Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This was the moment he'd been waiting for, to finally come to an end. So he could rest assured he did the right thing even in the face of whatever faced him on the other side for his actions—if there was another side.

It could all end here, and it would've ended sooner if he'd had a better idea of what he was doing but now wasn't the time to dwell on the past when he was gonna eliminate that disease—that was spreading to him and his friends—no more suffering, no more spreading.

"—you're just feeding it," Tim's sputters break through his train of thought, tightening his grip on the man's neck, fingers turning white from the sheer grip.

"Shut up," Alex instinctively hisses, throat tightening. He doesn't know why he entertains him, he's doing the right thing. If he didn't understand, he wouldn't understand. Out of all people he should've understood and yet he has no idea what he's talking about.

"When you killed Amy, did you feel like you were in control then?" Tim's unwavering gaze peers at him as if looking for something, Alex's eyes slam shut as he launches himself forward, a loud thump resounding when Tim's back hits the concrete.

With a trembling hand, palm slick with sweat, Tim's hand outstretched to the side, grabbing the discarded pocket knife, fingers curling around the cold handle. Dots spot his vision and Tim raises his hand, attempting to wrench himself from beneath Alex, and strikes forward haphazardly unaware if he hit anything or not until he's let go of it.

Careful to not allow the knife to slip from his grip, he heaves himself up, willing his eyes to dart to where the thump had come from.

Alex's hands held to what seemed to be the side of his neck. Had he hit him there? He assumes as much. Throat tightening, he speaks, breaking the silence. "You missed someone."

Tim's unwilling to force his gaze to meet where the air suddenly seems thick, unbreathable. Stumbling forward, gripping the knife he finds himself over top of Alex. The camera was discarded to the side.

Alex attempts to buck him off. Even after trying to talk to him, and explain, he still doesn't understand. He's not doing the right thing—he's doing what it wants—Alex only wants to end it all, stop it for once but Jay had to keep meddling and Tim wasn't going to lay down and die.

He doesn't blame him either, if he were in his shoes he wouldn't want to either. But then, maybe just maybe Tim would understand where he was coming from. Alex releases his hands From the side of his neck, slick with blood, swiping for the knife as his arms attempt to block the blows to no avail.

He'd never seen Tim this angry.

The knife comes down again and again and again. Alex tastes copper and metallic filling his mouth, lacing his tongue. It's disgusting. It's the same he never properly washed off his skin when he'd climbed off of Sarah and now he tastes it.

This wasn't the intended outcome and even then, Alex wasn't one to complain as long as Tim would agree to complete the task, to rid himself and Everyone of the disease. Tim was a good man, surely he would do that. Just one last task and then he could see Amy and Jay—if only he were so lucky.

Alex's eyes land on Tim, peering at him, there's that look again—that of a caged animal—a scared animal. The very same one he had when they met.

"This isn't over—" Alex gasps, he attempts to take a breath but he can only taste copper, and his throat constricts. A harsh gurgle, dispelling viscous blood from his lips follows. "—You see how this spreads."

"If anyone else is left you have to Kill them, and then yourself." Blood dribbles down from between Alex's lips. Tim stumbles out and his footsteps carry him far, soon enough Alex can not hear Tim's labored breathing as his breathing grows more and more ragged as he struggles to take rapid intakes of air to fill his aching lungs. Every reprieve of some air is followed by choking down blood and salvia.

Alex. Alex. Alex. Alex. Alex.

He swears it's Amy's unbothered, soft voice speaking to him, fizzling in and out. Slipping away from him more as his vision begins spotting. Is this how Sarah felt? So alone? So cold? Did Jay feel this relieved? Betrayed? Did they both feel scared?

He'll never know how they felt. And they'll never be able to know he didn't get any reprieve and decide whether or not it was relieving to them. Jay wouldn't, he returns just as loyally as any dog would.

Maybe Sarah would be happy to know that. Maybe she wouldn't. Because he's giving too much credit that she'd treat or think of him rightfully as he should for what he'd done. He hopes they do take reprieve in this. Perhaps it's more relieving to him if they do not.

Eyes begin fluttering shut and it's muscle memory to fight it. It's peaceful, why should he fight it? Prolonging it for some sort of atonement? So he can agonize and then justify himself just as he did when he scrubbed his skin raw, hoping to remove the stains.

His eyes fluttered shut.

His eyes fluttered open.

That can't be right, he should be dead. He was dead. Was it some sick joke? Or maybe the tales of hell being a burning inferno weren't true compared to what tricks your mind plays on you.

Alex understands Brian's fascination with the subject.

Is he dead? Is he alive? Was he simply delirious from blood loss? Alex's throat aches, and his chest heaves when he takes in a sharp gasp of air. Did Tim save him? Why would he? Wasn't this his way out? Was this a way of punishing him?

He deserved it. Knowing Tim, he probably wouldn't do that even if he deserved it. a slow, steady ache Booms in the back of his head as he heaves himself up. His hand sweeps out to locate his gun, the cold metal brushes his hand and he grabs it.

Slumping against the cold, hard wall he brings a hand up to his forehead, massaging his temple. Was this his second chance? Make it right and convince Tim. Does he shoot Tim? He doesn't seem to be taking well to what he'd explained and is staunchly against dying. Alex's eyes land on his gun, and he finally stands up.

A familiar voice rings out suddenly alongside labored breathing. "What makes you think I'm the only source? There could be hundreds!"

"Thousands!" It comes out in a hiss.

Alex steadies his grip on his gun, leaning against the wall. He turns on his heels in the direction of Tim's voice. Mustering all his strength to speak again, throat tightening. "That's not what I'm worried about."

"You can stop this!" Alex insists, pausing, to listen to Tim's response, if any, or footsteps. Whichever to help him locate him faster. "We can stop this! It can all be over, Tim."

"We want the same thing," Alex continues, following the sound of Tim's footsteps. "Make this easier for the both of us."

"Let me help you," Alex breathes, finally spotting Tim. "Help me."

Tim's eyes lock with Alex's, narrowing. "Everybody is dead, there's no use in fighting it." "Jay, Brian, Sarah, Seth, Amy, J-" Alex lists off. "You don't know what it's going to do if you stay alive, there's nothing left."

"Alex," Tim breathes out, hesitantly approaching Alex. His eyes fixed on the weapon in his hands. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"I don't either," Alex says, pulling the gun towards his side. "I don't wanna do any of this, but I have to. "You don't have to—" Tim protests. Alex shakes his head, studying Tim's expression. He watches as his hand shifts just out of view. "It'll be quick, just stop fighting."

Another step closer, hesitation clear in his eyes. his eyes lock on the gun, grasped in his hand. He notices the slight shake of his hand.

Alex points the gun, cocking it.

To Alex's dismay, Tim takes a deep inhale of breath, approaching him in hesitant steps as he eyes the gun. Lowering his right hand slowly, his left hand to his side grasping the knife. "Alex," he breathes out, watching as his throat constricts and his chest heaves. "Put it away, we can help each other out."

Tim's hand hovers over the loaded gun, he manages to knock it from Alex's ready grip, and falling to the ground it goes off.

They're both on the ground now, Tim kicks the gun as Alex desperately tries to unarm him. "I'm sorry, Tim. As much as neither of us Want this, it'd be selfish if I didn't do anything."

Inching towards the discarded gun, Alex knocks Tim over. He raises his fist and it goes downwards again and again and again. A hand shoots out to block the blows. Tim's chest heaves, and he strikes Alex with the knife.

Yanking it back as Alex scrambles off. Warm, sticky liquid seeping down his neck. His hand reaches for it, smearing it against sweat-slicked skin. He knocks the knife from his grasp and Tim wrenches it from beneath him, reaching it. He stumbles over knocking Alex down, a knee to his stomach as he crawls over top of him, both his legs trapping the either side of him. Raising the knife he comes down.

Alex lets out a stomach-churning gurgle, blood seeping from his lips as Tim studies his stained hands, the blood seeping into the creases of his hands. Eyes widening.

Alex laughs, it's painful as he coughs, spurts of blood leaving his mouth as it seeps down the sides of his neck and feeding the concrete. "—do the right thing." He coughs, harder.

his Trembling hand pointing to his discarded gun. "It's there, take it." Sputters Alex. The taste of copper filled his mouth again.

His eyes fluttered shut and opened again. His eyes lock with Tim as he stumbles off. Alex stares up at the dingy ceiling, they flutter shut. He hears Amy's voice calling to him—at least he thinks so. He can practically see her smiling face and her hand caressing his face.

His eyes fluttered shut and then they opened again. this must be hell, this has to be hell. His hell. he chokes, lying in the puddle of blood, eyes fluttering shut and he opens. Chokes. Rinse. Repeat.

This has to be his punishment. Alex struggles to catch his breath, he finds Tim. They tussle—it always ends the same. Choking, lying, eyes closing.

Eyes open, he stumbles around and grabs Tim. The breath is knocked out of him as Tim climbs on top of him, metallic and copper fill his senses.

Choking, choking, choking.

Alex's eyes snap open, adjusting to the dim lighting. A familiar ache stinging his throat, he holds his hand to his throat. He stumbles forward, hand on the wall to steady himself as he stands up, chest heaving.

Alex's eyes dart around, noticing the gun that had been lying beside him on the ground, he retrieves it. Check its contents to make sure it's full. "Alex?" the familiar shouts fill the empty building, echoing through the corridors."Alex!"

Alex listens to where the source of the sound is coming from. Treading carefully in an attempt to not make more noise than necessary.

"Alex." He turns where he heard the sound.

"This can end now," Alex says, throat tight. "If only, you just let me."

"Not like this, it's not gonna end anything, Alex," Tim says. "Why are you so sure about this stopping anything? Can you prove it?"

"I don't have to prove anything to you," hisses Alex, pulling his gun from his holster. Pointing it directly at Tim.

"Drop the knife," Alex hisses, his voice low.

"If you drop the gun," Tim says, his eyes watching Alex's expression.

"This has to end one way or another." He steps closer to Tim, extending his hand out expectantly. Tim's eyes lock with Alex's as his hand snakes into his pocket, pulling out the knife. "You don't mean that, you don't mean that." He repeats as if to comfort himself more than anything.

Keep telling yourself that.

Tim's hand instinctively shoots out, fingers wrapping around Alex's arm, pulling him in. Suddenly they're against the wall as he wrestles the gun from Alex's trembling hand. It falls to the ground and Tim's leg kicks the gun, the ache in his leg deepening as the gun goes off when it is thrown across the room.

Tim braces himself for all of Alex's retaliation but nothing. He waits and waits and waits. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Pinning Alex to the ground he doesn't buck him off, he doesn't punch. He doesn't kick, he doesn't yell.

"Why did you stop?" Alex questions, breaking the silence as his chest heaves. his eyes lingering on Tim, an open tiredness filling his dark eyes. "I deserve it, Don't I?"

Tim's chest heaves and his hand drops to his side, trembling as he holds the knife. He takes rapid intakes of breath desperately. "I don't determine that."

"You should," Alex continues, throat constricting. "I deserve it, put me out of my misery." "If you deserve it, why would I help you?" Tim drops the knife, and Alex watches. He expects him to snatch it and end it once and for all but he doesn't. "That's what you want, right?"

"I wanna see Jay—" Alex's voice begins to crack, his eyes slam shut. There's a pause before he speaks again. "I wanna see Amy—"

Tim crawls off of Alex. "That's your logic, Alex. I'm not going to kill you… you asked the wrong person."

"If you think you're so warranted for a punishment, I should keep you alive—I'm not going to kill you." Tim watches as Alex's hand inches towards the discarded knife and he pushes it towards Tim's hand.

"Tim, do the right thing," Alex says, his voice growing quiet. "You're doing the right thing killing me, what stopped you? What about doing right by everybody else?"

"They wouldn't want that either," Tim's head shakes. "You don't know anything anymore, do you?" "I know what I want," Alex corrects.

Tim hesitates. "And what's that?"

"Peace," Alex answers, his eyes burning. "I want peace, Tim. That's all I've wanted—and that thing won't allow it for us—just take the knife."

"My guns over there even," Alex adds, chest growing tighter by the moment. "Do what you have to."

"Alex," Tim snaps, causing Alex to flinch. His voice softens again. "Do you even hear yourself?" "I don't think you're understanding me, you need to kill me." Alex insists he leans over, his hand pressing over top of Tim's. "That's how it has to be. I can't atone, I did the right thing. But I don't think that matters anymore."

"Please," Alex pleads, "spare me dealing with this any longer?"

"And what? Leave me alone?" It comes out harsher than Tim anticipated and he sees the confusion light in Alex's eyes.

"Wouldn't it be better to be alone? Then with me after everything? You have a right to be angry. I want you to have at it—" Alex is interrupted by the sound of clinking.

Tim threw the knife. "I refuse to kill someone who doesn't know what they're asking. Or at least isn't thinking about it in a proper sense—why do I kill you if you're not doing anything to me?"

"Don't you think I've done enough?" Alex questions. "I think I have." He sniffles. He wishes he could do more. He's failed—he's fishing for Tim to say otherwise he knows he'll say he did—he doesn't know why. He should lie even if he did because he has a right to be mad.

They all do.

What reprieve does Tim get out of this? Alex's stomach flips, and he is ready to shut his eyes once and for all. Not have to keep looking at everything—keep breathing with his heaving chest, and heavy shoulders.

"You've done enough, Alex," Tim whispers. "You did enough."

Chapter Text

“…What are you going to do?” Alex swallows, his weak voice fills the silence of the stiff air, his eyes lingering on Tim’s still-trembling hands.

Alex peers over at Tim, he’s on his knees beside him, his chest rises and falls, shoulders heaving, and he exhales shakily.

“I don’t know,” Answers Tim, his hands wringing against each other and Alex takes a mental note of that. His eyes meet Alex’s and they pause for a moment, no one speaking.

Tim reaches into his pocket, fishing out a carton of cigarettes much to Alex’s dismay, then again, it probably helps with his nerves, it almost feels like it used to be. Opening the carton, Tim pulls out a cigarette and extends it to Alex.

Alex’s brows pinch together, his words dying in his throat as he hardly registers he still knows how to breathe, his lips curve upwards in surprise. “Why.. are you handing that to me?” He questions.

Tim shrugs, cracking a weak smile in an attempt to soothe Alex. “It’s a peace offering,” he frowns at the lack of attempt to take it.

“I don’t smoke,” Alex is careful when he chooses his words.

“You do today,” Tim shot back, pushing the cigarette into Alex’s passive hands. He doesn’t refute the action, taking it and examining it, it’s light in his hands and his eyes flickered towards Tim, fumbling with his lighter.

“Lighter?” Offers Tim as he watches Alex place the cigarette between his lips, his hands trembling. It seems to wrack his whole body and Tim notices when he hands it to the man, he struggles to light it.

Tim sighs, his brows raised. “Do you need some help?” He scoots closer to where Alex is sitting, not waiting for a response, their shoulders brush against each other and his chest presses against Alex’s back, he stiffens at the touch.

Tim gently cups his hands over Alex’s unsteady ones as he fumbles, flicking the lighter on, this time it stays on with Tim’s help and the tip ignited, beginning to expel small plumes of smoke.

Once that is done, Tim pockets the lighter.

Alex examines the cigarette, he feels Tim’s breath on the back of his neck, he hasn’t moved to his shock. Instead, he places it back on his lips, taking a puff, smoke billowing from the cigarette.

After a few moments, Alex exhales, he pulls the cigarette from his lips and offers it to Tim. He doesn’t cough at it the way Alex still does now and then.

Plumes of smoke ensue and Alex looks at Tim, a contemplative expression on his face. “I’m sorry,” the sound is strangled as if desperate to be heard from within Alex’s throat, silence fills the air as Tim takes another puff before handing it back to Alex wordlessly.

Alex takes a drag, he exhales and he breathes out shakily. “Still, I would do it again,” his eyes tug closed, throat constricting like his words are rattling inside his throat.

Tim’s head lifts in response, his lips part, his brows raise, and corners of his eyes wrinkle as he peers at him.

“Then, are you really sorry?” Tim pauses, he takes the cigarette that’s being passed to him.

Alex swallows, and Tim passes it back to him after taking a drag and exhaling, smoke plumes billowing from his lips. “I tried everything before I came to that conclusion, I hope you know that. You don’t understand—“ he croaked, staring at the cigarette between his fingers, watching the ashes fall.

“We don’t know what that thing is capable of, we’ve seen it but we don’t know—We—I don’t know what it wants or what it’s gonna do!” Insists Alex, he swallows, desperate to tamp the lump forming in his throat. “I couldn’t let it hurt them—any of you, don’t you understand?”

Out of all the people, Tim should understand. At least the concept—because no one will ever understand how sorry he is and how he can simultaneously be sorry and so sure if he had to, he’d do it again, if it meant they would all be okay.

“Maybe I don’t,” Tim says, as he swallows. “Make me understand then? I’ ’ll listen.”

There’s an unspoken understanding. Perhaps it’s because they’re both spreaders, they both were pieces in something far bigger than them and they don’t understand.

“How?” Alex questions, shoulders going slack and he brings the cigarette to his lips, he takes a long drag, the heat hitting the back of his throat, and he exhales.

“That’s up to you,” Tim answers simply. “I can’t make you do anything but I can listen.” He stretches a hand outwards, placing it on Alex’s knee comfortingly.

“I just wanted to help,” Alex murmurs, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, stiff, a crack in the middle. “I thought I brought it, I caused it. So I had to fix it, protect them.”

“I never meant for it to get this messy or everyone else to get more hurt than they had to…” He continues.

Tim squeezes Alex’s knee comfortingly, he strokes circles into his knee. “I understand,”

Alex hesitates, throat tight, he hands the cigarette over and swallows. “Do you?”

“I do,” Tim cracks a weak smile.

Heat bubbles, pricked at the corners of his eyes. He always cries, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. And maybe he wishes he had Jay or Amy or Brian here to deal with it because they always knew how to soothe him.

Alex exhales shakily, and there’s a steady trickle that burns his eyes, and his cheeks on the way down, he bites down on the inside of his cheek.

“Alex?” Tim asks, there’s no response and only another shaky exhale from Alex, shoulders tensing and he feels how stiff he is as his back presses up against his chest.

Tim puts out the cigarette on the cement below them. “Look,” he places a hand on Alex’s shoulder, he squeezes.

“I’m not gonna say that it’s okay, because it’s not, but I’m here, okay? And it will be okay eventually.” Tim assures the tension is evident when his hand presses against him.

“Will you let me help? I understand you’ll have someone who understands and won’t look at you like you’ve lost your mind because, believe me, I know that look.” Tim watches when Alex’s head lifts finally.

“Why do you wanna help me?” Alex croaks, his voice is weak, that of a scared child. It’s that feeling all over again, the hair on the back of his neck standing up because he could’ve sworn he’d seen something from the corner of his eye and it’s not there.

The same scared child who would attempt to swallow back the sobs Building in his throat over the smallest of things and his father would get mad about it. In hindsight, it’s almost funny because did he really expect yelling to make him stop? It’d really never caused Alex to have issues with showing emotions either, he still cried easily no matter what.

The anger that burned within his chest always dissolved into tears no matter how hard he tried, crying, at most, was inconvenient because it would fog up his glasses, burn his eyes, and irritate his skin.

“….You shouldn’t,” Alex chokes out, his chest heaving as his throat constricts, his eyes going unfocused as more tears well up in his eyes, his vision blurring. “You have every right to be upset at me, why would you offer that?”

Tim remains silent, allowing Alex to continue.

Alex shudders, he sniffles, his knuckles brush against his eyes and they come away damp, his eyes slam shut. “Aren’t you mad about Jay? I Could’ve done so much different—I could’ve—I told you I’d do it again and you still sit here and say that?”

Tim swallows, he reaches back out when Alex pulls away slightly. “Alex?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Alex’s voice cracks, his throat tight.

“Same thing, Alex, same thing,” Tim says, lowering his voice.

“Do any of us have a chance to begin with? Did you think at any point there was no way out?” Alex’s eyes open and he watches as Tim nods cautiously.

“And you still have one, too,” Tim says.

No, I don’t, Alex thinks. “What’s the point?” The same question rang in his ears when Amy had founded the damn camera, he could’ve sworn he saw it stain her delicate hands, his hands had been like that too before, he hadn’t been scared to touch her before.

And the scream—no,—shriek, when she saw it, and Alex hadn’t seen anything but the sinking feeling in his gut. He knew what it was, it was over.

Amy hadn’t gone easily either, the marks of her nails digging into his wrists, the scabbed over, and his nails re-opened them because he didn’t wanna forget her, he swears, thick, ichor ripples down scarred skin.

“Just let me help?” Tim offers weakly. “I want to… and not accepting help isn’t gonna change things or bring anyone back. I don’t want you to live like this and neither would they… and you should know you deserve to get better.”

“It’s not like either of us knew, Alex, and—“ Tim pauses, his throat tightening this time. “As much as you probably don’t like it and I’m not entirely happy about it either because there’s going to be a lot we have to work through… but in this place now, we are all we have left.”

He swallows. “Jessica’s there too, but we don’t even know her, and she doesn’t understand… but at least, we understand each other.. to a degree.”

Tim watches Alex’s expression falter slightly at the mention of Jessica but he doesn’t call him on it.

“I’m sorry,” Alex lets out again, this time, making a move toward Tim as he noticed the glimmer of unshed tears in his eyes. He wraps his arms around Tim, fingers curling inside the fabric of his flannel.

“We’ll figure it out, okay? Me and you.” Tim murmurs, he buries his face into Alex’s hair, he sniffles. He squeezes Alex and his shoulders go slack finally, a sob wrenching its way out of his throat.

It’s muffled and Alex’s hands fumble to stroke Tim’s back. And for the first time in a while, the thought has struck him, was this his fault? He’d all been distracted by attempting to placate Alex and it’d completely slipped his mind.

“I’m sorry too,” Tim adds and Alex’s head shakes, brows pinching together.

“Why?” Asks Alex. “…you’re right, blame does nothing.” Even if he doesn’t quite believe it, even if he doesn’t trust it maybe if it gets him to calm down it’ll be fine.

Tim scoffs, a dry laugh escaping his lips as he raises his hand to rub at his eyes. Deep inhale and exhale to soothe himself like Brian had shown him. “Now you’re just throwing my own words back in my face.”

Alex pauses, considering what Tim said. “You have good words.”

And maybe again it’s that gut-sinking familiarity that Tim felt when Alex had begun acting flighty, when he started acting weird, when he’d started getting so snippy, why Jay insists it was strange, it wasn’t Alex. As if Jay still remembers Alex because Tim thinks he did and for a while maybe he did but now he doesn’t.

So he didn’t know why those mannerisms were so familiar—sure, he’d had similar experiences but it seemed so familiar and he can’t pinpoint it.

“How do you just live with yourself? Anyone you come into contact with you could make sick?” Alex hesitated, his brain always ran miles a minute and his mouth always moved faster than he could formulate, and that had always gotten him in trouble as a child and as a teenager.

“I try not to think about it, there’s a way,” Tim swallows thickly. “There always is. And, that’s beside the point, I’ve been running on the assumption I was the crazy one—none of it was real, and as shitty as my mother was for just leaving me in the damned hospital maybe she was right.”

He pauses, throat tightening. “So, I don’t… I don’t know how I feel about having it confirmed that I’m not crazy and it’s real and—“

“You don’t know if you’re relieved or wanna bash your head against something?” Alex cracks a weak smile, it’s antsy but it’s the first in a while and maybe Jay was right and maybe he was right too in trying to reason with him.

Someone was still there whether Alex liked it or not.

“I think I wish I was crazy,” Alex admits, hands wringing against each other. “Because then there would be a fix, right?”

“And, Tim, you didn’t deserve that, any of this,” Alex adds, he flinches when Tim reaches out grabbing his hand, finger stroking his knuckles.

Alex swallows. “It’s not your fault—“

Tim nods, lips parting to speak. “If you realize that, do you think you can realize you’re not at fault either? If it’s not my fault and I don’t deserve it, it’s the same for you, isn’t it?”

“That’s different—“ Alex protests, throat tight. “And I’m not dismissing any guilt you feel by saying that but it’s different!”

“Is it?” Tim asks. “What about Jay then? Or Amy? Or—“ or Sarah. Or Seth. Or Brian or Jessica—his head completes.

Alex swallows, eyes shutting. “Enough,” he chokes out and Tim’s lips pull into a thin line. “I get it.”

“Do you?” Tim repeats.

“Oh my god,” Alex breathes out, he laughs, it’s a wet laugh, eyes stinging again. “This is why you and Jay get along, isn’t it?” Well, they had gotten along.

Tim’s brows raise.

Maybe he is more like his father than he likes to admit because he is undeserving of those around him. But maybe if he’d been meaner—maybe just maybe he wouldn’t have had to pull the trigger on Jay—but they were still his hands, and he still pulled the trigger. He still felt the nausea ride the back of his throat and how his knees wanted to go weak because he couldn’t do it again—he couldn’t give a better shot and make it end faster.

And there it is again, the selfishness. That was his best friend? Was he anymore? Did Jay remember that? Did he even remember enough to feel betrayed? Did he expect it? Were they still best friends? Friends? Acquaintances? Ex-best friends?

At least he hadn’t had to see his relationship with Amy deteriorate—or Sarah or Seth. But he’d watched it crumple with Brian and Jay. He doesn’t blame Brian for being angry and he thinks he wishes Jay was more mad so he could justify his continued actions and what he would do.

Maybe he wishes Jay had given more of a fight, and did more. Did something like Amy’s nails and Sarah’s flailing and kicking she’d given it her all. Seth hadn’t known what was coming.

“If it counts for everyone else, I think you should count yourself too,” Tim says. “It isn’t fair and life already isn’t fair so you shouldn’t add to it?”

“And you’re only serving to make yourself feel worse and you’re helping it—“ Tim squeezes Alex’s hand.

“That’s what it wants—turning us against each other, haven’t you thought about it? Didn’t it feel worse when you were alone? It got you more then and then you think you’re losing it—“

“Stop justifying it, it’s not okay—“ Alex croaks.

“You’re right, it’s not, but there’s more to it and you know that. Blame is only gonna fuel resentment because if I resented you it wouldn’t do either of us good.” Tim rubs Alex’s knuckles.

“I wouldn’t hold it against you,” Alex murmurs.

“Well,” Tim starts, he pauses. “I don’t hold what happened against you either . . . We have a lot to work on and that isn’t gonna happen overnight but I’m not just gonna leave you alone… I understand and if you let me help, I will.”

“I know that I sound like a broken record but someone has to try and get it through your thick skull,” Tim studies Alex’s expression, his lips seem to quirk upwards slightly.

Maybe if Alex had just resigned to the idea of being thought of as crazy like Tim had, things would be better. Tim had been getting better but then again, look at what happened. That may very well have been Alex’s own undoing in his tasks but maybe he would continue to get better. Maybe he could’ve gotten better.

Maybe if Alex’s heart didn’t bleed so easily he would’ve just quietly shot himself when he’d got ahold of the gun. Maybe if he didn’t have firsthand experience of a static, incessant thrumming blooming in the back of his skull and always almost clearing up but then not, the feeling of what he swears is his brain turning to black ichor and seeping down from some crack.

Maybe if he didn’t know what awaited them or him or how selfish he would be if he didn’t take the cup of suffering bestowed upon him because he started it and he must end it and not allow the tall, pale, indistinguishable features, gangly limbs and spindly fingers take them and turn them to rot like it had been doing to them.

If he did, he didn’t really love them, did he? If he didn’t fight, he didn’t love them. And Alex loved Amy so so so much. And he loved Jay so so so much. He thinks they have a special spot in his chest cavity around where his heart should be and maybe that’s why it hurt when their hearts stopped and it was his hands trembling when it sank into him like ice being injected into his now ichor-filled veins.

He thinks if he were to cut into it, it’d smell rotten, pasty, sticky ichor would snake down his skin and try to infect everything in sight.

And he loved Amy so so so much. The way her hair cascaded down her shoulders, the way she used to dye her hair when they were teenagers and they’d match. All of her typically “creepy” interests, the way her eyes would sparkle and her lips would curve upwards, eyes crinkling when she smiled when she talked or listened to him talk, the devious smirk she got when she had an idea. (Like when she and Seth had plotted to bring home one of the puppies of Seth’s dog who had just given birth. They named him Rocky.)

And he loved Jay so so so much. The way he understood the things that made him tick, why pencils and pens should be ordered, the way they just sat together in silence and laid together, the way he used bobby-pins to keep his unruly hair together, the collection of hats he kept, the way he had freckles in the summer and not in the winter, the way his hands would wring together when he was nervous or talking, the way he’d carry around the camera he had bought him and record all the bullshit they did, how he’d drag him to abandoned places because they ‘reminded me of you.’

And he loved Sarah so so so much, he’d been an only child by blood but he thinks when he met her that changed. She was like his older sister and well, he is his sister’s keeper, right? He loved the way she smiled, she was funny, the way she didn’t take any bullshit and the constant jabs at him, the way she rolled her eyes and agreed to be the lead actress for his film so he could be the director he wanted to be. That may be why he named the character she was playing after her.

And he loved Seth so so so much, he was one of Seth’s first friends, then Sarah, Jay, then Brian, his father had been thrilled when Seth had finally brought home a friend, near tears, he wondered if that photograph he’d taken was still up on the mantle at his house. Seth’s first friend.

Seth is memorable. The way he’d smile nervously, the way he’d talk to his dogs, his fascination with technology, the way he was so quiet, the way he was easily influenceable at times and people’s moods would rub off on him, the way he understood why the heat that pricked at Alex’s eyes at the turn of the faucet because he experiences the same thing. The way they bonded over the fact they were both different from other kids their age and the fact Seth would just listen to him ramble the way Jay and Amy did.

And he loved Brian so so so much. His contagious laugh, stupid sense of humor, the dumbass fucking Recorder he never made the effort to actually learn how to play and it grated everyone's ears, to the point Jess went and buried it in the yard at some point, Brian still found it unfortunately. His fascination with weapons and such, the way he and Sarah bonded over the like of acting. The way he seemed to bring together their separate friends when they’d decided to introduce them and they became inseparable.

And he loved Jessica so so so much. Her constant need to irritate him, the fact she got so easily annoyed, the fact she’d jump on someone half her size because they looked at him the wrong way, the way she made Amy smile, the fact she’d gone out her way to hide the damned fucking recorder and saved their ears for a while, the way she was brutally honest, the fact she gave the best hugs despite everything.

And he loved Tim so so so much. The way he was apprehensive at first when Brian had brought him around, the way he was as defensive of the group as Jess was, the way he was funny, the way he had good advice and was a great listener, the fact he still is trying to help him even though he doesn’t deserve it, the way he understands Alex isn’t fucking crazy, they aren’t crazy.

And they’re here, they’re alive. They are together and that’s what matters.