Carry On Wayward Sons (A Marble Hornets Fanfiction)

Chapter Two, are you awake

When Tim opened his eyes, he realized, he had no idea where he was. He was suprised, but this wasn't the first time it'd happened. He'd woken up in strange places many times, often in terrible condition and any form of life he'd been leading in shambles. This time however, he was surprised because he'd thought he was finally getting better. Last thing he remembered was tossing his mask- a symbol of his ties to the creature stalking him and an object favored by his other self- in the dumpster and leaving his friend Jessica.

Masky had apparently taken control again, for as Tim came more into conciousness, he did not recognize where he was. His body felt oddly different, older, stronger. Better in many ways, but also more tired. Overall, he felt like he could take on anything, but he didn't want to. He was nearing 28 now. He just wanted things to end.

Groaning as he leaned up from the motel bed, Tim leaned on his knees and placed his head in his hands. They held new scars, new signs of memories he could not remember and things that he'd possibly ruined. What had he done? He wanted to feel awful, to feel guilty for what he could and might have done, but for some reason, he felt oddly...happy. At least...at least he was still himself. He was still Tim. And not dead Tim. Dead Tim is bad.

Although, as his happiness at being alive waned, he realized dreadfully that, he was once again alone. And he had not idea how much time had passed while he was Masky. He needed to collect himself, get his bearing, and move past this. He had to keep trying, looking for clues never solved anything before, it wasn't going to this time. All it does is get people killed. Although, maybe now that he was truly alone, he could stop all this, once and for all. Maybe.

"Tim?"

He was not alone. Startled by this voice, Tim glanced up from his hands wearily, only to scowl at the figure he saw before him. His hallucinations were cruel, and they had no mercy for him in the slightest. At the end of the motel room, standing by where the bathroom door was, was what used to be his best friend. Until he fell to his death. Brian Thomas looked shaken, unnerved by where he had found himself, and it was obvious that he had very little ideas on what was going on or where he was. If he was anything like Tim, he probably wouldn't remember the last eight years he'd spent being a masked psychopath in the woods.

"Christ." Tim murmured, shaking his head as he averted his gaze from what he believed to be an entity of his imagination. No good would come from interacting with it. In his experience, they went away on their own. They weren't bad if you ignored them.

"What? Tim? I just...woke up in this bed, and I have no idea where were are and...did you know it's 2015? I can't remember the last eight years!" He was obviously on edge, his voice was raised and he looked stressed beyond beleif. For a hallucination, this was one of the more believable ones. But still, as much as Brian looked himself, he wasn't as Tim remembered him. He looked aged as well, still young, but mature. They would have both grown up, probably lead happy, lazy lives with wives and kids had this demon not invaded their lives and ripped them apart.

"All I can remember is location scouting with you and Alex for his film and then we found this old hospital place? And then he....I...Tim he was gonna hurt you, and you looked awful, I think he hit me? T-"

"Shut up." Tim said suddenly, "Your not real, I don't need this right now." He said, dissmissing the memories that the illusion was bringing. He didn't want to think about Alex, and he certainly did not want to think about Brian. How it had been his fault that he had gotten in this mess in the first place, and how it was his fault that Brian died.

Tim rose from his position on the bed, pacing over to the bathroom, only to have Brian grab his shoulders and shake him roughly. "What the hell?! Tim, I'm losing it here, you've gotta help me. What do you mean I'm not real?" Brian was touching him. And yes, that does seem oddly romantic, but it's not. It was...terrifying. The hallucinations are not able to make physical contact, even the most intense ones. There was no way it could have made contact now unless it was truly...

"No....you can't be here.."

"Yes! I am. Why is it so hard to believe that I'm really, really real?"

Tim stepped back, taking a good long look at his friend. He was alive. Brian was alive. His square face was clean of any stubble, and bore no new marks or scars. Feature wise, he was the exact same. Lovable, good-natured, optimistic Brian.

"Brian you....You died. You fell off of a balcony, no one just...walks away from that how did you..." Tim stared at the man before him in disbeleif, silenced now by his puzzlement and curiousity. Brian stared back at him, mirroring his disbelief, "No...No, people don't just walk away from that, I didn't die Tim. That's crazy, and obviously I wouldn't be here if I had."

Brian then turned, rubbing his face to try and clear up his understanding of what was happening but he couldn't. He didn't know anything. And finding out, would not be easy. All he could remember were bits and pieces of the last eight years, waking up in darkness afraid, cold, alone and hungry. He'd never be awake long, so for him, it's felt like an extremely long sleep. Comatose kinda stuff.

Before Tim explained anything to Brian, he made a note of where they were. A small town in California, near the border of Nevada. They were in a two star motel, cheap rent, and from what he could tell, they'd been there only a day or two. No food wrappers laying around, the place was completely clean. For heavens sakes, they'd woken up on top of made beds, and their bags were stashed under the beds in case they tripped over them when they awoke.

While Tim did all this snooping, Brian was contented with digging through his, or what Tim had told him, Hoodie's bag. He still understood very little of who Hoodie was, but he felt like he was invading his personal privacy, despite Tim saying they shared the luggage. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Nevertheless, Brian did find some strange things within the duffelbag. Tapes. A lot of tapes. And when Tim saw him dump them out, Brian swore he heard a pained groan from the side-burned man.

Along with the tapes was a camera, and on the go recorder with a built in stabilizer. Anyone who'd use this would be moving around a lot. Other items included set of shirts and pants, two pairs of shoes and undergarments. Basically, things normal people would pack. But Brian felt, extremely attached to this items, as if he'd spent a long amount of time with only them. Perhaps he had. At the bottom of the bag however -which took him a while to get to as he tried to jog his memory with the various clothings and camera- where probably the most alarming things he'd ever seen. A ski mask with a large red frowny face and what appeared to be a gun of deep meaning. Scrawled into the hilt of the gun was "TO THE ARK".

When Brian asked Tim what that meant, the side-burned man left the side of the room he'd been researching on to see what he was talking about. Brian was surprised at how quickly Tim snatched the gun from him. "Whoa careful, what if it's loaded-" "This is Alex's gun." Tim turned it over, investigating the weapon. "Where did you find it?" "In my bag.." Brian motioned toward the splayed contents of his luggage, now littering his well made bed. "Son of a bitch..." Tim handed the gun back to Brian, returning to his computer and hooking it up to the oddly large TV.

Apparently the entertainment was valued over service in this motel, so they were given a decent quality flat screen with a working electronic port. It puzzled Brian on how he could know that despite having actual knowledge limited to 2009. Tim passed it off as something he'd explain in a little bit, but that excuse was driving Brian nuts. He wanted answers now. His whole life had been derailed, didn't he deserve to know what was going on? Who was Hoodie, why didn't Tim remember either, what had they been doing? What did "to the ark" mean, and what happened to all of their friends?

Tim, although bothered by Brian's insistent questions, understood what he was going through. The only solution he could think of to explain what had happened to them, was to show Brian Marble Hornets. It had helped him to understand last time, now it'd come through for them again.

After hooking up the TV so that it was on the rather shakey coffee table and facing a large sofa, Tim plugged up the neccassary cables to his old laptop. The thing was beyond it's experation date, it was slow, but seemed to work well with the motel's wifi so that they could at least watch videos in good quality. He couldn't complain. Plus Masky had left them the HDMI cords in the dresser with the computer, that bastard certainly knew how to plan ahead.