"Stop doing that."

Tim shoots an annoyed glare at Jay, who is sitting in the passenger seat of Tim's car. They're on a highway, but Tim isn't exactly sure which county they're in; after four hours of straight driving everything's starting to just melt together. They haven't seen any sign of Alex in weeks, and totheark is disturbingly quiet. So they continue driving, trying to keep both of Alex and totheark off of their trail, and hopefully find some answers while doing so. Tim turns his attention back to the road in front of him, but he can feel Jay's questioning gaze on him.

Jay frowns. "Doing what?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"No, actually I'm at a loss. Do tell."

Tim rolls his eyes, then nods in Jay's general direction. "Your hand."

Jay glances at the offending body part. "My hand is annoying you?"

Tim lets out a frustrated sigh. "No. That tapping you're doing with your hand. Stop it."

Jay studies the hand that had been resting on the door's armrest for a moment, as though trying to decide if his hand was truly guilty of the accused action or not. "What, you mean when I tap along with the music?"

"If that's what you want to call it. It's not like you have any sense of rhythm to begin with." Tim was half-joking, but really though – Jay's musical intuitions were pretty much at a solid zero.

"Well excuse me," Jay scoffs. He tries to sound offended, but Tim can detect a hint of amusement in his voice. "I can't help it; it's a habit."

"Then break it."

"Don't you think we have bigger things to worry about than my absent-minded, hand-tapping habit?"

"Yeah, I've been trying to sort them all out in my head, but your tapping keeps distracting me."

"You have a pretty low attention-span, if you ask me."

"I didn't."

"Well, I didn't ask for a critique on my musical abilities."

Tim allows a grin to flash across his face. "Sorry. But seriously Jay, I'm worried. Do you have any knowledge of the musical world?"

Jay thinks hard for a moment. "I made a guitar out of an empty kleenex box and toilet paper roll when I was in elementary school."

Tim smirks. "And how did that turn out?"

"I strummed the rubber bands too hard and two of them broke. Then the toiler paper roll handle fell off."

"That is the most pathetic thing I've ever heard."

"Thanks, Tim. That really warms my heart."

"No problem, bud."

/

"Here comes the cavalcade. With the armored cars, armored cars like berettas. Flags on antennas designed to keep me safe, keep me safe…"

"Wh-what…?" Tim sputters as he straightens from the uncomfortable position he had fallen into. After a lot of coaxing from Jay, he had finally given in and allowed Jay to drive his car while he slept in the passenger seat. He's not sure how long he had been out, but it looked like the sun was starting to set, so it had been a few hours at least.

"Look who decided to drop back into the state of consciousness," Jay says cheerily, his eyes darting to Tim for a split second before returning to the road before them.

Tim groans softly, stretching his cramped neck. He glances at the radio, which he can see Jay's ipod has been plugged into. "What are we listening to?" he asks, deadpan.

"The Lumineers," Jay says matter-of-factly. "What, you haven't heard of them?"

Tim scoffs slightly. "Annoying banjo music isn't my thing."

Jay throws Tim an exasperated glance. "Okay first off, I'm pretty sure that's a guitar, Mr. I-Know-Everything-About-Music. Second, it's called folk rock. Or indie rock. Take your pick."

"It sounds pretentious either way."

Jay sighs. "We've been listening to your music for days. I thought while you were thankfully knocked out for a few hours I could indulge in some tasteful music."

"What do you mean 'thankfully'?"

"Besides, don't you listen to anything besides rock? And classic rock?"

"That's two things right there."

"They're the same thing. Some bands are just decades older than the others."

"Modern rock has evolved in tons of different ways from classic rock. For good and bad."

"You're right. There's less out-of-tune screaming in classic rock."

"I'm concerned for you. Please tell me you listen to something other than indie 'rock.'" Tim's face scrunches up as he says the last word, as though he had just caught a whiff of a particular bad smelling piece of food.

"What if I don't?"

"Then I'm throwing your ipod out of the car window."

"I'm glad we're willing to handle this dispute like grown adults. Maybe you should broaden your horizons in music beyond rock and…rock."

"I listen to country sometimes. Older country."

"Ugh."

"You can't dis all the American classics, Jay. It's…it's un-American!"

"I'll keep that extremely well thought-out comment in mind."

Tim throws Jay a dirty look.

Jay shifts his hands on the steering wheel slightly as he leads the car over the gently winding road. "What about Mumford and Sons? I think you'd like them."

"Doubt it."

"Come on, I'll play a song."

"No."

But Jay's already holding the ipod. A quick glance down at it and then he presses his thumb to the screen. "Oops," he says, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Really, Jay?"

"Just give it a try."

The sound of the fast-paced strumming of a guitar suddenly bursts from the car's speakers. Tim's frown is set; he almost looks like he wants to cross his arms in defiance.

"Weep for yourself, my man, you'll never be what is in your heart. Weep, little lion man, you're not as brave as you were at the start…"

Jay risks a glance. Tim still has a frown on his face, but as the guitar and singer continue, it seems to lessen. Just a tad, but Jay is sure he can see it.

"But it was not your fault but mine. And it was your heart on the line. I really fucked it up this time, didn't I, my dear? Didn't I my…"

By the chorus, Tim's frown is completely gone. He's simply staring ahead, watching the road intently as the song plays. His lips are pressed together, but not in an angry way. He seems almost…unnerved by the song. Or by it's lyrics, more precisely.

The song ends, and Jay looks over at Tim. Tim feels Jay's gaze and blinks hard before looking over.

"It was…it was alright."

Jay smiles. "It wasn't painful?"

"Well, some parts of it were. The music during the chorus kinda was. But it wasn't horrible."

"Mumford is pretty similar to the Lumineers, you know."

"Yeah, well, maybe Mumford and whatever sings about better things."

"Based on the one song you heard from each of them," Jay says in a doubtful tone.

Tim shrugs. "Whatever." He gives Jay an accusing stare. "What about you? I relented, I listened to your music."

"I've been listening to your music for days, remember?"

"Well, aren't there any bands that you've liked? Come on, you have to like at least one of them."

Jay taps his finger on the steering wheel. "Yeah, I liked Creedence…uh…"

"Creedence Clearwater Revival?"

"Yeah, them. They're good."

Tim snorts. "They would be your favorite."

"Shut up. No – I like most of the classic rock you've been playing." He frowns thoughtfully. "I think my mom liked classic rock. We'd play it when driving to…somewhere." He grimaces. "I don't remember, exactly."

Tim glances away for a second, suddenly feeling awkward without an appropriate response ready for that. But Jay doesn't seem to notice Tim's sudden change in his demeanor and continues with a shrug. "Anyways, I'm starving. Want some McDonald's?" he nods at the upcoming exit sign, which has pictures of the icons for a gas station and the apparent one choice for food.

Eager for a change of subject, Tim nods. "Yeah, sure."

/

This would happen to Jay. Everything happens to Jay. Well, everything that could have been avoided if he had been using his brain happens to him. Tim shakes his head as he takes another sip from the soda can he had found shoved to the back of his car's trunk. The liquid is warm, and it's a cheap knock-off of Coca-Cola, but at least it's something.

Tim glances behind him. He's sitting in the front seat of his car, with the door open and his legs draping over the side of the seat so his feet are resting against the dusty blacktop his car is parked on. Behind him Jay is lying unconscious across the backseat, his right leg and head heavily bandaged.

Jay had insisted that they go. It was an old sawmill, and Jay was sure that it had been related to Marble Hornets in some way. Jay couldn't explain it exactly, but he thought he remembered it as a potential filming location Alex had been considering for his movie. But Jay's memory is hardly anything close to reliable nowadays, so it wasn't a lot to go on. Besides, the place looked dangerous enough. But Jay was insistent, and so they went.

He was so excited about the possibility of finding something that might help them that Jay was the first one in the long-abandoned building. The place looked like the slightest of breezes would knock it over, if not solely from weather damage then from the heavy termite infestation it reeked of. Tim should have known better. But before Tim could consider trying to talk Jay into leaving, there had been a loud crack, and then Jay was plummeting through the floor into the storage basement below.

Tim's medical skills are far from anything to brag about, but he did the best he could. Luckily, Jay hadn't broken anything – at least, Tim is 99% sure he hadn't broken anything – and the bleeding from the gash on his head and leg hadn't been too heavy. A good half an hour later, after struggling with medical gauze and cussing up a storm, Jay is finally bandaged and Tim is sitting grumpily in the front seat. Now all Tim has to do is wait for Jay to wake up. Which could be a while since –

"Wh…at…"

Tim jerks around in his seat. Jay is shifting slightly, his face scrunched up in a painful expression as he opens his eyes. "What happened…" he mutters as he attempts to sit-up; he immediately sinks back to the seat, groaning and holding his forehead.

Tim grins slightly, hoping to hide the aching relief that's pouring through him. "You fell through that termite-eaten floor, idiot. After I said it wasn't safe to explore that building."

"Yeah, well, I figured someone had to grow a pair if we wanna get anywhere in figuring all of this out…"

"That's nice."

Jay ignores Tim, moaning slightly as he rubs his forehead. "I have the worst headache."

"Here." Tim leans towards the passenger front seat and rummages through his duffel bag he had left there after getting gauze and antibiotic cream from it. "I have some painkillers. A ton of painkillers, actually."

"Good." Jay closes his eyes, falling silent. Fully conscious now, he's finally able to take in his surroundings. He smells the heavy dampness in the air; the warning of a coming rainstorm. And hears the distant roaring of the nearby highway (he wonders if they're parked at a truck stop). Then his ears pick up the soft music coming from the car's radio.

"I headed west; I was a man on the move. New York had lied to me, I needed the truth. Oh, I need somebody, needed someone I could trust. I don't gamble, but if I did I would bet on us…"

Jay's eyes shoot open. He turns his head to look at Tim's bent form, wincing slightly at the protest his raging headache gives him. "You're listening to the Lumineers!"

Tim stiffens slightly. He turns to slowly face Jay, a bottle of painkillers loosely held in his hand. "Uh…"

"Ha!" Jay says triumphantly. He slowly sits up, bracing his arms against the car door for support. "'Indie rock sucks' my ass!"

"I never said it sucks…" Tim mutters with a frown. Then he shakes his head haughtily. "I was just playing your ipod and it…it came on…"

"Sure," Jay says smugly. "Sure, Tim." He holds out his hand expectantly for the painkillers.

Tim scowls. "I have half a mind not to hand these over."

"Fine. I'll play modern country for the rest of today's drive. Taylor Swift to be exact. And you'll have to let me, because I'm the injured one. So I get sympathy-pick of the music."

Tim shoves the bottle into Jay's hand. "That's bullshit. Your ipod would be out the window before the chorus even started. I'm only handing them over because I don't want to hear your whining for the rest of the day."

"I'm glad you care so much about my well-being."

"It's not like you've been shot, Jay. I think you'll survive."

Jay shrugs, a slight grin on his face.

Tim rolls his eyes. "Are you getting up here? Or are you spending the rest of the ride in the backseat?"

Jay climbs into the front passenger seat, grimacing slightly as he moves.

"Or you could do that instead of using the doors…" Tim mutters sarcastically, quickly pulling his duffel bag to the floor of the car to make room for Jay.

Jay plops down into the seat, looking slightly pale after putting weight on his leg, but obviously pleased with himself all the same.

"Ready?" Tim asks, the tone of sarcasm still highly evident in his voice.

Jay swallows two painkiller pills with chug of water from the water bottle that had been shoved in-between the seat and the door. Tossing the pill bottle onto the open top of Tim's bag, he nods. "Yup."

"Alright, let's try to make the next county before dinner. I refuse to eat at another highway McDonald's for at least a week."

Jay chuckles. "I agree."