FicWad

Shortly after Jack lies down, he is awakened by the thud of the iron knocker on his front door. He fears that perhaps Jason may have been awakened by it, but, when the inquisitive child does not investigate, his fears are dismissed. Jack, himself curious as to his evening visitor and the nature of the visit, grabs an old pistol off his low dresser. He holds his head high and strides swiftly down the down the stairs and to the end of the foyer in hopes that the nature of the visit is not grave. The knocking becomes more frantic. Outside it is well below zero without the wind. The wind is howling, and it has recently begun to snow. Jack opens the door cautiously and finds another Senator standing there. Julius Invernus is not a close friend of Jack's. Julius is as Roman as Jack is Irish, and they rarely agree on anything. Julius is not accustomed to the cold, so Jack bids Julius step inside. Jack leads Julius into the drawing room. Julius is somewhat surprised at the formality of Jack's house, the fact that Jack himself answered the door, and the fact that he was wearing pajamas when he did so. Julius himself lives about ten miles down the road in a villa. Jack puts on the teakettle out of old habit and offers his guest whiskey.

"Jack, I do not intend to stay long, and you know that I don't drink whiskey. I am here on a business matter."

"Aye?"

"One of my slaves found something that may be of interest to you while tending to the horses."

Jack winces as he hears the word "slave," though Julius does not notice. "What have ye found?"

"I think it might be your brother."

"I've three that I know of."

"It's a Werewolf. He is outside in my carriage. Save that tea for him. He'll need it. This is how you died, is it not?"

"Aye, 'tis. Thankee, Julius. 'Tis me brother, indeed," Jack says as he peers out the door. He puts on his pea coat.

"He's a wonderful specimen of a Werewolf. My experience in the study of Werewolves tells me that those as thin as your brother are usually fiercer and often stronger than their heavier counterparts are. He really is a wonderful specimen."

"Julius, please. He is a man just as ye are. Though he's a Werewolf, he's just as civilized as ye or I. He is not an experiment. He's me brother. I thank ye for bringin' him to me, an' if he were awake, I'm sure he'd thank ye as well, but ye won't be studyin' him."

"I didn't mean to offend your family, Jack, but when watching slaves putting an unconscious Werewolf into a carriage, one does notice certain things."

"Could ye give me a hand gettin' him to the chaise lounge?"

"No, but my driver will."

Julius' driver helps Jack carry Shane inside. The driver then hands Jack his brother's bags and gives Julius a hand into the coach before closing the door and driving away, all without saying a word. Jack locks the door and stands over his brother pondering what to do. He removes Shane's boots and two pairs of woolen socks. At least his feet are warm. He then starts methodically laying Shane's clothing in front of the fireplace. He starts with his brother's ivy cap, scarf, and greatcoat. For a reason that Jack cannot fathom, Shane is wearing his pea coat under his greatcoat and his best wool sweater under that. Under his wool sweater is a turtleneck shirt and a wife beater. He is also wearing woolen pants and woolen underwear, but Jack leaves the wife beater and underwear on because they are completely dry. Something, Jack decides as he is removing his brother's tattered, fingerless gloves, is not right. He knows that he cannot move his brother up a staircase without endangering him, waking Jason, or both, so he fills the only tub on the first floor with warm water. Though his brother is heavier than he is and very close to the same height, Jack is able to carry him with few problems now that the bulk of winter coats and the obstacles of doors and icy steps are not an impairment. He holds his brother up in the water until Shane regains consciousness. He moans, and Jack, long since lost in thought, is startled to attention.

"Shane? Are ye all right?"

"Mmnh... c-c-c-cold. Where'm I?" The younger brother's eyes struggle to focus in the candlelit bathroom.

"'Tis alright, Shane. Ye're inside. Ye're safe."

"Who'zere?"

"'Tis Jack. Your brother."

"I made it?"

"Aye. Ye made it wi' in ten miles. Julius brought ye here."

"The Roman prick what hates ye?"

"Aye, the same."

"Why'd he do tha'?"

"He studies Werewolves. Besides that, if ye died an' he, or in his case, his slave, saw ye wi' out doin' somethin' while ye was still alive, 'tis a criminal offense, an' he'd be in prison."

"'Sgood."

"Can ye hold yourself up?" asks Jack, gently letting go of his brother who does not slide under the water. "Good. I'll be back in a mo'. I've the need to fetch somethin'. Don't be lookin' a' them hands o' yours while I'm gone."

Jack runs out to the kitchen where he has gauze bandages and tea. He grabs a bottle of whiskey for himself and several towels from the linen closet. "By God, Jack. I looked," says Shane. His hands are blue-black in color and as cold as ice. He cannot move them. Jack puts a glass straw in Shane's tea. "Thankee... I'd not be able to hold the cup meself."

"I know. They should be fine. How did ye get here? Did ye get me letter?"

"Aye. They're none too fond o' the fact me brother's a Vampire. 'Twon't be a good Yuletide for those what're half-breed."

"What d'ye mean?"

"I mean they're movin' all the half-breeds away from the border by force, an' they're puttin' the ones what have Vampire family but're all Werewolf into prisons an' communes. They'll have them gone before Yule."

"Faith, that's only four days off."

"Aye, I know it. 'Twas 'afore dawn this mornin' they came for me. See... they're clearin' us out most to least dangerous. I'm the most dangerous. They're right in thinkin' I won't be abandonin' me brother."

"How did ye make it all this way in one day? It usually takes ye at least two to get here."

"See, I wasn't travelin' o' me own accord. When I come to visit, I ride out here. This time, I was fleein' persecution in the dead o' winter. I couldn't very well be usin' the main thoroughfare. I've not me horse anyway. The twins'll be bringin' him by at Yule. I'd a schedule to be back, an' he needed shoes. Anyhow, I slipped across a field 'afore dawn an' ran up the frozen river into your district, jumped onto a train so far as the city o’ Bridgeton, where I hitched a ride halfway here under the hay in a farmer's cart. Nice chap he was to let a stranger do that. I'd've taken your road through the woods, but I'm not sure how to get to it in the dark, if 'tis passable in this snow, an' if I'd've made it before freezin' to death, so I took the long main road instead. Saved me life, I b'lieve."

"If ye knew where 'twas, ye'd've made it here on your own wi' out freezin'. 'Tis perhaps half the distance if not less than takin' the long road, but if ye don't ken them woods well, it can be perilous, aye, it can."

"I made it as far as I could, but I must've fell by Julius's stable. I intended to warm up by the horses, but I never made it in."

"His slave saw ye. It doesn't matter now."

"Slaves? Does the man not know what 'tis like not to be free?"

"Nay. He don't even know what 'tis like to be poor."

"That explains a lot."

"Aye...Shane, ye're bleedin'."

"Aye, well, the road here was a rocky one."

"Shane, let me see ye in the light. I thought 'twas the cold an' shadows. What happened?"

Shane's eyes are both blackened, his lip resumes bleeding, and both of his front teeth have been knocked out. His jawline is bruised under two days' worth of stubble that he was unable to shave in his flight, and his goatee is matted with blood. His right hand looks as though he may have hit a wall and split the skin on his knuckles. "'Twas the bastards what came for me 'afore dawn. See, the letter boy shows up wi' your note, an' they know who 'tis from, so they follow him straight to me. I read your note, an' me bags were all packed for visitin' for Yule. I was to leave day after tomorrow. This wasn't accordin’ to their plan, so I've everyone's gifts an' a week's worth o' clothin' in me duffel an' me oul' messenger bag. 'Twas all I could carry what was in reach. I've an' 'undred gold, seventy silver, an' a handful o' copper in me trousers pocket. 'Tis all I've got to me name. They knocked down me door an' came in uninvited in the wee hours o' the mornin' wi' their guns an' knives drawn. One came up to me bedroom an' told me get dressed, for we was leavin', an' I took too much time for him. I'd me pea coat on, an' I was goin' for me cóta mór when he hit me straight in the gob wi' the butt of his rifle. Hopefully the teeth'll be grown back by Yule. I picked the gobshite up, threw him out me third floor window onto the cobblestones below, an' finished puttin' on me cóta mór while he was breathin' his last breath. I grabbed me pistol an' me knives, but 'twasn't worth the trouble. Not wi' what they did while I was grabbin' me scarf an' hat. Me leather gloves weren't wi' in an arm's reach, an' I had to run. They started shootin', for, to them, I'm better dead than alive. As if that wasn't enough, they set me roof on fire. Thatchin' ain't the most stable thing when 'tis on fire, so I jumped onto me neighbor's house an' down off a cottage down the road an' ran like Hell, which is to say, efficiently, smoothly, an' wi' no concern for other peoples' rows an' ructions." He laughs at his own commentary despite the gravity of his situation.

"Shane, 'tisn't safe here if they came after ye."

"I doubt they'd figure out where I went. They don't know a thing 'bout the roads, rivers, an' rails I used to get here."

"But they could track ye even in the snow."

"Aye, if they wanted to risk your army."

"How did ye get past 'em? I've been meanin' to ask."

"I showed them your note. They compared the handwritin', an' I told 'em me story. They let me through no trouble."

Jack helps Shane out of the bath and gives him some old clothing to wear. Jack would gladly share his best suit with his brother, but Shane is not as thin as he is, so Jack's older clothing fits him better. Jack then bandages his brother's hands, being careful to put gauze between the fingers. Shane's socks, boots, sweater, cap, scarf, and coats are all dry, and Jack puts them on him. Jack then runs upstairs to change into normal clothing and wake Jason. Jack tells Jason to put on his socks, shoes, trousers, and sweater, coat, and scarf over his pajamas and to go down to the drawing room and wait with Uncle Shane. Jack runs upstairs and changes from pajamas into woolen socks and trousers, a woolen sweater, his new woolen dress uniform coat, his pea coat, his own cóta mór, hat, scarf, and cloak. He grabs a handful of blankets and runs downstairs. He tosses Shane's duffel and the blankets into a hole ingeniously cut into the back of a kitchen cabinet. He tosses down his sidearm, emptied of its ammunition in another room, and helps Shane put on his messenger bag. He closes the false bottom of the cabinet and replacing the pots and pans and slides aside the sofa and a rug in the drawing room and sending his brother and son down a well-hidden trapdoor and replacing the furniture and rug. Jack grabs cigars, matches, and candles out of his office desk upstairs and slips into a hidden door behind a third floor tapestry, running down a spiral staircase into the sub-basement tunnel where he knows his brother and son will be waiting in darkness. He lights a green-flamed candle and walks down the length of the tunnel to them.
"Da', how'll we get out?"

"'Tis simple, son. Every one of these tunnels leads to a staircase up. Aye, they twist and turn, but they do not branch. If ye tried to open any of the doors, ye would find they're all false. The only other room is a chamber similar to this under the stable. The staircase ye took is the hardest to find in the house itself. Notice how I had to move the sofa and rug to get you here? Nobody would ever guess the entrance to this room is there, an’ this room is the safest place."

"What's the danger?"

"The danger is that your Uncle Shane came here when he was bein' chased, an' the men who were chasin' him don't like me. That's why they were chasin' him in the first place."

"Da', I'm cold."

"I know, son. I know. There's a bunk built into the wall behind those shelves over there. I've just the need to pull the blankets out o' the trunk an' put them on it."

Jack puts his candle in a holder at the head of the bed and puts flannel sheets and woolen blankets on the bed. Between the bed and the stone wall is a board and a tapestry to keep out the cold. Jason yawns watching Jack put the sheets on. Jack smokes a cigar while he does this task knowing that he will not be able to smoke another until morning. He reloads his pistol and tells Jason that, should he be the only one awake if anyone comes, he may point it at anyone who comes in that he does not know, but that he may not shoot. Jack and Shane take off their greatcoats, and Jack drinks a belt of whiskey with some aspirin to calm himself as he places his gun in the pocket of his greatcoat. Shane, despite his bandaged hands and hypothermia, takes aspirin with whiskey and puts his own gun into the pocket of his own greatcoat, his hands shaking all the while. He blows out the candle, and they lie down in the bed, Jack against the wall with Jason between them and their coats and blankets over them in silence and darkness except for a gentle lullaby that Jack hums to comfort Jason. He knows the lullaby because Kerrigan sang it to him when he was a small boy on Earth. Shane knows it too, so he joins in on harmony. It is not the prettiest singing of a lullaby, but it is probably the most meaningful because of the situation in which it is sung. Jason's little shoes sit by his uncle's duffel, but Jack's brogues and Shane's boots remain on them in the bed. Jason is small and light and would be easy to carry if they should have to flee. They do not have that luxury themselves.

The stone walls of the tunnel echo the song that Jack and Shane are singing as much for themselves as they are for Jason. Jack's bass voice is somewhat gravelly, and, though not unpleasant, definitely not intended for singing lullabies, despite the fact that he is singing as quietly and as sweetly as he can manage. Shane's voice, though not as low in pitch as Jack's is gruffer, yet the two of them together sound somewhat sweet in a strange way.

Dún do shúile a rún mo chroí
A chuid den tsaol is a ghrá liom.
Dún do shúile a rún mo chroí
Is gheobhair féirín amárach.

Jason falls back to sleep quickly, but his father and uncle, who know what they have to fear, do not. They know that if Shane is found, he will not have a trial, but will die in custody under painful circumstances, if he cannot force them to kill him in the attempt to incarcerate him for treason and resisting arrest. Jack knows that they will invent new forms of torture to kill him with if he himself is captured because of his status as a Vampire Senatorial General. Neither of them wants to think of what might happen to Jason. They cannot say for certain if their attackers would kill him or not, but just the thought of what might happen to the boy puts Jack on edge. Shane shivers from the cold, even wearing wool clothing and lying under wool blankets and coats he is freezing. The aspirin and alcohol take effect within half an hour and he drifts off to sleep still shivering. Jack's body begins to go numb, but he is wide awake and terrified, somewhat for his own fate but more so for that of his brother and son. Shane is a bold man, bolder than Jack is. While Jack will fight for his friends, family, and beliefs, he is shy around women he respects. Shane is shy around no one. He is more levelheaded than Jack is, but Julius was right in figuring that Shane is exceptionally fierce for a Werewolf at the slightest sense of danger. Because he is lighter than most Werewolves are, to get the upper hand in a fight, Shane must be fiercer, stronger, and faster to react.

To look at his brother sleeping reminds Jack of when they were children. They used to sleep on the floor by the peat fire under a woolen blanket with the twins and their little sister tight between them. The only person they knew who had a bed was Mr. Harte. He was skilled at carpentry and masonry from his job as a gravedigger. He made himself a bed in his old age before he was confined to it. Indeed, when Jack came back from the army, Mr. Harte had struggled to get out of bed and come to the door, though his wife was still youthful, despite her advancing years. She had to be for her son. Jack knows that he must not seem fearful for the same reason that she could not age. For Jason's sake, he must not seem fearful. Jack's fearsome brother looks childlike and innocent while he sleeps despite the lines added to his young face by years of hard living, the evidence of violence against him, and two days' stubble around his jaw. Jack does not have the power to help him.

If he could have healed his brother, he would have. Even Kerrigan has only a limited healing power. Only the very lucky and the well-trained have the ability. Jack's blood would do little to help his brother. It might keep him breathing and his heart beating for a short while, and it would surely get him drunk. On another Vampire, Jack's blood could do wonders besides getting the Vampire drunk. Kerrigan could have easily healed Jack with her blood, however his injuries were minor. Jack does not know of another Werewolf who could help his brother. Their sister, who lives among fellow Witches, is a week's travel to the north. She lives in the northernmost extent of Hell proper before the sea. She has not even received Jack's last two letters yet. Sending her a letter in the morning would be pointless, for she would have to wait until the morning after she received it to embark on her journey to visit him, and she will be leaving on that day anyhow to visit him for Yule. Up until this morning, Shane lived at least two days’ journey east of Jack. The twins live only about an hour west, and Kerrigan and Morietur live about an hour south. Jack's sister lives half a day's journey from the nearest town. It takes her about a week to reach Jack's house on horseback. Even if she took a train, it would take her three days, because they do not run at night, and it takes her a day to reach the station.

Jack drifts into an uneasy sleep worrying what to do for Shane and if he will see his son again when he wakes up. All of a sudden, he hears the footfalls of a hundred faceless soldiers above him. They pour into the chamber like sand through an hourglass. Immediately they seize Shane while he is still unconscious. His reactions are delayed, and he is weakened from hypothermia, so, despite his best efforts to fight his captors, he is taken away. Jack holds Jason tightly to him. He fears for the life of his son.

"The boy’s on’y four year old. Please, have mercy," Jack begs, however, one of the faceless soldiers shoots the boy in cold blood in his father's arms.

"Da'..."moans the boy as he dies. Jack hushes him, singing the same lullaby the boy fell asleep to.

Dún do shúile a rún mo chroí
A chuid den tsaol is a ghrá liom.
Dún do shúile a rún mo chroí
Is gheobhair féirín amárach.

A single tear rolls down Jason's cheek as he sputters his last breath, staring upward at his father for all eternity, a single bullet having torn apart the small boy's heart. Jack holds his son to him tightly and kisses the boy's forehead before laying the small body in his huge greatcoat and covering it out of respect for the dead. One of the faceless soldiers steps forward, his pistol still smoking. Jack realizes that he is not a soldier at all, nor even a Werewolf. Every other soldier in the room is muscular and shrouded in black from head to toe. This one is different. He wears a white mask over his face and the white robes of a priest at mass. They are not the silk robes of a private family priest, nor are they the improvised robes of the military clergy. They are simple, woolen robes. The color of the stole is faded, but the collar is intact as if it were new. The man wears white gloves. He holds in his right hand a pistol and in his left the best thing to happen to Jack in a very long time: Lynn.

"Don't take her. Please, not her. Ye've taken enough."

"Quiet thyself, Jack Shepherd. Through thine own fault, thou art a bastard son. Thou art an unholy thing and in Hell for that reason. This beautiful creature, this darling, gorgeous woman, though she was born a Demon, is holier than thou art. Thou dost not deserve so lovely a creature as this; therefore, I shalt do unto her as I didst do unto thy mother. She shalt die within the hour."

"Take me instead. Anythin'. I'll give ye anythin' ye want so she can live."

"Thou dost not deserve a woman such as this, and through thy most grievous sins and transgressions, she must die that thou livest still with the blood of this woman on thine own hands. Thus saith the Lord."

"Ye heartless bastard!"

"Thou art the bastard son, Jack Shepherd. As thou dost protect thy flock from wolves, I dost protect my flock from sinners akin to thee, thou godless child. Whilst thou livest still with the blood of this woman on thy hands, thou wilst not harm my flock. Dost thou have anything to say to thy woman before she perisheth through thine own fault?"

Dún do shúile a rún mo chroí
A chuid den tsaol is a ghrá liom.
Dún do shúile a rún mo chroí
Is gheobhair féirín amárach.

Jack sings the lullaby he sang for Jason to Lynn. She sings a bewitchingly sweet, haunting harmony in her gentle Banshee voice. Shane stops struggling against his captors and joins them. Jack seizes the opportunity to jump over his son's body and try to rip off the white mask that conceals the identity of his tormentor. The masked figure is stronger than he seems. He takes the gun away from Lynn's head for only an instant to throw Jack into a stone wall with one swift swipe to his chest. Jack hits the stone with all of his weight and the tremendous force of the blow. He feels his vertebrae, ribs, and pelvis shatter before his head even hits the wall. The impact is enough to split his head open in the back. He feels the wound in disbelief and sees his own blood mixing with that of his son on his hands. The pain is intolerable, but he grits his teeth trying to seem stronger somehow. He must fight for Lynn, however, he has no way of standing. The pain shoots into his arms and legs. His entire body aches and throbs. He will not scream. He is not a child. It becomes nigh unbearable. He wishes he would just die. He cannot move his neck to look away. His vision is becoming dark around the edges, but he can still see the masked man in full. He hears the distinct click of the man cocking his pistol before pulling the trigger. Then, all too suddenly, Lynn collapses to the floor. The man shot her in the side of the head, so her face is unharmed. Her big, green eyes look up at Jack. He cannot look away.

The pain screams louder still, and Jack whispers to her, "Siúil a rúin."

Perhaps he imagines her saying back, "Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán," and perhaps he himself says it. He cannot be certain. Gradually the coldness leaves his body and he feels himself being pulled apart, no, not apart, but certainly shaken.

He awakens to his brother saying, "Musha, Jack, don’ do this to me!”

"Shane?"

"Ye're alive, by Christ!"

"Is Jason all right?"

"He's still asleep. Innocence protects him."

"Are they here?"

"Mercy no!"

"Is Lynn all right. I need to know if Lynn made it."

"Who's Lynn?"

"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Jack, ye were dreamin' again."

"D'ye remember that awful priest?"

"Aye. The bastard what hated ye."

"The same. He killed Jason, an' he killed Lynn right there in front o' me eyes."

"Jason is fine. Look at him. 'Tis yourself I'm worried about. Your heart stopped. Ye died, Jack. Ye weren't breathin' an' ye'd no heartbeat for nigh on two minutes."

"I'll be fine, Shane," Jack says lighting a cigar. "'Twasn't I what froze to death, at least this time. Hand me that whiskey would ye?"

"Musha, Jack, drownin' yourself in whiskey won't solve anythin'."

"'Twill put it out o' me mind."

"I'm not givin' it to ye. Ye can get it yourself."

Jack mumbles something incoherently about brothers around his cigar, and crawls toward the end of the bed. When he climbs over the end of it he finds that he is unsteady on his feet. He reaches for the trunk where he left the bottle and falls down. Shane breaks into raucous laughter that somehow does not wake Jason.

"Ack, ye can kiss me royal Irish arse!" exclaims Jack.

Shane laughs harder. "Nay...I can't...'tis a' the floor."

"Ye're an arse..."

"Here. I'll give ye a hand." Shane helps Jack off the floor and helps him back to the bed.

Jack wraps the cloak over Shane's shoulders, and the two brothers sit on the edge of the bed in silence. Jack sits with his chin and cigar in his left hand and the bottle of whiskey in his right, occasionally shifting position to drink straight from the bottle. After three swigs, he moans and says, "I wish I could be rid of these nightmares the same way as the delirium."

"What was it this time?"

"Jason died in me arms. I couldn't save ye, an' they shot Lynn." Jack takes another swig of whiskey.

"Ye've had crazier."

"Aye, I know I have, but not more real. I could see an' hear, sure, but I could smell ‘em, every one. I could feel it as I wrapped Jason up in me cóta mór, an' I was thrown into a wall to watch Lynn die. Ye must've noticed me dyin' when I was thrown into the wall. It broke me spine."

"Jack, your spine is fine. 'Tis your head, your heart, and, by God, your liver I'm worried about. I'm bringin' ye to a doctor in the mornin'."

"Right, an' how d'ye plan on doin' that? Ye can't go anywhere. Ye forget that we're preparin' for war against the country ye fled, the very people ye're one of. Even Mike Crane's baby girl can tell a Werewolf from a Vampire, let alone a man o' medicine, an' jus’ who d'ye think they'll believe, a Vampire Senator or a Werewolf wi' two black eyes an' no front teeth?"

"Ye need to see a doctor, Jack."

"So they can tell me I've gone crazy? So they can take me sons away forever? So they can lock me up in a madhouse? Ye want a sip?"

"Nay to the first three, but aye to the last one." Jack hands Shane the bottle, and Shane takes one sip, leaving the last for Jack. "'Tis good whiskey indeed. I'm dead tired, an' I can tell I won't win this argument."

"Nay, ye won't."

"D'ye mind if I go back to sleep?"

"Nah, I'll be fine. I jus' gotta get another bottle." Jack walks over to an open crate on a shelf about ten feet away and grabs another bottle of whiskey before crawling into bed carefully, in a successful attempt not to disturb Jason. "Shane? Remind me to get another crate in the mornin'."

"Night, Jack."

"Night."

Shane lies down, rolls over a few times in his attempts to get comfortable, and falls asleep quickly. Jack, on the other hand, sits up for nearly an hour smoking his cigar and drinking whiskey. He extinguishes his cigar and tosses the butt into an empty crate. He continues drinking until he falls asleep sitting up. Shane wakes up when Jason rolls over causing the greatcoat and blankets to fall off him about half an hour after Jack dozed off. Before re-adjusting the blankets, Shane takes away Jack's bottle, lays him down, and covers him with the blanket. Jack looks very young when he is clean-shaven, but when he is asleep he still looks eleven years old, more so when he is smiling in his sleep as he is now. Shane looks at Jack, curled up like a baby, and at Jason and realizes that they are sleeping in exactly the same position, both smiling, their long, red hair falling over their faces. Shane lies back down and goes to sleep. Everything can wait until morning.