His Lullaby {Eddie Gluskin x Waylon Park} {Outlast}

Chapter 12: The Sun's Gone Dim

Waylon's navigation skills aren't the best.

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WARNING: This chapter has mega gore, so PLEASE please tread lightly. There's gore, and blood, and angst and god it's a mess. Also, LET ME KNOW if you have any questions! I will clarify anything that needs to be answered or that wasn't clear in the story!

Thanks for your support!

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Waylon's POV

Waylon had spent what seemed like hours at the table, watching as Gluskin worked. The tune The Groom hummed never changed, and it never strayed past the first verse, something that Waylon found to be quite odd. He'd heard a reprise of the song somewhere, and he knew the lyrics. A part of him was tempted to hum along with Gluskin and maybe suggest that The Groom actually finish the song, but he was frightened by the potential outburst that might follow that. Waylon couldn't tell how delusional the man was - hell, how much had Waylon yet to witness?

Waylon wondered why Gluskin didn't finish the song though, and he thought that maybe that was why Gluskin just kept singing it. Maybe his issue had something to do with time, he wasn't sure. Waylon knew about some mental illnesses, but he wasn't as educated as an actual psychologist. For that, he felt it wrong to be diagnosing people he barely knew.

It was crazy being held prisoner like this in general, and Waylon wanted to smack himself for even attempting to find any understanding for the deranged man. This man was a murderer, and Waylon had encountered his outbursts first hand. He'd been nearly beaten to death, almost stabbed multiple times, and he saw outright the mess Gluskin made in the workshop.

He never considered himself particularly religious, but he hoped that there was some sort of peaceful resolve for the men killed by Gluskin after their deaths.

The cold air sent a quick shiver through Waylon, and Gluskin must have seen it, because he shook his head in what seemed to be distaste. Waylon didn't like that. It seemed almost unfair how easily The Groom judged him for what he couldn't control. He'd woken up without his shirt, and before that he'd been attacked, so he couldn't control that he wasn't warm, especially with the lack of heat in the asylum.

Even though the summer sun shined as it came up from over the mountains, it never brought heat to the asylum. It was as though even the sun was afraid to touch this mess of an atmosphere, filled to the brim with misery and death. Better to let it fester where it stay until it's ultimate end, which Waylon both hoped for and feared.

Even in the case that Waylon made it out, would he ever truly be okay again? He'd never witnessed the same scenarios he'd been subjected to before coming to Mount Massive, and his random mood swings and flashy vision was making things worse. He had no idea if his leg would ever be able to fully support his weight again, given the awful swelling happening around his ankle and the lack of medical attention he so desperately needed.

Goosebumps started to form on Waylon's arms, and he trembled, trying to ignore the cold. It bit at his skin, and he wished he had his shirt on again. It was uncomfortable being shirtless while being near Gluskin, as he'd catch Gluskin looking at him out of the corner of his eye. His eyes would linger on Waylon, before he'd go back to sketching and humming his tune again.

"What are you thinking about?" Gluskin asked, and Waylon hesitantly looked over at him. Despite asking the question, the man made no movement to cease his drawing. He asked it as if he were almost bored or frustrated at the silence.

Waylon didn't quite know how to respond, but he couldn't sit there in silence. He already figured out that disobeying this man would only lead to more trouble, but he was scared to say something out of line or something that the Groom couldn't calculate. His answers would have to be on the nose if he wanted to survive this little game between them. "What cloth... the, uhm- what cloth the dress is gonna be made of," he gulped, looking back down at the table.