A/N: Yes, Spoilers from Lord Of The Flies. Comment please, even flames and bashing are allowed. WARNING: Boy love.

Everything was silent. The eeriness in the mood was extremely uncomfortable- I hadn't heard such stillness since the plane ride. After the plane crashed onto the island, all I heard were the bickering of the little kids, the arguments of the biguns, the screams of those unfortunate ones, and the squeals of dying pigs. This silence was alien to me- I could hear my heavy footsteps and my shallow breathing as I walked down the hallway.

My bare feet clanged against the cold metal floor of the Navy ship- I couldn't sleep in my quarters after having been treated of my infected wounds from the island and I couldn't stay still- I just wasn't used to it anymore. After the treatment, I was given a clean tan shirt and some baggy military pants to wear and a pair of scissors to cut my sandy colored hair, which has reached shoulder length through the span of what seemed like forever on that godforsaken place. As I walked in the seemingly empty grey halls, I heard various noises- familiar sounds from the boys who have just been rescued.

I saw through the ajar door leading to their cabin, Sam'nEric in pain as the nurse struggled to cure their open wounds dripping with yellow pus. Opposite their room, I heard some littleuns crying for their mommies. Further down the hall, was Roger snarling to himself and cussing out loud bout killing another swine. I could see that he was still unwashed, for his hair was still covering his scarred face and war paint was still dripping down his chest.

None of us have quite gotten over the nightmare that enveloped us back in the island; being far from all civilization and succumbing into the deep depths of insanity. It was the bloodlust that we didn't know of that drove us to kill all the lingering sense of control and reasoning left. It drove us from the very core of ourselves. We all knew that things wouldn't be the same. Especially for the ginger haired boy in the last compartment.

I trudged down to the end of the hall with only one more room remaining. No sound emitted from this room- it was pure and cold silence. It was also the only door that remained open, revealing a boy with flaming red hair and war paint on his cheeks, sitting on the edge of his bed.

I wasn't sure what to do- should I kick him where the sun don't shine, or should I lay off him? I mean, after all, we just got away from the island- the only proof of the weakness of young British boys when it comes to savagery. iHis/i savagery. The blood spilt on his hands, the sin in his system. I stood there, staring at the sin-stained teenager. I didn't realize my breaths were coming out in shallow and angry huffs and that I was biting down on my lower lip to keep me from screaming at him. I was also scarring my wrists with my own nails to keep me from punching him.

"Ralph." He said, his voice raspier than ever and even more quiet than usual. I was surprised with the way he said my name; not because he had the nerve to call me after he did in my friends, but because of the need in his tone. As if he needed me in some unnatural way.

"Ralph." He repeated, looking down at his fists clutching the ends of his shirt.

"What?" my voice came out in a mumble; I was supposed to hiss at him, but my fear and anger conceived a deceiving reply.

"Ralph." He repeated-his eyes were an unusual hue, as if he was dazed. Detached. It was only then that I realized he wasn't talking to me- he was muttering my name to himself. He repeated my name over and over; I was confused; scared.

"Jack?"

His head shot up at me and his icy blue eyes focused on me, accentuated by the dark rings beneath his eyes and the war paint on his cheekbones.

"Jack?" he repeated, his name lolling off his tongue.

"Yeah. That's your name."

He looked up at me, puzzled. Was he not registering this?

"Jack, don't play dumb. It's not helping you erase what you did." I muttered, the tinge of angst dripping from my voice.

"What's wrong, chief?" he questioned.

That hit me. Soon, I was about to hit him. In a second, I was throwing my best blows at him, only to understand that he wasn't fighting back-nor defending himself.

"What is wrong with iyou,/i Jack?!" I scowled. He didn't answer.

"Is that why you kept the war paint? Because you really are the monster you revealed in the island?!" my fist was shaking as I drew it back from his face

"Savage." He whispered.

"What?" I growled.

"Not monster." He said, shaking his head. "Savage."

"What?" I repeated.

"I'm a savage, Ralph. Savage." He hissed. Droplets of ice emerged beneath the red-gold eyelashes. I watched the tears streak down his face before he knocked me down. I was beneath him, his weight pressing onto me as he sobbed on my chest. Instinctively, I struggled to get him off me, but he was still too tall and heavier than I was. I felt his chest heave against mine as he shrunk into fetish position.

I wasn't supposed to feel any pity towards him who killed our friends-but to be honest, he was killing himself, too. And I didn't want anyone to lose themselves to insanity again.

"I'm not Jack Merridew anymore. I am savage." He choked.

"You aren't a savage, Jack." I said, putting both of my hands on his back.

"Yes I am."

"No."

He used his arms to tower over me as if to study me like his prey. His baby blues wet with tears washed over my chestnut eyes. His gaze held mine as his arms slowly gave way, gradually collapsing on me.

"You aren't. Whoever did those things back in the island wasn't you. He's back there in the island, along with the sins he has done." I assured him, the words not registering in my mind, simply flowing out of my mouth. I tucked a strand of hair behind his ear as he folded his arms across my chest; I could see him chewing the inside of his lower lip.

"You aren't savage. Savages don't feel." I said, using my thumb to swipe the paint and tears away from his face. As if savagery melted away from him.

"He's still back there." He mumbled. He brought his face close to mine; I could almost count every freckle on his nose and the teardrops dangling from his eyelashes.

"Who?"

"The Savage."

"No worries." I said, brushing back his hair from his face.

"When we're older, we will go back. The both of us. And we will track him down and make sure he doesn't do anymore damage. Especially not to you." I told the older boy. He smiled at me and leaned down to place cracked lips on mine. He still smelled like seawater and tasted of pomegranate. He still sent tingles up and down my spine as he gently wrapped fistfuls of my hair around his slender fingers. My hands were familiar with this routine- I would caress his back and enjoy the shudders it caused. Just like before.

I guess not ieverything/i that happened in the island, stays in the island.