Work Text:
Brian’s been trying to disappear.
Despite this, he still keeps his cell phone on him. It’s for if he takes a bad fall in an abandoned building or at the Tower, if he can’t get out of somewhere alone, if he catches pneumonia from being out in the rain and really, truly needs help. A precaution.
Said phone is buzzing insistently in his pocket, with a brief pause as it goes to voicemail before it starts up again.
…It hasn’t rang in a while.
He takes it out with one gloved hand after the second time and checks the caller ID: Tim.
Tim usually texts.
He accepts the call and waits for Tim to speak first—if it’s an emergency, at least Brian will have a response (are you okay, what happened, do you need anything, how can I help), but if Tim’s trying to see how he is… he doesn’t know what he’ll do, or if he’ll just be stuck, frozen by the fact that it’s Tim on the other end.
The voice that crawls out of the speaker is not Tim.
”Brian.”
- - -
It knows his name.
- - -
Its voice is lifeless, like instructions recited from a recording. Like it’s reading from a script. The hair on Brian’s neck has risen, cold crawling over his skin as he stands rooted to the spot.
“Brian. It’s Tim. Please, come find me. Brian. I’m lost. Find me. Come find me. Please. Brian.”
- - -
Brian buries that phone a foot below the small river running through Rosswood, sleeves rolled almost to his shoulders, fingers numb and bleeding by the time he’s done. He dries his arms on his hoodie and slips his gloves back on, holding his hands close to his chest as he walks and curling around himself once he’s inside his dilapidated base.
He never replaces it.