4400 fic: That Which Is Known 1/1 K+ (for the 4400 Ficathon)
Title: That Which Is Known
Author: Purpleyin
Rating: K+
Warning: Some description of violence, but only really what was seen on show anyway.
Spoilers: Up until Season 3 “Graduation Day” wherein it is partially set.
Summary: Shawn POV for some his related mini character arc in “Gone Part 2” and “Graduation Day”.
Authors Note: This is one of my ficathon assignments, written for AbductedWhileDriving. She requested “Shawn insanity. Preferably Jordan being there. If that can't happen, it's fine.” and since Shawn insanity turned up on the show after the request was made I didn't want to redo it, and instead have decided to incorporate that into my story, with an extra addition of Jordan to add a little flavour. Thank you to Fanwoman for the beta.
###
He knows the bug is around here somewhere; it has to be. With a slash, he rips open the soft furnishing of the plush seating in his apartment, hands digging inside, scrambling for the tiny chip that should be there. All he comes up with is fluffy white padding, so he slashes at another and another until he realises he has to think bigger than bugs in the furniture. He tries the mattress anyway as he struggles with his decision. He gives them, those why spy on him, one last chance, and believe they wouldn't stoop as low as what he has just considered might be. And they fail. He's constantly bugged; they're always listening and that must mean only one thing - he's bugged.
He turns the knife back on himself, trying to slash at his flesh like before but meeting resistance. Pain flourishes in his arm as he digs in further, blood spilling out, but he doesn't care; it will be worth it. Besides, he's got them now because he can search everywhere on himself. It doesn't matter how far, how much he cuts - he can heal himself as long as he doesn't do too much damage at once.
A hour later, his arms and legs are dripping with the probing cuts, and he's shaking his head, bewildered. It should be in there; it's the only thing that makes sense, the only thought he can hold onto. He's lost. The bug is hidden, and he can't find it. He can't find it; he can't stop it. The world feels like it’s turning, moving forward for their purpose but not his. He's being dragged along. They’re controlling him; he knows it. It has to stop; he needs help. But who will help, who can he trust?
He thinks he hears a sound, a click of the door mechanism. Rushing through to the lounge area, he finds there’s no one there, no one visible at least. He hovers, standing alert, waiting for any indication that someone has infiltrated his rooms. The next sound he hears startles him, a familiar, smooth voice coming from the other end of the apartment, though he's not sure if it's from the bathroom or the bedroom. Scanning around, he finds Jordan, emerging from the kitchen with a drink in his hand - a drink he'd never heard poured, but he skips over that little detail with barely a hint of recognition.
Half of him is so relieved to see the guy, the other half simply speechless.
“What? You didn't think I'd leave you to fend for yourself did you, Shawn? You're my protege, my boy - or should I say man - in training.”
There's only one thing he can think to say.
“You died.”
“Yes, I know.” Jordan replies with a faint smile, as if the information is obvious enough to him despite the fact he's talking and alive. “I'm glad to say that doesn't present such a problem for me anymore, not as a 4400. I'd begun to wonder what my gift would be, and I was pleasantly surprised to find out, what with expecting my injuries to be... more permanent.”
Shawn flushes angrily at the idea that Jordan has been alive all this time and just hasn't turned up until now. Why would he do that? He stares up at Jordan tempestuously, trying to keep the sudden rage in check. All manner of dark thoughts cycle through his mind, and fleeting as they all are, they confuse him, rendering him once again speechless. Jordan seems to sense the tension, taking it in his stride, moving closer in a casual way that shows no hint of discomfort or worry over it.
“This is a shock, of course. I had hoped there would be better circumstances to introduce myself to you, but given your current predicament, I felt it wise to reveal myself - only to you. You need my help; that's why I'm here.”
And in that moment, hearing that sentence, Shawn is flooded with gratitude - he forgets the malice in his heart that Jordan would have denied himself to everyone, that his mentor had abandoned him for so long. He was so happy to see Jordan right then, he felt like crying; it was such good news to have him back. It doesn't matter about the months gone because he's here now, when he's needed, when Shawn needs leading. He knows he hasn't been the best at making decisions, not about Nova, nor Isabelle, and not about the spying, the bugs, the lying and everything else. It's all in a mess, blood and stuffing everywhere around and his mind haywire, hard to focus, unable to outsmart them, just like they'd want. But Jordan would know what to do, and here he was.
He waits patiently while Jordan takes a seat, dealing with the mess, pushing the innards back where they belong and making a small part of Shawn's world seem normal for a second. When Jordan is settled on the lone chair - impeccable as usual - Shawn hastily takes a seat, ignoring the odd sensation he gets from glancing at the split sofa - the flash of brokenness all around him that hits squarely, making him want to vomit. But he quells the urge and seeks to be calm in front of Jordan, to retain his dignity in the face of the craziness his life has taken on, despite the fact he's dripping with blood and sitting amongst ripped stuffing. He says plainly, “Tell me what to do, how to make it better,” and puts his faith in the man before him. It's still hard to focus, but he has less trouble with this - that Jordan is here, and he will sort it out - all he has to do is succumb to his mentor’s will, trusting, then sense will return. The first thing he's told to do is to heal himself, clean himself and get outside - they can't track him there, not in the woods...
Author: Purpleyin
Rating: K+
Warning: Some description of violence, but only really what was seen on show anyway.
Spoilers: Up until Season 3 “Graduation Day” wherein it is partially set.
Summary: Shawn POV for some his related mini character arc in “Gone Part 2” and “Graduation Day”.
Authors Note: This is one of my ficathon assignments, written for AbductedWhileDriving. She requested “Shawn insanity. Preferably Jordan being there. If that can't happen, it's fine.” and since Shawn insanity turned up on the show after the request was made I didn't want to redo it, and instead have decided to incorporate that into my story, with an extra addition of Jordan to add a little flavour. Thank you to Fanwoman for the beta.
###
He knows the bug is around here somewhere; it has to be. With a slash, he rips open the soft furnishing of the plush seating in his apartment, hands digging inside, scrambling for the tiny chip that should be there. All he comes up with is fluffy white padding, so he slashes at another and another until he realises he has to think bigger than bugs in the furniture. He tries the mattress anyway as he struggles with his decision. He gives them, those why spy on him, one last chance, and believe they wouldn't stoop as low as what he has just considered might be. And they fail. He's constantly bugged; they're always listening and that must mean only one thing - he's bugged.
He turns the knife back on himself, trying to slash at his flesh like before but meeting resistance. Pain flourishes in his arm as he digs in further, blood spilling out, but he doesn't care; it will be worth it. Besides, he's got them now because he can search everywhere on himself. It doesn't matter how far, how much he cuts - he can heal himself as long as he doesn't do too much damage at once.
A hour later, his arms and legs are dripping with the probing cuts, and he's shaking his head, bewildered. It should be in there; it's the only thing that makes sense, the only thought he can hold onto. He's lost. The bug is hidden, and he can't find it. He can't find it; he can't stop it. The world feels like it’s turning, moving forward for their purpose but not his. He's being dragged along. They’re controlling him; he knows it. It has to stop; he needs help. But who will help, who can he trust?
He thinks he hears a sound, a click of the door mechanism. Rushing through to the lounge area, he finds there’s no one there, no one visible at least. He hovers, standing alert, waiting for any indication that someone has infiltrated his rooms. The next sound he hears startles him, a familiar, smooth voice coming from the other end of the apartment, though he's not sure if it's from the bathroom or the bedroom. Scanning around, he finds Jordan, emerging from the kitchen with a drink in his hand - a drink he'd never heard poured, but he skips over that little detail with barely a hint of recognition.
Half of him is so relieved to see the guy, the other half simply speechless.
“What? You didn't think I'd leave you to fend for yourself did you, Shawn? You're my protege, my boy - or should I say man - in training.”
There's only one thing he can think to say.
“You died.”
“Yes, I know.” Jordan replies with a faint smile, as if the information is obvious enough to him despite the fact he's talking and alive. “I'm glad to say that doesn't present such a problem for me anymore, not as a 4400. I'd begun to wonder what my gift would be, and I was pleasantly surprised to find out, what with expecting my injuries to be... more permanent.”
Shawn flushes angrily at the idea that Jordan has been alive all this time and just hasn't turned up until now. Why would he do that? He stares up at Jordan tempestuously, trying to keep the sudden rage in check. All manner of dark thoughts cycle through his mind, and fleeting as they all are, they confuse him, rendering him once again speechless. Jordan seems to sense the tension, taking it in his stride, moving closer in a casual way that shows no hint of discomfort or worry over it.
“This is a shock, of course. I had hoped there would be better circumstances to introduce myself to you, but given your current predicament, I felt it wise to reveal myself - only to you. You need my help; that's why I'm here.”
And in that moment, hearing that sentence, Shawn is flooded with gratitude - he forgets the malice in his heart that Jordan would have denied himself to everyone, that his mentor had abandoned him for so long. He was so happy to see Jordan right then, he felt like crying; it was such good news to have him back. It doesn't matter about the months gone because he's here now, when he's needed, when Shawn needs leading. He knows he hasn't been the best at making decisions, not about Nova, nor Isabelle, and not about the spying, the bugs, the lying and everything else. It's all in a mess, blood and stuffing everywhere around and his mind haywire, hard to focus, unable to outsmart them, just like they'd want. But Jordan would know what to do, and here he was.
He waits patiently while Jordan takes a seat, dealing with the mess, pushing the innards back where they belong and making a small part of Shawn's world seem normal for a second. When Jordan is settled on the lone chair - impeccable as usual - Shawn hastily takes a seat, ignoring the odd sensation he gets from glancing at the split sofa - the flash of brokenness all around him that hits squarely, making him want to vomit. But he quells the urge and seeks to be calm in front of Jordan, to retain his dignity in the face of the craziness his life has taken on, despite the fact he's dripping with blood and sitting amongst ripped stuffing. He says plainly, “Tell me what to do, how to make it better,” and puts his faith in the man before him. It's still hard to focus, but he has less trouble with this - that Jordan is here, and he will sort it out - all he has to do is succumb to his mentor’s will, trusting, then sense will return. The first thing he's told to do is to heal himself, clean himself and get outside - they can't track him there, not in the woods...