[Jay let slip that there was a thing back home but maybe it could've been forgotten. Maybe they wouldn't have picked up on the meaning.]
[Always was an optimist, wasn't he?]
[And Tim knew. Tim knew he'd seen it. Tim knew there was another person here involved in this mess, and he didn't say anything. Just decided not to mention it.]
[Fuck.]
[He buries his face in his hands, forces himself to breathe.]
[Tim didn't--]
[Tim didn't have to tell him.]
[He wasn't obligated to tell him.]
[Tim mentioned that it could teleport, but who's the one who dragged it into the conversation last October, huh? Who's the one who started running his mouth? Sure, it might not have made sense to somebody without the context, but to somebody who's seen it?]
[Maybe Tim assumed he already knew. Maybe Tim gave him an explanation, after Jay said too much.]
[This isn't Tim's fault, is it?]
[It's both of them.]
Sorry.
[It's quiet, mumbled behind his hands.]
I'm sorry.
[It hurts. His chest aches and he can feel his face flushing and it's a small mercy Sans decided not to use video.]
[But there's something good wound up in it, too. It pulls together a narrative. It makes things make sense. Something bad happened, and it's somebody's fault, rather than it just being just something that happened because the world's chaotic and meaningless and sometimes people decide that killing their friends makes them a hero and sometimes the monster outside a sick kid's window was real all along and sometimes just trying to capture it all on film makes it worse.]
[Might not be true, though, that's the trouble. It's never that simple.]
[Jay takes in a deep breath, and the sound is wet and ugly and obvious.]
've you been sick? Fever, chills, that kind of thing?
[voice]
[He's seen it.]
[Jay let slip that there was a thing back home but maybe it could've been forgotten. Maybe they wouldn't have picked up on the meaning.]
[Always was an optimist, wasn't he?]
[And Tim knew. Tim knew he'd seen it. Tim knew there was another person here involved in this mess, and he didn't say anything. Just decided not to mention it.]
[Fuck.]
[He buries his face in his hands, forces himself to breathe.]
[Tim didn't--]
[Tim didn't have to tell him.]
[He wasn't obligated to tell him.]
[Tim mentioned that it could teleport, but who's the one who dragged it into the conversation last October, huh? Who's the one who started running his mouth? Sure, it might not have made sense to somebody without the context, but to somebody who's seen it?]
[Maybe Tim assumed he already knew. Maybe Tim gave him an explanation, after Jay said too much.]
[This isn't Tim's fault, is it?]
[It's both of them.]
Sorry.
[It's quiet, mumbled behind his hands.]
I'm sorry.
[It hurts. His chest aches and he can feel his face flushing and it's a small mercy Sans decided not to use video.]
[But there's something good wound up in it, too. It pulls together a narrative. It makes things make sense. Something bad happened, and it's somebody's fault, rather than it just being just something that happened because the world's chaotic and meaningless and sometimes people decide that killing their friends makes them a hero and sometimes the monster outside a sick kid's window was real all along and sometimes just trying to capture it all on film makes it worse.]
[Might not be true, though, that's the trouble. It's never that simple.]
[Jay takes in a deep breath, and the sound is wet and ugly and obvious.]
've you been sick? Fever, chills, that kind of thing?
[Do monsters get sick?]