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“Damn.”
Brian voices. His thumb that’s hooked in the corner of Toby’s mouth pushes down on his bottom teeth, forcing his jaw to open wider. He feels the muscles in Toby’s neck twitch under his other hand resting there. Brian takes this cue to pause his examination as Toby’s neck suddenly twitches to the side. He turns back to Brian with a mumbled, ‘Sorry .’ Brian ignores the apology, knowing the boy can’t help it. He runs a gloved finger back over Toby’s swollen and bruised lip, assessing if he needs stitches.
“‘S it bad?” Toby asks, poking his finger into the swollen part of his lip. Brian smacks Toby’s hand away from his injury and then steps back from him with a sigh.
“Well, it’s not good for sure.” Brian reaches out to stop Toby’s anxious leg bouncing from where he sits on the toilet lid. “On the plus side, I don’t think you’ll need stitches.” The blonde hesitates, putting his hands up as if approaching a wild animal, “That tooth has gotta come out though.” Toby makes a low groan in response.
“But I like that tooth. We had lots of— huh? huh? huh? — good times!” He says, throwing his hands into the air to emphasize. Brian grins.
“Oh yeah? Care to reminisce?” He crosses his arms, leaning against the wall beside him.
“All the food we ate together! Like pistachio ice cream!” Brian makes a face at this admittance.
“Okay, first of all: ew—“
“Don’t be a hater, Brian!” Toby waggles a finger in Brian’s face and Brian slaps it away with an added eye roll.
“ Second of all, you should not be using your teeth to eat ice cream.” Brian gently kicks Toby’s ankle.
“Wait, what? Why not?” Toby asks.
“It’s freezing cold, you moron! Cold shit is terrible for your teeth!” Brian half-yells, not believing he has to have this conversation.
“How am I supposed to know that?!” Toby scrunches his nose twice and returns Brian’s ankle kick from earlier. “Can’t exactly feel that stuff,” Toby mumbles.
“Oh, right. I forgot about that.” Brian mutters under his breath, “Well whatever, you like fuckin’ pistachio ice cream so you automatically forfeit this discussion anyway.” Brian muses. Just as Toby opens his mouth to whine about the whole thing, they hear footsteps creak up the stairs. The two of them freeze until they hear a familiar voice.
“Are y’all up here?” Tim’s voice calls. Brian scoots past Toby to open the bathroom door. He cracks it, peeking out to double-check before opening it fully. Voice-mimicking monsters were never completely out of the realm of possibility at this point.
“Over here, big guy.” Brian waves Tim over before he can start aimlessly wandering.
“We’re m— mark, made— making out in here, don’t come in!” Toby yells playfully. Brian and Tim share an eye roll before Tim peeks his head around the door.
“Oh? I’m not allowed to join?” He comments. Toby snorts.
“Absolutely not, you old fart.” Toby jests. He’s thankful that it’s Tim who came back and not Masky. Usually, Tim’s alter only takes over for the dirty work; but occasionally, Masky sticks around even after having finished an assignment. During these times, Masky borderline refuses to talk to Toby. Instead, he pulls Brian into their room, holding himself up in there until Tim takes over again. Toby has always wondered what they do in there for that time.
Tim is a lot more receptive to Toby than his counterpart, at least. Although Toby still tends to feel a bit wary around him regardless. He knows Masky and him are not necessarily the same, but the visual association is still there.
“Brian and I are the same age, you twerp.” Tim says as he fully enters the room. He spies the bloody tissues in the sink and the first aid kit on the counter and begins to put the pieces together.
“So what happened?” He gestures to the items strewn about.
“Well,” as Brian begins to speak, Tim approaches Toby, “Toby and I went out to the store while you were out on your assignment.” Toby’s leg starts to bounce again. “Long story short, some fucker tried to mug us, it got ugly, he managed to pistol whip Toby—“ Tim gives Brian a stern look from the corner of his eye “—but we ended up taking care of it, don’t worry.” Brian puts his hands up and Tim nods. “Anyways, he knocked Toby in the mouth pretty good and fucked up his teeth. Well— it’s more like one tooth specifically. The others I was able to sort out.” Brian gestures to Toby. Tim looks down at him and Toby avoids eye contact.
“Can I check it out?” Tim asks, and Toby is quick to respond.
“Brian already checked it out, it’s fine.”
“Well, fine isn’t the word I used.” Toby glares at Brian, face scrunching up a few times.
“I just wanna see.” Tim says with genuine concern in his tone. Toby bites the inside of his cheek, eyes still cast downward. “C'mon don’t get all shy now.” Tim jokes.
“I’m not— not shy! It’s just kinda embarrassing. I’m the only one getting— help! help me! — injured around here.” Toby fidgets, hating the vulnerable feeling that comes with the admission. Tim cringes.
“I really hope we move past the ‘help me’ one soon.” He mumbles as Toby glares at him.
“Fuck you.”
“You know I don’t mean it like that. I just— it’s— whatever, never mind.” Tim waves it off. “Is it gonna have to be removed?” He looks back to Brian as Brian steps closer.
“Most likely. It’s in a bit of an awkward position for it, though.” Brian explains.
“Awkward position?” Tim questions.
“It’s basically parallel to the roof of his mouth.” Tim makes a face. Toby rolls his eyes.
“Oh the guts and the gore is fine but my— huh? huh? — tooth doing the splits is too much.” Toby spits, in more of a sour mood.
“Well you know I don’t see much of that,” Tim warns, as if Toby is treading across treacherous waters. “Whatever-- again, it doesn’t matter.” Tim backpedals, attempting to ease the tension before it continues to escalate. “So how is that gonna work? We tie it to the doorknob and slam the door?” Brian cringes at the thought.
“No, that would hurt— well— hm.” Brian ponders for a moment. He looks back to Toby, “I guess it doesn’t matter? Do you care?” He asks.
“Not really. It’s all the same.” Toby utters, his teeth pulling on his bottom lip.
“I mean, I was just joking— that seems pretty fucked.” Tim comments. Brain shrugs.
“You got another idea?” Brian crosses his arms and leans against the sink counter.
“We’ve got pliers, why don’t I just use those, and at least that’ll be more…” Tim pauses “... tactful, I guess.”
“That also seems pretty fucked.” Toby voices.
“Well, would you rather just let the door decide how much of your tooth gets ripped out or me?” Tim snaps, a little harsher than he means to. Toby seems to consider this for a moment. Tim’s eyebrow twitches at Toby’s lengthy pause.
“Really?” He huffs, gesturing with his hands.
“What! It’s a tough decision.” Toby bites back a smirk. Tim’s eyebrows furrow. They share a long stare before Toby sighs. “Fine, we can do the pliers.” Toby relents, leaning back to rest against the tank of the toilet. Tim lets out a huff through his nose. “But Brian’s doing it!” Toby adds. Tim’s eyebrow twitches again. Toby fights against the urge to poke it.
“You don’t trust me, or what?” Tim bites, frowning.
“Kinda. More like I don’t trust him to— help —do it.” Toby gestures vaguely to Tim before snapping his fingers. Tim rolls his eyes.
“It’s not gonna take over while I’m pulling your tooth.” Tim says, “Just for the Operator shit.”
“I know but—“ Toby’s nose scrunches twice “—you never know.” The other two take notice of the more frequent tics. Brian decides not to comment on it, knowing it only tends to further upset Toby. Tim decides to take a different route.
“Alright, alright. Don’t throw a fit.” Tim relents, hands in the air as he steps back.
“I’m not throwing a— fucking, fighting —fit!“
“Looks like it to me.” Tim crosses his arms.
”Shut the fuck up, you shithe—!” Toby cuts himself off as his neck snaps to the side harder than usual. He doesn’t bother finishing his sentence and rubs the back of his neck. Brian steps in, lightly punching Tim’s shoulder in disapproval.
“Just a joke, Toby. Don’t listen to him.” Brian shoots a glare at Tim before he steps closer to Toby. “I’ll take it out but you, uh, you need to try to, like, control yourself.” Brian tries, stumbling over his words as he chooses them carefully. Toby briefly scowls and Brian worries that he’s upset him. “Sorry, I’m not tryin’ to be insensitive, kid. I just—“ Toby shakes his head. He points to his face as he whispers, ‘ tic .’
“Oh,” Brian says intelligently. Toby takes a deep breath, clearing his throat a few times. He recognizes this as Toby’s attempt to calm himself down. The blonde has noticed that when Toby gets himself too worked up, he tends to stop talking. If he has to make a guess, Brian would assume it’s like a sensory overload due to the influx of tics— but he’s no doctor. He just tries to roll with it as it comes.
“Okay, cool,” Brian says awkwardly, unsure if he should be helping in some way or leaving Toby alone to do his process. He decides to do the latter. “Tim, can you grab the pliers?” Brian asks, turning his attention back to his other companion. Tim blinks as if coming back out of his thoughts. Brian wouldn’t be surprised if Tim is somehow guilt-spiraling over this.
“Oh, sure— yeah,” Tim grumbles, turning on his heels and walking out of the bathroom. Brian watches him walk down the hall and into the room Brian and him share.
He remembers the insistent whining from Toby when they told him he would have to take the pull-out couch downstairs. The home only has one bedroom that resides upstairs. Downstairs, there’s a living room with a pull-out couch and a small kitchen. Toby had protested initially, but eventually gave in after realizing it was two against one (as was often the case, unfortunately for Toby). They only stay in one place for a week or two anyway. Although Toby typically gets the short end of the stick wherever they go.
Brian and Tim always pose it to Toby as him being the youngest and smallest, but it’s really because neither Brian nor Tim want to deal with him at night. The kid has frequent night terrors. The pair have gotten better at handling Toby’s various forms of PTSD, but it still can be difficult for the two to help him. They only know vaguely of Toby’s past, but they can piece things together based on what the boy says during those night terrors, or how he reacts to certain things. Tim and Brian aren’t used to having to coddle people, and Brian knows they were quite cold and callous at first— especially Tim. It didn’t help that Tim’s alter hates Toby. Brian had tried asking why once, but all that Masky had said was, ‘ he’s annoying,’ and that was the end of the conversation.
Brian likes to think that he and Tim are better at dealing with Toby’s quirks at this point, but he knows they aren’t perfect. Tim still struggles sometimes to empathize with Toby without treating him like a child.
“Here they are— sorry I had to dig through my bag.” Brian jerks at the sound of Tim’s voice behind him again. Tim’s arm is outstretched to hand Brian the pliers. Brian gives an irritated sigh as he takes the pliers from Tim’s hand. “What were you thinking about?” Tim asks, hands returning to his jeans pockets. The pockets of his jeans are faded and the knees are stained with grass.
“Nothin’.” Brian mumbles, waving off the question. “Just daydreaming.”
“What? As if we’re not living in paradise already?” Tim smirks, gesturing to the bloody tissues in the sink. Brian puffs a laugh out of his nose.
“You’re right.” He grins and turns back to Toby, who is zoned out staring at the wall. Brian reaches out to gently tap Toby’s thigh. Toby jerks at the touch. “Easy there— you ready?” Brian soothes, holding up the pliers. He watches Toby’s nostrils flare.
“Sure.” Toby shrugs, turning to better face Brian.
-
Between Brian’s hesitation and Tim eventually having to hold Toby’s head still, the whole ordeal takes about fifteen minutes. By the end of it, they’re running out of tissues to shove in Toby’s mouth. Tim is tilting Toby’s head back as the late teen holds a tissue to his irritated gums.
“I ‘hink th’ ‘ead ‘ack ‘ing only a’lies ‘o ‘ose ‘eeds.” Toby gargles.
Tim and Brian look at each other before jointly saying, “What?” Toby removes the wad of tissues from his mouth and tries again.
“I said, I think the head back thing only applies to nose bleeds. Not tooth extractions.” Toby jerks his head forward out of Tim’s gentle grasp. Tim rolls his eyes and steps away from Toby.
“Just trying to help.” He mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.
“By letting the blood drain down my throat?” Toby rebuts. Tim flicks him in the back of the head. Toby swerves around and Brian takes the initiative to defuse the situation.
“Do you… want this?” Brian asks, Toby’s bloody tooth sitting in the palm of his hand. Toby turns back to him and Brian drops it into the boy’s waiting hand. The blonde then moves to the sink to wash his hands.
“If I put it under my pillow will you give me a dollar?” Toby grins, dried blood caking his bottom lip. As he leans over to set the tooth on the counter, he hears Tim fumbling in his pockets behind him.
“Here.” He voices. As Toby turns, Tim flicks something at him and it hits Toby in the forehead before falling on the floor. Toby makes a guttural noise and flinches upon impact before looking down at his feet. A rusted engraving of Abraham Lincoln stares back up at him. Toby leans down and swipes it off the floor.
“Jokes on you! Heads-up means it’s lucky!” Toby smirks, pocketing the penny. Tim pushes on Toby’s forehead, gently jostling him backward. Recognizing it as Tim’s version of affection, Toby shoves Tim’s shoulder— albeit a bit harder than intended. Tim’s elbow hits the wall as he jerks back.
“Ow, motherfucker!” Tim exclaims. Toby smiles sheepishly. Tim grabs him in a headlock before Toby even gets a chance to run away. Toby yelps, hands coming up to grasp Tim’s forearms.
“Alright boys, let’s settle down,” Brian says after a few seconds of watching Toby squirm as he tries to release himself from the larger man’s grip. Tim rolls his eyes and lets go of Toby who proceeds to stumble forward without the support.
“Yes, mom.” Tim jokes. Toby pops back up after having regained his footing.
“You guys wanna watch a movie?” He asks, the occasional whistle exuding from the gap in his teeth. Brian bites his lip to stifle a laugh and Tim covers his mouth with his hand. It takes Toby a moment to process what they’re laughing at as he blinks at them owlishly.
“No fucking way!” Toby laments, flinching as a particularly high whistle escapes his teeth. “You’ve gotta be jo— huh? huh? huh?— joking!” He groans, hunching his shoulders in defeat. Brian pats his back.
“It’s alright, kid. It might go away as you get used to it.” He reassures. Tim shoves both of them out of the bathroom.
“Alright dorks, what movie are we watchin’?”