COCK BLOOD! | CREEPYPASTA CRACKFIC

I HAVE A BOMB!!!

Back with Tobs and Ben - 10 mins after Y/N left.

The living room feels like a pressure cooker, tension building with every pass Toby makes across the worn carpet. Ben's irritation is noticeable, his eyebrow twitching as he tries to focus on the TV screen. Finally, unable to take it anymore, he google slide transition fades in, in front of Toby, halting the brunette's relentless pacing.

"Relax!" Ben's voice carries a forced lightness. "It's been 10 minutes. He's fine."

Toby's body twitches violently, his hands slightly shaking as he rips his fingers from his mouth. "The w-walk from the l-liquor store is o-only like 5 mi..minutes!" The stutter betrays his rising panic.

Ben's eyes harden slightly, recognizing the genuine fear behind Toby's agitation. "Exactly. Look, he'll probably show up any minute now."

As Ben floats back to the couch, he can't help but prod at the elephant in the room. "You know, you've been AWFULLY protective over him. I mean, if he gets nabbed again, it's chill. We'll get him back."

Toby's response is immediate, defensive. "I'm not protective be-ecause I care about him. I-I care about all of us, o-our lives. It'll be a great... inconvenience."

Ben stares, seeing through the façade. "Riiiiight. Either way, we know what happens when we care about people a little too much."

The words hit Toby like a physical blow. He freezes, memories of his sister flooding back – the loss, the grief, the overwhelming sense of failure. Even though it happened so long ago, the baggage of guilt will always linger in the back of his head. His twitches intensify, a physical manifestation of his internal uneasiness.

Ben continues, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "But in this case, the worst that could happen, can't. Y/n can't die. So why are you so scared?"

Toby's head snaps up, "I care about both of you, you know!"

Ben's attempt at levity falls flat. "We both know I can handle myself, bro. I'm like an awesome demon thing. It takes a lot for me to die." He flexes nonexistent muscles.

Toby's ignored his attempt at a joke, too stressed to even acknowledge it. His next words are heavy, "I t-think the worst isn't d-death. At least with death, I know there's n-no way to bring t-them back."

The room falls silent, the weight of Toby's admission hanging in the air. In their world, there are fates far worse than death. The fear of losing someone, not to the finality of death, but to the endless torment of their existence, is a constant, gnawing presence.

As they stand there, the absence of Y/n becomes more apparent. The ticking of the clock seems to grow louder, each second a reminder of the dangers of the pastas that are possibly searching for them as they speak. It's not safe, nowhere is safe. Even though Y/n is stupidly powerful, he is also that— STUPID.

"I'm going out," Toby concludes, his voice tight with grit. He stomps towards their shared room, each step echoing his growing anxiety.

Ben spawns in the doorway, with forced nonchalance. "Well, if you're gonna be out then, can you buy me McDonalds on the way back?"

Toby doesn't respond, focused on rummaging through the closet. The sound of metal clanking against metal fills the air as he retrieves his rusty hatchets, tossing them onto the bed with a dull thud.

Ben's eyebrows rise, "We going with the intention to kill?"

"D-Depends," Toby replies, his stutter more pronounced as he adjusts his iconic yellow goggles. The familiar weight on his face is comforting, a reminder of who he is and what he's capable of.

Ben points at Toby with a grin. "Guys, look, it's Ticci Toby!"

Toby swats his hand away, irritation clear in his movements. "S-Shut up." The nickname stings, a reminder of a past he'd rather forget.

As Toby clips on his holster belt and secures his hatchets, the room feels charged with tension. He pulls on his medical black face mask and lifts his hood, the familiar routine doing little to calm his nerves.

"Y-You're not coming?" Toby asks.

Ben hums noncommittally, "I'll be around. Just call if you need help. Imma play Fortnite." With that, the elf disappears, presumably back to the living room.

Left alone, Toby takes a deep breath, trying to convince himself everything is fine. Y/n is good, bro is probably taking a massive shit. Hopefully.

The weight of his weapons, once a source of pride and power, now feels like a grim necessity. As he heads for the door, his mind races with possibilities, each worse than the last.

-

"I dun goofed," I mutter, the weight of my mistake settling heavily on my shoulders. Toby's response is swift - a sharp rap on my head with the handle of his hatchet. I hiss in pain, "The freak, man?! Oh—hey, you look like your OG self, Ticci—"

Toby's grimy fingers press against my lips, silencing me. His eyes, visible behind his iconic yellow goggles, are filled with a mixture of frustration and fear. "Y-you had one job, Y/n," he hisses, his stutter more pronounced in his agitation. "Get the cigs, c-come home. Do you understand the severity of our situation?? T-this is exactly why w-we ALWAYS went out with y—"

I groan, smacking his hand away. The gravity of our predicament crashes over me, mingling with a surge of defiance. "I don't think it even fucking matters!" I snap, my voice tinged with a desperation I can't quite hide. "LJ found us already, it's about time the rest does!"

The music box sits on the ground between us, an ominous presence in the night air. I look back and forth between it and Toby, my mind racing with possibilities.

Francis's voice in my head is a panicked whisper: Do not touch it...

Juan, ever the contrarian, shouts: TOUCH IT!!

"Don't touch it," Toby hisses, echoing Francis. His grip on my arm tightens, betraying his anxiety. "It's gotta be a trap."

I can't tear my eyes away from the box. Jack's words echo in my mind: "A gift wasted and misused by the likes of someone as stupid as you." The insult stings, but there's something more - a hint of knowledge just out of reach.

"Can't I just take it? I won't open it..." I mutter, my curiosity warring with caution.

Toby's neck cracks as he whistles rhythmically, a nervous tic. "H-How do we know w-we can trust him, hm?"

I meet his gaze, a reckless grin spreading across my face. "We won't know. I just... I don't know. Fuck it, we ball?"

Toby sighs, releasing my arm. I approach the box cautiously, my heart pounding as I carefully lift it. The weight of it feels significant, like it holds more than just gears and springs.

Francis's panic reaches a fever pitch: WHAT IF IT'S A BOMB?!

Juan's excitement matches it: WHAT IF IT'S NOT THOUGH? OPEN IT!

In a moment of impulsive decision, I hurl the box across the street. It hits the ground with a thud and a faint jingle of music.

Toby flinches, his voice rising in shock. "W-WHAT WAS THAT FOR?"

"To check if it was a bomb," I shrug, jogging over to retrieve it. The box lies intact, its secrets still locked away. I decide against opening it, but I can't bring myself to leave it behind. Something tells me it might be crucial later.