hobo heart x reader. Perhaps we value each other?

Chapter 11

As I lay there blind, a heavy, suffocating boredom settles over me. I want nothing more than to get up and stretch my aching limbs, but the thick leather constraints are back, tightly binding my wrists and ankles to the frame. I guess they think I'm a permanent danger to myself now. Left with no other choice, I do the only thing I can do: think.

My mind wanders back to my childhood, drifting through the fragments of dark folklore Aunt Marcy used to whisper by my bedside. She talked about Laughing Jack the most, her voice always carrying a strange, distant weight whenever his name slipped out. I can't help but wonder what her true relationship with him is. Can a mortal even date a pasta? Are we even considered mortal anymore? Ugh, thinking just leads to a spiral of more unanswerable questions, and it's incredibly frustrating. I strain my ears against the quiet room. Where the hell is everyone?

"Hello?" I call out into the darkness.

"What's up?" a cold, yet intensely familiar raspy voice answers from the corner. Hobo Heart.

I turn my head blindly toward the sound of his voice. "I'm bored."

I hear the faint rustle of fabric followed by a low, dry chuckle. "And what, you think we're over here playing games? The doctors are locked in the back trying to figure out a cure for your eyes, and I'm stuck on mandatory watch duty. Trust me, kid, no one is having fun right now."

I turn my face back toward the ceiling, contemplating my options for a long moment before turning back in his direction. "I need to use the restroom."

A heavy, lingering silence fills the room before the sharp scrape of a wooden chair echoes against the floorboards. "Fine. I'll go get one of the girls." His heavy bootsteps fade rapidly down the hallway, leaving me alone.

I need to find a way up and out of this bed. I don't want to be stuck pinned to a mattress like a broken specimen. I let out a soft sigh as I wait in the dark, mentally scrolling through every name I can remember from my aunt's journals. "Hobo Heart, Laughing Jack, Eyeless Jack, Ben Drowned, Jeff the Killer, Jane the Killer, Slenderman and his brothers, Dr. Smiley, Nurse Ann, Jason the Toy—"

"Don't finish that name. Have you seriously learned nothing from what I told you?"

Aunt Marcy's sharp voice suddenly cuts me off from the doorway. That's right—saying certain people's names inside these walls can instantly summon them, and Jason is not someone to mess with.

"Now then, Molly, let's get you to the bathroom," she murmurs, her footsteps approaching the edge of the mattress.

"I have a question," I say as I feel her fingers working at the buckles.

"Oh? And what might that be?" Marcy begins to unlock the leather constraints around my hands.

"Can we choose our own names?" I ask, immediately stretching my stiff arms the absolute second she releases them from the table.

"What do you mean by that?" Her voice carries a light, amused huff, like she's holding back a laugh.

"Like Eyeless Jack, or Hobo Heart," I explain, rubbing my sore wrists as she goes down to unlock my legs. "I'm sure they had completely different, normal names before they ended up in this place. Did they choose those titles themselves, or did someone else choose the names for them?" I carefully sit up on the edge of the bed, swinging my legs over the side.

"Hmm... that's actually a pretty good question," she admits, pulling the last buckle free. "I've never actually asked any of them how that works. I guess it's something you can ask the others yourself once you're on your feet. Why do you ask?"

"Because I want my own name," I tell her flatly, gesturing toward the hollow, scarred space beneath my sweatshirt. "I already have one in mind."

"Oh?" She chuckles, wrapping her arm securely around my waist to help me slide off the bed. "And what's that?"

"The Hollow."

"Ominous," she replies, guiding my stumbling steps across the floorboards. I'm still entirely new to this blindness, and the world feels incredibly unstable beneath my bare feet. "But I think that specific title is already taken by a different group of pastas out there."

I let out a heavy sigh, trying to think through the dark haze of my mind as she guides me down the cold tiled hallway, holding both of my hands to keep me steady. "How about... Heartless?"

"Nope, definitely taken by a girl named Noelle Williams," Marcy answers, her boots clicking evenly against the floor. "She works directly for the Night Demon. She's... interesting, to say the least."

I groan, letting out a frustrated breath. "Okay, fine. How about... ummm..."

Marcy chuckles again, but this time, the sound is slightly forced. "You know, it doesn't have to be anything entirely ominous or creepy, Molly. People around this mansion just call me Marcy; it's more than enough. Though, if you really don't like your birth name anymore, you can absolutely go by a different one. Lots of people here share the same titles anyway—just look at the Jacks. There's Eyeless and Laughing."

I think about it for a tense, silent minute as we navigate the corridor, a name finally clicking in my head. "Okay, then. I want to be called Darline."

The even rhythm of Marcy's boots suddenly hitches. She stops walking entirely, her grip on my hands tightening just a fraction. I can't see her, but the sudden, heavy silence stretching between us speaks volumes. When she finally speaks, the usual tough-girl edge in her voice is completely gone, replaced by a quiet, raw sadness that makes my heart ache.

"Darline..." she repeats the name softly, almost like it's a bitter pill to swallow. She lets out a slow, shaky breath. "It's a beautiful name, sweetie. It really is. I just... I guess a part of me hoped that by keeping you away from this world, I could keep 'Molly' alive. Choosing a new name means you're really leaving your old life behind. You're shedding the last bit of ordinary humanity you had left."

She pauses, and I hear her swallow hard, fighting back the emotion before she offers a small, melancholic squeeze to my fingers. "But I understand. Molly was the girl who had to endure that miserable house and those awful parents. If you need a new name to start over here... then I accept it. Welcome to the mansion, Darline."

She forces herself to move forward again, guiding my steps to a heavy wooden door. Marcy carefully helps me find the bathroom, staying close by to assist me as I wash my face and hands in the cool water.

"Do you know how long I will be like this?" I ask, my voice dropping into a quiet, hopeful whisper as the blindness presses hard against my eyes.

"Sadly, no," Marcy whispers back, her tone turning solemn once more. "But the doctors are locked in the lab trying to figure out a solution right now. In the meantime, I'll keep my promise. I'll make sure to let everyone in the house know your new name."

She carefully guides me back down the long hallway, helping me slide back onto the mattress and pulling the sheets over my chest. "Now, try to get some rest, Darline. They will probably come back in here later tonight to run a few more tests on your blood."

"Alright. Thanks, Marcy."

I close my eyes against the static blackness, forcing my mind to go blank as I try to ignore the rhythmic, dull thudding inside my chest. The exhaustion finally claims me, and I begin to drift away into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

But just as the shadows swallow my consciousness, a faint, chilling whisper manages to worm its way directly into my mind from the hallway outside.

"How long do you think she actually has left?"