#;terry threads

Food was good. It was fuel. It ran the body. It ran the mind. Food was good. Terry ate with gusto, cleaning his plate so fast there was hardly room to breathe between bites. It wasn't until he'd nearly finished that he'd realized he should perhaps leave some for the man who had actually purchased the food.

Aiden would surely scold him for being so rude mannered when he came back from... Wherever it was he'd gone. But that was fine. Aiden was only trying to be a good brother and teach him good manners. Aiden...

Thoughts clouded for a moment with worried thoughts over where Aiden was and when he was coming back, he nearly misses what Oliver was saying. Oliver. What a funny coincidence. Aiden also had a friend named Oliver.

The figure is in the distance. Whoever it is, because the figure is definitely person-shaped, is stick thin and had shoulder length dark, curly hair. He is woefully unprepared for the burning desert sun, wearing an old, ratty tank top and shorts. No shoes, and horrifically burned hands and forearms.

He's walking slowly, though he doesn't know where he is or where he's going. He walks alongside the road, in the hard-pan earth, trying his best to avoid rocks and the rare plant that comes out of the dry, sandy soil.

Terry hears the footsteps, and he shuts his eyes momentarily. There were two sets, it seemed, which made it unlikely that it was Aiden coming back for him. They seemed too fast to be the dead... So, what? People.

Good people? Bad people? He didn't know. Some part of him didn't even care. Unless they knew were Aiden was, or when he was coming back, what did it matter?

A woman speaks. Terry opens his eyes. He appears mostly uninjured, a few bruises are visible on his legs and his hands have very bad burn scars on them. But otherwise he seems in decent shape, save for that sick, hollow expression on his face. He wears basketball shorts and a thin, gray t-shirt that hangs on him like a dress. He has no shoes.

A soft sigh. Lifeless eyes flick up from his gloved hands to find the other's face, and then back down.

The figure is in the distance. Whoever it is, because the figure is definitely person-shaped, is stick thin and had shoulder length dark, curly hair. He is woefully unprepared for the burning desert sun, wearing an old, ratty tank top and shorts. No shoes, and horrifically burned hands and forearms.

He’s walking slowly, though he doesn’t know where he is or where he’s going. He walks alongside the road, in the hard-pan earth, trying his best to avoid rocks and the rare plant that comes out of the dry, sandy soil.

Terry didn't know how he ended up in Maine. Aiden had driven for a long time, and Terry had been asleep for most of it. He wasn't sure if it was because he was tired, or if there was something in the food Aiden had given him, but it didn't really matter. All that mattered was the fact that he was alone now.

Well. Except for the only other person in the hospital waiting room.

It was late, but Terry had neither a phone nor a watch and the clock on the wall was broken. So he didn't know what time it was. He was disoriented, to say the least. It had been light out when they left Oklahoma, and dark out when he woke up outside the hospital.

For a long time, Terry stares at the broken clock, before hollow green eyes turn on Eddie. His voice sounds odd in the otherwise quiet room. He can hardly recognize it as his own.