secondhandsome | ic inbox

Oh god...

[As it becomes clearer what exactly Jack's talking about, Tim gets paler and paler. He wouldn't really handle a description like that well on a good day. With these circumstances? Yeah, hell no.

Wait, is Jack really asking him--

Is he serious?]

Wh-- Y-You've gotta be... [He shifts more, as much as he can. Still no way out. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.] How about neither?

[There's a lot of panic there. His breathing feels weird. Too fast. And everything still feels weird from the drugs and alcohol and none of this is helping. He can barely even think straight, let alone figure out how to get out of this.

There probably isn't any way out of this, is there?]

Okay, buddy....uh....

[Shit, is his name actually Timothy? Jack honestly isn't sure. That sounds right, but it's been years, and he didn't pay much attention back when the guy had been hired. But he's got to get through to his doppelganger somehow.]

[It's not like he doesn't have sympathy here. He does! He knows what this is like. But once his double accepts that this is what's going down, it'll be easier on both of them.]

It's 'Tim', right? Tim, you gotta listen. This is happening. It's already happened. Just...not yet for you. And it's gonna hurt. But I'm gonna do everything I can to make it as easy and comfortable for you as I can. But hey, trust me, you handle it like a champ!

[He resumes stroking the other man's hair.]

You're tough, buddy. Like me. I know you can handle this. So you can either make the choice, or I'll make it for ya.

[At the sound of his name, Tim's eyes go wide. The reaction isn't unlike when the physical contact started, with him freezing up again. A deer in headlights.

It's wrong. It's wrong, hearing Jack say his name like that, like he's... like he's trying to help? And he can't believe this is how he's hearing the sound of his own name again, after pushing away the one person he told about it. He's hearing it from Jack.

He's hearing it from someone who doesn't give a shit about the person with that name, because Jack sure had done his best to completely erase who Tim used to be. Is erasing him even more by doing this.]

I-I...

...

[So no, this doesn't help. The panic's getting worse and he wants to talk back, argue, plead, yell, something, but all the words are so tangled together that he can't form anything anymore.

"You're tough. I know you can handle this."

"You're a vault hunter. Jack won't be a problem for you at all."

Why do people keep saying shit like that to him? No, he's not tough. He can't handle this, he can't handle anything like this, he wasn't made for all this bullshit. He just wants to go far, far away from all of this...

The silence stretches on, but Tim doesn't even really realize it. The drugs are still messing with him. Combine that with the panic and his sense of time is all kinds of messed up.

Looks like you're gonna have to make the call here, Jack.]

I'd put you out if I could. Hey, maybe you'll pass out anyway!

[Poor guy's not doing great already. Jack guesses that was one advantage he had. he hadn't known it was coming. There was no time to prepare, but no time to think about it, either. One second he's sitting there with visions flowing through his mind, the next...]

[His friggin face is on fire and he can't see and that bitch is laughing as she vanishes, leaving him in that ancient place.]

Okay. Okay. Uh....to be fair, I've never taken out anybody's eye carefully. I got a melon-baller to luxate the eyeball itself - that's when it's popped out but still attached - and a kitchen knife to sever the optical nerves cleanly. 'Cause you're not gonna be able to see out of it anyway. Oh, and some heavy duty eye drops, to lube it up real good. It's gonna hurt way more, but it'd probably be better in the long run.

Uh...it's not fun, taking care of a half melted, blind eyeball. And the lid's never gone work quite right again anyway...

[Jack's just talking his doppelnanger through it, trying to decide which would be the best option. He's not sure if the other guy's gonna offer anything more to the decision, now that it seems like Jack's making up his mind.]

Oh, and I got a jar, so you can keep it, if ya want. I will, if you don't want it.

[Passing out is definitely looking like a real possibility here. Tim's kind of hoping for it. Just let everything go black, make this stop, don't make him experience it.

But he's still conscious, as much as he hates it. He still has to listen to Jack talk. The longer this goes on, the more it becomes clear that the wooziness isn't just from the drugs still in his system. He's feeling sick and if he were in any position to do it, he'd be throwing up right about now. But that's not happening when he's like this.

Everything he wants to say is still spinning around in his head, too, and so he barely has any control over what words finally come out.]

No? I don't want to keep-- holy shit...

[Of course the jar thing is what did it.

Jack you don't ask someone that what the fuck.]

Okay, okay! Figured I'd ask. It's your eye. Some people like keeping that kind of stuff.

[But fine, he'll keep it. It's his as much as it his doppelganger's.]

But it looks like we've come to a decision! Go us. You want some more booze before I do it? I...I kinda want some myself, but that'd...that'd be a super bad idea right now! Ha, can you imagine if I put out the wrong eye? Oh god...nah, don't worry, I'm sober as a judge!

[His hands won't shake, he won't slip. This has to be done right. If he screws up, he has to just flat out kill the other guy. That way they can start over fresh. And no one wants that.]

[Aw, crap. It's getting close to time, though. Time to say goodbye for good. It's not like he's got any other surgically altered body doubles that could show up.]

[Hey, Jack, you know what doesn't help someone having a panic attack? Joking about shit like that. Do not, holy shit.

And, god, what the hell is he supposed to say here? "Yes boss, please give me more alcohol before you fucking take out my eye?"]

I-I don't fucking know, I... [It's funny how despite the fact that he can't move and his head is secured, it still feels like the whole room is spinning. It's all too much, honestly.] Fuck...

I'm taking that as a yes. Open up.

[It's not like a hangover's anything to worry about at this point. And it's better, that his system is flooded with booze.]

Ya know...I hope you realize that I'm not enjoying this. I'd rather we didn't have to do this, too. I don't want you to have to go through this. Shit, you're one of the only people around here who's actually my friggin friend. And...

[Jack sighs. He runs a hand over his own maskless face, feeling the strange difference in texture where the mark lay.]

I like your face, buddy. I miss it. I don't want to ruin it. But I can't...it doesn't exist anymore. Not for me, not for you. Christ, it's...it's really too bad you never returned my interest. That...that woulda been something.

[And now the options completely gone. He's always held out some sliver of hope that his double would warm up to him like that.]

On the other hand, probably for the best, I dunno if I could do this, if we had that kinda thing going on. It'd be a lot harder.

[He probably still could do it, though.]

[The extra booze probably is a good thing, not that he's really appreciating that right now.

He's also not appreciating anything Jack is saying right now. Oh, he's not enjoying this? Gee, too fucking bad for him! Jack calling him his friend just makes this all the worse. Because it confirms that, yeah, he actually is on Jack's good side right now.

And all this time he thought if he just stayed there, then things would be fine. Or... fine-ish, at least. He thought something like this would only happen if he really fucked up. If Jack's paranoia acted up. Something that might've logically led to Jack deciding to hurt him.

He didn't think it would just... happen anyway.

And just when he thinks this is all the worst it can be, Jack has to bring up his interest. Fucking hell. And the worst thing is that him saying that immediately makes Tim wonder if things wouldn't have ended up like this if he'd gone for it.

That thought makes him even more nauseous than the rest of this conversation. He's not even going to respond to that, because... fuck if he knows what to even say.]

There we go... alright. You should be about as liquor jacketed as ya can be. Guess we oughtta get this going...

[His fingers linger on the other man's face a moment. It's really such a shame. All that beautiful work...]

[Jack turns away with a tight expression. He moves around the basement, getting the tray with the implements he'd purchased in anticipation of needing to remove his double's eye. And he flips a radio on to instrumental music, proper music, because the tinny constant music that permeates this planet is really starting to grate on him.]

[He puts on a plastic apron and pulls on a pair of latex gloves and safety glasses, to protect himself from the worst of whatever mess they end up making. Cleanliness is important.]

I'm not gonna go slow, slow's worse. So take a minute now, try and prepare yourself. Not...not that ya really can, but you know what I mean. Say 'goodbye' to your eye, or whatever.

[Get this going... Oh Christ, this is actually happening.

The alcohol's really hitting him now, but it doesn't really help calm him down at all. There's only so much it can do, apparently. Tim finds himself hoping it really will dull the pain and is immediately horrified at that thought, because that's almost resignation.

But there isn't any way of getting out of this. Even if he somehow manages to get loose, then what? He's all drugged up, intoxicated, still in the middle of a panic attack... There's no way he could get out of this room. And no one knows he's here. No one is gonna save him.

This really is happening.]

Oh god...

[Yeah, he won't be prepared for this in a million goddamn years.]

[There's no god here, only Jack. Who's fiddling with the melon baller and testing the best way to hold it. He's done his research, at least. He knows more or less that he's doing.]

Deep breaths. This is gonna hurt. And probably feel really weird.

[Jack stands over the other man, lips pursed together in thought. It's weird, looking down at his own face like this, knowing what he's about to do. He hesitates a moment, reluctant to destroy something he loves so much...]

[But there's no choice, in his mind. Not with his own face a marked, one-eyed mess. They both have to match.]

[Jack's free hand covers the left side of his double's face, and he uses his fingers to hold open the other man's eyelid. He's straddling the other man, head tilted to compensate for his own skewed vision.]

Deep breath.

[He's not sure if that's for him or the guy who's about to get an orbital enucleation. He does take a deep breath of his own as he begins to slide the metal edge of the melon baller between Timothy's eyeball and socket.]

[There really wasn't any preparing for this. Even if he'd actually tried and, well, he didn't... couldn't, really. It would've pointless. He realizes that as soon as the pain hits.]

Fuck!

[And boy. Does it hit.

The feeling is wrong, so wrong, his whole body is yelling at him to do something. But he can't. All he can do is sit there and hope he just passes out already.]

I know, I know.

[Well, not really, but Jack can imagine. He's scooped out enough live eyeballs to know it's not a fun thing to go through. Even if he's being careful and precise, wielding the kitchen tool like he would a pen laser on a piece of delicate circuitry. Even with that, he's still scooping out the guy's eye with a melon baller.]

[He does have to be careful though, and try and ignore his double's screams of pain. He doesn't want to accidentally damage the nerves behind the eye, he wants it to be a clean procedure. So he has to carefully angle the metal scoop to slide behind Two's eyeball and get a good leverage, but not press on the bundle of sensitive ocular nerves on the string behind it.]

[It's finicky work. And wow, that is a squelching sort of squishy noise. And yup, there's the goop. Just a thin stream of it, trickling down the other man's cheek as Jack starts rotating the scoop, making a full circle around the eye socket. Which is harder than he'd thought, the eye's kind of sucking at the metal. Oh, ew.]

[But when he thinks he's loosened the orb properly, Jack starts applying gentle pressure to the handle of the melon baller, intending to pop the eye cleanly out.]

[God, it hurts. It hurts so much. Tim can barely even follow the whole process, the pain just... too distracting. He's definitely letting out more cries of pain, as... can only be expected. He couldn't stop that if he tried.

The pain isn't distracting enough to prevent him from feeling that... squishing. It sends another surge of pain, obviously, but also nausea. He doesn't want to think about this. The feelings, the sounds... Fuck, just let it be over already. He wonders how far along Jack is, before immediately pushing that thought away. It comes back again anyway.

He doesn't want to think about it, but it's all he can think about.

He's breathing very heavily. He's still awake. Why is he still awake?]

[Jack can feel the eye start to give. Okay.]

I dunno how much you can actually register at this point, but...yeah. The eye's coming out, but it's still attached to the nerve string. You're gonna want to keep your other eye closed, unless you wanna be seeing in two different directions at the same time.

[He really doesn't know if Number Two's in any position to hear him, the way he's making noise. Thank god the basement's insulated and absorbs most sound. He leans forward with a small grunt, adding pressure, and...there it goes. With an unpleasant wet noise, the other man's left eye pops out and rolls gently down his cheek.]

Oh shit, that is super gross.

[He isn't registering much of what Jack's saying, no. The advice of closing his eye... just barely makes it through. And while he's not exactly eager to listen to anything Jack tells him to do right now, he finds himself doing it anyway. Maybe that's just instinct now.

Which might worry him under normal circumstances, but right now, he doesn't really give a shit.

He feels Jack still... working and then suddenly a disgusting feeling and...]

Holy... Holy shit...

[This? This is definitely the most horrifying thing he's ever experienced. And ever will experience, he hopes. Oh god, he wants to throw up right now. His other eye was already closed, but he closes it even tighter, as if somehow that will help. He does his best to... not focus on his vision. But that only brings him closer to the pain and, really, there's no winning here.

Tim might've seemed pale before, but now he's just white as a sheet.]

Oh this is so gross....

[Jack makes a face as he gently cups the dangling eyeball. He exchanges the melon tool for the sharpened kitchen knife and leans in close, inspecting the ropy string of pink that stretches back into the socket. At least this part will be nice and quick.]

Brace yourself, buddy.

[With a flick of his wrist, Jack neatly severs the ocular nerves and the eye falls free into the palm of his hand with a soft wet sound.]

[Tim sucks in a breath at that, as what happens... happens.

He's a mess right now. Everything's just this... haze of pain, intoxication, and panic. It's funny that because of that, the loss of vision barely even registers. It's low on his list of priorities right now, all things considered.

Well. Until the reality of it starts to set in. The realization that he's actually just lost an eye there. Tim tries to breathe evenly, calm himself down if only a little, but it's... honestly wasted effort.

He's only just barely hanging on to consciousness - he's not sure if it's the pain keeping him awake, or if it's adrenaline, or... who knows. Whatever it is, he fucking hates it.]

[Well, that had been disgusting. Even for Jack. Much as he likes carnage and violence, some stuff, up close...just not cool.]

[He lets Two deal with the pain as best he can, dropping the eyeball into a jar of some preservative with a splash. Now he needs to get the brand nice and hot. But that's why he brought his dog down with him.]

[He's got a charcoal grill full of smoldering coals, which he gets Doom Boner to breathe some fresh fire on, getting them blazing hot again. The puppy seems completely unbothered by what's going on around him - it's not like it interrupts his comfortable life any.]

Just hang on, buddy, we're almost done!

[And he's got sleeping pills for Two, in case he doesn't pass out. Once the worst is over, it'll be fine.]

[The coals are a bright red, and Jack thrusts the arched metal brand into them, letting it sit to absorb the searing heat.]

[At this point, Tim's really just... focusing on his breathing. It's better than focusing on the pain. Not that the focus is helping him breathe well or anything, but it's... it's something. His remaining eye is still closed for now and he's not exactly eager to open it again.

He doesn't really register anything else right now, unsurprisingly. He vaguely hears Jack say something, but the words are lost to him right now. And honestly, he doesn't want to think about what Jack might be saying anyway. It's probably not something good. That's always a safe assumption anyway, but especially now.

All he can do is wait for Jack. Isn't that just great?]

[The basement is quiet except for the music and the hiss of coals and metal. And an occasional sleepy snort from Doom Boner. Jack's letting the metal get as hot as it can. Eventually, he takes the wrapped leather handle and removes the bright red bend of metal.]

[No going back now. Not that there ever was, but... this is it. The final act. The last desecration of his god given face.]

[And he's doing it himself.]

[Sighing with a regret that's difficult to put into words, Jack turns back to Number Two. Poor guy. But he'll be fine eventually.]

Hey...still with me? Do not move your face at all. If you do, you'll mess it up, and I'm gonna have to just drive the whole thing into your brain so you wake up at the Poke Center and we can start over.

[Tim opens his eye again when Jack is talking to him, though only slightly. His vision is blurry and hazy and not right, but he doesn't pay attention to that. He's trying to pay attention to the words, because this sounds important and--

Oh Christ.

He wonders if dying really would reset this. If it did, then it'd be better, but god. He still doesn't know if that's at all how it works. And he really, really doesn't want Jack to do... that. Fuck, even if he wakes up in the Center, then what? Jack would probably just be waiting for him and he really would have to go through all this again.

Then again, he doesn't want this to go right either. Not that it matters. If what he wanted ever mattered, he wouldn't be in this position right now.]

R-right...

[He barely even registers saying that word and there's a nice amount of self hatred that goes along with it, because of all the goddamn things to say to Jack right now. But he's still too much in shock to say any of the things he really wants to.]

[Thank god the other guy's conscious enough to comprehend. Jack really does not want to go through this again, and he knows Two sure as hell doesn't.]

[He wets his lips, single eye clouded with touches of nostalgia, regret, and something hard. He angles himself over his double, his free hand moving once more over his face. Just...one last time. Even missing the eye, the socket raw and leaking, it's beautiful.]

[But he can't take long, he needs the brand blazing hot. It's still a bright, fiery orange red. There's steam or smoke or something coming off of it, and it gives off a tangy odor of something like rust.]

It's almost over.

[With those words, he lines up the brand and before he can second guess himself, he thrusts it against his doppelganger's face.]

[Tim is almost grateful for how messed up his vision is right now, because it means he can't really see Jack's expression right now. The brand, though, that's hard to miss. It's just about all he can see.

And then... it comes closer.

The instinct to move is there, but he's paralyzed by many things right now. So despite what his subconscious is screaming at him to do, he stays still.

As soon as the burning metal touches his skin, everything explodes into searing pain. He'd thought the eye had been bad and it had been, but this isn't just in one spot, this is his whole face. It feels like he's on fire and he doesn't want to think about what it's doing to his skin right now. No, he doesn't need to think about it. He can feel it happening, after all. Buried underneath the pain.

The screaming is worse too, but Tim barely even hears his own voice. Everything is pain right now in a very literal sense - anything that isn't the pain might as well have disappeared.

It's only been moments but it feels like an eternity.]

(no subject)

thedifferencebetween - 2016-10-11 00:28 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

secondhandsome - 2016-10-11 00:44 (UTC) - Expand

ic inbox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Warnings: PHYSICAL TORTURE STARTS IN THIS TAG

all the warnings oh my god

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)