postictal | ic inbox; entranceway

[Archie's ears flick back for a moment when Tim touches his head, but when he realizes what his hand's doing there, he relaxes.]

[Jay's eyebrows raise. Sounds like Tim hasn't got much experience with cats, even if he somehow managed to win Archie over.]

I didn't. He brought himself. He, uh-- [Jay lifts his hands in a vague approximation of a shrug.] He saw me getting the food and just assumed it was for him.

How long have you had him, anyway?

[He didn't know how and when and why Jay acquired a cat, or what it might mean that he now owns one. It's not like Tim has ever been able to afford a pet, even if he wanted one. Maybe now, in Wonderland but - ]

[But he has his hands full. He can barely keep himself alive, barely keep Jay alive, and in most cases he can't even manage either. He doesn't need some small animal relying on him on top of that.]

[Jay squints at the wall, trying to remember.]

'Bout six months, I think. Why?

[Is Tim surprised he managed to keep the little terror alive this long? Unexpected and unbidden, Jay's stomach turns, and he forces the feeling down as best he can. Archie's fine. He's gonna be fine.]

[Like right now, he's pushing his little head up against Tim's hand--the guy who gave Jay a black eye, the guy who he watched drive a knife into a shapeshifter's throat, the guy who nearly lit him on fire--and Archie's fine. He's okay.]

[Besides, it's Tim's birthday. He's back from the dead, and it's his birthday, and the cat likes him. That should count for something, even though Jay hasn't given it enough thought to determine what.]

Edited 2018-06-26 06:19 (UTC)

Just...didn't know you liked cats.

[He also did not, to be fair, know that Jay played video games. That Jay likes video games enough to just have this kind of collection on hand and be able to whip out a handful of titles that Tim's never heard of. That Jay actually gave a shit about stuff like script-writing and cinematography, and wasn't merely going along with Alex Kralie's dumb, hipster, student film vision.]

[He didn't know Jay's birthday. He never asked.]

Enough to keep one of your own, anyway.

Well, now you know I like cat.

[Jay winces; that sounded funnier in his head.]

I mean, they were looking for a home for him and my, uh...my family always had cats when I was growing up, so I...yeah. [Jay scratches at his neck, intently focused on a blank spot on the wall. The next bit is muttered under his breath:] Weird what sticks.

[He sits up a little straighter, shakily turning to Tim.]

What about--about you? Did your, like...did you guys have any pets before...?

[Jay doubts you'd get to see too many cats in the hospital. Service dogs, maybe. Service horses? Are those a thing?]

Yeah, if my hospital was big on therapy dogs I wouldn’t have run away half as much as I actually did.

[He’s talking to the one person who knows his entire history, bar nothing. He thinks that entitles him to be a little flip if he wants. Specifically because the question, well-intentioned as it might have been, was pretty damn stupid.]

Cats are pretty low maintenance. Guess you could’ve done worse.

[Jay squints. Is Tim...trying to say he's a dog person under all that, or is he just being a prick?]

[He can't quite keep the defensive edge out of his voice.]

Yeah, you say low-maintenance, but--

[Jay turns in his seat to fully face Tim, gesturing aimlessly. For the first time since Tim's arrival, the cake is left unprotected.]

[Archie sees his opening, wriggling out from under Tim's hand to launch toward the table, claws hooking into the tablecloth. Jay lunges for him.]

No!

[Mercifully, the cake is spared. The bottle of day-glo yellow soda (off-brand; tastes better than the 'real' stuff sometimes) isn't so lucky. It doesn't split when it hits the ground, but Jay suspects he'll have to wait at least another fifteen minutes before he even considers cracking it open.]

[Still, cake is safe. Cat has been blocked, though he's still holding onto the tablecloth, tail twitching with frustration.]

You wanna... [Tough to sound nonchalant when you're half-supporting an angry cat's reluctant descent down the side of a table.] ...eat this before he tries again?

You brought an entire cake.

[He's not sure whether to be impressed or just - resigned, because this kind of overkill smacks of someone desperate to impress or apologize or, actually, he's pretty sure it's just apologize. For whatever goddamned reason. Never mind that it should be Tim doing the apologizing, not that he's bothering to do so.]

[Why is Jay even bothering?]

[Tim hooks the can of...whatever it is from the floor, squinting at the innocuous brand. It looks vaguely like something he might've seen other kids drinking during classes, the pop-hiss of a cracking tab and the fizzle of carbonation in the open campus air.]

...why?

It's not that big, I mean--

[He originally thought about decorating it with something stupid, like Happy Birthday, Asshole, or At Least One Of Us Remembers, or Happy You're Not Dead Anymore Day but once he had the cake in hand, it just felt...off. Like sure, he'd be joking, but he wasn't sure it would land right. It barely landed right with him, and he was the one awkwardly standing with a piping bag in the middle of the kitchen.]

[So he wound up with a blank cake, big enough for text but too big to actually eat. Fine. Whatever.]

--like, it could serve two people, I dunno.

[He didn't actually answer the question. Whether that was an intentional mislead or a fumble due to Jay having the social grace of a potted plant, it's impossible to say. Tim sets the can down with a soft tap of two surfaces aligning, and then reaches down to scoop Archie from the tablecoth.]

Yeah, but why? Why go to all...this?

[I mean, you don't even like me.]

[He called him his best friend. His - his shadow did.]

[Does he like his friends? At all?]

[Archie lets out a low meow of protest as Tim lifts him, but he doesn't do much but wriggle in Tim's hold, repositioning himself to be more comfortable.]

[Jay, meanwhile, has never been comfortable a day in his life.]

'Cause it's your birthday?

[The sentence lilts up at the end, telegraphing Jay's uncertainty clear as day. Why did he do this? Is it just because that's what's done? Because the situation back home trained him that once he's got a scrap of information, he's got to do something with it, or else it'll be a waste? Is it some stupid, leftover concern that he'd be disappointing the viewers if he didn't?]

[That doesn't cover everything, though, does it?]

'Cause you...'Cause I saw you get shot, and I just...

[Just what? Were worried about him?]

[Wanted to make sure he was real?]

...Wanted to see...

[Wanted to maybe, for once, not make things worse just by existing.]

I mean...I dunno, maybe cake and games aren't exactly the opposite of getting shot, but...it's good that you're...here, in one piece, I guess.

Yeah, but I almost killed you. Again.

[Just going to gently point out that Jay ostensibly doesn't owe Tim anything, seeing as they're just about breaking even as far as the "being a shitty friend" count goes, right down to trying to kill each other. Tim doesn't necessarily mind, strictly, that almost all of his friends have tried to kill him at some point. He more minds that he's tried to kill them.]

[Even worse, it sounds as though Jay's grappling to figure out his own reasoning just as much as Tim is.]

[Fantastic.]

You know you don't owe me anything. Right?

I'm not doing this 'cause I think I owe you, it's...

[Jay's shoulders hike up, tension drawn across his back.]

[Nice as it'd be to just pretend it didn't happen, that's not an option at this point.]

Look, I was acting...erratic, so I get why you...like, it's...it makes sense why you thought it wasn't...me, anymore. It's not like I made it any easier.

[Jay throttles down the desire to switch off the camera. He doesn't have an audience anymore. Still, his voice gets quieter, and he stares hard at the carpet, not looking at the attempted murderer holding onto his cat.]

[God, they're terrible at this. All of it. What kind of friends have tried to kill each other multiple times, misunderstandings or aliens screwing with their brains or not?]

Can I ask a stupid question?

[He’d be interested in knowing what Jay thinks he’s been doing all this time, but he’s not at a petty enough point to say it out loud. He keeps looking at the cat, as if that might distract him from the conversation that’s rapidly unraveling over what was meant to be cake and video games.]

[Whose fault is that, exactly?]

[There’s no right answer here. Saying “no” would just make this all worse.]

...sure. What?

Edited 2018-06-27 17:24 (UTC)

[He's tightly wound, the tension carrying over into his voice, but it's not like he can just switch it off. He glances back at the spread across the table, the mess of cables leading to the TV--all things that, in a normal situation, would mean a nice afternoon.]

[Wonderland's bullshit. Back home is even deeper bullshit.]

[You're not acting like a normal person.]

Can we just...not try and kill each other?

[It's aimed at Tim, and it's aimed at his own stupid goddamn decisions, and his paranoia, and the hours he didn't sleep, and the shapes at the corner of his eye, and Alex Kralie, and the thousand little things that had him at Tim's door with a knife and no plan beyond make him talk.]

Like, this is an honest question at this point.

[His arms are crossed across his chest, fingers digging into the skin.]

'Cause the way I see it, shit's been stacked against us from the very beginning. [An exasperated almost-laugh creeps into his voice.] But I watched you die--

[His voice cracks. Stupid. Stupid.]

And I don't wanna see it again. And I don't wanna be the reason why it happens again, and I don't want Wonderland or that thing or--or whatever to fucking...

[--make me, he finishes, inaudible except for a soft creak at the back of his throat.]

I'd kind of prefer it not be a staple at this point, sure. [He shrugs, and the action is as tired as Tim himself feels.]

But it's kinda like saying, can we just try not being broken for once? If you can figure out some way for that to stop being a thing, like you can just stop being depressed or stop being a fucking crazy mental wreck - then sure. Sure, I'd love to stop trying to kill the people I care about.

[He does not, it's worth noting, mention that he'd prefer not to die. Because if it's all the same to everyone, he would very much prefer to die. In fact, that's the one outcome that would be most ideal for everyone.]

So. What's your plan to keep that from happening?

["I'd love to stop trying to kill the people I care about."]

[Huh.]

[He's right, though. He's right and Jay hates it. He's never consciously considered just trying to stop being a paranoid fucking mess ~~because maybe this is the first time he's ever consciously considered it might be more dangerous than whatever it's protecting him from.~~ The couple times it happened were accidents, flukes, and every one of them was temporary. If he tried--if he tried, right now, starting today, to just stop, he knows it wouldn't stick.]

[But he has to do something, even if it's stupid as shit, because that's just...who he is, he guesses.]

[Jay gestures behind him, at the snacks, at the gradually collapsing ice cream cake, at the screen and the pile of cases and cartridges.]

Guess that was step one.

[Video games, a cat, and a melting ice cream cake.]

[If there's a road to rehabilitation for people like him - people who are fucked beyond recognition or repair, who somehow attract this bizarre blend of scorn and pity, who are warped and wrong and maybe just plain cursed - then maybe this would be the place to start.]

[Or it's the place to start where you set about humoring the people who think they can fix you.]

You know that's not something you just...fix, right? Can't just slap a band-aid over it and call it even?

[Jay shrugs, less of a dismissal and more of an admission that he doesn't really have an answer.]

Yeah. [His forehead wrinkles.] I mean, if a slice of cake was all it took, you'd think the doctors would've figured that out by now.

[Tim was locked up for years, and the best he got was a hesitant diagnosis of schizophrenia and eventually some pills that managed to help. Jay doesn't stand a chance.]

[How to say this neatly, politely, without fucking it up: the fact that he knows what Jay's doing. The fact that he knows what Jay's doing because it's precisely what Brian ended up doing. The miserable, the isolated, the freak of a kid who had no friends, and Brian was just naturally the type of guy who would scrape something like that up off the ground and clap it on the shoulder, and stick around because who the hell else was going to?]

[How to say this without ruining the set-up Jay's spent so much time on: I'm sick of other people's pity. He's got more than enough to heap onto himself without anyone else helping out.]

[How to say the other thing: you don't have to bother. Or the other thing: you can just give up. Or the other thing: it'd be easier if you would.]

Then why go to...all this?

[For his sake, on his behalf - him, someone who's never come close to doing the same to anyone?]

[Jay winces. The monitor he set up in his room is enough for one person. It could've worked, but he thought he might as well borrow a better one from the closets. He usually zones out when he plays, so he's started keeping bags of chips around so he doesn't realize ten hours later that he hasn't eaten. Then came the soda, in case either of them got thirsty, and then came the cake, since the kitchen can give him whatever and it's Tim's birthday, and then came the stacks of games, since the library has literally every piece of media ever published and he thought he might as well start off Tim with some decent stuff.]

[That's the thing about free stuff. It ends in stupid situations like this, where the desire to be prepared somehow winds up dragging along with it the desire to impress. To not let anybody down. To make things perfect, so things won't go wrong.]

[God, he's becoming his ~~mom~~]

'Cause I'm... [He kneads at his forehead.] Out of practice, I guess. At just hanging out.

[His voice drops to a mutter.] Just kept getting stuff...

[Are we...friends?]

[It's stupid. A stupid way to put it. HIs shadow said as much, even if none of them have so much as mentioned that since it happened. You don't have to go to all this over me. Even worse, considering that Jay's already done it.]

[You don't have to bother.]

[You don't have to pretend.]

[Stop lying to me.]

I didn't mean...that.

[He's sounding more and more like Jay; hemming and hawing and stricken with a seeming inability to just spit it out like he used to think he could.]

I just meant, like - over, you know. Over me.

[I'm not worth this.]
[And both of us know it.]

[What?]

[Granted, Tim probably hasn't had a birthday party since he was, what, eight? Maybe even before. He wasn't assigned a special day, where classmates were invited over and party favors were handed out and pizza was distributed and cake was cut just because that's what's done, not because you asked for it. This has got to feel weird as shit, honestly.]

[~~How must it have felt for Alex?~~]

[It's got to feel like Jay went to the trouble of hosting some kind of event, with weird food and, like, special occasion stuff just because Tim Wright exists, or something.]

[...In a sense, though, that's what he just did. Hanging out, especially one-on-one, isn't something Jay's really done in a long time, and he's doing it right now, because...Tim Wright still exists, despite everything. He's still the same prickly, evasive piece of shit as always, and he's still here.]

[And that somehow manages to be significant enough to merit cake.]

'M just glad you're here. [He mumbles it, not meeting Tim's eyes.] I mean, you've...been here. For a lot. And there were, like, periods of time when you weren't here, or weren't--weren't there, but now you are. Obviously. [He gestures blindly in Tim's general direction.] And I guess I didn't really realize how much I'd gotten used to that.

I didn't really plan on dying, you know. And -

[He has to say it, has to charge ahead and dismiss everything with a lateral sweep, with a sharp-edged comment, because if he doesn't, if he doesn't, then he'll have to acknowledge what's being said and that feels significantly more fucking terrifying.]

Y'know. Better me than someone else.

[Not that it mattered.]

[Not that it fucking mattered, when Clem died on the field too. When Shepard, when Max, when everyone else died in equally grotesque ways - often more so.]

[None of them planned on dying. Jay was probably the least qualified person out there, but they slapped a crown on him and threw half the people he knew into the line of fire just to keep him safe. Like his shitty existence was worth any of their lives.]

[He's still thankful, that's the worst thing. Thankful he didn't have to feel himself bleeding out across the chessboard, thankful he didn't have to risk going back a second time. Would he have gone there, if he died? Just him, alone, lying on the concrete squinting at the orange sky? Would Tim have gone, too? Does Wonderland have somewhere else it sends people? Is there a somewhere at all, or does it just...stop?]

What was it like?

[He didn't mean to say that. He didn't mean to say it, but now he's said it, and now he's got to clarify.]

Not...I mean, I know what... [Stop while you're ahead.] I'm talking about after.

[You're at a birthday party, for god's sake. Think before you speak.]

Or we could...not talk about that right now. Sorry, that was...sorry.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject