that one time travel psl

[eyediot]

sad bad end s5 jon and tim on a monster road trip



[Algric had given the trio a fair warning of what was happening. Not the specific details of what he was coming from, but he was from a little further along Algric's timeline, and came through Hilltop Road. Never pleasant, but he's here now. IT took a few days of settling, readjusting, and putting some firm self-imposed boundaries on himself before Jon felt comfortable enough to see the others.

After a few minutes of surprise and staring, Jon ends up sitting alone with Tim for a few minutes; the others having some things to take care of themselves. He sits there, fiddling a bit with his fingers, trying not to be self conscious. He can't do anything about the myriad of different, newer scars, nor about his black sclera or so many other things about himself now.

But god... Tim. Alive and not shouting at him right this second. How novel.]

Tim... I.. [Where does he even start.]

Comments

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Algric just squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, taking in a deep breath. Holding it. Letting it out. None of this is new, of course. She’s needled him about every aspect of his life; this is just one more layer of terrible.

When he opens his eyes again, he just looks tired. ]

He’s - he’s my boyfriend, Mum. And I’m very, very glad to have him in my life.

[ Her gaze is cold, curling into frigid hate as she looks up at Algric’s face. ]

“What’d you come here for then? I told you not to.”

[ Another deep, bracing breath. ]

I - I wanted to talk. All right? That’s all.

[ His mother looks him over again... and shuts the curtain in his face. ]

[eyediot]

[Jon blinks as the curtain is 'slammed'. Then looks up at Algric questioning.]

That's.... That went well.

[It's not over though. Algric didn't push himself to come here just to be insulted and leave. He lifts Algric's hand to kiss his knuckles, holds up a finger like 'one second', then carefully pulls the curtain back just enough to step through.]

Ms. Gorecki. It really would mean quite a lot of you would please sit and listen to your son until he's finished. And actually talk with him. ... Please. [His voice is strained with trying to keep it level; his own anger doesn't have a place here, no matter how that dig at Algric had himself as collateral damage on the side into a deeply personal fear he has for himself.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Algric whips his head around at that, deeply alarmed at the compulsion he can hear Jon speaking. But -

But the curtain stops closing, leaving a sliver of open air for his mother to stare at them through. She’s pressed back into her bed, frozen in place. Staring at Jon with fresh fear in her eyes.

Algric slowly lowers himself into the chair next to the bed. He wishes it didn’t have to be like this, but ... ]

Just - just for a few minutes. All right? Please, Mum.

[ She struggles dimly, before subsiding at last. Turning her head away from him. ]

“Fine. Talk, then.”

[eyediot]

[When he sees the fear, he realizes what he did. And it's nice isn't it? Being able to ask someone to do something, and knowing they have no way to disagree? That fear in her eyes is delectable. And horrifying.

Jon swallows thickly once she agrees to let him talk, stepping back and. Almost more behind Algric. But his hand squeezes Algric's shoulder gently, hoping to shift some confidence into him. But a faint whisper, breathless:] Sorry.

[curriculum_fictae]

It’s - it’s all right, Jon.

[ He glances back up at his boyfriend. ]

Why don’t you take a walk?

[eyediot]

[Jon's eyes shoot down at him, surprisingly hurt by that. Jon promised he wouldn't leave him alone.

Of course he wouldn't want Jon here, not after he just did that. His lips press tightly into a thin line and he nods once. Fine. He blinks at the wetness prickling at the corners of his eyes and lets go of his shoulder to. Do just that. Go for a walk. In a care facility he isn't familiar with.

He makes sure to close the door behind him.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Sorry, Jon. He’s trying to spare you, given how hurt you were by that exchange. He would reach out to soothe Jon, to tell him that he hasn’t done anything wrong, exactly, but -

But he has his own miseries distracting him now. He turns back to his mother, and they have a truly awful conversation. Jon can force her to listen, and he can force her to talk. But he can’t force her to be civil to Algric, not even for a moment. He tries so hard to get through to her. He knows why she hates him. He inches as close to forgiving her as he can, but even then she doesn’t budge.

She throws his words back at him, accuses him of coming here to torment her. And who’s that thing that came along? Worse than a boyfriend, is that a hallucination? Are they both seeing it? Clearly, it must be the case, she sees all kinds of things, and Algric must have inherited it from her.

There is no peace to be found here. He realises that perhaps halfway through the conversation; the second half is him feebly trying every possible avenue and being shut down just as methodically. He even tries to tell her that she’ll be dead in a few years, that he truly wants to at least end on a good note?

No. She’ll look forward to it if it means she’ll never see him again.

(Meanwhile, this place is just full of treats, isn’t it Jon? Any room he goes to will have something delicious and filling. He just has to select a flavour.) ]

[eyediot]

[Jon, for his part, stands just outside the door once it clicks closed (and a click of another kind happens two doors down, in an empty room with an empty bed, sheets cold as it was just cleared out yesterday of its occupant). He takes a shuddering breath and tries to blink away those few little tears.

His first time meeting parents and he-- God, he whiffed it, didn't he? Even when he leans back against the wall by the door, taking his glasses off to wipe at his eyes, he can feel it, the tugging of different phobias. Algric's mum had been a taste-tester, and Jon realizes he's hungrier than he knew. Three rooms to the right, an elderly man is afraid of dying alone. His son is out of town, so sure that his father will still be there when he gets back from playing at a gig, and his ex-daughter-in-law is tired from a long day of work. Has no idea that the old man is breathing the last synthetic breaths he'll manage to take. Or that across the hall, the woman, Mrs. Lambet, feels so smothered by her family. The final stages ready to claim her and all her children and grandchildren and nieces and nephews keep coming around and mourning and reminding her that she's going to die and there isn't a moment's peace to process it herse-

Jon presses the palms of his hands into his eyes, shoving his glasses up into his hair. Presses hard enough to see stars behind his eyelids and hopefully ignore it all, block it all out. After a few more minutes, he's crouched down just outside Algric's mum's door, covering his face trying to breathe.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Poor, poor Jon. This was a train wreck from start to finish, wasn’t it?

Inside, Algric’s voice rises, cracks. Somewhere between miserable and angry as he tries to reason with his mother. Whatever she says in return doesn’t come through clearly, but Algric’s silence is indication enough. Seconds later, the quiet sounds of weeping bleed through the door. ]

[eyediot]

[The sound of weeping cuts through everything clouding his head. Jon looks at the door, carefully fitting his glasses back on and debates. Algric told him to take a walk. He clearly didn't want Jon in there with him.

But.

But.

Honor his wishes? Or go with his gut instinct?

He shakily gets back to his feet and. Hovers at the door. It takes another minute of listening before his heart cracks open and he peeks in worriedly, as quiet as he can.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ It turns out that Algric is the one who’s weeping. He’s hunched over in his chair, face in his hands as his shoulders shake miserably. His mother is still visible through a gap in the curtain; she’s clutching a blunt knife from her food tray so hard that her knuckles have turned white. ]

Please. I - I don’t care about being loved, or. Or even liked. That’s fine. Just - can’t you say one good thing? One nice thing about Jon? I love him, Mum.

[ Her grip only tightens. ]

“He doesn’t care. He’s just like everyone else you’ve ever told me about - ready to leave you as soon as he’s done with you. You’re just stupider this time round.”

[eyediot]

[He shouldn't step into this.

It's a private conversation, one Algric made clear he didn't want Jon part of. Even if he hates hearing his boyfriend cry. Pleading with someone to say one nice thing about him.

But the thought of that scar on his back, and seeing her clutching that knife, however blunt it is....

He takes a steadying breath and steps further into the doorway, eyes clearly having just had a few wet moments himself.]

That isn't true.

[curriculum_fictae]

— Jon!

[ Algric whirls at that, hurriedly scrubbing at his eyes. He’s a mess, of course, and the scrub does hardly anything. But there’s relief too - he’s desperately glad to see Jon again, despite the obvious privacy of this conversation. ]

It’s - it’s all right, I was just finishing up —-

[ The knife doesn’t end up getting used. Instead, Algric’s mother grabs the tray of half-eaten food and throws it at the back of his head. ]

[eyediot]

[The second she touches the tray, he knows what she's about to do.

Jon moves, putting his back to her, tucking Algric against him while he's still seated, and taking the brunt of the mess and the impact of the tray and plate and flatware. It hurts, but if it means Algric didn't get hurt, then. Worth it.]

...Don't see why that was necessary.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Algric flinches, but he’s hardly touched; it’s Jon who gets the mess of mashed potatoes and congealed jello. Oh and the pain of a metal tray to the head, but at least she doesn’t have much arm strength. ]

“Just leave. Or I’ll throw something else.”

[ She’s already reaching for the glass of water on her bedside table.

Algric just. Breathes for a moment, breath rattling. ]

Jon, it’s okay. Let’s - let’s just go.

[eyediot]

[He already had a headache. This doesn't change much, really. But he fixes some of Algric's curls that got out of place, nodding.]

All right. We'll go.

[He sighs and takes off his jacket and folds it inward on itself so the mess is contained.]

It was nice meeting you, Ms. Gorecki. [Petty politeness. He will be better than her and prove himself, damn it. But he'll carefully usher Algric to the door.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Good call. His mother glowers but thankfully doesn’t throw anything else; Algric hurries to get the hell out of there, shutting the door behind them. ]

S-sorry. I - this was a bad idea. I should have known.

[eyediot]

It's all right.

[He gets his folded jacket draped over his arm and just... Looks up at him, clearly worried. And trying to ignore the pulls around them. It's clear he's a little distracted, eyes darting around them but then he refocuses on Algric's face.]

At least you tried. That's better than not knowing.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Well. Algric is miserable, of course. He’s managed to stop crying, but sadness is etched into every line of his face. He only wanted a scrap of something like peace. For his mother to accept that there’s someone in the world that loves him ...

He scrubs at his face again. ]

Right. Right, I - I don’t have to come back here now.

[eyediot]

...No. No, you don't. Neither does Martin.

[He carefully reaches to cup Algric's cheek.]

You know she's not right? What she said isn't true.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ He leans into that, looking down at Jon. ]

I - I know. I mean, you might leave later on, but. But I’m prepared for that. I’m always prepared for that part.

[eyediot]

[That... hurts? It hurts. Distinctly. He shuts it behind his eyes as quick as a blink.]

Don't see why me or other-me would.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Algric sees the hurt a moment too late and regrets it. ]

I - I don’t mean it like - people fall out of love all the time, right? It’s normal. You’ll figure out how terrible all of my flaws really are and. And you’ll go off with someone else, and. And that will be better for you, so I’ll try not to - not to get in your way.

[ Sorry, Jon. He’s been scraped bloody and raw by that miserable session with his mother. ]

[eyediot]

...

[Jon moves his hand from Algric's cheek to his jaw, fingers curling into the back of his hair to pull him down, forehead to forehead.]

You stuck around when I accused you of murder. You-- You still loved me when I was stalking Tim, when- when I was the absolute worst paranoid ass and hurting all of you. You've seen the worst of me and you still... [Breathe. Breathe. Drown out the misery and fear and pain around them and just focus here. Ignore the throbbing migraine just behind his eyes from the hunger pangs. Don't notice his hands trembling, trying not to dig into his skull, he's holding back and in pain for it.]

I love you. And, as far as I can tell, right now? That isn't going to change.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Tears start to roll down Algric’s cheeks again as he leans in, forehead against Jon’s. His mother’s voice whispers that that’s a lie, that Algric is trapped in his own past, doomed to repeat his mother’s miseries. How could anyone love him? How can Jon love him? How? How?

And Jon tells him how. It should be laughable how ridiculous it is - sticking around to defend Jon from murder, really? - but to him, it’s comfort. Nearly romantic? More romantic for being so over the top. That means it’s honest. That means ...

He leans against Jon, dragging him in for a hug. And then he begins to weep again. This time, it’s more like lancing a wound; it’s still misery that spills out of him, but something healthier follows, pink and raw but better. ]