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Author's Note
Word Count: 4504
TWs: N/A
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Some days, his worst days, Toby wished to return to his previous life beneath the roof of an old house he mislabeled 'home.' After so many years, the careful steps taken to avoid the abuse became second nature. After so many years, the undeniable reality of his insignificance became comfortable. Things were hard, but they weren't impossible. Nothing like this.

He vaguely recalled his first real family experience. He was 6 years old, and his mother had taken him and his sister to the park that afternoon for a picnic. Lyra had been 9 at the time. The wind was blowing, and a storm cloud was brewing on the horizon, but he was enjoying himself. He remembered the taste of the Uncrustable PB&J he had been indulging himself on. He could almost still hear the pop beat coming from his sister's MP3 Player.

Toby's mother, Evelyn, had been wearing a beautiful yellow sundress. Her face was glowing, and her eyes were full of love, but there was a far away look behind the gleam. She had just recently lost her husband, and was preparing to introduce her children to his replacement. A 6 year old Toby couldn't judge. He had never known his mother without a man beside her.

That was the day they met him.

When he approached, Toby could see nothing wrong. There were no signs. His name was Daniel. His hands were sturdy and strong, and he held hold of Evelyn with a gentle grasp. They shared a kiss and he introduced himself. He had shown great interest in learning about his girlfriend's children, listening to each word the two of them said intently. His gruff voice felt welcoming, and his skin had a warm tan, kissed by the sun. He worked for the city, Toby had learned, and he made enough to support a family.

They would never again be a family beyond that day.

No matter the pain, Toby wasn't alone back then. He'd return from school with his sister. He'd stay at his best friend Dakota's house when allowed. No amount of bruises, busted lips, and jostled hair could overshadow the time he spent with the ones who actually cared, and he would give anything to return to how things were before he burned it all to the ground. At night, the memories swallow him whole like a blanket of the cold abyss outside of his old bedroom window. They gnaw at his ribs, sinking their claws deep into his lonely heart.

Toby's eyes flickered to the bathroom, where Brian had shared Tim's true feelings. He thought he didn't understand what could drive a person to chase away the people he cared about. To feel such overwhelming guilt for a series of events that were beyond your control. Truth was, he understood far too well.

To say he was entirely alone now would be a lie. He had Tim and Brian, obviously, but there would always be something he was missing. Neither of them truly saw him. To be unseen is the loneliest feeling in the world, and it was a weight Toby held with him for the past four years, like the hatchets that never left the clips on his belt. They burrowed into him, reminders of the roots he grew, stapling him into his past. Even now, sitting on the kitchen counter watching Tim scrub profusely at the black puddle on the tile, he was far away.

Dusk approached. It prowled forth as the day marched on surprisingly seamlessly. No more hiccups, no more unwanted visitors, and no more distractions. Toby spent that morning with Tim devising a plan on how to fix the bubbling puddle of "demon piss", as Tim dubbed it. Toby said it looked like over-microwaved Nutella, to which Tim firmly stated his stance against putting it on toast any time soon.

Alongside their attempts at wiping it off the tile, Toby focused on keeping himself together. For as long as he could remember, he and Tim had never shared a day this peaceful. They didn't fight or argue, and the closest it came was a game of catch with small insults. From what Toby could tell, it was all doused in lighthearted smiles. For once, Toby felt happy. He could smile, and better yet, it would be reciprocated.

The front door opened with a creak. Both men looked in its direction, and into the living room stepped Brian. A deep expression had twisted itself into his face, and Toby's eyes traced every line etched into his skin. Brian was disturbed. His mouth opened to speak, but closed once again after a few moments of uncertain silence.

Brian moved silently to the kitchen. He stopped at the opening between the wall and island, his eyebrows furrowing at the dark splotch Tim was crouched over. He lifted a hand, and it hesitated in the air, before dropping back to his side.

"What the hell?"

A slow, awkward laugh came from Tim. "Uhm, IT paid us a visit."

"Laughing Jack." Toby butted in suddenly. "It doesn't look very much like Pennywise, Tim." The look he received was a cross between amusement and annoyance, and Toby's eyes darted back to the floor.

Brian swallowed thickly and remained quiet. A few seconds passed. "Okay," Brian said finally and rubbed his hand through his dirty blonde hair, "makes sense. Glad I missed it then."

"Where were you, anyway?" Tim huffed accusingly. His eyebrow cocked, again.

Brian shifted uncomfortably. "The town. I was going to try to get a quick supply run done, and get some gas for the truck." A moment of hesitation broke his words. "But uh, we should probably head out soon, since we can't stay in one place for too long," he stammered, something that struck Toby as unusual given Brian's usual demeanor, "4 months is long enough." He added swiftly.

Nevertheless, unusualness aside, Toby couldn't help but agree. He was getting tired of this place. This was the longest they'd ever stayed in one spot, and he had slipped into a routine. As much as he cherished any semblance of normality of his life, Toby knew what it meant: comfort = vulnerability. Vulnerability he couldn't afford.

After that, Brian offered to watch a movie. Toby wasn't opposed to the idea up until Brian suggested a horror movie.

"I've lived through enough horror lately." Toby hissed, taking his seat on the couch with a defiant humph. Tim's lighter sparked beside him, and the smell of tobacco wafted in Toby's direction. He huffed it out of his nose and turned his head away, painfully resisting his urge to stare.

Brian cackled on the other side of Tim. "You're not that much of a pussy, are you?" His tone was lighthearted, the level of a teasing friend, but Toby wasn't too interested in humoring him at that moment. He was ready to snap back a sharp reply had Tim not interrupted.

"Lay off him," Tim murmured around his cigarettes, "he's had a rough day... hasn't even laid down for a nap yet, ya know?"

Toby's face flared red. A mix of embarrassment and anger bubbling in his stomach, but he remained silent. His throat couldn't form the words pouring into his mind. Where did that even come from? He racked his head for any genuine reason for that comment to be made, but he couldn't land on a reasonable one. The joke was almost infantilizing.

Or, maybe he was overreacting.

As he watched Brian fish a bottle of booze from under the entertainment center in search of a movie. The men's words remained fresh. He had no real reason to be upset at such a harmless comment. Besides, Tim took naps. There wasn't a single thing wrong with taking a nap. Toby doesn't prefer them himself, but he guessed that had little to do with the joke itself.

And then it dawned on him. As Tim and Brian poured their drinks, the movie starting up on the box screen TV, it dawned on him: the joke itself didn't hurt. He simply thought, misled by his own hopes, that things had changed. He really thought one good day would set up a plethora of good days to come. But no, this one hadn't even ended, and he was back to being the butt end of every joke. One joke was already too many, and Toby's mood had soured significantly.

Per usual, no alcohol was offered to him. The smell itself was enough to spark paranoia in his chest. Toby's eyes danced over the screen of moving images that choppily displayed a moving picture, but he barely registered the stimuli.

Without warning, Toby felt a sudden weight on him, pulling him back to the world around him. Tim leaned across him, his arm outstretched, and his body pressed up against his own. Toby held his breath as he watched Tim's fingers searched the side table before hooking onto an ashtray. His body was warm, sweat beginning to accumulate on Toby's body. Oddly, his hands felt clammy, and an uncomfortable dampness found itself down his neck.

That was a bit excessive for just a few seconds of contact, don't you think? Toby's eyebrows furrowed briefly before Tim sat back up. His cigarette was clamped tightly between pursed lips, the ashes at the end threatened to fall into his lap before the ashtray was held beneath just in time. Toby watched his motions carefully, before their eyes met.

A few moments passed, then Tim murmured. "Breathe, Toby." Upon the command, Toby exhaled finally, and his head spun.

Tim huffed in amusement. His head shook slowly as he removed his cigarette from his lips to put it out in the tray. "I tried to ask you to grab it." He informed him. "You didn't hear me, so I grabbed it myself. Not my fault you're as a deaf as a doorknob."

Toby blinked. "As deaf as a- huh?"

"You're looking a bit stiff over there, Tobes." Brian piped up, and Toby looked down briefly.

Tim turned his body suddenly. "You're one to talk. You walked in here earlier all jittery and shit- gonna tell me about that?"

Toby was no longer listening. He turned his attention to the TV, where he stared blankly at an unfamiliar story unfolding. Beside him, a far more familiar one took place. Tim and Brian were best friends and no one could refute that fact. That didn't stop the occasional arguments, though, which lunged from the shadows when the stress piled up.

The room fell into silence, only the murmuring from the television remaining. Toby peered over and narrowed his eyes. Tim had a perplexed expression, and Brian mirrored him with a hint of frustration. "Yes," Brian repeated, "no one."

"Not even a single-"

"No, Tim, there was no one there! Not a person, not a car on the road- even most of the ones in driveways were gone."

Toby's interest was piqued. "What?" His head tilted to the side slightly, akin to a curious dog.

Brian met his eyes with a mildly annoyed expression, but he worked to replace it with a softer alternative. "I walked into town while you two were gone, early in the morning before the sun rose. When I got there, there was nobody there... anywhere. I don't know why- or how."

Tim looked thoughtful. "Were they evacuated?" He suggested, half-hearted.

"I can't see a reason as to why. The weather's fine and nothing felt wrong aside from... the obvious." Brian's voice shook. Toby tried to imagine the way he would feel in that situation, and found that it wasn't hard for him to understand exactly how it must've felt.

To be the only person left in the world.

— ⊗ —

The quiet stream of brewed coffee into a paper cup broke the dim-lit, silent ambience of the station. The occasional click of the keyboard and mouse rang out, and a harsh monitor light illuminated the faces of the two detectives, both hunched over the desk. One, a young man with dark hair and tanned skin, broke off from the other to tend to the coffee.

The one remaining at the desk, a woman with chestnut hair rolled up in a bun and warm olive skin, inspected the scene longer. She cast a glance towards the other and let out a small but scornful huff. "Even in a crisis you can't help but feed your addiction."

The man rolled his eyes and brought the cup, devoid of creamer or sugar, to his lips tentatively. He tested the temperature with his lips before taking a slow sip. His gaze cast over the room. Three metal file cabinets lined the walls, interrupted by a few photos and paintings hung with care. A cork board was displayed on either end of the room, parallel to each other, and each displaying a separate set of evidence pinned up with tacks.

Just outside of the door, visible through the window, the beginning letters to Alverton Police Department were displayed on the wall. He'd worked under APD for the past four years, having completed his academy training on the same premises as well as his time as a patrol officer. Just recently, he had been promoted to detective at age 22 just that month, and by the looks of it... his eyes scanned the wall above the other officer. This might be his last.

He re-approached the desk, eyes glued on the computer screen. "If I'm bound to die, I might as well enjoy it."

"I can't see how there's much to enjoy when you drink it like it's straight from Satan's tap." She sat up from her hunched position to look at him directly. "Also, you're not going to die."

He scoffed. "Looks like it-"

"Thatcher." Her voice came as a low warning. "Relax. You and I were chosen to stick around due to our survival instincts. We'll be fine. If Sheriff Paskly thought otherwise, we wouldn't be here. If anyone's fit for this shit show, it's us." She pulled out the rolling chair tucked beneath her desk and took her seat.

Detective Thatcher sucked in a deep breath. "Alright, okay, fine." Nothing about his tone conveyed that he was at all convinced, but he couldn't care. It had been a few weeks since the anomaly was first spotted, and 2 days since the town had been evacuated. However, its formation had been brewing further back than Lead Detective Elrod knew. Even if she had, no one would have prevented this.

Thatcher knew, though. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew.

They'd labeled it as a toxic gas. An unknown element, compound of chemicals, you name it— capable of triggering sudden unconsciousness upon contact. The behavior exhibited to those affected was similar to a possum's "play dead" defense mechanism. The heart rate slowed, the body ceased all movement, and the muscles tightened. Worst of all, they were seemingly unwakeable... trapped in a coma.

Thatcher knew it had to be something more. But what exactly, he couldn't begin to explain. He leaned closer to the board, examining the map used to track its movements, and the news articles put out by concerned citizens.

Its first appearance was caught within a 1000 mile radius of Alverton, traveling in a circular pattern enclosing on its center point. It seemed to be mostly unaffected by wind patterns as it remained unnaturally close to the ground, and moved as though it had a fixed destination. It was a thick, black fog honing in on Alverton. Coincidentally, a neighboring county harbored one of the nation's most powerful DUMBS (deep underground military base.)

On the wall, a new article was pinned, displaying the statement the government put out the day after its discovery:
". . . We are working to find the cause of this incident in our Nation, and return safety to the citizens of Colorado, and the citizens of the United States of America as a whole. Until further information is known about this threat: stay home, stay informed, and stay calm. . ."
The following week.
". . . Evacuation is mandatory for all listed counties within a 1 week period. Listen to your local PD for instructions. Stay calm, and stay informed. . ."
Alverton was one of the last few towns to evacuate.

"Hey... Elrod," Thatcher piped up unprofessional as always, "does anyone actually know what's happening? I get that they're saying it's some toxic gas, but do we really know?"

Elrod let out a slow sigh. She gave him an exasperated look before moving her attention to her computer once more. "Don't start."

"What?" Thatcher lifted his hands up defensively. "It's just a question."

"A question that will go in the same direction it did the last 3 times you've asked it."

"So, nothing new then?"

"No. The hazmat team went in to collect samples, but the substance... dissipated or something. They tried to scoop it into tubes, bags, even tried to use suction to trap it in an oxygen tank. It vanished after seconds with no trace left behind."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned against the wall. "And you still think this is normal?"

"No," Elrod said sharply, "I never once said this was normal. Nothing about this is normal. But that does NOT imply it's connected to that stupid urban legend you can't shake from your head."

"So you admit this is paranormal?"

Elrod was quiet before letting out a slow breath. "Abnormal. Not paranormal. This is likely a bioweapon created by an enemy military trying to seize the military base nearby. You know that, I know that, and the people know that. So let's focus on that. Ca-peesh?"

Thatcher's brow furrowed. "We don't know that, actually. What evidence do we have that doesn't connect this to The Tall Man?"

"You sound like a scared child. Or a conspiracy theorist. Either way, I'm shocked you passed your psych evaluation."

"Answer my question."

Elrod stood up suddenly, turning on him. Thatcher flinched, startled, and tried to move backwards only to find that he backed himself into a wall. "What doesn't connect the disappearance of that little girl last month to trafficking? What about your disappearance? What doesn't connect you vanishing 5 years ago to.. to fucking... aliens!? Not everything is connected to some tall guy in the woods 'without a face', Dakota, so sit your ass down and shut up for once."

Thatcher's mouth went dry, but he pressed on. "The dreams, Wren, the dreams came back. They started up.. just days before the fog set in. I keep seeing It in my sleep, out of the corner of my eye, just like the days leading up to me vanishing! Get it? My dreams are warnings of-"

"I said," Elrod grabbed hold of his arm and yanked him down towards a neighboring chair. "Sit. Down."

The room fell silent. Thatcher breathed heavily, eyes wide, as he recovered. He observed Elrod's expression, and where he expected anger, he saw exhaustion.

"Okay," he breathed out quietly, "I'm sorry."

"The CIA is investigating the fog. We can't touch that case, we just have to make sure everyone is gone by tomorrow, alright? Can you do that?"

"What about those people? The ones unconscious still laying in the street or... or in their own beds? Do we leave them here?" Thatcher slowly relaxed in his new seat. Elrod had backed off of him and returned to her own.

"We gather our teams and transport as many as we can find with us via helicopter. The fog picked up traction over the last few days and covered around.. 100 miles in less than 12 hours. So we move fast."

"And what about the ones we found who were found in pieces?"

"Animals probably got to them. We're in bear country, after all."

"Sure, but—"

A tune chimed from the phone on Elrod's desk. She grasped hold of it and pressed it to her ear, lifting up a finger to silence Thatcher as she spoke into the phone.

"Sheriff Paskly? ... Yes, sir, we are located at the station ... Now? Wait- you're where? At the edge of it? ... I thought we agreed it wasn't safe to approach- ... Sheriff?" The line beeped audibly, and Thatcher fixed Elrod with a concerned expression.

Elrod lowered the phone and stared at its empty screen. She inhaled slowly, shakily, before meeting his gaze. "Okay," she spoke slowly. "We're doing one last sweep on the town. And then we're getting the fuck out of here."

"And the bodies?"

"No. Just us."

— ⊗ —

Abnormal. The day felt abnormal in every way. Toby wasn't sure if he found a comfort in its uncertainty, or if he simply grew accustomed to unpredictability.

"Considering everyone else is gone," Brian hummed a few hours after the initial conversation, "should we head off too?"

Toby looked up from the book held in Tim's hands. They had been reading some sort of fantasy novel together, another small attempt Toby offered to keep up the friendly streak between them. Toby huffed quietly and shook his head slowly. "I mean, we don't know why everyone left. Maybe this would be good for us? No one here, no chance of getting caught."

"Sure but, again like you said, we don't know why. Something could really be wrong- radiation leak, maybe?"

Tim grumbled, the book closing with a sharp snap. "I'm with Toby. Let's just stay. Anything you come up with would be so far from reality even I'd check you into a mental hospital."

Well, that seals the fact that Toby wasn't about to voice that he had started agreeing with Brian.

Brian mumbled something that neither of them caught. Then, his voice raised. "If The Operator can exist, I don't think anything is too unrealistic." Based on the look they shared, Tim wasn't fully convinced, but Brian had gotten through to him enough.

Tim sighed heavily and peered down at Toby, who was curled up in an upright fetal position. "Any objections?" Toby shook his head, a silent breath of relief parting his lips.

The three men took to packing. Thankfully, given that they never expected their stays to last very long, none of them had much to pack. Toby shoved his few pairs of clothes into his duffel bag. Once Tim walked by, he could feel that silent but judgemental glare. It was no doubt aimed at how organized his bag was. Admittedly, it was a mess; clumpy and clunky all around the sides, and anticipated Tim would ask him to fix it up before loading it. Toby wouldn't.

Each man carried one bag out to the truck and shoved them into the back seats. A small meow grabbed Toby's attention, and a flash of white bolted just out of view. He whirled around towards the house, where the small scrawny white cat was now perched on the railing. He sighed slowly and walked towards it, reaching his hand out to stroke her head. She happily leaned into his bandaged fingers, and a small smile tugged at Toby's lips.

He wasn't ever a cat person. Something about them, however, made him feel safe. Their nonchalant attitudes, sassy claws, and occasional friendliness reminded him of someone.

Abruptly, an apprehensive feeling weaved into Toby's senses. It sparked a sense of dread in his chest that twisted around his heart like enclosing claws of ice. It wasn't as much of a sound as it was an eerie experience happening to him. Although, it presented itself as a gentle hum. A light feminine hum, with a voice that caressed his jaw and coerced his eyes to its source.

Toby stood still. His feet rooted in the earth, but his eyes searched through the depths of the treeline they'd been guided into. The humming was distant and soft, in a way that translates to be both internal and external at once. He heard it in the wind. He heard it in his ears. He heard it in his mouth and his throat, buried in his sternum. Deep in the pit of his bosom the sound resonated.

Gold shimmered in the sunlight, peeking between leaves and branches of low arching tree limbs. Golden hair. The vague outline of a person lingers behind the brush, just enough out of his line of sight to remain unidentifiable. Toby's lips part to call out, but the sound is lost in his throat, or perhaps he did in fact speak. Toby wouldn't know.

All he could hear was the humming.

A hand grasped hold of his shoulder, and his own instinctively flew up to grasp onto it. It's broadness, it's warmth, and it's off putting tenderness told Toby exactly who it belonged to. He turned his head to meet Tim's eyes, and they met. The greeting lasted far too many long, awkward seconds.

"Uh, hi?" Toby offered.

"Hey," Tim's eyes were searching, picking apart every line in Toby's irises, "are you alright?"

"Jesus Christ, Tim, what is up with you?" The words tumbled from Toby's mouth before he had properly thought them up.

"What?"

Toby swallowed thick. He watched Tim's gaze harden, and took a step back reflexively. "It's just, you keep asking me that question."

"Twice, Toby, I've asked twice." Tim gritted his teeth. He punched the beige of his nose and drew in a breath. "Sorry for being concerned I guess?" He peered up at Toby from beneath his lowered brows.

Toby sighed deeply and shook his head. He lowered his gaze to the ground and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, all in a 24 hour time span..." This side of Tim was still new, fresh, and he had only encountered it once before. "It's whatever, I'm fine."

"I shouldn't've expected you to change after just one good day." Tim's word made Toby's head lift sharply. "You'll always be nothing but this... cold shell towards me, huh? I'm getting tired of having to be mad at you and pretend I don't care." The grit of his teeth between every word held a bite. His harsh tone gnawed at Toby's throat, searching for a jugular to tear out. "Don't be surprised if you jump into a river again and I don't jump in after you. You'd think after the million times I've tried.. Maybe you'd try a little too."

With that, Toby felt their shoulders collide as he passed by. A bitter departing gift.

After all things, maybe a reality where they got along wasn't right. Maybe things should've just remained the way they were. Forget that car ride when they laughed together, forget that truck stop where Tim's hand held his face tender enough to mimic safety, and forget that parking lot where the bastard first properly displayed any ounce of care. Toby had to admit it: There's a bittersweet comfort in knowing what's next to come.

And yet, Toby couldn't help but agree with one thing Tim said. He was also getting tired of pretending.