[Without the shadow's context-without spending that horrifying afternoon in the woods, listening to every hostile secret it spouted out with glee, she wouldn't understand what he meant by knowing me is.
Because she didn't forget. It would be a discourtesy to his friends' memory, to all the ways Tim suffered, if she had. Knowing him and knowing what's inside him are two different things. The being could appear and take him over in the blink of an eye and it's terrifying because she's-
Really scared for him. Doesn't want him to ever isolate himself, suffer alone, because of something he can't control. That he never asked for. That he never wanted. If enough people are aware, then they can help-she really thinks they can definitely help. He burnt down an entire building to escape and-
She gets it. Understands that kind of desperation, even if she never acted on it because it was pointless for her. And he he should get a chance to live-to be free in every way he couldn't in his world.
Tim's heart, despite everything it went through, continues to go through, still holds a genuine warmth to it. Even if his doctors couldn't see it, she can. And if even if she can't speak for the other thing in him, she knows this is true.]
[It sounds like he's trying to convince himself just as much as he is her - he's not consciously dangerous, because it's not anything he does, necessarily, only what he is. Until he leaned into that with a vengeance, that capacity to do hurt, that conscious fucking desire and ability to raise hell. Literal hell, tearing the world apart with fire, because that's the only way he knows how to fight anything.]
[It's what he is. Capable of terrible things, and not much else.]
[There are quite a few things she doesn't deserve-
A warm home, a family, caring friends at every corner of the island. A God that spends time to look for her medicine, even if it's meaningless in the grand scheme of things. People who teach her music, how to cook, how to play violin and dance and draw and spend countless minutes with her because they want to.
She doesn't deserve any of it, but now that she has a taste-she doesn't want to let go. She doesn't want to let Tim go.
For whatever time she has left, a few weeks, months, years-she wants to spend it trying to show him it's okay to be happy. The same thing he's taught her over the year.]
You don't 'deserve' to be alone.
[Her toes start to dig into the dirt near her star pile.]
You're allowed to have friends too. That kind of thing is okay here.
[She doesn't. She doesn't, because she's just a kid, and she simplifies because that's what she wants to have happen, and it doesn't work like that. It isn't fair, of course, that he has to be the one to insist that this is just how things work. Does it even matter? Will she even listen, if she doesn't want to hear it?]
No, kid.
[He drops the words quietly, a whisper cut with the hard stops of the consonants.]
[The childish, stubborn part of her wants to keep protesting, despite the amount of walls he's building between them. It's like she's talking to a pile of bricks that increases with every word that comes out of her mouth.
She kicks up more of the sand, averting her eyes from him and-]
Before I met you, I thought 'I'm not allowed to have these things.'
[Before the elves, before Kravitz, before Guzma and Drifter and Chara and all the people that give her life some meaning. That continue to be treasures she holds close to her heart.]
And then I thought 'I'm bad if I have these things'-
[A hole forms under her feet and she starts scraping the sand back into it, slowly kicking her foot back and forth. Being this open with her thoughts feels weird, but it's an emotion he clearly understands. That he feels. That he gets. It's not that much of a confession.]
I don't think that anymore, so-
[Maybe if he won't listen, she can show him.]
I want you to feel that way too. You don't have to say 'Ren, we're friends,' but I still want to be with you.
[No one can. There was a way out, once, and god but he wishes it was still tenable, finding a way to just - quietly erase every instance of his influence from everyone's lives. Sweeping away the ceiling of impact that broke each and every one of them.]
[That's not in their docket anymore.]
[He wishes he could be happier about that.]
Some people are just -
[Some people are just born wrong. And there's nothing you can do to save them.]
It's not something you can just make go away, because you want it to.
[It's impossible for her to cure him-that's true. She can't cure him, can't help in that respect.
But if someone like her can find happiness, can have people smile at her despite all the things wrong with her, then he should be able to have the sense. It doesn't make sense otherwise and something isn't clicking-nothing that's making her want to agree. There's too many people that care about him, who he's helped, who would be happy to just-
Be with him, so loneliness can't crush him, even if everything else tries to.]
Being being able to sit by someone and hold their hand and say 'I'm scared' to them-
[Being friends, having friends, might ease the burden.]
When you can 'run' to someone, it helps. That's all.
[It's said dully, devoid of judgment. It's just a simple fact of the matter. She's just a kid, and there's no reason she should think that she can be, should be, the person that he turns to because he's scared. As if he's not scared all the time. As if there's any preventing that.]
[He rubs his hands over his face, over the charcoal smudges underneath his eyes from teh lack of sleep that's been stalking him since he was born - more so now, naturally.]
I should've known better. I really should've known better, god.
[He hadn't banked on her, or anyone else, actually liking him back. Actually deciding there was something about him worth giving themselves up for.]
[The only saving grace is that his light said love, that she helped sometimes. Implied she's not a hindrance or a nuisance and it's why she can stand there, listening to him say I should've known better as if-
He shouldn't have spoken to her to begin with.
But she's glad he didn't know better.
She stares at him for a long time, watching the way he rubs his face. As if he can wipe away the conversation, this entire discussion, this whole week.
As much as she wishes the same, the terrible confessions allowed her to understand a bit more than she had before. To take his words seriously and know he comes from a place far darker than she could have ever imagined. Beyond whatever held Shin down, even.]
Do you-
[Want to hide. Want to leave.]
Want to hold my hand?
[She already knows the answer and extends her arm halfway to him despite that. That's always been something he did for her anyway and she knows he probably won't take the offer.
But it's the only thing she can think to do in the face of I should've known better.]
[But he shakes his head regardless. That doesn't change anything. Close contact doesn't make anyone feel better, or - if it does make her feel better, shouldn't she get used to the fact that he shouldn't be someone she turns to? Shouldn't he have been better at this from the start?]
[But you're not.]
I can't.
[He draws his knees up to his chest, folds his arms across the tops of them, an unconscious pose he submits to more often than he realizes, born from too many nights when a childish instinct had him desperate for something as simple as a hand on the shoulder, a hand on his cheek, a hug - something he'd never get.]
He's not leaving and that surprises her. The expectation was he would turn his back to her again and take off for the woods. Maybe try to impart some cruel half truths his shadow seemed eager to dole out.
But all he does is hide. Pulls into himself, as if his legs are a barrier from the world and she-
Follows his lead, dropping to her knees, then leaning forward so she's laying on her stomach across the sand, both arms outstretched towards him.
Both hands resting by him, if he decides to take her up on the offer.]
You can. It's okay. You can squeeze both of them very tight for a long time.
[She wiggles her fingers for a second, then lets them rest against the ground.]
[A note of iron enters his tone for the first time; it's not just about holding hands, anymore.]
[He's good at this. He's better at this than he is at most anything else - lie, twist things up, throw up wall after wall until there's nothing, no fucking way back. It's like steel jaws of a trap locking shut. Operating room doors, swinging in and in, swish, and the sound of key in a lock.]
[Despite everything, he still manages to tangle himself up into other people's lives, and ruin them irreparably. Staining their lives black and white.]
[It's easy to speak past the lump in his throat; he's had plenty of practice.]
[A flicker of something cold. You know what you have to do, Tim, so fucking well do it. It's like putting a torch to an old hospital. It's like watching your house burn down.]
[He stands up. He pinches his cigarette out between thumb and fingertip, ignoring the burn as it sizzles into his skin. He closes his eyes, and looks away.]
[Something in her chest hurts when he stands up and doesn't look at her. It's like facing the shadow again, in a strange way, because she doesn't know what's going on. What made his tone shift, what bad thing she said to make the air between them change.
She thought it would happen if he found out she was sick-when he realized she wasn't as strong as him, and-
Her greatest fear surges back to life as she slowly pulls back until she's sitting on her knees, looking at his back because she has a feeling that's all she'll see of him anymore.
And for it second, she sees a flicker of Seto in front of her, his back turned in a similar fashion because he couldn't see her anymore. Couldn't hear her. Even though she was behind him the whole time, he didn't look back until-
But Tim's not Seto and-
Tim loved her, once. Maybe continues to. Maybe that part hasn't been shaken loose yet.]
[It flies in the face of everything that he is. This isn't him. The one thing he can do, the one thing he always does, is try and - fuck, try and be someone who was there for someone who didn't have anything, because he knows how shit it feels to be utterly alone in it and the most he can do is ensure that no one else has to be. But she's not alone, is she. She has the entire damn island to look after her. The only reason she'd miss him is because he had the shit fucking idea to open up to her in the first place, and have you really not learned anything from that. He's making another mistake, he knows he is because he knows he has to be, because this isn't right. This is a cruelty.]
[It was a cruelty to open up to her in the first place. It was all a mistake, and he was just too much of a coward to do anything about it. Per fucking usual.]
[He can't just walk away because this isn't who he is. That's never been who he is.]
[That's why he never took Alex's out. He couldn't. He couldn't, not as long as he could still help, and he's on some kind of - asymptote, he's on the verge of something, something that's tearing at his heart, if only he could figure out what except that he's inflicting himself on someone else already and there's no saving that, no saving her, no saving himself, either.]
[I've had to live with this my entire life.] [But I've learned how to block it out.] [I can show you how.]
[His face is in his hands again. He's trying to swallow back the heat pressing at the backs of his lids, but it overflows. Of course it overflows. His speech is muffled and strangled and thick.]
[She keeps her eyes fixed on his back-trying not to blink, trying not to miss the direction he walks in, because he said he wouldn't leave. A message she knew was relative to the whole island, but she wanted to believe, maybe, he wouldn't leave her either.
But he's fighting demons she can never understand, living in an internal hell meant to break him down, trying to grasp at too many last straws to keep himself afloat, and-
She wants to reach for the hem of his shirt-clutch it tight, so he can't walk away, so he'll look at her one more time because she really, truly believes as he stands there staring away looking away ignoring the name that comes out of her mouth because he can't hear her. He won't ever hear her again, maybe, and just as she's about to say it again-
His hands press against his face. It sounds like he's choking. It sounds like he's talking and her head tilts back up to savor every last word that-
Doesn't sound like last words at all. It's more of a plea. A cry for help. It jolts her back to life-a little spark lighting in her gut, fueling the thought that this might not be the end after all.
Because it was never his fault. It's not his job to make it better.
Every movement is a potential mistake at this point, but she stands up anyway. Slowly steps around his body, until she's directly in front of him, staring at the way he's hiding, hiding, hiding because that's all there's left to do and she's okay with that because-
He stayed, even though she can't make it better either.
She extends both arms out, not moving forward to pull her in, despite wanting too. Despite wishing she could. Because she can't really do anything, except this. But her hands are hovering beside him, acting as tiny little shields from the world. And-
There's something desperate in her voice when she repeats his name again.]
Tim.
[It's so, so unlikely that he'll actually walk into her hug, but it's there. It's forming a mini barrier on its own, even if he doesn't accept it. Because the little bit of time he stays with her-
She's going to protect him in all the meaningless ways she can.]
[Does this feel like the right thing? Does the right thing feel like the right thing? How sustainable is this - trying to not hemorrhage into everyone's lives like the parasite he is? Hasn't he already ruined everyone? Aren't they already doomed, every single person that's ever known him here? And Denny - god, and of course. Of course he'd build something whose primary function would be to bring people together, god. Was that him? Was that his instinct? Was that something else, something trying to work its way into him, trying to motivate him into something that he wasn't certain was a good idea, oh god - ]
[He can't look at her, because he thinks she might be crying. Or close to it. And he can't look at her because he knows he is, because he cries so goddamned easily, he cries far too often because he never really learned not to.]
I don't do anything, not in - I don't - you have people who are -
She isn't with them. They aren't here. It doesn't negate all the kindness the islanders have shown her, but every single one of them is special, holds a place in her heart and he's included in that.
And if he followed that same logic-looked at her and thought about all the people who were kinder, smarter, braver-filled with all the qualities she lacks-
Would he turn her away? For that reason alone? It's hard for her to believe he would. That he'd turn any kid or person in need away because they're not good enough. And he should know how it feels to beat yourself up over not meeting imaginary standards, parameters, and all things in between. Enough to know that being like that, thinking like that, is cruel.
She hasn't lowered her arms, even though it's starting to hurt. She doesn't want to touch him, in case it scares him. Some people are like that. She was like that before affection became so commonplace in her life. Before cuddling by the fire or morning hair braiding sessions.]
You're special because you're 'Tim.'
[She repeats, trying to get that simple message across.]
I want to look at you and listen to your voice and sit by you and-
[It's not like he has anywhere to go to, does he? That was the issue in the first place. No point in trying to hide away, and there's nowhere to hide away to. There's no point in trying to cut and run when he has nowhere left, nowhere he can really expect to be left alone indefinitely.]
[He told Alex, he told him, that it didn't have to be like this. Is he just proving him right, by giving up? Waiting for a light-speed hurdle off the edge of existence, the warm cast of gleaming metal and the bright guttering torch that supported a structure that had such incredible, terrible power, a creation that could wipe away entire lives and leave nothing but fragments in its wake, spun-glass memories so fragile that the faintest brush could rouse only disorder and confusion. It was a goal that he can't hope for anymore, can't put his stock in, and maybe it was a lie to claim that he ever really had. He should have, maybe. Should have poured more of himself into that, into furthering that goal, except that it would have come at the expense of two of the most incredible, brave, endlessly determined people he'd ever met.]
[Is it abandonment or a missed opportunity? Is it turning away, or refusing to look back? Is it giving up, or choosing not to?]
[There's a heaviness in his heart, the fog of words at his back.]
[He doesn't have a clear picture of when it happened: when she left, and never re-entered his life. He remembers the touch of a hand through his hair and the smell of perfume and cigarettes and the way she adjusted the strap of her purse and the slight fade of a tan line where she stopped wearing her wedding ring and the buzz of static through the tinny-sounding hospital phone lines. She was in his life, and then she wasn't. She was his mother, and then she...was never really around to ask, why he had to grow up in isolation, in four white walls, alone but for imaginary friends and doctors that never really addressed him in a way that wasn't distant and professional.]
[Are you going to do this? Are you really?]
[There would be a clear image, if he did. The set of his shoulders and the conversation that faded into nothing and the sting of a cigarette on his fingertips and a clipped, terse refusal to let her any further in, and tears - plenty of those, between the both of them. Does that make it more or less of a cruelty: the finality of it?]
[The one thing you try to do is make sure no one lived with this alone, the way you did.]
[If he does this, it flies in the face of everything he is.]
[As always, he's poised on the edge of another precipice - a cliff, a gun, a flaming building, a fistful of pills, an ending that he wants but can't ever have - and lacking the courage to take the single, stupid, tiny step that would take him off of it.]
[He can't move. Can't think. Somehow manages to grind out, low and nasal and cracked through:]
[Enduring every silent second is a trial she's never experienced before. It doesn't matter that she's spent her life waiting and this is another time she has to wait-to watch and watch and hope it doesn't come to the point where she has to clutch the hem of his shirt until her knuckles turn white because she's scared. Terrified that none of this will change anything because-
They're both used to that. The inevitable. The way words can be meaningless when they're sent to battle against secrets and how it won't change anything becomes the most powerful barrier to protect yourself.
She couldn't blame him if he resorted to that. Tries to will something in her heart to reach him-keep him from thinking he has to and-
Raises her hands until she's lightly touching the outer part of his sleeves, like he's going to poof out of existence if she grabs him. And it's weird, suddenly, to see him like that. As if there's nothing she can do to keep him from vanishing, like he's the same as the trail of smoke leading out of his cigarette.
It's hard to not dig her fingers into the fabric covering his arms, but she doesn't. Keeps her hands there as a reminder he's still there no matter how far away he is now, but-
I don't want to either
And she has to blink keep blinking because the tears prickling against her eyelids are distorting her vision of him and she has to keep looking at him. Needs to make sure she doesn't miss whatever remaining opportunities there are because-
He's trying. She can see that and she's trying. She's really trying to-
Be someone else, for a second. Be someone else. Be an Aunt. Be someone strong. Find some kind of blaze she can ignite her heart to keep this going because I don't want to either isn't synonymous with I won't. Because he wants to protect, to save, to help, to be together and there's a part of him that stabs against his heart to keep him from thinking he can. It's what makes this hard, so hard.
I don't want to either doesn't feel like hope. She gave up on that years ago and pretending that it exists is a painful remind of why it doesn't for her. Why it might not for him. But even if it's not hope, hearing that statement is-
It makes her want to be someone else she can be someone else for once she wants to be someone else that keep him warm and safe and happy and why can't she be someone else and-]
I want to-
[Her fingers twitch against his sleeves, like they want to curl in and it's taking all her self-control to keep herself from doing that.]
I want to be with you.
[We can be friends]
I wish I could be 'someone better' and-
[We could be family]
I can't keep people safe. I don't know-I'm not good at things like that, but-
[Feather-light touches to either side of him. He's trying not to listen, but there's nothing else he can do. Too cowardly to run. Too cruel to turn around and listen. Somehow, incredibly, she's still here, and still talking to him like there's something about him that's worth this. That's worth holding onto, and pulling back, and anchoring in place to keep around forever. What's he do that anyone else can't? What's he offer that's remotely useful? What is he, aside from a cautionary tale, some morose, distant excuse for a person that makes routine, stupid mistakes, has an incomplete understanding of what children actually need and actually want, and more or less ended up in this role out of bitter circumstance?]
[He ran away rather than admit anything. To love, to family, to attachment. It was easier to run, and maybe now he can understand why Brian did it. Why Brian did any of it. Denying, outright, that the attachment still lingered, that any of it was still there, even when all evidence spoke to the contrary. Because it was easier.]
[But lying to himself only works when there isn't a literal twin of all his best qualities, running around and spitting out hidden truths to anyone who'll listen.]
You're not the one who has to be someone better, kid.
[He doesn't need to lie to her. Because she knows if her words could contain the same raw confidence that flows so easily out of her Aunt's mouth, that if she could channel that visceral sort of strength that Chara can, or even if she could muster up the energy to pull truths out of the air like Guzma-
If she were better, she could reach him. If she were stronger, she could stop him. If she were anyone else, anyone different, she would know the right way to hold on please hold on don't leave.
But maybe that's why she marked as a failure to begin with.
So she doesn't answer. Keeps blinking those tears out of her eyes, trying to keep her head upright and strangle the cries in her throat so he can't hear. Spends a few seconds appreciating the one blessing she has-that he's rooted to the spot.
And he's listening, maybe. The stern edge to his voice must've been wiped away the moment he pressed his hands against his eyes. He might hear her. It seems like he can hear her, but true his caring nature, it's only now-when she speaks about being better because it's the truth and he wants to save her from that negative thought.
For a second, she holds onto his sleeves, lightly, gently, and with no grip so he can pull away, like she expects him to do.]
Do you remember playing with the nail polish?
[Does he remember who organized that?]
And 'fireworks?'
[Just to see a smile on the faces of a bunch of kids.]
And 'dabbing' in the snow?
[When he made the silliest pose possible, earning claps and stars and excited yells from multiple people.]
[His lips press together, an attempt to stifle something that doesn't want to be stifled. She's still holding onto his sleeves, like that alone will tether him in place. Maybe it will. He's never felt so much like bolting, and he's never been so utterly, completely unable to.]
Anyone could've done any of that.
[Nothing about him is unique, or interesting, or special - the most compelling things about him are the things that have happened to him, the uneven chemistry that fires off his brain in irregular, fizzing bursts.]
I messed up. I'm still here, and I shouldn't be. I shouldn't have ever been.
[There's only one way to do that, to commit to that kind of slow, backwards erasure, a finger drawn over a line of chalk dust until every last inch of it is eradicated, and no one even remembers that there was a line there in the first place. There's only one way he knows, and that door - it may as well be closed to him, now.]
[Rendering all the problems he's made, all the things he's built, irrevocably tied back to him.]
[Never free of the consequences, of course. Not really.]
And the longer I'm here, the worse it's gonna get. For everyone.
You're the one that asked the bunny for those things and made everyone smile.
[Every comment she makes is met with an instant refusal on his part, but she doesn't stop. No matter how many retorts come out of his mouth-it's the truth. An undeniable truth that even his heart knows because that Tim-
That other Tim, who's far more like the person in front of her than he realizes, stated as much too.
But there's no way he can know how much painting terrible designs on his shoes and dabbing colors across his fingernails meant to her. What it felt like to see the glee on everyone's face and how pretty she felt with her cat designed nails-
How nice it was to give Taako a wish because she wouldn't use them.
She should've saved one for Tim too.
And he doesn't understand how powerful it was to see explosions in the sky and not be afraid. To experience color, sparkles, to hold stars in her hand-to know there was a time when the only stars she ever saw were on the tattered wallpaper over a window she wasn't allowed to look out of. When she tried to stand on towering blocks, cupping her small fingers around the fading images and know that she'd never see them with her own two eyes-
And he was the one to put them in her hand.
And it's impossible to express how everyone cheerfully playing in that snowy wonderland, ignoring the darkness they knew was coming, ended up being one of her fondest memories. One she'll think about when it gets hard for her to breath, because Tim seemed happy, the elves were playing, Chara told her their name and-
And the longer I'm here, the worse it's gonna get. For everyone.
Makes her choke back more tears.
Because she can only associate him with the good on the island. Despite his shadow's confession. Because of his shadow's confession. He's fought and fought and fought and-
He brought them together. Made people happy, over and over, without a second thought.]
If you weren't here-if you vanish, people would look for you. I would look for you. You're in my heart now and-
[It's a desperate sort of ramble-one that won't be able to probably take nick off the mountain that's Tim's denial, but she's going to try and try. Just in case I shouldn't have ever been becomes a horrible reality. ]
Even if I had to look on a scary island or it got very dark or the ocean got mad, I'd look for you. I'm not as good as Seto, but I would keep trying.
[Until her chest feels like it's going to explode and her heart pounds, pounds, pounds until she can't wake up.]
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no subject
Because she didn't forget. It would be a discourtesy to his friends' memory, to all the ways Tim suffered, if she had. Knowing him and knowing what's inside him are two different things. The being could appear and take him over in the blink of an eye and it's terrifying because she's-
Really scared for him. Doesn't want him to ever isolate himself, suffer alone, because of something he can't control. That he never asked for. That he never wanted. If enough people are aware, then they can help-she really thinks they can definitely help. He burnt down an entire building to escape and-
She gets it. Understands that kind of desperation, even if she never acted on it because it was pointless for her. And he he should get a chance to live-to be free in every way he couldn't in his world.
Tim's heart, despite everything it went through, continues to go through, still holds a genuine warmth to it. Even if his doctors couldn't see it, she can. And if even if she can't speak for the other thing in him, she knows this is true.]
You're not scary. You're not bad.
[There's a pause, and-]
Knowing you makes me very happy.
no subject
[It sounds like he's trying to convince himself just as much as he is her - he's not consciously dangerous, because it's not anything he does, necessarily, only what he is. Until he leaned into that with a vengeance, that capacity to do hurt, that conscious fucking desire and ability to raise hell. Literal hell, tearing the world apart with fire, because that's the only way he knows how to fight anything.]
[It's what he is. Capable of terrible things, and not much else.]
Everyone that knows me just...
[They die. They die, and worse.]
You don't deserve that. You don't.
no subject
A warm home, a family, caring friends at every corner of the island. A God that spends time to look for her medicine, even if it's meaningless in the grand scheme of things. People who teach her music, how to cook, how to play violin and dance and draw and spend countless minutes with her because they want to.
She doesn't deserve any of it, but now that she has a taste-she doesn't want to let go. She doesn't want to let Tim go.
For whatever time she has left, a few weeks, months, years-she wants to spend it trying to show him it's okay to be happy. The same thing he's taught her over the year.]
You don't 'deserve' to be alone.
[Her toes start to dig into the dirt near her star pile.]
You're allowed to have friends too. That kind of thing is okay here.
no subject
[She doesn't. She doesn't, because she's just a kid, and she simplifies because that's what she wants to have happen, and it doesn't work like that. It isn't fair, of course, that he has to be the one to insist that this is just how things work. Does it even matter? Will she even listen, if she doesn't want to hear it?]
No, kid.
[He drops the words quietly, a whisper cut with the hard stops of the consonants.]
I'm not. It's not.
That's just how it is.
no subject
She kicks up more of the sand, averting her eyes from him and-]
Before I met you, I thought 'I'm not allowed to have these things.'
[Before the elves, before Kravitz, before Guzma and Drifter and Chara and all the people that give her life some meaning. That continue to be treasures she holds close to her heart.]
And then I thought 'I'm bad if I have these things'-
[A hole forms under her feet and she starts scraping the sand back into it, slowly kicking her foot back and forth. Being this open with her thoughts feels weird, but it's an emotion he clearly understands. That he feels. That he gets. It's not that much of a confession.]
I don't think that anymore, so-
[Maybe if he won't listen, she can show him.]
I want you to feel that way too. You don't have to say 'Ren, we're friends,' but I still want to be with you.
no subject
[No one can. There was a way out, once, and god but he wishes it was still tenable, finding a way to just - quietly erase every instance of his influence from everyone's lives. Sweeping away the ceiling of impact that broke each and every one of them.]
[That's not in their docket anymore.]
[He wishes he could be happier about that.]
Some people are just -
[Some people are just born wrong. And there's nothing you can do to save them.]
It's not something you can just make go away, because you want it to.
no subject
[It's impossible for her to cure him-that's true. She can't cure him, can't help in that respect.
But if someone like her can find happiness, can have people smile at her despite all the things wrong with her, then he should be able to have the sense. It doesn't make sense otherwise and something isn't clicking-nothing that's making her want to agree. There's too many people that care about him, who he's helped, who would be happy to just-
Be with him, so loneliness can't crush him, even if everything else tries to.]
Being being able to sit by someone and hold their hand and say 'I'm scared' to them-
[Being friends, having friends, might ease the burden.]
When you can 'run' to someone, it helps. That's all.
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[It's said dully, devoid of judgment. It's just a simple fact of the matter. She's just a kid, and there's no reason she should think that she can be, should be, the person that he turns to because he's scared. As if he's not scared all the time. As if there's any preventing that.]
[He rubs his hands over his face, over the charcoal smudges underneath his eyes from teh lack of sleep that's been stalking him since he was born - more so now, naturally.]
I should've known better. I really should've known better, god.
[He hadn't banked on her, or anyone else, actually liking him back. Actually deciding there was something about him worth giving themselves up for.]
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He shouldn't have spoken to her to begin with.
But she's glad he didn't know better.
She stares at him for a long time, watching the way he rubs his face. As if he can wipe away the conversation, this entire discussion, this whole week.
As much as she wishes the same, the terrible confessions allowed her to understand a bit more than she had before. To take his words seriously and know he comes from a place far darker than she could have ever imagined. Beyond whatever held Shin down, even.]
Do you-
[Want to hide. Want to leave.]
Want to hold my hand?
[She already knows the answer and extends her arm halfway to him despite that. That's always been something he did for her anyway and she knows he probably won't take the offer.
But it's the only thing she can think to do in the face of I should've known better.]
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[Probably.]
[But he shakes his head regardless. That doesn't change anything. Close contact doesn't make anyone feel better, or - if it does make her feel better, shouldn't she get used to the fact that he shouldn't be someone she turns to? Shouldn't he have been better at this from the start?]
[But you're not.]
I can't.
[He draws his knees up to his chest, folds his arms across the tops of them, an unconscious pose he submits to more often than he realizes, born from too many nights when a childish instinct had him desperate for something as simple as a hand on the shoulder, a hand on his cheek, a hug - something he'd never get.]
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He's not leaving and that surprises her. The expectation was he would turn his back to her again and take off for the woods. Maybe try to impart some cruel half truths his shadow seemed eager to dole out.
But all he does is hide. Pulls into himself, as if his legs are a barrier from the world and she-
Follows his lead, dropping to her knees, then leaning forward so she's laying on her stomach across the sand, both arms outstretched towards him.
Both hands resting by him, if he decides to take her up on the offer.]
You can. It's okay. You can squeeze both of them very tight for a long time.
[She wiggles her fingers for a second, then lets them rest against the ground.]
They're right here. I won't move them.
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[A note of iron enters his tone for the first time; it's not just about holding hands, anymore.]
[He's good at this. He's better at this than he is at most anything else - lie, twist things up, throw up wall after wall until there's nothing, no fucking way back. It's like steel jaws of a trap locking shut. Operating room doors, swinging in and in, swish, and the sound of key in a lock.]
[Despite everything, he still manages to tangle himself up into other people's lives, and ruin them irreparably. Staining their lives black and white.]
[It's easy to speak past the lump in his throat; he's had plenty of practice.]
My answer is no.
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Just like that I can't turns into No, but she doesn't pull her hands back. They stay there, as a silent reminder, that it might change something.
It always did for her. It always did when he would extend a hand her way.
But she can't force him-knew from the beginning he wouldn't and-]
It's okay. You don't have to.
[She's content to stay like this, resting her chin on the ground and looking up at him.]
Do you want to talk about music?
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[A flicker of something cold. You know what you have to do, Tim, so fucking well do it. It's like putting a torch to an old hospital. It's like watching your house burn down.]
[He stands up. He pinches his cigarette out between thumb and fingertip, ignoring the burn as it sizzles into his skin. He closes his eyes, and looks away.]
I don't.
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She thought it would happen if he found out she was sick-when he realized she wasn't as strong as him, and-
Her greatest fear surges back to life as she slowly pulls back until she's sitting on her knees, looking at his back because she has a feeling that's all she'll see of him anymore.
And for it second, she sees a flicker of Seto in front of her, his back turned in a similar fashion because he couldn't see her anymore. Couldn't hear her. Even though she was behind him the whole time, he didn't look back until-
But Tim's not Seto and-
Tim loved her, once. Maybe continues to. Maybe that part hasn't been shaken loose yet.]
Tim?
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[It was a cruelty to open up to her in the first place. It was all a mistake, and he was just too much of a coward to do anything about it. Per fucking usual.]
[He can't just walk away because this isn't who he is. That's never been who he is.]
[That's why he never took Alex's out. He couldn't. He couldn't, not as long as he could still help, and he's on some kind of - asymptote, he's on the verge of something, something that's tearing at his heart, if only he could figure out what except that he's inflicting himself on someone else already and there's no saving that, no saving her, no saving himself, either.]
[I've had to live with this my entire life.]
[But I've learned how to block it out.]
[I can show you how.]
[His face is in his hands again. He's trying to swallow back the heat pressing at the backs of his lids, but it overflows. Of course it overflows. His speech is muffled and strangled and thick.]
I don't know how to make any of this better.
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But he's fighting demons she can never understand, living in an internal hell meant to break him down, trying to grasp at too many last straws to keep himself afloat, and-
She wants to reach for the hem of his shirt-clutch it tight, so he can't walk away, so he'll look at her one more time because she really, truly believes as he stands there staring away looking away ignoring the name that comes out of her mouth because he can't hear her. He won't ever hear her again, maybe, and just as she's about to say it again-
His hands press against his face. It sounds like he's choking. It sounds like he's talking and her head tilts back up to savor every last word that-
Doesn't sound like last words at all. It's more of a plea. A cry for help. It jolts her back to life-a little spark lighting in her gut, fueling the thought that this might not be the end after all.
Because it was never his fault. It's not his job to make it better.
Every movement is a potential mistake at this point, but she stands up anyway. Slowly steps around his body, until she's directly in front of him, staring at the way he's hiding, hiding, hiding because that's all there's left to do and she's okay with that because-
He stayed, even though she can't make it better either.
She extends both arms out, not moving forward to pull her in, despite wanting too. Despite wishing she could. Because she can't really do anything, except this. But her hands are hovering beside him, acting as tiny little shields from the world. And-
There's something desperate in her voice when she repeats his name again.]
Tim.
[It's so, so unlikely that he'll actually walk into her hug, but it's there. It's forming a mini barrier on its own, even if he doesn't accept it. Because the little bit of time he stays with her-
She's going to protect him in all the meaningless ways she can.]
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[He can't look at her, because he thinks she might be crying. Or close to it. And he can't look at her because he knows he is, because he cries so goddamned easily, he cries far too often because he never really learned not to.]
I don't do anything, not in - I don't - you have people who are -
[Better.]
[Better than whatever he has to give.]
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She isn't with them. They aren't here. It doesn't negate all the kindness the islanders have shown her, but every single one of them is special, holds a place in her heart and he's included in that.
And if he followed that same logic-looked at her and thought about all the people who were kinder, smarter, braver-filled with all the qualities she lacks-
Would he turn her away? For that reason alone? It's hard for her to believe he would. That he'd turn any kid or person in need away because they're not good enough. And he should know how it feels to beat yourself up over not meeting imaginary standards, parameters, and all things in between. Enough to know that being like that, thinking like that, is cruel.
She hasn't lowered her arms, even though it's starting to hurt. She doesn't want to touch him, in case it scares him. Some people are like that. She was like that before affection became so commonplace in her life. Before cuddling by the fire or morning hair braiding sessions.]
You're special because you're 'Tim.'
[She repeats, trying to get that simple message across.]
I want to look at you and listen to your voice and sit by you and-
[Desperately-]
I don't want you to go.
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[He told Alex, he told him, that it didn't have to be like this. Is he just proving him right, by giving up? Waiting for a light-speed hurdle off the edge of existence, the warm cast of gleaming metal and the bright guttering torch that supported a structure that had such incredible, terrible power, a creation that could wipe away entire lives and leave nothing but fragments in its wake, spun-glass memories so fragile that the faintest brush could rouse only disorder and confusion. It was a goal that he can't hope for anymore, can't put his stock in, and maybe it was a lie to claim that he ever really had. He should have, maybe. Should have poured more of himself into that, into furthering that goal, except that it would have come at the expense of two of the most incredible, brave, endlessly determined people he'd ever met.]
[Is it abandonment or a missed opportunity? Is it turning away, or refusing to look back? Is it giving up, or choosing not to?]
[There's a heaviness in his heart, the fog of words at his back.]
[He doesn't have a clear picture of when it happened: when she left, and never re-entered his life. He remembers the touch of a hand through his hair and the smell of perfume and cigarettes and the way she adjusted the strap of her purse and the slight fade of a tan line where she stopped wearing her wedding ring and the buzz of static through the tinny-sounding hospital phone lines. She was in his life, and then she wasn't. She was his mother, and then she...was never really around to ask, why he had to grow up in isolation, in four white walls, alone but for imaginary friends and doctors that never really addressed him in a way that wasn't distant and professional.]
[Are you going to do this? Are you really?]
[There would be a clear image, if he did. The set of his shoulders and the conversation that faded into nothing and the sting of a cigarette on his fingertips and a clipped, terse refusal to let her any further in, and tears - plenty of those, between the both of them. Does that make it more or less of a cruelty: the finality of it?]
[The one thing you try to do is make sure no one lived with this alone, the way you did.]
[If he does this, it flies in the face of everything he is.]
[As always, he's poised on the edge of another precipice - a cliff, a gun, a flaming building, a fistful of pills, an ending that he wants but can't ever have - and lacking the courage to take the single, stupid, tiny step that would take him off of it.]
[He can't move. Can't think. Somehow manages to grind out, low and nasal and cracked through:]
I don't want to either.
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They're both used to that. The inevitable. The way words can be meaningless when they're sent to battle against secrets and how it won't change anything becomes the most powerful barrier to protect yourself.
She couldn't blame him if he resorted to that. Tries to will something in her heart to reach him-keep him from thinking he has to and-
Raises her hands until she's lightly touching the outer part of his sleeves, like he's going to poof out of existence if she grabs him. And it's weird, suddenly, to see him like that. As if there's nothing she can do to keep him from vanishing, like he's the same as the trail of smoke leading out of his cigarette.
It's hard to not dig her fingers into the fabric covering his arms, but she doesn't. Keeps her hands there as a reminder he's still there no matter how far away he is now, but-
I don't want to either
And she has to blink keep blinking because the tears prickling against her eyelids are distorting her vision of him and she has to keep looking at him. Needs to make sure she doesn't miss whatever remaining opportunities there are because-
He's trying. She can see that and she's trying. She's really trying to-
Be someone else, for a second. Be someone else. Be an Aunt. Be someone strong. Find some kind of blaze she can ignite her heart to keep this going because I don't want to either isn't synonymous with I won't. Because he wants to protect, to save, to help, to be together and there's a part of him that stabs against his heart to keep him from thinking he can. It's what makes this hard, so hard.
I don't want to either doesn't feel like hope. She gave up on that years ago and pretending that it exists is a painful remind of why it doesn't for her. Why it might not for him. But even if it's not hope, hearing that statement is-
It makes her want to be someone else she can be someone else for once she wants to be someone else that keep him warm and safe and happy and why can't she be someone else and-]
I want to-
[Her fingers twitch against his sleeves, like they want to curl in and it's taking all her self-control to keep herself from doing that.]
I want to be with you.
[We can be friends]
I wish I could be 'someone better' and-
[We could be family]
I can't keep people safe. I don't know-I'm not good at things like that, but-
[She loves him.]
Please stay with me.
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[He ran away rather than admit anything. To love, to family, to attachment. It was easier to run, and maybe now he can understand why Brian did it. Why Brian did any of it. Denying, outright, that the attachment still lingered, that any of it was still there, even when all evidence spoke to the contrary. Because it was easier.]
[But lying to himself only works when there isn't a literal twin of all his best qualities, running around and spitting out hidden truths to anyone who'll listen.]
You're not the one who has to be someone better, kid.
[He's the one who's never really been...enough.]
[For anyone.]
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If she were better, she could reach him. If she were stronger, she could stop him. If she were anyone else, anyone different, she would know the right way to hold on please hold on don't leave.
But maybe that's why she marked as a failure to begin with.
So she doesn't answer. Keeps blinking those tears out of her eyes, trying to keep her head upright and strangle the cries in her throat so he can't hear. Spends a few seconds appreciating the one blessing she has-that he's rooted to the spot.
And he's listening, maybe. The stern edge to his voice must've been wiped away the moment he pressed his hands against his eyes. He might hear her. It seems like he can hear her, but true his caring nature, it's only now-when she speaks about being better because it's the truth and he wants to save her from that negative thought.
For a second, she holds onto his sleeves, lightly, gently, and with no grip so he can pull away, like she expects him to do.]
Do you remember playing with the nail polish?
[Does he remember who organized that?]
And 'fireworks?'
[Just to see a smile on the faces of a bunch of kids.]
And 'dabbing' in the snow?
[When he made the silliest pose possible, earning claps and stars and excited yells from multiple people.]
Do you remember those things?
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Anyone could've done any of that.
[Nothing about him is unique, or interesting, or special - the most compelling things about him are the things that have happened to him, the uneven chemistry that fires off his brain in irregular, fizzing bursts.]
I messed up. I'm still here, and I shouldn't be. I shouldn't have ever been.
[There's only one way to do that, to commit to that kind of slow, backwards erasure, a finger drawn over a line of chalk dust until every last inch of it is eradicated, and no one even remembers that there was a line there in the first place. There's only one way he knows, and that door - it may as well be closed to him, now.]
[Rendering all the problems he's made, all the things he's built, irrevocably tied back to him.]
[Never free of the consequences, of course. Not really.]
And the longer I'm here, the worse it's gonna get. For everyone.
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[Every comment she makes is met with an instant refusal on his part, but she doesn't stop. No matter how many retorts come out of his mouth-it's the truth. An undeniable truth that even his heart knows because that Tim-
That other Tim, who's far more like the person in front of her than he realizes, stated as much too.
But there's no way he can know how much painting terrible designs on his shoes and dabbing colors across his fingernails meant to her. What it felt like to see the glee on everyone's face and how pretty she felt with her cat designed nails-
How nice it was to give Taako a wish because she wouldn't use them.
She should've saved one for Tim too.
And he doesn't understand how powerful it was to see explosions in the sky and not be afraid. To experience color, sparkles, to hold stars in her hand-to know there was a time when the only stars she ever saw were on the tattered wallpaper over a window she wasn't allowed to look out of. When she tried to stand on towering blocks, cupping her small fingers around the fading images and know that she'd never see them with her own two eyes-
And he was the one to put them in her hand.
And it's impossible to express how everyone cheerfully playing in that snowy wonderland, ignoring the darkness they knew was coming, ended up being one of her fondest memories. One she'll think about when it gets hard for her to breath, because Tim seemed happy, the elves were playing, Chara told her their name and-
And the longer I'm here, the worse it's gonna get. For everyone.
Makes her choke back more tears.
Because she can only associate him with the good on the island. Despite his shadow's confession. Because of his shadow's confession. He's fought and fought and fought and-
He brought them together. Made people happy, over and over, without a second thought.]
If you weren't here-if you vanish, people would look for you. I would look for you. You're in my heart now and-
[It's a desperate sort of ramble-one that won't be able to probably take nick off the mountain that's Tim's denial, but she's going to try and try. Just in case I shouldn't have ever been becomes a horrible reality. ]
Even if I had to look on a scary island or it got very dark or the ocean got mad, I'd look for you. I'm not as good as Seto, but I would keep trying.
[Until her chest feels like it's going to explode and her heart pounds, pounds, pounds until she can't wake up.]
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