Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

we're singing, you

whatever you think of me

if you were in my shoes, would you walk that mile?

oh you could put it on the other foot, it's the same size

- laplaces angel, will wood

[]

Jax once promised to take Ribbit to the moon.

It was a joke, really. Caine had sent them on a space adventure that day, on some sort of mission to retrieve an artefact from Mars. Ribbit had been staring out of the window, gazing at the stars outside with eyes bright enough to compete with them.

Jax had said, "you like those stars, Froggy?", to which Ribbit nodded, taking it as an opportunity to talk about everything he knew about stars.

“I'll take you to the moon, one day," Jax had teased, with his default grin on his face. "Prommy."

[]

Which is why Jax is sat on the edge of a roof, staring up at the stars with a different kind of wonder. It's cold outside, and the hoodie that he's wearing isn't doing much to block out the wind. It's autumn, and the wind is crisp and biting, stinging his lungs. He can't even remember how he got here.

Autumn is always hard, and it probably always will be. Always. For the rest of his life, this is going to haunt him. Hang over his head like an invisible reminder that just won't go away. Ribbit abstracted in October, if Caine's Digital Calendar was right. This time 4 years ago, Jax lost half of himself.

(The other half is rotten and wilted and begging to go too.)

It's been about 18 months since they all escaped the Circus. Somehow, by some sort of luck, they all managed to make it out alive. Well, other than Caine, but he was never really alive in the first place, being an AI. It took them all a while to find each other with how large the US is. Plus, they all have strikingly different backgrounds.

Turns out, Ragatha really is rich. Not as in a millionaire, but she definitely has enough to go around. She's helping to pay his rent, which Jax was forced into agreement with because he is not a charity case. They all live in the same apartment complex, almost like that one show that Pomni watches. What's it's name? Friends? Something like that.

So, yeah. Jax has a home, a bed, and a part-time job at the nearest Walmart (score!). Ragatha's apartment is the one next to his, whilst Pomni, Kinger, Gangle, and Zooble's are the ones opposite him. Gangle and Zooble live together now, as expected. Pomni is on one side of their apartment and Kinger's is on the other.

Zooble has gone back to bartending, though they still occasionally give tattoo's out. Gangle has gone back into her little art thing that she had going on before the circus. Her drawings are hung up around the bar her partner works at, and all around their home too. She even made Jax a few.

Kinger, surprisingly saner than he was in the Circus, teaches computer science at the local high school. He has a pet praying mantis called Marsha. She's pretty cool. He's surprisingly good at cooking, so he's always the one that cooks if they decide to have dinner. If Jax shows up, he helps with the cooking too. He's always been good at it.

And as for Pomni, she kind of helped him get his job. And they kind of have something going on. It's not serious, no one's getting down on one knee or anything, it's just.. for fun, maybe. It doesn't matter. He's way too tired to commit his non-existent energy to another living, breathing person.

In hindsight; if it wasn't for the people that should hate him, Jax would be dead. Or homeless. And he tried so, so hard to get them to give up on him. They dragged him into their little found family and he was kicking and screaming the whole time, but by now, he's learned to just get on with life. They'll give up eventually, they have to.

The cold seeps into his bones, freezing him numb to his core. He wonders what place Ribbit would take in this little family. They'd definitely be living together as platonic roommates, and Ribbit was a cat person, so they'd have a cat. Jax would adopt Ribbit as his brother, if that's even possible. He'd make it happen. He'd find a way.

What are you meant to do when you lose the other half of your soul? Even if Jax doesn't do sappy stuff, him and Ribbit were platonic soulmates, and he won't be told otherwise. They were one split in two. Two sides of the same coin. The same person in a different font. The Funny One and the Fearless One. Do not separate.

So why did abstraction have to actually mean death? When he first escaped, a small part of him hoped that abstraction just meant you were dead in the Circus. He hoped that maybe, just maybe, he'd stumble upon his little froggy friend in the real world. He was foolish to even think about it.

A shooting star. Is there an afterlife? And if there is, is Ribbit there? It would be just Jax's luck to fall to his death and not even see his best friend in the afterlife. He shivers and looks at the ground below. It wouldn't hurt, and it'd all be over. It's the better option. Way less pain, a lot more nothingness. Win win.

He doesn't get up. He doesn't want to die. He's never really been too keep on living either, to be honest. He remembers being 15, sleeping on the streets, and wondering "what is the point of me being here at all?". Nothing would change for the worse. Things would get better, actually. No one would have to deal with someone like him again. No one would be forced to put up with him.

Jax tried. He really did. He's wanted to get better at being human for the last year or so. But no matter what he does, nothing seems to work. He still gets a concerned look from Ragatha whenever he makes a joke that's a tad too mean, Zooble still doesn't like him talking to Gangle, Kinger looks at him with pity, and he's pretty sure Pomni wants to give up on him, but doesn't have the heart to.

And he can only blame himself. He's trapped himself in his own little hand-made Hell, so no one else has to deal with him. He's clawed at the bars of his prison, trying to get out, to see clearly for once in his life, but it's so damn hard and he's so fucking exhausted. He doesn't deserve to be free.

A person like him just doesn't deserve to live.

Jax runs a shaking hand through his already messy hair, groaning quietly. He hasn't bothered to dye it for a few weeks, so his dark brown roots are on show. He's been too tired. Has he mentioned that he's tired yet?

A part of him wants to just close his eyes and fall asleep here. It'd look like an accident. He'd fall off the roof and die and no one would ever know for sure if that was the intention. He doesn't want to die, he just wants to sleep. He's so tired. He closed his eyes and lets himself start to drift.

A hand on Jax's shoulder wakes him back up. He opens his eyes and blinks, choosing not to look up at whoever had the misfortune of finding him like this. Why can't he just be left to die in peace? Guess he doesn't deserve that.

"Jax." Eugh boy, why Ragatha? Now he's going to have her on his ass about emotions and whatever. Gross mushy stuff. He shrugs her hand off of his shoulder, grumbling quietly.

"What are you doing out here? It's freezing!" Ragatha exclaims, and Jax almost feels bad. Why? He has no idea. She just sounds so worried. There's a small shake to her voice that triggers a reaction in his brain. It's like slamming a door in her face.

She says something else, but he doesn't hear or register it. It doesn't even go into one ear, let alone out of the other.

Blink and you miss it. Jax is on his feet and walking down the stairs, Ragatha leading him. Holding his hand in her own warm, painfully soft one. She isn't talking. Her bouncy red curls are tied back in a messy braid, and she has comfy clothes on. How late is it? He can't remember how long he sat on that roof. It doesn't matter.

They don't end up at Jax's flat. Instead, for some odd reason, Ragatha takes him to hers instead. Maybe she's caught on. He can hear her sniffling if he listens hard enough.

It's so warm inside her apartment. You'd think that she'd just buy a big house where all of them could live with her amount of money, but no. Jax wouldn't want to live in a house with everyone anyways. Too much work.

Ragatha's talking to him again. He doesn't bother to listen, moving on autopilot as she guides him to sit down on the couch. Soft. Too soft for him to sit on. He wants to run away, but she's still holding his hand. And rubbing his back. When did that start?

"You're going to have to sleep on the couch. I'm sorry." Jax hears her say, to which he doesn't answer. He doesn't understand why she's apologising.

It's a while before Ragatha leaves him alone. Maybe 30 minutes? He's laying down now, curled up underneath a blanket and staring at the blank TV screen. Even with how warm it is, he can't stop shivering. He's cold down to the marrow of his bones, and he has been for a long time. The fire in him went out when Ribbit died.

Maybe, if he pretends hard enough, he'll start believing he's dead. Maybe that would make things easier.

Jax curls up even more and shuts his eyes. He listens to the cars outside and imagines getting hit by one.

He doesn't have any dreams when he falls asleep.

Chapter Text

Ragatha isn't stupid. Sure, she's naive and wants to believe that everyone deserves to be loved, and she might trick herself with her own optimism, but she isn't stupid. She notices when something is wrong with one of her friends, even if the right words don't always come to her when she tries to help them. She likes to think that she's very in tune with the people she loves.

And she's known Jax since he was 16. She supported him as he got used to the Circus, she sat with him on the nights where he was too scared to sleep, and maybe there were a few times that he did the same for her. He'd sit by her bed, ears perked up, laughing and cracking jokes. Funny jokes. Jokes that made her giggle through her tears.

Ragtha misses that Jax. The Circus ruined him, she knows that. She watched her best friend go from being a genuinely amusing and pleasant person to be around to an asshole that no body wanted anything to do with. And she tried to help, she tried to reverse the bitterness that had seeped into Jax's nature, but she just made it all worse. She failed him.

The Circus killed him. He started preforming, and he has no idea how to stop now.

And Ragatha knows that Jax has been trying to get a bit better this past year, though he'd never admit it. Everyone has noticed, they're all waiting for him to just let go. They're really to catch him if he needs to be caught, they want to help him get better. It actually hurts to watch him like this. It's almost like he's stuck. The door is open, so why won't he come out?

(And why won't he let anyone in?)

She misses the days when Jax would just.. be. Sure, he's always used humour to cope, but his mask was once transparent. There were no walls built up, and any that were had a gate. Yeah, he's always poked fun at people, but he used to be able to take it when people gave it back.

Ragatha watched her Jax die. Ribbit abstracted and he got so much worse. He's always been one for action and adrenaline, getting bored and distracted easily is his brain wasn't stimulated. But it went from liking the rush of adrenaline to putting himself in harm's way in the blink of an eye. It was the first warning sign Ragatha missed.

The second one was the pranks. They got meaner. Less "I want to make you laugh", and more "aren't I infuriating?". She should've noticed as soon as he started purposely breaking Gangle's comedy mask. When it went from making someone chuckle to pushing someone to their wit's end. She shouldn't have let him get away with it like she did.

But Jax wants to be hated. That's the whole reason he does all of this in the first place, in Ragatha's opinion. He doesn't want anyone to care about him, even if that means hurting people and pushing them away. She doesn't want to hate Jax, that's her best friend. Her stupid, reckless, idiot best friend.

Over the past year, Jax has actually been trying. He's definitely far from perfect, but he's been accepting of small gestures. He keeps a box under his bed so he has somewhere safe to put Gangle's drawings. He actually uses the blanket Ragatha knitted for him. He lets Kinger talk his ear off about bugs, even if he acts like he isn't listening. He let Zooble give him a little rabbit tattoo, and he keeps a weighted blanket in his closet because Pomni likes them.

Sometimes, Ragatha sees the real Jax peeking through the now hard, almost unremovable mask. He'll say something that makes someone genuinely crack up, and he'll smile. Not one of the shit eating grins he throws around for show, a real smile. Soft, shy and sweet.

He's trying. So where has all of this come from?

Thinking back on the past few weeks, Ragatha hasn't really seen any signs that he's not doing well. From what she sees of him, he's sleeping, eating, and drinking okay. She hears him leave for work on time most mornings, because contrary to what most people might think of him, Jax actually functions better with a schedule and a routine.

However, she doesn't see him all the time. Maybe there's something he just isn't showing her, or maybe she isn't around him enough to see. She'll make a note of that.

There's no point in worrying herself about it right now, though. She turns over onto her side and stares at the digital clock on her bedside table. It reads 07:24. Great. At least it's a reasonable time to get up, right? Right. She can start the day, even if it's dark and gloomy outside.

Ragatha sits up in her bed, pulling her braided hair over her shoulder with a long, suffering sigh. She starts to unbraid it, letting her wild red curls free once again. Most days she can't be bothered to do her curls, so she just sleeps with it in a braid.

With a stretch, she climbs out of her little hole and walks towards the drawers; pulling out a pair of bright pink fuzzy socks. They don't really go with the blue and white checkered pants she's wearing, but who cares. It's 7 AM on a Sunday morning. Plus, the floor is cold.

To her surprise, Jax is still asleep when she comes out of her bedroom. He's not a morning guy, but he's always up early anyways, even when he hasn't got work. But no, he's still fast asleep on the couch, curled up with his arm dangling to the floor. Even out if the Circus, he's lanky.

If it was anyone else, they'd be taking a photo of him for blackmail. Ragatha can't bring herself to do it though, not with how tired he looks. She shakes her head and sighs again, making her way towards the kitchen to make breakfast.

It's kind of hard to decide what to eat. She can't make pancakes or anything like that, because surely her clattering would wake the guy on her couch. She doesn't want to make toast in case the toaster is too loud, and she doesn't have enough cereal for a bowl of it. It takes her a full 15 minutes to decide that she'll just have buttered bread.

What is there to do when your friend is asleep on your couch? It's kind of awkward, in all honesty. Jax is usually a light sleeper, always waking up or grumbling at the slightest of disturbances, so she can't really sit down on the beanbag and watch TV. She's too worried to go out for a walk. But she needs to do something. Ragatha has never been one for sitting down.

So she sits down at the table and opens her laptop, intending to do some work. It keeps her occupied for a good two hours, clearing up things that would've just been needed to be done tomorrow. To her surprise, though, Jax is still snoozing. It's fine. He seemed out of it the night before, maybe he had a few too many and is just hungover?

(Wishful thinking.)

With nothing else to do, Ragatha does go out on that walk. Obviously she gets dressed first, though all she does is put on the same outfit she's worn for the last few days. It's a bit strange, being able to wear whatever she wants. Sometimes she wears the same clothes for weeks, solely because she's so used to wearing the same, unremovable outfit 24/7.

Her brain nags at her the whole time, causing an unpleasant feeling to coil tight in her gut. She's only gone for 45 minutes, but she practically runs back up the stairs to her flat. A small part of her brain expects to see a crime scene.

But no, Jax is still sleeping. Okay, now Ragatha's starting to actually get worried. It's not like he's got work today, but it's nearing half past 11. He's normally up at about six.

She creeps towards him, slowly crouching down in front of his face. He looks so small like this, all curled up underneath a blanket. She tentatively places a hand on his forehead, trying to feel for a temperature. There's no such thing. He's a completely normal heat.

What's even weirder is that he doesn't wake up when she touches his face. Ragatha half-expected to get pushed off or insulted, but he hasn't even stirred. She shrugs to herself and stands back up, pulling the blanket over his shoulder. No reaction.

Another hour. She's been entertaining herself with knitting. Not working on anything in particular, just letting her hands work absentmindedly whilst she thinks.

Maybe he's just been struggling to sleep lately. They all have their nights, it's not unheard of. Still, that wouldn't explain why he was on the roof, and it wouldn't explain why he didn't argue when she brought him back down to her flat.

Everyone has their low periods. It's just the aftermath of being trapped in a Digital Circus. What doesn't add up is that he's been doing so well. Sure, things can come up no matter what, but it's just so sudden. Maybe he hasn't been doing as well as they all think.

(Maybe nothing's changed at all.)

It hits one, and Ragatha's decided she's had enough. Initially, she wants to wake him up and talk to him herself, but she knows that the rest of the gang will want to know.

So she calls an intervention.

[]

".. -ound him on the roof?!"

"Yeah, he was falling asleep.. I don't know what he was doing up there."

"Has he been eating okay..?"

"Well, he eats the food I cook for him. Or at least, I think he does..."

"Has he been sleeping okay?"

"..."

"Why are you all looking at me?"

"Pomni."

"Okay, okay- yeah, he falls asleep before I do most nights he's at mine."

"M-Maybe he's just tired..?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think.."

"Do you think he could get a little bit of personal space?"

Jax's mouth moves before he even registers that he's awake. The room goes silent, and everyone stares down at him. It makes his skin crawl. He's never liked the feeling of being watched.

Pomni crouches down, right by his face. "Hi, Jax." She greets, voice overly sweet and taking no bullshit. "Do you want to explain to the crowd why Ragatha found you on the roof last night? And why you've been asleep for the past 14 hours?"

Jax groans internally. Externally too, actually. He pushes Pomni's face away, shooting a glare towards Ragatha, who gives a little apologetic smile. Snitch.

"Uhmmm.." He dramatically draws out a hum as he stretches his lanky limbs out, yawning widely. "Mmmmmmmnahh. I'm all good, thanks."

He takes a moment to actually look around. They're all here, even Kinger. All of this fuss because he had a bit of a bad night and wanted to fall off of a building! So dramatic, honestly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jax can see Zooble staring at him. Their left eyebrow, the one with the piercing, is slightly raised, and their eyes are narrowed. It's the look they give him when they're figuring something out about him, and he can't allow that. He hates it when they look at him like that, it makes him feel like he's being observed underneath a microscope. Exposed and vulnerable.

He mocks them, giving an over exaggerated narrowed-eyed look back. They scoff and cross their arms, shaking their head. Annoyed, but not watching him anymore. Win.

They all seem to be staring at him with confused, worried, or annoyed expressions, and now he's annoyed. Ragatha couldn't have waited until he'd woken up to throw a pity party for him, could she? Just his luck.

"Guys, really? You think because I was sat on the roof, I'm suddenly suicidal? Me?" Jax points to himself, raising an eyebrow. Is it really that obvious?

"C'mon, do I look like the type of guy to wanna die? 'Cause if we're going on that, we should be concerned about Zooble." To which they flip him off, and Jax blows them a kiss in return.

"Well, what were you doing on the roof then?" Zooble asks skeptically, shifting their weight.

"I was looking at the stars!" Jax exclaims, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. Technically, it's not a lie. He was watching the stars. He was just contemplating falling to his death at the same time. It's not a huge difference.

Obviously, his answer earns him a lot of confused looks. They're all staring at Jax like he just grew rabbit ears or something.

"You were looking at the stars?" Ragatha repeats, sounding genuinely confused. And a little bit guilty for dragging everyone here. God, this is so easy.

"Yeah! It's not often they're out with all the light.. polutition..?"

"Light pollution!" Kinger perks up. "It's what happens when-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Stars get outshined by city lights, or whatever." Jax butts in, waving a hand in dismissal. "The point is, I'm not suicidal. So we can stop with this intervention thingy."

Everyone goes quiet for a moment, just staring down at him. Oh, how he wishes they would just stop gawping at him. It's so incredibly uncomfortable and frustrating. It makes his palms sweaty, and his heart does a funny little jump in his chest. Like a rabbit backed into a corner.

("Oh Felix, you're getting blood all over my carpet.")

"I didn't know you liked stars." Gangle mumbles just as he's about to snap, looking at Jax with her big, innocent hazel eyes. So painfully innocent, they strike straight through his heart. Gangle is the best out of all of them. She's the sweetest person Jax has ever met, in all honesty. It hurts. He wants to push her light away, even if it burns his hands. She doesn't need to know him.

(He's doing her a favour. He's the problem, so he'll remove himself. And it'll fix everything.)

"Yeah, well.." God, what is he doing? He can't even find it in him to bite. He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. Ew, greasy. He needs a shower.

"Sorry ladies, gentleman, and Zooble, but I'm gonna head out." He announces suddenly, sitting up and standing in one swift motion. He hears both Ragatha and Pomni protest, but he waves them off. No one else comes for him, so he turns back around for one last quip.

"And, Ragatha?" Jax tilts his head, grinning. "Don't think I was asleep the whole time you were out. You might want to check your toilet."

[]

Jax doesn't go home.

Instead, he goes for a nice little walk around town. He's still in the clothes he was wearing last night, and he hasn't had that shower, but who really cares anyways? This is New York, he isn't going to stick out just because his hair is greasy and his clothes are dirty.

The good thing about being an adult is that people who don't know you don't outwardly comment on your situation. Most of the time. Sure, they might look at Jax and think, "God, look at the state of  jthat guy", while they walk past, but he can't hear any of that.

Kids are brutal. Jax remembers being seven and wearing worn down shoes that were two sizes too small to school. They were so used that they made his ankles bleed every day. It wasn't that his parents couldn't afford a new pair for him, because they could, they just didn't want to.

And the kids would point and laugh at him. The teachers would always say something along the lines of, "don't be mean to him, he has it rough at home", but he was the only one to ever get told off when he'd finally snap and lash out. If they knew he had it so rough, why call his parents and tell them how much of a problem child he was? As if he wasn't told it enough at home.

Aside from the worn shoes, no one was ever able to notice the real problems going on. How could they? Half of the time, Jax was convinced he was making it up too. His father was a charming, funny guy. The type that gets greeted wherever he goes. The last person you'd expect to have a raging alcohol addiction.

He doesn't blame the teachers for not believing him. The only time he ever told anyone was when he was six, and it was a complete accident. A mistake he learned never to make again.

(Dad threw a bottle at him that night. It shattered against the wall. Jax picked glass out of his feet all night after that.)

His mother was present, but she didn't do anything. She loved her husband too much to leave him, even if her son paid the price. Why? Because she cheated, and Jax was the consequence to her actions.

He remembers how she used to wipe away his tears after a beating, how she'd put her hand on his chest and tell him to breathe, that he was safe, that everything was going to be okay. And he remembers how she'd tuck him into bed when she wasn't on a shift, how she'd kiss his forehead and tell him to have sweet dreams.

He never did.

Jax stops walking when he reaches a bridge. He leans over the edge and watches the water, watches the sun rays dance on the little ripples. How the wind seems to blow the surface in certain directions. It's beautiful.

Too beautiful. He'd ruin the beauty he let himself sink in it.

He turns around and walks home.

Chapter Text

Pomni never wakes up from her nightmares screaming.

Normally, she just startles awake and stares at the wall until her brain registers that it was just a dream. She'll get up and make herself a drink, and maybe have a snack. It's never something that ruins her whole night.

Tonight is different.

Tonight, she wakes up grieving. Heavy, heartbroken sobs leave her mouth without her even realising, and rivers of salt water travel from her eyes into her hair. All she can feel is Jax letting go of her hand.

After Ragatha's little intervention, Pomni decided that she wanted Jax to sleep at hers. Just so she can make sure that he is actually sleeping, because she wouldn't forgive herself if something happened and she missed a sign that was right in front of her.

And through the haze of her devastation, she feels the mattress shift next to her. Long, thin arms wrap around her and sit her up, and suddenly she's resting against something warm and living and breathing.

(The Circus was collapsing. They were going to die with it. There was a small, glowing sparkle in the void, one that Gangle was the first to spot. It was so small that they had to go one by one, though they kept ahold of each other's hands.)

(Ragatha, Gangle, Zooble, Kinger, they all got through. Pomni was next in line, and half of her left hand had already been engulfed in the illumination from where it was attached to Kinger's. He was still holding her hand, tugging gently. Encouragingly.)

(Warmth started to spread around her body. Hopeful, comfortable, home. Something foreign and human stirred in Pomni's gut. This was it. They were all going home.)

(Jax was supposed to be the behind her. She felt his hand leave hers, and she turned around to him getting further and further away. He let go of her hand.)

(The last thing Pomni saw before she was forcefully pulled through the portal was Jax's body distorting as he floated back into the corrupted Circus.)

Shaking hands in her hair. Why is he shaking? "Shh, shh, Pommers. It was just a dream."

Pomni shakes her head with a low, devastated whine. She's so angry, it's completely irrational but it sticks to her like super glue. How could he? She thumps her fist against Jax's chest, and he flinches, letting out a nervous chuckle. A piece of Pomni's already shattered heart breaks even more.

"Woah there, you're not allowed to be mad at me for the things that happen in your dreams." Jax scolds, tone playful and a tired kind a soft. And all Pomni can feel is him letting go.

She looks up to see his face, to make sure that he's still here. His expression is full of guilty anguish, but he smoothes it out into a calm smile once he sees her looking. It does nothing to reassure Pomni. What is he hiding? Why won't he just let her see?

(What is he so afraid of?)

"Look, whatever happened, it wasn't real. We're all okay." He tries, but her sobbing doesn't stop. How can she believe that when she looks at Jax and thinks, God, please let our love for him be stronger than his hate for himself?

One of his hands move to hold her face, gently brushing a tear away with his thumb. He's being so gentle and caring, and Pomni wants to believe him so badly. But his hands are shaking and there's something wrong in his eyes. He looks scared and she doesn't know why.

She wishes he would just tell her.

She grips onto his wrist, searching his eyes like they're going to give her an answer. Like they're going to tell her why he looks so tired. Like they're going to tell her why he was falling asleep on a roof. He strokes her cheek with his thumb.

"Please don't cry." Jax sounds a bit desperate now, and he pulls her to his chest and buries his face in her hair. "I'm here, I'm here."

Pomni sobs into him, listening to the thump-thump-thump of his heart. She thinks, you're not, you're not.

[]

Jax thoroughly hates Monday mornings.

Firstly, it's the day with his longest shift. And he starts at fucking 7 in the morning. He's supposed to be a cashier, the guy who gets insults and glares thrown at him when he reads out how much someone's groceries will cost them. It's perfect for him, in all honesty. He wants, and deserves, to be hated.

But still, no one comes into a Walmart this early in the morning. The fluorescent lights burn at his eyes, random songs on the radio playing in the background. The ones that you only know the tune to, not the actual words. Nothing worth trying to decipher.

But still, the odd person comes to the checkout with a carton of milk and a box of cereal that they probably forgot to buy the day prior. In the meantime, Jax stands at his till, messing with the buttons and absently tapping his foot to the beat of the song playing in the background.

Everything is grating on him. Every nerve in his body is ignited, and he's hyperaware of how scratchy his shirt feels against his upper body. It sets his face into a permanent scowl, and he realises he must be squinting. The lights have gone past burning his eyes, they seem to have made their way behind them instead. An aching pressure that doesn't go away no matter how many times he rubs at his temples.

He's halfway through rubbing his forehead when a lady appears at the checkout, staring at him expectantly.

"What." Jax spits out, though his irritation isn't aimed at her. She's expecting him to do his job, obviously. Why else would she be here?

He huffs and goes through the motions. Scanning her items, asking if she wants a bag, scanning said bag, asking if she's paying with cash or card, get the the card machine out- you get it. And it goes on. And on. And on. And on.

The easy part is, Jax can dissociate through the whole day. His body is always on autopilot, his mouth moves without him thinking and he'll grin without moving his face. It's just that the lights are so bright and everything is so agonisingly loud today. His senses are coiled tight inside of him, waiting to spring and snap at the slightest disturbance. Everything is moving so slowly, yet it's too fast for him to process.

But still. Customer service grin, throw some charm in the mix, and he doesn't get fired. As horrible and annoying he likes to be, he can really get people on his side if he wants to. People who can't see through the cracks, who he can make snarky comments to and they'll laugh and tell him to have a good day. Jax likes people who don't know him, who will never know him.

A little girl and her father come up to the till, and Jax hears himself speak. Feels an easy grin form on his face as he scans the items, all for the sake of keeping a job. Because if he didn't have one, Ragatha would force him to either live with her, or force him to let her pay his rent. And he wants to keep some of his dignity, okay?

It's too bright to be dissociated. The familiar feeling tugs at him, waves washing over his feet, but the everything of the world around him forces him to stay afloat. He just wants to sleep. The little girl tries to pass a bottle of alcohol to him, but she misplaces it, and it falls to the ground with a harsh, unforgiving smash.

Silence. Jax feels his brain fill up with static, ears ringing and palms sweating. Is he so pathetic that he forgets how to breathe because of a bottle smashing? Yeah, he is. No wonder dad hated him. No wonder everyone hates him. He's the cause, the problem, the parasite begging to be removed–

Barbed wire wrapping around his lungs, squeezing and stinging and cutting. Jax stumbles backwards a few steps, staring blankly at nothing. His legs are shaking- when did it get so cold? Breathe. He can't. He's going to die like this. He's never going to get out, nothing will ever change. He doesn't deserve a change. He doesn't deserve a chance to change. What does he deserve? Pain? Suffering? The suffocating nothingness that seems to have a permanent residency in his brain?

He doesn't excuse himself, he just goes. The cubicle door locks behind him and then Jax is against the cold, hard bathroom floor. He's going to die like this, he's absolutely sure. He doesn't want to die- he's so fucking scared of dying. Is that all he is? Scared? The scared little kid backed into a corner because his daddy decided he wasn't worth loving?

Oily, black spots close in on his vision, and the tips of his fingers tingle. This is it. He's going to die and everyone will forget he ever existed- not that he deserves to be remembered. He doesn't want them to remember, he wasn't meant to mean anything to anyone. It's not meant to be like this, he isn't meant to have a family.

He wasn't created to be loved.

Breathe, breathe, breathe- he can't. He just can't. It's so cold, and yet Jax feels like he's melting alive. His chest squeezes and his heart thrums in his ears, and he's so goddamn scared. A little, shaky sob rips itself from his throat, and he's just a trembling little boy again. Hiding in the closet, eating from a plate with unsure hands, begging the teacher please, don't send me home.

Jax lets his head thud backwards against the wall, closing his eyes and wheezing. Breathe, it's easy. He manages a choppy inhale, though he only gets two seconds through the holding stage before his lungs cry out and he sputters. He can't do this. He can't. He can't. He can't.

Just try again. Another shaky inhale, hold for four seconds, and then let go. Repeat. Repeat- please don't fall. Just keep going.

The world slowly stops spinning around Jax, and dread releases its grip on his body. Tremors of adrenaline shoot straight through him, and it's too bright, too loud, and he's so tired. Even though he doesn't feel like he's actively dying anymore, the panicked whirring of his thoughts doesn't slow down. The tightness in his chest eases the slightest bit.

Exhausted and shaking. Is it normal to feel this cold? Jax's stomach churns with something mixed with anxiety, his throat burns with bile and stomach acid. Grateful he chose to have his little breakdown in the bathroom, he pulls himself to his knees and throws up all of the nothing he's eaten today. He'll get something at lunch- when even is lunch? What time is it?

He pulls his phone out of his pocket with a shaky hand, sitting back on his heels. 09:37 AM. Barely three hours into his shift, and all he wants to do is drown himself in the toilet. He has 6 hours left. What's the point anymore? He could go home and no one would actually notice. Nothing bad will happen, the store has plenty of workers- why is he trying to justify himself? Just go home.

Jax's legs almost give out as he stands, and the sound of the toilet flushing sounds a million miles away. The world swims around him. He unlocks the cubicle and stumbles towards the sink, gripping the porcelain so tightly that his knuckles go white. But it's fine. It's fine. He's so totally fine. Fan-fucking-tastic.

He doesn't bother looking in the mirror, he's a mess anyways. The disaster waiting to happen. The poison.

There's a back exit. No one will notice. Jax trudged out of the bathroom, exhausted and wrung out. He leaves through said back exit and walks. His brain doesn't register where he's going, he's just tired and he wants to go home where he can sleep. The wind cuts through him, burns his weary lungs. It's not long until he's fumbling with keys in his pocket.

The door opens and closes. He makes a beeline for his bedroom, flopping down onto the bed face-first. He can't even be bothered to change out of his clothes, too worn out by his pathetic fit over a smashed bottle. He didn't even drop it! It was that stupid girl with her stupid father.

(He wonders, did she get hit for that? Locked in her room? Forced to tears and then patronised?)

Jax crawls further into his bed, kicking off his shoes. He's far too tired to be doing anything else, shattered to his core. He closes his eyes and listens to the silence of the world, save for a few beeping cars. Ribbit never liked the quiet. He was fearless, but silence scared him. He always had something to say, something to add on, a quip to make. It was never quiet around Ribbit.

Anxiety stirs in his gut, different this time. This one crawls up his spine sat a painfully slow pace. It breathes down his neck, but it doesn't grab ahold of him. It doesn't take control, it just taunts. Watches over him.

He can hear his heart, and he restlessly fidgets a few times, lanky arms coming up to hug his stomach. Why now? When he was just about to fall asleep?

The feeling of being watched never went away for Jax. It hangs over him all the time, even if he knows there's no one there. In the Circus, this was easy. Because of course they were being watched. Now, however, whenever his brain tells him that there's someone there, he feels like a prey animal being hunted.

He's not one for being sentimental or sappy, but he finds himself crawling out of bed and pulling the weighted blanket that isn't even for him out of the closet. Maybe if he puts a barrier there, they'll leave him alone. He's freezing cold anyways.

He wraps said blanket around himself and lays back down, curling up into a little ball. Surprisingly, this bed is bought with all of his own money. Ragatha was so proud of him, so proud it hurt. Jax can't understand why. Shouldn't she disappointed? He doesn't deserve a bed, he deserves the floor. He was fine on the floor.

He doesn't even deserve sleep, at this point.

Now that's a thought that distracts him from the feelings of eyes burning into him. It plants a seed in his brain, roots already wrapping themselves around his thoughts. It makes so much sense. He's not a human, not even close. He's absolutely sure that this body of his is cursed. That he was put on this planet to hurt and to be hurt.

He's the poison.

Let's face it: Jax would've abstracted if he was still in the Circus. His funeral would've already come and gone, and everyone would be moving on and forgetting about him. What's the difference out here? Just because he resembles something that has a life? He doesn't have a life. He doesn't deserve one, he doesn't deserve anything.

(Are you proud, dad? That I understand what you mean now?)

The problem is that the people around Jax just don't seem to want to let him go. He doesn't bother himself with wondering why. He hurts them, he hurts everyone around him. He's the parasite. What's so wrong with wanting to be the pest control too?

He'll have to make it look like he's normal. Easy enough, he's been acting like he's a normal person his whole life. He'll deprive himself of the stuff he apparently needs, and when they're least expecting it, he'll kill himself.

And it's going to fix everything.

Chapter Text

Okay, so maybe not sleeping was a bad idea. But Jax is the king of bad ideas. And this idea has grown its roots. It can't be removed. It's going to work.

The not sleeping was purposeful. His head is pounding, his eyes are droopy and half-lidded, and he doesn't want to move from his spot ever. Even if he is kind of cold. He hasn't moved since yesterday, meaning that the heating hasn't been on all night. He's positively freezing. It's nothing new, he's always cold. Down to the marrow of his bones.

7 AM. Jax drags himself out of bed and stretches out his worn muscles, head pounding to the beat of his heart as it tries to catch up with all of the sudden exertion. Even moving is an effort. He's used to not getting a lot of sleep, he can't remember the last time he slept for more that 5 hours straight. It's why he's always up so early. But getting no hours at all isn't exactly normal for his body.

He rubs his eyes, pushing the palms of his hands into his sockets. All he wants to do is lay down and go to sleep. But he knows that he'll probably just have a nightmare anyways. He has them all the time about so many different things. They hang over his head while he's awake. They're always there. He's always scared. He's so tired of being scared.

With that, he stands up and opens the curtains. Luckily for Jax's eyes, it's still a bit dark outside due to it being autumn. Maybe he could go for a walk. Not like he's needed at work anyways.

(Not like he's needed anywhere.)

He doesn't bother getting dressed, because what he's wearing isn't actually that unacceptable. A purple shirt and black pants. He throws a hoodie on to keep himself from freezing to death, even though that'd be hilarious. He's got a plan.  A routine. A schedule to follow. As much as he wants to die now, the people around Jax are still too attached to him. They're still acting like they need him, and Jax knows all too well that if you pretend hard enough, your own brain will start to believe you too.

He makes his way out into the main room, though the calendar on the wall catches his eye. It's the start of October. Ribbit abstracted on the 11th. His own birthday is at the start of December, he doesn't plan on making it that far. The thought of living through another year of this makes him uneasy, almost as if death is some sort of comfort blanket. It's not. He's terrified of death, but he needs to die. He doesn't deserve to be alive, and he certainly doesn't deserve to make it to his birthday.

Jax walks over to the calendar. He rips November and December out and throws the pages in the bin.

[]

Putting a hoodie on was definitely a good idea, it's freezing at this point in the morning. Jax sits in a field on the outskirts of town, underneath an apple tree. This is his secret little place, Ribbit's "grave". Ribbit loved apples, and he liked being able to see the stars. If he made it out, this would probably be his favourite place to go to. Which is exactly why Jax chose it to be his grave. So he can always look at the stars.

He knows it isn't a real grave, he doesn't have a body to bury, and the only resemblance of a gravestone is the “R” carved into the trunk of the tree. But he just needs this. He needs this fake closure so the grief alone doesn't kill him. Though, in some twisted way, it is. The grief is killing him. He can't let go and it's going to kill him.

It's silent. Ribbit hated silence. The Fearless One, but afraid of the quiet. Maybe it's because quiet feels small, and Ribbit was larger than life. He was everybody's friend, he just seemed to know how to be human. How to be loved. How to let people love him. That's why he was The Fearless One in Jax's collection of archetypes. Ribbit was braver than he could ever be.

And yet, he still died. Everything clicked into place. Jax's dad has always called him a curse, and in that moment, he understood. Ribbit abstracting made no sense, it had to be Jax that caused it. He caused the one good thing in his life to die. Because he's a curse. A parasite. The poison.

It hurts. It's absolute agony. Jax hates himself for doing it, for ruining everything, for existing. Ribbit would be heartbroken if he saw Jax like this. Just more proof that the only thing he's capable of is hurting people. He stopped trying once Ribbit died. If that's what people think of him, that he's cursed, it must be true. What's the point in trying to be anything else?

Yeah, he's been trying. When they escaped the Circus and didn't leave Jax behind, he decided that he wanted to at least try and see whatever they saw in him. He knows they care, he just doesn't understand why. They're all stupid for wanting to care, for thinking that he'll ever be anything more than what he already is. He wants to be more, but people don't always get what they want. He's doing them a favour.

Dark waves wash over Jax's mind, pulling him under. It hurts, everything hurts. Ribbit was one of the best people he's met, and he killed him. He knows he did. His dad has always been right, he's always won. And Jax just can't escape who he is, no matter how hard to tries. And it hurts so bad. He never wanted it to be Ribbit, and he can't stop being sorry. Every fibre of his being is sorry.

And yet, he wants him back here so badly. He wants to feel his tears be wiped away and have their foreheads bumped together. He wants his best friend back. His better half. The person who made him want a future he didn't think he'd be able to see. How morbid is that? Jax was the one who wanted to die. It's so devastating that he's the one who lived.

He's not sure how long he sits at Ribbit's grave, but when he comes back into the real world, it's light. And he's tired. He's so tired. His bones are aching.

The sun burns at Jax's retinas. It makes him want to crawl back into his little cave of dissociation he keeps in the back of his brain, but he knows that he looks like an absolute lunatic. He's probably been sat here for at least an hour, considering how much his ass is aching from sitting on hardened mud. He lets out a sigh and stands up, holding onto the tree when he's hit with a head rush. His vision goes blurry and his ears ring for a few seconds, but it's nothing standing still for a few seconds wont fix.

The dizziness lingers, but that's probably because he didn't eat breakfast. Or dinner last night. Wow, he's not even trying at this new form of punishment and he's still somehow doing it right. It's probably the only thing he can do right. Would dad be proud? What about Ribbit?

(Ribbit would cry. He'd shake Jax by the shoulders and beg to be let in. Jax wishes he could be sorry.)

(He can't, because he's doing the right thing.)

He begins to walk home, legs shaking ever so slightly from exhaustion. The sun is almost at its highest point, which means it's probably almost lunch. He doesn't bother going to get something to eat on the way back. Will anyone notice if he starves to death? If his wrists get stick-thin and his ribs are visible? That's not his aim. Jax has never really had a problem with how his body looks in terms of weight. He just doesn't deserve food. It's a human thing, and he's anything but human.

He goes straight back to his bed once he gets inside. He considers laying on the floor, but that would definitely make him ache, and he's trying to be as discreet as possible. If someone finds out what he's doing, they'll definitely try stop him, even if he can't understand why. They didn't leave him in the Circus. They don't seem to be leaving him behind here either.

The waves pull, pull, pull again. Jax allows himself to sink. Faintly, he can feel hunger clawing at his stomach. He can feel his eyes begging to shut. It's not his body, he tells himself. He doesn't have one, he just exists here to hurt and to be hurt. He doesn't want to hurt people anymore. He wants to be hurt. He doesn't understand why being loved hurts for him when it seems so easy for everyone else. He's permanently distanced. He will never be like them.

He's not sure what brings him back. Whatever it is, he despises it. The water retreats, the tide goes out, and Jax is left all alone and vulnerable in the real world. He doesn't want to be real. What's something that can take the realness away?

Oh. He's got an idea. So good that if he was still in the Circus, a lightbulb would appear on top of his head.

He throws some actual clothes on, brain still too fuzzy to actually care about what he's wearing, and heads out.

[]

Zooble doesn't actually mind their job, to be honest. It's got good hours, good pay, and the place is quite a friendly and welcoming one. Plus, the manager let them hang up some of Gangle's drawings around the bar. They're pretty sure that they'd quit if that hadn't been allowed.

It's not really a busy bar, either. Most of the people who come here for a drink are regulars, so there's a lot of familiar faces around. The only new people that come are normally family or friends of coworkers. Though, Zooble's never really invited their friends to come. They have, like, twice, but only for a few drinks. All of them are at least a little paranoid after the Circus, and it makes it hard to get everyone out at once.

So you can imagine the complete and utter confusion Zooble feels when a very drunk and disoriented Jax stumbles through the door. Even more confusing, he actually seems to look for them, waving obnoxiously and yelling, "Hey, Zoobs!" as soon as he sees them.

"Oh my god." Zooble says, exasperated. One of their coworkers look over with a raised eyebrow. They shake their head, walking over to the bar. "Don't ask."

Jax is already sat down, arms stretched out in front of him. He's staring up at them with a lazy smile, clearly trying to be cocky. Miserably failing. He just looks like an idiot.

(When doesn't he?)

"Hey, dumbass." They greet with a sigh, and Jax lets out a little chuckle. Wow, he's really gone.

Don't get Zooble wrong, they don't exactly like Jax. How could they? No one should expect them to. But they definitely don't hate the guy, or at least, not anymore. He was a lot worse when they were in the Circus, though it clicked in Zooble's mind after they left that he wanted to abstract. They know what a good person he can be, the person he was before Ribbit died. Even if it was only for a few months. They'd be more than willing to help him be that person again.

1. "How much have you had?" They ask calmly, already bending down to pour a glass of water. Jax hums vaguely. Zooble takes that as too much. As much as they just want to go home when their shift ends, which is only 30 minutes away, they can't just leave him here. More importantly, they're not sure they want to either.

"For fucks sake- just stay there. I'm done in half and hour." Zooble grumbles, placing the glass of water on the bar and pushing it towards Jax, who eyes it like it's poison. "Drink."

They turn and walk away, going back to completing their shift. They cast a few glances at Jax as they do, who actually listens for once and stays put. He has his head in his arms when Zooble returns, and only half of the water is gone, but it's good enough. Better than nothing. So much better than nothing.

"Alright, dickwad. Up you get." They announce as they come out from behind the bar, waiting a few seconds for a reaction. Jax doesn't move, either asleep or pretending to be. If they weren't in a bar, Zooble would just leave him. Because he looks thoroughly exhausted.

"Jax." They say, firmer this time. The guy in question lets out an annoyed sigh, peeking out from underneath his arms. Zooble feels themself soften a little at how miserable he looks.

"Come on. If you don't get up, I'm pouring that water down your back." They threaten, unhesitant to actually go through with it. Jax scans their face for a moment, to which they raise their eyebrows, serious. He lets out a long, dramatic groan, but he sits up anyways, squinting at the table. Yeah, Zooble's definitely bringing a sick bowl into the car.

Getting Jax to his feet is an absolute pain, because his limbs just don't seem to cooperate. Or he's doing it on purpose to be an ass. Probably the latter. He ends up having to lean on Zooble while they walk, but at soon as they get outside, his mood completely shifts. He keeps looking around like there's something watching them, and the way he does it doesn't sit right with them. They're all paranoid, Gangle was scared to get any new technology for at least 3 months after escaping, but that's fear. The way Jax does it is resigned. Expecting.

Not worth asking him about it right now, Zooble decides. They get to the car, and they both get in. Before they set off, they pull their phone out to quickly message someone.

Zooble: are you free tonight?

It takes a minute or two for said person to respond, though it is almost midnight. Jax has his head resting against the window, blinking slowly while his eyes follow something Zooble can't see. He just looks so tired. The type of tired that makes you want to fall asleep on a roof.

Pomni: Yeah, why?

Zooble: your boyfriend is shitfaced. he's being weird and i think he needs somewhere to stay

Pomni: Oh god

Pomni: Yeah I'm free.

Zooble: kay. we'll be 20 mins tops

With that, they start the car up. Jax jumps a little at the sudden noise, and then seems to find amusement in his own fear. It might just be him being drunk, but that's wishful thinking.

"You good?" They ask, to which he smirks lopsidedly and nods. Zooble rolls their eyes, though something foreign stirs in their chest. It's not anger or sadness, or not even worry. It's something along the lines of pity, though it's not exactly that either.

Jax has been hurt. They know that. They spotted it in him as soon as they came into the Circus. His rabbit ears weren't naturally perked up, because whenever he seemed to actually relax, they'd go down. They were up because he was scared. Always scared, always alert, always waiting. There were other telltale signs too, the immediate fight response whenever he felt threatened, the doubt on his face whenever someone showed an ounce of affection towards him. It was obvious to Zooble.

But Jax didn't want to be helped, especially after Ribbit died. He got angrier. He got scared. He was grieving possibly the only person he felt safe with, and they understood that. They would've gladly helped him if he hadn't turned so mean.

Sometimes, Zooble wonders what he'd be like if he got help sooner. Before the Circus, even. But it's just what happens when no one listens. Luckily for Zooble, someone did listen to them. They did get help, and they one day they stumbled on a stupid headset and everything changed.

Sometimes, Zooble looks at Jax and thinks, I'm sorry. I'm sorry it has to be like this.

(I'm sorry no one came to save you.)

And that's the frustrating part. Zooble wants to help, they always have, but he's just so damn horrible. He wants to be given up on, he wants to be hated. Because that's what he thinks he deserves, and how he acts is supposed to get people to agree with that thought. And for a while, Zooble did. But he changed after the Circus. He opened his eyes a little, he started being nicer. His sweet smiles came back and he'd crack jokes that weren't just making fun of someone.

He isn't being horrible anymore, but it's almost like he's given up completely now. There's no bite left in him. Zooble saw it the other day when Ragatha called them all to her apartment. It wasn't Jax deciding against being mean, he was just too tired. He's so, so tired, and Zooble can tell. He's given up, he wasn't supposed to make it out of the Circus, but he did. It's almost like he doesn't know what to do with himself now.

Zooble never hated Jax. They hated the person that made his pain everyone else's problem. He doesn't anymore. Guilt radiates off of him. They don't know if that's better or worse.

"I'm sorry." He mumbles halfway through the drive, and it doesn't surprise Zooble. He has a lot of things to be sorry for, but this isn't one of them. He's not saying sorry for being drunk. He's sorry that they care about him.

"Don't worry about it." They respond calmly, pointedly not looking at him. Not because they're mad, but because they know that if they did, the walls would go back up. Even if he shouldn't be sorry, Zooble would much rather him express the guilt that's clearly eating him alive than him keep it hidden. Because at least they know for sure.

They know they have to choose their words carefully, because Jax is a fragile thing. But maybe it'll be encouraging. "Y'know, you're not half bad when you're like this."

Jax lifts his head from the window, staring at them for a moment. Zooble pretends not to notice. Then he snorts, going back to his usual teasing manner. "What, y'like me better when I'm drunk?"

And because Zooble is smart, they read between the lines. What he really means is "you don't mean that". They don't confront him about it, because it wouldn't make a difference. They got the reaction they thought they'd get, and now their suspicions are confirmed. He doesn't want to believe it.

"If the boot fits." They deadpan, and Jax huffs out a little chuckle.

It's only a 20 minute drive. As soon as they  get out, Jax stumbles to a bush and pukes. Zooble grimaces at the noise, following after him. He sways a little when he stops, and they have to steady him on his feet so he doesn't fall face first into the bush he just spewed his guts into.

"Are you finished?" They ask gently once the gagging actually stops, to which he nods weakly. He looks a little distant, and Zooble doesn't know whether to sign it off as him being drunk or him starting to dissociate. It must be the latter, because he's unsettlingly quiet while they take the elevator up to the floor where they somehow all managed to get apartments on. When it happened, Zooble called it cartoon logic. Then they realised they aren't in a cartoon anymore.

Pomni must be waiting for them, because she answers the door barely a few seconds after Zooble knocks. Jax is staring at the floor, eyes eerily empty and dull. Have they mentioned that he looks tired? Now he looks like the life has been sucked out of him.

"Oh god." Pomni says when she gets a look at Jax, half exasperated and half worried. Zooble hums in agreement. Oh god indeed.

They give him a little nudge, to which Jax walks forwards on autopilot, still staring aimlessly at the ground. Pomni gently guides him through the door, the worried look intensifying when he doesn't protest. She shoots a questioning glance at Zooble, who just shrugs. Because what else can they do.

"I know." They mumble, sounding defeated and sad to their own ears. "Just.. make sure he drinks some water and has something to eat. And don't let him fall asleep on his back."

Pomni, who probably already knows the protocol already, just nods and mumbles a quiet thanks, before closing the door. Zooble feels their shoulders relax a little. At least he's safe now, that's what matters.

They turn around and go to their own apartment. The lights are off when they get in, which means Gangle's probably already asleep. Figures, she's always the first to fall asleep. She could probably sleep for America.

They carefully sneak through the flat, somehow managing to get into the bedroom without bumping into anything or stubbing their toes. As predicted, Gangle is sparko, curled up on one side of the bed. Zooble can't help but smile fondly at the sight. At least some things are okay.

They quietly get into their pyjamas and climb into bed, letting out a tired sigh. The way Jax kept looking behind them in the parking lot doesn't leave their mind.

[]

Something cold is pressed into Jax's hand. It pulls him from his brain at a disorienting speed, and his fingers automatically lock around the object. A few blinks, and he can see that it's a glass of water. The world spins out of focus around it, and he has to close his eyes and reopen them to get it to stop. Like a computer rebooting itself.

Pomni says something. She's stood in front of him, he realises slowly. Her mouth is moving, but he can't hear a thing. Like he's still in the murky waters of his brain, watching everything from under the surface. Awareness pulls at his senses in fragments, he's back in the body that apparently belongs to him.

"-eed to drink some water, Jax." Pomni repeats, and he registers that she's actually talking to him. That's his name. Or, well, he thinks it is. He's not sure he has a name, in all honesty. He's too in and out of existence to have a name. To be tethered to something. Jax blinks slowly and lifts the cup to his lips. The water swirls uncomfortably in the pit of his empty stomach.

His grip on reality tightens again, completely against his will. He's more in than out. Pomni carefully takes the glass from his hands once he's done, he wonders how everything she does is so caring and gentle. He can feel how genuine she is and it aches. His eyes hurt. He focuses on the show playing on the TV.

The Sixth Sense is on. Jax vaguely remembers the movie and how it ends, though it's right at the start. He remembers being squashed between his mom and dad while watching it, heart racing. Nerves on end, waiting for the calm moment to be over. For the illusion of love to fade back into the hate he deserves.

Pomni is looking at him expectantly. The waves of dissociation leave Jax cold and shaking. He takes the plate out of her hand without thinking, immediately regretting it. He doesn't want to eat that. He doesn't deserve to eat that. But she's looking at him with her hopeful, determined eyes, and he knows he doesn't have a choice, as much as he might want to fight.

He lifts the first slice of toast to his mouth and bites. Chews. Swallows. He's so exhausted that it's all an effort, and he wants to cry. The hunger that had previously given up sending signals returns with vengeance, angry and desperate and begging. Jax forces himself to take another bite, despite the foghorn of YOU DON'T DESERVE THIS screaming in his ear. The volume increases tenfold when Pomni sits down beside him and tries to rub his back, only for Jax to flinch and move away. She makes a small, guilty noise. The self-hatred coils tighter around his gut, filled with sick relief. How could anyone love him? How, when being hated is what fuels him?

She watches him until he's finished, unfortunately. And once he is, she takes the plate away and forces him to lay down with his head on her lap. He's too drunk to be able to fight back properly, so he ends up having to cooperate. Her fingers run through his hair. Always gentle. Gentle in a way someone like Jax could never reciprocate. Gentle in a way someone like Jax will never deserve.

Trembles run through his worn out body. They must be noticeable, because a blanket is pulled over him. Panic mixes with the self-hatred in his gut, making a dangerous cocktail. The voice screams louder in his ear. He doesn't deserve any of this. He kicks his legs and tries to push the blanket away, but Pomni stays firm.

"Why are you being so difficult?" Jax hears her say, and his eyes sting. He doesn't want to be difficult. He doesn't want to be anything at all. Pomni makes another wounded sound at the sight of his tears. Jax has never hated himself more. Jax has never hated Zooble more.

Don't you see what you're doing? You're hurting her. You can't stay here.

"I'm sorry." He mumbles, choked. He's not sure if he's apologising to the voice or Pomni, it just comes out. He needs someone to know how sorry he is.

"What for?" Pomni tries, voice shaky and somewhat desperate. He wishes he could just tell her not to worry. He wishes she'd stop caring so much and let him go like she was supposed to. He was never meant to make it out of the Circus. He told himself one day he'd be grateful he did, but now he's not so sure. It's where he deserves to be. He just doesn't get how Pomni doesn't see that.

"Everything." Jax whispers, shuddering as he curls up into a ball. Pomni falls silent, hand resting in his hair. Maybe she'll realise he's too broken to be put back together. Maybe she'll give up. That thought scares him. He's too exhausted to figure out why.

Something warm trails from his eyes as he closes them, but he doesn't pay it any mind. He just needs out of this conversation. The soft stroking of his hair resumes at some point, very slowly lulling him to sleep.

He dreams about not waking up.

Chapter Text

Ribbit has been acting strange.

Jax isn't quite sure what it is about him that's weird, but there's something there that just doesn't sit right with him. Something wrong. It's not obvious, it's something he can only see if he's looking, but it's there. And he doesn't understand what it is, so it scares him.

Fear has settled in his gut. Him and the frog are chatting in Jax's room, Ribbit sat on the edge of the bed with his legs swinging aimlessly. He's gone quiet, which is usually forbidden around him, because he hates the quiet. It makes Jax's unease grow, because something is wrong and he doesn't know what. He can't fix it. He can't help.

"You okay?" Jax asks, tilting his head to the side as he watches the frog. His ears tilt too, flopped down against his head. Relaxed, but so, so anxious.

Ribbit seems to wake back up. He flops backwards and throws his arms out, smiling up at Jax. He winks. "Always."

It doesn't soothe the gnawing in his gut, but he feels a little less anxious. He feels his shoulders loosen a bit. He knows what Ribbit is like, that he's likely lying, but he ignores it. He selfishly drinks it in and convinces himself he believes it, because it won't change anything. Ribbit will still be here either way. 

(Right?)

"Dude, come here. You're literally hanging off of the bed." Jax mumbles after another moment of silence, to which Ribbit chuckles and wiggles himself onto said bed. Jax shuffles a bit, pressing himself against the wall so the frog can lay next to him comfortably. The frog in question understands the gesture, and happily takes up his little spot.

It goes quiet again. There's something sad and resigned in the way Ribbit stares up at the ceiling. Like he knows something Jax doesn't. It tears at his insides, worry grips him again, and he clears his throat. He shivers, and he can't possibly be cold, because there isn't such a thing in the Circus. Ribbit must feel it, because he looks up at Jax with a smile.

"Are you okay?" He asks, and Jax can only nod. A breath shudders out of him, and Ribbit wriggles underneath his arm. A warm weight on his chest. Jax's heart slows back down, the tightness in his lungs eases a little. It's okay. Ribbit is right here. Nothing is going to happen.

"Yeah. You're just being quiet, that's all." Jax manages to answer eventually, wrapping his arm around the frog. Ribbit huffs out a small laugh. Warm and alive on his chest, Jax reminds himself. Ribbit is right here. Everything is okay.

"Yeah, sorry." Ribbit responds, cheek pressed over Jax's heart. Jax isn't sure why he's apologising. "I'm just tired."

Oh. That's something Jax can fix. "You can go to sleep, if you want. I'm pretty comfortable here."

Something sad crosses Ribbit's expression, almost akin to grief, and Jax can confidently say that he's confused. Was there a double meaning to that? He can't find one, no matter how hard he tries. He feels the frog cuddle a bit closer to him, feels how he swallows like there's a rock in his throat. It's not often that Ribbit gets upset, Jax panics when he does.

"I-" Jax starts, helpless panic rising in his chest. He's desperate. He just wants to fix it. "Ribs, what's wrong?" Why won't you tell me?

Ribbit just shakes his head. He's not crying, but he looks like he might, and Jax is pretty sure his heart is beating at the speed of a rabbit's. Hah.

He just wants to make it better. He can't even try if Ribbit doesn't tell him what's wrong.

It goes quiet again. Jax watches over his best friend, the desperate worry and helpless fear never fading. Ribbit's arm wraps around his torso, warm and grounding and there. Jax picks and chooses who can touch him, and Ribbit is at the top of that list. They're attached at the hip, but this is different.

(This feels like it's goodbye. Jax isn't sure why. He's terrified.)

After some quiet, Ribbit opens his eyes. He looks up at Jax, eyes big and longing. They linger on his face, like he's trying to memorise it, or comfort himself. The helpless fear in Jax's chest shrinks into something small and aching. He wishes the frog would just tell him. But he'll be here either way.

"You know I love you, right?" Ribbit asks quietly, and yeah, he does look tired. Jax tries to smile, desperate to fix it. Is Ribbit upset because he's tired? Emotions do seem to get bigger when you're tired. But why is he upset in the first place? He doesn't understand. He can't read between the lines, and it terrifies him, because he knows there's something there.

"Yeah, I- I know." Jax answers, voice a bit shaky. He's getting upset now too, because he knows that something's wrong, but he can't figure it out. And he's tired too. Why is Ribbit asking him that? He feels like he's going to cry. He's going to cry.

Ribbit makes a small, guilty noise at the sight of his tears. He sits up and cups Jax's face, expression anguished. "Hey, no, no, don't cry. It's okay, I'm here. You don't need to cry, Carrots. I'm here, I'm here."

Jax lets a sob slip. He's not completely sure why he's crying, in all honesty. Ribbit frowns. "Aw, Jax. Please don't cry. I'm okay. Everything is okay."

Jax does, in fact, cry. He hears Ribbit sigh, feels him sit up. He bumps their foreheads together, smiling at Jax softly. So, so soft, and so loving. Jax's heart hurts. He's tired too.

"You're tired too, hm?" Ribbit's always been able to read his mind. He wishes he could reciprocate the action.

Jax doesn't need to answer. Ribbit hums thoughtfully, then shifts their position so that he's against the headboard with Jax's head in his lap. The frog has a strange ability to make him feel loved. Jax hugs Ribbit's torso with one arm, still aware of the tired upset his friend is feeling. He can't fix it, can he? He wants to. Badly.

Ribbit pets his ears. Evil, Jax thinks, closing his eyes. He always falls asleep if his ears are being rubbed. For the moment, it's just relaxing. Jax can just exist with his best friend. He lets out a large sigh, and it makes Ribbit chuckle for some reason. He doesn't really question it.

"You know I love you too?" Jax asks after a little while, sleepily lifting his head to look up at his best friend. Ribbit's hand pauses between his ears, and he looks a little startled. He smiles after a moment, genuine. There's something else in his eyes that Jax can't quite decipher.

"Yeah." He answers softly, and Jax lays his head back down. His gut is still nagging at him, but he ignores it. He's way too tired.

The rubbing starts up again, and Jax really does start to feel sleepy this time. He yawns and snuggles closer, closing his eyes. Something upset stirs in his chest, but Ribbit's gentle stroking soothes the ache. "Night, Ribs."

Ribbit takes a few seconds to respond. Jax can hear the endearment in his voice when he does. "Night, Jax."

[]

It's about 3 in the morning when Pomni feels Jax's body stiffen in her lap, the same way it does every time he wakes up from a nightmare. She hasn't managed to get to sleep. The movie has long finished, the TV is off, and all she can think about is the fact that she feels like Jax is drifting further and further away from her and he's laying on her lap.

He always freezes when he's had a nightmare. It's almost like he's afraid that if he moves, it'll become real. He holds his breath this time. Pomni's hand, which has been idly resting on his neck, gently rubs in an attempt to coax a breath out of him. He shudders and relents. There's nothing to be said. She just hopes he goes back to sleep.

Wishful thinking. Jax always finds something to say so silence doesn't swallow him whole.

"'S.. what time is it?" He asks, voice low and slurred. Pomni can't tell if it's from exhaustion or the lingering affects of all the alcohol he drank.

"It's just gone three." Pomni responds, tired but unwavering. She rubs her thumb against the nape of his neck, praying that it's enough to keep him down. She just wants him to sleep. She just wants him to stop looking like a corpse. "Go back to sleep, Jax."

Jax lets out a long sigh. Pomni tilts her head so she can see his face. His eyebrows are scrunched up with discomfort, though he looks like he can't quite place where it's coming from. He shifts, and her request is completely ignored, because suddenly he's sitting up and blinking like he's going to pass out. Pomni wants to cry out of both frustration and exhaustion.

"I need the toilet." He announces through a yawn, a little too loudly for three in the morning. She'd find his lack of awareness funny if he didn't look so hollow. She bites back the protest on her tongue and nods, humming in acknowledgment in case he doesn't register her action. Jax stands up and he looks like Bambi on ice. Pomni selfishly tells herself that it's the alcohol.

He stumbles towards the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, and two seconds later, she's grimacing at the sound of him throwing up everything he's drank. She wants to go and rub his back, but she knows that he's probably already overwhelmed, and her touch will do nothing but stress him out more. Instead, she goes to the kitchen and fetches a bottle of water from the fridge, before heading back to her previous position and waiting for the toilet to flush.

It takes a while for Jax to come out, even after the toilet flushes. As much as Pomni wants to go and knock, she knows that the mask will just be put back on, and the least she can do is let him be for a while. She doesn't comment on it when he emerges and clumsily sits back down on the couch, just hand him the water. Her hand brushes his. Cold and clammy.

He gets through a third of the bottle before he's stumbling to the bathroom again, and this time, Pomni goes and fetches a bowl so he won't have to keep going back and forth. She feels like a magpie, slowly collecting objects. Jax doesn't even acknowledge the bowl when he comes back, just sits down and loosely wraps an arm around his stomach. Pomni watches him in tense, worried silence.

"Do you want to lay back down?" She eventually asks, tense and quiet. A beat. Jax nods nonverbally and lays his head back down onto her lap. He's shaking like the temperature is below freezing. It's reasonably warm. He squirms as he tries to get comfortable, swallowing more times than necessary. Pomni tentatively lays her hand on his stomach and rubs small circles into it, hoping to ease the nausea. He lets out a snort. She can't see what's funny.

They sit in silence for quite a while after that. Jax's eyes are closed and his breathing, though shaky, is even. Pomni keeps rubbing his stomach, hoping it's enough to calm it enough to let him sleep again. She tilts her head again to look at his face and his eyebrow are furrowed, jaw tense. Hm.

"Is your head hurting?" She asks, keeping her voice quiet in case her suspicions are correct. Jax's face relaxes with practiced ease and he shakes his head. Anxiety coils in Pomni's abdomen. Liar.

She doesn't call him out on it, though. She just sighs and looks up to the ceiling, and Jax laughs. It's bitter. "What, 'm I annoying you?"

Pomni's hand pauses in its motions, and she doesn't answer. It's been a while since she's heard that tone. Yet, there's something different about it this time around. There's no actual fight to it. Jax has always been a wounded, terrified dog, snapping at everything that comes near him, good intentions or not. Fighting for safety. But this is almost like acceptance. Still angry, still bitting, still afraid, but resigned.

("There's nothing more to me. So please, just- stop looking.")

Pomni feels like she might be the one using the bowl soon. Jax's shoulders relax again with a long, suffering exhale. The mask slips. "Don't worry, you won't need to deal with me for much longer.."

Pomni's heart stops. She doesn't want to know what that means. She does. She knows exactly what that means and she so, so badly wants to be wrong but she isn't because Ragatha found Jax sitting on the roof. Every part of her wills to just push it away, but this is in front of her, right under her nose, and she can't. She can feel Jax slipping through her fingers and yet she can't to anything to hold onto him. She's losing him. She's losing him.

Jax is staring at her now. She stares back, horrified. His face softens into a soft, hollow smile, and he reaches up to press his thumb against the worried crease between her brows. Pomni's head jerks back instinctively, already occupied enough with the feeling of his head on her lap. Something dark crosses Jax's expression, but it's murdered as soon as it appears. Pomni is so, so scared for him.

"Don't look so worried, Pom." He tries, but the sound of her heart thudding against her ribcage is louder. Ragatha found him falling asleep on a roof.

(Jax let go of her hand.)

Jax opens his mouth to speak again, but he's cut off by a gag. He hurries himself to the bathroom, the bowl going unnoticed. Pomni is left to wallow in the cold strikes of fear being sent through her system, heart racing against her spasming lungs. He's sleeping on a roof. He's sorry for everything. His hand leaves hers and he won't come back no matter how much she screams for him. It's like white noise to him now.

Pomni has had a lot of panic attacks in her lifetime, but this one feels like someone is forcefully rocking her boat and trying to make her fall off of the deep end. Her hand instinctively fishes for something to grab onto in an attempt to ground herself, and she tries to steady her breathing before she gets into the vicious cycle of her heart and lungs both struggling to keep up with each other. Just breathe. Jax is in the bathroom. The toilet is flushing.

It takes a few minutes for her boat to stop rocking. She's left shaky and exhausted. She lifts her head and spots Jax silently watching her in the doorway with that same, dark expression. Eyebrows low. Jaw set. Guilt spelt out in red highlighter. He doesn't even try to hide it when he sees her looking, he just takes it as his cue to approach. The air is thick. It doesn't help Pomni's still struggling lungs.

Jax always finds something to say. He doesn't say anything and it's even more terrifying than when he does. Pomni's heart speeds up again. He hands her the half finished water bottle and the coldness of it brings her back into the room. Her mouth is uncomfortably dry, and it feels like heaven to get some liquid down her throat. He watches her, deeply unsettled.

The room is silent. Pomni keeps a hold of the bottle, taking deep, measured breaths as she stares at a faint stain on the carpet. She doesn't want him to go back to sleep. She almost wants to keep him awake, just to prove that he's still here and that he didn't let go of her hand. Because it sure feels like he did.

However, Jax does lay down. The action is wordless. He doesn't lay down on her, instead resting against the opposite arm of the couch. She hates to admit that she's grateful for the lack of contact.

It's silent for a few more moments, before Jax mumbles, thoroughly exhausted, "Night, Pomni."

He rarely calls her that, these days. She chokes. "Night, Jax."

Silence creeps between the two of them again. Jax is pretending to be asleep, but Pomni doesn't have the energy to call him out for it. She selfishly believes his lies. She's exhausted herself, but the worry is still nagging at her stomach. She needs to tell someone. She can't keep this to herself, and she knows that she shouldn't. She picks up her phone, hands trembling.

Pomni: Are you awake?

A minute. Ragatha pops online, and then immediately goes off like she knows she shouldn't be awake. She comes back on a few seconds later.

Ragatha: Yeah, what's up? Everything alright?

Pomni's lip quivers. She's so scared.

Pomni: No, Jax is over because he got way too drunk and he's been saying some really worrying things and it's really scaring me. I'm worried.

Ragatha: Oh? What's he been saying?

Pomni's fingers hesitate over the keys as she sniffles. Jax tenses up. He's still "asleep" when she glances at him.

Pomni: He's just been saying that he's sorry for everything. And that I won't have to "deal with him" for much longer.

Ragatha: Oh. That's certainly not good. What's he doing now?

Pomni: Sleeping.

Ragatha: Do you think I need to call another intervention?

Pomni: No. You know how he gets when he feels like he's being crowded. It'll probably do more harm than good.

Ragatha starts to type, then stops for a long, telling moment.

Ragatha: Yeah.

Pomni: I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do. Can we talk in the morning?

Ragatha: Don't apologise, it's okay. Try and get some sleep. I'm sure we'll figure something out. We always do.

Ragatha: Goodnight, Pomni. You can let me know if you need anything.

Pomni: Goodnight.

And in true Ragatha style, always wanting the last word, Pomni gets a heart reaction left on her last text. She's still worried, but she does feel better now that she's not dealing with it herself. The lack of anxiety has left room for her exhaustion to properly start to seep in, and she finds herself sinking against the arm of the couch. Everything is okay. Jax is alive and breathing a few feet away from her. Ragatha is probably trying to figure out a way to help him right now. She can let it go until tomorrow.

She drifts off, completely and utterly exhausted.

[]

Pomni wakes up and something is horribly wrong.

It takes her a moment to come to. Her stomach is tripping over itself with dread, disorienting and certainly not helping her brain process the waking world.

Her phone is still next to her, but it's displaced.

And Jax is gone.