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Tim slammed the door to the hotel entrance behind him. The force of the act sent the piece of plywood that boarded the window flying, the haphazardly scattered nails not enough to withstand the man’s warpath. This did nothing to break his tunneled vision. The door was basically asking for it anyways.
The man’s legs carried him deeper and deeper into the forest that surrounded his prison of a home. The searing spite and remnants of explosive rage were all that kept him barreling forward despite the deep protests of his leg. He dodged branches, ducked under trees, kicked through piles of leaves, and left destruction in his wake. He hopped over a particularly large branch and practically snarled in annoyance as a sharp pain flared up his leg, all the way to his hip. His fist gripped tighter around the piece of black fabric in his hand as if the act would help him choke down his grunt of pain.
He held onto that fabric until he reached his destination. It was one of the several clearings nested within the thick woods. A small, bubbling creek encircled the clearing, creating an island, marked with a singular ponderosa pine. The tree cast a cool shadow, protecting the oasis from the blistering sun overhead. The crackled bark of the pine was tattooed with the Operator’s symbol. The graffiti was done with a frantic, black, marker. Hoodie’s marker.
Suddenly, Tim's adrenaline caught up with him, pain throbbing up from his ankle into somewhere deep in his knee. He let himself hiss out a curse this time. Slowly, as to not injure his leg even more, the man crumpled into a pile on the ground, scooting backwards to lean against the trunk of the marked tree. His hands tremored violently in his lap, bringing his attention back to the fabric in his grasp. He unraveled it, staring at the warped frown before him. Brian's.
He had ripped it off of the man in blind rage before storming out. Tim struggled to remember what the fight was even about. This past month his world had felt like an ever shifting serpent. He couldn't get a grip on the slippery thing that was his impulsive behavior. Just as he thought he'd been able to reign in the thrashing vengeance of his rage and mash it down into something that simmered in his gut, something–or rather someone–would prod the beast, pulling the cork to his self control, allowing the rage to force its way up his throat.
Tim wasn’t a talkative guy but lord could he yell. He could unleash one thousand hurtful truths and two thousand lies before he would feel satisfied. He had a lot to complain about afterall: long trips out into the woods for the sake of Operator’s vague missions, the constant management of their limited food and supplies, the chronic ache from his once-broken leg that never healed right. The biggest thing that raised the man’s blood pressure were the kids, Jeffery and Ben.
Ben was just annoying. Tim was still trying to wrap his mind around the kid’s optional corporeal existence. Sometimes he could faze through walls in a green smoke, but recently he has been walking around, interacting with solid objects as if he were flesh and blood. Brian had given up on trying to figure out what the kid was, settling on the term “poltergeist.” Something about poltergeists, or maybe this was just Ben–Tim hadn't met another ghost before, nor did he want to–when they get emotional, they break shit, specifically electronics. The kid was 12 and acted like it, acting out when he wanted attention and frying the electronics in the hotel when things didn't go his way. At least Tim could find a middle ground with him. The man wasn't able to keep many jobs throughout the seven years he blacked in and out of the Operator’s control, but there was a two year long period, up until Jay found him, that things were steady. That job was just at a computer and phone repair shop. Nothing to do with his sound design degree, but it was solid work that didn't rely on customer service. He was currently teaching the brat all that he knew about computers and electronics. It was a good way to keep the kid occupied, but also allowed him to fix things himself if he got upset and accidentally fried something.
Jeff however, was a different beast. There was no common ground between the two other than the fact they both pissed each other off. Jeff was impulsive, angry, spiteful and destructive to others and himself. For some goddamn reason, Jeff could bring out the worst of him, bring out these shared traits from somewhere forgotten. Maybe that made Tim weak, but he didn’t know anything at the moment other than he was messing everything up so badly and he just didn't want to be here anymore.
He balled up the mask in his hand and sucked in a shaky breath that quickly turned into a sob. His free hand wound its way into his hair, pulling at it while his emotions overtook him.
Jeff had the nerve to try to kill himself.
Tim knew it was terrible. It was an awful thing, to be jealous of a suicide, a suicide that he apparently influenced. When Brian found the kid, passed out in a puddle of his own blood, he also had the nerve to glare at Tim as if he was the one who held the knife.
All he did was tell the kid to kill himself, he didn't think he'd actually try. Jeff told him to kill himself all the time, wormed into his head, so-much so that he's sitting here, in the middle of the woods thinking about it. But Jeff's done worse. He’s killed people for Christ's sake–tried to kill Tim on several occasions! So when Jeff had the nerve to play his guilt card and act all depressed, Tim thought it justified to give him a dose of his own medicine.
Right, that's what the fight was about. Brian going on his whole “an eye for an eye makes the world blind” bullshit. Tim brought his knees up to his chest and pulled the mask up to his face, breathing in deep. It felt like a perverted thing to do, but fuck he needed something, just any sort of confort right now would do and despite everything, Brian's scent was still able to detangle the tension in his body. It was a frustrating thing, to be mad at someone who was basically his everything.
Fuck.
Tim shot up and tossed the mask aside, curling up into an even tighter ball, holding his head in his hands.
What the hell am I doing?
Why the fuck did he take Brian's mask? Why the fuck did he scream at him? Why the fuck did he throw shit and throw a tantrum. What was he trying to prove? He was going crazy if he thought his behavior was getting him anywhere. Fear consumed him again, what if he was spiraling again? What if another psychic break was approaching? What if the hallucinations get worse? When was the last time he took his medication?
Tears threatened to pour out of Tim's eyes once again. He took a sharp breath through his teeth and stared at the sky, stuffing air in his lungs and gulping down his frustration. He had just thrown a big temper tantrum like a toddler. There was no way he was gonna sob about it. He had just permanently pushed away the one person who he could call a friend, ignoring whatever bullshit romantic possibilities he let himself fantasize about.
CRACK
All it took was the subtle snap of a stick to restore Tim’s adrenaline, his head snapping towards the sound. He was suddenly aware of how vulnerable he was, having left all his weapons at the hotel. To the man’s relief, then dismay, it was Brian. The man had his hood fully drawn up, concealing his face. He continued to walk up to Tim, keeping his hands in his pockets.
Tim swallowed, daring to let his gaze wander up to Brian’s face. His expression was blank. There were remnants of frown lines still visible on his forehead. His eyes were rimmed with red and his cheeks were blotchy pink. The two stared at each other in silence for a long while before the hooded man finally removed his hands from his pocket to sign,
“I came for my mask.”
Not for me then. Tim thought. He quickly rid the petty thought out of his mind and nodded towards Brian's discarded mask. The thing lay wrinkled in a pile of dry pine needles. Brian stared at it for a moment before stepping over and pickling it up. He picked off the remaining clumps of pine needles then slid it over his head.
Now he's even harder to read.
The masked man stood there, staring at Tim for a moment longer as if waiting for him to speak. When nothing came, he turned around to begin his journey back home.
“I'm sorry,” Tim blurted out before Hoodie could get far. His voice crackled as he spoke, making him sound much smaller than he wanted. He couldn't bear for Brian to leave him. He needed to make it okay again. How he was going to do that, he wasn't sure, but the least he could do was haul himself off the ground to speak to him face to face.
Hoodie turned around again, signing. “I don't want an apology. Or at least one said out of desperation.”
“Fuck. Brian. Im-”
“Don't. I'm not the man you think I am. I am not your college buddy or anyone from your past life. I don't remember that. I don't have years of knowing you to base my forgiveness on.”
Tim stayed silent in response, trying to keep his breathing even.
“You threatened me. You have been threatening me. I've been able to talk you through it before, pathologize your anger. But there's no excuse for this. You preach about Jeff needing to grow up, then throw a fit. I'm running out of reasons to side with you other than the fact you're not a serial killer!”
Even though Hoodie’s face was covered, Tim could easily read the angry gestures through the sign.
All he could do was listen now.
“So I don't want apologies. I want you to stop making excuses and fix your behavior. Be careful with me, Tim… I am breakable. You hurt me.” The way Hoodie jabbed his finger towards Tim in emphasis felt like he was personally stabbed in the heart. “I want to see proof that you'll change. You can start by apologizing to Jeff.”
Just the idea of talking to Jeff left a bad taste in his mouth, but this had already gone too far. He has to do this for Brian–Hell he has to do this for himself. He has to do this because he is a better human than the serial murderer that is Jeff the fucking Killer.
“If that's your condition-” Tim raised his head as he spoke, making steady eye-contact with Hoodie for the first time in this encounter. “I will do it.”