postictal | ic inbox; entranceway

[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.

[He almost rebounds the question: you died before I ever did - how did it feel for you? Almost, but manages to bite his cheek, bites it back, swallows it away. It's been a year, over a year, and somehow it still feels like too soon.]

We ended up in a room. Like, one of the tearooms. Had a screen for us to watch the rest of the, uh...the game in.

[If he sounds bitter, it's because he is.]

I guess some of the Mirrors weren't too happy about that.

[Whatever Jay was expecting, this absolutely was not it. A nice, safe room. A place for them to watch the game, like it's Sunday night football.]

[Jay just stares. He has to just...take a moment to process this.]

...You think that'll happen every time?

[God, if he gets a quiet room and a TV every time he dies, that's almost an improvement. Maybe he can ease off on the constant fear for a second.]

[Ha. Ha-ha.]

I hope to god there isn't an every time.

[He's not sure he necessarily wants to put himself in the line of fire like that again - except that he already knows he will, if it means that people like Clem or Max or Shepard or Jay don't have to. It's necessity. It's simpler. God, but it's - ]

[Better. It's better if it's him.]

There was nothing keeping us from strangling each other once we were there.

Oh.

[Scratch that; this room sounds terrible. It's easier to focus on what's concrete, to get the facts straight, than to consider the weight of "every time."]

Did any of 'em try anything?

[Sure, Tim's Mirror wasn't out on the field, but god knows how many others there are like him.]

[Archie stretches and resettles himself in Tim's arms. Nothing like discussions of death to lull a cat to sleep.]

Like, was everybody...okay in there, or...?

No one died. I think.

[He simply sounds tired. Resigned. Scratches at the cat's ears, idly, without really thinking about it.]

I wasn't really...I dunno. I was kinda checked out at that point.

[Huddled in the corner of the room, with Clem and a vague awareness that people were commenting on the game, that people were angry, that altercations were certainly happening, but mostly too lost in the fog of his own thoughts and the blood-smoke memory of his chest opening like a flower.]

[For obvious reasons.]

[That's something. At least things didn't manage to get worse from there.]

[And Jay would sure as hell have been checked out if he'd been in Tim's place.]

I mean, you'd just...

[Jay's eyes dart to the carpet, trying to think of anything but the thundering crack of a shotgun and a ragged, hollow space carved into Tim's chest.]

Makes sense.

[Very softly, the bundle in Tim's arms starts to purr.]

Nice as long as you as keep petting him, huh?

[Ignore the subject. Sweep it aside. Who wants to talk about their own death? Jay certainly never does; maybe he'll catch the hint and allow Tim the same courtesy.]

Think he'll behave if I put him down, or is this the only thing keeping him from taking the rest of the room apart?

[For once, Jay picks up on it. The evasiveness. The sidestep.]

[For once, he thinks he gets it.]

He'll live.

[Jay hasn't really gotten to see how Archie is around other people, but based on a sample size of two, he's guessing Tim won't be rid of him this easily. He can be a persistent little asshole when he wants something from you.]

I mean, the only thing he really seemed interested in was the cake. So, uh.

[Smooth, Merrick.]

I could toss it, if you're not a...cake guy.

Nah, it's...

[Jay went to all this trouble. Food here is...disposable in a way they could never afford to allow, chasing clues between white highway lines. Remember it: Clem's triumph, her strange, rueful little grin when she realized she could throw things away again, just for the hell of it, because she didn't need to ration herself constantly.]

I guess I might as well try it, right? [He has no idea if he's a cake guy; now seems as good a time as any to find out.]

[Jay shrugs, the movement lopsided and forced. He'd think this would be a relief, after watching it slowly sag and drip in the room-temperature heat, but now it's somehow managed to get him even more freaked out.]

[~~What's Jay supposed to do if he doesn't like it?~~]

[They toss it. It's nothing.]

[~~He wasted--~~]

[He didn't waste anything. He didn't even waste time, just the split-second of deliberation and the effort it took to pull it out of the fridge. It's nothing. It doesn't matter. It's not the last of their rations. It's not something he stuffed under his shirt and snuck past the register. He didn't risk anything for this. It's just a fucking cake. Calm down.]

[Jay offers Tim a paper plate.]

It's, uh... [Jay lifts a plastic cake server, one of the ones with a serrated edge for exactly this. For cutting cake. Birthday cake. God, this is uncomfortable.] Kinda melted. I mean--it's ice, ice cream cake, so I probably should've...

[Jay slides the server into the cake. It gives far too easily.]

Should probably taste the same.

[And with that, Jay's cut the first slice. Good job, Jay.]

You...want this one?

Sure.

[It's clear that something has put him on edge, but hell if Tim can discern what. The main problem is that his arms are currently full of cat, and he's pretty sure that setting him down will result in his melting slice of cake getting sprayed across the room in the resulting scuffle.]

[Ice cream cake. He's never had it before. Was that an intentional choice? Something new, and different?]

[Maybe it was just reflex. Don't overthink it, Tim. Don't you dare pretend, for even half a second, that you're worth anyone's additional effort.]

[He glances around the room, wondering what to do with his purring passenger.]

Should I...put him down, or what?

[Oh. Right. He can't eat the cake to keep it away from the cat if he's holding the cat. He can't take his slice of soft, runny birthday cake if Archie's gonna knock the thing out of his hands, and he definitely can't take it if both his hands are full of Archie.]

I guess, yeah. I'll just. Uh.

[Jay holds the slice up and out of cat-range with one hand, shuffling between Archie and the cake. If he tries anything, Jay'll have at least one hand to block him.]

[Archie, for his part, finds this whole arrangement very interesting, leaning forward in Tim's arms and sniffing at the air. He stretches his neck for a better look, pushing lightly at Tim with his back legs like he's considering making a break for it before Tim even sets him down.]

Edited 2018-07-03 06:44 (UTC)

Mm, nope.

[He hooks his forearm around the cat's chest, as though that might keep him from breaking free, and gingerly starts to lower him to the ground.]

This stuff isn't poisonous to cats, right?

[Just checking to make sure that the worst that could happen is that the cat accidentally destroys and eats a cake, and doesn't die in the process of doing so. He has no idea what's lethal to cats other than, he thinks, chocolate? Or is that dogs?]

It's not poisonous, I don't think, but it's...

[Archie lets out a soft, displeased complaint of a meow as Tim sets him down. He trots toward Jay instead, twining between his legs.]

[Gingerly, trying not to step on the cat, Jay holds the slice of cake out to Tim.]

Don't think he can really digest it.

[Now that Archie is safely - semi-safely? - out of the way, Tim can accept the plate and stare at it like he isn't entirely sure what to do with it, before remembering that it is actually his birthday and therefore? Therefore, he is gonna have some goddamn cake.]

[He can't remember the last time someone got him a cake for his birthday.]

[He can't remember if anyone ever has.]

No cake for you, [he tells Archie firmly, shoveling a plastic fork into the dripping slice.]

Nope.

[Archie meows.]

No cake for you.

[Jay cuts a sizable slice of his own. There's still a lot left. Great.]

[Meow.]

[He cracked the clear plastic container the cake came in while trying to pry it open, but it's still better than nothing. Should be able to keep the cat out, even if it's not enough to spare the table if it starts fully melting. Jay puts the top back on with a flimsy, unconvincing snap.]

[He can feel the pressure of two tiny front paws, halfway up his leg.]

Yeah, nope.

[He reaches down, takes Archie by the front paws, and gently lowers his front half back to the floor. Retrieving his slice at last, he turns back to Tim.]

How's it, uh. How is it?

It's good.

[Half-melted, sure, but it still tastes fine. Presumably, anyway. He doesn't really have a metric for how ice cream cake should taste, but it's sweet, and chilled, and it should probably taste nostalgic. It should probably drag him back to days in mid-June and outdoor birthday parties, hands sticky with sweat and melted ice cream and the shrieks of children darting after one another like scraps of colored paper on the breeze.]

[Maybe, if he concentrates hard enough, he can pretend that it's a memory, and not some imagined, idealized picture of how he likes to think kids would be.]

Never had this before.

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