#ough this took too long to write for how short it is 😭😭

[adudelolwriting]

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Tim and Jay were sitting next to each other on the ratty couch that they had recently bought, sharing one blanket together as they watch shitty horror movies together. Jay was resting his head on Tim's shoulder, taking comfort in the other's heartbeat (which totally didn't spike whenever there was a jumpscare, sure). 

Suspenseful music played as a creature stalks the main character — some blond girl Jay couldn't remember the name of when a knock on their real door caused the two to jump, hastily pausing the horror movie. 

"It's after midnight, why is someone knocking?" Jay whisper-hissed as he feels his nerves light on fire. Tim gets up and grabs a metal baseball bat, and Jay is half tempted to grab his camera and record — but he promised Tim, so he ripped his eyes away from the camcorder and focused on Tim.

Tim adjusted the bat in his grasp, slowly unlocking the door. He swung it open and jumps back, prepared to swing at whatever—

"Brian?" 

Brian? "What?" Jay looks past Tim's shoulder, and sure enough — it was Brian sheepishly standing at the door, hands raised in the air. He was dirty and covered in mud (or blood) and had several rips and tears in his clothes. His hair was long and matted, and parts of the hoodie were torn off and wrapped around as makeshift bandages.

"I thought you were dead." Tim seemed hesitant. Tim had watched Brian die, Alex even taunted it. But here Brian was, standing in front of them, looking like he went through hell and back. Which, they all had, but it looks ten times worse for Brian right now. 

"I'm glad you guys haven't moved," Brian sighs, keeping his hands out of his pockets. "I… I don't remember a lot from the past few years, but… I — My phone, it was open to a Youtube channel that you guys made..? I watched a few of them, and — I don't remember any of it."

Tim glanced back at Jay, who shrugged. Jay jerked his head, and Tim rolled his eyes before moving out of the way of the doorframe. "Come in. I — A lot happened."

Brian did as he was told, and in the light it was so much easier to see the deepened eyebags around him. The light stubble he had worn during college had shifted into a complete five o'clock shadow. Jay guided him to the couch, glancing between Tim and Brian. "Do you want any water, or anything?" Jay asks, helping Brian sit down. The taller one shook his head. "Okay. Uh. What's the last thing you remember?"

…

……

College. 

The last thing Brian remembers was back in college.

Eight years ago. Brian lost eight years of his life, not in control, being manipulated by something nonhuman. 

Jay and Tim listened in stunned silence. Quickly enough, they explained what had happened during those eight years — particularly the past five, when Jay was recording everything and archiving it online. They explain ToTheArk, Hoodie's response channel, or whatever its cryptic messages were, and how Hoodie had tried to help them in its own way. 

Benedict Hall was fuzzy for Jay, and so Tim took over, gratefully passing over the whole Alex shot and nearly killed Jay bit. Tim hesitantly says that he saw Hoodie die. That Hoodie was left on the concrete flooring before being taken by the Operator. 

It shouldn't be possible. You don't come back from the dead.

But yet, both Jay and Brian sat in front of Tim. Jay, who was shot and nearly bled to death, who was only able to run away from the Operator from pure adrenaline. And Brian, who fell, cracking his skull, bleeding out — the one who didn't escape from the Operator, somehow in front of Tim right now, here, alive.

(If only the same could be for the Operator's other victims. Seth, Amy, Sarah. Jessica. Alex himself.)

God, Tim could cry right here. Brian was here. Brian was alive. 

But… Tim isn't. The old Tim, the one who Brian knew, who he was friends with, that Tim was dead. Dead left and forgotten the moment the Operator leached onto Alex, the moment he hunted them, tried to kill them.  

Instead, it was this broken shell of a man left. So much trauma hollowed out Tim's body to save itself, to carve out every last little bit that Tim had. 

(That's not true, he reminds himself, you're here with Jay. He's helped you.)

Tim felt something squeeze his hand, and he looked up to meet Jay in the eyes. Tim likes to think that during their time together, Tim had been able to learn how to read Jay well. He saw dozens of thoughts floating in the other's head. Concern happy worried concern wary trust concern concern.

Tim puts a small smile on his face. Okay happy trust.

Jay nods, and turns to Brian. "Do… Do you want some new clothes? You've… been wearing that — that hoodie for way too long, and, uh… it's not a great thing." 

Brian startled, as if now just realizing that. "Oh — yes, dude, please. This stinks so badly." He quickly peeled the hoodie off of himself, wincing when it brushed the back of his head. The poor thing had been Brian's favorite article of clothing — he called it a comfort hoodie? Or something like that.

It's seen better days, that's for sure. The sleeves were torn and falling apart, holes covered the sleeves, the pocket seam was coming undone. Not to mention the several stains the thing had — from dirt to grass stains to blood. It looked like it was eight years old, truely.

Brian handed it off to Jay, who's face wrinkled when he picked it up. "I dunno if this'll, uh… live after a wash." Jay glanced to Brian, who's face fell before shaking it off. "No, yeah, that makes sense…"

"I'll try it, maybe. Put it on an easy setting. I'll be right back with a shirt," Jay said before walking out of the room, leaving Tim and Brian alone. It still didn't feel real. It's been how long? Six months? And Tim had grieved over Brian. They held a mock funeral for him a week after it all ended.

Only to see Brian alive. 

(Alive, alive, alive.)

"This isn't a dream, right?" Tim mostly spoke to himself, falling onto the couch. "You're here? You're actually here?"

"I'm here," Brian said, a smile on his face, proudly displaying the tooth gap he had. Tim watched as the corners of his eyes crinkle, the dimple on his face showing itself. All the small details Tim had nearly forgotten about. Tim lurched forward, pulling Brian into a hug, tightly clinging to the other.

Brian wrapped his arms around Tim, whispering quiet nothings and silent promises. Just like late nights during college, the two held onto each other and wept. Tim cried for the first time since college. The last time he cried was the last time he held onto Brian, clinging onto his shirt back in their small bedroom. 

If he tried hard enough, he could pretend everything was okay, that it was just the homework piling up again, or some rude students, or whatever stupid excuse to pretend their reality wasn't the real one. Too fall back into a false fantasy. 

Tim heard Jay clear his throat, and he pulled away from Brian. A Brian who went through eight years worth of trauma and abuse, but remembers none of it. A Brian who has been damaged but doesn't know how. A Brian who is still full of so much love, who could never hurt his friends. 

"Sorry," Tim mumbles, glancing away from the other two. He… when was the last time he was hugged, besides just now? "Didn't… mean to cry all over you."

"Dude, Tim, you're fine. You looked like you needed it." Brian tells Tim before taking the shirt that Jay was offering. "I'm not as uh, tall as you, so it'll probably be a bit short, sorry." Brian waves him off, putting on the clean shirt and physically relaxing.

"Gods, it feels nice to be in a clean shirt again," Brian sighed, before glancing down at one of the yellow stripes of fabric tied around his arm. "I wonder what happened to me," he said, poking at the makeshift bandage. 

"A lot happened to all of us," Jay sighs, joining them on the couch, sitting on the other side of Tim. "It's… It's over now, though, we don't have to worry about it anymore."

"We can get you some meds, like the ones I took in college," Tim says, looking into Brian's eyes, "they help with any… symptoms from the Operator."

"Symptoms?" Brian asked, confused. 

"Yeah, they're brutal. Migraines, dizziness, confusion. Seizures. Waking up in the middle of Rosswood with no idea how you got there," Tim says, head leaning onto the back of the couch. "The coughing sucks. It never truly goes away, either. At least I'm not coughing up blood all the time, you know?"

"....No??" Brian looks very concerned. "Are you okay? This shit — it sounds like it's even worse than it was!"

"Heavy contact with the Operator does that," Tim says with a simple shrug. "The pills help, though. The hooded figure, er — you, I guess, stole them from me a lot." He really didn't like to think of Brian, out in the middle of the woods, struggling by himself. 

"How are you just — so calm over this?"

"We've had eight years," Jay speaks up from the other side of Tim. "Well, probably closer to five, or something. But you just gotta go with the flow for this kinda stuff and hope it doesn't get you killed." 

Brian's eyes flash over to Jay, trying to scan him. 

He was… so much more different than the Jay Brian remembers. They both were. Brian, he had watched a few of the Marble Hornets youtube videos, skipping through them. 

Brian remembers watching one where Tim and Jay were arguing in a parking lot, in the middle of the night. But they seemed… better now. Were they free from the torment haunting them? "God…" Brian muttered, running a bare hand through his nasty hair. "This is so much. So much happened. And I was a part of that."

"It's —" Brian doesn't miss the glance Jay shoots Tim. "It's fine. We're glad you're uh, alive. We thought you were dead." 

"You weren't in control of yourself, Brian," Tim speaks up, squeezing one of Brian's hands. "It — something similar happened to me, with a masked guy. You weren't in control of yourself."

Brian's voice cracks as he speaks, "something like this happened to you too?"

"Yeah. I think the, uh… the hooded figure liked to steal my meds to bring out the masked guy. That's one of my theories, anyway," Tim says. "I think… that everyone who is affected by the Operator gets some weird time fuckery shit happen to them. I would lose days to weeks of my life 'cause of it."

Jay hums. "I lost seven months, one time. Woke up in the hotel with no idea how I got there."

"At least you woke up in a bed," Tim chuckles, a smile on his face. "Most of the time I woke up face down in the mud."

Brian watches as Jay and Tim laugh at that, an inside joke. A smile fell on Brian's face — at least they seemed happier now. Hell, they looked healthier. Jay didn't have any eyebacks nearly as deep under his eyes, and he didn't look like he was slowly starving to death, either.

Tim looked better, too. Happier. He wasn't constantly looking over his shoulder, and his eyes shone brighter. 

…

A few hours had passed since Brian knocked on the door. It was probably close to four am, and Brian had shuffled off to use their shower. "I can't believe he's been alive this whole time," Jay whispered, leaning against Tim. "We can't just kick him out after this, right?"

"Of course not," Tim whispered back, listening to the shower run through the nearby wall. "We can't — We're the only ones left, Jay. We have to stick together."

Jay hums in acknowledgement. "Might have to sleep on the couch for a while. We only have the one bed. Could move it into the bedroom, though, if he wants to be nearby. God knows I would…"

"I'm fine with that, if he is. We'll ask him once he gets out there."

Eventually, Brian leaves the shower and agrees to sleep in the same room as the pair. Together, they all lift and move the couch into the bedroom, pushing it up under a window. 

It doesn't matter, though. By the time morning comes, the three were in the same bed, under the same blanket, cuddling together. I could get used to this, Brian thought, snoring slightly in his sleep.