Run Away [TF2XREADER]

Chapter 35- Unexpected Comfort

That night you ended up having a bit of an argument when it came to sleeping arrangements. You and the mercenaries were all in your pajamas setting up your spots on the ground with sleeping-bags when the issue arose."Sniper, I'm not sleeping in your bed, it's- well it's your bed!" Sniper crossed his arms stubbornly. "Roo, I must insist that you take my bed, it'd be impolite of me to let you sleep on the floor." Scout and Soldier had already taken their spots, Scout calling dibs on the area closest to the door that led to the front seats of the camper, while Soldier ended up taking the walkway area, since that was the only spot left. "Sniper, first off, I've slept on the ground for a large majority of my life, so it doesn't matter to me. Anywhere that isn't concrete is good to me. And secondly, I'm the smallest one here! It would make more sense for me to sleep down here, or on one of the seats." Sniper shook his head, set on the fact that you'd be sleeping in the bed. "Sorry Roo, but Oi'm not budgin'." You sighed. "Fine, where are you going to sleep then?" He seemed stumped, having then realized that he didn't know where he'd be sleeping. Looking around, his eyes landed on the table, which he then cleared off and sat on, trying to lie down and get comfortable. "..Seriously?" He shifted, positioning himself so that he faced you. "Yep." You squinted with at him stupidly, hoping your expression would make him realize what he was doing was dumb, but then sighed, letting it go. "Fine, I guess. But don't get mad at me if you end up with a sore back." He waved you off, letting out a small playful scoff. "I've slept in worse positions than this, I'll be foine." You rolled your eyes at him, gathering up your sleeping bag and blanket to bring up with you to the bed. Getting everything settled, you looked down at Sniper, who was still shifting around somewhat to try and find the most comfortable position. "Hey, Snipes?" He looked up at you with a curious expression, most likely due to the nickname. "Catch." You threw down a blanket and pillow, which were the same blanket and pillow he kept within that bed. He sat up and caught them, setting them down on the table. "Thanks, Roo." He smiled and gave you a nod, to which you nodded back and told him, "No problem!" Luckily he had two pillows, so there was still one left up there for you.

As everyone made themselves comfortable, there was only a small bit of chatter before the lights went out and everyone fell asleep, along with you.

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You were in a white room, sitting in an ebony chair facing a dark scarlet mahogany door. The difference of colors within the space is what made it all stand out. The walls looked old, peeling and gross, but not yellow. You were wearing all white, which was odd when you thought about it. Too pure for you. The atmosphere and aura of the room made it feel as if you were at a funeral; it was incredibly gloomy and filled you with dread. As you sat there, you heard a knock and a voice question you through the door.

"Who's there?"

You didn't reply. You simply sat and stared. Even if you wanted to reply, which a part of you did, you weren't able to. It felt as if your lips had been glued shut. Another knock sounded, but this time the knock grew louder.

"Who's there?"

The pounding on the door continued again after a moment, the knocking continuing with fewer increments of time separating each section of knocks. The knocking quickly grew to become a hammering and banging. But as the bashing of the door increased and grew louder, as did the voice. It grew and morphed into an amalgamation of voices, all whispering, yelling, begging, screaming, demanding your reply.

"Who's there?"

If anything, you should be the one asking that question. But you didn't. You couldn't. The sounds all came together to be deafening like static; constant and unnerving. It went on and on and got louder and louder until you thought you could take no more, feeling as if you were about to explode into a bloody volcano of mist as you gripped the seat harshly, your knuckles and the wood cracking under the pressure as your fingertips bled. The door shook due to the pressure of the pounding of knuckles, and as the final strike of bone against mahogany, the dream dissipated into a cloud of ash around you, leaving you to suffocate within it.