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Who: Jay Merrick and You
What: Jay fell unconscious in Rosswood Park and woke up on a magic island. He's not yet sure if this is a good thing.
When: January 29th, morning
Where: The Storyteller's Temple
Warnings: Language, Jay being an anxious wreck; will update as things come up!

This is wrong. Deeply, deeply wrong. He's either still dreaming, or he's still hallucinating, or he's dead, because the only remaining option doesn't just happen.

Sure, maybe the supernatural exists, but it doesn't talk to you in your dreams, and it doesn't spare you from getting your memories scraped out of your head by ~~that thing,~~ and it doesn't drop you off in...okay, maybe it does drop you off in an overgrown, abandoned building, but not one that looks like this.

He leans up against something that definitely isn't a mana pool, because mana pools don't exist. His phone is gone. His camera--shit, his camera's dripping, and the viewfinder screen won't light up, and it won't even turn on, it just keeps making this thin, whining noise before fizzling out again, and come on come on COME ON this can't happen

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All right.

So he has to reconsider this now. He has to think this over, he has to consider that - that this isn't just some figment come to life. That this is real. (The possibility was always there. Brian...he still has everything he left behind.) He tried to call. He tried to call. He's not bleeding. He's not gut-shot and dying. He doesn't know? That thing - did it find him? Does he just not remember?

"What'd you arrive here with?" says Tim, his voice hardening, maybe cruelly, but there's an urgency to the question that he can't entirely fight down quickly enough.

No. No way.

After everything? After - everyone?

It's possible. It really is possible that it could be him.

Jay can't keep the edge out of his own voice when he responds.

"Well, this." He jerks the camera into the air again. "There's...tapes, wallet--" With his free hand, he pats at his pocket. "My, uh, my knife..."

He knows he's tightly-wound, and he can feel himself tensing up further. Fight or flight. Seems like this is a question with a wrong answer.

"Flashlight. Phone's gone--might've dropped it somewhere. And this, uh, this bag."

He doesn't recognize the bag, but it's got his name stitched across the front. Might be a gift. Might just be amnesia.

"There's..." He rummages through it with half his attention, still keeping a wary eye on Tim. "Rope, bag of something, bigger knife--" Nervous as he is, he still can't suppress the sarcastic, sidelong glance he shoots Tim. Jay suspects he's not the only one who's seen the viewers' opinions of his pocketknife. "Box of..." He unlatches it, squinting into the bag. "First aid kit, I think. And a rock."

He folds the bag closed, fidgeting with the strap.

"...You?"

What else is he supposed to take away from that? That's how all new arrivals show up, isn't it? With some barebones survival gear.

"It's not just a rock." He pulls out his own, flips it around. It's a bit lumpy, but it's basically the equivalent of a touchscreen phone. "It's the only tech we've got on these islands that works. Magic, if you can believe it."

Well, now he just sounds crazy. Fine. When has he sounded anything less?

"I don't remember what I...look, I showed up here over two years ago." Longer, if you count the time he spent in the Castle. Then it's something like two years and four months.

Over two years ago.

Jay tries to parse it, tries to fit it into what he already knows. He knows time moves wrong when that thing is around; does this mean he was wandering around in Rosswood for two years? Maybe the problem's not Rosswood for once; maybe it's this place.

He doesn't know. He can't draw conclusions without a baseline for normal, and nothing's been normal in at least 24 hours. Maybe two years, if Tim's to be believed. If that's even Tim, fuck.

He's acting right, though. Even if he doesn't look right, even if the stuff he's saying makes no sense, he's acting like Tim. Maybe that's something. Maybe he can trust that, even if he can't trust everything Tim says.

"Tim, where..." His free hand snakes into his hair, and his breath hisses through his teeth. There's something at the tip of his tongue, a patchy, fragmented memory. Rosswood, but not, kudzu vines winding around the lamp on a bedside table. Tim tipping an orange bottle into his hand, offering a cup of water. "Where are we right now?"

It never gets any easier. Telling people how long it's been. And the longer he stays here, the further he drifts from who he was - not that he's mourning that guy any. Being halfway okay with being him on a good day is better than where he was.

He answers steadily. Resists the urge to hold up both hands, palms out, like that might keep Jay's panic at bay. In all likelihood, that'll just make it all worse.

"Right now? You're on an island called Ensō. You, uh, probably had a dream about it. Right?"

"Right." Tim's not bothered. He wouldn't be bothered, not if he's been here two years. Fuck. Fuck.

"I'm on Ensō, and instead of my phone, I've got this--" He rummages into his bag until he's got it, resist the urge to chuck it against a wall. "--magic rock."

He's panicking. He's losing it, and Tim's not, but maybe he should be, because none of this makes any sense.

Rosswood shifted around. He called Tim, said he wanted to work together again. He apologized, and then he blacked out, and--this. He's got Tim. He's out of Rosswood, but it's wrong. It's completely wrong.

No. No, he knows wrong. This isn't wrong, it's different, and he should think that's an improvement, but he can't keep it together, can't just sit back and explain like Tim's doing, can't just breathe and move on.

Finally, he manages a few words, flat and forced through grit teeth, nearly a whisper. "Why are we here."

"Hey." It's incredible how quickly it comes back to him. He recognizes the thready, panicked pace of Jay's tone, and in a moment it's like they were never - like it hasn't been years. Automatically, he remembers how you're supposed to handle this. Have to head this off, derail him before he gets going.

"Jay. You're fine, okay? You're fine."

Don't patronize, don't talk down at him, don't treat him like he's fragile. Talk plain and direct.

"I know this is...complicated. But we don't have to do this here."

You're fine.

You're fine.

He's not fine. None of this is fine, and Tim knows full goddamn well.

But it's better than it was.

And maybe, if he can pull it together for five seconds, he can make like Tim and lie.

Not like he hasn't done it before. Not like he hasn't clipped things out of the footage that the viewers didn't really need. Not like he hasn't checked, rechecked, rechecked nearly every line of text he's posted, to make sure it comes off right. No uncertainty, unless it's relevant to the investigation. They're not here for him. They're here for Marble Hornets.

He can do that again. He can be that again.

He lifts the camera, holds it like it isn't dripping from the seams, finger hovering over the record button.

"Where're we going?"

"That's not gonna work here. You'll have to get it fixed." He nods at the camera. He could offer to get it fixed, give up some of his stories to make it happen.

But he's not going to.

He gave away his camera. He stopped bothering with it and within a few days of his arrival, handed it off to Newt - Newt, who disappeared a few months later and never came back. He has other things to worry about besides what might show up on tape. Sure, maybe he could use the memory refresher sometimes. But he's done with it.

"Local place," he says, because Denny is the only real option here. His place would be more private, but it wouldn't be ideal if he wants to ease Jay into this. Not with the tigerlily inside and the garden full of painted rocks and the memories he can't easily shrug aside.

Jay shoots Tim a look. He knows it's broken, he knows, he just...

J (27). Wearing a threadbare brown hoodie over a worn t-shirt. Won't make eye contact. Nervous. Looks like he hasn't slept in a week. Carries a camera.

That's why.

He stumbles after Tim, tries to fall into a familiar rhythm. "Like, what, a...bar or something?"

"Yeah, kinda," he says. He doesn't have to detail what the place is, or why it exists. He doesn't have to elaborate that he planned the place, that he built it with plenty of help, that he more or less runs it on the daily. When Jay's still getting his footing in the first place, all that shit is just extra stuff that's going to muddy the waters.

"It's nothing fancy, but there's food and water and stuff there. And this place is...I mean, it's not like there's an economy. So you don't need to pay or anything."

Hopefully the droll, even tone does something to inject some normalcy into the situation.

Despite everything, Jay snorts.

Then, under his breath, in the world's clumsiest accent, he mumbles, "In Soviet Ensō, bar pay you."

Jay winces, silently making a note to himself to edit that out of the YouTube reel.

Ha. Ha-ha.

Keep walking.

"So." He coughs. "Where do you get the food?"

By now, Tim is used to hearing mostly incomprehensible shit from Connor, references to things he doesn't know and doesn't understand. So he takes that in with a blink and just...doesn't really have an answer to it.

"Fishing. Some people have farms and shit. Mostly people bring it to the place because they've got nowhere else to put it, and it's got some coolers and stuff." All things they had to put together. Shouto helped set up the ice that could be used to keep meat and fruit chilled.

He's conspicuously not mentioning the alcohol.

Tim let it slide without comment, which is honestly a relief. The viewers wouldn't've let him hear the end of it. They kept talking about "hotel documentaries" right up until--

Food. Better to think about food. The food in this place comes from fishing, from local farms, and this knowledge is enough to fill out Jay's mental image of this place a little more. Might not be any grocery stores nearby, but there's some kind of civilization. There's farms, and there's a bar--or maybe just a restaurant.

Sounds nice.

Sounds isolating. Sounds terrifying.

Tim's handling it alright. He can handle it.

"So no, like, grocery stores or anything, but...we've got phones. Sort of." He readjusts the bag on his shoulder. "How far's the nearest place that does? Have grocery stores and stuff, I mean."

"Uh...yeah, that's not...a thing here." Maybe an awkward way of putting it, but in his defense, how else is he supposed to? "Around here, civilization kinda consists of like...maybe fifty people all working together so that we don't all die. Pretty much anything electronic dies once you show up."

His camera had been the same. But then, he hadn't really needed it at that point. He took the hit. He accepted it, all in all willingly.

"This place is basically a bunch of deserted islands."

Jay stops dead, worn sneakers cutting a divot into the dirt.

"Wait, so we're all just stuck here?"

Assuming it's real. Assuming Tim's real, assuming anything he says is real, assuming these deserted goddamn islands are anything more than the product of his brain trickling out his ears after--

He's not thinking about that.

He's not.

"Pretty much," says Tim, listless, because this kinda thing has long since stopped being all that surprising to him. Then he realizes Jay isn't following anymore, and he stops, sighs, and turns to face him.

He forgets, sometimes. Not everyone just takes shit in stride like Tim does, because Tim has a limited capacity to give a fuck on a good day, and none of his days, really, have been good recently.

"Look, it's an adjustment, but that's...just how it is here. Not a whole lot we can do to change it."

So they're stuck.

The talking dream rabbit says they don't know why he's here. Tim says he doesn't know how to get home.

The only civilization's fifty people and whatever they can fish or farm or throw together, and his camera won't turn on.

He just walked through the tunnel, but Tim says it's been two years. Tim's acting like it's been two years.

What's Jay missing?

What doesn't he remember?

"Tim?" One word. He gets one word out, and he can feel the rest gathering at the back of his throat. The camera's not rolling. The only one around to be an asshole about it is Tim, and it's not like Jay hasn't had practice dealing with that. "How d'you...?"

There's a thought, there are words, but he can't figure out which are the right ones.

"D'you know how to...tell?" Nobody's listening--nobody should be listening, but his voice drops low anyway. Maybe he's gotten too used to having an audience. "I mean--"

Jay swears under his breath.

"You...know. Like, you..." He hisses out a frustrated sigh. "You probably figured it out before I did. Or, you at least...Like, I knew, but I didn't..."

Think. Breathe, and think before you open your mouth again.

"In your records, there was...stuff. And I know the meds, they help you with...stuff, so I guess I was wondering if you knew how to...tell. When something's not..." He nearly swallows the next word. "...real."

Derail him. Derail him now, before he gets going.

He can try to talk him down from this, but he's pretty sure that won't work. Historically, trying to get Jay to not do something only makes him more determined to do it. Talking over him and dodging the question provokes suspicion, sometimes violently. Treating him like he's someone with a plethora of undiagnosed and unacknowledged mental health issues just makes him pissed and more likely to deny it.

There's only one real answer to this, and unfortunately, it's not the easy one.

"It's...hard," says Tim, finally.

He's pretty terrible at being honest, he thinks.

"Even without..." He breathes out hard through his nose, has to regroup. "Look, I can say you're not alone here. These islands, they do things that - mess with your head sometimes. And it sucks. It'll make some things worse. But everyone else is living with it too, and we all just...learn to deal with it. Together."

Together.

There's a hissing noise at the back of Jay's throat, almost a laugh. Days ago--hell, hours ago, probably, it would have been mocking. Together, like this is the kind of story where the power of friendship is enough to kill--no, defeat a monster. Now, though, it's something else. It's--god, he's not even sure what it is.

Alone, you see things you shouldn't. Alone, you go places you shouldn't.

Alone, if it finds you, it doesn't just watch.

Tim says the islands can mess with your head. Assuming, just for the sake of argument, that the islands are real, then together is probably worth something.

Not if he doesn't use it, though.

Stiffly, still holding the camera, Jay forces himself to take a few steps forward.

"So, the..." Jay coughs, continuing at a mumble. "Big dream rabbit. Not real, right?"

"No, they were pretty real," says Tim, tiredly. "They're...I mean, you can visit them. You woke up in their temple. They usually show up if you ask for them."

He doesn't really bother, generally. That's not his priority, and he has no interest in talking up the local god. Or gods. Other people can chat up gods all they want. Tim got his fill of that back in the Castle.

God. How's he gonna bring that up?

"What?"

Probably could've kept that to himself, but eh.

"Okay. Sure." If that thing can exist, then why not a giant dream rabbit, right? Why not literally anything? "So you've been here more'n two years, and I...was I here for...any of that?"

Memory loss he knows. Memory loss he can handle.

"No," says Tim. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks, scowling at the ground. Not physically. Not really. He just saw him a couple times, and knew he wasn't real. Just like how he thought - thought he wasn't real just now.

Well, that's gone to shit by now.

"Didn't see a lotta people from home."

Should he even mention Brian?

Tim doesn't exactly look thrilled with the answer, but the wording of it immediately catches Jay's attention.

He quits lagging behind, picking up the pace to walk alongside Tim.

"Wait, who else did you see?"

Deep breath. If he's from...he wouldn't know about Brian. He wouldn't know. He never found out about Brian and Tim is fully aware that it makes him unbelievably selfish to want to withhold that, to not be the person to drop that bombshell, but he can't just outright refuse and evade because that's prone to making Jay more determined.

Instead he takes a deep breath.

"Can we...not get into that right now?" He's aware of how it sounds. "I can - if you wanna get into it later, fine, but now's just...not a good time."

How is he supposed to get Jay up to speed while spilling the truth about Brian, of all people?

And how is he supposed to talk about the time he saw It - stark and black against the white of Monsun?

He still doesn't know whether or not It was real.

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you can take the man out of the mid-2000s forum culture, but...

god i just regressed in age by like 15 years

jay "old memes" merrick

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