bryanzilla | age switch [early May]

age switch [early May]

Bryan hadn't gotten very far after successfully fleeing to what he assumed had to be safety earlier that morning. He made it a few blocks before he was sure he wasn't being followed, asked an elderly man out walking his dog where he was and how far out that was from where he wanted to be. Like all the answers David had given him, none of his answers made sense and all they did was invite more and more questions.

After that unhelpful interaction, Bryan decided to do what he should have done the second David left him alone in that bedroom the first time and call the authorities. When he'd gone to do just that, though, he noticed that the phone he'd grabbed off the nightstand wasn't his. In fact, it wasn't like any he'd seen before. It took him a while to even get into it, the first thing to greet him once he figured it out being an image of David, that baby and himself in front of a house. The house he came from, maybe. Bryan hadn't exactly stuck around the outside long enough to be able to tell for sure.

He forgot about the phone call, instead helping himself to some random homeowner's bench swing outside their house as he navigated the phone, learning as he went. Call history, text threads, video clips, photo after photo after photo. The phone's memory was jam packed with nothing but him and David and a baby, and yet none of it was ringing any bells in his own memory.

His chest tightened with every swipe, every message he read or video he watched, the growing anxiety nearly suffocating.

Bryan's not sure how long he sat there, how many times he viewed the same images over and over again, waiting for something to click. It never happened, though, and the only reason he stopped is because his phone had stopped working.

Something's wrong. With him, maybe with everything. He wants to cry and he wants to go home. When he knocks on the front door, he's not sure that he wants to go back inside, but he doesn't know what else to do or who else can explain what's happening.

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Bryan leans away from the door just slightly when it opens, at least part of him clearly not at all on board with willingly coming back. He's quiet for a moment after David answers, then licks his lips. "My phone died..."

Remembering the screensaver, he moves back, far enough to take in the front of the housem at what he estimates as the angle of the photo.

It's the same one.

Padding back up to the door, he look at David, eyes pleading. "What's wrong with me?"

David has been asked the same question by his patients over the years and he has always had a professional answer prepared. Now though, he is only able to shake his head, just like everyone he'd spoken to earlier had done.

"I don't know..." he mutters quietly, shifting on his feet for a moment before finally stepping back. "But we can work it out together if you come inside."

Bryan wiggles his toes on his side of the threshold, hesitant, but eventually stepping inside. He moves awkwardly around David, only facing him head-on for safety. Despite the fact that he's now almost certain that the other man hasn't actually killed anyone, he's still on edge, and David's the only person around to focus that nervous energy on.

"Stranger really is the most appropriate word, huh," David comments with irony, shifting awkwardly in response to Bryan's body language as he moves to shut the door. "The den is through that way," he motions, waiting for Bryan to take the lead.

After a quick glance to map out a path that won't have him colliding with boxes, Bryan moves, arms crossed and walking backwards, as if it's the most normal thing in the world and he's just always gotten around like that. At the moment, it's about the least abnormal thing that's happened that morning, so he doesn't even care how he looks while doing it.

"...Really?" Unimpressed, David casts his gaze to the ceiling, sucks in a deep breath and follows. Bryan reminds him of one particular douchebag who walked exactly like that after David came out, like that was the only way to stop him from pouncing on his butt. David is marginally less mortified this time but it doesn't bring back pleasant memories.

"Would you walk normally, please? You're not my prey."

"I don't know that. I don't know anything," Bryan argues. The closest he's gotten to figuring anything out is that phone, but now that screen is as blank as he is.

"Do you have a charger?" He asks, clutching the device like it's his lifeline.

"This is not an episode of 48 Hours Mystery," David counters dryly, gesturing towards the haphazardly-placed couch for Bryan to sit. "No. You have a charger. I'll get it. Watch him." His hand turns in the direction of Sawyer who is trying to navigate his limbs over the sides of a cardboard box in order to sit inside.

"Not yet," Bryan mutters once David is out of sight. Instead of sitting, he walks over and stands a short distance away from the baby as he clumsily maneuvers his way around the box. After watching his struggles for a moment, he helps, picking the him up and placing him inside. Once inside, the boy smiles, his way of saying thank you, Bryan assumes. "You're very cute," he says begrudgingly. None of this is his fault, but he can't help it. "And you have great skin."

David waits outside the room when he returns, watching to see if Sawyer brings back any memories for Bryan. His stomach twists when it is blatantly obvious that the connection between them has entirely vanished.

He clears his throat to make himself known, walking in with a charger in one hand and a medical torch in the other.

"I'll give you this if you let me check you over," he offers, trying to keep the tone of his voice on an even, detached keel. If he freaks out, Bryan will and then the dogs will and Sawyer too, like a domino effect. "I need to make sure you've not suffered a trauma to your head."

Bryan blinks, looking back and forth between the charger and the light before looking at David. "If I have suffered trauma to my head there's only so many people to blame under this roof," he says, snatching the cord and searching the perimeter of the room of an outlet.

Pushing a box of books out of the way, he finds a place to plug in, immediately doing so and taking a seat on the floor, his back against the wall.

Bowing his head, David presses thumb and forefinger against his eyes, losing the battle with his headache for a moment. His wedding vows, despite never having gotten to say any, mean something to him. Marriage is a promise to stick together through the good times and the bad.

He's not sure much much worse it can get than Bryan not only forgetting the whole of their relationship but also thinking David is capable of harming him. It feels like rock bottom.

"Bry." Rather than tower over him, which would add to the menacing image he's apparently portraying, David crouches in front of him. "What year is it? How old are you?"

"2006," he says, eyes on the screen until it comes back to life and he breathes a sigh of relief. Brow furrowed, he turns his gaze back to David while the phone loads. "I already told you how old I am. And, yes, I lied at first, but I told you that, too. Nobody in LA is as old as they say they are the first time. Twenty-six. I am twenty-six, okay?"

It feels to David like his brain starts working in slow motion. Bryan might not look too different but when you go to sleep and wake up next to the same person, day in, day out, even the smallest of changes is noticeable. David's not ready to admit it though.

"Um..." He desperately tries to regain his train of thought. "Traumas can be, be internal with no obvious external injury. Blood clots on the brain can sometimes cause um, problems with memory. Can I please just," he lifts the torch, "I won't touch you, I promise. I just need to check that you're okay."

He feels fine. He'd know if there was something physically wrong with him and so would anyone within earshot since he'd complain about it endlessly. Bryan is not the type to suffer in silence.

"Okay," he says, because he did come back for answers, after all. Crossing his legs, Bryan lowers the phone for the moment. He's not sure what a vagina doctor is going to tell him about the state of his brain, but what choice does he have? "What do you remember about last night?"

"Okay," David echoes, visibly relieved. One step at a time. "Just look at me. Look between my eyes." He clicks the torch on and holds it in front of Bryan's head, flicking the light into his eyes and away again a few times each side, testing his pupils' reactions. "Yesterday I moved into this house with my son and my husband," he answers distractedly. His thirty five year old husband. "We unpacked the essentials, ate take out and fell asleep before we could try out the tub."

"...is he out back, buried underneath a birdbath now?" Bryan asks, looking straight ahead. And he doesn't mean to sound so hopeful about it this time around, but he can't help it. At this point, David being a murderer is just the scenario that would make the most logical sense to him. It makes him feel a bit better if the potential issue is with David, not himself. Even if that means he's currently getting a physical from a killer.

David drops his arm, stopping his checks, and looks Bryan dead in the eyes.

"He's you. You're my husband. Or you were..." He swallows and shakes his head. "Or you will be."

Bryan's grip tightens around the phone, fingers brushing over the ring still on his finger. He doesn't know what to do with the information and it shows plainly on his face.

"I don't-- That doesn't make any sense." Except, in a lot of ways, it does. The ring, the pictures, the house. It all fits, even if he feels like he doesn't. It makes sense... if this were a rom-com starring Jennifer Garner and Mark Ruffalo, but this is his life.

David doesn't need to finish the check up, he decides, turning the torch off. This is far bigger than a bump on the head, no matter how much he tries to deny it.

"Tell me about it." They have reached new, terrifying levels insanity in this city. "When I fell asleep last night, you were thirty five years old, same as me. Now you're not. Now you're...you."

"Oh my God. That sounds like a nightmare," Bryan says, wide-eyed, nose scrunched in disgust. "Being thirty-five, I mean." He can't really speak on what married life is like since he has no experience with it. That he remembers.

"How? Why? This is... insane. This stuff doesn't just happen. Not outside of movies or television."

Starting to lose the feelings in his legs, David cast a glance over his shoulder to check on Sawyer, then sits down in front of Bryan in a mirror image position.

"Well..." He's not entirely convinced that this kind of thing 'doesn't just happen'. Not in Darrow anyway. "Complete honesty? If you'd said that to me a year ago, I'd have agreed with you. But strange things happen in this city that you will never, ever wrap your head around. This could be like that."

"Darrow." That's where he is. It's the only useful thing he'd gotten out of his conversation with that elderly man.

Bryan goes back to studying the pictures again, willing them to fix what's wrong or spark a memory. Anything, good or bad. He stops on one and enlarges it, turning the screen to David. There's nothing special about it over any of the others. It's just one of dozens, them and the baby, happy. The stuff of nightmares for every One Million Mom, he's sure.

"So, we're married..." With a son. He looks exactly like David, so there's one question he doesn't have to ask. "I guess I'm sorry I thought you were a kidnapping murderer."

David's not actually sure if they are married, given that the Bryan in front of him is clearly not the same one he exchanged rings with, but he locks that conundrum away to deal with later.

"That's okay. I was a little more offended by the comment about being thirty-five," he insists in good humor, trying to calm the situation, even if inside he feels anything but. "I know you joke about not intending to age but don't you think you've taken it a tad too far?"

"If any of this was my doing I would have gone younger than twenty-six." Twenty-six is practically thirty and that's just depressing.

He takes a moment to study the man in front of him instead of the one in the pictures, looking for subtle differences brought on by time. The glasses are gone, so he's either blind right no or he's wearing contacts. His smile lines are deeper, which might be a horrible thing by LA standards, but in this case, Bryan has a differing opinion. Over all, he looks exactly like his David, just more mature and refined and somehow even more handsome, if that's possible. "You got rid of the Jewfro."

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