Wake of the Dead | Two

Chapter Eighteen | Jasper

Not being able to sleep, Jasper's mind was racing with everything that had bothered him in the past few days. He couldn't help but notice Chris' judgmental glances from across the fire as well. People were beginning to guess what he felt for Killian before he wanted anybody to know. What if Killian found out? What would the other man think of him or say?

Combined with the paranoia of everybody back home being threatened by a new group of people--who appeared to be more organized than even some soldiers he'd camped with the first few days into this living hell--Jasper wasn't exactly sure what Tom and the others expected of him now. He'd said it time and time again. He was no leader. The events that had transpired that night was as clear of a sign as ever. If anybody had missed it, they were either daft or didn't want to acknowledge it. Because of his unresolved issues, he'd almost gotten himself and Killian killed. Being shot at by the gang had barely triggered something enough to frighten him. But being shoved to his knees, hands tied behind his back, watching men with guns holding his more-than-best-friend under threats of acts so vile it made his stomach lurch--that had been enough to shatter any good decision making skills and switch into either fight, flight, or stare like a deer in the headlights.

If Jasper was made leader of the group one day, there was no telling what sort of danger he'd end up putting all of them in. Either he would need to suck it up and get used to the flashes of horror and gore that came along with the sound of gunshots, or let it consume him. Already he knew the answer to that. He would be no use to anybody, no use to Killian, dead.

It took all of his strength for Jasper not to dig his nails into his palms as he remembered the blank stare Killian had as they'd walked through the forest in search of a camp. He'd seen that stare on the faces of his fellow comrades, the sort of stare that takes you out of whatever traumatizing reality you would otherwise be in. One that dragged you into a state of mind that was neither asleep nor completely conscious of your surroundings.

The only thing Killian had said as Jasper helped him walk was a quiet, "What were they going to do to me?" A sickening twist in his stomach had almost made him double over at the time. He'd remained silent, not knowing at all how to phrase anything that could have possibly happened.

Not wanting his silence to frighten Killian even more, Jasper had replied with a blunt and simple, "It doesn't matter. What matters is that nothing happened and you're safe now."

Closing his eyes tight, Jasper lowered his head. The silence of the camp was deafening, the crackling of the fire in front of him eerie. Dark shadows seemed to grow larger, more threatening. Without the fire, there was no way he could see through the trees and deep underbrush surrounding them. Nausea twisted at his gut, a hot sweat beading at his forehead. Jasper could feel his pulse racing, chest aching. It was as if he couldn't breathe, like somebody was choking him from the inside out.

The weight of these new responsibilities were laying on his shoulders, crushing him until all he wanted to do was lay down and cry. But he couldn't, because people looked up to him. People relied on him. After this mission and they arrived back home, he quickly decided that this was the last one he'd ever lead on his own. He'd have to convince Tom that just because he was one of the more mature members of the group didn't make him a better leader than any of the others.

When he took charge though--the responsibility wasn't the most frightening thing he encountered with himself. It was the power. He'd seen even small amounts of power go to men's heads at a moments notice. Would he encounter that personally? No. There was a reason people said he made a good leader he supposed--even if he didn't agree with them--but that didn't mean it still couldn't happen to him.

Pushing those intruding thoughts to the back of his mind, Jasper stood up and looked down at Killian, just to make sure he was still alright. He needed to go for a walk, but he didn't want to let him freeze. Taking off his jacket, he laid it over Killian's sleeping figure, smiling as the young man's face scrunched up grumpily while he hid his face. Even in his sleep, Killian was just as grumpy as ever.