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

Just Cryptid Things

You feel like shit. Sweat glistens over the length of your exposed forearms. A numbness like no other covers the length of your back. What used to be a somewhat dry albeit dirty shirt clung to your figure with no discrimination. There's a weight set over your lower half, ending right at your hips. A blanket encompassing your legs, thick enough to stave away some of the cold creeping down from your back. And also conveniently leaving you drenched in sweat from the waist down.
Lifting your face from the once neatly folded blanket, there are no bright lights to make you flinch away. Only beams of gentle light filtering into the cabin. The masked man sat poised just as he was the night prior. It was quiet as you shifted in place. Not a single indication of life aside from the man currently looming over you.
An odd sensation blooms at the back of your neck. Pins and needles but stronger, a feeling akin to burning. You reach up to feel your shoulder, fingers meeting with a wet slush. Chunky snow lay in a thin layer across your back, the edges starting to melt and soak through into your shirt.
Tearing your gaze away, you're met with a nearly barren kitchen. The mountain of gauze and assorted medical shit had disappeared entirely, leaving only a blank countertop in its wake. Or, almost blank. Just a couple inches from the edge sat a half full water bottle. The type you'd find right by the registers in any convenience store. Its label was battered and torn at the edges, the paper starting to brown in some spots. Even the plastic itself had a thin layer of dust coating it. But the water inside was clear as day, shimmering like a fine diamond.
There was maybe three feet between the table and the countertop. One and a half steps and you'd have your water. Everything else could be sorted out after. Luckily you could still feel your feet, so that means you should still be able to walk, right?
Cotton bandages catch on splintered wood as your palms press into the table. At this rate, it wouldn't take much more before they ripped entirely. Hooking the heel of your palm over the table's edge, you succeed in dragging your body a couple inches to the side. There's a wet squelch as water is displaced from the puddle. That and the pitter patter of droplets as they fall to the floor. Your arm trembles uncontrollably with the effort, but the promise of water urges you on.
A gloved hand comes down to rest on the table by your head. Instantly your head snaps to meet the gaze of the hand's owner. The masked man's eyes bear down into your own through a tight squint, soaking in the sight of your form. Not explicitly hostile, but tinged with a sort of seriousness- the kind you could feel deep down in your bones. It made you want to wither away just to escape his gaze.
Hand drifting away from the table, you try to ignore the tightness in your muscles as you lift your arm. You can see it clearer now. Water glistening through the dusty plastic. Droplets sticking like dewdrops to the side. A cap that was only ever halfway on to begin with. All of it calling to you, ushering you forth with the promise of relief. Bit by bit you force your trembling arm to stretch, half reaching, half pointing to the bottle.
The movement causes something to slip from your shoulder blade. A clump of white falls to the table with a wet splat, shattering into a mixture of slush and powdery flakes. Snow. Rapidly melting snow bleeding into the already existing puddle under you. Before you know it, another clump has tumbled away from your back. Shirt still clinging to your figure, warm air easily penetrates through to your skin. An ever increasing ache makes itself known where the snow has fallen away from your back.
Leather covered fingers capture your wrist before you could even gesture in the general direction of the water. Tugging at his grip, you only succeed in making something in your shoulder snap. Fire blooms under your skin spreading up to your neck and creeping down towards your ribs. A strangled gasp escapes your mouth before your body crumples back to the table, limp and useless.
Sucking in air through your teeth, you can't seem to get a full breath in. Short, shallow inhales at best. You let your mouth fall open into a pant, no longer caring for the burn that would inevitably accompany it. No use. Any deep breaths and you could just about feel your ribs cracking with the exertion.
A stabilizing hand comes to rest on your side. If you weren't so busy writhing in agony you would have shaken it off. As things are though, his hand stays in place as you work to even out your breathing. It's a slow process. And not one helped by the irritating hand lightly settled on your body in the slightest.
An uncomfortable scratch builds at the back of your throat. The kind of scratch you get right when you awaken to a new illness. You want to ask for the water, but the words refuse to form in your mouth. Even if you tried to speak, you're sure nothing more than a croak would come out. Swallowing did nothing to quell the sting. Not when even your tongue was barely sticky anymore.
Frantically, your eyes shoot back and forth between him and the water. He doesn't seem to notice in the slightest, focused only on keeping you in place. You open your mouth in a silent plea, one that would be ignored just as the first was. There's no sound that could be forced to escape your scratchy throat. Not without some water at least.
A sharp sigh sounds down by your feet, followed immediately by the scrape of wood on tile. The masked man's head snaps in the direction of the noise, but someone has already shoved past him to the counter. The crinkle of plastic fills the air as the bottle is half set, half slammed down onto the table by a black clad hand. Droplets are scattered and stick to the sides of the worn bottle.
A dull burn runs along the length of your arm as you reach for the bottle. One that is all but forgotten about the moment flimsy plastic graces your fingertips. You can feel the cool liquid slosh about through the plastic, as the flimsy bottle distorts in your grip. A symphony of crackles fill the air as you wrestle for the cap. It takes all of a few seconds for you to wrestle the cap off.
Finally, cool water floods your mouth and you welcome it. Gulping down mouthfuls of water, you can't be bothered when some of it finds its way into your lungs. The burn is entirely ignored, as is the flavor of sun warmed plastic. All the scratchiness from your throat ebbs away. Even the ever present pounding within your skull bubbles down to little more than a dull throb.
The empty bottle slips from your fingers and lands with only a light crinkle. Keeping your eyes low, you steal a glance towards the person who so kindly brought you water. With a scratchy voice, you manage to force words out of your mouth. "Thank-" it's the same beige hoodie. Same broad shoulders and unforgiving stare you saw in the loft. "you?"
It wouldn't have mattered so much if he had chosen any other mask to hide behind. Even as he turned to look towards the other masked man, it still felt like the stained-on eyes were glaring at you. Pinned under the gaze of a predator, every operational muscle in your body coiled to bolt. But the involuntary action only served to keep you paralyzed and under his constant scrutiny.
The invisible grime is back again, oily and flecked with dirt as it licks its way over your skin. Around you the air shimmers as a chorus of broken voices fill it, but they're so far away you can't quite distinguish any one word. You try to move your arm, if only to curl in on yourself but the muscles don't respond. Something's not quite right. You're freezing. Heavy. Like someone scooped out your organs and filled your hollow body with ice water.
Movement fills your vision. Beige fabric twisting and distorting to hide the figure of a man shifting in place. "Brian." The first syllable hadn't left his mouth before Brian was stalking towards the door. His boots came down heavy on the old floors, squealing with the abuse. "Please." His jumbled voices rang out. "Listen To M-" the walls around you tremble from the force of a slamming door.
Silence swallows up the cabin. The air is thick with tension, and you find yourself trying to huddle closer to the table. Wordlessly the masked man crouches to scoop the bottle off of the floor. He disappears from view and you hear the faucet release a light stream of water. No more than thirty seconds later a now full bottle is set near the corner of the table. Within arms reach, but far enough that you were unlikely to accidentally knock it off.
A gloved hand finds one of your own and gives it a soft squeeze. Like always his eyes gave nothing away. There was little in his posture to tip you off to one emotion or another. But as he gently tucks your hand back under the blanket, it's hard not to take note of the extra attention. If you didn't know any better, you might even suspect that he felt bad for you. A bitter flavor coated your tongue at the thought. You could do without his pity.
Footsteps sound out as the masked man moves to trail after Brian, the sound echoing throughout the cabin until a closing door silences them. You're left to sit with your thoughts and the ambient sounds of the cabin. There was the tap of a single droplet escaping a faucet to assault the aluminum basin below every three seconds. And more notably Tim's snoring to fill in the stillness. Staggered and overbearing, it would have been easy to be irritated by the sound. No one could have blamed you for that- as you lay exhausted and immobile on a plank of wood.
The sound brought back memories though, an undeniable calmness rooted somewhere in your youth. It was the background music to a rainy day when the adults were out cold and you spent hours gripping crayons and working on your masterpiece. The signal that it was prime time to break out the sharpies after a big party. And the symphony you heard every time you made the mistake of falling asleep after your roommate.
Better times. Before you pissed it all away. Ages before you were responsible for anything other than yourself. It was almost hazy. A fond childhood dream long since past. Fresh coats of paint on new buildings. Your very own glorified broom closet. Four plain walls and a bed to call your own. Never imagined you'd miss the stark grey walls of your dorm. Anything to get away from this.
All you could ever find when your eyes trailed along the walls was tortured wood so old, it had started to take on a grey tinge. Like everything here was designed to mock you day and night. Bitter cold radiating in through layers of wood and stone. The world's thinnest windows decorating the basement. Creaky floors that always managed to sound like footsteps.
"Well fuck." Hope flutters around in your heart, making you ache with guilt all over again. The sound of her soft voice echoed around in your ears, reverberating in your skull. She's not dead yet. You can still save her. Your pulse forces its way to the back of your throat, reminding you of its presence every half second. Damning the inevitable pain in your neck, you turn to locate the source of the sound.
Jessica stands at the top of the stairs looking no worse for wear. Still in the same clothes she wore the night prior. Ruffled hair, wrinkled shirt, nothing that would raise more than a couple eyebrows out in the streets. Her eyes trail across your body, wide like she was staring at a gutted animal. Jessica's gaze fixates on the bandages covering the bulk of your body. Two paces and she's by your side again. Her hands hover inches from your body, the urge to reach out fighting with the fear of making it worse. Lips wobbling she opens her mouth and closes it several times over before choking out a couple words, "Can you walk?"
Moment by moment the ghost of a smile forms on your lips. She's alive. Feeling well enough to still be concerned about somebody else. Through the terror in her eyes there was also the tiniest spark of hope. That little light that had almost been snuffed out entirely. If she could make it to the nearest road, she might just be okay. She'd be lining the pockets of one particularly lucky therapist for the rest of her life, but she'd be okay. You on the other hand...
Shifting your gaze to where you knew the medical supplies to be stored, you easily spot the milk crate balanced precariously on the top shelf. Jessica catches on and moves to make a grab at it. Her fingers just barely bump the edge and offset the delicate balance. The crate falls with a heavy slam that sends some of the contents flying. Objects are grabbed and discarded in a matter of seconds. Anything deemed worthless tossed away to the side.
"Jess..." you barely got her name through your teeth before you had to heave in another couple of half breaths. Each one stretched your chest more than your body was willing to compensate. The water had only managed to dampen the sting in your throat by the tiniest increments.
Turning at the sound of her name, she glances over her shoulder. "Yeah?" Her hand is still buried halfway into a milk crate. The sound of her frantically rifling through the various objects filled the cabin in an unending chorus. So loud. So obvious.
You force the words to form in your mouth. "You need-" a burst of dry air assaults the back of your throat and you're thrown into another round of vicious coughs. "You need to run." You managed to rasp out, swallowing hard. It strains your chest to force the words from between your teeth.
A crease forms between her brows as her mouth twists into something of a grimace. "I'm not leaving you." Her gaze burns holes straight through your body. Nothing but confusion and a bit of hurt swimming in her eyes. It makes the tips of your ears burn and something in your chest twist like a dagger aimed at your heart.
Before you can say anything to somehow mess this up even more, her attention is diverted back to the little milk crate. Eyes lighting up in triumph, she plucks a ragged grey towel from the bottom of the crate. Little bottles and glossy cardboard boxes go flying off in different directions with a noisy clatter. Not a second later and the towel is hurling towards your face.
Darkness encompasses your vision for all of a few seconds before the towel is yanked away along with a muffled 'sorry' in the background. "Jessica-" instantly the towel is mopping up water, turning shades darker moment by moment. "Please listen-" slim fingers hook under the hem of your soaked shirt and yank it up and away. Without the snow to numb away the worst of your injuries, any exposed skin was set aflame by the action. Gritting your teeth through the worst of it, what little resolve you have left goes into not crying out when your shirt is pulled over your head. "Jess-" you look up, tears blurring your vision.
She's just standing there. A clean, dry, oversized shirt hanging from her outstretched hand. Like you could actually manage to put it on without help. As if the entire fucking situation wasn't a ticking time bomb until someone found out about the pills and snapped. "C'mon, let's go." Her voice drifts into the air, hopeful and woefully small.
There would be no stopping them. Three against one and a half functional people. Odds were already stacked against you from the get go. But this? Guaranteed death, no doubt they'd take their fair share of revenge beforehand. "For fucks sake Jessica," you spit the words through clenched teeth. "The second they find out about the pills,"
Her body would be dumped in some beautiful, remote corner of the forest. Swarmed in maggots, little black bodies pushing and shoving for a position on any exposed patch of skin. Animals would be drawn in from far and wide from the pungent smell of decay. And it would all be your fault.
"They won't." She assures. Eyes shooting over to the door, she continues, "Not before we're gone anyway." Stomach twisting into a pretzel, you steal a glance towards the door. It stood innocuously, and yet you couldn't help but think that any second it could fly open and her chance would be gone.
"We need to move before they get back." At this, she held the shirt up a few inches from your face in offering. You eyed the shirt dangling from her hands. There was no way this would work. As it was, you made another discovery every thirty seconds or so. Usually the location of another torn blood vessel or a new bruise. At the very least it would take five minutes to get the damn thing on you. They might already be back by then.
There wasn't nearly enough time. Even if you could find the strength to stand, there was still more than a day's worth of walking over rough terrain before you could even hope to call for help. Not to mention the snow. That and the thought of even attempting to cover the tracts of two people was nothing short of insane.
Alone, you both might have a chance. If she managed to cover enough ground before either one of the guys found her or she fell to the elements, she might still be able to be rescued. On the off chance that they didn't kill you the moment she turned up missing, you could play coy and hope they kept you alive long enough for Jessica to get help.
Pinching your eyes shut, you shake your head in refusal. There's something horribly wrong with your body. You didn't need a doctor to tell you that it might be weeks before you could even hope to walk again. If you were lucky, that is. "I can't." Each syllable seared as it rolled off your tongue. Even if you can bullshit yourself into believing you might survive this, Jessica certainly didn't.
"Get up." The change of tone made your eyes snap open. "We're going to get out of here, and we're doing it together." Heart stilling in your chest, the realization of what she planned to do set in just a second too late. You open your mouth to protest, but she's already gripping you by the shoulder and sliding your body off the table. The bandages lining your forearms are torn to fuzzy strings and frayed edges. Heat pools in your eyes and a few stray tears slip to race down your cheeks. Huffing as the action forces air from your chest, you gulp down another couple mouthfuls of air.
Clutching Jessica's arm with more force than necessary, you try to find your balance on the wood floors before you eat shit. It's of no use. Your already weakened knees buckle under your own weight. Though Jessica took the brunt of your weight, it wasn't nearly enough to keep you upright. Bile threatened to climb up your throat as you stumbled forward. The ground was rapidly coming up to meet you, all the grains within the wooden floor suddenly becoming crisp and clear.
The air is stolen from your body as your shoulder meets an especially scrawny wall. You can already smell it. Stale air. Like being plunged underwater, your senses dulled. A pair of arms find a home around your body, looping under your arms and knees, setting like concrete a second later. Your head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton.
Through the haze you can make out the edge of a white mask inches above you. The masked man freezes, letting his eyes take note of the carnage that is the kitchen. Wood floors barely visible beneath a myriad of ointments and bandages. Some shiny tools sparkling between the sea of dull whites and tans. A puddle of water gathered around the legs of the table. The single sopping towel balled up in a corner. A previously clean blanket crumpled up on the ground.
Out of the corner of your eye you see his mask shift, no doubt to train his stare on the only person who was physically able to do that much damage. Jessica shuffles backwards until she inevitably bumps into the table's edge. Her eyes never stray from the man currently holding you four feet off the ground. He gestures with his head towards the stairwell, taking measured steps towards it himself.
You squirm in his arms, trying to alleviate any one of the aches in your body. "Settle." He commands, fingers tightening ever so slightly. Your limbs dangle uselessly by your sides, body already limp in his arms. His best attempts to maneuver around the more damaged parts of your body were null the moment he took a step forward. That single action stole the last of the air left in your lungs.
Lodged in limbo, the pain barely registers in your mind anymore. A fog so thick you could almost forget your shattered ribs being jostled. Anyone else would be flailing about in a hysteric attempt to escape the pain. And to your credit, you still offer a weak struggle, palm shoving against his chest in the tiniest show of resistance. In your mind you knew you should be scared. Fighting with the little energy you had left to preserve what was left of your life.
Through half lidded eyes you could see the ground pass by. The sight made the entire world spin around you. Textures and shadows rendered meaningless in a great blur. For a few scarce moments though, you could see with perfect clarity.
Tim's bulky figure lay splayed out across the couch. His hair sticks out at odd angles, greasy and unkempt. Purple shadows decorate the area under his eyes, all sunken in. Even the whites of his eyes had taken on a pink tinge. He looked even worse than he did last night. This time though, he's propped himself up with a hand along the arm of the couch. His other hand still stuck cupping the side of his skull. Like he was a college student nursing the world's worst hangover. Across the room your eyes meet for all of a second. Only the briefest of connections and it's all the time you need to see his eyes harden.
Once again the world spins as you finally reach the bottom of the first step. Pinching your eyes shut, you suck in what might pass as a deep breath and try to block out the nausea. Bile threatens to claw its way up your throat as the seconds tick by. You try to swallow down the creeping acid. Grit your teeth and ignore the urge. Shitty as your situation may be, there's not an icicle's chance in hell you're going to let yourself die by choking on your own vomit.
You can feel the man shift his weight onto one foot. Hear his boot meeting solid wood. Feel the door ricochet from the now crumbling drywall. Your shoulders meet with a spongy excuse of a mattress. A real piece of shit that would no doubt find a way to give you back problems in less than a year. There's a hand supporting your lower back, fingers splayed and putting all too much pressure on your bruised spine. Jessica's concerned face peers over the masked man's shoulder.
Legs fitfully kicking out at nothing, you grapple with the air in an attempt to find a position that doesn't hurt. Gloved fingers brush up against your wrists and you blindly bat them away. The last thing you need is this freaky bastard trying to hold you down. Movement just outside your peripheral drew your attention.
The masked man lingers in a low crouch by your bedside, still managing to loom over you somehow. An evident tightness in his shoulders, he reached for one of your wrists again. Only this time he was slower, his movements purposeful. All the while letting his eyes burn holes straight through your soul. The moment you met his gaze every muscle in your body went still.
His usually blank eyes are simmering with fury. Not the kind that might compel someone to punch a hole in the drywall. A quiet, contemplative type of rage. One that burned with the intensity of a thousand suns and only shows in clipped replies and a whole lifetime of very intentional inconveniences down the line. Something about it made your stomach flutter.
You felt fingers gently seize your wrist and hold it to your size. At this point you were pinned down by his eyes alone, though it could very well be intentional. His other hand gathered up the ends of a couple blankets to drag up to your shoulders. Every second that passed was a battle with yourself to not curl away from his gaze. Your body begging to escape the sight and your mind all but screaming that he might strike if you lost sight of him.
Mercifully, the masked man's eyes drift away from your huddled form and back towards where Jessica stood. "You teST my PaTienCE." His jumbled voice came out in a deadpanned drone. Jessica winces, shooting a glance at the empty doorway. Hesitating, Jessica looks to you before attempting to spit out some half baked excuse. Anything to placate the man.
But the masked man's eyes narrowed to slits the second she opened her mouth. "Don't." He warned, letting his gaze fall on her and linger. The masked man raises his hand, a familiar orange bottle clasped between thumb and forefinger. Lifted to meet the singular streak of light filtering in through the window, the light brings a sheen to the once cloudy orange plastic- white cap still in place and not a pill to be found. Glimpses of the faded label catch the light and highlight a name printed in jet black ink. Jessica Locke.
Instantly the room was swallowed up by silence. Jessica's eyes lock onto the pill bottle. She shifts her weight from one foot to another, looking like a rabbit seconds before it bolts. The masked man shows no signs of moving either, eyes endlessly staring off into the distance. Sputtering for a second, Jessica mumbles something unintelligible, taking little half steps back all the while.
The sight made your gut twist and threaten to collapse in on itself. "Please," you croak. Ever so slightly, the fabric of the masked man's hood shifts. Just the smallest distortion betraying his gaze. A gaze that was surely trained on none other than you. Gritting your teeth, you choke out your next words as gently as you can. "We just want to go home." The sentence ends in a breathy hiss as your voice gives out on you once again.
Recapturing his full attention, his green eyes narrow with a tilt of his head. "YOu CaN't." His jumbled voice continues in a melancholy drone, "IT foLLows." No deception laced the words. Nothing to suggest that he was telling anything but the truth. He spoke with such sincerity. A gleam in his eyes imploring you to listen, to soak in each and every word as if they had been steeped in years of experience. There was no doubt about it. Either he's the world's best actor, or he's spent so long staring at trees all day that he honestly believes in every rambling word he says.
No surprise there.
You sneak a glance towards Jessica. Lips pressed into a thin line, she hasn't let her gaze leave the masked man. Jessica's foot shifts back, suddenly angled away from her body. The movement itself is subtle, but it strings together another hundred details to wrap up into a single message. Her tense shoulders squared and taut, feet molded into a wide stance, a more noticeable tremble in her hands.
Jessica's eyes flash to the exit, backed by fear and need. She should run. You almost wished she would, if only to ease your own conscience. But then her eyes land on you. The same paralyzing fear you felt reflected back at you along with an almost hopeful look. Relief. Before you know what's happening she closes the distance and plants herself firmly between you and the masked man.
Rising to his full height, the masked man takes a few unsure steps back almost instinctively. His stare drifts from you to Jessica and back again. Eyes wide open, soaking in the details but unable to entirely decipher them. The heel of his boot scoots another couple of inches backwards. Seconds stretched on and he just stood, tense and oddly crooked.
You could feel your eyelids starting to droop. Exhaustion creeping up on you like a thick fog rolling through the forest. No fighting, no escape. Darkness gnawed at the edges of your vision, all but begging you to give in. And in a moment of clarity a pair of icy blue eyes met your own. Shoulders falling, the masked man shifts on his heel, taking a half step backwards before turning to meander towards the door. Stuffing the pill bottle back into the pocket of his jacket, he slips out of the room quietly, disappearing up the stairs.
There's a new presence hunched over by your side. Soft, short murmurs laced with urgency. You fight to keep your eyes open, a mumbled assurance falling from your lips. Through layers of blankets you could feel the weight of Jessica's hand laid over your shoulder.
Something urges you to curl in on yourself a little more. Bring your arms closer to your chest and clutch the thick blanket draped over your broken body. The blanket distorts in your grip as you pull it closer to your chest. Taking what passes as a heavy sigh to you at the moment, the world darkens as you finally allow your eyes to drift shut. Succumbing to your body's demands you relax into the mattress and try to scrub your memory of the icy blue eyes that always seemed to be staring down at you from behind a mask. Or, were they green?