Chapter Text
There’s another person in the system.
Or, there’s at least one other person in the system, and Jake figures this out because Marc and Steven assumed that it had been Jake who bought the two-pound bag of chocolate. Which… fair. He likes chocolate well enough, and he’s experimented his fair share of food ever since he's started having the body a lot more in recent days. Chocolate—the real stuff, not that vegan shit—is a particular favorite.
Communication is still hard at times, and occasionally Steven and Marc will have blackouts when Jake’s fronting (and vice versa on Jake’s end) so their conclusion is reasonable. As is the note in Steven’s handwriting that says ‘How did you manage to eat half of it already? How long has this been squirreled away? Is this why my stomach’s upset?’
Steven—or Marc—underlined that last question, and Jake winces because, unfortunately, he also feels kinda shitty.
But, regardless, he neither bought nor ate the chocolate.
Aggressively, Jake pulls out one of the miniature Hershey bars and pops it in his mouth. There. Now he has enjoyed the fruits of whatever the fuck this came from.
He’s had his suspicions, of course, but it was more a passing consideration he hadn’t believed to be true. Unlike the others, he knew there was a distinct possibility of others being around in their head: Jake wasn’t so naïve as to think the blackouts that allowed him to go unnoticed couldn’t also work the same way for someone else. He just didn’t expect this: a two-pound bag of chocolate that clearly announces “some other fucker has piloted your body, asshole!”
“Okay,” he says around a mouthful of chocolate. “Fuckin’ brilliant.” Then he starts navigating around the little apartment, checking for anything that might be slightly amiss or off—anything to give a clue about who this person was or what else they may have done with their time in the body. Obviously they’d bought the chocolate somehow, and if the complaint about stomach issues was any indication, they had likely bought it today.
In his time, Jake has only ever formally met (“formally” being the keyword, considering circumstances) one other alter that didn’t include Steven or Marc. To Jake’s knowledge at the time, it didn't have a name or particularly distinct identity; just a glass translucent body that didn’t speak. Usually after the rare services led by Jonathan—after the period when the services were over, and then Jake would have the body for about two hours until they were finally let go by Jonathan, free, however temporarily—Marc would take over to deal with some of their time at home, and Jake would be inside. The alter inside would be shattered, and piece by piece, Jake would put it back together, his young hands trembling even in his mindscape until it was finally back to its humanoid, glass-cracked self. They would then sit back-to-back in the darkness. Sometimes, not all the glass would have a place, and some of the shattered pieces would surround the two in a circle. They never spoke, but Jake always felt better afterward.
Years later, they would fuse, and Jake gained a last name: Lockley. He learned a lot about himself over those months.
But he’d thought—he’d thought that was it. That it was down to three.
Apparently, he was wrong.
Meh. That was on him.
He grabs more candy, not having found anything out of place. His keys, notably, are exactly where he left them. Jake’s inclined to phone Layla and see if maybe she’d just deposited candy at their apartment, but that wouldn’t explain who’d eaten the stuff. Unless Marc is fucking with Steven again which, while a possibility, is unlikely.
Figuring out what happened feels like Steven’s territory, though Jake can’t say why he thinks this. He does know though, logically, he’s technically best for the job, having known about the system for the longest and knowing the most about hiding from said system. That doesn’t mean he has a great idea on what to do: he and Lockley (at the time) had just always known each other to a degree; they hadn’t had to discover each other. And of what memories Jake got from Lockley…
Ah, well, actually, it had known a bit more than Jake at the time. But they were kids, and Jake had just assumed everything had changed when they’d gotten older. However, maybe things hadn’t changed as much as he thought, and Lockley’s general sense of system-awareness and moving parts still applied.
Which could mean the other part Lockley had been the most aware of was still around. He—it—whatever, Jake had never really considered how to address his past as Lockley and gaining those memories and everything affecting him in the present—interacted vaguely with another child, also not fully formed in their system. A girl, maybe five or so years old. Jake wasn’t any good at guessing kids’ ages.
In that case… it would make sense that a child buys candy. Jake just expects it would come with some trail the aforementioned child wouldn’t think to cover.
Jake sighs and sits at the chair in front of Steven’s desk, upon which several books are laid open. Then he considers it, stands up, grabs the bag of candy, and returns to the seat. “‘Kay,” he says. Then he fiddles with the bracelet Taweret gave him—Marc and Steven never asked him about it, but they always wore it, giving Jake something to ground himself with every time he was thrust unexpectedly into the body. It was a very nice gesture Jake doesn’t know what to do with, so he hasn’t actually mentioned it.
Now, though, he thinks about what Taweret said to him. “If you ever, well, need… to talk, or need some advice that Khonshu may not be suited for, or anything, you just have to hold it and reach out to me.”
The hippo was the goddess of children, wasn’t she? Among other things, of course, but the child-thing feels the most relevant at the moment.
He hasn’t taken her up on the offer, either, though it’s been weeks since they escaped the underworld or hell or what-the-fuck-ever. Not that he hasn’t been tempted, though admitting to that seems like a bad idea because he is a fully-fledged adult who doesn’t need a fucking hippo goddess with whom to talk through his feelings.
The actual child, though… maybe Taweret can help with that.
Besides, this week has been a time of near-impossible direct communication with Steven and Marc; the spot they reside in his head is quiet in a way he used to be accustomed to but now feels hollow and wrong, and he needs advice. He sure as fuck will not be getting it from Khonshu.
With one more sigh, he slides off the bracelet, grips it tightly in his fist, closes his eyes, and says, “Taweret? You there?”