Jay Merrick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
burntvideocassette) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2018-03-07 10:51 pm
burntvideocassette) wrote in entrancelogs2018-03-07 10:51 pm
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.
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.
no subject
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?”
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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?”
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“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.
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(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."
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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.
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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."
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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.
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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?
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Fuck him, anyway.
And fuck him for thinking Tim would buy that.
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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.
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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.
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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."
no subject
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.
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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.”
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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?
cw: internalized ableism
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.
no subject
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?
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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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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?”
no subject
And it interacts differently, naturally, with everyone. It seemed to help the last time, but what about now? Has too much changed? Sometimes your prescription needs to be altered, and just because this particular cocktail holds true for Tim doesn't mean it'll be useful for someone else.
God. What a mess.
no subject
"If it's that slow, how d'you even--?" He catches himself, rolling his eyes as he continues. "I mean, you just said you can feel it, so I guess that's a moot point."
He tries to school the anxiety buzzing his head into something manageable, something he can put to words.
"If it's...not, like, if you shouldn't be taking it because of...side effects or whatever, how long before you figure that out? And I mean...do you always notice?" Dumb question, maybe, but maybe not. "'Cause it's, y'know, messing with your brain and all."
no subject
Leveling you out. Helping you operate the way you should, as if your brain isn't screwed up all to hell.
"You'll get stuff like...mood swings are pretty common. Maybe it'll be harder to sleep than usual, but - I dunno, I don't think that's ever been much of a problem with us," he says, dry. When would it ever, when they already barely sleep as it is?
no subject
Jay Merrick isn't much of anybody, but for once he thinks he'd like to be himself.
That option's been off the table for a while now.
"That...does that stuff level off after a while, or is it more like a--" He reaches up to scratch at the back of his head with his injured hand, but he aborts the motion partway through. "--'stop taking this immediately 'cause it's breaking your head' kind of thing?"
no subject
"If it's not helping, it'll be based on...I dunno, how you feel in the long-term. Whether your symptoms start getting worse, or not, or if the side effects just aren't worth it."
Welcome to the wonderful world of psychopharmacology, Jay, where you never know when something will actually work until maybe months down the line, and every decision is fueled off guesswork.
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cw for self-harm
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