“Step Right Up Little Boys And Girls, Become A Member Of Jameson Jackson’s Live Audience!”

Heyo! For the one worded prompt, how about: relax with JJ? 💚💚

Curled up in bed, with a magic glow to protect him, Chase hums softly as he plays with JJ’s hair, pushing it out of his face and stroking it gently. Jameson’ chest slowly rises and falls, his mustache faintly twitching every now and then.

At least Jameson no longer cries or coughs. His fever has finally gone down and he can have small amounts of soup. 

The song Chase sings is an old Irish lullaby, one he would sing to his children to help them sleep at night. He faintly remembers it being about an old faerie legend, where a selkie’s voice could break hearts of stone.

Jameson’s eyelids flutter open. He turns sideways, acknowledging Chase. Chase smiles and gently pecks his forehead.

“How ya feeling, kiddo?” Chase whispers. JJ shrugs as well as he can and smiles.

“Schneep says your fever broke, so you should be back on your feet in no time,” Chase continues. Jameson wiggles his moustache contentedly, and closes his eyes again.

Chase can feel his own eyelids grow heavy, but there something catches his eye. A screen reads, [Thanks for looking after me. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.}

JJ has only just started learning how to use magic to make screens, this must be draining him.

“You don’t owe me a thing,” Chase said. “Just relax, JJ.” The vlogger kisses JJ’s head.

{Good night, Chase.]

“Good night, JJ.”

For @kofi-king, who wished for JJ and Chase cuddling <3333

@graysun, @miishae, @florenceisfalling, @lonelyseiren, @goldenoceanaart, @egopocalypse, @oasisofgalaxies, @fleecal, @myspatialspace, @jo-ann-ahh-2, @writerwithdepression, @huffletrax, @gemstone6, @dumbasticart, @lunaarmada, @deadlydevine, @meteorshowersfillthesky, @bupine, @the-yandere-kitsune, @climbing-starrs, @the-spawn-of-loki, @jadehowlettthewolf, @obsidiancreates, @rammypaige, @hollenka99, @cest-mellow

JSE Fanfiction - Intangible

Summary: More often than not, Jameson forgets his nightmares as soon as he wakes up, which allows him to easily fall asleep again. Then there are the other nights, the worse nights. Tonight is one of those.

Weiterlesen

Herding Sheep: Chapter Two

Anti works on breaking in his new “brother”, and Henrik feels himself slowly losing his will. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Thwap, thwap, thwap. 

Fleshy fists bang on the door to the room in the basement, echoing up through the floor. Jameson curls in on himself, pressing against Anti’s chest in their shared bed. Something is wrong, but it’s no matter, Anti will fix it. Anti always fixes it.  

Just as he is settling back in there is a loud scream. Anti grumbles and sits up, looking young and soft in a blue hoodie, with green swirling hair and soft eyes. Jameson melts in the early morning light at his appearance. My sweet brother, he thinks, reaching up and touching Anti’s face. Anti looks down at him, smiling. 

“Is that fucking doctor bothering you, sweet boy?” Anti purrs. Jameson pouts exageratedly, rubbing his eyes, trying to seem small and frightened. Meanwhile Henrik bangs and screams in the basement. Anti growls, standing up and grabbing a knife from under his pillow. “Well well then, let’s go shut his bold little lips before he bothers you anymore.” 

Anti leaves the room, whistling Daisy Do as he tromps down the hallway toward the basement. Jameson curls up in his blankets, smiling. Anti always fixes it. 

The door bangs open nearly in Henrik’s face, causing him to stumble backward and fall on his ass. Peeking around the door, Anti slides into the room, standing over Henrik. 

“Screaming all fucking night. Banging up the doors, waking up my pet, waking up my sweet baby boy.” Anti is growling, teeth growing larger in his mouth, dog-like and fanged. Henrik pants and scrambles backward away from the glint of a knife. But he isn’t fast enough. A knife comes down into his foot, severing tendons and sending blood squelching out. Henrik screams. He empties his lungs, eyes bulging at the sight of so much of his own blood. Anti is laughing, only for a moment, tugging the chain around Henrik’s leg. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” The echo and glitching is gone, replaced by a soft, boyish Irish accent. Anti squats on the floor beside Henrik, who is still groaning with the pain. “Look, sorry I stabbed you. I had to you know, you were being so loud, waking up my baby brother and all. Surely you understand, yeah?” 

Henrik squeezes his eyes shut, avoiding the glow of gold coming from his astral, beautiful eyes. Anti huffs out a breath through his nose, picking at Henrik’s eyelid. When it doesn’t open, he grips Henrik’s throat and squeezes. Hard. Henrik gags out a half-inhale, and his eyes shoot open and- Oh, oh the eyes. Henrik slumps, panting, hands limp by his side, bleeding foot creating a puddle on the floor. His chains rattle and he blinks slowly. Why was he screaming? He wanted to escape? But why, why would he ever run from this feeling. So warm, so soft, so gently he sinks into the light. Anti grins, teeth poking over his lips. 

“There’s a good puppet. You just need a little light, aren’t you so scared of the dark, love? Aren’t you scared of the darkness in you?” Henrik whimpers, hanging his head shamefully. “You want to hurt them. Those creations back at home. You want to hurt your family don’t you? Well I can help. I can bring light to you, Arzt, I c-”

Anti is cut off by a frantic fist slamming into his chest, choking the air out of him and knocking him on his ass. Henrik screams and grips his hair. “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” Half a scream half a whine. Henrik’s breathing is unsteady and deep, trying to ground himself through the pain in his foot and the implanted warmth in his head. Anti laughs, standing up. 

“You’ll see soon. You’ll see, I can make you happy. We can have a nice life, you, me, and the pet.” Anti flips his knife in his hands. “The sooner you comply, the less pain. You don’t want pain, right? Had enough of that when I kidnapped you last time, huh?” Henrik slowly shakes his head, curling up on the floor. Anti nods his head, then turns to leave. 

“Wait- Wait! How… how long will you keep me here. Tell me that at least. How long before you kill me?”

“Kill you. Hahaha. Kill you, kill you.” Anti laughs as though it is the funniest joke he has ever heard. “Oh Henrik, confused little doctor. So lost and confused. I’m not going to kill you.” Anti turns around and grins at him, eyes dripping gold. “You belong to me, you see. And I hate to break my toys.”

Anti is gone before Henrik can even blink. His foot bleeds into the concrete. His head feels stuffed with cotton. He curls up on the floor and cries, and cries, and cries, for the home it is starting to feel he will never return to. Chase’s homecooked meals, Marvin’s glowing fire, Jackie’s protective arms. It feels already like a dream from another life. So far away from the light in the onster’s eyes. 

—

Jameson stirs mac-n-cheese in an old copper pot on the gas stove, trembling slightly. Anti isn’t happy, Anti isn’t happy and he has been a very bad pet. His nose drips blood onto his nice white shirt, staining the embroidered knife in cruel irony. 

The steady shlicking of a knife against wood threatens him from the living room as Anti carves. “Dapper, is the food almost done? Hurry the fuck uuuup.” Anti’s tone is playful and brotherly, as though he wasn’t punching Jameson in the face less than 30 minutes ago. Jameson whistles at him shakily from the kitchen, letting him know to be patient. Jameson dumps a very large helping of the noodles into Anti’s bowl, and schlops the rest into his own. He walks into the living room and sets the bowls on the coffee table. Anti does not look up from his carving. Jameson does not meet his eyes, sitting in the big armchair and stirring his mac-n-cheese around, and around, and around. 

“You looked at him without my permission. You don’t have the right to be mad at me, you should know not to look at prisoners unless I’m wearing you.”

“Yes Anti.”

“You stay away from him until he’s broken in. He’s a dark, dark man, a killer. He killed his fucking accountant, and many, many more.”

“Yes Anti.”

“He’s a lunatic.”

“Yes Anti.”

Not broken in yet. That is his excuse this time, hm? Jameson stirs his food more focusedly, avoiding his brother’s piercing gaze. He nibbles a bite of cheesy noodles. Anti carves, carves, carves, obsessive and repetitive, his gaze turned away from Jameson at last. 

“Anti?”

“What.”

“Does the prisoner get to eat?”

Anti laughs. “Not yet, but he has a pipe to drink from.”

Jameson fiddles with his fork. He peeks at the basement door. There hasn’t been any banging since this morning. He hopes big brother didn’t hurt the prisoner too badly, because he can only imagine Anti’s rage if his new toy dies. He sets his bowl down. Not hungry anymore.

Henrik lays on his cot, foot having clotted, but still aching and unusable. He sniffles into his pillows, far past the shame and pride that usually stops him from crying. He wipes away snot and squeezes his eyes shut, rocking back and forth as he thinks of home. Home, home, home. God why can he barely remember? Chase’s cooking, Marvin’s fire, Jackie’s arms around him. It is staring to feel so far away. 

Anti trudges his boots down the stairs, listening with glee to the fearful scrabbling coming from Henrik’s little room. 

“Hiya puppet,” he says as he unlocks and pushes open the door. 

“I do not belong to you, zum donnerwetter Depp!” He spits curses, trying to seem strong and unbroken. Anti smiles. A knife flips in his hand. Henrik flinches at the glint of the blade. 

“You are just begging to be all cut up again, just like last time. Just like in that basement in Germany. Ah, good times we had, hm? My blade in your skin, my hands alll over you.” His voice echoes in the room, reverberating as Henrik feels the ghosts of nails scraping and blades cutting, instinctively shifting his right arm behind his back to hide scars. 

“Asshole,” he hisses. 

“Oh come on, be friendly! No biting Arzt, bad dog.” Anti is suddenly sitting at the foot of his bed, flip, flip, flipping his blade. “You could be happy here, I think. You and me, we’re family. We shouldn’t be fighting, you’re my big brother.” Childlike, wide blue eyes look up at Henrik. Henrik’s heart skips, something untangling in his mind. His eyes fog over and he feels that same warmth and softness, the light seeping in the wrinkles of his brain. 

“My… my brother? No… No, you are a monster. You are not my-”

“Brother, big brother, come home to me.” Anti’s eyes glow golden and slip into Henrik’s weak will, and Henrik he slips into the light. Yes, yes, my family. This is my brother, why have I been running, why did I not trust him before, yes my brother. Henrik pants and falls back on the pillows, so overwhelmed with love he can hardly move. 

“Come home to me Arzt. I’ll leave you time to make up your mind. Next time I come down here you will make a choice. Right baby? You sweet little doll, you’ll come home and take care of master’s chores.” Anti seems almost daydreaming as he slips out of the door. Henrik curls up on the pillow, eyes rattling, teeth gritted. There is a great, sucking wound in his skull. Why can’t he remember? There was something to remember right? Something he was clinging to, something other than this cot and the monster’s eyes. But it doesn’t matter. Anti will fix it. Anti will come back down the stairs and fix it. Come home, come home, it echoes in the gaping hole in his skull. 

Henrik slips into a deep sleep, dreaming of fresh cooked meals, of fire and laughter, of warm protective arms around him, but none of them have faces. 

New tiktok!

Transitions are kinda bad 😅

I’ve always adored the way you write hypnosis! Maybe...Anti hypnotizing Marvin to attack his brothers? Marvin’s the one who hates Anti the most so that’d be an interesting internal struggle.

The static was an ocean pouring through Marvin’s body, burning under his skin, razor-sharp behind his eyes and on his tongue. He was drowning, rational thought bobbing wildly on the surface for only a moment before another wave crashed down to swallow it. 

“S͘u̵b͝m͟i͡t̡͘…” Marvin’s head tossed back and forth like a wild horse as Anti grabbed fistfuls of his hair and pulled, the pain only blinding his senses further. “Y̡o͏ųr power is wor̀t҉hless. ́Yoųr̶ ̛r͝a̛g̴e͠ is͡ hel͝ples͏s. Yo͡u’re͠ fa̴r̷ too w̴eak to̵ d͘o ̡wha̴t̨ ̢nee̵d̡s to͘ b͏e̡ do̷ne!”

“I hate – I hate – ” Words were failing him. He was losing the struggle to breathe over the torrents. 

“Jac̕k͠ìeb̡oy ͠M̴an.” Anti could have laughed at the way his puppet froze, eyes wide with conflict and confusion. “You ͞h̀a̧te ͡Jack̷íeb́oỳ Ma͡n̡. You h͞a͝t͡e̕ Dr. ͘S̶chneep̧lest̡ei̵n. Ch҉asȩ ̡B҉ro̸dy̧. Ja҉mes͏o͜n ̴Jac͡ks͏on. Th͏e̵y͝ aban̷doned ̢yo̢u̵, le͏f̴t yoų ̷a̢s͜ ͝a ̢sac̢rificial lamb̶ for ̡m̧y͏ mer̨c̶y͠.” When Marvin shuddered, Anti pressed two talons hard against his temples, churning feedback into him until he was keening softly in pain. “They ͘b̴èt́r̴aye͜d y̛ou. The̕y̕ lèf̶t͡ yo̴u to ͏b͠e͞ ͜tan҉gl̡ed i͜n̶ my s͠t͢r͝ings…It's͝ onl̴y fa̶ir ̧that ͜yo̴u show t҉h͝e͡m w͞h̨at i̧t̴ wil̀l ̢co͝st.”

Heres what I have been working on for the last couple of days! Bubble egos! Hope you enjoy it i worked a lot on the poses and background! Reblogs>likes

individual egos in bubbles underneath the cut:

Feel free to use as stickers or icons or anything else!

It doesn't take a killer to murder

It only takes the reason to kill

We've all got evidence of innocence

Its everything's coincidence

The difference twixt fate and free will

Is the way you're singin' ooooh

Could you take a look at me?

Am I bad, am I bad, am I bad, am I really that bad?

Week 6 of @project-creatusannus (week 5 here), a tribute to wkm and probably my biggest project. Lyrics are from Will Wood’s “Laplace’s Angel (Hurt People? Hurt People!)”. Reblogs are very appreciated,, I’m really proud of this!!

These Thorns Are Rosy

(This is based off a little plot-concept-thing from @septic-dr-schneep‘s blog! It happened…a while ago. Oops. 

Marvin accidentally cursed JJ, and now everything JJ touches becomes roses and his hands prick people he touches as though they’re covered in thorns. Title inspired by the song Hey Look Ma, I made It by Panic! At The Disco.)

“I called Marvin, just try to calm down. Just-just breath. In, out, in, out,” Chase said, putting his hand on JJ’s shoulder. The young ego jerked away, loosing his footing from how violently he did so. 

“I can’t!” His speech slide shook like it was in an earthquake. “I-I don’t understand what’s happening!” Chase tried to get close to him again, but JJ stumbled back. “No! No, you mustn't touch me!”

“Okay, okay! I won’t touch you!” Chase said, putting his hand up. “But please just breath, okay? Take a deep breath. Marvin can fix this. I’m sure.”

JJ took a deep breath, and his hands trembled a little less. “Right, y-yes. Marvin can fix this.” He looked at the petals littering the floor, at the way chase was rubbing his hand and wincing. Oh god, he hoped Marvin could fix it.

Three days.

Three days and Marvin still had no idea how to reverse…whatever curse was on JJ. 

Whatever curse he’d put on JJ.

He didn’t even know how it had happened. All he knew was that he’d gone with JJ to pick up some rose seeds, and then…his eyes widened.

The car ride. During the ride back home, he’d been the one holding the seeds, and he’d fallen asleep. He had a dream, a dream where strings pulled at his arms and forced his magic out of him, where his magic was no longer his own, where whispers had swirled around his head in inside his mind and forced themselves out of his mouth, where stabbing pains wrapped around him and he could feel static in his blood, and hen it had all drained away and he was left with only the sounds of screeching broken records.

He felt the hairs on his neck stand up, but not just from the revelation. Static filled the air around him, and he knew it was no coincidence that he was only able to remember the dream now.

He whirled around and found himself face-to-face with the Glitch himself. Marvin raised his hand, but Anti just smiled and suddenly the magician was plunged into darkness.

Three days.

Three days that Jameson couldn’t touch anyone or anything. Not food, not a glass of water, and he refused to let his brothers come near him for fear of harming them.

Oddly enough, he didn’t feel hungry. He had taken to spending his time outside, where he couldn’t do any damage. He felt better in the sun, he discovered, especially when he took his hat off. 

He wouldn’t mind that so much if he hadn’t begun to find rose buds in his hair, rose buds that had no way to get there.

Unless they hadn’t gotten there, and had started there instead. The thought sent shivers down his spine. 

“JJ?”

He looked up, startled out of his thoughts. Marvin knelt down in front of him. “What are you thinking about?”

Jameson clasped his hands together like he was afraid they’d reach out and touch Marvin all on their own. “I’m not getting any better, Marvin, in fact I do believe I’m getting worse. I’m just hoping for when this nightmare will end.”

Marvin blinked, and looked down at the ground. “About that…” He sighed, and when he looked back up Jameson was taken aback by the defeat in his expression. “I…I can’t find a fix. I’m afraid…I’m afraid this may be permanent.”

Jameson reeled back. “W-what?”

Marvin ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been doing everything I can. None of my books or tomes have anything helpful, and a few of them just flat out say that curses like this are irreversible.”

Jameson felt panic swell up within him. “N-no. No, that can’t-”

“Whoa, whoa, calm down! You’re hyperventilating, just-OW!”

Marvin yanked his hand away from Jameson’s shoulder. Jameson’s eyes went wide at the sight of the bleeding cuts on the magician’s hands. “Oh goodness, I-I’m sorry…” 

Marvin had touched his shoulder, not his hands. Oh god. 

“It’s fine,” Marvin said, squeezing his eyes shut. He cradled his hand as the blood continued too pool in his palm. 

Jameson felt sick. He got to his feet and started running. He didn’t know where to, just…away.

Marvin opened his eyes and looked up, watching the young ego sprinting away. A grin spread across his face, and his eyes turned black before passed out. Anti materialized next him. He leaned down and pet the magician’s hair. “ T̕ha͘nk y̶o̧ư so̷ ̧m̢uch̡ f͞o͞r͟ ̀your̀ ̴hel̀p,” he sneered. He glitched away, leaving the unconscious Marvin to bleed on the grass.

Jameson slowed down, out of breath. He wasn’t sure where he was. Somehow in his blind panic he’d found himself in a wooded area of some kind, surrounded by trees and bushes that seemed to taunt him. No people. Only plants.

He put his hand in his hands, but quickly pulled them away. Another rose bud. He scowled and threw it on the ground, grinding it into the dirt with his shoe. 

“Su̷ch̛ ang͡e̢r for som͟e̵t̨hin͞g so҉ s͠m͟al̶l.͠” Anti’s voice echoed from the shadows, shadows that were gradually becoming deeper as the sun set. “A̡nd͞ s̡uch҉ a͝ng̶e͘r͝ ̧at ̵t͏he ̀bud, ͠as̕ we҉ll.̴”

“W-where are you, demon?” Jameson was sure he didn’t truly want to know the answer, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“W̡h̶ere a̶re͟ ̛y̕ou? ̨R̴u͠n̛ a҉w͜a̡y from͟ ̀home͘,̧ I̵ ̡s͘e͢ȩ”

Jameson spun around, trying to figure out there the voice was coming from, but all he saw were the old, creaking trees. Had they looked so rotten and dead before? Was it just a trick of the night? “What do you want?”

“Yo͝u ͢hur͢t ̡t͡hem͝, ̛r̡įg̛ht? You'͟ve͠ m̷a͘d̴e ̢t͜hém ̶b̨lee͝d.͝” Jamseon saw something flicker into view out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to face it there was nothing there. 

“I- I didn’t mean to!” he shouted, the speech slide frantically weaving thought the trees.

“D̶ǫe͘s t͢ha̴t ͏m̴át̨t͘er?҉ ̢Yơu h̀urt̴ tḩȩm̸.́ Y̛ou'̛r̸e g͞u͝i̡l͜ty̴. Y̛ou͞'̴r͟é da̵n҉g̀e͠r͟ous͞. Yǫu͝'r͢e ha̸r͡mfu̡l͢.”

The echo grew louder, and combined with Jameson’s turning and spinning to find the source of the voice he was getting too dizzy to stand. He collapsed to his knees, holding his head. “No!”

“Yo͜ú'v͏e̢ al҉way̕s̵ ̸be҉en̡ a da͏n͠ge͞r̴,̶ ̷pupṕet̸. T͞he c̡ur̨se ̨j̨ust ̸b̸r͝ou̴gh͜t tha͞t t̸o̡ the ̴su͏rfa͢c̴e͡.̡ Yo̧u̧'r͜e ̧ju҉s̢t ͟as ͟da̸n̢g̀rous̀ to̶ the̶m͜ a̷s͜ ̢m̢e.̡”

“Be-be quiet!”

Jameson felt hands grip his shoulders. He jerked his head up and found himself staring into the eyes of Antisepticeye. They flickered between solid black and a toxic green. Jameson found it hard to look away. “Wh̶ý? ҉D́o̧e̕s t͝he̡ ̶trut͠h͢ ̛hu̧r͏t ́t͟oo mu̡c̀h?͏ Y͟ou'̢r͠é ͠m͡ine̕.͘ ͜Y͝ou ͟aļwa̕ys ҉h̸ave ́be̴e̢ń. O͝f͏ c͢o̴u͟r͝s̀e yo̸u'͏r̷e a͜ ͡r̸ós̷e.̛  Yo͜u͝ see̡m̛ ͠so̧ ͘s̀weet, ͡b͟ut ͞r̀ea͠l͢l͏y ̕y̨o̢u͞'re͞ còv̢ȩre̸d͠ ̷in ͏t҉h̶orns.”

Jameson tore his gaze away from Anti’s eyes and looked at the hand resting on his shoulder. “How-how are you not hurt?”

“B͜ec̨au̢se̛ tḩo͞rns ̴mean͡ not͢hin̨g̸ ̶to ̨me.”

Jameson tried to keep his eyes away from Anti’s, but the tip of a knife pressing into his cheek prompted him to look back into them. 

Green, black, green, black, green, black. 

“I'̷m͞ ̶t̴h̨è only͡ ̡o͡n͟e ͞w̴ho̢ ͢yo҉u̡ c͟an͠ ̶b҉e͘ ̴a͘rou̷n͜d wit̢hout̨ ͡hu̷rti͡n͜g.͠”

Green, black, green, black, green, black.

“I'͝m ͡t͜h͡e o̕nly̧ onę ẃh̶o͢ ̢yo̴u͞ ̀can̢ be̴ ̷n̨e͝a̧r̨.”

Green, black, green, black, green, black. 

“I͡’m th̕e ́only͢ o̧ne͏ ̢yo͢u ̶c͞án̢ ̕be͘ cl̛ós͢e̴ ̵to.̴”

Green, black, green, black, green, black. 

“I'͡m t́he͜ o͝nly on̵e҉ ̧y͡o̵u are ͏c͠lose ̷t͢o”.̶

Green, black, green, black, green, black.

Jameson felt dizzy, dizzier than he’d ever felt, lost in those flickering eyes. But it was becoming…familiar. Comforting.

What was Anti saying? He could hear his voice, and his words, but his mind was so foggy…

“I t͟ȩll̶ ͝you͡ ͟w̸ḩat̵ t͞o do.”

“You…tell me what to do…”

Green, black, green, black, green, black.

“Yǫu͏ ͞d̨o͝ às ͞I ͜s͠ay.”

“I…I do as…as you say…”

Green, black, green, black, green, black.

“Yo̡u ҉ar͘e͟ my̴ ̸ŕos͝e.”

“I am…your rose…”

Green, black, green, black, green, black.

“Y̴o̸u͟r ͘t͠h̨òrns ͘are̶ ̨m͞ìn̸e.”

“My thorns are…yours…”

Green black green black green black greenblackgreenblackgreenblackgreenblackgreenblackgreenblack

“Ý̷͓͔̀Ò̡҉͕̗͚̤U̳̜̼̣͕͟͝ ͏̡̖̮̳͠A͏̱̤͙͖͙R̗̗̼͟E̶̯ ͝͏͓̖̤̘̩͓̳̗͈M̶̜̹̺̻̪̥̟̝I̛͉̖̬̞̜͍̭N̬̳̝͙͞E̴̝̪.҉͎̼̻̲̬͖”

Jameson fell. He fell away from the world, into a world of flashes of green and black, a world of buzzing and static and a voice, one voice, that told him what to think. And he let it, because he was too confused and too lost to think for himself.

“I am yours.”

Anti grinned as Jameson’s eyes glazed over, static filling them. He stood up, and his puppet stood up with him, though it’s head lolled to the side a bit. “V̕͘e̸͜ry҉̨͠ ̴͘͜ǵo͞o̷͘d͝͏̢.”

His puppet didn’t even blink.

“N͜ow̶.̨..̷l͞et'́s̴ ̀pu̴t thǫse̴ ͏thor̶n͞s ̴to ̸us͠e.”

(Taglist: @victory-cookies @beerecordings @starlightxnightmare @sadcat5555 @miishae)

Promise

Part 25 of My Brother's Keeper

(Part 1 l Previous l Next)

“It hurts,” groans Henrik, writhing on his bed. “It hurts.”

Chase clings to his hands, stopping him from clawing at his face. “I know,” he whispers, exhausted. “I'm sorry, man.”

“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts too much, master, stop, master, I'm sorry.”

“It's me, it's Chase.”

“I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to!”

“You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Hurts, hurts, hurts.”

“I know,” he whispers, exhausted. “I'm sorry, man.”

A sudden change flashes through Henrik's face. He creeps forward on the bed, baring his teeth.

“So much fucking flesh on you,” he hisses, his accent dissipating and his pitching rising and falling in spasms. “I hate your scarlessness. I want to trace the outlines of your bone into every centimeter of your skin.”

Chase watches him, dead-eyed, from the other side of the room. Henrik rocks himself, clutching his shoulders, turned away from him.

“Stupid fucking boy,” hisses Henrik, his voice rising and falling strangely, like there's a voice changer switching channels in his throat. “Stupid fucking drunkard. Abandoned little dog, don't you want a new master?”

“You're not Anti,” says Chase, softly, a plate of pasta growing cold on the bedside drawer next to him. “Come get something to eat, Schneep. Henrik. Schneeplestein.”

“Stupid boy!” screams Henrik, tearing at his hair. “Your master won't wake up until I am underneath his skin!”

Chase gets slowly to his feet and rounds the bed. Gentle, he pulls Henrik's hands from his hair, eliciting a low groan of agony. “You're not Anti,” he repeats, holding up a forkful of pasta. “Open up.”

“I want Jack, I want Jack, I want to taste every cell of his fucking blood!”

“How about mac and cheese first?” suggests Chase dryly, pressing the fork to his mouth, until at last, Henrik opens up, growling, and eats.

“Stupid fucking boy...”

“You're not Anti.”

Level, steady. Stay with him, take care of him. He stabs another forkful of macaroni. I owe him this and more. “You're not Anti, Schneep. Henrik. Brother. Eat.”

Henrik's eyes burn with hatred as they look up at him. Chase ignores it steadfastly, pressing the bite towards his mouth, and as Henrik eats, some of the rage drains from his grey face.

“Ch-chase?” he chokes around macaroni.

“Shhh. I'm here.”

“I d-don't feel good. What's happening to me?”

“You're a little sick, man. Just eat, okay? I'm going to take care of you.”

“You're going to take care of me?”

“Me and JJ.”

Chase turns to smile at his little brother, watching from the corner. “We're going to take care of you. Right, Jamie?”

Jameson meets his eyes resolutely, trying to straighten up, because even if Henrik sometimes scares him like this, he is determined.

He loves him.

Yes.

They manage to get Henrik to sleep that night, after Stacy and the kids have left. Chase looks up at JJ, his hand settled in Henrik's hair, watching over him.

“It's going to be a long couple of weeks,” Chase warns, looking exhausted already. “He'll be a lot to handle.”

“That's okay,” says JJ. “I'm here.”

He is.

He will stay.

Marvin made him promise.

---------------

Chase sets up a sleeping bag for JJ that night – he refuses to be parted from Henrik's side, and Chase plans to sleep beside Henrik in the bed in case he becomes violent – and he goes to check on Jackie, wondering if he's still conked out on flu medicine. He isn't. He looks up when Chase enters his room, sitting on the end of his bed.

“Jackie,” says Chase softly. “Are you okay?”

Jackie glances back at him, shaking his head minutely. Chase moves to his side and hugs him tightly.

“Jameson,” croaks Jackie.

“He's fine. He's downstairs. Just got overwhelmed, I think.”

“Schneep?”

Chase pauses, rubbing Jackie's back, but he knows his brother won't let up until he knows.

“It's the possession withdrawal again,” he says.

Jackie's expression shatters. He leans his head against Chase's chest, hiding his face.

“It's going to be okay, man,” whispers Chase.

“Nothing is ever going to be okay again,” croaks Jackie. “Marvin is gone.”

Chase has to cover his mouth to keep from sobbing, his eyes sliding shut. Fuck. Fuck.

“I want my little brother,” cries Jackie, clinging to his shirt.

“I know, Jackie,” sobs Chase, because he doesn't know what to say. “I want him too.”

On God, he would give up most everything in the world to have Marvin here with him now. He can feel the memory of his brother's hand on his shoulder, keeping him steady.

He gets Jackie water and macaroni and makes him eat it. Jackie will not stop crying and Chase does not blame him. He understands. Jackie tries more than once to insist that he will get his own food, get his own water, he will watch Henrik tonight, he will let Chase be the one grieving, he will do this and this and this. But his fever is strong enough that Jackie can't follow through on much of anything. Maybe, in that sense, the fever is a small blessing. Chase pushes him back into bed and gathers up his dishes.

“Chaser, don't go,” begs Jackie.

“Oh, Jacks,” sighs Chase. “Man, I gotta stay with Henrik so he doesn't hurt himself.”

“Oh,” says Jackie in a small voice. “Yes. Of course.”

“You could come sleep in his room with the rest of us, though,” offers Chase, brushing sweaty hair from Jackie's forehead. “I'll get the other sleeping bag, okay?”

“No,” answers Jackie dully. “Jameson doesn't want me around.”

Chase sighs again and sits back down on the edge of Jackie's bed.

“Jackie,” he says softly. “JJ's just scared and overwhelmed, and Anti told him a lot of bad shit about you. I know he's breakin' your heart, man... just don't give up on him, okay?”

Jackie stares up at him, his eyes red.

“Hey,” says Chase, clucking his chin. “Promise me, okay?”

Jackie looks away, sniffling. “Okay, Chase. I guess.”

“How about the cats, yeah? I can bring the cats to you.”

“Yes,” says Jackie, rubbing at his face. “Yes, please. The cats.”

Chase puts the dishes away and finds Athanasius and Queenie, carrying them up to Jackie's room. By the time he has deposited them in Jackie's bed, his brother is already asleep.

O-O okay good to know

fun obscure ego fact: anti's favorite type of alcohol..........

is ✨ 𝒋𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒏 ✨