Break Free | Jacksepticeye x Reader

Chapter IV

Jack found some difficulty in falling asleep that night. He tossed and turned on the large white queen sized mattress until he finally settled his eyes on the large window that covered his bedroom wall. It looked out across the city of Plaisteacha and would have been a beautiful sight to anyone who had the thoughts to appreciate it.

His cobalt blue irises flicked to view his alarm clock on the bedside table; 12:14pm. Everyone was usually asleep by now – curfew was at 10pm after all. Jack heaved out a long sigh – something the man rarely did. After another few minutes of staring out his window he grabbed onto the pillow next to him and place it firmly over his head.

It didn't take long for the man to doze off after – however his sleep was cut short quickly after entering REM.

A gun pointed pressed against his forehead – the cold metal soothed his perspiring skin. Sheer panic consumed him and he couldn't describe what his body was going through – he'd never gone through it before. His chest felt extremely tight and his head pounded – his whole body screamed at him to run away from the barrel of the pistol, but he couldn't even move a single muscle apart from his eyes.

His widened cobalt blue orbs frantically looked around his surroundings, but he couldn't focus on anything apart from the silver sheen of the gun. His breathing was out of control, and his erratic breaths were starting to make him light-headed, but still his body refused to move and his thoughts refused to calm down.

Until everything stopped with a loud bang.

And Jack woke up in a pool of his own sweat – his heart-beat racing at a rate he was sure to be unhealthy. What had caused this? His hand slowly moved and placed itself over his chest as he gradually felt himself calm down.

His eyes flickered to the clock; 3:39am.

He had to be up in three hours for work, but Jack already knew that he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. The man composed himself before heading to his shower – he had to wash the fear and sweat away, and then change his ruined sheets.

His thoughts were running rampant even underneath the cold water spray. He couldn't help but clench his teeth and strike the bathroom wall in his frustration, what was going on with him? This kind of behaviour wasn't normal, and it confused him greatly. Even that was a new feeling to Jack, and he knew this could only mean one thing. He must have been sick. Maybe it was just the common cold – even if they'd eradicated it decades ago, it was always known to mutate, it could always come back.

His mind continued to fill with different theories until 7:00am, when he decided to go to the clinic. He skipped watching the morning report for the first time in 20 years. Several people already sat in the waiting room, and all Jack had to do was scan his band to gain entry to the lobby.

His unsure eyes scanned the many faces, some people looked deathly pale, like they were on the verge of dying. Others looked healthy – and some looked just as distraught as Jack did.

The Irishman hadn't even bothered touching up his beard this morning, his thoughts were running too wild – even his hair was less touched up than usual. He looked a bit rugged, which was extremely unlike Jack.

He took a seat next to a thin man who looked to be in his late thirties, his brown hair was large and looked to be untameable, he offered Jack a kind smile. The Irishman did little more than nod back as he sat stoically on the generic waiting room chair. The other man sat hunched as if something was weighing on his shoulders.

"What stage are you?" The man asked kindly – his voice held a slight undertone of understanding pity. His hands were clasped between his slightly parted legs, his elbows rested on his thighs.

"Stage?" Jack asked, his eyebrows slightly furrowing as his head turned to the stranger's direction. The stranger only nodded in understanding, his mouth forming a small 'o' shape before he continued speaking,

"I'm stage 2, my name's Dan – or Danny." He offered Jack his hand to shake, Jack shook it hesitantly. Nickname's weren't commonly used these days, sure Jack wasn't Jack's real name, but it was a name he held dear all the same.

"Jack," Jack answered, he wasn't tempted to continue the conversation – Dan seemed rather odd to him. Jack wasn't used to interacting with people who had SOS, apart from that girl he'd met in the library. Jack was almost thankful the conversation was cut short when he called his name,

"Jack McLoughlin, the doctor will see you now." A stocky lady called out with a neutral tone. Jack quickly nodded to Dan, his own farewell, before standing to enter the doctor's office.

The office was the stereotypical sanitary white. The only pieces ranging in colour were the posters on the walls showing the human circulatory and nervous systems. His eyes didn't wander for long,

"What seems to be the problem, Jack?" the doctor asked, Jack's eyes glanced to his badge briefly reading the name, 'Dr. O'neill'.

"I had a very hard time sleeping last night – and then I kept seeing these images. There was a gun pressed against my head and my chest just kept feeling tight and my head was killing me. I was... scared. Terrified." Jack explained rather hesitantly – he didn't want anything to be wrong with him. He just wanted to go to work and continue the day as he normally would.

"You had a nightmare, Jack." The doctor said, his eyes never left Jack's, but Jack refused to meet his gaze. Jack had heard about nightmares, but you weren't meant to have them – nightmares stemmed from emotion, and feelings had been blocked off by their modified genes.

"How long has this been happening? Did anything happen yesterday that may have upset you?" Dr O'neill asked in a very monotone voice. He moved on his rolling chair back to the computer and typed on the keyboard as he awaited Jack's answer,

Jack only nodded his head, his eyes searching the ground as if there would be any clues laying by his feet. "Yesterday I watched a jumper end their life." Jack said quietly, yet the doctor still heard.

"That may have triggered the nightmare. It seems you may be developing SOS, Jack." The doctor said, his voice was slightly more comforting yet Jack knew it was all for show. A doctor wasn't allowed to continue their practices if they had SOS, Dr O'neill certainly didn't have it.

"SOS? I can't have SOS." Jack said, rather adamantly. Yet this slight outburst only proved the doctor's diagnoses further. Dr O'neill moved back around to Jack, a piece of paper now in his hands.

"This is your prescription; you'll be taking inhibitors three times a day from now on- "

"Inhibitors?" Jack interrupted, his eyebrows furrowed. Dr O'neill continued, unfazed.

"They'll soften your emotions and slow down the disease. Right now you're only in the first stage of SOS, but the time between stages is different for every person. You should already know that this disease is incurable, and when you reach the fourth stage, you'll be taken to the DEN." The doctor explained with the same emotionless, droning tone.

Jack vaguely knew about each stage of the disease, he knew the fourth stage was the final stage, and that most people chose to end their suffering before they could be studied for a cure.

The Irishman was tempted to ask the Doctor about the disease, but he didn't want to stay in that room any longer. It made him feel sick, and he needed time to process his diagnoses, if anyone was going to be diagnosed with switched-on-syndrome Jack had always seemed the least likely.

He snapped himself out of his thoughts quickly, nodding to the man before him, "Thank you, Doctor." He muttered before rapidly exiting the office. Jack refused to believe the doctor, but he didn't have much choice to. He didn't want to think about it.