I think you should probably hug me right now

[Jack Ripley]

Jack watched the guy like a hawk, ready to spring up if anything didn't look right. If Brayden was in pain! Or if he woke up at all. He was ready. But so far, nothing. Brayden just laid there, unmoving. Even Marge's words weren't as much comfort as he wished they were. Who was this guy, anyway? And how would he do it? Could he even do it? His lack of confidence and conniption fit earlier didn't bode well. What if they brought him to the wrong guy? What if they were wasting time here and they were losing Brayden with every passing second?

Jesus, he hated being that person. This wasn't his thing, to be Mr. Overthinker. That was Brayden's thing. Jack preferred being more... spontaneous. He wanted things to go back to the flirting and the hand holding and the smiling. He wanted... to be happy again. But if John couldn't fix Brayden... he didn't think he could ever be happy again.

"...I just want the one, thanks," Jack said dryly. But why make such a big deal out of it? So he swallowed some fairy cum. He wondered if Brayden would have let him if he hadn't been drunk, with the way everybody was making a fuss over it. Jack ran his hands over his legs. They felt clammy from anxiety.

"Okay," he said, trying to process what Marge was saying. "You didn't tell me any of this before."

Also. He didn't pass out. In fact, he felt invigorated afterward. They kissed. They cuddled. Jack finally slept without having a nightmare. And then he woke up and had that weird... episode that laid him out on Brayden's couch. He slid his gaze sideways, at Brayden.

"What does it mean? Is anybody going to tell me?"

[Marguerite De Silva]

"You didn't fucking tell me you were going to give him head and swallow all of it," Marge seethed, refusing to take the blame for—whatever happened after Jack swallowed all of that magical royal fairy jizz. "If you had asked me beforehand, I would have told you." 

John was changing oils now, to a sweet-smelling lavender-colored one. He rubbed more of it onto Brayden and some of that pale color faded. His skin slowly turned back to a more normal peach-pink color, although it still looked papery and unnatural. Thin. Like they could almost see the blood vessels underneath, see the machinations of his organs turning and working away to restore him from the inside.

"Most people who swallow all of it explode," John said matter-of-factly. "They can't contain that much magic. Humans. Hooo, you don't want to see what it does to them. So. I don't know. You might be fae too. That's the only explanation I can think of for why you're still here and not exploded in a million pieces." John paused in his ministrations to look Jack over. "You might be like him. Royal. They're the only ones capable of handling so much magic, to be honest. Most of the rest of us just dance around with our pretty wings and do party tricks."

Marge let out a furious noise. "And you're telling us this NOW?" She screamed at John, who threw up his oily hands.

"That's literally what HE just said to YOU, Marge!"

[Jack Ripley]

Jack threw his hands up into the air. Well, what the hell was he supposed to do if he didn't know a thing was a thing?! He didn't know fairies were a thing and then they were. And then there were all these mysteries about them and what the hell was Keith and why did he touch Brayden's wings and why did he think it was such a great idea to go down on him and was he going to die, too? Because he didn't know if he could handle bringing Brayden back just to die on him because of fancy fairy cum!

"...he never said anything, either," Jack mumbled, crossing his arms and his legs and trying his best to gather some dignity back. But Brayden was drunk and he just... he wanted it. And Jack did, too, thank you very much. He could still taste him, when he thought about it. He guessed he should have realized how different it was. Taste. Texture. But he was a little tipsy, too, at the time.

With some relief, Jack watched as at least some of Brayden's color seemed to be returning. He wanted to go over, to touch him, to feel him, to make sure he was warm again. The feeling of his cold skin scared him more than he wanted to admit even to himself. Death had been haunting him for so long. He couldn't seem to outrun it. If only... he didn't fall in love with Brayden. Then Brayden never would have become a target...

"What?"

Jack tilted his head up. John said it like it was everyday knowledge. People exploded. From fairy cum...? Because of all that magic. Shit. Jack ran a hand over his throat. But it had been some time ago... Nothing happened to him. Except those weird visions.

"No, I'm... pretty sure I'm human."

What else could he be? Fae, John said. He wanted to scoff at the idea. Jack didn't have wings or magic. He was just some kid that grew up in the slums of Boston and ended up in this tiny town. Where he thought he had finally found home. Friends. His new life. He thought it was finally beginning.

"I don't understand. How would a... fae... not know they were a fae? Wouldn't the wings and magic be a dead giveaway?"

[Marguerite De Silva]

"No," Marge and John said at the same time. Marge waved her hand for John to continue, since he was fucking professor fairy expert over here. Well, he was, actually—he was a verified expert on them. Plus he was one himself, though to look at him, most people would only think he was an unshaven dork with a bit of a belly. But he knew what he was doing when it came to healing fae and Brayden already looked so much better than he did only half an hour ago.

"Your wings can be hidden by glamor. That's like uh. Camouflage for fae. If someone powerful casts it on you, it can hide your wings for...ever, basically. Most fae kids learn to dispel the glamor their parents cast as a rite of passage, if you will. The magic is taught, so if nobody taught you any and your glamor's still in place, well. You just think you're human."

"There's a way to get rid of the glamor isn't there?" Marge looked Jack up and down thoughtfully. Reached out to smooth and neaten his hair. No excuse to look scruffy just because he'd been through hell and back, was there?

"Yeah but... it takes a lot of jizz to do that." John's smile was mildly wry, also teasing. "Okay gotta focus on this one folks. Gimme a couple minutes here." He switched to an aquamarine oil and began to massage Brayden's wings with it, muttering spells all the while. Behind him, wings flickered in and out of existence as he channeled magic, deep green marbled with gold and silver veins.

Marge slid a hand over Jack's back. "Wonder what yours would look like, baby. We should give it a try once Bee's better."

[Jack Ripley]

Okay. That was a no from them both.

Jack tried to imagine himself with wings. It felt... absurd. But also... he was interested. So there was no way he was human, then? That didn't make sense. His parents were both human as hell. He could not imagine either of them as fairies. Not even the dark kind, because as much as he hated growing up the way he did, Jack didn't hate his parents. That was why it hurt so much not to be loved back. He loved them; he just wanted them to love him, too. But they weren't innately evil or anything.

Could the dark ones even have babies? Jack had a headache (partly because of all that hair pulling, of course) and he didn't know how much more of this he could take before he passed out. He ran the hand that was on his throat up to his temple and massaged it, closing his eyes.

"Is that a joke?" he asked. "Or do I need to suck dick again? Because I, for one, am not opposed to this plan."

He opened his eyes, watching John work on Brayden, who seemed to really making some kind of recovery.

"Assuming, of course, that you fix my boyfriend..."

He sighed and looked to Marge as she slid her hand over his back. Then he glanced behind him, as if he could somehow see what wasn't there. Or what was hidden. So strange, thinking of himself with wings.

"Honestly," he told her, "I can't even imagine. I've seen what... this guy and Brayden. And you're telling me they're all different? Like a fairy fingerprint?" He fell silent. Then, "If they're some hideous color combination that doesn't go with any of my outfits, Marge..."

He had to be shallow right now. Because if he wasn't, he was going to fall apart at the seams.

[Marguerite De Silva]

"Then you get to go shopping for clothes that do match your hideous new wings, baby," Marge cooed over him, sensing the freak-out coming and trying to head it off at the pass. She knew it was a lot to take in. Jack lived his whole life believing that there was nothing out there except humans, that fairies and fairy jizz and super powers were nothing more than pipe dreams. Then to find that not only was all of that real, but that he was part of it all...

It was a real mind fuck.

"Hey. Let me show you something." She took his hand in hers. "Look at Bee."

Sharing her powers and letting it flow down to their joined hands, she hoped that Jack could see it—the light growing inside of Brayden, the more John worked on him. That light had been so dim before that it scared her. It looked like one bad jolt and it would snuff out, like a reedy candle at the end of its life. But now it was growing and gaining strength.

"See that? His light? I think he'll be okay, Jack. Isn't that great?" Hopefully seeing that could help him keep himself together long enough. For Brayden. For their beloved Bee.

[Jack Ripley]

Oh yes. New wardrobe to go with hideous wings. He wanted to laugh but he was afraid if he started he would start crying next and he was so tired of crying. Marge took his hand--he felt better already. A little. The contact was reassuring. It helped calm him somewhat. But he didn't fully understand what she was doing until she directed him to look over at Brayden. Jack raised his gaze.

"What--" He stared. "What is that?"

It hadn't been there before. Light. He glanced at Marge as she explained it. The light was... not strong but it was getting stronger as he watched. Whatever that John fellow was doing seemed to actually have an effect on Brayden. It was hard to tell without Marge's power; his color had been coming back but other than that, all Jack saw was a too-still Brayden. And that led to him thinking of the blood... Jack looked down at his front. It was still there. Touched his face with his free hand. Couldn't tell if it was there but...

He had to take in a long breath and hold it for a moment. Let it out. Slow and easy. Look at the light. The light was getting stronger. That meant Brayden was getting stronger, too. He was in there... Or... he was in that place with his mother, that place that Jack accidentally peeked in on and was subsequently ejected from. He was in some kind of... dream.

"He's going to wake up, right?" he whispered, drawing Marge's hand to his chest and holding it there with his other hand sliding over it.

[Marguerite De Silva]

"That's Bee. He's fighting to come back to us, baby."

And if Brayden fought so hard for them—to keep Jack safe—then the least they could do was to fight for Brayden. Fight to hold on to their sanity, to rein in the emotions that threatened to spiral out of control. Fight to hope and to believe that Brayden would come back to them, safe and sound, whole and happy. His light was growing and Marge just knew that wherever he was, Brayden was doing his best to get back to them, to the land of the living where his beloved friends and family and boyfriend were.

"I'm sure he'll come back. But we... we have to be strong for him." She clasped her free hand with Jack's, over his chest where she could see his light flickering too. Had Jack looked down at himself? Did he notice how his light shone with the same color as Brayden's? Or how every time Brayden's light flickered, his did too? Two hearts that beat as one—two hearts joined and so in synch that their lights even shone together. That was true love.

John kept working away with his colored oils and his muttered spells. He looked tired but he didn't stop—and Marge wouldn't have let him stop for anything, not even a bathroom break. Eventually he sat back on the coffee table, facing Brayden, whose light was much stronger and much steadier. "Well. I've done all I can folks. The rest is up to him." He turned back to look at them with a crooked smile. "You can come over and talk to him, if you want. I gotta get something to drink. I'll be right back."

Marge gently nudged Jack. "Go on. He's waiting for you."

[Jack Ripley]

That light was B. It was him. His soul or his heart. Something like that. His essence. It was pretty though. Mesmerizing, even in its weakened state. And when he looked down at his own chest, he was somewhat startled to see that there was a light there, too. And in Marge. The fairy fixer. Did everybody have these? And why... did it seem like his and Brayden's were... connected? Not like the stars in the sky with Brayden's lines. Just... the same rhythm, the same color... Was that normal?

He kept his hand where it was, with Marge's.

Jack was pretty accustomed to fear. It permeated his existence from day one. Fear of not surviving into the next day, fear of not being loved, fear of being loved. Keith created that last one, the cruel bastard. Jack wanted--in his nature, in his core--to love people and embrace them. But after what happened to Andy--what he thought he did--the fear spiked and only grew. But innately, his nature was still to embrace people. He couldn't help it.

For so long, he wondered how he could be so sick with himself and his own actions and still continue doing it. If even his subconscious punished him and destroyed him, even when he tried to shove the events as far down as they could go, why...? Why did he still kill? He tried everything. And he didn't have the knowledge or power to see it before. So he could only conclude that he was sick, that something inside was just inherently broken.

But nature was strong. And his natural inclination to draw people in was so... so... strong. He wanted to be close to people, even though he was afraid to be. Afraid for them, afraid of what it made him into.

The joy of knowing it wasn't true couldn't even be fully embraced because as soon as he knew, Brayden was stolen from him. But there was still somebody to share it with, so he whispered, "I'm not a killer." Because he hadn't been able to say it aloud until now and it was freeing and he needed it.

It felt like the hours stretched into days into weeks into months. Jack felt like they sat there for a lifetime before John announced that he was getting a drink. The rest is up to him.

Jack thought he would leap up and run to him. But walking over to Brayden felt like it was happening in excruciating slow motion. He looked a lot better. But his eyes were still closed and his body so still. Jack dropped to his knees beside him, his hand moving over the place where he could no longer see the light. Not that it wasn't there--just that he didn't have that power. But now he knew it was there, it felt like an indelible part of him. Swallowing back a tide of emotion, his other hand took one of Brayden's.

"Brayden..." He didn't know what to say because there was too much to say. Where did he even begin? Maybe with, "Please... wake up. I can't do this without you. And you... you promised me. You're the one who told me to remember, remember? You said.. you love me. No matter what. And I think you already know this but maybe it bears repeating but I love you too. It sounds crazy but I think a part of me has always loved you. Maybe I was always looking for you, I just didn't know what I was looking for. I didn't know a lot of things. I'm still learning, you know and I want you to show me. I know I'm supposed to be the teacher but..." He half laughed, half sobbed. "You're the one teaching me. So much. More than all this magic shit. Love."

He dropped his head against Brayden's chest. Fucking--he told himself he wasn't going to get all teary-eyed and emotional again. If he thought he was too exhausted or there were none left in him, he was wrong. If Brayden never woke up, Jack didn't think they would ever stop.

"I'm in crazy, stupid love with you, Brayden Smith," he whispered.

[Brayden Smith]

"Jackie?"

One moment he was holding Jack's hand, and they were best friends! Oh that filled Bray with so much happiness that he had to laugh out loud. Yes! Yes they were best friends! He went to hug Jack, almost had his small arms around him but then... Jack faded away. He was alone again, but now he was an adolescent, sitting by the edge of a fast-flowing river.

The other boys were already inside splashing around, getting pushed around by the current. Bray cautiously waded in earlier and decided that it was too dangerous. What if it swept him away? He didn't like that ball of tension in his stomach, he didn't like the feeling of giving in to something beyond his control so he stayed on the bank.

"Bray! C'mon in!" Gerald waved to him enthusiastically, with his wet arms glistening in the dappled sunlight. He was grinning and his tousled blond hair was all mussed up but to Bray he looked like a Greek god.

"Ah... n-no I'm okay here, thank you," Bray said quietly, but smiled at Gerald. He thought maybe Gerald looked crestfallen, but then Ali came up behind him and splashed him and with a burst of laughter, they were both gone. Bray looked down at his feet trailing in the ice-cold water.

The water faded. He was sitting on his own couch now, a grown man. A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see--Wyatt. Wyatt looked slightly annoyed. "Well, say something Bray, don't just sit there!" he demanded impatiently.

"I... I don't know what to say," Bray replied slowly, hands twisting in his lap. "I guess... I can't..."

"Ugh. You're always like this. This is why it'll never work, Bray. You're cute but you're just so... boring." Wyatt's expression seemed to soften, as though he could tell that he had gone a half step too far. His hand cupped Bray's cheek gently. "Good bye, Bray."

"Good bye, Bray. Good bye... good bye... good bye..."

The words echoed as everything went still and dark. Bray blinked. A door was before him now, and there was light just beyond it. He turned when he heard a soft rustle and then smiled as his mother walked toward him, hand-in-hand with his father. They were both looking at him with tears in their eyes, and yet they looked glad. Bray ran to them and embraced them wordlessly, tears falling down his cheeks.

"Our little Bee. You've finally found your light." His mother's hand was at his head again, stroking his hair, but he was no longer a child.

"Mom... dad... I-I want..." he wanted to be with them so badly that it formed a physical ache. Bray clung to them, felt his father's hand on his shoulder.

"You have a choice to make now, Brayden," he said in his familiar deep, calm voice. "We... love you very much. But this choice is yours to make."

Bray looked over his shoulder at the door again, at the warm golden light behind it. "I... won't see you again, will I? If I go through?" The words stuck in his throat so much he barely croaked them out.

"Yes darling. That's right." His mother kissed him on the cheek. "But I think you don't need us any more."

"I'm in crazy, stupid love with you, Brayden Smith."

"Jack?" Bray's heart pounded in his chest. Jack was behind that door... But his parents--his mother... He felt their hands in his. For a moment he closed his eyes and just absorbed the moment, absorbed their love and support and guidance...



"...ja...ck?"

[Jack Ripley]

He wasn't coming back was he?

Who would want to leave that golden place he'd gone to? It was warm, Jack remembered. Bathed in warm, golden light. And his mother was there. Brayden obviously loved and missed her. The way he talked about her made Jack's heart ache and he never even really met her, except maybe in a death dream once.

If he didn't come back

what

what was left

what was the point of living

Jack felt real love and he couldn't imagine living without it. He knew, deep down, Marge was still there. But the pain of severing something bigger than himself that he was just only starting to realize and to grasp onto... It was so all consuming.

Jack always did live in the moment. And this moment was absolute pain.

and pain

could be numbed

in the arms of alcohol and drugs.

Jack didn't want to go back to that. And he
knew
he knew--there was no way to go back after Brayden. There was nothing on hell or heaven or earth or any sideways fairy realm that could soothe this kind of pain.

At first, he thought he only heard his voice in a dream, a remnant of his memory. But he felt the body beneath him stir, as if waking from a deep sleep. Like death. Jack lifted his head, the hope caught in his throat and stopping his heart until it burst into a thousand beats at once.

"Brayden?" He could hardly believe it; it felt too good to be true but then, Brayden had always felt that way to him. His eyes were open. And they were... Brayden's eyes. Not glassy or dead or hollow. Elation effused his entire being as Jack held onto him, touched him, his face--it was warm again--his hair, his chest. He kissed him out of sheer relief. "FUCK you, Brayden! You scared the shit out of me, you ASSHOLE!"

[Brayden Smith]

After nearly dying, the first thing Bray woke up to was being kissed and then screamed at and cursed out.

This was not what he wanted to come back to, no sir. Was the door still open? Was it too late to go back?!

"I-I'm sorry?" he said faintly, with a confused look around. This didn't look like the woods or even his own house... Bemused, he touched Jack on the shoulder--Jack who seemed to be having some kind of mental breakdown. But Jack was also relieved and Bray could feel it. He sensed happiness, not real anger, and that happiness was contagious, as it always was. Whenever Jack so much as looked at him, he felt happy; this was no different. And this time Jack was only looking at him, only focused on him. 

"What happened? Are you okay?" Bray's voice was a little hoarse, still weak, but he felt... terrible. Everything hurt. He groaned softly as he tried to put his arms around Jack, as events of the evening filtered through the haze in his mind. "Are we--is he gone?"

Someone touched his head and for a second his heart exploded--he thought it was his mother. But... no. It was Marge, with tears in her eyes, and more curses on her lips. He thought she called him a motherfucking cocksucker, which deliriously he thought was not true because--that was Jack. But oh it was so good to see her again! He reached up to touch her hand and curled his fingers around hers, holding on to the two people he loved most in the world.

[Jack Ripley]

"Don't be," Jack said, automatically. Always. Every time Brayden said he was sorry, he was telling him not to be. What did he have to be sorry for? Saving Jack's life? Dying? Jack couldn't even think the word without his mouth going dry, let alone speak it. If he said it aloud, it might happen... again. And he couldn't bear it. Once was more than enough and he preferred never to see it again. Thanks, goodbye.

"I'm fine," Jack said, which now that he thought about it, he probably didn't look fine. Or seem fine. His face had to be absolutely hideous from all the ugly crying he'd done. Marge smoothed his hair earlier but he was still covered in Brayden's blood. And nobody could see it but fuck, Jack's head pounded worse than it ever did during a hangover. Between all the head dragging, hair pulling, and bursts of emotion, he felt like his head was never going to recover.

That didn't matter, though. His head could be permanently damaged for all he cared. As long as Brayden was here--with him, beside him. Jack caressed Brayden's face. He was almost afraid to believe it was true. That he was awake, alive. But he was. He was.

"And he's... gone. You and Margie took care of him." Jack took in a breath, bit his lower lip. His fingertips trailed against the side of Brayden's face. "You... killed yourself... just about. To do it. I was afraid you weren't coming back. But you're here. You're alive. You're back. So I'm fine."

He smiled, a mixture of everything all rolled into his expression. His happiness, his relief, his sadness, his hope. He ran a hand through Brayden's hair. Eyes on him, full to the brim.

"I'm fine."

[Brayden Smith]

"Oh..."

That was a lot to take in and digest and unfortunately, Bray was not in a good state of mind or being to do that. He wanted to go back to sleep—to go back to that warm, golden, happy place where his parents were there to reassure him and love him. But... that place was gone now. In his heart, in his mind, he knew it. No matter how much he tried, he could never have their voices back again.

But he had new voices to guide him now. Jack. Marge. They were here, and they were real. He didn't have to go to another realm to find them; they were only ever a call or a message away. Jack lived right across the courtyard from him and Bray could always count on him to be right over if he needed anything. Marge practically lived with Jack these days so... they were there. Always there for him.

"Good. I'm glad you're okay." He turned into Jack's hand and smiled. His eyes were so heavy... Bray sighed and nuzzled against Jack's hand as the world faded away again, back to white. "I... love you," he murmured as exhaustion claimed him.

"We should get him home." Marge's voice sounded far away. "Get a shower, some rest..."

[Jack Ripley]

"I love you, too."

He panicked a little, though, as Brayden's eyes closed again. Immediately, he looked over at Marge, hand still there against Brayden's cheek. It was like he thought--irrationally--that if he tried to die again, his hand would be there, warm, keeping him from growing as cold as he was before. But Brayden just seemed to be sleeping. His cheek remained warm. His body still breathed. His heart still beat. Everything was... so alive.

Marge didn't sound or look alarmed either, so Jack could only assume that meant Brayden's heart light (he didn't know what else to call it) was still there and still strong.

"Right..." He looked back down at Brayden, with deep love and affection softening his gaze. "We've all been through hell tonight..."

They could all use a week of showers and rest. Even then, Jack felt like this level of exhaustion would never pass. Sighing, he kept stroking Brayden's cheek with his thumb, reluctant to get up, to get things done. But eventually, he forced his tired, aching body to rise, to lift Brayden oh-so-carefully, and to head to the door with him. Still, he held him like he could break, because a part of Jack was still afraid that he could.

"Thank you~" he sang in a whisper toward John, wherever that fairy man had gone.