insane from sleep deprivation and snow blindness, he saw the dim neon lights of a motel in the distance. He parked outside the small building, shutting off the engine and taking a deep breath. His fingers still gripped the steering wheel, the knuckles of his hands turning white. It took the last remaining bit of strength he could muster to force himself out into the cold and into the main office of the motel. He was greeted by the pitiful jingle of bells as he opened the door. The room was small and stagnant, the only semblance of life the tacky log cabin decorum and the bored looking clerk. The man at the desk was older, with patchy five o' clock shadow and scraggly shoulder length hair. It took him a moment to notice Tim's presence, and when he did all he offered was a blank stare and a small nod.
Tim cleared his throat and rubbed his gloved hands together, activating his southern pleasantries, "Uh, evening. I'd like a room please?" The clerk, whose name tag read Darryl, released a long labored sigh and leaned forward in his creaky swivel chair, sliding over a guest register sheet and a pen.
"It's 85 a night," Darryl drawled, returning to his crossword puzzle.
"Er, thank you," Tim scrawled his name onto the nearly blank sheet of paper and slid it back across the counter, exchanging it with the key that Darryl had ready for him.
"Breakfast is served from six to eight," Darryl added. Tim stuffed the key into his pocket and shook his head.
"Thanks but, I'll be out of here by then." he pulled out his credit card and paid before he trudged back outside, the door bells jingling in his wake.
He must've underestimated how exhausted he was, because the next morning Tim woke up and sunshine was spilling through the plastic blinds. He shielded his eyes with his hand and rolled over, checking the alarm clock that read 8:30. He groaned internally. He had hoped to be on the road again by 6:00, but perhaps it was for the best. He didn't want to fall asleep at the wheel and crash. After all he'd gone through dying in a car accident would be very undignified. He hastily packed his few belongings into his duffel bag and stepped outside into the chilly morning air. The snow had stopped, and the ground was a pristine white blanket that glittered in the sunlight. He took a moment to admire the pale blue sky and the tall pine trees. If he ignored the freezing cold and the mountain peaks in the distance he could almost pretend he was back home in Alabama, but the daydream was quickly banished and he trudged through the snow to his rusty pick up truck.
The nearest town was only fifteen minutes away, and soon the towering pine trees gave way to quaint shops and cabins. The town square was already fairly busy, people opening up stores and greeting friends. It was perfectly normal, despite the fact that there wasn't a mall or a movie theater in sight. He came from a small town too, but even this was far more secluded than he was used to. He had parked his truck in front of a general store and was admiring the hand painted welcome sign in the center of the town square. population 9,000. Tim removed his heavy jacket so that he was only wearing his flannel coat and wandered inside the general store. An old man with rosy cheeks and a mustache was stacking canned goods and turned to wave at Tim when he heard the door chimes.
"Good morning!" he said cheerfully. Tim offered a wave and a polite smile, ducking behind an aisle. He was inspecting the beef jerky in his hands, I miss real food, he thought, when he heard the door chimes announce the arrival of another customer. Two middle aged women were chattering loudly and headed straight for the donuts, stopping to say hello to the old man. Tim kept his head down as he shopped, but couldn't help to eavesdrop.
"It's just terrible! The last one was in the next town over, so it seems he's moving quickly," one of the women exclaimed.
"At least they're getting less violent. The last few survived with just a few injuries," the other woman pointed out. Tim's interest piqued and he sidled closer to listen further, pretending to pick out some sunflower seeds.
"Still, I hope the mayor puts a curfew on the town. If that nut job is wandering around out there, who knows who could be next," the first woman said.
Tim absentmindedly placed his stuff onto the counter, and the old man hurried over to begin ringing him up.
"Could I have a pack of Marlboro's too?" Tim asked, scratching at the scruff on his jaw. He was handed the cigarettes and groceries, but before he left Tim hesitantly cleared his throat.
"I'm only staying in town for a day, but I need to make some quick cash. Do you know if there's any odd jobs around town I could pick up?' Tim asked quietly. The old man placed his hands on his hips and nodded to himself, thinking.
"The lumber yard could always use extra hands for chopping wood. You can never have enough firewood in Colorado during the winter, it's in pretty high demand. I'll give you directions, you ask for Bill and tell him Cliff sent ya," the old man gave him that same genuine smile and Tim nodded gratefully. He had a week's worth of food in his arms, he would make some extra cash today, and then he'd be gone. Back on the road, running once more.
Tim fished out another jerky stick from his bag, tapping along to the beat of the song on the radio with his other hand. Night was falling again, and the town was already ten minutes behind him. He had been able to make a hundred bucks, enough for gas and another cheap motel room. He was grateful that the roads were clear, and it wasn't supposed to snow again until the morning. Hopefully that meant he could drive farther than he did yesterday, and put more distance between him and... well, he just wanted to go farther. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he knew what he was running from. He tried not to think too much about it, but he could already feel his chest tightening and his head spinning. He was about to reach for his medication when a figure suddenly darted out into the road, and he slammed on the brakes, squeezing his eyes shut until he felt the truck come to a screeching halt.
"Holy shit," Tim's eyes flew open, and he immediately scrambled out of the truck, breathing heavily. Great, he must really be off his rocker, the road was empty. But he could've sworn he saw- Tim's train of thought was cut off when something slammed into his back, pushing him onto his knees. He rolled onto his back and blocked his attacker by kicking him with his boot, but the other man barely reacted. He attempted to straddle Tim, but he was already onto his feet, swinging a fist into the face of his attacker. Tim winced when his knuckles met the metal mouth guard the other man was wearing. He swung again, this time in a upwards motion that found it's mark in his attacker's stomach. Once again, the man didn't react, instead it seemed he lashed out with even more ferocity, brandishing two hatchets from his utility belt and swiping at Tim with the deadly blades.
In the darkness, all Tim saw were swinging hatchets and the metal grin and wide orange gaze of his attacker. He dodged a slice from the Hannibal Lecter wannabe and stumbled backwards. The other man was clearly skilled at this, the weapons moving as if they were an extension of himself. However Tim was physically stronger, and he surged forward, tackling the attacker to the ground and pinning his wrists by his head. He squirmed beneath him, thrashing his legs and trying desperately to wrench his wrists out of Tim's grasp. With one hand Tim snatched away the hatchets and threw them away, moving his hands to the strangers throat and squeezing. His vision went blurry with rage, and his head spun. He had to stop. He couldn't get out of control, he couldn't become that thing again. Tim released the person underneath him, grabbing him instead by the collar of his coat and shaking him aggressively.
"All right, calm down or I'll fucking knock your lights out," the person ignored Tim's order and struggled some more, earning him a harsh shove into the asphalt. "I said calm down!" Tim shouted, and the person stilled. He could hear heavy breathing distorted by the eerie metal mask. He wondered what lay behind the round orange goggles, which reflected in the headlights of Tim's truck that bathed them like a spotlight. Tim grasped the goggles and ripped them from his face, but the only thing he could make out was curly brown hair and closed eyes. Hesitantly, Tim pulled open the man's eyelid, but his eyes were rolled back into his head.
"Shit." he must've shoved him too hard and knocked him unconscious. He got off of the figure that now lay still, placing his hands on the back of his head and blowing out an exasperated sigh. He should probably jump into his truck and book it, but something told him he needed to know more about this person. Hell, if anything, maybe he'd get a cash reward for turning in a hatchet wielding maniac to the cops. He doubted it, but nonetheless he found himself digging into the tool box he had in the back of his truck and pulling out long coils of rope. Tim bound his wrists first, noticing the bandages that wrapped the part of his arms that weren't covered by his coat sleeves. Next he tied his ankles into a tight knot before binding his arms to his side. Satisfied with his work, Tim threw the person onto his shoulder and made his way back to the truck, shoving him gracelessly into the passenger seat. He barely made a peep as Tim fastened the seatbelt over his chest, which was moving in slow, deep, breaths. Tim retrieved the hatchets from the side of the road and threw them into his tool box before he hopped behind the steering wheel and took another deep breath. He couldn't drive for hours at night in the snow with a murderer in his passenger seat. The safest bet would be to head back the way he came, find somewhere to stay, and see what he could do about his new little friend.
"I thought I had finally escaped all this weird crap," he muttered under his breath and began to drive back into town.