https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lPNC7Ga72_w - I extended it and found the first part of the scene. I have not seen the movie yet, so I don't know what the things/weapons in Adam's bag are...someone please comment on that paragraph and let me know!
A small figure stood in the doorway. No taller than four-foot-eight. Definitely a child, and most likely the one that lived here.
Adam saw the kid hesitantly let the door swing open, noting what shock he could see in the dim light. He'd known how to open his dad's specially locked door, and now his younger self was going to be seriously concerned. He made out the slim shape of a bat, and saw the beam of a flashlight scan the garage, going in his direction. Hawking's head was in his lap, and he was too exhausted to move. He'd deal with it as calmly as possible to avoid a massive freak-out, because God knows he used to be a little midget psycho.
The beam passed over him, and he eased the pressure on his wound to relax a bit as the light jerked to a stop and swung back to his face, causing him to squint. He held up his bloodstained hand as he watched the kid's eyes go wide. "Take it easy," he said, realizing that he probably should have cleared his throat before practically growling that sentence.
Young Adam screamed, fumbled the light so it turned off, throwing the room into darkness, and toppled backwards out of the doorframe.
"Or," Adam muttered, "You know, fall down and scream."
The kid sprang up, flicked on the light, ran in, and readied his bat as he stood in a swinging stance across the coffee table from Adam, bouncing on his feet.
"Put the bat down-"
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.
"Just put the bat down," Adam ordered, annoyed. This little drama queen. "I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise."
"What are you doing in here?" the kid yelled.
Adam opened his mouth, waving a hand as he tried to search for the words. "Mostly bleeding."
Young Adam flinched, taking deep breaths as he tried to conceal his panic. Adam studied him closely. He was really small, shorter than expected, and his skin was clearer than it had been in a long time. His curly hair was golden, barely darkened like it had gotten in his teen years, still fluffy and not thick or straight. Adam faltered. "Wait, how old are you?"
The kid blinked, glancing away and then back at Adam, clearly unable to take his eyes off the spectacle in his garage. "What?"
"How - old - are - you?" Adam repeated, enunciating louder, and, frankly, very uneasily.
"Twelve," he replied.
Adam mouthed the number, and looked up at the ceiling as this sank in. The implications. He hung his head low. "Shhhhhhit," he breathed.
The kid's worry increased, and he let out a soft whine of confusion. "How did you get into my dad's garage?"
Adam was too preoccupied to lie well. "I- it was open."
"No, it wasn't, and that," he shifted the bat to one hand so he could point at Adam's harness, "is a flight suit - are you a pilot?
Fast speaker, Adam remembered, noting that familiar quick pace of words. "Yeah..." he said, breathing hard as the agony of his injury began to set in. "Yeah, listen to me-" The kid pulled out a phone, concern seeping into his features once more. "Don't, don't - hey! Don't call anyone. Okay? Put the phone- I'm not gonna hurt you." His words were breaking up, his fatigue catching up to him.
"Yeah, you said that already," Young Adam reminded him.
"Well it bear-" his wound let loose another fresh spurt of blood as he shifted in his discomposure, and he choked on the pain as he pulled up his jacket to check that the shirt had indeed darkened. "Dammit," he cursed. "Ach-It," he stumbled on the words again, and forced out in a near whisper, "...bears repeating."
"That's a lot of blood," the kid said, staring at the wound, dumbstruck. Adam pressed his jacket over it.
"Well, I-uh have so much more in my body. Where's your mother?"
Young Adam frowned at the question. "On a date?"
The blood loss was messing with Adam, and he struggled to concentrate. Facts, he needed more facts to figure out where - when - he was. "With who?"
"What?" the kid asked, bewildered.
"With. Who? What's his name?"
"I dunno, Derek?"
"Derek," Adam repeated, mystified, scouring his memory for the face, any face to fit that name. "Derek. Derek, Derek, Derek, yes, that's the guy with the um, with the mouth mullet."
"Goatee?"
Adam forced back a smile, remembering that stupid beard. "Yeah."
"So, say goatee."
Then Adam remembered that this dude never came that close to his mother. "Ah, he doesn't matter."
The kid didn't miss a beat. "None of them do," he said dully.
There was a moment of silence as they studied each other, after this strange exchange of conversation. Young Adam's eyes fell on Hawking, whose head was in Adam's lap as he got his ears scratched. The dog was utterly calm, enjoying getting petted. He sensed no danger. Adam smirked, meeting the kid's gaze. "Nice dog."
Young Adam didn't smile, and Hawking lifted his head, sensing his owner's unease, but didn't move towards him. The meaning of the boy's glare was clear: traitor. Adam rested for one more moment, then decided that enough time - oh, what a joke - had been wasted. Now, to fix this latest screwup.
Adam rose quickly, causing the kid to flinch back hard, and Hawking calmly rounded the table towards his owner. "I'm gonna go inside the house," he stated, grabbing his duffel. "Gonna get some stuff." He noticed the kid once more bouncing on his feet, readying his swing as he gripped the bat tighter, and licked his lips in concentration. "Be careful with that," Adam warned as he made his way to the door.
The kid didn't listen, and swung. Adam swatted it aside to lessen the force, grabbed it, spun it out of the boy's grasp, and sent it flying outside into the dark without turning around as he exited. "Stay here," he grunted, leaving his younger self speechless and staring.
—
Adam stepped into the kitchen, knowing full well just how annoying - and recklessly stupid - his younger self could be and that he wasn't going to be left alone for long. He dumped his duffel on the island counter and unlocked his harness, tossing it on the floor before turning to the fridge. He selected an apple and shoved the door shut, catching a glimpse of curly golden hair shining in the room's dim light, as he remembered that the fridge door hung open on its loose hinge and kicked it shut after he bit into the fruit.
He'd been right. He felt the kid's gaze burning into his neck as he hopefully opened the cardboard pizza box on the counter, only to discover it empty. "Ah, come on," he groaned softly, and then felt his injury throb.
Adam heard the nearly indiscernible, tense steps behind him. Pressing a hand to his side, he walked to the end of the kitchen, pulled a dishtowel out of a drawer, and started to unzip his jacket. "Told you to stay in the garage," he grumbled.
The kid's voice was devoid of fear. "And let some creepy dude just wander around my house alone?"
"Yeah..." Adam muttered, yanking his arm out of the jacket whose zipper just did not want to comply.
"I don't think so," he replied confidently, and Adam heard some rustling.
He let his jacket sleeve fall to his side, only having the patience enough to get the wound some air. "Yeah, believe me; I don't wanna be here any more than you want me here." He ran the towel under the tap, soaking it. "I just gotta stop bleeding long enough. Gotta dress the wound-" he shoved the lump of towel under his shirt and pressed on the injury, turning back towards his younger self, "prevent a nasty infection, and I will be on my merry way." He snatched the black orb his younger self had just tossed in the air with a jolt of horror. "Don't- touch that." He put it down.
"I was just looking," the kid said, staring at his duffel.
"Don't touch my stuff," Adam snapped.
"Is this a lightsaber?" He held up a black hilt.
Adam snatched that out of his hands as well and dropped it in the bag, irritated. "No, it's not a lightsaber."
"Okay," he mumbled, gripping the bat Adam hadn't noticed before a bit more tightly.
Adam seized the bat and tossed it behind him, seriously agitated now. "Enough with the bat. Alright, if I wanted to hurt you, I'd have done it already, because if I'm being perfectly honest with myself," he dropped his voice low in threat, though really he was steeling himself to check his injury, "you have a very punchable face."
Young Adam brought a hand to his cheek in surprise, but stopped halfway and glared at Adam.
Adam sucked in a breath and felt his injury throb again, losing his crap and giving in to rip the shirt away and see exactly how bad the damage was. Young Adam lost his crap too at the unexpected sight of it. "OH MY-"
"God! Gah!" Adam finished, feeling it sting like a box jellyfish as he pressed the towel to it once again. The hole was deep, covered in barely coagulating blood, but relatively clean. Finally, something was going right. He felt it to make sure. "That - that bullet went straight through, that's good, ah cool-"
"Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait bullet? You were shot?"
"Yea- No, actually no. No, I was stabbed with a bullet, what do you think, you moron?"
The kid didn't back down. "I'm the moron you're the one who was shot." Again, no pause between the sentences.
Adam seethed. "Alright, okay that's it," he coughed, and heard a strange sound like flatulence. "That..." he lost his train of threat - sorry, thought. Train of thought. "Wow, that, uh...That's weird. It farts when I cough." He coughed again, just to check, and sure enough, a little pop of air was caused by the movement, causing his flesh to sputter.
"Gross," the kid winced and looked away.
"Super gross," Adam agreed. "I'm gonna go upstairs, grab some stuff. Stay cool, you can trust me," he said, trying to forgive, reassure, and just make freaking peace. The quicker he could get what he needed, the quicker he could get out and not risk prolonging this totally illegal parallel contact.
"That's easy for you to say," Young Adam called as he followed his older self up the stairs. "I'm the one who ends up in a therapist's office telling them about where the bad man touched me."
Adam flinched and turned around to throw a disgust-filled glare in the kid's direction. "OH! God! That's where you go? Immediately? You are dark, man." He walked briskly across the hall and shoved open the bathroom door, flicking on the light switch.
"Who even are you?" Young Adam prompted.
Adam ripped open the medicine drawer, stocked like how he remembered it, and muttered, "That...is...classified," as he located a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and took it out.
"Why are you here?"
Adam pulled up his shirt and sprayed the antiseptic straight on the wound, causing him to gag in pain mid sentence as it burned like fire. "Also classi- gh - classified."
"Are you in the air force?" he continued, voice still innocent and curious.
Adam bit back a growl and shoved the drawer shut, spinning around. "When I say 'classified'," he hissed. "What does your brain hear? Chocolate?"
The kid smirked.
"What's with the lightsaber?" he quipped, following Adam out of the bathroom.
"It's not a lightsaber, Jesus Christ, Adam, I need you to play it cool-"
"Wait."
He kept walking. He was done with this little kid's BS and he needed him to learn that shutting up about now would be sincerely appreciated. "I know that playing it cool isn't your thing-"
"Wait."
"It never has been and-"
"Wait. Wait, wait!" Adam spun around to face the pipsqueak, seriously ready to retrieve the bat and give it to him. The boy pointed at him, the bored, insistent curiosity turning into something more serious now. Accusing. "How do you know my name?"
Shoot. He'd slipped up. Adam walked closer to the kid, and he didn't back away. One moment of consideration and then...he decided. To hell with it.
"You're Adam Reed. Born February tenth, 2010," he began in a low voice, speaking confidently. After all, he'd known the facts he was reciting his entire life. Young Adam's mouth dropped open, but apparently he couldn't manage any sound. "Your parents are Ellie and Louis Reed, Louis would have died about a year ago. You don't play any sports because of an acute asthmatic condition, and plus, you're freakishly small for a twelve-year old!" His voice picked up, he was getting louder, and faster, and Young Adam's eyes got wider and wider. Hawking started to bark, adding to the noise and tension as Adam bent down to meet the kid's eye level. "You go to Franklin Middle school, where you've been suspended two, maybe three times for fighting, which is ironic, because you can't fight to save your life!"
The dog's barks reached a height, forcing Adam to shout, and both snapped loudly at the same time, "Hawking! Zip it!"
Young Adam regarded the adult, face calm, but he was nearing panic. This dude was beyond creepy. There was something else going on here. "How do you know my dog's name?" he asked softly.
Even quieter, Adam whispered back, enunciating clearly. "Because I named him."
Not only was the kid speechless at this, he was also clear out of breath. His breath hitched as he gasped and keeled back in shock, falling, and Adam's injury screamed when he instinctively reached out and snatched the boy's shirt up to yank him back. "Where you goin?" he muttered.
Young Adam wouldn't look at him, sucking in wheezing breaths in a stunned state, and Adam recognized the telltale signs of his childhood asthma attacks. He knew the kid was too panicked to move, especially with Adam's hand still holding him up by his collar. "Oh, god," he groaned, getting down onto his knee to grab him better. To be honest, one of the unluckier reactions he was expecting, but not the worst (which would have been this idiot passing out and clocking his head on the floor). He'd just literally scared himself breathless.
Adam reached into the boy's thick sweater pocket and pulled out his inhaler, where he knew it would be. Methodically, familiarly, he loaded the canister and held up the mouthpiece to his younger self's face, and the kid instantly turned towards it and sucked in the medicine. "Here. Ready? Deep breath." He took the inhaler away. "Hold it. Three, two, one..." Young Adam exhaled, hissing through his teeth as his jaw was still tensed up, and Adam stuffed the inhaler back in the pocket and patted the kid's shoulders. "Everybody gets a trophy," he congratulated.
Young Adam closed his eyes briefly to process as Adam stood up, and found his voice. "When I was s-seven, I ran into a table on the patio." He gestured outside. "I got twelve stitches." He tilted his head back and pointed under his chin, and Adam did the same. "Right here," they said.
Young Adam realized his mouth had gone dry and licked his lips to get some moisture back into them. "You knew how to get into my dad's garage. You...knew how to close the fridge. You knew how to time my breathing. We have the same scar. And..." his eyes traveled down to Adam's hand, then back to meet his gaze. "You're wearing my dad's watch." He held up his own wrist, showing off one identical to the one Adam wore. "This watch."
"This watch," Adam repeated sadly.
The kid hesitated for a second, gathering the courage to say it. "You're me." Then, "Holy shi-"
"That's classified," Adam cut him off. "But yes...I once was."
Let me know how I did! And suggest what I should do next! As long as you can find the clip on YouTube, I can write it out! Animated movies preferred, I think they're more fun and fictional when it comes to fleshing out the characters' thoughts, don't know why.