INTO THE WOODS (Masky x reader x Hoodie)

revamped part 14

She didn't trust Tim well enough to untie him but she knew something had to be done with him. His face was an unshaven mess, his nails were long, he smelled of things unworthy of mentioning. He needed to be taken care of and he was not in the right mindset to even be left alone with a razor, let alone any of the knives he was carrying on him.

After his breakdown of mutters and cries, she held him, tracing her fingers up and down his back, running her hands through his hair while he face was pressed into her shoulder. He had extremely thick, dark hair- it was hard to brush her fingers through them. She figured he would be suited for the hair products she used (she only got the best for herself, even in these dark times)- and a shower in general. He seemed to have calmed down considerably, his mutters turning into slow breaths. It was a good sign of cooperation that she didn't have to chloroform him again to make him relax. He seemed to trust her in his deluded state but that wasn't enough to release a man who doubled her in size- a risk she just wouldn't take. She could trust him perhaps if he were medicated but then again in the clip her grandfather gave her there was no way to tell if he was.

While she knew he wasn't to be trusted, her heart panged in empathy when he started to cry and stumble over words regarding Brian and "the man."

She stood over the bed with arms crossed. His eyes were still red, his head posted to the side in shame. His lip quivered and he would shut his eyes tight, as if he were counting the seconds in his head.

"What medication do you take?" She asked.

She had to ask this a few times, his mind not able to focus on her words.

"Trileptal.. Fluphenazine.."

The terms flew over her head like birds in the blue sky. Okay, well, maybe there was a drug dealer that conveniently sold that, or at least generic versions of that.

"What do you take them for?" She asked. He looked at her with a tired expression that told her he was sick of the questions, to leave him there to rot with his corroded eyes.

"Seizures..." She looked at him in silence expecting another answer. "..Hallucinations."

"Are you schizophrenic?" She asked. He huffed and shifted in his bed prison.

"You haven't heard from Brian at all?" He asked. She shook her head no and his eyes shot down in disappointment.

"What can you remember last? When was the last time you saw him?" She asked.

His mind didn't go to anything in particular that would help. He thought of college memories, working with Brian in shitty restaurants, playing football with him and their other friends, drinking and smoking. The days where he didn't feel like some kind of monster. Before he took that feeling away from his friend, dragging him into this hellish world. Now they were older, glued together by the horror that came with separating, or trusting anyone else. The only times he'd been separated from Brian were times he'd rather not remember. Now that he thought about it, it was always Brian finding his way back to him, getting him back on his feet even if it meant slugging him around a few times and force feeding medications.

"Hey, Tim. She's talking to you. Do you hear her?" Behind (Y/N)'s concerned, bruised eyes, he saw his friend. But he knew it wasn't true. His hood was up, his mask was pulled up. Brian never left his mask on with Tim, he hated wearing it. Complained about it being hot, something about retracting from his "natural good looks". He tried not to look at the apparition but the woman's voice was being overdrawn by the hallucination's bantering.
"Look at me." He calmly told Tim, pulling off his mask. Tim's eyes twitched and his breathing hitched. He didn't look. He had no face again. "Look at what they did to me."

"Tim!" She boomed, grabbing his face. "Stay right here. Just look at me. Whatever's going on, I'm right here." He looked into her eyes and felt.. Safe. Away from whatever was continuously prying at the door. When he found the courage to look at her, it suddenly became so much easier to block out the pounding that was his friend's ghost. He couldn't make out the words she was saying. It was hard to keep track of every individual, small word she was putting together. He was ingesting the words in pieces, "you", and "calm". It was like she was speaking in scrabble but her voice was calm and her eyes were like a deep pit he was content with falling into. One word he could recall, though.

"Shower?"

He sat in the bathroom on the toilet, rubbing his sore wrists. Now he'd known how she felt almost a year ago, being tied up in the back of his car. That version of himself seemed so far away now.

She gave him a nail clipper to which he cut his dirty nails. Directed him to the body wash, shampoo and conditioner. She even showed him the proper way to use all of those things. 

"-No offense to you- your hair is gorgeous but.. most men don't know how to take care of their gorgeous hair." She gave him a friendly pat on his head. If there was any spare blood in his body that wasn't busy fighting to keep him standing up, he was sure he'd been blushing. "It's okay, I can teach you."

"Did you want to shave?" She asked. She had to ask him again, a bit slower as she repeated. He nodded to her and she pulled out a razor. He thought it was funny, he had used the same one. Brian stole a pack of these razors and ran out of a CVS holding them, laughing as he ran back into the car as he screamed at Tim to drive as fast as he could. Of course, they didn't go after them, nobody cared about a pack of razors. During their midst of being stalked by a paranormal creature, Brian made the best of what he could. To keep Tim on his feet and active, to keep him from sinking down into the pits he was so used to slumming in.

His fingers were nimble and he shook too much to carefully aim the blade at his soap covered face. He glanced back at her every now and then, propped up against the door frame with crossed arms, watching him carefully. As he dragged the razor down his face accordingly, his fingers stumbled, like someone was shaking his wrist. He stopped, sighing deeply.

"Need help?" She asked. He nodded in some shame, handing her the razor. She sat on the sink, facing closer to him. Her movements were gentle but firm. "You might feel better after a nice shower and something to eat. And some good rest." His eyes averted away from hers.

"I can't sleep knowing he's out there somewhere."

She tapped the razor a few times in the sink's water, bringing it back to his face.

"Brian is grown. He's strong and he's smart. He'll be okay." He looked at her with caution. "We found each other, didn't we?"

He supposed she was right.

She brought the towel up to his face, washing away whatever was left on his cheeks.

He watched her turn the knobs, getting the water to an appropriate temperature. Slowly he pulled off his shirt, refusing to look in the mirror. She noticed all the scratches and bruises on his back and torso and frowned. She'd have to at least put something on them. She turned her back as he took off his undergarments but before he did, he noticed the knife tucked in her waistband. Observing more closely, he noticed also the knife in her boot. He grabbed it, pulling it out. His face read that he was hurt.

She grabbed his hand holding the knife and he quickly grabbed her other hand.

"What are you doing-"

"You think I'd hurt you? Really?" She didn't respond. He let go of her hands, placing the knife in her palm. "You're all I have left."

She left the bathroom so he could shower with privacy, glancing back at his solemn expression as she closed the door.