Title: A Scar in the Making
Author: royal-chandler
Rating: T
Summary: "I'm Todd Manning's son. Certain qualities are expected of me." Jack/Shane.
Word Count: ~2,900 MW
Warnings: Slash. Underage boys making out. Discussion of character death. Serious angst.
Disclaimer: I do not own OLTL or any of its characters. Also some of the dialogue here also belongs to OLTL. Title is borrowed from Fuel's "Scars in the Making."
A/N: First of all, let me say that I totally have respect for the seriousness of the bullying storyline. I've enjoyed it since day one and if I didn't like it, I wouldn't be writing for it. However, I do believe that the tension between Jack and Shane can be deeper and more complicated, so I did just that with this fic. There's been a lot of speculation on why Jack spends so much energy on Shane and I ran with it. I hope that what happens in this story doesn't offend anyone. Most of this was written directly after the 7/6/11 episode.
It's his dad's stolen car that gets him to his Aunt Viki's carriage house but for the life of him, Jack isn't sure what actually brings him to Shane's front door. One minute, he's flying down Wake St. determined to get away from his parents and in the next, he's curving the path that leads to the huge estate—his feet and hands no longer under his control, on some sort of autopilot.
Never being one to think first, he raps against the door as soon as he's on the welcome mat. He doesn't allow himself to consider how fucking stupid this is. How much he's going to regret this, how much shit he'll be in once he gets back home, how this won't change the fact that he's a murderer…
Jack doesn't know if he should be grateful that Shane is the one that opens the door, is the face of anger that makes Jack swallow madly—stunned and paralyzed with no idea of what to do next.
"What are you doing here," Shane seethes. And no matter how often Jack brings out the tone, he's still shocked by it. For some reason, he just can't compromise the picture of Shane with the vicious voice.
Stuttering on his honesty, Jack answers, "I—I don't. I don't know."
"Get out," Shane orders through clinched teeth, his hand tight on the metal knob. "Get out now before I let my dad know that you're here."
"Don't do that."
"You're such a coward."
Jack doesn't deny that. There's no point when they're both so aware of how true it is. Although that's not necessarily why he doesn't want Rex involved. "Just," he begins, pauses to breathe a little and figure out how not to mess up. "Just let me talk to you. Please."
Shane's glare feels like the points of knives, pins and needles. "Why should I?" He asks even sharper. "So that you can lie some more? Pretend that you didn't kill my mom, Jack? How insane are you? How—God, leave. Leave."
"Shane," Rex calls from upstairs. "Who are you talking to?"
Heart rate rapid, Jack watches as Shane's mouth sets into a hard line before yelling back, "No one, Dad. It's just the tv." He mouths at Jack to go.
But it's that autopilot situation again because Jack doesn't move a muscle. Doesn't know how much time passes until Rex eventually walks down the staircase, catches sight of him and has Jack by the collar of his pressed shirt and his tie. It barely transmits, what Rex is screaming at him. The world is muted by the pain he finds in the older man's eyes. His dark, dark rage aimed squarely at Jack.
He's taken by surprise when Shane fits in between the two of them and pushes at his father, begging him to stop. They both turn to Shane dumbfounded.
"What?" Rex questions, brows pinched together. "Shane, what's going on here?"
"I told Jack to come over." Shane explains, gaze never leaving Rex's. "I texted him because I wanted to say some things to him. He came over for me."
Jack puts out a defensive hand. "Wait a minute—"
Shane cuts him off quickly. "Shut up, Jack. Don't worry about catching the blame on this one."
Rex glances back at Jack and then looks to Shane uncertainly, crosses his arms. It's amazing how quickly his eyes go from utter explosion to concern. "I don't understand. Why would you do that? And why did you lie to me?"
"I had to see him at some point and I wanted it to be on my terms. I lied because I didn't want you feeling worse than you already are—having him in our—mom's house. I thought that we'd be through before you finished packing," Shane says without a flaw, his weaved web even impressing Jack. "That's why I need to have some time alone with Jack."
Rex shakes his head, his jaw visibly ticking. "I don't trust him, Shane. This is a horrible idea. Whatever you have to say to him, I'm going to be right here."
"Dad, please. I swear to you that it's fine." He vaguely gestures to luggage that's set in the living room. "You should get this stuff over to the Buchanan mansion. And I'll have the rest of it ready for when you get back."
"Shane," Rex says in warning but his son doesn't give in.
"Please, Dad," Shane stresses. "I need to do this and I need to do it on my own. I've got my cell on me and it's turned on. Nothing's going to happen."
The expression Rex wears makes Jack feel small like scum and invisible—worthless. Makes what he's done to this family that much clearer and he's nauseous. Rex sounds broken when he says, "I can't just leave you here. I can't leave you. Not after what happened to your mom."
Shane walks to his father and hugs him. With his cheek pressed against Rex's jacket and gaze trained on Jack, he promises, "I'll be okay."
And he knows it won't be worth shit to Shane but Jack nods in agreement, somehow able to keep his bile down.
When their embrace is finished, Rex wheels around to Jack. Finger at the space between Jack's eyes, he threatens with no hint of a bluff, "If you hurt my son, I will end you, Manning. Get that?"
"Yes," Jack answers immediately.
Satisfied, Rex then takes two duffel bags and heads toward the door. Features softened, he tells Shane that he won't be long and then walks out, clicking the door shut behind him.
Oxygen once again makes itself known to Jack. "You didn't have to do that."
"Oh because you're so good at owning up to what you do," Shane mocks. He rests his hand on a dress that's draped over a nearby chair, seems tired when he continues. "I didn't do it for you. I understand that it's an unfamiliar concept to you but I was being honest. I don't want my dad being near the killer of his fiancée. What the hell do you want, Jack?"
It's like his brain and everything else become one when he admits it finally. "To say that I'm sorry."
The silence after that is disturbing. Neither one of them speak or act for a while.
"That's it? Okay, yeah. Whatever." Shane nods stiffly. "You can go now."
"That's not all," Jack claims pathetically, despite the fact that he has nothing else prepared.
"I don't care. I don't want to see your face," Shane tells him shortly. "You've said the words so I'm sure that your tiny conscience is swept clean now."
"They're not just words but if that's what you want..."Jack lets the sentence hang in the air. He's on his heel to do just as Shane's requested when an outburst from the other kid stops him.
"What I want is my mom back!" Shane exclaims, wrecked. "That's what I want! That's all I want. I want my mom back and my parents to be married like they were supposed to be. Your apology is the last thing that I want because it's meaningless, Jack. After all that you've done to me…especially now."
Jack realizes that, he really and truly does. But at the same time—"I don't know what else to do for you."
"Since when have you ever cared about how I feel? All that you've ever done is hurt me. It seems to be your number one goal—making my life miserable. Well congratulations, Jack. You did great." He throws his hands up in surrender. "You've won."
"She wasn't supposed to be there!" Jack proclaims, intense and regretful. He says it from a place inside himself that's buried deep, a place that's genuine and more real than Jack would care to admit.
Laughing bitter, Shane concludes, "Yeah because it was me you wanted dead."
"No!" Jack bites out. "That's not true! What happened—"
"What happened?" Shane repeats, incredulous. Jack watches as his smaller frame trembles. "My mom walked into a trap that you set up. You made it happen!"
"I just want to explain," Jack tries and moves closer to Shane who in return takes about three steps back—completely untrusting. And that's fair so Jack stays still. "This was all a big mistake."
Shane stares at him in awe. "Did you seriously just call killing my mom a mistake? As if you didn't just destroy everything. How dare you?"
"I didn't mean it like that." Jack runs his hand through his hair, tugs hard. Carefully, he tries again. "I'm just saying that I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. Not you, and especially not your mom."
"So you admit it?" Shane asks, although he looks far from pleased or happy. Unlike Rex and John McBain, he seems more worried about the truth than justice, than getting Jack behind bars.
After a minute passes, Jack confesses—unwavering and willing to grant Shane this— "Yes. Everything you accused me of is true. I was ComicGurl15 and I arranged for you to be in that abandoned house." Whispering, he finishes weakly, "And I locked your mom in that basement."
Shane's eyes glimmer with unshed tears. He sniffs as he asks, "Do you really hate me so much that you want me dead?"
"It was an accident, Shane," Jack swears. He'd swear it for an eternity. "I didn't know about that generator or the carbon monoxide. I wanted you to be scared for a night. That's all. I'm a bastard but I would never try to kill someone."
"That doesn't bring my mother back!" Shane yells, his anguish turning into severe anger. "Her heart is beating inside of a man who doesn't even want to claim me as a grandson. My family is broken. The person I loved more than anything else in the world is gone. My mom is dead! Do you get that? She's dead and it doesn't matter if you wanted it or not. Nothing is ever going to make what you did okay. None of it will ever be okay. Why do you hate me? Why the hell can't you leave me alone, Jack!"
"I don't know what it is, alright? Alright? I don't know!" He flails his hands out and can't bother to hold his temper despite the flash of alarm in Shane's eyes. "There's something about you that I can't fucking stand. You're this thing under my skin and I want to claw you out," Jack shouts, violently loud in the small and modest house. Fists clenched, his palms sweat as the words spill. "I hate you, Shane. Trust me, I do but at the same time it's more than that. There's something else there that I can't put a name on. I've been trying to figure it out for months. And every time that I'm close, I run away because I don't want it to be true. It can't be what it is. Not for me."
"I don't understand," Shane replies but beats later, after the wheels have cranked and churned in his head, realization dawns on his face then disbelief and shock before he regards Jack strangely. "Are you—what exactly are you saying?"
While Jack may be willing to confess to murder but there are some truths he has no plans to unleash, to speak ever. "I'm saying that poison is what you are to me."
"You're lying. I don't believe you," Shane responds. "I can't believe you. You punished me because you didn't know how to handle your feelings? It's not my fault. Don't blame me for you being vicious and cruel."
"I didn't. Don't have to." Jack shrugs, schools his expression to be neutral and fixed. "I'm Todd Manning's son. Certain qualities are expected of me."
Jack doesn't know why it's that sentence that sets him off but Shane's shoulder takes the wind of out of him and sends them tumbling onto the sofa. When Shane swings at him, Jack doesn't stop him. He lets himself receive blow after blow. He welcomes the pain and the metallic taste of blood. Giving way, he allows for Shane to beat at him with punches. Jack wishes for Shane to take away the pretty, hopes that the other teen gets so deep that he strips Jack of everything twisted, wicked and disgusting. Time eventually loses its definition. His head is absolutely spinning—the colors of the house swimming like fish before his eyes—when he no longer hears and feels the snaps of flesh against bone.
"What are you doing," Shane cries at him. Jack's shirt yields under the pressure of Shane's untrimmed nails and hard knuckles. He pushes and pushes Jack, sobbing. "Why won't you fight back?" His tears splash onto Jack's face, mixing with Jack's own.
"I'm so sorry," Jack chokes out pitifully. Everything that's been welled up in the past few weeks—fuck, month after month—absolutely floods. He's so sorry, so selfish and so spineless. He doesn't know how Shane is still able to get up everyday, be so strong under what would make Jack crumble like the caricature that he is. "I'm sorry for taking away your mom." Though they don't get along, Jack can't picture his life without his mother—always there to keep him human—and he's made that someone's reality. "I'm sorry that I hurt you. I'm sorry for everything."
Shane's fingers loosen and he looks so defeated and helpless that Jack can only think to do one thing as they harshly pant at each other. He wraps his hand around the nape of Shane's neck and brings him near. Flickering his gaze between the other boy's pink mouth, his scared eyes and then back, Jack presses their lips together—takes advantage of Shane's gasp and hurriedly makes the kiss deep and wet. Inexperience a factor, it's a few moments before they find a rhythm and dance. Shane's tongue isn't skillful and lacks charisma but it's not unpleasant. It's different from all of the girls Jack has kissed. The lips aren't as full and don't taste like manufactured fruit, are slightly chapped instead of sticky—it's so, so much better.
He groans and pulls Shane closer, enclosing the boy in his arms and taking pleasure at having Shane's solid weight on top of him. Jack fits their hips together and rides up the hem of Shane's shirt, bucking up to get more and more. He drags his hand to the newly revealed skin there, stroking gently and with a care that he's never given anyone else. The smooth ministrations brings out another gasp from Shane, and then another and another. Worried, Jack jerks back—his heart quits when he sees Shane struggling to fill his lungs.
"Where's your inhaler?" When Shane's only reply is to look at him with dizzied and blown, blue-nearly black eyes, Jack head-butts the teen's forehead softly in an attempt to get his attention. They're sharing breaths and heatedly close but desire is the last thing on Jack's mind. Hoarse he asks, "Shane, hey, focus for me, alright? Where is your inhaler?"
He hitches out, "My—my pocket. It's in my pocket."
Jack moves his hand from the top of Shane's pants to the hip and reaches into the pocket. Checks the other one when he finds the first empty. A cold, selfless panic shivers him and he hurriedly tells Shane that he can't find it. "I can't find it. It's not there. Shane, I can't—"
"Jack, it probably fell out," Shane reasons in a rush, starting to sit up.
Thankfully, he's right. Jack spots it on the carpet no more than a foot below. He hands it over to Shane and comes from his high as the other teen sucks on his medicine.
How the fuck did he ever think it was okay to tease Shane about this? And how the fuck did he ever think that it was right to take advantage of him in his home?
Ashamed, Jack slowly removes his limbs from Shane's, ignoring the ache between his legs and the warm want in his stomach. At a loss, he quietly says, "I should go before your dad gets back."
There's an obscene string of spit connecting Shane's bottom lip and his inhaler when he withdraws it from his mouth. He opens his mouth to speak but ultimately doesn't say a word.
Jack's more scattered than ever and feels directionless but when he takes one last look at the flush in Shane's face, the dishevelment of his clothes, the heartbreaking confusion in his eyes—when remembers how those slickened lips felt on his mouth—he knows for certain that this is far from over.
He heads to the door, can't bear to face Shane as he apologizes once more, "I'm sorry."
Additional A/N: My written character for Shane is completely based on the fact that I think he's more like Gigi than Rex.
Comments and concrit are more than welcome!