Brian rubbed his face roughly, groaning with a mix of exhaustion and annoyance. Rough palms felt over a weeks worth of scruff scratch at his skin, and his eyes felt so sore, and he knew without looking that the skin beneath his eyes was purple and bruised from a lack of sleep. But how could he sleep like this?

The... God, he wasn't even human anymore, was he? Could he even be called a man at this point? Brian roughly pulled off his mask, practically ripping it off and throwing it onto the bottle covered coffee table, knocking a few over and sending the odd pill skittering onto the floor. He huffs, having no energy to clean.

His place was a mess, the old cabin he'd been staying in ever since the... change... looking like it had seen three world wars and a zombie apocalypse ever since he'd moved in. He kept saying he'd clean up, but... well, he and Tim were good at lying to themselves, making promises they couldn't keep.

Couldn't kill the Operator. Couldn't fix ourselves. Couldn't even stay dead. He thinks, glaring at the wall. Roughly tugging at his hair, Brian reached for a bottle of anxiety meds, antidepressants, anything just to shut his fucking mind up.

Empty. Because of-fucking-course! Can't have shit, right? No, he's stuck being Slenderman's bitch half the time 'cus he's the only one who can help them after their change from human into whatever the hell they were now. All Brian knew is that he and Tim should be dead, but they weren't.

With another groan, he slumped back on his couch, roughly rubbing his face, both tired and wound up; wanting to just sleep and to beat something to dea–

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Pausing, he stared at the door, wondering who it could be. Tim wouldn't be back for a few more days, helping that Toby guy with a job, so who...?

Oh. Of course. He's dumb.

Getting up, he trudged over to the door, pulling it open to stare down at you.

"... baby." He greets, wetting his lips, voice rough. He tries blinking, clearing his vision, but he still feels on edge.