He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, as he scoops the last pancakes out and turns the heat off again.
"It's just, um. Different. The Circus was just... pain. Fear. It wasn't..." He presses both hands onto the counter to stop them shaking when he thinks about it. "I could feel Jon's... everything, getting burned up. It wasn't just hurting him, it was-- destroying him."
Jacobi goes quiet, swirling his drink around in the glass. "Weird. He was burning up first, then settled. And - " He snorts. "He could hear Maxwell in my fucking head. So they had a whole conversation."
"...that is weird. What the fuck." He'd never really thought about it, but it made sense that he could. Especially if he wasn't in any state to filter any of it. "How'd that go, then?"
"I mean, it's not exactly a secret that this is a prime situation for you to go nuclear," he points out, and sits next to Jacobi after he's put the dishes in to soak. "All the harm to Jon's pretty much done, but we're still gonna be hurting for a while after the fact."
"Yeah," he says because how can he not? He can't exactly dispute the fact that he's losing his mind with this. "I'm starting to think that there's no point in - trying to help people. Stupid as that sounds. But I've never - had control of things. And it really sucks here."
"Yeah." Because, same. "It's... frustrating, sometimes. Helping people is a constant effort. Never really looks like there's any progress when you're always picking someone up from their worst. Especially when people target them specifically."
"Exactly," he comments dryly. "And you've got to agree that it's not exactly a one-and-done thing. Every time you start getting an itchy trigger finger, I'm there to help talk you through it."
He spears a pancake with a fork, but doesn't make much effort to do more. "But that's the point, isn't it. If I didn't, we'd both be worse off. My best friend going and killing people without remorse, getting the people he cares about hurt, again, because I didn't put in the effort to talk him down."
He's quiet for a while. For a very, very long while.
"Look, I'm not sure what you're saying, but it sure sounds like 'hey, doing this is too much.' And if it's too much, then maybe you need to take a break or something."
Tim immediately sighs, and rubs his face with one hand to try and push back the guilty look that crosses it immediately.
"That's not what I meant, but. You're not wrong. I should... step back for a bit, maybe." He lowers his hand, resting his elbow on the table so he can prop his chin on it. "My point was supposed to be, even if it's hard. Even if it feels like it's pointless or going in circles. The entire fact of doing it, putting in that effort, makes it matter. Because it means something when you're there for someone at their worst to help them out of it."
"Yeah. I got the point. But I'm not going to be okay if you're not okay, Tim. And if I'm constantly leaning on you, then you can't find your feet. I'm your friend, but - look. I'll make you a deal. A month. I won't do anything for an entire month. No matter what happens. If it comes close, I'll hermit myself until it passes. You know I'm not generally impulsive. So - that way you focus on your fucking self and we'll revisit this later."
Jacobi knows he can compartmentalize for that long. He can do that much.
"Yeah, bud. You are," he tells him, not unkindly. "Look, I'll let everyone else know. The pack can carry me if they need to. Just - make sure I don't get killed and we're good. Otherwise, let's just hang out, drink beer, watch movies, and decompress."
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"It's just, um. Different. The Circus was just... pain. Fear. It wasn't..." He presses both hands onto the counter to stop them shaking when he thinks about it. "I could feel Jon's... everything, getting burned up. It wasn't just hurting him, it was-- destroying him."
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He puts his hand on the small of Tim's back, just for a moment, as he takes a drink and brings down the plates.
"He told me what happened. We - talked a bit after."
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And he still feels like he shouldn't have. He knows he would have gone mental doing nothing, but it still felt like abandoning him.
"How was he with you?"
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He sniffs, taking a long drink. "Anyway, he was miserable. He could tell I was miserable. And he's still trying to talk me down."
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He spears a pancake with a fork, but doesn't make much effort to do more. "But that's the point, isn't it. If I didn't, we'd both be worse off. My best friend going and killing people without remorse, getting the people he cares about hurt, again, because I didn't put in the effort to talk him down."
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"Look, I'm not sure what you're saying, but it sure sounds like 'hey, doing this is too much.' And if it's too much, then maybe you need to take a break or something."
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"That's not what I meant, but. You're not wrong. I should... step back for a bit, maybe." He lowers his hand, resting his elbow on the table so he can prop his chin on it. "My point was supposed to be, even if it's hard. Even if it feels like it's pointless or going in circles. The entire fact of doing it, putting in that effort, makes it matter. Because it means something when you're there for someone at their worst to help them out of it."
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Jacobi knows he can compartmentalize for that long. He can do that much.
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"Christ, am I really that bad?"
He'd liked to have thought he was more self-aware than that, that he'd know where his limits were, but apparently he'd quite grossly misjudged.
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