Toby's P.O.V:
"Toby." I kept my eyes shut tight. "Toooobyyy, wake up baby." Not even Tim's soothing voice could pull me out of the dream I was having. I heard a sigh, and something was set down next to me, footsteps gradually fading away.
Over the next short period of time, (I couldn't identify exactly how long it was) the sounds of various things hitting a wooden table could be heard, setting a glass down, dropping cutlery, that sort of thing. And then there was a loud thump, at that moment, I was positive Tim was having a seizure and had fell onto the dining table or something, but no. Cause I heard him walking around seconds later, and I calmed my racing heart. There was a creak, and audible shouting could be heard from the covers of the thick quilt (Along with Tim's thinner blanket from the mansion.) A grunt of pain caught my attention, along with the sound of a bone cracking, that I knew all too well. Finally, curiosity got the best of me, and I emerged from the tangle of sheets, quilts and pillows. Breakfast was set out on a plate beside me, but I padded across to the front door. There Tim stood, rubbing his jaw, eyes fixed on something, mouth in a frown. "No." He growled, throwing his arms forward in what looked like an attempt to push someone, or something away. I hugged the doorframe for dear life, having slipped his tan jacket over my naked form, I poked my head out slightly.
"T-T-Tim?" I called out nervously, voice quiet and cautious. His head snapped around at unbelievable speed, eyes full of anger, but when they saw me they softened.
"Go back to bed." He said plainly.
"What's-"
"Go back to bed, Toby. Everything's fine." Then I heard a chuckle. I knew that chuckle. That was Brian. Tim repeated the arm action, "Fuck. Off. I'm not taking it. I don't want that fucking thing." His voice was laced with venom.
"Are you sure." Brian teased, sarcasm laced in his voice. "Cause last time I checked, you still needed these." A rattle of something could be heard, then a gasp. A struggle.
"You fucking-" He failed to get another word out, before he was sent into his all-too-familiar coughing state. Another rattle. Choked breath.
"What's the matter?" Brian sounded like he was talking to a child, "Giving up already?"
Masky's P.O.V:
He held my pill bottle millimetres from my face, but I couldn't reach up. I needed the pills much more when I had my mask off for long periods of time. And he was taunting me. He recoiled and unscrewed the cap, dropping a single white pill onto the dusty floor. I needed at least two to recover.
"Stop..." I managed to choke out. "Don't... Do thi...is..." He chuckled again. My shaking body prevented me from picking up my tablet, my throat raw, blood on my lips. I can taste the metal on my tongue, it's sharp. Finally succeeding in sliding the tablet into my mouth was one thing, but I had difficulty swallowing, every breath I took felt like daggers scraping the lining of my throat. He took pleasure in watching me suffer, standing tall above me with chest vibrating every few minutes. That bastard was laughing at me. And I was once again given the silent treatment from my marble hornets days. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Toby cowering in the doorway, tears streaming down his cheeks. He went to step forward and I shook my head weakly. This was my battle.
The sick asshole had finally snapped, and me leaving without notice (maskless, too) was more than enough to drive him over the edge. He was mad long before this. Underneath the wise, joke-filled, beloved but to be feared proxy was a sadistic, unkempt man filled with nothing but sorrow and bitter hatred for everything around him. He was mad. There was no denying it. Taking one look at his room, any sane person would've turned and ran a mile straight. No lights, no windows. His eyes were too well adjusted to the dark (like an animal, may I add.) His once plain white walls were filthy and stained, covered with rushed, child-like drawings in thick black marker. The floor was lined with crumpled paper. Concrete lay underneath, no carpet, no wood, concrete. The paper was marked with the same broken pen. Reading unclear phrases.
"He sees me." Or "Always watches." Sometimes the odd "Don't look behind you." and "He's not gone." The ones that catch my eye most are usually "They don't believe us." "Does he lie?" One was even a clump of letters sprawled across that I managed to make out and unscramble. "Unhappy ending. Save us now." He never even had a proper bed and slept on an old mattress with no blankets or pillows.Look me in the eyes and say that's normal.
Toby's P.O.V :
I watched helplessly as Tim was hauled up, Hoodie taking his convulsing form out into the forest, another singular shake of the head warning me to stay put... Brian, why?! I quickly scrambled about for my boxers and jeans, belt and shoes, no way in hell I'm letting someone else I love die. I sprinted after the sound of loud coughing, and crouched by some bushes.
'You're gonna fail' I shook my head, focusing all the more, god I hoped all my training paid off. Hoodie dropped Tim forcefully, growling at something I was too far away to see. He suddenly crouched down and grabbed Tim's chin, pinching his nose so he couldn't breathe. Tim suddenly gasped out, and Hoodie shoved two fingers into his mouth, I could faintly hear choking.
"Swallow it, you fuck." The fingers were removed after Tim had swallowed whatever it was, and Brian retreated by a few metres. A few metres closer to me. I waited for what seemed like hours, but in reality it was only a few minutes. Brian wasn't doing anything. Not moving, not talking, it didn't even look like he was breathing. All he did was stand. My attention turned to Tim when I saw struggling to get on his knees, he wasn't coughing anymore, but he still shook.
"What's the matter, Wright? Too weak to stand up?" He taunted, "Or are you just scared?" I saw Tim clench his fists, he sure as hell didn't like to be taken for a weak person. "Go on, fight me." Tim shook his head in reply, "Fight me, you fucking pathetic wimp." This was enough to make Tim able to fight someone so close to his heart. He battled to stand up, knees and every other part of his body shaking uncontrollably. He fumbled around in his pocket, and brought out a small switchblade. I looked back up at Brian, and my heart skipped a beat at what I saw. A pistol.
'Didn't his mother tell him not to bring a gun to a knife fight?!' The voices exclaimed. Tim looked up, and he was like an animal caught in the headlights.
"B-Brian?!" He gasped out, shaking even more if that was possible. He loaded the gun. "B-Brian you don't have to do this!" He waved his gun forward slightly, threatening to shoot. His finger brushed the trigger.
Masky's P.O.V:
His finger brushed the trigger. I closed my eyes, and let my arms hang limply by my sides. But the shot never came. I opened one eye, but never saw him. Instead I saw Toby standing in some bushes, eyes widened. Then I looked down. "B-B-Brian..." Tears streamed out of my eyes like the blood from his cracked skull, a hatchet protruding from his head. "Oh, god no..." I whispered, falling to my knees, sobbing. Arms wrapped around me, and Toby began crying alongside me.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... Oh thank god you're okay!"
"C-C-Can... Can we bury him?" I asked through tears as I gripped onto my jacket that he had over him.
"Of course, baby." He stroked my hair, shushing me and kissing my face. He grabbed my hand and lead me back to the cabin, leaving and returning with my pills.
Toby's P.O.V:
Tim gripped hard onto my jacket, sobbing grossly as he grieved the loss of not only a great friend, but someone who had stuck with him all the way through. I hugged him close, rubbing his back.
'Doesn't it feel great to be the dominant one for once?' Not the time, voices.
"Shh, it's okay, baby. It's okay." We buried him by a willow tree that stood in the middle of a lake. It was a really beautiful place, I'm sure it would mean a lot to him. Tim placed his metal pipe on the grave, and began to cry afresh.
Tim didn't really eat or drink for the next few weeks, and I had to almost force him. It was painful to me, but I couldn't stand him getting any skinnier. Every day from that point, until he recovered enough to move from the bed, I looked after him with all my ability. I fed him, gave him hot drinks, bathed him and just generally took care of him. We haven't spoke of what happened since, but it wasn't hard to tell Tim was depressed. Loosing two of your closest friends must be hard. I walked in with a bowl of soup in my hands, Tim curled up in the blankets and our little puppy Lyra cuddled up next to him. I smiled slightly. The two people (well, person and a dog) I loved most were with me now. As for me calling him Tim, he doesn't go by Masky anymore and buried the mask with Brian. We're two normal people now that we've started afresh, we only kill whoever wanders into the forest for their money. Things may not have went the way we wanted, but this certainly is
A happy ending.
A/N: Toby, I don't have a fucking clue what your definition of a happy ending is... Brian died and Tim's depressed... Tf dude?!
