Chapter Text
Toby became a constant presence in her life. Almost like an unspoken ritual, he always showed up when she sat by the lake — the same one where they had met. At first, Kate wondered if it was just coincidence... but she soon realized it wasn’t. He knew. Felt it, maybe. Or just liked being there. With her.
She didn’t complain.
The truth was, in that twisted world, he was one of the only ones who made her feel... alive. Not in a biological sense — that had already been corrupted, replaced by an existence of slime and darkness — but in a deeper way. Toby made her remember she still had a heart, even if it was shattered.
He always arrived the same way: light steps, the little hatchet spinning in his hand, his body full of spasms and little tics that made it impossible to predict his next move. Sometimes he hit his own chest, sometimes snapped his fingers compulsively or laughed out of nowhere, like he had just told himself a joke.
And still... he was kind.
"Ugh, staring at the water again?" he'd say, sitting down beside her with a dry thud of boots against the ground. "There’s nothing there, girl. Just reflection. Dirty water. Just like us."
But he didn’t say it cruelly. It was the kind of comment that hurt and healed at the same time.
Kate got used to his presence as if he were part of the scenery. Like the wind cutting through the leaves. Like the branches creaking in the distance. Like the pain she didn’t even remember when it began.
Despite the tics, despite the stutter and the jerky way he spoke, Toby was a good guy. Attentive, even. Always noticed if she’d slept well, if she’d eaten anything — even if "eating" in that new state was a somewhat absurd concept. He brought her trinkets he found in the forest, like he wanted to distract her: broken dolls, torn books, old soda cans.
"Check this out... found a thing from another time," he’d say, placing something in her hand with dirty, trembling fingers. "Maybe it was yours. In another life, right? Tic."
Over time, he became a sort of big brother. Not the kind who protects with heroic flair, but the kind who sits with you on the cold ground, shares silence, and makes horrible jokes until you laugh against your will.
Kate didn’t talk much. Most days were spent in silence, the two of them just staring at the lake, side by side, like ghosts from a time that no longer existed. And strangely, that was enough.
But not every day was easy.
That particular morning, the sky was overcast. Thick gray clouds promised rain. The forest seemed to be holding its breath. The air was heavy, and for the first time in a long time, the lake reflected only shadows.
Kate arrived early, as always. Sat in the same place, knees pulled to her chest. She didn’t notice when Toby arrived. She only felt it when he sat beside her, silent. Something was different that day. She felt... weak.
Then it came, all at once.
The memory.
Her mother laughing in the kitchen. Her father reading on the couch. A little brother running down the hallway. Vivid images that now seemed more terrifying than any creature in that forest.
And then... the tears.
But they weren’t just tears. It was black slime pouring from her eyes in rivers, sliding down her face like living ink, staining the ground, pooling at her feet. She tried to stop it, curled up, turned her face away. She didn’t want him to see her like that. So human. So broken.
But he saw.
Toby came closer slowly. With hesitant movements, as if it scared him more than any enemy. And then... he hugged her.
It wasn’t a strong hug. It wasn’t immediate. He placed one arm around her shoulders, shaking, hesitant. Then the other. And then he just stayed there. Pressed his face to hers, letting the slime soak his clothes, the acidic, strange scent clinging to his mask.
"Shhh... shh... i-it’s okay..." he murmured between tics, tapping his own chest and then hers. "Y-you can cry. You have to cry."
Kate didn’t speak. Didn’t respond. But she allowed herself to break. Collapsed into silent sobs, her whole body trembling, throat burning.
And he stayed with her. Until it passed.
Until the pain turned into nothing but exhaustion.
Until her eyes had nothing left to spill.
When she pulled away, face stained, hair stuck to her forehead, Toby just removed his mask for a second — something he never did — and looked at her with tired but living eyes.
"You’re still here," he said. "Even after everything. That already makes you... strong as fuck."
She tried to laugh. It came out as a sob.
"Thanks," she whispered, voice nearly gone.
"I... I’ll show up more, okay? Even when you don’t want me to. Even when you tell me to leave. Because... because now you’re... my little sister of the dark. And I’m the idiot with a hatchet who’ll remind you that you can still feel."
She nodded, her head resting on his shoulder.
The forest fell silent again. And in that silence, two broken monsters found shelter in each other. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t magical. But it was real.
And sometimes... that was all that was left.
"You’ve been spending a lot of time with Toby."
Jack’s voice cut through the silence like a dull blade — low, hoarse, almost like a thought whispered in the dark. They were lying side by side on the old mattress thrown on the floor of the room — if that place could still be called a "room." The walls were taken over by mold, covered in scratches and old marks, visual memories of a time she no longer knew was recent or had always been that way.
Kate was on the edge of sleep, her eyes heavy, her body wrapped in that constant exhaustion she had learned to carry since her transformation. The strange warmth from Jack’s body beside hers — that cold, pale body full of wounds that never healed — was somehow comforting. She had gotten used to it. Maybe against her will... but still, used to it.
It took her a few seconds to process the sentence. Her voice came out slow and thick with sleep when she answered:
"Why that comment now?"
Jack was motionless, as always. He didn’t need to move to seem like a threat. He was a constant and cutting presence, like the sound of a knife being sharpened in the dark.
"I don’t like you around him."
The sentence was said without emotion, without raising his voice, but there was something — an invisible tension, a thread of possessiveness she had never heard so clearly before. Kate opened her eyes slowly, turning her head to face him. Jack wore the mask, as always, but she knew the details well by now. She knew when he was tense, when he was... feeling too much.
"Is this jealousy... or do you two have some kind of grudge?" she asked, voice low but firm. There was something provocative in it, even tired, even broken. She wanted to understand.
Jack turned his head slowly in her direction. His eyes hidden behind the darkness of the mask. The silence stretched so long she thought he wouldn’t answer.
"Most of us... don’t like each other," he said, in that dry, sharp tone, as if each word took effort. "I don’t have anything exactly against him."
Kate raised an eyebrow, curving one side of her mouth into a tired half-smile.
"Jealousy, then."
That word hung in the air, floating like thick smoke between them. And it burned. Burned in her chest, throbbing between the bones of her sternum as if a spark had lit a small and unexpected fire. If Jack was jealous... then he cared. Much more than he showed. Maybe more than he admitted to himself.
Despite everything. Despite not having been forgiven yet for what he had done.
Despite having taken her choice away.
Things between them were far from what they used to be — but somehow, they had started to realign. Slowly. Like someone rebuilding a house that had burned from the inside. So much so that, in recent weeks, they had gone back to sleeping together. She didn’t know if it was comfort, need, or something deeper, but when he was near, the world seemed less erratic.
"You don’t have to be jealous or anything..." she murmured, turning to her side, curling up against him like someone searching for warmth in a never-ending winter. "Toby’s like a... big brother."
A yawn slipped from her lips, involuntary. Exhaustion was pulling her down again. But she still felt him there. Tense. Trapped in too many thoughts, too many emotions he never put into words. Jack was a storm trapped in a glass jar — and now the lid was trembling.
"You really trust him?" he asked, voice a bit lower. There was no aggression, just a subtle strangeness. A discomfort.
"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "He... understands me in a way no one else does."
Jack didn’t respond. He stayed silent. She could feel his breath against her neck, a cold sigh that made her shiver, not from fear... but from something more primal. Something she couldn’t name yet.
"But," she continued, drowsy, "you understand me too. Just... in different ways."
His hand rested on her waist. Slowly. As if asking for permission.
She didn’t pull away.
"I’m still hurt, Jack," she whispered, nearly asleep. "But... I don’t hate you anymore."
There was a long silence after that. Maybe a whole minute. And then he said, so low it was almost inaudible:
"I hate myself too, sometimes. For that."
She turned, heavy eyes, her forehead resting on his chin. A thread of humanity still lived inside him — lost, drowning, but not extinguished.
"And still... you’re here with me," she murmured.
"You’re mine," he replied.
The phrase was raw, sharp, but she wasn’t scared. It didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded like a poorly built confession by someone who didn’t know how to love properly, but was trying with the wrong tools.
"I’m yours... and you’re mine."
Kate’s voice came out soft, but full of something that hadn’t been there before — possession. It wasn’t a request, it wasn’t a plea, it wasn’t tenderness. It was a statement. A firm sentence in the dark, filled with desire, pain, and belonging. Words spoken like a spell sealing two broken beings who somehow fit into each other’s cracks.
She slid her fingers to his face, gently touching the cold, familiar mask.
"Haven’t I told you there’s no need for you to wear the mask in bed?"
The question was said with a slight smile, but with that shadow that never left her eyes. It was as if every gesture of affection carried echoes of blood and loss. Jack didn’t answer, just stayed there, still as always, as if resisting the touch, or something greater — his own vulnerability.
But Kate ignored the silence.
She slowly removed the mask from his face, like someone lifting a sacred veil. Each inch revealed was a small victory. Jack rarely let anyone see him like that. Not because he was ashamed — he wasn’t ashamed of anything — but because hating to be seen was a form of protection. Showing his face was giving up ground.
And even so, for her, he allowed it.
The pale, marked face emerged beneath the mask, his sunken, intense eyes revealing a soul burned from the inside. His lips were thin and closed, but there was tension there, like something inside him was roaring in silence.
Kate leaned in and kissed him.
It was a slow, heavy kiss, almost melancholic. There was no rush. No empty lust. It was as if she were trying to suck the pain out of him and give back a little warmth. Her fingers traced his jaw, the scars and imperfections Jack carried like silent war medals. And he didn’t stop her. Quite the opposite.
When her lips pulled away, he was still there, motionless, his eyes locked onto hers as if searching for something — or as if he had just found it.
"You always do that," he said, voice hoarse and low. "You touch the parts I hide the most."
"That’s because I have parts I hide too," she replied, sliding her thumb along his cheek. "And you touch them all the time... with words, with silence."
Jack drew in a slow breath, his eyes narrowing slightly. He wasn’t good with feelings. Never was. But she stirred something in him — something confusing, almost human. Something that hurt — but he could no longer avoid.
"When you kiss me like that... it feels like nothing else exists."
Kate smiled, but there was sadness in it too. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the heart that beat with difficulty. It was alive, but imperfectly alive, like everything between the two of them.
"I know," she murmured. "That’s why I do it."
The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy. Full of unspoken things. Jack ran his hand slowly through her hair, like someone trying to remember what it felt like to touch something real, something warm, something not dead.
"You think that... in the end, we’re monsters?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
"We are," she replied without hesitation. "But that doesn’t mean we’re alone."
Jack closed his eyes for a moment. "I don’t want to lose you again."
"Then don’t."
She lifted her head again, staring at him with eyes that glowed in the darkness. "Hold me tight. Like I’m the last thing you’ve got."
And he held her.
Jack’s arms wrapped around Kate with a raw, almost desperate strength. She nestled there, in the space between his shoulders and chest, and for a moment they both pretended the world around them wasn’t in ruins.
Pretended they were just two bodies under a thin blanket, two hearts beating in the same rhythm, two condemned souls finding solace in each other.
The forest outside whispered. The other Creepypastas still roamed the shadows. The blood still flowed somewhere. The suffering was still real.
But there, in that bed, in that fraction of time...
They were just Kate and Jack.
And no one else.