Under Control (Ticci Toby X Reader)

Chapter Nineteen

(So, maybe any of y'all could request a new fanfiction I could do as a secondary story to work on? Preferably about a Creepypasta or something. Seem to write those better than anything else.)

"Bail," I spoke tossing Toby his hatchet that wreaked of copper and looks as if it had been dipped in a sticky, dark red paint. Toby caught it with a continuing glare and nodded. He placed his undesirable hatchet in his belt and looked around for anything that would point to us. I shoved Toby's switchblade in my back pocket in case something happened.

My arms ached from the stern grasp I had on the hatchet while pelting the jerk. Toby grabbed the gory mess I created and tossed it in a neighboring bush.

I kept trying to take in breaths, still not believing what I have done. I caught his glare and we both nodded and started into the woods where we turned and tried to run unsuspectingly to the café to retrieve my pickup.

I hopped in the driver's seat, Toby jumping into the passenger seat. I patted down my pockets for the keys. Dammit! "Keys?" I looked over at Toby who started scavenging his pockets for the metal. He cursed along with me and I started looking through the glove compartment. "You gotta be kidding me!" I exclaimed, irritated and paranoid seeping into me as I knew we had to hurry to get out of here. 

"I t-thought you h-had it!," Toby expressed, looking under the seats.

"You were the one driving, so where did ya put it!?" He merely shrugged. Shrugged!

"Dammit, Toby!" I shouted. "Should we just bail the car?"

"It's not my fault!" Toby retorted, his arm reaching under the seats in hopes for the key to be no longer missing.

"Okay, who had them then?" I gave him a stern look, clearly agitated. "You, Toby, you had them!"

"Well, I-I'm so fucking sorry t-then!" he said sarcastically, placing his hands on his hip. I wanted to strangle him so bad.

"Where did ya go? You could of lost them there."

He pondered on the question as if he forgot already. "Home."

I raised an eyebrow. So, this murderer has a home? Is this where we're going? "What? You know what! Let's bail from my truck and get going on the run, someone's bound to find that mother fuckin' smoothie on the ground!" I slammed the door shut, quickly and groaned in frustration.

I quickly took out the duffel bag from the back seats and shoved my blanket, hoodie and everything that could ID me in the bag.

I lifted the heavy bag over my shoulder and looked over at Toby. "Where to, Asshole?"

He rolled his eyes and looked around before pointing a direction that would lead from the opposite of the park. And so, we ditched the truck as walked alongside the road, listening to the distant sirens that became closer to the park.

For ten minutes, it was just silence and walking, kicking some stones with my tennis shoes and trying to whistle a tune- which failed as I didn't know how to whistle.

"That was impressive," Toby broke the silence. I gave him a questioning look. Wait- my fails at whistling are impressive? "Back there. T-thought you b-be all like 'Oh no, d-don't hurt him'."

"I killed a person before. What difference does two make?" I replied, smiling slightly at the compliment. "And, no, no one gets their hands on me and gets away with it." I was about to explain what fully happened, but by his silent behavior, I had a feeling he already knew.

"So, will you tell me where we are going exactly?" I glanced at Toby who walked alongside of me with his hands in his pockets and his eyes. Shrugging, I caught him take a short glance over at me. He still had that emotionless expression. Usually he talks off and on, non-stop, but there was a whole other demeanor about him.

It felt like it was tearing at you.

I didn't want to ask, more likely, I was afraid to ask about it. Bipolar? Perhaps, he maybe. Internally, I tried to think of conversation and not the strawberry mash back there. Surprisingly, I didn't think too much of killing that dude like I did with the first. I wonder if Toby ever thinks about them.

"So, you said you went home- but came back. What's that about?" I tried to search the answer in his dark, comatose eyes but could retrieve nothing but a deadpan expression.

Then he twitched a bit. "You were there," his unusually pale face stared at hers as they kept on walking more slowly now.

Tilting my head to the side in confusion, "What?"

"Your father died."

I stayed silent. I knew he knew this, but why was he bringing this up?

"The road," he chuckled slyly making me feel tense. "It was a... B-barbecue."

What the hell?

"For people."

"What the fuck, Toby," I barked, surprised at how he thought it was a great idea to bring this up now.

"How many people died?" Toby abruptly asked, his eyes blankly staring as they no longer walking but standing in front of each other.

"Two."

He chuckled, "Who w-were they?"

Might as well answer, "My... dad, y'know, and that dude down the street where it started." Toby was smiling. Smiling viscous, the small scars along his jawline add more  depth in vicious.

"Who s-started it?" He was smiling wider. I looked to the ground trying to remember the name from the forgotten news report, but instantly stared at his now gleaming dark eyes. They showed the seventeen-year-old murderer.

"Toby!" I barked, realization hitting me harder than a boulder falling from sky high.

"You.."

His smile grew Cheshire-like.

"You mother fucking arsonist!" My eyes lit in anger as I dropped the duffel bag off my shoulder and onto the ground.

"I knew the name! It sounded familiar! You... You were on the news. You killed him!" I snapped, gradually reaching for switchblade in my back pocket. "My dad," I gasped. "My fucking dad!" I took a couple steps back as his smile wore down to nothing as he noticed the switchblade. A fear crept over me.

I was afraid.

"You're the fucking reason I drink, asshole. All I remember is my dad pushing me out of the window to save me!" I yelled, my eyes flaring a fierce storm and my nerves stronger than copper wire. I was ready to stab this fucker.

Toby stood, staring at my hand that held his  switchblade. He stared innocently. Like nothing was wrong. Like it all wasn't on him. 

"He suffocated in smoke and flames! For what!?" I barked, my voice cracking. I wasn't going to cry. I was far from it. 

Static. I hear it again. "And what the fuck even is with the static!" Now Toby glanced around. That'd mean he heard it too. I wasn't borderline crazy after all. Or we both are borderline crazy.

But Toby still stood like everything around him wasn't on him. Like he didn't cause the death of my father. Static was becoming more clearer and then I snapped. I pounced onto him, the knife in my hand, trying to close in on his chest. He had unbelievable strength quite frankly and shoved me off.

With a quick, keen punch, the blade ripped the side of his arm, causing a deep gash. He didn't flinch or react to it any way whatsoever. What the hell?

The static grew unbearable and I clenched my teeth and looked down the scarce road, right at a street light. Was the figure. A figure of enormous height and twig-like. However, I couldn't grasp anymore detail before my mind seeped into unconsciousness.

(It was going to happen one way or another :/)