Chapter Text
Toby had never felt so cold. He was genuinely shocked that he could identify the feeling when it rushed onto him with the crashing waters. He’d been cold before, but never like this; it was a cold that paralyzed his muscles and sucked the breath clean from his lungs.
The water engulfed him in a murky darkness. He resurfaced with a few sputtering coughs, and was plunged back under. The cycle seemed to be endless before a large hand firmly grasped his arm. He was yanked out of the depths and onto the river bank. His clothes were sopping wet, his lungs felt tight with pressure, and his body trembled involuntarily.
"Rogers, what the fuck?!"
That familiar voice rang through his head like the clang of a church bell, foreboding vibrations that made his vision swirl. He mumbled something through his trembling, blue lips that he couldn’t truly make out. Water trickled from the side of his mouth, and two hands slammed down against his chest. Toby’s eyes fluttered each time Tim’s hands forced his chest to convulse, despite its effort to quit functioning altogether. Toby was acutely aware that he wasn’t breathing. His lungs screamed for air. Panic surged through him and Tim’s hands forced a violent cough from his lungs. . His limbs wracked with every convulsion. He sputtered the water onto himself, Tim, and the ground.
If he wasn't hydrated before, he was now, at least. How exactly he ended up in the goddamn river, he had no idea. He couldn't recall anything from the day, and if not for finding himself drowning in a river, he could've sworn he hadn't even woken up that morning. Once the water was cleared from his lungs, he peered upwards and locked eyes with possibly the most conflicted expression he’d ever seen on the older man's face. Pain, concern, relief, and burning rage.
"You-" Toby was immediately cut off by a fist colliding with his jaw. He couldn't feel it. Just like he couldn't feel the frigid temperature of the water- he had simply known it was cold based on the way his body responded. And likewise, he figured that punch should've hurt with the way the muscles in his jaw and face tightened up defensively.
"You dumbass!" Tim was screaming, his voice far too loud for Toby's preference at the moment. "You're so god damn lucky I was out on my walk early today, I could've stumbled across your motherfucking corpse!"
Toby let out a dry laugh. It was met with being yanked to his feet, and promptly shoved back down. None of this hurt and yet, it did startle him some. He wondered if Tim would be gentler with him if he was able to feel the aftermath of the manhandling. Regardless of any threat of motion sicknesses, Toby spoke. "I wouldn't have th-thought you'd be my knight in sh-shining armor after all these years, Timothy..~" Toby cooed, his voice unsteady with a mix of shivers and tics, but the look on Tim's face was priceless.
"How the hell can I save you from practically drowning, and you still manage to say shit to piss me off?" Tim growled under his breath. He grasped onto Toby's hoodie to lift him to his feet. Toby wasn't skinny, really, but he was lean. A small body, carrying the minimum amount of muscle it took to wield his weapons efficiently. Small body mass made it easier for Tim to toss him to-and-fro like a rag doll. Damn, that sounded bad, but Toby thought it was hilarious. Almost fun.
——⨂——
The sizzling of an egg in the frying pan caught Toby's attention. He was sitting at the dining table, wearing fresh pants and a towel draped over his shoulders. His hair was damp and a few droplets snuck down his face from the ends. Tim was standing in the kitchen, hunched over the stove, hyper-focused on the egg he was trying to crack. Toby heard himself snicker, and it was met by a sharp glare from the man making his breakfast.
"I didn't know you could cook." Toby hummed curiously, resting his cheek on his hand as he watched Tim return to the task.
"Eggs are simple." Tim responded dryly. Toby wouldn't know, since he wasn't allowed near stoves growing up. His mother had a fear of him injuring himself trying to use something with heat. How ironic , he thought with a sick smirk.
"Besides," Tim continued, "I'm a grown man. Most grown men have at least a vague understanding of how to use a stove." Toby's smirk turned into a cringe. Yeah, most. Once again, Tim's intelligence put Toby to shame. Tim wasn't the most academically brilliant, but his street smarts bested Toby's within seconds. Tim could identify drugs, assess a person's body language to determine how to approach, start a fire in almost any weather, and most of all: how to light a cigarette without a lighter.
Toby’s life had been a revolving door of public schools, captivity within his own home unless, in a rare moment, his parents tired of him, and learning disabilities. He could never compare. It soured his stomach and he quickly averted his gaze from Tim's display of power.
What? He was literally just making eggs, Toby, what is wrong with you?
Before he knew it, a plate was placed before him. The sheer size of the portions made Toby's stomach churn. The food smelled delicious, but the thought of stuffing himself with so much made him feel sick. He stared at the plate, quickly catching Tim’s attention. "What?" He huffed. "Are you that picky?"
The mocking tone that danced in his voice made Toby's skin prickle. "No-" he hissed, "it's just a lot." He grabbed the fork and stabbed it into a clump of eggs, bringing it up to his mouth and chewing it. It tasted lovely but his throat was already trying to reject it. Next time, he'd have to ask Tim for smaller portions. They were easier on the stomach. Not that there would be a next time.
"So," Tim slipped into the chair across from Toby. His hands folded together, and it reminded Toby of a disappointed teacher confronting a student about their grades. Something Toby himself had experienced plenty, but no time recently. His life as a student was far behind him. He leaned forward, attentive, and his face was contorted with uncertainty, "are you going to tell me why you were in the river?"
Toby scoffed slightly. "I dunno, maybe I was sleepwalking.”
Tim raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You sleepwalk?"
"No fucking clue. I'd be asleep, jackass."
Deciding that he wasn't going to get anywhere with the younger man, Tim stood from the dining table. "I think you know a little more than you're letting on. When you're ready to talk, let me know, but I can't do shit for you if you don't tell me anything." Before Toby could retort, Tim turned and headed to the back room of the make-shift home he, Brian, and Toby shared. Toby was left in the dining room, alone, wet, and no longer hungry.