the copycat

Toby wasn't quite Toby right then, and that was his favorite state to be in. He was hunger, and starvation, and teeth that deserved using. He moved in a body that wasn't his own. Bigger, taller, fake parts that made up a very real feeling monster. Something deerlike, but not quite, all wrong, animalistic, stretched skin, visible bones, and rotting. Long lethal claws on bony hands, and more unsettlingly human feet. Crooked antlers that stood and branched out at the top of his head. A skeletal face- made from special effects makeup, not a mask, and his pale gold eyes were fitting enough to let show through-- vicious, dangerous, his favorite part. It was because of the teeth.

They were horribly sharp and functional, connected to his actual mouth. They could rip and tear. He could eat, like this. Toby's costumes were built for function. It was a rush, an all too genuine experience. He was far, far past the experimentation phase now. After dark, he'd been going out into the woods like this, reeking of his usual evil and keeping other creatures at their distance, getting into character and reveling in it. Hunting. Becoming the wendigo. He'd killed and maimed already, incidents piling up, his newest project a success.

He wouldn't be able to keep it up much longer without being in real trouble, as his projects usually went. He stayed at it long enough to savor the experience, to be newsworthy, to leave a mark, and sometimes to drag someone else down for his copycat crimes. It was never enough, but that was fine. He'd just move onto the next depravity, and someday, after giving it a cooldown time and allowing the caution to fade, have a chance at revisiting this one.

It wasn't over yet. He still had the time to say a sweet goodbye. Oh yes. He had people to devour.

The wendigo crept from the edges of the Forbidden Forest, wanting nothing but ripping and tearing, hot flesh in its throat, blood staining its teeth and odd patches of fur. The sun was just setting, and a group of hikers was heading down the mountainside that was so close to the wrong part of the woods. They didn't even realize, completely oblivious, as they noticed the darkening sky, shadows of tall, old trees closing in on them, they stopped and started setting up a makeshift campground. Eerie gold glints of eyes watched them from the deep, thick forest. It was very quiet here, the animals staying away. They never liked him, they knew what was wrong... It. They never liked it.

As soon as they were tucked away in their tent, the wendigo crept outside it, making even odder shadows dance at the walls, slow and unnatural. Where there had been hushed chatter before, there was none, a silence falling over them as they likely held their breath, paranoid, hoping this was a normal animal that would leave if they left it alone and didn't make a sound. It reached out. Long, long fingers and longer claws, trailing along the thin fabric, making a soft scraping noise. Then, he backed away.

It received the desired result. Squealing could be heard, then fast, frantic conversation. The tent unzipped, and a man came out. He had a dim flashlight. Adorable. Hilarious. Pathetic.

"Who's out here? Stop fucking with us! This is like, outright psychopathic, whatever you're doing! We'll call the fucking police!" And he was angry, seething, but his voice was breaking at the edges. He was afraid. Monsters are real, and they're all here. There was no cell phone reception this deep in the woods, and they both knew that was a stupid bluff. Only, this man didn't know just how stupid it was quite yet. He'd realize. In the agonizing seconds before the life drained from his body as he was eaten alive.

The wendigo lunged, taking down the man all at once, his skin yielding under sharp force, claws sinking in deep and shredding soft surface defenses easily. It pinned his head down, claws disfiguring facial tissue and slicing into an eye, to get at his neck and bite straight into open throat. Screaming garbled but piercing. It ripped and tore and ate, swallowing down fresh meat, drenching itself with blood, fluids, other bits of human, and overwhelming gore. Beautiful. Heaven. Pure, unadulterated bliss. This was what being alive felt like. Ripping apart another life with your own bare teeth made that shine all the brighter.

The wendigo jolted at the sudden light, head surging up from the mangled neck of the corpse it was feasting on, blood and saliva dripping. It snapped its teeth and scrambled to its feet, confusion and irritation flashing, along with an interest foreign to a creature that focused on hunger and hunting alone. Then, there was a spotlight, and Toby thought, no, no, this isn't supposed to happen as he was blinded. It was fucking exhilarating.

Whenever he found something exhilarating, it often meant he was about to get hurt. This time around, things were no different. It all happened so fast, his heartbeat scary in his chest. He stumbled back, but there was a-- teeth and mouth and, all he could think was jesus, that could swallow me alive, and I would be trapped, unless I ate my way out after it ate me, like it was an enjoyable possibility, one he genuinely hoped for. Like the fucking lunatic he was. With this came bullets to his knees, through his precious, labored over costume. Right after that, a fucking net. His world was spinning, and his limbs were shaking, erratic.

He clawed at the net with little success, still recovering from the explosion of light, vision spotty, head aching like hell and pounding enough to feel like someone hitting him repeatedly with a hammer. As much as his eyes were still wide and half blinded, his ears were fine. My name's Officer Verma, he heard the person who assaulted him saying. He felt like he was going to throw up, he was so excited and sick. Felix! Oh, Felix was here? For him? God. He knew this day had been coming, but he hadn't known it'd be this soon. Good ol' Felix, daring and reliable. Stubborn, stubborn Felix. Couldn't hide from him, no… but could he run? Felix didn't know yet. He didn't know. It was repeated like a mantra.

Except when Felix did know. Toby felt himself jabbed with the edge of a needle, barely managing to pierce his skin under the thick, tough costume. What did get in affected him a little, grogginess settling in rather than any full passing out, a jumbled mind only added to. And then, it happened. Felix looked at him. All it took was looking at him, two pairs of familiar eyes meeting, and he knew. That was the issue with Felix, he always looked at Toby more closely than everyone else did, focused in on him. His beloved's hands were trembling, and that weak voice didn't suit him at all, wasn't right.

When he said Toby's name, the monster hesitated, with a recognizable hitch of breathing. It'd been in a different context, every other time Felix had heard it, but that didn't change a thing. It was Toby who was here now, the same Toby who'd fucked and loved him, told him secrets and watched him cry, outright thought about running away with him. It was Toby who was partially laying on a corpse he was fully responsible for, with gore from it on his gorgeously crafted, barely fake costume, and the dead man's flesh coating his teeth and in his stomach, an air of murder sticking to him like it permanently belonged there.

It was so early. He'd wanted to do more. With his crimes, with Felix, with freedom. But he knew when it was over. He could be something other than a sore loser, for Felix Verma. He deserved it. Fair and square. It was admirable. They made for a good story.

"You win," Toby said, voice hoarse and uneven. "Congratulations... I knew you would. You win, Fe." The nickname slipped out as easy as ever, and for some reason, he couldn't help but be soft. It was so incredibly inappropriate and out of place, and that was Toby's specialty.

Toby didn't know what this was. His heart was pounding in his chest and it felt like an injury, something he should be clawing out with his claws, throwing as far away as possible. He didn't want it. Being human had never felt good, or safe, or anything but painfully lonely. He didn't want to be this, dragged back into the reality of his own weakness and sensitivity, but here they were.

He just wanted to get it over with. He was done. God, he wished this was death, instead, but maybe if he was locked away in an empty box somewhere, it'd be as close as he could get. He was ready to be fucking done and stop thinking about having hurt Felix, but that wasn't how this worked. You were held accountable for your actions, when you were human. Monsters were allowed to be monsters, except when they were human. Humans had to suffer for being monsters.

Toby's costume being torn and pulled away from him felt like his defenses being broken down even further. He was too weak and small for that. He didn't want Felix to see him. Oh, god, at the same time, he did. He deserved this, he was aware of it all. Then, he simply sat there, empty and ordinary, another murderer covered in disgusting, sticky gore.

He flinched when the horn was thrown, letting it hit him and staying quiet. That's my fault, huh? It was both of their faults. No, it was Toby's fault. It was hard to truly find the urge to drag Felix down with him, because his whole being screamed at him for even considering it, touching him with the filthy, filthy hands his mother had given him. He made a choked sound.

Toby breathed shallowly, and helped take it all off. He just looked at Felix with big eyes as he sat on his chest. A blood spattered deer in the headlights. He cringed further, face heating with shame, as Felix yelled at him. Felix knew exactly fucking why Toby thought dressing up like a monster was a 'cool thing to do', so he wasn't going to dignify that with an answer. It wasn't like Felix cared about that, anyway. He was just venting, lashing out, and Toby would've welcomed that if he actually thought it was making Felix feel any better. Toby was extremely skilled at being a punching bag, but that wasn't what Felix really wanted-- and that only made Toby more invested in the idea of shriveling up and dying in a nice, dark ditch somewhere.

So, instead, he just croaked out a single "I'm sorry," and started crying too, sobbing like a complete child. Toby wasn't one for gracefulness in this, not usually the type for it in the first place, all or nothing.

Eyes blurred by tears, he saw the badge, and he was ready to accept his fate. It didn't come. Toby felt the breath knocked out of him, utterly confused and reeling. As he whimpered, he tried to sit up more, grabbing at the badge, snatching it from Felix with his stained hands that were shaking no less than the other's. "--in a court of law, Felix, for fuck's sake! I have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police, and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. I'm under fucking arrest, I'm going to be locked away, and I'm going to rot there because we both know I'm not fixable!"

Toby threw the badge back at Felix, squeezing his eyes shut as they burned at the edges, and flopped down into the dirt again. "C-can I hold your hand before-- nevermind, I'm sorry, I shouldn't ask that." He shouldn't do anything. Maybe if he stayed still enough, he'd look and feel like a corpse.

Felix. Felix. Felix.

Felix was gone. Toby couldn't move, and it wasn't solely because of the pain from the crippling bullets in his limbs. As he ached from the rotting inside out, he blinked once, twice, looking around very slowly in the dark. He was wet and disgusting and alone again. It was too quiet, after everything, his own breath the only sound to keep him company. The air was cold on his skin, and made him shiver. He stared up blankly at the sky, which only had a few stars showing through tonight. His mother's death played over and over in his head.

"F-Felix?" Toby whispered, extremely faint, wincing over breaking the silence at all. His chest rose and fell a little more anxiously. This was a joke, right? Felix couldn't be gone. Confusion and something like fear settled into his stiff body. He'd never wanted to break Felix. He didn't know why. He'd never wanted to, but he'd done it anyway. He got teary eyed and frantic again. This was why he didn't do this. Damage was inevitable. There was something wrong with him. He may as well have killed his mother himself, aggravating the situation like he had-- just like with Felix.

This wasn't what winning tasted like. Toby had never won anything in his life. He was living filth, graced upon this world to roll in garbage and corrupt anything he touched. Considering that a gift or a status to hold pride in would be a mistake more twisted than even he could manage, in his most honest thoughts.

If this was winning, he didn't want to win. He'd wanted Felix to. Why hadn't he? Where did he go? Was he okay? Mutilation, pretty blond hair, and dresses stained with red flashed through Toby's head continually, and he rolled over, biting his lip and choking out another sob as his flesh knit together around the bullets. He tried to crawl, to cry out, but when he moved his entire being threatened to pass out, and when he rose his voice, it died in his throat with a strangled sound.

Consequences. Domino effect. Reaction to your actions, leaving a mark in the world. Toby didn't want to hurt Felix, for Felix to lose, for Felix to die. But he was a shitty person in a shittier world that leered over your every move, ready to chew you up and never spit you out unless you did so first, but even that wasn't worth much in the end, and he wasn't as good at it as assumed.

Toby cried like an idiot, completely unsure what else to do, and kept trying to drag himself somewhere, to Felix. He hadn't seen which direction he'd gone. He was barely functioning. He tried until he blacked out anyway.

He wasn't out for long. Long enough, but not long. An hour or two, must've been, with his healing rate. He jolted to his feet, breathing fast and jerking his head around. He dug through his pockets, impatient, getting out a flashlight and moving it around the scene. What a disaster. He screwed up his nose at the corpse, the man he'd eaten part of, but moved on without giving it a second thought.

On to more important things. The most important. "Felix? Felix!" He called, cupping his hands around his mouth. He brought his nails to his lips and bit at them in his stress, eyes wide, chest heaving. He knew it wouldn't do anything, but he kept yelling out his best friend and lover's name. His voice cracked eventually, and he couldn't anymore. There was no passing out after this failure. Instead, he gathered up what he could of his broken costume, which he no longer cared for. He was only bringing it with him so he could burn it.

Toby found his way back to his car, hidden away in the woods. He ditched his trash in the back and climbed in, starting it up, inhaling sharply as the engine roared to life. He could cover more ground like this.

It was a more ambitious failure. Toby searched, and searched, to no avail, and although he started with some kind of desperate optimism, it turned into nothing but dread and horrifying anticipation of the worst. Two days, it took. Within those two days he'd only went home to shower and make sure he could look without receiving suspicion for looking like he just had a splashy birdbath in someone's guts. No eating, no sleeping, no answering his phonecalls and texts, no work. He was nothing but obsession heavy at this point, to make up for everything else he was lacking.

He mourned, in brief interludes, sitting in his car with his knees tight against his chest, face buried there, tears streaming down his cheeks, little hiccups spilling out with the sobbing. He'd never done this with his mother. She'd been gone and there was nothing more to do about it, no point in wallowing in traditional misery he wasn't sure he had in the first place. He wasn't sure why Felix was different, because he definitely felt gone, and most certainly 'nothing more to do about it' after their trainwreck, but Toby somehow refused to internalize that in a way that didn't leave him uncontrollably shaking from his fingers to his toes. He didn't fucking give it up. It was over, why didn't he give up?

It wasn't over. Toby found Felix.

He fished him out of a fucking river.

And he was alive. Toby called an ambulance with hands shaking so badly it would've seemed like he'd had about thirty energy drinks. He cried and shook and begged to ride in the ambulance to the hospital with him, telling the paramedics it was his boyfriend and that he'd been looking for days, he needed to be here, he needed to see him and know he was going to be okay. They took one look at his idiot bawling face and let him. He couldn't be in the back with Felix's condition, but he was there. He sniveled, and hyperventilated, and found the ability to smile again.

He knew he shouldn't be so, overwhelmingly happy, with everything being his fault, but inappropriate was his specialty. Once Felix had been taken care of by swarms of doctors, all patched up and in a nice cozy room, Toby went, practically throwing himself on Felix's hospital bed, and held his hand. It was terrible. But he couldn't help himself. He was very bad with his impulses, and this was currently the strongest, most demanding impulse in the book.

After a while, Toby had to pry himself away. Aside from Felix, who was too unconscious to protest, there were others who'd know his presence here was wrong just by looking at him, he was sure.

There weren't. Nobody else came. Toby felt angry. He didn't know why it was like this, for Felix. He didn't want it to be like this. He went back, and ended up half curled up on Felix for a long while, determined to stay with him. Perhaps nothing would've been better than Toby, but he couldn't. He couldn't leave Felix alone. There was a terror in his chest that wouldn't leave him alone. If he left without at least seeing Felix open his eyes again, he'd just be in that river all over again, and he wouldn't come out this time.

So he couldn't. He couldn't leave him. Didn't know what to do with the idea of a world without Felix Verma, and even if he could've known, he found he didn't want to. At some point, a nurse came in to check up on Felix and made Toby get off of him, so he retreated to the chair next to the bed instead. He brought his knees up to his chest, like he'd been doing in the car. He didn't mourn anymore. He just calmed his racing, delicate feeling heart, and fell asleep.

Toby's heart hurt, and Felix was intimidating, but he was happy. It wouldn't go away. God, christ, he wished more than anything that Felix didn't have to suffer, but Toby didn't want him dead. Maybe that was horribly selfish and ugly of him, but he didn't care, because it just felt like relief and softness in his chest, not filth. "Felix!" he gasped, right off the bat, cheeks flushed for mostly different reasons. His adoration, obsession, and joy surged up powerfully in his chest. "You're okay!"

He choked a laugh as he cried happy tears. "I-I'm, I'm so-- fuck! I can't apologize. I can't. I'm not sorry you're still here. I am sorry you're in pain, and that you had to wake up to me, but I'm not sorry you exist or that you're alive, and fuck you if you want me to feel otherwise, Fe. I love you! This world wouldn't be right without you." He sniffled and scrubbed at his face and nose, wiping at his eyes. His heart hammered and fluttered in equal amounts, and he grinned big.

"The hospital staff is really nice. I got to ride in the ambulance even though I probably got snot and tears on the interior and everything, and I bet they'll give you the good quality fruit cups to eat, so I hope you're friendly in return. Um. I haven't eaten in three days, so I'm going to go to the cafeteria, now that you're awake."

A pause. "Don't like… run off, 'cause I see you ripped out all your stuff. I'm not gonna leave you alone when you're still in this condition, but if you behave, I'll be extra quiet and only peek in to make sure you're okay. As okay as you can be. I'll be right back. I love you. Sorry." He flashed Felix another smile before cautiously moving away, glancing back every five seconds while doing so, reconfirming not-dead status meticulously.