Disclaimer: Ya'll know by now I'm just playing with someone else's toys. Carry on, dear reader.
Warnings: This fic is incredibly AU, with occasional POV shifts between characters. Hope deals with various forms of abuse, bigoted and/or disturbing viewpoints, and is chock full of emotional angst and some dark imagery. To readers who may be triggered by some of the dark elements of this story, please take care if you choose to continue. This is not a fluffy story, although it has its moments. It is, however, a story of Hope, and the many different forms it can take, including the absence of it. And it is a reminder that even in the darkest of times, happiness can be found. One only needs to remember to turn on the light.
A/N: Inspiration has come from many different elements, some fictional, some real life. To those who care to look closely - certain characters have been inspired by the Marvel Universe. Other inspirations worthy of mention are The West Wing, Freddie the Leaf by Leo Buscaglia, and a bunch of songs too numerous to list. Also, for any who may not know, Jack the Ripper was a real 19th century serial killer active in London in 1888. Gold star to anyone who recognizes those various influences!
HUGE shout out to Davros fan for breathing oxygen into the story whenever I inevitability hit a wall. This has taken literal years for me to write, and I'm sure there were multiple times where one or both of us thought that this story would end up abandoned. When Davros fan originally requested the idea that eventually turned into Pandora and then Hope, I thought it would be both a test of my writing ability and a good way to explore and release old traumas. By the end, it became a lifeline for us both during these trying times. Thank you for hanging in there with me, friend.
This story is dedicated to loved ones lost. Time passes, love remains. May you all have found your happiness in the next great adventure.
Winter 2007
"The doctors have tried everything. So why won't you come back to me, my son?"
There was no response from the man in the bed, though his eyes were wide open.
"The doctors have tried, I've tried….what will get you to move? What will get you to wake up and come back to me –"
A scream cut through the air. The television was on low volume, but the anguished cries from the actor on screen were loud enough to be heard clearly, and the older man stopped speaking and turned to see what was happening. "That show is one of the most violent I've seen," he commented. He reached for the remote to turn the channel. A reporter became visible, a grave expression on his face as he spoke. "...she was found in the eastern division of Forest Hills in an abandoned building. Just as seen before in previous victims, a broken doll head was found by Williams' body..."
The man shook his head as he turned back toward the bed. "I wonder how many more bodies will be found before someone catches - what did you just do?"
The man moved closer to the bedside, staring. The reporter on screen was sharing more details about the latest murder. A moment passed before it happened again: He was sure he'd seen it, a quick flick of the eyes. "Son? Can you wake up for me?"
But no matter how much he pleaded, the man in the bed stirred no more. At last, the older man gave up. With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the television. The reporter continued to talk, the images on screen now quite disturbing, and as he watched an idea began to form.
"Perhaps," the man said slowly, "the doctors aren't the ones who can save you. Perhaps I can save you."
More silence filed the room. The man turned away from the screen. "After all – what kind of father would I be, if I wasn't willing to sacrifice everything for my own flesh and blood?"
There was no answer, but he could almost feel the approval in the air, and a peaceful smile spread across his face for the first time in years.