IMPORTANT A/N: This story contains major spoilers for everything in Marble Hornets, including the ending, because it takes place after the end of the series. So, this is your warning on that.
I came up with this story when I was supposed to be cleaning my room. I really kinda like it. Yes, this has an OC, but don't worry, he doesn't become a main character. He's just in a small percentage of the chapters. Everything orbits around Tim.
Please leave a review, and I'll put you on the wall of fame! I'll try to keep track as much as possible. If I miss your name, please tell me, and I'll take care of it right away, because I appreciate and love all of my readers.
As always, I do not share any views expressed by any characters in this story. And I own nothing in this story, besides Bradley and the other minor characters.
Okay, please read, review, and enjoy!
Everything is fine.
That was the last anyone heard of Tim. By the time he'd uploaded the last entry, he'd already left Alabama, and somehow ended up in Oklahoma. Tim could hardly remember, but he thought he recalled the urge to head for Mexico as he was passing through Arkansas. However, after just entering Oklahoma, that feeling dissipated, and Tim pulled off to stay at a crusty motel.
He laid on the stiff, rented bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was dark, except for the crack of light that weaved its way through the curtain, coming from the streetlamp outside his window. He was unable to sleep. Tim had stopped having coughing fits since he left Alabama, and that partially made him nervous. You would think he'd be happy; no more coughing, no more tall thing in a suit, no more…Alex.
No more Brian.
No more Jay.
'God, Jay.' Tim pressed his palms to his eyes, and took in a deep, shuddering breath. Even Jay was gone. Jay was the person Tim never wanted to lose. 'It should've been me.'
Tim decided that it'd be best for him to stay in Oklahoma, try to start a new life. He remained in the motel for about five days while he hunted for an apartment. Tim didn't have much money left, so he had no other choice but to call a man named Bradley about becoming his roommate. They met up in a diner down the road from the motel Tim had been staying in. Tim even brought the newspaper with him, as if he'd have to show Bradley's ad back to him like an invitation to a party.
Bradley had dark – almost black – hair, and a short goatee. He was smaller than Tim, but was in really good shape. Like, damn he must be a fitness junkie, one of those guys that scale mountains for fun. Bradley ordered a coffee and a turkey club; Tim ate nothing. He just sat with his elbows folded on the table, rereading the ad.
"You're not from around here, are you?" Bradley asked, his left cheek full of bread and turkey. He smiled, his thick eyebrows raising up to almost disappear into his hairline.
Tim sighed a laugh. "Is it that easy to see through me?"
"Like your dad was a glass maker." When Tim quirked a brow, Bradley waved it away. "It's a joke that's not really funny."
Bradley seemed like an outgoing guy, but he didn't push Tim or ask him what was wrong, or what led him here, and Tim appreciated that. After the twenty minutes they spent in the diner, there wasn't much need for debate. Tim was going to be Bradley's new roommate. Being the nice guy that he was, Bradley even told Tim not to worry about paying his half of the rent until he found a job. Tim wondered why Bradley automatically trusted him so much. Usually, he had the opposite effect on people.
However, Bradley was a bit questioning when Tim's only possessions fit in a backpack and a duffel bag. "Where's the rest of your stuff?" he asked when Tim arrived in his apartment building. "Is it back home?"
Tim cleared his throat, rubbing the strap of his duffel bag between his fingers. "This is…all I have." He could feel the tension as if it were palpable. Thankfully, Bradley just nodded, and they made their way upstairs.
Bradley's apartment wasn't too big – 2 bed, 1 bath, with a smallish living area and a kitchen with a two-seater table in the corner by the window. There was a communal washroom downstairs, but that didn't bother Tim. He was used to having to go to Laundromats to get his clothes cleaned while he and Jay were on the road together. He made a mental note to buy more clothes once he started making money.
Tim set his bags on his new bed, which was thankfully already dressed. There was a tall dresser in the room, a nightstand with a dim lamp, and a closet with a sliding door, but not much else. Once he was settled in, Tim walked back out to the living room, where Bradley was scanning the channels on the TV. "So, umm," Tim began, standing behind the couch, unsure if he wanted to sit down, "what happened to your old roommate?" When Bradley glanced up at him, Tim clarified, "I mean, why do you need a roommate now?"
Bradley turned back to the TV before answering, "Last roommate just moved in with his girlfriend. Kind of a 'spur of the moment' thing. Guy didn't really give me a heads up until he was practically already gone."
Tim decided it might be rude for him to not sit down, so he plopped on the couch, leaving space between himself and Bradley. "How long ago was that?"
"Just a couple weeks ago. The rent isn't too much or anything like that." Bradley chuckled. "Guess I just get kinda lonely living here by myself."
With a nod, Tim replied, "That's understandable. I, uh, I used to live with a guy for…a long time. Felt too weird not having him around." Tim swallowed. Thinking about Jay just turned his insides now, but it couldn't be helped.
"Oh yeah?" Bradley asked. "How long did you live with him?"
Tim tried to remember. He and Jay had started sticking together after Jay left Tim in the tunnel at Rosswood, and Tim went missing for some time. Jay had a fear of losing Tim again after that, so Tim stayed with him just to keep him from worrying. With time, Tim depended on Jay being there just as much as Jay depended on him. "It was…a little over a year. Maybe 14 months? So, I guess not that long. But, we were always together. He was one of the few constant factors in my life."
Bradley shrugged. "So, why'd he leave?"
A pain rose in Tim's throat, like a weight was pressing there – not enough to choke him, but enough to be very uncomfortable. Tim swallowed in an attempt to relieve the tension, but to no avail. "He, uh, he died." Tim became very interested in the glass coffee table. "Jay died, not long ago."
"Oh." Bradley looked down at his hands for a moment, then back over to Tim. "Jesus, that's rough. I…I'm sorry." He gripped Tim's shoulder, rubbing his thumb in a circle there. It felt oddly intimate to Tim, but that must be a regular thing for Bradley, he guessed. Bradley seemed the type to show feelings with actions rather than words.
Tim curled and uncurled the toes of his right, socked foot on the dense carpet. "Thanks for the sympathy."
Bradley took his hand back, then quietly clapped them together in his lap. "Uh, can I ask what happened, or is it still too delicate for that?"
Thinking about the footage of Jay's death brought back the strangling feeling Tim experienced seconds before. This time, he rubbed his throat, then his face. The cold stare on Alex's face as he pointed that gun at Jay; Jay's whimpers of pain as he hid from his friend, turned evil; that thing taking him away. With a pained laugh, Tim finally choked out, "Freak accident."
Bradley didn't pry into Tim's past anymore after that. He must've thought the experience was horrifying enough without having to relive it. He was right.
Tim applied for work at a few different places: a gas station, the same diner where he'd met Bradley, and the local supermarket. This town was so small, Tim didn't have many options for employment. The gas station wasn't looking for anyone to hire. The supermarket denied him because his résumé detailed all the times he'd been fired. Unreliable, that's what Tim was. The diner turned him away after asking about a medical history (probably because he acted suspiciously, and he was obviously a stranger to the town) led to learning that Tim had been in and out of clinics as long as he could remember. Damaged goods, that's all Tim was.
With a stroke of luck, Tim finally found work at the funeral parlor. The old woman who ran the business, Ms. Tucker, didn't ask to see a résumé. She needed a strong pair of arms, and that was something Tim could provide. Tim hated it, but at least it was work. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on other things, Tim constantly saw one of his old friends when someone rolled in a new customer.
It was a Tuesday when Tim finally fell apart. This was the beginning of his third week working at Tucker Funeral Home, and Tim was emotionally exhausted. He placed a check on the counter for Bradley – his half of the rent. They'd been living together for a little over a month now, and Bradley had covered the rent the first time it came up due, but Tim was determined to pay his half now, despite Bradley saying it was fine to wait a little longer. It seemed as though Bradley was surprised Tim found work so soon.
Tim went to his room, changing into comfortable clothes: gray t-shirt, black sweats. Bradley wouldn't be home for a couple of hours, and this was the time each day Tim spent attempting to relax. Lately, Tim had been devoting a lot of thought to the Marble Hornets videos. He was considering getting rid of everything: deleting the videos, the channel, the Twitter account, all of it.
It was supposed to be over now. Only he and Jessica were left. What was the point of hanging onto everything? Tim had thrown away all the tapes before leaving Alabama. He only kept Jay's camera, because he couldn't will himself to part with it. It was stupid, and Tim knew it was. Still, any time he thought about throwing the old camera in the trash, something funny happened to his heart – like a twisting, wringing feeling – and he placed it back in his dresser.
There was a part of Tim that was afraid Jay's family would wonder what had happened to him, and that, maybe, they'd remember Alex and Tim and try to contact them for answers. Maybe they'd look up things relating to Marble Hornets in hopes of finding Alex's email address, or something of the like. Maybe they'd find the channel, and the videos. Maybe they'd see their son's death, and how Tim ran.
The thought caused Tim to collapse to the floor in tears. He desperately tried to keep himself from convulsing, pressing his forehead into the carpet. Tim held himself, blubbering like a child as tears stained his cheeks. He started coughing – though not as violently as he was used to – and rolled onto his side.
Why did it have to end like this, with everyone dead but him, the one that started it all? Tim was to blame, so why had he been spared? Jay and Brian had been the closest things Tim had ever had to friends, to a family. He'd killed Brian, and he'd abandoned Jay. "Jay, oh god, Jay." Tim would've rather died than lost Jay.
"Everyone is dead, because of you!"
Tim started a new batch of tears, crumpling in on himself. He should've burned to death like Alex asked him to. Then maybe that thing would have left for good. But as Tim lay there, swept away in his misery, one thought finally dawned on him: even if he had burned to death, it would've been too late for Jay. There was nothing Tim could have done to save Jay.
After laying there for God knows how long, Tim picked himself up. He hated to think about it at a time like this, but crying could be exhausting, and now he was hungry. As if on cue, Bradley's keys jingled in the door, and he walked in with a big brown bag. It emitted the aroma of fast food burgers, and there was a grease stain at the bottom of the bag, hinting at fries that had been spilled. Bradley probably noticed Tim's puffy eyes and solemn look, but said nothing. Again, Tim was grateful.
Bradley had a guitar that he played sometimes. It was a beautiful instrument: electric blue, shimmering even though it looked kinda old. Usually, when Bradley decided to play it, he'd go in his room and close the door, turn the amp down as far as he could, and play quietly.
That night, after they'd finished their lovely dinner, Bradley retreated to his room, closing his door like normal. Tim had always wanted to mention that it wouldn't bother him if Bradley played louder, and that he didn't have to hide with his guitar. Hearing Bradley play usually reminded Tim of his old house, and the small music room where he liked to hang out with Alex and Brian. These memories weren't painful. Tim sometimes found himself chuckling when he thought of Alex attempting to play his keyboard.
As Tim passed Bradley's room on his way to his own, he could hear Bradley's guitar faintly through the door. He decided to pause, and listen for a moment. There was something else with the guitar, but Tim couldn't quite tell what it was. A few more seconds of eavesdropping led Tim to believe – 'Is Bradley singing?'
Tim pressed his ear to the door, and in fact heard very quiet singing. "One, 21 guns. Lay down your arms, give up the fight. One, 21 guns. Throw up your arms into the sky, you and I."
Tim smiled, and thought, 'Green Day. Nice.' Without considering the consequences, Tim knocked twice, then froze. The music behind the door stopped, and Tim swallowed nervously. Maybe this was a mistake. What was he going to say?
Then Bradley opened the door, a sheepish smile on his face. "Hey Tim. Am I playing too loud?" He shoved his hands into his pockets, a gesture he always used when he was feeling shy. So, that's why he didn't play in front of Tim? He was shy about it? Maybe he didn't think he was any good. Tim would beg to differ.
Not sure what to say at first, Tim cleared his throat before responding, "You play well, dude." Then they were both quiet, and Tim half smiled, telling him, "I may have heard a little when I was walking by your door. It's a good song, and you play it well."
Yep, Bradley was definitely embarrassed. He sighed a laugh, then looked down at the carpet. "Uh, thanks, Tim. Nice of you to say. It's just a hobby, y'know?"
Tim nodded. "Were you singing, too?" he asked. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to see if Bradley would admit it.
Bradley just nodded, then made a sound that definitely said oh god, how embarrassing. "Yeah, uh," he shrugged, "not something I usually do."
With a little laugh that threw Bradley off a bit, Tim stated, "Hey, you're better than you think." They were silent again for a moment, then Tim idled back to the guitar that lay abandoned on Bradley's bed. "Well, you gonna keep playing?"
Bradley looked a bit like a kid as he peered over his shoulder, back at his guitar. "Umm, I was going to." He turned back to Tim. "Did…are you saying you wanna listen more?"
Pursing his lips, Tim replied, "Well, you can either let me in, or I'll be standing outside your door again."
Bradley really did have a nice voice. Tim was able to get a much better opinion of the music now that it didn't come in muffled waves through the door. Tim sat in Bradley's desk chair, just watching Bradley as he started to play again from his bed. Surprisingly, Bradley had to watch his fingers on the chords as he played. Perhaps he hadn't been playing too long. Or, maybe he was just avoiding eye contact with Tim.
He started where he had left off to answer the door, licking his lips before he began to strum the guitar. "When you're at the end of the road, and you've lost all sense of control, and your thoughts have taken their toll; when your mind breaks the spirit of your soul. Your faith walks on broken glass, and the hangover doesn't pass. Nothing's ever built to last. You're in ruins."
Tim sat quietly, just watching and listening to Bradley until the song was over. Bradley played flawlessly, and Tim was a little surprised that he could sing the high notes without struggle. He thought that Bradley probably felt better, not having to be hushed. "Man, you should do that for a living," Tim informed him with a little smile.
Bradley laughed, pulling off his guitar strap and turning off his amp. "Thanks. Uh, I just started learning that song like a week ago." His smile died down a bit as he placed his guitar on its stand. "It reminded me of you."
Tim's face fell slightly. "What do you mean?"
As Bradly put away his amp, he answered, "I just mean…well, it feels like you've been through a lot. I mean, I don't know what the extent is, but… Just forget it."
A few seconds passed, then Tim stood, leaving the room. Back on his own bed, he stared up at the ceiling, thinking over the lyrics. "Shit." Bradley was right; it sounded too much like Tim.
Later that night, Tim once again considered deleting everything related to Marble Hornets. There was nothing stopping him. Why should he keep it all? What was the point? Jay had made everything so "people would know." Well, now they knew. Tim cringed, thinking about how many people were aware of all his dirty secrets, and how he was the cause of so many deaths. They saw how Tim ran away from it all.
Tim sat staring at the Marble Hornets YouTube page. He could get rid of it all. The staring contest continued for a few minutes, before Tim closed Jay's laptop with a sigh, placing it on the nightstand beside his bed. He pulled his lamp's chain, and curled up on his side, prepared to leave this day behind him.
This was always the worst part of his night. When he was laying there in the dark, Tim's mind always wandered to Jay, and how this is just what it used to be like. They would lay in their separate beds, and Tim would stare at the ceiling most of the night. Usually, if he glanced over at Jay, he was still awake too, looking at the red light of the camera. It made Tim wonder how much sleep either of them really got each night.
For some reason, Tim then thought about Jessica. He hadn't talked to her since he left Alabama. He wondered how she was doing, and if she wondered the same about him. Maybe he should call her, just to check on things. Tim mentally slapped himself the second that thought crossed his mind. It was over. He and Jessica had no connection anymore. Still, he hated the fact that she'd stayed in Alabama. What if that thing came after her again? Or, would it leave her alone now that Tim had cut ties with her?
Tim blew some air up towards his forehead in an attempt to brush the bangs from his eyes. With everything that had been happening in the past few years, it'd been hard to reserve time for haircuts. Near the end, Jay cut Tim's hair a few times. He recalled the first time Jay offered to cut his hair, and how Tim protested, saying Jay would cut it unevenly on purpose, or something. Of course, he trusted Jay more than anyone in the world. It actually wound up being incredibly relaxing to have Jay cut his hair. Those were some of Tim's favorite moments.
Many memories swam through Tim's mind before he finally fell asleep, sometime around 1 o'clock AM.
A/N: Seriously, go look up the lyrics to "21 Guns" by Green Day, and tell me that song isn't perfect for Tim. I had to include it; I had to let that point be known.
