All this vague, borderline possessive bullshit gave me a lot to think about later that night.

I understood what he was trying to say. At least, I was pretty sure I did. I got that he'd been alone for so many years, and maybe trying to thrust him back into the world and make him a functioning member of society wasn't the best idea. I understood why he felt that we only needed each other, however strongly I disagreed. I really did mean what I'd said; he needed other people in his life, whether he liked it or not.

I sighed and stared at the clock on my desk, watching the seconds tick by. It was 9:00 already. Not that that was unbearably late, but it felt like a punch to the gut knowing the rest of the day had gone by so quickly.

I guess getting him another friend would be a lot easier said than done.

I buried my face in my pillow, trying to drown out all these conflicting thoughts. Why couldn't I stop thinking about it? Why was it bothering me so much? We'd grown so close to each other that Morgan and Leigh thought we were a couple. Jack was able to brush it off so easily, as if he wasn't even taking their questions in! So why did I feel so put off, hours after we left?

There was a knock at my door.

I started, accidentally punching my alarm clock off the desk. Chills were spreading across my arms now for no reason I could place. I looked to my window; no draft. My body temperature seemed to have just gotten knocked down a couple degrees. Taking a shudder of a breath, I grabbed the closest thing to a sweater off my floor and threw it on, rubbing my eyes as I made my way downstairs.

Through a window in the living room, I could see snow falling onto the grass in sheets. Answering the door this late was probably a bad idea, but I gulped and tried to think optimistically. Maybe some worn traveller was looking for a place to stay for the night, what with the unexpected storm, and nobody else would let them in. Maybe it was a friend who'd forgotten something here, maybe it was...

I opened the back door as my visitor sent another barrage of knocks to see a familiar blue mask and dark, heavily torn hoodie.

I stifled a yawn with my hand, an ominous feeling creeping up my back the longer I looked at him. Neither of us said a word. I realized just then that I didn't know which side of him was going to be behind that mask if I let him in, especially around this time of day. I blinked.

"You again?"

You'd better not be "hungry," or anything like that.

Nothing. He just stared blankly for a while before falling into my arms, gasping for air. I let out a yelp of surprise.

"Jack! What are—"

"Ah, sorry, sorry, you just..." He lifted his head, turned away, and coughed. Violently.

"...y-you said I could've knocked."

"How bad is it," I breathed, not sure there was room for any other explanation; he'd been possessed again. He'd hurt himself again, in some fit of rage or maybe to drive the "boss" off. He was completely limp against me, bits of his clothes charred—not that you could tell from looking—and chunks of his hair ripped out. Without waiting for an answer, I started dragging him inside.

"Okay. Okay, okay, okay..." I whispered to myself, looking frantically around the kitchen for something to lay his body on while I assessed the damage. There was no way in hell I could drag him all the way upstairs, where he would get somewhat proper help, but I knew I was going to have to do it eventually. I spied the sink's tap through the darkness, switched on the lights, and rested Jack's head on a nearby chair leg.

I heard something fizz on my hand as I filled up a glass with water, looking to see the same smoke that had poured out of Jack's body when he last came to my house like this. It stuck to my hand like syrup, and as drops of water spilled over the glass's rim, it bubbled and fizzed out, falling down the drain before I could get a better look at it.

The water just...dissolves it? I furrowed my eyebrows, tiredness making way for a sick, bitter feeling. Where was that when I was trying to scrub that disgusting tar off of my walls?! Does it only work when it's still smoke?

Jack dug his nails into the tiled floor, as if to keep himself from being dragged away again. I took one last glance at the cup of water in my hand and made my way back to him, lifting his chin to look him in the eyes; his mask had fallen off somewhere in the brief panic.

"Okay, buddy, you're going to have to work with me here. I've got some water—you can drink that, right? It works with your weird, cannibalistic diet?"

He didn't move, but the corners of his mouth turned upward to form a weak, thin smile, and I took that as a yes.

"I'm going to give you this, then we can head upstairs and fix you up. Sound like a good idea?"

He nodded lazily, his mouth falling open by about an inch. The second the water touched his lips, I heard a loud hiss in the air as he coughed and sputtered. His skin suddenly looked torn up, blistered and burnt...

"Shit!" I wiped the remainder of the liquid off his face and set the glass down. Right. Demon. "Oh, my god. I'm sorry, are you—"

Jack started laughing, hard. "Y-you just...you just burned me! Did I scare you?"

How is that a joke to you?!

I narrowed my eyes. "Okay. We're getting you upstairs. Can you at least help me with that?"

"But did I scare you?"

"Yes! A lot, now come on." I hoisted him up by the arms, figuring anything that got dislocated could be dealt with later. He was surprisingly light, even more so than last time...

Blood loss, I found myself thinking against my every wish. I hastily shook my head. No, no, it doesn't work like that. Does it? Stop, that doesn't matter!

I practically heaved him up each step while he stayed limp in my arms, nowhere near as enthusiastic as he'd been seconds before. He grumbled a few incomprehensible things under his breath, claws on the verge of piercing my sweater sleeve. All I was able to catch was, "Where is it...where is it..."

I decided against the makeshift operating table this time, dragging him into my room and laying him down on a cleared-off section of the floor. I knew I would regret taking all this blood and tar and god-knows-what-else into the space where I slept, on purpose to boot. Jack wheezed and yelled when I left the room to wash my hands and put gloves on, and I saw a shaky hand grab at thin air from my doorway when I returned with supplies. His eyelids widened with desperation as I walked back in.

"Where did...hey!" Each of his breaths were cracked and hoarse, like he was forcing down phlegm. "Please. Where's my mask, I-I need it, it's blue and—"

"Jeez, hold on! I don't know, it's probably back downstairs. You'll live without it," I sighed, leaning down to comb some hair out of his face. He turned his head and tried to swat my hand away, his arm lifting by about an inch and falling to the floor. When it didn't work, he grabbed my hand as I was about to stand back up and held it to his chest, letting out a small wince of pain.

"Please, y-you have to make sure no one sees me. Nobody can mourn me like this. I...listen, please!" He tightened his grip on me as I tried to stand up again. "Here it is. My will: the mask goes to Nyx Smith, so she remembers all the shit I had to go through because of her...my knives, those go to the demons, Vick and the HTA guys and whoever else is down there." A pained, twisted smile was starting to spread across his face, and he looked as if he was on the verge of manic laughter. "A-and my college debt...goes to our lord and savior, Chernobog!"

He laughed harder than ever before, yelling that last sentence with such irony and mirth that I wondered if he was even high anymore. It sounded just a little too much like the real him. I froze for a good second, waiting for something awful to happen. Maybe he'd break out into a coughing fit, maybe he'd pull something from laughing so hard. Maybe he'd wake up, and get hungry, and go right back to the animalistic state he must've been in before...

No. This is already enough, this is the same state he was in when he killed...

I hugged myself and narrowed my eyes, gaze trained on his face. Right now he looked about as harmless as a day-old puppy. Definitely acting as clingy as one. I couldn't tell for the life of me whether this was all an act, or if all of his weapons and defenses went down around me. I didn't want to consider either of those possibilities, so I got to healing.

"Alright. Could you just hold still for me? This shouldn't take too...long..."

I faltered when I opened up his hoodie, revealing tonight's set of cuts laid out on his torso like a scoreboard. I didn't get the luxury of a shirt to cover up his more gory wounds; it was all there on sickening display, bloody and probably already infected. Meanwhile, Jack didn't flinch. He wasn't exactly staying still like I'd asked, either, though. He took the liberty to look around the room in awe, like he was in a glittering mansion, stretching out and shifting around, trying to get back up every other second.

Oh, that sure would've been helpful while I was dragging you up a flight of stairs!

Every tool at my disposal would just end up hurting him more if he kept moving like that, without a care in the world. Not even a cotton pad with some rubbing alcohol was safe. I groaned and abandoned the disturbing sight of his chest, holding him down by the shoulders.

"Jesus...hold still, Jack, you'll make me kill you!"

At those words, he froze up with the expression of a startled animal. His breathing started to quicken, and I raised an eyebrow. Either he listened to me for once, or I just made everything a thousand times worse.

"Hey, are you—"

"That's exactly what she said," he whispered.

"Exactly what who...?"

I trailed off, digging through my brain and everything I'd learned about him over the past month or so. I remembered "that girl" and "those people," and felt some wickedly sharp combination of fear and guilt crawl up my spine. It was what's-her-face, Jenny Smith, the girl who sacrificed him all those years ago. Taking a deep breath, I set everything down, brushed myself off, and awkwardly patted both of his shoulders. His expression didn't fade; I wondered what exactly he was seeing right now, staring dead at the ceiling with terror carved in the space around his eyes. I shook my head and tightened my grip on him, careful not to scare him any more.

"Hey. Jack, it's me. You're safe. I'm going to heal you, remember?"

His hands twitched one more time, and he attempted to tilt his head back further onto the floor. How he planned to make that happen, I had no idea, but he was trying.

"...what?" he said after a good minute, furrowing his eyebrows. I sighed.

"I said, you're—"

"Oh! Oh, hi, Sawyer, what are you...what're you doing here?"

"...this is my house."

"You live here?"

"Yep."

"That's so cool. I don't live in a house, it's more like a—"

"Okay, chatterbox," I said, placing a hand over his mouth and holding a finger to my lips. "It's time to quiet down. We—I need to focus. You want to get better, right?"

I heard a muffled "sure" from under my hand after what felt like forever, and suddenly remembered what a pain in the ass he'd been last time. At least he's not squirming so much now.

Cleaning off everything that'd been clogging up his wounds was easier said than done when you took water out of the picture. With every new alcohol pad I applied, I winced a tiny bit, knowing he probably couldn't feel the sting but being all too aware of it at the same time. Every now and then he started giggling, a soft sound that somehow worried me even more when it came time for stitches. Eventually, I sighed and snipped the excess thread off one of his last visible cuts, tilting my head with an eyebrow raised.

"Can you even feel any of this? I'm basically stabbing you over and over again. Not to mention, you..." I trailed off, looking him up and down before deciding it would be better not to say. "Nevermind."

He yawned and tried answering me anyway, bless his undead heart. "'S not so bad, y'know...say, has your floor always been this soft?" His fingertips brushed the wood like it was an animal's fur. I sighed again.

"It's a hardwood floor, so I'd guess no." The last of the stitches were in place, and he was lying oddly still. As everything started winding down again, I felt an emptiness in my chest grow and grow until I thought I might disappear. I tried not to care about what this would do to both of our minds and took one of his hands, holding it close.

"Hey, future Jack, if you can hear me...you've got to stop doing this to yourself. I get that you can't help it, at least when you're not really there. But I don't feel like wasting another night like this, having to drag you around and close your wounds and entertain this thing in front of me." Tears started welling up in my eyes for some reason. I didn't feel particularly sad, just...I don't know. Frustrated. Tired.

"So stop it, asshole."

Jack tried sitting up again, and before he could slip or break something or mess up my work, I'd already caught him by the back and laid him down again. He frowned.

"Why do you look so mad at me?"

What?

"I—no, no, it's not you. I'm not mad, don't worry."

"But you are. You just said it, you said it with your face. Did I do something?"

Ooh, that's a tough question. Want me to type up a list and hand it to you in a wax-sealed envelope?

"You didn't do anything. Not this time. I'm just...concerned," I decided on. After a moment, his expression faded, and I wasn't sure if he was even still awake. My gaze was drawn to the window.

It's really coming down out there, I thought with a shiver.

I sighed and stood up to get a blanket when his hand shot out and grabbed my arm.

"What the—"

"Where are you going?" His words were soft and quick, but filled with fear. I came back down to a kneel and gave him a stern glare.

"I'm going to be ten feet away from you, Jack. You can handle it. I'm getting you a blanket so you don't freeze to death here."

"Promise it'll just be that?" He was almost whimpering now. "Ten feet?"

He's really playing this game.

"I promise," I said with all the exasperation I could muster. He slowly let go of me, and on my way to the spare room I checked my arm to see if he'd scratched me at all. There was nothing; not even a little red mark where his hand had been. I returned with the thickest blanket I could find and dropped it, folded, by his side. I guess I should at least give him a choice about that.

He turned his head, still looking afraid. "Can you stay with me...? It's so cold, the floor isn't as soft anymore."

"That's because you're getting better, buddy. Aren't you glad? You can feel things again, feel them like they really are." Going against my intention, that sentence seemed to make him feel even worse. He shook his head, reaching out for me again, slowly this time.

"N-no. I don't want to...things, how they really are, I hate them. You—you wanna know how I really am? I'm lonely. That's how I am. It's worse. I don't wanna be alone. You're here. Please, stay with me, I..."

His voice cracked and he trailed off, a black tear running down his face. I shut my eyes to rid myself of that pitiful vision for a second and sat down beside him. He still hadn't noticed the blanket, or maybe just didn't feel like taking it.

"Okay. Okay, you've driven your point into the ground." Have I ever seen him this upset? "You aren't going to be alone, I'll tell you that. Will you stop crying?"

Though it might not have been the best time to ask, I couldn't help the question from falling out. He didn't seem to mind. How could he?

"I think—I think I will." He sniffed and rose to his elbows again, and I sighed for about the twentieth time that night.

"Jack, please don't sit up, you could hurt your—"

When I leaned over to help him back down, he took one of my arms and kissed me on the cheek.

"...self...?" My face must have turned a whole sunset; pink, orange, purple, maybe even blue. His didn't change in the slightest. Before he fell back, he muttered, "Wanted to do that," and closed his eyes. Everything was frozen now. It felt like the world had stopped spinning for a moment, and I reached up to touch my face. It was wet, almost tacky with something. I looked at my hand.

His tar. It had gone cold.

"C'mon, Sawyer, lay down, you're...you're gonna work yourself to death," he whispered, clutching the blanket I'd laid beside him to his chest. True to his word, he had stopped crying. He actually looked pretty peaceful. If this hadn't happened before, I would've thought he was dying now. All I could do for a while was look at his face, how it was still tense but didn't hold any visible fear anymore. At least there's that.

I pushed his kiss to the back of my mind and lifted him off of the floor, collecting him in my arms before shakily standing up and walking over to my bed. Of course, he would want me to stay with him either way, but he would also have to fall asleep eventually. I was planning to wait it out, then give him a strongly-worded lecture next morning about just how much trouble he'd caused for me. Again.

Jack let out a soft groan as I laid him down, shifting his arms and arching his back like the bed was even more painful than the floor. I scoffed.

"Don't be like that, you'll get used to it. It's a mattress. It's supposed to be comfortable."

"It's s'posed to be." He was whispering, probably to himself as his eyes fluttered open again. "I...won't be alone. Not again."

"Um. Sure. You won't be. Isn't that what I said?"

He waited a long time before reaching out a shaky hand and smiling. I couldn't assume much beyond that he wanted me to take it. "That was nice of you. Won't you lie down here, next to me?"

I think I have a better idea. How about you fall asleep in five minutes and I can actually relax for once?

"...sure. Fine."

I told myself over and over again in my head that this was not awkward, that nothing whatsoever was going to happen, that I was humoring him by basically crawling onto my own bed to lay down and face him. Nothing weird happening. Nope, not at all. Just tending to my sick, completely human friend over here.

At the sight of my face again, though, Jack seemed to get infinitely happier. His entire body relaxed in a way I had never seen before; for a second, I was worried he might start melting. His ears twitched like a rabbit's, and his eyelids closed almost all the way. He was actually kind of cute. But thinking about why he was acting like this quickly crushed any sense of peace or happiness I felt growing in me.

Over the course of the next several minutes, neither of us fell asleep. We had eventually configured ourselves to form a sort of half-hug situation, his arms wrapped loosely around me and my head just barely tucked under his chin. I could still more or less see his face, and it didn't make me feel a whole lot better.

After a few minutes where I thought he'd finally gone to sleep, his hand curled into a fist on my back.

"...my boss hates me," he croaked. "He th-thinks he's my dad or something but he hates me." He let out a shudder of a laugh, and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards to form a sort of wavering smile. "Isn't that stupid?"

I furrowed my eyebrows, wondering if I would ever need to pull myself away from him if the tar started burning again.

"The stupidest thing I've ever heard," I muttered into his neck. That seemed to be the answer he was looking for.

—

All I could hear were crickets and the rustling of trees far away. I think he might've even stopped breathing once he fell asleep. I didn't have the energy to be worried anymore. If he was double-dead now, I would find out in the morning. I just needed to get out of here and rest, for real this time.

I carefully untangled myself from him and tiptoed out of the room, looking back one last time to make sure he hadn't woken up. Nothing. I sighed, closing the door behind me and almost tripping over a roll of medical tape I'd left on the floor.

Was that there before?

I considered turning the hall light on to make sure everything was back where it was supposed to be, but I was far too tired to risk Jack waking up again. I settled with tiptoeing around, using my phone's flashlight to guide me downstairs and to the couch, where I promptly collapsed.

It's terribly inconvenient how you can never manage to remember your last thoughts before you fall asleep.