If the world was ending you’d come over, right?

[Jack Ripley]

"How?"

He didn't know how to make it stop. But it was... a lot. Too much. Like hundreds of lives being dumped onto them all at once. Jack tried to reach out, to touch Brayden. But it only made it much worse. The flashes of lives and feelings and memories and love and pain and happiness and loss grew to an awful crescendo.

Jack immediately let go of Brayden and he leapt off the bed. Distance. Maybe distance. But no. Marge said they were only safe inside here. This room. With love. Love magic.

"I can. I can do this," he said, dropping down onto his knees on the bedroom rug. He grasped it and lowered his head to the floor. He imagined his glamor as a robe again. Only this time, instead of slipping it off, he put it back on. He put it on tight. Like cinching a hoodie closed around his face.

And then it was gone. The onslaught of visions stopped. After a moment to catch his breath, Jack sat back on his ass. He drew his knees up and hugged them.

"Brayden...?"

[Brayden Smith]

Bray let out a sound like a dying animal when Jack touched him and the visions grew so strong that it felt like they were overflowing from his mind. It felt like his skull was about to burst from being packed to capacity and he drew away like he had been burned by Jack's touch, unconsciously scrambling away to the other end of the bed. He fell onto the bed writhing, kicking his heels against the bed in agony.

All of their lives vied to make themselves prominent in his mind. The beautiful visions of them as a family, happy and united, living out full lives; the ones where they tasted only brief happiness in each other's arms, and ones where they just missed one another, where they couldn't find a way to make it work. Bray loving someone else; Jack loving someone else. Lives where they existed as enemies, their eyes locked across a battlefield, neither willing to admit to the burning desire buried deep down inside...

"Ah... ahh..." Bray couldn't breathe. His vision went dark finally as Jack's glamor contained his raw power, but...

"Brayden Smith. Prince of the Sixth House."

A tall man with crisp, wavy dark hair and hooded eyes sat on a throne of twisted black metal, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. His attire was like something out of a fantasy novel, all rich brocades and silks and glittering black onyx set in a golden pendant at his throat. He spoke Bray's name as though it was a distasteful piece of gristle, spitting it out of his curled lips.

Bray struggled to rise, facing the man on his throne. He sensed power—dark power. Immense, unfathomable power. Trembling slightly, he looked into the man's face and was struck by how similar his hazel eyes were. "J-Jack?" Bray whispered, daring to venture a step closer. The man raised a hand and slashed it through the air; Bray was forced down to his knees.

"You have tainted my son," said his high, cruel voice. "The son of Drake Nightshade, King of the Fallen. And for this, you will scream long and hard before I have you committed to the deepest, darkest pit in the kingdom. I will reclaim my sons, and the Kingdom of the Fallen will rise, stronger than ever!"

"Wh-what?" Bray's wings strained behind him as he fought to rise again. He managed to get to one knee, raising his head with great difficulty. "Who—your son? Aagh!" Another slash forced him back down, this time laying him flat on his stomach. Despite his struggles, he was unable to rise again. Drake Nightshade stood off his throne and approached; each step he took filled Bray with indescribable dread. Closer... closer... closer...

He screamed as a hand grasped onto the base of his wings. The touch was corrosive. It was like having a thousand daggers plunging simultaneously into his soul. Bray writhed and screamed again as his fingers pierced the thin, delicate film of his wings and he viciously ripped them out...

Bray came to with a shout of pain and fright. "NO!" Panicked, he sat up shaking and trembling and stared at Jack with wide eyes. Then he stumbled off the bed in a hurry, running for the bathroom where he collapsed in front of the toilet and threw up into it. His stomach was a nauseous, roiling mess; his mind turned in a thousand different directions.

[Jack Ripley]

"What? What is it?" Did he not shut it all away, slamming the door on those strange visions? Brayden looked at him like he saw the devil in him or something, right before he scrambled straight off into the bathroom. Jack could hear him retching.

For a moment, he remained where he was, on the floor, with his arms around his legs and a feeling of unease. He looked around, feeling... paranoid. Feeling... watched. But that couldn't be the case if he shut it all down, right? Or had he inadvertently made them easier to find, when he shed whatever was left of his... glamor, as Brayden called it.

Slowly, he got up off the floor, unable to clear away the vestiges of memories and lives that were long past. Jack was still a man of the present. He wasn't going to let all those weird visions cloud today, this moment. Too bad this moment was such a terrible one. It felt like he had done something awful to Brayden somehow. What with that haunted look on his face and all the retching.

"Hey," he said, standing in the bathroom doorway. "Are you... okay?"

As much as he wanted to comfort Brayden, he hadn't forgotten the sound he made when Jack touched him just a moment before. He perched on the edge of the bathtub and lowered his head. Why did he even ask that stupid question? Brayden didn't look okay.

"I don't know what just happened," he said. "But maybe it would be best if I don't... do that thing again."

[Brayden Smith]

"I'm--" He couldn't say he was okay because he wasn't okay. Bray got onto his feet and lurched toward the sink, to run some water to splash over his face and to wash the taste of bile out of his mouth. When he turned to blindly grope for a towel, he saw Jack's blurry figure perched at the edge of the bathtub. Bray wiped his face and sighed into the towel as he did so.

"Jack." After hanging up the fluffy towel, he sat down beside Jack. A part of him was wary to touch him again but... what happened wasn't Jack's fault. He had too much power out of his human form; he didn't know how to properly control it. How could he? No one taught him to. Bray didn't expect it all to unleash like that, too, or he would have tried to protect himself better.

"Hey. I'm okay. Look." Bray touched his bare arm; there was a tingle in his fingertips, but otherwise no more visions flooded him. He turned his whole body towards Jack, hugging him tightly to prove that everything was all right now. The glamor held his magic at bay. "See? It's okay. That was... it was normal. Don't feel bad."

It wasn't hard to see that Jack was wary of hurting him again, but Bray... was fine. Physically, fine. Mentally--well, there was a lot to take in and digest and make sense of. He didn't let go; instead, he let his head fall against Jack's shoulder and ran a hand through the hair at the back of his head. "Jack, I saw... I saw your father. Your real father. Just now, he--he reached out to me. And he... attacked me."

[Jack Ripley]

Jack watched Brayden with concern in his eyes, wanting to touch because that was how he imparted his comfort. And afraid to touch because... He really seemed to hurt Brayden earlier. The fact that he could even do something like that sickened him; it made him wonder if maybe not all that darkness inside was mixed in their by Keith's head games. That maybe there was just something innately dark inside that he didn't want to face.

"Oh," he said, a little sound of surprise. Bray touched his arm and nothing seemed to happen. Nothing bad, anyway. Just a gentle... tingle. The tightness in Jack's chest began to let up a little. He felt like he could breathe again. At least a little bit. His eyes closed and he smiled sadly, heart aching as Brayden embraced him. Jack leaned into him, his body, his touch. Nothing bad now. Nobody was in pain.

"Thank fuck," he said on a long held exhalation. But he didn't like how Brayden said it was normal. That was normal? To blast all kinds of strange images and memories into their fragile minds like that? Even now, Jack's head pounded from it all, from what had been imparted in that moment. Before he could ask about it, though--what was normal about that, please?--Brayden went on.

Jack froze.

"He what?"

He turned toward Brayden, hand on his chest, then up to cradle his face so he could look him eye-to-eye.

"He attacked you? How? Is that what made you sick?" He looked Brayden over, practically shaking with anger and fear. "Where? What did he do to you, B?"

[Brayden Smith]

The visions were... what they were. And they weren't all bad. Bray liked some of them, before they started to all crowd together in his mind. He sighed against Jack's shoulder. So many lifetimes together, so many of them apart... They really were bound inextricably by fate, weren't they? And there was comfort in that. In the fact that if nothing worked out in this lifetime... perhaps next time...

He had to tell Jack about... Drake Nightshade, though. That trumped all else. There was clear and present danger in that one vision alone that Bray didn't think could wait. They could revisit the other visions later but this one was urgent. His hand lifted to touch Jack's wrists; his own expression was never more serious than it was in that very moment.

"He... He tore off my wings." Bray shuddered uncontrollably as the image returned, and the crawling sensation of phantom pain in his shoulderblades where his wings would normally be outside of glamor. He even shrugged his shoulders to rid himself of the discomfort. "But--but Jack he. He said he was going to take you back. His... sons, he said. He wanted his sons back so he could... I don't know... bring the Fallen back to power?"

Bray hugged him again, even tighter than before, as though Drake Nightshade would appear right behind them to reclaim Jack. "Drake Nightshade. That's his name. The--the King of the Fallen... And you're his son..."

[Jack Ripley]

Jack swallowed hard, staring at Brayden and then past him, where wings should be. Were they really gone or was it the glamor? Jack reached up with one hand to touch Brayden's shoulder, as if he might find some kind of ruined hole where wings used to be.

"He... they're gone?" he asked, a tide of both panic and anger beginning to rise inside of his chest, choking out his voice. Jack didn't mean to sound emotional but... it was hard not to, after living a thousand lifetimes in a minute. Even now, his head hurt like hell, like his brain couldn't handle the dump that had been dropped on him.

"Sons?" Jack questioned. There were more of them? He had... brothers? Frowning slightly, Jack attempted to cross his legs, realized it was too precarious while perched on the bathtub, and only shifted his weight slightly. Despite everything, though, he let out a little delirious laugh.

"Drake Nightshade?" he repeated. "That sounds like a terrible fantasy novel villain..."

[Brayden Smith]

"No, I put my glamor back on. For protection. I don't think he can reach me as easily..." But he could be wrong. Drake Nightshade reached him and took him over; that vision felt as real as anything. Bray shrugged his shoulders again, feeling tense and... paranoid. Someone might be watching them right now, or listening in on them. The bathroom was not protected, though.

With a start, Bray stood. "We have to get back to the bedroom!" Not that it helped him earlier, but there was marginally more safety there than in here. "And--yes. Sons, he said. If he's fallen, Drake Nightshade might be a name he made up. I don't... think most fae parents name their children that."

Back in the bedroom, he slid onto the bed and sat with his legs crossed. Bray breathed in deep, trying to calm himself. "I can... share the vision with you, if you want to see it." His skin crawled at the thought of revisiting that nightmarish scene, but Jack also had a right to know. If he was really the son of this fallen king, then he was royalty after all--and his brothers were out there, too.

[Jack Ripley]

"Oh. Good."

Relief flooded his entire being. Reassured somewhat, Jack ran his hand over Brayden's back, stroking it gently. Poor baby. That sounded like an awful vision. Was that what it was? Jack hadn't seen that one but he was half glad he hadn't and half worried about why it had been thrust upon Brayden. Was it because Jack immediately shut everything down at that point? Was... it meant for Jack?

"Ah. Right."

Jack slowly got to his feet and followed Brayden into the bedroom. Now it didn't feel nearly as safe as Margie said it would be. Was their combined love magic not enough to shut out such horrible visions...? Jack joined Brayden on the bed, one leg propped on the bed while the other dangled over the edge of the bed, toes on the ground. It was to keep himself grounded. He was feeling... less than safe right now.

"...should you?" Jack asked, though he did slide his hands over Brayden's knees. "If it's going to hurt you or make you... sick..." It was hard not to remember that awful, haunted look in Brayden's eyes as he snapped out of that vision. Jack thought it was him that did it to him. But now it was even worse... his so-called father--king of the fallen--had done it.

"Are you strong enough? It seemed to... take a lot out of you, B."

[Brayden Smith]

"I think you should see it. Him." Bray thought that if it were his father, his hidden heritage, he would have wanted to see him. Jack must have had so many questions now—not many that Bray could answer—but perhaps showing him the man and his intentions would put some questions to rest. At the very least... it would validate that growing up without him was, perhaps, not a bad thing after all.

He eased himself closer to Jack and smiled slowly to reassure him. "I'll be fine. I can make a hallucination. Not... the real vision. So we'll be okay, I think. Come here, come closer."

Bray reached out to take Jack's hands in his again and closed his eyes. He had to let his glamor fall one more time—hesitantly, but perhaps now that he was on guard, he would be ready for another... attack? Or whatever that was. The magic wove itself into his wings, webbed out across the veins and arches, and then the room changed. It was black again, save for the spot of light illuminating the man on the black metal throne.

They were standing off to one side like spectators to the scene. Bray held Jack's hand to lead him closer as the vision played itself out one more time; Bray venturing closer, the man speaking in that dangerous tone, the way he subdued Bray with one motion of the hand...

[Jack Ripley]

Jack wasn't so sure but if Brayden had to endure it, then Jack supposed he should, too. Swallowing hard, he nodded at Brayden's smile. It only reassured him slightly, but not much, like a fretful dog on the fourth of July. All the reassuring hands and voices in the world weren't going to stop that... feeling inside. Still, he made himself smile back, hands in Brayden's hands.

Should... he close his eyes, too? Slowly, he did so and he waited.

The black of his closed eyes washed away, giving way to a spot of light. Jack strained to look at what he was seeing. A man on a throne. A man that, honestly, looked like an older version of Jack himself. Like... the visuals were striking enough to nearly shock him back to opening his eyes. But there were differences. Key differences. This man's face was harder, the lines on them were creased and dark, as if this man never knew an ounce of joy in his entire life. He was more angular. There was nothing the slightest bit... soft about him.

Was this what Keith was trying to change Jack into? Some old, humorless bastard? Maybe he was in love with this man. He always did act as though Jack was pathetic. In comparison to... to this, he was sure everybody looked "soft."

But then the harsh words. And then the abuse.

Even knowing it was a replay of a vision, Jack came out of it sweating and feeling distinctly unwell. Now he fully understood why Brayden made for the toilet immediately afterward. Jack breathed in through his nose, deeply. Swallowed hard again. Then he slowly opened his eyes.

"I don't think Keith is our biggest problem," he said sadly. It was only stating the obvious but it felt so... heavy to admit it out loud. A part of him wanted to do what he always did when things got hairy; he wanted to run. But there was nowhere to run, was there? No matter where they went, where they tried to go, they were going to be hunted and discovered until that bastard got what he wanted.

"...and what about... these other sons he's talking about? Do you think they know... or should we warn them?"

[Brayden Smith]

Having lived it, even watching it a second time made Bray feel nauseous. He still felt the pain—it was real pain, too, not something imagined. In that moment when his wings were torn from him, he felt like he was dying a hundred thousand deaths simultaneously. Luckily it was over soon, and having the security of knowing that it was a hallucination and not a real vision made him feel very slightly better. Not by much, but he would take it.

Jack, on the other hand, looked visibly shaken. Bray slipped an arm around his waist, hoping that simple human touch could bring a modicum of comfort. His glamor replenished itself over him again, leaving the room quiet, still, save for the deep breaths that they were both taking as they tried to keep the nausea down. "No... Keith isn't our biggest problem by far," Bray replied in equally sad tones, and then kissed Jack softly on the jaw. More support, more comfort, as much good as it could do for them in the moment.

"I don't know who his other sons are but—maybe Raphael does. He said he worked with Keith, right? He could tell us why Keith was doing those things to you, or maybe who and where those other—your brothers are."

It felt strange to use that word—brother. But it was true. Drake Nightshade had said it himself, that he was out to find his sons and to restore his kingdom. Did that mean he needed them all assembled? Before anything could happen? Bray frowned as his other arm slid around Jack's midsection, hugging him from the side loosely.

"My mother... once told me a story about a dark prince. A fae who... abandoned the royal family, his own family, and sacrificed his soul to gain power. I thought it was just a bedtime story but... but maybe it was true. Jack? Do you think your father was that fae? In the story, he vows to create his own kingdom, and... and then... to-to kill all fae. To turn them into dark creatures like himself... A dark king..." Bray paused. "Can... can we... google this?"

[Jack Ripley]

"Hm."

There it was. His thoughtful sound. His gaze, far away. Brayden was right; maybe Raphael knew something. It wasn't far-fetched to think so, especially since he admitted to working with Keith. And Keith seemed to know a lot more than Jack would like him to know. He wished he could get his hands on that bastard. He could leave the rest to Margie but... he really needed answers. Not just about these mysterious brothers of his but... about everything. His past. Why Keith was so relentless in his pursuit of him. The... the deaths. He really wanted Jack to go crazy, didn't he?

Taking in a breath, he leaned closer to Brayden for the emotional support. But he remained silent for a long moment. Brothers. It really was strange to Jack, too. He'd grown up his entire life without real brothers, just assholes like Keith from the neighborhood. People who never had his real best interests at heart. What were his brothers like? Did they live terrible lives, too? And was there anything Jack and Brayden and Margie could do for them if they did find them?

"He might be, yeah," Jack said. The story sounded so real now, and not long ago, he would have thought it nothing more than a child's tale as well. Now... it just might be the origin story of his own father. He let out a soft laugh, though.

"I don't think we can google something like this." His mirth turned to realization, though, as he quickly slid off the bed, giving Brayden's hand a squeeze before he let go of him. "Hang on!"

He went for his phone, then gracefully dropped down onto the bed beside Brayden again.

"Let's see what Margie's finding out, shall we?"

[Brayden Smith]

Bray didn't set out to be funny but he drew a small laugh out of Jack anyway, which was nice. It was nice to know that he could still laugh in a time like this. That meant it wasn't entirely hopeless. But since Jack didn't think much of his idea, Bray didn't pursue it. He merely thought that perhaps those fanciful stories posted all over the internet might have some truth to them. If what his mother told him was true, and it sounded like a far-fetched tale, maybe others...

Well, if Jack didn't think it would work, then it probably wouldn't. It was kind of a long shot, anyway, wasn't it?

He watched Jack grabbing his phone, mystified until he clarified. Ah, Marge—she seemed to be in the thick of the supernatural world. It kind of made sense; she was a bartender, after all. Who knew what kinds of people she talked to on a daily basis? Bray trusted her not to lead them astray. He leaned back into Jack once he returned and scanned the conversation being held.

Until...

Bray cleared his throat. "Ah. She's. Would. You two?" It sounded like they were talking about—helping Marge with certain physical frustrations. Bray's face felt a little warm as he recalled her proposing a threesome earlier. He shot that down because at the time he wanted to be with Jack only. He still did, but somehow the thought of Jack 'helping' her in that department didn't upset him as much as he thought it would.

And really, Bray was not possessive or jealous. He knew that Jack wasn't about to skip out on him for Marge—not that he wouldn't have a good reason to! Marge was a special woman and she was very attractive by any standard. But Jack was committed to Bray and vice versa; they had exchanged True Names. Jack and Marge were both highly sexual people as well, while Bray was a little bit... late to the party, as it were.

Clearing his throat again, he turned to Jack, placing a hand against his forearm. He stroked it absently. "Would you...?" Marge sounded serious. Did Jack... Would he go through with it, if Bray gave permission?

[Jack Ripley]

Oh.

Jack didn't have anything left to hide from Brayden, but he still felt like he'd been caught cheating when Brayden asked him that question. It was a remnant of the past; Jack was a free love sort of guy. He had been so robbed of love in his life that perhaps he felt comfortable giving and receiving as much as possible, from any number of people at once. But he didn't know how Brayden felt about all that. If he was more of a one-person man--which he really seemed to be. And shy, to boot. Probably way too shy for threesomes and foursomes and...

It was just kind of hard to picture his soft, proper Brayden engaging in the same sort of sex acts that Jack had in the past.

"Well," he said slowly, trying to say it as nicely as possible, "If you're asking if I'd have sex with Margie... then... yes." Although he would admit this to himself--he would prefer there be another man in the mix. Jack was queer and not precisely gay but... he was definitely leaning much further towards the homosexual persuasion on the Kinsey scale.

Still, Margie was attractive and she was in dire need and he had what she needed so...

"Yes," he said again, "but not if you don't want me to."

He stroked Brayden's hair soothingly. All he could do was just tell the truth. They already gave themselves to one another as completely as they could. There wasn't room for hiding or half truths. He got the sense that Brayden would know, anyway, if he even bothered to try.

"She has a lot of options, she's just blocking them out because she's made us her newest project."