Jack's back was on fire. The pain was all consuming…but in a distant sort of way. It was there, growing and sharp and horrible, but more like a memory than a fact…but also still a fact.
Bill was there, and he loomed, larger than the pain, larger than life, an impossible menace that caused pain upon pain and made Jack into something less. Weak. Worthless. Small. Owned. The sound of the belt cracking against Jack's back sounded like a cannon shot, and he trembled as the pain swept over his entire body in a wave, and he cowered.
"Worthless bitch, I am your alpha and you will respect me!" Bill's voice Ordered and Jack cowered from that too. He couldn't seem to do anything but cower, not fight back, not even get up, not run away. His limbs seemed to be held somehow, perhaps wrapped in the bindings of Bill's voice, and he was trapped and helpless and Bill was going to destroy him utterly in his quest to own him. He was going to break him. Jack knew it deeply in his soul, simply knew it was happening, and he couldn't find that place inside himself to dig in and fight. There was no fight. He was trapped and he was alone.
"Jack?"
And then he wasn't alone, and Bill was gone. And he could feel his family around him.
And his nightmare (a part of him knew this was a nightmare, but at the same time it was real) didn't end. It got worse. A hundred times worse.
Jack still couldn't move, but he could hear Jane's voice.
"Jack?" she whispered, and she sounded…wrong. Small and scared. Jack wanted to answer her, to leap up and hold her and calm her fears and he couldn't move. And then her voice came again, closer, and it was like he was inside and outside his body at the same time, because he could see her face, but he still couldn't move…he could see himself. He looked…broken. His back was ugly and awash in blood and he lay over a chair, unmoving and Jane…the look on Jane's face when she saw that…it broke him.
"No," she said, then, hurrying to his side he could hear her repeating, "Please don't be dead, please don't be dead, please don't be dead."
"I'm not dead," he wanted to tell her, but he didn't have a voice, just a broken and useless body and when she felt at him, felt his neck, put her fingers beneath his nose, searching for any sign of life and finding none…this was his worst nightmare. Not being dead, which might have been a bad dream but only for himself. The nightmare was in watching someone he loved find him, watching them collapse, grabbing his body and just holding it and begging and sobbing and knowing he caused this pain. He supposed the only thing worse would be the reverse…being the one to find her dead.
And then he heard her words and they were like nails to his heart.
"Why didn't you tell me? I could have saved you if I knew. Why didn't you tell me?"
He was dead because he kept secrets and now Jane was in agony and it was all Jack's fault. Entirely his fault. Just look how easily the monster that was Bill had vanished with Jane's arrival. If he had told her…
"Jane?" said a new voice, and there was Michael. And Angus. And the children. And Chalky and Matilda and Bert and Mary Poppins and everyone in the world who he loved. And they saw Jack and he saw the horrible devastation in their eyes and they were all crying and in pain over him and his lies.
"I'm sorry," Jack tried to tell them, tried to touch them, and they couldn't hear and he couldn't touch and it was the worst feeling in the world, worse than feeling small and beaten, worse than the pain of the beating, worse than being trapped and alone. His family was in pain and it was his fault and he could do absolutely nothing about it because he was dead.
"Please," Jack tried and, "I'm sorry, I won't hide, I'm sorry."
And when the pain of watching their grief felt like it was going to utterly crush him he pushed, desperate to hug, to hold, to comfort, to fix and finally, finally he moved.
He was still all tied up and one arm seemed to be trapped against his body and the other under him and something heavy was over him and he opened his eyes and struggled to escape and reach his Pack while familiar voices called his name.
"Jack, shh, you're okay," said Michael's voice, and "Jack, Jack, wake up," said Jane's and…and…Jack got the arm free from under him but his other arm was still securely wrapped and he grabbed at Jane who seemed to be in front of him and she grabbed him back and he could touch and feel.
A lot of what he felt was pain because his back really was on fire and squirming seemed to have ignited every bruise in his body and it was hard to say where he hurt the most when he felt one solid ache from head to toe, with sharp highlights here and there, and his heart was beating hard in his chest and he could hear his own voice making pained, distressed noises.
"Sorry," Jack managed to say at last and he clung to Jane with his free hand and he could feel her arms around him, not tight, too careful, but warm and solid and there.
"Hey, shh, are you with us now?" Jane said and she looked him in the eyes and he looked back and his brain slowly made sense of where he was, and that he wasn't dead after all, that he'd been saved from Bill and was still sore but not beaten to death. He was in the Banks's house, surrounded by Pack (And Angus, when did he get there?) and they were worried.
That part wasn't just his nightmare. He had hurt them by allowing himself to be hurt, and he was hurting them still.
"I'm sorry," he said again, and when Jane looked like she was going to shush him again, he said, "I'm sorry I lied. I'm sorry I hid. I'm sorry I didn't tell anyone about…about Bill."
She didn't shush him again. Her expression did something complicated that he couldn't get a read on. It wasn't anger. She didn't withdraw from him either. Nor did she tighten her hold. She held him and looked him in the eyes with that unreadable expression and in the end Jack looked away, allowing his eyes to slide down to her chin, to her neck, offering his own.
"You should have told me, Jack," she said at last. "You should have told someone."
"I didn't want to hurt you," Jack answered towards her shoulder. "And…and I didn't want you near him. I didn't want him touching you. You are good and light and…and he isn't. I didn't want you to touch."
"It hurt more to not know." That was Angus and Jack cringed because he could see that now, even if he hadn't then. "We knew you were hurt, but not how, or how bad, and you wouldn't let us help. I never felt so useless."
"I'm sorry," Jack said again, and it was harder to say this time because he'd started to cry, and his family drew closer.
"But Jack," and it was Michael speaking this time, "You should have told. But it is not your fault that you were hurt. It's not your fault that we don't like you being hurt. You didn't hurt us, Jack. He did."
Jack didn't know how to answer that. It felt like the entire mess was his fault. Sure, he didn't exactly control Bill, but he could have done a thousand things different. He should have fought back harder, or escaped sooner or…he really should have told. Only the one time he'd tried it was to a stranger (it was easier to a stranger, to someone who wouldn't look at him in horror and pain) and…and…
"I did tell a policeman…about Bill," Jack admitted. "He called it discipline and didn't care."
Jane's hold at his back abruptly tightened and it was all he could do to keep from yelping aloud at the sudden flare of pain. She seemed to know anyway and pulled her hand away entirely as though it were burned. He rather missed the touch. It returned again, this time to the nape of his neck where she was certain he had no sore spots.
"…I don't suppose you got the fine officer's name?" Angus asked, his tone aiming for casual and light and missing the mark by about a mile.
"…he said I should respect my alpha and behave and I wouldn't get hit," Jack said. Jane growled in response and Jack wondered if it were normal that, instead of feeling anxious that an alpha who was holding him was growling, he actually felt more safe and a bit warm.
They clearly disagreed with the policeman's assessment of the situation. And Jack knew they would but…perhaps reaching out for help and being told he deserved what he got had gotten to him…just a bit. It was nice to feel protected. Even if it were humiliating to need protection.
"Uncle Jack?" said a small voice, reminding Jack that the children were still there too, which almost made Jack wince, because this wasn't how he wanted the children to see him. He liked being their guiding light, their savior who turned back time, not as the one who was burned and needed rescuing.
"Yes?" he said, trying to keep his voice normal and pretend he hadn't just been crying (never mind they'd seen him do it).
"You don't really think it's your fault a wicked alpha beat you…do you?" That was Georgie. Jack couldn't see him from his angle but he could imagine the boy's expression, confused and worried while he clung to the giraffe his mother made for him.
And how was Jack supposed to answer that? It wasn't his fault…but at the same time, it was. He never fought, not properly. He didn't tell the judge he'd take any other alpha but that one, even though he knew the moment he saw him that he was bad. He didn't try to make the cab driver see his side and take him to his proper home. He didn't resist, didn't make the alpha drag him into the flat kicking and screaming. And when he was Ordered to lay over the chair he did. And when the alpha kept coming back, he hid what was happening from everyone who could have helped (except the policeman, but he didn't try another policeman after).
"It's not Jack's fault at all," Angus said, when Jack paused in answering for a bit too long, trying to find the right words. "It's mine."
"What?!" said at least three voices, Jack's being the loudest. How in the world did Angus reason that out?
"I was the one who started the dance that got Chalky and Jack arrested. In fact, they were arrested because I was acting silly. So Jack got assigned a wicked alpha because of me."
"That's ridiculous," Jack objected instantly.
"And," Angus said, as though Jack hadn't spoken, "I could see that Jack had been hurt, and I didn't make him tell me. We aren't stupid, Jack. When you go out fine, then come back white as a sheet and needing a cuddle and…and wincing…we aren't stupid. And I didn't make you talk. And when you ran off when a strange alpha came around asking after you and didn't show up for hours…and when you don't want to light a lamp but won't let me do it for you…when you insist on doing your route no matter how ill or jumpy or tired or…or hurt you look…I didn't stop you."
"Because you aren't my nanny," Jack said. "I'm a grown man and you aren't responsible for me."
"But Chalky is. Miss Banks is. And I didn't tell them either. We let you stay silent. So it is my fault."
And before Jack could explain just what utter nonsense that was, Michael spoke. "Then it's my fault, too. I noticed you were injured somehow when we were cuddling, and I didn't push to find out how."
"Is it my fault, too?" John asked, his voice unbearably young and he sounded half in tears, "Because I asked if we hurt you when we hugged you too rough and you said you were sore from the lamps and…and I didn't tell anyone or ask again."
"It is not any of your faults," Jack insisted. "I'm the one who hid and didn't talk so if it's anyone's fault at all, it's mine."
"No it isn't," Annabel answered, her voice not teary at all, but angry and indignant. "It isn't John's fault and it isn't Daddy's and it isn't Aunt Jane's and it isn't Uncle Angus's." (to this last, Angus whispered 'Uncle Angus?' but Annabel wasn't finished and no one else paid him any mind). "It is the wicked alpha's fault. And maybe the judge if he made you go with him. He's the one who beat you. No one else hit you. He did. It's his fault."
"Well said," Michael agreed. "Either it's all our fault or it's the wicked alpha's fault, and I refuse to take the blame for a wicked alpha."
Most everyone said their agreements. Jack was quite ready to accept that it was more the 'wicked alpha's' fault than anyone else's…but it still felt at least a bit like it was his own fault too. He thought no one would notice that he didn't join in with the others. He thought wrong.
"Say it," Jane ordered Jack, though not quite an Order despite the insisting tone. "Say it wasn't your fault."
"It wasn't your fault," Jack answered obediently, and received a (feather light) cuff to the back of his head for his efforts, and his lips twitched upwards in spite of everything. "Fine. It wasn't my fault."
He didn't know why, but something in his chest felt lighter for saying it.
"Family cuddle!" Georgie ordered, and Jack couldn't help but cringe slightly in anticipation of one of the children's tackle hugs, but they had the sense to be quite gentle with him, almost unbearably so, and the warm feeling in his chest grew and grew until it began to crowd out the darker feelings of being small and helpless and causing everyone he loved pain.
It was a good family cuddle.
Then of course real life intervened, and Jack had embarrassing but necessary help to reach the toilet, and more horrid medicines to take, and soup, and there was a suggestion of a bath and a council into the logistics of getting Jack cleaned without upsetting his bandages, and a slightly more secret council determined to get Jane to sleep. Because she hadn't. At all. Since they first discovered Jack sitting beneath their lamp.
"This is why everyone says healthy packs have at least two alphas in them," Michael grumbled when Jane resisted any suggestion towards soothing teas.
"I just can't, not yet," Jane snapped at her brother, clearly aware of what they were trying. "It's like a buzz under my skin, and that monster is still out there, and I can't let down my guard."
"What about the Admiral?" Michael tried (Angus had suggested Chalky and gotten a snarl for his troubles that had him sulking on the opposite end of the room for a good ten minutes and pretending he wasn't cowering from the irate, overtired alpha).
"Would you feel safe with him guarding you?" Jane asked in response.
"Gillie's an alpha. Maybe we could let him guard us, like he guards my sleep," Georgie suggested. This was the first any of them had known of the giraffe having a secondary gender. Jane didn't growl at Georgie, but didn't accept the toy as a sleep aid.
"Please, Jane, do sleep a bit," Jack tried. "For me."
That was not fair at all, and he knew it, and she knew it, but it almost worked. She really couldn't shut down enough for sleep, not even when she was trying.
She did look like she was at least on the verge of dozing, after Ellen reassured her that every door was locked, and there was a beta who was alert and could rouse her in a moment's need, and Jack was resting as comfortably as he could, and all her Pack was present and accounted for (including Angus…he'd suggested again he needed to leave and Jane had growled at that idea. And since Angus didn't really want to go…he stayed). And she was exhausted to her soul, and almost, almost she could relax enough to doze.
And then there came the knock at the door.
She jerked upright as though attached to a spring, alert and on edge and she went to the door herself, not even stopping to see who it was but throwing the door open, ready to fight if it was a danger and scare whoever it was away if it was not.
There was an alpha on the other side of the door. It was not Bill. Or Chalky. Or a threat.
"Bert?!"