A Matter of Perspective - chapter 2
Title: Who are you to question why your god doesn't want me to believe in him?
Pairing: Chase Young/ Jack Spicer
Rating: PG 13 for now
Summary: We find out what has become of dear Jack. Chase sets about finding him. Jack starts to realize he is a magnet for strangeness.
Jack woke up with a throbbing headache, a dry mouth and an aching hand.
His first thought was: 'That's weird. I don't remember falling asleep.'
His second thought was: 'Holy shit, my hand hurts.'
His third thought was: 'This isn't my/Chase's bedroom. Where the hell am I?'
Jack rolled out of bed and looked around the strange room. It was small, sparsely decorated with cheap wooden furniture. A few generic Christian icons were hung or placed about the room.
Frowning, Jack looked at his left hand. No wonder it hurt; he had a metal finger-cast strapped to his left ring-finger. The dragon ring Chase had given him was mashed underneath the brace. The skin around the antique silver was torn and swollen.
“What the hell?” Jack muttered.
It looked like someone had tried to take his ring, but the enchanted bit of jewelry had put up a fight. Spicer was just lucky the attempted thieves didn't know how much it was worth or they probably would have cut off his finger to get it.
Shaking his pained hand fretfully, the albino teen stood up from the narrow bed. His eyes fell on a bottle of water sitting on a small table beneath a window. Without a thought, Jack crossed the room and popped the top off, pouring the cool liquid down his parched throat. In the process, he looked out of the window.
For a minute, he could only stare. The scenery outside of the window was quaint, picturesque, a paradise of nature that most people would kill to see. Jack was not one of those people. The tech wizard stared at the mist-shrouded pine forest and flat, placid lake waters like the untouched beauty was going to lunge through the window and get him.
“JackBots, I don't think I'm in China anymore,” Spicer muttered.
“No, Jack. You're not in lonely, isolated China anymore!” A cheerful voice announced. Jack whirled, his heart in his throat.
Standing in the now-open doorway was a man in his late middle age. Fair hair had greyed out to a drab beige that blended in with his complexion in a way though should have been boring, but ended up looking creepy. Understanding hazel eyes smiled at Jack over a pair of gold wire-rimmed spectacles. It shouldn't have been possible for the smile to be in the man's eyes and not his mouth, but the gum-baring grin on the man's face resembled a death rictus. His clothes were a simple blue polo shirt and khaki pants.
“Who the hell are you?!” Jack demanded. “Where the hell am I and what the fuck happened to my hand?!”
The smile, or whatever it was, left the stranger's face.
“Now Jack, I'm going to have to ask you to watch your language while you're here. I'm Pastor Stephen Dallas, but I want you to call me Steve.” The man's eyes remained so understanding. “I know you're very confused right now-”
“Damn right I'm confused!”
“But that's why you're here, Jack.”
“I'm . . . what? I'm here to be confused?” The albino teen blinked.
“No, no. You're here because you're confused.”
Jack paused and tried to slow down his thinking process to match Steve's.
“Listen; I was just fine back home. I was doing better than fine, actually; I was great. All of a sudden I wake up in some strange room in a different country with some guy who talks in circles and to top it all off, someone tried to steal my ring.” Jack held up his left hand. “And you think I was confused at home?!”
Steve's eyes locked onto Jack's hand and stayed there.
“Well yes, Jack, I do. And the proof of your confusion is that ring.”
“What do you mean?” He asked, fingering the exposed part of the warm metal.
“Well, son, your parents tell me your boyfriend gave you that ring.”
“Yeah,” Jack said, blushing. He still couldn't resist acting like a blushing schoolgirl when someone mentioned his relationship with Chase.
“I'm sure you've noticed that's your wedding ring finger.”
Jack grinned like an idiot, his blush deepening in intensity.
“Yeah!”
“Jack, your male lover gave you an engagement ring.”
Jack couldn't help it; he giggled.
“I know! The first time he said I'd stay by his side forever I was so happy I cried!” Spicer threw his arms around himself, flinching when his finger was strained. “I still get goosebumps!”
“Jack. You are a man. You are engaged to another man. Don't you see anything wrong with that?” Steve prompted.
Jack Spicer considered the question carefully, fingering his ring.
“Well . . .”
“Yes?”
“It might complicate the wedding some.” Jack said finally. “They always organize those things by 'bride's side' and 'groom's side' and we'll have to do it by 'groom's side' and 'other groom's side'. I mean, it probably won't be a very orthodox ceremony anyway, but should I get walked down the aisle or should we do it together or what? And if I get walked down the aisle, who's going to give me away? I mean, my dad still wants to kill me for being gay, I guess I could ask Wuya; she's kind of responsible for getting me into the whole Heylin circle-” The goth teen continued, oblivious to the way Steve put his face in his hands. “Should I even invite my parents? Like I said, Dad wants me dead, and I'm not sure I could just invite Mom. She was crying her eyes out when she found those pictures of me and Chase anyway. And then there's what to wear-”
“Jack!”
“Yeah?”
“Marriage is a holy institution reserved for a man and a woman. Any sort of sexual relationship between two men is unnatural, disgusting, and sinful.” Steve said flatly.
Jack gave him a look that would have sent the average kicked puppy slinking back to it's kennel in defeat.
“That's a horrible thing to say to a soon-to-be bride! I mean, groom!” Jack wailed.
“This is where your confusion comes from. I'm sure I know how it happened: you thought you'd never be popular with girls, then this older man who treated you with respect, who listened to you, who told you you were attractive came into your life. And then he began the sexual overtures? Before you knew was what going on, he was making you the submissive partner in his sodomy, even though I'm sure you didn't really want that. And now that he has you broken in, he wants to bind you to him through fraudulent marriage. I'm sure now he's telling you no one else will ever want you and his respect and affection has dropped off sharply. Isn't that right?”
Jack stared.
He thought about his history with Chase Young; of the verbal abuse and half-hearted attempts on his life in the early days, then to Jack's offer of physical pleasure, and now Chase's flat out pampering and spoiling.
“Wow. That's about as wrong as it's possible to be.”
“We're going to help you, Jack.” Steve continued as if he hadn't spoken. “Here at Camp Purity, we'll cure your sickness through faith and the power of prayer.”
Jack stared, a cold knot forming in his stomach.
“But the first step in getting better is admitting that you're sick.”
Spicer's right hand curled around his ring protectively. The move didn't go unnoticed.
“I am sorry about your finger, Jack, but Brother Jason was determined to get that ring off. Once you're cured, I'm sure you'll relish throwing that ring back into your boyfriend's face and telling him: I've cured my homosexuality and you can, too!”
“Y-You broke my finger trying to take my ring off?”
“Again, I'm sorry about that, but it will be worth it when you're cured!”
“'Cured'?! I don't want to be cured! You can't cure 'gay'! My parents shipped me off to some anti-gay Christian cult camp?! I don't even believe in God!”
Jack pushed past the minister and bolted down the hall.
Steve sighed and turned to an intercom outside of Jack's door.
“Brother Jason, we have a runner.”
Chase Young was ready to commit murder. The eternal evil lord had lost himself in picking out clothing for Jack for hours, imagining how a sliver of white flesh would peek coyly out of a waistband, or how crimson hair would fan out across a green brocade. He had been quite beside himself with anticipation of Jack's return, only to realize that the goth genius should have returned to the mountain keep by now.
Irritated, but unwilling to go drag Jack back so that they could play dress-up, Chase had gone through his training routine, then calmed himself with meditation. The monks attempted to penetrate his castle for some inane reason or another and Chase had amused himself with tormenting Omi for a while.
By the time Chase came to the conclusion that the only reason Jack wouldn't be back in his arms by now was that something was wrong, the youth had been out of his keeping for nearly twenty-four hours.
Not bothering with the Eye Spy Orb, Chase teleported directly into Jack's evil lair. Instantly he knew something was terribly wrong. The jet Spicer had flown to the Showdown was still parked in the middle of the Lair, the canopy to the cockpit open wide. Jack was almost neurotic about keeping everything in it's place; he wouldn't leave the vehicle sitting out in the open for nearly a day. Chase's suspicions were confirmed when he saw the Monkey Staff, the Shroud of Shadows, and the Glasses of Bi Shi sitting unguarded on Jack's main work desk. There were other things on the desk as well; Chase frowned as he saw the photographs scattered across the desk and on the floor. The dragon lord stopped just as his foot was descending towards one. He crouched down to inspect the picture.
Chase's eyebrows rose as he took in the image of himself and Jack wrapped in a tender embrace, his lips brushing the albino youth's temple. The ancient warrior studied the photographs on the floor, noting all were of himself and Jack. The poses ranged from 'borderline pornographic' to 'we're bored, but we still need to touch each other'.
Chase Young froze. Something else on the floor caught his eye. The dragon lord crawled forward a few paces to pick up the item.
It was a shard of glass.
More importantly, it was a shard of yellow glass with an orange streak through it.
Jack's goggles.
Looking up as the realization slowly sank in, Chase's eyes came to rest on a streak of blood along the side of Jack's work desk
The dragon lord fought back an overwhelming urge to make something die. His beloved had been taken by force: that much was readily apparent. However, Chase still didn't know who had done the awful deed or where they had taken Jack, or exactly how many pieces he should rip them into over how many hours.
Straightening, Chase unfastened the arm guard around his left arm. He pulled his black glove free and pushed it up until a ring much like Jack's was uncovered on his left ring finger. While it did resemble the albino youth's ring in design, the band was much thinner and sleeker. The metal was black, with highlights of antique silver. Instead of a diamond for the dragon's mystic pearl, a pitch black stone so highly polished it looked liquid gleamed eerily in the low light of the lair. The black dragon ring's eyes were obsidian.
Chase Young stared at the bit of jewelry for a moment, as if confused.
“Why do you do nothing?!” He finally demanded of the decoration. “Your mate is gone! You must find him!”
Those sensitive to such things would have felt a pressure as the ring struggled to comply. Then there was nothing.
“Holiness . . . .” Chase growled the word as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. “They block the spell with the blessings of a god.”
That was the problem with being evil: it left you susceptible to the most inane things, simply because they were good.
Luckily, Chase knew of someone who existed outside of such distinctions as good and evil. Someone who could be forced to comply whether they liked it or not.
“Jack?! Jack! Now, seriously, I'm afraid you can't leave the building!” Steve called, hurrying after the pale teenager. The pastor didn't hurry too quickly; the camp had a state of the art security system. These kids were so confused; they just needed to be shown the way. Steve frowned as he came upon the door.
The wide open door.
The wide open door with the security panel that was broken and hot wired.
“Oh no! Oh no, Brother Jason!” Steve rushed to the next intercom, which was at the end of the hall. “Brother Jason, the new boy is out of the building! He hot wired the keypad somehow and now he's loose! . . . What do you mean, not another one?”
Chase Young stood before the door of a drab suburbanite house just beginning to fall into disrepair. He kept his urge to smash the door in and shake the inhabitants by their throats carefully concealed. Unfortunately, the services he sought couldn't be derived by brute force; he would have to feign politeness.
Eventually the door was opened by a bedraggled Phooka. The carnivorous fairy was wearing only a pair of boxer briefs and his dark hair was bunched up in a kinky mass of curls.
“Chase?” He groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Locally, it is ten o'clock in the morning.” The dragon lord answered coolly. His disapproval was evident.
“Matty and I didn't get home until seven. What do you want?” Phooka answered after a moment. His hand moved from his eyes to his hair and started scratching the spot where his horns budded when he changed shape.
“Someone has taken my Jack. I require your assistance in finding him.” Chase announced, hating to admit his helplessness.
Phooka stopped scratching and blinked at Chase for a moment. Then, as fairies are wont to do, the kelpie abruptly lost interest. The door shut firmly in Chase Young's face.
Chase had been expecting this. He had a further plan of action, but the knowledge that Phooka was heading back to bed to snuggle down with his sweet little boy blew all rational thought out of the window.
The fairy turned as the door was ripped off of it's hinges.
“Don't do that! Matty's mother will throw a fit!” Phooka cried.
Chase tossed the wreckage of the door aside and advanced on the elf, a vicious snarl on his face.
“I care nothing for Matty or his mother, nor do I care anything for you. The one I care for has been taken from me and hidden under the blessings of a god. That means I require someone who has the power to find him, yet is not bound by definitions of good and evil. Someone who simply is.” Chase stopped with his own nose an inch from Phooka's.
To the kelpie's credit, Phooka didn't retreat from the threatening stalk. His green eyes met Chase's gold ones head on.
“Someone like a Pagan manifestation of the perils of the element of water?” The water goblin suggested.
“Someone like that.” Chase confirmed.
“Mmmm. You've clearly explained why you need me, Chase Young. Now why exactly should I help you? The last time we crossed paths as free men, I ended up bound in iron from chest to knees and ended up being owned by a whimpering little boy who can't get enough of the Greek love.”
For the immortal life of him, Chase couldn't help the smug smirk that twisted across his face.
“Young Matthias is too much for you? Or do you simply miss being the one sinking your teeth into the bedclothes?”
“Good luck finding your toy, Chase!” Phooka spat, whirling away.
He nearly ran into Matty, who had just come out of a hallway that presumably led to the bedrooms. The fair youth only wore a loose pair of pajama pants decorated with what appeared to be a talking kitchen sponge.
“What's going on?” He asked.
“Nothing. Let's go back to bed.” Phooka snapped, attempting to usher his mortal lover back the way he had come.
“Good Morning, Matthias.” Chase said politely.
“What's Chase doing here? Where's Jack? What happened to the door?”
“Jack is stolen from me. I came to Phooka for aid, but he refuses to assist me. Now my love is gone.” Chase answered, taking great relish in the look of pure hatred the kelpie shot him. “I apologize for the door.”
“What?” Matty asked.
Phooka cringed. One of Chase's eyebrows rose at the venom in the mortal youth's voice. Matty's blue eyes went cold as he glared up at his captive fairy.
“Jack is my friend. Who the hell else am I gonna talk to about having an immortal monster as a boyfriend?! He said I could be in the wedding!” Matty yelled into Phooka's face. “If you don't help Chase find him, I am going to drive iron nails into your horn!”
A second eyebrow joined the first. Chase had come with the idea of telling the teen a few tricks to punish Phooka. He hadn't expected the mincing boy who always put him in mind of a cocker spaniel to have already thought up a few far more vicious than what Chase was willing to share.
From the look on the kelpie's face, he had been on the hard end of Matty's temper before and hadn't enjoyed the trip.
“All right, all right! I'll get a scrying spell ready!” Phooka cried, holding up his hands. “But I'm not fixing the damn door!”
The fairy stomped back to the bedroom, muttering darkly about no sleep, pissy dragon lords, and iron.
Jack hated nature. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He liked nature provided it was mostly bare and covered in snow. Jack had always loved winter; the bite of frost and snow seemed to make everything so much more orderly than the random chaos that wildlife seemed to operate on.
There wasn't a hint of frost or snow anywhere, but there were plenty of mud, bugs, and stink. Jack ran out of the compound and wriggled under a chain link fence. Now he was running, but he had no idea where. He didn't even know where he was! Given the fact that the pastor was American, he'd hazard a guess that he was in the U.S. But that was as far as he would go.
Spicer slowed his headlong flight into the forest. He found a dusty trail and began to follow that.
How had his parents managed to ship him half-way around the world without Chase noticing? Wasn't the ring supposed to keep him out of harm's way? Grimacing, Jack picked at the tape binding the cast to his finger. Maybe the preacher had put some kinda exorcism on it. How would that work? Would Christian blessings even work against Chase's magic?
A familiar prickle ran up the back of Jack's neck.
The albino youth stopped walking abruptly. He recognized this feeling mostly by it's absence: it was the feeling of the supernatural. Jack was used to being surrounded by it, cradled in it when he was with Chase. Before that it had been Wuya constantly hanging over his shoulder. These days it only struck him as how boring and mundane the world was when he was parted from his supernatural lifestyle.
But Jack felt that feeling now, which meant things were about to get weird. Maybe even wyrd.
There was something strange happening to the path in front Jack. What appeared to be a tiny, contained dust devil spun and smoked in the middle of the path about four feet in front of him. Jack frowned, peering at the phenomenon. It didn't actually look like a dust devil; it looked like something was kicking up the dust on the path, but there was nothing there to see.
Jack was just raising his foot to look closer when a voice rang out through the trees.
“If you take another step forward, you're going to die.”