Something Amiss (Hoodie x Reader)

Forty: Stitches and a Stalemate

TW: blood

(also unedited lolol)

There it was again; the static. Though it was ever-present since you weren't quite sure when, at the worst of times it was in the forefront of your brain, grabbing the reins of your consciousness.

Jeff tore his lidless gaze from your bloodied cheek for only a moment to look up at whoever had just shown up. That was all the chance the static needed - you reared your head up, uncontrollable, neck straining, and clamped your teeth down on the side of his neck.

A foaming yell was less overpowering than the taste of iron on your tongue. Strong arms pushed your head back to the concrete with a crack, the brutality of the motion was vomit-inducing. Your clamped teeth took a chunk of pasty white skin with them.

Jeff was pulled off you almost instantaneously, you heard his body thud against the floor nearby. But even with your assailant gone, the bees in your head remained insatiable. You thrashed and writhed even as a shin was laid over your stomach. Jeff's blood mingled with your own, trickled down your cheeks, as you clawed at the new person who was now pinning you to the ground - they reached into their pocket, pulling out a small cylinder. You were a caged animal, rabid and festering, unfamiliar with anything but the unrefined rage within.

You didn't slow your fight until there was a prick on your pinned arm, the inside of your elbow being injected with some mystery fluid. It was strong stuff - as mere seconds ticked by, you couldn't help but retire your unbearably heavy muscles.

The last sight you took in before you fell unconscious was that of a blue mask tilted down at you, shaking its head in clear disapproval.

--

Through sheer dumb luck, your dodgy plan worked. Well - in a way. The original outline of thrusting yourself onto death's doorstep was misconstrued by a tall man in a blue mask. But, it just so happened, that he was the same man that you'd been so eager to find in the first place.

But, opening your bleary eyes to the sight of that same blue mask, you were regretting fucking everything.

The trauma of being forcibly sedated seemed to have knocked the static down a few notches, keeping it at bay in the back of your brain. And with the easing of it's influence came, also, the return of your common sense. What kind of idiot purposely provokes a madman?

After the initial onset of dull horror at your own actions, you realised that you'd been staring up into EJ's eyeless mask for quite some time. Above his bent head, an exposed lightbulb quivered. Warm black goop was dripping thickly onto your face from his sockets. Before, you would've called it paint and payed it no mind. Now, you weren't so certain. You were pretty sure the man had claws, after all.

Just like your first encounter with the man, you could only form one word as you stared up into his terrifying (lack of) features. "Hi."

As soon as you said it, his mask disappeared from your view wordlessly, leaving you blinking in the shitty lighting. Feeling yet another black tear ooze over your skin, you gingerly reached a hand up to your cheek to wipe it away. Your touch was met with the sensation of rough skin and gauze - you frowned as you awkwardly kicked yourself up to a half-sit, realising now that you were on some kind of creaky metal bed.

Hand still lightly grazing your cheek, you looked over to where EJ stood, back now to you as he rummaged around a set of metal drawers. Like the last time you'd seen him, he was dressed in all black - his work uniform, you supposed. You'd forgotten how freakishly tall he was; even with the generous concrete ceilings in the warehouse, he easily took up three quarters of the height in the room.