Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ocean lapped up at Jack's ankles, like the great tongue of a giant dog. The sand gave way beneath his wiggling toes, and the wind whipped at his eyelids.

He exhaled, and let the sun warm him up before heading in further. It was nice to breathe in the sea air with its salty tang again.

Jack waded in a little further, up to his knees now, and took one last chance to soak in sunshine before diving.

The waves which had so gently lapped at him, swallowed him whole.

He opened his eyes and blinked, as they were tickling from the salt, which no longer burned him like when he was a child in these same waters.

His arms propelled him through the water with great, broad strokes. The scars on his arms and shoulders were tight, tugging at each movement, but Jack could already feel the calm settling into his bones just from being back here.

He looked around in a dreamlike wonder, noting the differences and similarities from times before this. There was more vegetation than he remembered; curls of emerald and brown seaweed swaying in the current, clusters of brightly colored coral, and the plain of sea grass that Jack spent a good chunk of his childhood in. His lungs started to ache from the lack of oxygen, and he reluctantly surfaced, leaning back into the dead man's float and slowly taking in great gulps of air.

The ocean tried to coax him back to shore, but Jack kicked away just enough to escape the tide's grip, lazily floating into the deeper, darker waters.

He let himself soak in the suns warmth again, relaxing his muscles before turning over and sliding back into the water.

Jack dove just above the sea grass, watching it ripple before gliding on top of it, dipping in and out of the field. He took his turns going up for air, and it was just before he breached the air for the fifth time that he saw it.

There wasn't time for a full lungful of air before he dove back down, trying to push away thoughts that said he was just chasing the tails of a childhood delusion.

-

Jack meticulously applied the tuna to the bread, making sure that it spread to the edges, lest he get another complaint. When it was satisfactorily even, he washed the knife and threw away the can, retrieving the pickle jar from the fridge.

The contents swirled around in the glass while Jack tried to pick out the three best slices. He had an eye for those kind of things, as shown by his "really cool rock" collection, and being asked to do any chores that involved sorting.

He twisted the lid off with a 'pop', and hummed to one of the classic songs Ma liked, as he sought to pick out the preferred pickles, laying them gently on the tuna as to not disturb the flat surface. Then he screwed the lid back on, placed the other slice of bread on top of The Sandwich, and washed his hands.

The pantry door creaked as he opened it, tiptoeing to grab two bags of potato chips before shutting it again.

He dropped them into the paper bag, and then set about wrapping The Sandwich in a napkin before carefully putting it into the bag.

Jack snagged his sandwich off the counter, grabbing the bag with his other hand.

He used his foot to open the screen door, an ability he was very proud of, and ducked through the opening before it could slam shut. It had recently rained, so the sand wasn't unbearably hot, and the grass not as dry and sharp. Jack jogged to the beach, their beach, with its dappling of shade from the trees, and large rocks that jutted out from the water, perfect for lunch and conversation.

He sat on one of the flatter rocks, and let his feet swish in the water while he took out the contents of the bag and placed them near the edge.

His sandwich sat on his lap, untouched, with the exception of a fingerswipe to catch any dripping jelly.

The hand slapped up on the rock, dark and clawed.

"Hi, Gabe," Jack said as he picked up his sandwich. The Gabe in question flopped up onto the rock and grumbled a reply. He wasn't much taller than Jack torso wise, although it was still a heavily contested point.

Dark nails parted Gabriel's hair, thick black locks that plastered to his forehead on hand, and flowed in the water. He wriggled against the rock, pushing himself on top enough so he could sit up properly.

Three ink black tentacles picked at the paper towel covering The Sandwich. Jack swallowed nervously as he watched Gabe pick up and examine his handiwork. After a moment of contemplation, Gabe bit in.

The sharp teeth didn't worry Jack, although he did find them impressive, and was, frankly, a little jealous.

No, it was The Judgement.

Gabe chewed thoughtfully before he spoke.

"This one's pretty good," he said, taking another bite.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief, and started in on his sandwich as well.

They ate together in companionable silence, Jack swishing his feet in the water, Gabe's tentacles absentmindedly stacking pebbles.

"Sorry I wasn't here during the storm," Jack said, swallowing his last bite of PB&J.

Gabe waved a tentacle and rolled his eyes. "I'm not a scaredy cat, Jack."

"I didn't mean it that way, Gabe."

"Then how didja mean it?"

"You know how- hey, race you to the pillar!" Jack said, jumping off the rock and diving into the water, subsequently splashing Gabriel.

Gabriel sputtered before sliding off and jettisoning after him.

Jack was almost close enough to reach out and touch the stone when he felt the tentacle wrap around his ankle. He twisted around as he was being pulled, his fierce glare met by Gabriel's grin.

The tentacle slid off his ankle, Gabe speeding towards the rock as Jack swam up for air.

He broke the surface and breathed, bobbing in the current. He look up to see Gabriel curled around the rock, sticking his tongue out at him.

Jack stuck his out in retaliation.

He swam over to the rock and crawled up to sit beside Gabe and soak up the sun.

The rock was warm against his wet back, and he could feel the heat resting on his closed eyelids. It scratched a little, but not unpleasantly, and the sun made up for the struggle to get there.

"You look ridiculous, like a lizard."

"Feels nice," Jack yawned.

Something sharp poked his torso.

"C'monnnnn. You're only here for a couple a' hours," Gabe whined.

There was a splash as Jack assumed Gabriel returned to the water.

He shifted on the rock, and then a shock of cold water hit his torso.

"Hey!" Jack shot up immediately, and dove into the water to enact revenge on his cackling friend.

He chased Gabe to the plain of sea grass, the emerald waves rippling from the force of their movements, rings of light and shadow dilating in tandem, like the hypnotic eyes of a great god.

Gabriel dipped down into the grass, successfully disappearing in the green. Jack swam down after him, hoping to catch sight of an appendage.
The grass swirled tauntingly, swaying in the current and aftereffects of their race.

His lungs began their cries for air, and Jack put them off for as long as he could before surfacing.

He was never good at this part of their game. Especially considering that he had to come up when Gabriel didn't. Still, he enjoyed it, and got better by the day.

With his lungs refilled, Jack swam back down, watching for the ripples in the grass that weren't caused by the current. He grinned when he saw the trail moving opposite of the others, and dove towards it.

Jack swept through the grass, tackling Gabe as much as one can when your opponent is slippery and also underwater.

His arms wrapped tightly around Gabe's torso, as the other boy thrashed and twisted. The tentacles whipped around and tugged at Jack's arms, worming in between every crack that appeared in his grip. Eventually, Gabe gave up, and they both rose to the surface, trailing the silvery bubbles released by the struggle.

Gabe's laugh started as soon as they broke the surface. It was young and infectious, and Jack found himself struggling to stay above water as he joined in. They made their way back to the picnic rock, and laughed until their abdomens hurt.

"You should've seen your face!" Gabe said, one hand holding his stomach, and the other pointing at Jack. "You looked like a flounder!"

"Oh yeah? You looked like a lobster when I found you!"

Gabe crossed him arms, syrupy seriousness badly concealing the smile on his face.

"Lobsters are cool. Didja know that they can live forever?"

"Pfft. Lobsters can't live forever. Nothin' can. I read about it in a book," Jack said smugly.

"Yeah they can, you're just too clumsy to keep one alive."

"I'm not clumsy!" Jack exclaimed, a rather hurt look on his face. "My momma says I jus' have two left feet, that's all."

Gabe perked up. "Two left feet? Howzithat?"

Jack stuck his tongue out. "Not really. It's a metha- mema- metamor- word. Y'know, like it doesn't mean what is says."

"That sounds stupid. Then why would you say it?"

Jack shrugged. "Dunno. Supposed to do it for school."

They stared off at the trees for a while, watching the branches weave in the wind.

"Didja get any new songs?"

Jack stretched to reach into the brown bag and grab the tape recorder. "Yeah! Momma was singing along to it on the radio an' I thought it was really nice."

"Press it!" Gabe said with an eager gleam in his eyes.

The button clicked down on the ancient device, and tinny whirring gave way to a faded voice.

The boys listened intently, Jack mouthing the words, and Gabriel doing his best to absorb everything he was hearing, tentacles swaying to the beat, face focused.

Gabriel sighed when it was finished.

-

Jack searched until his lungs felt like they were going to implode.

He surfaced with a bad taste in his mouth, shame flooding his head at the indulgence of a childhood delusion. He made his way back to the shore of the cove, guilt making the trip seem all the longer.

The sand burned under his feet as he started the walk back home. A headache began to pulse behind his left eye, irritated more by the reflection of the sun.

Jack pushed open the screen door, wincing when it slammed. His eyelids clamped shut, struggling to fight the knives cutting into the back of his eyes. His hands braced against the countertop, cool tile soothing the rough palms.

He rested like this for a moment; silent and tense, a soul torn.

It was a mistake, living in this house again. But there weren't many other options, and selling this place would destroy him.

He took a deep breath, and pushed off the countertop. The sink provided cool water to splash on his face, shocking him out of the guilt. The radio still worked, surprisingly, although the station that would play constantly throughout his childhood never turned up.

There was a box in the closet that had CDs, he knew. He also knew that if he went through the closet to get them, he'd have a lot more to confront than he'd be able to.

Instead, he took a shower to wash away the salt and residual feelings. The water pressure wasn't great, but it was infinitely better than poking holes in a water bottle.

Afterwards, with a towel wrapped around his waist, he made his way back into the kitchen. The fridge didn't hold much, and Jack hoped to remedy that by actually going into town tomorrow. He made do with a "salad" (a strain on the definition by any means), and the beginnings of a grocery list.

He sat at the island, thoughtlessly chewing away when he heard it.

An old song that his mother used to sing when it came on the radio. Oh, how she'd smile, (he could never forget that smile) and dance, like she was something past reality.

It wasn't her voice, obviously. Nor was it the original singers.

A neighbor, perhaps, or a reminiscing drunk.

He quietly finished his meager meal, and sat there until he could no longer hear the song. Then he got up, washed his bowl, and went to bed early, mentally steeling himself to start cleaning the house tomorrow.

He crashed hard into a dreamless sleep. It was shallow, as all sleep has been for the past years, and so he woke before dawn. He was grateful for it back when he was serving, but now he wished his past did not plague him so. The song of the crickets could not lull him back into sleep, despite their best efforts, and Jack knew that once he woke up, he'd stay up.

The cool wood almost made him rethink his decision to get out of bed, and he withdrew his feet from the floor quickly before finally taking a breath and slowly placing them back on the floor.

The old boards creaked as he sleepily walked into the kitchen. The crickets took this as a sign to play their songs louder. Jack didn't mind.

He pondered at the island for a moment, and then added "coffee pot," "coffee," and "filters," to the grocery list.

Small glowing dots bobbed on the other side of the screen door. Jack licked over his teeth and grimaced, remembering the bitter taste he would experience in order to get glowing teeth when he was young.

He watched the fireflies until the sun rose and streaked the sky with coral and goldenrod.

Then, he picked up a broom, and got to work.

Jack always felt a certain calm when cleaning, even as a kid. Order meant structure, and structure meant safety. His mother used to joke that he should nag on her for not cleaning her room.

Sometimes, when he was alone like now, he'd let himself miss her.

The sweeping took the longest, simply because it was the job that covered the largest amount of space. After that, he began dusting, sometimes inducing a sneezing fit, which, if he was by a window, had the potential to scare a bird half to death.

He was sure it was fine.

With most of the house clean, with only unpacking and sorting left, Jack decided to head into town, finally.

The truck took three turns to start instead of its usual seven, and Jack counted his lucky stars for that, especially since the load of groceries he would buy would be difficult to carry home.

The grocery list had grown, as Jack found a cookbook while rearranging, and wrote down ingredients to some recipes. There were a few that he especially remembered, and his fingers lingered on those pages a little longer.

If anyone was watching, they'd see a smile, small and soft, also lingering.

The road was bumpier than he remembered as a kid, probably due to the fact that the funding for public works declined with the population. Halfway there, Jack realized that he was driving like a soldier; spine ramrod straight, hands gripping the wheel with white knuckles, jaw clenched tight at the expectation of that unforgettable "click".

He didn't change.

The town looked empty when he arrived. Not deserted, just.. dismissed. An empty plastic bag rolled by like a mock tumbleweed, a symbol of the forgotten urban landscape. He pulled open the door of the grocerystore, the bell chiming, ringing memories coming to mind.

"Why, it can't be. Is that really you, Jack Morrison?"

"Ana?"

"Son of a bitch, it's really you," Ana said, rising from her chair with a grin that slowly crept upon her face.

"Hey, don't disrespect my mother like that," Jack replied jokingly.

"The day I disrespect her is the day I die, Morrison." She stepped forward, and enveloped Jack in a hug.

They stayed like that for a little while.

Jack was the first one to let go.

"What's with the ghost town? This place looks like an evac site," he said, gesturing to the empty aisles and barren landscape.

Ana laughed dryly.

"It might as well be. Only ones left are reminiscent old fucks like us. Everyone else either died or moved. Hell, Fareeha's off in college and I'm here, footing the bill."

Jack's voice went soft. "Fareeha?"

Ana closed her eyes and massaged her temples.

"Yeah. My daughter. She's a smart little shit, wanted to waste that brain in the military too. Wouldn't let her. Fuck, Morrison, she's just like me."

Jack tried to place a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.

"Ana, I-"

"God, look at this shit. See an old friend for three seconds and I'm getting emotional. Alright, you came in for food, that's what you're gonna get. Some fuckin nutrition. You got a list?"

"Uh, yeah," Jack said as he dug the paper out of the pocket of his jeans.

He started to unfold it when Ana snatched it from his hands, and started walking through the aisles. Jack snagged a basket and then trotted after her, not even able to get a word in before she began wordlessly handing him cans. He followed her through the aisles, the colorful advertising on each item screaming that they had the best and most flavorful contents.

He doesn't notice much until the cool whoosh of air hits his face as Ana opens the freezer door to get a gallon of strawberry ice cream.

"Ana, I don't need-"

"This isn't for you, this is my reward for helping you clean your house."

Jack's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Morrison, I know that you think you're this big tough guy because you were in the military, but I know that you're a chickenshit when it comes to dealing with emotions."

"Good go- alright, when are you coming over?" He asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Expect me tomorrow at noon," she said, handing him the basket.

"Anything else I should expect?"

"Emotional distress."

Chapter Text

The groceries shifted as the truck hit yet another pothole, the plastic crinkling as different bags brushed together. Jack winced, his tailbone already suffering from the bumpy drive.

The radio was broken in the truck. It had been for as long as Jack could remember, tuning only garnering audio fuzz, a static that filled ears like cotton. He turned it on anyways, needing something other than the sound of splattering bugs and pebbles hitting the window.

The ride home didn't feel as long, Jack noticed as he turned the engine off. The rumbling slowed, and then faded, along with the static. His feet slid a little in the mixture of sand and topsoil, and he gripped onto the door to ensure his balance.

He took two trips to get the groceries inside, taking special care to put the ice cream in the freezer before anything else, not wanting to face the punishment if he did otherwise.

There was a recipe for king ranch chicken in the cookbook, an old favorite that his mom would make in the summer time when they were having a good week.

He could almost picture her there in the kitchen, doing a grand dance as she cooked, moving from cupboard to fridge to oven with the grace of a swan. He shook his head, dispelling the childhood cobwebs that dropped in front of his vision. It was too easy to slip back into grief here, and he suddenly felt very grateful that Ana would be there with him tomorrow.

Even if she was a smartass, he wouldn't have to confront that shit alone.

He wasn't a bad cook, especially since he depended almost solely on mess halls and MREs for nutrition until he was discharged. It helped that his mother let him work with her, and that this recipe was used so often.

There was something relaxing in the preparation of the meal. The sun started to set, warming his hands as they layered the tortillas, cheese, and chicken. Songs rose from the trees, birds finding a final burst of inspiration with the threat of night.

Jack set the pan in the oven to bake, and whistled at the birds. To his delight, a couple repeated it, singing it back and forth to each other, altering it little by little until they created something entirely new.

With time to pass and memories to avoid, he dug an old paperback out of one of the only two open boxes. He paged through it at the island. He'd read it many times before, on nights he couldn't sleep and needed something constant to hold onto.

Chapter four barely began when the timer went off. He waited for it to cool, served himself, and put the rest away, like the lonely man he clearly was.

It wasn't a bad meal; certainly not as good as his mother's, but then again, he didn't expect it to be. There was a knock as he ate, and he looked up to see a seagull at the window, staring at him expectantly. Jack waved, and then turned his attention back to the food.

Not to be ignored, it tapped on the window again, cawing loudly. Jack kept eating, although annoyance was beginning to creep it's way onto his face.

Another caw, punctuated by Jack stabbing a bite of chicken and cheese with more than the necessary force needed.

On the third caw, he sighed, got up, and went to the window. Beady yellow eyes watched his every move. Jack made fluttering movements, figuring that if he flung them enough, eventually he would convey "fuck off" in seagull.

He couldn't, apparently, as the bird only cawed again, having the audacity to look annoyed at him.

In a last resort, he flung open the window. The seagull hopped inside, a smug look plastered on its increasingly worse puny little seagull face.

A great part of Jack's mind wanted to shove it outside, throw a glass at it, and slam the window.

The calmer, more rational, albeit smaller part of his brain kicked in, and he grabbed the seagull with his two large hands, and looked it in the eyes.

Of course, calmer and more rational are subjective things compared to another, and compared to his first thought most things fit that description. Jack realized this very quickly.

He didn't remove his hands in fear that it would fly around the house, so he stuck it back out of the window, and pushed it down as far as he could with his chin. As soon as the window touched his arms, he let go of the seagull, pulled his hands back, and quickly slammed the window down.

Jack took a moment to contemplate the last minute of his life.

Then, the seagull cawed again.

Having decided that only so much annoyance caused by strange things was allotted per day, and that he had probably exceeded that limit, Jack put saran wrap on his food, stuck it in the fridge, and went to sleep before anything else could happen.

He woke before the sun rose.

Jack was grateful, this time, for waking, as he knew the end to that particular nightmare, and it got worse every time he was in it.

(Of course none of them match up to the time it happened)

It was a lonely time to be up, that moment inbetween party goers going to bed and early birds riding. He heard no birds, thankfully including the seagulls, and the wind whistled through the trees in their absence.

There was a beauty about it, this silent twilight. Jack opened a window and leaned out, breathing in the cool salt air. The wind brushed against his face in a friendly greeting, welcoming him to stay there a while.

Then, rising out of the darkness of the woods surrounding the beach, came a song.

It started lovely and slow, an amalgamation of old music soundtracks and the sounds of the sea, deep and blue, promising a great secret.

And dear god did it hurt.

Jack felt his heartstrings tug at it, the way they did when he laid flowers at an old headstone, and folded a flag for the last time. He shut the window, unable to take that pain knowing what he'd have to experience later on in the day.

-

Gabriel loved making new songs, Jack knew. They were always beautiful, and Gabriel would sing ones of fire and everlasting joy when Jack visited.

But sometimes, late at night, Jack could hear a voice reaching through the forest, dripping with tears and guilt.

Even that young, he knew it wasn't a song for him to hear, so he never asked about it, and tried his best to sleep on the nights it echoed from the trees.

Jack woke up, his sleep riddled with holes from the song.

He reached under his bed for his stash of chocolate, and made sure to pick one that was unmelted and fresh.

He prepared their lunches, taking extra special care with Gabe's, and grabbed the radio that had been newly fixed from an "accidental drowning".

The sand slipped under his feet as he ran to the beach, hands each in a white knuckled grip, careful not to let any of the supplies fall.

Jack was out of breath when he finally arrived at the beach, dropping the bag and radio on the picnic rock before flopping down in the sand and taking great, heaving breaths.

"Someone's being a drama queen."

Jack lifted up his head to see Gabriel curled on the rock, holding the radio and looking down at him.

"Someone ran here to get you your stupid sandwich, dumby."

"That's a bad word!" Gave said delightedly as he began to unwrap his sandwich.

"You curse all the time, Gabe! And, and you use curse words," Jack complained from his place on the sand.

"Like what?" Asked Gabriel with a toothy shark grin.

"I'm not going to say them!"

"I know you aren't, scaredy cat."

"I can if I want to!" Jack protested with a pleading look on his face that almost made Gabriel take pity on him.

"Then do it," Gabe said, the edges of his grin crawling slowly across his face, "scaredy cat."

Jack slowly sat up, biting his lip nervously. His eyes darted around quickly, making a quick scan to ensure that no adults were nearby.

He took a moment to decide that this was the path he wanted to go down, inhaled a deep breath, closed his eyes, and blurted it out.

"Ass!"

Gabriel nearly fell off the rock, shaking from laughter. The long ends of his hair dipped into the water as he clutched his sides, fingers almost digging into the seams of his gills.

Jack, on the other hand, had a face flushed crimson, burning with embarrassment. He tried his best to cover it with his hands, but even his ears were colored a bright scarlet.

Eventually, he heard Gabe stop laughing, and then, crinkling. Jack uncovered his face to see him gently clutching the chocolate bar, webbed fingers wrapped around it like it was gold.

"I didn't know you brought chocolate," Gabe said quietly, looking down at the other boy from his spot on the rock.

"It's no big deal," Jack replied, getting up, and brushing the sand off of his t-shirt and shorts. "I jus' know you like it, tha's all."

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, coiled on the rock.

"You gotta take half," he said, already starting to break the bar.

Jack started to protest, but the words shriveled in the heat of Gabe's subsequent glare. He took the other half offered in Gabe's hand. They ate quickly, as to not give the chocolate time to melt, but their fingertips were still left with sticky traces of the sweet, which they licked off as quickly as they discovered it.

As soon as Jack got the last bit of chocolate from inbetween his fingers, he took a running start and cannonballed into the water. The splash of salty sea struck Gabriel's face, and he followed, darting after Jack in underwater chase.

Time didn't wait for them, and soon they found the sun setting and bodies tiring. Jack slowly became aware of the shadows that creeped up from the edge of the forest, and the gradual cooling of the water.

Gabriel was the one that brought it fully to his attention.

"Jack," he said, the both of them sitting on a rock that jutted out of the chilly waves. "You gotta go."

Jack idly brushed the water with his foot. "Doncha like it when I stay?" He asked, turning to look at his friend.

"Yeah but you gotta do human stuff. Learnin' an-an shoppin n' shit," he replied, tentacles waving in the evening breeze.

"I don't really have to. I could be like you!"

"What about your momma? Doesn't she need your help?"

Jack looked down, guilty that he thought of doing something without thinking of her. "Yeah. Better get going," he said, about to slide off the rock, hand clutching the bag filled with their lunch leftovers.

Gabriel waved him off with a hand and two tentacles. Jack waved back, and then jogged off.

-

Even though he was expecting it, Ana's knock scared him shitless.

She didn't even wait for him to open the door, just barged in herself like a mother trying to catch her kid not studying, bag swinging from her shoulder. For all of the shock, he still smiled, because she really hadn't changed.

"Alright, Morrison," she said, surveying the place and dusting her hands off. "We've got a lot to do. I'm going to put on some music, and then we'll make our battle plan."

"Alright," Jack confirmed with a little nod.

Ana took a CD out of her bag, and plunked the thing into the radio, the machine whirring in response until music began to murmur from the speakers.

She kept the volume dialed down, for now, and took a seat at the island. Jack joined her, sliding into his own chair.

"We go most emotionally draining first. That's clearing out the closet and the wardrobe, so you have more time to recuperate. After that, we do organizing, which should be simple enough. Sound good?"

There was a pregnant pause in the air, as the tasks weight bore down on Jack.

"Yeah. Sounds good."

Ana bowed her head, and peeked at the closet, which looked to Jack like a tall, dark forest full of bright eyes and sharp teeth.

"I will mop and note what needs repairs or replacements. Do not hesitate to ask for something, Jack. I know how stubborn you are, but a wound is a wound, no matter where it resides."

And with that, she got up, found the mop, and started to work; leaving Jack to his daunting mission.

The radio was turned up to a dull roar, high notes occasionally ringing out bright and clear, a sharp contrast to Jack tentatively opening the doors to the closet. Boxes flooded his vision, piled on top of each other like coffins, containing a dead past with dusty memories.

He walked in and flipped on the light switch, wincing when the buzzing hum gave way to a bright light. Jack left the door open, just in case.

The dust swirled around him when he sat down in the center, and it took a moment of effort focusing on not sneezing before he dragged the nearest box towards him.

He tugged it open easily, the four, worn, cardboard panels sliding out from one another to reveal a collection of books. Jack ran his thumb down the spine of a particularly worn one. Somewhere A Band Is Playing, read the spine inbetween white lines of wear and tear. His mother used to read it to him on summer evenings, when she finished work early and the fireflies lazily floated in the splotches of tall grass that grew in the sand.

Before the war had even begun to fester, and thoughts of battles and boot camps plagued his mind, he wanted to be a writer. Or, at the very least, a speaker. His mother's voice was always able to embody character and emotion perfectly, and he practiced to his stuffed animals and seashells when she was gone, so that one day he could impress her.

She never got to hear the final product, but his speeches brought strength to the weary, and hope to the faithless, so maybe he still did some good with it after all.

He thumbed through the rest of the box, and pushed it aside for another. It only took a second for him to realize that this one would take a while longer. His fingers carefully curled around the first of many photographs, and the tears began, the dam of the reservoir slowly, gently, crumbling.

Boxes after boxes were unpacked, remembered, and set aside. Some had scribbled notes on them regarding their places, others were left blank. Jack was in someplace that wasn't quite the present for most of it, only brought back by the closet door creaking.

"Jack," Ana said, softly. "It's sunset, you need something to eat."

Jack turned away, wiped the tears and their salty remnants, and stood.

They walked to the kitchen together.

"I found those leftovers and heated them up. There's also a thing of chips and salsa that I brought over in case you wanted something else," Ana said as she sat down to her own plate.

"Y'know, you didn't have to-"

Ana's voice became less calm.

"Cut that bullshit right now, Morrison. When I came back from my years to find an empty house and tiny obituary I damn near lost it and you know how much I hated that salty bitch. You, with your momma? Can't fucking believe what you're going through."

Jack watched almost-tears form in the corners of her eyes and then blink away as fast as they came.

"That woman was the closest thing I ever saw to an angel," Ana continued, after taking a breath. "I miss her, and you've gotta be going through hell."

Jack paused, and then shook his head slowly.

"No, not hell. A desert."

-

When Jack was 14, a dry spell hit his town.

Most folks didn't worry much, they'd had dry spells before, and they ended with drizzles and deluges. But the months dragged on, and the water shrunk back.

The small amount of tourism they got receded with the ocean, and before long, it was declared the worst drought the area ever recorded. The small beach behind his house dried into a minuscule desert, a friend along with it.

Months stretched into years, and Jack graduated high school planning to fight the war that everyone was talking about.

He packed his bags, hugged his mother, and took a moment to stand at the door, saying goodbye to a few more things.

Right as he walked out of his home for what could've been the last time, the sky broke open with an echoing clap, and it began to rain.

-

Tuesday started with a storm.

Rain hit the window like bullets, aggressive and relentless. Jack wasn't sure that he woke up for a second, brought only to reality by the sound of the screen door slamming against the the pine to the point where he thought it would splinter.

He stumbled out of bed, feet hitting the floor hard, and joints paying for it. The door kept slamming as Jack flipped a switch only to discover that the power was out, and cursed at a few more inanimate objects than a sane person would.

The cluttering of items in the drawer only added to the cacophony of noise when Jack rummaged around in it for a flashlight. His hand blindly fumbled around until the right click brought light that was more stable than the sporadic flashes of lightning.

Ripples of thunder shook the house, rattling every thing lighter than 100 pounds.

Jack found the small thing of rope in its usual place on top of the fridge, unmoved in its out of site stache. He wrapped it around the interior handle of the door and secured the other end to the bar that supported the cabinets on top of the counter.

He admired his work, and then yawned from the measly amount of sleep. There was a genuine consideration of laying in bed for a couple more hours, despite the obvious fact that he couldn't sleep.

There was, until a strangled squawk caught his attention.

A seagull was at the window, struggling to stay there despite the high winds. Its yellow eyes were wide open, and it squawked again when it saw Jack looking at it.

Jack tried really hard to ignore it. Really, really hard. But he also knew that if he saw the carcass of a seagull on his front lawn tomorrow he'd feel really, really guilty.

He opened the window and caught the seagull before a gust of wind blew it away, rain pouring in with it. A slam of the window muted the sharp screeching of rain, and Jack stared at the bird currently sprawled on his hand.

"Caw," said the seagull.

"Fucker," said Jack.

Still, he grabbed the less soaked hand towel by the sink, and swaddled the bird.

"If you shit on anything that isn't easily wiped down I'll carve you like a Thanksgiving turkey," said Jack as he filled up a bowl with water and another with tuna.

The bowls clinked when he placed them on the counter. Jack wiped down the rain that got in, and then looked the seagull in the eyes.

"Don't make me regret this like last time, you hear?"

The seagull shrunk back in the towel.

"Squawk."

"Nice to know we understand each other," Jack replied as he began to schedule a date to check in with a psychiatrist.

Chapter Text

For being a seagull, Fucker caught onto things pretty quickly. He only shat on the tile floor and ate the bowl of tuna faster than a dieting dolphin. Frankly, Jack was impressed. Mostly, with the impression that birds were meant for eating, and not house keeping.

"Squawk!" cried Fucker, as he shat on the floor for the third time in fifteen minutes.

"Goddammit," said Jack, who was really getting sick of this shit, both figuratively and literally. He grabbed the paper towel and disinfectant before wiping down the mess and tossing it into the slowly filling trash bag.

Jack was grumbling with annoyance when he noticed the peculiar way that the seagull was hopping from counter to table. One of his wings was floppier than the other, drooping to the point that the flight feathers grazed the surface of whatever he was standing on.

The storm was still beating at the window, thunder booming, shot after shot of lightning. And yet, the echoes of battle did not come calling to Jack, not when there was something else to handle.

With swift and practiced hands, he plucked Fucker from the air, held the good wing closed, and gently stretched the injured one open. The seagull let out an alarmed caw, piss yellow eyes blinking in surprise.

In all respects, Jack never really needed to know much about anatomy. He was a soldier, a fighter, not a medic. But too many situations left them short of healers, so he took it upon himself to find out how you can fix almost any matter of flesh and bone.

(He still couldn't forget what happened when he wasn't able to help.)

From what Jack could see, there were no external injuries, which was easy enough to figure out with the seagull's white feathers. That left an internal injury, it being anything from a sprain to a broken bone.

He felt along the wing, fingers pressing and kneading, just barely, until he found the found the break, noted by a sharp "squawk" from Fucker. As Jack prepared to set it (the best he could do until the weather calmed down and the winged rat could go to a vet), the seagull locked eyes with him, just briefly, in something like trust.

Despite that, he came away from the entire experience with a bleeding finger from a sharper-than-average beak, and makeshift sling that'd have to do. Fucker showed his gratitude by proudly hopping from counter to table, and taking the biggest shit as of yet.

Jack sighed as he gathered the disinfectant and roll of paper towels once more.

.

He spent the rest of the day switching between reading his book, and cleaning up whatever mess his new avian pal recently made. Fortunately, Fucker had tired himself out by seven, nesting in the pile of rags Jack picked up from around the house, leaving the man to (try to) catch some Zs of his own.

Of course, like most things he enjoyed in the moment, he came to regret it. Because apparently, in the middle of the night, the power went out. The storm, having filled its quota, then left the area, leaving behind a humid, musty, damaged town, which now served as the perfect breeding ground for mosquitoes.

Jack woke up sticky, and not in the way that symbolized an unusually good night. His hair was plastered onto his head from the humidity, his hands stuck to his torso, and by the way his feet suctioned to the floor, he was part octopus.

It was miserable.

He rubbed his eyes as he entered the kitchen, yawning until he slipped on something he didn't want to think about, and almost found himself on the floor. Fucker, it seemed, had woken up before he did.

The aforementioned seagull seemed great despite the happenings of yesterday, having left a few dozen presents all around the kitchen. He cawed at Jack as he got back onto his feet, hopping over to him and looking not at all remorseful about the situation. Just to show how hearty he was, Fucker hopped to the door, and hopped back, and hopped to the door, and hopped back, and-

Oh.

Jack finally got the message, albeit not without thinking that a creature this smart had no reason to shit all over the kitchen of a kind stranger. So they weren't equal yet(especially not with the events of just this morning).

He opened the door, and Fucker hopped out with all of the purpose of an arrow, heading straight to the beach with what looked like determination. It might have even been respectable, had he not been bouncing like a bunny on a children's cartoon.

Jack followed, although he grimaced at the thought of leaving without cleaning up the kitchen. But daily chores can be ignored for the occasional motivated animal companion.

He supposed he could be the first Disney Princess to have an R rated movie. It'd be more of an accomplishment than anything else he's ever done.

Thoughts clouded his mind, few of them good, and thus, he almost tripped over Fucker, whose warning squawk cleared away the fog. Jack looked at the seagull, piss yellow eyes seeming eerily focused for something with a head the size of a walnut. Then the bird turned away, hopping onto rocks and calling out intermittently while facing the water. Fucker hopped back onto land, going further down the beach until he stopped at a charred tree trunk. He looked at Jack and cawed loudly, not stopping until the man jogged over.

-

The first time Jack saw Gabriel bleed, he didn't recognize it. Instead of the bright red that would bead on skinned knees and hands, Gabriel's blood was blue, deep and dark. It looked like ink, and it took Gabe a while to reassure Jack that none of the pens he used in school had blood ink, because "no human could take down one of my kind!"

(That knowledge dried up with the rest, but Jack did have a tendency to avoid blue pens for a reason he couldn't quite remember.)

It was also the day Jack began to realize how truly different they were.

-

Jack's first thought was that it was oil, but it moved too fast, and didn't have the greasy rainbow sheen that belied the toxicity of it.

And then, Jack's eyes tracked to its source.

He wasted no time hefting the tree off of the man pinned underneath it, heaving it far enough to where it wouldn't land on the man's legs, which was a great plan.

Except, he didn't have any.

No legs, no stumps where legs could've been, not even just a torso, but something else in their place. Jack was just about to look closer when the slits on the man's (?) torso flared, and an arm shoved out suddenly, rolling him into the water. Jack kept his distance, running through all of the Disney movies in his head to try and figure out what he should do next, but before he could, the man sat up.

"Jackie?"

In the span of three seconds, Jack's hippocampus pulled the equivalent of steamrolling the rest of his brain with memory after memory of the childhood friend that receded when the tide did, the past of the man who was just under a log and, still,

Bleeding.

"Shit!" He exclaimed, rushing over to the man he just stepped away from. In his surprise and lack of caution, he tripped over a branch of the log he just got finished flinging away and fell flailing into the water before he could catch himself. A quick eternity passed, with his mind too busy connecting neurons to provide bodily functions, when he was yanked out of the black water, and onto a rather fleshy shore.

Jack opened his eyes to see a sharp toothed grin framed by lanky black hair.

"Miss me?"

"You are not real."

A frown replaced the snarky grin.

"Well aren't you excited to see me. And here I thought you'd love to see an old friend," he said, pouting. "You didn't even bring a snack."

A couple of petty retaliations crossed Jack's mind but before any could fly out, Fucker gave one of his signature caws, hopping to the quickly spreading pool of blood. Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, sighed, and hefted the octoman (whose tentacles were much heavier than they looked) over his shoulder into something resembling a firemans carry, had his irate passenger possessed legs.

"Hey! You might not remember me, but that's no reason to treat me like a sack of tuna!"

Fucker squawked in agreement, waddling after the two with a bit of angry determination for a seagull.

"You are not supposed to be real, and this might be my weirdest hallucination yet, but if either of those are null, I can't let you bleed out."

"Jesus carp, Jack."

It took an awful lot of willpower not to drop him right there.

-

Jack kicked open the screen door, careful not to let it slam shut on Fucker, and thus almost tripping over the bird because of it. With the extra weight of his surprisingly sharp nailed guest, it took a good twenty seconds to regain balance and then unceremoniously clear the island to make a temporary operation table. It took another minute after he set the still undecidedly real man down to find his mother's old sewing kit from one of the boxes he didn't get to organize.

Although he was deadened enough to the procedure, his patient was not.

"Hey, hey, HEY! You are not getting that anywhere near me, so help me-"

Jack sighed.

"Relax, I could've killed you earlier."

Fucker, who at this point might as well be more than a seagull with all of this going on, now cawed as if offended at the lack of civility in the statement.

Jack's patient seemed to agree.

"If you try anything, Mildred is gonna fuckin' peck your eyes out."

His hands were just threading the string through when the thought came to him that Mildred was an already an uncommon enough of a name without the addition of belonging to a wild bird.

"Mildred?"

Tentacles curled in on themselves, suddenly aware at how isolated they were from their element, where they held the power to at least escape.

"It's a good, ladylike name."

Jack's hand tugged the thread through, and there was no delaying the operation any longer. His eyes met with those that seemed too familiar to be real.

"It is."

He slowly grabbed a warm washcloth and began to clean the wound tentatively, never breaking eye contact. It quickly became apparent to him that there were no more excuses to deny this man, a friend, the truth of his reality.

"This next part is going to hurt," he mumbled lowly, doing away with the air of indifference he held so confidently earlier.

Gabriel forced his tentacles to relax, and took a couple deep breaths.

"I trust you."

The sudden emergence of words he hadn't heard genuinely since his mother died caused him to pause, his eyes darting from needle to need.

It took him a minute to respond with a nod and return to the task at hand.

Stitching skin was never easy on Jack, something about the innocent hobby his mother would occupy herself with in the warm evenings being perverted into an act of desperation that all too often reared up in the chaos of war. But, much like most things he did in his service, he did it well despite his distaste for it.

Gabriel was silent during the entire rest of the ordeal, save for the occasional hiss when the needle pierced skin.

"Saltwater's gonna sting, y'know."

Jack finished up, swabbing the area with disinfectant. "The bacteria is the bigger problem. How long can you stay out of water?"

Gabriel shifted up onto his elbows, sucking in a breath when his new stitches pulled across his abdomen.

"Long as I want, so long as I won't dry out, remember?"

Eyes such a dark brown that they were almost black tried to match gaze Jack's, willing him to recall the days before the drought, before the war, before everything changed.

Their stares didn't meet.