Ain't It A Fine Life, Carrying The Banner!

Mind Control (JackCrutchie)

Crutchie listened tentatively to the sound of Jack pacing over their wooden floor.

"Jack? You okay?" he called through the door.

The room was silent except for Jack's heavy breathing.

"They're in my head," Jack finally muttered. "Voices. Voices in my head, tellin' me to hurt you... Hurt the boys, or Katherine, or Medda... Crutchie, they cracked me. I'm losin' it."

"Jack, it'll be okay. Just come out, we'll talk through it. You're still Jack, you'd never hurt us."

"You don't understand," Jack managed through gritted teeth, "I can't. I can't..."

Jack's voice was shaking with pain, and the sound of his pacing filled the rooms once more, this time with quicker steps and heavier footfalls.

"Jacky... I trust you," Crutchie whispered.

A cynical laugh came from the other side of the door. "Ain't that a mistake..."

Crutchie sighed softly and waited. Jack would either come out eventually, or he would stay locked up in their room all night. Words wouldn't change his mind. "Baby..."

"Crutchie, I need you to promise me something." Jack's voice sounded desperate and close, as if he was just on the other side of the door.

"Of course, baby, of course. Jus' breathe," Crutchie murmured softly, hoping for Jack to calm down.

"If I stop acting like me, I need you to kill me."

Crutchie went speechless.

"Crutch? Please. I need you to promise."

"Jacky, I... I can't promise that."

"Crutchie, please!" Jack begged, stopping on the other side of the door.

"Okay," he soothed, just trying to calm Jack down. "Okay, I promise. Now come out, I miss your face."

"What if slip back into... Into their mind? I don't want to hurt you..."

"Jack, are you armed at the moment?"

"No."

"Well, I am. And if you try something, I'll shoot you in the leg. Okay?"

Jack laughed softly in response, the door swinging open to reveal Jack's exhausted face, brow furrowed with apprehension.

"Come sit with me," Crutchie said, worried about the dark circles under Jack's unusually dull eyes.

Jack wordlessly padded over to the couch, sprawling across it and laying his head in Crutchie's lap.

"I dunno how long I can fight them," he whispered after a long moment. Crutchie didn't insult him by asking what he meant. "God, this hurts."

He ran his fingers through Jack's hair. "I'm so sorry you're in pain, baby, but you've just gotta hold on until we figure out how to fix it. Can you do that for me?"

Jack's' eyes were closed tightly, as if simply looking at the world around him caused him pain. "For sure," he managed. "For you, anything."

"That's my sweet boy," Crutchie said softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to Jack's forehead. "You'd never hurt me, or any of your boys. You're our Jack. And under all that fake tough guy exterior, you are the biggest, softest dork I've ever met."

Jack laughed a little, wincing. "That so?"

"Mhmm. You like poetry and paintings and music and sunrises and baking. You sing for the little guys when they're scared and I know you've got sketchbooks full of me and of us and of our apartment."

"Guilty," Jack admitted, nuzzling Crutchie's good leg.

"I know. And that's how I know you're not going to hurt me, because they can't ever take that away from you."

Jack gave him a relieved look, blinking slowly.

"Sleep, baby," Crutchie said. "You'll still be you."

"Yeah, and if I'm not, shoot me in the leg, remember?"

"You have a preference for which one if it comes down to that?" Crutchie asked lightly. "We could either be twins or a complete set."

Jack gave another breathless laugh. "Let's hope you don't have to make that call, but if you do, left."

"Go to sleep," he insisted, tugging gently on the ends of Jack's hair.

Jack drifted off in his lap, but his sleep was restless and disturbed by mumbling and sudden gasps. Slightly unnerved, Crutchie kept one hand on the holster at his belt and the other in Jack's hair, simultaneously trying to comfort and prepare.

Perhaps an hour later, Jack sat bolt upright with a gasp. Crutchie eyed him warily.

"Jack?" he said, resting a hand on Jack's thigh.

He looked down at the hand with blank eyes. "My name isn't Jack." He looked up, and Crutchie noticed with a jolt that his pupils were blown out so much you couldn't tell what color his eyes were; they just looked black. Quicker than Jack could move, Crutchie pulled out his gun but didn't aim.

"Yeah? Who am I talkin' to then?" Crutchie said, trying to keep his voice conversational.

"The voice of reason," he said flatly. "Joseph Pulitzer is the voice of reason. Resistance is futile."

Crutchie shuddered, creeped out by such a lifeless version of such a boisterous spirit. "Resistance is our specialty around here, I'm afraid."

Jack- or rather, the thing controlling Jack- snarled. "Then you will die!" He began to move forward.

Bang. Bang.

Jack fell off the couch to the floor in a crumpled, groaning heap. Crutchie looked down at him carefully.

"Jack?"

"Yeah, s'me," Jack managed. "Son of a bitch."

"Sorry, baby," Crutchie said, offering a hand down and hauling Jack back into the couch. "Katherine is still figuring out a more effective countermeasure to the brain control hold. Right now, intense pain is the only thing we know that works."

Jack leaned into him with a sigh. "Guess I should brace myself, huh?"

"Keep fighting, Jack," Crutchie whispered fiercely. "I don't want to have to keep hurting you."

"I'd take a bullet to the heart before I let anyone use me to hurt you," Jack replied, looking deep into Crutchie's eyes. His own had returned to normal, with brown and gold shimmering in the fading evening light. Crutchie was helpless to do anything but lean in and kiss him.

"I love you," Jack said when he pulled away, eyes wide and one trembling hand coming up to cradle his cheek like Crutchie was the most precious thing in the universe.

Crutchie leaned into the touch and smiled. "I know."

A/N: This is what happens when friends of writers beg for updates at 1:00 in the morning so here you go!! See you around!!