It was comforting to have an accomplice during the interrogative segment - fun, even. Casper's very own brawny sidekick, presented to foes as a means of instilling both fear and awe. Ash fit the role well, what with his daunting height and well-timed quips. Casper had been thoroughly impressed by how well the young boy was just... going with it. This whole trespasser situation - coupled with the bloody mess in the kitchen and that unwelcoming first impression - would have made Casper head for the door quite some time ago. Sure, this was all very uncanny and exciting, and if Casper were the guest, he'd be curious, albeit with a wary disposition - but he wouldn't implicate himself into what was surely an incredibly shady predicament. Ash, on the other hand, was quite gung-ho about playing the Accomplice, throwing in questions of his own.<i>Thaaat's the spirit, </i>Casper thought, rolling his eyes to hide his enjoyment at the sight of Ash grilling poor, defenceless Joe Gibbs.<br/><br/>His sympathies were immediately rescinded, however, when Ash confirmed his suspicions that Joe wasn't in fact acquainted with Miles. He'd already had a (large) hunch that Joe was spewing a few (a lot of) falsities, but having it validated cemented his resolve to grill the fuck out of Joe Gibbs and find out what he wanted. Casper's planned course of action was as follows:<br/><br/><i>Get Ash to coax some info out of that little shit, and then coax that info out of Ash. Because I'm fully aware that Ash isn't obligated to tell me shit.</i><br/><br/>Casper had a feeling, however slight it was, that Ash may favour his classmate (if his relationship to Joe Gibbs even transcended to that) over a thirty-something stranger - so measures would have to be taken. After all, Ash had vowed to find out what Joe wanted, but that promise hadn't entailed relaying the information to Casper. He was getting that information whether Ash wanted him to or not though.<br/><br/>But so far, Casper's request was being fulfilled. He watched as Joe was pulled towards the pool; the boy threw Casper an anxious look but the latter smiled back lazily, even giving a half-wave. He turned to head back into the house.<br/><br/>~~<br/><br/>Joe had inwardly celebrated his small triumph when Ash agreed to talk; however, Ash soon dropped the friendly facade, calling Joe a 'twit' as opposed to 'buddy' now that the dark-haired man was out of earshot. Joe winced when his rear made contact with the deckchair. His ass hadn't fully recovered from those falls following his attempts at parkour, and he winced again at the memory.<br/><br/>Ash got right to it, asking Joe just what the hell was going on.<br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff8000"><br/>
<b>“All right, you twit, what the hell is going on?”</b></span><br/><br/>Joe suddenly felt his mouth become dry and his pulse quicken. He remained silent for a few seconds further, attempting to assemble a good sequence of words, nicely formed sentences, a tactful approach to those queries. But alas; along with his physique, his intellect seemed to have suffered from that deteriorating diet too. Finally, he (barely) managed to string a few words together.<br/><br/>"Look man, I just..." He started uneasily. Then, reconsidering his approach, he said: "Do... do you know this chick called, uh, Lainey Richardson?"<br/><br/>Instantly, Joe wanted to die. Why the<i>fuck </i>had he opted to mention that name? What the<i>fuck </i>was he thinking? He was so, royally, fucked.<br/><br/>But God, or whatever being held the reigns of earthly demise, chose that moment to bestow upon Joe a whole slab of saving grace. Because Ash hadn't seemed to have heard what Joe had said at all.<br/><br/><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff8000">“Sorry, lost myself for a second. Repeat that, would you?”</span></b><br/><br/>Joe froze for a fraction of a second, staring at Ash in disbelief. Had he really not been heard? This was the perfect opportunity to rectify his mistake.<br/><br/>"I just... wanted to know what Miles has told you. Ya know, about the fight." Joe's voice had settled and the waters had stilled, so he didn't sound too unbelievable. Subconsciously, he started drumming his fingers against the deckchair's edge, his perspiration refusing to cease. "Like, I was there that night. Was one of the guys who got involved in all that shit<i>; </i>I won't even deny it." Perhaps telling Ash a sliver of the truth would help Joe gain some credibility, or some trust. "But like... what did Miles tell you? Did he seem weird about certain... things? Where is he, anyway?" His eyes flitted to Ash once or twice, but he couldn't maintain a steady gaze, for various reasons. His sleep-deprived state was one factor; his paranoid state of panic was another. He was tired, bruised, scared, delirious. This dangerous concoction of adversity had been shrouded, so far, by his purposeful conduct, his intent to break in and see Miles. But now that his scheme had fallen through and there was no adrenaline present to divert his anxiety, Joe found that he was more nervous than ever.<br/><br/>"What I remember about that night is really fucking hazy. I drank<i>a lot, </i>man." Joe felt the first pinprick of panic. "And... it's natural that I'd want to know what happened. You know, because..." He didn't know how to go about the wording of his next sentence. "Because obviously, someone got killed. And I was hoping that Miles remembered what happened, so he could clear some things up." Joe had just assumed that Ash was already informed about the murder of Shane Richardson, so didn't think much about relaying such information so casually. No - he was starting to hyperventilate for other reasons. What if Miles had already told Ash or the Dark-Haired Man about Joe's crime? What if the two sparsely-clothed men had been bluffing the whole time, and they knew exactly who Joe was and what felonies he'd committed? What if this was a<i>trap</i>?<br/><br/>The pinprick of panic swiftly transformed into a torrential downpour, and Joe straightened up, alert. Heart hammering, he leaned forwards as if readying himself to flee, evaluating his surroundings more thoroughly, trying to calm his spiralling thoughts. The only solace he found was that Ash wasn't treating Joe with disgust or aggression - which he surely would be if he<i>knew</i>. So perhaps Joe should cool it and await some answers to ease his conscience.<br/><br/>But then Joe realised something of considerable importance. There was absolutely no point, none at all, in Joe querying Ash, because even if the latter did know the truth, he obviously wouldn't reveal it. But then again Ash wasn't acting like he knew. But then again maybe that was the trap.<br/><br/>By now, Joe had abandoned his ploy to ply information out of Ash. He was panicking, and his heart seemed to pulse simultaneously with his darkened bruises, and he was fatigued from lack of sleep and his brain was abuzz with a blizzard of thoughts.<i>Fuck it</i>, he finally thought. He was going to shed the niceties and deal with this himself. Not waiting a second longer, Joe shot up off of the deckchair and bolted towards the garden door.<br/><br/>~~<br/><br/>Casper had finally opted to discard his towel and throw on actual clothes. Clad in a shirt and trousers, he stood in his son's bedroom doorway. Miles' fist was enclosed around a garment; Ash's garment, Casper promptly realised. He'd seen many a spectacle throughout the course of his life, but at least they were supplemented with a purpose, or an explanation. This current display seemed to be accompanied by neither. He walked briskly over to the bed, concluding from the limpness of Miles' limbs and the silence being emitted that he was asleep; he was soon jostled awake though, when the shirt belonging to that young Adonis downstairs was tugged out of his grip. Miles groggily awoke to see his father smiling down at him, eyes lidded with sly amusement. It was the first time in a week that Miles noticed his father's iciness thawing, so he confusedly smiled back instead of gauging Casper's malicious intent. Miles was on the verge of saying something when suddenly, Casper hit him across the chin with Ash's shirt; the fabric slapped against the boy's skin and he yelped, sitting up.<br/><br/>"Dad!" He yelled. "What the-"<br/><br/>"Why the<i>hell </i>were you clutching Ash's shirt amidst the confines of sleep?" Casper drawled, grinning. His eyes glinted knowingly. "Were you really so hard up for masturbation material, Miles? Had to opt for a sweaty substitute?" As expected, Miles' cheeks burned up. but he didn't respond. This was the first time his dad had initiated a conversation in a while; he didn't want to cut it short, even if jests were made at his expense.<br/><br/>Casper rolled his eyes, letting the shirt drop to the bed. Time to get down to business.<br/><br/>"I'm going to ask you something, and you're going to tell me the truth," Casper started, seating himself on the bed and leaning back on his elbows. Miles immediately became alert; he was far too familiar with the assertive tone his dad had adopted.<br/><br/>"Uhh, sure." Miles replied, somewhat hesitantly.<br/><br/>Casper looked at him, ready to assess his reaction at the question, so that he could effectively gauge whether Miles was telling the truth or not. Over the years, Casper had become proficient in reading Miles, and had catalogued the indicators that often showed whenever the boy was lying. A twitch of his upper a lip, a scratch at his jaw. However much Miles tried to remain impassive, there was always something that gave him away.<br/><br/>"I've come to realise that your memory's absolute shit, but I'll ask anyway. Do you happen to know a certain Joe Gibbs?" Casper inquired blandly, so as to conceal the important urgency of his query. His gaze cut into Miles and he was watching the boy closely, but Miles only thought for a second or two before shrugging and shaking his head.<br/><br/>"Uh, no." Miles said. "Why? You're being kinda weird."<br/><br/>"Shut up and think properly. You're sure you're in no way associated with a Joe Gibbs?" He started tapping his foot impatiently against the bed, looking expectantly at Miles. "He was present the night you decided to fuck yourself up. You don't recall? No fragments of memories pertaining to an Adidas tracksuit?"<br/><br/>Miles was only getting increasingly weirded out. What information was his dad trying to ply out of him? Whatever the case, he didn't fucking know who Joe Gibbs was.<br/><br/>"I don't fucking know who Joe Gibbs is," Miles said, thinking aloud, squinting his eyes as if trying to remember.<br/><br/>"Don't swear at me, boy."<br/><br/>"Sorry."<br/><br/>"Alright, get your ass up." Casper said dryly as he swiftly stood and stretched, as if waiting for Miles to follow suit. Of course, Miles remained sprawled on his bed, rendered useless by his numerous casts and bandages. Even if he wasn't restrained by all the plaster and cotton, he'd only make it to the bedside table before his body started aching and his legs gave way. He stared at Casper, wondering if he was being serious. Obviously, Casper wasn't - but the bedroom window had a perfect overhead view of the garden, where Ash and Joe were most probably still conversing, and Casper wanted Miles to somehow make it to the window to see if he recognised Joe after all. He walked over to it himself, peering through the glass after assessing the distance to it from the bed, knowing full well that Miles wouldn't make it. As expected, Joe and Ash were still by the pool; Joe had repositioned himself since Casper had been in the garden though, so that he was now seated on the edge of the deckchair, looking apprehensive - but his face was still perfectly visible. Perhaps Casper could retrieve his phone and snap a picture of Gibbs, to see if his face jogged Miles' memory. Whilst trying to recall where he'd left the phone in question, he suddenly started at a flash of movement near the pool. Joe Gibbs had jumped up and ran, and was heading for the door to the house.<br/><br/><i>What the fuck.</i><br/><br/>~~<br/><br/>Joe cursed himself for ever abandoning his workout regime. His muscles (or lack thereof) already burned and his breath was coming out in short, ragged bursts - and he hadn't even reached the garden door yet. Sheer willpower fueled his sudden exertion, and he somehow managed to dart around the pool's edge without slipping, before crashing through the backdoor. He'd finally made it inside; the air was much cooler here, but Joe could hardly stop to appreciate its comfort. Heart hammering and adrenaline coursing through his veins, he headed for the staircase in a panic. Ash was most probably right behind him and Joe found himself constantly visualising the other boy pouncing at him from a darkened corner, or grabbing him by the back of his hood. In any case, it only drove him to run faster. His desperation and sheer fear were at the forefront of his mind, taking the reigns of the rest of his body. The sole reason as to why he'd ran was because he'd ceased caring about maintaining a civil demeanor; he was in a state of paranoia and sleep-deprivation, and wasn't thinking clearly. He just needed to talk to Miles.<i>Everything </i>depended on it.<br/><br/>Joe skirted around the pristine white couches, trying to avoid slipping on the remnants of red wine still splashed on the floor. Finally, he reached the staircase, bounding up the steps and stopping only for a second at the top to get his bearings. There was a long, carpeted hallway before him, with several doors leading off of it.<i>Where the hell do I start?</i>He asked himself, panting and breathless and sweaty, forcing himself to continue despite the burning in his lungs. Slowing his previous pace to a jog, he approached the first door and turned the handle, quickly moving on to the second when he found nothing but old mosaics and ugly pottery. He needed to move this along quicker; Ash was surely nearing him now, and god knew where the Dark-Haired Man had gone. It was a terrible risk Joe was making, but he'd face the consequences later. Easing his conscience and getting answers was the priority here.<br/><br/>Joe soon caught a glimpse of a door on the far end of the hallway, where a sliver of the room inside was visible. It was the only door that was ajar, so he headed straight for it, casting an occasional glance over his shoulder lest Ash had finally caught up. The thought spurred Joe on, and he quickly reached the ajar door. He pushed it open with force, but froze at the sight that met him.<br/><br/>Miles was very much alone, as Joe had hoped, but he was not in the state that Joe had expected. For starters, he was submerged in sheaths of bandages, and his casts stuck out awkwardly from underneath the bed covers.<i>Shit, </i>Joe thought, staring wide-eyed at the boy he'd only met once before. He'd had no inkling whatsoever that Miles was hurt this badly; Joe and his friends had fled from the alley as soon as Brent Davis had pulled out the pocketknife, but perhaps Miles hadn't gotten away, so wasn't spared the few extra beatings. But Joe didn't have the time to be mulling over how the hell Miles had gotten himself so entirely fucked up. The two half-naked men were surely closing in on him. Miles was the first to speak.<br/><br/>"Who the<i>fuck </i>are you, man?" Miles asked, also wide-eyed. He didn't regularly have manic-looking teenagers come crashing into his room, only to stare at him wordlessly whilst their shoes soiled the carpet. But suddenly, Miles' expression contorted into one of recognition and surprise. "Holy shit, wait a sec. I<i>know you!</i>You're one of the guys from the bar, who invited me over and then got into that fight!" And indeed, Miles held fragments of memories pertaining to an Adidas tracksuit. Joe's face had triggered flashes and images and recollections from That Night, such as the pre-fight drinking session, and a few memories during the fight. Of course, Miles couldn't string together actual events and only recalled a few snippets, but it was enough to remember Joe.<br/><br/>Which horrified Gibbs.<br/><br/>Immediately, Joe was alarmed, and rushed over to the bed. Miles scooted back against the headboard, but Joe was far past maintaining boundaries and knelt down at the bedside.<br/><br/>"Fuck man, do you know what happened?" Joe asked desperately, his voice slightly hysterical. Miles leaned away from the crazed kid, looking urgently at something near the door, but Joe wanted an answer. "Shit man, please!<i>Do you know what happened</i>?!"<br/><br/>Miles couldn't decipher what the lunatic meant. Wait - he was talking about the murder, wasn't he? Of course Miles was clued up about what had happened that night; he'd seen a few news broadcasts about it too, with Brent Davis' mugshot glaring out from the TV screen.<br/><br/>"Dude, of course I know." Miles replied, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. That was all Joe needed to secure his descent into insanity and doom. Miles knew. Miles<i>fucking knew.</i>Joe started to cry.<br/><br/>This alarmed Miles a great deal, because he'd never been in the company of a crying male before. He thought it was an extremely pussy-esque thing to do, and his discomfort was evident.<br/><br/>"W-what the fuck, dude?" Miles stuttered, but Joe seemed undeterred amidst his bawling and clutched hopelessly at the bed sheets. Eventually, he calmed himself and looked up at the bedridden boy.<br/><br/>"Don't tell<i>anyone." </i>Joe said. "I'm<i>begging </i>you, man. Miles, right? I'm begging you, Miles."<br/><br/>Miles was speechless and confused, and couldn't bring himself to utter a word. What was the lunatic babbling on about now? Obviously, they weren't talking about the same thing. But Joe shakily got to his feet and turned to leave, as if his message had been delivered and he'd fulfilled his purpose.<br/><br/><i>No no no, </i>Casper thought, peering at the moving figure from his hiding place. He wanted Joe to continue his rambling, so that the boy could relay what exactly he did that was so appalling. But Joe was readying himself to leave. So Casper had no choice but to come out. Or rather, come in. The door creaked as he pushed it open, causing Joe to freeze when the Dark-Haired Man came into view in the doorway.<i>Shit. </i><br/><br/>When Casper had seen Joe running off, he'd guessed that the kid's first stop would be Miles' room; wanting to hear what crucial information Joe had been so desperate to divulge, Casper had opted to hide in the room opposite to Miles'. When Joe arrived, Casper had inched out of the opposite room and waited outside Miles' door, listening to them converse. His actions may be deemed questionable, but this was important. Casper already thought that he knew what this was all about, and his pulse quickened at the prospect of it. Whilst Casper had been eavesdropping in the hallway, he'd seen Ash emerge from the staircase and had swiftly raised a finger to his lips, signalling for the boy to stop and be quiet.<br/><br/>"Hey hey, I'm meant to be hospitable to my guests," Casper said with a smirk, eyes half-lidded. He exuded an air of moderate composure, but inside he was reeling. If Joe was talking about what Casper thought he was, then... "Now, what<i>exactly </i>can't Miles tell anyone about? Highly discriminatory to pick and choose who can keep your secrets, hm?" He stepped closer to a panicking Joe. Casper was quite enjoying the effect he was having on the boy, but evidently it was too much; Joe was suddenly darting around Casper and making a mad dash out of the room.<br/><br/>"<i>Shit!"</i>Casper gritted out before sprinting after Gibbs. The kid hadn't made it far down the hallway, and Casper easily caught up to him before wrenching him back by the hood of his jacket. Casper grabbed Joe's arms and held them behind his back; Joe struggled greatly, but he couldn't fend Casper off.<br/><br/>"Joe,<i>tell me what the fuck you meant."</i>Casper said harshly as Gibbs continued to squirm.<br/><br/>"Fuck you!" Joe yelled, tears starting to appear again. "It's nothing, okay?! Fuck, let go of me!"<br/><br/>"I<i>know</i>what you did, Joe," Casper said dryly with a daunting grin. That immediately subdued Joe and stilled his squirming. He was panting, his back still to Casper's front, arms beginning to hurt.<br/><br/>"T-The fuck you mean-"<br/><br/>"I<i>mean</i>that I'm fully aware of your felony, you little rascal, you," Casper replied, trying not to enjoy this too much. "You know, I've watched my fair share of crime shows, Joe. You'll be saved a hell of a lot of paperwork and lawyer expenses if you just plead guilty in the courtroom."<br/><br/>Joe's heart sank and his eyes widened, his head turned to Casper, watching the fatal words roll off of the man's tongue. This reaction only cemented Casper's assumption that Joe had<i>murdered Shane Richardson. </i>Because what else would he be begging Miles not to tell anyone about? Casper couldn't even begin to describe the colossal amount of relief he felt at this; if Joe had murdered Richardson, that meant that Miles was innocent. And indeed, Casper had never been entirely sure that Miles had ever been the killer. There had never been actual evidence, save for the blood on Miles' hands and clothes when he'd come home and his drunken ramblings that recounted the murder in graphic detail. But the whole time, it had been Joe. Casper was delighted.<br/><br/>In the meantime, Joe had been waiting for the man's grip to loosen enough for him to slip away, and soon enough, he was presented with the perfect opportunity. The man seemed to think that Joe was adequately subdued, so slackened his hold slightly, and Joe instantly shot off. Casper cursed and followed suit, jumping him as soon as he was in a close enough range. Joe banged into the wall, but turned sharply to push Casper away by the chest. He then proceeded to attempt to land a right hook, but Casper saw it coming and jerked his head away. Joe pushed at Casper again, harder, and the latter crashed into a side table. He quickly recovered and lunged for Joe, grabbing the boy's right wrist and twisting his arm painfully. Joe staggered backwards and suddenly, they both landed with a thud on the ground, and Casper pinned Joe's hands to the floor.<br/><br/>"Stay the fuck down, Joe," Casper said, struggling to keep Joe's body on the ground. He wasn't planning on letting the real killer escape so easily. Joe, however, was not going to comply with Casper's agenda; he wrenched his hands out of Casper's grip, yet again, and reared his balled fist back. Suddenly, a flash of pain hit Casper directly in his left eye, and he was momentarily blinded. The force of the punch had sent him falling back, and he groaned as he clutched his eye. Joe sprang up and ran again, but all Casper could see was black.<br/><br/>"<i>Shit,</i>Ash!" Casper yelled before groaning again, rubbing his sore skin. "Get that fucker!"