Chapter Text
Jack’s heart raced as he ran past his friends and their clones, Dirk’s clone’s combat boots thumping on the floor quickly following en route. He spared a glance behind him and flinched when he saw how close the clone had gotten.
He searched his brain for a quick plan of attack and gasped, the perfect solution coming to him.
The clone’s hand just grazed the back of Jack’s shirt as he leapt onto the stage where the jukebox was displayed, swiping a bottle of mustard and ketchup from a nearby table on his way.
Spinning around, Jack brandished the sauce bottles like weapons, resisting the urge to keep stumbling backwards.
“Time to face the music!” he said gleefully, aiming the bottles directly at the clone’s face and squeezing as hard as he could.
Not-Dirk saw this and blanched, but was going too fast to stop itself from getting a face full of sauce and narrowly avoiding Jack darting out of the way of crashing into the jukebox head-on.
Jack grinned triumphantly, satisfied with his defeat. He turned to his friends.
“Okay!” he said cheerfully. “Let’s end this and get out of here!”
He focused on the fights before him just in time to see his own clone get booted across the floor by Dirk (who seemed to be enjoying himself far too much).
Clone-Jack frowned for only a second, before snarling, grinning that horrible grin of it’s and charging full speed right back at Dirk.
Dirk stumbled as he raised his arms to protect himself from the sudden onslaught of frenzied punches coming from Jack’s clone.
A solid punch caught him in the jaw and he grunted, attempting to return the punch.
But Not-Jack only grinned and quickened it’s attacks.
“A little-“ Dirk grunted again, “-a little help here-!”
Dirk’s eyes widened and he yelled as he was suddenly thrown onto a table by Clone-Jack.
Jack made brief eye-contact with June and Quint before nodding silently, and taking a running leap at his clone.
It seemed to happen in slow motion.
Jack, June and Quint soared through the air, weapons raised, swiftly approaching an unsuspecting clone, and colliding all of their weapons against the clone’s head at once.
A terrible bang echoed through the diner and Clone-Jack screamed, falling to it’s knees and dissolving into a wave of inverted-coloured monster termites.
They covered the room in seconds and began closing in even faster.
Ugh, great, Jack thought. Another scene change.
Jack barely even had a chance to look at his friends one more time before everything went dark.
Jack groaned as he sat up, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand. He coughed and shivered, uncomfortably aware of the dirt and dust settling around him, and the feeling of bugs crawling all over his skin.
“Quint?” He called out. “June? Dirk?”
Standing up shakily, Jack took a proper look at his surroundings.
It seemed as if he was back in the forest. Trees were all he could see in all directions. Nothing else.
No one else.
Whenever this place was, it was clear that Jack was alone in this scene change- his friends were nowhere to be seen.
Jack frowned at the sudden loneliness, bringing a glowing hand up to scratch the nape of his neck nervously.
His breath quickened, panic setting in.
Oh god- he was alone. Again.
Jack just got his friends back, and now he was as lonely as ever, left to his own devices, to fend for himself, to deal with it.
He was right back where he started.
And the worst part was- he wasn’t even shocked.
Jack was used to being alone. That had been made abundantly clear to his friends. He was used to doing things himself, it wasn’t that he couldn’t survive alone.
He just didn’t want to.
He didn’t want to have to survive. He didn’t want to scrape by in life, only barely managing to keep his sanity intact.
He wanted people there to support him, to be there for him, to stop him from doing stupid and hilarious things.
He wanted a family.
Jack Sullivan wanted a family.
Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to calm his racing thoughts as he twisted the short tufts of hair around his fingers and pulled gently.
He began to feel himself relax, and sighed softly.
Jack wasn’t alone. He had a family.
He just had to find them.
“Jack!”
Jack’s eyes snapped open, immediately alert and darting around, trying to locate the source of the scream.
He spun around on the spot, scanning the trees for any signs of humans, of trucks, of Rezzoch-
Another scream echoed through the trees, sending chills directly down Jack’s spine.
“Jack! Please! Help!”
Jack’s head snapped to where the sound was coming from and he inched forward, staring at the spot ahead of him intently.
Nothing... nothing... nothing... no- there!
There, concealed in the dense foliage, just short of ten metres in front of Jack, was a house.
It was a simple two-story house, wooden exterior painted a rustic red and steps leading to the front door (windows on either side) worn down to reveal the natural brown of the wood.
There were several wind chimes dangling in the patio, some with elegant spirals and twirls and clearly store bought, others made of forks and spoons and butter knives and tied together with twine.
Something sparked in Jack, something in the back of his mind, some locked memory in an abandoned memory vault, collecting dust, and probably for the best.
Jack stared at the chimes for a minute, watching them gently swing and emit sounds like bells.
Another scream shook Jack from his frozen state.
“Jack! Hurry! Please!”
Jack flinched and looked to the front door, raising his broken baseball bat and wielding it like a crappy, homemade sword.
He ascended the steps swiftly, glancing at the chimes again as he went, gently kicking the slightly ajar door fully open.
He only hesitated for a second before stepping over the threshold.
A wave of memory and feeling suddenly overcame Jack, making him stiffen.
It surged through him, beautiful and painful, peaceful and stressful, home and foreign.
It made Jack’s heart swell with emotion, and ache with emptiness.
It made him want to laugh and cry at the same time.
Jack let out a shaky breath and took another step, taking a careful look around the room.
To his right was a dining room, furnished with a round wooden table and three cushioned seats, one of which looked as though it had DIY leg-extenders fixed to the bottom of it.
Past the table, Jack could see over a wooden island and into a kitchen adorned with warm colours, and a fridge covered in magnets, ranging from business cards to mini animal bobble heads.
Another flare of familiarity.
Jack let his gaze wander directly in front of him, where a hallway continued past a set of stairs.
Photo frames decorated the walls, but it was too dark for Jack to clearly see who was in them.
To the left of the staircase was the living room, filled with mismatched couches and chairs and footrests and an ornate mantle over a traditional fireplace.
Jack’s chest seized again, that familiar feeling squirming inside of him.
He hadn’t yet determined if it was a good or a bad feeling.
Bat still at the ready, Jack took a tentative step toward the living room, taking note of the faded blue rug beneath his sneakers.
The living room looked warm and cosy and welcoming, but it held a cold feeling that Jack couldn’t quite place.
Jack took another step forward, and then another, and another, until he was standing in the middle of the room and staring at the photo frames on the mantle.
He looked at one on the far left, of a baby, and a woman. The baby couldn’t have been more than a few months old, yet already sporting a full head of jet black hair, gazing up at the camera from a woman’s lap with bright blue eyes. The woman, presumably the baby’s mother, looked down at her lap with a fondness in her equally blue eyes.
Jack furrowed his brow, frowning at the picture. He moved onto the next one.
The next picture to the right was taken what looked like a few of years later. The baby was now a toddler, riding a bike with training wheels for the first time, looking at the camera with an ecstatic grin on his face. His face had changed slightly, gotten a little longer, eyes gotten wider, hair gotten bigger. This time a man stood behind the boy, grinning at him just as wide as the boy himself and giving him a big thumbs-up.
A dreaded feeling settled in Jack’s stomach. He stared at the photo, mouth slightly ajar. He felt himself begin to shake.
He moved onto the next photo.
This one was as familiar to Jack as his own face.
A boy, six years old, stood in the centre of the frame, grinning with a tooth missing from the right side of his mouth. He wore a white and red short-sleeved shirt, denim shorts, and had a bandaid plastered right across his nose. His hair stood up in dark tufts.
On the boy’s right was a man, the same man in the bike photo, a spitting image of the boy, wearing a shirt similar to him and resting a hand on his shoulder.
On the left, a woman wearing a pink button up shirt and brown hair done up in a bun stood, also resting a hand in the boy’s shoulder.
They were smiling.
Jack recognised this photo, because it was a photo of a husband and wife and their child. The same photo that had been Jack’s (slightly charred) prized possession since first being sent into the foster system.
It was a photo of a family.
Jack’s family.
Jack trembled, eyes welling up with tears, his grip on his bat loosening until it finally fell to the floor with a soft clatter.
His shoulders sagged and he reached out, gently lifting the photo from it’s place on the mantle.
He brought it close to him, to his face, studying the faces of his parents like he’d never seen them before, tracing them gently with the tip of his finger.
He hugged it to his chest, curling in on himself, shaking like a leaf.
Jack sobbed.
“Do you blame yourself?”
Jack froze.
He uncurled, straightening up, still clutching the photo in his hands.
His breath quickened once more, chest rising and falling in rapid motions, and he swallowed thickly.
Heart in his throat, Jack slowly turned around, shaking uncontrollably tears drying on his face.
And there he stood, ten feet in front of him.
Six-year-old Jack.
He wore the same outfit as in the photo Jack held, red and white shirt and denim shorts. He even had the bandaid on his nose.
He was smiling, the same tooth missing, only adding to the eeriness of his face.
Jack stared at himself, feeling panic set in stronger and faster than before.
This was seriously crazy.
And, though Jack didn’t think himself capable, he licked his lips and whispered, “What?”
Young Jack kept smiling, but tilted his head to the side, seemingly confused at Jack’s confusion.
“Well...” Young Jack started, “It’s quite common in this situation for a person to feel a kind of...” he trailed off, then smiled again.
“Guilt.”
Jack still felt glued to the spot, able to do nothing but stare at the younger version of himself in front of him.
Young Jack raised an eyebrow, prompting a response from Jack.
Jack shook his head slightly, confusion taking over his face. He opened his mouth.
“Wh- What situation?”
Young Jack kept smiling, but it had lost it’s young, boyish charm, and now looked uncannily similar to the smiles the clones of Jack’s friends wore.
His eyes turned dark.
“The accident!”
Young Jack vanished in the same instant the room went up in flames.
Jack huffed out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding, eyes widening at the sight around him.
Every inch of the living room, dining room, and kitchen was burning furiously. Flames licked up the sides of the walls, using the old and crumbling wallpaper to reach the vulnerable ceiling.
Thick plumes of smoke immediately engulfed Jack’s senses and he coughed violently, reaching down to grasp his bat.
His eyes burned and watered, blurring the vision before him and streaming down his face.
Holding securely onto the photo and his bat, Jack made to run for the front door but stilled when he heard a scream.
A scream coming from upstairs.
“Jack! Darling! Help us!”
All of a sudden Jack recognised the voice that had been calling to him.
His mother.
“Mom!” Jack screamed. He stared at the staircase and darted towards it, jamming the photo under his armpit and gripping his bat in hand.
He took the steps two at a time, clinging to the handrail despite the heat radiating off of it.
“Jack! Please, we need you!”
This time it was a different voice pleading for Jack’s help.
His father.
“DAD!” Jack’s voice broke on a sob, his chest heaving as he reached the top of the stairs.
“MOM! DAD! I’M COMING!”
Jack finally leapt onto the landing of the stairs and spun around until he found his parent’s bedroom door.
Flames surrounded Jack downstairs, and upstairs it was no different.
Fire coated every surface, blackening photo frames and flower vases.
His parent’s door was already charring, and the handle glowed red hot.
Still, Jack didn’t think twice as he flew to the door and grabbed onto the doorknob, screaming as his hand was immediately branded.
But he didn’t let go.
Jack screamed again, rattling the doorknob.
“MOM! DAD! I’M RIGHT HERE!” He sobbed.
“I’M GONNA GET YOU OUT OF HERE, I PROM-“
Jack’s scream was cut short as he was suddenly wrenched away from the door and lifted into the air. He was vaguely aware of strong hands throwing him over a shoulder, but all he could focus on was the door growing further away from him, and his parent’s screams coming from behind it.
“NO- STOP- WHAT ARE YOU DOING- MOM!” Jack choked on a sob, slamming his fists against whatever was holding him.
“MOM! DAD!”
“PUT ME DOWN!” Jack screamed, sobs wracking his frame. “PLEASE! PLEASE! PUT ME DOWN! MY PARENTS-“
Jack was jostled as him and his captor ran down the stairs, each descent bringing them further away from his parents.
“MOM! DAD! I’LL COME BACK! I SWEAR! I’LL BE RIGHT BACK!”
Jack sputtered and gasped and sobbed and was carried over the threshold, still kicking and screaming.
“NO! MOM! DAD! PLEASE! PLEASE DON’T DIE!”
Jack stared at the front door getting further away from him, sobbing uncontrollably.
The world suddenly tilted and Jack was flat on his back, the air knocked out of his lungs.
But that didn’t stop him from scrambling to his feet and stumbling towards the house again, still screaming and crying.
“MOM! DAD! I’M COMING!”
Jack put one foot in front of the other, but was suddenly held back by hands on all sides.
“NO- LET GO OF ME!” Jack screamed. “MY MOM AND DAD’S IN THERE!”
He struggled against the hands, sobbing through his teeth, kicking and punching anything he could reach.
“Jack!”
“LET ME GO!”
“Jack, please-“
“I’M COMING MOM, DAD, I’M COMING!”
“Jack you need to listen to me-“
“MOM! DAD!”
“JACK SULLIVAN!”
Jack finally turned to look at Quint, red in the face, chest heaving, shaking, covered in soot, eyes more pained that Quint had ever seen them.
“Quint, my mom’s in there!” Jack began. “My dad’s in there!”
Quint stared at Jack, tears of his own streaming down his face.
“No, they’re not, friend,” he said firmly.
But Jack just shook his head and tried to break free again.
Dirk’s arms tightened around his chest.
“No, Quint, you don’t understand! My parents-“
“ARE DEAD!” Quint shouted.
Jack stopped struggling, staring at Quint in shock.
Quint’s chest heaved with emotion, and he stepped closer to Jack to place his hands on either side of his friend’s face.
Jack whimpered, shaking his head. He sobbed again, looking past Quint and into the raging flames behind him.
“Your parents are dead, Jack,” Quint said, voice shaking, but holding strong.
“No, Quint, please-“ Jack started blubbering, tears pouring steadily down his face.
“Quint, they’re in there, I heard them, I swear!”
Quint just shook his head sadly, still cupping Jack’s face.
“No, Jack,” he whispered. “Your parents are dead. They’re gone. Your mom and dad are gone, Jack.”
He licked his lips.
“And nothing can bring them back.”
Jack stared at Quint, still, eyes pleading to let him go back into the house.
“What you saw in there?” Quint gestures to the house, “They were not your parents. That was Rezzoch, Jack. It is messing with your head, making you experience things that aren’t there. That will never be there.”
Jack whimpered again, eyes fluttering shut. His chin trembled, tears dripping off of it steadily, staining his already-stained shirt.
Quint leaned in until his face was mere inches from Jack’s, so there was no way for him to see the house burning to the ground before them.
“Jack,” Quint said softly, “You need to let go.”
Jack was silent for a long moment, and for a second Quint was scared he would try break free again, but sighed in relief when Jack instead nodded shakily, eyes grief stricken.
Quint nodded at Dirk, who slowly released his grip on Jack, who would have simply fallen to the ground were it not for Quint wrapping his arms around his waist and lowering them both to the ground gently.
He saw Dirk retreat and wrap a distraught June in a hug in the corner of his eye, silently grateful that his friends had found comfort in each other.
Quint eyed Jack carefully for a moment, ensuring he would not make a run for it, before relaxing and pulling his friend into the tightest hug he could manage.
He was more than relieved when Jack reciprocated it, squeezing him tightly to anchor his shaking body.
They simply held each other for the next few minutes, content to cry in each other’s arms, before Jack took a deep, shuddering breath and said, “I killed them.”
“What?” Quint asked, raising an eyebrow.
Jack, still with his face buried in Quint’s chest, repeated himself.
“I killed them. My parents.”
Quint blinked slowly.
“What on earth do you mean by that, friend?” he asked gently.
“It’s my fault they died,” Jack said miserably.
“It’s my fault the fire started. I was alone downstairs, m-mom and dad were in their room. I- I was messing around with something I shouldn’t have, a-and I broke it, and b-before I knew it, the fire had spread, and t-the stairs were c-collapsing, and I- I left them to die-“
Jack broke off with a sob, clinging to Quint’s shirt as if he could disappear into it.
Quint rubbed a gentle hand up and down Jack’s back, slowly rotating in a soothing, circular motion.
He took a deep breath.
“Jack,” Quint said softly, “You did not kill your parents. It was not your fault. You did not leave them to die, you were trying to survive.”
Jack shook his head against Quint’s chest, breathing rapidly.
“N-No-,” he stuttered, “I- I could have saved them. I c-could have put the f-fire out. I could h-have yelled l-louder. I could have-“
“Died!”
Jack stiffened and looked up at Quint’s emotionally drained face.
Quint sighed, continuing to rub circles in Jack’s back.
“Jack, friend,” he began gently. “You could have died that night! If you hadn’t run out of the house that night, if you hadn’t saved yourself that night, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now! You wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t have my best friend!”
Quint ceased his back-rubbing for a moment to rest one of his hands on Jack’s shoulder, and bring the other up to cup his face again.
He smiled slightly as Jack leaned into the touch, eyes resting and face relaxing slightly.
Jack’s skin was warm, and wet, and dirty, but it wasn’t blue yet, and that was everything.
Quint looked directly into Jack’s eyes as he spoke to him, gentle but firm. Non-negotiable but a conversation-starter.
“Jack, if you had died that night...” he swallowed, blinking tears out of his eyes, “Then I wouldn’t have you as my best friend. And that-“ Quint stared at Jack “-would make my life very different, and very bad.”
Jack’s eyes watered as he stared at Quint, bottom lip trembling. And for a moment, it was just Jack.
There was no half-smile, no witty comeback, no awkward laugh, no phoney distraction.
This was just Jack, Jack and his bucketload of undeniable trauma, laid out and exposed for everyone to see.
This was one of Jack’s worst fears.
And it was exactly what he needed.
Quint smiled at Jack gently, squeezing his shoulder. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over Jack’s cheek, causing his friend to shudder and relax more into Quint’s touch, despite the raging war of emotion sure to be waging inside of him.
Jack looked at Quint, with his bright blue tired and pained eyes, and sighed.
He nodded, so small it almost wasn’t noticeable, but he nodded and opened his mouth and said, “Okay.”
And Quint cried.
Quint let out a ragged sob and pulled Jack into his arms, curling around him, protecting him from the outside world. He shook as more sobs tore from his throat, so he clung to Jack tighter, determined to never let go of his best friend again.
He was vaguely aware of June approaching tentatively, waiting a moment before falling to her knees beside the boys and engulfing them both in her own shaky hug.
And then, Dirk’s large, warm arms wrapped easily around all three of them, pulling them close into his warm chest, providing heat and comfort and security and everything Jack needed right now.
What they all needed.
Jack, Quint, Dirk and June didn’t know exactly how long they sat there, holding each other, but it was all they could do to keep holding each other as a wave of inverted termites smothered them.
And the scene changed.