Disclaimer: I do not own the Librarians! These wonderful characters belong to Dean Devlin, John Rogers, etc. I am not one of those people, therefore, they are not mine. I'm just borrowing for the purpose of this story.
AN: Hey guys, long time no see. It's been almost six years since I last posted something, so hopefully my writing has greatly improved in that time. This is a tag to the latest Librarians episode, "And the Fangs of Death", which I saw tonight and just had to attempt an insight into what happened when Ezekiel was turning.
~~~Librarians~~~
"Move," He told himself. "You have to move," Instead he laid there, his head pounding. He heard the sound of footsteps, and he forced his head to rise, hoping it was one of his friends, or even one of the crew. It was not. He did not know the woman, though she wore military garb like the others. He knew the air about her, though, the way she carried herself and the way she looked at him… He had seen it before, after the submarine incident.
"Move," He ordered his body, "Move now or your friends are going to die," His body ignored him. Pain surrounded him, filled him, as he changed. He knew he was changing into one of them. He knew that soon, he would not be able to help his friends, would, in fact, be hunting them with the rest of his kind. His eyes fluttered as his vision shifted. The room became brighter, things sharper. He was running out of time.
He shifted at the sound of running feet. Within a moment, someone was beside him. He looked up to see the woman, the one whose boyfriend had been killed, and the drunken medic. The woman turned the steam off, as the medic looked him over. He struggled to talk. He needed them to get out of there, to leave him and save themselves. It would not do for a Librarian to kill the people they were there to save. Moreover, he knew, without a doubt, that he would end up killing them. The virus was too far into his system. He felt the woman kneel behind him, pulling him onto her lap. She ran a hand across his face, through the beard that had grown in minutes. He heard the other thing before they did, but he had no energy to warn them to leave. A snarl had them both jolting, and he knew that it was over. The two would die, and he would finish turning.
Suddenly, he felt another presence. Two, actually. They felt… familiar. A shot rang out, and he knew instantly who it was. The other creature howled as it died, and he felt a pang of empathy for the person. They had not chosen this, it had been chosen for them, just as his own condition had been chosen for him. If Flynn's plan did not work, his only hope was that Baird would put a bullet in him before he hurt anyone.
Jenkins was beside him, and he vaguely wondered how he had not noticed the immortal moving. His senses were sharper, but at the same time, duller. He heard the people around him talking, but it was muffled, as if he was trying to listen through a wall. A hand ran across his face again. He watched Jenkins speak, saw the look on his face, and knew. He knew that one way or another, he would be okay. Jenkins fixes things, he could fix him. If not, then the caretaker would make sure that he never hurt anyone. The caretaker would ensure that Baird fulfilled her duty as Guardian. It was not exactly in the job description, but the Guardian was not only to protect the Librarian, but to protect the world from the Librarian. His prayer was that it would be quick.
"Jenkins," He ground out. "Do," He took a breath, "Do whatever you need to do."
"It will be okay," He saw more than heard Jenkins say. Those four words were enough. He knew that Jenkins fully understood him, and would do what was needed. A moment later, he groaned as he felt the evil being pulled from him. The pain returned in full force, though he was not sure when it had disappeared, and while he knew he was crying out, he could not hear anything. His eyes squeezed shut, his face contorting in agony, his fingers digging into his palms, his back arched, as he fought for control. And then it was gone. He collapsed back to the ground, his breathing as though he had run a marathon.
"Mister Jones?" A reassuring voice asked quietly, "Are you with us?"
"Yeah," He gasped, "I'm here."
"Good."
Three sets of hands were lifting him, settling his arms over their shoulders and helping him move. His legs were stiff as he shuffled between the medic and Jenkins. He opened his eyes, glad to see the world back as it should have been.
"Thanks, Jenkins," He whispered. "For being willing to do whatever was needed." His mind added.
He glimpsed the older man flash a smile. "Anytime."