In his dream, he was back in the hospital.
This scene replayed in his mind everytime he slept, but he could never grasp the fact that it was just a dream.
The white, slightly chipped walls were harsh on his brown sleepless eyes, the colour becoming a nuisance to look at. His bed, hard, small, and cold as always. The floors now padded, he woke up one day to them like that.
How long had he been in the hospital? Weeks? Days? He couldn't keep track anymore. He couldn't remember anything, the pills force-fed by the doctors now dimmed and wiped his mind and memories, the feeling of emptiness always padded his chest, the feeling of loneliness behind the white walls always looming.
The cellar door never shined light unless the door was forced open by the clean, white men in their clean white coats, always giving Tim their forced smiles. He couldn't remember the last time his mother came to visit. She'd given up eventually, he figured; when the doctors let him out, he didn't expect her to be happy like she used to be.
He remembered the first time he was let out of the hospital. It started from an ear splitting migraine that drove him to the point where he screamed and dug his nails into the sides of his pale face. She was so relieved to have him out, but the hospital bills piled up, the meds drowned them both in melancholy and regret. Each time he was let out, she was a little less enthusiastic. Her smile was a little less bright. Her tears of happiness weren't even of happiness anymore, he could tell by the last time. Loading him into the car, his heart beat raced. She just stared at the skinny, pale boy from the front seat.
"Hello, Tim," she'd said, then continued to drive. No smile, only the dark bags under her green eyes matching his own. His heart faltered and shattered under it.
It was then that his migraines increased, his visions of a mysterious monster/man decided to haunt him more.
"You're DANGEROUS, TIM," she had yelled at him one night. He was beat down, his skinny, 13 year old body unable to keep up with her wails to his stomach. "YOU'RE THE REASON HE'S GONE," she was now referring to the absence of his father, who'd left after his second trip to the hospital. His father, who he barely remembered, couldn't stand him or his mother. Constantly out, drinking, getting shit faced and coming back to beat on his family without even remembering it. Tim was haunted by all of this.
He remembered her squeezing his throat, his migraine increasing as she made his vision blur. White noise rang in both of their ears.
"And now, h-he's here, f-for ME," she stuttered out, shaking, a deranged smile on her face.
"Mom, p-please-" he choked, slapping her hands but failing to move anymore.
But with that, she was gone. The unbearable ringing had stopped. His vision was back to normal and he gasped for air. He had come to pick up the trash. He'd come to pick up his mother.
They filed her a runaway, and a fugitive. He was put back into the hospital.
He laid on his hospital bed, finally his mind was silent. Yet, it was oddly too silent- to silent for comfort. He brushed it off.
Ringing. Screaming. He screamed himself- he towered over his bed long black tendrils and static attacked him.
Suddenly his mother was over him, hands around his throat once again. But this time, her touch was freezing cold, her breath smelled harshly of blood, cigarettes, alcohol and dirt. "Mistake, mistake," she'd screamed at him. He cried in pain, emotional and psychical. His ears felt as they were bleeding, his throat felt like it was filled with gasoline, and his eyes felt like they were being ripped out the sockets.

He woke up in the back of the car, hands around his throat gasping for air. His eyes met with wide, scared (e/c) ones. She looked back at him in confusion and fear, her mouth slightly opened. He turned his head slightly to see Brian also staring back at him, a hint of worry coating his brown eyes. He sighed, swallowing extra saliva. He closed his eyes and rubbed them.
He saw an upcoming gas station, close to a nearby motel. "Pull over," he demanded. Brian did as he was told, and pulled into an almost empty parking lot. Tim hopped out of the car, leaving the two in the front seat alone.
"Don't worry, it happens a lot," Brian reassured her with a cheeky grin.
"What's his deal? He's got nightmares?"
Brian scoffed. "More like Vietnam flashbacks. Tim's a... well, he's a fucked up dude."
The girl leaned back in her seat. "No kidding,"

Tim stood in front of the store, cigarette in mouth. He took off his jacket, revealing a plain black t-shirt. He searched his pants for his lighter, but cursed when he realised it must've dropped somewhere in the backseat.
"Can't find something?" The girl asked, a small smile on her face. She held out a black lighter. He stared at the lighter, and then up to her. "It's better than having to spend money on matches in the store," she said. He nodded.
"Thank you,"
"No problem," she replied. He lit up the cigarette, and blew out a puff of smoke. "Hey Tim-"
"How do you know my real name?" He asked sharply. She bit the inside of her cheek and smiled.
"Brian told me. Do I get a cool nickname, or is it only a you guys thing?" She asked. He didn't reply, but mentally cursed Brian. "Or, is it useless, due to the fact you're just using me as a pawn?" She asked.
Tim turned to her facial expression lit in confusion and fear. "How did you-"
"I wasn't completely drugged," she said nodding. "And, it's okay. I forgive you." He stared at her, and took another huff of his cigarette.
"You're too smart for your own good, you know that?" He asked.
"I think I'm too smart for your own good."
"No kidding," he replied. There was a silence that filled the air. "So, you heard all of it?"
"All of it, in all of it's glory," she admitted smiling. He flicked his cigarette, feeling awkward and tense.
"I don't- I don't know- exactly.. what to say.." he admitted.
"That's okay," she said. She took the cigarette from his hand and took a puff. He stared at her in annoyance.
"Hey," he said. "That's not very polite."
"You're one to talk," she said. "Throwing my phone off a bridge like that, like it was nothing,"
"it wasn't my choice. We needed to do that." He replied with.
"Well, sorry, I decided that I just need to share your cancer stick. Why do you smoke, anyways?" she asked.
"You smoke for fun, I smoke to die." He took it back and took another puff.
"I thought all of this-" she motioned towards everything around her, "-was to keep surviving."
"It's hard to explain,"
"I'm listening." She responded, leaning against the wall. "What was the dream about?"
"What?" He asked, confused.
"Don't act like I'm dumb, Timothy. What was that dream about?" She asked.
He glared at her. She stared at him back, and he sighed. "Just some stuff from when I was younger. About my mom."
She nodded, wanting to know more. He looked back at her. "Look, I don't want to explain, and I don't have to, either. You're supposed to be doing what I say, not the other way around," he said, a hint of anger lacing his voice.
She nodded, holding her hands up. "I understand, you have your space." His glare intensified and he broke eye contact, taking a last breath of the cigarette. "I'll be in the bathroom, but Tim?" She asked, and she gained his eye contact. "For the record, I like it better when you're not bossing me and Brian around. When we're just talking, human to human." She walked to the door of the gas station and opened it. "Also I want my lighter back later," She walked in, leaving him stand there, a cigarette butt in his fingertips. He stared at it and scoffed.
"What a brat, getting in my business like that," he thought, throwing the rest of the butt on the ground. He stomped on it, and threw his jacket back on, scraping his boot against the cement. He thought about what she said, and walked back to the car.
He moved into the front seat, where Brian sat next to him.
"Hey, buddy," Brian said, stretching his arms out. "Sleep like a kitten?"
"What do you think, fuckwad?" He responded with, edge in his tone. Brian cringed, eyes narrowed.
"Hey man, chill!" He turned on the engine and cracked his neck. "We're like, 10 minutes away from the motel, anyways. Another piece of shit, too,"
Tim let out a dry laugh, "like always."
"Mhm, like always," Brian nodded his head. "Hey, what do you think we should get for (Y/N)?"
Tim's facial expression dropped. "Don't."
"What?" Brian asked, feelings "hurt".
"She's a handful," Tim said, leaning his head against the dashboard.
"A drama queen," Brian added, "But a queen. Seriously, no wonder you got a thing for her." Brian's heart twinged, but he ignored it.
"Shut the fuck up, before I make you eat a camera," he responded with.
"Feisty!" Brian yelled, making an odd feline noise. "Meee-oww,"
Tim glared at him tiredly. "Just take my ass to the motel. But we have to wait for her ass."
"Look man, I don't know about you, but-" Brian paused. "I'd take her ass allllll-"
"Fucking stop, you incompetent pervert," he cut him off with.
"God damn, on your man period? I'm sure she packed a few extra tampons-"
"Brian, if you don't shut the fuck up, it will look like your face is having it's period."
Brian ignored him, and turned to the attention to their girl walking out of the door. "Hey, she's finished," Brian said, smiling.
Tim sighed, "finally."

And to the shitty, run down motel they went.