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Tim wasn’t happy to find that he’d survived, in truth he would have preferred dying.
He wasn’t out nearly as long as Jon and he’d been glad for the break, no doubt in his mind that Jon would be practically begging him to make a statement about the Unknowing as soon as he woke up.
Tim spent much of his time wandering, why bother going to the institute at all if he couldn’t be fired. He didn’t know what to do now. The Circus was gone, for now at least, he’d killed the person who took Danny. So much of his life had been dedicated to getting back at them for what they did, what they did to Danny, what they did to him.
He hadn’t realized where he’d been walking to. Too caught up in his thoughts and kicking a small rock to notice and too tired to care.
It was the van that caught his attention first, an old thing, completely unremarkable except for the lettering on the side. Breekon and Hope Deliveries.
It didn’t take much longer after that for him to realize he was in front of what had once been the wax museum.
The rage coiled in his stomach, spilling out of his eyes in hot tears. His hand was held so tight his knuckles were white when he threw his fist into the side of the van.
His knuckles ended up bloody from hitting the van.
Tim couldn’t say how long he’d been there, leaning against the side of the van, shaking with more tears then he knew he had left.
He heard footsteps coming closer, looking up to find one of the delivery men. They stared at each other for a moment before the delivery man got into the van.
He looked at Tim through the side mirror once he’d sat down in the driver’s seat.
Tim couldn’t explain why he got into the passenger's seat.
The two began to drive in silence, it wasn’t uneasy nor was it comfortable, it was simply silence.
“So,” Tim finally spoke, “which one are you?”
The delivery man waited for a moment before finally answering. “Breekon.”
Tim hummed noncommittally. “Where’s the other one then? Don’t have one without the other.”
Breekon’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Hope-“ The breath he took in sounded pained, probably the closest to crying he could get. “The copper got em.”
“Oh.” Tim hated the Circus, he hated the Stranger, but he spent too long mourning his brother to not notice the strain in Breekon’s voice. A sound that struck just too close to home. “Sorry.”
Breekon hummed. The ride fell back into silence. Neither knew where they were going, they just had to keep moving. This time the silence weighed down on Tim, forming a ball in his stomach and a lump in his throat.
“It’s probably not worth anything, but I get it.”
Breekon glanced over to look at him for a moment, gaze soon returning to the road.
“That’s why I was there actually, wanted to get back at 'em.”
“Did it work?”
Tim was startled by the question, he hadn’t truly been expecting a response.
“No, no it didn’t, Danny’s still,” his voice cracked. “He’s still gone.” He let himself take a moment to wipe his eyes. “You?”
Breekon nodded, hat pulled low to cover his eyes. “We- I threw the copper into the coffin.” He paused, waiting for someone who wasn’t there to speak. “Didn’t change anything though.”
Tim laughed at that, a bitter sound. “Got that right.” He sighed. “What’d we do now? I spent so long focused on getting revenge I don’t know what to do with my life anymore.” Tim pulled his legs up to his chest, he hadn’t bothered to put on his seatbelt.
“D’know.” Breekon paused again, Tim thought he might’ve been done talking. “Never expected something like this.”
Tim huffed “never do.”
They continued to drive. Tim never bothered asking where they were going. Breekon never bothered looking at street signs.
The buildings faded into the distance as they drove along the backroads out of the city. Eventually they came upon an open field, overgrown grass seeming to glow all shades of yellow and orange in the fading sunlight.
Breekon pulled to a stop by the side of the road and got out. Tim followed.
The two leaned against the side of the van, staring out across the field.
“It’s not gonna stop.” Breekon said.
Tim couldn’t find it in himself to be shocked by the sudden sound.
“Just gonna keep hurting until-“
“Until it doesn’t.” The words tasted bitter as they left Tim’s mouth.
Breekon nodded.
“Wish I’d died back in Yarmouth.” Venom dripped from each word.
Breekon looked at him, Tim was still staring out across the field.
He hummed, truly he wished the same, to stop the hurt before it had the chance to start.
As the sun slipped further beneath the horizon a chill crept in. Tim shivered, he didn’t notice when he leaned into Breekon’s side, wanting any heat he could leech out of him. Breekon noticed, but he didn’t say anything.
The next morning Tim awoke to the grumbling of a motor and sore knuckles. It took him longer than it should have to place where he was.
Breekon sat besides him in the driver’s seat, blankly staring at the road ahead.
Tim’s neck was sore and as he reached up to rub his head he noticed that his hands had been bandaged, not the best but there had clearly been an effort. He looked out the window, watching their surroundings as they passed outside, for a minute he wondered if Breekon had been driving all night.
The two didn’t say anything until Tim’s stomach growled. What was the last thing he ate? Probably just a granola bar or something like that for brunch yesterday. He realized then that he was very hungry.
“Could you just drop me off somewhere with food? I’m starving.”
Breekon looked at him from the corner of his eye for a moment before quietly humming and nodding.
Soon enough they pulled to a stop near a small coffee shop.
“Thanks,” Tim said, hoping out of the van. Again Breekon nodded.
When Tim stepped back out of the shop the van was gone. He shrugged and started walking down the street.
It didn’t process until late that night that he’d felt better since Breekon left him at the coffee shop. But of course he did, it was the first good interaction he’d had with someone since the Unknowing, probably even before that. Jon was in a coma, Daisy was dead, Basira didn’t pay him any attention, Melanie was just as bitter as him and Martin had fucked off to go work with Peter Lukas. There was no one left for him. So of course the first conversation he had with someone that wasn’t just bitter resentment made him feel better, even if conversation was a stretch.
He barely got any sleep that night, dreams too full of clowns and taxidermy playing to a soundtrack of tape recorders and calliopes. Stil it was a better rest than most.
Over time Tim found himself wandering back to the ruins of the wax museum more often and every time Breekon’s van was parked in front. More often than not they ended up driving along the twisting roads, paying no attention to where they were going.
At first the drives were quiet, neither of the two wanting to start a conversation but over time the drives filled with more and more chatter. Often it was Tim who was talking, rambling about whatever he was thinking of just to get it out. Tim talked about anything and everything, his job, his hobbies, his interests. Breekon didn’t talk nearly as much, not used to only having half a voice.
They had found themselves back at that familiar field by the side of the road, it was earlier in the day this time, but the growing storm clouds above them blocked out the rays of light. Tim had been wanting to ask something recently and eventually curiosity got the better of him, suppose spending so much time in a temple of the Eye will do that to a person. “What- what was he like, Hope?”
A bittersweet smile crossed Breekon’s face, the rest of his expression hidden by the shadow his hat cast over his face. “He was our laughter, our joy…”
A cold breeze from the oncoming storm ripped across the field, neither paid it any mind.
Breekon opened his mouth, the words he tried to stutter died in his throat so he took a breath. “Tried to make fun outta all our work. Our better half.” There was a heavy sigh. “How’s about your brother, Danny right?”
“Yeah. God he- he was always so fun.” Tim could feel his nose warming up, it always did when he thought he might cry. “He’d get so excited whenever he got interested in something and his eyes would light up whenever he talked about it. I- I’d do anything to get him back.” He sniffed, whipping at his eyes before tears could fall.
There was a steady weight on his shoulder then, he turned seeing that Breekon had put his hand on his shoulder, there was no warmth to it, but it was comforting all the same.
They stayed like that for awhile, staring across the field like at any moment Danny and Hope would come walking out of the grass. The two knew they wouldn’t, but that didn’t stop them from hoping. And then the quiet tink of a raindrop hitting the van roof.
Soon the rain came down in thick sheets and beneath the sounds of rainfall was a muffled singing.
Breekon’s hand tensed on Tim’s shoulder. He let in fall back to his side, knees folding beneath him as he sank to the ground. Knees pulled to his chest and head buried in his hands he didn’t hear Tim sit down beside him.
Soaking wet they sat listening to the rain and the singing of the coffin until the storm passed. The entire time Breekon shook. There were no tears, just the silent and aching void of loss, a phantom limb unable to stop the burning pain of where it once was.
Eventually the storm did pass, as all things do, but the two remained shivering against the side of the van.
“You should get rid of it.” Tim muttered after a long moment of silence. “The coffin, I mean.”
“Probably.”
“Yeah…”