I was so excited to start this chapter that I pulled it out of my writing schedule special and then it gave me hell in the middle. And then the problem was that there was a lot I wanted to get done this chapter, a certain place I wanted to end up. I've decided that if I shoved it all in one chapter it would just take too long, so I've split this chapter in two, and we'll see the second half of Jack's lovely NYC trip next chapter in this time period. So in those two chapters we'll be getting some fun canon cameos, two this chapter and a big one the next time we visit this time zone.
And now, a note that all but the addressee can ignore:
RAWHIDE WOLF! TURN BACK ON YOUR PRIVATE MESSAGE FUNCTION! I don't know what compelled you to turn it off, but you've messaged me and every time I go to respond I'm told that you've disabled the private message function. I would've thought I was in trouble or something until you messaged me again. I only can get to you through this site and you had nothing for me to review, so as I knew you read this story this was my best bet. So please, TURN BACK ON YOUR PRIVATE MESSAGING! ~ Yours kindly, Carlough ;D
And on a happier note: I've gots fan art! Check it out people, the lovely Cyberbutterfly made this! http : / cyberbutterfly . deviantart . com /#/d39q73h Remove the spaces and check it out or see the link on my profile, but it's an awesome movie-style poster for this story! Bow to the wonder that is Cyberbutterfly!
adw: Thanks so much for reviewing!
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men, Deadpool or Watchmen or any of their characters – they belong to their respective owners. But I do own a lot of Deadpool comics, so I can own him on the inside…
"You're going."
"Am not. You can't make me!"
"I can, I will, and I am."
"Dang it, you are not! I told you I am not going and that is final, so you can just-"
Jack froze in his tirade when Logan grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and held him aloft, so their eyes were level. He chose to stare at a lazily waving pink line coming from a nearby bird instead of looking his mentor-of-a-sort in the eyes. It didn't work, because Logan just gave him a little shake, saying, "Look at me, runt. I know when you're not; you're a horrible actor."
With an exasperated but defiant feeling, Jack glanced towards the other's face through the dark lenses of his glasses, glaring at once again being called a runt. "Fine, I'm looking. You're gorgeous. What d'ya want?"
Logan gave him a half-hearted glare and rolled his eyes briefly. "You know already, you're just stalling because you're wimping out."
The teen crossed his arms in front of himself, pouting. "I am not wimping out, I am choosing to ignore a situation that I wasn't even involved in while it was occurring and really, nobody else will tell me about it and it happened years ago and they've probably forgotten-"
He found himself being shaken again, this time to shut him up. Logan stared at him until he met his eyes again.
"You were involved, even if you weren't there. You can't lose your only remaining family and not be involved. And I'm sure that they'll remember hearing all about your brother when he was arrested."
Jack's eyes narrowed and he glared at the ground. "Yeah, of course."
Logan rolled his eyes again, and finally put Jack down, though the teen was sure it wasn't because his arm was getting sore. "C'mon," he said, lightly shoving Jack from behind in the direction of the city. Of course, being Logan, a light shove was enough to make any non-physically-enhanced person stumble, but Logan seemed to be ignoring that fact, choosing to simply snort at Jack as his arms pinwheeled in an attempt to stay standing.
After a few hours of walking (because Jack refused to go into the city riding bitch on "Logan's" bike) the pair finally made it into the first location on Jack's long-overdue to-do list. Jack stared at the cemetery for a moment before turning around.
"I can't do it," he said quickly with wide eyes. "I can't, I just can't."
Logan sighed, but his eyes softened. "Yes you can. I'll be with you; you'll be fine."
"I…" Jack trailed off into silence, chewing his lip fitfully. The idea of finally facing one of the things he had been trying to ignore, to escape for years now terrified him.
"Come on, kiddo." Logan clapped a hand on his shoulder and gently steered him through the wrought-iron gates. Eyes wide and picking at a hangnail on his thumb with the index finger of the same hand, a nervous habit of his, Jack let himself be ushered into the cemetery.
"How about we check out Mason's first? Sound better?"
Numbly, Jack nodded in response. The Nite Owl had been one of his favorites, and he had owned a copy of Under the Hood. He had never understood why his father and brother had hated it so much; he should have realized.
After asking a caretaker for directions, the pair made their way to the final resting place of Hollis Mason, the original Nite Owl. Jack stared at the headstone for a long moment, mind going blank.
"Wow," he finally muttered. "Just…wow."
"What?" grunted Logan, crossing his arms and staring around the cemetery, always on the watch for possible threats.
Yeah, Jack thought, because that old man over there grieving for his wife is such a threat. He scoffed and had to close his eyes for a moment, because the man's sobbing was leaving long, wavering blue lines across his vision, and he was feeling exceptionally sad already and didn't need any help.
The dark-haired teen jammed his hands in his pockets again for lack of something to do with them other than picking all remaining skin cells off of his thumb.
"It's so…simple. I mean, I know Mason didn't want to live a fancy life and he wasn't looking for fame from his run as the Nite Owl or his book, but just…he was so great, you know? And to be commemorated by just a plain grey slab of stone, nothing more than a name and a date and a 'he will be missed,' it's…sad. Sadder than remembering the fact that such a great guy is gone, I think, because years from now, someone's gonna look at this and see just another headstone. They're not gonna realize how great this guy was, all the work he did to keep the city safe. They're just gonna see another slab of stone, and it's just…not right. He deserves to be remembered better than this."
Logan was silent for a moment before replying. "Maybe he just didn't want to be remembered for being the Nite Owl. He may have just been sick of the fame and the controversy of being a vigilante, even a retired one, and just wanted to be Hollis Mason, old man who owned an auto-shop and lived a relatively obscure life."
Jack cast a narrow-eyed glare at the ground, damp from recent rain. "Obscure old men who owned auto-shops aren't murdered for no reason."
The other had nothing to say to that, nothing he could say to that, so he remained silent and instead turned around, wandering a few yards away to give Jack some privacy.
Once Logan was far enough away for his liking (he knew it was all for show, because Logan could hear him from the other side of the cemetery), Jack sat on the wet grass, not caring if the damp chill seeped into his legs. He almost enjoyed it; it kept him grounded, reminded him of where he was.
"So," he began. He brushed invisible lint off of his pants as he tried to think of something to say. "So, uh, you never met me. Well, if you can even see me right now, you'd know that. You'd also probably be a bit pissed that some strange kid you don't know is sitting on you. Oh crud, that didn't sound right. I'm sorry. I just hope you're as benevolent as I always imagined you'd be, and that you won't be upset with me for this. Alright, here goes.
"My name's Jack Blake. Yeah, Blake; the Comedian was my, ah, adoptive father, technically. Well, technically he was my father, 'cause that's what my birth certificate says, but we all knew that he wasn't. But that's not what I'm here about.
"I wanted to apologize. You know, for your death. I know I'm not really connected but…those guys, the police reports said that they killed you 'cause the new Nite Owl and Silk Spectre broke Walter, er, Rorschach outta prison. Walter was my, ah, half-brother, and I know he didn't like you – I'm sorry, I shouldn't be saying that, but it's kinda true. He didn't really like you 'cause of your book and all, and he may've said he hated you, but deep down I don't think he'd want you to die 'cause of that. 'Specially 'cause you weren't even involved in the jailbreak. You were innocent. You…you didn't deserve that.
"So, ah, that's all I gotta say; kinda pleading for you to forgive my brother for being a jerk, 'cause he didn't mean it – at least, not totally. He was, uh, kinda hard to understand. You had to be close to get him, and even then I think I musta barely knew him… Anyways, I'm sorry for what happened. You didn't deserve that, and you were a seriously amazing guy. I loved your work; you were one of my childhood heroes, and you still are. And you shouldn't have had to go out like that, and I'm sorry you did. Thanks for all you did, though. Gave me hope. You were one of the few that was able to keep up the noble image over the years, made me realize that they don't all have to be corrupted in the end. So thanks for that…ah, I guess that's all, so, uh, goodbye."
He stood and brushed off his pants, pausing to stare for a long moment at the grave, devoid of flowers or candles, of any personal decorations that showed that someone cared. Suddenly Jack felt intensely guilty for not having thought to bring anything. Without any other ideas, he knelt back down and plucked out the few weeds that had grown around the plot, wrapping the plants around his fingers and then pulling, just for the sake of something to do.
Logan, sensing that Jack was done, strode back over. "You ready?" he asked redundantly. He nodded his head farther into the cemetery. "Caretaker told me where he is."
Jack paused for a moment, trying to gather his courage. A gust of wind blew at his back, moving in the direction Logan had just indicated. Feeling slightly braver, he nodded.
"As I'll ever be. Let's go."
The pair wandered off towards their new destination, and as if by fate, Jack stopped as he noticed something – well, actually, it was either fate or the fact that he had a tendency to stare at his feet while he walked to keep his footing. But either way, he froze when he read the words.
"Logan, could you hold up for a sec? Just found another I wanna talk to."
The elder of the two raised an eyebrow, but seeing the expression on Jack's face, visible even with his sunglasses on, he simply nodded and wandered off again.
Jack crouched down by the grave, cocking his head to the side as he took in yet another bare-bones description. A name, a date, that was all. He frowned; nobody deserved that sort of remembrance, even a criminal.
"Hey. You didn't know me either – wow, saying a lot of that today – but, ah, I need to apologize to you, too, on behalf of my brother. The, um, police reports say that he killed you. I don't know if that's true – I mean, I don't want it to be true, obviously, but apparently I didn't know him as well as I'd thought and you, uh, wouldn't have been the first that he'd killed.
"But anyways, I wanted to apologize for my brother, ahem, killing you. Rorschach, I mean. Walter. He was my brother. I don't know why he did it, or if he even did it. I don't know if you had done something to deserve it or not, though at your age I can't imagine that you did. And the report said that, ah, you were sick already, so anyone killing you was kinda, erm, overkill, pardon the pun. So I'm sorry that he killed you. I know it doesn't make up for being dead, of course, but, well, I thought someone should say it. You may've been a criminal, but, well, you weren't evil. I know you weren't.
"So that's it. I'm apologizing on my brother's behalf, and uh, as a side note, I'm also apologizing for the Comedian's behavior toward you. I mean, I know he was the vigilante to your criminal, but he wasn't an all-bad guy if you got to know him. Though I'm not sure you woulda been able to tell… Anyways, that's all. So, uh…bye."
Again he took a rudimentary swipe at the accumulated weeds that the caretaker wouldn't have bothered with, and he added them to his growing collection that he wringed in his hands anxiously, leaving them stained green.
"Who was he?" Logan asked as he approached, nodding at the headstone. Jack tenses for a moment before sighing.
"Edgar Jacobi. Moloch the Mystic. He was an ongoing enemy of the Minutemen, was like an arch-nemesis to the Comedian."
"And?" prompted Logan. He knew that couldn't be the only reason that Jack would bother with the man. Sure, the kid was a bit too soft on some subjects, especially those pertaining to his past, but he wouldn't stop to "talk" unless he had a good reason.
"And Rorschach allegedly murdered him."
"…Oh." And there was his good reason: Jack's guilty conscience for every wrong his brother and father had ever committed. He had to say, the kid had a problem with that. No wonder he used to have constant sessions with Chuck.
Jack shoved his hands in his pockets, a surefire sign that he was uncomfortable, especially considering that he completely disregarded the wads of slowly dying plant-life he still held in his hands. "Can we just go?" he muttered quickly and a bit irritably. Logan simply chose to pick his battles and nodded his head, steering his charge off towards their final destination, their true reason for coming here.
The headstone was simple, like the others had been. Nothing extravagant for these men, it seemed, or even anything to set their own resting places apart from others' aside from their personal information upon the slabs of stone.
Logan wouldn't have been able to pick it out of the hundreds of others in the cemetery. Graves meant nothing to him. He didn't know if there was someone in his past that had died who he had cared about; he had no bad memories of graveyards, and actually, neither did Jack. And thus, he himself felt no tug of emotion, no inkling of sadness as he viewed the marker of the final resting place of a man he had never known.
But just the sight of the name carved into the stone brought the dark-haired teen to his knees. With a shuddering sob Jack ripped his sunglasses from his face and jammed them in a pocket, using his other hand to fiercely scrub at the tears that had suddenly sprung from his vivid blue eyes.
This was another moment that reminded Logan of how essentially socially retarded he was. Sure, he had let Rogue hitch-hike with him, but he had also been a total asshole about it, almost completely ignoring her the whole time. In fact, most of their conversations even now mainly consisted of her beaming at him and talking while he grunted in response and nursed a beer. But then again, he actually liked Rogue and that was how he treated her.
People got a hell of a lot less from him, and not only because he was gruff and just didn't care, but because when he got in situations that required some knowledge of social etiquette and sympathy, he was lost. Logan wasn't sure if this was just an effect of having no past to base his actions and responses off of, as if he had somehow lost a lesson in empathy that every person unconsciously learned while growing up, or if he had just always been so stoic and standoffish. He was leaning towards the latter.
In the long run this left him staring at the kid he had unofficially taken under his wing while he sobbed his heart out over his adoptive father.
That was another thing Logan didn't quite get: family. He obviously had no idea of what his had been like, or if he had ever even had one, but he suspected that his had not been the best, because that simple word, the sheer idea of it left him with a sneer on his face and a bad taste in his mouth. Whoever, wherever and whenever his family was, he most certainly had issues with them and had probably been long-estranged from them.
Maybe that was why nobody had come looking for him.
Logan had no knowledge of his family, so he had to make one of his own. But Logan didn't exactly play nice, making it kind of hard for him to even assemble a makeshift family. People always complained that you can't choose your family so you had to deal with them, even if you couldn't stand them. Well, Logan had the opportunity to choose his family, so he had decided he would really rather not fill it with people he disliked.
That had cut his list of potentials down considerably.
The professor was like some great-uncle or something, not quite grandfatherly but still wise nonetheless. Storm was a sister, and Rogue was a niece, despite her ever-obvious crush. Some of her friends, like the Popsicle or Kitty, they also constituted as nephews and nieces. Scott – well, he wasn't sure on Scott. He could never decide if he hated or liked the man; they held grudging respect for each other, and the two occasionally got along until they remembered that they were supposed to hate each other. Scott could be that cousin who visits sometimes who you don't quite like but isn't around long enough to form a proper opinion on. And Jean…for the life of him, Logan couldn't place how he felt about her. Cousin, sister, something more? He could never tell – that depended more on her current mood than his own emotions.
And that left Jack, his sidekick of the last few months with his sarcastic wise-cracking ways and his shifty answers upon questions into his past that he deemed too prying and his big smiles and expressive eyes and his heart that he wore on his sleeve. Jack was some cross between a nephew, a son and a little brother. That was the only way Logan could describe it. The kid was just, he was just Jack, he was there, and at least at the moment he was the biggest member of Logan's unofficial family-that-wasn't.
But even if Logan could give familial roles out to the people in his life he couldn't relate to Jack's sorrow over losing a father. Logan had no father-figure that he recollected, had never met anyone since losing his memory who fit the role (or what he believed from observing others to be the role) so he couldn't truly understand Jack's pain, especially because he had never in his memory lost somebody he considered to be important to him.
And yet something told him that Eddie Blake hadn't been a traditional father, maybe making him easier to comprehend to a stranger. It was hard to feel sadness for the loss of someone you hadn't known or understood, and from what he had gleaned from obscure comments Jack would make about his past (the only kind of comments he would make on the subject) he had come to understand that Eddie Blake was a complex enigma, even to his own adopted son. All Jack would say was that upon Eddie's death he had learned that he didn't know the man at all. But it seemed that even with so many secrets, so many things about the man that puzzled Jack, he could still properly mourn him.
So maybe that meant that Logan could too. Maybe he could at least try to feel sorry that Jack was sad, even if he couldn't relate. And maybe he could just try to be there, to listen and try to learn and appreciate all of those little annoying intricacies attached to the communications involving losing family. And maybe he could try to retain his dignity and still be a man by the end of the ordeal.
"It's hard to think that he's really gone," Jack choked. Logan jerked at the unexpected speech; he had been planning to move off to a respectful distance, as he had been, but Jack was looking up at him with those teary blue eyes that probably couldn't even see him and was obviously speaking to him, and not the grave. For his part, Logan could only nod.
Jack seemed to understand this and didn't seem to mind. He patted the ground next to him and gave Logan an imploring look. A disturbed look of discomfort crossed Logan's face and he was glad that Jack probably couldn't make out his expression right now, even though the cemetery was quiet. If anything, his tears obscured his view. At the large, sad, begging expression, Logan couldn't help a groan as he gave in and sat down on the ground next to Jack, mirroring his position and crossing his legs while he scowled for all he was worth at Jack.
His scowl lost some of its power when Jack simply gave him a watery half-smile. "Thanks," he murmured. Logan stared at him, baffled by the gratitude for something he didn't really understand and tried to think up a reply, but didn't have to, as Jack continued speaking.
"He…he was the Comedian. I know you know that, but it doesn't say it here, and he wouldn't want it to, but it should…he was more than just 'Edward Morgan Blake,' he was a person, not just some name on a piece of rock in a freakin' cemetery! He was a person…he shouldn't be remembered like this, he was more than just this."
Jack was digressing now, working himself into a rut created by his own building anxiety and sadness over facing the death of his father. He had stuck on one thing, one insignificant little thing that shouldn't have bothered him and was now freaking out over it. Logan decided to bring him back to reality.
"You're really just here to tell me you don't like the headstone?"
His charge shot him a glare and then paused, and then to Logan's amazement, he let out a hoarse bark of laughter, bringing up a hand to swipe at his unstaunched tears. "Oh God, I needed that. It sounds like something Eddie would have said. He hated all this, this mushy crap; he'd hate that I was working myself up over him. But I can't help but feel that people should know, but then, he wouldn't have wanted that. It's not who he was."
Logan paused, mulling over his words, and then spoke. "Then who was he?"
Jack cocked his head towards him, that watery smile back on his face in earnest. To Logan's contentment, he had a bit of his normal glimmer back in those effervescent eyes of his.
"He was Eddie. He was the Comedian. He had the most twisted sense of humor you could ever imagine, more so than me or Wade or anyone I've ever met. The world wasn't his oyster, it was just one big punch-line; life was a joke, and the Comedian was there to show you the comedy of it, one dead criminal at a time. He was morbid and sarcastic and kind of, no definitely a jackass and I wouldn'ta had him any other way. He was…" he paused, choked up for a moment. "He was my dad, y'know? He raised me, he took care o' me, and I loved 'im, and God-dangit I miss 'im so friggin' much!"
Logan didn't fail to notice that as Jack delivered his monologue his grammar started to fail on him and half-words were being spoken. With a start he realized that this was due to the sobs that he was still trying to stifle, even with a big, heartfelt smile on his face.
"Y'know," said Jack in a more conversational tone. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, still sniffling a bit. "He used to parade around the apartment in his Comedian costume and I never realized it. I mean, I knew exactly who the Comedian was and could recite vigilantes to you by rote, but it never occurred to me that the Comedian and my own father could be one and the same. Part of it was my, ahem, sight problem just beginning, but the majority of it was me thinking he was just a big Comedian fan and had pajamas to prove it." When Logan raised an eyebrow at him Jack scowled. "Don't give me that look! I was a little kid and I had Superman pajamas, so I thought, 'Hey, why can't Dad have superhero pajamas too?'"
He snickered to himself quietly. "God, I was such a dork. Wade used to tell me all the time, not that he was much better. Wade was…he was Wade. He was something else, alright. Had the Comedian's sense of 'humor' but a bit more morbid, and definitely more random. He loved the weirdest things, everything from Bea Arthur to enchiladas, but not chimichangas, he just liked to say the word.
"When we were kids – well, when I was a kid and he was in middle school, he used to parade around talking about how he was going to be just as great as all of those vigilantes. He had it all worked out. His buddy Weasel was going to be his sidekick who did all the dirty work and he was going to be the star of the show, kicking ass and taking names. The counselors thought he was nuts; they said he was sociopathic, psychotic, a tad bit narcissistic with an over-inflated ego, schizophrenic, and had dissociative identity disorder to boot. That's multiple personalities, FYI. I don't think he really had DID; a lot of people in our family talked to themselves. I mean, I have conversations with myself all the time. Might not be healthy, but we're not usually certifiable in that aspect. I think the counselors just got confused 'cause they heard him talking 'bout his future-self, y'know, all the stuff he'd do when he was grown up."
"'His future-self?'" Logan quoted with a furrowed brow.
"Yeah. He really weirded 'em out, 'cause he had his alias all picked out and everything, even though Weasel told him that was a bad idea 'cause they could track him later for it."
"And what was that alias?" Logan doubted it would mean anything – Wade wasn't a mutant, he had wanted to model himself after vigilantes, all of whom had been simply human, Manhattan aside.
"Heh, he called himself Deadpool. Play on Deathstroke."
Logan didn't understand the second part of that statement, because he was too busy shuddering at that name. He didn't know why, but he knew that name. It gave him the same sickening shudders as the name Sabertooth. It was the same preternatural feeling that he had received upon seeing the "Sabertooth" fighting for Magneto, the one that had told him that this was an imposter, though he had never before met a man using that name. Chuck thought those shudders, those feelings meant he was experiencing something from his past through one of his senses. He was remembering.
He fingered his dog tags. Wilson had been in some sort of military, Jack had mentioned once. He remembered a comment about something to do with working for the Canadian government, from what little Jack had learned from the declassified sections of his brother's file years ago. Logan knew he must have been in some sort of military to have official dog tags. But the name on them, Wolverine – a codename. It was only ever codenames that gave him those weird feelings. Could they have been…? Could those names have been on other dog tags? Had he known the "real" Sabertooth?
Had he known Jack's brother?
"Hn." Past a grunt, Logan couldn't really think up anything to say.
Jack didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't care.
"And then there was Walter. Walter was…distant, definitely. Physically, socially, and my Lord most definitely emotionally. Doctors said later that he had anti-social personality disorder and a huge case of sociopathy, but I never noticed, even though it had to be admitted some signs were there. He barely spoke, and when he gave non-committal grunts and one word answers. He only used sentences if absolutely necessary to get across a point, and even then they were all fragments. Drove people crazy like that. Nobody believed he was related to me or Wade. I could never figure why; probably 'cause he was a redhead and me and Wade had dark hair. Well, Wade's wasn't that dark, it was brown, but, y'know what I mean, neither of us was close to bein' a ginger.
"Walter, well, you know what happened to him. Turned out to be Rorschach, got arrested, got broken out, disappeared. Y'know, I don't even know if he's actually dead. I mean, I kinda guessed he was, 'cause he never contacted me or anything, and he knew that Eddie was gone…I guess I kinda just hoped that he would come find me or something if he was alive. I know I shouldn't hope that he would break cover just for me, but I wish he would've. And that's if he's still alive. And my God, I'm a terrible person 'cause I almost hope he is dead 'cause then I could excuse it to myself for him abandoning me. I am such a piece of shit."
Logan didn't really have an answer to that. He wanted to tell Jack that he wasn't, that he was justified…but he just wasn't sure. He didn't know how to relate to something like this. It was times like this that he particularly hated not having a past to remember, to look back on and use to help in the present. Because now one of the few people he actually cared about was hurting, and all he could do was sit there and nod like a complete tool.
But luckily for him Jack didn't seem to be looking for an objection. In fact, he didn't even seem to remember that Logan was there at all. He was just talking, venting aloud to an emotionally stunted amnesiac and the grave of his long-dead pseudo-father. And somehow, in some way, Logan realized that this was actually helping Jack. He was crying – shit, at some points he was flat out sobbing – and he was morose, and yet he was laughing and smiling and reminiscing and God help him, Logan had just learned the power of a chick flick moment and a good cry, and he did not like it, not one bit. Did that mean that if he ever had emotional turmoil he had to cry about it? If that was the case, he would stick with bottling it all up, thank you kindly. No siree, no emotion-sharing for him.
While Logan was adamantly assuring himself that he would never be on Jack's end of the current sob-fest, Jack himself had turned to the tombstone of his dead father. He talked to Eddie in a quiet mutter about what had happened to him since his death, even though he liked to think that Eddie was watching him from above – or in Eddie's case, maybe down below – and already knew what had happened.
He talked about finding out about Eddie's death and Walter's "escapades" in the newspaper of all things. He talked about discovering his own mutation, about his months on the street, about the one who had taken him under their wing in that time. He spoke of his time at Xavier's, his old friend St. John, and he talked about leaving due to an all-encompassing fear that he was following in his brothers' well-worn, beaten, battered and deadly footsteps. And he talked about meeting Logan, how the pair had been traveling together and how Logan was making him face his past, and that included coming to see Eddie.
Jack apologized to Eddie for taking so long to come see him, and for having a little cry-fest on his grave. He knew it was the sort of thing his dad would have hated; it was much too sentimental for him, especially when all the time people were dying – good people, people better than Eddie who didn't spend their days drinking and killing and instead lived under the cheerful guise that the world was happy and they could make it even better.
Eddie had always hated people like that, and yet, he worked to protect them. Once after a few too many shots of whiskey when Jack was eight, he had admitted to him that while he knew there was no hope for him, maybe if those people were happy enough and blinded enough to the horrors of the world, maybe if they were cheery enough and truly believed that the world could be a good place, then maybe, just maybe, it could. Of course, the Comedian would never say that sober and he either forgot that he had ever said it or had hoped Jack wouldn't remember it afterwards.
He would have been horribly embarrassed to know that his drunken statement was what inspired Jack to want to become a vigilante, especially after he had worked so hard to openly mock everything vigilantes did in a vain effort to turn him away from the idea; he hadn't wanted his kid going down the same dark road that he had, not that Jack would have realized it because he had never known the truth about Eddie's identity until his death, no matter how many times the funny pajamas came out. Loathe was Eddie to say it, but the kid was just like one of those cheery people, too happy with the world in an innocent way that he found made him want to protect the kid instead of writing him off as naïve. Of course, he had known Jack since he was a toddler and had to admit that all kids were generally naïve, but still, he wanted to subtly tear apart his dreams of saving the world until they were nothing but forgotten trash on the ground. See, he did care! Anyone else and he would have just given them a sneering rant about how they were too pathetic and weak to be a vigilante, but Jack, he gave some finesse in his speeches.
And yet while attempting to tear apart Jack's dreams without his notice he ended up only encouraging him into the same future that had already shredded their little unconventional family. Oh the irony, that trying to save others and fix their problems could create you so many of your own. You try to clean up the streets and make life better for others while your own went down the crapper, and it always did. No vigilante got a purely happy ending, anyone could tell that. Eddie hadn't wanted that future for Jack and had tried to steer him from it, only to send him hurdling right into the center of it. It was a good thing he was dead then, because otherwise he would have been pissed.
So Jack finished his lament to a slab of stone and apologized profusely and when he stood, he felt lighter than he had in four and a half years. Carrying around guilt and denial for that long could be pretty stressful.
Logan was vaguely surprised when Jack stood, and then guilty when he realized that it was because he had finished his one-sided conversation and Logan hadn't even been paying attention. Once again he thanked whatever deity was out there that Jack didn't seem to care. He simply scrubbed his face with the cuff of an orange sweatshirt sticking out from under his jacket and gave a long look at the grave of Edward Blake before smiling at Logan.
"Well, let's get this show on the road! C'mon, we got a prison to visit."
Stop number two on Jack's list was the prison where Walter had spent a brief stay. All of Eddie's belongings had been stored away upon his death by his lawyer, the contents of his apartment set aside for a day when Jack could go through them all. Walter hadn't had any belongings of interest, or at least none had been found in that disturbingly grotesque apartment that he had been renting. The landlady, some middle-aged woman with a gaggle of kids (whore, growled a voice inside Jack that he liked to ignore because it sounded more like Walter than was comfortable) had said he barely spent any time there anyway; she failed to comment on the fact that the disgusting furniture came with the excuse for an apartment.
But in the end, that had left Jack with exactly nothing to remember his brother by but the prison photos that had been released to the press. He knew that Walter had to have come in with something, and the prison might still have it around in a box somewhere, and thus, that was where he was headed. Jack wanted to make his peace with New York City so that maybe he could get all of his business done and then be able to ignore it for the rest of his life. He disliked this city more than just for what happened to Eddie and Walter that one fateful October.
Speaking of the dreaded month, he laughed now thinking that he had met Logan in the month he hated the most of all. Eddie would say that the world just liked to mess with him, but Jack thought maybe the planet was trying to give him a consolation prize for all the crap it had tossed at him all at once, because here he was now in March and things had only been looking up since he met Logan. He could only hope that they would continue in that direction, because he wasn't sure he could take another blow.
The trip to the prison was windy and unmemorable, as was entering the actual building. Trust Jack's luck, the interesting stuff started when he tried to talk about picking up his brother's belongings with the petite redhead woman behind the front desk. Ugh, give him another redheaded female, that's just what he needed. He already had a dislike for most women in general, which spawned from what the other disliked redhead had described as "a fear of the female gender due to an abusive mother which then manifests itself as intense hatred and anger to protect the terrified bearer."
Or something like that. But he wasn't scared…it was just that most women unnerved him and really, really pissed him off. The only one who didn't was Ms. Munroe, and that had only been because she had waited him out long enough that he finally came around to getting to know her, and she was so calm nothing about her could really upset him. Plus her power was freaking cool.
But trust him to be right about having bad feelings around women with red hair, because after making him spend half an hour just proving that he was in fact the younger half-brother of Walter Kovacs and the only known surviving relative (and oh, he had a fun time trying to say that Logan was his legal guardian, because of course the government wouldn't let him take Walter's stuff without a goddamned guardian). Of course, the only-known-surviving-relative thing turned out to be a real trip, because apparently a few years back some guy came in, claimed to be Walter's cousin and picked up all of his things. And of course, being that he was an adult and had some form of proof that Jack couldn't begin to guess (and of course the redhead wasn't disclosing it), the woman decided that Jack seemed more like some kid who wanted to play with the belongings of a famous criminal they idolized.
To say that Jack was pissed would be an understatement. Walter grew up mostly in foster care, and if their "mother" had any family left they wouldn't own her or any of her bastard children. So who the hell had his brother's stuff? Was it some fanatic, some pawnshop owner or crime nut or what?
Luckily for Jack he had Logan, whom he was fairly sure the receptionist thought was some stranger he had picked up on the street to pose as his guardian. Huh, not too far from the truth. But a stranger wouldn't have been able to wrangle information from her.
As Logan specialized in intimidating women while apparently turning them on at the same time (the very idea horrified Jack, who thanks to his dislike of females in general had never gotten past that "girls-are-gross-they-have-cooties" stage of life), he was able to, with a few long stares and noncommittal grunts, gain access to information that Jack never would have been given: the recorded name and address of the man who had taken Walter's things.
That was what placed Jack and Logan on the doorstep of one Sam Hollis.
When the owner of said home came to the door, Jack had to pause for a moment not just to clear his sight, but to then confirm to himself that yes, this was a slightly pudgy mustached blond man. How the hell had anyone thought that this guy was related to his short, wiry, somewhat weasely and emaciated redheaded brother?
"Ah, can I help you?" the man asked, bringing up a hand to rub the back of his head in a nervous gesture. He addressed Logan while speaking, watching him warily, and while Jack enjoyed that his companion could placed fear in the hearts of civilians he hated that he was just passed right over. Logan, knowing Jack fairly well by now, sensed this and ran with it.
"It's him you're lookin' for, bub," he said with crossed arms, nodding with his chin at Jack. The man gave the teen a cursory glance and couldn't help raising an eyebrow briefly. At the fierce scowl on the boy's face plainly visible even with the large thick sunglasses, both eyebrows flew up in surprise.
"Oh," the man muttered, shaking his head a bit in confusion before conjuring up a placating smile for the teen. "So how can I help you?"
"You Sam Hollis?"
"Yes, yes I am." The man let the sentence hang, the "what do you want" hovering in the atmosphere like one of the lines obscuring Jack's vision.
"You have my brother's stuff."
The man looked sincerely taken aback. "Excuse me? I don't believe I'd have anybody's things, at least not without their permission."
Logan had to grunt in agreement at that. From what he could see the guy's house was covered in owl-themed memorabilia. Nobody would want that back if it was stolen.
Jack, however was nonplussed, and began to glare, though the full effect was lost with the glasses. "My brother, Walter Kovacs. You went to the prison and got his stuff, it's in the records. I want it back."
Now the man looked gobsmacked, and a bit terrified before he swallowed visibly and forced his features to smooth out. "I, ah, think you'd better come in."
"I think we'd better," Logan returned, enjoying how the man gulped once more at his feral smile.
The pair was led into the building. Logan didn't fail to notice how Hollis leaned his head out the door and surveyed the street for a moment before quickly shutting the door. When he turned to face the duo, though, he had a friendly, if anxious smile on.
"Honey? I think you need to come here," he called up a set of stairs just inside the building.
"What's wrong?" a woman asked, making her way down the stairs. Jack almost flinched upon seeing her. Bright yellow-blond hair like her husband, the same brown eyes – Lord were they twins?
But no, it was more her mole that threw him off. Considering her face and its placement most males would find it at least not a deal breaker, if not in some way cute or attractive. Jack, however, was too busy trying to shake himself from flashbacks to his mother. He hated moles, but he hated women with moles more.
The man rubbed the back of his head again. Jack, fed up with waiting and losing his patience, wasn't finding this as amusing anymore; if anything, he was getting exasperated.
"These two are here about Walter Kovacs." As he said this, the woman's face closed off completely, all traces of her bemused smile gone.
"What about him?" she asked in a carefully neutral tone that left nothing to the imagination on her feelings about the subject.
"Supposedly, this, er, young man here is his brother, and he wants his belongings from the prison."
The woman started and then scoffed. "Brother? Him with a family?"
Jack felt the need to defend his brother to this woman who for some reason really, really pissed him off just with her presence. (Whore! seethed his inner-Walter voice.)
"Yeah, he had a family! Everyone's born with one, y'know! Just 'cause our mom didn't want any of us doesn't automatically mean that he didn't have a family."
"Whoa, calm down now," Sam Hollis tried to placate. "What my wife Sandra here meant was that we were just surprised that he would have any relatives. He never mentioned anybody, though he was always quiet and secretive, I shouldn't be so surprised. But…he just didn't seem the type. I mean, even if he had a family I didn't think he'd be the type to stay in contact."
He looked hopelessly at Logan for help; Logan just shook his head grimly, signifying that he was just the chaperone and chauffer. This was Jack's deal.
"You knew him personally?" Jack asked with a raised brow. As far as he knew Walter had never had any friends. It hurt him to think that his brother had kept so much from him, from them all. Had he known nothing about any of the men he had called his family?
The man stared at him sadly and then said, "I think we should all go sit down."
The four of them moved to a sitting room, also decorated in browns and owls, so much so that he could see them even through the lazy haze constantly occupying his vision. He was sensing a theme here, and if it weren't for his affliction of "can't see the obvious because he's oblivious" he would have realized it and made the connection in a heartbeat. Next to him, Logan was already fairly sure he had come to the right conclusion, but he was going to keep his mouth shut and see where things were going first.
Before the couple would tell them anything Jack had to produce his birth certificate, as he had at the prison, and prove that he was the son of Sylvia Kovacs, who public record showed as Walter's mother as well. He didn't expect the response he got.
The woman, Sandra, looked at his birth certificate, and then back up at him. She repeated the process with an expression of shocked horror, and her husband stared at him steadily with bug-eyes.
Jack raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, I know I look nothing like Walter, but you've got your proof, he was my older brother. Older by fifteen years, yeah, but still my brother. It's not that shocking, so what's with the creepy faces?"
The woman gaped for a moment longer before murmuring, "Eddie Blake was your father?"
Jack stiffened and his eyes narrowed. He didn't know how this woman knew Eddie, but he knew he wasn't going to like it.
She stared for a moment longer, drew in a shuddering breath and shared a long communicative look with her husband before speaking.
"He was my father, too."
Yep, Jack knew he wouldn't like this.
(Whore! indignantly cried his Walter-voice.)
Just great, he had a sister and she was a whore. Just great.
Just as a side note – Jack isn't chauvinist or sexist; he really is afraid of women and shows it badly. A lot of the women in his life have been…less than kind to him. And the whore thing, well, he grew up with a fear of women and Rorschach. You put two and two together.
And another note: REVIEW!