Chapter Text
“Michael!”
“Son of a bitch, you ruined my fucking life.” Michael’s breathing too hard, and leaning against the doorframe, like he’s the one who just took a fist to the face. “How could you? How could you ?”
“I’m sorry!” Jeremy says, but is that the right thing to say? He doesn’t know. It’s so hard. He wants to say something so he won’t get hit again and he wants to say something so Michael won’t look so broken. What is he supposed to say? He flicks through his brain, looking for something, anything. “I shouldn’t have blocked you out. I shouldn’t have left you in a bathroom on Halloween, I should never have called you a loser. I’m sorry, Michael.”
Michael just laughs, cold and harsh and not really like him, but also too much like him. Vulnerable, sad. “You think that’s what I…? Do you even remember?”
He remembers the play. He remembers Michael showing up with the Mountain Dew Red, and he remembers Christine screaming, and he remembers all the Squips deactivating… except for his.
“Michael, I’m sorry,” he says, eyes trained on the ground. “After the play it all gets kind of… fuzzy.”
“What, everything?” Michael says, sounding furious and curious, the two emotions warring with each other. “The past year? You don’t remember going to New York? You don’t remember Rich? You don’t remember what you did right after the play ?”
Jeremy shakes his head, feeling like his ears are full of water. “I remember I was just… just doing whatever it said to do.”
“Fuck you,” Michael says, but there’s not really any power behind it. He shakes his head. “So you don’t know? So this is… this is what happened, Jeremy.” He smiles and it’s fake, and his eyes look a little crazed. He’s speaking too casually, forcing a fake grin. “Oh, man. Oh, man. So Mr. Reyes called everyone’s parents, right? Normal thing to do, after everyone passes out. Everyone’s parents show up. My parents show up.” Michael sucks in a breath between his teeth. “And you… you fucking… you walk right up to them, right? And you say… you say, ‘Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Mell… did you know? That Michael’s gay?’” Michael lets out a kind of hysterical, breathy laugh then, eyes too wide.
Jeremy feels like a stone is sinking gradually through his chest down to his stomach. “Oh my God, Michael, I’m so sorry,” he says, feeling like there’s a rushing in his ears. He wants to put his headphones on and listen to his audiobook, but that would be rude, right? That would be rude. He’s not sure. “What did they…? I mean, I always thought they were pretty cool with that kind of…” He trails off when he sees the look on Michael’s face.
“No, no, you’re right,” Michael says, voice too thin, like he’s struggling for air. “No, no, they were super cool with it. They were great, right? They sent me… they decided to send me to this… super fun camp… with all the other little faggots. And I got to learn all about how I’m an abomination… going to hell. It was a blast.”
“Michael--”
“You ruined my life,” Michael says, not really with any malice. It’s just a fact. “I guess it’s good that that thing’s out of your skull. Good for you. Goodbye, Jeremy.” He leaves, and Jeremy stands there in the open door watching him walk away.
He waits until he sees the PT Cruiser pull out of the driveway, and then he puts his headphones back on and turns the volume all the way up.
When Jeremy wakes up the next morning, Michael is the first thing on his mind. He needs to see him, talk to him, needs to apologize properly, needs to see Michael just to reassure himself that he’s okay, that he’s still intact and safe after everything he must’ve gone through.
Jeremy’s legs bring him to Michael’s house like he’s on autopilot. It’s just an automatic response, the walk to Michael’s house, the turn by the stop sign with the spray-painted Darth Vader on it, the step over the cracked curb in front of the lawn.
He raises his hand robotically and knocks, and even though it’s early still someone answers immediately. “Oh! Oh my goodness, Jeremy,” Mrs. Mell says, looking also tireder and older than she did a year ago. Jeremy tries to dredge up the last time he saw Michael’s parents. Must’ve been pizza at Michael’s house last year, sometime before the Squip. Before everything. “I, um, I heard you were back with your dad. That’s good, that’s really…”
“Is Michael here?”
Her eyes widen. “Michael doesn’t live here anymore,” she says, and there’s too many emotions in her voice for Jeremy to sort through. His hands itch for the headphones he left at his house. “He won’t speak to us, if you… If you see him, can you tell him we still love him and we’re worried about him?”
Jeremy stares at her, feeling like he should be angry. But it’s hard for him to know what he’s supposed to feel these days. “Okay,” he says leadenly, and then somehow he manages to say goodbye and she says goodbye and he walks away.
Rich Goranski is sitting on the curb across from the house, smoking a cigarette and glaring. Jeremy does a double take before approaching him. “Hey,” he says. “You’re… you.”
“Yup,” Rich says, staring forward without really focusing on Jeremy.
“I, um… I don’t really know… what happened,” Jeremy confesses, reaching the other side of the street and looking down at Rich.
“Mulder and Scully didn’t tell you?” Rich says, puffing on his cigarette. He speaks with a heavy lisp now, After. (Before Rich must have, too, but Jeremy didn’t know Before Rich.) He’s also got burn scars traveling up his arms and chest. (That happened During, but before the part where everything gets hard for Jeremy to remember.) “The Squip. They made it to take people over, and boy did it.”
“Who’s they?” Jeremy asks, sitting down next to Rich. He reaches out for a drag on the cigarette, but Rich ignores him and doesn’t offer it.
“Big Japan,” he shrugs. “The Men in Black, the big shady organization that put us through all this shit. I got kinda a… vague idea of it. They take over a whole demographic… like ‘active millennials,’ I think that’s what we were. And then sell those demographics to the highest bidder. Then whoever… ‘owns’ us makes us vote for who they wanna vote for, buy what they want us to buy, protest what they want us to protest… we were drones, Jeremy.”
“Jesus,” Jeremy says, hanging onto the edge of the curb like if he lets go he’ll fall. “But it’s all okay now?”
Rich snorts. “Sure, everything’s okey-dokey now,” he says. “I mean, I guess the G-men and Captain America and whoever the fuck else they’ve got on ‘our side’ shut down the people making the Squips, but I dunno about you, man, I’m still fucked up.”
Jeremy nods, feeling his head cloud up. He wants someone to tell him what to do. “Do you know where Michael is?”
“He’s living with Jake in an apartment right outside town,” Rich tells him. “I can give you their address, but… look, if Michael doesn’t want to see you, you shouldn’t force him to, you know? I did some shitty stuff when I was Squipped and I still don’t know if Jake forgives me.”
“I forgive you,” Jeremy says suddenly, but he doesn’t know if he’s saying it so Rich can hear it, or if he’s saying it because he’s hoping Rich will say it back. Maybe he’s saying it just to say it, just to believe that anyone can be forgiven for what they did when the Squip was calling the shots.
“Awesome,” Rich says blankly. “Here, I’ll text you the address. … Use it wisely.”