[ The water washed away the fading timoteo and replaced him with timothy, the adorable catholic boy from staten island. It was cleansing. The idea that it might not have been for Quentin makes him panic, get up from his very carefully chosen post-flogging seat, and start that way before the other even confirms it. Because of course he’s at the lake. He shoots back another text that he’ll be there soon.
And it’s the truth. The quickest possible route from his room to Quentin, as if it’s memorized, or just second nature. This place he loves, and almost killed Tim. He’s not so antsy about it anymore, now that he’s suffered a true death from something else, now that his memory holds an entire fake life in between then and now.
Tim sits beside him, shoulder to shoulder, suffering the ache in his muscles so that he might be of comfort. ]
[ for all that he knows he's safe (as safe as he can be) and surrounded by people he knows, there's a shattering cold he can't shake. he sits in the light of the sun at the shore of the lake, staring out at it with empty, tired eyes.
he startles when tim arrives, jumping just slightly from his own thoughts to turn and look at him, at his friend. he hasn't changed, not in any way he can see, and quentin can't help the relief that floods his chest. teo and tim are different but all the same - someone quentin in any life can trust, can adore, above all things.
it takes him a long time to answer. his arms show new scars and nicks, his skin darkened by the sun, his hair a little longer and unkempt. shirtless, there's an angry, raw brand on his shoulder, still healing from the burn of it a week ago. an emblem with a bird of prey's head on it. ]
Almost a year. I think. I don't know. I -
[ he leans in against tim's side a little, the comfort of his presence overwhelming. ] He's dead. I think he's dead.
[ Tim’s features twist in concern, the corner of his lip tucking into his mouth as he sits, allowing Quentin the time to collect himself. In that time, he notices all the subtle changes, the deeper color in his skin and the length of his hair – and the larger ones. An intentional burn on his shoulder, a haunted look in his eyes. He sits with him, quietly, every question bubbling up his throat being forcefully swallowed. Quentin will talk when he’s ready.
He reaches for his hand to clasp it tight until he is.]
He’s dead.
[ Repeated back. In disbelief, and, God help him, relief, coming from the vengeful, angry gnawing in him that didn’t fully fade when Quentin dove into this lake for his death rock. ]
Is it over, then?
[ The war. The forced servitude. Every faith-shaking injustice he’s been forced to endure. ]
[ tim's hand in his grounds him, his fingers curling and squeezing round his, desperate, like a life line. tim repeats his words and it feels so much more final coming from his mouth, enough that quentin begins to start to believe it himself. alonso's dead. the war is over. he's dead. it's over.
he laughs, watery, uncertain. disbelief, because he'd never believed he could do it. never believed he'd be capable of the carnage left behind. ]
It's over.
[ his shoulders slump, tears pour down his cheeks and he feels as though he's crumbling all over again. kindness had been so, so hard to come by in all those months, that to feel the warm presence of someone who cares overwhelms him. ]
I - there are so many people dead because of me. [ quiet, horrified. ] I had to. I had to do it to get him - to make sure -
[ he squeezes tim's hand. ] He deserved to suffer like all those people did, but he didn't. I had to use them to make sure he failed. I had to. They don't have graves, but those men had families. They were just trying to fight the same war I was and I had to use them. Lead Alonso's men into traps where they'd just kill one another.
[ He’s quiet. A comforting presence, holding Quentin’s hand and eventually pulling him closer, tucking him safe against his shoulder, but he says nothing until he’s through, leaving him the space to feel every complex bit of it. Tim had gotten his taste of war when the zombies came and his world was narrowed to death and prayer and fire. That had only been a month. ]
That’s war, sweets. [ Trying to force a playful smile, but it doesn’t quite come, caught behind the empathetic tears that well behind his own eyes. ] It’s always awful, and violent, and senseless. But you didn’t ask for it. It was forced on you. But you’re safe now, okay?
[ Deceptively strong arms hold him tight, breathing deep into his neck. It soothes him, even if it’s different from what he’s used to, missing the scent of whatever shampoo he’s been using here. ]
If you hadn’t done that, the war might still be going. More people would have been hurt in the long run. It’s better to end it.
[ quentin leans full body into tim, trying to soak up the warmth of him, take in the familiar shape and strength of him. it feels like a lifetime since he was held at all, no less held like this. there's a hollowness in his chest that makes his bones ache, a fatigue in his limbs still left even though he's had a night's sleep. it's not enough. ]
Better to end it.
[ and yet he can still feel the weight of it, the horrors, on his shoulders. yes, it was the only means to the end, but it doesn't make it hurt less. he turns a little, pressing his face in against tim's neck, trying to slow his own tears but to no avail. ]
He wanted to put me on the throne beside him, like some dog. And then I come here and - whoever we were, Tim. Whoever those people were - my father was alive. I can see his face like I saw him yesterday. He died because of me, so many people died because of me and I don't know how else I can repay that.
[ he sniffles, shaking his head. ]
I don't know what happens to me next. What else is there for me in that world. I don't want to go back.
[ Tim sniffles against Quentin’s hair, trying to hold that in and be strong for him, but his heart breaks with that realization, that the most recent memory he’ll ever have of his father is of that alternate version, instead of the real one that was stolen from him. One hand rubs against his back, palms flattened to cover the most space, impart the most warmth. ]
It’s okay. You’re safe now. Just get it out.
[ Gentle kisses pressed against the side of his head, reassurances. As much as Tim can offer, at least. But what can he do, with the weight of a world on Quentin’s shoulders? An entire war, thousands of lives, if not more, and his dear friend in the middle of it? He feels so helpless in the face of it. ]
It wasn’t your fault. [ That, he can say with conviction. ] It was Alonso’s. He started the war, not you.
[ Tim pulls back, not far, just enough to meet Quentin’s eyes, wet-rimmed and teary, blurring behind his glasses, which he removes and sets aside. ]
It’s natural to feel guilty. But you did what you had to, okay? And we won’t let you go back. Someday, when we figure this out, me and Koby are moving to California. He’ll be mad if you don’t come.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2025-07-08 04:00 pm (UTC)[ The water washed away the fading timoteo and replaced him with timothy, the adorable catholic boy from staten island. It was cleansing. The idea that it might not have been for Quentin makes him panic, get up from his very carefully chosen post-flogging seat, and start that way before the other even confirms it. Because of course he’s at the lake. He shoots back another text that he’ll be there soon.
And it’s the truth. The quickest possible route from his room to Quentin, as if it’s memorized, or just second nature. This place he loves, and almost killed Tim. He’s not so antsy about it anymore, now that he’s suffered a true death from something else, now that his memory holds an entire fake life in between then and now.
Tim sits beside him, shoulder to shoulder, suffering the ache in his muscles so that he might be of comfort. ]
How long were you there?
[ Koby told him. Of course he did. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-07-19 09:57 pm (UTC)he startles when tim arrives, jumping just slightly from his own thoughts to turn and look at him, at his friend. he hasn't changed, not in any way he can see, and quentin can't help the relief that floods his chest. teo and tim are different but all the same - someone quentin in any life can trust, can adore, above all things.
it takes him a long time to answer. his arms show new scars and nicks, his skin darkened by the sun, his hair a little longer and unkempt. shirtless, there's an angry, raw brand on his shoulder, still healing from the burn of it a week ago. an emblem with a bird of prey's head on it. ]
Almost a year. I think. I don't know. I -
[ he leans in against tim's side a little, the comfort of his presence overwhelming. ] He's dead. I think he's dead.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-21 05:50 pm (UTC)He reaches for his hand to clasp it tight until he is.]
He’s dead.
[ Repeated back. In disbelief, and, God help him, relief, coming from the vengeful, angry gnawing in him that didn’t fully fade when Quentin dove into this lake for his death rock. ]
Is it over, then?
[ The war. The forced servitude. Every faith-shaking injustice he’s been forced to endure. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-07-22 05:41 am (UTC)he laughs, watery, uncertain. disbelief, because he'd never believed he could do it. never believed he'd be capable of the carnage left behind. ]
It's over.
[ his shoulders slump, tears pour down his cheeks and he feels as though he's crumbling all over again. kindness had been so, so hard to come by in all those months, that to feel the warm presence of someone who cares overwhelms him. ]
I - there are so many people dead because of me. [ quiet, horrified. ] I had to. I had to do it to get him - to make sure -
[ he squeezes tim's hand. ] He deserved to suffer like all those people did, but he didn't. I had to use them to make sure he failed. I had to. They don't have graves, but those men had families. They were just trying to fight the same war I was and I had to use them. Lead Alonso's men into traps where they'd just kill one another.
[ he shakes his head. ] It's my fault.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-22 02:51 pm (UTC)That’s war, sweets. [ Trying to force a playful smile, but it doesn’t quite come, caught behind the empathetic tears that well behind his own eyes. ] It’s always awful, and violent, and senseless. But you didn’t ask for it. It was forced on you. But you’re safe now, okay?
[ Deceptively strong arms hold him tight, breathing deep into his neck. It soothes him, even if it’s different from what he’s used to, missing the scent of whatever shampoo he’s been using here. ]
If you hadn’t done that, the war might still be going. More people would have been hurt in the long run. It’s better to end it.
no subject
Date: 2025-08-07 03:34 am (UTC)Better to end it.
[ and yet he can still feel the weight of it, the horrors, on his shoulders. yes, it was the only means to the end, but it doesn't make it hurt less. he turns a little, pressing his face in against tim's neck, trying to slow his own tears but to no avail. ]
He wanted to put me on the throne beside him, like some dog. And then I come here and - whoever we were, Tim. Whoever those people were - my father was alive. I can see his face like I saw him yesterday. He died because of me, so many people died because of me and I don't know how else I can repay that.
[ he sniffles, shaking his head. ]
I don't know what happens to me next. What else is there for me in that world. I don't want to go back.
no subject
Date: 2025-08-12 08:31 pm (UTC)It’s okay. You’re safe now. Just get it out.
[ Gentle kisses pressed against the side of his head, reassurances. As much as Tim can offer, at least. But what can he do, with the weight of a world on Quentin’s shoulders? An entire war, thousands of lives, if not more, and his dear friend in the middle of it? He feels so helpless in the face of it. ]
It wasn’t your fault. [ That, he can say with conviction. ] It was Alonso’s. He started the war, not you.
[ Tim pulls back, not far, just enough to meet Quentin’s eyes, wet-rimmed and teary, blurring behind his glasses, which he removes and sets aside. ]
It’s natural to feel guilty. But you did what you had to, okay? And we won’t let you go back. Someday, when we figure this out, me and Koby are moving to California. He’ll be mad if you don’t come.