madbottoms | Chosen One - Chapter 8 (Reply)

Title: Chosen One - Chapter 8
Summary: Our favourite tortured boys are back in this third and final instalment in which they try to outrun Hell.
Notes: See chapter 1 for disclaimer warnings and related info. Cheers as always for the comments. Enjoy the next part.

Pride and Fury

*~*

IANTO

I stand in the doorway, staring at Jack and trying to remember how to breathe. I spent my entire run on the beach with Hope totally ignoring her and working up the courage to do this … thinking of just the right words. Jack thinking I’m interested in Hope can’t hurt, but I can still screw this up in so many ways.

I pull a deep breath, set my jaw, and walk to the couch. I sit on the edge, elbows on my knees. He follows and lowers himself cautiously onto the other side.

“I want you to know I’m only here because I have to be.” I work to keep my gaze hard and not let him see it as all my insides collapse on themselves.

He continues to stare at me, his expression blank, not sure what to make of what I just said.

“This is bigger than just you, Jack. Everything is at stake. I’ve thought about just bringing you to Him and getting it over with, but, unfortunately, I seem to have grown a conscience, and the blood of all humanity on my hands is a little more than I’m willing to deal with at the moment. So my only alternative is to stay here.” I push back into the cushions, struggling to keep my voice even. “Against my will.”

For a long minute his only response is a distinct pallor as the blood drains from his face. I don’t even see his chest rise and fall, making me wonder if he’s having some kind of a seizure. I hold my breath, waiting for some reaction. nbsp;

Finally, he exhales, long and slow, and his eyes shift to his fingers where they pick at the fringe of his shorts. “Maybe John can do something … find somewhere you could go.” His voice is flat and his eyes look hollow—empty.

“A prison is a prison,” I say, my voice hard. “Though somewhere away from you might be preferable.” And more likely to achieve the desired results. Out of sight, out of mind.

For the briefest of instants, he seems to deflate, like someone pricked him with a pin. But then he shifts on the couch and looks me straight in the eye. “I’ll talk to him.”

I stand from the couch, my gut twisting so hard that I almost can’t get upright. “Please do,” I say, relief clear in my voice knowing that it’s done. I only need to hold it together for another minute.

He pulls himself to his feet, where he sways dangerously for a second before catching his balance. He nods without looking at me then turns for the front door and slips through.

I close my eyes and sink back on the cushions, my head in my hands, fighting back the despair threatening to take me under. I’ve just murdered the only thing that made my existence tolerable. The only thing that ever truly meant anything to me. But this is how it has to be if I’m going to help him.

*~*

JACK

I feel totally dead inside, as dry as the sand under my feet as I stumble out onto the beach. I can’t believe I let Ianto blindside me with this. I knew he would probably leave eventually, but I guess, deep down I believed that despite everything, he still loved me. I thought I saw something in his eyes when he looked at me.

I was wrong.

And it’s good. He’ll be safe if he’s away from me.

I glance up the beach and see Hope is still sitting on her porch, staring out over the ocean, but she’s alone now. I look past her, farther up the beach, and see John lying on his back at the edge of the surf, knees bent and his forearm over his face.

I start to go to him—to tell him that Ianto wants out. But my feet slow before I get very far. I have to stop running to John every time I’m upset. It’s not fair to him. I don’t feel so bad going to him when it’s the fate of mankind stuff, but I need to learn to deal with my own stuff on my own. With one more glance in his direction, I turn and walk the other way.

I can’t totally stop the tears, but I’m able to keep them mostly at bay by thinking about what comes next. John says I’m gonna have to fight and I know he’s right. He wants me to work on my Sway, so I do.

I walk out onto a rocky breakwater and lower myself onto a slippery boulder. A family is parked on the beach just up from where I am. They’ve got their red and white umbrella spread wide, but the only thing under it is a radio. From it, the pounding rhythm of the Rolling Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil” wafts to where I sit.

Grandpa’s anthem.

A wet, aching lump forms in the back of my throat and I close my eyes, remembering Sundays in his garage under whatever Mustang we were restoring.

I miss him so much.

I miss our talks and the comfortable silence in between. I miss the smell of exhaust and the feel of grease on my hands. But most of all I miss knowing that, no matter what kind of trouble I got myself into, I could always go to him.

I need him now.

I scrub away the tears streaming down my face and focus on Beach Family. Mum and Dad are working on their tans, sprawled on a double beach towel as a little towheaded boy kicks his sister’s sand castle over. She shoves him away and turns another bucket of packed sand onto the mound—which the boy promptly kicks over.

The boy reminds me of Gray, all blond curls and dimples. I think of him and my sisters, of how much I miss them, and focus on the little boy telling him he loves his sister, just like I love mine.

She flips another bucket and he steps forward, as if to kick it, but then he sinks to his knees and starts to fill the bucket instead. As I watch, the two of them turn the four corners of the castle and start to build walls between them. By the time I stand and move down the beach an hour later, it’s a masterpiece. And even though I didn’t build it myself, it still feels like an accomplishment.

I check in with myself as I meander up the beach toward the cottage and find I’m surprisingly okay. I’m even feeling a little proud of myself. My heart aches, ’cause it always does, but for the first time in a long time, I also feel the tiniest ray of hope. I’m dying to tell John that I’ve been practicing my Sway … and it might have even worked.

*~*

JOHN

As I sit in the sand, looking out over the ocean, I see blood-red waves crest and roll onto shore. The vision was too strong, too tied to Jack’s terror, for me to fully block it. His nightmares are getting worse—more real.

Those are demons I can’t protect him from, as much as I might want to.

I lie back in the sand and close my eyes, giving myself up to the Light. The deep throbbing ache in my chest as I slide between planes is worse this time and I stiffen and hold my breath. I’ve let it go too far. Human flesh was never meant to be ripped through planes. If I continue to let Jack change me then soon I won’t be able to shift at all. At the thought, the ache in my chest intensifies. Because, as much as I need to, I don’t want to give this up—this concrete proof that Jack wants me.

“John? Are you okay?”

I stand in the Collective with my eyes closed for a second longer as the pain recedes, then heave a sigh and turn to Carys. “I’m fine. Any word on Lilith?”

She glides forward, shaking her head. “She doesn’t appear to be on the coil—” she says, waving a hand toward the Board, “—as best as we can tell, anyway. She’s tricky to get a fix on.”

I step back from the Board so I can get a broader sense of where my guardians are and sit as my chair materialises under me. I lean back and kick my feet up onto the footrest that solidifies just as I need it. I scan the Board noting that there are the typical masses of red, mostly around cities and prisons, and white interspersed fairly evenly with the blue—business as usual.

“John?”

I pull my gaze away from the Board and look at Carys. She shuffles nervously next to my chair. “There’s something else.” She hesitates and I wait for her to continue. “We got a report that He’s trying to use a Mage and the Other to find him.”

“The Other?”

Her gaze drops to the floor. “Gray.”

I grimace because the pain is almost physical.

Gray.

He had so much promise and I threw him to the wolves before he was ready. He was Jack’s twin, and I thought he’d flourish as his guardian. But he wasn’t prepared to withstand the likes of Lilith and lost his wings because of it. And worse, he chose Lucifer over life on Earth as a Grigori. He’s lost to Heaven forever.

So, He’ll use Gray and the Mage to find him … “In his dreams,” I mutter to myself as I pinch my forehead. That would explain the intensity of them. My gaze slides back to Carys. “How connected is the Mage?”

She waves her arm in the air and looks over the grid that appears there. “I don’t have specifics on that.” She touches the grid, enlarging a portion. “He found him in young Lucifer’s mind. That’s all I have. I suppose it depends on how strong his connection to Jack is.”

My gut rolls—more evidence that I’ve let this transformation go too far. “It’s only a matter of time,” I say under my breath, fighting back the urge to strangle Ianto. I knew our time was short, but now … they may have already found him.

She closes her hand over the grid, as if crumpling a sheet of paper, and it’s gone. “Can you Shield him from the Mage?”

“No.” I lean back farther in the chair, closing my eyes. I have to think. How am I going to pull this off?

“John.”

Ianto’s voice coupled with a sharp kick to my ribs pulls me from the Collective and I follow the Light back to the corporeal world. I open my eyes and sit up in the sand, and I can’t stop the groan as every muscle in my body clenches against the pain of the shift.

He looks at me curiously for a moment and then his mouth pulls into a tight line. He crouches down, getting into my face. “I need to know how much time we have.”

The pain recedes slowly and I take a deep breath, expanding my lungs. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” I growl, pushing him back.

“How would I know that? This is your plan, cherub,” he sneers, shoving me. “How long?”

I shove him back, feeling rage bubble inside me. “Not as much time as we need, thanks to you. Why didn’t you tell me about the Mage?”

He drops back onto his butt in the sand as his face pulls into a mask of shock. “Unholy Hell.”

Over his shoulder, I see Jack crossing the beach toward us. I glare at Ianto as he reaches us, trying to contain my fury.