Work Text:
There’s a chest on Bread Bridge.
It wasn't there yesterday. Nothing on it indicates who put it there or who it's for- assuming that it is meant for some one, that is. No sign reads: "PROPERTY OF THE BAD BOYS!!!" in un-intimidating handwriting, no precious materials are embedded in its wooden surface, no colorful coral or bits of seaweed decorate the edges.
Just a plain chest sitting alone on Bread Bridge.
Unassuming.
Unaccounted for.
Suspicious.
At least, that's what any normal, reasonable person would think. Any normal, reasonable person would check the chest for traps, especially if they were, say, in a death game, for example.
Joel is a normal person. He doesn’t open the chest.
Grian is a reasonable person. He doesn’t even approach the chest.
Jimmy is neither of those things. He approaches the chest and opens it without a second thought, like he isn't, say, in a death game.
His normal, reasonable teammates cheer him on from the sidelines, even if they don't dare approach the chest themselves. As Joel puts it: "Bad boys never back down from a challenge! Bad boys aren't afraid of obvious traps! Bad boys laugh in the face of death!" As Grian puts it: "I just want to see Tim blow up."
That, thankfully, does not happen.
Instead the lid is lifted without incident, and now Jimmy proudly holds a bound leather book aloft. He grins as if it's some sort of prize, confusion only setting in when he notices Joel's face.
"That's all? A book?" The aforementioned asks, tone indignant as if this book has wronged him personally. If he has to stand on his tip-toes to peer over Jimmy's shoulder, well, that's between him and Editor Joel.
Jimmy only shrugs. "'S not signed, came with a quill and ink and all that."
"May I see?" asks Grian, who is suddenly here as well. Jimmy nods, passing it into waiting hands. (Joel lowers himself off his toes before anyone notices.)
As it turns out, the book didn't need to be signed, simply given the content of the first page alone.
It reads:
---
This is meant for Jimmy aka Jim aka Jimbo aka Tim aka Timmy aka Solidarity aka SoldarityGaming and him ONLY. If you are reading this and you are not Jimmy Timmy Solidarity then this book will EXPLODE in your face RIGHT NOW. You have TEN SECONDS.
I can do that, you know!? I can make books EXPLODE!! And you don't want to be on the receiving end, buddy! So I suggest you flee RIGHT NOW. Unless you are Jimmy. Then you can keep reading. It won't explode for you.
OR WILL IT???
Keep reading to find out!
ONLY if you are Jimmy though. If you AREN'T Jimmy then prepare for EXPLODIFICATION!!!
---
Come on, it can't be more obvious, thinks Grian. Is this an attempt at being subtle? If so, why? Whatever. None of his business, he supposes, but still passes the book to Joel with a slight head tilt meant to say: "check this out."
Joel reads the first page, pales, and immediately hands it to Jimmy. Seriously?
("I'm not messing with a potentially exploding book, Grian."
"There's no way you actually think he can do that."
"Last time we underestimated him there was a warden rampaging our bases."
"...you've a point there.")
Brown eyes scan lines of text. A smile tugs at his lips, more than a little fond. When he flips to the next page, though, Jimmy's face falls slightly. His eyebrows furrow. He doesn't look up.
---
Hello rancher! Sorry about the first page, had to make sure no one else was reading this.
So, how's it been? I mean, you can't really respond, but I thought I'd ask or something. Be polite, y'know? Because, well… this isn't gonna be easy. It's gonna be, like, awkward. No, less awkward, more… difficult? Is that the word? Extra difficult with awkward sauce? You get it.
This isn't gonna be fun. Not for either of us, trust me, buddy.
---
No one needs to tell Grian and Joel that they should go at this point. Their eyes meet, they nod in a moment of silent understanding, and they leave quietly, making sure their teammate is still within eyesight. Currently, the aforementioned sits on the floor- aka the mansion's roof- back against Bread Bridge. He's settled in for a long one.
It continues:
---
First things first. You’re probably wondering why I never visited while on Empires and stuff. Look, I’ll be honest, none of this letter is going to make me look good. At all. I’m not going to try to save face here, nor am I going to sugarcoat the truth.
Here it goes:
You scared me. I'd thought it'd be wonderful to return to the past, to the way things used to be. But right then, as you excitedly showed me around the Ranch, I realized something: you were stuck in the past when I’d moved on.
It kinda gave me a start, you know? Not sure if I was scared because of you or because of my reaction. Probably the ladder. It hit me like a bag of trains. A bag of trains with the tag: "THINGS WILL NEVER BE THE SAME." Made me want to flee like a scared rabbit.
You were so earnest, too. Always have been. Too earnest for me. Suddenly there were all these memories of the Ranch, good and bad- it was too much. You were too much. Not your fault, though; that's all on me. Which is why it wouldn’t have worked.
You're amazing, wonderful. You deserve someone who can appreciate your amazing wonderfulness. Someone isn’t scared of it. Someone not like me. I feel awful, felt awful.
It's not the first time I've felt like this.
Do you remember the night after the fire? Well, it was only smoke by then- the fire, that is, the fire was smoke. The night wasn't smoke. The people who came by to help were smoke, though, they'd only left their footprints behind. And the walls? The walls were nothing but smoldering ash. Smoldering? Smouldering?
That sounded cool in my head, so just roll with it.
It was cold without our roof, so we were huddled together. We only had one bed, do you remember that? Why did we never make a second? Anyways, we'd usually chat before falling asleep, but not this time. I could tell you wanted to say something. You didn't. What was there to say? It felt like everything had already been said.
You probably thought I was angry, honestly, I thought I was too. After all, I was shaking. My teeth weren't chattering and I wasn't cold. You asked me to turn around and look at you. I didn't. In retrospect, you had asked me the same things hours earlier. You definitely remember that. It had calmed me down then, maybe it'd work again. But I didn't look at you. Why? Why indeed…
Anyways, I remember you sounded so tired. There was still scratchiness in your voice from the smoke. It was late. Neither of us could sleep. Do you remember that? Were you lucid enough?
I'm asking all these questions and it's not like you can even respond.
You put a hand on my shoulder. I didn't stop shaking. You took your hand away, then wrapped both arms around my shoulders. I still didn't stop. I couldn't stop. I thought I was angry because there was boiling under my skin. You pulled me into a hug. I didn't even look at you. My hands were still in fists like Scar was going to come back for another fight.
Back on Empires, you forgave him so easily. I forgave him too, yet somehow, it surprised me when you did. Maybe I didn't forgive him when I thought I did.
Maybe I still wanted to be angry.
Y'know, I'd never felt more vulnerable than right then. It's kind of hard to phrase this casually. But, like, think about it: our house was burnt down, we had no roof, the walls were barely standing- you get it! You were there! It just felt wrong for you to see me like that, like you weren't supposed to. Why did it matter? I'd already let you down once, and heck, hours earlier you'd seen me at my WORST worst.. If you saw me break down again, maybe you'd decide I wasn't a good enough soulmate. Wasn't tough enough. Wasn't capable enough.
Yet here we were, me in the midst of my… everything… and you contining to just hold me gently. Extra gentle-like, which, to be honest, I didn't deserve. Not saying anything, not trying to talk about it, not... not scared. You weren't scared, as if you hadn't seen me earlier at- to reiterate- my WORST worst. You weren't even disappointed, at least, not outwardly, despite having every right to be. Just like when we met. In fact, I remember you worried that you were a disappointment to me.
At that moment, I realized it didn't matter- "it" being how vulnerable I appeared to you. Because you'd already seen, well, all of the above, and yet you stayed. You were connected to me, connected to a forest fire, and yet you were convinced that you were the fire in this equation. Y'know? All of that is to say we were worried about the other leaving, but didn't think about leaving each other first. We were disappointments to each other in our own heads only.
That's when everything came crashing down on me. It felt like the whole day was the burning ranch from earlier and I was a confused cow standing underneath the burning planks. I was still shaking. It wasn't anger.
The wall I was looking at suddenly turned blurry, so I turned towards the stars. You held me tighter. But not, like, in a restrain-y way. We did that earlier- you remember, the rampage and stuff. This time you were just… gentle.
Then the stars were blurry too, so I turned again. At that point it no longer mattered how weak or vulnerable or whatever I was. Had it ever mattered? It didn't. I no longer cared. Finally, I had turned to look at you, just like you asked. Should've done that from the start, honestly.
But you were even blurrier than the stars, so I buried my face against your shoulder. You just rubbed my back as tears turned into sobs. Which was weird, because I don't remember when I started crying. Pretty sure I ruined your shirt, so that you probably remember. The whole ravine must've heard me. They probably remember. Must've fallen asleep like that, curled up against you and crying like a baby.
Probably wasn't what you were expecting of a soulmate. Or of me. Especially of me! Maybe you did? Look, I'm not sure how easy I am to read. All I know is we were an unexpected duo, so maybe you didn't expect anything of me at all.
Where was I going with this?
Oh yeah! It's simple: I felt then like I did at the Ranch on Empires; that is, like I didn't deserve you. You made me confront those feelings on the night after the fire. You made me feel loved then. But on Empires, that love was not a comfort, and I felt awful that it wasn't.
Thank you. For everything, the Ranch- both of them- and for the love.
Next morning we didn't discuss what happened. To me it felt like we were avoiding the topic, but you had just moved on like everything was normal. Maybe we should have talked about it. It wouldn't have changed anything. Would it? We didn't need to say anything. At least I could've said thank you then. So I'm saying it now! Better than nothing, right? Hopefully.
You were always worried about not being good enough for me. Here I am saying I wasn't enough for you. But that's not it, either. "Enough." How do you even quantify that? We were enough, what we had was enough, just not meant to last. Right for each other but only for a little while, you know? We were built to be together, not built to last.
The love was there, but it didn't change anything. It couldn't. We were doomed from the start, curse or no curse, because after it was over we wouldn't see each other. Not until the next game, anyway. Maybe we actually felt something for each other. Maybe it was just because we had to. Let's both face it: what we had was conditional, even if we didn't know it. Or maybe we just didn't acknowledge it. Either way, when the game was done, we were done. That doesn't mean the love wasn't there. It just didn't -maybe even couldn't- save us.
And then, if so… what's the point? Of it all?
What's it all for? Does it have to make sense? Does it have to have purpose? I don't know!
Look, maybe it was just that we loved each other because the light was dying fast. Maybe we only loved each other because we knew it wouldn't last. I don't want to think that what we had was an obligation. Other soulmates didn't feel that way about each other, so it wasn't something new that was added to our brains.
All of it was genuine at the time, but nonetheless fleeting, nonetheless doomed.
"Conditional." It hurts to say, doesn't it? We didn't know, or maybe we just didn't want it to be. Now those conditions are over, and it'll never be the same, and that's okay. It has to be okay. It has to. There's no other choice.
Maybe… maybe it was never love. Does that hurt less? To think it was never real?
Like, what if we never truly loved each other? Not in the "right way." I don't think I loved you, because, well, love… love is meant to last, right? I guess then I was infatuated with you, in a way. You were kindness and domesticity and support when there was nothing. We were all each other had, and outside of the game, things aren't that way. That is to say the way we felt about each other was unsustainable, unsubstantial. Like two ships that pass in the night. The fire was warm and beautiful and powerful and bright while it lasted, but all fires eventually go out. We were conditional. We went out. I don't blame you, I just think it's time we moved on. I won't stand around the charred remains of what was for longer than I need to. You shouldn't either.
Maybe I'm just saying this because it hurts more to think we did love each other and it just didn't work out. Let's not think about that.
You deserve better. You deserve something that will last, that doesn't melt like snow or burn away into nothing. There is nothing in this world that won't change or come to an end. Even the tides must obey the moon, and one day, the moon will leave them behind. But you? You deserve the constant of water. You deserve its cycle. You deserve the tides. You deserve the rain and the snow and the puddles and the clouds and every body of water in the world. I can't be that, I wasn't that. There's no pointing in making flames obey the rules of its opposite, right?
I hope you find your moon. I hope it never leaves. For me, I must find a star. I must burn and burn and light things to burn with me. Maybe we'll meet again, us two almost-constants, fire and water. When we meet again either you'll douse me or I'll boil you, because let's face it: we can't survive together. We were never meant to.
"The canary and the coal mine." You liked the metaphor… no, less liked it, more felt trapped by it. Never meant to love each other. Can't. They can't love each other. And if they could, they can't last. Trapped. Trapped by me, the coal mine. Canaries deserve to be free.
If you want to think of what we had as love then… face it: we'll never love each other the same way again. It's impossible now. Look- I don't even know what we had! I started with one thing and ended up with another. Makes my brain hurt! Less with the brain hurting!
Let's end it here to spare me from messing this up more.
So, yeah, that's it. Sorry for all of the sudden tone shifts and stuff. And waxing poetic for a bit there. This is just a bunch of random thoughts I put together. Probably doesn't even make sense. Hopefully you can make sense of it, though. I don't want to keep these thoughts any longer. Please don't kill me over this. I mean, if you do, that'd be reasonable. How am I supposed to end this? "Hope this doesn't change anything in between us"- imagine! All of this would be even worse if I tried to give this monologue face to face. Another thing to not think about.
See you around, I guess?
Maybe not.
Whatever you want.
T.T.
---
Jimmy doesn't know whether to scream, laugh, or cry. He stares blankly down at the book in his hands. How was he meant to process this? What was the intended outcome here? Jimmy finds himself laughing, not that he finds it funny, but because emotions are never clean and neat. If he wasn't laughing he'd be crying, and he really, really doesn't want to cry.
Bad boys don't cry. Bad boys bottle up any emotion that makes them weak. Bad boys don't even feel weak emotions. A bad boy wouldn't-
"Hey now, that's just not true, innit?" says a voice, causing Jimmy to look up. Since when had he been saying that out loud? Since when did someone get here? Joel's kneeling beside him, hand on his teammate's shoulder, a reassuring smile on his face- or an attempt at one, at least. Despite the uncertainty in his eyes, he continues speaking with confidence: "Bad boys are very in touch with their emotions. A bad boy isn't scared of anything, including himself. True bad boy-ness comes from understanding and the like."
What does that even mean?
Another pair of hands gently takes the book away, almost unnoticed. Almost.
"Hey!" exclaims Jimmy, yanking back his prize.
"Woah, woah, calm down, Tim. I wasn't going to read it." Grian holds up his criminal hands in surrender. He is met only with a glare.
"I didn't think that's what you were going to do, but now you're definitely not allowed to hold it." With a shrug to brush off Joel, Jimmy stands up, book now clutched to his chest. When he speaks his tone is sharp with anger: "just- leave me alone, okay? I have some thinking to do."
A lot of thinking, actually. But this world didn't have a lot of time. Jimmy shoves the book deep into the back of the communal Bad Boys chest while shoving swirling emotions deep into the back of his mind. Later, he promises to no-one. He rolls back his shoulders, breathes out, tries to ground himself. Stay in the now. We'll sort out this later. Stay in the now.
It's just like Tango wrote: there's no point in standing around the charred remains of what once was.
He has to move on.
He has to, because time's running out.
He has to, because there's no other choice.
Just like Tango wrote.
An axe replaces the weight in Jimmy's now empty grip.
There's no longer a chest on Bread Bridge.