Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Hey are you okay?

You look pretty low,

Very handsome awkward."

— Pretty Handsome Awkward, The Used.

Throughout his life, or what he remembers of it, Toby had grown used to his body moving without his permission. His limbs would twitch and jerk and spasm, and his hands were completely tied, he couldn't do a thing about it.

He's eventually grown to understand that he has accept it as a part of his life, just another obstacle he has to work around. He's learned tricks and techniques to slightly subdue the ticking, learned to work with it, but no matter what he does or how much he tries to accept the ticking and jerking of his joints, his Tourette's will still be a hurdle he has yet to fully get over.

His tics have started growing more frequent and intense during this last month or so, interfering more often with his daily life and his jobs. Even while doing the most mundane of tasks, his tics would interfere and suddenly very simple chores became strenuous, unfortunately resulting in Toby losing focus or dropping one of Tim's precious porcelain plates while cleaning up after dinner. Since then, Tim has banned Toby from doing the dishes.

The sudden surge of ticking was likely from a build up of stressors. Although he couldn't quite pinpoint all the little factors that have caused all of his progress from over the years to suddenly go down the drain, he did have an idea of what the main problem was.

There was an entity known as The Operator. It was basically the "big boss" of the thick forest Toby and the other proxies reside in, and He had absolute authority.

Toby couldn't remember exactly how he became a proxy, his first and oldest memory was wandering mindlessly though dense foliage, and even that memory was a bit of a blur. He was coated in blood, carrying around dual hatchets without a single idea of what he was doing. The only thing he knew for sure was and that he belonged to It. He didn't mind much as you'd think, being all alone and vulnerable in the woods with amnesia didn't allow you to be very picky, and The Operator promised protection.

Over the years that Toby worked for The Operator, he had learned techniques to make working easier and had slowly gained His trust. Toby was one of the few proxies who were compliant and unresisting to The Operators control, one of the rare ones that actually submit. He did whatever job the entity asked him to without little complaint, and even found some joy in it.

This pleased The Operator quite a bit, and Toby's competence and thrill for the game had proved to The Operator that the young man can handle tedious assignments and jobs that other proxies couldn't quite stomach. These types of humans were hard to find.

Although Toby had been good at his job, the faceless being had the decency to give him breaks and made an attempt to keep things fair amongst his subordinates.

The newbies, who had the lowest skill sets, weak stomachs, and had yet gained The Operator's full trust, were assigned to complete simpler jobs. They draw and disperse The Operators pages — which acts as warnings and territory markers— and they dispose of evidence and clean up after Toby and other trusted proxies. Simple things that anyone with a low skill set can do and properly execute. They typically worked more often since their jobs were easier and not as exhausting.

Toby and other trusted proxies have more experience and trust from the faceless one. Higher level proxies like them guard the lands which The Operator had staked claim, they directly interact with victims and targets (whether that be killing them, stalking them, or recruiting them), and on rare occasions, they will train the newcomers.

With all this trust that Toby had acquired from The Operator, he had somehow become a substitute for the lower level subordinates. He wasn't given an explanation as to why he was suddenly being assigned jobs in which he was over qualified, but he mused the idea that most of them died to a virus, or maybe hunted by a supernatural creature. None of his ideas were concrete, and frankly, he didn't care enough to investigate.

When The Operator had started dispatching Toby on these missions, he didn't think too much about it. He didn't pry, he didn't refuse. The jobs were pretty easy and quick to take care anyway, no use whining over something that would take him less than a day to finish.

But the rapid decline of proxies meant more work for the others. More work for Toby.

Toby had been working constantly for a couple months now, but the exhaustion nagged at him constantly. Not only did he have to cover everyone else's job, but he also had to do his own. Track the target, watch them, don't get caught — then strike. Then after striking down the target, he had to clean up his own mess. He'd go home after, draw The Operator's pages, then would have to scatter them about the dense forest, all within a ten mile radius of the cabin and manor. This was an issue of course, because the building up of fatigue and stress had, of course, made his body tick and twitch.

Kate, or better known as "The Chaser" by the nearest townspeople, was Toby's saving grace. She would offer to accompany the young man most times, since The Operator hadn't assigned her to as many jobs as Toby. Favoritism at its finest, ladies and gents. Regardless, he was grateful for her help. The load on his shoulders would lessen a bit, and he didn't have to work alone.

Even with the help though, he still had a lot to do, and was still exhausted. Toby wanted to dig his fingers into his cheeks and just tear through the flesh on his face. He wouldn't follow through with that unfortunately, it would just become another mess for him to clean up.

But just because he had some assistance, his tics didn't magically become more bearable, Toby wished that they would. There have been many times where he had gotten so sick of his body doing whatever it pleases that he's wondered about asking to borrow Tim's gun.

Yet, another thing he wouldn't follow through with, as it'll just make another mess. It was unlikely The Operator would let him die, anyway.

Kate was patient with him, though, and gave him an occasional comforting pat on the shoulder. She was one of the few people that Toby truly liked out here.

The actual missions were hell, too. There have been a couple times where he had lost eyes on a target, or they were actually armed, and it frustrated Toby to no end.

The worst one had happened just last week. There was a target that had gotten the upper hand by decking Toby right in the face. The guy was fucking huge, and Tim had thought he was exaggerating when he tried to explain how big the target was later. The dude's biceps were probably as big as Toby's head, and the brunette would be lying if he said he wasn't a little scared.

And with massive muscles, there comes a murderous swing. Toby wasn't in pain, of course, but it was enough for him to be distracted by the blood that had practically exploded from his nose. Him getting a good hit to the face wasn't the worst part, though. It was his body working against him. His fingers trembled around the wooden handles of his hatchets, resulting in an unsteady grip. With an improper hold on his weapons, he wasn't able to land a decent hit on the guy. While Toby was struggling, The target managed to land several more hits on Toby. Luckily Kate was there, who had shot the man in the head with an abandoned pistol and kicked the body off to the side helped Toby up.

On Toby's rare days off, he spends cleaning his gear. It bothers him to no end when he goes on a mission with dirtied supplies caked in flaking blood and mud, and he tries to avoid it as much as possible. His recent tic issues have caused him to spend another hour on the task, his hands scrubbed away at the stains and flakes, but they shook and twitched and made everything so hard. His growing agitation only made matters worse, and he gave up.

A few days pass and Toby decided to talk to Brian in an attempt to find some possible solutions which didn't include disobeying The Operator. He figured the older man would be more accommodating than whatever little bits of information he found on the internet, since Brian studied psychology in college.

Toby was disappointed when Brian wasn’t much help, which really fucking sucked. The man told Toby things he already knew, such as: “Don’t overwork yourself,” and, “Exhaustion could be a factor, make sure you’re sleeping well, kid.”

Toby knew all this already. He has been sleeping as much as he could lately, and he can’t exactly tell a powerful, eldritch being: “Hey, man. Im a bit tired, may I please have a break for about a week? Thanks bud, I owe you one!”

No, that would be a fucking death wish.

Over the next few days — the days he had off — Toby tried to adjust his schedule and habits slightly, a lame attempt to tame his tics. He kept track of this in a small notebook he took from a targets desk, which was pretty helpful because the brunette couldn't keep a mental track of anything for the life of him.

From past research, Toby found that being hungry can cause an increase in tics, but he couldn't exactly feel hunger. One of his many disorders, CIPA, had prevented that, unfortunately.

Since he couldn't rely on feeling hunger to know when to eat, he scheduled meal times in a notebook he snatched off of a targets desk. He made sure to keep it on his person as often as possible, and made sure to eat whatever Brian deemed as healthy.

Toby also found that cluttered areas could also affect his Tourette's, something about the space being stressful.

Brian and Tim usually kept the house pretty clean, they just had a lot of trinkets about. So Toby just straightened those out, anything to lessen the spasming of his limbs.

And these adjustments helped, at least a little bit. But they helped and eased him of his stress a little.

Tim said that they needed lighter fluid, Tim told Toby to get it.

The only rational place to find it was, of course, at The Operator's house of hooligans — or known affectionately by the residents as "the manor."

Surely one of those manic freaks have some lighter fluid.

The manor itself was a gruesome looking building, surrounded by dense pine trees and bear traps hidden beneath leaf litter and decay. It was a massive thing, old, dingy, and gothic-esque. However big it seemed on the outside, the inside was nearly infinite, spanning however far The Operator wished depending on who was inside.

Every visit overwhelmed Toby, he never really visited the manor and almost never needed to. The sheer size of it was almost enough for him to never want to show his face around there, but the creatures that his boss keeps around are pretty frightening, too.

Toby knew he'd win in a fight against most of them, but they were still freaky as hell.

Toby found some lighter fluid almost immediately in what seemed to be a foyer. It had been used before, but it'll do. If Tim doesn't like it, then oh well.

He had what he came for, but he couldn't bring himself to start making the long trek back home. So, he decided to make himself at home on the lumpy sofa in the manors make-shift living room.

Even though Toby didn't live in the manor, he was still welcomed in the space — at least by The Operator. He still felt uncomfortable, though.

His neck jerked and a startled grunt slipped from his throat. Then his tongue clicks and his shoulders roll back — "Wow, wuh- wow, fire! Fire!" — his neck cracks once more.

His discomfort was now making his tics worse, how wonderful! This is just what he needed.

Needless to say, eating better and having a tidy space was barely making his condition any better. He'd have to dive deeper into solutions when he got home, or maybe he can browse through a library and steal a book or two.

Are they lame ideas, things that Toby has already done? Yep. Was he probably going to do it again anyway out of desperation? Yep.

Toby kicks his feet up onto the busted up coffee table, nudging a tacky romance novel to the side. Who on earth was reading something like that here? Odd. His foot snaps to the side and he can't help but click his tongue.

Jesus, he really was a joke.

“Wow, twitchy. Your shit's gettin’ pretty bad, huh?”

Toby's nose scrunched in disgust.

Toby was already having a rough day, he didn't deserve this torment.

Out of everyone who lived in this damned place, why did Toby have to deal with him?

The brunette's head turned slowly, his eyes squinting behind his goggles, huffing at the unwanted guest.

Jeff was a bit of a dick, teasing and poking fun at Toby whenever he saw the brunette — which wasn't very often, Toby admits, but it was still annoying as shit.

On most days they passed by each other, Toby had the strength to ignore the raven-haired man, or on scarcer days, Toby would allow himself to tease back when he was in the mood.

But today was neither of those days, and Toby was just not in the mood to deal with Jeff's stupidity. There were many things he hated about the other man, all of which he didn't necessarily want to think about right now.

But Toby had to maintain some sort of decent image, so he let out a hum of acknowledgement and didn't fight it when his head jerks away, playing it off as a purposeful movement.

Jeff unfortunately wasn't stupid and knew it was a tic.

He laughed loudly and leaned against the sofa, “Not talkin’ huh? You in a bad mood, Tobes?” The pale figure chuckled once more and plopped down on the other side of the couch.

Toby’s eyebrow twitched, if it was a result of a tic or his mood, he didn’t know. Frankly, he didn't care. Toby turns on the cushions and musters up all his annoyance and prays it shows on his face. "I- I ddd- don't owe you a sssstupid fuckin' conversation, jackass."

"I didn't even do nuthin' and yer already mad. Jeez," Jeff rolls his eyes, but his amusement is on full display when his mouth twitches up, "Take a chill pill, boy."

Toby’s shoulder jerks back, letting out a whistle as he stands up suddenly.

“Y- You always just… Just kn- know how to piss me off — fucking bitch — d- don’t-t you, Jeff- Jeffery?” The brunette grumbled, lifting the abandoned romance novel from the sad excuse of a coffee table.

Jeff’s gaze flickered down to the book, unfazed by the clear warning in Toby's posture.

It would be smart of him to stop picking fights, but he just loved riling people up, and Toby was always a fun one to antagonize.

"I didn't even say nothin', and yer already mad!" Jeff repeats, his horrific grin stretching across his face.

Jeff didn't say another word and raised his hands in mock surrender, but his smile was challenging. Urging Toby to do something about it.

Jeff cries out as pain shoots through his skull, taking hit after hit to the head by the fucking hardcover book in Toby's hands.

Jeff threw his arms up to defend his head, bracing for another hit that didn't come.

He stays stiff for a breath, then lowers his arms and lifts his head with caution, surprised to see that his attacker had already turned away — book discarded on the coffee table.

Jeff sat here dumbly, holding a hand over the top of his head where a bump would surely form—mulling over whether he should slice Toby's face open or hurl insults at him.

Toby was gone before Jeff could make up his mind.

Later that night, Toby made his way back home to the cabin. It was around ten miles away from where the manor is usually located, safe from rogue proxies or the possibility of Tim and Brian trespassing and being mauled to death.

Toby's boots were discarded by the door and his usual hoodie was haphazardly tossed onto the coffee table, he shreds any unnecessary article of clothing—leaving himself in only a t-shirt and jeans.

He fell back into the soft couch, his limbs sprawling out over the plush sofa with a weary sigh. If Toby could feel it, he was sure his muscles were screaming with relief right now, able to rest at last after hours of work.

The sofa was soft under his body, and with a grunt he kicks his legs up, allowing his feet to dangle off the arm rest.

He was grateful that The Operator wasn't concerned about himself and Kate living with Tim and Brian, this place was way more comfortable than that shitty manor—a lot less crowded, too. The furniture was nice, soft and plush, the old fellas complained about their backs often so they had to scout out some good mattresses and stuff.

Thank god he lives with men in their late thirties.

Whilst thinking about his housemates, Toby had noticed how noiseless the cabin was.

Toby knew that Kate was out hanging up pages, so she would be out for quite a while.

He had no clue where Brian and Tim were, and frankly he didn't care too much as long as they weren't dead. The most likely scenario is that they went out for supplies or groceries, nothing that Toby needs to worry about.

He shifts against the sofa and sighs as he absorbs the silence. It was tranquil, he didn't mind being alone. Being alone meant that there was less people watching him.

He hated when people let their gaze linger, observing the way his body moved without him telling it to. Silently judging the way he twitched and jolts, then offered him a pitying look. It unnerved him.

His friends don't judge him so harshly—only when it gets in the way of things or he stutters out something outlandish, they might give him an odd look or two. After a while, they got used to it.

They still stare, though. Toby was aware it came from a place of concern, but he still hated it. He was a grown man now, twenty years old, he didn't need people to gaze at him like that.

There was a thrumming behind his eyes, a slight pressure. It was what he knew to be a headache, although he couldn't feel the "ache" at all.

Tim was always complaining about headaches, he would scour the house for any pills that may help with soothing the pain. Toby was grateful. sometimes. Grateful that he couldn't feel pain, he'd hate to deal with something as insignificant as a headache.

Toby tucks his arms under his head and shuts his eyes, not bothering to deal with the pressure in his head. He just wanted to lounge about in silence, let his body melt into the cushions as he pondered what he needed to do before his next job. He'd have to clean his gear, that's for certain.

That comforting silence eventually made way for static. A low hum, a tell-tale sign that there was unwanted company.

Toby sat up and stretched his limbs, brushing his dark hair away from his eyes as the static grew louder. It was watching him, but what for? He sat up straighter, back pressed against the backrest of the couch, trying not to let the paranoia — another symptom of The Operator's proximity — eat away at him.

The curtains were pulled over the windows, not letting even a sliver of light inside. That made Toby feel a bit better. He was loyal to The Operator, but he hated being watched by It. Everyone did.

The static felt pretty distant anyway, which meant The Operator wasn't watching him, but lingering nearby. Maybe watching something else.

Toby bit at the tips of his fingers, what was the reason that The Operator was around, anyway? Was there truly something else loitering around his home?

Toby leans further back into the couch with a sigh, wiping his bloodied fingers onto his jeans, he didn't care about the stains it would leave, he has to do laundry later anyway.

He pushes himself off of the couch, trudging over to the kitchen, grabbing a towel and wipes at the blood staining his fingers. What a mess. Toby needs to ask one his roommates to help wrap his hands when they get home.

Then there were footsteps outside. Faint, dainty, cautious. Right out on the porch.

Toby's hands stilled unnaturally, straining his ears for any other sounds. They weren't The Operators, that was for sure. That freak can slither around and not make a single sound, and the static hadn't gotten any louder. This was a human, or some sort of threat. This must be why The Operator was nearby. Watching whatever was out there.

Toby dropped the bloody towel onto the counter, his twitching fingers slowly pulled open a drawer, trying to keep as quiet as he possibly could. His neck cracked to the side as he carefully lifts a steak knife, gripping the handing with white knuckles before turning towards the door.

There was movement out of the porch, whoever it was must have been scouting around, possibly trying to decipher if anyone was home. Toby tried to keep a steady grip on the blade, but his hands and arms shook and jerked. He really just wanted to stab himself with it, he was so sick of this fucking ticking.

He took a deep breath, attempting to calm his nerves. He couldn't kill himself here, it'd just leave a mess for his housemates to clean up and they might potentially be robbed. He had to take out whoever — or whatever — was outside. It wouldn't be fair if Toby died and let his housemates get robbed, not after everything they've done for him.

He stalks toward the door, trying not to think about how he wasn't used to handling knives—how his twitching might fuck this up. His free hand inches to the door handle, the noises outside come to abrupt halt, they must've heard him. Shit. Whatever, the sooner he gets this done, the sooner he can clean up and get as much sleep as he can.

He twists the handle and yanks open the door, swinging the blade haphazardly at whoever was outside. A hand outstretched towards him, fingers wrap around his wrist and pulled his arm off to the side.

Toby tries to pull away, but then his gaze actually settled on who the "danger" was.

Jeff Woods let out a loud laugh as his hand tightened around Toby's wrist, nudging the door further open with his foot and pushed the brunette back. "Jesus, twitchy. What's got you goin' haywire?"

Toby stumbles back, barely managing to keep himself upright.

You've got to be fucking kidding.

His eyes move down to Jeff's hands, in search of any possible weapon. Toby found that the other man did not have a weapon, just a wrinkled, brown paper bag. Toby's shoulders slump in relief, but the paper bag was unexpected. What the hell was in that thing?

“Relax, dumbass. It's just me." Jeff murmured slyly, and Toby could only frown doubtfully. He waited for some sort of trick, but Jeff just swings the bag back and forth, leisurely inviting himself into the cabin. He drops the bag onto the table and makes a vague gesture with his hand, Toby's eyebrow cocks up.

"Whuh- What i- i- iiis that?" Toby lowered the knife. "Ah- And what the he- hell are y- yyyyou doing here?

"O- O- Open it, dummy. What's the point of getting presents if someone else rips it open for ya, huh?" Jeff grinned, stepping away from the table and making another grand gesture towards it.

A present? Is that what this was?

Jeffery Woods, the guy who cut his own face open, "felt a feeling" and killed his bullies and parents… Brought him a gift?

It was stupid, really. Jeff Woods wasn't one to give gifts, the only 'gift' he gives anyone is eternal sleep. This might be some sort of trap, or maybe it was a rare show of kindness that never really exists among the proxies.

“What… Y-You just felt like b-b-being generous to-today? How- H- How re- d- dunnn… dant. Re- redundant.” Toby stuttered out, scoffing as he discards the blade onto the counter, clattering against the polished wood noisily.

Toby clicked his tongue and wondered if Jeff's presence was the reason why The Operator was lingering outside. The static was louder now, He was closer. Curious, maybe. The effects of The Operator's presence, "the sickness," didn't hurt Toby like it did with the others. Just made him a bit dizzy or gave him the occasional coughing fit. The Operator was kind enough to not draw in too close to the young man.

"Nope, no. Not redundant at all, I'm bein' thoughtful for once, Tobias!"

Toby's gaze hardens.

Jeff scoffs and blinks hard as he tried fight off whatever the sickness was doing to him, “C’mon, Tobes. I spent my own money on this for you, out of the kindness of my good ol’ heart.” Jeff drawled, waving to the paper bag with a grand gesture. Toby could only sigh as he approached the table and grabbed the bag. "You wouldn't wanna turn down this once in a lifetime opportunity, would'ja?"

Toby sighs, clicking his tongue once. "Guh- G- Guess not…"

"Atta boy! Open yer gift." Jeff claps him on the shoulder with his wide, unnatural grin.

Toby gave a reluctant huff and stepped forward, his jittery fingers carefully peeling open the bag. The possibility of this being a trap of sorts suddenly popped into his head, but what's the worst that could happen? It's not like he could feel pain.

The paper crinkled in his hands, opening the bag with very little care. His eyes narrowed at the contents and, with a scoff, stuck his hand inside. He pulled out what he assumed was two weed pens, and a bag of gummies.

The brunette slowly looked up at Jeff, arching an eyebrow. “Are- are you f- f- fuck.. stupid bitch- fucking serious?”

“O’course, I picked all this up just this mornin', ain't that nice of me?"

"Dude, I- I don't smoke, I'll… ch- choke on that shhh- shhit."

Jeff reaches over and snags the bag of gummies out of Toby's hand, waving it around in his face. "You don't gotta smoke, fuckin' idiot. That's why I got ya these."

Toby grunts, reaching up and snatching the bag back. "You're- You're trrrying t- to get me high?"

"It's for yer ticking, dumbass. It'll help ya."

Toby groans, "Why are y- you doing th- thhhis?"

Jeff takes a pen from Toby's palm, taking a small drag of it. "What, can't be nice now?"

"Y- You don- don't do nice."

"Woooow, what a Debbie Downer, you are." Jeff huffed out a laugh, "Yeah, yer right. Went outta my way 'cause the big fella likes you more than the rest of us. So if you fuck up 'cause of yer twitchin', the rest of us will get punished instead."

Toby knew that The Operator preferred him and Kate, because they yield to Him, while the others usually put up a bit of a fight. But Jeff had to be exaggerating, the entity has punished Toby before, used different methods on him because It knew he couldn't feel pain.

"What a luh- lame ex- x- cuse."

"Think whatever you want, Tobes. I ain't nice, you said it yerself."

Toby sighs, his gaze flicking down at the bag in his palm.

He didn't like Jeff, but this was a rare act of kindness he'd probably never get from him again.

He was going to take advantage of it.

He does briefly wonder if the edibles are poisoned, but Jeff doesn't seem like the type to know know how to do stuff like that. Plus, no one really likes him, so he doubts he would have gained any assistance to poison a few gummies.

After thinking the situation over in his head, and reminding himself that The Operator wouldn't let him die, he ripped open the bag and ate a single gummy. He didn’t know how many grams of weed were in these things, so it was better to stay cautious. He left the second pen at Tim's spot at the table. He'd find some use for it.

Toby chews at his lip and turns away, “L-Let’s go sit… sit down.”

Toby and Jeff were sprawled over Toby’s bed. When did they get here? Toby has no idea, he has hardly any memory of it.

The high hit him hard. He was fine one moment, then two seconds later, it was like world around him was moving five frames per second. It was really freaking him out, but he was tryin' his best not to show it—especially in front of Jeff.

To his left, he could faintly hear the man in question rambling on about a job. Toby’s mind was too scrambled to be able to pay attention to the details, but Jeff didn't seem to care. He just kept on talking.

He let his head loll towards Jeff, his vision was bleary as he tried to take in his surroundings, trying to make some sort of sense of the situation. Everything was too fast, Toby was moving too slow, he couldn't tell whether he hated this sensation or not. He was freaked out.

Jeff was off in his own world, or maybe he just didn't care. His mouth was moving, talking, and his gaze was trained on the ceiling as he rambled about God knows what.

Killing people, he supposes. Jeff likes killing people.

He wondered if maybe this was some elaborate scheme to Jeff. Get Toby high, and then put him to sleep forever. Maybe he'd be standing over Toby in a few minutes, saying that stupid catchphrase—"Go to sleep"—before putting Toby out of his misery.

The brunette brought his fingers to his lips, chewing again. No, Jeff wouldn't do that. He didn't know him well — Toby admits — but Jeff wouldn't do that. Jeff likes to strike fear into his victims, likes when they know that they're gonna die. Toby doubts he'd give Jeff the reaction he usually strives for, while he's high like this.

Jeff’s rant slowed to a stop and his gaze shifts to Toby, and grinned at the brunette’s intense gaze. He reaches out and pulls Toby's hand away from his mouth, humming curiously.

"Yer hands are so fucked up, wouldn't be surprised if you bit down to yer bones."

Toby pulled his hand back, "I- I wouldn't be, either. Chewed through my freakin' fuh- f- face."

"Heh, yer right, there. Ya always got that thing covered up, almost forgot."

Jeff took another hit off of his pen, and Toby watched with a lazy curiosity. Has Jeff always smoked? His movements seemed practiced, inhaling the smoke effortlessly and he hasn't coughed once—he also doesn’t seem to be as affected by the weed as much as Toby was. It would make sense that Jeff would have a higher tolerance if he smoked a lot, right?

It was probably similar to alcohol—building up a tolerance, and all that. Toby couldn't know for sure though, sure he drank on occasion, but he had never been high before he wasn't one to smoke or get high.

Jeff laughed again. Seriously, why was this dude always laughing? “Yeah, I’ve been smokin’ dope for a while now. S’that obvious?”

Toby scrunched his nose, slowly realizing that Jeff was talking to him now. No, he was responding. He was responding because Toby was talking out loud like a fucking idiot. Jesus, how humiliating. The brunette looks away, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

Jeff quickly follows, his uncanny grin stretching across his face. “I’m shocked you’re even conscious right now, twitchy. You weren’t talkin’ for a long while and barely moved an inch! Was so sure that you got tuckered out”

“No, I- I’m awake…” Toby argued, pushing himself up further. The brunette peered over to Jeff, who was also watching him with an amused expression and taking the occasional hit off his pen. Toby watched as Jeff inhaled the smoke, held it in his lungs, and exhaled. The smoke swimming in the air was mesmerizing. Toby let out a small hum.

"You got any food, man? I’m starvin’ and haven’t eaten in a while.” Jeff nudged his shoulder and gestured to Toby’s door.

"Muh- Mayb- Maybe… Don't really remember the last tuh- time we got groceries." Toby says, watching as the other maneuvered off the mattress.

Toby assumed that Jeff would just go off on his own and leave him here, but Jeff pulled Toby up by his bicep and tugged him along. Toby didn't protest, following along sluggishly.

The static of The Operator was long gone by now, It likely realizing that Jeff wasn't intending on hurting Toby and dipped. The young men weren't quite sober enough to notice it's disappearance.

Toby was half slumped against the counter, only half listening as the ravenette yapped his ear off in his search of food. Maybe it was the edible, but Toby didn't really mind Jeff's yammering, it didn't bother him like it usually would.

To be fair, he wasn't really paying all that much attention, either. He was making an effort to get a hold of himself, he was defiantly getting a bit too comfortable.

Toby watched Jeff, blinking hard in a weak attempt to be rid of the haziness. While observing, he was noticing things about Jeff that he hadn’t paid attention to before.

Pink blemishes littered Jeff's knuckles and fingers. Some small, likely nicking himself with blades, or targets fighting against him. Others were bigger, they looked like they had been caused by huge blisters. Maybe from the fire he's heard a bit about.

His finger nails were coated with black paint, chipping near the edges and cuticles. Toby assumed they may have been painted by Nina — one of the few people who actually like Jeff — as she painted her nails similarly.

Toby’s gaze traveled up to Jeff’s face, which was scarred to hell and back. His mouth was carved open into a horrific smile, which stretched up to his cheeks. There were scars which also seemed to be a result of the fire, mostly on the right side of his face. For a moment, Toby was grateful that the scars weren't any uglier or horrific, otherwise he likely would've avoided looking at Jeff at all.

That was a mean thought. Toby gave a small shake of his head, letting his eyes trail higher.

He noticed Jeff's eyes. They were the brightest blue eyes that Toby had ever seen in, and he was sure that they would almost be scary looking if Jeff were standing in direct sunlight. When Jeff looks at him, Toby bit his cheek and looks down to see what Jeff was fiddling with.

It was canned tomato soup. Toby struggled with eating soup because of the hole he had bitten through his face, so how the hell was Jeff going to eat that?

“Huh, you’re really out of it, Tobes. You keep zonin' out." Jeff laughed, pulling back the lid on the can, dumping the contents into a bowl and sets the empty can into the sink. "How many fingers am I holdin’ up?”

Toby narrowed his eyes as he inspects Jeff's hand. At first, he counted four. Then two, then five, then three. Toby huffs and straightened his back, "Y- You're cheating, duh- dimwit." He grumbles, "You're ch- chhhanging them."

“Wow, ha-ha! I'm surprised ya noticed.” Jeff shifts the bowl to one hand, then used the other to clap Toby on the shoulder. "I was just testin' ya, see how far gone ya were."

Toby grunts and shrugs Jeff's hand off, "I- I'm not stupid."

He hopes that Jeff doesn't spot the small grin on his face.

"Never said ya were, ya bastard! I was just seein' how you were doin', that's all." Jeff brought the bowl to his lips and gulped it down.

Toby's head bows down a bit, his teeth tugging uselessly at his lips as he thought carefully about what Jeff said. It almost, almost, seemed like Jeff cared. Just the idea of that possibility made Toby feel… odd.

He didn't have time to think about slamming his head on to the counter, because Jeff was tugging at his arm again and leading him over to the couch, ranting on about how stupid it was that they didn't own a microwave.

Toby was quiet while he reluctantly sat at the couch, watching as Jeff ate spoonful after spoonful of soup and spoke between bites — or was sips? — whatever. His head lolled back against the backrest of the couch, staring up at the ceiling while he caught bits and pieces of whatever Jeff was talking about.

The young men eventually retreat back to the Toby's room after Jeff loudly declared he was done eating. Jeff somehow convinces Toby to let him bring a family sized bag of chips back to his room, Toby didn't have the energy to keep arguing with him.

Now they lay on the floor, potato chip crumbs scattered on the floor between them. the black haired man rambling on about things that Toby's brain couldn’t fully process. Jeff sure did talk a lot when he was high.

There were times where Toby would get lost in his own head, freak out a little whenever his response was too slow or he wasn't completely processing things. There were brief moments where he would think that yes, he was dying, Jeff poisoned him or put too much weed into the gummies, and now he was dying.

But then Jeff would lightly smack his shoulder, snapping him out of it whilst he continued to rave on about stupid things.

Toby would quickly forget about his anxieties, trying to focus on what Jeff was saying.

“Wh- What are you talkin’ about…?” Toby mumbled, hoping that maybe engaging in conversation would ground him better.

“Hm? Oh, I dunno man, I can’t remember, neither. M’just talkin’.” Jeff chuckles. Toby felt a bit better that Jeff didn't have the best memory right now, either.

Then their gazes met, and Toby swallowed.

“I just… I don’t know what you’re saying.” Toby murmured dumbly.

Jeff's grin seems to grow, and the brunette couldn’t figure out what was so amusing.

He probably said something weird again, something that didn't make sense. Maybe his words were all jumbled, said something outlandish. He didn't really know, but Toby was praying it wasn't anything too embarrassing.

And then Jeff laughs.

Jeez, he wants to crawl into a hole and die.

“You’re really outta it, huh, twitchy? You’re just starin’ off and repeatin' yourself over an' over.” Jeff said, and Toby noticed that his voice was lower. "Ya doin' alright, Tobes? Too much weed for ya?"

“N- No, I just… Dunno, ‘m out of it.” Toby mumbled, "'M fine, though…"

He could tell he was acting ridiculous, it was almost all he could think about, how out of character his words and demeanor must be. He had never gotten this comfortable around Jeff, why would he let his guard down in front of someone he didn't like? It was a stupid mistake. He briefly wondered what Brian or Tim were to think if they walked in right now. They’d probably have a fucking field day. All of this was a stupid mistake.

“Yeah, ya do seem outta it. Ya only had one, right?"

"Um, yeah…"

"Atta boy, that was smart of ya.” Jeff teased, lifting his hand to give the brunette a light tap to the forehead with his knuckles.

Toby huffed, shoving Jeff's hand away with a small grin, his nerves calming just a bit. "Y- Yeah, good thing."

Jeff hums and lets his hand fall back to the side, quiet now. After a few moments of Jeff being unnaturally quiet, Toby got nervous and his eyebrows pinched together. "What?"

"You ain't stutterin' so much." Jeff said, his gaze was intense,but he was just observing.

Toby loosens up a little, relieved that Jeff's silence wasn't anything negative. In fact, he felt a little surprised that Jeff had noticed something as trivial as the way he stuttered, or lack thereof.

Toby smiles, "I didn't ev- even realize. That's kinda cool. That, uh, weed can do that."

"And yer not tickin' much, neither. Yer so still, it's weirdin' me out a bit." Jeff added, but his eyes crinkled in a way that shows it was meant to be lighthearted. "Glad to see the weed is doin' it's job."

The brunette didn't really know what to say, it felt a little odd to know that the infamous Jeff the Killer was watching him so carefully, observing the way his body moved. He should've hated it, the watching—but he couldn't bring himself to be bothered by it.

He had never liked being monitored like that for as long as he could remember, it always made him antsy. He felt like a microscopic being, being observed under a microscope, or maybe an exotic animal in a zoo. Maybe it was just the weed that made him more lenient towards things like that, but he couldn't help but wonder if it was because it was Jeff who was watching him.

"You ever been high before?" Jeff's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, no. I- I haven't." Toby said, blinking hard. "Tried to sm- smoke weed with Brian once, thought it'd help my tics. Help me relax.. 'M not good so good at smoking."

"Ha! Did'ja choke on it?"

"Yeah, wuh- was coughing so hard I nearly passed out. Sc- scared Tim half to death."

"Judas freakin' Priest! That's awesome," Jeff chuckles, "I thought yer Timmy-boy didn't want you smokin'? He change his mind?"

“It was a last-ditch effort for my tics, guh- guess they didn't think about edibles…” Toby said.

“Heh, must mean I'm smarter than 'em.”

"Dude… N- No way, jus' because you got more knowledge on weed does not make you smarter than them." Toby shook his head, "They went to college, dude."

"Definitely makes me smarter, ya bastard. I had a great idea that they didn't think of, and it actually helped ya!" Jeff nudged him. "I doubt they chose a smarty-pants major, neither. Timmy prolly picked somethin' stupid."

"You're stupid." Toby giggled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

They were both quiet for a moment, but neither seemed to mind it.

“Hmm. I never got a ‘thank you,’ neither. After I took time outta my day to buy those for you like the sweet angel I am. Shucks.” Jeff sighs, feigning sadness.

“Thanks Jeh- Jeffrey.”

Jeff let out a scoff, his eyebrows raising high onto his forehead. Clearly, he hadn’t expected Toby to actually thank him.

To be fair, the brunette was high. Sober, mean Toby, would have told Jeff to fuck off. Now, he was nicer, high-out-of-his-mind Toby;

Jeff hums, “I also didn’t get a sorry for when ya hit me earlier.”

“I hit you? When?”

“Almost whenever I see ya. But specifically earlier, at the manor. Ya hit me in the head with a book.” Jeff laughs, “Bet you weren’t even readin’ it.”

“Suh- sorry, I guess.”

“Heh. Yer bein’ awfully nice, twitchy.”

“Fuck off…”

“Welp, nevermind. I take it back, yer back to bein' mean.”

Toby lets out a grunt and rolls onto his back, laying a sluggish arm over his eyes, effectively blocking out the light. Jeff took this opportunity to take another hit off of his pen. They were both quiet for a while, just laying in silence. These pauses seemed to be quite frequent with them, but it was kind of nice. They weren't bickering or fighting like they did on most occasions, just enjoying the silence together.

Toby pulled his arm away from his eyes and turned his head towards the other man, his eyebrows knit together when he noticed Jeff was already looking at him.

"Wh- What?"

"Heh, what d'you mean 'what'?"

"You're just… lookin' at me kinda f- fuh… Jesus. Funny."

Jeff laughed. "Am I not allowed to? That ain't fair, you were starin' at me earlier in the fuckin' kitchen, been doin' it the whole time."

Toby's face twisted with embarrassment, and rolled onto his side to face Jeff. "D- Didn't mean to." He argued.

"You're high outta yer mind, starin' off is expected. I was just teasin' you." Jeff let out a huff that vaguely resembled amusement. Then he sat up on his elbows, looking over Toby with a cheeky grin. "Ya sure you're alright? Don't gotta lie to me, twitchy."

Toby's gaze followed Jeff as he moved, pondering the question as he bit his lip. He wasn't ticking as often as he usually does and his stutter isn't so bad, either. The weed was effectively handling the issue he's been struggling with for so long. It was a nice break.

"Yeah, 'm fine. Honest." Toby grumbled, and he wasn't lying. When he wasn't focused on how little control he had, he didn't mind being high so much. He liked it, even.

Sure, maybe he was occasionally making a fool out of himself, but he felt lighter. He wasn't stressing over a job, or cleaning, or getting into fights, he was just laying there. For the first time in a while, he felt at ease.

"Good, good…" Jeff drawled, his head tilting back to look up at the ceiling

Toby nods along and rolls onto his back, joining Jeff in watching the ceiling in utter silence.

Something in his chest a little when he recognized that Jeff wasn't only teasing him back at the manor, but watching. He had to of realized how bad Toby's tics were, how much he hated dealing with his body twitching on it's own, he payed attention to how it was affecting him emotionally too.

Toby brought his knuckles up to his teeth, biting away at the scabs that already made themselves at home there. "Thuh- Thank you." He mumbled against his hand.

Jeff's eyebrows shot up, his head cocking towards the brunette. "Huh?"

"Uh, thank you. For comin' over 'nd bringing s- st- stuff." Toby's head turns to Jeff, "I- I really appr- appreciate- ate it…"

For a moment, everything around was still, quiet. Another one of those pauses, but it felt different. Jeff seemed at a loss of words and Toby found it amusing, since Jeff was usually the one to have a response to every little thing.

Jeff swallowed, "Yeah, o'course. Don't mention it, twitchy." He waves a dismissive hand.

"I- I muh- mean it," Toby pushed himself up, leaning back on his elbows. "I ha- hate my tics. They fuck everything up, I- I cant even go one juh- j- job without fucking… twitching. I mess things up all the time, bec- buh- b- because- my body hates m- me, too. The weed was h- helpful, and I'm… I'm sorry for being mean, earlier. You've been kinda nice."

Jeff shook his head, "Nah, I ain't nice. Jeff 'the Killer' ain't nowhere near nice."

"Yeah, he is. He got me edibles even though I hit him with a book."

Jeff reflects for a second, then laughs. "You ain't too bad either, twitchy."

"I- I'm not twitching."

"Not now, but ya do. It's yer thing, Tobes."

Toby grunts and looks back up to the ceiling, his lips twitching into something that was nearly a pout. Jeff watches him with a huff.

"Don't tell me yer butt hurt about it."

"Shut up…"

Jeff's eyebrow twitched but didn't make another comment for a while. Toby found himself relaxing just a bit in the silence, chewing at his already cracked lips. Jeff folds his arms under his head, his head tilting ever so slightly in the brunettes direction.

"Yer gonna have'ta learn to live with it," Jeff said carefully.

Toby scoffs, "You think I'm not tuh- trying to? I have sp- spent my whole life trying to accept-t it."

Jeff rolls his eyes. "But you ain't doin' a good job, dumbass. You doin' everything you can to make 'em stop. That ain't accepting shit."

Toby soaked it in then let out a small hum. "How? Huh- How do I do that?"

"First, ya gotta have patience," Jeff crossed his legs, "Yer never, ever, ever, gonna accept somethin' like that in a week. Hell, it'll take years."

"Wuh- Wow, great advice." Toby murmurs dryly.

"Shut it, you ass. I'm tryna be nice, yeah?" Jeff smacks the back of his hand against Toby's chest. "Anyway, it's a part'a ya, so you gotta live with it. Work with it, not against it."

"Oh- Okay…" Toby turns onto his side, watching Jeff as he spoke.

"Yer known as 'Ticci Toby,' heard Clockwork talkin' bout it. Ol' bullies call ya that?" Jeff raised an eyebrow.

"Dude, I- I don't fuckin know."

"Shut yer mouth, man." Jeff snapped. Jesus, Toby couldn't even get a word out. Jeff crosses his arms and looks up at the wooden ceiling. "Listen, ya wouldn't be 'Ticci Toby' without 'em. Your tics, I mean. Ya wouldn't be the person ya are now without 'em."

A crease settles between the brunette's eyebrows, shifting to get comfortable on the floor. "Huh,"

"Yep. Plus, people know of 'Ticci Toby' there scared of ya, it's not used to make fun of ya anymore."

"…You're being odd."

"I'm tryna be nice, dimwit!"

"Well, st- stop it, it's freaking me out!"

——

“I don’t understand why you got so much of this, Toby doesn’t even drink it that much.” Brian said, nudging the front door open and hauling in a case of beer. Tim and Brian have sworn off drinking, but Toby dabbled in it every now and then.

Tim followed his partner inside, carrying bags stuffed full of groceries and supplies.“The kid asked for ‘em, he’s been having a rough time.” Tim said with a huff, setting the bags down on the counter.

The man began unloading the groceries and paused, looking over his shoulder to Brian. "Where is the kid? He is here, right?

Brian looks up, "Yeah, pretty sure. Tobes would've— or should've — told us if he went out, or if he was helpin' Kate out on her job."

"He's probably in his room," Tim sighs, "I'm not unloadin' all of this myself, lil' bastard can help."

Brian nods in acknowledgement, his gaze flickering down at the table. A crease formed between his eyes as he reaches out, picking up an abandoned weed pen.

Nobody here used weed pens. Brian and Tim both roll their own blunts, Tim smokes cigarettes, and Toby and Kate don't smoke.

Who's was this?

Brian twists towards Tim, holding up the pen. "This yours?" He knew it wasn't.

“No.” Tim replied, his voice tight. He leaves the bags behind on the counter and moves past Brian and towards the hallway. “I'm checkin' on Toby.”

Brian immediately follows after Tim, both swiftly moving down the dark hallway — the lights stopped working years ago —and both stood stiffly outside of Toby's door.

They share a wary glance, both prepared to see something they won't like, or mentally preparing to go on a manhunt.

No one in this cabin uses a pen like that, so someone else must have been here, or still is.

Tim finally brings his hand up to knock on the door. "Tobias, you in there?."

Silence.

Tim let out an impatient sigh and knocked again. "Open the door."

More silence.

Tim clenched his jaw, huffing through his nose as his fingers grabbed the door handle and twists it open.

The sight made Tim frown in disappointment.

Jeff "the Killer" — who Toby allegedly hates — was sprawled out on the floor. His arm on the right was thrown over his head, the other rests over his stomach. The surprising part wasn't that he seemed to have made himself comfortable, because Jeff can get comfortable just about anywhere. No, the surprising part was that he was asleep. Brian and Tim couldn't see his eyes, but he was clearly snoring.

Toby was laying next to him, but on his side and facing the other. They weren't touching, but both clearly seemed comfortable enough to pass out next to each other.

Toby was snoring as well.

Brian covered his mouth with his hand, his shoulders shaking from the effort of trying not to laugh.

Tim wasn't amused in the slightest, his eyebrow twitched as he carefully processed the situation. He slowly shuts the door witha gentleness that took a lot of effort, then let out a heavy sigh.

Brian was almost teary eyed, biting back a grin as he nudged Tim's shoulder. "You alright?"

and shook his head. "Im gonna need'ta give that dumbass a very long talk."

Brian bit back a grin, clearing his throat. "Which one?"

"Both of 'em."