Joel wakes up screaming.
His first thought, honestly, isn’t very coherent. A mishmash of need more time and a throat-tearing scream escaping him as he opens his eyes to–
His scream dies down. Joel looks around– at least, he thinks he’s looking around. Hard to tell when it’s all pitch black and he can’t see a thing, is he sure his eyes are working–?
Joel brings a hand to his face, “Did I go blind– What the heck!”
His voice comes out shrill, a hair away from a shriek (because no, it wasn’t a shriek, it was all manly and stuff, thank you.) as his hand kind of– it kinda–
He knows where his head is. Obviously. Be a bit weird if he didn’t. He knows where his head is, and he knows where his hand is. Both are important. So when he reached towards his head, right, gotta see if there’s a cloth over his eyes, or if he’s gone blind or whatever stupid thing must’ve happened to him after… After he…
His thoughts go fuzzy for a second, like that feeling you get when you think you’ve forgotten something but can’t remember what. Like knowing the shape of something you’ve lost, its absence so pressing that it chokes you like sand, clogging your lungs with each second it's gone but what the heck is it–?!
Where was he, again?
Oh. Right. He was freaking out.
The point is– because there was a point, right before things got all weird there– his hand went through his head.
It… He doesn’t even know how to explain it. It felt like… Not much, really. Didn’t feel like anything. But that’s the issue with it, the issue of something should be there, like skin and muscle and bone and perhaps even a brain. But instead, Joel put his hand where his face should be and he felt nothing, no matter how hard he tried, how far he reached and pushed and–
Joel wants to scream. Or laugh. Or cry. Either of the three, though preferably not that last one.
It’s so weird. He just wants…
There it is again. That feeling. The clawing, desperate something in his chest that twists and writhes–
“Hey, Joel.”
Joel screams. (First option, then.)
Jimmy just stares at him, unimpressed. His sunglasses are blocking his eyes.
For some reason, it makes Joel want to cry.
Jimmy sighs, “Are you done?” Joel gapes at him.
Are you serious, “Am I d– What the heck, Jimmy?” He snaps, “Don’t sneak up on me like that, I’m not bloody Grian–”
Since when did Jimmy get so quiet, anyway?
“Of course you’re not Grian,” Jimmy says, his voice all weird. Off. “It’d be easier if you were. He’s already moved on.”
Joel’s hackles rise, “What d’you mean it’d be easier?” He snarls, like snapping teeth. “And he hasn’t moved on, he’s just–”
“Looking for new friends?” Jimmy deadpans. Joel’s jaw clicks shut. “ ‘s what I thought.”
Oh, Joel wants to punch him in the–
Wait a second.
It comes back to him then, slamming into him like a wave. The bubbling, helpless laughter in his chest as he leaps and runs across a flimsy dirt bridge. The way he knows he’s fallen before, fallen a million different times and came out both dead and alive but he doesn’t care.
("–you can't keep doing this–")
He doesn’t (didn’t) care, because why should he, he’s got– he’s got water. He’s got water, like everyone else on this blumin’ server, he’ll live, surely, so there’s no need to be scared.
("–got to let go, eventually, right–?")
No need to worry, even as yellow feathers plummet and disappear from view and lightning strikes where Jimmy’s voice cut off–
“Joel!” Jimmy shouts, practically right in his face. “Joel, are you even listening–?”
This, Joel decides, is not Jimmy.
It's got the shape of Jimmy, sure. Right hair and face and everything. Right voice, right bloody curve of his eyebrows, which makes Joel laugh, because it isn't him.
It can't be. It can't be, because Jimmy's dead. Jimmy's gone, he ran out of time because he fell like an idiot so no, this can't be him, there's no way.
On all levels except physical, Joel can't seem to breathe.
There's no way this is Jimmy, he thinks, just the right amount of hysterical. It's just not possible.
Because if this is him, (and that's a big, gigantic if) then that means– That means wherever he went, Joel followed. Joel followed, and now they're in the Void, or Limbo, or whatever the heck it's called, and that means that Joel–
Joel failed Grian, too.
"You're not Jimmy," He says at last, with his not-there tongue and not-there face. His voice sounds distant. "He'd be like, crying. Screamin' about dying first again, going oh my gosh!" Joel tells Not-Jimmy, pitching his voice up and then laughs, laughs, and laughs.
Until he can't breathe. Until it hurts to.
Until it's not much of a laugh at all.
Light shines on Not-Jimmy's sunglasses. He's still the only thing Joel can see.
Joel reaches out, pretending to see two, shaking hands grab Jimmy by the shoulders. He pretends, thinks about it hard enough that he almost feels the texture of Jimmy's denim under his palms. He thinks, imagines, pretends, whatever, that the fabric crinkles under his touch, that the sob that makes his way past his lips is a laugh as he says, "I'm sorry."
Something wet trickles down his not-there face.
" 'm sorry, Jim," Joel rasps out, and it hurts. "You weren't supposed to– I had a surprise for you, you know?"
Jimmy's voice is quiet, "What kind of surprise?" He asks, and Joel…
Joel thinks he might be falling apart.
(Or maybe, his mind supplies, he shattered a long while ago. Like glass hitting the floor.)
He grins, or at least, he tries to. "I was gonna break your curse," He confesses, with his terrible, trembling mouth. "I was gonna sacrifice myself for you, be all heroic and everything."
Jimmy says nothing. Joel still can't see his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
He's getting tired of pretending.
"Will you come with me now?" Jimmy– Not-Jimmy says, his voice ringing like the toll of a bell. "You've said your piece, not many are afforded that luxury."
Joel blinks. Death stands before him, no sunglasses to cover empty sockets.
For a moment, Joel considers fighting. Again, and again, and again.
But he is so, very tired.
He sighs.
I don't feel very lucky, Joel wants to say. And you still aren't Jimmy.
"Whatever," He says instead. He feels his entire being slip away like sand, like time held tightly between two fists. "Take me away, or whatever it is you do."
Joel closes his eyes, "I'll tell him when I see him."
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thinking about how the clock from impulse this season is so... meaningless. which is ironic given the whole Time theme.
starting from when it was given- impulse gives it to bdubs to ensure his safety. he gives it to bdubs for him to spare his life when it comes down to it... but impulse never promises anything in return.
compare it to double life, where impulse says, specifically, that the clock means they'll be "together forever!"
it's not the one-way promise it is in limited life, where the clock is more of a token than it is a symbol of their bond. impulse has bdubs promise not to kill him, but that's it. he may not have killed bdubs directly, but he led him to tango's trap, and what does bdubs say on the way?
"I believe you. I trust you."
i think about the way purpose shapes an object. about how it shows the intentions of who made it.
in third life, impulse made a clock for himself. it's sleek, simple but imperfect, small dents in the metalwork. nothing fancy, made to serve its purpose. it's his. it doesn't have to be anything special.
in double life impulse crafts it with love. it's for bdubs- it has to be perfect. it's carefully polished, carefully designed and put together. it's special not just because bdubs is his soulmate, but because bdubs asked it of him. "I'm not making that mistake again," impulse says. he's not settling for something functional. this clock is a promise- their vows to each other, their love and devotion.
in limited life impulse makes it in a hurry. it's almost worse than the first one, quickly polished with more than a few corners cut. it's hasty as a plea, an mere whisper of the promise it once held.
the kicker is this: bdubs has seen every version. has held and traced each golden surface with his hands, felt the weight of them in his palms. the bloodstained and cracked, the perfectly polished, the one backed with an uneven sheet of gold.
i wonder if he could tell. i wonder if he stared down at the recent clock, and frowned, seeing it for the bargaining token that it was. did his heart ache, just a little, thinking back on what it used to mean, what he wants it to mean?
just food for thought.
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