Author's Note
Word Count: 2708
Trigger Warnings: Symptoms of ED, self-harm (biting fingers)

Question: trying to see how this looks with a new format, do you prefer this line placement (center), or the previous one (left)?

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"Toby, let's go!" 

Toby opened his eyes, a bright streak of sunlight positioned directly into his eyes, and he immediately shut them again. A low growl rumbled from his throat and he shifted his body to face the backrest of the couch. The man who stood near him was fully prepared for this response. After all, the guy was rarely a morning person. Toby felt arms slide beneath his frame and hoisted him off of the couch with little strain.

Toby's eyes snapped open and his limbs went flailing. He was tossed over Tim's shoulder like a sack of potatoes and he had never felt more embarrassed about it. He grasped onto his tan jacket and pulled at it, desperately trying to find a way back to the floor. "Timothy, put me down, fuck-face!" The low chuckle that met his demands made him freeze, and his hands suddenly felt clammy. Tim always did have a really nice laugh.. wait, what the fuck, fight for your life, Tobias! After he recovered from that unjustified attack, Toby went right back to thrashing around in his arms.

"You know, this might be both the most efficient and counterproductive way to get him up. He's awake, sure, but he's about to tire himself back out." Brian's voice made Toby pause and he peered over his shoulder to see him walk through the living room and disappear into the kitchen. "If either of you are interested," his voice floated back towards them. "I prepared breakfast for the road. Hash browns, scrambled eggs, sausage.. I even picked up some protein shakes during our last supply run for anyone who doesn't want to eat." Toby felt that one was directed towards him so, dignified, he retorted. "I'll eat."

He was placed back on the floor to opt for a container of food. Go figure. Tim has the appetite of a beast.. Toby wondered how aggravating that must be when food supplies were low. He followed after him absentmindedly. His eyes were fixed on the floor and his hands in his pockets. He almost didn't have to ask what they were doing up so early. "Long distance mission?" He inquired. Brian met him with a nod as he prepared a container of breakfast. There were only two containers.

Toby watched as Tim was handed one, then himself, then as Brian served himself on a plate. "Wait wait," he furrowed his eyebrows, trying to put two and two together in his sleepy brain. "Are you not coming with us?"

Brian peered over at him. Toby noticed a slight look of indifference. "Nope. It wants me to stay behind and guard our supplies after what happened last time. I'm guessing It doesn't really feel like having to revive one of us again." Toby cringed. He glanced over at Tim and watched the way he stared down at the food in his container, clearly ready to inhale it when given the chance. Aside from his wake up call consisting of being tossed around like a little ragdoll, Tim didn't seem to be paying much attention to him.

After last night, who could blame him? Toby could still feel the soft plop of Tim's tears falling against his skin and intermingling with the blood of his busted eyebrow.

"How far, exactly?" He piped up to Brian hopefully.

"200 miles East."

"Oh, that's not terrible. Just about.. 3 hours?"

Brian shrugged. He shoved a fork-full of hashbrowns into his mouth. "Depends on how slow he drives. Go get ready."

Toby was soon sitting in the passenger seat of a busted, old truck. Tim sat in the driver seat, patiently turning the key over and over again until the ignition would finally start. The repetitive clicking noise of the failing engine both relaxed and irritated him. He leaned down to place the container of food on the floor near his boots. In his pocket, his fingers brushed the wet, smooth surface of a protein shake. He had grabbed it when he had gone back inside to retrieve his hatchets.

Tim scolded him for forgetting possibly the most important items for a mission. However, Toby was more distracted by his own guilt to give a shit about anything Tim was saying. The ambiguity of The Operator's missions were something Toby had grown used to. Should there be too many specifics attached then Toby felt it was appropriate to worry. Oftentimes, the missions came to them in the form of an oddly placed letter, because The Operator was an operator of scavenger hunts. The letters always contained a profile of the target, location, date, and time of arrival. Sometimes, they were meant to stalk the target before going in for the kill, and others it was a one and done situation.

Toby knew all too well that It didn't actually need Its proxies. He didn't know why they exist, but he does know that The Operator finds pleasure in chess games where Its favorite piece is the pawn. Toby, Tim, and Brian were pawns in a game constructed by an eldritch entity with far too much time on Its hands. The thing about The Operator that scared Toby the most was It's unclear intentions. The Operator was neither benevolent or malevolent. It could do horrific things, or It could perform actions once only thought to be accomplishable by angels.

It did not want to harm, and It did not want to help. It only wanted to observe and play with Its toys. Of course, though, killing people does bring harm, and Toby knows the effects of losing a person you love to the hands of another. Some nights, guilt overwhelms him, as he thinks about all the people he's made to scream in anguish the same way he did the night his sister didn't come home. But now it's either him or them, and he's a selfish motherfucker.

By then, Tim had gotten the truck rolling, and he took off at a solid 25 mph down the forest trail. Toby watched the trees go by and heard the scraping of tree branches against the top of the vehicle. He cringed at the ear-piercing sound and brought his hands up over his ears. In its own way, it hurt. Overstimulation and sensitive sensory days are the closest Toby can say he's ever come close to really feeling pain. Glancing over, he noted that Tim had no reaction to the noise, and wondered if he was overreacting to it.

Once on the road, Tim sped up to 65 mph and Toby relaxed in his seat. This was close to the max speed that this trash of a truck could drive, and he was comfortable with that, as long car rides had always made him nervous. There was just too time for something to go wrong. Toby adjusted himself before leaning down and fishing his arm underneath the seat for Tim's CD case. Instead of the cool leather case, his hand brushed something soft and furry. It made him freeze, before he quickly retracted his arm and held his hand to his chest. "What the fuck was that?" He stammered.

Tim glanced at him, eyebrows furrowing. "What was what?"

"There's something-- I think it's an animal."

"For fuck's sake."

Toby decided to be stupid and reached his arm back beneath the seat and grasped onto the wriggling creature. Soon enough, he pulled out a small cat. The poor thing looked sickly. Toby could count the bones in its body, and there were patches of bald spots littering its white pelt. "It's a cat."

"Yeah, I see that." Tim sighed.

"Uh- pull over so I can put it out-"

"Absolutely not." The sharpness in Tim's voice surprised him.

"What?"

"You are not putting it outside. Just put it in the back seat, we'll pick up some food for it while we're out." Toby couldn't believe his ears. He didn't take Tim for having a soft spot for cats, but he supposed it did make a bit of sense. Tim and cats did have a lot in common: they kept their claws sharp. He listened, reached to the back, and placed the terrified cat in the backseat. Remembering his original goal, he bent back down and retrieved the CD case without any more unexpected surprises.

He unzipped the case and began to flip through the pages of CDs that Tim had acquired over the years. He peered over at him, noting the stressed expression on his case, and decided to choose Tim's favorite: Rob Zombie - The Sinister Urge. He slid it into the player and peered over at Tim through the corner of his eye, and a slight smirk tugged at his lips. When the music started, Tim's eyes flickered to the electronic green lettering on the narrow screen.

Their eyes met for a brief second and the content smirk on Tim's lips satisfied Toby enough for him to lean back and relax in the stained cushioned seat. This wasn't Toby's exact taste in music, but he enjoyed it enough to let Tim relish with his cult-classic shit. It wasn't long before the radio was absolutely blasting, and Toby's head was rattling with the volume, while pressed against the window. He didn't mind as much as one would think.. How could he? Tim's smile kept his complaints under lock and key.

The ride there was mostly wordless. They had stopped in a small town and Tim picked up some cat food. Toby got to sit and watch Tim desperately try to hand feed a cat, and it didn't go well. "Tim," Toby hummed in amusement when the man clambered back into the driver's seat. "I don't think it's time to get your hands that  bloody just yet." Tim peered over at Toby and scoffed.

Blood glistened on his hands from deep claws marks on his fingers and backside of his hand, and it would've gotten on his steering wheel if Toby didn't stop him to bandage up his hands. Tim had made it a staple to always have bandage and gauze in his truck for when Toby's hands needed to be rebandaged. Sure, he'd try to say they are meant for all three of them, but Toby caught on quickly that he was the only one ever being bandaged. Brian had gotten injured plenty of times, and even Tim had come back banged up a good number, but the package had never once been opened up for anyone but him.

Soon enough, the truck was parked in some miscellaneous parking lot behind what looked to be a bar. In accordance with the GPS on Tim's dying phone, they would need to walk 2.5 miles East to get to the target's residence, and Toby did not look forward to that trek. It wasn't a long distance by any means and at least the weather wasn't unbearably cold that evening, but Toby was definitely irritated with the idea of having to spend that walk with Tim. Car rides were always silent, long walks would usually end up in bloody noses, especially without Brian to mediate.

"I'm starting to notice something," Tim spoke suddenly. He lowered the stereo volume, but his gaze remained on the faint green flow from the screen. "You're quieter than usual." Toby peeked at him. His eyebrows furrowed and he huffed quietly to himself, shrugging his shoulders heavily. Tim scoffed. "Don't do that, I can tell something is fucking with you." He reached out to touch Toby, his fingers barely brushing his shoulder before the younger man's hand grasped his tightly.  He brought his gaze to Tim's and held it there for a long moment.

"Don't touch me."

"Tell me what's going on."

"Nothing is going on."

Toby's throat felt tight as he eyed Tim intently. He watched as the man looked him over, trying his best to read through the hard exterior Toby had already put in place like a wall. Tim's hand was warm, and Toby could feel the sweat already forming between their hands. His palm was pressed against the back of Tim's hand, fingers curled around tightly. "Why do you even care? You've never given a shit before."

Tim's expression hardened and Toby could tell that the softness he had just expressed was just as short lived as expected. "Never?" Where Toby anticipated bitterness, all he heard was.. hurt. It was a tone he'd only ever heard in Tim's voice once before. Toby's eyebrows furrowed and he looked to the side. An uncomfortable feeling settled in his chest and he took a deep breath, and let go of Tim's hand. He felt his fingers linger on his shoulder before his arm returned to his side.

"I just don't want you to.. mess this up, okay?" Tim folded his arms on top of the steering wheel and rested his forehead on them. "You're mind has been somewhere else for the past few days and if you can't focus, and you fuck this up for us, my ass is getting the worst of it." He lifted his head just in time to watch a glare build up in Toby's eyes. The sunlight, disappearing behind the tops of the building, shone against Toby's pale skin. Tim noted the light dust of freckles upon his cheeks, and the redness of rosacea that always made his face look irritated. He was awfully pretty, but he was also upset, and that's something Tim hated to see on him. He looked away.

"Well," Toby's voice was shaky, stammering. "If you w..want to get this done, we should... should go then, shall w-we?" He swallowed thickly, as if trying to drown away his tics. His fingers twitched and his face scrunched up as he spoke. He shook his head violently to clear it away and pushed the truck door open. He stepped out and slammed the door behind him, a shaky breath escaping chapped lips. He didn't wait for the driver's door to open before starting off East.

If there's anything Toby hated, it was being blamed for when things go wrong. He heard the door open once he was halfway across the parking lot, heading towards the nearest street. The sun was setting, and people would be settling down for dinner soon, so Toby didn't have any worries about being spotted as a suspicious person. He'd passed by countless Neighborhood Watch signs, and they lost their effectiveness quickly. No one ever truly cared until it was too late to care.

His boots skidded across the gravel along the side of the street, and his fingers were in his mouth. He chewed on the tough scar tissue, biting where the bandages had loosened and exposed his skin. He tasted blood on his tongue then recoiled, and put his hands in his pockets. That's when he felt the protein shake still slightly wet in his pocket. It was cold enough that the truck surely had kept it cool, which he appreciated since a warm shake always had a weird texture, as he cracked it open and brought it up to his lips. His head tilted to the left then let the liquid pour into his mouth. He swallowed the bitter taste down then lifted his head back up.

He hadn't eaten his breakfast despite having said he would, which was definitely not as tasty as it would have been when it was first served to him. A slight prick of guilt ate at his stomach thinking about the previous food he'd just wasted... again. He was a waste of supplies, he knew that, therefore he always wondered why Tim and Brian insisted on keeping him around. Only Brian ever voiced it, but Tim preferred to show it.

However, the signals Tim sent his way were always mixed: Saves him from drowning, then blames him for all of their fuck-ups. Makes him breakfast, then beats the shit out of him. Patches his wounds, then gives him a bloody nose. Toby never knew what to believe. Did Tim care about him as much as Brian tried to say? He peered over his shoulder briefly and saw Tim making his way behind him a few yards back. They'd walk in silence until they arrived.