Feb. 4th, 2012 04:17 pm
veiledndarkness: (Default)
[personal profile] veiledndarkness
Author: veiledndarkness

Title: Limbo

Rating: PG-13

Pairing(if any, or gen): Implied Bobby/Jack

Summary: If this isn’t Heaven or Hell, then where does that leave him?

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made and no harm intended.

Written for the prompt Ends at [ profile] fourbrothers100


Crossing over isn’t what he expects.

The white light is there, yeah, but there’s no tunnel, no visions of departed family members greeting him. He supposes he should count his lucky stars that there are no pitchforks looming either and if he finds this funny, the idea of laughing now is absurd.

All he sees is the tears in the eyes of his brothers, the abject misery on Bobby’s face and he tries to speak, to say something but only blood comes out and he chokes, the white light burning more than the holes dug in his body from the bullets that had pierced him.

He tries to lift his hands, to grasp the rough fingers that are clutching his head. He can feel the trembling in Bobby’s hands and he feels tears slip down his chilled cheeks. He’s leaving, he’s fading and it scares him so badly.

He’s not ready to go. He’s not ready to leave like this and it’s not fucking fair, if this is really the end of his short, fucking pathetic life.

Jack gasps and blood pours out of his mouth as the white light explodes before him and he’s gone, floating up and into the whiteness, into the void that’s waiting high above.


Heaven isn’t what he expects either.

But he’s not all that sure he’s in Heaven. In fact, he’s just…there, wherever that is. It’s a white void and he’s not flying or anything. He’s just…there. He’s not standing, or sitting or lying down. It’s more that he can feel that he’s here in this white space.

He would sigh but there’s no sound in this void. There’s no air, no breathing and nothing hurts, though he figures logically he should be hurting. He should be in agony, really. He took at least five shots before he fell to the snow covered ground.

Jack closes his eyes. He doesn’t like thinking about that but what else is there to do in this empty cell? It’s nothing but an eternity of thinking. He wants to kick something, Christ, but he wants a cigarette!

He laughs bitterly and imagines running his fingers over where his jean clad legs should be, feeling the ripped fabric where the bullets had pierced him. He feels nothing when he pushes on the imagined blood stained material. With a silent hiss, he slaps his palms against his knees and laughs all the more wildly when he feels nothing.

He prays that his mother didn’t face anything like this when her time had come.


If it’s been days, then he has no idea. It could be hours or days or months before he hears the slightest of sounds. He wonders idly if this is what it’s like to be insane. There’s still nothing and he’s alone in the void.

He’s taken to calling it the void because this sure as fuck isn’t Heaven.

Jack pretends to play his guitar and he screams the lyrics to the songs he’s written, hoping to hear an echo even once. There’s no answer and it infuriates him more than he thought possible.

He misses everything, he misses everyone. He wants to hear Bobby call him ‘fairy’ more than he wants a cigarette. He wants to feel Bobby push him against the wall in the darkness and pretend to protest when Bobby’s fingers scrabble over Jack’s hips and hold him in place.

He wants to see his brothers.

He hears the sound again, just a hint of a whisper and he whips his head in the direction he thinks it came from, but if it’s East or West or even South, he hasn’t a clue. With no walls, no doors or windows, he’s not sure if he’s even right side up.

But there it is, a whispery tease free floating. It’s a lot like a beeping, a pulse or two before it’s gone and he’s running, floating, chasing the sound, desperate to hear it again. He shudders to hear a softly spoken plea, one that sends chills down where he thinks his spine should be.

It sounds like Bobby.

He stops running and the void is filled with the steady beeping, the noise growing louder. He holds his hands to his ears and winces because under the beeping is the sound of Bobby speaking, his voice weary and his words scraped raw.

Jack wants to scream. He can’t find the sound and he’s afraid of what’s next, if this endless fucking limbo is almost over and he’ll be on his way to his eternity, kicking and screaming all the way.

He feels the void flex around him and he does scream then, blending with the beeps and the pleas that fall from Bobby’s lips as the white light flexes and fragments until he can see glimpses of the world below and all the world is a hospital room where he can see himself lying in a bed, connected to more machines than he can count and the sight of Bobby with his head down, held in his hands by his side is more than he can take and he slips away, the whiteness solidifying around him once more.


He rants on and on to the void, cursing it and cursing himself and the bastards that killed his mother. He hates them and he can’t find the forgiveness in himself that Evelyn would have asked him to look for. He hates the masked men who shot him like a dog in the street and he hates that he fell for their tricks and ended up lured out of the house.

Jack rants until his throat clamps shut, though it doesn’t matter because he’s not hurting really. He’s not thirsty or tired, but by God is he angry. He’s madder than he can ever remember being. There’s no more fear, and he’s not a little boy hiding under his bed from the shadows outside his bedroom door. He’s not so fucking fragile and he only needed Bobby to save him because he couldn’t outrun the barrage of bullets that had chased him down.

He seethes and curses until he runs out of adjectives and adverbs.

And then, after who knows how long, Jack hears the beeping. Against his will, he feels panic and excitement rise up. He runs and searches, yelling for the void to just give him a fucking break.

Nothing happens for a long moment before he feels the shudder and flexing. Bobby’s voice is audible for a half second and Jack thinks he can feel his heartbeat racing, if his heart was still working.

The whiteness fractures and he can see the same image as before.

He reaches, fingers outstretched as if he could climb down from the white void and slip into the body lying far too still on the bed. There’s a machine that makes his chest fall and rise rhythmically and cords and tubes snake all over the blankets that cover his body.

Bobby sits sprawled in the chair next to his bed, his legs akimbo, head tipped back, his eyelids shut, his forehead furrowed in his troubled sleep. He grimaces in his sleep. There’s more lines on his face than Jack remembers seeing before and his hair is mussed and badly in need of a wash.

Jack smiles and reaches, desperate to touch him, desperate to brush those furrows away with his thumb the way he used to on the rare occasions when Bobby would fall asleep on his bed, too tired to pretend that he hadn’t just finished fucking his baby brother.

He feels his eyes sting as if he might cry when his fingers swipe through Bobby and nothing happens. He tries again and feels the tips of Bobby’s hair move under his fingers. With a vaguely hysterical laugh, he focuses and reaches, feeling the stubble on Bobby’s cheeks, the facial hair scratching his palm the way it always did.

He stretches harder, willing his body to follow him through the void, to let him go, to let him return to his life, even if he has to face the pain waiting for him. Bobby’s eyelids flutter a little and he exhales and warm breath ghosts over Jack’s hand.

Jack laughs silently and pushes harder than before. Bobby sighs his name and the misery in that breath steals Jack’s amusement and he cups Bobby’s face, pressing a wisp of a kiss to his mouth, willing every bit of his being for the void to let him go, let him go back.

Bobby opens his eyes and Jack hears nothing then, sees the tears in Bobby’s eyes, sees the dark circles ground under them and he feels the void flex harder than the first time. Bobby blinks and his eyes widen in sleepy confusion before Jack fades, the white void stealing him back.


This time Jack doesn’t bother with screaming and obscenities. He pleads and bargains until he fears that his words are falling on deaf ears, if the void even has ears. He wasn’t ready to go, can’t it understand that?

It wasn’t his time, and it’s not right that this is how his life ends.

He’s not dead, not really, not if his body is in the hospital with Bobby sitting next to him endlessly. He’ll do anything, anything the void wants if it will let him go back down, let him out of this limbo and back into the world of the living.

He’ll spend the rest of his days doing charitable things. God help him, he’ll stop drinking.

There’s a moment where he almost feels mockery from above and if the void has a sense of humour, he thinks it understands. He closes his eyes and clasps his hands, praying more than he ever did before.

He recites every prayer he can think of, he does Hail Mary’s over and over and then, when he just can’t go on another moment, he feels the flexing start anew. Jack gasps a silent gasp and looks up, tears burning his eyes as he feels the void dissipate around him.

Pain floods his body and he feels his chest hitch up and down frantically.

The machines’ alarms screech around him and he feels more than sees Bobby rush over to him, his mouth opening and closing, words floating down to him, complete panic written over his tired face. This Bobby looks fearful and the Bobby he knew wouldn’t ever admit to being afraid.

Jack fumbles his hand up and catches one of Bobby’s, his stiff fingers grasping Bobby’s hand, gripping him as tightly as he can. He wants to laugh and cry but mostly he wants a kiss, breathing tube be damned.


He lays in his hospital bed, slightly reclined and smiles, riding the pleasant wave of morphine that pumps into his body at regular intervals. He flexes his fingers and smiles at everything because what could be better than being out of the void.

He turns to look at Bobby, giving him a lopsided grin. Bobby doesn’t quite understand when Jack tries to tell him about the void and even now when he tries to explain, he can feel the memories slipping away, as if he’s no longer allowed to know what lies beyond the moment of death.

Jack pats the side of the bed and Bobby grudgingly sits beside him. The tough guy act doesn’t fool Jack, not when he’s seen the way Bobby had grieved at his side while he was in limbo, one foot past the void.

He feels Bobby lean in and he tilts his head up and steals a kiss, a slow, sweet kiss that makes his toes curl in all the right ways. Jack’s throat bobs and he grips Bobby by the waist, holding tight to keep from being tugged back beyond the pale, not now that he’s safe in Bobby’s arms.



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October 2012

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