Prompt: Write a 5 plus 1 fic.


Sween was crying.

She was very quiet about it- she didn't want to wake Whittle, who was fast asleep beside her. He had had a tiring day, and she wasn't about to hinder the rest he needed.

Sween buried her face in her pillow and stifled another sob. Life was very difficult right now. Ever since they had left Nick Hollow they had been dragged from place to place- always weary, never resting. Now that they were at Akolan, things seemed to be falling into a steady routine. She had regular duties now, cleaning Morbin's Lair as a house slave. Sween supposed they were lucky to be in Fourth District, since rumors had begun to spread that captives were no longer being brought into Akolan. Which probably meant most families who were captured ended up being killed on the spot. No, Sween wasn't crying because of their situation.

She was crying because of Jacks.

Little sweet Jacket Longtreader. He had been one of her only consolations when they had been taken from their Elm Tree home. She didn't know if Heather and Picket were still alive, but at least she had had Jacks. She had watched him learn to walk in the slave camps- her baby who could never have the happy childhood he deserved. Now Jacks was at Akolan Academy, and she saw less and less of him. She had a rough idea what they were teaching him in those schools, and she knew they were taking him away from her. Whenever he was home, she felt so distant from him, as if his heart had been turned away. She and Whittle were trying to counteract it, but it didn't seem to be working. She was losing the only child left to her. And that was why she cried.

She remembered when Jacks would wake at night, as a baby. She would always go to him- always pick him up and sing to him until he fell asleep again.

She remembered how scared he had been when the wolves had invaded their home- how he had clung to her as they were paraded through the smoke and flames.

She remembered the time when he had toddled into the smoldering coals of the fire in the slave camp, lighting his clothes on fire. He had started screaming for her, and even though he hadn't been hurt, and his clothes had been safely extinguished, he had sobbed out his fear on her shoulder.

She remembered when he would be walking a great distance with the rest of the prisoners until his little feet had blisters. She had carried him the rest of the day, trading him off with Whittle whenever she became too fatigued herself.

She even remembered when they had come to take him to Sixth District for his first day at the academy. He had looked back at her as they led him away, needing her reassuring smile to keep him going.

Yes, Jacks had needed her then. And she needed him now- the real Jacks. The sweet Jacks, who had never had his mind filled with Morbin's lies. The Jacks who knew right from wrong. The Jacks who should have had a happy childhood and grown up with his brother and sister.

Beside her, Whittle stirred. "Sween?" She felt him wrap his warm arms around her shaking back, and she rolled over to face him, melting into his comforting embrace.

"I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to w- wake you." Her voice shook with suppressed sobs.

"Don't worry about that, my love," Whittle said reassuringly. "What's wrong?"

It took a while for her to calm herself enough to answer him. "It- it's Jacks. Whittle, the- they're taking him from me. The only baby I have left." She buried her face into his chest, a long painful wail escaping her. "I n- need him, Whittle," she sobbed. "I- I've already lost H-Heather and- and Picket. They- they can't take my last- last child. It's too- too much."

"Shhh," Whittle said, rubbing her back in rhythmic circles. "Sween, my dearest, you've been so strong through all of this. I know it's hard." He blinked back his own tears, knowing he needed to be strong for her. "Jacket is not gone forever- he can come round. And we don't know for certain if Heather and Picket are gone. We raised them right- taught them to think for themselves. And we still have each other. Everything will be alright."

Sween closed her eyes on burning tears, willing herself to believe it. She knew full well that, in the end, a mother must sacrifice her children to the world. She had known the time would inevitably come when they would have to face their futures and live their own lives. She had known she would have had to let go. That time had simply come sooner than she had anticipated.

Whittle kept rubbing her back, and slowly her sobs grew weaker. But it was a long time before she was able to fall asleep.