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Independent Josh Washington from Until Dawn ;   Sideblog to @jinmeibo​ !

     Persistent grin was frozen and promptly shattered by the other’s sinister timbre. An effort is made to appear as though his breathing hadn’t lurched alongside his stomach.      This was a creature of nightmares; and yet why then, could Josh not look away. Surely, he, as well as anyone else, enjoyed the momentary terror of a horror flick. But this beast? Even Josh in all his naivety could see him for the cataclysm he was. Don’t mess with the bull . . . and still, the foolish boy fought back.      “Blunt force, or are you hiding a shiv in what I can only hope is a wig from some shitty-ass Halloween store?”

     “Don’t!” The haunted youth exclaimed, white knuckles gripping his bed frame. It was an understatement to say he was was adapting poorly to his new home. “P-please, keep the light on.”

     “Hey, cochise!” Josh calls, pushing past classmates as he navigates the halls of horny teenagers ― suffocating on teenage angst and axe body spray ― before finally nearing the other.      “Movie marathon at my place, whaddya say?” Grins the brunette as he drapes his arm around Chris’ shoulders. “Scream, The Shining, Texas Chain Saw Massacre, the classics!” A brief pause, “. . . that is, unless you’re chicken.”

     Her words are sharp, and in an instant, he grows defensive. However, Josh forces himself to swallow his anger. After all, he did put her through some pretty fucked up shit. Though it wasn’t like she was innocent either.      His emotions were a roller-coaster. No, scratch that. They were two coasters, veering off course and ready to collide into a symphony of chaos in any moment. He was sad. Hurt. Scared. Then, he was angry. Vengeful. Greater than god. And back and forth it went. Like the fucking metronome that Dr. Hill turned on just to get on Josh’s nerves.      That fucker loved cutting him open, getting under his skin, and leaving bugs to crawl around and hatch further anxieties. He enjoyed toying with him, and poking around at his mind to see what would happen. It was torture . . . this was all his fault. It was all Ashley’s fault. It was everyone’s fault but his one. And yet . . . he was the one so hammered he had actually passed out. He was the one who wasn’t there for his sisters in their time of need. And now he could never be there for them again.      “Ash―” He began, voice faltering with a sudden dryness in his throat. Eyes fell downcast as he searched the floorboards for something to say. But nothing came.

    Gaze falls upon an unfamiliar facade as he watches a man being escorted to the common area. It seemed all the patients were handled with rough touch at Arkham, but the guards were being especially hostile towards this stranger. As Josh takes in his once-green roots desperate for upkeep, and sinister Glasgow grin straight out of one of the many horror films the youth had frequently devoured, he was quick to put the pieces together: this prisoner was the infamous Joker.     As the other is forcibly seated at a table a few feet away, Josh makes little effort to hide his stare. Not long passes before he decides to address the very subject of frequent gossip and mythos. “I, uh, hear you got a thing for clowns?”

     His friends . . .     ‘Josh . . . Why are you doing this?’     ‘He’s got no clue. He’s out of his fucking tree.’     ‘He’s definitely off his meds.’     ‘He’s sick.’     His doctor . . .     ‘You’re sick. You’re a sick fuck! What the hell have you done to them, you psychopath!? Psychopath!’     ALL OF THEM. They all betrayed him. They all discarded his hard work. They took turns shitting on him. They abandoned him. They all hated him. When all he wanted . . . was his sisters back. All he wanted, was to turn back time, to when everything was alright. When everything was a little less loud. Less scary. They didn’t understand . . . no one did. No matter how many times he tried to explain it. The nightmares, the shakiness, the shadows, the terror. Fuck that, now it was their turn. They deserved this. You deserve this, Josh.     He was returned to the cabin, escorted by that douchebag Mike and his ex-best friend Chris. Chris, how could you do this to me? How could you choose her over me? Your best friend. Your brother! Bros before hoes, you dick! . . . Did you always want me to die, Chris?     He was then left alone with the very bitch who stole Chris from him. But if he wanted to survive, he would have to play his part. Return to his role as puppet master. “Ash. H-hey, Ash.” He called out to her. His hands were restrained through the back of a chair and the other kept a fair distance. “I-I didn’t― Look, I don’t know what happened to Jess. I didn’t kill her. For fucks sake, I didn’t even hurt her! You . . . you gotta believe me, Ash.”

     “Li-listen doc,” The young man began, the shaky words spilling from him almost as soon as the other was in sight. “I, I don’t belong here. Look, I’m fine getting mental help, or whatever, but not here.” Yes, his first days at the asylum had already made a lasting impression.      “I’m n-not like the crazies in here, I-I’m ― I didn’t kill anyone.” The deaths of his sisters . . . of his friends . . . it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. This he muttered to himself like a broken record as his memories took form and haunted his every moment. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.”