[For all his talk of the truth, of how vital it is to spread information, Jay would have been bled dry like the rest of them. Blue-purple rosemary blossoms from his chest, dogbane sprouting from his throat, sycamore saplings twisting around his spine, throttling the nerves within.]

[But he's talking now. Maybe it's the easy way Tim's holding himself, the way he offers up comforting sentiments as easily as his Tim would ask for a stick of beef jerky and another pack of cigarettes at the next rest stop.]

That's the thing, though. I did. At the time, I--I did.

[His eyes dart side to side, scanning the kitchen without meeting Tim's gaze.]

Like, I remember... [He winces, kneading at his forehead.] God. I wanted...

[He wanted Tim's hands tied behind his back, a knife to his throat, a camera on the tripod. He wanted his goddamn answers, Tim, no matter what it took.]

[He wanted to prove the others were real, not just images on tape, wanted to run the blade across their skin and see it split, see the red underneath, pin them down like insects so they'll just stop and fucking listen to him--]

Not anymore. [It's quiet, but vehement, his voice cracking at the edges.] I don't...not for a while.