We Are Bulletproof

Fresh off a successful game night, Bray felt extremely uplifted and optimistic. Everyone had a great time; the most unexpected person won (Niall) and there was some controversy over how he did it, but overall nobody came to blows over the card game and in the end they all agreed that Niall deserved the grand prize, which was to not have to clean up. It surprised—and amused—him how seriously some people took the game, though. Ken even pulled him over to one side to ask what the next game was, and when Bray told him that he didn't know, Ken requested that when he did know, to let him know so that he could appropriately research it and read the rules.

Ah, Bray thought, Ken was like him—he liked to be prepared.

As he was clearing up with the others, he heard a certain sour somebody claiming that he might as well have cheated too, and used his powers to sway the dice rolls. Bray couldn't help smiling to himself. He saw Rhys taking Raf's game pieces throughout the evening, as though he had every right to have them—and Raf offered up no resistance, looking happy to be there even though half the time he didn't know what he was doing. Well, at least he had fun. And Rhys did too, at points, Bray was sure, despite his grumbling!

But throughout the evening, Bray was distracted thinking about his past, shared lives with Jack. The evening of the game night there was too much going on to properly dive into their conversation but Bray did what Brays did best—think. He thought about it as they were cleaning up, thought about it as he laid in bed with Jack and he thought about it the morning after and throughout the day. The next evening presented an opportunity for him to be alone with Jack briefly; Ken had taken Niall out to the courtyard in search of privacy, the two young lovers were over at Bray's apartment—Bray told Raf he could pick out a teacup to start his new collection—and Marge...

Marge was laying on the couch with a hot towel over her eyes, still suffering from a horrible hangover from the night before.

Bray slipped a hand up Jack's arm. Dinner was simmering on the stove, garlic bread was baking in the oven and for the first time in what felt like years, they had no prying eyes on them. "Hey." He pulled Jack closer by the arm, smiling. "I've been thinking about those visions. Do you think you're ready to give them another try tonight?"

Jack Ripley

Game night had definitely been a thing. It was no raging party from his 20s but it was fun in a different sort of way. Jack admittedly never took the games very seriously, even when it was just himself and Brayden. It was never about the games themselves for him; it was about having time with Brayden. And he sort of had time with him, even if not nearly as often as he liked. Mostly, he just had to deal with looking at him or watching him and wishing he would stop not being close to him but Brayden insisted.

It didn't help, though. Jack was still distracted by him and he was pretty sure Brayden was just as distracted by him.

And now... Now, Jack leaned into Brayden and kissed him on the forehead as he was drawn in close. Despite everything, it was so easy to be with Brayden. Or maybe because of everything. He smiled peacefully, up until the mention of the visions.

Honestly, they scared Jack. He didn't know that he liked how it felt, having all those... memories hitting him like a hammer. Plus, he felt like he physically assaulted Brayden with them the last time it happened, what with him getting sick. But maybe that had more to do with the... other thing. Jack's father.

If he had visions, then Jack couldn't exactly sit on his abilities. And there must have been a reason they were suppressed for so long. It took him literally swallowing magical fairy fizz for him to awaken to his powers. Niall used his powers without even trying! And Rhys had unnerving control over his powers but of course he would, he knew he had them his entire life. But the point was--they all used their powers a lot sooner than Jack did.

So... that had to mean... something, did it not?

With a sigh, he rested his cheek against Brayden's temple.

"I think I have to be ready or we're going to end up fucked, and not in the good way."

"No, not... definitely not in a good way," Bray sighed as he melted into Jack. They sort of just propped each other up for a moment as Bray's arms wrapped tightly around Jack's waist and he leaned into him. Those affectionate kisses to strange but endearing places were harder to come by lately, with so many people around who needed their time and energy. Most of them could take care of themselves but the ones who seemed to need attention needed a lot of attention. And Bray was too soft-hearted to tell them to buzz off while he stole a couple of hours alone with Jack, knowing that everyone's lives were disrupted at the moment, not only his own.

Still, he wondered often when it would all end. Or—where. Would it end when they got rid of Keith? When they confronted Jack's father? What was the end point here? Bray wished he knew, or that someone could tell him. From what Rhys said, the Fallen King wanted to resurrect his kingdom but also that he wanted to reclaim his sons. That meant he wanted to take them and... there didn't seem to be any way to negotiate with someone like that, was there?

"We can do it while the others are having dinner." They could serve themselves, and dinner would take them at least an hour with everyone chatting and still getting to know one another. Niall and Raf could talk up a storm on their own; together they were something of an unstoppable force. Bray pulled away slowly. "I'll put the food out. Do you want to go to the bedroom and start your meditation? I'll let Marge know what we're doing, in case we need someone to pull us out of the visions."

"Yeah..."

Reluctantly, he pulled away from Brayden. He should start meditating now, to get the process underway. He cast a longing look at the place where his alcohol used to be. Brayden had locked it all away, lest their resident addict get his hands on it. But he could use a little liquid courage right about now. Instead, he kissed Brayden once more, gave his hand a squeeze and then forced himself to go to the bedroom.

Sitting in the middle of his enormous bed, legs crossed, hands on his knees, he closed his eyes. He took in a deep breath, let it out slowly, counting. One, two, three... Another deep breath... He needed to clear his mind. But what came next, after that? How did he... tap into those memories? Visions? How did he direct his mind forward or backward?

He opened his eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh before dropping down onto his back on the bed.

"Scream if you need me," drawled Marge as she lifted a corner of the towel so that she could look at Bray. "I'll be here wishing I was dead. No big." She replaced the towel.

Smiling, but somehow not exactly reassured by her attitude towards this undertaking, Bray went into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. The food had been left out with a note telling everyone not to wait for him and Jack. They could serve themselves; he already made the salad and had the bread warming in the oven.

Bray entered in time to see Jack falling onto the bed in frustration, a sight that made him laugh softly. He scrambled into bed too and crawled the hundred meters over to the center of the mattress where Jack was. (Okay, not that drastic, but the bed really was extravagantly large!)

"Are you okay?" He cupped Jack's face with one hand, sitting cross-legged beside him. "Did you manage to clear your mind?"

"No," Jack said as he turned to look up at Brayden. "Help me."

He was no good at this. And part of it was because he wasn't sure he wanted to be good at it. This, coming from a nothing street brat that managed to get into and graduate from Harvard with dual degrees and a pretty intelligent head on his shoulders. Admittedly, his interest in the psychological part was selfish but it did teach him quite a lot.

But now? Now he was lying on his back in bed, trying to clear his mind. Without sitting up--maybe lying down would help--he closed his eyes again. More breaths, concentrating on the beat of his heart, the flow of his blood.

"How do I access the visions, B?"

Jack didn't look in any way, shape or form relaxed so Bray slowly laid down beside him, curling up against him for warmth and a measure of comfort and familiarity. Just like when they slept, he wrapped his arms around Jack and pulled himself closer, twining a leg with his, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his head. Bedtime was the only time they had to be this close, and for Bray it was very relaxing and very intimate to lay with him, even without doing anything naughty.

"Breathe. Focus on the sound of my voice. Block out everything else. Imagine a book lying on a table. Imagine yourself walking up to that book, slowly. Slowly... We're not in a hurry, right? We just want to see what the book is about but we're not trying to read all of it right now. Now imagine flipping open that book, just the cover... Now you're turning a page... It's the first page... Do you see anything?"

Better.

Much better.

Now Jack could actually relax.

He took in a deep breath again. Focusing on Brayden, that was never a problem. So he followed along, blocking out every other thing except Brayden's voice. A book appeared in his imagination, a thick book, with a nice leather cover and fancy words gilded in gold leaf. He stepped forward and touched the book. He could feel the leather under his fingertips, the gilded letters.

Opening it, he found a white blank page.

"...no... just..."

As he watched the page, though, words began to pop up, in an old fashioned looking script. It figured that his imagination would summon up something beautiful and totally his aesthetic. When he touched the page, the words began to shiver and shake and then they slid up his fingertips and up his arm.

"Oh... oh shit."

The words were becoming visual as they seeped into his head.

"I see... you. But you're younger."

Bray didn't actually expect Jack to get anywhere his first time summoning a vision. This was difficult; it was magic of a high order that most fae couldn't even fathom. For Jack to unleash so much power the first time really spoke to his heritage; it was an old family that he belonged to, and one with an impressive magical lineage.

But as expected of a Harvard graduate, Jack stepped up to the plate and hit a home run. Even Bray couldn't help feeling a thrill of excitement when Jack began to speak. "Hold it," he whispered, so as not to break Jack's concentration. "Hold the vision, I'm going to join you right now. Hold it steady, like you're... pausing a TV show. Let everything stay just the way it is... for a moment..."

He closed his eyes. At first there was darkness, but slowly it began to fade. A picture emerged of a young boy strolling slowly through a dingy alleyway at night. It looked like a younger version of himself but the clothes were wrong; they were like something out of the 1940s. And he was dirty, obviously a vagrant or homeless, with holes patched over in different colored cloth. Yet, he was smiling and whistling a jaunty, soft tune as he walked.

He turned into a dimly lit doorway and knocked softly on it a few times, still smiling. Slowly the door creaked open; a pair of eyes peeped out. "Hallo Jackie boy," young Bray whispered, winking. "Not too late for a visit, I 'ope!"

"...okay."

He held his breath for a moment, like if he breathed, the scene unfolding in his vision would move on without Brayden around to join him. And then... The young Brayden lookalike continued, humming, confident, nothing at all like Brayden that Jack currently knew. He knocked at a door and Jack waited curiously as somebody edged a door partway open to peek out. Jackie?

That almost made him laugh; what were the chances of his name being the same across different lives? And the world he was seeing... it didn't look magical, which somewhat disappointed him. He had been half hoping to see the fairy realm. Did they live all their past lives on Earth? No... because he remembered many of the visions that didn't, like the one where he had been watching Brayden marry somebody else. That had definitely been filled with a sense of... magic, and odd architecture.

But this wasn't that far back, was it? Maybe just a life ahead of this one...

He watched the vision unfold with a million thoughts on his mind and he was surprised they didn't pull him away from what he was seeing. But they didn't; it was like he had to see the vision through now that he'd accessed it. And it must be... important, if it was in the book... yes?

The Jackie that opened the door did appear to look like him and again, he thought it somewhat amusing that they always looked the same in every life, too. What was this? What did it mean?

"What're you doing here?" said the Jackie at the door, standing super tall and super straight and super stiff as he closed the door behind him and stood with his back to the door. "You shouldn't be here!"

Past-Bray pressed his cheek to the door and splayed his fingers flat against it as though he could somehow connect to the person on the other side. The Jackie inside couldn't see his expression but it was filled with wistfulness and pain. That jaunty smile had faded; for a moment he looked so full of longing that it struck something deep within Bray, too, recalling how much it hurt to be rejected in just such a way by his past lovers.

Only this time it was past-Jack rejecting him, and he knew that it had to hurt a hundred thousand times more than anything a past lover had ever done to him.

"Come on, Jackie," Past-Bray whispered pleadingly, still pressed against the door, eyes closed. "Just five minutes? I couldn't hardly get a glimpse of you with that old battleaxe guarding you day and night. I just... want to see you. You don't have to let me in. Let me see you."

What are you doing? Jack wanted to shake the young Jackie by the shoulders. He looked right proper, too. Like a little prince with a carefully cared for coif of dark curls and fancy looking clothing, as if he'd come home from some kind of... social function. Did his past self want to protect Brayden too? Or was he really unhappy to see him? It was hard to tell by vision alone.

"That battleaxe is my father," said Jackie indignantly. But his fingers curled inward. Probably pretty hard for him to turn down that pleading tone. And he didn't, because a moment later, he opened the door again.

"And you know you shouldn't be here." He peered down the street, first one way and then the other. But after a moment, he moved back to allow the younger Brayden inside, perhaps finding it less dangerous than having Brayden begging at his door.

Past-Bray laughed softly at the indignant tone, but he didn't appear sorry. He did however put that carefree expression back up as he heard the door unlocking and his smile was bright as anything when Jackie not only opened the door but allowed him space to enter—which he did, with alacrity.

Inside, Bray could see the opulence and it reminded him strongly of Jack's rooms now. The trappings and furnishings were of an older style, but they definitely screamed upper class. Tasteful. Rich. And Past-Bray standing there in his rags seemed awfully out of place but he didn't even seem to notice it himself. His eyes were glued to Jackie, and the smile softened into one of genuine pleasure.

"You look a treat," he said admiringly, even though his gaze hadn't even flicked past Jackie's face. "Another fancy supper?" Past-Bray stepped toward him and reached out to lightly brush his fingertips over Jackie's sleeve. His hand dipped; the fingertips brushed the back of Jackie's hand.

This Past-Bray was clearly more... forward than present Bray, he could clearly say. Out of the corner of his eye, Bray caught something strangely out of place. On the far table by the closed windows with the rich purple velvet curtains, there was a tiny metal square. What was that doing there? Bray tried to focus on it as the scene unfolded; Past-Bray was holding Jackie's hand now, stepping closer, still smiling in that soft, soft way. "I missed you something awful, Jackie."

Is this where it came from? Jack's unreasonable love of old, beautiful, fashionable things? Of rich colors and huge four poster beds with soft bedding and clothes that fit well, in colors and patterns only a brave man could pull off? It never made sense, given where current Jack came from. But he loved all these things, even now. Was it run-off from the most previous life...?

"I was meeting my fiancée's family..." Jackie said softly. He looked so young. Late teens, very early twenties. And he was already marrying... And apparently... not Brayden. His heart hurt. But of course, this was a different time. Men couldn't love other men in the open, not back then.

Past-Brayden was so brazen, though. Look at him. Stepping closer, hand in Jackie's hand. And Jackie taking it. His eyes were so soft and shining when they looked at Past-Brayden. Was... that how he looked at Brayden now? Jack was too wrapped up in the moment to even notice that Brayden was no longer paying attention to the scene unfolding before them.

"We can't keep meeting like this," said Jackie. "Soon, I'll have a wife and..." He stopped talking, though, because his lips were on Past-Brayden's and he was kissing him with fervor and need, as if he couldn't stand the thought of a wife--neither could current Jack--and wanted more than anything to make that moment with his apparent lover last forever.

"Brayden," current Jack whispered, "I don't know if I want to keep watching this..."

There was a word on the metal square. It was no bigger than the size of one of Birdy Bee Cafe's cookies, but he saw the writing on it growing clearer the more he squinted at it: armed.

What did that mean?

Past-Bray uttered a sound so jarring that it snapped him back to the present. Past. To the vision. It was a sound Bray never thought possible coming from him or even an iteration of him—the sound of so much pain and anguish and need and stark emotion that it shocked him. He watched past-Bray clinging to Jackie as they kissed fiercely, bodies fused, stumbling back towards the four-poster bed with its gilt bedposts and fancy silk sheets.

That—this Past-Bray was definitely very, very bold. Or very desperate, because Bray heard the part about a fiancee and wife and—children. But they wouldn't be children Jackie shared with Bray. This felt like a good-bye. It was a good-bye.

"Let's go." He knew that what happened next was not for their eyes, even though this was them in a different life. And maybe Bray didn't want to watch himself being pushed to the brink of desperation like this, holding on to the man he loved even though he knew that he could never truly have him. "Close the book, Jack, and open your eyes."

Brayden didn't have to tell him twice. Their past selves were breaking his heart in two and he didn't want to see where it all led. It didn't look good for either of them. Jack couldn't even imagine living his life with some random woman for the rest of his life, pretending he never met Brayden. The love of his life, his soulmate, his true love--to get a little Disney with it.

He imagined the book again and it was easier this time, since he had formed such a strong vision of it before in his mind. There it was, familiar as he quickly closed the book and opened his eyes.

"...fuck."

Taking in a deep breath, he opened his eyes in real life, staring up at the familiar ceiling of his apartment, feeling the bed underneath him, his leg intertwined with Brayden's. His heart still ached and beat funny. He slid his hand over it, then looked over, relieved to see Brayden there. Part of him thought he would just vanish, even though he clearly felt his body curled up beside him.

Propping himself up, he brushed his fingertips over Brayden's jaw before kissing him. Everything here was fine. Everything was good. There were no fiancées hiding in the wings, no people watching them like hawks to make sure they were straight, not even something as hideous as Jack being an actual killer. Just the two of them.

"I don't think I like the past," he whispered as the kiss came to a natural conclusion.

So that could have gone better... Even Bray's heart twisted violently in his chest when he opened his eyes, fearing the worst—that what they saw was the reality and this was nothing more than a dream. He knew that the phantom pain in his chest would dissipate in time but in that moment he couldn't have felt more heartbroken for his past self.

Jack seemed to have the same reaction; while he cursed, Bray took in a long, deep breath to steady himself. Their kiss felt bittersweet in the aftermath of what they saw but it ended sweetly and Bray's clenched fingers in Jack's shirt loosened as their lips parted. Even so, for just a moment, he was afraid to reopen his eyes. Jack was still there, though, when he did open them and he breathed another sigh of relief.

"I guess we didn't work out in that one," he whispered, pulling Jack back into himself to hold him tightly. "But that's—it's all behind us. We're here. We're together." Bray breathed him in, recalling with a pang how his past self had sounded when he realized that he would lose Jackie. Meeting the parents of his fiancee meant that the marriage was being finalized, didn't it? And his past self, he was never going to be the same after that.

"Jack? I saw something else in the vision. Something didn't belong there." He finally loosened his hold on Jack. "There was a metal piece on the table with a word on it. I think it was a clue. It said armed... What does that mean? Armed?"

What a coward, he thought. The past Jack. Jackie. He was a coward, for going along with his parents' wishes for him! He couldn't help feeling resentful towards... himself, even if it was the past. Did he not even want to fight for Brayden? He was just going to let him go like that? Because the rest of the world didn't like it?

The world was such an unfair place. Not that long ago, even in this world, in this timeline, people were still being stoned to death or discriminated against and all because of what? Love? Because they loved somebody? Why were people so goddamn hateful?

Taking in another deep breath, he tried to calm himself down. It was fine, he had to tell himself. Nobody was doing anything to the two of them now. Nobody was being a coward. Jack wondered if that was why he was so unapologetically queer, because of a lingering sense of shame for his past.

"What?" Jack didn't expect what Brayden observed in the vision. He stared at him. A metal piece? Armed? Armed? "I don't know. I mean... it could mean... like an alarm? Or... armed like... with a weapon? That doesn't make sense, though."

They were both so young in the vision, no more than maybe twenty or so. To have that put on their shoulders at such a young age was sad and unfortunate. And Bray had been poor, while Jackie was rich—another barrier between them in a time where class differences were heightened and prominent in society.

For that poor Jackie to fall in love with a poor man seemed like a death knell to their ill-fated affair. Bray didn't blame either of them; he merely felt sad for them. He wondered what happened to them, whether Jackie married his fiancee, where his past self ended up. Only one lifetime ago, they were forced apart...

Bray let go of Jack and scrambled off the bed, diving for a pen and pencil. He came back and wrote down the word: armed. Didn't hurt to take copious notes! "I feel like we need to see more visions. There must be other clues in other lives, Jack!" A spark of excitement lit his eyes as he leaned forward eagerly, momentarily shedding the heaviness from the first vision. Bray tapped the notepad with the tip of the pen. "Somebody left messages for us in these past lives. That's why we lived them all together!"

"Where are you going?" Jack asked, lamenting Brayden's move away from him.

All he wanted to do now was be close to Brayden after that. To erase the bad feeling it gave him in his heart. But Brayden was off on some excited tangent and Jack sat up, watching him as he brought a notepad over and wrote the word down. Armed. It still meant... nothing to Jack.

"Somebody left messages...?" Jack asked skeptically. "Who? One of us?"

Somebody else? Who else would even be invested in their connected lives together? And what made Brayden so sure that it was a message or that there were more in other visions? Jack's heart plummeted at the idea of having to go through more visions. Also... he didn't like the idea that they only lived all their lives together because some voyeur was connecting them together through visions. He preferred the more romantic notion that they were soulmates, thank you very much.

But if they were, then why were they separated in some? It still hurt his heart, thinking about it.

"You want me to look at another one?"

They sort of had to, if they were going to lend any credence to Brayden's hypothesis. Either there would be another message or there wouldn't be. And from there... They would know, at least, that there were messages or not. Jack sighed.

"Fine." He laid back down, placing both hands over his heart like he had to protect it physically. "But you better find something in this one, too..." He didn't want to do this again for nothing.

"Yes. Please. Let's see one more, Jack."

There was a bigger picture here that neither of them were seeing. They were part of a puzzle—each life was a piece of that puzzle, forming an image that was impossible to view in its entirety until every piece was collected and fit together in just the right way. And this life—this might be the final puzzle piece. This life was meant for them to find all the other pieces—the other words—to spell out the message.

What that said for them, Bray didn't know, but his sense of duty couldn't let him sit idly by, just as he couldn't imagine himself staying home and having wild parties while an entire kingdom saw him as a prince and needed his protection. Self-sacrificing was the one thing that everyone thought of him, and it didn't stop at risking his own happiness for the greater good. There had to be a greater good here. There had to be an end game to ending all of this... this madness, this nightmare, for not only himself but for Niall and Rhys and everyone affected by the Fallen King.

Still... He didn't like the thought of this being the final life he could live with Jack. He didn't want it all to end, even if some lives ended badly. Lots of them had to end well, too. Those lives were probably just as beautiful as this one, if not more so. He set the notepad down and laid down beside Jack; his lips found Jack's jaw, then his lips. The kiss was longer than the last one and softer, sweeter.

"I know it's hard." His hand slipped over Jack's, the two clasping his chest over his heart. "I know we're doing something we probably... don't want to do, but it's for all of us, Jack. It's for your brothers and their lovers, for Margie and Allie and everybody that got dragged into this mess with us. We have to do our best for them, too, right? If-if we could give them a good life, it's all worth it. They didn't have other lives together, and this is the only one any of them have, to be happy together. Okay?"

One more. Just one more for now. As much as he didn't want to, he felt like he had to, since Brayden wanted him to. Plus, it only took one more to prove or disprove Brayden's theory. Still, he couldn't quite shake that feeling of watching their past selves, breaking up. Why that memory? Why that moment?

The kiss soothed him a little but not as much as he wished it did. His hands were warm under Brayden's. He felt like the beat of his heart could be felt even through his own hands, as if Brayden sensed his feelings on the matter. Of course he did. He was Brayden.

"We don't know that," he said. "That my visions are the way to save them."

But it was still a possibility. Jack didn't know how he felt about that. So much responsibility weighed on top of him and he wasn't exactly known for being the best under pressure. In fact, if anything, Jack chafed under pressure. Cracked. Why else did he move away and avoid being caught for crimes he thought he certainly committed instead of confessing and putting himself away to save people in the future...?

He wasn't proud of it. But he could be... selfish.

"Let's just..." He closed his eyes and took a breath. "Let's just do it."

There was no avoiding it, so it was better to get it out of the way. Otherwise, it was only going to keep weighing on him. And the best way to cure that was alcohol and he knew how Brayden felt about that.

Again, he imagined that book. And he imagined flipping to another page, this time skipping a few and opening it somewhere towards the middle. He had no idea what it would mean but he didn't want to move to the next one up, okay? Not after what he had just experienced.

This time, when the words appeared and crawled up his arm, he was ready. Setting his jaw, he waited for the words to hit his mind, to visualize them. The vision swam into view, this time it was light, bright out and if he had wanted something more... fantastic, he was getting it this time.

He blinked at the strangeness of the world around him.

It was... beautiful. There were buildings in trees, with long, wooden swinging bridges. And homes built on the ground around them were close to the trees, too. Some were even built into rolling hills and everything was green and blooming with bright spots of colorful flowers. Sitting on one of the bridges were two boys, in their teens. Jack immediately recognized them. It was them, together again. Always together, it seemed, somehow, even when they were falling apart.

This time, however, they were both smiling as they swung their legs over the side of the bridge, leaning against the rope and looking down. Young Jack had a conspiratorial grin on his face as he leaned into Young Brayden and he swung a long, gangly leg over so that his ankle crossed with Young Brayden's. He turned toward Young Brayden.

"Bow your head, Prince Brayden," he said. They still had their names. How? But he watched keenly as Young Jack presented a flower crown and set it on Young Brayden's head. This time, Young Brayden did wear nice clothing, nothing worn or patched. They were both well dressed, actually. Young Jack wore a pretty silver metal bracelet and his boots were calf-high with an ornate design pressed into the leather. Young Brayden wore a silk tunic. He looked... beautiful.

"Are you nervous about your coronation?" Young Jack asked as he lowered his hands and leaned back, swinging their legs together. "Just give me the signal and I can distract everybody long enough for you to get away," he said, with a very Jack-like wink.

"I love you, Jack," Bray whispered, knowing that Jack was only doing this to please him. It wasn't hard to see that Jack didn't want to go through with another vision, when the first disturbed him—disturbed them both—so much. That semi-nauseous feeling had yet to leave Bray's stomach either but if they didn't do this now, they might not have another chance later, with everyone surrounding them requiring their attention in some form.

He settled down beside Jack again and closed his eyes and took comfort in their physical closeness in the moment. Past lives had no bearing on them in the present, he had to remember that. What happened before was no indication of what was to come, which was a little consolation prize in the midst of all this madness. They had yet to touch on Jack's ability to see into the future but that wasn't something easily taught in one evening. It was much more unpredictable, too, and asking him to peek into the future now would be like asking him to fly before he could crawl!

This time the vision was much brighter and lighter. Bray looked around at the beautiful dwellings; it was a fae kingdom! Nature was prominent all around them and even the very houses and dwellings were woven into trees and hillsides, blending in with the scenery. They came upon two boys, again a vision of them when they were young. Why when they were young? Why not in the advanced stages of life? Or was there something here, in this time, that they needed to see?

Young Brayden—Prince Brayden—lowered his head with a secretive smile. Through the screen of hair that fell over his eyes he covertly studied his companion, a young and handsome, immaculately dressed boy with the same loose curls drifting over the curve of his cheekbones. Jack's eyes were the same hazel color, too, seeming so much brighter and livelier outside in the dappled sunlight.

Brayden laughed gently as the flower crown landed on his head. "I'm not... not nervous," he sighed, edging closer towards Jack. His hand inched toward Jack's too, and his pinkie curled against Jack's shyly—that was definitely something even present-day Bray would have done. Their shoulders brushed at first and then lightly touched and Brayden's cheeks flushed softly pink.

"I'm not sure my mother would like me running off in the middle of my coronation..." The smile on his face was a little goofy, probably because they were touching in that innocent way that very young people in love tended to initiate. "And especially if the distraction came from one of the Kings of the other houses! But—I thank you, your majesty, for the very generous offer." He laughed again, quietly. "Was it scary? Your coronation I mean? You had such a big party afterwards, I don't know how you managed to go in for lessons the next day!"

"Scary? No way! It was one of the best days of my life!" The way Jack grinned said it all; he had probably unabashedly soaked in the attention of his subjects. Ah, he was wearing an actual crown on his head. Nothing too gaudy but tasteful and with a definite flash that was every bit as Jack today as it was Jack in this world.

"And if you'll remember, I didn't even pay attention to lessons that day. Go on and ask me anything about it. I was still pretty high on all that chyro-honey wine and those golden flower biscuits everybody was plying me with. My advice: don't imbibe too much or you're going to see stars for days."

Jack pressed the side of his head against one of the ropes of the bridge, his gaze on Brayden. He wasn't smiling anymore but his eyes still held a definite warmth in them when they lit on Brayden.

"I just wish my father was still alive to see me running his House for him... I know I should have been more careful with all that wine, seeing as he died that way... But..."

Jack in the present looked to Brayden. This was all very fascinating, even if he didn't fully understand what was going on. This Jack was a king? And Brayden was going to be one, too?

"Do you see anything strange yet? Any hints?"

"Not yet..."

Bray was looking half at the scene unfolding before them and half all around, trying to find something out of place like that metal platte from the first vision. But in the midst of all this greenery and natural scenery, he saw nothing that stood out to him. There was just... green grass, a fast-flowing river and two young boys who were the prior incarnation of himself and Jack. Slowly, he walked towards the pair, knowing that they were nothing but ghosts in this scene—only spectators, not participants.

Brayden's hand slipped fully over Jack's. Prince Brayden, King Jack. "Getting smashed on wine won't be an issue for me, seeing as how I can't drink more than a thimblefull without feeling light-headed!" He shook his head in exasperation at himself, but laughed anyway. "If anyone offers me wine, I'll pass it along to you under the table, and you can drink for me."

Not the wisest plan, thought Bray, given how present Jack took to liquor to solve his troubles but these two probably didn't know the extent of their troubles yet. Prince Brayden's gaze softened too and he squeezed King Jack's hand. "Your father would be proud of you if he could see you now. Everyone knows you're trying to do your best to keep your House together."

He looked away, towards the glistening river. "My father... I know he's looking down on us from heaven. Yours too. So. We'll just have to do our best to help our people!"

Suddenly, Prince Brayden sat up straighter. His head whipped around; a low, long horn sounded off in the distance. Scrambling to his feet, he reached for the short sword strapped to his waist. "Jack!" There was a kind of panic in his eyes as he looked off in the direction of the horn. "That way! Quick!"

Bray watched him running off. "We have to follow them, Jack!" He began to run too, following his younger self as another horn sounded, this time in several short blasts. Other fae were flooding out of their dwellings too, weapons drawn, all headed towards the sound of the horn.

Jack laughed. "Gladly," he said, lifting Brayden's hand to his lips. Of course he would say that; it seemed like every Jack had a taste for alcohol... and Braydens.

The talk of fathers intrigued Jack greatly. He listened avidly as Brayden spoke of his father. Apparently they both lost their fathers. To what? Jack made it sound like alcohol had done his father in. What happened to Brayden's father?

"I hope so. I never realized how hard it was to be King until I had to fill his shoes... I thought I was born for it... destined for it, but I..."

He trailed off, also seemingly alarmed by the sound of the horn in the distance. Both of them were on their feet then, Brayden going for a short sword at his hip and Jack going for... a bow slung over his back that he hadn't even noticed was there before. Well, well. Some things didn't change, then. Jack was in the archery club in Harvard, too...

The two clambered off, toward the sound of the horns.

"Shit." Jack had no idea what the hell they'd gotten themselves into this time but he followed Brayden because he seemed to think it was what they had to do. (Well, if they stayed, who would they be watching in this vision...?)

"Are they at war or something?" he asked, bewildered. "What the hell is happening?"

"The hollow beasts approach!" somebody shouted as Brayden and Jack arrived, the sound of the horns growing louder as more and more fae with weapons drawn came out in droves.

"What's a hollow beast?" Jack asked.

"I don't know!" Bray panted as he tried to keep up with their younger, more virile selves. True, Bray was nowhere near over-the-hill, but he... ah... did not work out regularly enough. And he wasn't as panicked as their younger selves, who had actual enemies to face judging by the way they both drew their weapons.

Thankfully they didn't run far. Bray held on to a tree to catch his breath and instinctively reached for Jack's hand, even though he knew that they were in no danger. This was a vision—an interactive movie of sorts. It wasn't real to them and they were in no danger... but tell that to the part of him that kept screaming at him to protect Jack!

"Hollow... beasts..." He was trying hard to catch his breath. "They're corrupted things. Corrupted by the Fallen, like minions. Foot-soldiers. Mom said the Fallen used to find all kinds of nasty creatures to corrupt, just to use against the fae."

Brayden gripped his sword tightly as the first of the creatures crested the hill. Beside him were other defenders forming a line, shoulder to shoulder. His back was rigid, his posture erect, a true prince of a House of the fae. Behind him archers were lining up too, rallying around their King—Jack. But his gaze kept drifting back to Jack, as though seeking some kind of reassurance.

The horn sounded again, a deep booming rolling noise that echoed off into the hills. Brayden brandished his sword. "Hold steady!" The fae beside him hefted large shields, pointed spears between the gaps in the shields, brought up swords in a defensive formation. Archers nocked arrows to bows, angling them higher above the heads of the defenders and sighting down the shafts to target the slavering beasts charging towards them.

The beasts were nearly upon them before Brayden shouted again. "Hold steady men! Hold!" His hand shook with how tightly he gripped his sword, but the look on his face was determined. A line of magic-users drew mana from the air; their commander, a tall, broad-shouldered blond man with icy blue eyes, curled his lips. "At your command, Prince Brayden," his disdainful voice drifted on over above the crackle of magic.

Bray clutched Jack's hand. "Jack. That—that's—" It was... Keith. Younger Keith, but that face and that voice was unmistakable.

"Of course they are..." They couldn't escape the Fallen even here, in this other realm, in this other lifetime. He watched as the fae army lined up and readied a defense against whatever was coming next. And then that voice. Jack would know it anywhere. He'd heard it for so long in his dreams, in his nightmares.

"...it is." It was Keith. Although he was dressed like a fae, his face was much the same as it had been when they were young, when Jack had been stupidly in love with him. First loves, they said, tended to stick with you for a lifetime. He didn't think it meant like this.

"How is he here?" Jack hissed, as if the Keith could hear them, even over the sound of horns and shouts. What did it mean that Keith was in another life with him, too? He narrowed his eyes.

"Hold?" Jack said, holding his arrow at the ready. The beasts were so close, nearly upon them. "How much longer can we possibly hold? They'll be on us!" And with that, he waited only a few seconds more before he called out, "Arrows, now! Now!"

And with that, the archers attacked. The arrows flew, many of them hitting their targets true. Some were hit so hard and so accurately that they fell and were trampled by other beasts in their wake. But others only roared with rage and charged.

"Magic, magic! Now! Subjugate them!"

The front liners needed the magic users; going in slashing with magical swords was well and good but it could also end tragically if they didn't immobilize those beasts with the worst of the claws and fangs.

"I don't know! I don't know Jack!" Bray said frantically, as the chaos of battle all around them added to the confusion and the disarray. He clung to Jack. What was Keith doing here? Bray thought that their shared lives were uniquely theirs but now... Keith was in one of these visions and Bray had to wonder: was he meant to be a part of their lives all along? Did he show up in other lives too, and for what purpose? Was Keith's fate tied in with theirs, too?

Brayden gritted his teeth as he watched the creatures advancing, knowing that the deaths of their companions would only enrage and strengthen them. That was why he waited so long to act, wanting to give everyone enough time to draw mana and power weapons, to have enough accuracy to make killing shots. Because hollow creatures didn't go down when injured; they fought even as they were at death's door.

When it was impossible to hold out any longer, he raised his sword. "Shields! Pikes and spears! Forward!" They advanced in a long line, shields charged with protective spells and swords imbued with the elements. Brayden was trembling inside but he found himself calm outside, directing his men to hold their shields up high so that they could cover for the others behind them, the archers and mages.

As the first wave of creatures crashed upon them, pushing them momentarily back, Brayden thrust out with his sword, taking a two-headed dog through the heart. "Pikes overhead! Don't let them break through!" The man beside him let out a gurgling cry as a creature caught him in the throat; corruption spread immediately through him, reducing him to a writhing mass. Brayden stepped into the space he left behind and hacked and slashed wildly with the others, as they began to push the beasts back.

But then another fae went down, and another, and the gaps opened. Brayden was so caught up looking out for others that he failed to notice a creature sneaking up on him. He whirled around as he heard a snarl but—too late. It bit into his arm as he whipped his shield up and the pain caused him to drop it with a loud cry. Corruption flowed along his arm, surging towards his heart.

Bray gripped Jack's hand hard. "Oh God! No!" But his eyes were glued to the shield, which was stained with young Brayden's blood. In the wet surface, words appeared, as if an invisible finger was writing on it: rateably

"BRAYDEN!"

Jack pushed past others to get to him but he was already gone. Slumped over, corruption and blood staining him.

"Brayden, Brayden, Bray, wake up. Don't leave me, no... no, no, no... Baby, please..." He held him close, staining himself with his blood. But Brayden was gone. His eyes were hollow, his head lolled to the side before Jack cradled him close, burying his face in Brayden's chest. He was shaking and raw and not paying any heed to the battle around him.

But Keith was. To Jack's surprise, he stood before Jack and... shielded him. Around him, several blank eyed warriors surrounded him and at Keith's command, they used themselves as shields against the beasts.

Jack felt like he was going to be sick. Jolting out of the nightmare of the vision, he hurried to close the book and opened his eyes, sitting up and screaming out Brayden's name. He had forgotten all about the reason they had been there in the vision at all. But he didn't even care about it anymore. He got off the bed, but every limb was shaking and shivering and he ended up sitting with his back against the bed, feeling sickened by Brayden's death.

"I can't... I can't do it again, B. You died. You died. You died."

Rateably.

Bray scrawled it into the notepad with shaking hands, the writing spidery and jittery and all over the place. But he had to write it down before either of them forgot. He was quaking, stunned by the vision of his own death. His past self's death, so young and so full of hope and anxiety for the future. Prince Brayden was going to be king. He was supposed to be coronated, to have that wild party, to slip King Jack wine under the table because just like this Brayden, he was terrible at holding his alcohol.

Tears blurred Bray's vision. Such a young life lost in the blink of an eye. Anyone's life being taken that way would have been distressing but to watch himself dying... And then to see Jack running to him and calling his name, frantically begging him to come back while Keith sent others to their deaths to protect him. Something... something about that struck Bray as being odd. The men Keith sent, their eyes were blank—like the hollow beasts. Blank.

Sliding clumsily off the bed, Bray clung to Jack as he had in the vision and he buried his face into Jack's shoulder. His heart was raw, broken at the violent end of the vision. He died. He had to die for the next reincarnation to begin but... he didn't die of old age. He died young. Young, both times, both visions started with them being young men. Young Brayden being rejected as Jack closed the door on their relationship, young prince Brayden cut down in the heat of battle.

"Jack." He lifted his head. The way Jack screamed coming out of the vision still rang in his ears, adding to his distress. "Jack I'm sorry. I didn't—" He never meant to put them through so much anguish. But Bray was beginning to wonder if... he died in every life. Young. If in every life, he left Jack behind while he moved on to the next, waiting for his lover to join him, to taste happiness before something happened to him again.

If that was the loop that trapped them, with no way to escape...

Blood.

He just kept seeing it.

Blood sprays.

People he loved, people he killed.

Logically, he knew he didn't kill Brayden. He didn't kill... anyone. But the vision was so close to the nightmares that they were blending into one. A future where he did kill somebody, a future where the blood spattering on his face and clothes really happened because it was him doing the killing.

And before he even realized he was doing it, he was ugly-sobbing. Brayden was right next to him but it felt like he kept losing him. How many times did it happen? Every time? Did they skip it this time when Brayden died but the fixer... fixed him? Or was it just predestined every single time? His ears felt like they were ringing, still hearing the sound of horns and gnashing teeth and the cries of dying and wounded fae.

He said before he didn't like the past; he really, really didn't like it now. What was the purpose of having visions, what was the purpose of past lives, if they were all going to play out in the same ugly way? Was his vision of a pretty future just wishful, not truth? Or was it something that happened right before the ugly? It felt like his visions kept directing him to the moment when he lost Brayden.

"I don't," he said shakily, "want to do that again."

"Jack." Bray held him and stroked his hair and pressed soft kisses to his temple, letting him ride out the tidal waves of emotion. He was on the verge of tears too, but not ones of self-pity, though he felt hollow and horrible at the vision of himself dying. It was mostly just the tragedy of it all. The way that he and Jack, in these two lifetimes—and possibly more—suffered through so much pain and loss. The emotions rocked him to the core too but... somebody had to be strong here. And when Jack couldn't be, Bray was here to hold him up.

"I'm sorry." He kissed Jack again, kissed away the tears, the sadness, the horror of it all. But he couldn't promise that Jack would never have to go through it again because this was important. This was more important than either of them now. Something told Bray that if they didn't see this through, the cycle would continue and they might not have another chance to break it. This... couldn't go on forever. This constant cycle of losing one another, finding each other again only to experience that harrowing loss, it couldn't go on.

"I'm sorry." Bray could only whisper it again and again, knowing what had to be done, what he had to ask of Jack. Not right now, perhaps, but... eventually. They were given clues in those visions in the form of nonsensical words. This wasn't something they could ignore or turn their backs on because it was hard or heartbreaking. Nobody wanted to watch themselves die. Nobody wanted to watch themselves go through any of that.

But not right now. Not tonight. Bray closed his eyes and when he did, all he saw was himself laying slumped over, in his blood-stained robes, and Jack crying over his prone form. He took in a shuddering breath and held Jack tighter. Not tonight.

Everybody said it: they wanted to be happy. And all of Jack's life--his whole life--he just wanted to be happy. Most of the time, honestly, he was quite miserable. But he feigned indifference, he feigned confidence, he feigned a kind of satisfaction in his life that he didn't really feel. It was a substitution for happiness, but it was the kind of attitude nobody really associated with misery. Jack seemed quite satisfied and confident and therefore, Jack--for all intents and purposes--was happy.

But really, he wasn't. It started at home, with his bitter mother and her abusive partners. Jack took the brunt of their abuse and she accused him of being a liar when he told her the first time, the second time. After that, he stopped telling her anything. She knew and he knew she knew. She just didn't care. And as much as he tried to pretend that didn't hurt, it hurt. It burrowed down into the core of him, the need to prove that he was just fine without all the things he really needed. Like simple human kindness, the comfort of touch, the need to be loved and admired.

Probably all the people he loved, he really just loved for loving him. He liked people quickly, attached himself to them quickly. He was a terrible and incorrigible flirt. Playing hard to get was fun, making somebody chase after him for once felt good. Making somebody prove to him they were good enough satisfied something inside of him.

But he wasn't sure he was ever really all that happy. With anyone, anywhere. He had become so used to faking it until he made it that he almost believed the lies himself. And he told himself he was happy in bumfuck Ohio with his teaching job. That he was in love with somebody, that they loved him. And it was some kind of happy, he supposed. Even if deep inside, he still felt restless, seeking out something he had no name for.

And then there was Brayden. Oh, how it just clicked without him even realizing it at first. Pretty man. Quiet man. Shy man. Instantly, he was attracted. But he had been instantly attracted before. There was nothing new about this one, he said to himself. But oh, how he kept thinking about him. It drove him a special kind of wild but that was fine, it was okay. Jack was used to games, he could play them all day if Brayden wanted to play coy.

But the problem was, he really genuinely liked him. And that meant a hard pass. A hard no. He was on a relationship hiatus. No relationships. No death. At least, that was the idea. Funny-sad how that ended up working out.

Happiness, though, felt true for once. It was a thousand little bubbles inside his chest when Brayden so much as looked at him, let alone smiled at him. He knew... he could care deeply for him and he knew what trouble that spelled for him. Stay away, he tried to warn him. And in the end, he didn't. And he died.

Jack felt... so selfish as he sat there with what felt like a ceaseless sense of despair in his gut, a twist in his heart, and heat behind his eyes and down his throat and stinging his nose. He was so in love it almost hurt physically. And somehow, Brayden's feelings for him were just as strong, palpable, like something he could pluck from the air. He never doubted Brayden's feelings for him. Nor did he doubt his own for Brayden.

But he wanted so badly for it to just be the happiness part. When they were laughing together, when they were close and content and everything felt like it was right in the world. When every part of them fit like it was made to fit there. Brayden slotted right into him, melted into him whenever he was close and it felt right. It felt... so right.

He felt like he could hardly breathe through the tight band around his chest and he buried himself in Brayden, held him close and tight and secure.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you more than I've ever loved anything in my entire life. I don't..." He felt his voice break a little and the heat in his eyes sprang anew. "I don't think I can go through something like that again. I can't lose you. I can't."

"I love you too, Jack." They were made for one another. Their souls were parts of a whole, to an extent that even Bray didn't think they could realize or begin to understand. Something was trying to come in between them. Some... force or some person. Something had gone horribly wrong the first time—their first life together—and either his or Jack's soul refused to bend to the machinations of man or fate. One of them, or both of them, set this up. He knew it.

He knew it.

This wasn't to torment them. It wasn't to put them through a thousand cycles of pain. It was to stop that outsider from interfering in what was meant to be. That was why there was a clue in every vision, that was why they were given the abilities they had in this lifetime, to make things right. Jack and Bray together was right, and it was so right that if they couldn't be together to the end of their lives, then they had to start over again just to give them a chance to be together.

They needed to go back again to the first life—to the end of the book, that was listing everything in reverse chronological order. The first vision was probably one lifetime ago, so it made sense that the last page would be their first life, and everything that happened there would pave the way for every life afterwards.

Bray lowered his head; he didn't know how to tell Jack that they had to do this one more time. He couldn't, not when Jack held him so tightly that he could barely breathe. If he ever doubted his importance—he never did—then this was proof positive that he held the court of Jack's heart. To Jack, he was the king—and to Bray, Jack was the king. Just like in the vision.

"I'm right here, Jack. Look. Look at me." He tried to lift Jack's head. "See? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere." Bray touched his forehead to Jack's, letting his eyes drift half-closed. Blurrily he could still see Jack, the color of his eyes, the long lashes casting shadows against his cheeks. "I love you. I'm not going anywhere."

He looked. Inside, his heart shivered and shook and he probably looked like a goddamned mess with reddened eyes and a crumpled up face. But he looked at Brayden when he bid him to, eye to eye. True, Brayden was here. He was alive. Jack lifted a hand to his hair, to brush Brayden's hair from his face, fingertips grazing the upper shell of his ear.

How could anybody love somebody as much as he loved Brayden? It was a connection far beyond his understanding. When he first saw him, he felt attraction, of course. But he also felt a deep sense of familiarity, of family, of home. Love. He always sort of scoffed at the idea of love at first sight. Lust, yes. Attraction, yes. But love? Love was more complicated than that. Yet it was so simple.

Nothing in this world felt more simple than the two of them together. It was when he felt most like himself, like there was nothing to hide, that they could say anything, do anything. Being with Brayden was being home.

"I know." He closed his eyes for a long moment. He knew Brayden loved him. He knew he was here. He wasn't going anywhere. It was just those visions. They felt ominous. Frightening. He thought they must have lived a thousand beautiful lives together but now he questioned that. Now he was afraid that something was happening between them, pulling them apart.

Jack kissed Brayden, his thumb running over Brayden's jaw. An affectionate kiss, a loving kiss. And afterward, he pulled Brayden into an embrace, resting his chin on Brayden's shoulder.

"I know," he said again. He whispered, "I love you, B... I'm not going to let some curse break us."

"It's going to be okay, Jack." Poor Jack looked distraught and it was never Bray's intention to drive him to the brink of distress. He felt so guilty; if he hadn't asked Jack to revisit those past lives, none of this wouldn't have happened. And yet, a part of him knew that it had to be done. They had to at least know what the visions were all about, didn't they?

He was sorry, though. So, so sorry. He had never seen Jack like this, not even at the ridge that night when they touched upon Jack's sordid past—and when Keith attacked them. This was a new level of helplessness, beyond anything Keith had driven them to. And Keith being in that last vision... Well, there was a whole lot to unpack.

"I love you too." Bray could say that a thousand times and never get tired of it. He held on to Jack, a hand at the back of his head stroking through his hair, the other curled around the back of his neck. Closing his eyes, Bray breathed in slowly, trying to steady himself, trying to get his heart to stop hammering in his chest. The door opened behind them but he didn't look up for a long moment, not until he felt a hand on top of his head and Marge's voice nearby.

"Are you guys okay? I heard a shout." She knelt beside them. "What happened?"

Jack heard the door open and with it, his eyes opened, to see Marge enter the room. She rushed over, looking rightly concerned as she placed a hand atop Brayden's head. Reluctantly, Jack moved back, though he kept an arm around Brayden, like if he stopped touching him for an instant, he would die on him.

"Yeah," he said, knee jerk response. Then shook his head. It was probably obvious to her that nothing was okay with them right now. If not for the shout, then definitely for the way they were huddled against the side of the bed, clinging to each other like they just found out one of them had deadly cancer or something.

"No," he admitted in a low, quiet, tired tone. He ran his free hand over his head. "It's a long story, Margie..."

"Jesus. I can't leave you guys alone for a second," Marge muttered as she knelt beside them too and slipped an arm around Jack's shoulders, hugging him from the opposite side. "You look like shit," she added to Jack, with a wry little smile, as she fixed his hair.

Bray leaned into Jack and closed his eyes again. Swallowed. Thought. If ever there was a time to over-think anything, this was the moment. The visions kept flashing back in his mind and he kept wondering if there were other clues he could have picked up on, besides the two words and the items they were written on. A metal piece and a shield. Well, the shield was... sort of creepy, with all the blood on it.

His blood.

Bray's stomach churned unpleasantly. He put a hand over it and swallowed it again, feeling pretty green. "I think I need some water," he said faintly. Using his powers to follow Jack into those visions took a lot out of him, too, and it was both mentally and physically exhausting. Slowly, Bray got to his feet, feeling drained. "I'll be right back. I just... I need some water and some air."

"Great. Thanks. I feel like it."

Shit didn't even begin to describe it. Every part of him was exhausted and his muscles felt tense and sore, as if he'd been clenching the whole time he'd been in those visions. That would hardly surprise him, given the way he felt about them. But he was trying to relax, trying to remember to just breathe.

It didn't help him look any better, apparently.

Jack looked over at Brayden as he got to his feet, though he held onto him as he did so, and even when Brayden was fully on his feet, his hand grasped at one of Brayden's.

"Are you sure?"

A dumb question to be sure; if Brayden needed water and air--and a moment alone, then Jack shouldn't be afraid to let him go. The fear still gripped his heart in its icy hands, though. Slowly, he dropped his hand, knowing it wasn't going to help Brayden to cling.

"Okay," he said. "Okay, just... Yeah."

Marge watched Brayden with worried eyes. There was something... off about him. The light inside of him, it was different. Off. Very, very off. Even when he smiled at them both and reassured them that he was okay, repeating that he needed water and a breath of fresh air, she wasn't convinced. "Don't go too far, baby, okay?"

He nodded and walked off like a little old man, shoulders slightly hunched, back bowed. When he left and closed the door behind him, Marge turned immediately to Jack. She stared at his chest. Touched it with both hands, pressing down. Felt it. Looked Jack over from head to toe, then studied his light again, frowning heavily.

"Whatever the hell you two did, promise me you won't ever do it again," she said grimly as she sat down opposite him after her inspection, crossing her legs. "It changed Bee's light. I don't know if it's permanent, but it's not good for him. Or for you. What did you do? What'd you see?"

Jack looked down at Marge's hands on his chest, knowing she was seeing something he couldn't see right now. Something to do with his heart light. She was frowning an awful lot, which made Jack frown, too.

"I have no intention of ever doing that again," he said, quite frankly. He had done what he had to in order to prove something to Brayden but as far as he knew, there had been no clue in that second vision. There was no conspiracy, no message to find, no puzzle to solve. And thank the fucking gods or spirits or angels or whatever the fuck was out there, because he was certain he never wanted to experience the past again. He lived here and now; he liked it here and now, despite some of the negatives.

But what she said alarmed Jack enough for him to sit up.

"What do you mean, it changed his light?" His heart sank to his toes. Permanent? Could a thing like that happen? Were they... not... soulmates anymore because of this? Had they unlocked something terrible in those visions? Jack slid a hand over his own heart as Marge sat across from him.

"What about mine...? Is it... did it change?"

He knew she wanted to know what they did and what they saw but this was a little more important first!

"It's like... different. A different shade than yours, a little weaker." Marge tried to press Jack down, seeing the alarm on his face. He looked weak too, and definitely not ready to hear any of what Marge was telling him, but... Shit, he had to know. This wasn't something that could wait until they both felt better, so they could sneak off and try it again.

As for Jack's light... Marge touched his chest again. "Yours is a little weaker. Probably because you're tired. Bee too, he must be exhausted. You two need to sleep. Rest. That's the only way to restore your light." Well, that and some TLC. Soup maybe. Marge let out a low sigh as she retracted her hand and glanced over her shoulder, wondering where Brayden had gotten to, what it meant that his light changed.

It was only the second time she'd even seen something like this—the other time was with Rhys. His light kept flickering between light and dark, as the corruption warred with the love blooming inside. But Brayden couldn't be corrupted... And his light wasn't flickering, it just... changed colors. Not to a darker color, either, just a different one. Like he'd evolved or something, maybe, if that was even possible.

"A different shade?"

Why did that make him feel so... miserable? When he had seen their lights together that night, when they told him what it meant for them to match... Jack had been elated. They were soulmates. Their lights were two of a kind, two parts of a whole. But it sounded to him like Marge was saying that had changed. And of course that worried him.

Being weaker, that seemed about right. They both used up a lot of energy. It took magic to do what they did and that wasn't so surprising. But his mind kept going back to the different shade. From what? From the visions? Did they fundamentally change Brayden forever?

"We were looking into my visions," he explained. "We accessed two of them. In one, I was basically breaking up with him. And in the other..." He closed his eyes, hoping to shut it out but all he saw now when he closed his eyes was that blood, those dead eyes. So eerily like his nightmares.

"In the other, he died." He felt emotional all over again, even saying the words. "He died and there was nothing I could do. I don't... I can't do it ever again. The past is in the past. I can't live there anymore, Marge. I... I can't do it... if every life we've ever lived leaves me alone without him..."

"Yeah. Different shade... But I'm not sure it's all bad. I don't know what it means yet, I'll have to ask around and look into it." There were older seers she could ask, and books she could consult. While Marge didn't belong to a coven—that shit wasn't for a strong, independent woman who refused to follow any so-called 'leader'—she was friends with other witches. Some of them didn't mind her, and a lot of them liked to party with her so she had a good base of knowledge to draw upon when needed.

As for the visions... Oh, boy. Two amateurs sleuthing around without any guidance, tapping into Jack's powers without any safeguards! Marge rolled her eyes heavenward. "You idiots!" She slapped Jack on the shoulder hard enough to make a point, but not hard enough to actually dislocate it. "You could've gotten trapped! Do you know how goddamn hard it is to project yourself into the past? And to take a—a visitor with you? You're lucky you both got out!"

Jesus Christ! She really couldn't leave them alone for even a second! She was hoping that they were using 'visions' as an euphemism for sex, which she was perfectly fine with. But knowing that they were here doing dangerous shit? Marge felt a jolt of actual, pure fear for them. Then, a stroke of pride. That took a lot of magic! Both Jack and Brayden really were strong fae. Royalty. If they could learn to harness their abilities and to hone them, she doubted that anyone could stop them.

That was if they didn't get themselves in trouble first, like the dumbasses they were!

"So Bee died? In the second one?" Marge reached out and took Jack's hand in hers. "Shit Jack. I'm sorry you had to see it, but that's... It's all over and done with. You and Bee are both alive and safe now, and if you don't do crazy shit like this again, you'll stay safe. I will keep you safe."

Not all bad, she said. But... Jack couldn't get past it. Past them being one and now them not being one. With his hand still over his heart, he ruminated over it, wondering if it cause some kind of change in dynamic between them. If Brayden would distance himself. If he had inadvertently fallen in love... with somebody else.

So deeply in thought was Jack that he didn't see the slap coming and he jumped, startled, when Marge gave him a good, healthy smack on the shoulder. He stared at her, not sure whether to be indignant or not. (He wasn't, really, just a little startled.) Moving his hand from his heart to his shoulder, he eyed her.

"You could kill somebody with just your hands, you know that?"

Somehow, he was certain that she did know it.

"What? What do you mean, project ourselves into the past?" Jack asked. "We weren't in the actual past. Just in a vision. Weren't we?" He was always out of his depth here, when it came to magic. What was he doing? For all he knew, they time traveled. But no, nobody saw them. They were spectators alone and nothing else. He thought.

Nobody told him it was so dangerous. Brayden didn't make it sound scary. Marge did, though. And Marge was a tough one; it had to mean something that she didn't like them doing it. Jack rubbed his arm, not out of pain but out of a cold chill that crept over him.

"Yeah..." He couldn't help it; every time it came up, he could feel his expression threatening to crumple. Again, he saw the beast go after him, the blood, the eyes... He shivered, his hand tightening in Marge's after she took it.

"We only did it twice because B was certain there was some kind of message laid out in the visions... He saw something in the first one so I agreed to try again to see if there was one in the next one." Resting his head against the bed, he sighed in relief. "There wasn't, thankfully."

Marge just gave Jack a Look because—yeah, she could kill somebody with her bare hands. Literally. She could throttle their heart from the outside, like she did to that golem fucker who tried to kill Brayden and Jack. So yeah. She did. She knew it, too, and she wasn't afraid to use it if it meant keeping her friends safe.

"They're visions but you pull them from the past. You create this... dimension where the scenes play out, like a temporary movie theater. But if you're not careful, you can get trapped there. And you'll be there watching that same scene play out over and over again, until you find the exit—if you're lucky." Her tone was grim but it was a grim and horrible fate that could have awaited them! Jack and Brayden could have looped through the same visions forever! Meanwhile their bodies would be here in the bedroom, prone and unconscious, unable to be awakened. Scary shit!

"What did he see? What message?" Marge saw the notepad on the bed earlier, but only just now pulled it over towards her. She scanned the two words written down on it, frowning. The first one was neatly written; the second one was... scrawled, that was the only word for it. It was scrawled onto the pad in great distress.

"What do these mean?"

"Well," he said, "that sounds terrible."

Shit. Nobody warned him! Did Brayden know that was a possibility? He couldn't; he never would have told Jack to do something so dangerous if he did! Would he? Of course he wouldn't. Jack's exhaustion was getting to him. He slid a hand over his face and tried his best not to yawn but... he yawned.

"Armed, is what he saw. I don't know why he thought it was a message but he was pretty excited about it... And he seemed pretty adamant about finding more of these... messages. He thinks one of us hid them in those visions somehow? I don't know how..."

He trailed off to look at the notepad Marge held.

"That's the notebook he wrote the message in." He paused. "These? What do you mean?" He peered over to look at the book and scrawled under armed was rateably. Jack frowned. "Is that even a word?"

"Really?" Color Marge intrigued. So Brayden noticed clues but Jack didn't. Brayden wrote the two words down while Jack was busy watching their past lives go by. It sounded like maybe it was Brayden who left the messages for himself to find at a later date. Or... whatever, an older version of Brayden who felt the need to leave little breadcrumbs. That did sound like a Brayden thing to do, Marge thought—that forward-thinking was indicative of his ability to over-think everything, but to also come up with some pretty good plans.

She squinted at the words. Armed. Rateably. Jack wasn't much help but he looked like he was going to pass out pretty much at any given moment, so she didn't expect him to have much insight. "I guess it's a word..." Marge turned the book this way and that, staring down at the two words. "You're sure he found nothing in the second vision?"

Armed.

Rateably.

They made no sense without context. "Which one was first? I mean the first vision, which word did he find first in the first one? Armed or the other one? Because..." She turned the book again. "It sort of looks like a word scramble. You know, like the letters could spell something else... another word..."

"He... must have," Jack said faintly. "There was only one word in the first vision. He must have seen that other one in the second vision."

So there were clues. Jack didn't like it; he didn't like what it meant. And he had no intention of going back in there, of digging around through vision after vision for clues. Maybe that was the exhaustion talking. Or it could be the fear.

"Armed. Armed was first." Did it matter? He raised his brows at her idea of a word scramble. What could they even spell out? Mared? Dream...? Jack sat up again, head spinning at the sudden action.

"That one's dream," he said, pointing to the word armed. It... it had to be, right? There was no way it was all a coincidence. Brayden, a dream-walker, a word that could be scrambled around to become... the word dream.

"Damn it... B was right. There's clues in the visions. Fuck me."

"Brayden Smith, you clever son of a bitch," Marge muttered to herself as she stared down at the page. Yes... Armed did spell dream. Dream, to go along with the fact that Brayden was a dream walker, and the prince of the house of dreams.

"He left these for himself. Whoever started this, whichever version of Bee initiated this whole thing, he left them in every lifetime for you guys to find." Marge grabbed the pen and scribbled down 'dream' underneath the first word. She looked hard at the second one, which was longer and more annoying to figure out.

"Shouldn't we get Bee? He can help, he's the booky type." Marge was more the shit-talking type, or the violently actiony type. "Where did he get off to anyway?"

Jack was too tired to even start in on the second word. Scrambling around armed to dream was just an accident. (And he couldn't say it was a happy accident, either, because of what it meant.) How many lives did it take for another Brayden to send this message out to them? To Brayden? They were in places only Brayden was looking at, as if he knew where another Brayden's eyes would be.

"I... yeah." It would make sense to have Brayden in on this. He started the "quest" and he would surely want to know he was correct. This kind of puzzling was right up his alley, too. Of course it was. He set it all up for himself with that in mind.

"He said he needed some air and water," Jack said, slowly dragging himself up to his feet. But he had been gone for a while. How much air and water could he possibly need? Absently, he rubbed at his tired eyes and suppressed the urge to yawn again.

Out in the living room and dining area, he wasn't all that surprised to see the others. But Brayden wasn't amongst them so he went outside. Air, he said.

"Brayden?" Where the hell did he go?

"You need to sleep soon." Marge followed Jack outside, scanning the room for Brayden. Raf looked up with one of his annoyingly bright smiles, from the couch where he had been cuddling with his surly little boyfriend. And Ken immediately appeared watchful; Marge was sure he noticed the haggard look about Jack, and Marge's worried frown.

"Ignore us, everything's okay." Marge walked outside to an empty courtyard, but pointed across the way. "He's in his apartment. Look, the light's on. Come on baby." Slipping an arm around Jack's waist to support him, Marge walked over to Brayden's apartment, where the door was unlocked. Gently she pushed it open, to the sight of him clutching a book to his chest, fast asleep on the couch.

"Aww... poor thing." She touched Jack's hand with hers. "See his light? It's different, right?"

How could he not lock the door?! Jack was alarmed that it was open, for just anybody to walk in. They might live in a gated apartment community but who knew what others lived inside with them? For all they knew, there were spies all around them!

Annnnd he hated being paranoid. It wasn't a good look for anyone, least of all him.

Still, the worry was with him when Marge touched his hand and he saw for himself that Brayden's light had changed. It had. Marge was right. Jack lowered his gaze and then quickly slid his hand out of her grasp. What did it mean? He was too sad and too tired to want to know right now.

Jack moved forward without Marge and gently plucked the book from Brayden's chest to get a look at it.

Marge still wasn't convinced the light changing was a bad thing. She didn't feel it. It was just different, in a neutral way maybe. She couldn't be sure yet, but her sixth sense wasn't tingling and she wasn't freaking out the way she might have if the light went dark or went out.

As Jack plucked the book from Brayden's hands, he stirred and his eyes opened. When he caught sight of Jack he smiled. Marge thought that was the kind of smile with enough power to break hearts, if Brayden wasn't careful.

"Hey," he said tiredly and sleepily, reaching up to touch Jack's hand. "Did I fall asleep?"

Marge moved forward to get a glimpse of the book too. It was a photo album, she noticed, and her heart panged unpleasantly. Brayden was looking through photos of his family over here, all by himself...

"Hey you," he said back. He turned his hand over to take Brayden's in his. What was happening? He was afraid of it, afraid that it spelled the end, that everything was about to be over. Despite that one small vision of the future that said otherwise--and he couldn't even trust that anymore--it still felt like everything was coming to a stop that he couldn't avoid.

He didn't know why Brayden left to come look at a photo album but... Maybe he felt like it was all ending, too. Like his second wind was not going to be enough to sustain him for another lifetime. He handed the book over to Marge as he swallowed hard, sinking down to sit with Brayden.

"I didn't mean to wake you up." He should probably tell him that he was right about the visions and the clues but it didn't feel like the right time to bring it up. Instead, he used his other hand to gently stroke Brayden's hair before leaning in to kiss him, to bring his head into his chest, to hold him.

"It's okay. I was just tired..." Bray curled into Jack as soon as he was able to, resting against him and letting his eyes drift closed. He didn't mean to disappear on them; he had only gone for a glass of cool water to settle his stomach and he went outside for some air.

When Bray felt ill, he liked to look at old pictures of his family and of himself. It made him feel better to be brought back to a simpler and happier time, when his troubles seemed big, but really were so small. Childish troubles didn't compare to the ones he had as an adult, after all.

And he liked to see his parents smiling, happy, posing in front of a giant redwood or perched on top of a rock, with the lake at their backs. Sunny pictures of them on vacation, one which caught Bray coming out of the shower with his hair all sticking out, looking like a startled little goblin, another with him as a little baby smiling toothlessly up at the camera. Happier times.

But he lost track of time and he fell asleep, and Jack and Marge must have been worried to come out in search of him. "I'm sorry," he whispered against Jack's chest, pressing a kiss to the tender hollow of his throat. "I didn't mean to make you worry."

"Yeah," Jack said, "me too."

It was the same kind of bone tired he felt when he waited for a lifeless Brayden to come back, with the fear eating him alive that he wouldn't come back. Now, with all this new information about their past lives, he couldn't help but fret over what it meant for their future. If something was bound to happen, if he would continue to be hunted down until he was no more.

What did the past Jacks do when he lost Brayden? He swallowed hard as he stroked Brayden's hair and down his back. Knowing himself now, he could only imagine bad things. A lot of alcohol. Too cowardly to kill himself but longing to just disappear. Holding himself at arm's length away from anybody that tried to get close to him.

"It's okay," he said softly, glancing once at Marge before turning his gaze down on Brayden. "Just... let's get some rest, okay?"

Jack looked and sounded as tired as Bray felt, which was no surprise given how much they had been through. Two visions, two harrowing glimpses into their past lives. Bray thought it was romantic that their fates were twined like this; he used to take comfort in knowing that there could be other lives they might live together. Now... it all felt like one giant nightmare.

He hugged Jack tightly. They were already sort of comfy on the couch and Bray just didn't have it in him to get up, walk over to either his bed or Jack's bed all the way across the courtyard. He closed his eyes, already half-dozing.

"Can we sleep here?" He could've dropped off to sleep right then and there. Vaguely he felt somebody throwing a comfortable fleece blanket over him and smiled. Marge. Her hand passed over the top of his head, and then over Jack's too. A kiss landed on his temple. Jack's also.

"I'll keep the other guys over at your place, Jack," she said quietly. "Go to sleep. I love you guys."

"...love you too Margie," Bray murmured. Or was that just in his own mind? He couldn't tell; he was warm and comfortable and safe in Jack's arms. For now, he was safe. No one could get to him when he had Jack's arms around him...