Chapter Text
Restless. Fucking restless. Why the fuck had he decided to come back to this place? It had been a dumb idea. Stupid, sentimental. Gary felt ashamed of himself, even if there was no one around to bear witness. But even despite those feelings, after having come all this way, it now felt immensely harder to turn around and leave.
Pacing, he strode past the surprisingly well kept remains of the house for what seemed like the millionth time. He still wasn't ready to approach.
Rationally, he knew, he could in fact just leave. It’s not like anyone cared whether or not he stayed. He was on his own once again - after all that shit, after failing the Mile (for a second time mind you), being grossly vulnerable in front of his friends and oh yeah, of course, blowing up the whole world or something, the details of which were still a bit hazy and in fact might never be recovered what with him having drunk at the time - he still wasn’t quite sure how many shots and half-pints on top of his official eleven and a sip on that path to glory-
But long story short, yes. He had gone through that entire mess only to end up alone, again.
And right now, mere days after the fact, he found himself right back at this place of personal and global ruin, again .
He scratched his slightly scruffy feeling face, kept on walking back and forth without daring to even look at that front door.
Was it really any surprise, though?
Even with Newton Haven so thoroughly demolished (by yours truly), its remaining landmarks and general layout of debris had still made it so Gary could find his way around with ease. Some internal type of map which had been engraved in there since childhood made it feel like even now these streets were still his, and he might still navigate them blindly.
Though with night beginning to fall and everything having reverted to some type of dark age, he wasn’t keen on testing that particular theory.
He was just tired. And wanted to go home.
Wherever he might find that place. Not at his old address to be sure - a location he had quickly paid a stop to, despite. But a return to his own former haunt hadn’t held much appeal to Gary.
Partly because that house had long stopped feeling like a home - hell, he’d moved out as soon as he was able to, and by his mid twenties it turned out his mum and stepdad had swapped out most of the furniture for a perfectly inoffensive and bland shade of beige, a fate which the “guest bedroom” had not managed to escape.
And to then make things worse: the intergalactic blast and resulting fires had massively impacted the old house. Turns out the blaze had destroyed all evidence of there ever having been a level above ground, including what had once been Gary's childhood bedroom.
The notion was strangely soothing, actually. Something about that outcome felt right. At least he wouldn’t have to face the pitiful remains of that place ever again.
But now this house, though, seemed to have lived through the worst of the cataclysm. Which felt like a different type of relief. Thank fuck this backup hideaway had not been touched by his mistake.
Andy’s parents had always been nice to him. Even at times when he hadn't deserved their patience, which had been often. More and more so over time. Until the interims between him coming over to crash for the night had grown to drag out increasingly longer to the point of years, over a full decade, and the contact had petered out in full.
He wasn’t even sure they’d still lived there anymore. Currently - as he dared to look at the old facade, darkened windows - the place seemed empty. Maybe they had left to retire by the sea, even long before the recent reunion of the musketeers.
Gary couldn’t help but wince. There was a chance, maybe the old Knightleys had sold the place to some sickeningly bleh young couple who had renovated the shit out of it, making the place unrecognisable even to him.
Or maybe they’d died. Maybe some blank version of them would still be lurking inside, waiting for him, hand in hand on the sofa and prepped to offer him either a fizzy drink or instant blow to the head.
But even the poor comfort of at least having something familiar again made his tired self ache to go inside. It was the final push to help Gary finally give in to the bone deep desire to do so.
Because fuck it, their house had always felt like a second home and safe haven to come home to and rest. Even with blanks, or blank walls, hell, he’d take it. He would want it more than anything no matter what.
His fingers searched for the out of sight little corner of the left hand window sill. If his memory served him right, or more accurately, not the concrete remembering itself but the natural step by step guide of movement his body still knew to be linked to this front porch - aha. Humans still present or not, the spare key was still tucked away safe in its usual spot.
Gary briefly wondered who had left it there last - the actual Knightleys, aforementioned blank derivatives who may have taken over, and in which circumstances either of those options may or may not know about the other’s existence - but as he turned the key in the lock and got his first glimpse inside he realised the answer didn’t matter.
That either way both key, house, and Gary himself had been abandoned by the one person he’d hoped he might stumble upon in here.
It had been a dumb thing to hope for, of course. Andy had a home. A new one, one Gary had never been invited to. It had a wife and kids in it. Unless she had opted to stay at her mum’s house. Fuck, how should he know. The details of that entire development had been something he had been completely shut out of, with good reason.
But either way, Andy would be making his way back to them now. Obviously they’d be his main priority, checking sure that they were alright. He’d have better things to do than hang around here with the one guy who had fucked it all up on a global scale.
Gary tried to ignore the unbidden surge of disappointment. He should’ve kept his expectations low.
He would need to be satisfied with the welcome view of the still vaguely familiar front room as a sign they hadn’t sold. Maybe made some minor changes to the interior design, but nothing too jarring to show how much times had changed.
Gary closed and locked the door behind him. With the clear visual proof of destruction shut out like this, it almost felt as though nothing had changed at all. Apart from how depressing it all felt all of a sudden.
He wasn’t gonna fucking cry.
Even if no one would’ve seen or cared if he did. Fuck. Stupid. No, right now nothing seemed worse than to be stuck in here with nothing but his own pathetic sniffling and whimpering for company. Fuck that.
He went straight into the kitchen (same knick-knacks on the walls, pattern on the table cloth) and found the cupboard he’d had in mind only on his second try. Canned goods. Well stocked. Again, this gave him some muted spark of hope that the Knightleys had survived. That things hadn’t changed all that much, really, since the previous time he had stumbled in here, hungover and in search of anything passably edible. That they might still come back and invite him to stay.
Then again, if they’d been replaced by blanks, who could’ve told the difference. Not him. The perfectly stocked pantry could’ve all been a part of that act. Or even a last remnant from before the time said blanks had taken over, not bothering to touch the house and preserving these human details as perfectly placed set pieces for the integration charade.
Which also happened to be a good name for a band. If bands still existed now.
Again, the just vaguely dusty, otherwise undisturbed impression of the entire living quarters confirmed to Gary it didn’t much matter what version of that couple had lived here before that one fateful friday. The former occupants had long gone. It was clear no one had been in here for a while now.
He would not be disturbed.
He would not be noticed. He wouldn’t be taken any notice of.
He swiped a couple of cans - peach slices, beef ravioli, some type of vegetable mix. Cutlery as needed. Gary only entertained the naturally occurring thought for the briefest of moments before he picked one of the duller knives at his disposal.
Whatever. Fading into obscurity was what he deserved. That had been the case even before he’d ruined it for all of humankind. How could he have been so fucking stupid.
And he couldn't even recall everything as it had occurred. It had all seemed so fucked up and weird. Alien robots? Popping their arms back on, faces half missing, but still coming down on them like an unrelenting horde - those young fucks just as much as the old, the marmalade sandwich, Shane from school and mr. Shepherd, Dave, Raymondo, that one lady with - would she have had a blank baby in that fucking stroller of hers? Just a perfectly engineered robot baby, or more like, a baby shaped robot?
A new wave of fatigue rolled over him. Christ, what did it matter at this point. Here, at the end of the world. The blast seemed to have taken all the blanks out, all the same. No more technology. No more nothing. Just silence. Just living with what he had done.
It only made the buzzing and unrest in his head grow unbearably louder. He wanted it to stop. Being all alone with just himself and his own guilty conscience was like being trapped in a specifically engineered, personal kind of hell.
But he wasn’t exactly keen on dying just out there either, in some random wood or field.
A slow and comfortable passing someplace warm and sheltered, now that would be the better option by far. If he got so lucky, he’d never even be found.
He only hoped Andy would understand and forgive his looking for comfort here.
Whether he’d ever consider returning to his former home or not. Again, probably not. Surely and especially now, there would be zero reason for him to do so. But still. Gary hoped they might end things on a good note, in the end. That whether Andy would know about this or not, at least in his thoughts the two of them would be at peace with one another and Andy would feel able to move on from these past mistakes. Not that there’d be any way to find out for sure.
Gary dragged himself up the stairs - the old patterned runner, and the same symphony of creaks again had him holding back tears all of a sudden - and to the bedroom where he’d spent fuck knows how many hours, either in group or just between the two of them.
Hanging out after school before he’d have to go home for dinner, or staying for a meal, at least twice a month. Dropping shit off, keeping spare notebooks and pens and a change of clothes. Prepping to hit up a concert or event out of town. Sleeping over once they'd made it safely back.
It wouldn’t do to dwell on those times, especially the sleepovers. No use pining after what he’d once had, and how he had fucked that all up.
It would be better to focus on the here and now, rather than conjure up any related images of a past long gone.
But anyway. The room looked much the same.
Gary was only vaguely aware of his shutting the door behind, wood sliding into place with a solid and secure click.
Thank fuck. Nothing much had changed at all.
He could finally breathe easier now.
Though he couldn’t allow himself to focus on the details too much - left almost exactly as he remembered last seeing them - the rugby posters on the wall, shitty little desk crammed into the corner, boxes with old books and papers for school shoved underneath the bed.
Gary would bet their old porn mags were still hidden under there, as well.
He didn’t feel the particular need to look into that though, for the moment. Only one place was calling to him.
Not the clearing between mattress and closet where they’d most often stuffed the shitty little blow up mattress. Not the actual closet Ollie had locked him in one time, where he’d spent a surprisingly solid night’s sleep even if he had been folded in there like a damn pretzel (in hindsight it had probably been the copious amounts of alcohol in his system, both the reason why he had been confined to his cramped accommodations and his surprisingly adequate sleep nonetheless).
All those options and memories aside, right now only one place of sleep was calling to him. And why shouldn't it? The bed was the logical place to go.
No one was present to object.
Years, ages ago, someone had been present offering the exact opposite. Yes, that had happened on occasion.
His invitation into Andy’s bed had been rare, but solid all the same. Not always for the funnest of reasons.
There was the time they got scared watching that one ghost movie. When Steven’d handcuffed both their hands together and then somehow lost the key. When Gary had fucked up his elbow and refused to sleep on the floor, but Andy had refused to give up the comforts of his own bed just because of the fact.
That time Gary took some bad shrooms, felt like his body was dissolving on the spot and could only drift to sleep when being held together by someone.
Or the weekend Andy’s granddad had died.
That one time, when they’d been talking about the girls they’d liked, what they’d want to do with them, the big talk of this and that fading into a silence. A stupid, unplanned half-confession of something Gary had swallowed back down before it had managed to escape him in full. Andy’s moment of processing before he had shifted closer to the edge of the mattress so he could have a better look at his friend. Eyes glittering in the half dark. The sudden rush of being understood, and the option being entertained instead of denied outright.
Those were the good old days. If only.
He shed some outer layers still sullied with proof of the past few days’ events - the beer and ink and sweat and grime, dirt, soot, which was threatening to seep into his pores and stay there for good. The thought was unbearable. If only it could all be undone. If only he could go back to a better version of himself and give it another try. Though deep down, he knew the wish to be useless. He'd just fuck it up again. To err is human. There would never be any escaping himself, really.
Shoes off, coat off, button down, socks, Gary kept going till he felt the adequate balance between not muddying the bed and not having to see too much of his own bare skin.
Welcome or not, permitted or not, he climbed in between the blankets and tricked himself into believing some particles of Andy (or better yet, of Andy-and-him, a long time ago, before life changed them into people he didn't recognise anymore) were still safely preserved somewhere deep within the very makeup of the fabric. That he might still tap into the comfort stored there.
Slowly but surely, the buzzing in his head slowed and faded into a peaceful nothing. All became quiet and dull.
Gary closed his eyes to the outside world, the mess of it all. In here, time could stand still. No matter what, in here he could be safe. No one to tell him otherwise. No one to persuade him to go, ever again.
It was a pretty good place to stay.