Between his stipend and Tim's job they're technically making enough money to survive, but technicality sort of goes out the window on Manhattan prices, jesus h how do people live like this? It's almost enough to make him miss home. Almost.
Not much to go back to, and nothing he wants to remember. But lower rents.
Either way he's been toying with being an adult and getting a real job. Not that he has marketable skills. Not that he's worked since college, so, so long ago. This is the third time he's gone to a place to inquire about the window's "now hiring" sign and ended up bolting. How the hell is that even gonna go. 'Hi, does your business need someone to stand here awkwardly and point a camera at the floor and occasionally at people? I am your man.' Hey, he can use Tim as a reference!
That's almost funny enough that he laughs.
Almost.
He returns to the Rebel apartments, trudging, mopey, carrying a cheap six-pack he's realized he's going to have to drink on his own, Tim can't drink with the meds, so great, Tim will so appreciate that. Stupid piece of shit, forgetting something so basic. He rides the elevator up staring glumly at his warped reflection, steps out into the hallway, up to his door, drawing his keys from his pocket and thinking about very carefully nothing-
The door is open.
"Tim?" This is not something Tim would do.
He sets the beer gingerly on the carpeted hallway floor and gives the door a tentative push. It swings open slowly. "Tim..."
His stomach drops. Everything is torn up, in violent disarray. The rug rumpled, table kicked, blood ont he floor blood on the floor, not much but enough, something from a bloody nose maybe.
There's someone else there standing in the corner, he sees the suit and startles so badly he jerks back past the threshold straight across the hall to the opposite wall, a tall figure in a suit staring, staring, no, okay, this one has a face, he has eyes and hair and features, he's a clean six feet, not - not-
The man is stepping toward him slowly, holding a hand out placatingly, like approaching a rabid dog. He's holding a camera. Jay's camera.
It takes him only a moment.
He remembers this guy now, he realizes, one of the Rebel recruiters he talked to before getting his place, and he remembers the camera too even though it looks just like all the others (now strewn across the floor), it was less than a centimeter long at the time but Jay got bigger and it got bigger and they found it and heard everything, saw everything, everything he forced Tim to say-
"Jay," the man is saying. "Don't be alarmed. I'll explain."
Jay twitches violently, taking a step to the left, still pressed against the wall - the man halts, not wanting to give him a reason to run.
"Where's Tim," says Jay. His voice is shaking, but it's low, insistent. He sounds like someone. Alex. Pinning Brian in his sad little cabin, demanding, where are they, where are Jay and Tim. Like Brian this guy isn't answering. "Tell me!"
"Please come inside, Jay," says the man. "Let's not make a scene."
No, let's. He pulls his hand into a fist, keys between his fingers. "What did you do with him?!"
The man pitches forward, makes a grab at him, and Jay evades him narrowly and bolts, throwing himself down the hall, into the stairwell, down, down. He can hear shoes hitting the steps above him, closing on him. Jay's good at running. He's run from worse.
He bursts into the main lobby, out of breath, heart hammering, but he still hurls himself into the street and skids down the sidewalk. To the park. Get to the park.
Everything always leads back to the park.
The man's too close now, Jay can feel fingers brushing his hoodie, he unzips it frantically and wriggles out of it, he's off the path but there's people close, if he can just get-
Someone else jumps him, another man, not in a suit, some kind of undercover fuck, wraps an arm around his throat and brings him to a crashing, strangled halt.
"No!" he snarls, twisting and struggling as the other one catches up. "Where's Tim, what did you do to Tim?! Let me go!"
Hand over his mouth, he bites it and kicks someone in the shin, slashes his fist across someone's face and the keys bite into it; there's an enraged yell and then he's thrown to the ground. Weight comes down on him, winding him, holding him down. There's no one near, they're too well tucked between the trees. Pressed into the dirt and the grass, he sees a big black bird, a crow, staring at him with one eye, and for a fevered moment he thinks Zero.
"Daine," he chokes out. "Daine, tell, find Daine, help me, please-!"
An elbow jams into his back and he breaks off with a breathless grunt, but the bird has taken flight. Please, oh god, please let it have understood, and let her be nearby.
more brutality
Not much to go back to, and nothing he wants to remember. But lower rents.
Either way he's been toying with being an adult and getting a real job. Not that he has marketable skills. Not that he's worked since college, so, so long ago. This is the third time he's gone to a place to inquire about the window's "now hiring" sign and ended up bolting. How the hell is that even gonna go. 'Hi, does your business need someone to stand here awkwardly and point a camera at the floor and occasionally at people? I am your man.' Hey, he can use Tim as a reference!
That's almost funny enough that he laughs.
Almost.
He returns to the Rebel apartments, trudging, mopey, carrying a cheap six-pack he's realized he's going to have to drink on his own, Tim can't drink with the meds, so great, Tim will so appreciate that. Stupid piece of shit, forgetting something so basic. He rides the elevator up staring glumly at his warped reflection, steps out into the hallway, up to his door, drawing his keys from his pocket and thinking about very carefully nothing-
The door is open.
"Tim?" This is not something Tim would do.
He sets the beer gingerly on the carpeted hallway floor and gives the door a tentative push. It swings open slowly. "Tim..."
His stomach drops. Everything is torn up, in violent disarray. The rug rumpled, table kicked, blood ont he floor blood on the floor, not much but enough, something from a bloody nose maybe.
There's someone else there standing in the corner, he sees the suit and startles so badly he jerks back past the threshold straight across the hall to the opposite wall, a tall figure in a suit staring, staring, no, okay, this one has a face, he has eyes and hair and features, he's a clean six feet, not - not-
The man is stepping toward him slowly, holding a hand out placatingly, like approaching a rabid dog. He's holding a camera. Jay's camera.
It takes him only a moment.
He remembers this guy now, he realizes, one of the Rebel recruiters he talked to before getting his place, and he remembers the camera too even though it looks just like all the others (now strewn across the floor), it was less than a centimeter long at the time but Jay got bigger and it got bigger and they found it and heard everything, saw everything, everything he forced Tim to say-
"Jay," the man is saying. "Don't be alarmed. I'll explain."
Jay twitches violently, taking a step to the left, still pressed against the wall - the man halts, not wanting to give him a reason to run.
"Where's Tim," says Jay. His voice is shaking, but it's low, insistent. He sounds like someone. Alex. Pinning Brian in his sad little cabin, demanding, where are they, where are Jay and Tim. Like Brian this guy isn't answering. "Tell me!"
"Please come inside, Jay," says the man. "Let's not make a scene."
No, let's. He pulls his hand into a fist, keys between his fingers. "What did you do with him?!"
The man pitches forward, makes a grab at him, and Jay evades him narrowly and bolts, throwing himself down the hall, into the stairwell, down, down. He can hear shoes hitting the steps above him, closing on him. Jay's good at running. He's run from worse.
He bursts into the main lobby, out of breath, heart hammering, but he still hurls himself into the street and skids down the sidewalk. To the park. Get to the park.
Everything always leads back to the park.
The man's too close now, Jay can feel fingers brushing his hoodie, he unzips it frantically and wriggles out of it, he's off the path but there's people close, if he can just get-
Someone else jumps him, another man, not in a suit, some kind of undercover fuck, wraps an arm around his throat and brings him to a crashing, strangled halt.
"No!" he snarls, twisting and struggling as the other one catches up. "Where's Tim, what did you do to Tim?! Let me go!"
Hand over his mouth, he bites it and kicks someone in the shin, slashes his fist across someone's face and the keys bite into it; there's an enraged yell and then he's thrown to the ground. Weight comes down on him, winding him, holding him down. There's no one near, they're too well tucked between the trees. Pressed into the dirt and the grass, he sees a big black bird, a crow, staring at him with one eye, and for a fevered moment he thinks Zero.
"Daine," he chokes out. "Daine, tell, find Daine, help me, please-!"
An elbow jams into his back and he breaks off with a breathless grunt, but the bird has taken flight. Please, oh god, please let it have understood, and let her be nearby.