Dawn Chorus (Proxies x Reader)

Large Uncertainties

"I-I'll t-ta-take h-her," Toby's voice cuts through the silence.

His words are permitted to enter the air. Based upon Tim's reaction, when I manage to pull my eyes from the table and turn back around, only some words being auditory isn't just a me thing. Something has fully silenced their speech as it entered the air, an amplification of the muffling in the woods, but it let Toby's words be heard. Like an approval. It must be, because Tim's face tightens and tightens, but his eyes stay wide. Like he is angry, like he is scared, like he is hopeless. His knees bump into the chair and he sags down into it. Those sounds are auditory, the shift of the rough fabric, the old frame 's small creaks and groans at the addition of weight. I can even hear the soft click of teeth as Tim begins to nibble on the flakes of dry skin rising off his lips. When I try to catch his gaze for some type of nonverbal explanation, play at their game of silent contact, he jerks his head down to glare at the floor.

Table legs screech against the wooden floor. Tim and Toby visibly cringe at the harsh sound tearing through the room. There is a stutter to the grating sound, like a leg caught on an uneven spot in the wood. Part of my brain fries and cringes from the horrendous sound, but the part of my mind guiding my body at the moment suppresses even the urge to a physical reaction. I know where Hoodie is. My awareness of his location seems to have readjusted and again, I can feel him shift, as if it ripples the very air. I can feel him stretch up, hear the thud of his heavy footfalls. From the corner of my eye, I catch the bright blur of him storming down the hall. He slams his door so hard, the house shudders. Even in his room, I can feel him pace, hear objects clatter and crash.

"Just get it over with," Tim grumbles, finally speaking through the vocal silencing.

Maybe this is why they speak non-verbally so well. An inability to be heard. Toby's shakes out his shoulders and nods. He glances over his shoulder, and the shake in his body that slips into my own from our contact, takes on new context. Instead of defeat or unease or whatever is going on with Hoodie, who I can still hear freaking out, Toby is smiling. Teeth shiny and eyes wild. The dark brown of his eyes no longer reminds me of the glossy shell of a horse chestnut or the eyes of a deer, now more like rock, like sinking.

A flicker of the woods. Twisted feet and scuffed up shoes, dirt red. People squealing like baby mice, pink and wriggling. He gave Masky the hatchet. He lit the camp on fire. A warm breeze, borderline hot actually, drifts through the cabin. It is supposed to be just me, just my memory, but Toby's smile falters, Tim is staring, and even Hoodie, all the way in his room, stops pacing.

Toby's nose scrunches, head starts to tilt. Tim launches back up from the chair.

His voice is deep and commanding, "Go, Toby! Don't keep Him waiting."

Toby rolls his eyes, like tumbling boulders, like a mudslide ready to take out a town. He winks at me, then salutes Tim.

"Go-got it! L-lets get go-going," Toby says.

He does not offer his hand. He grips my arm and yanks me up, uncaring about my leg which is healed but still tightly wrapped, gingerly placed on the table to feign injury. Tim saw through it, of course Toby did too. I stumble to keep up with his long strides. The sticks and tight bandages dig into my leg, force me into an awkward and heavy gait. I thump, thump, thump along the hardwood floor.

"Where are we going?" I finally bother to ask.

The question comes too late to mind, breaking from the odd atmosphere of the room. Before the door slams, I glance back to see Tim hunched over the chair, elbows on his knees and leaning his chin in his folded hands, considering the floor a little too harshly. Familiarity leads me around the porch furniture and down the stairs as Toby tugs rather harshly. My shoulder aches and burns. My legs wobble a little, not broken long but still unused to supporting my weight after so little time.