entrancelogs | look at all that which surrounds me [ open ]

He's not going away. Why isn't he going away?

He's starting to quail. The rhythm of his counting is all wrong. Try...try not to let it screw up your face, pinching everything shut and pulling your lips downward because you might start to cry like some big baby and you're not a baby, you've got to be braver than that. Brave enough to fight the monsters.

"Just...just...go away..." It sounds more like a plea than anything else. "Why aren't you going away?"

He remembers this.

He remembers a nurse watching Tim, following his eyeline to Jay. To someone who doesn't exist. He remembers how she took his blood, how she took this as evidence that Tim wasn't improving. It wasn't Tim's fault Jay barged in, but he paid for it anyway, because Jay couldn't leave well enough alone. Because he was curious.

But this is different. No doctors, no nurses, just the two of them and the woods.

And Jay's real this time. Flesh and blood and not much else, but maybe that's all that matters right now. They're both real, and because of that, the threat of getting lost in here is just as real.

"'Cause it's not safe to be out here by yourself." Keep your voice even. Don't think about what this place is like when the sun goes down. Don't think about how you're only safe between events.

"And, uh." Jay reaches out for a dead branch, snapping off a twig. He tosses it casually to the side, watching it skid through the fallen leaves. "Still real over here."

"They'll find me. They'll - they'll find me again," he says, and immediately - stupid, stupid. You're not supposed to talk to them. You're not supposed to acknowledge them. You're not supposed to treat them like they're real, because they're not. You're supposed to be better than this. You were getting better.

If they find you like this, talking about things that aren't real, blathering on to invisible people, then they'll know. They'll know for sure.

They'll find him, and it'll be okay.

"What do you mean, 'they'?"

He jumps to the worst possible conclusion first--because yeah, he's seen this movie--but maybe it's not that. Maybe they are something a little more solid. So he keeps going.

"The police? Your--your mom? 'Cause they're not...to be honest, I don't think they're here."

The police?

He blanches. Shakes his head, firmly. Why would the police...they wouldn't need to get them involved. Would they? He's not dangerous. He's not bad. He's been getting better. He's been trying, he really has been. It isn't fair to call the, to call the police. He's not - he's not dangerous.

"Wh-why would..." He can't even articulate it correctly. Oh, god. "P-police?"

Jay's eyes snap open wider, and he pulls his hands up, palms forward. He thinks he gets it.

"No, it's just...sometimes, when kids go missing, they call the police to bring them home, not--"

Vividly, yanked back to his own childhood, Jay remembers that look, that panic, that please please please don't tell Mom and Dad.

"You didn't do anything wrong. Nobody--You're not in trouble."

"I didn't mean to," he says, pleading, picking at the edges of his shirt, at the fraying threads. "I didn't...I didn't mean to. I didn't run away this time. I really, really didn't. I didn't."

No. No one's...no one's gonna believe him. Why would they? He's run away before. Maybe they will get the police this time, to make him stay. To make him stay for good, so he doesn't run away again. What if he is in trouble?

What if he's just - pretending?

That's what grown-ups do, sometimes. They tell you that it's okay, that you're not in trouble, but they act all disappointed and you know you've managed to do something wrong anyway even if they won't tell you what.

Ran away from home 2 █████ ago. Found at Rosswood Park.

"It's okay." And weirdly, in a sense, it is. He's probably better off here than he was back home. Still, Jay can't keep the anxiety in Tim's voice from infecting his own. "This place isn't--it's not like Rosswood. You don't just...black out and wake up here because you forgot walking or--or driving or whatever. Wonderland literally brings you here itself, so it's not--"

His hands are shaking.

"I believe you, is what I'm saying."

"Why...why?" What is this place? If it isn't Rosswood, then...then how far has he gone? How're they capable of finding him, now? He's supposed to be back where the doctors can help him. He's supposed to be behaving.

He was supposed to be better.

"I need. I need to get back. 'M looking for Mom."

Jay sighs quietly, scratching at the patchy, day-old scruff across his chin. Yeah, he would be looking for his mom, wouldn't he? Any kid would.

(It's easier to compartmentalize it, to think of him as just some kid from Rosswood instead of the guy who gave him a black eye and force-fed him medication and dragged his ass out of the fire both figuratively and literally. He's a lost kid, that's all. A lost kid whose medical records he's seen and recorded. A lost kid who grows up to be a sardonic chain-smoker with a good ear for bullshit and a powerful right hook.)

(Still.)

His expression softens a bit, and he can feel an awkward, forced half-smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

"Sorry."

That would be the easiest thing. That would be the best thing. Just get the lost kid back to his mom, where he'll be safe. ~~He won't be, though; that's the worst part.~~

"Sorry. It's just--I don't think this place'll send you back for another couple days. So--" He says it quickly, trying to cut in before either of them get any more freaked out. "So for now, you just gotta get somewhere safe, where we can wait."

We.

He wants him to go with him. This, this man, this strange person he doesn't really know, whose reality isn't really established, who could be anyone and anything and it doesn't make any sense that he says that he somehow knows him unless he's some figment that's managed to stick around longer than it should - he wants him to go with him.

Is the tall man, the monster, is he here too? Is he...will he find him too?

Should he be scared?

"...I shouldn't go with strangers," Tim whispers. "I have to...they say I should stay. Stay where I am. So they can find me."

"Smart."

And he is. He's got that same wary look in his eye as he does at twenty-something. (Don't think about it.) Not sure if that means he had to grow up too fast, or if that's just how he's always been wired. (Don't.)

"Same thing I always heard, too. And I think...I think that'll keep you safe, if you're lost somewhere they know to look for you. Like...well, Rosswood."

God, how does he explain this? The kid's got good instincts, the kind of thing that'd keep him safe back home, but he's not home.

"But I don't think they're gonna be looking out here. It's still a few days before this place--"

Jay gestures aimlessly. "Wonderland. Stupid name, I know."

He continues, "Before Wonderland sends you back where they'll know to look for you. And in the meantime, you gotta get...y'know, food. Sleep, I guess. And if you keep going deeper in the woods, you could get really lost, and that'd be...bad."

Edited 2018-02-12 07:52 (UTC)

It makes sense. It makes as much sense as you can apply to a situation that really, makes no sense at all. Wonderland. Some other forest that's...not Rosswood, and doesn't look much like Rosswood. Is he right? Is it really...is this really not home, at all?

"Why, um." He has to clear his throat. Has to look the strange man in the eye, like he's not very scared of him, even if everything about him is unfamiliar and therefore terrifying. "Why you?"

This is everything he's not supposed to do. Not supposed to talk to strangers. Not supposed to go with them, and trust what they say. Not supposed to let them trick you.

Even if he is real, he doesn't - he doesn't really know him at all, does he?

~~Tim~~ The kid meets his eye, and Jay manages to hold the eye contact a couple seconds before looking away. He still looks scared, but Jay knows it makes sense. It'd be more worrying if he wasn't.

He's not dangerous. He's not dangerous, so don't look at him like that.

"It's 'cause..." Jay swipes a hand across his face, buying himself some extra time to pull his thoughts together. "When I first showed up, I got lost out here, too. You're the one who got me out--future-you, I mean."

He doesn't want to look up.

"So I guess I owe you."

Jay takes in a breath, standing up a little taller, a little more composed. "And, I mean, nobody should be out here by themselves, and I know the way out, so." He shrugs.

There he goes again. Talk about...about a future self, about some kind of older him, like that's even possible. He's not even completely certain this isn't Rosswood. Maybe that's exactly what the other man wants him to think. Wants him to think that he needs him, so he'll appeal to him for help.

The child chews on the wall of his cheek for a long moment before, at last, he shakes his head.

Assuming he is real, assuming he isn't just some false flag in the back of his head - what does that really change?

"...I dunno you. I dunno if you're, if you're lying. Even if, if you're not, I don't...I'm not supposed to follow strangers around."

He's not lying. Jay grits his teeth, forces himself to keep quiet until the urge to defend himself subsides. How could the kid know? Jay's just some stranger wandering out in the woods, asking him to believe him, sight unseen.

...That's an idea.

"I've got proof, if you want." He twitches his head toward the camcorder, still running on the ground. "On tape, I mean. Could show you the way out of the woods. Then you can, I dunno, get your bearings without having to take my word for it."

He could even run back and pick up his oldest drive, with the footage taken from the phone camera on his first day. He'd rather not show Tim himself with a massive bleeding chest wound, though, if he can help it. He'd rather not leave the kid alone.

Proof.

That's...not something most people say. Mostly it's proving that something isn't real. Just don't let it get to you, Tim. That's easy, right? Right. Just let it fade away. Just concentrate, and see through it all. Just an overactive imagination. That's all it is.

(Just you, going crazy.)

"What is it? On...on tape," Tim ventures at last, betraying every instinct that murmurs that this is a bad idea, a bad idea. He's not supposed to acknowledge stuff like this. Ever.

He sounds curious.

"Last time I changed the card..." Jay thinks back, squinting at nothing. "Yeah. Should have some footage from the mansion and the, uh, the dinosaurs. Kept it rolling when I went looking for you, so if you watch that, you can use the way I got in to figure out how to get out."

Jay gestures vaguely in the right direction. "Doesn't look much like Rosswood once you're out there."

His voice dips a little quieter, a little more of a mumble. "And if it's on video, then you know it's not just--just you. Means the camera got it, which means other people can, too."

"Then...then go get it," he says, with considerably more confidence than he feels. "You should go get it. So you can prove it."

That's what the smart thing to do would be, right? He can't just trust him right out of the gate. Not just like that. Not when there's so much he can't trust about everything else - from this strange man's disposition to his every move, to the way he doesn't make sense even when he does try to explain how things work.

He actually wants to know. Good. That’s good.

Jay begins to stand up from the log, but he halts partway, stuck in an awkward crouch. “So the footage is on my camera, over there.” He points to a spot roughly half the distance between them, to the still-running camera in the leaf litter. “So if you’re alright with it, I can get it and show you.”

...Which involves him getting close enough for Tim to see the screen, which might not go over too well.

“And if you’re—if you’re not, you can watch it yourself.” He shrugs, a failing attempt at nonchalance. “I mean, I can tell you how.”

"All of it?" he says, suspiciously. Plainly, he's not wholly convinced. "...that's silly. You can't keep that much on one camera."

Even home movies need to be kept on, well, a lot of tapes. Even he knows that. How stupid does he think he is? He's just a dumb kid, he knows, but he's not - he's not that stupid.

Not stupid. Just crazy.

...Right. He's probably from before digital cameras even existed, much less digital cameras that can fit as much as his current one.

Still, maybe this can pass for being cutting-edge.

"New ones can." Jay rustles around in his pockets. "They don't even have to store footage on tapes."

He pulls out a small container, unzipping it and holding it up so Tim can see. Inside, there's a row of SD cards, all held in plastic pockets. "They use these cards instead. They're like..." Alright, how dumb is this gonna sound? "Little floppy disks. Or Game Boy cartridges."

He...he's not sure he knows what a Game Boy is, but he nods anyway, because he isn't stupid and he can be smarter than some kind of weird, maybe-real-maybe-hallucinatory grown-up with a camera, who keeps talking about him like he knows him.

He doesn't know him. He'd remember, if he knew him.

"Okay," he says, uncertainly, pointing at the camera. "So...show me."

Plainly, Tim isn't going to get it himself.

Jay lets out a quiet sigh of relief, half because the kid's still willing to see the footage, and half because Jay won't have to risk handing his camera over to a toddler. (Okay, not a toddler, but still. Jay's pretty sure he's younger than ten.)

He approaches slowly and scoops up the camera, keeping an eye on the kid to make sure he doesn't freak out. After a couple seconds, he builds up the nerve to stop recording. He flips the viewfinder screen open and starts winding back.

("But I'm fine. I'm not stupid. I know what I saw!")

He pauses a minute or so into the mansion footage. Nudges it back a couple frames.

Then he crouches down, slowly, carefully, and with a small jerk of the hand, waves the kid over.

He waits.

He waits for the man to start rewinding. Or...or doing whatever it is he's doing. Playing with the screen that flips out by the side. Focusing on it. It's just a few minutes, but maybe it'll be enough.

Then, he bolts.

He whips around and starts running, as hard and as fast as he can, tearing through the trees at a dead sprint, his breath choking in his throat, his heart pattering like rain beating on a roof, practically flying over clumps of half-melted snow and tussocks of dead grass, darting and weaving, ducking behind branches and scurrying around clawlike brambles.

Maybe, if he runs fast enough, the stranger won't be able to catch him.

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