Jesse watched from the doorway as Simon gently pulled the bed covers up over Wren's shoulders. She'd been out cold for a solid five minutes. Ever since she'd used that odd stone to fix Fletcher.
"Is she...gonna be okay?" He asked, feeling guilty for the way he'd acted toward her earlier.
"Yes, she'll be alright," Simon replied nonchalantly. He made one last adjustment to her blanket and then turned to face Jesse. "This isn't the first time this has happened."
"Oh," Jesse replied hesitantly. What was that supposed to mean? How many times had she done this? But Wren was only part of the thoughts eating at his mind. He shot a glance down the hallway, biting the inside of his lip in restless anticipation. Just a couple doors down, Fletcher was still on the floor of his room. With no way left for him to help, it was hard to keep his mind off his best friend
"I can take things from here," Simon continued, as if reading his mind. "Why don't you go check up on Fletcher?"
"Thanks," Jesse nodded. He didn't need to be told twice. In an instant he was gone from the wooden framed entrance and making his way down the hall to his room. When he peered inside he found Fletcher right where they'd left him when everything first went down. He was lying on his back, the hint of a troubled expression flickering across his face. He was unconscious again. He seemed to be drifting constantly between sleep and wakefulness. Jesse sighed and knelt down beside his best friend. He looked so vulnerable like this, and the feeling wasn't helped when he would wake up dazed and confused. Jesse lifted his head off the floor and cradled it in his arms. Suddenly he stirred and his eyes fluttered open slightly.
"Jesse?" He murmured faintly.
"Take it easy, Fletch," Jesse replied. "It's me, yeah."
For a moment Fletcher looked like he was going to say something, but instead he simply closed his eyes and slipped back into unconsciousness.
Just then a shadow fell over the two men.
"Jesse! Oh thank goodness. Maybe you can tell me what's going on!"
Jesse's anger rekindled as Jack's all-too-familiar voice met his ears. "Like you don't know," he retorted through gritted teeth. He held Fletcher a little closer, placing a protective hand on his shoulder.
"What do you mean?" Jack asked, and the bewilderment in his voice got a dry laugh out of Jesse.
"Y'know, you've got a lot of nerve pulling a stunt like this and then pretending like nothing happened," he returned.
Jack found himself taken aback by the hostility in his voice. He was used to Jesse's usual icy looks and cold reception, but this was different. There was something more intense behind his voice. What had gotten into him? Why was he kneeling on the ground anyway? Then he caught sight of the hallway light reflecting off of a familiar head of feathery red hair.
"Is that...Fletcher?" He queried. Dread formed a pit in his stomach as the realization sank in.
"Go away, Jack," Jesse growled.
Bits and pieces of broken memories started to flash through Jack's mind at a staggering speed. He remembered tinkering with the furby and talking with Fletcher. He remembered glowing red eyes and a panicked cry. He remembered the sound of plastic and metal against concrete and feeling a paralyzing jolt of pain before everything had gone black. The pieces began to fall into place, and he found himself seized in a fierce horror at the picture that was beginning to form in front of him.
"Jesse, wait, listen to me—" he started. But Jesse didn't want to hear it.
"I said go away." He snarled, his voice rising.
Desperation flooded Jack. He could sense what was coming and he wanted to stop it before it arrived.
"It was an accident!" He scrambled frantically to get the words out of his mouth. "I-I don't know how it happened, b-but somehow when I was tinkering with the furby my magic—"
"I don't want to hear it, Jack. I mean it!"
Jack ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to level with his alternate self. "I know, I know. You're angry and I understand," he tried to reason with him, "But if you'll just listen to me, I promise you I have a good explanation!"
"Oh, I'm sure it's good alright! Endanger a completely innocent man for another one of your little experiments! Yeah, by all means, explain that one away."
Jack felt tears well up in his eyes. This was not working. What was coming was now here. It was inevitable, a freight train running red hot with no brakes. It always came, no matter how hard he tried. Just when he thought he'd finally escaped his bad luck it always tracked him down. It rooted itself in every aspect of his life, rotting every good thing he dared try to embrace. He swallowed hard.
"Look, I can fix this," he said, reaching toward Fletcher's limp body. "Just let me—"
"GET AWAY FROM HIM!" Jesse yelled. He hugged Fletcher tight and bared his teeth at Jack in a vicious snarl. "You've done enough already! Wren already helped him and now she's out too. Don't touch him! Don't touch anything! Just get. Out!"
Jack knew he should listen. He knew persisting could have a real chance of making things worse than they already were. But there was still one part of his mind that wouldn't let up. He didn't just want Jesse to understand, he needed him to understand. He needed him to trust him. So he caved to his desperation.
"Jesse, please!" he cried. "I didn't mean it, I swear! I'm so sorry just—please will you forgive me?"
Jesse stared at the man to his right. There were a lot of things he could forgive. Jack kidnapping him, turning his life upside down, terrorizing him incessantly, these things he could get over with enough time. But this had gone too far. This time his best friend, one of the most important people in his life, had been caught in the crossfire of Jack's shenanigans and it had just about broken him forever. The thought alone of losing Fletcher shook Jesse to his core. He would not let that become a reality. He would protect his friend at all costs.
"You hurt him, Jack," He snarled. "That's one line I'm not willing to cross."
A heavy silence hung in the air. The two men held each other in their gazes.
Jack took a step back, Jesse's frosty glare seeming to run him right through. He felt as though he were watching himself from the outside. Disgust overtook him at the man he saw before him: a walking disaster who made a mess of everything, no matter where he went. Nothing was safe. No one was safe. He was a ticking time bomb of misfortune and misery just waiting to go off. He looked down at his hands, those hands that had caused more problems than he could count, then back at Jesse. It was more than he could bear. Jesse was right. He'd done enough. He opened his mouth to speak, but decided it was better to say nothing at all. Without another word he turned and ran from the room.
Jesse listened with a pounding heart as Jack's footsteps pounded through the hall and down the stairs. He felt the thud of the front door slamming shut but he hardly cared. He sat there on the floor, holding his friend and gently rocking back and forth. His mind was going a mile a minute, and his eyes were fixed somewhere far, far away. Fletcher stirred in his arms again and let out a small groan. Jesse looked down at him, suddenly brought back to reality.
"Oh. Right," he sighed. "Let's get you to bed."
With a mighty heave, he lifted Fletcher off the ground and carried him out of the room into the hall. He walked down to the guest bedroom and settled his friend down. He pulled the blanket up around him and turned to leave. He reached the light switch and looked over his shoulder one last time.
"'Night Fletch." He murmured. He switched off the light and padded back to his room, suddenly feeling exhausted.
"Ugh," he muttered. "What a mess."
