Work Text:
Jay,
I’ve been thinking about not taking my medication. I know that if I stop, I'll see you and Brian. I'm not going to. It's a stupid idea. It sounds really tempting on my worst days, which seem to happen a lot lately.
My doctor keeps increasing my dose. It reminds me of being a kid again. Remember I told you that? I was so filled with meds that I was numb? it’s kind of like that, but worse, because somehow I'm still like… like this, I guess.
I moved from where Jessica is staying, but just close enough that if something were to happen, I could reach her. not that I would really even know if anything happens. We don’t really talk. But I have a job here, and a small apartment so that’s good, I guess.
There’s this closet in my room. I put your clothes in there, in the same duffel bag. Your computer and camera are in there too. Sometimes it feels like they’re calling me. Like you’re calling me.
I know neither one of us were ones for sleep after we started this whole thing but I feel like I got more sleep in crappy motel rooms with you and the looming dread of death over my back than I do now. I'm safe but I feel so far from it.
I want to tell you a lot of things that I don't know if I can bring myself to write and it’s not like I'll ever get to tell you in person so I'm just stuck.
I guess all I can say for now is this.
Sorry,
Tim
Jay,
The last thing I said to Brian was “I'm going to kill you.” and I did. Isn’t that messed up? My first friend. I killed my first friend. He was with me, when I was the masked freak in the woods. He was the hoodie guy, the one you got frustrated with.
Before all of this, I used to think that Brian was the best of us. He got good grades, everyone liked him, he was kind and funny. He seemed so perfect. He didn’t even judge me for all my issues. I wasn't the freak to him, I was Tim.
And I killed him.
I spent so many years alone until I met him. Meeting him led me to Alex, and you. I don't know if that’s a good thing or not. I find myself believing Alex sometimes, that I'm the source. That it’s my fault.
God, I'm so sick of this.
Goodnight,
Tim
Jay,
When I was calling for you, could you hear me? Did you die knowing I would miss you?
This is stupid.
Idiotically,
Tim
Jay,
Sometimes my leg aches and I think about Alex which makes me think about you. He shot me a couple of times, did you know that? I think you did. We didn’t really ever talk about it, though, did we. Weird.
Alex was horrible at aiming. He was sucky with his camera too, pretty shaky. He always missed when he fired at me. Why did he have to actually be accurate for once?
That one letter I wrote, about guilt over Brian, I wonder if Alex felt that too. You guys were friends for your whole lives, and he just…he just threw it away.
I wish I knew him like you did, before he got jaded. I guess that’s to say I wish I never met him at all.
I have work in the morning.
Tim
Jay,
Sometimes I pick up my guitar and my hands shake so much I can't play anything. All I used to want to do was make music, but now I can hardly do it. All I want to do is smash the thing against the ground.
I'm forgetting how to play my favorite song and I think that scares me. I don't even know what my favorite song is anymore. I feel like if I listen to anything I'll just associate it with you or Brian or Alex or that thing and I'll never be able to listen to it again.
Stuck in silence,
Tim
Jay,
I didn’t get to bury you. I didn’t get to bury Brian or Alex, either, but for some reason the fact that I didn’t bury you is getting to me. That thing took you. Do your parents know that their kid is dead?
I know you didn’t really talk to your parents in the last couple years, or any of your friends. It was just me and you, really. And now it’s just me. I’m the only one who knows you’re dead.
I wish we were better friends when Alex started filming Marble Hornets. It was just awkward small talk and little waves. I wish I knew more about what you liked. I know you liked writing and filming, duh, but what else? Did you like video games or board games? What niche hobby did you have that you might’ve been embarrassed about? Did you like college? Did you hate it?
On the topic of Marble Hornets (the film, not this mess), you always were better at writing than Alex. There was that one short story you shared with Alex during one of our breaks and he whined about how good you were. Brian, being Brian, commandeered the page and I read it over his shoulder. It was good, really good.
I remember looking over the scripts and cringing at Alex’s boring writing. I don’t know why you didn’t just scrap the whole thing. I would’ve given it to him straight, but I guess you were kind like that, saving his feelings.
He was your best friend and he didn’t even hesitate.
I feel sick,
Tim
Jay,
I miss you.
Tim
Jay,
We always used to wake up in the middle of the night almost at the same time. I don’t know why we were in sync. Maybe I screamed when I woke up from nightmares. I don’t remember. I probably did, though. Sorry about that.
I do remember what happened when you woke up from nightmares, though. I mean, we both had our fair share of them, and we were both light sleepers. Had to be, with how paranoid we were. That’s not the point. When you woke up from nightmares, you paced for, like, two seconds and then opened your computer. You always had the brightness the whole way up until I would tell you to turn it down. I wish I had that light now.
You never wanted to talk about your nightmares. I mean, I didn’t either, but now I kind of wish I knew what was haunting you, other than the obvious.
Now that you’re gone not here anymore, I wonder a lot of stuff about you. It’s startling how little I feel like I knew about you despite all the time we spent together. You were so hyper focused on finding Alex or finding Jessica or whatever it was that you hardly slowed down. Sometimes I wish I forced you too. I guess, though, when I finally did force you to do something, you ended up free anyway.
You were a free spirit, I guess. Guess that’s why you’re named after blue jays.
Caged,
Tim
Jay,
Someone came into my work today and looked like you. I think I almost cried. I didn’t cry, though, because they were a bit of an ass. They bought three packs of sardines. It was gross.
Employed,
Tim
Jay,
I bought a polaroid camera the other day. I don’t know why I did it, honestly, it just felt right to do. I’ve been taking pictures of things that remind me of you or Brian. Sometimes I even take a picture for Alex.
Today the sun reminded me of you. I taped it onto the paper for you.
I hope you like it,
Tim
Jay,
Was it a mercy to die when you did? Were you relieved that you didn’t have to worry about any of this shit anymore? Were you happy it was Alex, your best friend, who took this stress away from you? Were you mad?
I wish you could reply.
Miss you,
Tim
Jay,
I don’t really have any friends anymore. Earlier in these letters I mentioned that I felt like a kid, didn’t I? Yeah, it sets in a lot lately. I definitely feel like a kid now; crazy and friendless. I know I’m not crazy. Well, not in the conventional way.
Anyway, because I don’t have any friends, I write to you. So I’m going to complain. I went into work today at an ungodly time and wanted to fall asleep the whole shift until that guy that looks like you came in again. They bought another four packs of sardines, but this time, they also bought a diet Dr. Pepper and a postcard. They asked me about the weather. I wanted to punch them in the face, because they even sounded like you. They smiled like Brian, though. They had a gap in his teeth, too.
I think I’m actually going insane. You’re both gone.
Crazed,
Tim
Jay,
I really wish I knew how you felt about Alex. Somedays I feel like I never should have killed him. I feel horrible, knowing that he was stuck, just like you and I. I wish I could’ve gotten him to a doctor. I wish I could’ve gotten you to a doctor. You were just so insistent.
Other times, I don’t regret it at all. He obviously didn’t regret it. I mean, he killed a random guy because he thought he was you. He tried to kill me and Brian. He killed Seth and Sarah, too. And he killed you. He killed you after so many failed attempts.
He was kind of always a failure when it came to stuff he cared about, I guess. Maybe not a failure, but lackluster. We both knew that his ‘student film’ was garbage even if you never wanted to admit it. Maybe he didn’t want to kill you that time, and that’s why he didn’t miss.
I’m going back to sleep.
Sweet dreams,
Tim
Jay,
There's been this itch under my skin lately. It won’t go away. I feel like the only way it will go away is if I go back and watch the entries. I don’t want to, but something does. Is it you telling me to go back?
Resisting,
Tim
Jay,
You had so many opportunities to turn back and just quit. Why didn’t you? Why did you have to find me?
Disappointed,
Tim
Jay,
I’m going insane. I’m going insane. They had my fucking mask. They had my fucking mask. I threw that away. It should be in a dump right now, but no, they had it and they presented it to me like it was no big deal. I want to kill them. I want to kill myself, honestly. I threw it away, Jay, I swear to God. I’m supposed to be getting better. I’m supposed to be better. Everyone is gone, and I’m still standing here, so I should be better but they had my mask.
I wish you were here right now,
Tim
Jay,
That freak hasn’t come back since the whole mask incident. I’m glad. I thought my boss was going to fire me for running out of the store like that. I told him I had a panic attack, and that I went to the hospital because I was so sick. It wasn’t a total lie, I did have a panic attack. I just didn’t go to the hospital. Anyway, he was understanding, so yay. I still have a job.
Still employed,
Tim
Jay,
You told me that you liked blue jays once, but they weren’t your favorite because it felt egotistical. Instead, you said you liked cardinals best.
You’re going to laugh at me, I know, but it isn’t egotistical for me to say it. My favorite bird these days are blue jays. There’s a family of one living in a tree outside my apartment. I let myself believe it's you watching over me sometimes.
Comforted,
Tim
Jay,
I have a whole box of letters to you now. I’m writing to a dead person. I’m trying to talk to someone who’s dead. It’s laughable. Jesus Christ, if my therapist could see me now.
Frustratedly yours,
Tim
Tim put down the pen. He rested his head in his hands and fought the urge to crumple the paper. He can’t help but think that this is stupid, even if he feels a little lighter afterward. The letters are stupid, grief is stupid, Jay was stupid and Tim is so stupid.
He swipes his hands down his face and sighs before placing the letter in Jay’s box. He slips it back into its designated spot at the bottom of his closet, next to Jay’s duffel. He stares at it for a second before walking away and half-slamming his bedroom door. He grabs his flannel and slips it on before pocketing his lighter and his cigarettes.
He exits his apartment, locking the door behind him, and walks down the stairs. The hair on the back of his neck prickles. He feels like someone’s watching him. He rubs at his eyes, brushing off the thought. He pushes open the lobby doors.
Step, step.
He flings his head to look behind him. He could’ve sworn he heard footsteps. He looks back in front of him, shaking his head and taking a deep breath. He exhales dramatically before walking on. He just wants to smoke.
He reaches the back of the building where he prefers to sit down in the grass by his favorite tree. He rests his head on it as he sits down, his hands shaking as he grabs his lighter.
Everything is over. He needs to calm down.
The lighter sparks on right as a stick snaps in front of him. Tim looks up, finding a tall, lanky person in front of him. They’re wearing a brown jacket with two pockets on the front. It’s the same thing that the Jay-look-alike wears, but this person has a black hoodie pulled up.
And a mask.
They look like they’re grimacing, but other than that, the whole mask reminds Tim starkly of his. The person’s hands are in their jeans, and they’re just looking down at Tim.
Tim scrambles up, but the person is still taller than him. This feels familiar.
“Hello, Tim,” The person says and this is definitely that guy who tormented him at work. It’s utterly insane that this guy only came in a handful of times, and they can come meet Tim in a mask and Tim will still recognize them. He really is going insane.
“What the fuck?” is the thing that comes out of Tim’s mouth before he can think about it. “Who are you? Why do you keep- keep finding me?”
“I am unbroken, but I collect the broken. You have many who wish to see you.” Tim scoffs and takes a step backward. His shoulders are tense and his grip on his lighter is tight.
“Like that makes any sense.” His empty hand’s nails dig into his flesh. It hurts. It’s grounding.
Tim is inclined to think that none of this is real. That this is a really elaborate hallucination and he needs to go to the doctor immediately, but he doesn’t think that. This person, who bought an unholy amount of sardines and offered Tim his mask, feels entirely real. This interaction feels real. If Tim were brave enough to reach out, he’s convinced he’d feel fabric and flesh. If he were to take off that mask, he’d feel plastic underneath his fingers.
“Jay wishes to see you. So does Brian.” They say simply, like it makes any sense. They tilt their head.
“Jay and Brian are dead,” He says. He doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince. His heart is going faster than what it should be, and his brain is racing with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, they’re alive. That Tim can see them again. Maybe, just maybe-
“Yes. They’ve been collected. They rest inside me now. They wish to see you.” There’s a faint shift of eyes beneath the mask.
That mask. It- It looks so familiar. It's captivating.
“What?” The sick, stupid hope that bloomed in his chest immediately withers and dies. His breathing is unsteady. He should focus on that, not the mask.
It’s impossible to not focus on the mask, though, because the person takes it off and instead of the resemblance of Jay, it- it looks just like him. The same eyes and nose and everything. It’s…
“Jay?” Tim’s voice cracks and that feeling of being four feet tall, hiding in the maintenance tunnel, begging for the static to go away hits him all at once. His lighter falls out of his hand and lands in the grass.
“Help us, Tim.” The person offers their hand out.
Tim almost takes it.
“You are broken,” Tim pulls his hand back, “but if you help us destroy the Operator, you can be fixed.”
“You’re not Jay,” Tim says shakily, “You just look like him.”
“Please, Tim,” And the way this thing says it is so reminiscent of Jay that Tim almost caves immediately. His hand inches forward.
He wanted Jay back so bad.
He still does.
He reaches out.