Wolfram and Hart
New Beginnings
Chapter One
Origins....
AN: Sorry this update took so long, but my brain died, and then high school graduation came along. Then I just plain couldn't figure out how to start it off, but now I've got it. The first chapters are going to be the back stories of the characters that aren't from AtS. Not everyone's read Frankenstein, or know who Springheel Jack is, etc. etc. Now, without further ado, the origins of Springheel Jack (as I see them, as he is somewhat of an actual historical legend).
"Hey, did you get the stuff?" That was the whisper passed around from teenager to teenager on one dark, chilly night. All five of the teenagers, all males, were dressed in black robes and black hoods, almost as if they were reenacting a scene of the Ringwraiths from Lord of the Rings...only not nearly so well. They were standing around a pentagram, each boy standing at one of the points. One of the boys finally nodded, pulling from within his robes a bottle of herbs labeled wolfsbane.
"Oh my god, man, wolfsbane?!" The teenager scoffed, stepping away from his designated area to smack the boy holding the herbs in the head. "That only works in the movies!"
"Bad movies," another agreed.
"Hey, they aren't bad, they're just old," another quipped defensively. Obviously, he was either a fan of the old movies or had been scared of them as a child.
"How are we supposed to become some big, bad werewolf pack if we can't get along," another sighed, and then added under his breath, "Or get the right goddamn shit."
"I'll bet you'd partaken of another herb before buying that shit," the lead teenager laughed. "Man, share next time. Sharing's what makes the world go 'round."
"Hey, did you hear that," the boy with the herbs asked, undoubtedly trying to change the subject, as he didn't feel like sharing the joint he had in his pocket.
"...You're trying to become a werewolf using black magick," the out of place teenager scoffed, "and you're jumping at every little sound?"
"Hey, Brad, knock it off, I really heard something!"
"Yeah, Scott, right," the lead teenager droned. "Shut the fuck up. You've always been the pansy of this group."
"Some leader you are, Dick," Scott muttered.
"Richard, damn it! My name is Richard!"
"I think Dick fits better," mused a slightly accented voice from above, and the teens all turned their eyes skyward, to see a darkened silhouette blotting out a portion of the full moon, standing precariously on the edge of the roof of a tall building.
"I told you I fucking heard something," Scott shouted triumphantly. "Fucking pricks."
"Dude, shut the hell up," Brad snapped. "This guy's giving me the goddamn creeps."
"Oh, I am, am I," the silhouette mused, chuckling. His accent was decidedly English, with a malicious lilt to it that none of the teenagers liked. "I've given others worse. Tell me boys, have you ever heard of," the man paused now, and leapt down from the roof, obviously suicidal, as the roof was at least forty feet up, but then he landed in a perfect crouch, black hair falling in front of a perfect, pale face, "Springheel Jack?"
"WHAT THE FUCK," Richard yelped, ducking backwards, the others not a moment behind him.
"Apparently not," the man – apparently named Springheel Jack – laughed. "Well, my young friends, I go back a long way. And no, before you say it, I'm not a vampire, so don't ask me to turn you."
"We're werewolves," Brad squeaked out.
"Ah, but there's one catch," Jack grinned. "Wolfsbane can't turn you into a werewolf. And yes, those movies were bad. Believe me, I saw them all opening night."
"Y-you can't be that old, not unless you are a vampire," Scott stammered.
"Oh, I assure you," Jack smirked, "that there are far worse things in this world than vampires. I should know." He jabbed his finger downwards, pointing to the pentagram the boys had scrawled in what was apparently human blood. "I've had to fight things from down there." He chuckled and pointed upwards, adding jovially, "I've also had to fight things from up there."
"What a-are you t-then," Richard questioned, feeling bolder despite his lingering fear.
"What am I," Springheel mused, finally coming up from his crouch and beginning to pace the alley. "That's a question I've been asking myself since I could really grasp its meaning. You see, I was born with a few gifts, one of which you've seen."
"You can jump," Richard offered, putting some of the pieces together.
"That's one, yes," Jack returned. "I can also do this." Suddenly Jack lunged forward, breathing out blue flame at Brad, who tried to run but was paralyzed as soon as the flame hit him.
"What'd you do to him," Scott yelped, fearful for his friend.
"I merely paralyzed the boy," Springheel returned, sighing heavily. "You'll find him unharmed when the paralysis wears off."
"So what else can you do," Richard asked, not stammering anymore. He was beginning to see Jack as a potential tool, something even better than lycanthropy. Who needed an uncontrollable beast inside them when they could just manipulate someone that already existed into doing what they wanted?
"Bursts of incorporeality," Jack explained, sighing again at the blank looks on all the faces. "I can turn 'ghostly' for a brief period of time. The longer I stay 'ghostly' the more draining it is on me, so I usually only rely on it when stealth is necessary." He grinned and gestured to the teenagers. "Sneaking up on you lot, for instance."
"Why should we believe you," Richard challenged, trying to goad Jack's ego a bit.
"Because I have these," Jack sighed, reaching into his dark duster and pulling out newspaper clippings. "Read them, if you like," he added, tossing them at the teenagers. "I terrorized London and the surrounding area in the 1800s, and led everyone on a merry chase trying to figure out who I was. It was quite sad when I had to leave, but someone got far too close to the truth for my liking, so off I came to the states, and what a wonderful den of corruption it was." He grinned and began advancing on the teenagers. "It was such a sickening cesspool that even I found it disgusting. At least in London, we murderers were civilized, but here, you people are just...sick. Butchering bodies, drinking blood because you teenage 'Goths' want to become a vampire, blaming things on a split personality...Johnny Cochrin?" He stepped closer, the teenagers cowering back, except Richard, who was too absorbed in the clippings to notice that Jack had come to stand directly in front of him.
In that moment, Richard got a good look at the man. He was of relatively tall, though not a giant, and wore a black sweater with black work pants, that were tucked into heavy black boots. Overtop that he wore a duster, and on his hands...iron gauntlets, the fingers pointed to be used as wicked claws. His hair, black like the night sky, hung to just below his temples, framing a pale and perfectly sculpted face. Dark brown eyes stared at Richard as if he was the deer and Jack the hunter. "Perhaps you should pay more attention to your surroundings, Dick. It might have saved your life one day."
"Might have," Richard questioned, looking up briefly before realizing the portent of Jack's words, dropping the newspaper clipping and stumbling back, just before Jack stabbed the claws on his right gauntlet directly through the boy's chest, impaling his heart and ending the boy's life in one fell stroke.
"You see, Dick, had you been able to use the magick you sought – and found, by way of Brad's 'big surprise' that he mentioned on the phone – you would have become a werewolf pack. Many lives would have been lost before you were finally subdued, if you were subdued at all," Jack explained, tossing the body aside like yesterday's garbage, advancing on the remaining boys, crushing the paralyzed Brad's skull as he stepped on it. "And I, well, I just couldn't allow that. You see, I've seen the error of my ways after several long years...and now, well, atonement seems the best option."
"B-but you're not a-all broody and f-forgiving, like-like you're s'posed to b-be when y-you look for a-atonement," Scott stuttered, unsure why he was arguing with the man.
"Oh, come now, boys," Jack laughed, lunging at Scott. He grabbed the boy by the collar and hefted him off the ground. "No one said atonement couldn't be fun."
It didn't take Jack long to rid himself of the boys. They had all been very cooperative...or Jack had been beating them too hard to notice their resistance. By the time he'd finished, it was 2 am, and he realized that he did need to get at least a bit of sleep. After all, as much as he hated to admit it, the day job was a necessity. When he awoke, it was an hour after the morning news, and there was a letter under his door. When he opened the envelope, the first thing he noticed was the letterhead. "Wolfram and Hart," he mused, interested, and began to peruse the letter.