Masky x Toby

Depression

(Trigger warning. Read at your own risk.)

A week after the incident, Timothy is fully recovered with the help of slenderman and his boyfriend.
Toby's been acting strange. He's been much quieter, the normally energetic and snappy boy simply going along with what others say. Even Ben has noticed, tried to get him to play video games and maybe relax together. But Tobias declines each offer with a half hearted smile, hiding up in his room.
His room. Not Timothy's.
Tim would be lying if he said it didn't hurt, they were so close. Even in the short time they new each other, they had undeniable feelings for each other. They even slept together, Toby's virginity being taken away.
What they don't know, is that the young proxy is picking up on his old habits.
With his door locked and secured, his hoodie thrown to the floor carelessly. His fingers are raised to his lips, canines digging into his flesh and tearing it apart. His crimson blood is dripping down his chin, down his wrists. His scars opened up easily, and soon enough, he's taken a chunk out of his hand.
The boy doesn't even realize he's crying until his vision goes blurry, but he can't wipe them away. Not with blood coating his flesh. Instead, he allows them to cascade down his flushed cheeks, eyes fluttering shut.
Do us a favor and slit your throat.
The words have been repeating in his head nonstop, he can still feel the boot under his chin and the heavy glare of his fellow proxy. They should've been friends, they could've been so close. But instead, they despise each other.
Toby's crying soon turns to sobbing, clutching onto his own chest with wounded fingers. He digs them into his shirt and feels his heart racing, his pitiful gasps increasing in volume. He rises to his unsteady feet and rushes to the other side of his room, where his weapons are held.
For once, he's glad he has a knife. Hatchets were always his weapon of choice, but they may not to do well for this.
The teenager stares at the blade through his tears, which have begun th mix with his blood like paint.
The voices in his head won't subside, either. Edged on by Brian, and he can't help but agree with them.
Everyone would be better off without you.
You murderer.
He doesn't love you, you were new.
Just fucking do it, you coward.
Toby sputters on his own breath and raises the knife to his throat, feeling the cold metal against his bobbing Adam's apple. He's been in a similar situation before, but he never had the guts to actually do it. If he can take other peoples lives away, why not his own as well?
He hears his doorknob rattle and the sound of his lovers voice, panicked. He's begging to be let in, but all that toby can really focus on are the voices in his own head. They overpower Timothy with ease, successfully making the mans voice background noise.
Toby has the blade digging in, he feels the fresh blood ooze down his neck with waves. Gasping and eyes rolling, he isn't able to finish himself off. The door is kicked down, and Timothy rushes to his aid. Screaming in a fit of distress, he grabs the bloodied knife and whips it across the room. Cradling the boys cheeks, but Toby's eyes remain distant. He doesn't make eye contact, unable to focus on the man in front of him. He's in a trance, Timothy growling under his breath and lifting the light boy off of his feet. He carries Tobias out of his room and into the bathroom, ignoring the questions Ben and sally throw at him. His mind is a jumbled mess, his own tears threatening to fall.
He almost forgot about Toby's mental illnesses. Blinded by love, he discarded the bad and focused on the good.
Now, Toby is bleeding all over him, his shirt soiled and his heart clenching in his chest. He sets the boy down on the sink and tends to his wounds, cleansing them and wrapping them up. He needs stitches, but slenderman can heal them on his own. No need for that, he can only imagine what toby would do.
Probably tear them out of his own skin.
Eventually, Toby's eyes focus on Tim and his bottom lip wobbles. His mouth, inside and out, is coated in his own blood. The taste of iron sickeningly sweet on his tongue.
"I'm.. im sorry, Tim. But.. b-Brian-"
Timothy cackles and his eyes narrow, shaking his head.
"I don't want to hear it, kid."
Kid.