The rest of Jason's day was completely normal. No supernatural nonsense, no worries...He was able to forget his troubles and deny anything unnatural had happened at all...
Like hell.
As soon as Jason left his apartment after taking the fateful photograph, he headed straight to the place he felt the most comfortable in this world–besides the dojo, of course. Stonewalls wasn't even open when he arrived, the hour much too early for the nightcrawlers of this oversaturated college town to be on the prowl, and thus, any of the bars to be open. The sun was still high in the sky, but Jason knew the very person he needed would be behind the counter, well on his way to preparing for opening. Damned workaholic. Usually, Jason would be annoyed by the man's tendency to work himself to death, but well...right now, the familiar setting of his favorite hangout would be exactly what he needed.
In a daze, Jason wandered down the worn streets of San Marcos, a small town just south of Austin that was more of a college village than anything else. The university loomed over the town from its place atop the largest hill like some kind of ancient castle, the haphazard collection of old-timey buildings and new condominiums sprawled beneath it in poorly planned mess. The college crowd had long since destroyed the local scene by promptly creating a large demand for alcohol and easy loans, but Jason wasn't complaining. He was still too young yet to care about such things. Though the congested streets could be a hassle–the city wasn't built for its rapidly expanding population–the little-big town suited his bachelor lifestyle just fine.
Before he could blink, it seemed, he was standing in front of the entrance. Guess he spaced out more than he thought, barely remembering the trip there. Next to him was an open porch restaurant and bar, similar to the several others that lined the street. Usually the smell of grilled meat and the lure of pleasant conversation would interest him, as it was a lovely place to spend the evening after all and another place he frequented, but he immediately veered off to the side towards an unmarked door. He banged on it loudly, drawing stares from the people dining, but Jason was too dazed to care much.
After several seconds, he banged on the door again. "Guy, I know you're back there! Let me in!"
Several thumps and curses could be heard from the other side of the door, and Jason rolled his eyes. Guy, the bar's bouncer and live-in, was probably high as a kite right now, 'prepping' for his long night of shunting assholes. Well, too bad.
The door opened abruptly, and sure enough, a wall of smoke carrying the distinct smell of weed wafted out around Jason in a noxious cloud. Jason gave the man that stood in the doorway an unimpressed look, facing down his bloodshot glare with ease. It was a testament to how chill this town was that this loser could blatantly smoke in public every day and the locals–and local police–couldn't give less of a fuck. Ignoring the grumpy frown directed violently at his person, Jason took a long inhale, letting the familiar scent calm him a bit. Man, a hit would really take the edge off right about now...but he was more in a drinking mood, to be honest. Really didn't need potentially-paranoia-inducing hallucinogens at the moment. "Are you going to let me in, or what?"
"What the hell, Jase. It's only," the large man flipped his somewhat greasy blonde hair out of his bloodshot eyes and looked at his phone. He flicked it on with nicotine stained fingers and groaned. "Four in the afternoon." He looked back over his toned shoulder into the darkness behind him, no doubt wishing to return to his rat's nest of a storage room the owner had him in in payment for nightly services.
"Well, just move your fat ass and let me in, and I'll be on my way."
Guy snorted and moved his large girth aside, Jase sliding into the small space at the bottom of the stairwell and sighing in relief to be out of the hot Texas sun. The door closed behind him with the quiet click of a lock, blocking out the outside noise. Guy shouldered past Jason, heading down the small hallway behind the stairs without another word, already seeming fed up with the day, though for him it handn't even started yet.
"Nat?" Jason asked before he could get too far.
"Bar," Guy grunted before promptly slamming the door in Jason's face. Jason shook his head and started heading up the old wooden stairs, steps creaking beneath him as ominously as ever. With almost a sigh of relief, he stepped into the cool air condition of the quiet windowless club. It was still well before opening, and yet the LED's lining the edges of the floor and beneath the long black bar were already on. Jason made his way across the narrow dance floor, the booths lit with their own subtle lighting lining the wall opposite, empty for now. A dark stage sat still and silent at the far end of the room, seeming to sleep before the night's shows would begin.
Nat, Stonewalls' manager, was nowhere in sight at the moment despite what Guy said, so Jason sat himself down on one of the barstools, one of those hard plastic, modern numbers, and laid his head on the cool black surface of the counter. It might have just been the quietness or the comfort of a familiar setting, but Jason already felt better just by being here.
Blue eyes flashed behind his closed lids, causing him to shudder and snap them back open. Here now, in the real world and far from his own apartment, it felt like just a strange dream. But no matter how he wanted to deny it, it had been real. The photo had been proof enough of that. But what did that mean? What even was that? Some kind of interdimensional bullshit from sci-fi movies? Or maybe his console was haunted. Yeah, that sounded just as realistic. He had bought it second hand after all. Maybe some nerd died a horrific death while playing video games. Maybe his parents sold all of his stuff and the kid wanted revenge by messing with whoever owned it next, draining the life-force from them with hallucinations. That would explain the exhaustion, anyway.
Totally plausible.
As Jason sat there, staring out into the bar and thinking, something flashed in the corner of his eye. He straightened, but when he looked, whatever it was was already gone. A small shiver worked its way up Jason's lower back.
"Okay?" Jason draweled. Suddenly the ghost theory wasn't sounding so dumb. He stood up and faced the empty stage, heart racing a little. Another flash had his head jerking to the side, but again, nothing. That same creeping feeling he had experienced when Prompto began acting strange started tingling through his limbs again and he could swear the edges of his vision were shimmering as well. He narrowed his eyes.
"Jase! What are you doing here, man, bar doesn't open till nine!"
Jason jumped a solid foot in the air with a startled yelp as a loud tenor filled the room with a teasing lilt. He whipped around. Nat, a tall man in his early twenties, the same age as Jason, strolled into the bar from a door at the far side of the room. Walking smoothly in his classy shoes and slacks, Nat made his way towards his friend with his trademark smirk ever in place. With his blond hair and blue eyes, the lithe bartender had a classic beauty about him that he used shamelessly in his chosen profession, something that both amused and frustrated Jason in their long acquaintance. Not that Jason had a hard time attracting attention himself, but he always had been a bit awkward around those interested in him, coming off too aloof at times. The ease with which his friend interacted with everyone–as if every single person was worth his time–was something that Jason would never achieve.
But that was neither here nor there. Jason did not feel as relieved as he thought he would seeing his best friend, because as he got closer, his vague resemblance to a certain blonde video game character was making him slightly nauseous. He sat back down with a long groan.
"Whoa, one of those days, huh?" Nat chuckled, taking his place on the other side of the bar. "Can I get you a drink to take the load off?"
"Yeeeees," Jason whined, not even ashamed that he sounded like a total girl. After all, in a bar like this, the last thing you were going to be was judged. That might be part of the reason he loved it so much.
Nat laughed outright, always cheery. "Alright, coming up. Your usual?" Without even waiting for a response, he began shuffling around, the familiar sound of glasses clinking and bottles opening comforting Jason once more. "You'll be sticking around tonight, right?" Nat started conversationally, always one to fill empty silence with chatter. "Lola is performing," he sing-songed.
Jason grinned, not bothering to lift his head. That, right there, was another reason he loved this place so much. Stonewalls, first and foremost, was a gay bar. The first and only one in San Marcos, in fact. In the deep south where the most ultra conservative homophobes lived in vast numbers still to this day, it was quite the step in the progressive direction. When it opened up somewhere in the middle of Nat and Jason's college career, the two had discovered it and fell in love with its quirky, non-judgemental atmosphere, much like most of the college students in town. Both took up jobs there for a time, but Nat was the only one who stayed, Jason finally getting an offer to be a full time instructor. Nat even took over management of the place when the previous owner died suddenly, immediately dropping college in order to keep it open and putting himself deep in the gutter of debt to do so. Still, his enthusiasm for the place kept him, and the bar, afloat to become one of the most popular spots in the area.
Did Jason still, after all these years, think that it was totally ironic that a completely straight womanizer owned a gay bar? Yes. Did it ever bother Jason that he and Nat got hit on by the flamboyant males that frequented the spot on a nightly basis? No, not really. Not when it was so entertaining. Besides, he didn't think there was ever a better place to get free drinks for a dude than a gay bar, something he had thoroughly taken advantage of in the long years before he was legal.
"Tempting," Jason mused, thinking of Lola, the famous drag queen in the Austin-tonio–the nearly unbroken stretch of city between Austin and San Antonio–corridor. She had been one of the reasons this bar became so popular, declaring it one of her favorite places to perform. Jason chuckled to himself, thinking of the nearly seven foot tall queen that would dwarf him on the best of days. But then he frowned, not quite able to let go of his sour mood.
"Alright, spit it out," Nat intoned through is stupidly perfect grin. "What's got you in such hissy?"
"Hissy?" Jason snorted. "You've been hanging out with the queens too long, man."
Nat shrugged. "What can I say. I do love my girls."
"...Yeah, I'm not touching that statement with a six foot pole." Nat blinked expectantly, and Jason rolled his eyes, considering. Should he tell his friend what was going on? The idea had merit until one considered how not-fun it was to be laughed at or looked at like you were the most insane person on the planet. He considered maybe asking if Nat had heard of some strange DLC that had come out recently, but dropped the thought when he remembered that Nat didn't even play videogames anymore. Besides, he had been more into first person shooters than high fantasy stuff. And also, he was pretty sure there wasn't an easy explanation for recent events, in any case.
"Uuuugh," Jason groaned instead of answering. "I don't want to think about it. Can I just get a goddamned driiiiah!"
Jason jerked hard as a jolt went up his spine. What the hell? He looked behind him quickly, wondering if someone had jabbed him with a cattle prod. Nothing there. His brows drew together.
"Dude, are you sure you're okay?" Nat started to sound concerned, sliding a glass of amber liquid into Jason's slack hand. "You're acting like you've seen a ghost."
I just might have, Jason thought, clutching his glass maybe a bit too tight. He lifted the drink and threw it back in two large gulps, unfazed by the sour burn and just needing something to take the edge of this insanity.
"Whoa, slow down! That was two and a half shots!"
But Jason wasn't listening anymore, chocolate eyes flicking paranoid into the shadows of the dark bar. Something was off, something felt strange. And it wasn't just the almost immediate buzz he was feeling from that drink. His limbs were tingling again.
"Jase, maybe yoou shoooould…"
Jason frowned and regarded his friend once more. He was talking slowly, as if to a frightened animal, and Jason already had enough problems without Nat acting like he was crazy (even though he was pretty sure he was), but then his eyes widened in shock. It wasn't only Nat's words that were slowing down, it was everything. Nat was in the process of lifting his arm as if to reach out, but extremely slowly and getting slower. Not only that, but his lips seemed to be forming a word at a snail's pace, expression of concern unnaturally frozen in his blue eyes.
"Nat?" Jason whispered, starting to freak out. He reached out to meet his friend's hand halfway in disbelief but instead cried out and jerked back as another jolt made his spine rigid. With a gasp, he stumbled back from the bar. His vision began shimmering again, and he shook his head left to right to find the source.
"Whatthefuck, whatthefuck, whatthe–" The shadows were moving on their own, and fuck him, but this did not just happen in real life. It was when the shadows began blocking the dim light and taking on forms that Jason's adrenaline went into hyper drive. He broke into a run, bolting from the bar and down the stairs, needing to get out. That's right, out into the sun, because he's hallucinating and light always makes things better–
But as he burst from the bar, things did not improve. People were now around him everywhere, but the noise of movement was completely absent, the bright day unnaturally silent and still. With frantic shakes of his head Jason took in all of the nearly frozen people, the dead air, the stationary clouds in the sky.
"Enough," he shouted pointlessly into the air. It echoed back to him strangely in the silence. Suddenly he was more angry than frightened. Prompto. This had all started because of that stupid video game character with his stupid blue eyes that saw Jason in the first place. With a slightly wild growl Jason burst into a sprint, heading for his car and his apartment and his haunted, possessed, whatever, PlayStation. He was going to get to the bottom of this and force that man to fix it!
Back in the bar, Nat blinked, dropping his hand in surprise at the empty room before him. Jason was gone, the only proof he had been there a shattered glass on the floor.
-o0o-
Jason's tires squealed as he navigated the surreal landscapes of his once familiar home. Time seemed nearly frozen everywhere, events happening like molasses; someone dropping a cup on the sidewalk, the liquid suspended, a bird flying over head, seeming to hang from the sky, cars meandering through the suddenly thick air and blocking the roadways. Jason fought to get his breathing under control through his fear and frustration, having to take dangerous and highly illegal routes through the congested streets, that, if time suddenly resumed, would get him and others most likely killed. But he needed to get home now so he could somehow make all of this go away. Finally he skidded his car to a halt in front of his place, throwing himself from the vehicle before it had even fully stopped in his haste. He barely even noticed that as he left contact with it, it slowed and synchronized with the objects around it.
He fumbled with his keys and burst through his door, throwing himself inside and slamming it closed. The apartment was precisely as he left it not an hour before, but as frozen as the rest of the world, motes of dust sparkling suspended in the sunlight filtering through his window.
And most alarmingly, his TV was already on. In shock, Jason walked to his couch and took a seat, staring through what looked like more of a window into the outside than an artificially rendered environment. It was an overview perspective of the camp, the sun slowly rising over the horizon. Time was moving completely normally in the game, proven by Ignis already awake and moving about, making coffee. Just like in his reality, the game seemed to be flickering between its normal stylized appearance and something too unsettlingly real.
Jason took his controller in hand, not quite sure what he was going to do with it. Prompto clearly didn't know what was going on anymore than he did, but somehow he knew it was his fault all of this was happening. He needed to contact him...but how? He thought hard about all of the things that Prompto had noticed lately that he shouldn't be, and especially how things got especially intense when he was the most 'aware'. That was it then. Jason somehow needed to make the situation as videogame-like as possible, and maybe he could break through...or something.
Well, it was the best plan he had. And he knew a good way to start.
Jason giggled somewhat hysterically. He was going to try to break the fourth wall. But in reverse.
With a flick of his thumb, he opened the game menu, shuddering as that strange sensation took over him fully. What popped up on screen was not exactly what he expected, though. Instead, he seemed to zoom into the tent in a blink, vertigo overtaking him as if he had actually moved. When his vision cleared, he found himself hovering over a strange scene.
Prompto was awake, sitting in some seriously ugly chocobo pajamas, biting his lip and taking photos of Noctis and Gladiolus, who were tangled together comically. He was completely oblivious to the foreign presence hovering over him. Disoriented, Jason waited and watched, not finding this situation amusing at all. If anything, he suddenly felt like a totally creepy voyeur. Prompto left. Gladiolus jerked awake a moment later, looking around with his nose wrinkled before following. Noctis still lay dead to the world.
Jason took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. Step one, make Noctis look as ridiculous as possible. He jerked as, without even moving his hands, the options appeared, hovering to the left of Noctis' prone form.
"Okaaay," Jason breathed. He looked down to his controler closely, then back up to the screen, both of which, he discovered, were...off. Hesitantly, he placed the controller back on the coffee table and looked back to the screen. "This is getting freakier by the second." He thought about what he wanted to do, his fingers flicking unconsciously as if he still held the controller, and the menu obediently heeded his commands, the light blue bar highlighting his options. Correct choice selected, Jason waited, the surrealness of the situation settling around him like a numbing blanket.
Noctis looked the same. He twitched a little, but otherwise didn't magically change out of his white tee-shirt and jeans, the guy apparently never bothering to change out of the outfit he wore the day before.
Jason frowned. Did he do something wrong? Not that he knew what the hell he was doing, but...well, somehow he expected that to work. Jason jerked in surprise almost at the exact moment as Noctis as a bag flew from nowhere and landed solidly on the sleeping prince's face.
"What the hell," Noctis grumbled, sitting up and throwing the bag from his person. Jason bit his lip hard as it sounded like he was talking right next to him. As Noctis grumbled about, Jason started to consider maybe trying to change his clothes again, but the screen flickered rapidly. Noctis froze, then in a flash of blue light, pulled something from his armiger. Jason watched in disbelief as the raven man began to pull off his clothes, only to replace them with a flamboyant mariachi outfit.
Well...Jason had wanted that to happen, but he didn't really expect to suddenly feel like some sort of manipulative...thing. He didn't even know. Just that it felt wrong and terribly uncomfortable. He rubbed at his arms self-consciously, looking around his apartment like someone was going to jump out and point a damning finger in his direction. Scrubbing at his black hair until it was a rioting mess and his scalp ached uncomfortably, Jason shook it off. Right, step one commenced. Now...he would just have to go with it.
The next several hours–yes hours, because somehow time had slowed in his own reality to match the game's whatthefuck–were probably the most frustrating of Jason's young life. He tried everything, enduring the terribly uncomfortable back and forth pull of control between himself and Noctis, almost like he was fighting the prince's consciousness because he probably was. The game suddenly seemed much more vast than before, the landscape actually taking time to cross. And in that weird in-between where some aspects of the game were still, well, like a game, he pounced on them to get Prompto to notice. But the kid was like a dumb brick, willfully ignoring every strange thing Jason made Noctis do, and with every passing hour Jason could feel that horrible tug stronger and stronger. Reality seemed to be melting around him until the game was all he could see. He started to sweat in the desert sun, feel the dry heat. He heard the noises of nature around him, even that damned song seemed to be intruding in surround sound. Even the couch below him felt like hot gravel.
Jason was getting desperate.
As the sun fell, he lost it. "Oh, come on!" he shouted, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes until bright starbursts of light made his head ache, more than the dehydration, hunger and frustration. "Get a fucking clue!" The characters stopped moving, and Ignis made some inane comment about the sun. Jason wasn't listening. He was too busy having a mental breakdown and rocking back and forth.
So, it seemed, was Prompto. Finally.
Jason blinked as Prompto shouted, suddenly dizzyingly finding himself in a standing position. How the hell…? He tried to look around, but found he couldn't. Panic clawed at him as he was suddenly trapped, the same fear reflecting in Prompto's eyes a few paces away.
"I thought we were going to Hammerhead?!" Prompto's voice was frantic, piercing in its fear. "Iggy? Ignis?!" Ignis didn't move "Gladio?!" No response. Jason tried to move, tried to force his voice through, but he couldn't. He was as frozen as the rest of them. In his head, he shouted and shouted, but nothing changed. Dammit! He'd finally gotten the blond to break but he couldn't do anything about it, couldn't cross that final barrier and reach out–!
Then Pronto looked directly at Jason, who would have jerked in shock if he could. "Noct?"
...What? Jason wanted to look left and right, to check if Noctis was standing behind him, but no, those piercing blues were staring directly at him. Then Prompto was walking towards him, far closer and more personal than Jason expected to ever get to a fictional character, but there was nothing fictional about the iron bands that wrapped around his upper arms. Goddamn, the scrawny man was stronger than he looked!
"Come on buddy, this isn't you!"
I know it isn't! I'm–
"The Noctis I know wouldn't lead us randomly into the desert–"
That's because–
"Wouldn't fight innocent animals for no reason–"
I'm not–!
"Wouldn't NOT complain about missing lunch–"
Prompto squeezed Jason's arms particularly hard, enough to leave dark bruises in his skin, and something gave. With an almost audible snap, Jason regained control of himself and his voice cracked as he screamed, putting everything he could behind it.
"–because I'm not Noctis!" He screamed into the crazed blond's face. Prompto froze as Jason breathed in short angered gasps. Finally, FINALLY, he had broken through and talked to him!
But wait. Rewind. That….wasn't his voice. He looked around with his suddenly obedient eyes, panic eating at his breath. He wasn't just observing anymore, clearly. Prompto's fingers were still digging into his skin, his body close enough that Jason could feel the heat and see with acute detail the shock beneath his blond lashes and the dust clinging to the sweat on his brow. He could feel the uneven ground beneath his suddenly too stifled feet, the shoes feeling nothing like the loose loafers he had been wearing before. And was that...chocobo patterning on his...sombrero?
Oh shit. He was Noctis.
His first thought: he had never looked more and less Mexican in his life.
The second: fuuuuuuuuck.
Both men's eyes locked in a completely different shock as a familiar creaking groan came from behind them. As one, they turned to watch dark forms rise from the parched ground from portals of liquid shadow. But this time, Jason wasn't safely on the other side of a television screen, excited for another thrilling battle. No, there was no filter between him and the terror of two red giants lifting out of the ether, their demonic eyes glowing in the night and locking onto his suddenly very vulnerable person. Jason trembled, Prompto's hands on him no more steady than his own.
"Oh," he said weakly past his closing throat.
"Shit," Prompto echoed his sentiment.
Gunfire cracked deafeningly in the night as the battle began.
-o0o-
AN:
Eeeeh. That went a little different than I expected. I'm going to have to change the summary now. Oh well! I think this is better anyway. Jumanji, anyone? No? Kingdom Hearts 2? Just me? *Waggles eyebrows*
I tell you what, it is totally surreal writing likenesses of my friends and places I frequent in fiction. How novel. I wonder if that will ever wear off. Anywho, the worlds have merged! What is going on? Is it Prompto? Is it Jason? Someone else manipulating time and space? Who knows! Now their worlds have merged and chaos will ensue.
How was my pacing, did it come across okay?
Hope you enjoyed. Toodles!