EVENT LOG: BURY A FRIEND

[inthenightmods]

EVENT LOG:
BURY A FRIEND

characters: everyone.
location: around town.
date/time: october 9-17.
content: the hallucinations begin...
warnings: psychological horror. please cw tags appropriately.

it's probably something that shouldn't be said out loud

October 9 feels like a normal day at first, save for the red lighthouse beam cutting through the darkness overhead. You know by now—or you've heard—that the lighthouse is only active during ferry arrivals and events... And there's definitely no ferry docked at the, er. Beach. The town is quiet, the forest spirits behave business-as-usual, Rastus doesn't know what's up. Whatever's going on, you'll have to figure it out for yourself.

And you will, though the hallucinations are subtle at first: objects moving when they shouldn't, people's proportions looking just a bit off, voices in an empty room, and so on. Is it just your mind playing tricks in the darkness? Might be! Will did warn you all about the effects of living without a sun and a proper day/night cycle.

As the days go on, the hallucinations are harder to ignore, no matter how much you may wish to wave them off as flukes. What's wrong with everyone's faces? When did all the howling start? Who do you hold onto when the world drops out from under you? And those hands...

While you might know it can't be real, it certainly feels real. But at least it can't last forever!

...Right?

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jason todd | ota

[mind_blown]

early half of the event.

[ honestly, the day seems mostly normal to him. Yes, he's seen the hands-- but they blend in well with the visions he sees every day whether he would like it or not. taking a dip in a lazarus pool changes you. something he had fought and denied at first, but eventually had to relent on if he ever wanted to make up for some of his... less restrained actions. So, for Jason?

None of this seemed weird.

But he notices others acting strange, and he might follow, partially out of curiosity, partially out of concern. you don't just ignore when someone is obvious distress. ]

a little exploration. (locked to Bruce)

[ honestly, everyone's acting weird. maybe it's best to duck your head a bit, while you try to figure out exactly what the hell is going on? and also, put to use that glorified alarm that Will had mentioned. Jason's circadian rhythm had been fucked up for far too long, but the mention of a psychotic break actually managed to shake him a little.

to convince him it was probably worth trying to be a little more 'normal' than usual.

but it doesn't mean he's going to just reveal what he's found, in the basement of the invincible.

but he pauses when he realizes someone else is already there. ]

the end.

[ towards the middle of the month, it's impossible for him to not have realized what was going on. what was driving people to nervous, raging fits. even his own hallucinations had grown in severity-- to the point of actually feeling a hand on him, or the whoosh of a quickly dodged crowbar-- even though he knows that none of those things are real.

So, comparatively, he seems calm. And he'll try to remember every trick that he learned at Arkham, if he notices someone struggling near-by.

part of that is just talking. ]

You okay?

it's bnb not b&e

[pearlstrings]

[Bruce doesn't spend much time at the Invincible if he can avoid it; there's too much traffic and privacy is a valuable commodity. But he's come by enough to identify a pattern- to gauge times of high and low traffic, to figure out which faces are fixtures and which ones aren't. Sometimes he comes near just to listen, or to watch.

He's been staying in the museum because that's what he's studying right now and without the routine of a sun and moon Bruce had made a counter for himself- a mechanical clock to record the hours. He's drafted a calendar of sorts to mark off the days. He'd read a book once as a child, about men in submarines needing to train themselves to a similar standard- and while they all seem to need less sleep than they once did, while Bruce still has a habit of stretching that to the absolute limit- it helps.

For all of these reasons, his trip to the inn isn't wholly out of the ordinary. Bruce comes at an hour when the bar isn't usually populated. There isn't much noise in the common areas and there are few shapes milling around in town square. He has a small bag over his shoulder and means to use the kitchen briefly, pack what he can, and leave again. He's done it just enough times that there's a kind of muscle memory that's developed- so maybe that's what it is, in the end, that leads to the discovery. Bruce has enough empty space that he can divide his attention and he isn't actively looking. He just- hears.

It sounds like a conversation though all he can hear is one man's voice, very softly. Bruce's hand lowers, folding a tin can into his pack as his weight comes to rest on the balls of his feet- and then as it carries him further. One step. Another.

The voice never seems to get louder though Bruce has the sense that he must be getting closer to it. He moves down a side hallway where the floor slopes almost imperceptibly. And then he crouches, presses his palm to the wall and leans his ear towards it. There's something almost familiar, about it- that's lost as the wall gives. It yields only an inch, but it's enough. Curiosity piqued Bruce wiggles his fingers beneath the small gap and when he pulls it doesn't creak, it just opens. A false wall. There's enough light from his lantern that Bruce can see narrow stairs.

Instead of turning back Bruce hesitates for just a moment- and then closes the door behind him- descending into the dark. It doesn't go on forever, he finds a floor waiting for him at the bottom, a basement that looks as if it was always part of this building. And that also looks... lived in.

There's no more voice down here, but there is a blanket. There are signs of life.
There's more than that too when Bruce comes closer, because there's a small shift in the air current, in the dust motes that drift by the light of his lantern. He isn't alone.]

[mind_blown]

[it’s as he’s coming back, after an especially weird day. He thought he’d venture further than he ended up going— but it was one of those days where Will’s warning rings especially true. Which is frustrating to him. But referring to the clock, it’s close enough that he could justify a nap or something like it.

Maybe meditation, then nap.

But as he comes up to where he’s hidden the entrance to his actual hideout, he notices that it’s been left open. He may be slightly off kilter, but that is the sort of rookie mistake that he’s completely certain he’s been trained out of.

He frowns, and then quietly re-opens the door, and closes it with a quiet click.

He can leave his lantern at the top of the stairs, to get some sort of stealth going. Or he could count on brawling it out. Depending on who it was, he was certain he could take almost everyone with minimal noise. Minimal fighting. But it’s going to be annoying to find a new spot, which is the most distressing part of this whole planning phase as he works through all the logical next steps.

Until he gets to the bottom of the stairs and it’s time to confront the intruder.]

What are you doing?

[once he would’ve just attacked.

But he’s not going to let himself backslide that far.]

[pearlstrings]

[There's no true light anywhere in Beacon and this is especially true inside a basement, all but underground. Bruce had been afraid of the dark for a very long time, but that doesn't mean he hasn't learned how to sit inside it. How to find the frightening places and inhabit them, become a frightening thing in turn. It's the reason that muscle cords in his shoulders and hands, that he feels his weight begin to move towards the balls of his feet and that it stops there. That he doesn't run, that he doesn't become tense or defensive.

Inertia is the enemy of survival.

His lantern is indistinguishable in this space, for all of the careful folding Bruce has done to disguise it- but the absence of light behind him communicates just as much. To stay in a place like this while rooms upstairs and in the village are available suggests a desire for privacy if not secrecy. The hidden entrance. No flicker of an approaching lantern. There have been no heavy footsteps or creaking boards, no click of the door.

Bruce isn't looking forward to a fight but he is open to the possibility of it- violence is an unfortunate inevitability in Gotham and he draws on this experience not to ground himself in cynicism, but to prepare for every theoretical outcome. To guard against the worst. And that's when the figure speaks. By extension, this is when Bruce recognizes him.

He doesn't turn around.]

How long have you been living in the basement?

[mind_blown]

[He recognizes the voice immediately. And, of course, it makes sense for who it would be. The king of hidden spaces himself. It’s still an annoyance— it opens himself up to Bruce in a way that he doesn’t like. But it doesn’t necessitate leaving, at least not immediately. Weirdly enough, he knows he can trust Bruce to secrecy on this, even if Bruce doesn’t know why.

Even if Jason knew it was a bad idea to show that he knew that. But finding a new hideout would take time. And he wasn’t as engineering as Dick. He had no desire to live in a tree.

To the side, near the bed, is his mask, both the eye mask and the mouth guard. He wasn’t expecting to have visitors.]

What does it matter? What are you doing?

[more pointedly, defensive.

He can’t help it, when it comes to Bruce. Even though he’s trying to not seem overly defensive, there’s still a tightness in his shoulders. Reduced only by the fact that he knows, theoretically, Bruce has no clue who he is.

Just knows they’re from the same place, and has probably seen through his bullshit that they definitely know each other,]

[pearlstrings]

It's cold down here.

[It's a twofold answer, a reply with syllable and a reply with symbol. There's no judgment in the words, it's an observation before it's anything else. But Bruce's quiet inflection that also says no one should have to live in the cold. And maybe that could be called naivety, but it isn't. He chose to leave the safety of the manor a few years ago- to see what life on the streets was like for someone like Selina, and the other children she knew. He knows that terrible things happen to people no matter where they live, and that there are all kinds of injustices- that cold is probably one of the smallest. But Bruce thinks it should matter.

It isn't a childish desire, only a human one.

But it isn't really a question he's been asked so much as he's been given notice. He's trespassing. If Bruce had more time he would comb through everything. There's a bed not far off. It isn't made. There's a mask nearby, within arm's reach- where someone else might keep an alarm clock. The placement makes it more significant than the fact that he owns it at all.

He turns slowly and opens the front of his jacket in slow motion- a pace not set by fear, but by practice. Beneath his coat but over his shirt, the straps of a climbing harness can be seen- looped around his shoulders and middle. At his side, hanging from his belt, several lengths of rope.]

I was looking for a tunnel.

[mind_blown]

[why. Though he doesn’t say it, the questioning look is there, mixed with his slightly defensive posture. He could understand looking for a tunnel— it was a potential lead. They all needed those. But why stay, why comment... just. Why.

He moves just enough so that he’s not blocking the exit, at least trying to communicate that he doesn’t want a fight. He would, but he doesn’t think Bruce wants one either. But what’s hard to ignore is that this as direct an interaction as they’ve had.

It’s always been through the distance of the network— or as brief as he could manage, with other things going on.

But Bruce knows he knows him, and there’s less pressure to completely mask how much he doesn’t want to see him, blue eyes locked on him, weighting his every move. Shoulders tense, and posture tall. It’s subtle, hidden as much as he can manage. But his patience for everything is wearing thin.]

There aren’t any tunnels here.

[pearlstrings]

Yes, I see that.

[It could be snapped, but it isn't. Bruce knows that he can be somewhat tempestuous. He knows that the people closest to him, namely Alfred and Selina, have always met the brunt of his temper when he's felt boxed in or closed off. When he encountered his own limitations, or the limitations of the system- an unexpected obstacle or his own short-comings. It isn't fair and it isn't right. But Bruce doesn't consider himself a good person. He's just a person, trying to do good. It isn't always enough.

This is an extension of that, maybe. Todd isn't the first unusual personality he's come across, and while he wouldn't consider the man abrasive, Bruce is continuously aware of a pendulum that swings between them. A kind of countdown. These meetings have always been brief, cut short at the earliest opportunity and Bruce is left groping through the dark, trying to make sense of the newest development, the newest piece.

Bruce's answer is neither irritable or an attempt at placation. It's an admission.]

It's a basement.

[And then, as his hands lower and his jacket falls back to his side, Bruce watches as he moves away from the door. Unblocks the exit. It gives him a direct line out, but it also gives him a direct line to his lantern. He's not sure if that's distraction, trust, or recklessness.]

Were the entrances disguised when you found it, or did you do that yourself?

jason and jason bonding? the end.

[notthatjason]

[He sits with his back firmly to a tree, his eyes closed. If he didn't look so stiff, you could almost believe that he was meditating. Almost. The wind gusts around him occasionally, musing his hair but Jason resists the urge to fly.

You know what they say about facing your fears? Yeah, Jason was trying that out. He'd managed to mostly ignore the moving objects, the occasional hands, but as time had gone on that had gotten harder to do. People were shifting and it was hard to not stare when someone walked past with bark and twigs poking out from their clothes. But, even that, he'd managed to keep from freaking out over. It wasn't until yesterday that the ground had started clawing at his feet and Gaea's voice had whispered: Little lost Grace. You cannot fly away this time.

He'd spent the rest of the day on the roof, but eventually the ground stopped rippling and the voice stopped and he realized it was just another trick, another thing seen that shouldn't be there.

Which was why he was on the ground now. Reassuring himself that Gaea wasn't rising again for revenge on him...even as the ground started to stir again. Even as the branches started to twist down from the tree, joined by those hands, both moving to embrace and hold him.]

You're not escaping to the sky this time. It's my turn.

[He feels himself pulled into the ground, the dirt and roots slipping into his shoes, his pockets, it feels like he's sitting in quicksand. Jason forces a deep breath, lets it out, and hears a new voice. He opens his eyes, looking up. His eyes are no longer the clear sky blue, but seem darker and more intense...a literal storm brewing inside him. Let's hope he doesn't unleash it, but that could be why he's further from the Bonfire than usual.]

No. Not at the moment.

[The other Jason. Not exactly the person he felt like sharing this little experience with, but perhaps this was the kind of distraction he could use right now. Of course, he wasn't sure how much help it would be seeing as Jay had a pair of hands resting on his shoulders and he was half transformed into a living tree.]

[mind_blown]

[at least it was an honest answer. He didn’t necessarily want to think about what he might appear as. He didn’t want to think too much about his own hallucinations, either. It’s enough to him to know that they’re more intense than usual. That crowbars still hurts even when the sensation is just a phantom.

That he still hates the Joker— and that he seriously wasn’t sure if he could keep his promise if they ever actually met again. Last time, he’d been too caught up in revenge on Bruce to seal the deal. But time makes you older, wiser. And death is about what the joke deserves.

But there’s something approaching concern in his face, since he notices those changes.

Metas.]

Heard on good authority that talking it out helps. In whatever way you can manage.

[because he’s not stupid enough to think they were on anything approaching good terms for a conversation like this. But, hey. Options are limited.]

[notthatjason]

[You are the son of Jupiter and a child of Rome. You are a former praetor of Rome and the current Pontifex Maximus. You serve two half-blood camps and have faced more monsters, giants, and titans than anyone. You can handle a little nightmare.

Jason keeps his focus on his mantra and his new half-tree friend. Gaea's voice seems more distant when he focuses on someone else. The ground is still trying to suck him down (or so his senses tell him) but the voice has faded to an unintelligible whisper. Good. That's good.]

Yeah, I suppose it does. I'll say this much, I don't appreciate being visited by old enemies, but I'll take it over being mind controlled any day.

[Gaea could whisper and manipulate his perception all she wanted. The hands could jerk him around. Medea wasn't here and nor were there any Eidolons. That would, in a way, be even more difficult to ignore or rationalize as a hallucination]

[mind_blown]

Mind controlled? Had that happen once, but it was basically a mass thing. And the person doing it just wanted everyone to go vegetarian and take care of the planet, so.

Could have been worse.

[ he figures that if he provides something else to focus on, maybe that's enough. It's not like he hasn't figured out how to tune out his own hallucinations, as long as there's nothing that pulls him back to that day, the one they always center around? he's fine.

he's a pro at dealing with madness by now.

so, he'll offer the distraction, the stupid story that doesn't quite address the problem-- because it's not a problem that's easy to address-- and then go from there. or go, if he's asked. ]

[notthatjason]

Twice. [It feels like the roots are pulling again, trying to distract him from the conversation. There are now several more hands making their way towards Jay and Jason's feet. He closes his eyes and starts talking more.] Well, I think the second time technically was possession? I'm not sure if that counts as mind control, but it had the same effect. Always trying to get me to kill my friends.

[Thankfully it had been broken before anyone could be irrevocably hurt. Gaea's voice starts to rise, a shriek of frustration and not even words. Jason winces at the sound and opens his eyes again, he shoves his fingers into the dirt, dispelling unseen sparks. Jay has more bark on his face now, his fingers much like the branches that were grasping and tugging him into the ground.

He had to tell himself again that it wasn't real. That none of this was actually happening. He switches topics, thinking of the person who tended to break him out of these spells back home.]

Piper was a vegetarian. She'd be the last person to force that view on others...well not intentionally.

[He had avoided eating meat when he was dating her, simply because she preferred it if he didn't. Of course, that had been prior to their breaking up.]

[mind_blown]

Sounds rough.

[ there's a genuine hint of sympathy in his words. he's not being an asshole here-- and it doesn't seem like he needs any push to talk. Which is probably a healthier mindset about it. He's ignoring his own hallucinations-- now that he knows they're there, he's had so much practice separating them out from everything else. it's the least he can do to listen to other people try to manage that same filtering. ]

The possession part, not the vegetarian friend part. [ he didn't really want to go into trying to explain Ivy to anyone. ]

That's probably good. Not for me, I like burgers and fries too much to commit, but you know. In general.

[ A beat, and he keeps himself very still. just in case he needed to knock anyone out-- but also to not be immediately threatening. ]

She tend to help in situations like this?

[notthatjason]

No worse than most of the stuff that came our way.

[Although that was perhaps a matter of perspective. It was a lot easier to take down the more straight-forward monsters. The one's that spit poison or were just exceptionally scaly or teeth and claws. The creatures and beings that could manipulate your mind, your will, that was a little more to watch out for and harder to fight straight on.

He was certainly experiencing that first hand as Gaea's voice began spewing curses at him, promises to kill him and the demigods back home and swallow this whole place in a wave of earth and mud. She was more riled up than he remembered, but perhaps she was angry that they'd defeated her so soundly. The mud near Jay's feat shift and bubbled like it was trying to rise up. Jason watched Jay for a reaction though and none came, Jay was studying him rather intently.

He'd gotten distracted, not registering at first what Jay had just asked him.]

Huh? Oh...Piper. Yeah, she's real level-headed, which was good in situations where we were losing our minds. I guess the real benefit was she had a gift from her mother that let her be particularly convincing to anyone listening to her.

[Jay didn't react as the mud started to rise up, shifting and twisting into a monstrous shape. Jason closed his eyes again, feeling himself sink into the mud as well, and decided to think about Piper. If it was a hallucination, maybe imagining her voice in his ear, telling the images and the sounds to go away would do some kind of trick.

She'd be commanding: Leave my friends alone!

Or maybe even soothing to the roiling earth: Go back to sleep, Gaea. You were having such a good sleep.

Or maybe even soothing him: Jason, relax. You're on solid ground.

Jason's not sure how, but that seems to do the trick. He does feel himself sitting on the ground, the voice of Gaea starts to fade back to a reasonable volume, and when he looks again Jay is no longer standing in the shadow of a mud monster. Gods, even beyond the grave she was helping him. Why had he let her talk him into a break up again?

A moment later the voice is gone completely and Jason visibly relaxes, slumping against the tree. He doesn't speak for a few minutes, instead watching as the bark on Jay's face starts to recede.]

It's starting to pass.

—early.

[webshoots]

[ he's been telling himself that this isn't anything he hasn't dealt with before, and in a loose, general way, that's true: hallucinations, illusions, they're all old hat. it's immediate to want to rely on his spider-sense telling him what's real and what isn't, although it hadn't started off that easy: voices, just down the end of the hall, familiar enough that he'd tried, at first, to seek them out before realising he never actually seemed to get any closer, or they'd abruptly stop whenever he entered a room.

so though he knows their hallucinations, there's still an edge of doubt. he checks in with a few people, makes sure they're okay, and then—.

jason was less a case of checking in on, and more a case of reaching out to and not-so-subtly asking: hey, am I cracking up? is this it? is this what relative inactivity, a lack of sleep and a lack of sunlight looks on a guy with debatable sartorial choices? is this the unsexy side of spandex? because up until now, he thought that had just been limited to being personally and single-handedly responsible for keeping tylenol in business.

in other words, he'd sent him a message. let's talk, it had said, and peter hadn't immediately elaborated, because like — who does that over text? who says they're having doubts about shadows in the corners of rooms and that they're pretty sure they heard the voice of someone that's definitely not dead and definitely not here; and there's also only a handful of things that ought to be crawling around and those are definitely not. supposed. to. be. hands.

which means he follows it up an hour or so later with: village. because it's less well-lit than the square and it's just easier than sitting atop a rooftop of one of about four buildings.

—plus, you know, it has ice cream and a man has to take whatever small pleasures he can get in his (un)life.

he waits at one end of the park, and not for the first time, he misses infrastructure. whoever said that the great outdoors was relaxing clearly hadn't spent much time in it. (this means peter sends another follow up message whilst he waits.) ]

soo, I'm going to be honest: I think I preferred the hands off approach.

[mind_blown]

[ he's a little surprised to get the text. it feels like there's something driving it, but Jason hasn't figured out what. he hasn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. well. scratch that, it does seem to be one of the worse days for him. which is unusual-- there's nothing at beacon that should have made his usual mind tricks any worse than something he might catch out of the corner of his eye. nothing quite like this.

but maybe, just maybe, that's what happens in the dark. stuff you thought you had a handle on gets worse.

he was really going to have to be very dedicated to that schedule. get the sleep. it's easy enough to stay sleep deprived when you can at least approximate how sleep deprived you are-- there's no need to step over any bounds or any limits. but guess he'd have to give that up.

he's still on his way when peter's last text reaches him. it's... confusing. because he can't exactly grasp what's driving the new commentary. and so he responds in the best way he can, ]

??? btw i'll be there in a few

[ nailed it. ]

[webshoots]

[ the question marks only serve to further the strange sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, a kind of resigned realisation that ah, yes, he is losing the plot. he feels a little more accepting of it this time — that is, compared to some of the other times he'd thought he'd been cracking up. the first time had led to mysterio (and a long couch); he'd been so close that time to revealing his identity — he'd been so young, too, so inexperienced. truthfully, it felt like a lifetime ago now, and for as dangerous (and annoying) as mysterio could be, peter thinks he'd definitely prefer dealing with him instead of this.

his attention shifts away from the tablet to a set of swings. idly, he thinks about sitting in the swings, then he thinks about perching on top of the frame. once or twice — a conservative estimate — he's been told how weird and unnaturally he moves and sits when he's spider-man. his day-to-day life features a conscious effort to move just that little bit more slowly than is immediately natural for him, just that little bit more clumsily. when he's not thinking about it, or when he thinks no-one's looking (thanks, spider-sense, you're a babe), he forgets. every so often, he wonders if anyone's noticed, but luckily, apparently, that's just been jason.

now, his spider-sense doesn't warn him about the hands: they're there, every so often, out of the corner of his eyes. they move like they want to touch him, pull at him, and it's unsettling. oh sure, he thinks, the guy that crawls along walls and across ceilings is perturbed by the sight of crawling hands, but—.

he perches on top of the swing set. he figures his spider-sense will warn him if anyone or anything that isn't jason approaches, and he can just jump down and run away into the darkness without being identified. he is spider-man, after all—.

(just tired, but he's been tired and exhausted before. that's not exactly unusual.)

when he sees a figure approaching, he squints (it doesn't help.) waits until they get closer — same approximate height and build as jason, peter thinks, but it's not always easy to tell in the dark. there's nothing from his spider-sense. (nothing else at least, nothing beyond the usual background noise.) ]

Psst, up here.

[mind_blown]

[ the voice gets his attention, which is well enough. It's not like the lanterns were always the easiest things to spot, given how quickly darkness overtook literally everything. but more importantly... ]

A swingset.

[ he looks vaguely irritated as he speaks, his posture keyed up for something, to those who knew him well enough. but he was having trouble ignoring the arm slung across his shoulder, the unhinged laughter as though everything was a joke. It made everything decidedly less funny, and knowing that it wasn't real didn't make much of a difference. It was taking a lot to not use his guns on what he knows to be imaginary.

It wouldn't help, but maybe the sound of the guns, and the feel of the recoil would bring him back down to early. Because while the Joker was an annoying hallucination, he wasn't actually the most grating part.

But Jason didn't like dwelling when he didn't need to. ]

Anyway, I'm here.

[webshoots]

Yes? [ problem, jason? ]

Listen, this might be a really weird conversation, but against all odds I trust you to a, tell me the truth, b, tell me if I'm cracking up, and uh, I feel like there should be a c, but I can't really think of one so I'll just dive straight into the question of:

Have you noticed any hands? I mean— [ peter pauses and glances to one side. ostensibly, he's not actually looking at anything, he's just thinking of how to phrase the question. he knows the hands aren't actually there, but it doesn't make it any easier. it actually makes it a harder conversation. he holds both his hands out in front of him and gestures in a loose way that says actually, I don't know. ] Not just hands, I know— I've dealt with illusions before, you know? [ he looks back to jason, head cocked to one side. masked, it'd perhaps look almost birdlike; unmasked, it still does, but peter's expression adds the bonuses of 'contemplative' and 'unsure'. ]

I thought I was losing the plot, before I remembered that my spider-sense doesn't react to threats that aren't really there. [ peter pauses and shifts his weight, swinging his legs forward so that he's actually sitting on top of the frame. ] Which is fine when you know that someone is making you see those things.

[ another pause. uuuuugh, this is the worst, is what the pause says — there's an obvious discomfort there, in peter's mannerisms and in the tone of his voice. he doesn't like uncomfortable truths, he's happier circling around the issue and making terrible jokes to relieve the tension: the possibility that the dark really is affecting him is absolutely an uncomfortable truth. ]

And, honestly, I'm kind of used to being the only disturbingly large creepy crawly in the vicinity of most people. It shouldn't bother me, but it does: I hate it when people out-schtick my schtick. Hands aren't even supposed to crawl.

[mind_blown]

[the look he gives him is at first mildly tired, but bemused. But then he gets to the crux of the question, and his expression filters from confusion, mild surprise, and then a realization. all too quickly for him to necessarily hide all those transitions. he's not nearly as guarded as he should be.

while he's friendly with peter, he doesn't want to necessarily confuse that with being friends, even though he doesn't have a good enough word to exactly capture what they are. But still. he runs a hand through his hair.]

Yeah, I've noticed the hands.

[that explains so much. and it honestly makes him feel a little better about his frayed nerves. he had been completely prepared to write off the day as just a bad one, a day where he'd have to go home and rethink his entire sleeping schedule, or "schedule". To have to acknowledge that there really wasn't anything helping them keep time, except possibly an obsessive need to verify the time on the clocks on the tablet.

a solution Jason wasn't fond of, for so many reasons.]

And trust me, they're not out stealing your schtick.

the end.

[quotability]

[ grizz isn't okay, not by any stretch of the imagination. he knows that it isn't real, yes — but it's becoming increasingly difficult to remember that when his senses are screaming at him that it is, it all is.

he's used to being in a strange place, cut off from everything and everyone. he's not used to being unable to trust his senses.

but someone talks to him and he tries for a smile. (it's closer to a grimace, really.) ]

Not really. [ he won't make a big deal out of it, though. ]

[mind_blown]

[ an honest answer. he could respect that. it's not like it wasn't obvious, but he knows that there are people who would try to bullshit him. and maybe he'd pass over them, it's not like he wants to get in the business of being a therapist.

he'd be a shitty therapist.

but at this point, he could be a sympathetic ear. ]

Least you can admit it.

[quotability]

Would you have believed me, if I'd said yes?

[ grizz doesn't need an answer to that question, not really. he knows what the answer is. it's obvious that he's not okay, isn't it?

he swallows, glancing at jason. ]

Are you?

[ it's only fair to ask. it's also something to focus on other than his own fears and hallucinations. he knows none of it is real — but it's hard to tell reality from figments of the imagination. ]

[mind_blown]

[ it's a loaded question. he knows it is, and he knows that being honest and open is important. but old habits die hard. and it took so much more than mutual madness to get Jason to let his walls down. admitting weakness here would be hard, but expected.

but it would also be a lie. He exhales, the force of his breath covering for what he knows is the hallucination of a crowbar, aimed at the back of his head. The phantom pain and feeling like he's been struck, when he hasn't been. He's practiced at this. ]

I probably wouldn't have believed you, no. But I guess my real question is on how well you're holding up, huh? Because I'm managing.