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Jax doesn’t know which part of the onslaught is most unbearable - his heartbeat hammering and pulsating through his digital veins a thousand miles an hour, his heaving, unstable breaths, or the relentless ringing piercing his ears until the world around him becomes white noise.
At this point, it’s almost impossible to even distinguish them from one another.
Drip drip drip drip drip drip drip
Oh God, he feels like his head’s being cracked in two - pried open as a painful screen of static overtakes his entire vision. He can just barely make out his pupils shrinking into frantic scribbles in the reflection of the water, a horrible frown on his face, God, he always looks so ugly when he’s frowning.
Drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip
The ringing grows deafening.
In the water, all he can make out anymore is Pomni’s stupid smiling face.
Stupid Pomni.
Drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip
Stupid fucking Pomni. A single sensation finally breaks through the muddied haze and it’s one of utter hatred.
Stupid fucking Pomni. This is all her fault. This is all her goddamn fault.
Hate her.
Hate her.
Fucking hate her.
‘ What would you do if I abstracted tomorrow? ’ Wear a party hat to your funeral. Laugh at your coffin.
Probably not last a day after -
Drip
The briefest bit of lucidity sparks in Jax, and he dunks his head under the water, the iciness shocking him back into reality. He pulls his head out with a gasp for air, water running off him like a duck and dropping back into the bowl below with a series of splashes and ripples. The ringing, mercifully, begins to subside, his head finally no longer feeling like it’s being stabbed with daggers. His heartbeat slows with each deep inhale, growing fainter yet fainter until finally the sound of flowing water overpowers it. He’s left weakly staring at the mirror in front of him, met face to face with the same stupid rabbit avatar he’s been stuck in for years - same stupid ears sagged over in his exhaustion, bags under his weary eyes, a scowl still glued to his face.
“God, you look stupid,” Jax mumbles, loathing the softness in his voice, so quiet he can barely even hear it over the faucet. Behind him, a flush emanates from one of the stalls, and in the mirror he can see the door swing open and a red mannequin walk out. Jax’s irritation at the figure beginning to speak disappears as soon as it does - it barely gets a word out before it unceremoniously vanishes, and the bathroom is once again left with only the ambience of rushing water.
He had completely forgotten about that guy, and he really wished it had stayed like that.
Jax can only grumble - in frustration, in tiredness, in a total desire to just give up , he isn’t even sure - and slump against the counter sliding down until he’s kneeling before it and has his forehead pressed firmly against the gold-trimmed surface.
Stupid Pomni.
He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her.
Stupid Pomni and her stupid smile and her stupid friendship shit and her stupid ‘I know there’s more to you than just an irredeemable sociopath who jerks off to seeing others suffer blah blah blah’ what a load of horseshit. She doesn’t know him. She doesn’t know him and she never will.
No one will.
Not again.
Drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip
Jax looks down to his hands, eyes still half-lidded and a ring of static still hounding his sight. He flexes them. Unflexes them. Puffy, yellow, four-fingered gloves. A cartoon character.
“J—?”
He’s a cartoon character.
He’s an archetype.
He’s the funny one. Nothing more. Fuck what Pomni said.
The funny one shouldn’t be disassociating on a bathroom floor static in his vision chest constricted like he’s trying to choke on his own breath he’s the funny one he’s the funny one stop stop stop stop stop -
“ Jax? ”
Jax jerks his head up to see the source of the voice - soft-spoken and disgustingly tinged with concern - and is met with Kinger standing in the hallway, bulging eyes looking strangely focused. The old coot shuffles his way into the restroom’s main area, looking down at Jax with a horrid expression of worry. Jax just tries to keep his focus at eye level, begrudgingly staring at the end of Kinger’s robe and - wait, when did he end up laying in a crumpled heap on the floor?
“You’ve been in here for almost twenty minutes now,” Kinger says, kneeling down before Jax and offering him a disembodied hand. “Caine’s about to announce the contest winner, don’t you want to be there to see if you won…?”
Jax’s head falls back against the cold tiled floor, ears ragdolling against the ground with a slap. “…don care bou it…”
Kinger cocks an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”
“Don’t care ‘bout some stupid f—kin’ contest…” Jax grumbles apathetically, raising a shaking arm to try and pry himself up off the ground, collapsing before he can even make it an inch.
“Jax, are you okay?” Kinger continues, as if the crazy bastard even cares. Jax jolts as two gloved hands grab hold of his shoulders, firm but weirdly tender. He attempts to shake Kinger’s hold off himself, but be it he’s too weak, Kinger’s weirdly strong, some horrible part of him doesn’t want Kinger to let go, or some combination, it’s futile. Kinger sits him up, Jax still kneeling and the bottom halves of his legs splayed to the side. It’s clear Kinger is wanting, nay, pleading for Jax to look him in the eye, but he won’t give him that satisfaction. “You’ve been looking horrible ever since we got here. Did something happen during the gunfight today?”
“No,” Jax forces out immediately, tone still mostly lethargic. Normally he’d be completely assured that it’d be enough for the old man to leave him alone, but for once, he suspects Kinger might be able to see through his fib. Since when has Kinger acted this normal?
“Are you sure?”
Dammit. “Mhm…nothin’ at all…jus’ Pomni bein’ a b—h…”
Kinger squints his eyes skeptically. “I doubt she did anything hurtful intentionally. Did…you and Pomni get into an argument or something…?”
OH MY GOD WHY WON’T HE JUST LEAVE. “No.”
“Jax, please be honest with me - ”
“ I am being honest!” Jax hisses, trying to shove Kinger as far away from himself as he can. He barely flinches, floating hands still resting on Jax’s shoulders. He still refuses to look Kinger in the eye, instead keeping his sight on the marbled tile. “I’m always honest! What reason would I have to lie?! I f—king hate all of you! You’re all stupid and annoying and treat everything like we still need to be decent people when we’re just a bunch of f—king cartoons now! If I ever lied it’s only to hurt you, not save any of your dumb—s feelings I don’t care about - ”
A wretched ache suddenly forms in Jax’s stomach, and he slaps a hand over his mouth, feeling the acidity bubble in his throat. He gags out a string of black sludge, scrambling to stand back up so he can empty the rest of his guts into the sink. His hands slip. In a blur he’s being hoisted up by gentle hands and soon he’s doubled over the bowl, gurgling and spewing up a wave of dark, metallic liquid, a faux wetness pricking his eyes. Above the abhorrent noises of the vomit splashing into the bowl and his wheezes for air, Jax can faintly make out a sickeningly soothing voice, accompanied by a hand gently patting his back.
“It’s okay. Let it all out. I’m here, kiddo.”
The absolute worst part of the word ‘ kiddo ’ leaving Kinger’s mouth is that Jax doesn’t completely hate it.
Wiping the last trail of puke from the corner of his mouth, the bitter taste of static in his throat, Jax falls backwards. He lands against Kinger with a thump, legs wobbling so much he’s surprised they haven’t completely buckled - though even if they did, Kinger’s unwavering grasp on his shoulders would keep him standing.
“F—king hate you.”
“Well, that’s your choice,” Kinger says. It’s not even snarky or condescending, it’s just an acceptance.
“You get nothing out of helping me.”
“I wasn’t looking to get anything.”
Jax stumbles, feet slipping and sending him crashing back against Kinger in his attempt to stand. And then he feels himself being lowered. One of Kinger’s hands supporting the back of his head, the other placed flat against where his shoulder blades would be, Kinger kneels, laying Jax back down on the floor. Kinger’s hand gives way to a softness against Jax’s head - at this point, he’s too dazed to even have a reaction to figuring out Kinger’s propped his head in his lap, the old hack’s hand brushing his ears like locks of hair.
Jax stares up at the ceiling blankly, eyes wide as saucers and pupils little more than pinpricks.
“…Will you forget me when I die?”
Kinger’s eyes seem to bore into his very soul, expression seeped in concern and terrifyingly, sympathy. Jax did always find blue eyes uncanny. “Of course I won’t. No one will.”
“That’s bulls—t,” Jax whispers, trying to put an angry edge to his voice and only mustering a pathetic murmur. “You forget everything.”
“I forget a lot of things, but I don’t forget people. Not the people we’ve lost. Never,” Kinger assures, fingertips tracing the top of Jax’s ear.
Jax blinks. “Will anyone care when I die?”
There’s a somberness in Kinger’s eyes that Jax is sure he’s never seen before. “Why do you so staunchly believe you’re going to abstract?”
“I ‘unno.”
“None of us will just sit back and let you spiral. You’re one of us, Jax. You’re human. We anchor each other to our humanity. We would never just let you abstract without a fight.”
Jax’s frown grows thin. “I wish I wasn’t.”
Kinger furrows his brow. “Why?”
“Things suck when they’re complicated. Things suck when they feel real. I don’t wanna feel like a real person when I’m stuck in a cartoon hellscape where we don’t need to follow real world standards. I just wanna let loose. I don’t wanna feel tied down.”
Kinger takes a moment to respond, hovering a hand over Jax’s twitching ear.
“Personally,” Kinger replies quietly. “I think those reminders of reality are what keep the rest of us going.”
A stretch of silence follows - Jax expects it to feel tense, or stilted, yet the room is instead filled with an overwhelming sense of melancholy.
“I don’t want to be real,” Jax admits finally.
Kinger sighs, eyes briefly fluttering shut in contemplation. “And I get that, Jax. I do. Being a person…a person with faults, and nuances, and ambitions…it can be hard. But that’s also what makes it so great. Turning yourself into a one-note archetype…it can only give you so much satisfaction.”
Jax blinks again, slowly, as if he’s trying to force himself to just fall asleep and finally escape this terrible, terrible moment of vulnerability.
“Would people remember me as the funny one or the villain?”
Kinger inhales slightly - however he does that with no orifices - and brushes Jax’s ear to the side. “People would remember you as Jax. A person with a lot of rough spots, but…” He pauses, exhaling deeply. “Someone who has a good side to them, somewhere. Everyone does. I guess…it’s just up to you if you want to prove that.”
Jax doesn’t tell Kinger he doesn’t believe him.
Jax also doesn’t tell Kinger he wouldn’t want to, even if he did believe him.
“I don’t want to die,” Jax admits instead.
“None of us do,” Kinger says. “And as long as we remind each other of our humanity, I’m sure we can all go on for a long time.”
When Jax remains quiet, Kinger continues.
“You may not care about us, Jax, but we care about you. I do, at least. I’m sure the others do, in their own way. And I’m sorry if another person caring about you scares you, but there’s not a way to just cleanly… stop caring about a person. You don’t need to be as alone as you think you need to be.”
I don’t need to be alone , Jax wants to say. I want to be.
But that lie would be as clear as water.
“Let’s get you some fresh air, kiddo,” Kinger muses quietly, beginning to adjust Jax. He doesn’t protest as Kinger hoists him up onto his back, slinging his arms over his shoulders and holding Jax’s legs up around his waist. (Wherever Kinger’s waist is on that model…) It’s horribly childlike, and more terrifyingly, comforting. If he was even a bit less delirious he’d need to be dragged kicking and screaming into a position like this, but he’s practically on the verge of passing out by this point, so if nothing else he at least has a free ride. “Let’s get you out to the hallway. I’ll stay with you until the show’s over, okay?”
Jax mumbles something completely incoherent before burying his face into Kinger’s shoulder.
The last thing he remembers before nodding off completely is being laid on a bench and the feeling of his ears being brushed.
—
Jax wakes up completely disoriented.
When his eyes lull open, he’s met with almost complete darkness, only seeing a few thin beams of light peeking through the cracks of…wherever he is. He groans, ears and tail twitching as he sits up and scratches his aching head. The sensation of weight on his legs grabs his attention, and when he looks down, he sees a collection of blankets has been meticulously draped over him. His mattress, a tiled floor.
He blinks rapidly, a scowl on his face, and when his eyes finally adjust to the darkness he finds himself even more baffled. Pillows. The walls are pillows. He’s in a goddamn pillow fort. Kinger’s goddamn pillow fort, most likely - at least it’s the only one he’s aware of in the Circus. It’s a lot bigger on the inside than he imagined, too. How the hell did he end up here?
Filing through his brain for answers, Jax spots a sticky note attached to the ‘door’ just as he begins to remember the night before. He huffs, scooting over to the slip of paper and yanking it off the wall. Half of him expects it to be a confession that everything had just been an elaborate prank to make him feel vulnerable.
Hi Jax!
Jeez, you must have really needed some sleep, when I tried to wake you up after the show was over you didn’t even budge! I ended up carrying you back to the Circus, and since I didn’t feel comfortable going into your room without your permission, I just let you sleep in my fortress instead! Don’t worry, since I don’t know how you feel about sleepovers I was perfectly fine sleeping in the living room. Bubble’s making pancakes if you want any! If you want to sleep in, that’s fine too! You can borrow my fort for as long as you like!
- Kinger
A little scribble of a butterfly is imprinted in the bottom right corner.
Jax grumbles, wanting to crumple up the piece of paper yet not finding the will to do so.
He really wishes it had just been a prank.
Stupid Kinger.