entrancelogs | shadows creep and walls have eyes

Entry tags:

shadows creep and walls have eyes

Who: Jay and Tim
Where: Tim's Room
When: March 7th
Rating: PG-13; The usual CW for mental health discussion
Summary: Tim's got an unlimited supply of pills. Jay's learned something that keeps slipping out of his memory. They both nearly got eaten by a dinosaur. There's a lot to talk about.
The Story:

This is bad. He knows it's bad, Sans confirmed it's bad, and now he's got to tell Tim and hope he doesn't just wind up pissing him off. He wound back the tape--no, he just looked at his notes. Just looked at the study guide. Sans was a scientist. There was an experiment. It went wrong, and now Sans is the only one left, and the others have been written out of history, and even though Sans can remember it, Jay--

Jay what?

Right. He forgets.

There was a doctor. Sans said his name, right? (He didn't. He doesn't think he did. It feels familiar, asking, and checking, and asking, and checking again, until he writes it down. He thinks Sans didn't say it.) There was a doctor, but he's not the important part here. The important part is letting Tim know there's something he shouldn't know.

Great. Now he just has to keep it all straight when he can't--

No, he's got the footage. If there's something missing, he's got the--no, wait. It's written on his arm below the wrist brace, in a cramped, faded scrawl.

File 0209y2_6.mp4 1:05:15-1:20:32 transcribed in notebook 12/0209y2_6.txt. Check FIRST.

Right. He wrote it down to save time. Maybe he should have brought the notebook himself, but maybe that would make things harder. If Tim does get curious, he shouldn't have the information right there.

He scans down his arm, reading his other notes.

Content of memory not dangerous. (Probably.)

Knowing = dangerous.

From world w/ monsters and souls.

Alright. He's got this. He can do this.

With one hand in a brace and the other holding the camera, he doesn't knock on Tim's door. Instead, he lightly kicks it. Should sound about the same.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Tim's voice echoes off the walls of his room, with space for one guy and maybe a desk and a closet and definitely not some asshole asleep on the ground, and Jay shuffles back. Takes a second to regain his composure.

The house is gone. Tim's house is gone. The wood-paneled kitchen counter and the musty carpet ~~and the way it dissolved at the edges of his vision like the lens is smeared with Vaseline~~--burned down, in an attempt to murder Tim.

Alex wanted Tim to burn alive.

~~Screaming.~~

"Alex wasn't right!" He's rushing forward again, and he's not reaching for Tim's shoulders or the front of his shirt, but he's taller, and maybe that'll be enough to lend his words some weight. "He killed--we think he-- Tim, look. Alex...wasn't...this stuff, that thing changed him. You've seen the footage."

He's thinking of a burn-scarred body in a bathtub.

"So if I'm not...impartial anymore, then Alex definitely isn't."

Wasn't.

"And, I dunno, maybe I'm not inclined to think the guy who tried to burn you to death had everybody's best interests in mind."

The same man who buried a bullet in his side, but he's not thinking about that right now. He can't think about that right now.

"It was my fucking problem, wasn't it? Me, leading that thing into all of our lives!" Should've just sat in the hospital, and let it crumble around him. Let it fucking burn, every last shred of it, and let a couple of college idiots make a student film without that specter hanging over them.

Does it matter what any of this was about, in the first place? Because now they're shouting again, like they always do, indistinct and escalating, without any intention of salvaging the conversation whatsoever.

Maybe he should.

Breathe out.

"...what was your point, Jay? Was that it? Was that all there was to it? Just...telling me not to go looking for something that you didn't have to tell me to not go looking for?"

And Tim's...calming down. Even though he just tried to get the last word, and the last word was utter bullshit, and Jay can feel a response pressing at the back of his throat, it's not time for that right now.

Breathe out.

Tim asked him a question.

"I was gonna try and give you...'s much as I could without...y'know. So you could know what to watch out for." He's mumbling. Speak up. "And I guess, just..."

Speak up.

"...Make sure you're still in one piece. Didn't see you after I got out of the woods, so..."

Tim's an adult. He doesn't need someone checking in.

"Don't," he ratchets it out a little too harshly, turning aside without so much as a glance in Jay's direction. "Don't give me anything."

Even the tiniest shred can be dangerous, after all. By dribbling what little he did, he's probably fucked it up already. Didn't take much to start ruining everyone's lives, now, did it? Simply knowing Tim as a person was enough to ruin it.

Why else would Brian have held onto it, for all those years - that tape that signified the precise moment that nightmare entered their lives?

"I'm fine, so I guess you can stop worrying." He lends the final word just enough of a sardonic twist to mimic the grumpily disdainful man who stood in a hotel room, quizzing Tim on the whereabouts of a camera, snapping that he didn't need Tim to share his medication with someone like him.

'Cause heaven forbid they color themselves with the same brush.

That doeesn't sound like Tim, the frustrated insistence that there's nothing to worry about. He's fine. If anything, it sounds more like--

Oh.

Oh.

Right. Tim does it, too. Jay's seen it, playing out an entire phone call. This whole conversation's gone weird, Jay thinks. Wasn't just himself and Tim arguing--well, it was, but who was who kept getting mixed up in the middle. It's like they're not even people anymore; just rhetorical positions.

God, he's sounding like Alex. Dial it back.

"I guess," Jay mutters, trying to regain his own voice. It's himself doubting himself doubting himself, and yeah, he really needs to stop thinking about this right now. Tim's fine. He got out of the woods. He's got the closet, so he's got his meds. He doesn't want any more information, but he's fine. He'll be fine. Jay didn't tell him anything that'd mess him up (he thinks), so if he starts losing time again, it'll be his own fault. He's fine.

The longer this goes on, the harder it gets for Jay to say the same.

"And..." Jay shrugs. "Guess I'll live."

“I guess, yeah.”

The weight of what goes unsaid stretches between them, but he’s got no clue how to start, considering the way things kicked off. The intention of telling Jay something or another, making a choice to cross that line, that died in the wake of a spontaneous shouting match he doesn’t have any hope of salvaging.

Or any inclination.

“You should maybe wash that shit off,” he says, nodding at Jay’s arms wearily. “Probably best if you forget too, huh?”

Jay shakes his head gently, eyes fixed on the carpet. He doesn’t want to see Tim’s reaction. “Gotta mark the drive first. Then...” Then he’ll let himself forget. It feels like giving up, but he knows he can’t keep this up. He attempts a shrug.

In the heavy silence following, Jay leans toward the door. He’s got things to do now. Mark the drive, then forget.

Still, he’s got questions. Tim doesn’t look like he’s in a talkative mood anymore (not that shouting about Alex Kralie in the heat of an argument was much of an improvement), but maybe he’s wrong. Maybe they can talk, if Jay’s careful.

“You, uh...” He tries to keep his tone even. “...hear anything from Brian?”

Nope. Never mind, then. They’re doing this anyway. Doesn’t know when to quit, Jay, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. In fact, it’s a testament to the fact that he isn’t surprised that Tim simply glances away with a huff and a tightening jaw without missing a beat.

“I don’t talk to him,” he says quietly.

That’s one answer that’s sure to raise more questions.

He’s too tired to care.

Loaded question gets a loaded answer. It confirms Tim saw Brian's post, at least. Also confirms they're not on good terms, if he can believe that.

(Yeah, he can believe that. It's really, really easy to believe that, especially if Tim saw what Brian was wearing.)

"Well, he..." Jay points the camera at anything but Tim's face. "He doesn't exactly make himself easy to talk to."

"Have you?" That seems like a reasonable follow-up. A reasonable way to keep things going No need to get into the details. Not for the camera, 'cause who needs to remember a thing like that? The camera's for preserving the important details.

And the pieces of their lives that got lost in the bleeding edge from college student film to living out of the trunks of cars and ratty motel rooms?

Those have never been worth documenting.

"Just the once." And Brian was just so goddamn apologetic that it was suspicious. There he was, after all these years. No codes, no nothing, just apologies and information, delivered straight.

Was it really, though?

Beyond that, Jay still doesn't know how much Tim knows. He's calmed down, though. No more shouting, no more insults he's heard before and before and before and great to know Tim thinks the same.

Not the time.

Jay snorts, one audible remnant of the thoughts still scratching at the back of his head.

He can't--shouldn't--doesn't really want to ask Tim directly. Instead, he says, "Not counting back home."

Tim hums his acknowledgment, and nods, and -

And doesn't say anything.

His intent was to admit to what he couldn't before, to let the answers finally start to trickle out, piece by piece, out of necessity, out of desperation, because there was nothing left but the admission of a truth he never wanted to know. Didn't realize he didn't want to know it, until he did.

But, hell. If Jay's so eager to figure out his damn answers, he can do it himself. He doesn't need Tim for that. Apparently.

"Well, I dunno if he's even still around," he says with a weary little shrug.

Jay hates the way a little spike of panic hits him.

He might not be around.

Missed his chance.

(In more ways than he realizes.)

"Yeah, or..." One shoulder twitches up in an answering half-shrug. "Could be hiding somewhere. Not like we'd be able to tell."

Did he ever get a room they could check? Did he ever get any of his own stuff?

"He can come to us, if he feels like talking anytime." He glances away with a snort, dismissive. What's it matter, anyway? It wasn't like he was going to admit to anything. Just a mess of misplaced, inconsistent guilt slung together in a tangled mess underneath that hoodie, the thing he insists isn't a part of himself.

Fuck him, anyway.

And fuck him for thinking Tim would buy that.

Jay rolls his eyes. "Yeah."

He'd appreciate sooner, rather than later, but if Brian's going to go hide in the woods or whatever like he's apparently been doing the past four-odd years, not much either of them can do to stop him.

The last few months back home made that abundantly clear.

"...is that all you wanted?" He's being an asshole. He's being an asshole on top of everything else, but at the moment, there's not much in him left to care. Jay barges in here and starts ordering him around and then starts launching questions about Brian across the room, and...

And he's tired.

"Or was there some other terrifying, unknowable thing you wanted to tell me not to go looking for?" 'Cause that seems pretty in line with how Tim behaves, yeah. Pretty fucking typical of him, going after the things that will destroy him.

Except, no, wait. That's not him at all.

That's Jay.

"Tim, I'm trying to help." he snaps back, and he knows--oh, he knows it's about to get thrown back in his face.

The only one who didn't was Jessica. Not in the end, anyway. She was just as scared as he was, and for once, he finally had the chance to use what he figured out. He could protect her. He could get them both out. Forget the safe, forget the tapes, forget Alex.

(God, if he could've just gotten that one thing right.)

"And I know..." His voice dips quieter, but the bitterness is still very, very present. "I know you don't exactly agree with me. You definitely made that one clear."

"You always are."

It's a dig, make no mistake, even if his tone is flat and the words are relatively neutral. Alex's sharp, dismissive scorn doesn't ring underneath, but it...echoes.

Jay's never been very good at taking charge of any situation. Now is no exception. Charging with a plan unformed and fucking it up, and here's Tim, ready and willing to dig the knife in deeper.

That's what he's best at.

Jay sighs, a furious huff of air in place of any words. Tim’s words still ring in his head, rewound and played back on overlapping tracks.

You always are.

I’m going there, and I’m not taking you with me. Not like this.

And you’re not even trying to fix any of this! All you do is point your camera at every little thing that happens. How does that help anybody?

Tim just does this. He always does this. He gets so wrapped up in digging into everyone’s flaws—twisting the knife until they scream and acting like that somehow means he wins, like by running away he can give himself the last word— he doesn’t notice when he’s just making things worse. He did it to Jay. He did it to Alex. Hell, he probably did it to Brian, too, before whatever went wrong there.

He pivots aimlessly on the spot, camera pointing at nothing. (At nothing, Tim.) Nowhere to go but out. He takes a step back, towards the door.

“Like to see you do any better.”

Edited 2018-03-29 07:05 (UTC)

Oh, he's under no illusions that he's never been much in the way of helpful. He's a detriment to damn near everyone around him by default. He's gotta drag people down, cheapen their sacrifices, kick them when they're down. Render everything they've done up until that point meaningless.

He should lay down, cut it out, and just fucking quit trying to prove some point.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he speaks slowly, deliberately, fixing Jay with an unflinching stare: "You been taking your meds, Jay?"

How's that for help?

Jay meets his stare for one furious moment before breaking eye contact.

Tim thinks he’s pissed off ‘cause he’s crazy, is that it?

“Ibuprofen,” he mutters. “For the headache.”

And he’s been doing fine with just that. So no, his thinking’s not impaired. He’s not too drugged up to think straight, and he’s not too crazy to think straight either. He’s just pissed off. He’s allowed to just be pissed off.

“Oh my god,” Tim hisses under his breath. How fucking obtuse do you have to - “The ones George sold her memories to get for us. Those ones. You been taking those at all, or are you still in denial?”

Here he thought they’d been making progress. Thought maybe they could get somewhere. What a fucking joke that’s turned out to be, huh? Who were either of them kidding, thinking they could make an inch of progress without one or both of them backtracking a mile?

"I'm not in denial, I just--"

Yeah, real great. Starting off with a denial that he's in denial. Tim'll love that one.

He's not, though. He knows he's...he knows he's got stuff going on. He's had at least one seizure. That thing got to him. He'll take that. He'll accept that. It's on tape, and as much as the edit matters, there's not much he can do to fix that.

The bottle's in the medicine cabinet. It's been there since the day he got it.

"I'm just not exactly keen on the idea of--"

Of taking something that might change him. Of taking something that might cause him to forget. Of taking something that might make him too numb to notice when things are wrong. Didn't he see this movie?

"--of just taking somebody else's prescription without... at least some kind of medical oversight."

"Yeah, sure. Let's just give the full story to some doctor hanging around here, right? That's sure to go over well." There are kinder ways to go about doing this, certainly, but things have already started off rocky, and he's not about to dial them back down. Why the hell should he? Jay barged in here defiant and snapping out orders from the get-go. Why should he be the only one to be an abrasive asshole, claiming he knows best?

They don't have any friends who're doctors. And even if they did, would they want to put any of this on their shoulders, knowing the risk it brings with it?

"It helped you last time. Far as I could tell, it was the only reason you were able to stand around and talk to me after Alex's place, in the - after the basement."

After the basement.

Jay wants to shrug it off, roll his eyes, spit something back like we can’t know that for sure or you’d like to believe that, wouldn’t you.

But he’s seen the footage.

He’s forgotten a lot—understatement of the century—but he thinks he’s starting to remember what it felt like, before he found that tape. Before that last trip to Rosswood. He remembers what it was like to watch himself, dull-eyed and muttering nonsense. He remembers watching himself scream.

He didn’t make that appointment just because Tim forced him to, did he?

Pausing to collect his thoughts, Jay watches Tim out of the corner of his eye.

“How can you tell?” The snide sarcasm has faded, replaced by a quiet wariness. “When you start taking something, how do you figure out if it’s...like, working?” A muscle in his jaw twitches. “And not making things worse?”

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cw: internalized ableism

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