Songbird in a Snowstorm [Yandere! Marble Hornets x Reader]

Hard Times

A small heap of stew sits in front of you, thin tendrils of steam reaching up towards the ceiling. Bits of onion and vegetables stick out in the mush. A slightly acidic smell emanates from the food, almost searing your nostrils. It sat undisturbed in front of you. Beside you, Jessica poked and prodded the mush with her spoon. Every now then she'd abandon the stew entirely and nibble on the mysterious meat very kindly provided by your captors.
Tim was already huddled into the far corner of the room by the time you got your food, a bowlful of the definitely-not-drugged-stew in hand. His mask dangled from a string on his hip. When he wasn't stiffly taking in a spoonful of the steaming food, his lips were pressed into a thin line, the rest of his face perfectly devoid of emotion.
All except for his eyes. It was something deeper than simply lacking emotion. His eyes were free of any hints of life itself. Empty. They gave no indication of having known anything but the stillness you see now. You would assume he was simply staring off into space, if his eyes didn't follow your every movement.
Brian sits unmoving in the seat across from you, his forearms braced atop the table's surface. Another serving of the steaming mush sat caged between his body and the table. Letting the stew lay undisturbed, Brian ignored the stew in favor of staring blankly ahead.
Or, you assumed he was starting. It's not like he did much else. Just sit and observe, his fingers not even twitching towards the fork next to him. Every now and then there would be a slight shift of his mask. A single new crease in the fabric as he turns his head all of a few degrees. Creepy fucker.
The masked man stays lingering by the pot, his jacket pulled taut across his shoulders. He had a bowl. You watched him grab one. You could even hear the occasional scrape of metal on metal as he ate. Even still, all you could see was his shoulders and the back of his hood.
The dark grey fabric hung like a curtain around his head, bowing out before being pulled taut around his neck by the larger jacket. You squinted, eying the area where the clothing bunched up around his neck. It's not like it's even that cold here. You could still feel the heat radiating from the stovetop and hear the logs within hiss with a dying fire.
There's a wet squelch from beside you, paired with the clatter of silverware on wood. Jessica's already standing with her hands braced against the table. Heaps of stew still sat untouched in her bowl. However, a small crater had been formed in the slightly charred hunk of meat. You look up just in time to see her disappear down into the basement, the masked man hot on her heels.
Your hands leave the metal bowl, heat ebbing instantly. The stool you sat in is kicked askew as you chase after your friend. Unbothered, Tim moved towards the stove. Probably on his way to get more stew. Come to think of it, he should probably stop soon if he ever wanted to wake back up.
Stairs fly out from under you as you dash to the basement. Somehow you manage to keep your feet under you. The basement is empty, save for a few wooden crates strewn about. On the far end of the room a door was wide open, just as you left it an hour ago.
With every step the sound of retching grew closer. The bathroom door is cracked, and you nudge it open. Jessica's crouched over the toilet. Her thin fingers cling to the porcelain seat, face halfway into the bowl. Locks of ebony hair are trapped within the masked man's fist. He's got the bulk of the strands in a ponytail at the back of her head, his other hand desperately grappling for the remainder.
You'd seen this before. Mostly at college, when someone had just a bit too much to drink. If the usual concerned friend was replaced by some creepy prick, you probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
Jessica lifts her face for a moment, tears at the edges of her eyes. "...water?" Her hollow croak reaches your ears, nothing short of pleading. Your eyes flash back to the masked man, his gaze placed firmly on your figure. Something in your gut twists at the prospect of leaving.
Anything could happen in the time it'd take you to get water. He could try something, just like Tim did. Maybe he'd put two and two together before the drugs could kick in. There'd be no way to help her before it was too late. You'd be on your own. Again.
Gritting your teeth, you start the trek back upstairs. Sure, this dude has another foot and probably another eighty pounds on her. But for fucks sake, it's Jessica. She could handle herself for five minutes.
Tim was already ambling towards the couch by the time you reached the top of the stairs. The white mask had found its way back onto his face. There's a sway to his step, wobbly and uneven. He made no move to acknowledge your existence as he passed. Collapsing onto the couch with a groan, he settles into the plush cushions with a clumsy stir.
Cautiously, you make your way back over to the table. Snatching one of the already filled cups, you turn to hurry back to Jessica. Tim's eyes trail after you, lazily tracking your movements. It didn't look like he'd even bothered to blink. 
Shadows swallowed up the stairs leading down into the basement. Without a single window to shed light into the cramped space, you waded further down into darkness. At this rate, you would be incredibly lucky if you didn't stub your toe on any of the shit they had lying around.
Finally the feeling of cool cement graces your feet as you abandon the last step. Pale yellow light creeps across the floor from an open door. The one leading to the room you were kept in. The same room that thankfully had the world's tiniest window placed higher up than you could easily reach.
Jessica stumbles out into the doorway, trembling like a leaf in the wind. A length of pipe hangs loosely in her hand, the tip missing the ground by a millimeter. In an instant her eyes are locked onto yours, glassy and wide like a deer stuck in the headlights. She shifts to the left, nearly leaning on the doorway and hiding the scene behind her.
It didn't matter. You'd already seen it. The rubber heel of someone's boot, the cuff of jeans draped around the leg of an unconscious man. Holy fuck, you hoped he was just uncouncious. A death would mean way more paperwork than any human should have to deal with. Most of it delegated to you, of course.
Locks of mousy brown hair stick out from her scalp, wiry and frizzled like she's just stepped out of a hurricane. Tussled, but no patches missing. She's safe. You're safe. It's going to be ok.
You turn and start towards the stairway for what felt like the thousandth time. You try not to think of the masked man you just abandoned splayed out across the ground, face down in the concrete. The way his coffee colored jacket highlighted his unmoving outline against the cement. Body stiff and unmoving, as if he were made out of the same stone he was pressed against. No twitch of his hands, nothing to indicate he was still breathing.
Soft snores fill the main cabin, yellow light bathing the area in warm hues. Tim lay splayed out across the couch, one hand dangling down just barely touching the rug. You don't spare the place a second glance as you dash out the door. Within seconds the cabin's homey sounds are little more than a distant murmur.
Mounds of snow dot the landscape in front of you, accented by patches of dirt and clumps of grass still clinging to life. Partially frozen mud presses into the soles of your feet the moment you leap off the deck. That and an assortment of twigs, slush and weirdly sharp rocks. The universe's personal attack on you as it would be.
You pry your eyes off of your feet for a moment to look up. Everything in you expected to see the same sea of trees you'd be watching over since you got here. Far from the hulking monstrosities you saw all around you. Pillars of stone and snow capped dirt that stretched up towards the sky.
Run stuttering for a moment, you swivel to catch Jessica's reaction. Empty air greets you on both sides. Behind you, the cabin's wood door still hung open casting a yellow glow out in an arc onto the porch. In the center of the arc Jessica's unmoving figure lay, hair spread out across the splintered wooden steps.
Your mind travels back to the man, splayed out across the basement floor like a passed out frat boy. People don't stay passed out forever. Not if they can speak. Not if they can beg. Unless of course, you happen to have narcolepsy.
You reach for her, legs instinctively carrying you closer. She's almost within reach. Her shoulders shift with slow breaths, her eyes peacefully closed. Maybe she'd wake with some vigorous shaking. Even if that didn't work, her petite frame would be easy enough to drag.
As you approach, the creak of old wood fills the air. Every muscle in your body goes rigid. Groaning floorboards creep nearer, the subtle shifting almost inaudible over the cracking fire. The light cast on Jessica's body is swallowed up by a man's shadow. You follow the source of the disturbance.
Beaten up combat boots. Faded denim jeans. A baggy beige hoodie paired with black gloves. Broad shoulders and a towering figure that eclipses the doorway. The mask glowers down at you, red eyes stark against the black fabric. His hood casts a dark shadow over the top half of his head. He's perfectly still. A sentry set on observation and nothing more.
You can feel your eyes watering. One appearance and you're back in the lookout. Crickets chirp in the distance and Jessica's babbling over the radio about something or another. The air is pleasantly warm outside. Late summer breezes sneak through an open window bringing a coolness from the lake many miles below. You're happy. Or at least you were.
All the moisture leaves your throat. You can feel your tongue, sticky and dry in your mouth. There's something wrong. Everything was perfect at that moment. But now, it's like the memory has been glossed over with slime. It hurts. You can't forget. And at the back of your mind, you can't help but wonder; was he listening then too?
Jessica's cackle rings out from the radio. You snigger in turn about some asshole you met in collage. She's easy to talk to. Your days are filled with banter, light and easy. What were his hands doing then? He ruined it. You want to forget. You need to forget.
Mud squeezes in between your toes. Slush coats your ankles and bits of plant matter cling to your pants. You feel dirty. You could run back into the house and try to scrub away the memories with cold water. But he's blocking the way.
Run. You need to run. Your feet itch to take off into the sparse forest. Jessica's still laying limp at his feet, chest moving in time with slow breaths. If roles were reversed, there's no way she'd ever leave you. But that's not you. Surely the police would be more helpful than you could ever hope to be.
You blink and trees are whizzing past you. Sweat and liquid guild are running down your face. Boulders coated in moss and lichen are dodged. Fallen logs with the bark rotted off are scrambled over. Every step is another stinging throb of fire and ice.
This wasn't a mistake. There was nothing you could do. Jessica can handle herself. You're going to escape and get help. Someone who can do something other than run at the first sign of trouble. She'd be able to last that long. It's all okay. You'd be forgiven once she was rescued. Everything will be just fine in a few days.
Your path morphs into an incline and instantly your muscles scream their protests. The air was thin here. It tasted of dirt and pine. Fire consumes your lungs and for a moment, you stop to catch your breath. Each new lungful only spreads the burn further up your throat.
Knees buckling, you lean your weight onto a nearby tree. Stripped of bark and moss, it was perfectly smooth. As if it had spent seasons being worn down by sleet and snow. All the trees surrounding you were like this.
Even the ground was different here. There was more rock than anything else present. The plants that grew through the cracks were few and far in between. Patches of unmelted snow dotted the rough terrain, growing larger as you looked further up the hill.
More air leaves your lungs, burning on the way out. You wheeze and hack, trying to suck in as much of the thin air as you could, but to no avail. Giving up on keeping yourself upright, you slump away from the tree. Palms meeting the gravel below you, the sting goes largely ignored due to the ever present burn in your lungs.
For the record, it's not like you're that out of shape. You took a job as a fire watch for fucks sake. But the air around you didn't seem to care much for your qualifications. It's like it doesn't even matter how long you kneel here wheezing. This air just isn't doing it for you. Maybe if it wasn't this fucking thin you wouldn't be having this problem. Then again you'd never been this high up before.
Not when you'd made the journey up into the forest initially. Even that was paced out over three days. Sleeping time counted, there would have been plenty of time to acclimate if that was a problem. The trek over to the abandoned fire watch should have at the very least irritated you if the altitude was truly a problem.
Unless, of course you were much, much higher up than anticipated. Dragging your tongue across your chapped lips, your eyes trace the ridges above you. High, jagged peaks reach up to piece the skies above. Gazing back down the hill, nothing but sparse trees and an open meadow greet you.
Rays of sunlight sneak through the branches to fall down into your eyes. A far cry from the gentle sunlight that embraced you not too long ago. You clamp your eyes shut and slowly, carefully, try to shift away. A shaky sigh works its way through your lips. Someone would be looking for you soon. That is, if they weren't already.
Steeling your body for the exertion, you shove up off the ground. Your lungs ache and your muscles burn, but they reluctantly obey your commands. Standing on wobbly legs, you pass by rocks and trees to venture further into the wilderness.
The ground under your feet gradually leveled out into a grassy plateau. Sheer cliffs lined the sides, creating a rather narrow valley to walk in. Even still, at the far end of the valley, you could see trees peeking out from behind the rocks. And beyond that, a crystalline lake glittering in the sunlight.
Instantly a rush of warmth envelopes your limbs. All your former aches are forgotten as you push yourself into a run. The trees start to taper off, dirt replaced by sheets of rock and stone. The only thing between you and freedom is a small gorge where time has gouged away at the rock.
Your eyes land on the very convenient log stretching across the expanse. It's roots had long since rotted away, leaving only the base stripped of bark and branches. The size alone eases the wariness at the back of your mind. You waste no time on scaling the log.
The wood is solid beneath your feet. It doesn't even wobble as you take your first steps. A sea of leaves covers the ground below you. Must have been another thirty feet down. Between the brown and black splotches, the tips of rounded rocks poke through the surface.
The log shifts under your feet. A sound like thunder behind you. You're weightless, lodged somewhere between rising and falling. A sort of limbo, if you will. Feet slipping out from under you, the sky greets you as you roll onto your back. A wonderful, blue sky dotted with clouds and obscured only by the leafless branches of trees.
It's beautiful. Everything about it. Like a balmy summer day, spent under the branches of a great oak. Even comparable to the beauty of a downed tree strewn out across a ditch. One that would take on the role of a bridge, allowing many creatures safe passage. Until it didn't, of course. One day all things have to rot away. This was no exception.
Your back slams down onto the ground, cushioned only by a layer of leaves. Slimy, fragrant leaves. You could feel your flesh distort, all the little blood vessels in your back tear and start to bleed out. If you felt breathless before, now it was like someone had stolen all the air from your lungs.
You could scream. You fucking wanted to scream. It wouldn't accomplish anything but it would sure as hell make you feel better. But the twinges of pain as soon as you opened your mouth made you think better of it.
All you can really do is lie still and gasp for air. The same infuriating air that doesn't seem to be doing all that much for you at the moment. Fingers clawing at the leaves around you, half rotted leaves form sticky clumps in your fists.
Great. You get to die in a ditch somewhere out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. There's only a few people who even have a chance of finding you. All of them with a very poor grasp exactly when it's acceptable to be wearing a Halloween costume.
Maybe it'll be Jessica's new boyfriend, the spindly fuck with a voice changer. Or Tim, once he's finished with the act. On the other hand, maybe Brian will get real lucky and get to be the one to find you. Could even traumatize him enough to make him pause the next time he goes to workout his weirdly muscular left hand.
And then there's you, the coward who left their friend for dead. Traitorous piece of shit. But who can really blame you? It was a hopeless fight. She would have wanted you to escape. No use in two people dying.
You know, because your escape is going so well. This is surviving. All of it. The wallowing in half rotted leaves is just another chapter in the exciting story that you'll publish one day about your escape. Because people would definitely want to read whatever shitty book you churned out.
Fucking hell. Not even an hour in and you've already managed to make this all about you. She's probably getting tortured to death right now and you're still here, having your own little pity party and bashing on a non-existent book. And honestly, how much of a narcissistic asshat do you have to be to believe anyone would want to read a book about you?
Whatever. It's probably better this way anyway. You'd move faster alone. Be harder to track. Not to mention you don't have to deal with someone spontaneously taking a nap in the middle of your escape. That's a liability at best.
You asshole. She's not a liability, that's your friend. The one you left passed out at the feet of a perverted piece of shit. You're not any better than him. At least he never left his friend to rot.
And for fucks sake get up. You can be better. Other people have done it, why can't you? There's nothing keeping you from not being a cowardly piece of shit, and self awareness is the first step to redemption. Which will definitely happen. Once you find the energy to drag yourself up off the ground. Any minute now. It'll happen. Eventually.
Lazy piece of shit.
Get up. Now. Stop fucking laying around like you've got nothing better to do. But you're still hurt, so you should rest for a little while.  Fuck it, you don't deserve rest. At least if you started moving you might still have a chance at redemption. Jessica would want you to rest.
And now apparently you care what Jessica wants now. Where the fuck was that thoughtfulness an hour ago? They could be doing anything right now. At least the other two should be passed out but Brian would still be awake. She could be dying and you wouldn't know. He probably even kicked her awake just so she could see you abandoning her.
Just fucking get up already.