entrancelogs | + Let's go for a dreamwalk! + [OPEN PLOT CATCH-ALL]

The room you enter is small and cramped and bereft. The walls, so unlike the charcoal-burnt husk of peeling paint outside, are a pristine white, with only the presence of a small cot bolted to the ground to break the uniform monotony. There is no window.

There's only a small boy huddled on top of the cot in question. He can't be older than eight or nine; his knees are drawn up beneath his chin, and his eyes are shadowed and haunted, flitting across the corners of the room, as though tracking the presence of something that is not there. Sometimes he lifts his chin in a nod, or shakes his head, but he winces every time afterward - as though the very motion causes him incredible pain.

Inevitably, there will come a rap of knuckles on the door, and it will swing open to herald the arrival of someone clad in a white coat and bearing a clipboard.

And then the nightmares will begin.

The moment Jay steps into the hallway, he knows where he is. Just another nightmare, clearly.

(It could pass for a school.)

He's been there in person a few times, but more often through the lens of someone else's camera. The hooded man left a tape for them here. Alex brought Brian out here for a shoot. (Very funny.) Tim was a patient here.

A branch snaps underfoot, and Jay's head jerks back, expecting to see Alex or the hooded man or worse. Nothing. Just an empty hallway.

He doesn't think he's been to this part of the hospital. The doors here are still intact, but the first one Jay tries is shut so tightly Jay wonders if it warped in the fire. The next few are the same.

Jay unfolds the flip-knife (back in his pocket somehow) and runs it along the edge of the next door. He's not sure if it accomplished anything, but he can see the paint flaking along the crack. He braces his shoulder against the door and shoves against it with his full strength. One, two, and--

Jay stumbles inside, catching himself against the inside wall, which is...actually pretty pristine. There's a startling lack of bare concrete and peeling paint. No asbestos in sight.

There's a quiet sniffling in the corner.

Jay's head snaps around to look, pressing himself against the far wall, but the threat is...they're small. Just a kid. What's a kid doing here?

And then the tiny head looks up, eyes wide and frightened and horribly familiar.

The door opens. Jay himself is almost like a shadow, flitting mothlike behind the doctor who enters. She's smiling, but it's a tad strained, and the child's focus is wholly devoted to her. He doesn't want to. He doesn't care what she wants, or how short it will take, or how it's just a routine check-up, or any of it.

He doesn't want to anymore.

"How are you doing today, Timothy?"

He doesn't answer. He drives the heel of his palm into an eyesocket, scraping away the wet film of moisture that refuses to stop leaking out. He doesn't have an answer.

"We just need to do some checking up on you today." Her voice is gentle, that soft, too-pleasant lift that he hates, trying to smooth away the anxiety that's already spiking up down his spine, prickling at his skin. "Okay?"

He tries to shake his head, but he already knows it's not really a question, and he's not really allowed to answer.

"Can you sit up on the edge of the bed for me, please?"

There's the brief tensing of tiny muscles, just for a moment. His eyes dart frantically about the contours of the room - settling on the shadow of a man who isn't tall enough to be an imaginary friend. Can he see him? Can he see something so impermanent, that doesn't really matter?

His gaze slides away again. Back to the doctor.

Slowly, he nods, and starts to comply.

Jay just stares at first, back pressed against the far wall.

'This was my room,' Tim had said, and now Jay's faced with what exactly what that means. No window. A doctor who is clearly trying her best to be nonthreatening, but Jay remembers that tone of voice from teachers and nurses and pediatricians of his own. She's asking nicely, but there's no room to say no. That's just how things work. Those are the rules.

He hangs back, knowing for sure that this is one of those dreams where he can't do anything but watch.

Until Tim looks straight at him.

"Hey." Jay's walking toward him now, coming up to the edge of the cot. "Hey, can you...see me?"

Tim shakes his head immediately, regarding the hallucination, that pale ghost of a man, with a look of what can only be described as absolute terror. But he keeps getting closer instead of dissipating, instead of simply never having been there. He shakes his head again - this time, as if to clear it.

"Timothy." The word is sterner this time. "I need you to listen to me."

She thinks he was saying no.

She thinks he was saying no, and his mouth opens as if to explain before it snaps shut again and he shuffles forward until he's sitting at the edge of the cot, shoulders hunching.

"...are you looking at something?" Her voice has dropped in volume until it's little more than a murmur, but it's hardly soothing. "Timothy. Do you see something in here besides me?"

He shakes his head again, firmly. He's getting better. He knows he is. They said he was and so he is.

He has to be.

So Tim--and this is really the weirdest part, how this kid is so small and yet so very clearly the same person who confessed his involvement and then curled into himself on the hospital floor--Tim can see him, but the doctor can't. So obviously, they both think he's a hallucination. Great.

Jay wants to explain, because if he explains, maybe the terror in the kid's eyes will fade for a little bit. He wants to say he's never had someone look at him like that before, but that'd be a lie, and he knows it. He still hates it, though. It's like there's some deep-seated animal instinct back there in his head, screaming at him that he must've done something unforgivable to earn that look from a child.

So he doesn't explain. He doesn't want to get Tim in trouble, and he knows trying to engage him in a conversation will make things worse.

What he does is sit next to him on the cot--not too close. Doesn't want to be threatening, even though he's sure he's already crossed that line.

"It's okay," he says softly. "Pay attention to her. You're doing...you're doing fine."

Maybe leaving would've been the right choice. He's made things worse already just by being here. But the kid--Tim, it's Tim--looks like he's scared of more than just the ghost in his room. Maybe Jay can help. He wants to help.

~~He doesn't want anyone to be scared of him.~~

It's plain from the slight tilt to her chin and the way she looks him up and down that she doesn't believe him. He quails. Now she's going to tell everyone else that he's relapsing, which means running another round of tests and trying to put him on some new kind of medication that will make him retch and leave him shivering every time he stands up for days on end while he adjusts.

Then the hallucination starts to talk to him, and that just makes it worse because he's doing it the normal way, not the tall man's way, the way that drills words and thoughts and memories and things into his brain without a single word being exchanged. It hurts every time he does it, but this one - this man, whoever he is, isn't doing it that way at all.

He's lying to the doctors. They told him to stop, but if he doesn't, they're never going to believe that he's getting better. He is. He is getting better. He knows it.

You're doing fine.

"We need to know if you're seeing things again, Timothy." He wilts. She doesn't even sound admonishing this time. She just sounds...resigned. Like she knew this day would come. Meaning he wasn't really fooling her at all. "We need you to be honest. So tell me - are you seeing things again?"

He shakes his head, but the nervous look he shoots in Jay's direction gives him away. She sighs.

"That's what I thought."

And now things are getting worse. Of course they're getting worse.

Jay's shown up, and now they're two seconds from...from strapping Tim in a straitjacket and shoving pills down his throat. Electroshock therapy, courtesy of one Jay Merrick.

They didn't talk much about the hospital, for obvious reasons. Jay knows it was bad, though, from the look in Tim's eyes the few times he did talk about it.

Jay buries his face in his hands.

"Sorry." The words come out muffled. "I didn't...sorry."

"I'm not," he says, but the words are hollow and bitter-tasting. "I'm not. I'm - 'm getting better."

He was getting better. He had to have been getting better.

"Are you lying to me, Timothy?"

His mouth works soundlessly for several long moments before his shoulders slump and his head bows. He can still hear him, apologizing for getting him caught. For getting him another set of tests he can't escape. They already took away his window, and nothing's going right.

Finally, his chin jerks in a tearful nod.

"All right." She straightens. "I'll be right back."

Tim's already begun to rub at his elbows to fight back the prickling of gooseflesh up his arms. They're going to have to stick the needle in him again - to assess his baseline - and watching his blood get drawn always makes him sick and dizzy for hours afterward. Maybe that's why they do it.

He isn't looking at Jay anymore, but the way he starts to shift even further away from him, inch by inch, is a fair indicator that he can still see him.

She'll be right back, which means she's going to get something, which can't be good.

A part of his mind's still latched onto 'Are you lying to me, Timothy?' Like he's done it before. Like this wasn't just with Jay, like it's been happening since the beginning. He Is A Liar.

Jay looks over at him, and he's inching away, and Jay can't really maintain the resentment. He's just a kid. And he's scared.

And the doctor's gone for a second, which means they can actually talk.

"It's okay," Jay repeats, like it'll be any truer the second time. "Look, I...don't wanna hurt you. I screwed that one up pretty well already, but, I mean."

What does he mean?

"I'm Jay. And I'm sorry."

"You're not real," he says, immediately, trying to lock his gaze rigidly away from him. "You're not real. You're not real."

He's just another product of some broken kid's broken head, and this is Tim's fault, he knows it, he knows it is, for letting this all get to him and leak through. He should be better than this. He should be, but he's not - he's letting it all bleed inward instead of pushing it out again.

This one doesn't even make sense. It's supposed to be something he knows. Something he'd remember. Not just some...person.

"Yeah," Jay mutters. "Guess I'm not."

It's a dream, so nothing here's actually real, right? Not Tim or the hospital or Jay or anything.

(Unless this is an event, and he just missed the announcement, but that's less likely. It's probably less likely. It's not what's happening here.)

He's not real, and maybe that means he can't change anything. Tim will stay scared of him, and the doctors will keep Tim locked up and pump him full of drugs, and Jay won't be able to stop it.

Or maybe that's not how it works.

"I just...want to help is all." Jay looks over at Tim, and the kid's still terrified. This is awful. Everything about this is awful. He tries to keep his voice low, nonthreatening. "Look, is there...anything I can do to help?"

He won't stop talking, is the thing. He just keeps saying things about how he wants to help, how it's going to be okay, and he's lying - he knows he is. He has to be, because it's not okay. Anyone can tell that it's not okay.

He puts his face in his hands, the words panicked and trembling.

"Go away." Why isn't he going away? "You're not even...you're not even the right one."

He has a face, and he talks the normal way, and he looks like an ordinary person. He can't even be the right one.

The door's already opening once more. The same doctor as before, but now she has...things with her.

"I'm going to need you to put one arm out," she says gently. "Don't worry. We're just taking your blood pressure to start with. Okay?"

'Go away,' Tim tells him, confirming what Jay already knows is the right answer. Do Tim a favor. Stay out of his life. It's more clear-cut here than any other situation Jay's been in lately; he's done nothing but make everything worse.

But then he keeps talking. Jay's not the 'right one'.

Jay's got a pretty good idea who 'the right one' is. He's not positive, though, and now he wants to know. Tim doesn't remember what he saw back then, and maybe Jay can find out for sure.

...Unless this whole scenario is just a construction of Jay's subconscious. It makes too much sense, though. The dreams he can remember are more disjointed, just images and impressions, and this has consistency.

Jay came here looking for answers, and he might've actually found them.

He still moves to stand, putting more space between himself and Tim. Maybe that'll make Tim feel safer.

Then the door swings open, and the doctor's back, and Jay startles, flattening himself against the far wall. He'll just watch for now.

He's trying not to let his expression screw up in distress when she rips the velcro free from the cuff and straps it around his upper arm. He shivers as the cuff starts to compress, despite her urges that he just relax so that it will go by faster. It never goes by faster. And the man isn't going away.

The doctor tuts, managing to make his high blood pressure ("elevated heartrate") sound like something that's his fault, like he's personally responsible for not staying calm despite the presence of a man who isn't supposed to be here standing there and watching him.

"All right," she says, the disapproving twist still not wholly erased from her tone. "Arm out, Timothy. And try to relax, this time."

He can't look when she slides the needle into the crook of his elbow, and the loop of plastic tubing starts to fill with red.

He can never look.

He's starting to feel dizzy anyway.

The needle digs into the flesh of Tim's arm, and Jay nearly gags.

He hasn't seen a needle in years, but this is enough to remind him how much he hates them. Always scared to get his shots, that Jay. If he'd just relax, this would go much easier.

He glances back, sees the doctor slip the vial out from the tubing with a soft pop, sees red against yellow, and he has to focus on the ceiling.

Pull yourself together.

It takes entirely too long. She has to repeat the process once more when it turns out she didn't get the right vein, or...or something. He's not actually sure why. He just keeps his arm held out obediently, even when the air turns muzzy with cotton and his temples pound and he can't breathe in through his nose anymore.

"All right," says the doctor, the words distant, as though being heard from underwater. She pinches the site of his skin and the needle slides out easily, cleanly, and with practiced motions she tapes a little patch of gauze to the point of red that remains. "All done. You did great, Timothy."

He doesn't feel like he did great. He doesn't feel -

His head's spinning, and the strange man is still there.

The doctor manages to steady him before he keels over completely, and gently eases him down so he's lying on the cot. His heart thuds a stuttering, double-time beat, as if realizing that it's pumping less than its fair share of blood.

"Just lie down and breathe, okay?"

He's breathing. He's breathing.

But he's also craning his neck, scanning the room to see if he's alone.

(He isn't.)

childhood; every day is a fight for my life to get some self-control

(posting on every tim prompt) (👀 me) (self control)

:)

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[jay imitating fight club voice] i am tim's relapse

i am the danger

cw: stereotypes about mental health care

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