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timothy was currently going through one of the biggest tribulations of his life. staring straight ahead, beautiful tints of orange and yellow decorated his face. timothy felt stuffy, suffocated, lost, trapped, relieved, disbelief, happiness?
he was engulfed in a storm of emotions he couldn't save himself from. he didn't know how to.
the usual him didn't flinch nor lose sleep after killing people in cold blood, so—
"teemo." timothy flinched. a nasal and familiar voice broke through. a gaze so kind and patient stared right back at him.
"gloryon." a softer than usual voice spoke out, only heard by those present in the area. timothy's shaky fingers gripped at the purple suit jacket, tainting it dark red with his hand prints. however, nobody was alarmed by the sight,
simply because it wasn't his blood.
"you did good, teemo" praised bjorn in his soothing voice. "calling us first was the right choice."
"yeah, good job hanging on buddy. it's alright now!" barry jumped in while putting his arms around timothy's shoulders.
barry started talking about how they got here, and how surprised they were by the call. the call.
right. he had murdered his father, whose remains were burning in that fire stirring high in front of him.
he killed his father.
and with bloody, trembling hands, he had called the first person he had thought of. he couldn't remember what was said very well. he was sure however, whatever yeager heard on the other end was probably a pathetic attempt at asking for help while in a terrible state.
whatever it was, yeager's back straightened as soon as he realized something was wrong, and all the nosy guild people heard the confused "are you okay, teemo?"
"teemo's awake?"
"did something happen to him?"
gloryon was the first one to get up and walk to yeager to catch timothy's voice over the phone. gloryon spent a lot of time with timothy, he knew the boy's tendencies for trouble the best. he thought timothy got stranded somewhere and needed a pick up.
"you're not making sense, teemo. breathe."
what was going on?
"where are you right now?" yeager inquired with an unusually serious tone.
yeager stood up and all the concerned people got up behind him. he led them towards the parking spot. they sat and drove the car to where yeager told them to, worry and confusion wafting through the air at the one sided conversation. clearly something bad had happened to timothy, but they didn't know what, since they couldn't hear the phone.
what they saw upon arriving was the answer to that. a mess of blood, guts and a shivering boy in the midst of it all. he tore his gaze away from the dead man, and looked up at them with troubled eyes. his breathy voice called out to them.
"... i, i fucked up."
eve had immediately ran up to him and embraced him.
"oh, teemo."
they all recognized that body. it belonged to the man who visited their house two days ago, alongside timothy, presenting himself as his father.
nobody had asked about it at the time as they busied themselves with stabilizing timothy and cleaning the crime scene. but questions lingered in their minds, why was mr butler dead? and why did it all point to timothy being the culprit? they wouldn't pry if timothy truly wished to take what happened to the grave, but they needed to know what was the situation to decide the next steps.
yeager was the one to speak up. he asked timothy in the most gentle tone he could: what happened?
something about the arms embracing him, the jacket to shield him from the cold and the gentle voice, that he felt like he could open up the box of pandora that he had worked so hard to close and hide for the longest time, for fear of all the things contained inside over spilling. so he let those loving hands pry open the lock to the deepest crevices of his heart.
timothy choked up as he struggled to explain the beginning and the end. described his fears, his panic at the thought of his friends in los santos being threatened. the unbearable thought of losing everything he had worked so hard for, in a new city, with a new him.
he couldn't tell if the warmth he felt inside as he finished recounting was because of the fire burning the remnants of his past, or because the people he considered family didn't reject him and embraced him for all he was. flawed and oh, so wounded.
as a cold hand, devoid of blood circulation (but so, so alive) ruffled his hair, he felt like perhaps he would be fine. maybe, he could carry on a fine life where his past monsters wouldn't threaten to catch up and swallow him up.
mayhaps, he didn't need to run any longer.