FIC: Risen (Chapter 5/?)
Title: Risen: Chapter Five. (5/?)
Fandom: Real People / 30 Seconds To Mars.
Pairing: Jared/Shannon (only alluded to in this chapter).
Prompt: Table 2; #68 - Scatter. (100_situations)
Word Count: 2467.
Rating: R.
Warnings: vampirism, emerging psychosis, incestual tones.
Overall Summary: In the words of Supernatural -- what's dead should stay dead. But what happens when it doesn't? Is it the same individual, or an entirely different incarnation of them?
Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four.
Author's Notes: We go back to Jared's point of view for this chapter, and I think everyone will agree with me when I say it's quite a bit different from Shannon's. Also, yay for not having there be a month (or more) between chapters! :D
He could feel the sunlight through the curtains, like a warm kiss on his skin. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but then, he had only been standing there a minute or two. After five he drew back, stepping backwards deeper into the room, and looked down at his arm. There was no visible difference but when he placed his hand on the skin he felt warmth not unlike the start of a sunburn; the promise of pain and other dark things. It was clearly too soon to test how much light he could withstand.
Shaking his head, Jared returned to the chair that had been pulled up at the end of the bed. There was so much he didn't understand, yet, there were little things that would float through his head here and there which hinted at understanding. Little bits of information that he didn't question because somewhere inside he knew they were true, even if he didn't know where that certainty of truth came from.
It was a little like being a child and knowing you could breathe but not knowing how, or feeling hunger but not understanding why there was the need to eat.
Yes, he was a child again. But a child without a teacher, without tangible guidance. Part of him argued he didn't need guidance. That he was fully capable of figuring it all out on his own, through a mix of trial and error and patience. At the same time, though, he had so many questions that he could not answer on his own, and it was those questions that bothered him most. He wanted answers now, and being forced to wait was taxing his nerves and demeanor. A child only had so much patience. Once that ran out, they looked for answers on their own, to whatever end.
A low whine drew his gaze to the doorway and he saw the dog -- That's your dog, Judas. a voice reminded him -- standing in the doorway, looking uncertainly from him to the bed and back. The first few times this happened he had gotten up, only for the dog to retreat. This time he stayed in the chair and merely stuck out one hand as he looked at Judas, his gaze calm, his eyes merely eyes. It seemed as if it wasn't going to be any more successful than his other attempts, but then slowly, cautiously, the dog came into the room. Canine eyes flicked to the bed again, but curiosity seemed stronger than concern and he continued toward him.
"That's a good boy... see, it's just me. You know me. Nothing to be afraid of."
Jared kept his voice soft, an actual smile coming across his face when the dog was close enough to touch. He kept himself from reaching, though, and just watched Judas sniff at his hand, able to see the uncertainty that remained. A few pets were tolerated, as well as a scratch behind the ears, but then the dog seemed to have had enough and left him to jump on the bed.
His heart fell, eyes hardening for a brief moment as he glared at the creature -- a dog, my dog -- before the expression disappeared and he sank back against the chair, hand falling in his lap. Perhaps the smell bothered the canine. If so, that could be remedied easily enough. Surely his clothes were still in the house. A shower probably wouldn't hurt either. He turned his hand over and inspected his nails, shining as if they had a coat of gloss on them, and he picked some dirt out from under one, flicking it onto the carpet. It didn't much bother him actually, his unkempt state, but he suspected it bothered the other two.
The whine drew his attention back to the bed where Judas was nudging his brother's shoulder and he quietly clicked his tongue. "Stop that. He's just sleeping, boy. He's not dead, like me." Not yet.
The dog looked at him, as if not quite convinced, but laid down and settled, and he did the same in his chair. His gaze went to the window, observing first the light hitting the curtains, then the shadow it created on the carpet, using both to gauge the hour. At least twelve hours had passed since they left the cemetery; Shannon should be waking up soon.
He was tired as well but revisiting his gravesite had left his emotions in a turbulent state and stolen any desire for sleep. Fresh in his mind were his first memories of waking, of closing his eyes only to open them in darkness, darkness so thick it seemed it might swallow him whole. If he closed his eyes now he could feel it, firm like a weight on his chest, keeping him from breathing, preventing his heart from beating.
Wait... was that the darkness, or was it something else?
His head tilted, brow furrowing in concentration as his mind rewound the memory, the thoughts. There was a weight, yes, a cold weight pressing down on him. In the moment he squirmed against it but it was solid, immobile, laughing at his attempts. The struggling ended on the outside, but on the inside a heart pounded frantically. The air tasted metallic when he tried to draw breath, then liquid.
But, no, that couldn't be. Air wasn't liquid, everyone knew that. Where was that sudden pain coming from? Why couldn't he breathe?
The chair tumbled backwards, hitting the wall on the other side of the room. Jared was on his feet, head thrown back as his hands clawed at his throat, trying to pull off whatever was hindering his breathing. No, not again! He would not be put back in the ground!
A metallic, stale scent filled his nostrils and his motions stopped abruptly, eyes flying open. It took a moment for them to focus on the ceiling, blinking slowly, chest heaving and aching. As he lowered his head he raised his hands and found himself staring at fingertips and nails stained with blood, thick and dark. Another blink and he pressed one open hand to his throat; it came back with a few smears of blood.
There was nothing around his throat, nothing choking him.
One hand rubbed absently at his chest while he sucked thoughtfully on a dirty finger, tongue slowly cleaning it of blood. That was... odd. He could have swore --
The shifting of fabric cut through his thoughts and made him turn to face the bed once more, where his brother was finally shaking off sleep. He smiled, the finger leaving his mouth with a soft pop. That noise seemed to garner attention as both dog and brother looked his way, his brother with sleep-blurry eyes.
"You slept for quite awhile, brother. I was almost worried."
At first all the response he got were a few blinks and he watched Shannon shake his head a little, slowly bringing himself to a sitting position, supported by the headboard. He looked a little pale and Jared wondered when he had last eaten. As brown eyes cleared they shifted to the window, then back to him, and this time he didn't have to use his eyes to pick up on the uncertainty. "The sun's still out."
"It is."
"But... aren't you..." He watched his brother stumble to put what was clearly on his mind into words, not finishing the sentence and instead looking down at Judas and burying a hand in his thick fur. A flicker of jealousy sparked but dissipated just as quickly.
During the silence he drew closer to the bed and perched on a corner, one hand picking at an imaginary thread. "Aren't you glad I'm still here?" His eyes never left Shannon, trying to sound curious but the words coming out in a more critical tone.
A visible swallow, and then, "Of course, Jare. I just... it doesn't make sense."
"It's alright. It doesn't all make sense to me either. But we can make sense of it together." That seemed to get his brother's attention and made him look up, or maybe it was his movement closer, hand wandering to rest lightly on a denim-covered ankle. A scent he wasn't quite familiar with, but that felt he should know, faintly hit his senses. He dismissed it for the moment. "Tell me what happened."
His brother seemed as startled as when he first saw him the other night. "What do you mean, 'what happened'?"
"What happened that made me end up in the ground."
"You don't know? You don't remember?"
"I wouldn't ask you if I already knew, Shannon." There was the faintest edge of irritation in his voice now, and two of his fingers rubbed at his brother's ankle. He was warm, even though the fabric, and something about that appealed to him.
When his brother didn't say anything more he abruptly grabbed his ankle, and he didn't have to think about it much to know he didn't like the yelp that came in response.
"I... I don't know what you want me to tell you. I don't know what happened; nobody does, except that... except that you were murdered." His hand must have tightened because Shannon winced and began to squirm a little, and he let go without apology. "I found you and you were..."
"I was what?"
His brother shook his head and his voice was definitely quieter. "I-I can't. Don't make me remember, Jare, please."
"I need to know. I have to know what you know." He slid up the bed, looking away only to shoot the dog a glare when it growled and the look was enough to send it out of the room, tail between its legs. When he touched Shannon's face, his brother tried to turn away, and the scent he smelled earlier grew stronger, triggering recognition at last.
Fear.
I'll give him something to be afraid of.
No. I need answers first. That can wait.
With a frustrated growl of his own, he moved closer, to where he could take his brother's face in both hands easily. Shannon struggled, briefly, but stilled as his grip tightened and their eyes met. Leaning in close, almost nose to nose, he stared into those brown eyes, eyes he had known his whole life. He knew every emotion they held, every shade they could take, and was confident they could keep nothing from him.
Jared didn't know how much time passed before the color filled his vision and everything else faded away. There were a few crackles of static, errant thoughts, but they too faded. Then, slowly, the color peeled away, allowing a scene to form before him.
Initially it was too blurry to make any sense of. He focused harder and definition came; curtained windows, a balcony door, a modest desk and chair. It seemed to be a hotel room. The thought triggered a sense that he had been there before. Another moment passed and the vision became so strong it was as if he was standing in the room, able even to feel the give of carpet beneath his feet. There were clothes strewn about the floor and he stooped to examine them, the sense of déjà vu strengthening as he rubbed fabric between his fingers, a sense he wasn't sure he liked.
Making his way to the bed, he noticed a smell... god, what was that? It was awful, almost foul. The bedclothes were a mess, easily half of the comforter on the floor, and as he bent to move it out of his way the smell hit him full force, strong enough to make him stumble. No smell was going to dissuade him, though. He had to find out the meaning of all this.
When he straightened his eyes went to the bed, and at first it was just a jumble of muted colors, lights and darks and no clear definition. He stared a moment, two, then it abruptly came into focus and... and he was staring down into eyes that had once been blue. The color was visible around the edges, which was partly how he knew, but was otherwise nearly hidden beneath a film of milky white. There was much more to take in, other details coming into focus as well. All he could do, though, was to meet the vacant stare, a stare that seemed to go straight through him, frozen forever into place.
He would know those eyes anywhere.
The carpeted floor felt hard as concrete when Jared hit it, throat starting to feel constricted again. As the real, tangible world came back into focus he could only stare at his brother, who was shaking, silent tears streaking down his cheeks. "Was that...? That was... that was me, wasn't it?"
His brother could only nod, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed back sobs.
A significant amount of time must have passed for the room was darker than he remembered it being, but not so dark as to hide the streaks that now marred his brother's face, the blood from his fingers having transferred when he held him. It was that which drew him back onto the bed.
He could feel Shannon shake as his tongue dragged slowly across the tender skin of his cheek, following the trail of blood he had left behind. It was heavy and bitter, nothing like the other flavors he tasted previously. But then, this was his own blood that had been outside his body for a time. Despite that taste, beneath it he could taste his brother's pain; taste the anguish that the memory had brought to the surface. It made him lick again, and he felt a hand press to his chest.
Inhaling slowly, he could smell it all. The emotions coming off his brother in waves, his natural odor, the combination of stale sex and spilled fluids, and beneath all of that... blood. As he focused on it, it became all he could smell. He wanted to taste it again. To feel that liquid warmth sliding over his tongue and down his throat, making him feel alive again.
There was a weight, a faint pressure felt against his lips, and he knew all he had to do was open his mouth and that could all be his once more. But could he stop?
"J-Jared, where are you going?"
He wasn't fully aware of being in the hallway until his brother spoke, a waver in Shannon's voice that pulled at the part of him that wanted to stay. However, there was a larger part that said he couldn't, and somehow he knew that was the urge to trust.
Shaking his head hard, he didn't stop, muttering the only thing that was on his mind. "To feed."
Fandom: Real People / 30 Seconds To Mars.
Pairing: Jared/Shannon (only alluded to in this chapter).
Prompt: Table 2; #68 - Scatter. (100_situations)
Word Count: 2467.
Rating: R.
Warnings: vampirism, emerging psychosis, incestual tones.
Overall Summary: In the words of Supernatural -- what's dead should stay dead. But what happens when it doesn't? Is it the same individual, or an entirely different incarnation of them?
Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four.
Author's Notes: We go back to Jared's point of view for this chapter, and I think everyone will agree with me when I say it's quite a bit different from Shannon's. Also, yay for not having there be a month (or more) between chapters! :D
He could feel the sunlight through the curtains, like a warm kiss on his skin. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but then, he had only been standing there a minute or two. After five he drew back, stepping backwards deeper into the room, and looked down at his arm. There was no visible difference but when he placed his hand on the skin he felt warmth not unlike the start of a sunburn; the promise of pain and other dark things. It was clearly too soon to test how much light he could withstand.
Shaking his head, Jared returned to the chair that had been pulled up at the end of the bed. There was so much he didn't understand, yet, there were little things that would float through his head here and there which hinted at understanding. Little bits of information that he didn't question because somewhere inside he knew they were true, even if he didn't know where that certainty of truth came from.
It was a little like being a child and knowing you could breathe but not knowing how, or feeling hunger but not understanding why there was the need to eat.
Yes, he was a child again. But a child without a teacher, without tangible guidance. Part of him argued he didn't need guidance. That he was fully capable of figuring it all out on his own, through a mix of trial and error and patience. At the same time, though, he had so many questions that he could not answer on his own, and it was those questions that bothered him most. He wanted answers now, and being forced to wait was taxing his nerves and demeanor. A child only had so much patience. Once that ran out, they looked for answers on their own, to whatever end.
A low whine drew his gaze to the doorway and he saw the dog -- That's your dog, Judas. a voice reminded him -- standing in the doorway, looking uncertainly from him to the bed and back. The first few times this happened he had gotten up, only for the dog to retreat. This time he stayed in the chair and merely stuck out one hand as he looked at Judas, his gaze calm, his eyes merely eyes. It seemed as if it wasn't going to be any more successful than his other attempts, but then slowly, cautiously, the dog came into the room. Canine eyes flicked to the bed again, but curiosity seemed stronger than concern and he continued toward him.
"That's a good boy... see, it's just me. You know me. Nothing to be afraid of."
Jared kept his voice soft, an actual smile coming across his face when the dog was close enough to touch. He kept himself from reaching, though, and just watched Judas sniff at his hand, able to see the uncertainty that remained. A few pets were tolerated, as well as a scratch behind the ears, but then the dog seemed to have had enough and left him to jump on the bed.
His heart fell, eyes hardening for a brief moment as he glared at the creature -- a dog, my dog -- before the expression disappeared and he sank back against the chair, hand falling in his lap. Perhaps the smell bothered the canine. If so, that could be remedied easily enough. Surely his clothes were still in the house. A shower probably wouldn't hurt either. He turned his hand over and inspected his nails, shining as if they had a coat of gloss on them, and he picked some dirt out from under one, flicking it onto the carpet. It didn't much bother him actually, his unkempt state, but he suspected it bothered the other two.
The whine drew his attention back to the bed where Judas was nudging his brother's shoulder and he quietly clicked his tongue. "Stop that. He's just sleeping, boy. He's not dead, like me." Not yet.
The dog looked at him, as if not quite convinced, but laid down and settled, and he did the same in his chair. His gaze went to the window, observing first the light hitting the curtains, then the shadow it created on the carpet, using both to gauge the hour. At least twelve hours had passed since they left the cemetery; Shannon should be waking up soon.
He was tired as well but revisiting his gravesite had left his emotions in a turbulent state and stolen any desire for sleep. Fresh in his mind were his first memories of waking, of closing his eyes only to open them in darkness, darkness so thick it seemed it might swallow him whole. If he closed his eyes now he could feel it, firm like a weight on his chest, keeping him from breathing, preventing his heart from beating.
Wait... was that the darkness, or was it something else?
His head tilted, brow furrowing in concentration as his mind rewound the memory, the thoughts. There was a weight, yes, a cold weight pressing down on him. In the moment he squirmed against it but it was solid, immobile, laughing at his attempts. The struggling ended on the outside, but on the inside a heart pounded frantically. The air tasted metallic when he tried to draw breath, then liquid.
But, no, that couldn't be. Air wasn't liquid, everyone knew that. Where was that sudden pain coming from? Why couldn't he breathe?
The chair tumbled backwards, hitting the wall on the other side of the room. Jared was on his feet, head thrown back as his hands clawed at his throat, trying to pull off whatever was hindering his breathing. No, not again! He would not be put back in the ground!
A metallic, stale scent filled his nostrils and his motions stopped abruptly, eyes flying open. It took a moment for them to focus on the ceiling, blinking slowly, chest heaving and aching. As he lowered his head he raised his hands and found himself staring at fingertips and nails stained with blood, thick and dark. Another blink and he pressed one open hand to his throat; it came back with a few smears of blood.
There was nothing around his throat, nothing choking him.
One hand rubbed absently at his chest while he sucked thoughtfully on a dirty finger, tongue slowly cleaning it of blood. That was... odd. He could have swore --
The shifting of fabric cut through his thoughts and made him turn to face the bed once more, where his brother was finally shaking off sleep. He smiled, the finger leaving his mouth with a soft pop. That noise seemed to garner attention as both dog and brother looked his way, his brother with sleep-blurry eyes.
"You slept for quite awhile, brother. I was almost worried."
At first all the response he got were a few blinks and he watched Shannon shake his head a little, slowly bringing himself to a sitting position, supported by the headboard. He looked a little pale and Jared wondered when he had last eaten. As brown eyes cleared they shifted to the window, then back to him, and this time he didn't have to use his eyes to pick up on the uncertainty. "The sun's still out."
"It is."
"But... aren't you..." He watched his brother stumble to put what was clearly on his mind into words, not finishing the sentence and instead looking down at Judas and burying a hand in his thick fur. A flicker of jealousy sparked but dissipated just as quickly.
During the silence he drew closer to the bed and perched on a corner, one hand picking at an imaginary thread. "Aren't you glad I'm still here?" His eyes never left Shannon, trying to sound curious but the words coming out in a more critical tone.
A visible swallow, and then, "Of course, Jare. I just... it doesn't make sense."
"It's alright. It doesn't all make sense to me either. But we can make sense of it together." That seemed to get his brother's attention and made him look up, or maybe it was his movement closer, hand wandering to rest lightly on a denim-covered ankle. A scent he wasn't quite familiar with, but that felt he should know, faintly hit his senses. He dismissed it for the moment. "Tell me what happened."
His brother seemed as startled as when he first saw him the other night. "What do you mean, 'what happened'?"
"What happened that made me end up in the ground."
"You don't know? You don't remember?"
"I wouldn't ask you if I already knew, Shannon." There was the faintest edge of irritation in his voice now, and two of his fingers rubbed at his brother's ankle. He was warm, even though the fabric, and something about that appealed to him.
When his brother didn't say anything more he abruptly grabbed his ankle, and he didn't have to think about it much to know he didn't like the yelp that came in response.
"I... I don't know what you want me to tell you. I don't know what happened; nobody does, except that... except that you were murdered." His hand must have tightened because Shannon winced and began to squirm a little, and he let go without apology. "I found you and you were..."
"I was what?"
His brother shook his head and his voice was definitely quieter. "I-I can't. Don't make me remember, Jare, please."
"I need to know. I have to know what you know." He slid up the bed, looking away only to shoot the dog a glare when it growled and the look was enough to send it out of the room, tail between its legs. When he touched Shannon's face, his brother tried to turn away, and the scent he smelled earlier grew stronger, triggering recognition at last.
Fear.
I'll give him something to be afraid of.
No. I need answers first. That can wait.
With a frustrated growl of his own, he moved closer, to where he could take his brother's face in both hands easily. Shannon struggled, briefly, but stilled as his grip tightened and their eyes met. Leaning in close, almost nose to nose, he stared into those brown eyes, eyes he had known his whole life. He knew every emotion they held, every shade they could take, and was confident they could keep nothing from him.
Jared didn't know how much time passed before the color filled his vision and everything else faded away. There were a few crackles of static, errant thoughts, but they too faded. Then, slowly, the color peeled away, allowing a scene to form before him.
Initially it was too blurry to make any sense of. He focused harder and definition came; curtained windows, a balcony door, a modest desk and chair. It seemed to be a hotel room. The thought triggered a sense that he had been there before. Another moment passed and the vision became so strong it was as if he was standing in the room, able even to feel the give of carpet beneath his feet. There were clothes strewn about the floor and he stooped to examine them, the sense of déjà vu strengthening as he rubbed fabric between his fingers, a sense he wasn't sure he liked.
Making his way to the bed, he noticed a smell... god, what was that? It was awful, almost foul. The bedclothes were a mess, easily half of the comforter on the floor, and as he bent to move it out of his way the smell hit him full force, strong enough to make him stumble. No smell was going to dissuade him, though. He had to find out the meaning of all this.
When he straightened his eyes went to the bed, and at first it was just a jumble of muted colors, lights and darks and no clear definition. He stared a moment, two, then it abruptly came into focus and... and he was staring down into eyes that had once been blue. The color was visible around the edges, which was partly how he knew, but was otherwise nearly hidden beneath a film of milky white. There was much more to take in, other details coming into focus as well. All he could do, though, was to meet the vacant stare, a stare that seemed to go straight through him, frozen forever into place.
He would know those eyes anywhere.
The carpeted floor felt hard as concrete when Jared hit it, throat starting to feel constricted again. As the real, tangible world came back into focus he could only stare at his brother, who was shaking, silent tears streaking down his cheeks. "Was that...? That was... that was me, wasn't it?"
His brother could only nod, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed back sobs.
A significant amount of time must have passed for the room was darker than he remembered it being, but not so dark as to hide the streaks that now marred his brother's face, the blood from his fingers having transferred when he held him. It was that which drew him back onto the bed.
He could feel Shannon shake as his tongue dragged slowly across the tender skin of his cheek, following the trail of blood he had left behind. It was heavy and bitter, nothing like the other flavors he tasted previously. But then, this was his own blood that had been outside his body for a time. Despite that taste, beneath it he could taste his brother's pain; taste the anguish that the memory had brought to the surface. It made him lick again, and he felt a hand press to his chest.
Inhaling slowly, he could smell it all. The emotions coming off his brother in waves, his natural odor, the combination of stale sex and spilled fluids, and beneath all of that... blood. As he focused on it, it became all he could smell. He wanted to taste it again. To feel that liquid warmth sliding over his tongue and down his throat, making him feel alive again.
There was a weight, a faint pressure felt against his lips, and he knew all he had to do was open his mouth and that could all be his once more. But could he stop?
"J-Jared, where are you going?"
He wasn't fully aware of being in the hallway until his brother spoke, a waver in Shannon's voice that pulled at the part of him that wanted to stay. However, there was a larger part that said he couldn't, and somehow he knew that was the urge to trust.
Shaking his head hard, he didn't stop, muttering the only thing that was on his mind. "To feed."