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“Boy, you should've seen the look on their faces,”
Perched on Jason's back, Jeff had been rambling for at least an hour. He snickered and pretended to scream in agony. He fake-gagged himself and wiggled. To which, as expected, received almost no response from the man who carried him – aside from a heavy breath, but Jeff could never tell if he meant anything by those. Sometimes they just sounded like breathing, and sometimes they sounded almost laugh-like. But, most of the time, they sounded like just enough of both to keep Jeff wondering. Jeff continued after a cackle.
“They were a riot! Hootin’ n’ a'hollerin’ like a buncha pigs. How much grub we got anyway? I'm starved.”
Jeff tried to peer over Jason's shoulder into the duffle bag they'd snatched. The way it slung over Jason's shoulder made it seem fairly heavy. Though, Jeff could not see inside the zipped top. He poked the top of Jason's head.
“Jason, I'm skin and bones here.”
To which he received a firm grunt. He knew what that meant – he'd have to just let Jason take him wherever they were going without any more fuss. Jeff huffed and slammed his chin against Jason's shoulder in an act of protest. His undead caretaker seemed to not care. Jeff put his face against the shoulder to further showcase his brooding. He mumbled about how he wished his leg wasn't slashed open so he could run up ahead.
Jason glanced at him and saw nothing but a mop of patchy black hair. Normally, the sight of teenage angst and rebellion drove Jason to frustration. But, he'd grown quite fond of this scrappy little thing despite himself. Maybe it was the wild rambles of murdered bullies he muttered when Jason first found him. Or maybe it was a glimpse of himself in Jeff's core. Whatever it was, Jason felt connected to this odd boy.
He stopped abruptly. Somewhere dark and surrounded by trees. Jason looked down at Jeff again – who had been sulking so hard he didn't realize they'd paused. He nudged the hard plastic of his mask against Jeff's head.
The teen looked up at him through his bangs. Lips pulled in the closest thing to a frown he could muster. Jason turned his head to face front and Jeff did the same. They stood in front of a cave. A deep, impossibly dark opening in the side of a small mountain. Jeff perked up and Jason had to fight to keep him from dropping off his shoulders.
“Oh yeah! We've found camp! C'mon- c'mon, Jason, I'm seriously gonna puke if I don't eat somethin’”
Jason cocked his head. He looked up at Jeff, who shrugged.
“Don't ask me how throwin’ up on an empty stomach works, I ain't no designer of the human race.”
With a gruff noise, Jason carried Jeff inside the cave. A shelf of rock jutted out conveniently enough to set him down on. Jeff scrambled to try to pull the duffle bag off Jason's shoulder. Jason held it firm. He shook the teen off of it like he was a kitten climbing his leg for dinner. The whine that escaped Jeff fell on deaf ears as Jason picked him up and plopped him back down on the shelf.
Cold hands jerked Jeff's injured leg up. The duffle bag fell to the ground just out of reach. In Jeff's frustrated and hungered state, he would've sworn the thing was singing songs to him like a siren. It certainly made his mind swear like a sailor, but he'd learned not to swear much in front of his caretaker ages ago. To avoid the heartache of a grumbling stomach, Jeff looked down at Jason. Who had begun to roll up his ripped pants leg to inspect the large gash down the side of his calf.
“It's gonna make a sick scar, ain't it?”
Jason stayed quiet. Too quiet. His incessant breathing even stilled. Jeff's shoulders slumped. Suddenly, he felt much less jovial. Something about this kind of silence – it unnerved him. It felt like a wind up to a blow.
“Jason, you ain't mad at me, are you?”
He fidgeted with his hoodie strings. Jason still silently looked over the damage. Panic spiked in Jeff's chest and the boy pulled the neck of his hoodie taught.
“Look, I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't've jumped the big ‘un without you. He was just right in front of the window and-”
Jeff winced at the sound of fabric ripping. Jason tore one of the sleeves off his jacket. He tied it tight around Jeff's injured leg with a grumble. The teen's eyes darted aside – good grumble or bad grumble? He couldn't tell.
Once the makeshift wrappings sat snugly around the gash, Jason got back on his feet. He grabbed the dufflebag. Then jerked the zipper open to reveal a small pantry's worth of food. He plopped the spoils next to the teen; who, despite his hunger, had grown a bit too anxious to leap on the opportunity. Jeff watched Jason lumber to sit down on a rock away from the shelf. The other slipped his machete from its sheath.
As Jeff kept his eyes focused on Jason, he crawled over the duffle bag. He sat with it in front of him so he could watch the other while he dug through it. His brow furrowed with a twinge of confusion as Jason dug in his jacket pockets. It lifted with a sense of glee when his caretaker pulled out a kitchen sharpening stone.
“Woah! You snagged that? I didn't even see you grab it, but that's gonna be real helpful. No offense, but your machete been real…”
Jeff paused when Jason slowly turned his head. He laughed nervously and raised his hands.
“I- I mean, my knives have been real dull lately. Yeah, that's what I meant.”
Jason cocked his head again. He lifted the stone to show to Jeff. Then set it down to lift his machete. Which he pressed into the back of his hand. The rusty blade barely sunk in at all – it also needed to be sharpened. He'd meant nothing by the look. Jeff snickered more authentically and shook his head. He dug through the bag and pulled out a can of made to eat raviolis. The bag ruffled as he flapped his hand about in search of something else.
“Did we snag any silverware?”
Jeff looked up at Jason; half expecting him to miraculously produce an entire drawer from that pocket of his. Jason shook his head.
“Dang man, we gotta remember to do that next time. I can't eat everything with my hands, y'know. Y'know how not scary it would be if… say, I was grabbin’ some dude's face to keep him from hollerin’ for help and all he can smell is like twinkies n’ stuff? I'd drop him to the ground after stabbin’ him and he'd just be like ‘you fata- butt’”
He popped the can of food open and pretended it was the most interesting thing in the world. Jeff coughed.
“Fat butt, he'd say, fat butt.”
Surprisingly, two quick huffs of air left Jason's nostrils. That had to be a laugh – at least Jeff chose to believe it was. He snickered as he slipped his hunting knife from a makeshift sheath. The blade sunk into the artificially red tomato sauce in his can, and he drew a ravioli into his mouth. Jeff then used it to point at Jason in an accusatory way.
“You think I'm funny, huh?”
Machete blade screeched against the sharpening stone. Jason stayed turned away from the teen. Jeff nodded as if he knew exactly what Jason was thinking – the end of the knife swirling circles in the air.
“Yeah, you think I'm real funny.”
Jeff stabbed another ravioli. He swallowed then caught a glimpse of his blade. The sauce covering it looked cartoonishly red, but it also looked like a younger folks' idea of blood – a rumble built in the back of Jeff's head. His free hand rubbed the back of his scarred scalp. Though, he knew the soothing gesture was in vain. It had always been in vain. His mind always began to crave violence, no matter how recently he had committed it. He used to be able to ease it by punching walls – he'd broken a finger once doing so – or any other number of self hurting acts. But, since the first person he killed, it no longer worked. The rumble would grow louder until his blade took another life. His hand choked the handle of his knife. Jeff jabbed the next ravioli rougher than the last.
Jason turned his head. He made a rumble in his throat. Jeff's eyes jumped up to him.
“What?”
The revenant rumbled again. Jeff's brow furrowed. He looked at himself. Maybe Jason had noticed another wound. His head whipped behind him. Nothing was behind him either. The hand rubbing his scalp gripped his misshapen head tougher. His ears had begun to hurt with how loud the rumble had grown. Jeff pieced it together.
“Oh nah, nah, I'm fine, dad, just… gettin’ an itch.”
Jason's posture straightened up. He stared at the oblivious boy and watched as he stabbed another unsuspecting ravioli. When Jeff refused to look back up, Jason stood and lurched in front of him. Silence brewed between them as Jeff quickly tried to stop struggling with his food. His lips and teeth moved wildly to get it in his mouth; and he swallowed so fast that he nearly choked.
“What? You're makin’ me play so many guessin’ games tonight, god- gosh darnit.”
His caretaker tilted his head at him. Jeff squinted. Jason's undead eyes had always been matte. No light ever reflected off the surface, but Jeff swore he saw a twinkle in the corner of his good one.
“Whatchu staring at me for? Was it somethin’ I said?”
When Jason nodded, Jeff started to rewind through his words. He tapped his chin, his brow furrowed further. A frustrated huff escaped him. After a minute of mumbled words to himself, it dawned on him. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Jeff felt a heat in his cheeks that burned only a fraction cooler than the one he set on his old home. He buried his face in his hands and groaned.
“I ain't- You didn't- Would you stop lookin’ at me like that?”
The hood of his jacket soon covered his eyes. Jeff tugged on it to hide the pink hue on his pale face. Jason remained fixed in place. Hidden in shadow, Jeff peeked up at him.
“I ain't no softie.”
Jason remained unmoving. He towered over Jeff, who continued trying to hide himself. But, after an incredibly long stalemate, Jeff leaned forward. His hood-covered head against Jason's stomach. The rumble continued, but muffled. Unsettled by the quieted noise, Jeff nearly backed away. Jason put one of his large hands on the top of his head. Jeff paused. He stayed against his stomach.
As Jason ran a shaky thumb over Jeff's scarred scalp – the rumble in his own skull dimmed a fraction as well.