so i wrote this thing and it's half headcanon rambling and half fic but if you want some garycest emotions maybe read it
when they finally reach the world's end, even after everything, gary can't quite bring himself to kill his blank. Â he so nearly does it, and he so nearly gets the better of himself, but it's a close call and it's too final. it's too final this can't be the end of it all and it feels too important too grande, and he can't let go of his past, not really, and it still defines him after all this time so he just. he just headbutts him. he just knocks him the fuck over. he doesn't have to worry about it.
 later when all the blanks crawl out of the pit of the world's end gary's blank is with them, thick blue liquid trickling from a cut on his head. there is no bruising, no blood vessels to break, just  little cracks like paint peeling, and suddenly gary does have to worry about it. well, he doesn't really have to. but he does. and he tries to put it out of his mind because he knows this isn't going to help, having him around, but the moment has passed.
 he asks the boys one by one. it feels like a callback to this past life of his, how it should have been, no offices or suits or bloody bluetooth headsets, and it's almost the same, or at least similar enough to put that feeling of being home high in his chest. they say yes, because of course they do. they have always been his kingdom even if they technically didn't live it themselves. the feeling is there, and that's what matters.
he almost doesn't ask his blank. the idea sits oddly in his stomach. there's only one gary king, remember? ...except not. and one of the gary kings is slouched in the corner hugging his knees to his chest and staring into the middle distance, blue smudged haphazardly across his forehead and the back of his hand where he's tried to clear himself up.
gary knows exactly the feeling.
exactly. to the point where it's actually kind of unnerving because this is him, sitting there, the same posture and the same tired eyes and even the same clothes, but also it's someone completely different and mostly it's just weird. really, really weird. this is not something he ever anticipated happening to him, funnily enough. but he looks so lost and it hits so close to home that gary goes and holds out his hand and helps him to his feet and asks him to come with.
there can be two kings, he guesses.
 blank!gary is just as cocky as gary remembers himself being before life forcibly knocked the wind from his lungs. he still stumbles through life with the kind of bright optimism gary only ever managed to replicate with alcohol-fueled late nights in orange lit streets, and he loathes him for it
because it's one thing knowing what you used to be but it's another thing seeing it in front of you
he's a laugh, though. gary's not really sure if it's egotistical since they're not really technically the same person?? but blank gary (he really needs to think of a better name, jeez) has the same sense of humor as him (i.e an excellent one if he says so himself) and the same music taste and the same propensity for dumb stunts and cheerful violence. he's nice enough. a dumb kid. a dumb kid gary's way, way too jealous of but that's a problem for another time and if gary snaps at him when he's feeling particularly shitty then hey, that's life, that's a thing that people do sometimes and definitely nothing to do with his own self-loathing nope nope nope. nah.
his temper is shorter than it used to be and he can put it down to withdrawals sometimes but he can't keep it up
it's kind of justified. gary is a prick and he was even more of a prick as a kid but it's when he recognises the parallels that he tenses up, because they're too similar and every single one of his flaws is right there in front of his face shining bright, unnatural cerulean blue
 one night they set up camp in the wreckage of some building, a little shop probably. it's hard to tell. the walls are blackened and even crumbling in some places but the general structure is largely intact. they make do, and settle down to sleep under scratchy knitted blankets
blank!gary's eyes glow dully, neon blue lighting up the cracks in the walls. gary can't sleep. they're the only two awake, the other blanks long since shut down. he always had problems getting to sleep. well, sober at least.
"i know you don't wanna speak to me," blank gary says under his breath. "but i want to ask you something."
gary doesn't reply. partly because he's right, but mostly because there is nothing to be said. (that's what he tells himself. there are plenty of things to be said, but then, there always are.)
"i want to know what it was like."
at the mention of it he tenses up, 20 years of past anxiety under the surface. it's all still there. a little faded maybe, but there.
"shitty. that's the short answer."
and it's true. the long answer is not one he is willing to give, because it involves a lot of crying and a lot of soul-baring and he's not going to let this dumb fuck of a kid get the better of him
blank gary's eyes flicker. "sorry. shouldn't have asked."
no, you shouldn't have, he thinks for a second but also there's a nagging part of his brain speaking with the voice of a thousand therapists telling him it's good to vent!!!
"it's your life too, i guess." he sighs.
"not really." blank gary murmurs, and his glowing eyes fade out.
something about that sits wrong with gary. he can't put his finger on it exactly but they are the same person, kind of, and this happened to him too and then he realises where he knows that feeling from
he remembers not feeling like he deserved the life he had. he remembers not feeling like he deserved to live.
and fuck, this kid that he's yelled at and pushed around has been feeling that shitty and he knows exactly what he's going through because he's lived it. his younger self has been through it once already and now it's happening again, except this time he gets to watch it happen and everything's clicking into place and he's so conflicted
 because on one level he's watching himself getting bad again and he hates himself for it, every pattern he's ever tried to scrub out settling back in and he tried so hard, so hard to stop it and to be better but now it doesn't even matter, but at the same time he wouldn't wish that on anyone, not even himself. or his robot self. whatever. but this time he has a chance to stop it. and he has a chance to take care of himself. to take care of this kid, this dumb kid (god he is so dumb. i was so dumb gary thinks) who hates himself so viscerally but gary can see why.
he knows the reasons why blank!gary hates himself and the worst part is on his bad days he agrees.
he hates him, but he also kind of wants to take care of him. that's the therapist part of his brain talking. but still, it's something he wants to at least try and do.
 he takes blank gary's hand. it's cold - no blood vessels, not like humans have, and gary's not sure whether he feels fragile because he's a blank or because he's sleeping, but either way he takes his hand because god knows he needed it as a kid, and blank!gary needs it now.
when they wake up their hands are still locked together.
 neither of them talk about it. gary thinks about it, a couple of times, but the moment is never right to bring it up. and they fall back into this weird routine of snapping at each other - blank gary snaps back, now, less often and with a different type of anger: there's no distain, he doesn't hate gary in the same way gary hates him, but instead it's more of a social thing, more of a punk rock fuck the police attitude that he's desperately clawing back for himself, reclaiming this identity that used to be gary's. blank gary is determined to be that person. he's good at it, too. gary finds it slightly unnerving but he supposes this is just one of the things you have to deal with after the apocalypse. they make do.
but anyway they fall into a pattern where they'll snap at each other all day but they're just on the brink of opening up, all the time. gary can tell his blank wants to know more. and he'll tell him, when he's ready, because that's what he deserves, but for now he's okay with just occasionally taking his hand, just to try and be there, to provide this comfort that he never had
 but evidently it's not enough because one night when he feels particularly lost he reaches out for blank!gary's hand and a slow stream of blue blood drips down from under his coat sleeve
blank gary snaps his hand away, turns his head fast but gary sees his eyes wide and scared and it's like a punch to the gut, hollow and painfully familiar and he swallows hard, a sudden reminder of the bandages still covering his own wrists. Â yeah he doesn't like the kid, but not like this. he doesn't deserve this.
"you too?" he says, quietly. the others, a little way away, don't hear, or if they do they don't react to it.
blank gary doesn't look at him when he nods.
gary supposes he really should have seen this coming.
he knows what he wants to say but he can't say it. he wants to tell him everything he should have heard as a kid and he wants to tell him he's not as bad as he thinks he is and he wants to tell him to stop now before it's too late but his heart's not in it. he knows he has to practice what he preaches and he still doesn't have the fucking courage to tell his past self he's gonna be okay because it's not, it's not going to be okay
so slowly, carefully, he puts his arm around blank!gary's shoulders and this dumb fucking kid leans into him without saying a word. if gary closes his eyes he can almost hear a faint whirr, machinery hot under layers of black clothing, a mental note that despite everything this isn't him, this is this other person with different experiences and memories - well, some of them anyway. they're seperate entities and he's never really been that good at helping people, god knows he's pretty shitty at that but he wants to try if not for the sake of self healing then for this kid, because it breaks his heart to see him like this, it really does.
maybe they're not so different. it doesn't matter anymore.
"you're a good person." he says, finally, and it's difficult, really fucking difficult but he says it anyway. finally. he says it quiety and he says it under his breath but he means it.
his blank huffs out a laugh. Â "i'm not even a person, really."
"yeah, you are." gary says. this isn't about him anymore.
"that's not..." he starts, not really sure what to say because he's feeling way too many things at the moment. "that's not what makes you a person."
blank gary sits up, pulls away and gary's arm flops to the ground. "you know what i remember?" he spits, a crashing wave of anxiety just behind the surface. Â "your life. i remember your whole life up to this point. and none of those memories are mine."
gary blinks, confused. "they are, though."
"they were never mine. i never lived them, i'm not-" he pauses, takes a deep breath and he stares down at the back of his hands trying to stay composed. "i remember you bleeding red. i know exactly what it felt like and i know exactly where and when and why but that wasn't me, because i don't. i didn't live it. i'm blue and i'm wrong and i'm broken," and that's the point when gary leans forward and pulls him close
mumbles "you're not. you're not," against the cold side of his neck, and blank!gary's hands are trembling and grabbing onto his coat collar tightly
and he still can't put a name to how he feels but god he feels it more than ever before burning white hot and he just clutches his blank tight because that's all he really can do.
 they make their own memories, they make a new life for themselves. they were the same person, maybe not anymore.they branch out from the same origins. they make do.
