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Street Poetry

Summary:

In a world, where art and creativity are banned, a group of outcasts — the resistance — fights for freedom. Josh can’t escape from the prison of his past. Tyler is freedom itself.

Chapter 1

Notes:

this is the story me and rein started to plan in 2018, before the pilots came back and brought demaverse to us. in 2019, we started writing it. and it still means a lot to us.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

War is always the same.

The neon pink liquid streams down Josh’s hair like acid, disappearing in the darkness of the pipes. He shoves his head under the tap again; the water is cold, as if it’s coming straight from a deep, deep well. It’s not even clean — but he’s used to it, he’s adapted to pretty much everything. They have some today, at least. Then, the flow suddenly stops, and a thick towel lands on Josh’s neck.

“That’s enough, I think,” says a familiar voice.

Josh huffs,

“Since when have you become a qualified hairstylist? Where’s your license?”

“I was just afraid you’d freeze off your brain. You’ll need it today.”

Josh straightens his back and looks at the mirror, wincing at his renewed reflection. Next to him, Michael looks like either his bodyguard or a warden. The second profession suits him better, probably; their surroundings make it look quite realistic. 

Josh dries off his freshly-dyed pink mohawk. The numb fingers of his left hand tangle in his curls. Josh wipes his hands on the bus driver uniform he’s wearing for the mission. His tattoos are mostly covered, except for the tiny arrow on his left cheekbone.

“Mark will join me, right?” 

“Yeah, but he can’t raise you from the dead, so, be careful anyway.”

“Got it. What do you think?” Josh peers into the mirror again. “Do I look gay?”

“Nah, just like a guy who’s very into art and poetry. And, occasionally, into tight men’s asses, that’s for sure,” Michael lets out raucous laughter. “Exactly what we need. A faceless bright spot.”

Josh is tired of being faceless, but then again, the war wipes off your features better than any fancy concealer. He’s refused to take off his black gauges; his earlobes look weird without them.

“Why me, though? Again, I mean, Mark’s smarter than me, and…”

“He lived there before… the accident. It’s not safe for him to come back alone. Times have changed, Dun.”

Josh can’t count how many wild turns his life has taken already.  

Michael checks out Josh’s appearance once again and nods in approval. Then, he pats Josh’s shoulder, rather friendly, and leaves the restroom; Josh follows him, leaving the towel on the edge of a pink-stained sink.

When the war started, a group of the outcasts — the resistance — settled down in an abandoned prison; they live underground now, almost hiding, but planning their actions, at least. They’re just trying to stop this madness, as much as they can do — but people are still getting kidnapped, brainwashed, and zombified.     

Some victims drown in propaganda, and some victims choke on their own blood. 

“Make them follow you, it’s important to prove that the risk is worth it. But don’t let them panic, or you’ll ruin weeks of preparations.”

Josh nods as they walk through the maze of concrete corridors, stepping on the staircase leading to the surface. The bus is waiting, Mark is waiting too. Josh hides his damp curls under the uniform hat, squints his eyes at the fading daylight, and says, 

“But they’re not soldiers. They’re just… Kids, teens, whatever. Or adults who don’t give a fuck.”

“I know. That’s why I’m sending you — you understand them. But please, be careful,” Michael nods at the pneumatic sledgehammer in the driver’s cabin. It’s a true masterpiece of engineering if you need to ruin a wall or two. If you need to take out an enemy or two with the swing of a melee weapon. Josh likes it, and he can compensate for its slowness with his 10 mm handgun.

Visibly nervous, Mark looks like a high school nerd with his khakis and red plaid shirt hidden under his black hoodie; there’s a first aid kit in his backpack, and something tells Josh they might need it real soon. It’s their first real mission, so Josh can feel what Mark’s feeling, too. He can’t even rely on his weak legs. 

“Hey. I started to think you chickened out,” Mark greets him. 

“Me? Never,” Josh replies. “Michael just made me dye my hair, so there’s no way back. But I’m scared shitless,” Josh enters the bus and checks his weapon immediately.

The bus looks so ordinary that it reminds him of the spaceship from his nightmares. He used to dream of outer space when he was a kid, but his dreams were unsettling. There were black holes, and Josh couldn’t control an extraterrestrial machine taking him to nowhere; he was scared, but at the same time, he always wanted to be an astronaut. So, these nightmares were so exciting he couldn’t sleep until morning, back then.

Mark takes a seat on the bus; outside, Michael’s saying something again, so Josh opens the window to hear him. 

“Make sure they remember you, Josh. And get back safely,” this one’s addressed to Mark. “Good luck.”

Mark nods, and Josh starts the engine. The bus buzzes and vibrates like one of those spaceships from Josh’s dreams.

 

*** 

They have some time to chat on their way to the location. Mark leans forward, so Josh can hear him, and asks,

“How many places like this do you know?” 

“Depends on what you mean. Are you talking about safe places or abandoned shelters? Destroyed by those fuckers? Or places the resistance has evacuated people from?” Josh turns off the high-beam headlights; they’re near the city. 

“All of the above.”

“A lot, then.”

“Huh. Do you think we can win?”

“We have to.”

Still uncertain, Mark nods, squeezing his backpack in his hands.

Josh sees a desecrated building that once was a theater, but now the letters on its roof are missing, the eye-pits of the windows are boarded up, and the playbill is empty for now and ever. But it’s still hiding a moment of history — one can feel the spirit of the past, can hear the applause and the rustling of a heavy scarlet curtain. One can sneak inside and take a look at the dusty and abandoned stage, even. Now it’s dead, yet still majestic. 

Their next stop is The Basement, a somewhat legendary club. Josh has heard some stories about it from the artists he’s bound to save tonight. They don’t deserve to be leveled to the ground along with this brick building. After, it will be remastered into a lifeless apartment complex for the soulless ones, ugly and depressing. Not the first, not the last. The resistance can’t let their foe win; it’s the government with their goons and minions, those brainwashers who want to create a whole new society that’s so easy to control. No creativity, no art, nothing — only silent, mindless zombies flooding the streets. 

Michael’s troop fights for the city. 

“They’re under attack now, I can’t even wrap my head around it,” Mark sighs. “I remember hanging out there so clearly before they… Whatever,” he shudders involuntarily.

With every day passing, the city gets just less and less colorful as the brainwashers remove and destroy everything that can be appraised as reviving prohibited emotions.

“The Basement is still a part of me. Just like the people there.”

Josh doesn’t respond. Sometimes, Mark can be still too sentimental despite everything he’s been through. After everything Josh’s been through, he just closed the door to his soul and threw away the key. But having Mark around feels just right. He’s a nice guy who knows a thing or two about field surgeries and pharmacology; he was a journalist, and Josh was a mechanic. And Michael said they’d make a good team together.

A small underground club is one of the well-hidden locations, so brainwashers haven’t found it yet. Josh parks the bus in the gateway, between two concrete walls; Josh’s door gets blocked by the tight space, so he opens the automatic door for the passengers to grab the sledgehammer just in case and get out. 

The Basement is usually closed to strangers, but Mark still has a key card from his civilian days, so he finds a secret slot easily. They dive into a pool of familiar sounds — music, chatting, laughing — that makes them feel safe. The illusion of naivety. There are still some couches and chairs left in the VIP zone, waiting for guests. Now this place looks different — there are sleeping bags on the floor, hammocks under the ceiling, and clothes piled up here and there; the artists are not just hanging out here on weekends, they live here. Josh puts the hammer down, suddenly feeling like an intruder.  

There’s a tracking system in the city. The citizens have to wear bracelets that collect their data; Josh avoided getting one, paying the highest price of freedom. People in the club don’t have them either. There’s no pay gate either; the government wants to turn people into a herd of microchipped animals and control their migrations and purchases. The bracelets leave bruises on the owners’ wrists, Josh saw them on the newcomers. The resistance works on getting a device that would help people get them unlocked.  

They pass by the bar, to a makeshift stage. There’s a small crowd of listeners in front of it, watching the band setting up their equipment. 

“Seems that we’re gonna have to interrupt someone’s performance,” Mark says.

“Yeah. You do it,” Josh agrees. He hopes they didn’t get caught on camera somewhere; Michael warned them, but of course, Mark refused to just sit on the bus and wait. They start their mission by breaking the rules, how charming. 

Josh gets all tongue-tied when it comes to speeches, so Mark steps onto the platform. The crowd boos when he takes the microphone from the lead singer’s hand and clears his throat.

“Um, excuse me,” Mark clenches his fists when someone yells at him to get lost. “You came here for the show, yeah, I know, but listen,” he ignores one more insult, and Josh lifts the sledgehammer from the floor. “You all know about the game our lovely government started, right? They’re planning on raiding this club today. In a few hours, or minutes, but!” he raises his forefinger in the air. “We’re here to save you from getting killed, or zombified, which is much worse if you ask me. Here are the rules: you listen to us and then follow us, and you’ll see the sunrise again.”

“For fuck’s sake, man, who are you?!” as expected, comes from the crowd. 

Mark’s barely handling it with his eye twitching.

“You can trust us!”

“You appear out of nowhere and speak in death threats!”

“I’m just…” Mark raises his hands. “I’m telling the truth! They’re coming for you!”

“Joseph, is that one of your friends again?”

“How can you be so blind?” Mark tries again, but the crowd is about to eat him alive. 

“Cut it, man. Can we just start the show already? No offense, but you don’t look like a guy who’s saving lives on a daily basis,” the bass player behind Mark says.

They don’t have time for this, and their mission turns into a huge fuckup. Josh tries to estimate how many people are here in the club; he thinks the bus is big enough to fit all of them. So, he comes to the stage too, and takes the microphone like a trophy.

“The faster you run outta here, the better.” 

The crowd of artists attacks him instead.

“Bus driver? Seriously?”

Josh takes his uniform hat off, exposing his bright-pink curls. All he hears is a few surprised gasps, though. Fuck this shitty disguise, fuck the war, fuck everything. 

“I know this guy!” someone screams.

Josh begins to speak, his voice resonates through the stereo system, echoing off of the walls and ceiling.

“We are the resistance, and you’ve been warned.”

“What if he’s one of them?” 

This brilliant idea begins to circulate through creative minds. 

“Your pants are too tight, take them off, baby!”

Now they think he’s a stripper, great. Just great. Josh’s poor nerves are as tight as guitar strings.

“Hold this for a sec,” he hands the microphone back to Mark.

“What are you gonna…”

Mark doesn’t finish the sentence, he doesn’t have to. With one swing of the hammer, Josh crashes down the biggest subwoofer — just for the attention. There’s the static noise hanging in the air, and the smoke. A lot of smoke, actually.

“Fire alarms, you asshole!” 

Josh looks at the ceiling but doesn’t see any detectors here. All the attention is on him again anyway, so he uses it.

“Alarms? Sounds great. You better hurry, then. My friend and I will show you the vehicle that’ll take you to our headquarter.”

“I think I can hear the sirens,” Mark says, rubbing his chin. 

The next thing Josh sees is the bass-player running to the exit, he barely had time to unplug his bass. Mark smiles. Josh puts on his hat again. 

“Don’t let them panic,” he hears Michael’s voice in his head. 

“It worked the way it worked,” Josh mutters under his breath.

Mark drops the mic.

“They needed a good kick in the ass to start moving.”

“Honestly, I only wanted to shut them up.”

“I know, man.”

The first time they attended The Basement was two weeks ago — and they’ve been playing secret agents since then, coming there and trying to fit in. Mark would get a bottle of beer and Josh would stand next to the plant in the corner of the venue. The plant is all watered with beer now because Mark preferred to stay sober. The plant didn’t mind alcohol, it seems. It’s grown bigger and greener now.

The evacuation begins. Fright helps the drunk ones sober up instantly and follow the instructions; Josh stands still, watching them leave their once cozy shelter forever. Most of them have seen the horrors of the war already, death and abuse, yet they refuse to believe it’s coming for them. They’re just trying to stay creative and alive. 

“Move, move, we don’t have time!” 

There’s a hunched black silhouette leaning on the door frame. He rummages in his bag, unzipped so widely his belongings might fall out. Josh has to hurry him up, but the man ignores him; he fishes out a rumpled blister pack, pops out two pills, and swallows them dry. An unpredictable drug addict is exactly what Josh needs right now. Josh rolls his eyes as the guy sneaks out of the club. He’s the last one to get on the bus.

Josh is both surprised and annoyed when the guy squeezes himself into the seat next to Josh’s; he’s like a tidal wave, with too many frantic, almost panicky gestures. Josh has no desire to watch him during his comedown, but he can’t kick him out when the bus is packed with people.

There’s a black beanie on his head, pulled down to his eyebrows. 

“What?” he breathes out, buckling up the seatbelt. 

Josh just shrugs and pulls the steering wheel.

Mark talks to Michael over a walkie-talkie, and “yes, we’re on our way. Everything goes according to plan.” Mark’s a good liar. Then, he stands up and says, 

“Believe it or not, but we’ve just saved your poor asses. Now you’re being taken to our base, and then you’ll be sent to one of our objects. We’ll try to protect you, provide you with food and shelter.” 

“And what if we don’t want to leave?” comes the question from the middle row.

“Give it a try before the brainwashers catch you.”

Then, Mark says that not only the soldiers win the wars. Wise words, Josh notes mentally. He also notes that the beanie guy keeps staring at him. This fucker’s pills have probably just kicked in.

They are aware of possibly blocked roads and security systems, but they pass through the border of the city successfully. Josh changes the route on the way back to the headquarter, turning to a road hidden in the forest. This trick was supposed to throw their pursuers off the scent, but something goes wrong.

Horrible things always happen far too quickly.

The glass smashes. Someone screams. 

The bus swerves, and then there’s the loud sound blasting through Josh’s eardrums; he hits his head on the steering wheel and his soul probably leaves his body just like his consciousness leaves his brain.

He wakes up falling. The seatbelt doesn’t cling to Josh’s aching shoulder anymore, and he slips down from his seat. His heart plummets, and his ears are clogged, but the moan that he hears doesn’t belong to him. There’s the smoke, mixed with the stench of burnt tires, that gets into Josh’s nostrils, into the lungs, poisoning and weakening him. 

“I can’t... breathe…”

Only now, does Josh realize that he’s partially pressing the beanie guy to the side of the bus. It’s lying on its side, and Josh can barely sit up as he unbuckles himself fully. A loud cough interrupts his thoughts.

“My leg… Take your fucking hammer away…” the guy squirms. The handle of the hammer has slammed into his thigh. Josh puts the weapon away.

“Two inches higher, and you’d become a happy owner of falsetto.”

His throat is oddly sore, and talking right now is much harder than he thought. Josh can’t see clearly in the fog, but he still manages to get up, hearing another pained groan.

“I need to reach for the window.”

“This is the plan now, huh?”

“Shut up.”

Josh climbs up first, throwing the door from the driver’s side open. Clear air fills his lungs again, and it’s so overwhelming he feels faint. He shakes these thoughts out of his head and takes his sledgehammer and the guy’s bag, so he can get out carefully. Josh hopes his leg is not broken.

His left shoulder responds with a deep ache again — an echo of the past. He can deal with it, he can deal with it. While the beanie guy catches his breath, Josh looks around.

“Holly shit…” he whispers, looking at the crumpled, deformed bus. 

The column of black smoke is sailing up into the clouds like a lighthouse. Josh sees a track of the tires left on the roadside. There was the explosion, the hum in his head drills a hole in his brain. He’s scared he might see the bodies — the corpses, no, not again, please. There were a dozen people they took from The Basement; they’re beaten and bloodied, but they can still move. They can still breathe, so it means Josh is allowed to breathe too.   

Josh swallows hard, trying not to look at the pile of mangled iron. He was bound to fail from the beginning. Since the day he was born, probably. 

The beanie guy is standing right next to him, rubbing his thigh and shrinking at the touch. His fucking leg better not be broken, Josh repeats mentally. He can still walk, it seems, his boots drag heavily against withered grass.

“It was an anti-personnel mine,” he says. 

“What?”

Josh expected him to be a bit more hysterical after what happened.

“Are you deaf?” the guy screeches out. “Or you don’t know what’s going on in these woods? Fortunately, the gas tank was positioned in the middle section of the bus. Is this how the resistance is supposed to work?” 

He’s right, but he’s acting like an arrogant teen, getting on Josh’s nerves. 

“It can still explode, by the way.”

“I know,” Josh replies, teeth clenched.

A curly-haired man pats the beanie guy’s shoulder. 

“Wasted another one of your nine lives, Joseph!”

Joseph’s lips twitch in an involuntary smile. He walks with a limp, hunching his shoulders like a zombie. This is how one might feel after surviving a car crash, probably. Josh doesn’t trust him, Josh doesn’t trust him at all — you can’t trust someone who doesn’t trust his own head.

Josh’s heart aches for the people slowly climbing out of the bus, helping each other and wincing in pain. Joseph’s friends, he almost killed all of them. And then he sees Mark, face pale and the sleeve of his hoodie torn and blood-soaked.

“Thank God you’re alive!”

“I wouldn’t thank God for that one, honestly,” Mark exhales tiredly. 

“Can you reach out to Michael and ask for a… vehicle?” 

“Working on it.”

Josh doesn’t even know the names of the people he’s trying to save; they have to walk a few miles on their own, together. He can feel their hate somehow. He’d hate himself too, if— ah, fuck it, he hates himself hard enough already. 

He takes the hammer again. Next to him, Joseph limps enthusiastically. Whatever he’s taken was some strong shit. 

“Your eyebrow is bleeding.”

Josh blinks at the stickiness around his eye. He didn’t even notice. 

“It looks like a red eyeshadow. Red eyeshadow would look good on you—”

“Shutting the fuck up would look good on you,” Josh barks out.

He walks faster, hearing a huff of disappointment behind his back, soon followed by meek,

“It’s not your fault.”

Joseph is a mile ahead of Josh with his thoughts, words, and even actions.

This is not what Josh should be focused on. 

 

***

The two of them can barely walk due to shrapnel wounds and dehydration. Mark bandages some heads and limbs and gives away almost all the painkillers from his first aid kit. They have to keep going. The brainwashers can get them at any moment. Mark still can’t contact Michael or anyone in the base, too busy trying to not stumble and break their necks on the slippery paths. The night is coming to an end, and the tops of the trees touch a warm sky. Josh has lost his hat somewhere, so his bright hair is like a torch for the group. The branches crunch under their feet, and the dirt sucks them in. Josh has learned this way through the maps, marked with the resistance sign — a pipe, dash, and slash. He didn’t think he’d need to use his topographical skills this soon. Well, Michael warned him.

Josh and Mark secure the rest of the group behind them. They try to constantly check on the injured members; Josh’s eyebrow is all numb, it doesn’t even hurt anymore. But the side of his face is still covered with blood, he can feel it.

They walk slowly, but they keep their pace steady; they’ll arrive at the base in a couple of hours if everything goes as planned. And, in fact, nothing is planned.

Josh’s ears hurt and Mark shivers at the loud yelp coming from behind. 

“Don’t move!”

Joseph pushes Josh aside, confusing him even more.

“Wait. Just… Wait.”

And then he falls to his knees in the mud and stares into the puddle of rainwater. He’s about to even lie down, looking for something there. 

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Joseph again.”

The whisper behind Josh’s back annoys him, just like Joseph does.

Joseph’s nose almost touches the dirt as he lurches forward and flicks the water away with a swift motion of his hand. There’s a metal object on the ground, barely visible in the soil.

“What’s this?” Mark asks, crouching down next to him.

“Another mine.”

Joseph sounds both proud and excited. As if he’s just found a rare butterfly for his collection. Fright tangles around Josh’s ribs again; the forest is full of deadly tricks.

“Are we going to just… Look at it?”

And Joseph replies, in all seriousness,

“Well, theoretically, I can defuse it. Don’t have any instruments, though. Didn’t have enough time to pack my things with your attention-craving whim.”

Before Josh can open his mouth, Mark says,

“We’re bypassing it.”

“Need to block the path,” Josh nods at the fallen tree. “They’ll understand.” 

With Mark’s help, they put the tree next to the puddle. Josh ties his belt around the branch as the sign. This is the least he can do. The group walks past the danger zone successfully, Josh can be proud of himself for once. Even though it wasn’t him who spotted the mine; maybe, Joseph is not as high as Josh thought he was at first. 

“Are you a soldier?” Mark asks Joseph. 

“Nah, just a self-taught sapper. Found a few books in the local library before it got destroyed,” Joseph somehow dodges the question. “Just thinking… Why did they use those mines? Couldn’t find anything more effective? What about their army?” 

“That can be their new strategy.”

“Strategy my ass,” Joseph rolls his eyes. “If you’d ask me what I think about their strategy…”

“No one’s asking you,” Josh cuts him off. “You can still be useful, though. Next time you see a mine, don’t yell into my ear.”

“I thought what was supposed to be your job,” Joseph shrugs. 

“I said…”

“As you wish.”

“He just saved our lives, Josh!” Mark pipes in. 

“Lucky bastard.”

Joseph ignores Mark’s attempt to protect him, fuming over Josh’s words again. 

“Or maybe you’re just too scared to think straight?”

And Josh realizes something important. 

“Wait. You were the one who told me to strip onstage!”

“What? Oh, no. It was Frank, the only victim of the car accident… A good fella. Rest in peace.”

Joseph doesn’t even try to hide his grin. And he crosses himself. Frank never existed.

“Your voice matches your pimply face.”

“Hey, shit’s getting too personal!” Joseph crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s just… Allergy.” 

“Allergy?”

“Or raging hormones, fuck off, Mr. Stripper,” Joseph pushes Josh away again and walks past.

Josh is about to follow him and finally kick his ass, but Mark’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“I once told you about the guy on the protests that would usually lead to the mass riots, remember?”

“The razorblade idiot?”

Mark nods. 

“Disappeared soon after the incident.”

“I thought he was dead,” Josh says. 

And Mark says,

“Me too.”

Josh thinks Joseph can still hear them, so they keep their voices low. 

He remembers the story about a shirtless activist in a black balaclava cutting his stomach with the razorblade on the main street as an act of performance. “Bleeding out for the dead,” as he called it. “I’m doing to my body the same thing you want to do to my brain.” Mark was there, and he’s still impressed. When the police appeared, the guy jumped off the scaffolding and presumably managed to run away. And the next time, he wasn’t so lucky. Mark doesn’t know what happened to him, still, but Josh was not ready to meet him in The Basement. Mark said, he didn’t see his face, but he can recognize his black geometric tattoos. A lot of food for thought.

“We should keep an eye on him,” Josh says. 

“Better look for the mines,” Mark replies. 

Joseph’s back a few feet in front of Josh is all he can see.

 

***

They step on the resistance’s territory, so suddenly they can barely catch it. An abandoned prison is hidden in the forest, its concrete walls look welcoming for once. This is Josh’s home, it’s fine. He can even breathe freely as he notices Michael rushing toward them. 

“What happened? Where’s the bus? Dun?”

He’s so concerned, that Josh wants to crawl into the hole and fall into hibernation.

“I’ll report later,” Josh exhales. “We need more medical help.”

“Why didn’t you ask for a backup?”

“Because this thing is useless,” Mark hands him a silent walkie-talkie.

Michael nods, and says,

“Let’s get them inside.” 

He doesn’t waste time. The building on the surface is mostly a cover-up for the underground maze of prison cells, storage rooms, and archives. A perfect shelter for the rebels; they even have a medical wing here, electricity, and water still. Josh will never forget the day when the resistance came and took over this place. Josh wishes he could forget.

Mark has to take most of the artists into the infirmary. Joseph refuses to go there at first, but Michael tells him it’s necessary. 

“Okay, Hulk,” Joseph sighs. “And don’t look at me like that.” 

With that, he enters the building. 

“That’s the one who spotted the mine,” Mark explains. “Dude’s got some brains, just saying.”

“Yes, and the faster we get rid of him, the better,” Josh adds. “He’s such a pain in the ass.”

Mark follows Joseph like a mother hen. Or maybe he doesn’t trust him too; Josh understands him then.

“Sure you don’t need to get checked?” Michael asks. 

Now, this is the real torture. 

“I failed.”

Josh leans against the wall, avoiding eye contact with his boss. The anger rises inside him as he tells him everything — about Mark entering The Basement, about the goofy crowd, the mine, Joseph; there’s no logic in his story, but Michael still listens to him.

“Look,” Michael pats Josh’s shoulder. Pain makes his muscles vibrate. “It’s the war. Neither of us wanted it, but now we just have to live through it. People die in accidents, people die like heroes, and people just die. You can’t save everyone, but you’ve saved someone today. Keep that in mind. That’s a new reality. It’s unfair and random, but we can’t stop fighting. Now go and clean your wound.”

“Okay.”

Josh sometimes thinks he doesn’t deserve anyone being nice to him. And Michael has become his father figure, his guide, and his counselor. Michael gives him space and time to think. Drained, Josh walks down the hallway, ready to enter his cell, and lie sleepless on the bed all night. Insomnia’s been a bitch recently. 

The bitch doesn’t come alone. 

“Josh?”

It’s the same scratchy voice that’s been cutting his eardrums to shreds in the forest.

“Oh, not you again.”

Josh turns around, only to be met with Joseph’s abnormally black eyes. It’s either meager lighting, or he’s on something again. He’s shaking, hugging his shoulders through a thin black shirt. He still hasn’t taken his beanie off. Now Josh can see the slits for the eyes and mouth in it, turned backwards, and he understands that he used it as a mask Mark once mentioned.

“I’m cold,” Joseph sniffles. 

“We’re underground,” Josh shrugs. “Better get used to power outages and water supply interruptions.”

The lights flash and flicker as if to prove him correct.

“Mark told me you can show me my room. I’m staying.”

Everyone’s staying here for the night to get evacuated tomorrow. The eastern cities haven’t been taken by the brainwashers; there’s the community protected by the resistance’s volunteers.

“Do I look like a babysitter?” honestly, Josh is too tired to argue. And — damn, Mark was right! — Joseph saved their lives today. “How’s your leg, by the way?” Josh tries to smooth down his rudeness.

“Oh, it still hurts. Nothing’s broken, but the bruising is quite impressive. I can show you…”

“No! Don’t. Please, don’t,” Josh stops him because Joseph begins to fumble with the zipper on his pants. “I believe you. Let’s go.”

“Thanks for taking care of my kind. Mark said some of them will live on the farms or something. Hope they’ll be safe there. Man, he asked me so many questions!” Joseph stops and rubs his injured thigh again. “Was that some sort of psychological test? I think I passed it if he asked me to stay?”

Great. Now, Michael lets Mark decide who’s joining the resistance. And, of all the people, he had to pick Joseph. Damn that mine. 

“Seems so. What squad did they assign you to?”

“I don’t know yet. Mark said he’s not done with me.” 

“Probably waiting for you to get clean,” Josh blurts out.

“What?”

Joseph stops again, Josh bumps into him. Then he pushes a heavy metal door open; there’s another corridor with rows of cells.

“Nevermind. Any cell preferences?”

“The lonelier, the better,” Joseph says.

“Don’t like having neighbors?”

“More like, they don’t like having me.”

“I’m not surprised,” Josh chuckles. “Mark lives there. He’s responsible for you now, so you can take a vacant room down the hall. But first,” Josh takes a bunch of keys out of his pocket and unlocks a rust-covered pantry door. “You might need a blanket.” 

Josh grabs the first bedding set he sees and hands it to Joseph. 

“No pajamas? No bathrobe? What a shame,” Joseph whines.

“I can give you an orange jumpsuit and a shock collar, or do you prefer fetters?”

Josh closes the lock with a click.

“Huh, let me think…” Joseph actually thinks. “I think I’ll pass. It would look better on you.” 

Josh squeezes the keys in his palm so hard he thinks they might break. 

“Watch your mouth.”

“Watch my back,” Joseph snarls back.

“Just pick the room already.”

“Fine. This one,” Joseph knocks on the first door on his way. 

Josh squeezes the keys even harder. This cell used to be his just a while ago. He doesn’t tell Joseph about it. 

“Welcome to the resistance, then.”

An incoherent mhm is the only response Josh gets. Then, he quickly visits Mark and tells him that he’s got a pesky neighbor. On the way back to his cell, he passes by his old one which now belongs to Joseph. He’s sitting on his still unmade bed, picking at the pellets on a gray wool blanket. 

Josh hopes someone else will show him the restrooms and the showers.

Notes:

rein (it's still your idea and i'm so GRATEFUL you shared it with me), pantaloonwarrior (thanks for listening to my ranting at 2 am), this one's for you <3
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josh’s hammer
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thanks for reading!

Chapter 2

Summary:

“He’s glitching.”

“He’s what?”

“Freezing in place, staring into nowhere, like… Glitching.”

“Say “Illuminati” and I’ll stab you with my fork.”

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

There’s a strict daily schedule in their shelter. The alarm clock goes off at 6 am; they’re provided with meals three times a day, and hot water once a day in the evening so that they can take a shower. The lights on the ceiling are dull to save electricity. That’s how it works, for the sake of surviving. 

Josh used to think a lot about this routine during breakfast. This is it, they have to get through another day. Mark sits right next to him at the table. Luckily, he hates early mornings, so he’s mostly keeping silent, just occasionally yawning and rubbing the sleep off of his eyes. Michael compared him with a bear once. With a teddy bear, to be precise. Something vaguely romantic is happening between them, but Josh does his best to ignore it. Otherwise, Mark might turn into a grizzly bear. Josh prefers to stay out of conflicts. 

The soon-to-be-grizzly stares at Josh.

“What?”

“He asked you a question.”

“What?”

Josh looks up at the redhead on the opposite side of their table. That’s Nick, one of their techs.

“People say you can drive all types of vehicles,” he begins. “Like, even tanks?”

“Give me a tank, and I’ll try?” Josh says reluctantly. Communicating with his newfound colleagues is still hard sometimes. He peers into the concrete wall in front of him as if it can give him instruction. He plunges the spoon into the soup; Nick is far too talkative.

“Planes?”

“Are we stealing a plane?”

“Um. No,” Nick rubs the back of his neck. 

“Why are you asking, then?”

“They’re talking about you,” Nick says. “I just came here for proof.”

“Next time, come with a plane, deal?”

Josh is sure he’s winning a contest that hasn’t even started yet. Nick huffs and walks back to his table. The members of the resistance have been talking about Josh behind his back since the day he joined them. His knit tank top exposes his full-sleeve tattoo, which only draws more unnecessary attention. He misses being just a civilian.     

And, when Josh almost begins to believe that he’s having a peaceful morning here, he catches one more curious glance on him — that’s Joseph, sitting alone two tables away from Josh and Mark. He pretends he’s very interested in the contents of the bowl in front of him, but it’s clear he’s overheard the conversation.

And he keeps listening when Michael enters the canteen and goes straight to Josh.

“Don’t forget about the report,” he says as he sits at the table. “Facts, and facts only. You know, I’m not building buses out of Lego pieces.”

“You already know what happened,” Josh groans, lacking enthusiasm. “Just send someone to pick up the remains.”

“Not an option, Josh. We need to document everything if we want to be seen and heard.”

And then Michael smiles at Mark, who’s sipping on his tea as if he doesn’t have to do anything with this situation. And suddenly, Josh is not hungry anymore.

“Fucking great.”

 

*** 

Josh wants to be done with tedious paperwork as soon as possible. He goes upstairs and into the building on the surface; there’s another storage room that is used as a workshop, and garage, and Josh can say he feels strangely safe here. He’s spending time alone here, breathing in the smell of motor oil, cut away from the rest of the base with an automatic door. Josh sits down on the tires in the corner and takes a piece of paper and a pen; the lamps shine brighter here, so he can work on the report comfortably.

It’s hard to summon up the right words, the letters jump across the paper erratically. Josh crumples it into a ball and tosses it into a trashcan. Takes another sheet. Tosses it away. And then again, and again. 

“According to how much paper you’ve wasted, it was a long day.”

Josh jumps up, losing his train of thought again. Joseph has appeared out of nowhere, hands hidden in his pockets; he’s lucky he didn’t crawl from behind. Josh would’ve elbowed him in the stomach otherwise. 

“How did you get here?”

“Just came in.”

“The door was locked,” Josh narrows his eyes at him.

And Joseph says,

“There was a crack. I rolled in.”

“Well, roll back out then.”

Josh tries to focus back on writing, but Joseph’s footsteps echo through the workshop. He looks more like a thief rather than an explorer.

“Why? I can help you… with the spelling,” Joseph looks over Josh’s shoulder. “Gasoline tank with the “z”? Ga-zoline? Can you even read, man?”

Joseph is fast enough to step away from Josh when he stands up abruptly.

“If you’re here to steal something, I’ll snap your neck.”

Josh’s warning is ignored, of course. Joseph keeps staring at the unfinished report in Josh’s hand. 

“You really write your name with the small “j”?”

“You really have to comment on everything you see?”

Joseph raises his arms as if giving up.

“Fine, fine, I’m leaving. Gonna bring you a dictionary or something. Just don’t close the door while I’m under it, alright?”

And he walks to the exit; Josh notices a slight limp and disbalance in his moves, but Joseph does indeed crawl out of the workshop, leaking into the crack. Sneaky asshole. But at least, they’ve evacuated the rest of Joseph’s group, so Josh doesn’t have to deal with more eccentric minds. 

“Who the fuck are you,” Josh breathes out.

Then, he corrects the “z”, writing a bold “s” over it, which only makes his poor report look worse.

 

*** 

Two days later, Josh wakes up to Mark knocking down the door of his cell and shouting, 

“Stop him! Josh, wake up!”

“Stop who?”

“Tyler!”

Mark sounds and looks terrified, half awake and shaking from whatever nightmare he got stuck in. Josh is the one to think rationally again. 

“Who the fuck is Tyler?”

“Joseph? Come on, let’s go, the shit’s getting dangerous,” Mark drags Josh into the hallway.

Joseph couldn’t be bothered introducing himself properly.

“Well, you let him stay here, so it’s your responsibility to look after him.”

“Bullshit!”

Something’s happening at the base. There are footsteps, noises, and cursing, all heading in the same direction. What Joseph — well, Tyler — is up to? 

“Is he, like, a spy?” Josh asks Mark. “Gonna destroy us from the inside? Maybe we should just kick him out already?”

“Maybe hurry the fuck up?!”

That’s it. Mark’s grizzly bear mode. 

Josh runs to the stairs; the lights are still on, so this is not an air attack then. It can be something different, though. Everything can change in a matter of seconds, the shit’s piling up. The crowd near the southern window faces the prison’s backyard. Now, the members of the resistance use it as a gym. There are clouds of smoke, a pungent smell that makes Josh’s eyes tear up.

“What is he doing?” hears Josh, pushing himself through the crowd to get a look in the window.

“He might expose our location!” yells the guy in an old baseball cap. 

“He might as well destroy the attackers! Oh, look! He has another one!”

Surrounded by the smoke, Tyler stands in the center of an outside gym, holding something that looks like a soda can in his hand. There’s the fuse sticking out of the object, and it’s clear what Tyler’s about to do. 

“Drop that shit!” Josh screams. “Joseph! Tyler!”

Tyler looks up at him and smirks before pulling down his handmade mask. 

And then he pulls the pin and throws the can as far as he can. There’s a loud clapping sound, and then a stream of smoke flies up to the sky. The crowd gasps in surprise, and this scene looks oh-so-familiar as if Tyler takes revenge on Josh for interrupting the band’s gig at The Basement. The grenade spins on the ground, spewing tufts of black smoke. When it’s gone, so is Tyler. The backyard is empty, and the “audience” next to the window leaves one by one, too. The show’s over. 

“It can be a bomb next time,” Josh heaves a sigh. “But of course, he’s not dangerous. Not in the slightest.”

“I talked to him,” Mark protests weakly. “He seemed… Normal.”

“Then you’re the one who has problems.”

“Sure, I do have fucking problems, Josh! His cell’s right next to mine. And he… made those things, I heard him… doing something all night.”

“Michael should talk to him,” Josh takes one more glance at the window. “He should… stop this.”

They still have a couple of hours before the alarm, so Josh walks back toward his cell. If Tyler is smart enough, he’ll try to hide from Michael until morning. But, well, Josh is about to slap himself for calling Tyler “smart” when he hears the footsteps behind his back.

“Oh, well,” is all Mark says. 

Tyler’s backpack smacks against his spine as he walks, and Josh instinctively steps back. Tyler doesn’t even notice them —

“Hey,” Josh calls.

Tyler stops.

“Hey. Did you like my DIY smoke grenade? I swear I didn’t know everyone wanted to look at me testing it. Cool tattoos, by the way. You’re a true nonconformist, dude. Your skin’s like a book of symbolism without descriptions.”

Again, Tyler sounds strangely excited. Josh is so very far from feeling excited. 

“Did you want to start the riot?” Josh asks. 

“No,” Tyler shrugs, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. “You didn’t like the grenade, I got it. I thought the smoke would be darker, but I forgot about…”

“Risks,” Josh interrupts him. “You forgot about risks.”

“Ah, that too.”

“Can you control your weird passions?”

“What do you mean?” Tyler crosses his arms over his chest instantly, ready to defend himself and his interests.

“He means that you should be careful if you want to join the resistance in one piece. Blows, mines, grenades,” Mark bends his fingers. “Your room is a fucking, lab, man!”

“And Josh can’t drive, but you don’t say a word,” Tyler fends off. “Nearly drove us to the grave, well done.” 

Josh clenches his teeth in warning.

“Watch your mouth—” 

“Oh, thanks, Mom. I know exactly what I wanna say or do,” Tyler pushes Josh’s shoulder. “And I will. Sounds like something you’d never try, right?”

He’s just trying to provoke you, that’s his tactic, don’t pay attention, don’t pay attention, Josh keeps repeating to himself. He doesn’t want to start a fight when everyone’s back in their beds, sleeping. Suddenly, Michael saves the day again. It seems that he has eyes and ears everywhere in this building. 

“Stop it,” he says, squeezing himself between Josh and Tyler. “Tyler, we need to talk. Everyone else can go.”

“Seems like the problem solves itself,” Josh says. Josh is about to gloat, but Tyler steals his moment of triumph again.

“No worries, I know how to write proper reports,” there’s a smile in his voice. 

Next to Josh, Mark whispers,

“Let’s go, Josh.”

Josh lets Mark take him away from the hurricane named Tyler Joseph; they’re going downstairs, but they can still hear bits and pieces of the conversation. 

“Report, you’re right. Lay it on my table by noon.”

“You told me to do this!”

“I said, “try to make a simple device,” I didn’t ask you to test it outside.”

“I just needed to make sure it was working.” 

“This is how you start the report.” 

It’s good to know that Josh is not the only one who’s doing this stupid paperwork. Mark looks quite satisfied, too. 

“I’m thinking about moving out. I don’t know what to expect from this guy now.” 

“From the guy who “seemed normal,” yeah?” Josh smirks a little.

Mark groans.  

“Don’t say anything.”

 

***

From what Josh knows, Mark doesn’t move out of his cell. But when he appears in the canteen wearing an army helmet, Josh has to bite down his lip not to laugh.

“You cover like half of your face with a bandana during workouts like a fucking cowboy. Or a gangster, so don’t say a word,” Mark starts before Josh can comment on his fashion preferences. 

“Green suits you,” Josh says. “As much as beauty sleep does.”

“Got any sleep last night?”

Josh shakes his head.

“You know, I was thinking about Joseph…”

“Which is totally normal and not weird at all,” Mark says in a mocking tone. 

“No. Not like that, I was just thinking, okay? He’s a pyromaniac, isn’t he?”

“Or just a clever dude who wants to be helpful,” Mark looks at the chicken on his plate like it’s going to hunt him down. 

“Helpful? Are you serious? He might as well be brainwashed and programmed to destroy us.”

“You’re the one with the tinfoil hat, then,” Mark shrugs. “He is too emotional. Have you ever seen people who were tortured by those psychopaths? They look like their souls were sucked out of them. Tyler is too alive to be one of their experiments, okay?”

Josh takes a bite of his chicken too. It’s too dry to swallow, but he still shoves it down his throat. 

“He’s glitching.”

“He’s what?”

“Freezing in place, staring into nowhere, like… Glitching.”

“Say “Illuminati” and I’ll stab you with my fork.”

“Why is he glitching then?!”

“Far too many cool ideas crossing his head? I don’t know,” Mark looks around, clearly searching for Tyler. Josh releases one more theory.

“What if he wants to be brainwashed?”

He’s hit the spot, because Mark stops eating and stares at him, serious. 

“Josh, believe me, nobody, I repeat, nobody wants to be brainwashed. Especially if they know how the process goes. So shut up and let me finish my breakfast in peace.” 

And Josh shuts up. This time.

 

***

Josh wakes up covered in a cold sweat. The nights change, but the nightmare still stays the same; he’s feeling like he’s being watched 24/7 like someone’s waiting for him to fall asleep to attack him. To torture him over and over again, until he passes out. This happens every night. Sleep deprivation is Josh’s friend, lover, and his curse.

He looks around; the lights have just been turned on, which means everybody’s rushing to a shared bathroom to get some cold water on their still-sleepy bodies. Josh gets up and stretches in the center of his cell. He upgraded it; they all did it to make these underground rooms more comfortable and warmer. The first thing Josh did was change the lock. Then, he got some medical supplies for his own use, bandages, and painkillers; there’s the hanger for his clothes on the wall and a punching bag in the corner. He keeps the sledgehammer under his bed, hidden from curious eyes. On the table next to his bed lay dirty yellow wrist wraps for boxing, unrolled because Josh is too lazy to roll them back up after using them. That’s all that he has. 

Josh’s undercover job is done. The report is written, edited, and handed over to Michael. Josh’s pink hair is the only thing that reminds him of the shelter, that mission, and his failure. He needs to go to the restroom and wash one more sleepless night off his face. Josh grabs a hair clipper before he steps out of his room; he found this one in the guards’ office here.

There’s no one on his way, and there’s no one in the restroom because everyone’s crowding the shower cabins. But Josh locks himself in the stall anyway. There’s a poster on the door — a naked woman standing in a provocative pose — a safe haven for the horny ones. Josh tries his best to not look at the stains all over the toilet and the tissues in the trashcan.  

It’s an awkward moment, and the hair clipper buzzes too loudly in an empty restroom. Josh watches his once pink hair fall onto the tiled floor, and into the toilet as cold air blows over his freshly shaven head. Now, he’s just a nameless soldier, one of the many, nothing special — he’s just a murder machine, sheer force, part of the squad. Even his death will neither help them win nor make them lose. It doesn’t matter to Josh, he’s just doing what he should, what Michael tells him to do. And Michael’s doing what his boss tells him to do, and the boss is doing what the leader of the resistance tells him to do. That’s the rule. That’s everything that matters. Josh brushes pink strands off his shoulders; his natural hair is dark, but he’s nearly bald as he touches his head. Feeling more confident, Josh leaves the stall.

The first thing he sees is Tyler standing in front of the urinal.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Tyler says, looking over his shoulder for a second. “I thought someone was using a vibrator there. Who the hell shaves their head in a bathroom stall?” 

“Was just trying to avoid curious idiots like you,” Josh spits out as he goes to the sink to check his new haircut in the mirror. 

Tyler zips his pants and says a somewhat philosophic thing,

“Didn’t succeed, I must add. You can’t see beauty in simple things.”

Josh keeps examining his reflection while Tyler washes his hands in the sink near him. He’s clearly an insomniac too, Josh can see the dark circles around his eyes even with his peripheral vision.   

“Why are you hiding your hair under this ugly… whatever it is. Looking for someone to pull at it, Joseph?”

Tyler pretty much ignores his witty remark, just waving his hand at the poster on the stall’s door.

“Don’t you think it’s disrespectful, jerking it to the image of a woman who’s probably now older than your mother?”

Josh can’t help but look back at the woman. 

“It’s… not mine.”

“Mind if I take it off then?” Tyler comes to the door and picks the corner of a poster with his nail.

“Better don’t,” Josh says. “They’ll kick your ass if they find out it was you.”

Tyler replies with a lopsided grin,

“You won’t tell them, right?”

Josh shakes his head. He never liked this poster or this stall, or this place anyway. Tyler can do whatever he wants here, too. Tyler gives him a thumbs-up before leaving.

“You still look like a stripper, by the way.”

He doesn’t give Josh time to come up with a decent answer. 

The next day, a scandalous poster disappears. 

The day after that, someone draws a pretty graphic picture of a naked woman on the wall. A few hours later, someone censors her nipples with a black marker.  

Notes:

hey guys :)
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thanks for reading!!

Chapter 3

Summary:

“Can we trust him?”

“Do we have a choice?”

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It’s a miracle, but Michael still trusts Josh after his failures. Josh wants to think of it this way, not that they don’t have enough people to go on missions anymore. But each member of the team now only knows their own role and task, for their own safety, as Josh was told. He should drive the group to one of the brainwashers’ bases, taken under control by the resistance. This is all he knows. He also knows that he might need to use a hammer again.

Josh pulls on the hood and goes outside. He’s going to be driving a bulletproof reconnaissance vehicle today, Michael’s newest acquisition. Mark’s already waiting for him in the backseat, wearing a helmet again — does he ever take it off? Josh sees a patched-up hole in the sleeve of his hoodie, he hopes the cut on Mark’s arm doesn’t bother him anymore.  

“Oh hi, Mark!”

Mark squeezes his medical bag between his knees to shake Josh’s outstretched hand.

“Sarcastic as usual, my dude. You really thought Michael would miss an opportunity to team us up again? If I were you, I’d be more worried about the third guy.” 

“The third guy?”    

“Yeah, Michael said there will be the three of us, and I just have to keep you all safe,” Mark replies, poking the bag with his toe. 

Josh scratches the back of his neck, thinking.

“And I’m just a driver. Hope that guy will clear up the details.”

“Seems like that’s all on him.”

“We’re blowing up the building!”

An avalanche of enthusiastic voice sends shivers down Josh’s spine. “Oh no,” he thinks, turning around to see Tyler behind him. Mark waves at him.

“Hi.”

“Hey there,” Tyler greets him back. “The car’s loaded with explosives, so we can get on the road right now.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Josh asks him, straightforwardly.

“A demolition specialist,” Tyler replies.

Josh smirks and opens the door on the driver’s side. 

“A specialist? Demolition disaster is more appropriate.”

“I made a smoke grenade, remember? And Michael said…”

“Come on, Tyler, you won’t change Josh’s mind,” Mark sighs. “Get in.”

There are round, white-rimmed sunglasses clipped to the front of Tyler’s black shirt. His head’s covered with his usual black beanie. What a clown. It’s not that Josh knows much about style, but Tyler’s clearly inventing a new kind of fashion. And Josh hopes that Mark will distract Tyler from talking to him, so he can focus on driving. Then, something moves near him; Josh presses his lips into a tight line as he sees Tyler crawl into the passenger seat. 

“You ride in the back,” Josh barely holds himself from pushing Tyler out. 

“Why?”

“You bring ill luck.”

With that, Josh starts the engine. Tyler stares at him. 

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes. No. Who knows. Get in the back, I said.”

“Fine,” Tyler climbs over the seats, almost hitting Josh in the face with his foot. “Asshole,” he hisses out, landing on the seat next to Mark. Josh mutters,

“Bitch.”

“What did you say?” 

Tyler’s about to reach his hand and swat Josh on the head, but Mark pulls him back.

“Stop it. Let’s get the job done?”

Tyler huffs angrily but keeps his witty comments to himself. 

Their mission finally starts. 

 

***

Josh is a qualified driver, but the holes in the asphalt make him feel like he’s dragging a car across the cheese grater instead of a road. They’d been on the road for about thirty minutes, and Tyler wouldn’t stop drilling the back of Josh’s head with his gaze. He shouldn’t pay attention to it, but he’s getting nervous all of a sudden — he’s maneuvering a literal time bomb. Tyler keeps fiddling with his sunglasses, taking them on and off repeatedly, and staring, staring, staring. Josh checks on him in the rearview mirror from time to time, and it seems that Tyler looks through the windshield, at a thin patch of gravel zigzagging in front of the car.

“So,” Mark ties the facts together to break the ice. “We know we’re going somewhere, to blow something up?”

Tyler rubs the bridge of his nose under the glasses.

“That’s what Michael said.”

“But why?” Mark asks. “Don’t get me wrong, I like the idea of destroying something belonging to those monsters, but…”

Still focused on driving, Josh tries his best to explain. 

“Our people have already taken everything we could use from there. And we should hurry up because there’s still a risk of the brainwashers coming back.”

“But what if…”

“No what ifs,” Tyler cuts Mark off. “Every brainwashers’ base should be wiped off the maps. The sooner, the better.”

“Once again, you’re far too enthusiastic about that,” Josh says, speeding up. To his surprise, Tyler doesn’t respond, just looking at the miles of land ahead of him. 

He’s gotten less talkative within the last few minutes, and Josh should probably be thanking God for a moment of blessed silence. But it only makes him more alert as more thoughts flock through his head; every day can be the last one. He’s almost hit the limit of his nonexistent luck. Tyler can be the reason. 

The rays of sun still touch the ground, warming up potential graves. Josh doesn’t even remember the last time he had proper emotions. Mentally, he’s been buried alive already.

“Can you pull over?”

Tyler’s odd intonation makes Josh turn to him again. He’s getting nervous and all withdrawal-like and panicky again. “I knew you were hiding something from me,” almost slips off Josh’s tongue.

“What for? Look, we don’t have much time, and…”

“I need to check the stuff in the trunk.” 

Good try. Josh releases a sigh.

“Didn’t you check everything while loading the car?” 

“I did, but,” Tyler blinks hard, taking his sunglasses off. “It never hurts to check twice.”

Mark gives Tyler a sympathetic glance. 

“Josh, maybe you should really…”

“No, I shouldn’t,” Josh says, stubborn. “I’m not letting him sabotage the mission.” 

“Stop the car, for fuck’s sake!”

Tyler tries to open the window then, nearly ripping off the handle. He gives up eventually, rubbing his pale face with his palm. Josh keeps watching him in the rearview mirror; Tyler leans back, looking defeated. When he suddenly lurches forward, Mark skids away from him. 

“Josh, dude, I need to take a leak.”

Josh jams the brakes. 

“Did you two conspire against me or what?”

He turns around right in time to see a greenish Tyler plucking the helmet off Mark’s head and vomiting into it. Both of them watch Tyler, silently, as he heaves; the situation is too absurd for Josh to have been prepared for.

“Um…” is all Mark can say when Tyler hands him a helmet, now full of his stomach’s contents. He nearly leaves a dent in the door, throwing it open and spitting the rest of it on the ground.

“Needtobreathe,” Tyler wheezes out as he hobbles out of the off-roader. He only manages to take a few steps, then falls face-first into the grass by the roadside.

Mark follows Tyler, to do something with his helmet. And to piss.

An acrid smell of bile makes Josh queasy; he might need some fresh air, too. He’s stuck, he’s failing his mission while one of his teammates is pissing on the right side of the road and the other is puking on the left.

“Cool. Thanks, Michael,” Josh whispers and takes a half-empty pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He’s never really been a smoker, but he started and had to quit straight away quite recently. Crumpling a cigarette between his teeth, he tries to figure out whether this situation is worth smoking one, or not. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tyler get up and walk back dizzily. 

“This hearse is killing me.”

A gust of dust-raising wind makes Josh put the cigarette back into a pack. He can get through this.

“Care to explain the fuck just happened?”

Tyler’s hands are still shaking as he swallows thickly. Josh takes a step back, just in case.

“I… I got carsick,” Tyler breathes out. “That’s why I prefer front seats.” 

Josh snorts out a laugh. 

“Save that bullshit for Mark. Only kids get carsick. The last I checked, you were mu-uch older than six.”

Tyler flips him a bird wordlessly. Josh thinks that smoking was a good idea, but he gets distracted from his itch as Mark comes back, without a helmet. 

“Did you throw it out?” Tyler asks. Mark nods, dejected.

“But we could clean it up…”

“Forget about it,” Mark says, with the facial expression of a man who never forgets anything. “Can we keep going?” 

“Well, yes. Still want to check on your shit in the trunk, Tyler?”

Josh intends to just mock him, but Tyler obediently goes to open the trunk. He pulls at the straps as his lips move, wording curses; it’s clear that he just doesn’t want to continue his journey inside the car. When he’s done “checking”, he presses his fist to his mouth just at the sight of a backseat. 

Mark says,

“We need to hurry.”

Josh points at the passenger seat; Tyler perks up instantly and climbs back into the car. Josh shrugs and gets in too. 

“Hope you’re done puking,” he says, buckling up.

Nervous, Tyler keeps fiddling with his sunglasses.

“No promises.”

Josh starts the engine, not to start a fight. They’re only halfway through. And Tyler obviously has a problem with focusing; Josh adjusts an imaginary tinfoil hat on his head. Tyler’s sudden bout of illness could be explained by the connection with the brainwashers. He should talk about this to Mark later. Again.

Speaking of Mark, he suddenly leans forward from the backseat and says,

“Can you slow down?”

Josh squeezes the steering wheel in his sweaty palms.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting carsick too.”

“No. But I don’t feel safe without my helmet on,” Mark mutters. “And my psyche still hasn’t recovered after that car crash.”

Josh doesn’t say “get out of the car and walk then,” no; Josh slows down. It could’ve affected him, too — and maybe it has affected him. He’s not scared of getting back to driving vehicles after the accident, or maybe his emotions are just far too repressed. He shouldn’t be feeling anything at all. Nothing good comes from it. He remembers, he still remembers. He wishes he could repress his memories too.

Mark thanks him. 

Next to Josh, Tyler desperately tries to keep his insides on the inside. Things are going great.

 

***

A lonely building appears on the horizon; there are volunteers from the resistance already waiting for the group. Mark gets visibly anxious when they’re allowed to come closer. The aura of pain and agony leaks out of the broken windows and surrounds the squad as soon as they get out of the off-roader.

“How many people were tortured there?” Josh asks, looking around. It’s mostly a rhetorical question, but a tall guy with the resistance logo on his uniform replies,

“Who knows, man. We found at least a dozen bodies in the backyard. All civilians.”

Josh shakes his head to get rid of terrifying pictures flooding his brain. Tyler doesn’t waste time and goes to unload the explosives he was so worried about from the trunk. This is a sacred ritual for him, probably, and Josh doesn’t want to look at it. So he turns to a frustrated Mark.

“Can we trust him?”

“Do we have a choice?”

“You don’t,” Tyler interjects. “I will give you the instructions soon, but first, it’d be cool to check the building’s layout. I got some maps and docs from Michael, but I just need to be sure that everything looks exactly as I expect it.”

“Instructions?” Josh and Mark say in unison.

“Yeah, or do you just want to get stuck here for years?” Tyler raises his eyebrows. “We’ll get shit done much faster if we work together. Come on, follow me.”

Josh can’t help but note the fact of how much Tyler’s voice has changed once their mission started for real, once his mission started. That pathetic guy who got carsick in the middle of nowhere is gone now.

Josh feels dumb dragging his sledgehammer around. 

Mark still lacks any enthusiasm. 

“We’ll survive, no worries,” Josh whispers to him. “Maybe,” he adds when he’s sure Mark can’t hear him.

It’s hard to remain optimistic when you’re thrown into a war that wasn’t even your choice.

The building has been cut off from electricity, so all of them step inside carefully, holding flashlights. Tyler keeps comparing the real building to the layout on the paper and talking to himself. In the depths of the building, there’s a hospital wing, with white walls and gray floors; there are several tiny rooms, connected one after another. This is where they kept the victims, Josh assumes. There’s no furniture inside at the moment; Josh will not be surprised if he sees new hospital beds at the resistance’s base. Sounds terrible, but they need them more than the ghosts of this place. 

The next room is large and creepy.

“Is it… a lab?”

The ray of Josh’s flashlight catches empty walls, all rust-stained. Josh hopes that it’s rust, at least. There’s an iron operating table in the center of the room.

Tyler stops, whispering,

“Did they use it for…”

“For performing some kind of cranial trepanation,” Mark finishes for him.

“I thought our people took everything from this place.”

Josh doubts they’d left the table here because of their high morality. 

Mask says,

“It’s the first floor.”

Josh can see him shiver.

“Guys! I think we have a problem here,” Tyler hollers, still staring at the map. “There should be a doorway here, but…” he nods at the wall with no signs of the door in it. 

“Maybe you missed something?” Josh comes to him to look at the map too.

“My eyesight is good enough to see there’s no fucking entrance, Sherlock.”

“There is the door,” Mark suddenly says.

Tyler turns to him harshly.

“Pardon me?”

“They walled it up,” Mark says. “Much easier to keep someone inside when there’s only one way out.”

“Someone? Do you mean…”

Mark shrugs,

“Sedatives don’t work sometimes.”

After that, Josh is speechless. Tyler either saves them from an awkward pause or makes everything worse.

“At least that “someone” could still watch them doing that shit. Am I right, Mark?”

He would’ve said something else, to Mark’s chagrin, but Josh shoves Tyler away and raises his hammer in the air. 

“For fuck’s sake, everyone step aside.”

He slams it into the concrete, where a mythical door once was. The dust swirls in the air, and everyone is deafened, but the crack in the wall is not wide enough to peek inside the room.

Vitriolically, Tyler comments, 

“Not that easy, I assume.”

The next blow is as loud as a thunderstorm, and with that, Josh finally strikes the wall down. 

“Satisfied now, I hope?”

Josh is somewhat proud of himself, though a jarring pain in his shoulder cuts off his excitement.

“Uh-huh,” Tyler nods.

Josh looks at the mess he’s made.  

“Mark, you look a bit… older,” he says as he sees gray concrete dust settling on Mark’s hair. 

Mark’s death glare speaks louder than his voice. 

“Just. Shut. Up.”

Josh does shut up.

Things only get worse when Tyler finds the loudspeaker. 

Josh has to cover his ears when Tyler checks it.

“Hey, Josh!” 

“Put it down, you idiot,” Josh hisses out, grabbing Tyler’s arm. “They can hear us.”

“You really think they won’t notice the explosion?” Tyler asks, still holding the loudspeaker to his mouth. “Okay, I’m taking it. Your sirens suck. They remind me of cops, to be honest.”

“Because it’s a prison?”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

Tyler is as curious as a deer in headlights. 

“It doesn’t.”

Josh thinks about breaking a couple more walls just to calm himself down. Tyler examines the new doorway with some sick and twisted professionalism; or, he’s just an indeed sick pyromaniac. Luckily, he’s not using the loudspeaker anymore, so Josh can take a breather… 

“Okay… It seems like I got everything I need, so let’s do it.”

…Or not.

Tyler is a problem, a huge one. He’s talking too much. He puts the ticks in the plan of the building, now littered with the notes in his messy handwriting. “100% hit,” one of them reads.

“We should set my demolition equipment here, there, and… in these places,” Tyler points at the red dots on the layout. “Then, I’ll connect them with each other and to a detonator, and… Boom. Easy.”

Tyler goes back to the car, and Josh can only hope he won’t blow it up. Intentionally. Accidentally. It doesn’t matter. Josh tries to keep his mouth shut, but an unasked question is still hanging in the air, and Mark feels it. 

“I didn’t tell you, but… I was trapped here. They caught me at the protests and sent me to this place to run some tests, to experiment… Some people can’t take it. But the ones that survive, they become… Different. Soulless,” Mark’s voice wavers unsteadily. “I saw them before and after the “treatment,” because my room was just above the lab, and believe me, I heard every sound in that room, every moan, every scream. I was paralyzed with terror, but then I realized I could escape, I had to try, because dying from lead poisoning seemed better than staying. Thank God, I didn’t see what they were doing to their victims. They had scars on their heads, two or three, from the trepanation, probably. I don’t know what tools they used to perform it.” 

And, when Josh thinks that Tyler shouldn’t know about this, he notices him standing in the hallway like a creepy statue. Or like a literal bomb. 

Mark doesn’t stop, though, talking about his experience for the first time. 

“I got lucky, though. One girl helped me out, even if she didn’t understand that. Newly zombified people have moments when their minds become clear again, some kind of flashbacks, I don’t know. The human brain is a complicated thing, and some time should pass before changes become permanent,” they enter the first red-dotted room. “So the brainwashed victims stayed here for a while, and she made an act of sabotage, caused a power outage, and it unlocked my door. I wasn’t free, but I had a plan.”

Tyler nods at him to continue as he sets the equipment. Mark is oversharing, but Josh can’t just brutally shut him up. He knew that Mark witnessed some shit, but he didn’t know that he was that close to getting brainwashed. It makes his skin crawl. 

At the back of his consciousness, he thinks he can still hear people trapped here.

“I couldn’t sleep at night, eavesdropping on conversations of guardians. And one day, I got the information that helped me escape,” Mark stops, uncertain if he should say it. Then, he takes a slow, deep breath and says, “They invented a stimulant. A substance that makes you stronger, makes you feel better even if you were shot in the head. Its side effects are terrible, though.”

Mark stares at the wall, suddenly silent.

Tyler stares at him. 

“And you know this because?..”

Mark nods.

“It was my last chance. They once mentioned a storage room, and I was ready to risk everything I had at that moment. So, when the power outage happened, I ran. But…” he swallows hard. “I couldn’t really help anyone else. I didn’t even know if they were still alive. I could only dart into the storage room, steal some stimulants, and get myself injected. I only used one dose, but I swear I knocked down a guard with my bare hands! Can you believe it?”

“Sounds… Impressive,” Josh says. He believes every word Mark says. He can feel it, too, empathy suddenly awakening.

“I escaped through the back door. But I had no food, no weapons, and the effects of the injection only lasted for, like, five hours at best, so I also had no time to cry over myself. That’s how I met Michael, by the way,” he smiles weakly. 

“That knight in a shiny black uniform?” Tyler smirks. “What a love story, man.”

“No, literally,” Mark visibly loosens up. “I was running through the cornfield, imagine one of those scenes from movies, man, that’s how it looked. Then, I was crossing the road, already semi-conscious. Michael almost hit me with his car, I still don’t know why he didn’t shoot me down that night. I asked him, even.”

“Oh, sure you did.”

“Tyler! Shut the fuck up,” Josh groans.

“He said it was his intuition. So, after some tests, questions, and medical examinations, I joined the resistance. That’s it.”

“And in return, you told Michael about this location?” Tyler leads them to the next room, trying to get through the mess on the floor. “That’s smart.”

“I was just afraid brainwashers would come after my family. Michael did everything he could to get them to the farms, far enough from this madness.”

Sometimes Josh thinks that he might never contact his family again; sometimes he thinks that even if he’d try, he’d only hear short beeps on the line. Maybe, he’s just a coward. 

As to reply to his thoughts, Tyler says,

“My family’s probably too busy kissing the new society’s ass. And they keep giving birth and stuff, I’m sure. Didn’t save my seat at the table when I left. They were sure that I’ll end up being locked in a nuthouse one day.”

“Because of the riots?” Josh asks. “I mean… Protests.”

“Yeah, that too. Someone wrote “wake up” in huge red letters on the city hall building. Surprisingly, that wasn’t me.”

“It was me,” Mark says. “This is how they got me.” 

“No way!” Tyler gasps. “You’re my hero from now on!” 

Tyler hugs him. Tyler literally hugs Mark, looking so disgustingly happy, as if they’ve known each other for years. 

“You two, don’t make Michael jealous,” Josh says.

“What? I can hug you too if you want.”

“No, please,” Josh steps away. “Don’t.”

Tyler shrugs.

The last room they enter once was a kitchen. Tyler spends more time here, stumbling around with a flashlight and mumbling something under his breath. While Tyler’s picking the right place to put the explosives, Josh comes to Mark and whispers,

“Dude, I don’t know what to say, to be honest.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m glad your family is safe now,” Josh gently pats Mark’s back.

“That’s the only thing that matters now. I was so scared when we got here. I didn’t know Michael sent us here. If this is one of his psychological things again, I’ll kill him.”

“Aw, come on,” Josh coos. “He wanted you to face your fears. He knows what he’s doing, so just… Trust him.”

Mark nods and looks at Tyler’s blurry silhouette in the dark. Mark’s got a chance to blow up his demons, to turn them to dust and throw them to the wind.

“Tyler,” this name doesn’t make Josh physically sick, but it still feels weird on his tongue. “It would be cool to return before the sunset. And safer.”

Tyler turns around, lighting Josh’s boots with the flashlight. His reaction to his name is pretty odd too, and he just mutters,

“Yeah. We’re almost done here.”

 

***

They look at the building from afar. Tyler holds a detonator in his hands; a small device with a singular button wields enough power to destroy a whole building. It’s like holding a gun for the first time. Heavier than expected, might bite the hand that feeds, but you should just get to it. 

Tyler is creepily concerned. 

Then, he suddenly hands the detonator to Mark. 

“What?” Mark unwittingly steps back.

“You should do it. I’m not kidding. Take it,” Tyler insists. 

“I-I can’t.”

“I’ll help you,” Tyler takes Mark’s hand in his, making him squeeze the detonator in his palm.

Mark’s fingers are trembling, but it doesn’t stop Tyler. He whispers something into his ear; Josh doesn’t hear it, but it works on Mark’s courage. He lets out a heavy breath and presses the button. The explosion rattles through their eardrums; they’re brave and cool enough to look at the explosion. Dust and smoke weave in the air, reminding Josh of the day when Tyler joined them. Then, the day when he tested his smoke grenade.

“Crumbled like a house of cards,” Tyler says. 

“No regrets,” Mark says. 

He gives the detonator back to Tyler, hand steady, no shivering in his frame. 

Josh gets into the car to start the engine and give Mark a few extra seconds to digest his feelings.    

On their way back, they can see the smoke pluming out of the ruins.

 

***

Josh is exhausted; sleepless nights keep feeding his apathy. But he needs to stick to his daily routine: eat, take a jog, take a shower, write a report, repeat. He wants to hide from the terrible weather in the garage and dig into the engines until Michael calls for him, to share details about the new mission. But every day is a mission of its own. Josh was told to make lists and simple plans just to keep himself on track. Exercise. Take a painkiller if the pain in your shoulder starts killing you. If one pill doesn’t help, go to Mark. Don’t do anything stupid. Josh is being supervised, isn’t he? He hates being supervised. 

He enters the canteen, thoughts turning to Mark’s confession again. His story made him shiver from head to toe, it seems that all of them have enough skeletons in their closets to throw a Halloween party. 

They have oatmeal for breakfast; everyone hates it because it’s tasteless and cold, but Josh is cool with that. It’s slick enough to slide down his throat easily. He eats because he needs to, not because he’s hungry; it’s been almost a year. He doesn’t care.

Josh wants to sit at the table alone today. 

“Morning!”

Josh flinches, hearing the voice behind his back. It’s Mark, he nods at Josh in greeting and flops on the seat next to him. He has a new army helmet, and he puts it on the table in front of Josh to brag. 

“Slept well?” Mark asks. 

Josh shrugs and keeps eating. 

“Same,” Mark pushes the food around the plate. “You know, I feel like I embarrassed myself yesterday…”

A loud metallic clang interrupts him. Josh begins to suspect that all the things that happen suddenly are somehow leading to Tyler. And he’s right again — the source of the noise is Tyler. He drags a chair toward Josh’s table across the canteen, holding it with one hand, and carrying a plate with his breakfast in the other.

“What is he doing?” Josh whispers. 

“Wants to say hi?” Mark takes his helmet on, watching Tyler carefully. “Just in case,” he explains when Josh gives him a puzzled look.

As predicted, Tyler says,

“Hey everyone,” and puts his plate on the table. “What’s up?”

Josh squeezes a spoon in his hand. Mark enjoys it. 

“Having a great time.”

“Cool. I just thought we could eat together, cause you know, we’re a team now. And… There are no vacant tables, so…”

“Are you kidding?” Josh looks around. There are only three dudes in the canteen except for them. Morning showers are overestimated.

“Whatever,” Tyler waves off his words. “By the way, Michael told me about the tattoos you guys get when you join the resistance. I’m getting mine today,” he rubs the crook of his elbow. 

“Love needles?” Josh blurts out.

“What?”

“Are you a morning person, Joseph?” Josh doesn’t want to repeat his questions twice.

Tyler scratches the back of his head, thinking.

“Ah. No, no,” he looks at their sleepy faces. “I just didn’t sleep at all. I have, like, an hour before I zone out,” he says, chewing loudly. “Also, sorry about your helmet, Mark. I tried to warn Josh, but…”

“No worries, man, I got a new one,” Mark taps at his forehead. “So my armor’s with me again.”

“Oh, I see, I see,” Tyler mumbles through the mouthful of oatmeal. Josh tries to eat too.

“How can you eat this?” Mark winces. “It looks and tastes like clay. No wonder Tyler puked it up yesterday.”

“Blame the bumpy road,” Tyler shrugs. 

“Thanks, I’m full,” Josh stands up. “And stop eating like a barn animal, it’s gross.”

“It tastes better this way.”

“It doesn’t.”

“It does. Just give it a try. When you’re alone, of course. Shy boy.”

Josh grabs his half-empty plate and leaves the canteen. He doesn’t want to start the day with a fight, but it wasn’t even his choice today.

 

***

Tyler keeps acting weird. When Josh is training at the gym, Tyler keeps looking at the hammer with silent curiosity clouding his eyes. They only have the light here two hours per day, so Josh has to tolerate some company if he still wants to practice. Tyler’s spinning a basketball on his finger, making it look easy, while Josh can swear he hears the joint in his own left elbow creak. The warm-ups take more time today, and Tyler’s stare is freaking him out; he appeared right at the moment when Josh took his damp t-shirt off. Josh wants to ask Mark what he’s doing here if he can only do the tricks with this stupid ball. Maybe Tyler told Mark he was sick, and of course, Mark believed. 

Mark’s spending time at a shooting range with Michael, and Josh wishes he could go there with them, but the sound of raindrops hitting the roof urges him to stay inside. 

Tyler doesn’t even look at the ball, focusing on Josh’s weapon instead. They’re not talking. Josh tries to ignore him. Even though Tyler’s about to get a heatstroke, wearing his usual outfit, and there’s too little air in the room. Well, it’s not Josh’s problem. They even have a treadmill here, so Josh doesn’t have to go out and get his ass wet today; on the fifth minute of running, he forgets about everything. Even about the black stain with a bright orange ball at the corner of the gym. That’s why he likes jogging.

Sweaty but satisfied, he takes his hammer and heads to the exit. A cold shower would feel like heaven now. And, they’re not talking, but Tyler hollers,

“Josh!”

Which means Josh is allowed to ask,

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Training.”

Tyler’s equanimity can disarm anyone, but not Josh.

“Oh, really?”

“Three-pointers.”

“You didn’t make a single throw.”

Tyler rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know why you’re being so attentive when it comes to me, but okay, I’ll show you.”

Josh doesn’t know why he stays. Tyler is indeed good at basketball, and he shoots a three-pointer on the first try. 

“Not bad,” Josh says. 

“I’m perfect.” 

Tyler taps the ball on the floor as if offering Josh to try. Josh shakes his head. 

“I gotta go.”

“Quitter.”

The pain stabs his shoulder again.

Josh leaves.

 

***

Loneliness makes Josh feel safer. He enjoys taking a shower alone, with no one asking him about his tattoos or his scars; cold water doesn’t bother him. He dries himself quickly and heads back to his cell. 

The lights go out as soon as he steps out of the bathroom. Power outages suck, and it takes a few seconds for the emergency lights to get turned on. Something happens during this short break, there’s a shriek of pain, followed by a thud. Josh speeds up, a dim yellow light illuminates his way. The door to his cell is open, and someone keeps spitting out curses inside. Josh recognizes this squeaky voice. 

He sees Tyler too often, he thinks. He’s currently sprawled across the floor, gasping in pain. Josh’s hammer is lying next to Tyler; he left a nice new dent in the wall, trying to use a weapon he had never tried to use before.

“Get. Up.”

Did he forget to lock the door, or?..

“How did you get here? If you broke the hammer, I swear, I…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It can stand up for itself,” Tyler sits up slowly. A slight movement makes him moan again; he gets up eventually, clinging to the wall. He tries to leave, and he does, but Josh is blocking his way. 

There’s something wrong with Tyler’s arm — Josh notices that his left shoulder is placed lower than his right one.

“Wait,” Josh outstretches his hand, making Tyler flinch. 

“I need to get Mark.”

He’s in pain, trying his best to endure it, but he can barely stand. He’s stubborn; probably the most stubborn guy Josh has ever seen. 

“It’s a dislocation,” Josh says. “I can fix it, but I’m not moving a finger until you say what you’ve been looking for here.” 

He tries to look and sound intimidating, but Tyler’s too distracted by his injury to pay attention.

“Wanted to know what you’re hiding under your bed, and oh my god dude, you have the weirdest sex toy,” Tyler nods at the sledgehammer. “Dangerous also.”

Tyler licks his lips nervously when Josh takes his knit top back on; Josh feels like a surgeon, and Tyler is suspiciously quiet. He doesn’t try to leave anymore; maybe, his injury has made him less fast and brisk, or maybe it’s fear. 

Tyler licks his lips once again when Josh touches his shoulder.

“It’ll hurt.”

“I’m sure it will.”

They both take deep breaths right after. Josh stands behind him and grasps his shoulder, trying to jerk and pull the joint up back into the socket, but his own old injury is still affecting his arm’s mobility. Josh tries again. Tyler bites his fist not to moan. 

“Sit down,” Josh says. “I need you to relax.”

He can read a “fuck you” in Tyler’s glare. He sits down on the bed and stares at the floor. 

“You picked the lock. Illegal entry, all that,” Josh says, placing his hands on Tyler’s shoulder again.

“The door wasn’t locked.”

“It was. And I don’t trust you, so stay away from my cell, got it? Or you might suffer from something worse than a simple dislocation.” 

“Simple?” Tyler chuckles, ignoring the threats. “It doesn’t look simple.” 

Tyler struggles when Josh tries to lift his arm; that’s just an involuntary muscle spasm, and Tyler can’t control it. His body is rigid and tense, growing hotter within a second. 

“This is not what I had planned, either,” Josh sighs. “I need to unbutton your shirt.”

“Oh, so that’s the reason…”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Josh slides his hand under Tyler’s shirt and tries to fix the dislocation from this position, but it doesn’t work either. Tyler turns into an inflexible skeleton, shaking and clenching his teeth in pain. Tyler’s clothes still smell like fumes. This suddenly makes Josh’s heart clench. 

“Crap.”

That’s the guy who broke into his cell, touched his weapon and god knows what else he was going to do here. Josh thinks he has to take him to a hospital wing. Josh thinks Tyler is about to pass out. 

“I’ve got a high pain tolerance level,” Tyler says. 

“Lie down,” Josh pushes his good shoulder. “I don’t need you to think I’m torturing you for no reason.”

Tyler obeys, freezing on the mattress. Josh uses both his hands not to let him move, just in case, but Tyler is lucid enough to just glance through him at the ceiling. He can barely part his chapped lips when he asks.

“On the count of three?”

Josh nods. 

Josh jerks at his shoulder on the count of two, and, before Tyler can gather his bearings, sets the joint back into the socket with a loud popping sound. Tyler takes the entire ordeal silently, exhaling a single fuck and then falling silent. Josh doesn’t want to get sentimental over his triumph, so he grabs Tyler by the collar of his shirt and yanks him back into a sitting position. 

“Tell me you’re alright and get out.”

Tyler sniffs and rubs his bony shoulder. There are the outlines of black tattoos on his chest; Josh vaguely remembers Mark mentioning them. The razorblade idiot. A faceless, bleeding mess. It makes him shiver. 

Tyler says he’s fine. 

“It’s almost numb now,” he buttons up his shirt hastily, hands trembling. “No one’s ever cared about me like that.” 

He holds his left arm wrapped around his middle. Josh almost wants to suggest using a sling. It hurts less when it’s pulled up. 

Tyler sways sideways, waking to the door frame. He turns around one more time before leaving, and says,

“I didn’t try to rob you.”

And then he vanishes in the darkness.

Josh has a gut feeling that this encounter is just the beginning of a chain of unfortunate events. Sooner or later, he’ll find out.

 

*** 

Michael joins them at the breakfast table the next day. He’s not just a boss; Josh can even call him a friend. He saved Josh’s life once, he believed him when no one did. And, he doesn’t ask unnecessary questions. His presence makes Mark’s morning mood better, too; at least, he’s not glaring daggers at anyone. His helmet’s lying on the chair, in case Tyler appears.   

Josh still feels uneasy about the whole Dislocation Incident, but it seems that Tyler can keep secrets, after all. And, when Josh thinks he can finally breathe freely, Mark points his spoon at the fridge and asks, 

“Does anyone know why Tyler’s taken out all the ice from the freezer?”

“No idea,” Michael shrugs. “Josh?”

Josh chokes on his coffee. 

“Why do you think I’m aware of everything he’s doing?”

“You need a family therapist, guys,” Mark points out. “I can smell the tension between you two.”

Luckily, Josh is done with his breakfast already, so he can quickly excuse himself and storm out of the canteen. “Quitter,” says Tyler’s voice in his head. For fuck’s sake. 

 

*** 

In the evening, Josh sees Tyler walk out of the restroom; he’s wearing a black tank top that doesn’t cover a bright-purple palm-shaped bruise on his left shoulder. There’s a bunch of smaller, fingerprint-like ones, scattered all over his bicep and his forearm.

Tyler’s holding an ice-filled towel in his free hand. 

Josh doesn’t say anything.

Notes:

thanks for reading <3

Chapter 4

Summary:

“Cops just hated you, I bet,” Josh pulls at the steering wheel as the tree branches hit the windshield.

Tyler shrugs.

“True, but they didn’t know my face. Or my name. I hope so. I was known by my actions, not my appearance.”

Notes:

things get darker

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“I swear there’s a microchip somewhere in his body.”

Josh taps his foot on the floor nervously, still gripping Mark’s sleeve. Probably, catching him in the middle of a barely lit hallway wasn’t Josh’s best decision, but he can’t wait anymore.

“Do you hear me?”

Mark rubs his forehead under the helmet.

“I’m his neighbor, and all that I can say — I haven’t noticed anything weird.”

Josh frowns.

“Really?” 

Mark slowly makes his way to his cell, and Josh follows, still not easing his grasp. He can’t stop thinking, he can’t stop feeling these tingles of a nearing danger; all of it is coming from Tyler and his truly devilish enthusiasm. 

Mark doesn’t keep up with the dialogue. Josh keeps knocking on a metaphorical wall surrounding him. 

“But what if he’s hiding a mic somewhere under his clothes?”

It’s Mark’s turn to stop and grab Josh by his arm.

“Dude. Tyler doesn’t have any microchips in his body, I swear. I performed a medical examination when he just arrived,” he says sternly. “Fuck it, Josh. We literally showered together, and yes — I’m sure he’s not brainwashed. He’s got no electronics under his skin. So can you please shut up and leave him alone now?”

Mark is angry, Josh doesn’t want to play with fire, but he’s got no brakes. 

“Showered? Together?”

Tyler doesn’t look like a person who enjoys collective bathing, and neither does Mark.

The pause hits Josh’s ears along with the water falling from the ceiling in the darkest corner of the hallway. If they don’t fix the leakage anytime soon, they will have to learn to swim.

“Together,” Mark nods. “What’s wrong?”

Josh suddenly wants to end the conversation.

“No, nothing.”

“But really. You never go to the bathroom if there’s at least one person in there, and you never shower while the water is still hot. Shy boy, Tyler was right.”

This was meant to be a joke so Mark smiles and pats Josh’s shoulder encouragingly.

“Thank you very much, but I don’t need an assistant to scrub my back for me,” Josh cuts him off. 

“Indeed,” Mark chuckles. “At least we’re not ashamed of gifts from Mother Nature.”

This sounds like something what Tyler could say. Tyler, not Mark. He’s a bad influence. While Josh wants to add that he’s not ashamed of his gifts as well, Mark gets free of Josh’s fingers on his sleeve and slips into his cell.

“Where’s Tyler?” Josh asks, sounding tougher than he expected. 

“Somewhere, doing something.”

With this, Mark shrugs and locks the door, leaving Josh confused. Josh looks at the door to Tyler’s cell and sees a small crack. So unreasonable. This damn cell is Tyler’s home now, Josh thinks about it this way; his dismay has almost washed away his memories about the days he spent here. 

“What are you hiding here?” Josh whispers and runs his palms over the surface of the door. 

Who is he working for?

 

*** 

He knows this is a bad idea, but he goes inside. He enters Tyler’s cell just like Tyler did in his time. Josh doesn’t even know what he’s searching for, swiping the dust off the shelves and pulling a thin blanket off the bed. Tyler’s cell doesn’t look neat, it doesn’t even look inhabited; of course, because Tyler is always somewhere, doing something. 

Preparing a diversion, probably. 

Josh curses under his breath, turning upside down the box with Tyler’s tools and instruments. All that stuff technically belongs to Michael, but Tyler uses all of it anyway while creating his mind-blowing and skull-cracking devices.

Drugs, Josh thinks. I should find drugs. This fucker’s so high he doesn’t even have a lock to protect his things. Josh kicks the headboard, he’s angry because he thought that the evidence would be far too noticeable, but he gets a whole nothing. He tries again and again, tossing Tyler’s pillow on the floor and shoving his hand underneath the mattress. He should have at least one precious stash here.

Josh gets down to his knees, groping for something under the bed; there’s nothing except dust bunnies and the loudspeaker Tyler found during their mission; he doesn’t even find any used tissues or crumpled paper there. As if Tyler is not a human.

“Looking for something specific? Need any help?”

A scornful voice behind Josh’s back makes his heart stop a couple of times before speeding up with an unpleasant rhythm. Josh whips around and gets up on his feet; there should have been an accusation like “what is this, Joseph? Don’t you want to explain this shit?” But Josh’s hands are empty. Well, if the dust he found under Tyler’s bed isn’t ash of burnt corpses. 

Josh’s jaws are still clenched tightly, and Tyler’s arms are crossed over his chest. He’s obnoxiously calm, with a slight smile playing on his lips; his beanie is pulled down to his eyebrows, and Josh can’t read his glance. Dim light makes it harder to see things, so Josh rushes toward Tyler to check his condition. Without “don’t you want to explain this shit?” being said, Josh grabs him by his shoulders and presses him to the wall, and stares into his eyes. 

Tyler blinks, perplexed, mouthing a strained “what the hell” as Josh checks his pupils. He doesn’t see anything no matter how hard he tries until Tyler pushes him away.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Tyler adjusts his hat and goes towards his bed. “It’s a crime, actually.”

“Crime is what you’re doing,” Josh fends off.

“Me?”

“What have you been doing in my cell?”

“Same. Fucking. Question,” Tyler crosses his arms again. “Is it a cop roleplay? Oh, don’t arrest me, mister,” Tyler raises his hands, holding his wrists together as if they’re chained with invisible cuffs. “Terrible. Now goodbye.”

Josh would start a fight if he found a single piece of anything, but now he just looks and feels dumb. They couldn’t be bothered to keep their voices low, so Mark has heard everything, and now he’s knocking on the wall, shouting something angrily, and waking up even more people. 

“Michael’s not gonna be happy to witness our conflict,” Tyler says. “So better go to your room. There’s nothing thrilling in mine.”

Josh isn’t interested in writing a report today. Josh isn’t interested in Tyler reading it and making fun of it; he prefers Michael to be the only fan of his creativity.

Josh wants to make a hole in the wall with his fist, but his outbursts of anger always bring more pain than satisfaction.

Which makes everything worse. 

Josh leaves, feeling Tyler’s glare burn a spot between his shoulder blades.

 

***

The resistance’s strike forces succeed in getting back one of their strategic territories — an abandoned warehouse. They moved forward their defensive line, and now they’re trying to just hold their position while having to predict their enemy’s next step. Michael says the resistance has to examine the location again, to not let the soldiers and brainwashers collect their data. Josh’s driving, Mark’s going with him as a medic, and, to Josh’s chagrin, Tyler’s going too. Because possible landmines, traps, or tripwires on the road aren’t going to remove themselves without taking payment in the form of someone’s limb.

A week has passed since the encounter in Tyler’s cell, and they haven’t talked since. Josh has been busy with his daily routine; Mark has been avoiding any conversations about Tyler and brainwashing in general.

And now, Tyler just climbs into the passenger seat of their armored car, as if nothing happened. Josh is excited to drive it, to count the miles along with minutes, and to clear his mind. But he’s not excited to be dealing with Tyler’s motion sickness again. 

“I hope you haven’t eaten,” Josh says instead of greeting him. 

“Why are you asking?”

How could he forget?

“Mark only has one helmet, you know.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Tyler throws his head back and closes his eyes. 

Josh holds himself back from pushing him in the ribs. 

“You better check everything you need before I start the engine.”

“Leave him alone, Josh.”

Mark sounds tired. 

Eyes still closed, Tyler mutters,

“He’s just mad because he doesn’t have enough brain cells to keep his eyes on the road when I’m sitting here. Hope he won’t run over another mine.” 

Josh wants to say that keeping his eyes closed will only make Tyler puke faster. But instead, he says,

“One more word, and I’ll kick you out of my car.”

“I bet taking a walk is much safer than jumping over the potholes with you.”

“Buckle up, you idiot.” 

Tyler buckles up. 

Josh presses the gas pedal. “This is it,” he thinks. “He’ll keep his mouth shut.” He also thinks that they now need a custom “baby on board” badge that says “Tyler on board”, just in case. Just because he likes to be the center of attention. 

Tyler gets bored of keeping his mouth shut just after a few minutes. 

“Do you have any music?”

“No.”

“Radio?”

“No.”

Tyler sighs heavily. He keeps fidgeting on the seat, unable to stay still. He talks to Mark in the backseat, but he can’t join him there for obvious reasons. Josh wonders what’s going on with his head if even the slightest turn of the car makes him fall silent mid-word and lurch forward with his palm pressed to his forehead. Josh doesn’t want to clean up after him, so he tries to avoid the holes in the asphalt. It was bombed a while ago, and god knows what else was left there.

Josh rolls up his sleeves, but it’s a big mistake. He can’t hide from Tyler, and even ignoring him doesn’t work.

“You’re a real tattoo guy, aren’t you?”

This is not the first time when Tyler sees his tattoos, so Josh should have expected this question. There are symbols and signs on his left forearm: anchors, crosses, and daggers with uneven contours.

“It was Michael’s idea,” Josh replies. A full tattoo sleeve on his right arm might look surreal now. Too colorful, too professional. Like a photo album of his past life.

“What possessed him?”

“We needed an identification mark for every squad, he said. He sucks at even just holding a tattoo machine, but I had no choice,” Josh scratches the X behind his ear. Michael’s hand slipped, so the tattoo looks like a little opened envelope.

“He looked pretty bold when tattooing me,” Tyler says. “Mark has a cross tattooed on his ring finger, and I think—”

Mark doesn’t let him finish.

“That’s the thing for medics.”

“Yeah, and Michael just likes drawing crosses, I noticed.”

“Michael hates drawing.”

“Really? I could make some sketches for him,” Tyler perks up. “We used to make lots of graffiti in the past. Cops hate art, though. What a shame.”

“Cops just hated you, I bet,” Josh pulls at the steering wheel as the tree branches hit the windshield. 

Tyler shrugs.

“True, but they didn’t know my face. Or my name. I hope so. I was known by my actions, not my appearance.”

“Hiding your appearance is, in fact, appearance,” Mark says from the backseat. “In journalism, you have to check every fact to sign the article with your name. And your activism was… magnificently impressive. Chaotic. Loud.”

Tyler rubs his stomach under his black shirt. 

“This is what you do when people don’t want to listen. You think you’re doing a big thing, but they remember you as an idiot who cut himself on the street.”

Josh didn’t expect Tyler to start opening up so suddenly.

“I knew it was you.”

“Not fully me at that time,” Tyler looks back at the road swaying in front of the car. “But who cares, honestly. Nothing matters for the crowd that gathered around for the show, not for the meaning of the performance.” 

“There was the meaning?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” 

Tyler’s voice cracks and Josh doesn’t say anything else. Mark caught the meaning behind his performance in his article and it nearly got him lobotomized.

Josh doesn’t talk about Tyler’s methods of acting. 

Tyler doesn’t ask Josh about the tattoo on his face.

Josh slows the car down as they enter the city. Their people have set up a few roadblocks, and they have reached the first one. Josh nods at the guy with the squad’s sign on his wrist as they pass by the outpost.

“Now we need to find the logo, I think they’ve already marked the warehouse,” Josh says, opening the side window and looking out. 

“There, I see it!” Mark shoves his head between the front seats, forefinger pointed at the gray concrete building, with a row of windows up in the rafters. There’s the |-/ sign on the wall; Josh parks the car beside it. 

The area is littered with industrial waste, and the entrance is blocked by a pile of tires. Josh sighs, thinking about the job they’ve got to do just to get inside. Next to him, Tyler rubs his hands.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to blow it up,” Josh warns him. Disappointed, Tyler kicks the tire.  

“Oh no, they sent me here empty-handed this time.”

“Empty-handed? Take this then,” Josh nods at the tire. 

Tyler winces, but takes one of them and rolls it away from the door. Maybe, they can work together, after all. Josh and Mark drag the tires away, putting them down near the fence. They are all sweaty when it’s done, and Mark can’t find a better time to use his Polaroid.

“Tyler! Strike a pose!”

A normal guy would have questions, but Tyler is anything but a normal guy, so he squats down next to the tires.* 

“Good?”

“Good,” Mark nods. “Josh, come here!” 

Mark never stops surprising Josh with his hobbies.

“No, no, I’m not that photogenic,” Josh covers his face with his hands. 

“Come on, get some rest, guys! Just five minutes, deal?”

Josh nods reluctantly.

“Great! Tyler, chin up! Right leg forward! That’s it,” Mark walks circles around Tyler to catch the right angle.

It seems that Tyler enjoys it. Unlike Josh, who turns away as soon as Mark tries to snap a picture of him. Josh only rolls his eyes and shakes his head, and goes to the car to take their things. He even throws Tyler’s backpack over his shoulder, walking back to the door with their bags. Josh stands in the door frame, letting his little squad know it’s time to get back to work. 

They don’t get it. 

“Five minutes are over.” 

“You’re so boring,” Tyler groans.

Mark holds at least ten pictures in his hands, looking through them and handing Tyler a couple of the best ones. Tyler immediately gives one of them to Josh.

“Take it.”

“What for?”

“To get off to it? Or just relax. Dunno.”

Josh wants to shove this damn photo down Tyler’s throat, but Tyler’s already entered the building, holding his backpack and a flashlight. He doesn’t care about what people think or say about him — or it’s just yet another mask he pulls on. Mark’s radio set suddenly comes to life; Josh listens to the conversations from the nearest roadblocks. They don’t have much time, they never do. 

Outside, it’s drizzling. Josh hates this weather, it makes him ache all over; he takes the hammer from the car, just in case. And, he finds an excuse to use it as soon as he walks inside the warehouse. Tyler tries to pick the lock with a rusty nail, muttering curses under his breath.

“Let me,” Josh swings the hammer and breaks the hinges with a single hit. The metal clangs as it hits the floor. “Welcome!”

Tyler is the first to step into the dark room.

“My turn. I don’t think they could set up the traps here, but you better stand back.” 

Josh is glad that Tyler shoves his weirdness up his ass when they’re on the mission together. Not too deep, but still deep enough to stop irritating Josh with his loud breathing. There are no tripwires here, and, fortunately, Tyler finds a breaker box. Now they have some shitty, yellow lighting that makes their surroundings even darker somehow. Darkness only fertilizes Josh’s anxiety, the rain hitting the rooftop waters it, making the sprouts of panic grow. He tries to focus on the mission instead, to reprogram his consciousness. If Tyler and Mark can do it, then he can do it too. 

Mark takes a voice recorder out of his pocket and begins to describe everything he sees here. They have to split up at some point, and Josh looks for the shelves they have to empty first. 

“Why didn’t they just burn these?” Josh asks himself when he sees a few boxes of books on the floor. He jumps up when he suddenly hears the answer, 

“Because they can read?”

Tyler’s voice echoes somewhere from the distance. He turns to the shadow when the lights go out. Josh doesn’t react to his “witty” remark. 

Behind his back, Mark clicks the record button again. 

 

*** 

The rain hits cardboard boxes fiercely, making the weapons and supplies inside rattle and shake. Mark stays in the building to finish his audio report for Michael. They load everything they can get packed in a car trunk — even a few books as Mark insisted — and wait for further instructions. Josh tries to dry up his wet hoodie, he takes it off and lays it on the table, but it’s no use. He shakes his head like a dog, forgetting that he shaved off his hair.

Mark sits down at the table next to him. 

“Please, don’t tell me you buried Tyler in the backyard.” 

“He was there just a minute ago,” Josh looks around. “Tyler! For heaven’s sake, stop fucking around.”

A slight rustling noise comes from the depths of a dark room. 

Mark puts his hand on a gun holster automatically and stands up. They can hear the footsteps now, and Josh takes his gun too, calling Tyler by his name again. Tyler doesn’t respond, but there are more shuffling noises; Josh’s heart speeds up as he jumps around the corner harshly and points the gun at… Tyler. 

“Are you out of your mind?!” Josh shouts, lowering his weapon. 

Mark heaves a sigh of relief and falls into the nearest chair.

There’s a Snickers bar in Tyler’s mouth, so he can’t say anything distinct; he’s wearing a short-sleeved kimono, so flamboyant it makes Josh squint. As if a unicorn vomited on Tyler’s usually black clothing. He’s carrying a few Red Bull cans in the hem, and Mark visibly relaxes, patting the top of his helmet. Then he takes one of the cans and asks,

“Where did you find it?”

Tyler gives him a mysterious smile and mumbles something, trying to spit the chocolate bar out, but it sticks to his teeth. Mark understands him somehow and lifts his kimono. There are more Snickers in Tyler’s jeans’ pockets; Mark takes them out and lays them on the table. Tyler does the same with the cans, and finally swallows a mouthful of chocolate. 

“Daddy came back home from the hunt.” 

Josh wishes he choked.

“Don’t you think it could be poisoned?” he sounds almost hopeful.

“Let’s find out,” Tyler opens the can and takes a long swig.

“Not the worst way to die,” Mark grabs one of the Snickers bars. “Don’t even remember when was the last time I ate chocolate. If we die in, like, twenty minutes, don’t eat it.”

“Thank you for such professional medical advice,” Josh takes the snacks too. “And you,” he turns to Tyler. “Always answer when we call. Always. Got it? I could’ve shot you!”

“Oh, don’t say it as if you’d mourn for me.”

He sits on the table, so Josh can’t even avert his gaze.

“Can you please… Move,” he manages, pushing Tyler’s thigh. 

“I thought you liked my new look.”

Tyler gets up, only to swirl around and give Josh a full 360-degree view. Josh stares at the drink in his hand instead and chews on the Snickers slowly. What’s meant to be, must be.

 

***

But they can’t just eat in peace. The radio on the table begins to hiss again, words break through the static noise. 

“The enemy… Defense is breached… All units except the vanguard are advised to leave the area.”

The gunshots are thundering in the background. Tyler still gets to grab the food before they run out of the warehouse. It rains hard, the road turns to a muddy river, and the car shakes and swerves as Josh turns to the main road. He almost smashes the hood into a streetlamp when Tyler yells into his ear,

“All the roads are blocked! Haven’t you heard?”

Josh turns the steering wheel, shoving his panic deep, deep down. 

“This road’s the only way. Buckle up.”

He redirects his nervous energy into focusing to make his moves sharp and balanced, while Tyler grips at his seat so hard his knuckles turn white. Mark doesn’t look good either, shaking in the backseat. They can hear the sounds of explosions and gunfire from somewhere down the block. They need to make it to the city border, and then to a relatively safe area. Josh hits the gas pedal, speeding up to dart past the danger zone with stray bullets and possible snipers on the edges.

The resistance forces start evacuating civilians while being shelled from helicopters.  

And then Josh sees a child in the middle of the road. It’s a boy who doesn’t react to the sound of the brakes squeaking. He’s soaking wet, stepping into the puddles on the asphalt, explosions cause no fear for him as they get closer. He doesn’t care about the spurts of fire; people fall down in a dead faint, but the kid stands still. Mark keeps cursing in the back. 

“Bad place to park the car, Josh!”

“There’s a kid!”

Josh is about to pluck the helmet off Mark’s head and kick the door open, but Tyler is much faster than him — he pulls down his beanie like a mask to cover his face and jumps out of the car. He instantly gets soaked to the bone in a shower of rain as he sprints to the boy. 

“Joseph!”

He scoops up the kid in his arms and runs back to the car right in time — a metal shard rips open the asphalt at the spot where they were standing. A bullet swishes right above Tyler’s shoulder as he hunches his back and flies back into the passenger seat. Then he quickly shoves the boy into the backseat, where Mark gives him the helmet and both of them lay down on the floor between the seats. The volley of automatic gunfire attains the car; the glass doesn’t crack, but the car’s frame gets dents in it. The radio hisses, and there are flashes of light everywhere, as Josh tries to move the car out of the fire. He hits the speed limit, he doesn’t stop until the sky above them clears a little. 

With his heart hammering in his chest, he checks on his teammates. Tyler has rolled up his mask and is now sitting with his fist pressed to his mouth, face sickly pale.

“They didn’t get you, did they?” Mark asks.

Tyler shakes his head and swallows hard. He doesn’t ask Josh to pull over, though; Josh turns to Mark.  

“How’s the kid?”

“Scares me shitless,” Mark says. In the rearview mirror, Josh can see the boy sitting still and looking into nowhere, his eyes glazed over. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t even blink, it seems.

“Maybe he’s just shocked?”

Mark throws a ratty blanket over the kid’s shoulders, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what that means, Josh.”

“They… scorched his brain,” Tyler croaks out, then slamming his palm over his mouth again.

“We’ll take him to the infirmary on arrival,” Josh says. “Michael will try to find his parents.”

“They’re probably dead,” Tyler mutters. 

“Then his parents’ bodies,” Josh corrects himself. “Hey. Don’t puke in the car.” 

“Fuck off.”

Tyler’s motion sickness keeps kicking his ass, but he doesn’t say a word about it anymore.

“Just look him in the eye, and you’ll see no sign of life. I want to tear the brainwashers apart with my bare hands,” Mark tries to make the kid more comfortable. He’s no older than five, and neither of them knows shit about babysitting.

“They used him like cannon fodder, just to lure us out of the car.”

Josh bites his lip when Mark takes the helmet off the kid’s head. This is a nightmare. Josh wishes he could think that the kid was just hypnotized into acting this way, but a long scar on the top of his shaved head convinces him otherwise.

 

***

Josh needs to talk to Michael.

Josh needs to explain another what the fuck, but he can’t find Michael in his office; so, Josh goes straight to the archive. They couldn’t make the kid talk or react, and Mark was so incredibly sad that he couldn’t use his communication skills. The infirmary is not going to help them as well.

No one can help them.

So when Josh finds the door unlocked, he gets anxious. 

When he finds Tyler there, he gets mad.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks abruptly. 

Tyler crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Playing chess,” he turns to one of the stands filled with folders. “Holy shit, Josh. What does it look like?”

“Breaking the laws?”

“The laws no one gives a shit about.”

Tyler huffs, leaning his back against the wall. His clothes are still damp, his beanie almost covers his eyes.

“I could do it,” Josh says. It causes another outburst of anger from Tyler.

“You could do what?”

“Get that kid. You weren’t acting like a pro, you know.”

Tyler clutches the sides of his head and laughs without a hint of sanity.

“Is letting people die called professionalism these days?”

Josh is perplexed. 

“What are you talking about?”

“And here we can see such a suitable case of total dumbness,” Tyler spits venomously. “This is how it works, yeah? This oh sorry, my brain’s just not big enough —”

“You could fucking die, don’t you understand? The bullet was about to pierce through your empty head!”

Josh doesn’t want this idiot’s death to ruin his not-so-pristine reputation.

Tyler is ruthless.

“You’d never get out of that damn car. Admit it.”

“You weren’t fucking thinking —”

“I was. You weren’t. Do you think your slowness is gonna be saving you till the last day?”

Josh is about to pull back.

“We just needed a plan.”

“A plan?” Tyler scoffs. “Where have you, all the great planners, been while our squads have been decaying in the basements? Huh? Where? Where have all of your tactics and strategies been, as well?”

He’s still wearing this ugly kimono that hurts Josh’s eyes. He hates this style, this absurdity. 

“We were getting ready while you’ve been fucking acting like a flock of brainless worms. Got stomped on, I’m not surprised.”

Tyler raises his head up.

“At least we’re sincere.”

“And stupid.”

Tyler snickers before landing a punch; the back of Josh’s head smacks against the shelf with a dull sound, his tongue feels swollen in his mouth. And so does his lip; Tyler has attacked him all of a sudden. Blindsided, Josh only manages to smear the blood from his split lip across his chin when Tyler hits him for the second time. He’s aiming for his ribs, but Josh blocks the punch off with his elbow. When he knows what to expect, it’s easier to fight back. 

His jaw aches when he speaks.

“Calm the fuck down.”

Tyler has never seemed like a mentally stable guy, but now it’s more than obvious — Josh is forced to hold him and slam him into the opposite row of shelves. Tyler is batting his arms away, he’s squirming and kicking his legs, nearly hitting Josh’s nose a couple of times. Josh can hear Tyler’s joints pop as he backs his shoulders to get out of the grip; Tyler is strong, and he’s got more energy than Josh thought his rather skinny body could contain.

He manages to get Tyler in a headlock, but Tyler keeps scraping Josh’s forearms with his raw nails. 

“Come on, gonna kill me?” Tyler hisses. “Do it already, oh wait — you’re not the one to murder dudes with bare hands?”

Tyler’s been holding this phrase back until the climax of the story.

“Bitch,” Josh shoves him aside. Tyler tries to get a grip on the stand, but fails and falls onto the dusty floor. 

Josh doesn’t ask how did you know?

Josh asks a simple why?

“Your Mom didn’t tell you that having dirty secrets is bad, did she?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Josh knocks Tyler over when he tries to get up. “Or I swear I —”

Tyler looks up at him.

“Or you what?”

He doesn’t try to punch Josh anymore, he just doesn’t have a chance since Josh has tackled him to the floor; Josh is sitting on Tyler’s hips and holding his hands on his shoulders. Tyler smiles, Josh wants to make this smile bleed. 

His own lips are still blood-coated.

“I found your file,” Tyler says matter-of-factly, which makes Josh press him down harder. “And I read it. And it was very interesting, you know?” Tyler’s intonations are still poisonous. Josh re-positions his palms to Tyler’s collarbones. Tyler’s chest rises and falls erratically as more words come out. 

“A double kill. Didn’t want to share your dude with your sister or didn’t want to share her with that dude?”

Josh sees red when his hands lock around Tyler’s throat; Tyler smirks, then gulps for breath; he scrapes the floor next to his hips, then leaves more pink lines on Josh’s wrists. 

“I’m just calling… Things… By their names,” Tyler’s voice is raspy by the time Josh drowns in anger. 

“Don’t you. Fucking. Dare,” Josh’s reply is short, he used to never get into fights. For no reason, at least.

And Tyler gives him the reason.

Tyler kicks his legs and almost throws Josh off of himself, but Josh has been holding his rage for too long. He doesn’t let Tyler turn and toss, he cuts off his air, and Tyler turns his head to the side to ease the pressure. The slits in his beanie reveal his head, Tyler’s hair is short, and his scalp is crossed with —

Josh almost stops choking him, his knee is pressed between Tyler’s thighs. 

Scars. Tyler has scars on his head, white and wrinkled, but he’s still unaware of the fact Josh has found it out. Maybe he’s been indeed brainwashed. Josh’s hatred and anger don’t let him stop in time, he almost waits for Tyler to pass out, but Tyler stares at his bottom lip; his face is red, and sweat gathers on his temples. Josh’s palms are wet and clammy, and his head rushes as Tyler bucks up his hips, dragging his boots across the floor. 

The dust curls around them, it gets into Josh’s mouth and his eyes, and he keeps pinning Tyler down, not quite comprehending the friction between his knee and Tyler’s groin. He’s hard, Josh could smash his balls if he wanted. 

“What the—”

Josh is stumped, and Tyler’s body is so weirdly tensed up. Josh thinks he’s getting seizures as his Adam’s apple bobs, almost slicing Josh’s palm. Then Tyler’s whole frame jerks as he throws his head back. He lifts his hips off the floor involuntarily, he rolls his eyes, and Josh can swear that Tyler would’ve moaned if he could still breathe. 

“—fuck,” Josh finishes. 

He removes his hands from Tyler’s neck, he gets up.

Tyler coughs and rubs his throat; he rolls over onto his side then sits up with his fists propped up against the floor. He doesn’t adjust his beanie, he stares at his lap blankly; his shirt and his kimono are too long, and his pants are too dark for Josh to detect any stains. He still thinks he can tackle Tyler back down and shove his hand between his legs just to prove that he has just gotten off right in front of Josh, during the fight. Just to degrade him even more. Whoever Tyler is, he’s got weird kinks. 

Tyler’s neck turns light violet where Josh’s fingertips were. 

He keeps touching the spots, looking nowhere. 

“Did you just come in your fucking pants?”

Josh’s voice is a little too shaky.

Tyler covers his head with one hand when Josh takes a step.

“Fuck off.”

“Freak,” Josh says through his clenched teeth. “I didn’t kill her.”

He chews his lip, mouth full of blood and shreds; he doesn’t hesitate to spit it out next to Tyler while his state is still so far from fine. He walks to the door, still hearing Tyler’s heavy breathing. 

This is not something Josh is going to mention in his report.

Both of them are dark horses.

Notes:

tyler’s kimono
*pic reference
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wellll next chapter is gonna be a deep dive into josh's past, and the story gets back to main plot in chapter 6. there will also be some glimpses into tyler's past as well. and yes, josh has all of his heathens mv tattoos here <3
i wrote 13+ chapters, ~80k words, and i have no idea how long this fic's gonna be! i'll try to update monthly!!
---
thanks for reading!

Chapter 5

Summary:

Josh’s story.

Notes:

chapter warnings: graphic depictions of violence, wounds, corpses, domestic abuse and police brutality.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

They catch him with blood on his hands, with pieces of brains and bones on a meat pounder. When Josh hears the sirens, it’s already too late — strobing red and blue lights show him what he’s done — but his mind refuses to register it. 

“Two bodies!” 

The neighbors must’ve called the police. 

“Hands up! Put the weapon down!” 

And Josh wants to say, “this is not what you think”, and Josh wants to say, “he killed my sister”, but they don’t listen. He makes a single sudden move toward one of the officers, and it’s a big mistake. They’re allowed to fire the guns if they spot a threat, and a bloodied murderer on the kitchen floor is, in fact, a threat. The sound of the gunshot burns his ear while a flare of white-hot pain strikes through his shoulder. Josh howls, pressing his palm to the wound, fingers too slick to even push the meat pounder away. His sister’s body looks like a horror movie prop, a crack in her temple looks almost unnatural. Next to her, lies her dead fiancé, with a mess where his head once was. Death never seems real, right?

They talk about his rights, but he knows it’s bullshit the moment they twist his arms behind his back, ignoring a steady flow of blood running down his t-shirt. 

He has the right to remain silent. 

So he remains silent.

 

***

When he only tries to speak, his explanations ricochet off of the wall of law, piercing his rights like bullets. Bullets, how fun. Someone throws a black towel over the hole in his shoulder instead of properly bandaging it. “No time,” they say. “Why did you kill them?” they ask right after.

“I didn’t kill her,” Josh says, words feel like cotton and taste like copper. 

The officers don’t believe him. He didn’t expect them to believe him, even; at this point, he knows this is the end for him. Exhausted, covered with his own and his victim’s blood, he looks around the interrogation room. An obese man in front of him keeps wiping sweat from his upper lip, looking almost comfortable in this setting. Josh is shaking, cold and feverish, losing blood and will to live. 

His sister’s fiancé was a son of a high-ranking official, so the whole local administration will cheer for the police to execute Josh for their pleasure. Josh should have thought of this while grabbing the murder’s weapon — a bloodied meat pounder — and slamming it into his head, catching the disease of madness.

His name was Greg, but Josh always called him Rat in his head.   

Rat was laughing, shaking a dead woman’s body like a rag doll, and all Josh could think about was revenge. “See? See?” Rat kept repeating. “She’s dead. She’s dead!” Josh didn’t say a word.

He can still hear the squelching sound of the skull cracking like a ripe watermelon. Blood looked almost black on the kitchen floor, on Josh’s hand, and in the puddle around his sister’s head. And her fiancé, that sick fucker Greg, got a pristine reputation and bought all the opinions and best lawyers to protect his genealogical tree from the roots to the top. Or, his daddy dearest bought all of it.

Josh sniffles and lurches forward, pressing his forehead to the cool surface of a tabletop. He wonders when blood loss is going to knock him out. More questions fall on deaf ears, Josh has said everything he could. He needs a lawyer, but who’ll work with a punk-looking dude who repairs cars for a living? Josh might add that he was an aspiring engineer, but his possible career is now ruined along with the rest of his life. He’s going to go to prison, no extenuating circumstances in sight. He bashed someone’s brains in, and everyone thinks he killed his sister as well.

Josh’s heart aches when he thinks of his family. He wishes he could explain everything to them, he wishes he could save them from this tragedy.

“Can you hear me?”

They don’t even call him by his name as if he doesn’t deserve it. They just have to get the job done. Josh’s vision swims when he sees a white sheet of paper and a pen in front of him. 

“We need a guilty confession,” the officer says, wiping the sweat again. “Just sign the paper. You killed both of them.”

Josh shakes his head and pushes the pen and paper away, staining it with blood. 

“You can’t make me.”

He knows they can. He knows they will try to break him, to manipulate his family until they get what they want. Until the administration gets what they want.

The officer chuckles and rolls the pen back to Josh.

“Think about it, boy. You just got a little drunk, had a little fight that spun out of the control—”

“I don’t drink,” Josh interrupts him. The officer chuckles again. Josh hasn’t gotten tested for substances yet, but something tells him that no one is interested in his clear blood and piss. They’ve already made their own “results”, his inner voice tells him.

The towel on his shoulder is heavy, dripping with blood — has the artery been ruptured? Josh could feel the bullet shatter a kitchen cabinet behind his back. “We bought a new house!” his sister told him when she called him last week. Rat bought a new house to make it up for the last time he had hit her. And she was too scared to leave, she was talking about having a child with him. Josh knew it was always a problem, Josh didn’t know what the administration could need from their middle-class family. Why did Rat pick her to make her his toy? To control her, because rich girls have sharp teeth? “Break up with him,” Josh managed to say before he heard short beeps on the line.

He can’t stand the room shrinking around him, his lungs are just two empty balloons; he wheezes as he takes a breath. They don’t help him treat the gunshot wound in his shoulder, fresh rivulets of blood stream down his once gray t-shirt. Josh raises his cuffed hands clumsily to try and press the towel to stop the bleeding, but it doesn’t work. He’s thirsty, dizzy, and he’s almost sure his collarbone is broken. 

He killed a man.

But he’d never touch his sister.

He doesn’t even know what he’d do if the police hadn’t caught him. He’d try to go and warn his family that the officers are about to come after them, and that he’s sorry. He’ll never stop being sorry. For his younger brother and another sister, for crashing his parents’ dreams and expectations. 

“Sign the paper,” the officer says. 

“No.”

He’s not going to give them a sample of his handwriting. 

He’s not getting out of this place alive, even. 

“You murdered two people.”

“I didn’t.”

Josh’s heart rattles in his chest, pumping more blood out of the wound. He might need medical help if they’re not planning on burying him right there and then. Red crust dries on his fingers, around his nails, red keeps trickling down his forearms and dripping from the handcuff chain.

He knows how it’ll look in the press, controlled by the government, he can see the headlines already. He can’t move, but two pairs of hands yank him up from the chair.

“Come on, get up!” another officer growls into Josh’s ear. “Write a testimony or a testament.”  

“Where are you taking me?”

Josh struggles to stay upright as they drag him out of the room and nearly push him down the stairs; the fact that they brought him straight to the prison building instead of the police department speaks for itself. Josh wishes he could at least call his mother. He’s being forced down the hallway, between the two rows of cells. The guards don’t think twice before kicking one of them open and throwing Josh in. He clings to the side of a bed, knees hitting the floor with a painful thud. 

“Good night, princess,” one of the men spits out. 

The door closes with a loud metal clunk.

Josh wants to howl. 

 

***

In his prison cell, there’s only a bed, a tiny metal sink, and a rust- and who-knows-what-else-covered toilet. Cold water manages one thin sprout into Josh’s cupped palms before dying out. He hasn’t slept, of course, just slipping in and out of a fever-induced faint. When he blinked his eyes open, his injured shoulder was all wet again, a large dark spot was spreading across the mattress. 

Josh folds the towel and presses it to the wound again. It’s still bleeding sluggishly, surrounded with a purple-blue aureole as Josh peeks under the collar of his shirt. He’s fucked. They might just find him dead in his cell by the morning and clap their dirty hands, having the job done.

Josh groans and tries to shake more water from the tap, but only a few drops land on his palm. The edges of the wound are pulsing, already painted bright red with infection. 

Somebody opens the door. 

Josh flinches, and drops a blood-soaked towel on the floor; the fingers of his left hand feel weird, numb and uncooperative. 

A man enters the cell, yet another guard, holding folded clothes in his hands. Josh recognizes an orange jumpsuit and a gray t-shirt, similar to the one he’s currently wearing. There’s also a set of bandages. Josh can barely catch the items with his cuffed hands as the guard tosses them at him.

“On your knees,” he orders. “Hands up.”

Josh can’t lift his left arm, muscles twisted into a hot ball of pain, filling the emptiness in tissues. The guard doesn’t pay attention to it, just grabbing at the chain and jerking Josh’s hands upwards. Josh gasps as barely formed scab cracks, baring the flesh again. 

The man uncuffs him, giving him an illusion of freedom.

“You got a minute to undress,” he says and nods at the clothes.

Josh clenches his jaw not to respond. He’s never been a talker, but he wants to scream and curse now; the only thing that stops him is his damn shoulder which won’t even let him fight back. It doesn’t even let him take his shirt off, getting stuck in the sleeve, spewing blood as he rips the fabric off of the wound. 

The guard grimaces in disgust. 

Josh hands him a bloodied t-shirt, somehow satisfied when the man picks it up with two fingers. 

“Hope you don’t have AIDS or some shit.”

“Same,” Josh mutters. 

Getting shoved in the ribs with a rubber baton was worth it, he thinks. 

He takes off his jeans, too. There’s blood on them. Josh doubts they’ll let him still have his belt to tie it around the gunshot wound.

The guard takes everything, including his shoes. His new ones don’t have laces. He’s sure they only gave him bandages because they don’t want him to smear blood everywhere. Josh looks at the ruined mattress and sighs.

The guard leaves.

The flakes of rust in the water can only make things worse instead of cleaning the wound, so Josh just applies the bandages. It’s hard because his injury apparently requires stitches, and cotton pads will get soaked through soon. Josh throws one end of a bandage over his shoulder, trying not to jar his almost useless left arm. He clamps a loose end in his teeth to tie a knot. It doesn’t hurt less, it doesn’t bleed less.

They think he’s going to crack faster without painkillers. Josh has nothing else to do but accept a deadly challenge. He’s got to survive to tell his family it wasn’t his fault. His only fault was that he couldn’t warn his sister earlier. A fatal mistake. Maybe they will never listen to him, cross him out of their lives with a bloody line of tragedy, but he still has to try.

He dresses up, knowing the sleeve of the jumpsuit will soon get all blood-stained. He wonders how he still hasn’t properly passed out right where he stands. Maybe pain doesn’t let him slip into unconsciousness. Maybe it’s his stubbornness. Josh has nothing here he can use as a weapon; he doesn’t know what they even want from him, and why do they need him to sign those papers if they have decided everything for him already? 

Maybe killing him would be a blessing, and they want to trap him in hell. In the hell of his thoughts. 

Blood on his hands. Two lifeless bodies.

Josh shakes his head, but a horrifying picture doesn’t come out of his mind. It never will, it’s a part of him now. Like a tumor he can’t cure. 

Having his hands uncuffed feels so fake, so unnatural as if he’s going to pay the price for it. Josh braces himself for more outbursts of inevitable pain. He needs every bit of strength his body can afford now. 

He rests his head on a cold concrete wall and tries to sleep. 

 

***

Not letting him sleep is their trademark tactic, Josh should’ve expected that they won’t let him die in peace. He doesn’t know how he’s managed to fall asleep when his left shoulder is on fire; he wakes up choking on water being poured on his head. Josh coughs and sputters, squinting at the two prison guards in front of him.

“Ready to talk?” one of them asks, slapping Josh across the face. 

It somehow helps him sober up from a painful haze. The handcuffs click again, and the guards drag him upwards, breaking a fragile balance in Josh’s brain. Josh shakes his head, spraying his captors with water. He needs to stay awake. No matter what. 

“Swallowed your tongue?”

A rubber baton hits him in the ribs. 

“Who’s asking?” Josh wheezes out. He wants to remember their faces and features but everything blurs into a dizzying swirl as the punches keep coming. They grab at his shoulder, of course, rage is their weakness, and Josh’s weakness is being forced to speak.

They don’t care about his sister. They only care about a fucking Rat with a silver spoon in his mouth. Why now? He’s dead anyway. He won’t need his dignity in the grave. Well, neither will Josh. 

They take him to the interrogation room again, they push him down onto the chair. The officer sits on the opposite side of a table, and there’s a pen and paper in front of Josh again. His heart pulses in his injured shoulder, as if it’s too close to the wound. The more he tries to endure the pain, the worse it gets. A cold “shower” might have helped to reduce the fever, but now Josh is shuddering so hard he might fall off the chair. 

“Had enough time to think?” 

The officer sounds almost polite. 

“Your service sucks,” Josh replies.

He spits blood right on the paper in front of him when the guard punches him in the jaw. He sees a raised fist again when he opens his eyes, and braces himself for one more hit.

“No,” the officer stops the guard. “Don’t touch his face. His family doesn’t need to know what happened to him when they see his body.”

The guard grins.

“He’s a fighter, isn’t he?”

“This is our little secret, am I right, Josh?”

This is the first time Josh hears his name from them. He doesn’t react, too busy spitting out blood leaking from the tear in his lip. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the guard’s split knuckles.

Josh is good at boxing, he used to train himself when he was free. Now he doesn’t think his shoulder will ever function right. And the guards know it too. He gasps and bites his tongue not to yell as a rubber baton collides with his broken collarbone; the spikes of pain sink into his muscles like metal teeth of a bear trap. Blood seeps through the fabric of his orange jumpsuit. 

“You should be grateful that the administration didn’t get you yet.”

Josh stares at his shaking hands. He’s not sure if they’re shaking this badly, or if it’s just his wobbly vision. They won’t let him take a breather, hitting him in the ribs right after, catching him when he’s about to fall over, and sitting him up on the chair again. 

They keep talking, words turning into a buzz in Josh’s head. 

“Fuck you,” he groans. 

This is enough to piss off the guards even more. They deliberately aim for his shoulder, and Josh does lose track of reality a couple of times. They splash his face with cold water to wake him up. This is the closest to drinking he can afford since they took him. Josh licks his lips and tries to focus on not losing consciousness again. His shoulder is burning, bones grind against each other as he breathes.

“You know what you have to do to stop all of this,” the officer says. 

To die? Josh is already dead for everyone in this room, they’ll take him to the state where the death penalty is legal anyway. Or they’ll kill him here and his family will never see his body. They should not be afraid of ruining his face at this point. 

Josh grabs the paper, crumples it into a ball, and throws it at the officer. It happens too fast, and too painful for Josh as the rubber baton hits him on the back. Josh mentally says goodbye to his kidneys and whatever organs he might get beaten into a bloody pulp now.

“You think you’re brave?”

Josh doesn’t respond, bending over until his nose almost touches his knees. He can’t protect himself from the punches coming, he can’t even speak against this rotten law. 

They know he didn’t kill his sister. 

They know she was abused. 

They won’t do anything about it, because it’s too late, and because they already found a perfect murderer. And it’s Josh. Wrong time, wrong place.

“Does it… turn you on?”

Josh’s question hangs in the air like a raised rubber baton that’s about to land on his back again. They tell him he’s stupid, that he’s ruining his own and his family’s lives; they punch him again and again until fog clouds his vision. Blood keeps coming out of the wound, it hurts to breathe, to move, to blink.

Josh tries to stay awake, he gets slapped on his cheeks repeatedly, but exhaustion and fever take over his mind. At some point, he just stops processing what’s going on around him. Sounds come and go like waves, along with the pulsating pain in his shoulder that feels oddly numb for the first time. The nerve’s been damaged, apparently. Josh doesn’t even register the moment when they uncuff his hands.

He’s incoherent, his feet drag against the floor as the guards haul him back to his cell. They throw him inside, he misses the bed as he lands. Sure, that’d be too thoughtful of them, letting him have a bit of rest after the beating he took.

“We’ll see what you’ll say tomorrow, fucker.”

The lock clicks.

Josh spends the night on the floor.

 

***

There are no windows in the cell, but the cracks in the walls let the chilly wind in. Josh is cold, his jumpsuit is all damp with blood and water soaking it. He can’t even dry his clothes properly and lying passed out on a concrete floor only made things worse.  

“Get up,” someone orders. 

Josh rubs his eyes, feeling unsteady as soon as he props himself up with his elbow. The door of his cell is open again, there’s a food tray on the floor. Just some illegible mush in a metal bowl, a piece of bread, and a spoon. Josh waits for the man to start beating him like just everyone else in this damn prison, but it doesn’t happen. He gets up, and it takes him a good two minutes to regain balance when he takes the first step. 

The man hands Josh two white pills. 

“Painkillers,” he explains. “Boss doesn’t want you dead yet.”

Josh wants to say that the boss can as well shove these pills up his ass if he thinks they can fix anything. They only want him to live another day to torture him more. 

He takes the pills and swallows them dry.

“Good boy.” 

Josh feels sick. 

The man adds,

“Enjoy your meal.”

And slams the door shut. 

Josh hasn’t eaten in two days so his stomach should be digesting itself by now, but he’s not hungry. He trudges past the food and sits down on the bed, pressing his palm to his shoulder. It’s finally stopped bleeding, maybe there’s no blood left. No life left. 

He needs to get out. Josh looks around once again, trying to figure out what he can use as a weapon. Spoon? Tray? He’s too weak to even stand on his own, let alone knock someone out. He doesn’t even have friends that could go looking for him. No friends in high places either.

The tension in his shoulder doesn’t go away. Pain has settled deep into the infected tissues, spreading in hot circles around the wound. This makes Josh even more nauseous, it eventually sends him to kneel in front of a dirty toilet. He vomits up painkillers before they reduce the pain. It makes his head even dizzier, and stomach empty but he can’t even think of food. Josh slaps himself across the cheeks to sharpen his vision. Not good, he shouldn’t give up easily. 

He doesn’t have a blanket or bedsheets to use like a bandage. 

Josh’s captors want him to die, but they don’t want him to do it himself. Cowards.

He sits on the floor next to the toilet for a long time, starting to doze off; once his insides are settled a bit, he crawls closer to the door, to try and eat a tasteless cold mush the guard brought to him. It’s degrading, but Josh forces himself to eat all of it. He can only hope his stomach won’t twist itself inside out once again. 

He slowly realizes he’s getting used to the pain in his shoulder. Soiled bandages stick to the skin, to his t-shirt, and the infection will spread wider soon.

He tries not to think about what methods they’re going to resort to make him sign the paper. 

 

***

They take him to the interrogation room again. At this point, Josh begins to wonder why they can’t just deal with him in his cell. 

“Aren’t you tired of this?” the officer asks, while Josh tries to regain his breath. 

That last punch in the ribs has definitely cracked something inside of him.

“Did you know…” Josh winces as the pain shoots through his body. “Did you know there’s no safest seats on the plane?”

The officer gives him a puzzled look.

“What?”

“You’re potentially doomed as soon as you get on board,” Josh says. “One wrong move and your bones will blend with your flesh.”

“Bullshit,” the officer rolls his eyes. He didn’t want Josh to switch the topic, but Josh still managed to do it. 

“Would you ever get on a plane if you knew it was fixed with duct tape?” Josh continues.

“Shut up and write.”

There’s a pen and paper placed in front of him again. Josh’s hands are chained again. He’s not crumbling underneath the weight of moral pressure yet, but he’s never been in a situation like this, so he doesn’t know when his brain is going to betray him.

“It’s made of aluminum. The price is roughly $700 per roll. And it’s really called a “Jesus-tape” in Finland—”

A punch in the shoulder blade makes him growl and double over in pain. Don’t give them what they want, don’t give them what they want, he tells himself. And he wills himself to straighten his back again. He’s an honest man. He shouldn’t be scared. But there’s no one to tell him he’s doing the right thing, either.

“Fuck it, you think you’re the smart one here?” the guard screams, raising a rubber baton again. 

Josh has never been violent. He tried his best to avoid fights and conflicts, and now he has to build a whole new strategy to survive. 

Another hit sends a wave of needles down his injured arm. The position with his forehead pressed to the table almost feels like home.

Cabin crew dims the lights while landing a plane so that the passengers’ eyes adjust to the dark in case something goes wrong and they need to evacuate. 

Don’t pass out, not now, not now.

He keeps quoting the Airplane Flying Handbook to keep himself sane. It was the last book he read, the only thing he can focus his mind on now.

Another punch comes, the baton bounces off of the small of Josh’s back. 

When the plane crashes, the main psychological hazard is the pilot’s desire to save the plane. 

Josh’s plane is crashing, sending SOS signals to a dead dispatcher.

 

***

They continue to torture and torment him for the next week and a half. Josh counts the days by the moments when he’s awake. They feed him once in two days, they give him painkillers once again. This is another act of cynicism, the pills don’t help. Josh can’t bend his left arm properly when they chain him again and take him to the interrogation room. 

They ask him questions, but he just stops talking. This is pointless, everything is.

The guards might break into Josh’s cell and pour cold water onto his head, onto his bed so he’s forced to lay on the floor. They won’t let him sleep, and the only salvation is the short moments when he blacks out from both pain and exhaustion. 

They speak in death threats, but Josh doesn’t listen. 

Josh is gone.

 

***

He’s not the only desperate soul in the prison’s basement. And he’s not the angriest one, even though he wishes he was. The evening comes with the knocking on the door, another mockery before he hears the keys jingle. 

Are they taking shifts in torturing him? 

Josh is still disoriented as a guard cuffs his hands again.

“Here he is,” he says to the two men entering Josh’s cell. One of them is bald and another one has tattoos all over his hands and neck. 

They’re also wearing orange jumpsuits, they’re grinning and cracking knuckles. Josh swallows nervously, pressing his palm to his shoulder. The bald man is taller and bigger than him. Josh glares at him, only getting a vile smile in return. The tattooed guy makes a swift motion with the edge of his palm as if slitting his throat. 

“Entertain them with your shitty facts about planes,” the guard smirks, yanking Josh up by the collar of his jumpsuit. 

The two prisoners grab him by his arms, pushing him out of his cell. They don’t take him to the interrogation room upstairs this time; there’s no officer in sight either. 

“Scared yet?” Bald asks. 

“Of your face?” Josh asks. “Let me think… A bit.”

If he’s going to die today, he’s gonna die sharp-tongued. The guard pokes him in the back with a rubber baton. Too close, he’s standing too close. Out of the corner of his eye, Josh can see a tattooed fist raised. He ducks his head, turning around abruptly and snatching the baton out of the guard’s hands. He didn’t expect such agility from an exhausted and injured Josh, so his fingers drag uselessly down the handle. 

Josh swings the baton again, this time hitting the guard in the arm. His chained hands ache, shoulder creaks and cracks with every move. 

“Prefer meat pounders, fucker?” Bald yells, attacking Josh from behind. 

They drag him into a laundry room; Josh drops the baton when a pair of strong arms locks around his shoulders, his muscles go numb. He kicks his legs, but the guard punches him in the stomach. 

“Do your thing,” he nods at Bald and Tattoos. “I’ll stand on the lookout.” 

And then he closes the door.

Josh still can’t get enough air in his lungs as he gets shoved into the half-darkness of the room. They don’t let him fully come back to his senses, twisting his injured arm. The cuffs between Josh’s wrists tighten, a lightning bolt of pain shoots through his shoulder. 

Josh screams, trying to get out of the firm grip. 

“You like it?” Tattoos scoffs. 

“Fuck you,” Josh breathes out. He’s not even sure if the men still hear him. He can’t hear himself, words and sounds drown in blood pounding in his ears.

Tattoos kicks him in the knee, and Josh falls forward; a bald man behind him pushes him to the ground. This is the war. This is the administration’s order. Josh throws his chained hands up in an attempt to cover his head, but he still misses a punch in the face. Knuckles with the word RAGE tattooed on them slam into Josh’s nose, cracking the cartilage. Blood runs down his throat as the punches and kicks keep coming, into his ribs, stomach, chest. 

Semi-conscious, he’s still trying to fight back. He manages to kick Tattoos in the crotch, making him curse and sputter. 

“I’m gonna break your fucking legs!”

Josh’s vision is a blurred mess; Bald snatches a sharpened spoon out of his sleeve and sticks it into the wound in Josh’s shoulder. It goes deep, the sound is so sickening that Josh blacks out for a moment. 

And something goes wrong.

Josh thinks it’s the ringing in his ears, but then he realizes this is the alarm. Then he hears footsteps, noises from the outside, dozens of people running down the hallway.

“The fuck is happening?” Tattoos asks, looking at the door.

And Bald says,

“The riot. This is our chance.”

He punches Josh in the face one more time and shoves his accomplice to the entrance. They leave Josh alone, bleeding and unable to move. A sharpened spoon in his shoulder weighs a ton, pinning him to a crimson pool spreading around him, gluing him to the floor. The guards don’t come to pick him up or lock him up, just diving into the commotion in the hallway.

Josh weakly turns his head to the side not to choke on blood clogging his throat. He can’t breathe; at first, he thinks it’s because of the broken nose and ribs, but then he feels a weird smell tickling his nostrils. There’s some sort of gas filling the room; Josh heard that the guards could use it to restrain rebellious prisoners, but he always thought it was a myth. 

Turns out, it wasn’t. 

His head feels woozy, his eyelids droop and the noises from the hallway travel away from his fogged mind. The guards are fighting back as hard as they can, wearing hazmat suits. Josh sees one of them through the crack in the door. He also hears gunshots, screams of agony coming from upstairs. He can’t get up or crawl, and the gas replaces the air in his tormented lungs. 

He can’t even bleed to death now, because the spoon in his shoulder doesn’t let the blood come out.

The noises fade slowly, and Josh only flinches awake when someone approaches him. A hand taps his cheek, and Josh opens his teary eyes. All he sees is a massive figure wearing an oxygen mask. Josh has never met this man before. He thinks this might be his death. Finally. Finally?  

“Jesus,” Josh whispers. 

“Call me Michael,” the man replies, voice muffled by the oxygen mask on his face.

Josh doesn’t want to talk. A faint mhm is all he can manage. 

“Here, breathe,” Michael places a similar mask over Josh’s nose and mouth. There’s a portable oxygen tank behind the man’s back, and only now Josh notices he was barely breathing. He’s poisoned, probably, he can’t resist when Michael puts his good hand on the mask and tells him to hold it. 

“We need to take this out,” he quickly warns Josh before pulling the spoon out of the wound.

Josh bites his tongue, but a moan rips his throat open.

“I know it hurts, hold on,” Michael says, snatching a clean bed sheet out of the washing machine and tearing it into shreds. “Can you walk?”

Josh shakes his head.

Michael is not losing a second, only talking to Josh to keep him awake. He presses a cloth to the wound and throws Josh’s arm over his shoulders. Josh can’t stop shaking as he walks, letting Michael drag him to the exit, and then to the back door at the end of the hallway. 

“Come on, come on, move,” Michael leads Josh to an armed vehicle parked near the prison’s gates. Josh nearly falls when Michael stops abruptly. He removes the mask, then helps Josh do the same. 

Josh doubles over and begins to cough, getting rid of gas in his lungs. Michael waits for him to clear the airway patiently, then lets Josh lean on him again. They walk to the car with opened back doors. 

“What’s your name?” Michael asks.

“I’m Josh.”

His voice is all raspy. He’s almost forgotten how to use it properly. And he’s waiting for when they’ll start hitting him again, or when they start asking questions just to permit themselves to torture him again.

Michael just nods at the car. 

“They’ll help you with your wound.”

“Who are you?” Josh asks, looking around and regretting it instantly. He nearly vomits when he sees black body bags on the ground. 

“The resistance,” Michael simply says. “And you’re a lucky one. Got out of the massacre alive.”

“I don’t… I don’t even know what happened.”

“Sit, sit down,” Michael points at the back of the car. “It’s a long story, dude.” 

Josh doesn’t dare to move until he’s pushed toward the seat. The medic looks at him skeptically. 

“Who did this?”

“Does it matter?” Michael says. “Help first, questions second.”

Josh sees more people hauling body bags out of the prison. 

“That’s hell of a wound, man,” the medic rubs his reddish beard before turning back to Michael. 

Josh tries to figure out why everyone around him looks like damn MMA fighters. Even though the medic promised to not ask any questions, Josh can still read them in his eyes. 

“Ignored the warden’s shitty flirting.”

“You’re a cocky one, huh?”

“I’m Josh,” he winces as the medic frees his injured arm out of the sleeve. The medic winces too.

“Brad.”

Michael raises his eyebrows in surprise. Maybe it’s disgust though — Josh was never good at reading people’s facial expressions. 

“What can we do?” 

Josh holds his breath as he takes off his bloodied t-shirt. The halo of bruising covers the left side of Josh’s chest, his collarbone is swollen, and the wound looks too dark, with whitish-yellow pus gathering at the edges. Wordlessly, Michael hands Josh a bottle of vodka. 

Josh shakes his head. 

“I don’t drink.”

“You need it. Trust me,” Michael chuckles sympathetically as Brad lays out the tools on a metal tray.

Josh squeezes the bottle in his shaking hand and takes a sip; alcohol burns his throat, barely settling in his empty stomach. He leans his back against the cool side of a car while Brad prepares to reopen the wound and clean it. The sun sets, so he has to use a flashlight; Michael holds it for him. They also shine the light in Josh’s eyes to check him for a concussion.  

“There was a riot,” Michael says. “The guards used gas, the prisoners stole guns. Do you even know what’s been going on in the world these days?”

“Not really,” Josh breathes out. He tries to not look at the wound, but a twinge in his joint takes all of his attention. 

“The wardens wanted to experiment on you. On all of you. They always start with the loners.”

“Who are they?” Josh asks. 

His shoulder is burning, and his broken nose begins to bleed again. He feels like he’s dying in general. 

This is how he learns that the world changed a lot in the past two weeks — the government doesn’t let people live or breathe now. There’s always been a foreshadowing, silent bans of rights and freedoms. Josh’s heard the stories about people being taken to special “hospitals” and coming back wrong. This is what is happening now, but the methods have gotten more cruel. Michael calls them brainwashers, and Josh can’t help but agree with this name for their foe. Nothing is allowed anymore, art and music are censored. There are rebels, but their voices aren’t loud enough to overlap the siren of the government. The protests usually end up with riots and police brutality. There are victims. 

“So I’d most likely get brainwashed,” Josh says, taking another swig.

Michael nods. 

Michael says that the guards are dead, along with some prisoners who inhaled too much gas. Some prisoners will either be relocated into a prison protected by the resistance, or, some of them can join the group.

“I know a few guys who were held hostage here. Just like you.” 

And Josh says, 

“I didn’t kill my sister.”

He’s already drunk, he knows he’s always been a lightweight. He can’t keep his mouth shut, spilling truth after truth. Michael listens to him silently, and so does Brad, cleaning the wound with a cotton pad, carefully for the first time. It hurts. It’s a problem to sew ripped tissues together, he says. They’re not sure if his arm will be functioning normally, the joint was severely damaged. He also lost a lot of blood, now having it replaced with alcohol. 

Josh just wants to sleep and sink into the ground. 

“Hey, stay awake,” Michael steadies him in place when he nearly collapses to the side. 

Stay awake, stay alive, does it even matter? He’s pretty much out of everything as his shell just exists here. He’s far too pale, the bridge of his nose is swollen, and he can still taste blood. His cheeks and chin are covered with a two-week scruff, and his hair is a greasy reddish-brown mess.  

Michael tells Josh to drink more, and Josh obeys. He’s wasted already, blinking repeatedly to focus on the blurred faces in front of him. There are a few tents in the prison’s territory. Michael says, they’ve neutralized the gas now, using a special solution; they knew this would happen. Michael says it’ll be safe to get back into the building tomorrow. Michael says they’re gonna have to bury the bodies. The guards were working for brainwashers, ready to send the prisoners to their bases like lab rats.

“That’s the best I can do,” Brad says, wiping his bloodied hands on a towel. 

There’s a fresh set of bandages holding the parts of Josh’s shoulder together. Brad also gives him a sling to immobilize it. They’re not going to kill him, not now, at least. Josh’s head is both heavy and light when Michael helps him get up and leads him to one of the tents. 

“Get some rest now,” he says, holding Josh by the elbow as he nearly falls onto the sleeping bag. Michael takes the bottle from Josh’s numb fingers; Josh lies down, unable to keep his eyes open. 

The pain will return in the morning, but at the moment, he’s almost blissfully drunk.

 

***

He wakes up sick and disoriented; he barely has time to get up on his knees and crawl out of the tent. His insides revolt, rejecting all the alcohol he consumed. Then comes the ache, in his bones, in his muscles, in his stomach. Josh spits out mouthfuls of bile until there’s nothing left inside him.

“Easy, man,” Michael catches him when he’s about to slump into a boneless pile on the ground. “You’ll feel better soon.”

“Kill me,” Josh groans. 

He’s shirtless, with the sleeves of his soiled jumpsuit tied around his waist. He starts dry-heaving again, and Michael sighs. 

“I know it sucks. I’ve lost people, too. Now I just wanna save as many of them as I can.”

Josh wants to ask, why me? He’s useless for both friends and enemies.

He coughs until he tastes his lungs on his tongue. Pathetic, he’s just pathetic. 

Michael looks at him and says,

“I’ll bring you clean clothes.”

 

***

The next day, they’re burying the bodies. They can’t identify most of them, they can’t find their families. Josh stands next to Michael and Brad, staring at the nameless mass grave. Most of them were already dead when the resistance arrived. Josh felt like puking again when he saw the hand with the word RAGE tattooed across the knuckles; the rest of the body was covered with the sheet, but the ink was enough for Josh to identify the man. Then he spotted the top of a bald head peeking out from a badly zipped body bag. Michael could read something in Josh’s eyes, but he didn’t ask him questions. 

They’re dead. Revenge is pointless.

Later this day, Josh burns his jumpsuit and a bloodied mattress from his cell in the backyard. He swears he will never wear orange clothes ever again. 

Some of the prisoners — the guys Michael said he knew — stay with the resistance. They look at Josh, they whisper behind his back. Is he mute? Can we trust him? I heard he killed someone. Josh wants to knock their teeth out one by one.

He doesn’t know what to expect from his new “friends”.

 

*** 

The resistance makes the prison its headquarter; they live in the cells in the basement, turning the “upstairs” level into their offices, gym, and a small medical wing. Josh stays with them simply because he doesn’t know where to go now. And because he wants to distract himself from pain and apathy. He moves out of the cell he was held in, taking a more comfortable one on the opposite side of the prison.  

It’s too hard to get up in the mornings sometimes. Michael says he has to exercise to make his left arm work properly again; he brings a modified sledgehammer and tells Josh to break the wall between the warehouses to renovate it. Josh waits for his shoulder to heal, patiently. It takes three months for him to finally start to feel his fingers again.

“That’s the progress,” Michael congratulates him. Michael says he was a military psychologist, so Josh’s state is not unfamiliar to him. 

Nevertheless, Josh doesn’t know why Michael is so worried about him. He’s something of an older brother Josh never had. An older brother himself, he wishes he could protect all of his siblings. 

Josh rarely talks to anyone which only makes the cocoon of rumors around him thicken.

Michael offers Josh to get a tattoo on his face and Josh agrees — he likes tattoos, and he can handle a few minutes of hand-poking after all the pain he’s had to endure. He gets an arrow tattooed far too close to his left eye. He got a scar there when he was just a kid — his classmate threw a rock at him; the gash was bleeding profusely, but luckily, it didn’t require stitches. And Michael suddenly offered to cover it up. “People should look you in the eye when they talk to you,” Michael explains. Josh didn’t know such a tough man can be this soft inside.

Josh used to be soft too. 

He eventually finds the things he enjoys — morning jogs and repairing cars the resistance owns. Josh can also drive any type of vehicle; he starts as a repairman, then climbing up his resistance career ladder and becoming a local driver.

Then he meets Mark. Mark is kind, sharp-tongued and lost; Michael tells them to work together, to check on the sick people in the resistance. Josh takes Mark to abandoned hospitals to find necessary supplies. 

Time flies, the war seems endless. Josh begins to forget about his civilian life, only diving back there in the nightmares tormenting his mind. He can’t go to sleep until he’s bone-tired, so he pulls on a million tasks a day. 

“It will get better soon,” Mark says. 

Mark knows what he’s fighting for. 

Josh knows what he’s running from.

Notes:

thanks for reading!

Chapter 6

Summary:

“Hope we’ll finally get some sleep soon,” Mark yawns. “It was a hectic night.”

“This is what we call “we almost got ourselves killed twice” these days?”

Mark shrugs at Tyler’s witty remark.

“I’m an optimist.”

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Josh doesn’t see Tyler for nearly a week after their encounter in the archive. He doesn’t talk to anyone about what happened, not even to Mark. He gets stuck in his routine, trying to clear his head. But his thoughts about Tyler circle above like vultures — what is he up to? Who is he? Why is he always lurking around?

Josh knows that being silent won’t solve his problems. Tyler is too sneaky and curious and is always one jump ahead of his assumptions. 

Mark would say Josh is obsessed with him.

Josh just wants to know the truth. He hates to admit it, but he realizes that they need to talk.

He’s not looking for Tyler deliberately, just bumping into him on his way to the shower. Josh wants to wash his thoughts away, and Tyler leaks in the crack between Josh and the doorframe. He eyes Josh’s bare chest for a moment, before nodding to himself. Josh might be overthinking, but he detects a swift motion of Tyler’s hand raising, as if he wants to touch the scar on Josh’s shoulder. 

Well, this can be a sign to stop it all before Tyler spreads the spider web of rumors everywhere. 

Tyler greets him with a question, 

“Hunting me?”

Josh blurts out,

“Are you done reading my file like a bedtime story?”

Tyler smirks. 

His shoulders are covered with a gray towel, but the bruises on his neck are exposed to Josh’s view. They’re light-purple now, already yellowing at the edges. Josh spots the cuffs of fingerprints dotting his wrists. Tyler puts almost everything about his body on display, wearing a black tank top, but his head is still covered with a battered beanie. 

Tyler’s brown eyes gleam red in the dark.

He takes a step to walk past Josh, but Josh mirrors Tyler’s movement, blocking his path. He smells like smoke and cheap soap; Tyler looks dangerously innocent but he is much stronger than Josh originally thought. Skinny, but not fragile. Moving like a shadow. Or like a well-trained spy.

“Jeez, just take a cold shower.”

Only now Josh realizes he’s staring at the tattoos on Tyler’s arms. As promised, Michael tattooed the symbol of their squad on his right bicep.

“Josh?” Tyler’s voice pulls Josh out of his thoughts. “Making sure I enjoy the view at your tiddies?”

And Josh has nothing to say except for,

“Do you?”

Tyler smirks again.

“I’ll leave you alone with these thoughts,” he pats Josh’s good shoulder and disappears in the hallway. 

Stupid, this is so stupid. Something in Tyler doesn’t let Josh talk to him, be honest and just ask his damn questions. Josh knows what he’s gonna see if he rips Tyler’s beanie off his head. Josh knows what’s gonna happen if he chokes him again. 

Tyler doesn’t even seem bothered.

Josh sighs and heads to the shower cabins, but the noise behind his back makes him stop and freeze in place. He turns around and peeks out of the door, just enough for his eye to catch Tyler’s blurred silhouette in the hallway. He’s talking to someone; from where he stands, Josh can now see Paul, their tech. His lanky figure is distinct in the faint light seeping from the ceiling.

Tyler takes something from Paul’s hands and thanks him with a nod. Paul walks away when Josh leaves his improvised “hiding place”; Paul’s been around for a while, but it feels like Josh knows nothing about him. Or, the details that he knows are quite disturbing. Michael said that Paul was a guard at one of the brainwashers’ bases when everything only started. Quite soon, he realized what they were doing to those poor people and quit, instigating a riot at the base; some captives followed him. Then Paul and Michael’s groups united and formed the first wave of the resistance. He spends most of time working with another guy — Todd — and together they help refugees find temporary shelters, then either sending them to the farms or bringing them here. He appears at the base from time to time; today is the day.

Michael said they can trust Paul. 

Josh tries his best. 

He doesn’t run after Paul, approaching his one and only trouble. 

Tyler jumps up and exhales a curse when Josh grabs him by the back of his tank top. 

“What again?” he groans. Josh forces him to show what he’s got from Paul. “You’re not gonna leave me alone, huh?” Tyler rolls his eyes as Josh takes a pack of pills out of his unclenched fist.

“For motion sickness?” Josh hates that he sounds disappointed.

“Yeah, you thought I’m buying meth here?”

Tyler sniffles and pulls his beanie lower, almost covering his eyes again. Josh nods slowly, reading the description. “Recommended during pregnancy.”  

“The only ones that really work,” Tyler pokes the pack with his finger. “What?” he turns to Josh. “I’m not a drug addict, I’m not going through withdrawal if you don’t have the balls to just ask me. Yeah, this is what I took before our hell of a ride out of the Basement.”

“And you just—”

“And I just needed my damn brand not to puke in your precious car again,” Tyler spits out. He shoves a pack of pills into his pocket and covers his face with his hands.

Josh is still ready to attack him if he says one wrong word. 

Josh thinks about Tyler’s body squirming beneath him. 

“You need to stop seeing the enemy in everyone,” Tyler says. Tyler doesn’t wait for Josh to reply, just whipping around and shuffling down the hallway. 

Having some of his questions answered only leaves more questions unasked. 

 

*** 

The Archive Incident hangs above Josh’s head like the sword of Damocles. 

He doesn’t want to mention it again; he wants Tyler to do it first. Tyler started the fight, Tyler was the one to stick metaphorical needles under Josh’s nails. It’s not that Josh didn’t expect something like this from him, no. Josh just hates being right. 

“You sure we’re going in the right direction?”

They’re packed in a car again, and the tension is almost tangible. Josh has been ignoring Tyler’s questions for the past hour and half, but his pills still miraculously didn’t knock him out. 

“There’s just one road,” Mark says. 

“Yeah, but is it the right one?”

Tyler looks down at the map and instantly regrets it. Wincing, he hands it to Mark in the backseat.

Sending them on the night mission together was Michael’s tricky plan. Josh can feel that Michael suspects something, and he wants the members of his team to work together effortlessly and effectively. He might as well lock Josh and Tyler in a room together; Josh wouldn’t be surprised if Michael actually did it.

They just need to take the supplies from yet another warehouse, it’s a simple task, and Josh only hopes they won’t need Tyler’s help again. Mostly, because Josh hates asking for help. Mostly, because Tyler knows what to do. Josh doesn’t let these adhesive thoughts distract him from driving. A seatbelt rests uncomfortably against his shoulder, reminding him of his past mistakes. Sudden moves hurt him a lot, pain raises its ugly head like a snake when Josh forgets about his limits. But he’s healing, he’s healing. It somehow hurts a little less when he throws his arm behind his head. 

Tyler leans back in his seat and throws his legs on a dashboard. 

“Hey!” Josh pushes Tyler in the side with his free hand. “Put your legs down, I don’t need the shit from your boots on my windshield.”

Tyler huffs.

“Have you seen your boots?”

Josh pushes him again.

“Can you sit like a normal person?” 

“Can you tie your shoelaces like a normal person?”

Sure, Josh didn’t think Tyler wouldn’t talk back. Tyler removes his feet from the dashboard and crosses his arms over his chest. Josh looks at his shoelaces, tied in tight knots; it takes less time to tie them this way, and they won’t get untied at the most inappropriate moment, at least. Tyler finds it funny, just another button he can press to destabilize Josh’s shaky balance. 

If pissing Josh off is his only goal, then he achieves it every time he opens his mouth. Josh takes a swift turn, bypassing a pothole, and Tyler falls silent, and clutches the seatbelt in a white-knuckle grip.

Josh steadies the car on the road again. 

“You ever thought that having crooked teeth is much better than having none?”

“Braces are expensive,” Tyler replies, voice oddly hoarse. 

“You won’t even need braces if I punch you,” Josh promises.

“I bet you’re so good at this,” Tyler whispers. “Gonna use some special tool?” he adds, loud enough for Josh to hear. Josh bites his tongue and taps his fingers on the steering wheel. 

His methods aren’t working.

He knows what Tyler means.

“Michael made a mistake when he recruited you,” Josh says, not trying to bypass a pothole this time.

Tyler mirrors Josh’s attack instantly. 

“You sure he doesn’t think the same about you, Josh?”

He’s not handling the ride well, pale still. 

“Stop the car,” Mark suddenly says.

Josh catches his worried glance in the rearview mirror. 

“What’s wrong, man?”

“You’re asking me?” Mark explodes. “Do you really not notice that something is… how do I put it… fucked up beyond repair?”

The car stops. Josh raises his eyebrows when Mark climbs out of the backseat; he slips on the way out and nearly falls. It makes him even angrier, and he kicks the car tire repeatedly, then takes off his helmet and tosses it to the ground. 

“You, both of you,” Mark points his finger at Tyler and Josh. “Out of the car!”

“Yeah, no, I’m kinda comfy here…” Tyler starts, but Mark doesn’t want to listen to him.

“Just drag your ass here!”

Tyler holds back his commentary for the first time and throws the door open. Josh does the same, feeling bad for Mark. He forgot that he was still in the car, forced to witness his and Tyler’s never-ending conflict.

“Man, I just—”

“Shut up,” Mark clenches his fists. “Everyone just shut up and let me talk.”

Tyler looks confused. Again, this is the first time when Josh notices that Tyler doesn’t know what to say. This is amusing, he can’t lie to himself. He only mutters something like, yeah, man, let it out, and Mark does let it all out.

“Life’s too short, we’re in the middle of a fucking war, and none of us know if we’ll be alive tomorrow, for fuck’s sake! And you really want to spend all the precious time bitching? Grow up!” Mark runs his fingers through his hair, ruffling it even more. “Just stop this stupid, pointless fight, when neither of you has enough of balls to fucking talk and get your facts straight! No, you prefer to focus on negativity one toward another, side-eyeing and jumping to conclusions,” his voice vibrates with anger. “And when you can’t connect the dots, you come to me and ask me to tell you a secret even though I promised to never share your personal information. And what do I get in return? Nothing. You keep fighting, insulting each other in front of me as if I’m just a piece of damn furniture. You know what will kill us faster than this damn war? Our disunity! We want to change the world, but we can’t even be a fucking team for once!” 

Mark takes a shuddering breath and kicks the stone into the dark depth of the forest. 

“You know what? Go fuck yourselves. Or go fuck each other if you both are so eager. It’s up to you now.”

Josh wants to sink through the ground. Next to him, Tyler looks like a highschooler who accidentally cursed in front of a principal. 

“We can… tone it down.”

Mark bursts with a new wave of fury. 

“You can’t fix a broken vase using shit instead of glue!” he slams his fist into the car trunk and shakes his hand in the air. Looks painful, Josh thinks sympathetically. “I’m not getting back in the car until you’ve talked to each other.”

Unstoppable force, unlovable object. Which is which, is a mystery yet to be discovered.

“We tried to talk,” Josh says.

“Yeah?” Mark glares at him. “This is why one of you has bruises on his neck and another one sports a busted lip?”

“I don’t think it’s a good time to talk about someone’s kinks,” Josh watches Tyler’s reaction as he emphasizes the last word.

Tyler gasps, all innocence again,

“I was raised in a very religious family.”

Josh looks at his wristwatch. They’re not getting anything done today. 

Mark asks,

“Do you think I’m kidding?”

Josh is about to start the negotiation first, but Tyler seizes the initiative.

“Okay, let’s do this,” he says with a nervous twitch of his fingers. “I’m Tyler, and I have zero self-preservation instincts.”

His hands touch his beanie fussily. Josh plays along. 

“I’m Josh and I don’t know how to trust people.”

“And also have some obvious communication skills,” Tyler nods.

“This too.”

Josh is jealous of Tyler’s ability to twist every conversation the way he wants, fiddling with it like with a friendship bracelet. 

“This is not enough,” Mark says, still glaring daggers at both of them. “Sort it all out now, or I’m quitting.”

Josh wipes his sweaty palms on his pants. 

Tyler licks his lips, getting lost in his thoughts. 

“Fine,” he exhales. “This is what you want to know, right? You wanna see it?” he half chokes half laughs, ripping his beanie off his head. “Is it better this way?”

The right side of Tyler’s head is all scarred; a long wrinkled line crosses the skin above his ear, two shorter and thinner ones branch off from it, looking like a lightning bolt. There are also small cuts on the back of his head, mostly healed by now. Tyler’s hair has barely grown back after being shaved off, forming dark and uneven patches between the scars. He’s had the stitches removed, and his wounds look clean and well-treated.

Josh has a solid minute to admire the view. Then Tyler pulls his beanie back on, adjusting it on his head so that none of the scars peek from the slits. 

“What happened?” Josh asks. He could only see a tiny bit of the hell Tyler was carrying on his skin; the bigger picture horrifies him, but he can’t show it. Tyler doesn’t need his pity. 

“Got hit with a spiked bat,” Tyler says, staring at Josh’s knot-tied shoelaces. “My “performance” gone wrong,” he frames the word into the air quotes. “The cops were brutal, man. I tried my best to coordinate the crowd so that they could leave the main street, but one of the fuckers blindsided me. I still don’t know how I managed to run away, and then one of yours… Paul, it was Paul, helped me get out. I barely remember the whole week, but I know we were moving a lot. I got back on stage as soon as my head stopped bleeding.”

Tyler tells his speech without his usual snarkiness, keeping his voice low.

Josh turns to Mark. 

“Did you know?”

“I promised him to not tell anyone,” Mark raises his hands in defense. “I know they’d send him to the farms until he fully recovers. But he begged me to sign his medical examination papers without mentioning his severe concussion. Paul was surprised to see him here, too.”

“I didn’t beg you,” Tyler winces. “You did it because Michael had plans for me already. And I had plans for him. Symbiosis, see?”

“He begged,” Mark waves Tyler’s words away.

“Great,” Josh sighs. “Why am I the last to know that I have an injured guy in my team?!”

Mark gives Josh a skeptical glance.

“Only one injured guy?”

Josh wants to say that Mark deserved having his first helmet ruined by Tyler puking into it. Instant karma.

Mark lovingly picks up his new “brain protection” from the ground. 

Tyler climbs back into a passenger seat.

“Come on, we can have a heart-to-heart talk on our way to the warehouse. Don’t have much time, Mark is right.”

“I’ll jump out of the moving car if you don’t tell him,” Mark warns. 

Josh knows he’s not bluffing. 

He gets into the car too, trying to distance himself from the story he’s going to tell.

“She wasn’t answering the phone.”

Tyler fidgets on his seat. 

“Your sister?”

“Yeah. When I came to check on her, it was too late, and I…” desperate words clog up his throat. “I lost my mind. And when I realized what I did, his blood was everywhere.”

Josh’s shoulder begins to ache as he speaks. He mentions the gunshot, the torture, and the riot. Adding up the details to the file Tyler has already read. Revealing the plot twists Tyler didn’t know.

Tyler pulls his battered beanie off again, squeezing it between his knees as he listens. Only now Josh notices that the side of it is neatly stitched up with a black thread. Tyler nods along with the drips and drops of Josh’s story. He doesn’t say anything, just showing his solidarity by letting his wounds be the exhibits of his past.

In the backseat, Mark releases a sigh of relief. 

“See? You did it!”

“I feel naked,” Tyler says. “Thank you for such a profound speech, Mark. It was motivating and inspiring except for… the shit glue metaphor. That was utter, well, shit.”

Mark leans forward and whispers, 

“I wanted to kick your ass so bad.” 

“You’re second in the line, bro. Josh is first.”

But Tyler waters down the venom he’s turning into words. He even says, “I understand it.” 

Josh can’t tell if he feels better after this semi-therapeutic session. Next to him, Tyler exhales a cloud of air and puts his beanie on again.

 

***

Tyler falls asleep by the time they make it to the warehouse. He’s buckled up, but Josh now drives past the potholes with pinpoint accuracy, not to jostle something in him. 

“Don’t wanna wake him up?” Mark asks with a half-smile playing on his lips.

This legit makes Josh chuckle. Will he ever be at peace with his offbeat relationship with Tyler? Things have leveled up from “you don’t care about his physical well-being” to “you care too much”. As if there’s no sweet, sweet in-between.

“You know what happens when he’s awake,” Josh peers into the darkness, spotting the outlines of a warehouse. He has to turn off the headlights, and the scenery around him drowns in a gothic horror atmosphere.

They need to take clothes and supplies from here, and then drive back until the sun is up. Most squads from the resistance have moved to protect the farms and villages where the refugees are living now. They’re trying to protect them from the government’s ruthless millstone of politics. The government’s forces are allocated all across the city in attempts to control every inch of the land. The resistance’s groups are outnumbered most of the time, so they have to lay even lower than before. And they need weapons, more armed cars and more hands and clear heads to brainstorm. 

In reality though, the ⅔ of Josh’s team are sick and broken people; he can only hope that Mark’s not hiding his health problems from them. Or well, Michael has to think more before teaming people up. Josh thinks he will never let him and Tyler split up and join different squads until they’ve proven their ability to work together. They have to do it, otherwise they risk getting chained to each other to cooperate. 

Team spirit is important, but Josh isn’t feeling it at the moment. 

The car rolls over a pile of stones, lurching to the side. Tyler grips at the seatbelt and wakes up, startled. 

“Where are we?” he asks, rubbing his face. 

“Where do you think?” Josh nods at the windshield. 

Without the source of light, the shape of the warehouse looks ominous. Tyler rubs his face again.

“So welcoming.”

They get out of the car and cover it with leaves and branches. The only weapon they have is Josh’s gun in the holster. And some flashlights. Not much to work with. Michael keeps making plans about providing every squad with bulletproof vests, but they can never get enough of them. Josh’s team is supposed to stay as far away from the warfare as possible. Michael taught him to aim and shoot once his shoulder started to heal, but he really hopes he will never need it during the missions.

Tyler says he can unload and set back up the M4 carbine in less than twenty seconds. Something about Tyler’s confidence makes Josh believe him. He doesn’t ask Tyler where he learned it, though. Tyler has his own methods.

They go to the warehouse, moving slowly and carefully, not to step on possible landmines; Tyler walks first, inspecting the territory. Josh’s trust issues make themselves present again, because his life depends on a concussed guy’s eyesight. Josh should be relieved to know that Tyler wasn’t brainwashed, at least, but the fact that he’s still recovering from a head injury doesn’t add optimistic hues to Josh’s black and white existence. 

Tyler looks around, then stares at the ground. This reminds Josh of their first meeting, when Tyler was the only one who could spot the threat. Maybe, Josh shouldn’t underestimate his skills, after all. 

“All clear,” Tyler says, gesturing towards the entrance. 

Josh nods. He’s carrying a hammer on his shoulder, ready to ram the lock. He knocks it off the hinges, revealing a dark and long hallway. The flashlights don’t give enough light to see all of their surroundings, and the time is limited.

“We’re running out of medical supplies,” Mark says. “Might actually need to raid a hospital next time.”

“Brutal,” Tyler comments, walking into a veil of shadows. 

Josh waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then follows Tyler. There’s a few cardboard boxes with ammunition. He points at them wordlessly, for Tyler to see. 

“What a catch.”

“Suspicious, don’t you think?” 

“I do,” Tyler nods. “We should still take them.” 

Mark finds a few first aid kits in one of the rooms; he shoves them into his backpack and gives Josh a worried look. 

“You think they will let us go?”

“Listen, I think they’d set better traps,” Tyler says, turning the flashlight to the floor. “There’s no footprints here. There’s dust all over the boxes. So if we get the fuck out of here now, we’re good.”

He’s got a point. They’re not alone here, they’re never alone. This is why they’re forced to go on missions in small groups — it’s harder to spot them this way. But it’s easier to defeat them this way if they’re spotted, too. The all-seeing eye of the political machine doesn’t blink, staring at them, surveying them daily and nightly.    

Josh rummages through a few shelves, not finding anything else they could use.

“We need to go now,” he says, checking his wristwatch again. The sun will start to rise soon. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind getting a couple hours of sleep today,” Mark agrees. He’s the only morning bird amongst the two insomniacs. Even though Tyler managed to sleep on the way here and be silent, bless his pills.

Josh puts the boxes and Mark’s backpack into a trunk. 

He’s about to get into the car when he hears the sound of the engine. It’s a truck, he can already feel the vibrations racking through the hollow ground. 

“Shit.” 

“Can one mission pass without surprises? Please? Am I asking for too much?” Mark groans, jumping into the car.

Tyler stops, looking at the dark road.

“Who the hell are they?”

“Wanna wait for them and ask?” Josh glances over his shoulder nervously. Now they’ll have to correct their route hastily; civilian cars don’t even go there. And Michael didn’t say anything about the backup. 

“You think we’ve been spotted yet?”

“We better not check it.”

Josh unfolds the map on his knees, squinting at it in the dark. He’s familiar with this neighborhood, but he never investigated it. There should be a hidden road, and the only way to find it is to drive through the forest. Again, this makes some unpleasant memories surface.

Josh can’t turn on the headlights until he makes sure they’re not being followed. He doesn’t know how many vehicles the brainwashers could send after them.

“Lay down between the seats,” he tells Mark. Mark nods and slides down; he’s got his helmet on, good, this is good. Josh takes a yellow bandana out of his pocket and ties it around his lower face. Tyler turns his beanie into a balaclava mode, an echo of a habit, he’s done this dozens of times before. He’s not panicking visibly, only his frantic moves indicate his distress.

Josh checks the rearview mirror before pressing the gas pedal. The tires skid across the mud, and the car swerves; Mark curses in the back, but Josh can’t turn the car back on the asphalt now.

“It might get messy,” Josh says. It’s mostly addressed to Tyler, who’s just being tested again now.

“I’ll handle it,” he looks into the side window, almost twisting his neck. “All clear.” 

Josh doesn’t ask him anything else, but Tyler adds up,

“It wasn’t always like this. I could climb the highest scaffolding and feel just great. Before that… thing,” he presses his palm to his temple. “I hope it’ll pass in another couple of months.” 

“Yeah I hope so too,” Josh nods. Tyler sounds apologetically, and he doesn’t look fine. Josh can’t help but think again that they recruited him too early. 

“I know you want to tell Michael.”

“I don’t,” Josh says. “And I won’t.”

Tyler is either a mind-reader or a physiognomist.

“Josh!” Mark hollers from under the seat in the back. “Can you please focus on driving?”

Josh passes by a tree with the resistance logo cut out in it. Really, he needs to shut up if he doesn’t want to land their bones into a ditch somewhere. Beside him, Tyler releases a shaky breath and says, 

“You did the right thing, Josh.”

Josh knows what he means. 

 

*** 

They don’t get caught by the brainwashers, but they can’t just get back to their headquarter without unpleasant surprises. This time, it’s a burst tire. Josh doesn’t believe his ears when he hears it pop. Josh doesn’t believe his eyes when he gets out of the car and sees the spike strip thrown obliquely across the road; they’re lucky to only have one tire punctured. 

“You gotta be kidding me,” Josh moans, desperate and upset. He’s mad, to be fair. 

Tyler doesn’t make things better. 

“You sure you’re a good driver?”

Josh gestures at him to shut up.

He has a spare tire and all the instruments he needs to change it, but the whole situation hits him like his own hammer. Tyler holds a flashlight in his teeth, even though Josh thinks he’s qualified enough to do it even without a drop of light. He’s done it a million times before, but he really needs to sell his soul to someone so that shit like this never happens again. 

Mark looks around the deserted road in the middle of a forest while Josh fixes the car. 

Josh wipes his hands on his hoodie when he finishes. 

“Not bad,” Tyler says with a clap of his hands. 

“Can you like… Stop commenting on everything I’m doing?” 

Tyler shakes his head.

“You’re very commentable.”

He smiles then. It feels weird for Josh to smile back. For a guy who had his skull nearly caved in, Tyler is rather adequate. If you mean “it could be worse” by “adequate”. It definitely could be worse, Josh tells himself. 

“Hope we’ll finally get some sleep soon,” Mark yawns. “It was a hectic night.”

“This is what we call “we almost got ourselves killed twice” these days?”

Mark shrugs at Tyler’s witty remark.

“I’m an optimist.”

“Lucky man.”

Josh starts to get sleepy, too. He’s got far too much information to digest, too many new responsibilities. As if everything is sorted now. He keeps driving, thankful that Mark and Tyler continue their conversation; they talk about the report Josh has to write, and that it was actually a good hunt if you cross out a burst tire. Michael will be happy to see his people get back in one piece. That’s the least Josh can do. 

 

***

Faint rays of sunlight paint the sky yellow as they drive up to the prison building. Josh pulls down his bandana, breathing in chilly air. Tyler rolls up the hem of his beanie and puts on his white-rimmed round sunglasses. He’s now covering up too much of himself, so effortlessly mysterious that Josh understands those people who followed him without asking a single question. They wanted to be closer to the unknown, to the loudest part of it. Tyler did what he thought was right. 

In the backseat, Mark stretches; it looks like he also managed to get some sleep there eventually.

“Thank god, we made it. This night seemed endless.” 

“Morning, sunshine,” Josh says, backing his shoulders. His joints crack unpleasantly, making him wince. 

“Never stops hurting?” Tyler asks. 

“That’s the only thing it does.”

“Don’t worry,” Tyler pats his back. “By the age of 40 you’ll be too distracted by hemorrhoids to even care about your fucked up shoulder. Happens to all drivers, I heard.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll live this long,” Josh shakes Tyler’s hand off of him. 

“Doesn’t mean you don’t have to prepare your ass for this.”

With this, Tyler slides out of the car, waving at Josh as if he hasn’t just said the weirdest thing again. He always talks about things normal people are ashamed to even think of. Josh wonders if Tyler has always been like that or changed intentionally for the sake of controlling the crowds. He’s like a Robin Hood of the brainwashers — feeding people with his own ideology in the form of protests. It’s a miracle that they still didn’t get him.

They bring the items they found into the building, getting them straight into their warehouse. Michael said they should expect a new flock of people fleeing from the city, so some of them will temporarily stay with the resistance squads for protection. Which means they should get even more invisible. 

It’s been a while since Josh last visited the city. 

It must be in ruins now. 

He meets Michael in his office. Michael taps his pen on the paper nervously, turning around swiftly as soon as Josh walks in. 

“You’re back,” he says with worry accenting his words.

“Back and better than ever,” Josh nods. “The tire burst. I changed it, but—”

“You should be more careful.”

“I’m trying,” Josh sits down on the chair next to Michael’s desk. “I don’t want to put them in danger, but somehow I keep doing it.”

He tells Michael about the car they spotted near the warehouse.

Michael says that Josh needs to get some sleep. 

 

***

“Sometimes I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” Josh tells Mark. 

Mark likes to spend his free time in the prison’s backyard, surrounded by the forest and a concrete wall. The grid is wrapped with barbed wire. No way in, no way out. He’s feeding a stray cat here, a ragdoll he named Victor. 

Josh knows where to find both of them, sitting next to each other on the half-crumbled stairs next to the emergency exit. Mark doesn’t know about the bodies buried here. He once offered to throw a party here, “when the war’s over”, and all Michael could do was throw his hand over Mark’s shoulder and tell him that they’ll find a better place. 

Josh doesn’t like this place at all, but he keeps coming there; because he’s not the only one who tries to avoid it.

“No one knows what they’re doing,” Mark says, scratching Victor’s fluffy belly and looking far too peaceful. “One day at a time, Josh, remember? Don’t make global plans or you’ll get disappointed.” 

“I’m not… Okay, okay, I do have plans for the future,” Josh shrugs. “I don’t know. Eat, sleep, don’t die, repeat. We might have another mission tomorrow. Tyler might blow up the prison by accident.” 

“You’re thinking about him too much, aren’t you? Even Victor noticed it,” Mark squirms and chuckles as Victor keeps purring and clawing at Mark’s pants. “He thinks I’m his mom.”

“He’s just a cat,” Josh says. Victor head bonks his arm.

“He’s a very smart cat,” Mark says. “I promise I’ll take you home, buddy.”

“Oh no, you’re making plans!” Josh fake-gasps.

Mark mimics his tone,

“I have to do it for the kid!”

Victor meows, enjoying the moment. 

Josh thinks he should really get some sleep.

 

***

chapter art by Ostap !!

art

Notes:

the only thing i can promise to you is that victor will not die in this fic <3
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thanks for reading <3
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a moodboard i made in 2019 and couldn't wait to post!!

Chapter 7

Summary:

The rain grows harder.

Josh is sure god hates him, and maybe devil hates him too.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Josh is sure god hates him. 

He never was particularly religious, despite thinking his family could find so much in common with Tyler’s. Even though Tyler is not a fan of talking about his past, it’s still here, hovering above them like a military helicopter.

The drizzle never stops, freezing in icy drops on the windshield; chilly wind breaks into the car even through the closed windows. Next to Josh, Tyler shivers. 

“Ask me about the route again, and I’ll kick you out of the car,” Josh warns him. Tyler has asked this question four times already. 

“Huh. We promised to stay together for Mark, remember?” Tyler sniffles and breezes between his palms. “I hate the cold.” 

“So do brainwashers,” Mark pipes in from the backseat.

Josh squints through the water blurring his vision.

“That’s the point.”

They’re on their way to destroy one of the brainwashers’ bases again; Michael woke them up in the middle of the night, giving brief instructions and a map with the spot crossed out. They have to do it quickly; Tyler spent five hours making his Excellent Demolition Plan and chugging Red Bull instead of sleeping.

Josh doesn’t like when things get rushed like that.

“You should start wearing bulletproof vests,” he tells Tyler. 

“You’re just like Mark,” Tyler rolls his eyes. “I tried it on, and it sucked. It doesn’t even cover anything. Doubt it’ll help me in my field of work.”

Josh can’t change Tyler’s mind.

Mark kicks Tyler’s seat.

“Anything to keep up the spirit today?” 

Tyler begins to hum something under his breath, tapping his fingers on his knee. He’s been all jittery lately, and it’s either a sleepless night or their ill-planned mission. They never have enough time to prepare properly to get their job done.  

The rain grows harder.

Josh is sure god hates him, and maybe devil hates him too.

 

***

“Did Michael mention that we’re gonna have to blow up a whole damn factory?”

Tyler scratches the back of his head as his question remains unasked. 

“Maybe he didn’t know?” Josh guesses. 

“There’s the ammunition warehouse nearby,” Mark says, pulling his helmet lower to his eyes. “Everything was taken from there.”

Their methods are far too brutal, if not barbarian sometimes. It still makes Josh feel guilty. He replies,

“Yeah, I heard.”

Tyler scratches the back of his head again and stares at the map.

“It’s not that big,” he says after a few minutes of thinking. “Considering the amount of explosive materials I have here…” he draws a circle around the area on the map. “I don’t think the blast wave will cover any of those locations. I just need to inspect the building and calculate something.”

“Something?”

“Yeah, well, everything,” Tyler ignores Josh’s confusion, then waves for him and Mark to follow. “Let’s go.”

The building is just a concrete box with three thick tubes in the center of it; there are bullet holes in the walls, surrounded by deep-brown splashes. This picture makes Josh’s memories shuffle like tarot cards, pulling out the deadliest ones. 

He can’t get rid of a sticky feeling forming in his gut.

Tyler’s moves are especially jerky today, and Mark barely said a word since they got here. Josh understands both of them; their team is not doing great, he can admit it. But now they’re trying, at least. 

Tyler says he needs to think, and sits in the corner, sketching the building and silently moving his lips. 

Josh and Mark inspect it inside and out, looking for something they can take from here, but Mark was right when he said it’s completely empty. It’s so soulless, concrete slabs over concrete slabs, covering metal fittings. The sun doesn’t go there, either. The windows are covered with rusty grids, and half of them are boarded up. Josh’s heart clenches when he thinks of people who were working there — the “new” administration forced people to make weapons in this exact place to kill their families. He heard the stories about it, he could’ve been one of them.

Josh isn’t much of a loud rebel, so Tyler’s story shocked him. Even though Tyler is still a poser, it’s more of a mask he used to wear to look convincing. He’s a performer at heart, riding crowds like waves in a boat of his creation. Josh is a battering ram, making his way from point A to point B while thinking rationally. Tyler has his own opinion on what’s rational and what’s not, but that somehow works too. From time to time.

“I’m finished,” Tyler says, appearing behind Josh’s back out of nowhere. “We can set the devices. Grab your hammer, Jishwa.”

Josh winces at the nickname. No one ever called him that; maybe he simply never met anyone like Tyler. He’s just… everywhere. In Josh’s mind, in Josh’s personal space. 

He grabs his hammer and slams it into the wall, making a deep dent in it. Concrete dust settles in his lungs, and he coughs, and coughs, and coughs. Tyler turns around, sneezing and pressing his sleeve to his face.

Josh yanks up his bandana.

“Good idea,” Tyler nods, pulling down his mask. 

Mark waits for them a few feet away, looking around nervously. They’re still being watched. 

They make a few more holes in various parts of the building, and this is the closest to the teamwork they’ve had. Tyler has a few timers he has to set up to make the explosions fall into a chain, all put together to one detonator. There are long veins of wires connected to one explosive heart. Josh always feels uneasy when he sees one of those devices, let alone touches them. They have to carry all of them into the building, setting them in the dents in concrete. 

“You think it’ll be enough?” Mark asks.

Tyler shakes his head. 

“It won’t make the whole thing crumble, but the damage will be irreversible. We’ll have to destroy the warehouse, metal doors, heating system and such to make it uninhabitable. At least, it’ll cost them millions of dollars to reconstruct this factory back into something.”

It’s a blessing that they don’t have tons of bombs on board. 

Tyler is pissed because of that. 

“How many people were tortured here,” he says, attaching the wires to the device. “I can’t wrap my head around it.”

He just voices Josh’s thoughts.

The fact that Tyler knows Josh’s story from his perspective reminds him of how insecure he is — he can only wonder if it makes Tyler insecure now, too. 

“You’re so passionate about it,” Josh nods at the tools. 

Tyler shrugs. 

“That’s all I have.”

He’s a loner, just like everyone here. They’re just destroying things now, hoping that one day the flowers would grow on the ground that once was dead. 

Tyler is concerned, and so is Josh — he can’t stop thinking about their last mission when they got a car on their tail. Something’s off. Something’s off, and he keeps cursing his anxious brain. 

There’s headphones hanging around Tyler’s neck; Michael had to shove them into Tyler’s backpack because he refused to use any hearing protection too. With Tyler, it’s always everything or nothing, such a twisted version of a 50/50 game. “I’m either alive or not,” he once said. “There’s no in-between.”

Somehow, he’s always in-between for Josh.

Tyler checks the timers again; they have eight minutes to get to their positions before the walls of the buildings collapse. Josh’s palms are sweating, his breathing increases; he’s good at running, and Mark’s already outside. 

Tyler gives Josh thumbs up.

Josh mirrors his gesture. They’re a team, they have to believe in good things together. 

Tyler presses the button on the detonator, and the timer in his hand begins to beep, counting down seconds. They still have two minutes left when they make it to the car, and Tyler offers to wait there. 

Mark exhales a breath of relief when he sees both of them.

“It’s almost over.”

“Almost,” Tyler repeats, clamping his bottom lip between his crooked teeth.

“What do you mean?” Mark is beyond nervous in seconds. 

Josh knew Tyler was acting weird even for being Tyler. 

Tyler looks straight at the explosion as it shakes the eastern wall, making concrete fall down like an avalanche. He doesn’t even put his headphones on, and Josh’s ears are ringing already. Mark covers his entire head with his hands, turning away when two more explosions make the ground ripple. Josh’s bones creak and vibrate, but Tyler stands still. 

He set five devices in the building, but only three of them have been detonated. 

“Shit,” Tyler says. 

“You’re not going back there,” Josh says.

“I just need to reset the timers,” Tyler says, taking a step away from the car already. “I’ll give myself another eight minutes, dude, chill. The wire must’ve fallen off.”

“Says you, who checked every inch like forty-five times,” Josh grumbles. 

“Dude, I can’t just leave them there like that, okay? Do you want another resistance squad to accidentally sit down on them with their bare ass? What if the brainwashers are coming back?”

That sounds reasonable.

Tyler says, there are the devices he installed into the heating and electricity system. The most important ones, Josh understands. 

“I’ll go with you.”

Tyler laughs. This idiot literally just laughs when Josh offers help; Josh can’t call him any other name. He’s an idiot. 

“What are you gonna do there? You don’t even know how to reset the timer!” 

Josh wants to knock him out. For his own safety, by the way. But he doesn’t want to leave the bombs there untouched or take them back untouched. 

“I’m…” he begins. Tyler doesn’t know he wants to say I’m worried. Well, maybe it’s a good thing. Tyler cuts him off,

“Eight minutes, right?” he even pats Josh’s back and winks at Mark. 

“Let’s just tie him down, Josh?” 

“Bad idea,” Josh mumbles. “He might like it.” 

“We can try when I’m back,” and — fuck it — Tyler winks at him too. Then, he puts on his hearing protection and goes back to the factory. 

Josh balls up his fists.

“We shouldn’t have let him go there,” Mark says belatedly. 

“He’s got eight minutes, right?” 

Mark gives him an uncertain nod.

“I can’t stay here,” Josh pulls away from the car; leaning to its side feels like cheating. “I need to make sure the idiot gets back in one piece.” 

“Yeah, good idea—”

“No,” Josh puts his hand on Mark’s shoulder. “You wait here. Michael will never find such a good medic.”

“Yeah, and the line of drivers and certified arsonists is just outside the door.”

Mark is a very sarcastic guy; Josh gives him a puzzled glance when Mark puts his legendary helmet on Josh’s head. 

“It looks like a bucket hat on me,” Josh comments. 

“I’m sure Tyler would say the same,” Mark rolls his eyes. “Okay, now go and get his stubborn ass here.” 

Josh adjusts the helmet on his head and heads to the building; it’s like a concrete beached whale, waiting for its inevitable death. He communicates with Tyler over a walkie-talkie. “Almost done,” Tyler replies. “Over.”   

He expects to meet Tyler outside, but there’s no sight of him; Josh enters the factory again, stopping next to the gray tubes that look almost like vertical rocket nozzles. One of them has crumbled down, and there’s more dust and rocks on the ground. Josh walks down the post-apocalyptic landscape when the walkie-talkie in his pocket comes back to life. 

“Run,” Tyler’s voice breaks through the white noise before fading into nothingness again.

He’s not responding when Josh tries to get to him again. The ground begins to vibrate — he’s not even sure if it was eight minutes, more or less — and Josh has only a moment and a breath to fall into the dirt and roll under a half-crooked concrete slab. Mark definitely knew something like this would happen when offering his helmet to Josh. Josh had a hunch too. 

He curls into himself and squeezes his eyes shut, palms clamped over his ears, but the blast wave rolls through his bones, making his heart stop. He’s deafened, with his ears ringing and with blood staining his fingers as he looks at them. “There’s one more,” Josh thinks blankly before the situation repeats itself. This time, it’s the explosion on the second floor, and the ceiling crashes down a few feet away from Josh’s improvised bomb shelter. Josh presses his nose to the wall, exposing his back to shards and stones. 

The timers didn’t synchronize. 

Josh coughs as the dust keeps clinging to the bandana on his lower face. He crawls out from underneath the slab and looks around. His left eyebrow is busted and swollen, blood paints the side of his face, and dust sticks to the wet patch, but he’s got a bigger fish to fry. 

“Tyler,” he calls, his own voice sounds unfamiliar as if he’s only learning to speak after the shock. “For fuck’s sake, Joseph!” 

There’s no answer. Josh gets up on his shaky feet, staring at the pile of rocks and concrete blocks in the corner. 

“No way,” he whispers. 

Tyler could’ve had some time to get away from the second floor because he’s Tyler, right? Always-one-jump-ahead guy, a control freak. A fucking concussed pyro. Josh is about to start digging in a heap of sharp-edged chunks when he sees Tyler walking out of the widened doorframe on the opposite side of the building.

“You!” Josh cries out laughter. “Dude, I thought I’d have to collect you from pieces—” he trails off when he notices how badly Tyler sways. Limping and hunching like a zombie. “Hey, hey, Joseph? Joseph, can you hear me?” 

Tyler pulls his headphones down, letting them hang on his neck as his knees buckle and he falls into Josh’s arms. Josh thinks there’s something wrong with his head again, so he tugs at his beanie until it reveals his face. Tyler clenches his teeth and screws his eyes shut. 

“Hey?” Josh shakes him by the shoulders as he’s crouched down next to him. “You’re hurt?”

Tyler nods, and sniffles, and rasps out,

“Metal… rods,” he presses his left arm to his ribs, shuddering in Josh’s embrace.

Josh’s heart stops again. He tries to inspect Tyler’s chest and stomach, but he’s wearing too many layers of clothing, and his khaki jacket isn’t that blood-stained. Josh can’t pull Tyler’s shirt up because he begins to groan and shake his head. He lurches forward and sideways, and Josh cups his jaw to keep his skull in place. There’s a single bleeding cut crossing the bridge of his nose, and there’s one more hole in his mask. Tyler’s breathing is fast and shallow, and his face turns white from both dust and hyperventilation.

Then he begins to cough, a red splatter hits Josh’s pants as Tyler sinks closer to the ground. Josh thinks he might faint, or throw up, or both.   

“You’re hurting him!”

Mark gasps and falls to his knees next to Tyler. Josh stops squeezing and shaking him, and he thinks Tyler isn’t breathing and presses his lips to Tyler’s. The last time he felt like this he saw dead bodies, and he can’t help but compare Tyler to them. He can’t save anyone.

He can’t save anyone. 

“Josh! Fuck it, Josh, pull back! This is not some sleeping beauty shit, your damn kiss isn’t gonna help!” Mark grips the back of Josh’s hoodie and drags him away from Tyler.

“I don’t know what to do, okay? I don’t fucking know!” he screams, he cries, and he can’t even look at a motionless doll on the floor. He refuses to accept it’s Tyler.

“You think I do? I’m a fucking pharmacist, do you want me to give him some aspirin or what?” Mark is hysterical, too. “Get the car!” Mark yells, and Mark slaps Josh across the face. “Get your shit together! Get the car, he’s still alive, Josh, he’s alive!”

Josh puts the helmet back on Mark’s head and runs to the exit. He runs, and he hops into the car, driving it back to the factory. They don’t have time, again, and Tyler can’t breathe. Josh stops the car as close as he can to the ruined building and enters the scenery of tragedy again. Mark managed to undo Tyler’s shirt and pull up his black tank top, and Tyler’s head is turning to the side. There’s a red trail in the corner of his mouth, and Josh can still taste copper on his tongue.

“His ribs are broken, that’s for sure,” Mark says, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “We should be careful taking him in the car.”

Josh wipes his lips on his sleeve. 

“I’ll get his arms.”

Mark nods.

Tyler begins to cough again as they lift him from the ground; Josh feels sick again when he sees a long thread of red saliva hanging from Tyler’s chin. He’s sure this taste will be haunting him for weeks. Tyler is a fairly lean guy, but he’s incredibly heavy; he’s still unconscious when they get him into the backseat. If he starts vomiting mid-ride, his fractured ribs aren’t gonna like it.

Only now, Josh notices that his right ear is bleeding, hearing dulled into a slight hum. His eardrum must’ve been ruptured, and this disorients him. Mark squeezes himself into the backseat next to Tyler, holding him in a half-sitting position. Then, he takes a syringe with some blue serum out of his backpack.

“Josh,” he calls as he leans forward. “You’re gonna kill all of us if you start the car now.”

“What’s that?” Josh nods at the syringe.

“A stimulant,” Mark says, shaking it slightly. “Will help you to concentrate. You’re… not in good shape.”

He’s right. Josh’s head keeps swimming, vision doubled a little. 

“Do it.”

Mark nods, and sticks his hand between the seats, jabbing Josh’s thigh with the needle through the fabric of his pants, blurting out,

“It won’t hurt.” 

He’s a little liar, Mark is. 

There’s a spasm twisting the muscles in Josh’s leg from his knee up to his crotch and he barely holds back a yelp, screwing shut his teary eyes. When he blinks his sweat away, his vision finds the focus, perfectly clear as if he’s wearing glasses. The fog in his head has also settled down and he slams the gas pedal, belatedly realizing Mark injected him with only half the syringe capacity.

“The rest’s for me,” Mark quickly changes the needle and injects himself in the thigh, exhaling a fuck. Beside him, Tyler doesn’t stir. “Comedown’s gonna be a bitch, I’m not experimenting on him,” he says, pulling Tyler’s clothes up again. Josh sees long purple-red lines on his sides and chest. 

The car takes off, and Josh breaks all the speed limits while Mark tries to get Michael via walkie-talkie; their conversation drowns in creaking sounds, but he manages to inform him that they’re fucked. Josh’s left shoulder begins to hurt again, but this pain feels like a gulp of sobriety for his otherwise strained mind. He’s taking the shortest route, hoping they won’t run into brainwashers on the road. Josh will fight, and bite, and kill everyone who’ll get in his way. 

Behind him, Tyler breaks into a coughing fit again, more blood landing on his chest as he gasps for breath and Mark has to hold his head so he won’t choke. Tyler leans to him, his temple resting on Mark’s shoulder as he begins to whisper something into his ear. 

Josh nearly swerves into the ditch when Mark groans out.

“Are you kidding me?”

“What?” Josh gives him a brisk glance. “What’d he say?”

“He’s B negative,” Mark can barely move his pale lips. “Finding a donor will be a pain in the ass in case he needs a blood transfusion. Thank god he’s not AB negative at least.”

Josh shakes his head. 

“I’m 0 negative. Universal donor.”

He says it even though he knows he’d turn the whole prison upside down looking for a compatible blood type. 

Mark breaks a few instant ice packs and presses them to Tyler’s sides and chest, trying to get him to at least hold some of them. Tyler’s slipping in and out of consciousness, and Josh nearly snaps his neck, looking at him. Mark tries his best to hold on to a conversation with him. 

“Got any allergies?” he asks, but his voice betrays him, wavering like a serpentine. 

“Only to honey,” Tyler wheezes out.

Josh wants to howl at how faint and lifeless Tyler sounds.

“Meds, I meant meds,” Mark bites his bottom lip as it starts wobbling. 

Josh’s veins are burning with adrenaline, and he barely breathes as the car flies down the road. He’s too determined to avoid potholes, thoughts banging his head like bullets; do they still have time? 

“Careful!” Mark’s voice hurts Josh’s injured ear even worse. “Don’t jar him, I’m 99% positive he’s got a punctured lung.”

“He will never care about that if we don’t hurry,” Josh looks back one more time. Tyler’s eyes are half-opened, eyelashes flutter; Josh bites down his lip which still tastes like Tyler’s blood. “He’s awake?”

“Even if he is, I don’t think he’s aware of what’s going on.”

Josh turns the rearview mirror to see them better, receiving a death glare from Mark again. He should be focused on the road and driving while he still can. Mark is the only one of them who hasn’t gotten injured physically, but mentally, he’s a mess. Josh blinks, and all he can think about is Tyler’s blood-streaked clothes and his hollow eyes. He can’t even imagine how bad that blow affected him — Josh’s own mind is still floating, and only the serum in his system keeps him grounded. He’s alive, he re-plays Mark’s words in his head, he’s still alive.

Tyler is unconscious again by the time the car drifts, takes a swift turn, and stops next to the prison gates. There’s Michael, waiting for them with the stretcher, cold and wordless; Josh knows what he’d say, this is my fault. Josh would take that prize from him because this is his fault too.

They run downstairs to make it to the underground hospital wing; they don’t have much equipment here, and Josh doesn’t even know if they have any available hospitals in the city at this moment. Michael says he’s going to make some calls and figure out where they can get help from. He leaves and disappears upstairs, and Josh thinks he’s never seen him this broken, too. Josh felt far more alive when Michael found him after the riot. Tyler groans and lets out a choked-up sound. They can’t stop shaking him, and Josh can’t stand the sight of him being so helpless. Because it’s Tyler, the know-it-all guy, the I’ll-do-it-by-myself guy. 

They make it to their tiny ER and put Tyler on the examination table together. Mark begins to fuss around, muttering,

“If you think he’s in pain now, just imagine how he’ll feel when he wakes up.”

Josh doesn’t say, “if he wakes up.”

Mark might need some assistance to undress Tyler, but Josh stands there like a statue, unsure what to do with the stimulant still pushing his inner resources to the limit.

“Go, go, you can go now,” Mark says, shoving Tyler’s jacket into Josh’s hands. “Go and wash it, please, Josh, this is all you can do now.”

Josh nods, head suddenly empty. A half-alive body on the table is all he can think about; Tyler wanted to save them. What an idiot. 

“Josh. Please, go.” 

Josh can only hope that the comedown won’t knock Mark out anytime soon.

 

***

Josh stumbles into the bathroom, and turns on cold water; it fills a clogged sink, but he barely notices it. Mark didn’t want him around, Josh understood it. He doesn’t know how to treat a punctured lung, or how to even diagnose one. They don’t have an x-ray here, all injuries are detected by poking and prodding only.

There’s so much blood on Tyler’s khaki jacket. Josh sniffles and shoves it under the stream of water, smearing blood across. It’s heavy, and its pockets’ contents begin to fall out. The first thing Josh finds on the floor is Tyler’s round sunglasses; the white frame is cracked in two, and Josh’s heart clenches painfully. They didn’t make it. 

Absentminded, he begins to empty the jacket’s pockets; it feels oddly intimate, knowing what Tyler used to carry around. A screwdriver, pocket knife, condoms — Josh lets out a thoughtful chuckle turning into a sob — pills for motion sickness, painkillers. The same ones Josh takes to tame the ache in his shoulder; it always gets worse in the late autumn. Then he finds a crumpled piece of paper with the sketch of his hammer, and with the notes Tyler made, his ideas on how to improve its pneumatic system so the force of it won’t dislocate anyone’s shoulder.  

And Josh understands it, all at once, a thing he and Tyler never talked about. 

“Sneaky fucker,” Josh exhales. “Don’t you dare to die.”

The ink is blurred at the edges, but Josh can still read the words, Tyler’s thoughts spilled across the margins. “The little cogs got together, start a renaissance”. Josh doesn’t know what it means, but he gets the vibe. Tyler’s belongings tell more about him than the words.

Josh takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pants’ pocket and flickers the lighter. He smokes indoors; it’s not allowed, but neither is war, and he’s too exhausted to care. He thinks his system begins to digest the serum, and he feels high, bad-tripping on bad thoughts and horrible reality. He looks at his pale and dirty face in the mirror, his earlobe is stained red, more blood sticks to his forefinger as he touches it. Maybe it’s because his useless brain leaks out along with it.

Josh tries to wash away the sweat, and grime, and blood, and his vision gets hazy. He takes another drag of the cigarette and slides down the wall, squeezing a piece of paper with Tyler’s plan on it. His hands are shaking as the adrenaline wears off. Josh clamps a cigarette between his teeth; Tyler’s wet jacket lies next to him, relatively clean now. Josh thinks there might be blood in the backseat too. Tyler was coughing a lot. And Josh needs to clean it up as if this can sanitize his memory.

He collects all the things he found in Tyler’s pockets and puts them in the drawer of his table. Josh leaves Tyler’s coat to dry in his cell, thinking how cold he might be now. Then he thinks that it could be too late, and anger consumes his entire being, and he clobbers the punching bag with his bare hands until his knuckles begin to bleed. Pain is always hungry for more pain, feeding on it, getting stronger.

Josh thought he hated him. For being too arrogant, too confident; for being everything Josh never was. 

Now it all seems irrelevant.

 

*** 

The bloodstain looks dark brown on the black seat. It’s only saliva and rust, and Josh scrubs it furiously with the washcloth. He’s sweating, anxiety accumulated in his bones finally breaks free. His ear keeps oozing, and it’s so distracting Josh nearly hits his head on the car ceiling when someone approaches him from behind. 

Josh turns around abruptly, only seeing Michael. 

“I’ll write the report later,” Josh says just to say something. “Kinda busy at the moment.”

Michael looks at him, dead serious. 

“You need help, Josh,” as if Josh doesn’t know. Then he adds, “I just saw Mark.”

“Any news?” Josh asks, voice raspy. 

Michael shakes his head. 

“Tyler is still unconscious. Mark knows what he’s doing, man,” he puts his hand on Josh’s shoulder. “It got you pretty bad too.” 

Josh jerks his head. There’s the humming in his ear, like sea waves. It makes him feel like he’s drowning.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“You should go to medics,” Michael looks at his ear. “You were close to the explosion?”

Josh shrugs.

“I hid under a concrete slab.” 

He will never forget Tyler’s almost-last words. Run. Tyler knew he’d follow anyway. Josh exhales a puff of cold air.

“It was an accident,” Michael says.

“The only accident is that the three of us weren’t smart enough to avoid the shit that happened,” Josh spits out. He swears to himself never to let Tyler do his dangerous stuff alone anymore if he survives. Josh will learn the whole demolishing process to rub the facts in Tyler’s face. 

Josh doesn’t tell Michael he’s still high on a serum. He doesn’t want Mark to have problems.

Michael notices that Josh is not in the mood for talking; so he just makes sure Josh is upright and functioning, and tells him he’ll visit him later. 

Josh heaves a sigh and gets back to cleaning the backseat; he can’t wash away the bloodstain, and he wants to just rip an entire seat out of the car’s body. He continues his useless activity until the rain begins to fall again.

Notes:

thanks for reading!!

Chapter 8

Summary:

The wall inside Josh has started to crumble, baring his nerves, exposing his aching soul; he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t want the cracks in him to be visible. He needs a ton of cement to patch them up.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

He must’ve forgotten to lock the door. 

Cutting himself away from the world, Josh shoves a piece of cotton wool into his ear to soak the shit that keeps leaking out of it. He hates when someone wakes him up like this — he can’t sleep, and the only reason he passed out now was the stimulant comedown — he gasps and shudders when someone shakes him by the shoulder. 

“You again?” Josh rubs his eyes and squints at Michael standing in front of him. 

“Mark said you shouldn’t go to sleep yet.”

Michael purses his lips and takes a small flashlight out of his pocket. He urges Josh to sit up to check his pupils. It’s too late, Josh wants to say. He experienced a full-body concussion anyway. And so did Tyler. 

“What are you doing?” Josh slaps Michael’s arm when he pulls off the hood of his hoodie.

“Someone needed to check on you.”

Right. Michael warned him, but Josh’s memory is still a mess. He can still feel the serum scorching his veins, but he’s beyond tired. His teeth chatter along with all the bones in his body. His head hurts. The fact that he lost hearing in one ear is scaring him, but he thinks it’ll heal sooner or later. His head feels asymmetrical, with sounds coming from one side and getting lost inside. It even makes him feel a bit sick.

“On a scale from zero to ten, how shitty are you feeling?” 

“I feel great.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m lying greatly.”

“Okay,” Michael’s tone softens. “You’re exhausted. I just wanted to tell you that I have some good news about Tyler.”

Tyler. Josh was too scared to ask. Considering his condition, what news is good news?

“Is he awake?”

“Not yet,” Michael shakes his head. “But he can breathe on his own, and Mark said he could hold up a small conversation before passing out again. There’s hope that Mark will take him back to his cell soon.”

“It’s a cold one,” Josh mutters. “I lived there, you know.”

Michael nods,

“I remember.” 

Josh looks at Tyler’s jacket thrown over the back of a chair. It’s too thin, it won’t keep him warm. That cell is definitely cursed. Josh thinks he has to convince Tyler to move out of it.

“Pull up your shirt,” Michael says.

Josh groans, 

“Maybe take my pants off too?”

“Leave that for Tyler,” Michael smirks. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two.”

“Me neither,” Josh reluctantly pulls up his hoodie. “So it’s probably nothing.”

He didn’t know he had a bruise on his side; Michael winces as he sees it. 

“Doesn’t look like a fracture.”

“Yeah,” Josh adjusts his clothes. “One dude with broken ribs is enough.”

“You scared us too. Should’ve seen yourself.”

“I prefer to not,” Josh gets up, hearing his bones creak. He looks at his wristwatch, noting that he only slept for about forty minutes. Not enough for his body and mind to recover. He knows he should visit Tyler, but he can’t bring himself up to do it. Because now he’s sure that it’s Tyler’s turn to start hating him. 

Michael keeps talking about how Josh should be paying more attention to his health, and Josh listens and nods, and does everything for his boss to finally leave him alone. Michael was just worried — about all of them — but Josh can’t digest his words now. Josh proves to Michael that he can talk and walk and think at the same time and flops back onto his bed. 

“Fine,” Michael sounds satisfied. Josh thinks it’s funny that Mark waits for his report now. 

Michael leaves him alone.

Josh begins to sweat, and it’s either fever or a comedown still. This is what Mark warned him about. Josh’s muscles feel like a jelly mass, bones made of sugar. It’s like a hellish version of the worst hangover Josh’s non-drinker system could’ve experienced.

On the brighter side, it kicks his insomnia’s ass. His eyelashes weigh a ton, he can’t keep his eyes open. But Mark is probably feeling the same if not worse at the moment while also having to deal with whatever Tyler is going through. He has to pull himself together, he has to; Josh sways as he gets up as the world around him tilts dangerously. He goes to a locker he brought into his cell a few months ago and rummages in it furiously — the memories about Tyler’s cell settle like chills in his bones, so Josh looks for his black winter coat with a fur lining along the hood. He doesn’t want Tyler’s beaten lungs to play hide-and-seek with pneumonia, okay? Here, he finds it; it doesn’t even smell that bad. He should do the laundry one day, he thinks as his mind closes around some mundane things to protect itself.

Josh stumbles into the hallway, almost immediately bumping into Mark. 

“How are you?” Josh nearly drops the coat. “I mean… Both… both of you.” 

Mark bites his chapped lip.

“We can handle it.” 

He shakes and pulls at his sleeves nervously, looking so out-of-this-world that the word “dead” could be a compliment. His eyes are red-rimmed and the bags underneath look almost black. His hair is disheveled and unkempt, and he hasn’t even changed his clothes since they arrived at the prison. Josh would do the laundry for him, too.

“You keep using it,” Josh says, eyeing him up and down. “That serum. Trying to avoid the aftermath?”

Mark sighs and leans against the wall.

“I know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t know shit about that stimulant, you literally stole it from the enemy!”

Josh squeezes the coat so hard he thinks he might rip it.

“I needed to focus, okay?” Mark tugs at his hair, then scratches his neck. There are a few long lines his nails have already left there. His behavior and gestures remind Josh of Tyler. He doesn’t like it; he knows Tyler is a Red Bull addict, and that he nearly went through an actual withdrawal when he emptied his last stash. 

“You need to sleep. Michael can handle him,” Josh says, guiding Mark down the hall. He’s so pumped he might just run straight through the concrete wall and never notice it. 

“He doesn’t know what to do and neither do I!” Mark half groans half cries. He’s on the edge, he might as well explode. “We don’t even know how badly that explosion affected you, Josh,” he grabs the front of Josh’s hoodie. “You know how a blast injury might affect one’s psyche?”

Josh nods. This doesn’t come as a surprise; his right ear is fucked up, and this might be only the tip of the iceberg. Especially for Tyler. 

“You mean… He’ll never be the same?” 

He doesn’t know what “the same” means when it comes to Tyler yet, but it hurts his entire chest. As if the only thing that ties them together is pain. Maybe it’s true.

“He remembers what happened, and I think it’d be better if he didn’t.”

“Did he tell you?”

Mark nods.

“He could barely speak. Apologized for hacking up blood all over your precious car and passed out again.”

“Typical Tyler,” Josh smiles with the corner of his mouth. His smile fades quickly though.

“You know him so well already, huh?”

“How did he even survive that blast?” 

“He’ll tell you when he wakes up,” Mark slaps Josh’s shoulder way too hard. Okay, he’s high on some shit yet unknown to science, so it only makes Josh worry about him more. At the same time, his mind still feels floaty. “You can visit him, you know,” Mark adds. 

Josh shakes his head. 

“Not now, not when he…” he swallows hard, feeling sick all of a sudden. “He hates me.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because I know so!”

Because Michael told Josh to be the leader.

Mark rolls his eyes with a prolonged sigh. 

Josh hands him the coat.

“What the fuck is this?” Mark is about to throw hands, and honestly, Josh can’t judge him.

“He’ll freeze his balls off in my cell.”

Josh didn’t expect his voice to crack like this. 

“You care,” Mark smirks, glance softening. “You bastard, you really care.”

“Take care,” Josh replies. It sounds almost like a pun, but he’s so very far from laughing.

He’s about to go back into his cell and perform a sick death drop into his creaky bed, but Mark stops him. 

“I… uh,” he sighs. “I know that using that thing fucked me up, beyond repair probably, but…” he pauses. “It depends on where you inject it. The aftermath is also different. It works the fastest when you inject it in your vein, but side effects hit harder too. Also, it doesn’t last long. I made an intramuscular injection of the drug to both of us so that it doesn’t slam us like a ton of bricks. I mean, that one ruined building was enough.” 

“More than one.”

The wall inside Josh has started to crumble, baring his nerves, exposing his aching soul; he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t want the cracks in him to be visible. He needs a ton of cement to patch them up. He can’t say he loved being numb, because he simply didn’t feel anything — and the first feeling that hits him now is emotional pain. Deep, deep inside, there’s an infected wound full of unreleased emotions and unsaid words; and it keeps gathering here like pus, it keeps pulsing. He needs to cut it open to let the dirt out. 

It’s a miracle that Mark hasn’t overdosed yet. Josh hopes they will never lose him; Michael has lost enough people in his life, and Josh can relate. Mark presses the coat to his chest; and Josh wants to run and hide like a coward. He knows Tyler would call him that.  

“Josh,” a soft ball of Mark’s words bounces off of his back. “Thank you.”

Josh pretends he doesn’t hear him.

 

*** 

He looks at the rusty-red stain on the cotton wool he takes out of his injured ear. There’s a low humming growing behind his right temple, and Josh wants to shake his head every so often to get rid of whatever causes that. He knows it’s his mind. He knows he has to wait a couple of weeks for it to heal. Everything he feels about Tyler crashes on him all at once, it’s even more than five stages of acceptance he’s gone through. His brain is like one of those machines he used to repair. And here are some results his poor mind somehow produced:

Tyler really wants to change the world; the burning passion inside him can either burn bridges or set their enemy on fire. And, the second thing, it’s contagious. Josh now understands people who were listening to him, following him, letting him play with the strings of their souls. 

Because Josh followed him too.

Josh still has handfuls of things that belonged to him. This is a good excuse to finally go and see him, like “Hey bro, here’s your stuff” and give him everything back. Even those goddamn condoms, whatever Tyler was up to.

But his broken sunglasses make Josh feel the worst. They remind him of how mortal Tyler is; Josh puts them in his pocket, separately from the screwdriver and other stuff not to smash them into smaller pieces. Josh gets up from the bed slowly, not to spill around his courage. He deliberately leaves Tyler’s khaki jacket in his cell — “Hey bro, I forgot one more thing…” — and goes to the most hated wing of the prison.

He prepared some words to break the ice, he really did. But Josh forgets them instantly, because,

He sees a lone figure hobbling down the hallway in semi-darkness, he has a nasty feeling of déjà vu; Josh rushes forward because he recognizes his coat first. 

“Hey.”

Josh’s throat is full of sand as he catches up with the hunched silhouette, wrapped in an unzipped coat — Josh’s coat — hood covering a face that Josh was so eager to see. And Tyler straightens his back, holds back an onslaught of cough, and wheezes out,

“Hey.”

Tyler takes the hood off, revealing an unhealthy paleness with a few red blotches creeping up his cheeks. Even his lips look slightly purple from both cold and what Josh thinks might be asphyxiation. The cut across his nose looks even brighter now, and there are a few smaller ones under Tyler’s left eye. It’s been only five days, but Josh is happy to see him upright. Tyler shivers under the coat, only wearing a gray tank top, too baggy sweatpants and flip-flops with socks. 

“Where are you going?”

Tyler wordlessly points his finger in front of him. 

“Bathroom?”

Tyler nods and leans on the wall, pressing his palm to his chest. Josh comes even closer, throwing Tyler’s right arm over his shoulder. He has to carry most of Tyler’s weight like this. Tyler rustles out,

“Mark’s sleeping.”

“Good for him,” Josh nods. Cool, he stopped killing himself with those chemicals.

This also explains why Tyler went on his journey alone. His chest jerks with labored breaths as he sinks into Josh’s embrace. He clings to Josh’s forearms, gripping them so hard it’s gonna leave bruises. 

“I just tripped,” Tyler mewls. 

“Yeah, sure,” Josh sighs, hoisting him up. “At least here’s your chance to piss properly.”

That might sound rude, but Tyler chuckles.

“Slow down.”

He can’t walk fast, and even just breathing is hard for him at the moment; Josh feels bad for dragging him across the narrow hallway. Tyler shakes his head and lets out a strangled huffing sound.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna puke.”

“Nah,” Tyler replies lightheartedly. “I haven’t eaten.”

This makes Josh feel even worse. 

“You should, then.”

Tyler clears his throat.

Josh doesn’t bother him with talking anymore. 

They make it to the bathroom, and Josh guides Tyler into the stall, thinking he might want to sit down as he doesn’t trust his weak legs. Tyler wordlessly nods Josh a “thank you” and unties his sweatpants. 

Josh turns away, only saying,

“Don’t piss on the coat, man.”

“Shut up.”

Josh can swear he hears a smile in Tyler’s voice. 

“Time’s limited,” he says, seeing Tyler’s hunched figure in the stall. He leans his shoulder against the wall even.

“Let me enjoy my victory,” Tyler mutters. “There’s no way I’m doing this again in the next 24 hours. Don’t mess with my flow.”

“Gross,” Josh comments. 

Tyler bites back,

“You’re the one who wanted to watch me.”

His tone lacks anger, though. Josh thinks they’re finally communicating successfully, and Mark should be proud of them. Josh looks at the stall in front of him — the one with a now censored drawing of a naked woman on it — and thinks of his first encounters with Tyler. It feels like it was a century ago.

When Tyler finishes, he goes to the sink to wash his hands and grips onto it, swaying again; Josh jumps to him in seconds, catching Tyler with his arm around his waist. Josh has to hold him while Tyler sprinkles his hands and face with cold water and wordlessly thanks Josh again. He begins to cough then, doubling over and pressing his sleeve to his mouth. Josh holds him still, noting that Tyler is now much skinnier than he was when Josh had last touched him — but he’d still be heavy as an unconscious body. He doesn’t know what to do if Tyler starts coughing up blood again — Tyler takes a ragged breath and wipes his hand on his coat. There’s no blood, only his spit smeared down Josh’s coat.

Tyler wipes his mouth again and says, 

“I just… get really dizzy sometimes. You know, it’s fine when I lie down, but it hurts to breathe, and I just… I feel helpless.”

He sounds on the verge of a breakdown, and Josh can’t help him — he’s not a therapist, he’s not good with words; he has no idea how to calm down someone who’s also a storage for the trauma.

“We can… take a breather if you want,” Josh says. 

He knows Tyler would smack him for offering to carry him back into his cell. Tyler nods and holds onto the sink again. Josh thinks it’s a good time to give him back his things; Josh fishes all of them out of his pockets and enjoys the way Tyler’s eyes widen when he hands him his broken sunglasses and condoms. 

“Hope you didn’t poke any holes in them?”

Of course, he has to play it off. 

“You think I’m that evil?” Josh grins. “I wouldn’t wish for you to catch an STD.”

“How mindful.”

Tyler pockets his stuff, zipping them locked; Josh thinks he’s never getting his coat back. He doesn’t regret it. And Tyler says,

“I really thought you were dead.”

“You what?”

“You know,” Tyler sighs, rubbing his tensed chest again. “My memory was kinda messed up when I woke up, and I only remembered that your ear was bleeding. That’s not good, right?” he massages the back of his neck. “And then I kept passing out, and my mind was in a haze. And then Mark brought me this coat and told me that you don’t need it anymore,” he snorts out a chuckle. “I really thought you were dead.”

This feels like a punch in the gut. Tyler was delirious and sick, that’s for sure, but Josh didn’t expect him to care about his well-being that much. 

“Mark used a stimulant on me so I could get us here,” Josh says. 

Tyler looks even paler surrounded by the white tiles; It’s the only well-lit room in the whole prison, still, too bright even. And it only exposes how broken Tyler is. Broken, but not weak.

“Could’ve left me a note, you know,” Tyler smirks. “Oh right, I forgot! You’re not a fan of writing, which explains why your grammar is so bad—”

“Tyler,” Josh puts a hand on his shoulder. “Shut up.”

He missed Tyler’s voice. He missed Tyler’s terrible puns and jokes that make Josh want to swallow his tongue and never speak again; he missed it. Mostly because it makes him feel things, it distracts him from pain and his thoughts. He was so obsessed with solving Tyler’s mystery that now he seems even more mysterious.

“I’m glad to see you alive,” Tyler says, staring at his socks. 

And Josh says,

“Same.”

 

*** 

The door of Mark’s cell isn’t locked; on the way back, they can see him curled on his bed, sleeping. Tyler chews on his lip.

“He had to do it because of me.”

“You mean the stimulant?”

Tyler nods.

“My lungs were bruised and I was choking. He had to watch me all the time.”

“He’d never let anyone else do it, you know?”

Josh keeps his voice low, not to wake Mark up.

Tyler nods again.

“He’s so responsible it’s his toxic trait. I owe him a debt.”

They walk past Mark’s cell to enter Tyler’s darker one. Josh knows that Mark slept there just a night prior, sitting in a single chair. He deserves to sleep for a week now — Josh can’t even imagine how much of the inner resources he had used. His inner battery is about to burst. Josh leads Tyler to the bed; he climbs onto it clumsily, putting a pillow under his back and leaning against the cool wall. Josh thinks a bit before Tyler taps his hand on the mattress, inviting Josh to sit next to him. 

Josh’s brain is occupied with memories. How he was being constantly beaten up in this exact cell, not allowed to sleep, being starved and miserable. 

But he sits down next to Tyler, finding this mattress much softer than the one he burnt in the forest. There’s the IV stand next to Tyler’s bed, and there are pills and cotton pads on his bedside table along with some books. Otherwise, the cell looks the same; but now it’s full of Tyler’s work stuff. There are fuses, empty bottles for Molotov cocktails and some cans Josh prefers to not think about; maybe Josh should let Tyler move into the garage where he can work on his “projects” without bothering anyone. Except for Josh, but he’s getting used to it.

“How bad is it?” Josh asks.

Tyler shudders and wraps his arms around his middle. Now Josh can see a white bandage wrapped over his shoulder and chest.

“When that shit exploded, I fell onto a pile of metal, and… I could hear my ribs crack.”

Josh can hear it too, along with the cracking of Tyler’s voice.

“How many ribs did you break?”

“Three, give or take,” Tyler replies. “According to the bruising, it’s two on the left side and one on the right,” he gestures at the bandages with his shaking hand. “I can only sleep on my back or, like, half-sitting because I’m dizzy all the fucking time. That’s because I can’t breathe properly.”

Josh had his ribs fractured in the past, so he knows what Tyler is talking about. 

“I’m glad you’re… coherent.” 

“Huh? That blow didn’t turn me into a vegetable, luckily,” the corner of Tyler’s mouth curls into a smile. “Man, I thought Mark was gonna kill me because I needed to take a leak like every hour. And he had to take trip after trip after trip with me.”

Josh shrugs.

“Could’ve given you a bottle.” 

Tyler pushes Josh’s thigh with his socked toe.

“Stop embarrassing me, really.”

“What? Bottles are pretty handy when you can’t get up or are too lazy to get up. Like me.” 

He used to call it laziness, okay?

Tyler squirms, shoving his hand under his tank top and cursing under his breath. 

“God, not this again,” he groans, tugging at the loose end of a bandage. “These are too short, and Mark applied like three layers.”

Indeed, these bandages aren’t suitable for being wrapped over one’s entire chest. 

“Need my help?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” Tyler sheds the coat. “See?” he points at the purple-black marks littering his veins. “I think I’m addicted to IVs now. Can’t take a breath without a painkiller, can you imagine?”

Josh thinks it’s pretty reasonable to say,

“Dude, your ribs are broken.”

He knows Tyler would never ask for help, but he’s too sick to refuse it at the moment.

Josh winces as he helps Tyler take his tank top off; the bandage has fallen off his shoulder, baring a deep-purple bruise. Tyler’s left side is entirely covered with hematomas, black and blue, contouring the outline of his ribs. There are a few painful swells and a plethora of shallow scratches.

“We don’t even know if my lung was indeed punctured,” Tyler says. “I have long lungs, actually,” he grabs at his chest and lurches forward. “Mark said, sometimes people might cough blood if their lungs are just badly bruised. Blood might permeate the tissue or something and come out.”

That was so bad Josh can still taste it.

He thinks Tyler should stop moving so much; he has to take longer pauses as he talks because there’s not enough air in his lungs. Maybe they should get him an oxygen tank or something like that? Josh doesn’t know if they have one in their hospital wing.

Tyler hands Josh the bandages with a clumsy gesture, then lurches forward and nearly falls off the bed.

“Hey? Hey, what happened?” Josh holds him by the shoulders, feeling him shake. 

“Wrong move,” Tyler groans. “Hurt so bad I could see the stars.”

Josh’s heart clenches in a sympathetic spasm.

“Yeah, I could see them too.” 

He waits until Tyler evens out his breathing, and then wraps the bandages around his tattooed chest again. Josh sees the scars on his stomach, too, and they’re bigger and deeper than he expected them to be. Tyler doesn’t pay attention to Josh’s glance shifting across his skin, or he pretends he doesn’t. 

“Tighter,” he whispers. “My bones are all loosened up.”

He’s holding on, he’s holding on like the rebel he is. But Josh can’t keep his mouth shut, not when he sees how badly bruised Tyler’s rib cage is. 

“How are you even holding on after all… this?”

Tyler gives him a look full of sarcasm.

“I’m very enthusiastic, you know.”

Josh smirks, tucking the end of the bandage under the layers. 

“I know.”

Tyler slowly backs his shoulders and takes a careful breath.

“Good?” Josh asks, nervous about his bandaging skills. When it comes to his shoulder, he ties it up so tight it cuts his blood circulation.

Tyler nods. It probably hurts his entire body, and Josh is overwhelmed, by just being so close to him. It feels unreal because he thought that Tyler was… gone.

Tyler smells like sweat and meds and sanitizer.

Josh sighs, 

“You should shower one day.” 

“I know,” Tyler says, humorlessly. “I’m just too dizzy to stand on my own that long,” he then sniffles his armpit and winces. “Gross. I’m surprised you didn’t kill me for nearly dying on you,” he adds. “That was your chance, you know.”

Tyler has just started to dig up his old self from under the ruins of his injured personality, and Josh wants to play along.

“Mark stopped me.”

Josh didn’t expect Tyler to be so brave yet so honest. He now feels bad for pointing out the smell; he’s sure he smells like shit himself. That was just… an awkward ice-breaker.

This is the oddest of conversations he’s ever had with Tyler — they’re not beating the shit out of each other, not spitting venom like snakes on the loose. Josh is still angry, but this time Tyler’s not the reason for his anger. The war, it’s always the war — the thing that split their families and took lives. 

He’s angry that Tyler nearly died in the same cell he was forced to suffer in. 

“Dude, you should move out. Like, right now,” Josh says as he helps Tyler put his coat back on. 

“Are you kidding me?” Tyler glares at him. “I can’t breathe without pain, I can’t even go to the bathroom on my own, and you offer me to just move out?”

Josh keeps silent, meaningfully. Feeling things means rushing things.

To switch an awkward topic, he points at the book on Tyler’s bedside table — All my sons by Arthur Miller — and asks,

“Reading bedtime stories to Mark?”

Tyler chuckles.

“Yeah. We started a theater club here. It’s just the two of us at the moment, but you can join too if you want.”

“So you think I can read?” Josh teases.

“Ah, right,” Tyler slaps himself on the forehead. “Well, you can play… a tree.”

Josh takes the book and flips a few pages; Tyler makes notes in the margins — Josh recognizes his messy handwriting. And Tyler loves leaving comments on everything he sees. The book looks too ordinary, lying next to the painkillers and syringes. Josh’s numbness is gone little by little, and all he can think about is how hard Tyler tries to pretend that nothing happened.

“You know, I…” it’s hard to find the right words, but Josh has to say everything that’s been bothering his mind. “I really thought we didn’t need you in the resistance at first. Because you seemed too arrogant, too ignorant, just… just too much to handle. And you were an asshole sometimes, I was an asshole, but that’s just… I thought I shouldn’t take you seriously, but then again I really thought you were a threat, a pyro, and…” he licks his dry lips. “I wanted to get rid of you. To send you to the farms like everyone. Not my squad, not my responsibility, you know?” Josh clutches the book in his hands. “I hated you after our fight. But then the explosion happened. I don’t know, I’m probably concussed or something, but I realized that hating you won’t change anything.”

The weight from his head rolls onto his chest, flattening it out. Speaking hurts. 

“And when I realized that you could’ve died, I only wanted to apologize, which I’m doing now,” Josh blurts out. “I’m sorry.” 

With his heart going crazy in his throat, he expects to hear something witty from Tyler, but his non-injured ear only catches light snoring instead.

“Tyler, for fuck’s sake,” Josh laughs quietly.

Tyler is sleeping in a half-sitting position, propped up with the pillow; there’s the crinkle between his furrowed eyebrows, breathing fast and shallow, but he relaxes when Josh puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“Okay. Sleep well, dude.”

Before getting up, Josh leaves a piece of paper pressed between the pages of a book like a bookmark. It’s the Hammer Upgrading Plan Tyler made — Josh put checkmarks next to some of his notes and scribbled down a phrase.

“good idea.”

 

***

Josh is aware he still has a picture of Tyler in his drawer; the one Mark took during their photoshoot next to the tires. He still doesn’t know how to feel about it, or about Tyler’s comment. He wanted to hand it back to Tyler, too, but something stopped him. Now he thinks they should’ve taken a photo together, all three of them because you never know when you’ll lose someone. 

Josh is scared; he feels more vulnerable now than he felt when he was held captive by the officials’ lap dogs.

It’s like emerging from the depth of an ocean and finding out that the land’s gone, swimming circles with the sharks clinging to your feet. 

Josh’s shoulder hurts again. It’s a nagging pain that doesn’t let him sleep on his left side or raise his arm; it’s almost like a heartache, it tricked him so many times. Josh finds a tube with heating gel for muscles and squeezes out some on a clean cloth. Michael was right, he should’ve told Mark; but Josh’s been living with this pain longer than Tyler, so he doesn’t need time to adjust. 

He knows he will never adjust to it. 

Josh presses a compress to his shoulder, then bandages it; there’s nothing new about it, either — he just needs to clamp the end between his teeth, tug and tie. Wrapping it around his torso is the easiest part. There were so many times when there was no one to do that for him. Then he pops two painkiller pills and hopes for the best. The long sleeves of his hoodie will cover everything. 

Ignoring the discomfort, Josh goes to the garage for the first time since the explosion; he needs to work on something simply to stop thinking. For an hour, or for a minute. Anything just to throw the horrifying pictures out of his mind — a bleeding Tyler on the floor of a ruined building — his sister and her fiancé on the floor — parallels, parallels, parallels.

And Josh still needs to check one more fact; he knows what type of bulletproof vests the resistance is provided with, and it’s easy to find characteristics — since Josh helped Michael to unload the truck with armor, he could take one passport just in case. Now he looks at it, and makes notes. Tyler is an idiot. Josh bites the pen as he writes down the weight of the vest, and schematically outlines the factory. He knows where the explosives were placed, when they detonated, and he can estimate the force of the blow knowing the weight of the material. He’s an engineer, he’d do things like this for a living; and he wants to solve the problem, scratching his calculation down on a piece of paper. It takes him hours to do all the fact-checking and to draw the trajectories and a simplified stick-like figure of Tyler; Josh checks everything twice and comes to the conclusion that shocks him. 

The weight of a bulletproof vest would only add more pressure on Tyler’s rib cage, threatening to break his spine during the fall.

“That fucker knew something,” Josh whispers, putting the pen aside.

He can’t believe it. He was the one who kept telling Tyler to wear actual body protection, but it was too heavy, and Tyler refused, and Josh is surprised to know that,  

Tyler’s negligence saved his life.

Notes:

thanks for reading!!

Chapter 9

Summary:

“You’re so stubborn.”

“Thanks.”

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Calling me an addict was foreshadowing, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?” 

Josh rubs his face, still sleepy; he’s just woken up to the sight of Tyler standing in his cell.

“Good morning,” Tyler says, politely. 

“You should stop picking my damn lock, man.”

Josh barely holds himself back from throwing a pillow at Tyler, because a) the pillow is as soft as a rock and b) Tyler’s ribs are still broken. Tyler’s wearing that godawful kimono he once found at the warehouse, with the same gray tank top underneath that barely covers his busted chest. There’s somehow too many colors on him. 

Josh still hates it when people invade his personal space, but he’s somewhat glad to see that Tyler is back to his usual activities. Like being a pain in Josh’s ass. Tyler sits down on Josh’s bed and pulls up his loose sleeve, showing Josh the crook of his elbow.

“See?” he pokes at the bruise, yellowing at the edges. There are more needle marks around. “My veins hurt, man. Mark started to lower the dose of my painkillers. I know I’m not the only one who needs them but it’s still too early…” he sighs.

“You’re healing,” Josh says, propping himself up with the elbow.

Tyler looks at him and suddenly asks,

“How are you feeling?”

It’s been a week, and Josh finally stopped shoving cotton wool into his ear — it still feels clogged, but he’s not that deaf anymore. Josh shrugs, not feeling the need to complain. 

“I’m not the one with my lungs beaten to a bloody pulp.”

“So funny,” Tyler rolls his eyes. “We shouldn’t disappoint Mark now, right? He expects us to get really close. Like, make out in front of him and all that.”

It’s one of his jokes again, okay. Josh wants to ignore it; Tyler looks a bit disappointed, not getting any reaction from Josh. He says,

“Wanna know what I heard on the way here?”

“What?”

“Well, I walked past Michael’s office…”

“Upstairs,” Josh says. “And we’re in the basement. And you should still be in bed. What the hell have you been doing up there?”

Tyler leans his back to the wall, pressing Josh’s legs to the mattress.

“Okay, you got me. I wanted to talk to Michael about… How good I’ve been feeling recently?”

“Don’t even think about it,” Josh raises his hand in warning. “Not yet.”

Tyler pouts. 

“This is exactly what Michael said. Said that I’ll have to skip a mission or two, but… he might send you to the food warehouse next week. Mark too.”

He takes it too personally, speaking too carefully not to burst up with anger. Josh missed going out, driving the vehicles and just being helpful — after lying in bed for so many days, he realizes how much he needs to breathe.

Tyler’s injury is not something that needs to be brought up again and again, but Josh says, 

“You just need to recover.” 

Tyler blankly rubs the bandages. 

“I hate it.”

“But it’s getting better?” 

“Yeah, it just… still hurts anyway. But I can handle it. Listen, I can’t just stay here while you and Mark are putting yourselves in danger again.”

Knowing Tyler’s background, Josh understands how much it means to him. He wants to be involved, to be a part of everything. He’s probably got a hero complex, just like all of them.

“Just wait a few weeks and you’ll be… fine?” Josh ruffles the hair on his nape. “Get a hobby! Read some books, I don’t know. Get more people in your theater club.”

“Yeah, I should sing the national anthem in the canteen, and get my ass kicked, thanks,” Tyler chuckles. “I know Michael is going to find someone to replace me. Temporarily, I hope. They’ll fire me if I get hurt one more time.”

“And by “hurt” you mean “almost dead”, I got it,” Josh adds. 

Tyler huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“It’s not fair, you know.”

“I know.”

Josh chews on his bottom lip, thinking. Seeing Tyler coming back to his (anti) social life feels… comforting. He saw him play chess with some guy in the hospital wing a few days ago. So Tyler’s brain is still functioning, which is good. Josh used to consider him dangerous, but now his shell is gone. And it’s clear that Tyler is dangerous even to himself.

Tyler hates losing. 

“Josh,” he says. “Promise me to not flirt with whoever they’re going to replace me with.”

Josh chokes on his spit. 

“Are you serious right now?”

“Huh. No. I don’t care,” Tyler looks at the wall in front of him.

“You thought I was flirting with you?”

It’s really hard to understand him sometimes. 

“Josh, don’t start this!”

“I’m not— I’m not the one who started this!” Josh chortles. “Are you jealous?”

Tyler replies in a Tyler manner,

“I’m better than everyone.” 

“Oh, right,” Josh enjoys seeing the blush tinting Tyler’s cheeks. His paleness is gone, and he looks… excited. “You are.” 

Tyler smiles and presses his hand to his side as he gets up.

“Just let my ribs heal and I’ll kick your ass in combat.”

Josh says,

“Deal.”

Tyler nods and walks to the door. He only turns around once, just to say,

“You heard what I said about flirting, right?”

 

***

Turns out, Tyler is a very reliable source of information. After a short conversation, both Josh and Mark are assigned to complete the “food mission” as they call it. Josh instantly begins to think about what can go wrong this time; he gets his hearing back, and he’s lucky to have recovered this soon.

The “wrong” this time is the fact that Tyler isn’t going with them. There’s the guy he used to keep in touch with for reasons — Paul — and Josh begins to bite his nails nervously when he sees his tall figure from the distance. 

“You know they’re friends, right?” Mark leans to Josh’s ear as if to gossip. 

“Is Michael testing me?” Josh groans. “Tyler has a legit fanbase in the resistance. And he forces me to befriend every one of them?”

Mark shakes his head.

“I don’t think it’s that deep, man. Besides, there are enough people who hate Tyler, even more than you used to.”

“Thanks for making it worse,” Josh pats Mark’s back and gets into the car. 

Paul gets into the front seat. 

“For a better view,” he explains after they’ve shaken hands. 

“You’re also a demolition specialist?” Josh asks.

“Kinda,” Paul nods. “Listen, I’m not trying to take Tyler’s place in your team or something, so don’t look at me as if I pissed in your cereal.” 

Well, that was too honest. Josh might even like it.

“You’re trying to clear things?”

“I know what happens when things aren’t clear.”

“True. You weren’t… lying about who you were,” Josh says. “And… misinformation does that. I mean it, even though it doesn’t sound like me. I know Michael wouldn’t work with people he can’t trust.”

“I’ve known him much longer than I know any of you,” Paul replies. “We just started on different sides of one barricade.”

Josh could snap at him, but it seems pointless now. He’s just started to see things differently, he’s become… calmer. It took a literal explosion for him to unlock this feeling. The anxiety is still here coiling in his chest, poisoning his brain, but not as bad as before. He knows it’s bothering Mark too — even though he looks much better now; Josh will never forget the shocked look on his face when he thought Tyler was dying. 

Mark keeps thinking about it, too, because he leans forward and says,

“All three of us kind of saved Tyler’s ass in their time.”

“Kind of?” Josh holds himself back from turning to him. “He was all fucked up!”

This is not even about Tyler; it’s about being a team. And fear is the best eye-opener; the fear of losing someone especially. Someone who Josh didn’t know was a friend, a partner, a living and breathing person with feelings — and Josh just thought he was selfish.

“Tyler is selfish,” Paul suddenly says. “When it comes to caring about himself. He’ll do some ridiculously dangerous shit you’d kill him for, dust off his damn beanie, and will go about his day.”

“And then he blows something up,” Josh adds.

Paul agrees,

“And then he blows something up.”

“Shit happens.”

“Listen,” Paul doesn’t let their conversation die. “I freaked out when he landed himself in the hospital. I’ve seen this one before, and… I wish he was a bit more careful. Risking is not always worth it.”

“Oh, but you know him.”

Josh can’t even explain why he wants to talk about Tyler of all people — maybe because both of them managed to stay alive. Maybe because they sorted things out. Josh stops next to the warehouse, nearly saying “do your thing, Joseph”; he bites his tongue when his mouth is already open.

And Paul does his thing — he checks the ground, the walls, and the lock before picking it. Josh raises his eyebrows, watching him.

“I’m an old man,” Paul smiles. “I know a thing or two about how to handle shit.”

This answers some questions Josh didn’t dare to even ask.

“How does Michael keep still finding these locations?” Mark asks as they walk inside the dark room. “We can… take something out of here.”

Michael doesn’t tell them everything, too; Josh only knows that he’s working with a few informers in the city. Undercover agents, if you will.

This might get them into a trap one day — as if all his life wasn’t a trap already. But today, fortune is on their side. There are shelves with canned soup, beans, and a few canisters with clean water. There are also a few expired granola bars.

“I could still eat them,” Josh says. And he takes them. He knows a guy who’d eat them too. 

Mark only rolls his eyes at that. 

They take the boxes into the trunk of a car, and it all goes just smoothly; Josh can’t believe it’s happening.

He keeps silent on the way back to the headquarter not to scare his luck away.

Not having someone to bite back at any word feels like a hole in his chest.

 

*** 

There’s black duct tape gluing the halves of Tyler’s white sunglasses together. This is the first thing that gets Josh’s attention; Tyler’s kimono is the second. He’s now casually wearing it like a bathrobe, but Josh is surprised to see a bright spot at their table at breakfast. He used to think that Tyler was mostly an “I only wear black” guy, after all. So seeing him in some colors feels… refreshing. 

Josh wants to greet him with a “I’m glad you didn’t die” every time he sees him, but he doesn’t want to remind Tyler of what he’s been through. 

“Morning,” Josh says as Tyler flops on the chair beside him.

“Morning everyone,” Tyler rubs his face with both palms. “How’s the mission?”

Josh takes a sip of tea and replies,

“You didn’t ask your friend Paul about it?”

“I’m asking my friend Josh about it,” Tyler remarks. Then he looks at Mark. “See? I’m calling him a friend now. We’re best of buds.”

Mark almost chokes on his oatmeal.

“Good to know.”

“I got something for you,” Tyler shoves hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. Then he places a brand new roll of boxing tape in front of Josh. “Your old one looks so gross,” Tyler comments, then waving a comic book in the air. “Mark, this one’s for you.”

“Batman?” Mark can’t believe his eyes. “I haven’t seen this series since… My civilian days?”

Josh taps his finger against the tape.

“Where did you get it?”

Tyler suppresses a smile. 

“I got a hobby.”

“Stealing is not a hobby,” Josh lets out a sad sigh as he sees Mark putting the comics into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie.

“I didn’t steal it!” Tyler shoves the tape toward Josh. “I just… played cards with some guys over there. You know how much I hate losing.”

“So you’re playing cards now,” Josh tastes the words. It was too naive of him to assume that Tyler will spend all his free time tucked in bed in his cell.

“I’ve always been good at it. Just didn’t have a chance to demonstrate my skills for a while.” 

Tyler sounds so innocent and nonchalant that it leaves Josh morally weaponless.

Mark looks so childishly happy about the comic book that it leaves Josh weaponless too. 

Tyler can do what he wants but Mark’s words about some people possibly hating on him planted a few seeds of worry in Josh’s chest. He’s seen enough violent people here and there, and Tyler’s condition is still rather fragile. Someone might think he cheats at cards and try to beat the shit out of him. Even though Tyler is not the one to run away from the fights — Josh learned it the toughest way possible — he can barely stand a few punches here. Someone can use it against him. 

Josh doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but now he knows he will if someone hurts Tyler. 

Tyler shouldn’t know, because he will never appreciate someone’s desire to protect him. 

“Don’t put your ass at stake,” Josh says, trying to sound indifferent. 

“Oh, same on you,” Tyler replies and begins to devour his breakfast. 

Josh takes the tape. Tyler is right — his old one barely does its job now.

 

***

“I took some shifts at the kitchen,” Tyler says the next time Josh sees him. “I worked at a local fast-food place when I was younger, and I thought…”

“...that you can play cards with more people there,” Josh finishes for him.

“...I could be helpful, but your answer is also correct.”

Tyler’s doing the dishes; Josh was allowed in the back of the kitchen only because Michael guided him there. Tyler keeps saying he’s getting better; Josh doesn’t see his bruised ribs anymore, and the black and blue blotches on the crooks of his elbows begin to dissolve.

Josh sits on the kitchen counter while Tyler puts the dishes on the shelf; Josh offered his help but got splashed with water for it. Tyler says he can handle it. There’s only the two of them, but Tyler still looks around before turning the water off. Then he fishes something out of his pocket and puts it on the counter next to Josh. 

It’s a metal data-collecting bracelet with a magnet; it’s rather heavy when Josh takes it in his hands. 

“Where did you get it?”

“Guess,” Tyler huffs.

There’s only one answer.

“You’re gonna get your ass kicked for running an underground casino, you know,” Josh mutters, staring at an unlocked thing in his palm.

“That guy lost at cards. I don’t think this thing is still working anyway, and he had it unlocked already. I’m not sure why he kept it, so when I saw it I offered him to play,” Tyler climbs and sits on the counter next to Josh. He winces a little, pressing his palm to his chest. “He said the resistance helped him take it off. And I just wanted… to investigate it. Like, what if we can get someone to run malware or something? To fuck the system and set free everyone who still wears them.”

It’s been a while since Josh saw any of the citizens. 

“It’s horrible. People marching in line and all that,” he says. “I mean, we live in a prison, but the prison is actually… the world outside.”

“There’s no world anymore,” Tyler scrapes his unshaven chin. “At least not the one we used to know. You can scream, cut yourself, whatever, but this is not how this works, Josh. It’s not working at all.”

“Do you think your family also wears them?”

Tyler shrugs. 

“I don’t think they’d need them.”

Even living in isolation, Josh knows that the external world is getting ready to attack them; the fact that they had a few calm weeks is just an illusion. And Josh can’t get rid of a sticky feeling that makes his skin crawl. They’re at war, but the war keeps spreading. 

Josh hasn’t heard from his family since the night before the tragedy — if it all ends the way it ends, he’d like to have a chance and talk to them. Just one more time. Their relationship was complicated the past few years, but he wasn’t going to ignore them. His family probably thinks he’s dead. Tyler’s family probably thinks the same. 

The fact that people never take Tyler seriously is both his blessing and curse; Josh has heard a few conversations about the “kimono cardsharper”, and that there’s much more than just simple games going on. People are placing bets on the bets that they’ll beat him at cards, and Josh is the only one who doesn’t succumb to the overall card hysteria.

“What do you play for?” Josh asks.

“Haven’t found the purpose yet,” Tyler jerks his shoulder. “Also, Mark told me you’re smoking. I have a pack of cigarettes, you know. Do you need it?”

Josh shakes his head.

“No, I’m… I don’t smoke. Not that much, at least.”

“Yeah, having the lungs that work is a luxury.” 

“You still can’t breathe?”

“This place is strangling me,” Tyler dangles his feet in the air. “I need to unwind.” 

Josh’s heart squeezes at the word “strangling”. They don’t talk about it. 

“I gotta go,” Josh says. “Need me to get you to your cell?”

Tyler laughs. 

“You’re a gentleman, Josh, but no — I can walk now, in case you didn’t notice. Feels so good.” 

“You’re so stubborn.”

“Thanks.”

Tyler leaves first; Josh can still see him struggle to walk and breathe at the same time. Josh takes one more look at the data-collecting bracelet and thinks they have to destroy it before something happens. Even though he’s heard that this thing stops working once it’s unlocked. Josh doesn’t know what Tyler meant by “investigating” it. So he first walks to his cell and takes the hammer, and then he goes to the backyard of the prison. The only person he sees here is Mark. Mark and his cat friend sit on the concrete steps and watch Josh slam his hammer into the bracelet. Victor hisses and claws at Mark’s pants. Mark pats the cat’s head to calm him down.

“Where did you even get it?” 

“From Tyler,” Josh pants out, raising the hammer again. “And he got it from one of ours. Won it at cards, of course.”

“Why did I even ask,” Mark coos, feeding the cat with canned stew. “Should’ve known.”

Josh keeps hitting the bracelet until it turns into pieces of metal and tufts of wires; he destroys a microchip, cuts the cords with a pocket knife, and throws the chunks separately toward the forest behind the grid. He feels safer now.

“He’s a gift that never stops giving,” Josh wipes the sweat off his brow. 

Then he sits down next to Mark and puts the hammer between his knees. Victor rubs himself against Josh’s pants and purrs loudly, flopping on the concrete step between Josh and Mark. Josh rubs the cat’s belly, running his fingers through his soft fur. 

“I wish we all had nine lives like cats,” Mark says, looking at the sky. “Sadly even Victor only has one. He slept in my cell today and I have no idea how he got there unnoticed.”

“He’s a sneaky little rascal,” Josh smiles. His parents owned a cat, a tabby stray named Tiger, and Josh loved him so much. He hopes Tiger is still alive and happy whenever he is.

And Mark says,

“I miss my family.”

Josh nods.

“Me too.”

They have to win to meet them again. They do reckless things sometimes, but there’s one thought at the back of Josh’s mind, that screams louder now,

You only live once.

 

***

Mark stays outside with Victor; Josh enters the dark hallway and walks toward his old cell. He needs to talk to Tyler again, about the bracelet and their plans for the future. If they still have one. Josh’s paranoia couldn’t let him keep the device; Michael once mentioned that their next mission should be them driving through the city, so Josh is sure they’ll see lots of them soon.

Tyler’s cell is open, Josh sees the light seeping through the crack as he approaches it. He stops when he hears bits of the conversation; Tyler’s not alone here, and someone laughs.

“...can’t believe it, man!” Tyler sounds amazed and disappointed at the same time. 

Josh refuses to move, holding the hammer on his shoulder. He looks like he’s going to kill someone. He doesn’t hear what the other person says, but he can clearly hear Tyler say the word fuck repeatedly.

“You’re the only one!”

Josh is curious about what’s going on here; he’s about to knock on the open door, even though it might look dumb. But then he hears footsteps, and he sees the man leaving Tyler’s cell. It’s a mental head-to-head collision because it’s Paul again; there’s a smug grin on his face, and he shakes Josh’s hand and says,

“He hates losing.”

Josh watches him go with a confused look on his face.

When he enters the cell, though, the look on Tyler’s face is equally confused. He sits at the table, shuffling cards. Josh greets him with a nod and sits down on his bed. 

“I think I don’t even have to ask you what happened.”

“Yeah, please don’t,” Tyler hypnotizes the cards with his gaze. “You know, Paul, that dildo, he won! He fucking won!” he says somewhat respectfully.

“What was your bet?”

“That I won’t follow my plan,” Tyler frowns. “Dude, he knew something. I understand it, but… He’s not my daddy, right? Why is he always acting like that, that I’m either making him proud, or he just wants to isolate me from everything. That’s… so pressuring.”

Josh gets what Tyler says, but at the same time he thinks he doesn’t know anything about Tyler and Paul’s relationship; even though he’s aware of some details from Tyler’s past that was rather eventful.

“And what was your plan?” Josh bites down his lip, waiting for Tyler to explode with anger. “What was your plan, Tyler?”

Tyler gets up on his feet so harshly that the chair behind him falls on the floor. He sucks in a sharp breath, doubling over and clutching his ribs. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he wheezes out. 

“Tyler—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, okay?” 

He raises his fist, ready to punch the wall, but then he releases a strained sigh and shoves his hand under his kimono again. It’s still cold in his room, and Tyler’s probably only functioning because he drinks Red Bull non-stop. Sure thing it only irritates his bruised brain. 

Tyler sits next to Josh eventually, tapping his fingers on his knee.

“You’re hyperventilating,” Josh says. 

“I need you to give me boxing lessons. Teach me to fight? I don’t know. There’s so much going on in there,” he rubs his temple, knocking his beanie off his forehead. “I can’t stop thinking, okay? It’s so… loud.”

Josh’s thoughts are loud too. But physical pain doesn’t lower their volume.

“It won’t save you from the bullet,” he says.

And Tyler says,

“Running away is not that effective either.”

Tyler takes the cards from the table, shuffling them again, twisting them between his fingers. He then takes one card from behind Josh’s ear. It’s a king of clubs. Josh didn’t even pick it, but it’s just a part of the trick. 

Tyler sighs. 

Josh keeps staring at Tyler’s hands with scraped fingers and bitten nails and clumsy thumbs and thinks if he didn’t know him he’d imagine the hands of an artist differently. But Tyler makes all things look easy, and Josh believes that it’s fair game. He turns away when he thinks he’s crossing the line; things have changed between them, and their shared near-death experience somehow made Josh feel alive.

The cards stop rustling.

“We’ll have to pay the price for the victory,” Tyler’s voice is barely a whisper. 

“They’ll never get enough,” Josh replies. His courage is gone, he can’t keep pretending when Tyler takes off his mask for him. “I’m so damn scared.”

“I feel it.”

Tyler’s shoulders begin to shake as he reaches for Josh’s coat, and Josh can’t tell whether it’s because of cold or fear. Maybe both. He watches Tyler cocooning himself in clothes, then patting his back — he’s just a pile of aching bones and an aching heart. Just like Josh. 

“Next week,” Josh offers him. “In the gym. I promise not to hit too hard.”

“Not to hit me or hit on me?”

“You found a new topic for your jokes?” Josh pulls the hood on Tyler’s face, covering it completely. Tyler slumps against the wall like a slug. 

“I’m just bored.” 

Bored Tyler is a dangerous Tyler, so Josh thinks he can help him let some of his energy out.

Notes:

this chapter is so important to me <3
---
thanks for reading!

Chapter 10

Summary:

“I thought you don’t forgive people,” Josh says, unable to control his mouth anymore.

“I don’t,” Tyler licks his lips. “I’m just being a bitch to everyone in advance. It hurts a little less when you know you’re the problem.”

“You think being a bitch makes you interesting?”

“I’m not trying to be interesting, Josh. I’m just trying to be honest.”

Notes:

chapter warning: past (false) accusations of planning a school shooting. columbine mentioned once. nothing graphic. i'm warning you just in case.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Josh keeps hearing warnings coming from here and there; don’t play with that weirdo, don’t do this, Josh. Even Michael tells him this one day.

“Are you serious?” Josh can’t hold back laughter. “What did he get from you?”

Michael looks dejected.

“A mission.”

“Congrats,” Josh rolls his eyes. He wants to add, you’re an idiot.     

“I’m an idiot,” Michael says. 

So far Josh only knows one person who could beat Tyler at cards. If Tyler’s win over Michael doesn’t cancel out Paul’s bet, then Josh doesn’t know anything about Tyler’s eccentric mindset. 

“You said this.”

“I was just curious.”

“And I’m being polite because you’re my boss.”

“Thank you,” Michael chuckles. “Look after him.”

“This is my job now?” Josh leans against the wall, interested. 

If everyone cares about Tyler that much, they should at least project some of their “I do give a fuck” ideology on Josh as well, right? If they can’t even separate them now. 

When he meets Mark at the breakfast, he listens to the same story again, fake gasping when Mark warns him about the same thing. Mark tells him about Michael as if it’s not a big deal, and Josh can’t help but think that Tyler is a genius.

Josh eats his soup, casually asking, 

“Did you play with him?”

“No,” Mark shakes his head. “He offered, though. Told me that I should try if I don’t believe him.” 

“And you believe him.”

“Sure I do.”

Josh still thinks it’s hilarious that Tyler’s “innocent” gambling has become such a pain in everyone’s ass. 

“I wouldn’t play with him either,” Josh says, then he looks around. “Where’s he, by the way?”

Missing breakfast is not new for Tyler, because his sleeping schedule is fucked up beyond repair. Especially now, when he’s still on sick leave. Mark doesn’t miss a chance to make fun of Josh for showing his concern. 

“Miss him already?”

Josh eats his soup faster.

 

*** 

He doesn’t see Tyler all day, and — fuck it — he’s worried about him, okay? There’s nothing wrong with being worried about your still-sick teammate. Josh can’t sleep anyway, just roaming the prison at night; the fact that Tyler’s cell was locked and he didn’t react to Josh knocking on the door makes his chest tight. 

But then he hears the noises from the storage room; Michael has the keys, so Josh thinks he might ask him about Tyler.

“Hey,” Josh says, as he enters the room with a single flash of yellow light in the corner.

“Jesus… fuck,” both the figure and Josh jump up; Josh blinks as the ray of the flashlight blinds him. 

He recognizes the voice, of course. Then he sees Tyler, standing next to the shelf and pressing a can of beef to his chest. He’s wearing a black hoodie, face half covered by the hood.

“What are you doing here?”

Josh doesn’t want to sound relieved, yet he does. 

“I’m not stealing anything,” Tyler’s voice is raw from sleep. “I just… haven’t eaten yet,” he fishes a bunch of keys on the ring out of his pocket. “I slept all day. Michael gave me the keys.”

He looks like a teen trying to raid a local gas station.

Even from his position a few feet away, Josh can hear Tyler’s stomach grumble.

“You need to eat more. Will help your recovery,” Josh lets him walk past, toward the table in the center of the room. 

Tyler fumbles with the flashlight, at the same time trying to open the can; he curses under his breath as the opener keeps slipping out of his shaking hand. Josh does it for him, receiving a meek thanks in response. He knows Tyler’s is not that weak — it’s just his broken ribs that make him feel this way.

There’s the word GROUPLOVE written across the front of Tyler’s hoodie. 

“Didn’t know you were polyamorous.”

“It’s the band, Josh, come on,” Tyler chuckles, plunging the fork into the beef. “I thought you were into art.”

He sounds disappointed.

It’s Josh’s turn to laugh now. 

“I’m kidding!” he raises his hands protectively. “I know them. By the way, I played drums in high school.”

“Kids like you used to beat my ass at school.”

“So you decided to become one of us?”

“Yeah,” Tyler licks up the fork. “Keep your enemies on a guest list, and all that.”

Josh was never the teen who shoved the others into the lockers. He was, in fact, a teen who got shoved into the locker a couple of times.

Tyler knocks the hood off his head; even though Josh knows what he will see there, it still shocks him. The scars look almost white now, a slight hue of pink stands out against the paleness of Tyler’s skin. He’s not looking okay — the ray of a flashlight catches his sharpened facial traits, long eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. 

“You don’t look like you’re easy to bully,” Josh says. 

Tyler shrugs.

“I was homeschooled most of the time anyway.”

“Why?”

“Everyone thought I was gonna recreate Columbine in my school,” Tyler nervously licks his lips. “Got spotted at the gun store. My father found the books and magazines about guns in my room, there was a huge scandal, and all that, and,” he trembles, clutching the can in his hands. “I was just a kid. A curious kid, Josh. I didn’t want to… kill anyone. But my parents thought it was better for me to never meet any of my classmates ever again.” 

Josh’s heart aches for him again; seeing Tyler open up about his past still feels weird. Josh wonders how many people heard this story. Josh himself could get in trouble for listening to the “wrong” music or watching “wrong” TV shows and all of that was a sign. Tiny manifestations of censorship boarding up a window to the world. Maybe, they were raised in families with a similar mindset; maybe their families wanted to protect them from themselves.

Tyler’s bitten nails scratch against wrinkled white lines crossing his temple. 

“What do you think helped you get out?” Josh asks just to break the silence. “Luck? Being God’s favorite?”

“I just didn’t want to die… like that. Probably,” Tyler shudders and pulls the hood back on. “What do you think helped you?”

Josh mentally gets back to the days of starvation and torture. 

“I wanted to die so hard that God punished me by letting me stay alive. This, or… My parents couldn’t afford the second funeral, and I didn’t have any savings.”

“That’s harsh,” Tyler says. “You want some?” he offers to share his food with Josh. “I can’t eat that much anyway.”

Josh reaches for the fork. He nearly drops it, though, when someone else enters the room; Tyler aims his flashlight at the shadow holding a kerosene lamp.

“Marcus!” Josh blurts out.

“Who?”

Mark looks sleepy, the lamp dangles in his hands. 

“Isn’t it your full name?” Josh is not sure what’s going on in his head. He’s pretty sure Michael called Mark like this once. 

Mark rubs the bridge of his nose. 

“Huh. No. I’ve always been just… Mark?” 

The way he blushes makes Josh realize that he revealed something pretty personal to Mark and Michael and wants to put his head through the wall. Tyler chokes back laughter, tugging his hoodie to his nose to cover his smile. Josh wants to push him off the table. 

“You didn’t hear that,” Josh warns. 

“He did,” Mark deadpans. “Thank you, Josh.”

“Michael gave you a nickname, it’s so adorable!” Tyler coos. 

“Maybe he forgets what he heard if I slap him over the head?” Josh offers, feeling his cheeks grow hot too.

“Idiots,” Mark rolls his eyes, irritated. “Sometimes I wonder which one of you is concussed.” 

“You know what’s the difference between me and Josh? I really risk knocking something loose in there,” Tyler points at his forehead. “And Josh… he’s just… being pretty.”

“You did already knock something loose in there,” Josh parrots. “You forgot how to insult me properly.”

Tyler shoves another forkful of beef into his mouth.

“Good for you.”

“Someone offered to share,” Josh thrusts his fork into the can. “Mark? Want to join us?”

“No, I just…” Mark shakes his head. “Wanted to make sure you weren’t going to kill each other. I heard your voices on my way out of the bathroom, and… I’m glad you both are fine.”

Mark’s voice cracks and Josh’s joyful mood is gone. Their moments of fun are just a brittle mask that can’t fully cover the horrors of reality. 

“My ears are still ringing,” Josh says. “As if I can still hear the explosions.”

“Yeah, and I still don’t know how many ribs Tyler got broken and fractured,” Mark shifts from one foot to another, looking guilty.

Tyler mutters, 

“Feels like every one of them.”

“I bet it does.”

“But it… brought us closer together, right? If we couldn’t die that day…” Tyler hands Josh the can. “...there will always be another chance. And until then, we need to destroy as many brainwashers’ locations as we can.”

“Gonna dust off your Molotov cocktails collection already?” Mark smirks. “Man, those were the times. When I was writing those articles about you and the real things happening in the city. Burning the tires on the streets, writing slogans, and believing it’s not just us who notice this shit.”

Josh feels a painful twitch in his shoulder, a reminder of the things he missed. It all got really bad when he was held in prison; he could participate in changing it. If he only knew about the brainwashers earlier. Now the only thing he can do is fight for his sister’s dignity so that her death will not have been for nothing.

“You made the news tolerable, man. Even though they threw some serious shit at you, I knew you’re the one I could trust,” Tyler says. “We have more authority now,” he elbows Josh’s side. “Right?”

“Right.”

Josh is drowning in his thoughts, again; canned beef has never been so hypnotizing. And he feels the need to run mile after mile after mile to get the weight off his chest. 

“I’m gonna get back to sleep,” Mark yawns. “You two, don’t stay up late.” 

“It’s like. 2 AM, man,” Josh checks his wristwatch.

“You know what I mean.”

Mark shuffles toward the door. A faint smell of kerosene tickles Josh’s nostrils and makes him sneeze. 

“So romantic,” Tyler huffs. And kills the vibe instantly, asking, “how did you get here?” 

“In prison?” Josh frowns. “You know it.”

“No, I mean,” Tyler holds his flashlight, lighting up his face from below as if he’s about to tell a creepy camp story. “The resistance.”

Tyler was accused of arranging the mass shooting, Josh tells himself. It was a secret he couldn’t keep anymore.

“When the police came, they didn’t just detain me,” Josh swallows past the barbed wire coiling in his throat. 

“They shot you. From the 9mm pistol,” Tyler finishes for him. “All the way through your shoulder. I knew it since I saw the scar.” 

Tyler’s eyes look almost black, abnormally big with dark circles around them.

“They didn’t let it heal properly,” Josh can’t stand Tyler’s glance on him. He pokes the fork into the beef again, continuing. “I lost track of time. Two bodies, as you could read in the file. They asked the same questions, again and again, they didn’t let me sleep, I couldn’t eat or take care of myself properly, and all I could focus on was pain.” 

He doesn’t know why he’s telling Tyler this, in the dark storage room, still holding a can of beef; Tyler listens when Josh can’t stop the flow of words tearing away his vocal cords. He tells him about the cell, about all the blood and sweat it’s stained with. Tyler lets out a gasp as he hears it, but he doesn’t say anything, just letting Josh spit it all out. 

“I think I now hate planes,” Josh says. “I quoted the book that I read, over and over again, as much as I could remember. I think I’d puke if I had to fly one. But I keep saying I would fly one.”

He feels like crying, but his eyes remain painfully dry. He can’t cry, he still doesn’t have enough life inside of him. He’d cry for Tyler, though, if it made him feel better. Josh watches the shadows fight in the ray of a flashlight, eat each other, rip each other to shreds, and Josh’s memories and nightmares are still too vivid. 

He doesn’t know if he expects the reaction from Tyler, no, his speech wasn’t meant to get one — it’s mostly about trying to distance himself from his story. 

And Tyler raises his eyebrow and says,

“We need the third dude here.”

“What?”

“Jack,” Tyler jumps off the table, wincing. “Let’s go.”

“What do you even mean?” Josh follows him anyway. He’s got nothing and everything to lose. 

“You’ll like him,” Tyler takes Josh’s hand and leads him down the hall, into the wing where he lives. This place still sends chills down Josh’s spine.

“In your cell?”

Tyler doesn’t reply, sneaking inside and reappearing a second later. He’s holding a metal flask in his hands, then handing it to Josh. 

“Jack,” he explains. 

Josh smells whiskey and shakes his head. 

“I don’t drink.”

“Me neither, but I won it from… Todd, so I think we should share it. It was a fair game.”

Josh didn’t have a drop of alcohol in his mouth since the night when Michael made him drink that vodka for anesthesia. But Josh screws his eyes shut and gulps down a mouthful. 

“Wanna go to my cell?” he exhales. 

“Sure,” Tyler replies, taking a sip too.

Josh is already tipsy, he’s always been a lightweight. The storm in his head softens, turning into shallow waves. But he’s still drowning, lying on the shore, face-first in the water. Tyler squeezes his hand again. And Josh lets him lead him to the cell while he’s too lost in his head. Tyler leans against the wall, staring into nowhere, while Josh fumbles with the lock. Tyler sneaks inside first, flops onto the bed and puts his legs on the chair. 

Josh nods at the can of beef in Tyler’s hands. 

“Don’t forget to finish it.”

Tyler pulls on a face and shoves another forkful in his mouth.

“Happy now?”

And Josh blurts out,

“Sorry for choking you.”

Tyler freezes. He barely swallows the food, then coughs and slams his fist into his chest. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Josh says, sitting down next to him. “You don’t know how to land a good punch, by the way. You were right — you need to take some boxing lessons.”

Tyler hands him the flask again.

“Is this how your brain works when you’re drunk?”

“I’m drunk,” Josh agrees. “You should’ve told me earlier. About the concussion and all. I just… I didn’t know.” 

It just keeps coming back to Josh’s mind; that moment when Mark threw a tantrum and forced them to talk, and they weren’t ready, and it all left more questions than answers. 

“My head still hurts sometimes,” Tyler says. “I’m almost sure the vision in my right eye is still blurry. It’s not that bad, but it’s annoying. I really thought I recovered and didn’t need those pills anymore. It was embarrassing. And you looked like you were going to kill me, and I could barely understand what you were saying. I was trying to focus on not puking all over your shoes.”

Josh brings the flask to his lips again.

“I thought you were high.”

“I look like that most of the time,” Tyler nods.

“I’m getting used to it now.”

Josh needs to say something to comfort him; even though he knows Tyler might not even let him. 

“Oh, please, don’t,” Tyler smirks, pressing to Josh’s side. “We don’t know what’s around the corner.” 

“Or what’s above and under. Does it matter?”

“I don’t know.”

The last thing Josh expected to happen to him was drinking with Tyler. Or Tyler being so casual about it. 

“I thought you don’t forgive people,” Josh says, unable to control his mouth anymore. 

“I don’t,” Tyler licks his lips. “I’m just being a bitch to everyone in advance. It hurts a little less when you know you’re the problem.” 

“You think being a bitch makes you interesting?”

“I’m not trying to be interesting, Josh. I’m just trying to be honest.” 

Josh needs to build himself a bomb shelter to hide from such “honesty”. Tyler can disarm him with a single pause between his words.

“How did we even get here,” Josh smiles with the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah. You wanted to put my head through the wall, just a few weeks ago, and look at us now — we’re sharing drinks, and food, and germs.”

“Nah, I had to clean your blood off your clothes and my car; germs hardly scare me anymore.”

Another sip of whiskey makes it all kind of funny. Tyler rests his head on Josh’s shoulder. Josh freezes, almost sobering up.

“It’s so much warmer in your cell,” Tyler rubs his palms together. “Makes it easier to breathe.”

His breathing is still uneven, and Josh thinks of the bruises he saw when he helped Tyler re-bandage his injuries. He can imagine the color fading now, dissolving on his scarred skin. The white lines on his stomach will probably never go away; sometimes Josh wants to know what Tyler thinks about them.

Tyler finishes the leftover whiskey and shoves the flask into the pocket of his hoodie.

“You’re so lucky that they didn’t try to beat you up,” words slide out a bit easier now when Josh’s head is all fuzzy with alcoholic medicine. 

“They knew I was from your squad,” Tyler replies. “They think you’re… tough. Dangerous. Will burn them to the ground with lasers from your eyes if they touch me. They can’t touch me.”

Josh thinks it’s one of Tyler’s twisted compliments, but he sounds candid. He exhales a wow when Tyler continues.

“I heard you after the blast. From the distance, I could recognize your voice, and… I really thought “what if this dude is gonna die, and the last thing he remembers about me is just my horrible jokes?” and I couldn’t let that happen. It helped me to get a grip on reality, but I wasn’t sure that you made it, yeah, I just repeat myself, but I need you to know.”

Josh is so selfishly relieved to know that he lets Tyler sink against him. He’s drunk and warm, and looking defenseless without his rebel mask on. 

“I’m sorry about your sister, Josh.”

Josh still can’t call her by her name; it means accepting his defeat. For him, at least. Revenge should get him going, should set his beating heart on fire, but deep inside he knows it won’t help. Because it won’t bring her back, and he can’t wash the blood off his hands plunging them into a pond of blood.

“Did you ever…”

He doesn’t say “kill anyone”, but Tyler understands. 

“No,” he whispers. “But I know it will happen sooner or later.”

Josh pulls him closer. 

“You’re drunk.” 

Something in his head tells him that Tyler’s words have a deeper meaning again. Josh doesn’t like his metaphors. Instead, he decides to bring up Tyler’s plan about upgrading the hammer, because their idle chatting is getting too personal again. Tyler says they have to work on it together one day; Josh is happy to hear him talk about some routine instead of murders.

Tyler fights drowsiness, and Josh doesn’t want him to leave; he tries to convince himself that it was the whiskey that made Tyler so tolerable. And they keep talking about mundane things to distract themselves from their pathetic tomorrow that will come along with a hangover. 

Tyler says he doesn’t regret making his performances too hard to look at. 

Josh respects him for that. 

He’s so tired, and Tyler’s voice is so soothing; a bit scratchy, breaking every now and again. He’s full of stories and poems and mysteries, pouring them on Josh like an iridescent stream, and Josh swims through. It’s so different from the dirty waters of his mind. 

“Thank you,” Josh breathes out.

“Don’t mention that.”

Tyler falls silent.

Josh falls asleep.

 

***

He wakes up alone in his bed, still half-sitting, half-lying on a hard pillow. His left arm is numb, and he massages his shoulder to avoid a painful shot of sobriety rushing through his torn muscles.

Josh finds a white round pill on his bedside table, with the note next to it. He can recognize Tyler’s messy handwriting,

“this should help with our threesome aftermath”

“Jack was just a friend,” Josh laughs quietly, wincing at the headache sloshing around his skull. He swallows the pill without thinking twice.

Tyler can be weirdly caring sometimes. It’s almost concerning.

 

***

Josh is almost late for breakfast, but he meets both Tyler and Mark there. The room is packed with people, and it sends Josh back to his high school times; he always hated the lunchrooms full of his noisy classmates. Even a decade later, the chatting of the crowd resurrects his worst memories. Especially when his brain still feels swollen. He’s never drinking again, not even with Tyler. Especially with Tyler.

“Morning, Dunshine,” Mark greets him. Josh ignores the nickname, knowing that it’s Mark’s revenge for the whole Marcus situation.  

“Morning. How are you not hungover?” Josh asks, wanting to cover his ears at how loud his voice sounds. 

“I’m thanking that canned beef, bro,” Tyler smiles at him. 

He has dimples on his cheeks. Josh never noticed them before. Josh never looked at Tyler before. Maybe he’s still drunk.

Josh pushes mac and cheese around his plate. He doesn’t even remember when they last had cheese here; Tyler is very excited about it.

“I guess your late-night therapy finally worked?”

Josh groans, rubbing his face with both hands at Mark’s obvious question. 

Tyler breathes out a single,

“Yeah.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll knock louder on your doors, then,” Mark chuckles at the double death glare. “I don’t want to wake anyone up!”

“I’m an insomniac,” Tyler mutters, suddenly confused. “And so is Josh.”

This hardly makes Josh feel better.

Mark takes a sip of his coffee, looking well-rested and satisfied.

Notes:

tyler's story is just briefly mentioned here, but no worries - i have a WHOLE 9k word chapter about him and his past, his childhood and relationship with family. i don't know when it's gonna be posted yet, but it's finished!!
also!! a moodboard i made in 2019 for chapters 9 and 10!
---
thanks for reading and your nice comments, they always make my day!! <3

Chapter 11

Summary:

“I’m not gonna punch you,” Josh hooks the hem of Tyler’s kimono with his forefinger. Tyler doesn’t move a muscle, drilling Josh with the gaze of his nearly black eyes. It’s almost like hunting a deer who’s already given up.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“I wish I knew what’s going on in that pretty head of Mark’s.”

“You wish? It’s obvious to me.”

People always tell Josh that he never gets the hints. Or sarcasm. He’s so used to it he didn’t notice how he became a sarcastic asshole himself. And, speaking of Mark’s hints —

They aren’t even hints anymore. 

It was pretty funny to see Tyler barging into Michael’s office today; it was funny to watch Tyler try and persuade Michael to let him go on a mission again. Mark was there, too, looking like a teen caught on doing something naughty. But it didn’t stop Tyler — even though he definitely ruined some private moment — and he tried to use his magic of words on Michael.

Turns out, Michael was immune to magic.

And he sent both of them to the garage, just to “work on something together”.

Josh was a bit fluttered that Tyler asked him to go to Michael’s office together in the first place. According to Tyler’s plan, seeing them together would soften the hard crust of Michael’s inflexibility.

Tyler looked sad, even his lurid kimono looked sad, wavering like the defeated superhero’s cape.

Josh laughed his ass off.

So this is how they ended up spending the time together in Josh’s garage — Josh isn’t going to let Tyler touch any of the cars, of course. He’s good at setting boundaries, at least some of them. He just dragged his hammer here, hoping it would distract Tyler from his terrible mood. 

Josh’s mood has been surprisingly fine since morning. 

He’s also working on yet another report; that damn mission is like his second shadow now. But all things have to be documented. For the future generations, Michael said. Josh wonders who can be even interested in knowing his name if not his enemies. And also, Josh hates writing. Words come out painfully, scraping his brain as his pen is pressed too hard to the paper. Even building the sentences is agonizing, and he has to ask for Tyler’s opinions way too often. Surprisingly, Tyler just answers without his usual causticity.

“It’s not for everyone, I get it.” 

“You should be the one writing them,” Josh groans.

“I nearly died,” Tyler replies. “I don’t remember much from that day.”

Josh remembers, but he wishes he didn’t.

He eventually finishes the report, knowing this one is the worst thing he’s ever written, even fully proofread and approved by Tyler. Maybe he should start a journal to improve his writing; Tyler says he never thinks about what he’s writing down when he creates his provocative poetry. With his mind on the loose, he’s dangerous. 

“The words just pop up,” Tyler shrugs. “Thinking of the process scares away the inspiration.”

“Don’t think Michael would want to read a poem about how you got your rib cage smashed.”

“Yeah, but the future generations would.”

“I wouldn’t want my kids to read about me getting my ass kicked, either.”

“Fair enough.”

Tyler’s sitting on a pile of repaired tires, scribbling something in the plan he made for Josh’s hammer while Josh revises one of the car’s engines. It’s his own type of therapy — making metal hearts beat again. Josh remembers that he promised to train Tyler, but he can’t force himself to even talk about it while Tyler winces in pain every time he gets up. His recovery takes more time than they expected. Josh knows that Tyler is insecure about it, he knows that dizziness still makes him want to throw up because his irritated brain can’t take the pace of change.

At least he stopped playing cards; Josh can breathe out now. But it’s Tyler, a man who will always find another dangerous thing to entertain himself with. Until then, he’s just casually getting on Josh’s nerves.

“Don’t you think that our scars are kinda matching?”

“What?” Josh straightens his back so hard he nearly hits his head on an opened car trunk.

“I mean the one on your face,” Tyler distracts from writing. “Under that arrow tattoo.”

Josh rubs it blankly. 

The cuts on Tyler’s face are barely noticeable, but he can see two whitish lines on his left cheekbone if he squints. And Tyler just freezes, and stares at him, holding the marker pen in his mouth. His beanie sits low on his head, and his kimono is so ridiculously colorful that Josh wants to smear some fuel oil all over it. Maybe this thing still triggers him because Tyler wore it during their fight. 

Maybe Tyler’s still wearing it on purpose. 

Tyler pulls the marker pen out of his mouth and licks his lips, eyes still locked on Josh. Josh feels the heat pooling in his chest, clogging his parched throat and making his cheeks itch. He’s blushing, he knows he’s fucking blushing, and he knows that Tyler enjoys it. 

“What?” Josh repeats. “What do you want?”

He thinks it might be one of Tyler’s games again. He wants to get the reaction, something to feed on like a fucking vulture he is. 

“I love it when you look dangerous.”

Tyler stretches, sliding off the tires. 

Josh hisses as an uneven edge of a rough metal cuts across his thumb; he lost focus on what he was doing only for a second, and now he’s dripping red all over the disassembled engine and his gray hoodie.

“Shit,” Josh shakes his hand, spraying the floor with more blood. The wound is deep, but it’s his left hand, so it’s mostly a nuisance rather than a problem. Josh looks for a cloth to wrap around his finger, but Tyler suddenly squeezes his wrist. “Hey, what are you… doing?” Josh breathes out when Tyler puts his injured hand to his mouth.

He licks up the blood.

Josh falters, he can’t move, and Tyler pulls a tissue out of his pocket and ties it around the fingertip.

“See? I can kiss it better,” Tyler says with a smug grin on his face. “Mark said you tried to give me mouth-to-mouth when I was out. I wanted to feel what you felt.”

“So now you’re drinking my blood quite literally?” Josh takes a step towards him.

“Well, I’m just…”

“A kinky bastard,” Josh’s heart is about to break his chest as he grabs Tyler by the front of his kimono. There’s only a thin gray t-shirt underneath, and he’s shaking. No, he’s vibrating. “You came in your pants when I choked you.”

“That’s been bothering you, right?” Tyler cocks his head to the side. “And you wanted to check it out?”

Josh’s fingers unclench involuntarily. He needs to lock the door. He needs to wipe his hands, stained with blood and fuel oil and the smell of Tyler’s skin —

“Wanna punch me with clean hands? You’re a king of generosity!”

Josh pushes down on the button so hard he might break it. When the automatic door is closed, he turns back to Tyler. 

“I’m not gonna punch you,” Josh hooks the hem of Tyler’s kimono with his forefinger. Tyler doesn’t move a muscle, drilling Josh with the gaze of his nearly black eyes. It’s almost like hunting a deer who’s already given up.

Tyler responds with a slight nod as Josh pulls his kimono higher and wraps it around Tyler’s neck. Tyler pulls forward, tightening the bond and closing his eyes as he turns away, pressing his back to his chest, and nearly wrapping the kimono around his neck for the second time.

“You’re such a pain in the ass, you know?” Josh whispers into his ear.

Tyler pants out,

“You’ve got a great ass.”

And a second later,

“Touch me.”

Josh shoves his bandaged finger under the layers of fabric to make sure Tyler can still breathe. Tyler grinds his ass into Josh’s groin while Josh unfastens his pants. 

Josh has never been in a situation like this before. His palm’s too dry, and so is his mouth; Josh brings it to Tyler’s lips instead. Tyler spits on it and digs his nails into Josh’s thighs as he slides his palm into his underwear. He gasps, and he thrusts into Josh’s fist, and he never stops squirming, making Josh breathe hard into his neck. And there’s the sudden urge to get closer to Tyler, skin to skin, and Tyler’s side is still flashing with faint-yellow bruises. Josh presses himself to Tyler, shoving his hand under his t-shirt and feeling the bumps of his ribs. 

Tyler moans.

“Do you want me to stop?” Josh asks. Casually, as if they’re talking about the weather and his hand isn’t slick with Tyler’s precome.

“They’ve healed.”

Josh can swear he feels the bones shift when Tyler breathes.

Josh doesn’t want to hurt him accidentally, only doing things that Tyler likes; he never thought he’ll ever find himself sharing a gush of intimacy with Tyler. It doesn’t even seem real at this point, but it feels right after nearly losing him. Tyler’s excitement gathers and pulses below Josh’s waist, welcoming him to continue. It’s like finishing their old conflict, literally finishing it; this is a “we should’ve done this sooner” moment.

Neither of them says they should’ve done this sooner. 

Tyler nearly smashes Josh’s nose with the back of his head, exhaling a sorry. Josh begins to pump him slowly, loosening the grip on the kimono, but it’s not what Tyler’s looking for. His chest rises and falls, his abdomen muscles clench under Josh’s wrist. He holds his breath as he comes, and it’s all over embarrassingly fast. It’s more about satisfaction rather than pleasure. Tyler is in a rush not only in life, but in bed too. He’s always on the run, forcing things to happen too soon. Petrified, Josh wipes his hand on the hem of Tyler’s kimono. Tyler gulps for breath as the fabric slides off his shoulder; his eyes are hazed with lust as he turns to Josh.

“Let me,” he reaches for the ties on Josh’s sweatpants. 

“I’m good,” Josh takes a step backward. “You don’t… have to.”

“Why? I could feel how bad you need to get off,” Tyler looks at the whitish stain on his kimono and sighs, pants still undone. It doesn’t bother him. “You got problems down there?” he nods at Josh’s crotch.

It’s not a mockery, it’s a concern.

Josh almost wants to apologize for saying,

“Asked the guy who came in like ten seconds.”

There’s a black spot on Tyler’s neck; this time, it’s not a bruise — it’s fuel oil. Josh’s arousal leaves him, and it’s almost disappointing. He was going to jerk off later. If the mood comes back. He always had a fairly low sex drive, which would bother his occasional partners. Josh tried to explain that he needed some time to pass to build trust and emotional connection. He thinks he stopped falling in love at all, and his dating history is far from being a cinema masterpiece.

“You know where to find me if you change your mind,” Tyler smirks. “Now I believe that you played drums.”

He’s gone like a shadow at night; Josh looks at the open automatic door and holds himself back from following Tyler.

 

***

He dreams of Tyler that night and of what would have happened if he followed him.

“This is the end,” Josh tells the ceiling. “This is officially the end.”

It’s Tyler’s trademark style to act like a horny teenager. Josh hated being a teenager.

 

***

“I saw Tyler washing the hem of his kimono in the sink yesterday,” is the first thing Mark says as he sees Josh at the breakfast table. “I hope it wasn’t his blood,” he nods at Josh’s bandaged finger.

“It wasn’t,” Josh manages to reply before he hears hurried footsteps behind him.

He doesn’t have to turn his head to know it’s Tyler. Then, there’s a hand on Josh’s shoulder, sending shivers down his spine.

“I hope I’m not being late.”

Tyler’s voice is indeed unique; the high-pitchness Josh used to make fun of is framed perfectly with post-sleep hoarseness. It sounds almost like a moan; Josh’s brain gets overloaded with images as Tyler drops to the chair next to him, revealing a good view of the faint line of bruises accenting his sharp Adam’s apple.   

“It’s never too late,” Mark wiggles his eyebrows. “I hope you weren’t fighting again,” he diligently averts his eyes to avoid staring at Tyler’s throat.

“We weren’t,” Tyler scrapes a bluish spot right under his chin.

Josh expects him to start dropping hints, but Tyler just grabs the spoon and starts eating his chicken soup. Josh doesn’t know how to maintain the whole “the morning after” type of conversation. Tyler acts like nothing happened. Tyler acts like it’s a known fact that Josh’s been fucking him for years. Like they got married, then divorced because of the stupidest argument, but they still have this “ex-spouses-with-benefits” thing going.   

“Don’t even know if it’s a good sign,” Mark mumbles under his breath.

Josh doesn’t know either.   

 

***

Josh hopes that Tyler’s desire to start boxing was just his fever-induced dream.

Josh’s hopes are crushed when Tyler appears in his cell again.

“Mark said I can start exercising,” he explains, cracking his neck. “Good for… my lungs?”

Josh points at the punching bag in the corner.

“Go on.”

“You know we can talk about… yesterday?” Tyler hits the bag lazily. “Mark says we should talk more. He’s a pretty smart guy, you know? And I tend to listen to smart people—”

Tyler’s moves are weird and uncooperative, he’s so oddly unsteady that Josh doubts that Mark could send him here. 

“I’m fine,” Josh says. “We can just avoid chokeholds. I don’t want you to come during the practice.”

“Could be a good way to disarm the opponent,” Tyler shrugs, raising his fist again. “It worked on you.”

Josh wants to say that sometimes Tyler doesn’t even need to punch someone to completely destroy them. He’s got the words, built a wall around himself, fake-enjoying his loneliness. Josh can see his defense starting to crumble little by little; Tyler doesn’t want to be alone, he just needs someone as lonely as he is. The question is why he picked Josh. 

“Take the gloves. I’ll show you the basics.” Josh says, wrapping his old tape around his wrists and knuckles. He offers the new one to Tyler with no hesitation; him snapping or spraining something again would be a catastrophe.

Tyler looks surprised but doesn’t argue. 

He’s wearing a black t-shirt and black sweatpants and the same pair of army boots he wore since Josh first met him. He said he didn’t own much clothes except for the ones he had in his backpack he grabbed during the evacuation. In the resistance, they’re wearing what they can find during the missions. Some troops have uniforms, but Josh never wanted to wear one — it reminded him of the police, and he didn’t want to look somewhat official.

He wore lots of plaids and band t-shirts when he was still free.

“Teach me,” Tyler punches the gloves together. “And then we’ll see, maybe I’ll teach you how to communicate with people.”

This sounds blatantly sexual. Josh swallows hard. 

“Here,” he stands behind Tyler and takes his forearms to imitate the fighting stance. “Watch out, if you don’t want to break your fingers.”

“Yeah, I’d like to still be able to play the piano,” Tyler nods.

“It might hurt after the first time.”

“First times are usually a bit painful.”

Tyler attacks him on the count of “one,” and Josh blocks it out. It only irritates Tyler more; he would use every tool to get into a locked room. Josh’s heart is one of those rooms, too, emotional connection be damned.

Josh sighs into Tyler’s neck as Tyler slams into him again. Josh realizes he never thought of Tyler as a real person, and not just some “public figure” who only existed for the sake of turning protests into riots. He’s alive, and he’s hurt, and he’s looking for ways to reduce the pain, and it’s almost like looking into the mirror of someone’s soul and seeing your own, bloodied and twisted.

Tyler is… not bad at boxing. Not qualified enough to knock Josh out with one punch, but his moves are quite sharp and accurate. Josh shows him how to protect himself from direct blows to the chest and liver. Tyler is a responsible fighter, this is the only word Josh can pick up for him. 

“You’re getting ready to kick my ass?” Josh asks, throwing his forearm in front of his face to soften Tyler’s punch.

“Not necessarily yours but…” Tyler pants out, ducking under Josh’s arm. “Would be helpful to know how to do this.” 

He’s moving much easier this time. Despite their shitty meds and zero surveillance, he got up on his feet. This case stands out from the ones Josh witnessed; they’ve lost people before. He was always afraid that he might lose Mark or Michael, and Tyler was… his constant. Until he wasn’t.

“How did you manage to avoid street fights?” Josh asks, jerking away from Tyler’s jab.

“I can run fast,” Tyler tries to attack him again. “I never had people trying to beat me up. The only weapon I had to fight against was my father’s belt,” he stops and shakes his hand, breathing out shakily. “Good Christian upbringing, all that.”

Josh’s parents never hurt him physically. 

“Sorry to hear that,” he says. 

“It’s fine.”

It’s not fine. Tyler is full of anger and it’s poisoning him. Josh needs to make him let it all out.

“You should hold your left shoulder higher.”

“I just did what you did,” Tyler props his hands on his knees, breathing hard. His t-shirt is all damp, a bead of sweat rolls from under the hem of his beanie.

“I can’t hold it higher. Come here.”

Josh will probably never be able to fight properly again, but he knows how to show some tricks. His shoulder begins to ache from straining it too much for too long, but it’s a bearable pain. 

Tyler is so exhausted he looks almost peaceful.

“Don’t forget that I also had my shoulder dislocated.”

Oh shit, Josh thinks. Right. He just used to think that Tyler can handle anything without consequences.

“Does it still hurt?”

“No,” Tyler shakes his head. “I’m pretty chill… about pain. Basketball is also a brutal sport. Especially when your dearest parents want you to make it in the NBA.”

“Your parents thought you’d become someone, at least. I doubt mine ever thought that I’d be a world champion.”

“Man, they literally thought I was a school shooter.”

Tyler sounds broken.

And he starts punching the bag, again and again, in a way Josh used to do; it’s not even about improving yourself, it’s about getting rid of pure, mindless rage eating away your insides. Tyler is sweaty and flushed, and he jumps and ducks and kicks the bag. Josh watches him from a few feet away, not wanting to mess with him.

“I wanted to be a better brother,” — another punch makes the bag shake and sway — “better son,” he wheezes out. “I couldn’t, but God knows I tried!”

He’s almost crying, teeth clenched and eyes bloodshot. 

“Fuck this,” Tyler kicks the bag again. “Fuck the war.”

He growls, ripping the boxing gloves off and throwing them at Josh. Even covered with the tape, Tyler’s knuckles are reddened, dry skin begins to split.

Tyler blinks and rubs his right eye, then shakes his head. Josh remembers that he’s got a certain problem with his eyesight. He sniffles and wipes his nose with his forearm. 

“I got a little too emotional.”

And Josh says,

“It’s fine. I wish I could do it too.” 

“You can’t?” Tyler sits on the bed. “If I were holding back my emotions I’d simply explode.” 

“I just used to suppress mine so I can hardly feel anything,” Josh says, fiddling with the tape on his hands. 

“And it affects your libido,” Tyler bites his bottom lip. “Makes you scared to be close with someone, because you think you’ll fuck up the whole thing or… or hurt them.”

Josh looks at him.

“This is why you like it rough?” 

Tyler smiles with the corner of his mouth, wide enough for the dimples to decorate his cheek. 

“I want to make you feel something.”

“You do,” Josh sits next to Tyler’s slumped figure. He doesn’t mind his bed smelling like Tyler; it’s better than the stench of a sewer soaking the prison. “You do, and that’s just… unfamiliar to me.”

Tyler doesn’t try to touch him, or to seduce him, just saying that he needs to take a shower.

Josh lets him go.

 

***

Josh doesn’t have any dreams tonight.

Notes:

unsexy sexy times everyone!
i'm portraying josh as a person on a demi-spectrum in this fic, so he indeed needs to get really close with someone to want to have sex with them. and he STARTS to have this connection with tyler, and tyler respects his boundaries, and slow burn is slow burning <3
---
thanks for reading!!

Chapter 12

Summary:

Tyler used to call himself an addict, so Josh was somewhat right when he first saw him.

Now he’s getting addicted too.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

There’s not many things they can do in the resistance headquarter during the wintering. Mostly, they maintain their weak water- and electricity supply systems and keep generators in a decent state. And wait for the attacks. But it’s quiet, too quiet, just the calm before the storm. This year, the winter brings more elusive melancholy than usual. It’s almost snowless, as gray as the fall. The spring comes hesitantly, just a mark on the calendar that doesn’t bring any warmth. 

The air smells of burnt tires; it makes Tyler take a stand like a hunting dog. Josh knows that Michael can’t keep him locked up anymore; he scared them enough, but he was off the missions for endless weeks and weeks already. He kept coming to Josh for boxing lessons, for some chats; Josh himself only had a few trips with Mark and Paul, and luckily, they were just some simple side quests. Go there, take that, get back.

Things have become suspicious as if the winter has made the whole world fall into a hibernation. Their forces never stopped monitoring the city, breaking the pay gates, and Josh was about to ask Michael to transfer him to their unit. Mostly because he was afraid that Tyler was going to join them as soon as his ribs healed fully.

But Tyler is not qualified enough to be in the front line. Neither is Josh, but neither are any of the guys who are currently holding the pieces of the city together. 

Josh never considered himself a leader; so when Michael praises him for being one, he doesn’t know how to react. 

“I think it’s safe for the three of you to get back to work.”

“Yeah? Because there’s no one left in prison who hasn’t lost to Tyler at cards.”

“Don’t remind me of that,” Michael frowns. “That was illegal, by the way.”

Josh shrugs.

“Sue him.”

“He’s got good lawyers.”

“Do you mean me?” Josh huffs. They think he and Tyler are best friends now; the phase of their mutual hatred seems like a fever dream now. That was Michael’s plan. Josh loves planning, but this plan felt more like a trap. 

“I gave Mark the map,” Michael says. “You need to tell Tyler. And… take the gun. The location is pretty much deserted by now, but… you can never be so sure.” 

Josh’s mouth goes dry. He was at the shooting range a dozen times already, and he can hit moving targets, but he hasn’t shot anyone yet. He suspects it’s one of Michael’s psychological tricks again; Michael kept him away from situations where he could kill someone. Again. Because no one knows how his psyche would’ve reacted to that. 

Josh doesn’t even want to know. 

Josh tries to keep his mouth shut not to blurt out something about Tyler’s previous head injury; for as long as Michael doesn’t ask him about it straightforwardly, he’s not going to bring it up.

There’s nothing they can do about it anyway.

 

***

Every time Josh enters Tyler’s cell, a part of him expects to see himself curled on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Even though the cell looks different now, the image has been engraved in Josh’s mind. Tyler sits at the table with the book in his hand and a can of chicken noodles in front of him. He waves at Josh with the spoon as he sees him.

“Hey.”

Only now Josh realizes he didn’t even knock.

“Hey,” he knocks twice. 

Tyler laughs and turns the page.

“What if I were… busy? I mean like… sleeping,” he hides his smile under the hood. “Or… not alone?”

“You’d lock the door, that’s for sure. We’ve been there,” Josh rolls his eyes. He didn’t even think that Tyler could hook up with someone here. But their relationship is too unclear and complicated, and Tyler might need to move on. They never talked about their moment of intimacy ever again.

“You came here to make sure I’m still single or?..”

“We’re leaving in a few hours,” Josh looks at the wristwatch.

“We?” Tyler averts his gaze from the table. “Okay, I’ll reschedule my lunch then.”

“No, finish it,” Josh takes a blister of pills out of his pocket and lays it in front of Tyler. “These should help.”

Tyler puts the spoon aside.

“You remember my brand?”

“Learned it the toughest way possible,” Josh chuckles. 

“I really feel much better now,” Tyler says. “Thank you.”

Josh nods wordlessly. He knows what it’s like to be disoriented and misguided; his own hearing has only come back fully. Even though his right ear still hurts sometimes. He even had to come to Mark’s library and read an article about ear injuries; he’s not going to go deaf. Not completely, at least.

Someone gets injured every day; people die every day, but their squad’s case shook up the place. Josh doesn’t want to be known as a guy who was a prisoner at first, and then somehow survived the plague. But they’re mostly talking about Tyler now, all whisper-behind-his-back, all theories thrown the wrong way. Josh used to be the one to think that Tyler was a liar, and now there are the others.

Josh begins to understand his mind, getting lost in its maze every so often. 

“Do they say I tried to kill you?” Tyler suddenly asks. “Don’t even bother to reply. Classic. I heard this, I heard that, I won at cards, and all that. I still think they hate me for the card games, mostly.” 

He’s way too observant. Josh feels uneasy as if Tyler is about to say goodbye to him.

“Take your pills and meet me outside,” Josh says to dodge the question. 

Tyler turns another page. 

 

*** 

Josh hates leaving the conversations unfinished. 

Josh can’t continue it in front of Mark, because it’s personal, okay? He asks himself how he made it to the point where he and Tyler have secrets from their teammate. He’s up to something, and it doesn’t leave Josh’s mind. 

Mark is clueless. Josh doesn’t want to worry him. 

The seasons refuse to change, and Josh drives down the liminal road with the snow-sprinkled trees on both sides. They didn’t celebrate Christmas or New Year, or Tyler’s birthday, which was on the first day of December. Tyler only mentioned it once, too surprised that Josh is, in fact, six months older than him. Josh hates birthdays. It’s just another “congratulations, you didn’t achieve anything in your life!” day, and years pass, and his chronic pains will only get worse. If he’s too optimistic to think he’ll make it through another day. 

They kind of celebrated Mark’s birthday, though, also in December. Josh has never been into astrology, but having the two Sagittariuses in his team is too much sometimes.

He even tries to drive more carefully when Tyler falls asleep. He’s knocked out in seconds, and it makes Josh bite down his lip not to smile. Tyler’s face is covered with his beanie, holes turned backward so the flashes of light don’t bother his sleep.

“What are you thinking about?” 

Josh shrugs at Mark’s question. 

“The road? That we’re out of gas?” he looks at the dashboard. Should be enough to get back. They’ve experienced an acute deficit of supplies lately. “That I’m sick of being isolated?”

“I didn’t expect such honesty,” Mark sighs. “I dream of a better life. With my cats and my family. I think I could pick up farming.”

“You’d do great, man.”

He wishes it for Mark, too.

He thinks of what kind of civilian life he’d live if there was still no war; he’d go to college, get his degree, and who knows, maybe he’d already work for NASA. Or maybe he’d just open his own auto repair service and move to the suburbs. Josh never asked, but Tyler just said that family life is not for him, that he’s literally going crazy locked in the four walls. “They’d declare me insane,” he laughed.

Josh looks at his sleeping form and slows down.

“His ribs just healed. The seatbelt might hurt them,” he explains. To Mark, to himself. Getting used to someone hurts no less. He feels it, just like Tyler wanted.

Having emotions is a torment. Faking yourself is an addiction. 

Tyler used to call himself an addict, so Josh was somewhat right when he first saw him. 

Now he’s getting addicted too.

 

***

Tyler wakes up and instantly swings into his “I’m in charge here” mode.

“Why does it take us so long?”

“Because we’re driving downtown?” Josh guesses. 

“Give me the map,” Tyler demands. He’s still sleepy, looking far from intimidating.

“You don’t wanna make yourself sick again.”

“I need to train my vestibular system.”

“I’m not cleaning up your puke when something goes wrong.”

“It doesn’t happen all the time,” Tyler huffs. “It’s like Russian roulette. You missed the turn, by the way.”

“I didn’t.”

Josh doesn’t tear his eyes away from the road, shoving his hand into the chest pocket of his jacket and taking out a folded, crumpled map. There’s a few notes he and Mark made to correct the route. They checked it twice, okay? They don’t have enough gas to make mistakes, but Tyler sounds too convincing. 

“Six miles to the south,” Tyler drags his finger down the line. “There’s the typo, I can’t fucking believe it,” he groans, handing the map to Mark. “Do you see this?”

“I do,” in the backseat, Mark only shrugs. “Hope it’s the only problem.”

“We’re trying to save people, but they choose to die of stupidity instead.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Josh comments.

“Because the words are all I have most of the time.”

Josh is sure the map is correct otherwise, but he still doesn’t see the location they ought to find. They’re in the middle of a forest, and Josh stops the car as there’s no way he can squeeze it between the trees. 

“We’re taking a walk,” he says. “Fresh air is… healthy.”

“I’d shove this “healthy” up someone’s ass,” Tyler replies with such eloquent intonation that Josh has no doubt he would.

“What if they mine the car?” Mark asks, looking around.

Tyler raises an eyebrow. 

“You really think I won’t notice?”

Fair enough, Josh thinks. They’re looking for an abandoned radio station; it was located there before the war started; the resistance wants to take this place first and start building their own local communication to catch the signals from the brainwashers’ equipment. As an aspiring engineer, Josh was given some tools to run the system for the first test and send the SOS signal to one of the walkie-talkies they own. 

Josh pulls the car off the road; they mask it with a military cover and tree branches, take their bags, and go on an improvised field trip. Josh checks the gun in the holster, and his palms begin to sweat at the thought that he might have to use it. Mark pulls the helmet lower on his head. 

“Any possibility that the government has sent someone here today too?”

“Fifty-fifty,” Tyler kicks the nearest tree trunk. A pine cone falls onto his shoulder. “Nothing exploded,” he says. “Cool.”

He walks first in the line, pushing the blades of grass away with the stick. There’s still some snow on the ground, and the temperature dropped while they were still in the car. Josh’s broken nose hurts from breathing in the chilly air, and even the bandana over his face doesn’t help. His hair’s grown back after the last time he had shaved it, an annoying ringlet keeps pushing from under the hem of his beanie, obstructing his vision. Maybe he needs to shave it back off.

“We’re going astray,” Tyler grumbles. “Is this the price we have to pay to save some gas?”

He’s shaking, tucking his hands under his armpits. He’s wearing the coat Josh gave him when he was sick, but the only pair of combat boots he owns is not suitable for the unbreakable winter. Spring is just an illusion. Mark is the smartest out of the three of them — he’s wearing a sweater under his hoodie, and there’s a scarf wrapped around his neck. He offers it to Tyler who’s gone to the mission pretty much naked in Josh’s opinion, but Tyler shakes his head. 

It’s been less than an hour since they left the car, and he went to piss twice.

“Dude, think of your prostate,” Josh says. 

“Yeah?” Tyler glares at him from under his beanie and two hoods. “I didn’t know it was so cold out there. I haven’t properly been outside since I landed myself onto the hospital bed.”

Mark’s teeth chatter as he hands Tyler a thermos with hot tea. Josh drinks some, too, burning his tongue and feeling the warmth pool in his stomach.

“I have dry wool socks,” he unzips his backpack. “Jesus fuck man. Your toes are about to fall off.” 

The radio station is just a hand-drawn mark on the map, and they only know its approximate coordinates. Tyler balances himself against the tree with one hand as he unties his boots and puts on the second pair of socks. His voice is all raspy as he thanks Josh. 

Josh purses his lips and nods. 

“Not even going to scold me?” Tyler slips on the ice crust and grips at Josh’s sleeve.

“Later,” Josh promises. His insides are slowly turning to ice. Tyler sniffles.

“Even my bones are cold.”

Mark inspects the landscape through the binoculars. The sun begins to set too soon, according to Josh’s wristwatch. This forest is strange. Every shadow, every sound makes Josh turn around, squeezing the handgun grip. His nerves are so tense he’s afraid he might not be able to control himself and hurt someone innocent. 

“That way,” Mark points at the thin path zigzagging between the trees. “There should be the building.”

He hands Josh his binoculars, and he sees it, hidden between the tree trunks and tall bushes. The landscape and the impenetrable thicket of the forest hide it from human eyes. The walls are gray and moss-covered, and the windows bare their teeth of broken glass at the loners.

Tyler almost crawls down the path, digging his nose in the grass. They still avoid using flashlights. They move so slowly it makes the time speed up; around forty minutes later, they make it to the one-story building with concrete walls. Everything about this city is just concrete and the smell of death. 

Tyler gets more nervous as they approach the building, and Josh keeps looking around. Mark turns into a wordless, frozen figure, squinting his eyes at the wind.

“Here we go,” Tyler exhales as he points his finger at the copper wire on the threshold. “Surprise,” he says in a sing-song voice. 

They’re isolated from the rest of the world, they’re freezing their asses off in the woods, and the radio station they’re supposed to test is mined.

“Do you think there’s more inside?” Mark mutters from under the layers of his scarf. 

“I’ll check,” Tyler wipes his nose on his sleeve. “Everyone step away.”

“The last time you said it we nearly died,” Josh argues.

Tyler bites back,

“The last time I warned you to stay away you didn’t fucking listen.”

Tyler takes the pliers and some other tools out of his pockets and gestures at Josh and Mark to go once again. Josh obeys, rocking on his heels nervously until Tyler calls them; the door is opened, and there’s indeed a radio station inside.

“You sure it won’t destroy itself in hellfire when we test it?” Josh puts his backpack on the table and comes to the radio transceiver.

“It shouldn’t,” Tyler emerges from behind the closet. “The wire at the door was connected to the grenade. The Mk2 from the 60s, man, they didn’t even try.”

Mark measures every step he takes as he walks down the creaky floor.

“How the fuck do they still have grenades from the sixties?”

“Maybe they love retro?” Josh blurts out.

Tyler laughs as if Josh just dropped the funniest joke.

“Jerking it to the image of an old-ass grenade? Spicy,” he comments, breathing in between his palms.

Mark grumbles.

“Keep this between you and Josh.”

“Hey, why is it always me?” Josh resents.

Tyler laughs again and takes another sip from Mark’s thermos.

Josh doesn’t expect the radio to start working, so when he hears the first cracking sounds, he nearly drops it. It’s a very old model, also from the 60s or so, to match the grenade that welcomed them with open arms. Josh doesn’t know much about radio communication, but he remembers some basics from the course he took at school. Josh doesn’t think one try can let the brainwashers detect them; they’re gonna need better frequency filters to localize the system. 

Mark sits down onto the table.

“Our mechanics will come here tomorrow, so I don’t even know if we should set back the trap.”

“We won’t,” Tyler says. “It doesn’t make sense. This trap was set… I don’t know. Months ago? The wire started to corrode.”

Josh’s walkie-talkie comes to life. The job is done. He disconnects from the station hastily, and nods, satisfied. They can use it. They just need to hurry. 

“Time to leave,” Josh says. “I think we should take a different route.”

“We don’t have much gas. What if we get lost?”

“Trust me,” Josh turns to Tyler. “I trusted you today. We won’t get anything done otherwise.”

It’s just not safe to take the same road twice. He’s learned it already, and it never hurts to find other ways in and out of the city. 

“Maybe we’ll find a gas station on our way,” Mark says. 

Who knows.

Josh is the last in the line again as they come back to the car.

 

***

They don’t find the gas station on the way back. The only building they see is a church.

“Pull over,” Tyler asks.

Josh glances at his wristwatch.

“Come on, I just want to come in for a second.”

He sounds irritated. 

Josh pulls over.

“I’m staying in the car,” Mark thrusts his hands deeper into his pockets. “I don’t wanna catch collective pneumonia after this trip.”

“If you see something suspicious… Scream, I guess,” Josh closes the door and follows Tyler. 

He keeps slipping on an insidious ice crust like a deer that’s only learning to stand. Josh wants to know why Tyler suddenly decided to remember his roots and visit a random church that has not yet been listed as a safe location. There’s not much decor that survived the bombing; the plastering has been peeled off, and the holes in the roof can’t protect them from the wind. Tyler walks down the row of pews, scanning them with his empty gaze.

“Everything alright?” 

Josh’s voice echoes off of the mangled walls.

“Yeah,” Tyler breathes out a puff of ghostly air. “It’s just… memories.”

He points at the piano in the corner of an altar, half-covered with the red curtain. Josh doesn’t expect it to still function, but Tyler hits a few keys, getting a solid response. 

“It’s out of tune,” Josh says. 

And Tyler says,

“I know.”

And he keeps finding the melody hiding behind the smashed keys, tying the notes into an ethereal thread. The sounds fall into the holes of destruction, but Tyler works with whatever he can find. It might not be safe, but Josh is physically unable to stop him, to drag him away from the piano. 

He compensates for the failure of the keys with his quiet singing. Josh never heard him sing before, and give my gun away when it’s loaded, and this song hits differently now. Tyler is truly obsessed with all the types of weapons he can use against himself. Chills run down Josh’s spine because he’s pulling me through, and this is not the pronounce he used to hear in this composition. Nine crimes were committed, nine lives were wasted. 

It’s the wrong time.  

Every day is the “wrong time” when you don’t even know if you’ll be alive tomorrow.

Tyler’s voice is scratchy, a bit higher than Josh imagined it. It breaks every so often, turning the words’ endings into shards of glass. It’s sharp, cutting Josh’s ears and soul. Is that alright? This song is not even about him, it wasn’t meant to be, it’s just a mess of the notes Tyler could shake out of a broken piano.

Josh applauds when Tyler finishes; there’s no irony in his gesture. It just feels good to appreciate a bit of art again. Even if it’s the song about cheating. Even if Tyler still probably feels that he shouldn’t have done that.

“I… I thought you came here to pray,” Josh breaks the silence that felt almost sacred. 

“I’m praying right now,” Tyler replies, dead serious. Then he takes a flask out of his kangaroo pocket and takes a sip. Josh knows it’s not tea.

“You…” he nods at the flask in Tyler’s shaky hand. “You sure it’s not becoming a problem?”

“Drinking like twice a month?”

“That’s still a lot,” Josh shrugs.

He expects Tyler to bristle, but he just screws the cap tightly and shoves the flask back into his pocket.

“I used to sing in a choir,” he drags his finger down the keys again. “I didn’t even want to, but… I had to do something to be, like, normal. I couldn’t…” he pauses. “I’m still scared of him.”

Josh thinks Tyler’s talking about God, but the question still slips off his tongue.

“Of whom?” 

“My father,” he exhales. “I tried to hurt myself worse than he did. My mother wouldn’t do anything, and my siblings grew up seeing… all of this. I’m not the only victim, but I realized that they never actually wanted me around when my grandpa died.”

“I’m sorry,” is all Josh can manage.

“Thanks,” Tyler sniffles. “I didn’t really… tell anyone. I spent hours upon hours in my room, on my knees, quoting the Bible while he was standing there with the belt in his hand. He was sure I was about to murder someone and made me beg God for forgiveness.”

“Asshole,” Josh blurts out.

Tyler gives him a glance of approval.

“I think he did that so that my siblings never tried to talk back. I once fainted in the church because I couldn’t breathe, and he said I was possessed,” he looks at the crucifix on the wall. “Turned out I had a heatstroke. He said that it was God’s punishment anyway.”

Tyler lived with the brainwashers before the war even started; Josh now understands why the whole situation resonated with his heart. He sees himself in every pair of sunken eyes. Maybe he needs to cry, to find his abusive father and beat the shit out of him, but the only thing Josh can offer is to listen to him. Tyler doesn’t ask for more. 

“My mother said that I’ll go deaf if I keep playing drums,” Josh sticks his finger into his now-healed ear. “She jinxed me.”

“You’ve got a good ear for music,” Tyler says. “Ever tried to play the piano?”

“No.”

“You should,” Tyler softly pushes Josh to the instrument. “I’ll show you the hand position.”

And he stands behind Josh, guiding his hands on the keys. Tyler’s breath still smells of alcohol as he smiles into the crook of Josh’s neck. Josh lets him maneuver his hands, speaking in musical terms; they’re playing the intro of “Mad World”, because the world burning around them is indeed mad. 

No tomorrow, no tomorrow.

The song fades into soft murmurs in Josh’s ear, and Tyler clearly enjoys controlling Josh’s hands. Teaching him, because Josh tries to remember the basics. They’ve switched their roles; Tyler can knock someone’s teeth out now. Josh feels intoxicated, too, as Tyler presses his chest to Josh’s back. Josh’s lower stomach clenches as he feels Tyler’s hard dick rub against his ass.

Josh looks at the black and white keys.

“Didn’t think music might get you so excited.”

Tyler only chuckles at that. Josh knows that he can grab him, press him to the wall and bite his neck, and make him come with a single grind of a hip against his crotch. But Tyler is tipsy, so Josh pushes his momentous desire deep, deep down. His libido has been dormant for months anyway. 

It’s not even about arousal, it’s about having someone by your side, feeling the warmth of their breath on your skin, and having late-night conversations about the cruel, fucked-up system they’re living in.

Right time, wrong place; they’re going nowhere just like the song says. 

“I’m done listening to this symphonic orchestra. Come on, guys.” 

They’re being interrupted so harshly that Josh feels deeply disappointed. They didn’t even make it to the chorus. He looks at Mark’s silhouette by the door, hunched and frozen, with the scarf covering a good portion of his face. 

“You’re a man of art, Mark, just embrace it!” Tyler takes a step away from Josh and tugs his unzipped coat down. 

“I’m so cold I’m barely a person now,” Mark grumbles.

Belatedly, Josh asks, 

“Did we play well?”

“Yeah. Amazing. Best take on Gary Jules I’ve ever heard.”

Mark still has a set of binoculars around his neck. Josh finds it funny.

“What do you think warms up a man faster: hot tea or whiskey?” Tyler asks Mark, who’s still hugging a thermos to his chest. 

“The thing you two had going on between you at that piano,” Mark fends off, climbing into the backseat. “That looked… unholy.”

Tyler looks impressed. 

“Good.”

Josh’s hands still remember the touches of Tyler’s cold palms. His neck still tingles at the ghost of Tyler’s breath. Josh thought Tyler was going to blow up the church along with his overly religious past, to curse God and provoke Them into striking him down with lightning. Well, maybe drinking whiskey and grinding into Josh was just a part of his performance. 

God didn’t respond. 

Josh’s non-religious soul did.

The headlights snatch out the pieces of uneven asphalt, and Josh directs all of his attention to driving; his mind is still burning with the music they have played. Next to him, Tyler buckles himself up and sags into the seat, preparing to sleep again.

Josh avoids all the holes on the way back.

Notes:

thanks for reading <3

Chapter 13

Summary:

“And we roasted each other for our insecurities,” Josh winces. “We’re the worst.”

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees. “We’re the worst.”

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Barely acknowledging their weird relationship is the trademark style of their behavior. Tyler just keeps coming to the garage to “tame the hammer” as he calls it. He offers Josh to share the last stash of whiskey he won at cards, but Josh only shakes his head. 

It’s getting him worried. 

Luckily, Tyler doesn’t turn it into a bigger problem. 

When Josh asks him if he’s still drinking, Tyler only shrugs and replies,

“It doesn’t do anything except summon more fog in my brain.”

He’s done experimenting, then.

There are no heavy drinkers in the resistance, but the bottles of alcohol travel hand-to-hand under dinner tables almost every day. Josh can’t stand the feeling of getting drunk, the taste, and the way it dulls the emotions just to throw him into the deepest dopamine black hole in the morning. Tyler lives in a dopamine black hole.

They keep working together as a hobby, rebuilding the hammer’s system. Josh didn’t know Tyler’s presumably humanitarian mind could plan such a thing. The hammer’s moves get less jerky, so it won’t dislocate anyone’s shoulder again. It feels like that accident happened years and years ago; Tyler now says it barely hurt. Tyler has a very odd pain tolerance level.

“Mind if I ask?” he distracts from doodling something in his sketchbook. 

“I do,” Josh says. Tyler rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh. “I’m kidding. Go on.”

“Did your parents try to control your… private life?” he drops the sketchbook onto his stomach, lounging across the tires. Just like the day when —

“No,” Josh replies a little too fast. “Yes. Maybe. A bit.”

“My father thought that listening to Queen would make me gay.”

“And?”

“It wasn’t Freddie’s fault, I swear.”

Josh only chuckles at that, and Tyler throws a crumpled piece of paper at him. Josh dodges it easily and sits on the tires next to Tyler. 

“So you decided to try everything at once as soon as you slammed shut the door of your childhood house?”

“Hey, what are you implying?” Tyler puts a hand on his chest. “I was a late bloomer!”

“Wanna say you tried to save yourself for marriage?”

“No,” Tyler smirks. Damn, Josh really pinned him down like a butterfly with words this time. “We got drunk in my dorm with that one guy, and…”

“Don’t elaborate,” Josh pushes Tyler’s shoulder.

“He asked me to top!”

It’s Josh’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Thanks for sharing.”

He wishes he could sound as casual and nonchalant as Tyler does. Of course, Josh didn’t expect him to be an untouched virgin, but something about his confession made him feel uneasy. Tyler had life. A real life with college things, and parties, and sex. As if he’s always been too free to be just locked up in an abandoned prison like this. People like Tyler don’t belong to just one place. People like Josh don’t belong anywhere. 

“Have you ever been in love?” Tyler props his chin with his fist, staring at Josh with his doe eyes. “Like… with your first partner, or someone else?”

“Have you?” Josh mirrors his question.

“No,” Tyler bites his lip. “Might think twice though.”

The first guy Josh slept with was from his school. His name was Tim, and they wanted to start the band together, they even wrote a few drafts of the songs together, they developed this whole more-than-just-friends thing together. And eventually, they ended up in Josh’s bed together, and everything happened too fast, and awkward, and almost sickeningly sweet, because Tim promised to never leave Josh. Josh believed.

Tim’s entire family moved to New Zealand two weeks after their first time, and Josh never heard from him again. 

“You kind of remind me of someone,” Josh says. 

“Yeah? I always remind people of some assholes that dumped them,” Tyler exhales a laugh. “I’m a quintessence of the “shitty ex” image. Can’t speak for them, but… I never really broke up with anyone. They just… stopped talking to me.”

“I could easily be that roommate,” Josh jokes. “I let you be my pain in the ass already.”

“Prefer to bottom?”

“Can you think about anything other than sex?”

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Tyler sinks into the center of the tire and spreads his arms. “It’s just… When I first saw you I thought you were a tough guy who used to beat the shit out of dudes like me. And I… wanted to find the point of no return.”

“Good to know,” Josh deadpans. 

So, he was a part of Tyler’s experiment at some point. 

“Adrenaline turns me on,” Tyler says. “And you had so much pent-up rage in you that I couldn’t resist. I didn’t know I hit all the weak spots. I’m done with that now, I swear.”

“You know, if you go and provoke someone else, they might not be as nice as I am,” Josh picks at the skin around his thumb until it begins to bleed. The cut has healed, but Josh can’t hold himself from reopening it. “And Mark’s schedule is quite messy.”

Tyler huffs. 

“We should go to the gym together.”

“Only if you join me for a jog tomorrow.”

“I already told you I can run fast.”

“Coward,” Josh shrugs.

“Fine,” Tyler pulls his beanie lower on his forehead.

Josh is surprised to realize that he likes teasing Tyler. Mostly because Tyler hates it.

“Don’t forget to go to bed early.”

Tyler slaps him on the stomach.

“You’re not my daddy.”

“How many kinks do you have?”

“You’re the one who’s obsessed with my kinks,” Tyler wants to poke Josh in the side, but Josh catches his wrist.

“So you don’t deny?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Tyler giggles. Josh still can’t even estimate the range of his emotions; he wonders if this rollercoaster of a biochemical imbalance in his brain gets him motion sick. He’s curious, he talks about the darkest and deepest things with such ease when it’s clear he’s scraping it out of the depths of his soul with a scoop. It cost him a personality or two to become a Message Man. 

Josh thinks he’d follow him if he wasn’t imprisoned.

Maybe Tyler is nothing like Tim, after all. However, he does seem like a guy who would move to New Zealand and never send a letter.

Josh never had proper, long-term relationships, one-night stands made him feel uncomfortable the morning after — he hates feeling that he’s using someone. He wants to give something in return, to start a fair exchange, he’s rarely asking for help.

His and his brothers’ friends liked getting their cars repaired for free.

They were always busy when Josh needed them. 

Tyler just sticks around, after all the shit they had said to each other after they skinned each other like rabbits to see an ugly mess of nerves hidden underneath the soft fur. They got so deep into each other’s brains that they might communicate telepathically at some point. 

Josh likes it. Josh never liked talking. 

“I stuttered when I was a kid,” he keeps fiddling with his hands nervously. “I couldn’t control it, and my parents only told me to wait for it to pass. I could throw up just at the thought that I have to speak in front of the class, or something. Then I got into drums, and it helped. I helped myself, that felt like a big win.”

“I’m proud of you,” Tyler says. “My parents couldn’t afford braces, and my bottom teeth look like a crooked fence now. I only started smiling when I was like, in my twenties, because I’d heard every joke and every remark about my teeth by that time, so there was not much to care about anymore.”  

“And we roasted each other for our insecurities,” Josh winces. “We’re the worst.”

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees. “We’re the worst.”

 

*** 

Tyler survives the morning jog. He’s very competitive. Josh is pleased to find out that Tyler can, in fact, stick up with the stricter schedule. They run a few laps around the courtyard, receiving glances from some guys also doing their morning workout. The grid and barbed wire enclose Josh’s mood into a tight box of hopelessness, all the colors are dulled to gray. 

The spring is hesitant, melting the snow into the mud. 

“You did good,” Josh pants out, looking at Tyler’s hunched back. He’s breathing hard, propping his hands on his knees. 

“You’re an unstoppable force,” Tyler straightens his back with a crack, then flexes his wrists. “But I told you that I can run fast.”

“But what if they’re faster?”

“I’ll kick their ass then.”

Josh bites his lips not to smile. Tyler’s far too enthusiastic again. 

“You’re so touch-starved you’d prefer to fight in combat?”

“It’s you who said it,” Tyler pats his shoulder. “Isn’t it your wet dream?”

“To kick your ass again?”

“To touch me again.”

Tyler huffs as Josh gently pushes him away. They’re going to continue their practice at the gym inside, bare-handed. Tyler doesn’t quit, cracking his knuckles and taking a fighting stand. They’re alone here, but Josh thinks they should have rescheduled their training for evenings. Both he and Tyler barely sleep anyway. 

Josh still can hurt him accidentally — and easily — but he’s been looking forward to their training session. It’s exciting.

“No kicks in the crotch, no punches in the face, deal?” Josh outstretches his hand for Tyler to shake. Tyler nods and squeezes it. He’s got a good grip.

“Basically, don’t do anything we’d do if we were really fighting.”

They’ve been there, no need to remind. Josh winces; they haven’t even started yet, but Tyler is already swinging his psychological sword. 

“Dude, it’s not an MMA championship either.”

Josh takes off his hoodie and Tyler makes a note to himself and does the same. He’s wearing that black tank top again; it hardly covers anything.

“Be gentle,” he says.

“Because you’ll get all horny again if I won’t?”

“You’re getting better with words already,” Tyler sounds somewhat proud. “See? Tongue is a muscle, you can train it.”

It doesn’t take much of Josh’s skill to tackle him to the floor for the first time. He’d worked on this fighting technique with Michael and had been in Tyler’s position so many times. 

“You know how to avoid getting tackled?” Josh asks, pinning Tyler’s bare shoulders to the floor.

“In a legal way?” Tyler blankly stares at the ceiling. “I don’t think so.” 

“Duck and kick their shin as hard as you can if you’re being cornered.” 

Josh lets him go. They try it again, and Tyler allows Josh to throw himself around easily. It baffles him. Josh shows Tyler how to block out a few easy punches; Tyler squirms and fusses a lot, and it might be pointless because he’s not fighting back. He gets up again and adjusts his beanie. Josh’s t-shirt is drenched in sweat, and he fights the urge to take it off.

He can predict Tyler’s moves; he’s just a beginner, after all.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Josh smirks. “You look like a baby deer.” 

Tyler has a strange habit of freezing mid-conversation like one of those myotonic goats which makes him an easy target. Josh doesn’t know if it’s the aftermath of his head injury or just another part of his personality, but he has to do something about it. 

He moves a lot, and then he doesn’t; Josh tackles him to the mat again.

“Why don’t you fight back?”

“I do,” Tyler blinks at him, and Josh notices that his pupils are still a bit uneven.

“Liar.”

“I don’t stand a chance to win the street fight, okay?” Tyler refuses to move when Josh tries to peel him off the floor. He’s hanging in Josh’s arms like a rag doll, just like the time when Josh tried to catch him up after the blow that nearly killed both of them. 

“Bullshit,” Josh yanks Tyler up to his feet. “We start slowly, and you block the punches, right? You know how to do it, I saw you getting feral,” he balls up his fists. “Get angry, remember all the shit you’ve said to me because they won’t wait for you to pull yourself together.”

Tyler sighs and takes the fighting stand too.

“I always consider running away.”

“You always consider turning the other cheek when someone slaps you,” Josh spits out. “This is what they made you think was right. They brainwashed you, your parents, and you know it.”

Tyler doesn’t say anything, clenching his teeth. He’s probably imagining tearing apart Josh’s throat; but maybe, he’s imagining his father. 

“You said you’re still scared of him.”

Josh tries to control his words and actions; Tyler tries to kick him in the shin, but Josh is heavier and faster, so he bounces away easily. Tyler is light, and jumpy, and inattentive as the emotions flood his mind. 

“I hope you fight better than you drive,” Tyler breathes out through his teeth.

“I’m good at both.”

Josh expects him to block away the blow he’s about to land in his stomach, already secured with his forearm, but Tyler falls into a false movement of Josh’s right hand “aiming” at his head. He jerks and raises his arms, and Josh can’t prevent his fist from slamming at the spot below Tyler’s solar plexus.

“Shit,” Tyler coughs out and falls to his knees. 

Josh grimaces. He’s sure he didn’t hit him in the liver, and his left hand can’t work in full force while fighting anyway. But it’s more about skill than strength.

“Dude, I didn’t mean to—”

“There was an organ here, you know,” Tyler bends over, trying to breathe through pain. “I bet it’s just a bloody pulp now. Your fists are made of lead.”

Josh’s mouth is dry as he says,

“Could be a knife.” 

He’s pretty sure he ruined the fragile bridge his and Tyler’s relationship was balanced on. Tyler looks up at him and laughs, high-pitched, almost like a weep. 

“God, you’re irredeemable.”

Tyler still holds his stomach as he outstretches his hand to get a grip on Josh. Confused, Josh leans in to help him up; Tyler jumps on him instantly, kicking the ground from under his foot and making both of them land on the ground. In seconds, Josh’s right arm is pinned behind his back, and Tyler’s voice tickles his ear.

“Don’t follow a kid’s cry at night if you don’t have a kid, Josh,” Tyler exhales, pressing Josh to the floor. “Their laughter sounds even creepier at dusk.”

“The fuck you’re talking about?” Josh groans out. He was fooled again. Of course.

Tyler chuckles and crawls away from him, then falls onto the mat with a prolonged sigh. 

“That punch still hurt.”

“Sorry about that,” Josh rolls onto his side, to face Tyler.

Tyler just waves his arm; Josh can’t let him rest after his dirty trick. He fake-attacks him again, and Tyler yelps and curls into himself as Josh tries to pin him to the floor. Again, it’s quite easy, and Tyler’s beanie falls off his head in the process.

“Time out, time out,” he locks his forearms in front of his face again.

Josh’s heart clenches for some unknown reason. Tyler’s hair’s grown back since the last time he saw him without his beanie on. 

Josh says it out loud. 

“Shave it then,” Tyler half bristles, half offers.

He covers the scars with the only armor he has again.

Josh thinks their lesson is over. 

 

***

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

The hair clipper buzzes in Josh’s hand; it’s firm and steady as he brings it closer to Tyler’s grown hair.

“I’m not good at it,” Josh tousles the soft tufts on the top of Tyler’s head. The hair is shorter on the sides and is still uneven around the scars. 

“I’ve had worse,” Tyler replies. 

Josh makes him tilt his head forward, moving the clipper up the back of his head. 

“All of it?” he stops for a second.

“Yes.”

They’re doing it in Josh’s cell; Josh knows he’ll have to sleep on Tyler’s hair scattered all across his bed, but it doesn’t bother him at the moment. He focuses on not fucking up Tyler’s haircut; Josh had only shaved himself before, his own one and only client. 

“If I mess it up, I’ll shave my head too, in solidarity.”

“Deal.”

Tyler smiles, staring at the floor. Josh doesn’t think he can hurt his scars, but he clamps his tongue between his teeth not to comment on how bad it must’ve been. He never got to touch Tyler’s scars before; his palm slides across the white lines, brushing off the hair. The skin here is rough and wrinkled, and Josh can tell which wounds were stitched up hastily. Tyler clearly isn’t planning to cover the scars with his hair, even though Josh thinks he’d look good with the long strands framing his face. 

He never imagined that shaving someone’s head could be so intimate. Josh really wanted to beat him up when he vomited in the car, and now he wants to punch himself, even though he didn’t know that Tyler has gone through so much shit. He’s never touched him like this, and Tyler flinches, but he doesn’t pull away; Josh is sure Tyler can feel his heartbeat through his fingertips.

Tyler squirms and scratches his neck as his hair falls on his hoodie.

“Done, I guess,” Josh takes a few steps back and scans Tyler with his gaze. 

He looks younger. More fragile, even. 

“Thanks,” Tyler shakes his head and then rubs his face. “Makes me feel lighter.”

“In a good way?”

Tyler shrugs. He’s still holding his beanie in his hands, his foot bounces off the floor with nervous taps.

“Wanna go out for a smoke?” 

“I didn’t know you were smoking,” Josh frowns. Fine, if they’re past a short drinking phase now, there’s always room for something new.

“I don’t.”

Tyler looks tired. He’s not trying to pretend, and a sleepless night left the shadows under his eyes. But he still came to the gym. He’s much stronger than Josh used to think, and it makes him… want to protect Tyler, even. 

Josh grabs a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and waves at Tyler to follow him. 

They don’t talk on their way to the backyard; Josh just sits down on the concrete stairs, facing the forest behind the grid. He used to hate this place.

“I hate this place,” Tyler says. 

And sits down right next to him. 

Josh gives him a cigarette and holds the lighter for him; Tyler takes a long drag, and Josh expects him to bend over and cough. But Tyler holds the smoke in his lungs, then exhales a ghostly ring into the evening sky. Josh shakes the lighter, but it only flickers faintly as he hits it on his palm. Tyler brings a cigarette to his lips again, pointing at the smoldering dot of the tip, and Josh presses his cigarette to it, lighting it up. Neither of them breaks eye contact, they don’t even need words to understand the things they can’t say.

They’re not going to talk about their growing closeness. 

They’re not going to talk about their fears. 

Josh looks at Tyler’s profile, at his impossibly long eyelashes, which look even longer when his head is shaved. He’s got a good shape of the skull, Josh thinks, Josh wants to slap himself for coming up with the weirdest compliment possible. Tyler would’ve laughed at Josh if he said it out loud.

“I’m glad they didn’t crack your skull,” Josh says, words turning into smoke. This is the closest to what his mind’s throwing at him.

Tyler hollows his cheeks, and then opens his mouth, letting the fog leak out.

“I wish the headaches didn’t make me want to crawl up the wall.”

“Is it still bad?” Josh watches the cigarette dissipate between his fingers while Tyler takes another drag.

“Kind of,” he sniffles. “Mark said it can be a literal time bomb since we don’t know if the bruising might’ve turned into… something bad. I mean I don’t have any symptoms, like seizures or major memory loss, but… It’s annoying. My head always hurt a lot.”

It’s worrying him, it’s worrying Josh too. There’s no way they can take him to the hospital for a CT scan anytime soon.

“We can… slow down with the workout,” Josh mutters.

“No, it’s fine. I need distraction anyway,” Tyler snuffles out the cigarette on the concrete and tosses the roach in the dark. “It’s good that you’re into it. Helps to relieve the tension.”

Josh thinks he’s talking about sex again. Tyler rubs a vein pulsing on his temple.

“My mom used to say that I’ll get even dumber if I keep boxing,” he says. “There was the phase when my nose bled a lot, especially at night, and she yelled at me for ruining, like, a ton of pillowcases.”

That’s still a weird thing to remember.

“I’m glad you didn’t get dumber, Josh.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” Tyler chuckles. “The world’s ending, and you can’t appreciate a single compliment?”

Josh huffs out laughter and throws away a useless cigarette.

“You shouldn’t be smoking. Might ruin your voice.”

“You used to hate it,” Tyler winces. 

“Can’t take a simple compliment, too?”

Tyler slaps his shoulder and smiles.

“Shut up.”

Josh looks at him again; it’s funny how tricky Tyler’s appearance is. His Bambi eyes, and the scars that are supposed to make him look tough, and his voice that doesn’t match the things he says.

“We can still win,” Josh says. “Even when the world is ending.”

He doesn’t say that they’ll pay more blood and sweat to make it to this point.

Tyler shudders at the chilly wind and pulls his long-suffering beanie back on.

Notes:

thanks for reading!! i have one more update for this year so stay tuned <3

Chapter 14

Summary:

Josh doesn’t want to be the one of the twenty-one.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Will you give me the hammer now?”

“No.”

“But we fixed it!” Tyler pouts. “Dude, it was my idea, my plan, and my brain to navigate your muscles!”

“I got something more… appropriate for you.”

“Appropriate?”

Tyler squints his eyes in mistrust. Josh gestures at him to follow; he spent a couple of hours preparing for today’s training session instead of sleeping. Traditionally, Tyler looks like he hasn’t slept at all. Josh gave him a two-day break after their last sparring, as an apology for accidentally jabbing Tyler in the gut. Traditionally, Tyler doesn’t mention it.

When they met in the backyard earlier this day, Josh thought Tyler was up to a quick smoke again. He was ready for this, ready to deny the offer — he couldn’t cross all the “healthy habits” out of his life just like that. But luckily, Tyler isn’t much of a smoker.

It seems that he’s determined to keep exercising.  

“It’s time to meet Bob,” Josh says. 

Tyler glances at him from under the hem of his beanie. 

“Who’s Bob?”

“An old friend,” Josh waves at Tyler to follow him. “I’m sure you two will like each other… Or hate each other, it doesn’t really matter.” 

“I’m intrigued.”

Tyler walks after him, step to step, down the hallways and into the warehouse; Josh opens the door with his own key. Tyler lets out a whistle of amazement. People trust Josh, Michael trusts Josh, and he decides to use it at least once in his life. 

“Here it is,” he points at their surroundings with a little “ta-da” gesture. “Training your emotions is as important as training your muscles, if not more.”

“Are you serious right now?”

Josh enjoys seeing Tyler leave his comfort zone without having to even step too far. Because there’s a baseball bat waiting for him in the corner, wrapped in some barbed wire Josh borrowed from the last roll they had in the warehouse. He needed it for… science, okay?

“Couldn’t find the spikes,” Josh says, nodding at the bat.

“Of all weapons you decided to pick the one that nearly killed me?” Tyler licks his lips, and shifts from one foot to another. “I have a very… complicated relationship with spiked bats,” he puts as much sarcasm into the answer as his cracking voice lets him.

“Take your hat off.”

Tyler huffs and shakes his head. 

“It haunts your dreams, I know. Just trust the process, trust me,” Josh rubs his injured shoulder. “You carry those scars, sometimes too heavy to handle, I know it, because I can feel it too. I can’t sleep until I’ve checked the lock thrice, I can’t shower if there’s at least one more person in there, I’m scared of the questions they might torture me with. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I…” Tyler swallows hard. “I wish I could do to them the same thing they did to me.”

“They’re most likely dead,” Josh says.

“I know.”

“Does it make you feel better?” 

Tyler shakes his head.

Revenge is just a part of healing, and the only thing Josh can do is try and imitate it. This is the same trick Michael used on him, forcing him to face his pain and his fear daily and nightly until it imprinted itself into the background of Josh’s mindset.

Josh rips the black cloth off the figure in the corner, revealing a human-shaped boxing dummy. Michael took it from some abandoned gym in the city soon after Josh joined the resistance. Josh used it to practice and work on his shoulder mobility before he got his own punching bag. But he thinks Tyler needs something less faceless now. 

“Meet Bob.”

Tyler raises his eyebrows.

“The last I checked, it was me who got his head all fucked up.” 

“Body Opponent Bag,” Josh explains. “BOB. Bee-Oh-Bee. Or Just… Bob.”

“He sounds like a loser.”

“He won’t fight back,” Josh points at the dummy. “You couldn’t fight back that day, too? You were bleeding out in the streets, not sure if your head’s still in one piece. And they’d never hesitate to beat you to death. You couldn’t do anything. They were the power, the authority; they were in charge of deciding how to end your life.”

“Stop it,” Tyler takes one step away from Bob, but one step closer to the bat.

“You know what your father would say about it? That…”

“It was my fault,” Tyler says at the same time as Josh says “it was your fault.”

“Fight it,” Josh accents his words with a loud clap of his hands. “All that shit you’ve been holding back, all that anger, fight it! Let it out or else it will consume you. Fight. It,” more words, more claps that make Tyler wince. 

“I don’t want to get back to that day.”

He presses his palm to his scarred temple, still secured with his beanie. 

“Then that day will never stop coming back to you.”

Josh felt sick when he held the gun for the first ever and for the first time after the accident; he puked when he hit the cardboard target in the head. Michael said that was bound to happen. There were the days when Josh couldn’t lift his left arm, and there were even more days when he couldn’t fall asleep, hearing the footsteps of his tormentors. Josh buried their bodies. They almost buried his personality.

“There was so much blood,” Tyler sounds gravelly, eyes hollow and back straight. “I thought I was gonna die there.”

Josh clenches his jaw as Tyler tugs the beanie off his head and wipes his face and his neck with it, as if getting rid of phantom blood covering his skin. Then he cracks his knuckles and takes the bat. His hands shake as his fingers squeeze the handle. 

Josh gives him some room for a good swing and a blow to land.

Some wounds can’t be healed, but that doesn’t mean that they shouldn’t be treated with care. Tyler looks at the bat in his hands with disgust, and then crashes it onto Bob’s poor rubber head. It’s just a role-reversal, but Josh knows that Tyler still associates himself with Bob, not the attacker. He’s relieving that damn day over and over again, with every curse he spits out, with every punch he throws. 

The rubber gets ripped by the thorns, and Tyler’s bat gets stuck in it a couple of times. He scoots back, then launches himself forward, and sweat trickles down his neck and the sides of his shaved head.

“You! Didn’t! Have! The! Right!” Tyler chants out, as the bat does its thing. “I fucking hate you, Dad. For my childhood. I fucking hate you as much as I hate them.”

Tyler keeps attacking the BOB like a vulture even when it falls over; Josh has never seen Tyler this mad. He’s crazed, he’s like a bare wire under high voltage. Josh watches him from the distance; Tyler’s getting tired, the hail of his punches turns into a slight drizzle. He stops eventually, lowering the bat and dropping it to the floor. 

Josh comes to him from behind when Tyler is weaponless, and puts his hands on his tensed shoulders, massaging them slightly. Tyler’s skin is all covered with goosebumps, and his breathing is unsteady and erratic.

“See? You needed that.”

Tyler kicks the mannequin on the floor.

“Rest in peace, Bobby.”

The BOB is completely destroyed, with its neck snapped and with rubber torn and seared here and there. Tyler somehow managed to wreck its head completely, artificial skin can’t hide the filling anymore. 

Tyler’s words are dangerous, but so are his moves.

“You killed it, man,” Josh praises him, receiving a small smile from Tyler. Even though it quickly gets replaced with an ominous answer. 

“I would never kill my father. No matter how many nightmares I’ve had, I’d…” he chokes. “I couldn’t. Even though I should have, probably.”

“You still want to save your family from him?”

“They don’t want me to save them.”

Tyler shakes, making Josh’s body his shock-absorber. Josh wants to hold him tighter, but lets him go instead. Only now he notices that Tyler keeps sniffling, turning away when Josh wants to look at his face. He’s not crying yet, but he’s really close to. Josh knows, he’s been there too. 

“You should save yourself then. And the ones who listen.”

Tyler bends to pick his beanie from the floor. 

“Thank you, Josh.”

And Josh says,

“Anytime.”

Tyler doesn’t look back as he storms out of the warehouse.

 

***

Josh wishes he could say that Tyler got calmer after the “Bob-session”, but the trick he pulled on him wasn’t a magic one. Tyler is still bitter, sarcastic on the brink of cynicism. 

In the city, things are getting worse. The news about mass riots, police brutality and deaths circle throughout the members of the resistance. Tyler listens to them, bristles when someone mentions artists or journalists and comes to Josh’s cell to hit the punching bag with such fury that Josh gets concerned about his joints. 

“Slow down,” Josh has to drag him away from the bag one day. “We’re going to the city soon.”

He has no idea how Tyler will act when he gets there.

“It’s burning, I heard,” Tyler pants, ripping off Josh’s boxing gloves.

Josh heard it too. They made the radio station work, and there’s their people working on gathering information from all across the city. None of the news they’re receiving is good. One of the artists’ hiding places got raided recently; there were victims, and Tyler demanded the details from Michael.

Michael told him that they hadn’t identified the bodies yet.

Then Tyler came to Josh’s cell to splash his anger onto the punching bag. 

Josh didn’t know how to comfort him.

 

***

Josh doesn’t know how to comfort anyone. He meets Tyler and Mark in the backyard, sitting on the concrete steps, looking all worn-out and upset. There’s Victor sleeping in Mark’s lap, his fluffy fur is clean and freshly brushed. 

“You domesticated him?” Josh asks.

Mark rubs the cat’s stomach.  

“Yeah, kind of.”

“This cat has better meals than me, I swear,” Tyler breathes between his cupped palms. Josh doesn’t think it’s too cold today. “And he sleeps better than me, too.”

Josh chuckles.

“Are you really comparing yourself to a cat now?”

Tyler shrugs.

“I believe in reincarnation.”

“Anyone volunteer to help me unload the truck with supplies?” Josh is sure he has just spoiled his teammates’ mood, but having at least one more pair of hands would be nice.

Mark groans and shakes his head. 

“What kind?” Tyler asks lazily.

“Food, some stock clothes, cleaning products. I think Michael even mentioned ammunition,” Josh bends his fingers. “Our biggest catch so far.”

“Wow. So, we’re really preparing for something?”

Josh doesn’t like Tyler’s tone. Josh doesn’t like the fact that Tyler is probably right.

“Come on,” Josh tugs him by the sleeve. “You need to unwind.”

Tyler gets up reluctantly. Tyler follows Josh reluctantly, and Josh shivers at Mark’s glance on his back. 

“Why don’t we change our location? I used to move around the city, like, a lot,” Tyler doesn’t want to go, his boots drag across the asphalt too slowly. Josh needs him to go. Tyler’s going to explode if he’ll continue to shove his emotions deep, deep down. 

“They’ll come for us, anyway, sooner or later,” Josh says the inevitable phrase. 

“Sounds optimistic.”

Josh still can’t understand why Tyler is the run-and-hide type of guy. He’d prefer to drop everything and wipe himself out of existence at the sight of a metaphorical danger. But at the same time, he’d fight tooth and nail to help his people. Sometimes Josh wonders if he’s one of Tyler’s people. 

“Here it is,” Josh points at the truck. Michael has started to unload it already; he greets them with a nod, visibly pleased to see them together. 

“You want me to carry these boxes with my soft hands?”

“You destroyed my buddy Bob with those hands.”

Tyler opens his mouth to object, then closes it again. He rubs the back of his neck under the black fleece hood, and comes to pick the box. Josh suppresses a smile. Michael, you were right, you fucker. He only started to get along with Tyler, but they already know enough secrets they’re trying so hard to keep to eliminate each other.

“Team of the month,” Michael says. Michael grins like a man who’s about to finish the dissertation about the microclimate in the resistance. More specifically, the dissertation about the “Josh-Tyler” relationship.

Josh feels like an insect under the microscope. 

Tyler makes a gagging sound and picks another box. 

“He’s yet to learn some manners,” Josh nods at Tyler melancholically.

Michael follows Tyler with his gaze.  

“On the leash or on the loose?”

Josh rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t ask.”

Tyler keeps complaining about how abnormally cold the spring is, and that it makes his bones hurt. Josh says that it’s his unreleased energy. They both know that breaking god-knows-how-many ribs and having to go through the rehabilitation process in a cold cell is what makes Tyler ache. Chronic pains are bitches. 

Josh gets hot as soon as he starts working; he takes his jacket off, letting the wind breathe over the skin on his shoulders, barely covered with a white tank top. It has a few holes on the front, but Josh is always too busy to stitch them up.

Tyler licks his lips.

“You might freeze your nipples off.”

“It’s not that cold,” Josh runs his palms over his sweaty neck. 

“When they fall off, don’t tell me I didn't warn you.”

Tyler takes another box into the building; Josh is bound to wander through the maze of Tyler’s emotions and intentions. Tyler keeps throwing glances at him, judging him. Josh wants to ask why he suddenly cares so much. 

Michael lists the items they managed to get today; the amount of boxes with ammunition and army stuff is terrifyingly large. Tyler rubs his chin, looking at the new bulletproof vests. 

“Where did those come from?”

“We signed a non-disclosure agreement,” Michael raises his hands, ducking from the question.

Obviously, this doesn’t satisfy Tyler.

“How close are they?”

“Tyler,” Michael throws his arm over Tyler’s shoulder. “We don’t really know at the moment.”

“Bullshit,” Tyler squirms out of Michael’s embrace. “I can go to the city. You’re calling for volunteers? I volunteer, I know every damn corner of that shithole.”

Other people in the backyard look at them suspiciously. Josh notices Paul among them, gripping tightly on the straps of his backpack. He slightly shakes his head, staring at Tyler. Tyler doesn’t react. 

“We can’t send you here, that’s out of the question!” Michael drags Tyler from the backyard. 

“Hey!” Josh hurries after them. “Calm down, both of you!”

He rips Michael’s hand off of Tyler’s hoodie, standing sandwiched between them. Tyler breathes out a curse; Michael isn’t going to hurt him in any way. He exhales a prolonged sigh, then leans to the wall. 

“We’re trying to control it.”

“We’re choking on the brainwashers’ dicks down our throats,” Tyler spits out.

“Tyler, we—”

“The guys who left the base three days ago, where are they? Don’t try to bribe me, otherwise—”

“Joseph!” Michael’s exclamation makes Tyler wince and shudder.

Josh tries to pull Tyler away from Michael.

“Don’t yell at him,” he narrows his eyes in warning. 

“No, let him yell,” Tyler tic-jerks his head to his shoulder. “It’s therapeutic. Maybe he’ll tell me something.”

Michael kicks the nearest box in despair. 

“It’s the war, you know?”

“Any more shocking revelations?” Tyler is non-committal, invading Michael’s personal space again.

Michael looks him in the eye and says, 

“I’m sorry that your people died.”

“I need you to let me help them. Let me coordinate the next mass protest. They’re not cowards, I know they won’t stay home at a time like this. They need it,” Tyler nods at the bulletproof vests in the box. “And they need guns, pepper-spray cans and helmets. Full protection, everything I asked for since day one. They don’t want to get rescued. They want to fight for freedom, so let me help them, let me lead the way.”

Tyler’s nostrils flare, but he tries to pull himself together. So does Michael, eventually succeeding.

“Times have changed,” he says. “We’re lucky to have people on our side.”

“So, we’re going to the city?” Josh asks to test the waters. Tyler is the only shark there.

Michael makes a note in his clipboard automatically.  

“I’m afraid you are.”

He doesn’t have a choice, and Tyler’s manipulation skill is unique on its own. He can hypnotize people with this nearly black eyes, and his words turn from honey to gasoline within a second. He sets minds aflame, he inspires. 

Josh would go to the city with him. 

 

***

When Josh’s throat starts to feel sore, he ignores it. When his joints scream in pain, he ignores it too — there’s nothing new about it — he needs to keep going, he doesn’t have time to —

He doesn’t have time to get sick.

And Tyler keeps saying, “come on, if you go to the shower right now, you’ll get some hot water,” and Josh keeps refusing. 

Maybe, karma finally got him, maybe he’s paying for his past mistakes. And that mistake, in fact, was unloading the truck with only a thin tank top on. He might not be very smart, after all. And he knows that Tyler would say this, too. 

So, Josh keeps faking it until he makes it; or so he hopes. 

Mark says he looks a bit pale, but Josh says that there’s no sun down there. 

“You should get outside more. Come feed cats with me.”

“There’s more than one now?” the words scratch Josh’s throat, and he’s sure Mark hears it. 

“Victor found a friend,” Mark says, nodding at the can of food in his hands. “I’m taking both of them.”

He’s so kind that it makes Josh’s chest ache. This, or the fact that he’s been holding back a cough for the past thirty minutes.

He doubles over next to the wall and hacks up a lung as soon as Mark leaves. 

Someone whose voice he doesn’t recognize asks him if he’s okay.

Josh doesn’t respond. 

 

***

Josh’s racing heart doesn’t let him sleep at night. He wakes up with the weight on his chest rolling back and forth, skin clammy with cold sweat. He curls into himself under a wool blanket and tries to sleep, but a sudden pang of anxiety kicks him into a pool of insomnia. They might enter his cell, they’ve done it before; they might take him, ask him questions and stick needles under his fingernails if he doesn’t tell them the truth. In his dreams, they’re asking him about Tyler now — who is the Message Man? Where is he now? — and Josh says, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.  

“I don’t know,” he whispers, then turns his face into the pillow and coughs. “I don’t know anything.”

He knows, and they know it too.

They’re just faceless clots of anger, gathering around a motionless Josh, shaking his bed with their gnarled hands. It takes Josh a while to realize that he’s shuddering, teeth chatter as he desperately tries to cough up some mucus. 

He’s paranoid, he thinks there’s someone at the door. But he’s too feverish and woozy to get up and check.

Josh sleeps with his eyes open, Josh doesn’t sleep.

 

***

In the morning Mark blatantly tells him he looks like shit. 

Josh says he knows.

 

***

One day, he’s late for both breakfast and his training session at the gym with Tyler. He couldn’t sleep again, and only passed out by the morning; he hates when his plans get ruined. 

He thinks Tyler isn’t going to wait for him. 

He barely suppresses a bout of cough when he sees him. 

“Sleepyhead,” Tyler comments. “You need a responsible adult to remind you of the appointments on your schedule.”

“If I needed a manager, you’d be the last person in this prison I’d want to apply for this job,” Josh replies. These are their “good morning” wishes, apparently. Josh is getting good at mirroring Tyler’s word attacks.

Josh’s knees are weak, and he secretly wishes it was at the sight of Tyler’s ready-to-kick-ass mode. Tyler doesn’t cover his scarred head when they’re alone anymore, but Josh can see his beanie tucked into his sweatpants’ pocket. He’s got some muscles, and Josh is proud of himself for getting Tyler into sports. Most importantly, into self-defense. There’s not too many things he’s ever been proud of.

“Ready for sparring?” Tyler asks, somewhat careful. Josh is aware that he looks like shit again. 

Josh shakes his arms, warming up his stiff muscles. 

“Ready when you are.”

He’s just sleepy, it’s fine. And it’s Tyler, bouncing from one foot to another like a grasshopper; Josh can tackle him down in three, two, one —

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

Tyler’s derisive voice slips past Josh’s ringing ears. He’s lying on his back, eyes half-lidded as Tyler waves his hand in front of his face.

“How many fingers do you see?”

Tyler shows a peace sign. Josh bats his arm away and blinks hard, trying to get his vision back. Tyler attacked him without a warning — he’s doing this every time, and Josh can as well predict his every trick — Josh knew this was going to happen. Tyler always tries to take him aback.

It left both of them surprised. 

“You’re sick,” Tyler sits on the mat next to Josh, cross-legged. “You couldn’t even knock me over.” 

Tyler tackled him to the ground. He did it, and Josh just let him drop himself onto the mat. 

“Wow.”

He must’ve hit his head. Anything, just to avoid accepting that he’s —

“Wow,” Tyler mimics his voice. “Told you so.”

“I think so,” Josh exhales, hand pressed to his chest. He rolls over, onto his aching shoulder to cough. 

He can feel Tyler’s sympathetic grimace as he pats his back. Josh can’t see him. He doesn’t need to.

“That was too obvious,” Josh manages as his lungs stop coiling for a second. Breathing freely is a privilege.

“This is why you’re hotter than usual today.”

Tyler’s words might have double meaning again, because it’s Tyler. Tyler helps Josh up on his feet, and leads him to the bench. Josh feels like he swallowed acid. He leans against the wall and closes his eyes. 

“Give me a minute and we’ll continue.”

“I’ll give you a minute and then we’ll go to Mark. I’m sure he has a couple of magic pills for your poor ass.”

Josh’s entire body hurts as if Tyler jumped on him when he fell. He’s not even sure if Tyler is heavy enough to make him hurt that much. He hates being sick. Maybe he should’ve told Mark earlier.

“I’m just—”

“One minute passed,” Tyler checks the wristwatch he doesn’t own. “Get up.”

“I can’t get sick now!” Josh protests. “Now, when we might be attacked any second, when Michael needs me, when I need to protect Mark, and…” his throat closes painfully, a whooping cough rips itself through his vocal cords. “You,” he finishes.

Josh wonders when his fever skyrocketed from “I can handle it” to “I need to lie down, I guess”, but he also wonders what makes him want to say such things. 

“I appreciate it,” Tyler nods, and throws Josh’s arm over his shoulders. “But I’d like to continue this conversation when you’re not burning up.”

Josh lets out a wheezing sigh and lets a surprisingly strong Tyler drag him to the exit.

 

***

Mark says Josh is an idiot. Tyler agrees with him wholeheartedly, and Josh’s voice is gone, so he can’t defend himself. He obediently lets Mark listen to his breathing through the stethoscope, just wanting the whole ordeal to be over already. 

Tyler stands in the center of Josh’s cell, arms crossed over his chest. Josh feels guilty. He didn’t want to get sick, okay?

“Seems like you’ve got laryngitis,” Mark says.

Josh rubs his neck.

“My throat’s fucked up.”

“This is what laryngitis is, man.”

Mark moves backward along with the chair by Josh’s bed when Tyler plops down on the mattress, crossing every line and every border Josh’s sickness is supposed to draw and build. Josh doesn’t want to spend another week in a bed when the things around aren’t… going great. But he’s now sure they won’t let him do anything until his fever is down. And by anything, he means… everything. 

“How did you manage to fall ill with the sickness you can’t even spell?” Tyler asks, letting out an ugly giggle when Josh slaps him on the thigh. 

He can’t talk much. 

Mark politely casts his gaze downwards. 

“I’ll bring you some pills.”

“Cool,” Josh coughs up. Tyler rubs his thigh and bites his lip, and Josh can swear he’s flirting, and he’s so bad at flirting that it makes Josh want to gnaw on his pillow.

“Tyler,” Mark turns to him and jerks his head toward the door. “He needs to rest.” 

Tyler doesn’t want to leave, and Josh has very confused feelings about it. 

“Being sick alone sucks,” Tyler says. “Josh might still need something.”

“We’ll check on him later.”

Josh can’t take them to the city now. Josh hates being left out, especially when it was his own fault. He should’ve kept that damn jacket on.

“I can get… an injection?” Josh suggests, but Mark only twists his finger at the temple. 

“We don’t need you to die of a heart failure, thank you very much.”

Mark is not fond of using the energy-boosting serum on anyone despite being the one who brought them to the resistance. They still have an emergency stash. Worse times are yet to come. Sweaty and cold at the same time, Josh feels miserable. They care about him, and he’s only good at fucking things up.

Tyler leaves because Mark makes him leave. They tell Josh to sleep more, they tell him to lock the door behind them; Josh sways as he gets up, but does as he is told. His chest feels uneasy with sickness and anxiety, and the lock clicks, trapping him in the room of loneliness.

He knows he won’t sleep well, but he’s too feverish to keep his eyes open. He can’t stop shivering under his clothes, rubbing his chest and shoulders constantly. 

Josh gets into the bed and covers his eyes with the hood. 

He hopes they won’t get him in his sleep.

 

***

They get him in his sleep.

This is what they always do, waiting for him to close his eyes, waiting for him to get weak; they surround him, they want to sacrifice him. 

Josh groans into the pillow when someone shakes him by the shoulder. 

Josh wants to fight back, but the pain flares up and down his muscles, and his shoulder joint feels like a rusty hinge. 

“Wake up, man, it’s just a dream.”

One of the figures is standing too close, and it can’t be —

“You?” Josh pants out. 

He turns his face into the pillow and coughs. 

“You’re so cute when you’re asleep,” Tyler says, so jauntily that Josh wants to turn invisible. “Nightmares suck, I know.”

Josh waits until the cough leaves him boneless and drained.

“You picked the lock again.”

“No, I made a duplicate key,” Tyler informs him. 

Tyler doesn’t flinch when Josh’s palm connects with his ass.

“Whoa, dude,” Tyler grins. “Been sick for a day, but already tried to spank me twice? I might love where things are going right now.”

Josh can’t reach out for him again, and it doesn’t even matter — he can’t hide from Tyler. Maybe, it’s a good thing. The figures don’t flood his room when Tyler is here. 

“What are you doing here?” Josh croaks out. 

“I brought food,” Tyler points at the cans on the table. “Want me to spoon-feed you?”

Josh flips him a bird. Even a thought about shoving something down his sore throat makes him want to puke.

“So cranky,” Tyler sits down beside him. “I just wanted to check if you were still breathing.”

“On the scale from zero to ten, how disappointed are you now?”

“Shut up.”

Tyler’s smile falls. 

Josh remembers how he couldn’t make himself visit him. Tyler is much braver than him. 

“You don’t hate me,” Josh says. It’s important to him all of a sudden. Tyler places a hand on his forehead. 

“You’re still burning up.”

“Thank you,” it’s a big struggle to speak and keep his eyes open at the same time. 

“I’ll get Mark.”

Josh loses the track of time for a second, and when he blinks his eyes open, there’s no Tyler in his cell. No canned food on his table either. Tyler is an arrogant asshole, and Josh keeps calling him that — but at the same time, he’s Josh’s comfort arrogant asshole.

 

***

Josh gets sick rarely, but here’s one thing: when he’s sick — he’s sick.

He keeps calling names, too embarrassed to admit that he’s calling for Tyler. He’ll pretend he doesn’t remember it later; Tyler will understand, Tyler will never forgive him for it. The door to his cell keeps opening and closing, and then he feels the weight of his old winter coat on top of him. 

It smells like Tyler now. 

It’s not stained with blood, which is good. 

Josh sleeps, and he hears the voices again; they don’t belong to the figures that want to hurt Josh.

“His brain’s boiling, and he really needs to keep his brain cells in check. I’m worried. He’s calling my name, Mark. Would he do that if he were sane?”

Tyler is funny, it makes Josh laugh and sputter. There’s a cold cloth on his forehead, a Tyler-shaped weight in his bed.

Mark says,

“He’s just sick.”

They poke him, they shake him awake and make him take some pills and something bitter from the plastic cup. Josh’s brain thinks it’s chlorine. It’s not chlorine, his friends would’ve never tried to poison him. 

Michael visits him too. 

Josh tries to explain that he can’t go to the city now, and everyone tells him that it’s fine, and that he needs to sleep more.

Josh coughs until he gags. 

 

***

He doesn’t know he’s taking sleeping pills until Tyler clarifies it. 

Tyler makes it his obligation to make sure Josh’s trips to the bathroom and back go successfully. Tyler waits for him outside, and Josh… hasn’t expected this. He thought he’d spend the whole week in the bed alone, but Tyler just refuses to leave. 

“I thought you were gonna join another squad,” Josh says. 

Tyler sits in the chair, legs thrown onto the bedside table, and reads a book. 

“Michael sent a troop to weaponize my people. I’ll check. We’ll check, when you don’t need my assistance while peeing anymore.”

“Jesus.”

“You think it’s all his fault, too?”

Tyler bounces his leg. Josh takes a pack of orange juice from the table and sucks it thoughtfully through the stick. Being coherent for the first time in a week feels weird. Talking to Tyler feels weird too. Tyler’s going to kill him if he takes at least one cold shower again. 

Josh passes the juice to Tyler. He just wants to share it with him; Tyler sounds like his throat is parched.

“I don’t want milk.”

He doesn’t even look at the words on the pack, making Josh chuckle. 

“Vitamins, man.”

Tyler shakes his head. 

“Nah. Slurp them, dude. Slurp your vitamins and get some decent sleep.”

Josh nods at the book in Tyler’s hands. 

“Not gonna fall asleep yourself, reading this?”

It’s the same book Josh saw on Tyler’s table when he was sick. Josh almost thought it was one of Tyler’s pyro-shit books again, but the play by Arthur Miller looks pretty civilian in the current situation. 

“It’s pretty good, I think,” Tyler shrugs. Then he smiles coyly and says, “you didn’t join our theater club, so the club joined you.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Found at the library. Took it with me,” Tyler rubs the hardcover lovingly. “A dude fucked up at work, people died. Sometimes I feel like I might become him if I miss a tiny thing. But then… I won’t get another chance.”

Josh listens to Tyler as he goes into a wild rant about literature, and words, and dead pilots. He’s passionate when he starts reading it out loud. “Gonna rain tonight.” — “Paper says so?” — “Yeah, right here.” — “Then it can't rain.”

It can’t rain, and Tyler’s voice is like a scratchy wool blanket thrown over Josh’s freezing soul. It’s soothing, but it also makes him itchy. Tyler knows what he’s doing, he’s good with words, he’s playing all the roles at once. 

It’s almost like his short piano performance at the church. An unknown side of him. 

Tyler flips the pages of the book, flipping the pages of his soul, and Josh likes how the story goes. He could listen to Tyler being so passionate for hours. 

Josh closes his eyes to hear him better. 

“The trouble with you is, you don’t believe in anything.”

Josh can relate. 

He falls asleep before Tyler makes it to act two.

 

***

Josh doesn’t want to be the one of the twenty-one. 

Josh feels like it, kind of, but the sickness is forced to step off eventually. Tyler keeps visiting him, Mark keeps visiting him. Michael says that he’s glad to see Josh alive and functioning again. 

Josh is confused. He’s always confused, because people around keep surprising him. 

He takes a hot shower for the first time in weeks; he hates to admit that Tyler was right — it makes his joints hurt less. It makes his head hurt less. And Josh has had too many dreams about Tyler when the nightmares stopped torturing him. Tyler wasn’t one of the ghostly figures stealing Josh’s sleep. Tyler was trying to save him. 

They bump into each other in an empty hallway, and Josh feels his ears burn when Tyler greets him with a,

“Good job, Josh. You look like you had a good fuck—”

Josh doesn’t let him finish. One of his dreams started like this, too. It wasn’t the right time then, it’s not the right time now; Josh isn’t sure if the right time will ever come. He grabs Tyler by the shoulders and pushes him to the wall; his teeth clank, but he doesn’t avert his gaze from Josh’s still damp skin.

Tyler grins fearlessly.

“One toy is not enough anymore?”

If it’s just a game, Josh has all the chances to win. Despite being close and closer, he never had a chance to take a proper look at Tyler’s face. And, even though the semi-darkness erases some details, he can see barely noticeable scars on Tyler’s left cheek, and his lips, all bitten and flakey with patches of freshly healed pink skin. 

“You got problems?” Tyler whispers. “Oh, you don’t. Are you suspecting me in some crimes again? Want me to twist my pockets inside out?”

“I know your pockets are big,” Josh leans against him, making him gasp. Tyler’s hard against Josh’s thigh, he gets aroused easily. “Problems, as you call it?”

Tyler swallows hard, throat bobbing up and down, as he keeps hypnotizing Josh. He slides down the wall slightly, knocking his hat lower.

“You… gonna do it?”

Tyler’s lips taste like Red Bull and mint toothpaste. He doesn’t see it, he doesn’t look at Josh during the kiss, eyes hidden under a battered hem of his ugly beanie. Josh likes it, Tyler knows nothing about keeping his clothes neat and tidy, and it makes him so… alive. Josh pushes his tongue into Tyler’s mouth, running over his crooked bottom teeth while Tyler’s hand works on untying Josh’s pants. 

“I bet you can’t control yourself,” Tyler murmurs. “Lonely boy.”

He rubs himself against Josh’s thigh, he moans and he bites when his hand sneaks into Josh’s pants.

“You’re so needy,” Josh exhales. They shouldn’t be doing this. Not in a dirty prison hallway. Josh can feel mold growing through his skin, he can taste fungus, they can get caught right here. 

Tyler’s teeth clamp the skin under Josh’s ear so hard and so suddenly that he hisses. 

“Don’t like biting?”

Tyler smirks. Tyler is still hard. 

Josh rubs his neck.

“I can control myself, see?” he thrusts his knee between Tyler’s thighs. “What about you?”

“You love playing with your food?”

Tyler grinds into him shamelessly. He’s about to let Josh do things to him right there and then, and Josh is just about to agree. His thoughts swing between “fuck it” and “fuck him”. 

They don’t have time for this. Josh knows the local schedule far too well.

“We don’t have time,” Josh informs him.

Tyler raises his eyebrows.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Footsteps,” Josh blurts out. 

There’s no footsteps yet. But there might be. 

The lamp on the ceiling blinks. Tyler blinks too. 

Josh hears him curse behind his back, and smiles. This round’s on him, that’s for sure. Even though he still can’t get Tyler out of his head after seeing him this hot, and aroused, and eager to either drop to his knees or bend over the first available surface. And that’s him, Josh, was the reason why Tyler was acting and feeling like that in the first place. 

Josh needs to take a long jog to get rid of the energy coiling in his lower stomach. He’s only started climbing out of the grave of depression, and Tyler stands by his gravestone with the shovel to either bury Josh back in or dig him out. It’s scary, Josh shouldn’t let him decide.  

And Tyler, poor Tyler, Josh didn’t mean to fool him, Josh doesn’t want him to think that he’s the problem.

Tyler knows how to please himself, Josh is sure. 

A hot shower should help. 

 

*** 

“Don’t tell me that you and Tyler had a fight again,” Mark says. It’s the usual thing now. No one wants him and Tyler to fight; no one wants to fight Tyler.

“Nah, I saw him in a hallway,” Josh says, squeezing ketchup into his mac and cheese. 

Tyler appears at their table with a smile on his face and drags the chair across the floor to sit with them. 

“Missed me?”

Silent, Josh pushes the food around the plate. 

Tyler shrugs.

“Thought so.”

Marks looks at Josh, then at Tyler.

“Where have you been?”

“Been busy,” Tyler replies, stealing some cheese from Josh’s plate. He wraps a sticky thread around the fork, trying to get as much of Josh’s attention as possible. “Josh doesn’t like hallways.”

Josh slaps his thigh under the table.

The bite mark on Josh’s neck is so prominent he might as well cordon it off with a yellow CRIME SCENE tape.

Notes:

thanks for reading! <3
sooooo this was the last chapter i wrote during last year's nanowrimo. i tried to update consistently this year!! thank you so much for the loveliest comments, kudos and hits, i love you endlessly guys.
now i'm taking a little break from updating because i need to write more chapters. i don't know how often i'm going to update next year, but i promise that this story will be finished!! thank you for your patience and excitement and sticking with me <3
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happy holidays!!

Chapter 15

Summary:

“I don’t want to believe it may be over soon.”

Over. As in “we’ll be dead”, as in “I will never see you again,” as in “I never thought I’d be scared of losing you”.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Tyler says he turned himself into a weapon, and Josh doesn’t know what he means.

“They’re coming for us,” Tyler slaps him with facts. “In a few days, give or take a week, we will all be wearing those bracelets. Makes me hate technology.”

This is weird. Josh always thought Tyler was a tech nerd.

“You’re scared of progress?”

“Military one? Yes, I fucking am,” he nods at Josh’s re-modified hammer. “You sure it’s not listening to us?”

Josh cocks his head to the side, eying his hammer with healthy skepticism. 

“We saw what’s inside of it.”

“Yeah, but did we see everything?” Tyler nervously scratches his tensed jaw. “When you perform an autopsy you can only see the corpse’s organs and its brain, but you will never know what was in its thoughts when it was alive.”

Josh rolls his eyes.

“Enough, Mr. Ominous.”

“Why? You don’t want to admit I may be right?”

“I don’t want to believe it may be over soon.”

Over. As in “we’ll be dead”, as in “I will never see you again,” as in “I never thought I’d be scared of losing you”.

“Or there can be a new beginning.”

It’s not Tyler’s style to be optimistic. It’s not Josh’s style to detect what is in character of Tyler and what isn’t. 

They just kept spending more time together in Josh’s garage, with him repairing cars — they lost too many recently — and with Tyler being unusually quiet. It’s bothering Josh, too, the sky is watching them with the eyes of helicopters, the walls listen to them with the ears of spies. Michael kept talking about “regrouping” which means leaving their shelter. Which means running away.

“Paul works in the city,” Josh says. “Things are bad.”

“Well, if Paul says this—”

“—we’re fucked,” Josh finishes for him.

“I need to clean my room,” Tyler suddenly gets up, nearly dropping his sketchbook on the ground. Josh is curious about what Tyler’s drawing in it, but Tyler never brought it up first. 

There was a plan for a factory where he nearly died. Josh was in that plan too. At the safe distance that was just a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And then, Tyler kept drawing the prison, all ins and outs of here, boarded up windows on the upstairs floors. He was curious about what those floors were made of. He was drawing bracelets and syringes and other things he let Josh take a look at. 

But not anymore. 

“You never clean your room,” Josh talks to no one because Tyler is gone like a shadow. 

Too late for changes, too scary to change; Josh sighs and opens the car hood wider.

 

***

“I need to get rid of my Red Bull cans collection.”

“So that was not random trash?” Josh chuckles. “It was a collection?”

“Yeah. We’re a bit short on Pokemon cards for me to collect,” Tyler says, voice flat. “Holographic ones were hella rare even when I was a kid. Imagine finding one now?”

There’s a trash bag in Tyler’s hands, dinging and jingling as he walks. Josh follows him, in a slightly better mood, because he thought he wouldn’t see Tyler this morning.

He tried to not think of the reason. He tried to not guard Tyler too much to not push him off the cliff with his concern. And the level of Josh’s concern is insane.

“What are you up to?” Josh asks, as straightforward as he can let himself be.

Tyler stops, the weight in his arms nearly drops to his feet. 

“Shoot the cans?”

“Are you serious?”

“Sadly, yes,” Tyler says with a sly grin. “You with me?”

Josh’s insides turn to ice. 

“You know I’m not… good with guns.”

“It won’t ask you when it’ll stare at you,” Tyler presses a badly tied bag tighter to his chest. “The bullet moves faster than you think.”

“Could’ve picked a simpler phrase to call me dumb.”

“You helped me, and I want to help you!” Tyler’s speech is slurred as he tries to hold the tower of cans with his chin. “We both need to face something that tried to kill us!” 

He’s too energetic now, the opposite of what he was yesterday. Unstable. Josh doesn’t like it. Josh doesn’t like it when Tyler talks about death like about the enemy he has to confront. No, like he’s going to confront it.

“You really just want to shoot the cans?” 

“Yes. This is all I want,” Tyler nods fiercely. “I already talked to Michael and he’ll give us a rifle and a full mag.”

He speaks in military slang so casually like he’s doing it every day. Well, Josh doesn’t know what Tyler is doing when he’s not sleeping, and he’s not sleeping pretty much every night, judging by the dark circles around his eyes.

“Tyler,” the name feels too dry on Josh’s tongue. “What are we preparing for?”

“The usual,” Tyler doesn’t even try to circle around him with metaphors. “The war.”

He’s running out of words, for the first time since they started talking. Tyler wants to sharpen the most dangerous of his skills, but his mind can’t be reliable sometimes, threatening him into risking his life as if he has an endless cycle of lives in his pocket. 

Josh has to be here with him. 

And maybe, Josh has to think faster than the bullet.

 

***

Josh is too naive to hope Tyler was joking, that he just once more was being metaphorical; his hope withers like a leaf when he sees Tyler with the rifle thrown over his shoulder. Tyler’s head is covered with his usual beanie, and Josh wears a hoodie; they both hide the ghosts of their wounds.

“Where are we going?” Josh asks, tugging the sleeves lower to wipe his sweaty palms. 

“Out,” Tyler jerks his head in a chaotic motion. “I made a little shooting range in a forest. All sorted out with Michael, about you, too.”

Knowing Michael, Josh can say he was just as excited about the whole thing as Tyler. They’re not allowed to leave the perimeter without an order or a warning, and Michael’s loyalty is a bad sign. As if the perimeter is already seized to exist. The prison was never their home, but the routine they had here saved the last bits of Josh’s sanity. 

Tyler knows the city. 

And Tyler knows the forest too. 

“They might be there already,” Josh looks around, too suspicious about the shadows. 

“Dude,” Tyler clutches the strap crossing his chest. “We have a rifle.”

This doesn’t make Josh feel better.

“Or we’ll throw the cans at them,” he mutters under his breath, but Tyler hears him.

“Yeah, or this.”

And they walk down the path, just another mission, and this time their mission is going to be running and hiding; there is no date yet, but the clock in Josh’s head begins to tick backwards.

It ticks even faster when he’s with Tyler. There’s a time machine on Tyler’s shoulder, a shortcut to the end. Or to an endless sleep. 

“You still think about your future?” Tyler suddenly asks. Everything inside Josh is as tight as a string. “Like, many tomorrows from now, what your today would be?”

“I’m settled down,” Josh shrugs, too scared to dream big. “Talked to my family, I hope. Going fishing,” he adds, “with you.”

Tyler gives him an unreadable glance.

“I’m there?”

“Yeah, dude,” — you’re still alive there — “Of course.”

Josh can imagine them sitting with fishing rods by the pond, years older and with their yet occasional pains becoming chronic. They’re at peace there, in their future — possible — life when the war stops taking most of the time of their daily schedule. Josh never even liked fishing nor he thought he’d voluntarily want to go there with Tyler.

Now it’s only him, Tyler and the rifle against a bunch of empty Red Bull cans put in a neat line on the moss-covered boulder.

“Here, let me entertain,” Tyler says with a comical bow.

“So funny.”

Tyler looks dangerous. He weighs the rifle in his hands, aims and shoots, taking a step back as the blowback shakes his entire frame. The can falls, with a gaping hole in its side. 

Josh swallows hard. 

“Your turn,” Tyler hands him the rifle, and Josh forces himself to take it.

The forest whispers threats into his ears, anxiety coils in his gut. He only was on the other side of the gun, he got shot and never had a chance to fully recover.

“I don’t think I can.”

At the same time, he feels safer holding the rifle. It guarantees that Tyler won’t use it against himself.

“Don’t rush it,” Tyler stands behind him, hands placed on the rifle on top of Josh’s, so hot and dry. “Take your time,” he slowly moves Josh’s hands and the rifle into the shooting position. “Aim.”

And Josh aims. His trigger finger is trembling, and he can’t stop thinking about the person who shot him against the code and law. But maybe he deserved this. He’s a murderer of a murderer, balancing out sick scales of justice. 

He blinks, he closes his eyes, he doesn’t want to be here. 

“Take your time,” Tyler repeats. 

It’s not easy for Tyler, too. And Josh is too anxious to be peace-minded. 

He shoots eventually, because standing like this and waiting is much worse; the blowback rattles through his uninjured shoulder, pain echoing in the shattered joint anyway. He thought he’d miss the aim, but the can takes off with a bang like a disfigured piece of metal. 

Josh releases a breath he was painfully holding back. Queasy, he lowers the rifle and steps away from Tyler. He can’t imagine shooting someone. But just in case, this is what they’re training for. 

“See? Easier than you thought.”

Tyler’s outstretched hand begs for the rifle.

Josh sits down right on the ground, leaning his back against the tree. 

“Wasn’t easy.”

“It will be,” Tyler promises. 

“I don’t want to get used to it.”

Josh blankly watches Tyler shoot another can. And another, he doesn’t miss, he’d be a good sniper. Tyler doesn’t push him to shoot again, and Josh feels useless. If this is Tyler’s tactic, then it’s working — Josh doesn’t want to feel faint at the sight of guns. He just has too many memories, and he spent too much time alone with them, punished for his thoughts. 

He gets up and takes the rifle again.

It’s not easy, this time too. Tyler doesn’t touch him anymore, watching Josh fight his nervous tremor from the distance. He doesn’t comment when Josh misses the target. It makes Josh feel somewhat better — whoever he’s going to aim at still has a chance. Josh thinks that Tyler’s target wouldn’t come out of this alive even if it was moving.

Josh wouldn’t run from him. 

Josh waits while Tyler finishes “getting rid” of his collection. 

“Ready to head back?” he pants out. The battlefield around them is strewn with pieces of metal. It shows how not alone they are, and how soon they will be attacked. No need to keep a low profile anymore.

They head back, having written a line in ecology’s suicide note. They have one more magazine left, their one more “what if” and it reminds Josh of a cigarette he kept for a special occasion. That occasion turned out to be Tyler’s near-death experience. 

He might be holding his death in his hands. That’s what being responsible means. 

“What’s on your mind?” Josh bothers him, bothers himself. 

“White noise,” Tyler replies. “This, and a headache.”

He’s pale, yet moving steadily down the zigzag path. Josh follows, Josh always follows, never getting to taste the leadership. Michael had plans for him, he thought Josh could control his group of three people, but Josh now feels like his reputation slips out of his hands. 

Tyler is going to catch it. Or so Josh hopes.

It’s clear that they’re going to train more, to stock ammunition and food, and then split into small groups. And go to the front line, just like Tyler always wanted. 

 

***

They meet at the table at breakfast. Josh couldn’t sleep all night and just briefly passed out in the morning and almost slept through the alarm. He didn’t remember what he was dreaming of, but some other alarms were included. Brain not functioning, he entered the canteen just to see Mark and Tyler in their usual spot.

Mark looks pale and sleepy, eyes puffy and inflamed. Josh is not the only one who can’t handle this military routine well. No matter how hard Mark tries to assure everyone he adjusted, his shell breaks from time to time, revealing his exhausted self. 

“Morning,” Josh yawns. This one’s so far from good. Mark responds with a muffled “mhm.”

“You’re late,” Tyler nods at the vegetables and meat on a plate. “We took care of you.”

“Thanks,” Josh shakes hands with them and sits down. He needs to pull himself together. He needs coffee. He needs —

“What?”

“You never drink coffee.”

Tyler brings the mug to his lips again.

“Fantastic observation, Josh.”

Tyler, who always called coffee dirt water, is now drinking it for the first time in Josh’s memory. If he thought things couldn’t be worse, he’s wrong again. Was it on his bucket list? What’s next? Josh freezes with his fork stuck in a piece of badly cooked meat that screams of indigestion. Whoever was in charge in the kitchen today didn’t even try to make it look edible.

Tyler and Mark also barely touched their food.

Speaking of Mark, he still keeps silent, staring at the table all glassy-eyed.

“Are you sick?” Josh asks.

Mark shakes his head. 

“I can’t find Victor.”**

“Oh, man. I’m so sorry,” Tyler winces. 

Josh winces too, both at the taste of meat and Tyler’s reaction. 

“When did you last see him?”

“Yesterday in the morning,” Mark sniffles, quickly wiping his nose on the sleeve of his flannel. “He didn’t appear for dinner, but I thought it was fine, he sometimes does that. But today… He didn’t come again. I checked all of his secret spots,” his voice breaks. “I promised to take him to a safe place and I failed him.”

“No, don’t say that!” Tyler’s indignation echoes through the half-empty room. Josh belatedly notes that he remembers when there were more people. “You are a great parent to him,” he lowers the volume of his vocal cords. “We’ll find your cat, I promise.”

Mark pushes the plate away.

“How?”

“We can go looking for him… right now?” Josh looks at his wristwatch. Their schedule hasn’t been that strict recently. “Come on, dude, get up,” he takes Mark by the elbow and drags him out of the table.

Tyler quickly finishes his coffee — Josh prefers not to comment on that — and follows them.

Mark is a known cat lover, and seeing him this heartbroken breaks Josh’s heart, too. They do indeed check Victor’s hiding places once again — in the gap under the stairs, in the wooden box behind the garage, and in the attic (they have to climb up a shaky ladder and get inside through the tiny window; Josh has no idea how a cat can get there regularly, but everyone has their own secrets).

Tyler never mentioned he was allergic to dust, and it’s probably a surprise for him too. Or it’s just very stubborn dust.

“Maybe he felt the danger and headed to the farm?” he snorts out between sneezes. 

“Or maybe we just had him for breakfast,” Mark deadpans. Josh wishes he didn’t hear it.

“Ew.”

Tyler sneezes again, then pulls his beanie down, turning it to the mask. It’s not helping, and he staggers back to the window.

Mark sighs, 

“Minus one.”

“Victor’s not here, I’m sorry,” Josh doesn’t know how to comfort his friend. He sees Tyler on his peripheral and hopes he won’t fall on his way down.

“I left food everywhere in case my boy comes back and gets hungry,” Mark whispers. “I heard we might be leaving soon. I wanted to take him, we wanted to take him! Michael and I,” he clarifies even though Josh never doubted him.

“I hope he comes back,” Josh repeats.

Mark’s “thanks” sounds more like a sob.

 

***

They go to the warehouse then, because Mark has the keys and because Tyler has a sudden craving for peanut butter.

“My sister is allergic to peanuts so neither of us was allowed to eat it as kids,” he explains. “And then I didn’t have time to try it. So, I’m a peanut butter virgin.”

“Sometimes I wish you never spoke,” Mark says so sincerely it makes Josh laugh into his palm while Tyler does an impatient knee-wiggle dance next to the door.

“Why? Would you call it differently?”

“I need compensation for the pictures that just flashed in my mind,” Mark hands Tyler the keys. “And yes, there were at least 75 different ways to announce you never had peanut butter.”

“I’m not in charge of your naughty mind, you know?”

In Josh’s opinion, this was the most Tyler thing to say. He’s getting used to it, but — it’s another tick-off from a mental — or physical — list Tyler definitely made. Tyler unlocks the door, then pulls it so enthusiastically and so fruitlessly that Josh and Mark let out a collective sigh of despair. 

“You’re pathetic,” Mark also adds. 

“I’m charmingly pathetic,” Tyler corrects him immediately. “My man Josh is here to help, right?”

Mark’s bad mood speaks faster than his otherwise non-conflict self. 

“Your man Josh is a saint for dealing with your shit.”

Josh clears his throat. 

“Um… do you two need a room?”

“Yes,” Tyler says straightforwardly. “This room, the warehouse even.”

“How did you even know we had it?”

“Oh, I just came to Michael and I asked, “Michael, do we have peanut butter?” and he said, “yes,” and then I asked, “can I have some?” and he said, “yes,” so here we are,” Tyler rubs his palms as Josh pulls the door open. It wasn’t even that heavy.

They usually save sweets for special occasions like birthdays and little holidays Mark keeps track of. Tyler didn’t want anything for his birthday in December so it might be his belated birthday wish. This is how Josh lies to himself. He’s getting angry with uncertainty, he can grab Tyler by the collar and smack him into the wall right now, and demand answers for the questions he never asked. He wonders if he’s even on Tyler’s list.

Sadly, he’s not a jar of peanut butter Tyler currently struggles to open. 

“You’re sure you’re not allergic to peanuts?”

“We’ll see.”

The lid finally surrenders and Tyler takes a spoon from the shelf. The way he knows the warehouse and its items makes Josh think that Tyler used to sneak here when no one was watching. There is probably one more way in here that doesn’t include that heavy front door.

Josh watches Tyler taste the first spoonful intently, and so does Mark — he has no idea what to do if Tyler develops an allergic reaction. 

But it doesn’t happen. 

Tyler doesn’t look impressed, just stepping over his childhood dream.

“Overrated,” he concludes, licking the spoon clean. “You can have it if you want.”

“I don’t like it that much,” Josh shrugs.

Mark points at the shelf. 

“You can leave it here if you don’t want it.”

“No,” Tyler changes his mind abruptly. “I’ll take it. Need some sugar to keep this brain running,” he taps forefinger on his temple.

And Josh can’t hold back a question,

“What are you planning?”

“I’m not the one who’s planning, I’m the one who neutralizes other people’s plans,” Tyler falters. “The brainwashers are going to update their data-collecting bracelets and a little birdie told me they’re working on pretty effective mind-control devices.”

Mark narrows his eyes, clearly done with Tyler’s poetic way of speaking. 

“A little birdie?”

“A big birdie, okay. Very tall. Yeah, yeah I read Paul’s latest report when I was at Michael’s office,” he raises his free hand in defeat. Another one keeps clutching the jar to his chest as if someone’s going to take peanut butter away from him. “I certainly didn’t steal it, didn’t copy it and didn’t put it back.”

Of course, he did. Josh would be surprised if Tyler didn’t do it.

“And?”

“Get your Molotov cocktails ready,” Tyler sums it up. “They’ve been taking over building after building and we’re on the map too. I think Michael currently working on an official statement to make, but we already understand it, right?”

“Right,” Mark leans against the wall, about to slide down. “He didn’t tell me too, didn’t… want me to worry? But it’s clear they’re about to attack us.”

Tyler plunges the spoon into the butter again.

“So we’re going to the city.” 

“Inevitably,” Josh adds.

“We are inevitable to them,” Tyler shakes his fist in the air. “They can’t hide from us.”

“I see peanut butter hit the right spot.”

Tyler only smirks at Mark’s words. Tyler’s motivational speeches always had an impact on people, with or without sugar high.

Josh is motivated to talk to him in private. 

 

***

Tyler solders the wires to the circuit board when Josh walks into his cell without a knock. If the door’s open, he’s welcome here, it’s a new rule they established a few weeks ago. All the doors are open for Tyler too.

“Hey, Josh,” Tyler greets him, face blurred with the light of the reading lamp on his table. “Wait a sec, I’m about to finish—”

“This crap isn’t gonna explode?”

Tyler stares at him.

“It’s literally just a disassembled landline phone. Our intercom sucks ass so I—”

“Cool,” Josh quickly jerks the soldering iron’s plug out of the socket. Tyler exclaims, annoyed,

“Whoa! What’s going on?”

“I think you’re about to do something dumb and I’m scared,” Josh blurts out. 

Tyler puts the soldering iron in the holder. 

“Okay, fine, I’m listening. Can you be more specific?”

Josh drags one more chair to the table and turns the lamp to Tyler, interrogation-style.

“The way you couldn’t end it before.” 

Tyler winces from the light hitting his eyes and turns the lamp off.

“You can say “suicidal”, we’re not being censored here.”

Josh hates himself for not being able to say it.

“If you need someone to stop you, I’m here,” he says instead.

“Same here,” Tyler rubs his eyelids. “I’m worried about my people in the city and I’m worried about my people here. Our families? Haven’t heard from mine for months. Wonder how many nieces and nephews I have.”

“And mine thinks I’m a killer. And they’re right,” Josh tastes bile and blood again. No matter how many times he tried to accept it, it never stopped twisting him inside out.

“It’s the war we’re talking about. It started years before they told us it started, right?”

“Probably.”

Josh counts the items on the table not to fall into the cycle of anxiety. Reading lamp, disassembled phone, soldering iron, rosin, Tyler’s notebook, breathe, breathe, in and out, in and out.

“Hey, Josh.”

Josh shakes himself out of the haze to see Tyler standing in front of him, arms spread wide. Josh gets up and hugs him, chin rested on Tyler’s bony shoulder, hands locked on his back. 

“Hey, Tyler.”

I thought I lost you once, I can’t lose you again. Not like this, not now. You still have some plans, right? Of course, you do. The mind of yours will never be dormant.   

“You’re not getting rid of me anytime soon,” Tyler promises. 

In a world where Tyler could just lie to him, Josh wants to believe they’re gonna be okay. Eventually.

Notes:

**guys i promise victor will be fine and *spoilers* he will reunite with mark!! <3
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im back with the new chapter whoooo
thanks for reading! your comments and kudos always make my day <3
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