Chapter Text
It’s a wonderful morning.
Simon is there when Jack wakes up. It eases the last bit of wariness he has about being in this relationship. The man is sleeping peacefully behind Jack, arms wrapped around his middle. Jack watches him sleep for a moment, before pressing his lips against his to wake him up. Jack is rather sore, afterall.
“Hey,” Jack twists around in Simon’s arm to fully face him. He cherishes the way Simon’s eyes slowly blink open, then soften when they make eye contact.
“Hey, you,” Simon’s voice is always deeper, with a slight rasp, in the morning. Jack loves it.
Simon massages him tenderly, then he’s off to make them breakfast. It’s so domestic, so normal.
Who would’ve thought this would be my life? Not Jack, that’s who.
“Good luck today,” Simon places a kiss atop of his forehead as he moves to gather their plates. Jack manages to snag the other man’s last piece of bacon before it’s taken away.
“Don’t need it. I got this Super stuff down,” Jack sends a wink Simon’s way.
“I was talking about your first therapy session today, not field work.”
Jack blinks. He has no memory of telling Simon about that.
“Is that not today? Maybe I’m not recalling the date correctly,” Simon seems to ponder from his place at the sink. Jack wishes he could see his face. “You did tell me awfully late, I think we were both half asleep.”
That makes more sense. Jack isn’t known for having the best memory, afterall. He must’ve told Simon about it right before nodding off, then forgot about it. And, he had been avoiding thinking about the required therapy sessions in general. The thought of being vulnerable with a stranger uneases him, so he had long decided to just make up some bullshit whenever the session actually happens. Which is today, apparently.
“Ugh, yeah, it is,” The blond leans back in his chair, groaning, “Think they’ll let me skip? I’m perfectly fine now, really.”
Honestly, it’s true. He has demonstrated his abilities as a Super, attends college (even has a friend there), and is in a steady relationship.
“Then it should be easy to prove that to the NSA, through talking to your therapist.”
Correction. It was a wonderful morning.
“I’m off to work,” Jack must’ve zoned out, because Simon already has his briefcase in hand. “And for the record, I think therapy will be a good thing for you.”
“What? You think I’m some loony?” Jack places a hand over his heart, mock affronted.
“That’s not what I meant! I just think that… it would be good to talk with a professional, about your issues.”
“WHAT?! Issues?!” His tone completely loses its teasingness. Jack floats up from his chair, crowding into Simon’s space.
Sure, maybe Jack did have some slightly upsetting incidents in his youth, but it’s not like he ever told Simon about them. No, Simon just thought he had issues.
“No, not like that, either!” Simon places his hands on Jack’s shoulders, gently pushing him back to the ground. “Of course I think you’re wonderful, but it would be good to address your past with someone.”
“And what past is that, exactly?!”
Simon looks away, before speaking again. “...Your, ah, upbringing. I know a little bit from what you told me about your parents, but, obviously…”
“Obviously what?” Jack is rapidly losing his patience for this conversation.
“No one becomes a villain in the first place for no reason,” Simon finishes. “That’s a great thing to talk to your therapist about. And I’m sure the NSA is interested in knowing the reason behind that, too.”
A cold weight settles in Jack’s chest. He lets himself fall on Simon, pressing his head into his sternum.
“I don’t even think I could tell you that, Si,” It’s a quiet admission.
Simon folds his arms around him. “Exactly. That’s why a therapist will be good for you.”
Jack allows himself to be held for a moment longer. He thinks Simon is wrong - Isn’t this enough? Simon makes me feel better, I don’t need to talk to a stranger - but he’s willing to try it, for him.
“Ughhh, fine, fine. I’ll actually talk to him.”
Simon gives him one last squeeze before letting go. “I’m proud of you, Jack. Really.”
Stupid Simon and his stupid heartfelt smile.
Because really, what chance did Jack stand against that?
“Gamma Jack!”
The Super in question feels the breeze of Macroburst’s wind before he hears them call out.
“Hey there, Minibust,” Gamma Jack protects his perfectly styled swoop in preparation for the gust of wind that is sent at him in retaliation.
“I’m going to come up with the worst nickname for you. Like, you’re going to absolutely hate it. Heck, you’ll even cry at the mention of it.”
“Boy, I am just dying to hear this.”
The blond floats up, joining Macroburst in the air. There is a ‘no flying indoors’ rule at the NSA Headquarters, but Gamma Jack is a very new Super, afterall. And it’s not like someone had explicitly taught him that rule, yet.
“Patience, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Besides, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” Macroburst leans in conspiratorially. “How’d it go with-”
It’s as if some unseen force takes over them - Macroburst freezes, the rest of the sentence slipping away as if it was never there. It eerily reminds Gamma Jack of the powers of a certain villain he used to work with.
Macroburst slowly drifts down to the ground, Gamma Jack following. There’s no light behind their eyes when they speak again, “You have your first therapy session today, right? You should really get to it.”
No, this reminds Gamma Jack more of a certain Super.
“You seem awfully interested in my wellbeing, don’t you, Psycwave?”
Gamma Jack isn’t entirely sure if Psycwave can see through the eyes of the person she’s controlling, but he hopes beyond hope that she can see his devastating glare.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Handsome Jack,” There’s a twisted grin, one that doesn’t fit Macroburst’s face.
“Why, you-!”
“Who, me?” Macroburst blinks innocently. Something deeply unsettling lurks behind their eyes, though.
All the more reason to get Psycwave’s ass.
“I have somewhere to be,” Gamma Jack mutters, walking past the other Super.
He absolutely would hunt Psycwave down, if he didn’t already have prior arrangements. And he had promised to actually commit to them.
“Oh,heythereGammaJack!Doyoualsohavetodoatherapysessionbecauseyoureanexvilliantoo?Reallyitsnotthatbadhonestlyitsbeenprettyhelpfulbutnottodaythoughigottowarnyouthatpsycwaveisabitoffithinksheshavingsomepersonalissuesdontletthatdiscourageyouthoughbecauseusuallyshesreallyhelpful.”
Whatever the fuck Blazestone says interrupts his train of thought.
“Yeah, uh, great to see you too, doll,” Gamma Jack would continue on his pursuit, but she’s standing directly in front of the room he was told to go to. In fact, it seems she just came out of it.
She’s the only other ex-villian Super here. Guess we all have to do this therapy shit.
It makes him feel a bit better.
“Blazestone! I told you not to speak to the horr-eeble Gamma Jack!” Another Super, with a rooster head and a thick Austrian accent, shouts.
“Imjusttryingtowarnhimthatpsycwaveisinoneofhermoodsandkindofmeanrightnow!ButyouknowhateitherwayIamanindependentsuperwhocanspeaktoanyoneIwishespeciallymycoworkers!Sodontyoudarespeaktomelikethat!”
“Woah, Blaze, no need to get so hot headed this early in the morning!” Frozone steps in, and manages to cool down the escalating tension between the Beta Force members, both metaphorically, and literally, as he narrowly stops the longest spike of the male Super’s mask from catching on fire.
“Mr. Universe, why don’t you let me handle Gamma Jack, yeah? I’ve kinda taken the kid under my wing,” To emphasize his point, Frozone drapes an arm across Gamma Jack’s shoulders, tugging him against his side as he ignores the blond’s flinch. “I’m sure he just didn’t know there are rules against flying inside. And he’ll make sure to follow them now, yeah?”
Gamma Jack manages to resist flinching again as Frozone elbows him harshly at his glare.
“Yeah,” The words come out more mocking than sincere. He’s elbowed again, harder. “Ye-up! I’ll be just dandy, so you don’t need to worry your ginormous, rooster shaped head about-”
His words are cut off, as well as his airways, as the arm around his shoulders moves up to drag him away by the neck. “Anyway, I came by to tell y’all that Beta Force is needed at the city art museum, pronto. Some lady wearing goofy glasses showed up, and now all the citizens there are trying to destroy the paintings.”
The male Super nods tightly, while Blazestone doesn’t even bother to conceal her laugh at their histrionics before she turns to walk in the other direction, her partner following. There’s muttering in Austrian, as well as an angry, “And it is Universal Man!” that Gamma Jack can hear until they round the corner.
Great, now I still have to deal with the Ice Man…
But, surprisingly, Frozone doesn’t look like he’s about to kill him. He doesn’t even look particularly peeved.
Gamma Jack is fairly certain that he and Frozone aren’t that far apart in age, but with the way he sighs, one would think that he’d just heard he was condemned to spend the next few centuries in Hell.
After rubbing a hand down his face, Frozone leans in, and whispers to Gamma Jack, “You look kinda down, man. You got any bad news lately?”
“...No?” Gamma Jack really didn’t like the way in which Frozone posed the question. It sounded less like he was asking, and more like he was expecting a certain answer. A negative one. “Why? Should I have?”
Frozone throws his hands in the air far too fast for the nonchalant act he’s clearly trying to keep up. “Whaaaat? Why would you think that?” He blows air through his teeth. “Don’t tell me you did something villainous already!”
Gamma Jack narrows his eyes at the way Frozone puts his hands on his hips and leans down at the accusation. It’s all theatrics.
He’s hiding something.
But what that is, Gamma Jack has not a clue. Even if his distaste for secrets is discounted, he still does not like the implications of “bad news”. Because if Frozone is the one mentioning it, it likely has something to do with new position as a Super.
Gamma Jack racks his brain, going over the few things he has actually done in his short career. One memory stands out like a sore thumb.
Shit, are they going to fire me because of that French fuck?
He remembers the way Gazerbeam had defended him when the Phantasmics and those NSA randos had thought he had broken it, and dismisses the thought.
No, Gazerbeam would’ve backed me up on that. Or…
Still, Gazerbeam had made it quite clear that taking the definitive step of actually killing the villains was a big no-no. And, Gamma Jack had yet to fill out a mission report of his own yet. Gazerbeam had taken the liberty of writing both of theirs for the University of Municiberg incident.
…was he the one who reported me?
His “partner” was by no means someone who was easy to read.
No, I usually can read him just fine. Gamma Jack mentally corrected himself. But predicting him? That’s a whole other rodeo.
A thought even more troubling crosses his mind.
And it would make sense for Frozone to be so hush hush about this. He probably thinks that if I suddenly find out I’m sentenced for the slammer, I’ll lose it and destroy everything, instead of just coming in peacefully.
To Frozone’s credit, it’s an awfully tempting idea. There’s a tingling, lurking underneath Gamma Jack’s gloves.
But, Simon…
He can’t help but imagine the look on Simon’s face when he finds out his boyfriend had disintegrated the NSA Headquarters. It’s not a pleasant one.
Gamma Jack forces his radiation to settle, then cocks his head up at Frozone.
“I didn’t do anything villainous,” He bites out, “So come on, tell me, what bad news should I be so worried about?”
Frozone cringes in lieu of a response.
Gamma Jack is more than prepared to defend his killing of Bomb Voyage, ready to speak over whatever bull Frozone is gearing up to spew, but a grating voice rings out.
“What is taking my next patient so long?”
Frozone has a real ‘saved by the bell’ expression. Gamma Jack doesn’t like it one bit. But there’s something that bothers him far more.
You’re my therapist?
Don’t sound too excited. This pretty dame might get the wrong idea.
He practically stomps into the office, giving his psychologist a sneer that would have sent most people scrambling. Psycwave just smiles.
“You were in my head the entire time?” His tone is a combination of revolution and hatred.
“Mm-hm. Your appointment had started, and you weren’t here. You should thank me for not wasting any of our time together.”
I’m going to kill her.
But wouldn’t that make Simon weep?
“Will you stop that?!” Gamma Jack slams his hands on the table in between them.
“You’re so unstable. Blazestone will be delighted to hear that someone’s finally taking that title from her.”
“I’m not-!” He retracts his hands, setting them in his lap. There’s indents left on the table that bare a uncanny resemblance to the shape of his gloves. “I’m not unstable. You’re just-”
“Ah, so is everyone just messing with you?” She finishes his thought out loud. “Because it’s not just me you lash out at. Why, I can’t name a single person you’ve interacted with who you haven’t.”
“That’s not-”
“Okay, if it isn’t true, then name just one person.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it.
“I’m waiting,” That damn grin on her face grows.
He’s determined to not let her have the satisfaction, “Blazestone.”
It’s a weak answer, but it’s not a full copout. For all he had understood her, she could’ve been cursing his entire bloodline, and yet he had reacted perfectly politely back in the hallway.
“That’s the best you can do?” She waits for him to offer a rebuttal, but they both know there won’t be one. “You may have remained civil with her, but you still made her feel like dirt.”
“What?!”
“If you don’t use your words, your face says even more. You think she enjoyed being looked at like she was crazy, when she was just trying to be nice to the new guy?”
A pit begins to form in Gamma Jack’s throat. It tastes like guilt. He looks away.
“Then, you insulted Universal Man’s costume, which he thinks of as his own skin. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? No, you couldn’t care enough to even learn that his name is Universal Man, because you’re just staring at me with no idea who I’m talking about. But you do know Frozone, at least, who so kindly stepped in to save you from that fiasco of your own creation, but you just antagonized him, too!”
Gamma Jack knew that Psycwave wasn’t wrong but… she seemed far more excitable, than usual.
“I don’t see how this-”
“And this was all just during the first 5 minutes of your appointment time. That just indicates wonderful things about the rest of your miserable life… But, why go over all that, because if we went back to, say, even just an hour before, I bet we would see the same pattern of behavior-”
“I don’t see how any of this is supposed to fix me!”
That finally shuts Psycwave up. Unfortunately, it also serves to prove her completely correct, as Gamma Jack has a feeling that he’s not the only one viewing the memory that caused his outburst.
Surprisingly, instead of taking another jab at his relationship with Simon, Psycwave just groans. “Ugh, fantastic! They sent me another person who thinks that I can magically solve all their problems. Well, get this! The only one who can do that is you.”
“Don’t get your panties all in a twist, doll,” Gamma Jack grins at Psycwave’s obvious frustration, “I can assure you that I never expected you to be of any help at all.”
“Oh, you really love getting under people’s skin, huh?”
“So you admit I’ve got you all hot and bothered?”
“Only if you admit that you need every score settled.”
That gives him pause.
“What are you talking about?” Gamma Jack cocks his head at her. His expression mirrors the one he gave Blazestone earlier. But this time, it’s deliberate.
Trying to fool someone who’s inside of your head? I thought you were smarter than this, Jackson.
“But fine, I’ll humor you,” She crosses her legs, clasping her hands in front of her. “You feel like you have to be able to match every effect someone has on you, good or bad. No, not just match, surpass. Because if you don’t, you feel powerless. And you hate feeling powerless.”
“What, am I supposed to like it?” He rolls his eyes, because what she’s saying is ridiculous, not because he’s trying to avoid eye contact, “Look, I’m a powerful person. Sue me if I make sure that others are aware of that.”
“If you were actually so confident in your abilities, you wouldn’t need to prove it to everyone, no?” It’s not a question. “And yet, you spend every waking minute trying to do just that.”
Jack doesn’t respond. Denial is useless, because the damn witch is in his head, but confirming it would just cause that stupid, smug grin to widen.
“Don’t take a vow of silence just yet. I want you to tell me why you’re like this.”
Jack scoffs. He’s no telepath, but he knows where Psycwave is trying to go with this. “What, you think you’re going to get some pathetic sob story out of me?”
“Yes, but not willingly, of course,” There’s actual glee in Psycwave’s eyes. “So, I get to do this.”
The presence in Jack’s mind goes from barely perceivable to an actual ache, as the world shifts around him. He swears he hears a biting “Mommy and daddy issues? Oh, how original,” before Psycwave, and the office he’s in, disappears completely. What’s left is just nothing.
“Hey, what do you think you’re-!”
Jack pauses as his vision returns to him. He’s no longer in the therapy office, not even the NSA Headquarters.
The carpeted floor beneath him is now rough, uneven floorboards. Some part of him knew that it should’ve came with the smell of old wood, but it seems like only one out of his five senses are working, as he didn’t hear them creak under his weight, either, as he advanced into the room. But it wasn’t just a room.
My home.
It was the second house he had lived in, but to this day, it was still the one place he had stayed in the longest.
With only four walls (sans the outhouse outside), everything was pressed together, because it had nowhere else to go. The stove lay in the furthest corner, serving simultaneously as the primary object for cooking and heating. Next to it lay two basins - one for washing, and one for rinsing the 2 spoons, 2 forks, 2 knives, and 2 plates.
He double counted the cutlery just to confirm his suspicions about when he was.
His first house had more silverware than his neighbour’s family of eight did. It wasn’t cheap, either - it was fine china, his mother had said, passed down in his family for generations. Jackie knew that his mom had really bought it from some yard sale, but her story was great for when he had to sell it. He knew that the silverware was treasured by his mother - she loved the engraved flowers they had, and always insisted that they were proper for impressing guests. So, they were some of the last things to go. It wasn’t like they were really missed - it was enough for them, and no one else came over anymore. Maybe if his mother had realized their absence, they would be, but she couldn’t make it to the sink anymore to notice.
The original silverware had even survived the move from house number one to two. His mother’s jewelry and paintings weren’t as lucky. It wasn’t the downsizing, nor the overall loss of quality of furniture, that had bothered Jack about the new house. No, it was how bare the walls were.
Growing up, he spent a lot of time alone. His mom never hired a babysitter, because she could trust him to stay home on his own. It wasn’t bad at all, in their first home - he read every book in the house until the pages curled, and they even had a radio (his mother had purchased it after she heard another child remark how “Everyone has one”). But his favorite thing to do was stare at her paintings. He would spend hours imagining himself as the dueling knight, the righteous cowboy, or any other kind of hero he would come up with to fit in the worlds she created.
The paintings were the first thing to go, once the medical bills started piling up.
Since he could remember, whenever family or friends would come over, they would stare at him in pity. He always knew the looks weren’t wellmeaning, though. His mother tried to cover his ears as much as she could, but she couldn’t always be around.
“Such a beautiful boy. It’s a shame he’s so sick.”
“Is he really? Dottie keeps bitching about the doctors finding nothing wrong with him.”
“I heard he came out glowing.”
“That’s poppycock! Maybe she’s the sick one, and she just sees nonsense.”
“No, I was there for the little rascal’s birth. And he wasn’t just glowing, he was green. He scared his poor old man right off.”
“Oh, the boy can’t be blamed for that. We all tried to tell Dottie that women have no place in the workforce! And yet there she went, getting a job at Radium Corp. Now look at her boy.”
“Look at her! All the shame she has brought to this family. A hussy like her, who’s raising a little boy all alone while having three jobs! The things people say about her, I wouldn’t even dare to repeat.”
Jack hated them. By the time he was eight, just seeing his extended family made him so mad he felt like he was going to explode.
But his mother had a knack for calming him down.
“Don’t waste your energy on them, baby. They have to look down on us.”
“Why?” That hadn’t made sense to little Jack at all. Why would anyone have to be mean?
“Because if they don’t,” She brushed a hand through his hair, “They’d have to admit there’s nothing special about them at all.”
Jack could handle it, then - all their harsh words and judgemental looks. He always had a feeling that there was something inside of him that made him inherently better than others, but his mother had been the one to explain why other people wanted to punish him for it.
He was still a child, though, and she wasn’t always there to remind him of that.
When he was alone, he was accustomed to taking on a paladin persona. So, when his cousins started mimicking what the adults said, the noble thing to do was defend his mother.
“You can’t say that about her!” Jack was the shortest of his cousins, but by far the loudest.
“What are you going to do about it, runt?”
His memory of that day in the treehouse was hazy. Jack remembered he had swung first, and then the others joined in. No one took his side. Then he was curled into a ball, just taking the seemingly neverending blows. He had just wanted it to stop. He had just wanted to stand up for his mother. He didn’t think he would live to see double digits.
And that explosive feeling was growing uncontrollably.
If I’m a bomb, I’ll take you all with me.
It was feral, the way he had latched onto the biggest thing attacking him. It was likely a leg.
He would never be able to tell that for certain, though, because as soon as he had it in his grasp, it was gone.
Real life wasn’t like his daydreams over the paintings. There was no heroic slaying, no words that begged for forgiveness, no justice for his mother.
Cousin Jim had vanished into thin air, and there was only a haunting silence.
There was screaming, after. Crying as well, probably.
But Jack wasn’t focused on their hysterics, nor was he participating in them. He had gone straight to his mother. Whenever he didn’t feel well, she took care of him. Something wrong had formed inside of him, then exited, and it left him feeling sicker than ever.
But when he went to grab her hand, she flinched and pulled back. She grinned not even seconds after, but the image of pure horror that filled her eyes wouldn’t leave Jack’s mind until the day he died. Her hand was burned. And when he was a bit older, he would realize that she wasn’t just horrified by the permanent disfigurement her son had caused her, but more from the epiphany that he had murdered her brother’s son.
In that moment, though, he just wanted the soul to return to her eyes.
“They were talking bad about you, Ma! I was only trying to defend you!”
“You’re no hero, Jack.” It was said quietly, meant for his ears only. It wasn’t mean - it was just honest.
They had moved far away, into the single room home, not even a week later. No one knew what had really happened to Jim except the mother and son, but it didn’t stop speculation. In addition, Jack was responsible for bringing in the mail - he knew they would have to move soon anyway, because his mother was months behind on the house payments.
She had told him they just needed a change of scenery.
His mother had found new work shortly after they arrived. Jack got a new doctor even faster. He began to notice, though, that after every appointment, another painting was gone.
After there were no more paintings to sell, his mother wore less and less jewelry. After that, the rug was gone. Everything that wasn’t essential disappeared from their home, and then the bar for what was considered “essential” got lower and lower.
For what it was, though, the house still remained relatively nice. His mother did always value appearances.
She achieved that through more work. That didn’t mesh well with her growing inability to keep a job.
“Jack, why in the heavens did you waste your appointment like that?!” It was one of the rare, rare times his mother had expressed true anger towards him.
“It wasn’t a waste! I’m perfectly healthy, Ma. But you’ve been having a lot of trouble-”
“That is no business of yours to be worrying about! And you know you’re not healthy, you’re-”
“I’m what, Ma?! Green? Glowing? I thought you said that made me special!”
“...”
“...Am I not special?”
“Of course you are! Don’t be absurd, my handsome Jack.”
“Then why do you keep trying to take that away from me?”
“...I don’t want you to be sick, Jack.”
“I’m not. But Ma, you are. Please, just let the doctors look at you instead.”
Jack thought he was going to be scolded for his audacity, but whatever his mother had to say next was overtaken by a coughing fit.
“I’ll think about it, Jackie,” She told him, after tucking away her freshly red soaked cloth.
She never did see a doctor. But at least Jack no longer had to go to them, either.
Still, their financial problems continued to worsen, while his mother worked harder than ever. It was hard to hold down a job, though, especially with only one usable hand.
By the time Jack was a pre-teen, he knew he had to carry his own weight as the man of the house.
“Don’t be silly, Jackie,” His mother had wagged a finger at his proposition, “You already do so much around the house.”
“I’ll just be helping out at the neighbor’s market.”
“You are not getting a job at eleven years old, and that’s final.”
“Fred from school works! So does-”
“I don’t care what your little school friends are doing! They have very different lifestyles than us.”
“What are you talking about, Ma?”
“They’re poor!”
Jack hadn’t responded.
He went to the market anyway. When he actually got to the counter, the guilt of betraying his mother was too much to actually apply, though.
“What are you doing just standing there, kid?”
Jack quickly scanned the shelves for something nice to bring home. The trip didn’t have to be completely useless. But when he turned his pockets inside out, there wasn’t enough change to purchase a single item in the shop.
“Scram if you’re not going to buy anything!”
That explosive feeling had returned. He wanted the mean man to disappear.
Jack shook his head to will the thoughts away. He knew his mother couldn’t afford to move them again.
He clenched his fists tightly, trying to keep whatever was wrong with him on the inside.
“What, are you deaf, or just daft? I said scram!”
Jack whipped his body around, determined to not be blamed for another missing person case. But it felt like with each step he took, he was melting through the floor.
“What the - Is this some kind of prank? What the devil do you think you’re doing to my store?!”
It wasn’t just a feeling.
Jack tried to run, but there was a sharp tug at his collar, and he was lifted into the air.
“NO! DON’T TOUCH ME!” Jack squirmed desperately. He was being held up by his shirt, but if the man actually made contact with his skin…
“This is good wood you’ve burned! How dare you, you little- AHHHH!”
Jack was thrown to the ground seconds after the market owner’s fingers touched his bare throat. He lifted his head from the floor to see the man screaming in pain, clutching his hand to his chest.
“You, you DEMON!”
“No, I’m not, Mister, I tried to warn you-”
Jack pleaded as he tried to crawl out of the shop, but he was stopped by something piercing through his leg. The pain was so intense that he couldn’t even scream. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he turned to see he had been stopped by the metal pitchfork kept behind the counter.
“You’re one of those powered freaks, aren’t you? Yeah, I’ve seen the news on how you all keep popping up around the country. Just like vermin,” The market owner stepped on Jack’s back as he spoke. “I’ve also seen how big the reward is for turning you demons in. Hopefully the government has enough sense to put you down.”
Jack couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even breathe. He wanted his mother.
“Now, I’m going to take you in and get that money, and if you try any of that powered shit with me again, I’ll-”
Jack gasped, taking in huge gulps of air when the pressure was suddenly released from his back. The market owner landed next to him with a thud.
He couldn’t but wonder if he had done that, before he heard a new voice, clearing their throat.
A blond head tilted up to see a tall, impossibly thin man standing in the doorway. Everything about the man was… pointy. His beard, his chin, his nose, even his eyebrows - they all seemed too angular, too sharp. It all came together to scream danger. In his hands was an object that looked less like a gun, and more like a weapon Jack had seen on a poster for a sci-fi movie. It contrasted heavily with an outfit that looked like it had come straight from the 1800s.
“Hello, little boy. May I ask, where am I, and what year is it?” The man’s voice, like the rest of him, was just a little off from what was widely considered to be ‘human’.
“Are you an alien?” Jack couldn’t help but blurt out. He really couldn’t be abducted by aliens - not when his mother needed him at home more than ever.
“Ah ah. It’s rude to answer an adult’s question with another question, you know,” The man stepped closer, stroking his beard contemplatively. Jack lost sight of him when he walked past his head, but he soon made it clear what he was inspecting. Jack finally let out a scream when the pitch fork was rattled. “But it’s plain as day that you are a naughty child. This must be the new standard for punishing children, yes?”
Jack shook his head aggressively as more tears fell. “No… But, I didn’t do anything wrong, honest!”
“Then, is-” The man kicked something lying next to Jack. Jack squeezed his eyes shut, so he couldn’t confirm what - or, more likely, who - it was. “This no longer considered a crime?”
“He, he attacked me first!” Jack pleaded. “I didn’t mean to ki-” He couldn’t finish his sentence.
“Hmm. Truthfully, that matters not to me,” The man removed the pitch fork from Jack’s leg. He didn’t scream this time, “Because, I think you actually did something very good.”
“R-really?” Despite the situation, Jack’s voice came out bashful.
It was the first time a man had praised him. He didn’t think it was something men could do.
“This individual,” He kicked the shop owner’s lifeless body. Jack flinched, “Said that you are ‘powered’. Is he correct?”
“..." Jack bit down on his lip in lieu of an answer.
That didn’t seem to bother the man at all, “And you didn’t kill him,” A burst of light came from the gadget the man held. Jack felt the shop owner’s brain matter hit his face. “I did.”
Jack knew that he should’ve felt sick, repulsed, something, at the sight of a man being murdered in cold blood in front of him. He only felt relieved.
“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours,” The man squatted in front of Jack, so they were eye-to-eye, before placing a hand over the new hole in his leg.
Jack’s head whipped around at the intense pulling sensation, only to discover it was like there was never an injury there at all.
“How’d you do that?” Jack’s voice was filled with wonder.
“You’re not the only one with powers, boy,” The man winked at him.
“So you’re special too?”
“Yes… ‘Special’ is definitely a word for what we are,” The gadget was tucked away into a breast pocket, as the man offered Jack a hand. He ignored it, pushing himself up to his feet. The man’s expression soured for a moment, before he continued on, “I must thank you. I’ve been dead for quite some time, you see. And you, marvelous boy, appear to have brought me back to life.”
“I can do that…?”
“Why, of course! Otherwise, I wouldn’t be standing here now.”
Jack looked down at his own hands in amazement.
“That’s, like… something heroes can do!” His voice quivered with excitement. He couldn’t wait to tell his mother. Maybe he could even… “Can I make her better, too?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, dear boy. I do happen to be immortal, afterall. And your own abilities, whatever they are, happened to remind my previously deceased body of this fact.”
Jack looked up at the man in confusion.
“So… I can’t bring back normal dead people?” He frowned, “What about just healing them? Like you did to my leg?”
Maybe he was too quiet. The man simply rambled on.
“Ah, but how to thank you for such a great gift you’ve given me! You came to this store to acquire something, yes? Well, take anything you like! I declare myself the new owner, since I successfully defeated the old one!”
“Umm…”
No, that wasn’t why Jack had come to the market. But something nagged at him to not tell the man that.
“Speak boy, speak! What is it that your heart desires?”
The only thing he wanted for his mom to get better. And it seemed like money was still the only way for that to happen.
“I actually came here for a job.”
The man smiled at him, then. It was radiant.
“Why, that’s marvelous! I have no doubt that I will find many uses for you, dear boy.”
The man held out a hand again. The boy raised an eyebrow.
“It’s a proper business deal. We must shake on it, yes.”
There was still something off about the man. But, Jack’s mother always told him to not judge people on their appearance. He really would be no better than his family and neighbors who had scorned him for being green. This man was just special, like him.
This time, Jack accepted the hand.
“Thank you, Mister…”
“Ah, you can call me-”
“Oh my, what a side track we just went down! We’re not quite there yet,” Psycwave’s voice snaps Gamma Jack out of whatever trance he had been lost in. “Sorry, Everseer just taught me how to do this. I get a little bit carried away sometimes.”
Liar.
Wait. Why can’t I speak?
“We’re still in your head, Jackie,” The use of his childhood nickname sets him even more on edge, “Now, let’s go back to where we started. Try not to go down memory lane again, kay? Because there’s someone in that first memory waiting for you.”
He’s torn away from the therapy office once more.
Jack is back in his one room childhood home, inspecting the silverware.
He averts his gaze, desperately trying to find a way to escape whatever the hell Psycwave has him trapped in. He ends up just inspecting the house more.
A twin sized bed was pushed up against the nearest wall, with a thin quilt that a young Jack had made with his mother, covering the mattress that squeaked if anyone so much as breathed near it. The only other place for sleeping was the worn out couch that had been picked up from the side of the road.
Since the bed was empty, that could only mean that on the couch, laid
“Ah, my handsome Jack is home to see me.”
Mama.
It was like Jack really was sixteen years old again, coming home another day to see his mother still hadn’t moved from her position on the couch. The last time she had tried to walk, months ago, her legs had broken underneath her. Jack had worried that her spine collapsed as well, but she wouldn’t let herself be taken to the hospital to check. And Jack couldn’t even force her to go - he was far too afraid to move her, or cause her to cough out a lung from just the argument.
“A bit too early, I might add. Did you skip football practice after school again?
“Coach cancelled it again, Ma. Said too many players are out for injuries. He wants us to heal, you know.”
Even after all those years, Jack still hated lying to his mother. There was no football practice, because he wasn’t on the team. He hadn’t even attended school since Freshman year, when — encouraged him to drop out.
Okay, that wasn’t me this time. Are you hiding someone’s name from me, Gamma Jack?
More likely that you’re just shitty at this, Psycwave.
“Well, isn’t that sweet of him,” That was his mother’s voice again. The oversweetness in her tone indicated that she obviously didn’t believe him, “You know, you really should be going. When I go to the big game this Friday, I better see you playing front and center.”
She was so, so optimistic. Or maybe she just didn't want her son to know that he was losing his mother. No matter how bad she got, she never stopped trying to protect him.
“You will, Ma, you will. I’ll start dinner now, okay?”
Jack moved to the ‘kitchen’ part of the house. He grabbed the food — had got for him from the icebox, and prepared to whip something up.
“You don’t play football, do you, Jackie?”
His mother’s voice made him flinch.
He laughed uncomfortably. “Of course I do, Ma. I’ve been the quarterback for a year now.”
“Jackson Dottie Hart, don’t you dare try to lie to me when Clara Mae next door told me all ‘bout some new youngster stealing alongside that villain gang!”
“I’m sure she’s just pulling your leg-”
“He’s calling himself Handsome Jack!”
The house went silent, but the tension in the air was too dense for even a knife to cut through it.
“Ma-”
“But I know damn well that my special little boy wouldn’t go round stealing from fine folks! So tell me, Jackie, please, why? Did they do something bad to you? Threaten to hurt you? Hurt me? It better not be because of me, because I know I raised you better than this, but you’re out here using the name I gave you, and-”
“Ma, please-”
“I didn’t sacrifice my entire life for you to turn out like this!”
“I know!” Jack had never raised his voice at his mother before, “It’s my fault that you had to work yourself to the bone. To be a social outcast!”
“Jackie, you stop that kind of talk right now-”
“And it’s my fault that you're sick! So I’m sorry, okay, I know that what I’m doing with The Unforgivables isn’t right, but it pays so well, you know, and I’m learning how to control my powers so I won’t make you any worse!”
“Enough! It is not your-”
The coughing fit she broke into stopped whatever she was going to say next.
Jack rushed to her side immediately.
“Easy, Mama,” He held a cloth in front of her face.
Another violent hack wrecked tremors throughout her far too skinny body, and Jack placed a hand on her face to cradle it.
Her entire jaw fell off.
A soft green emitted from his finger tips.
Before the rest of the memory could play out, the spinning sensation returned.
I’m sorry. I sincerely didn’t mean to make you relive your mothers death in our first appointment.
…
She didn’t die here.
What?! Then how in the world did she… Wait, Jack, stop! Don’t actually think about that-
When the world righted itself, Jack was expecting to be back in his current life. Instead, he found himself flying out of a bank, a large bag of cash in hand.
“Handsome Jack! Quick, down here!” Rollergrrl shouted below him.
He flew down, landing next to the rest of The Unforgivables. They hid in the shadows of the alley until the police sirens could no longer be heard.
When Handsome Jack tried to emerge, The — placed a hand on his waist, pulling him backwards.
“Not yet, boy. We have to make sure there are no Supers here, either.”
For a long time, Texas, and the rest of the South, only had Super Villians, not Supers. But not long after Handsome Jack made his debut, a few had popped up. Mezmerella told him some organization called the ‘NSA’ had recruited them. The Underminer had argued with her, saying they were just some annoying do-gooding surface dwellers. But, no matter where they came from, the gang all much preferred to avoid run-ins with them.
The Patri— held on to him until he signaled to the Unforgivables that the coast was clear.
The team had scattered, but Handsome Jack was held back.
“You did so well, my good boy.”
“Thank you, The Patriarch," The words of praise had made him flush from head to toe.
“Ah ah ah,” Even though Jack had grown in the years since they had met, the older man still towered over him. He grabbed Jack’s chin between his long, thin fingers, and tilted his head to look up at him as spoke, “When I will get to be done reminding you to just call me Xerek?”
“Sorry, Xerek,” Jack had muttered the apology, weak under his intense gaze.
“That’s much better,” He stroked Jack’s cheek as he said it. Jack leaned into the touch, “But don’t let me chastise you. That truly was a heist well done. We couldn’t have accomplished it without you.”
“Really?” He sounded downright giddy.
“Do you take me for a liar, Handsome Jack?”
“No, no, of course not!”
“Good,” Xerek released him. The sudden absence of warmth was felt by Jack immediately, “I even have a reward for you, you know.”
Jack blinked at him in surprise.
Xerek reached into his black blazer, and pulled out a red vial. “This is for your mother. It will cure the ailments you told me she suffers from.”
“Really?!” If his first exclamation of the word was giddy, this was pure elation.
“Is the only word you know how to say, boy?”
Jack had ignored his commentary, and practically jumped into Xerek's arms as he pulled him close for a hug. Xerek sighed, but still stroked his hands up and down his back.
“Thank you, thank you so much!” Jack felt like crying. He probably was.
It was Xerek who finally broke the hug, brushing his hand through Jack’s hair before pushing him away.
“Yes, yes, now scurry along and actually give it to her.”
Jack had immediately flown up into the air, intending to do just that.
“Wait!”
Jack did.
“There’s just one more thing. If you’re truly so grateful, you’ll do this for me, yes?”
Jack had agreed easily.
“Splendid! I left an important gadget of mine back in one of the vaults. Will you be a good boy and fetch it for me?”
“On it, Xerek!”
He had rushed to retrieve Xerek’s forgotten item.
He had barely flown 10 yards before a tug on his cape stopped him midair.
The fight was over before it even began. He was yanked down by a large man in a suit, and then he was swarmed by at least five more of them.
“Get back, or I’ll kill you!”
It was an empty threat. Jack took moral issue with just stealing. He had no desire to have any blood on his hands, too - at least, not any more, and not intentionally.
Instead of killing them, he subtly threw the vial Xerek had given him so it landed under a dumpster. After he escaped from the men, he would retrieve it, then fly right home to give it to his mother.
Instead, he was choked by his own cape as he was thrown into the back of a van. His hands glowed bright with gamma radiation the second there wasn’t a suit holding him, but it faded almost as soon as it appeared, when a collar was placed on his neck.
He could tell it felt wrong immediately. The radiation that had bubbled to the surface was forced back inside of him, and it was clear it didn’t belong there anymore. That, combined with the horrid way the van was driven, caused him to eventually puke his guts out onto the shoes of the suit who pointed a gun at him throughout the long ride.
“You disgusting little fucker! I just bought these.”
He was afraid that the man was going to shoot him - instead, he was forced to the ground, and left to lie in his own vomit for the rest of the ride. Jack couldn’t stop thinking that he would’ve just preferred the bullet wound.
He would have even expressed that to the suits, if he wasn’t gagged as well.
Still, Jack was no quitter. Handcuffed, gagged, and collared, he still tried to jump the suits with pure, human force the second the van doors opened. He definitely gave someone a black eye, and someone else a broken finger. Unfortunately, that was all the damage he was able to do before a needle was jammed into his neck, and it was lights out.
When he came to again, it was in a room he didn’t recognize - and it wasn’t like there was much in there to distinguish it. The floors, ceiling, and walls were all pure white. And, besides an ominous pair of chains in one corner, the room was completely bare.
Jack was also naked.
“You fucking perverts!” He had screamed.
No one responded.
“Y’all are dead! Dead, I tell ya. Once The Unforgivables find me, they won’t leave a single one of y’all alive!” Jack had shouted until his voice went hoarse.
But The Unforgivables never came. Not one of them, even Xerek. No one arrived to his rescue to stop his torture, nor the violations.
He had no idea how long it was before new suits had entered the room, followed by men in coats.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?!”
No one answered him as two of the suits picked him up and secured him with the chains. A coat then approached, carrying the largest syringe Jack had seen in his life.
“Get that the hell away from me!”
Jack hated needles. Ever since he was a baby, he couldn’t get a single shot without sitting in his mother’s lap. He had always been glad that he stopped seeing doctors right around the time he got too old for that.
The chains rattled from his effort to resist the long syringe piercing his skin. It was futile.
Jack was only able to keep track of the days passing from when the needles were inserted into him. It was the only consistency he had - they didn’t even feed him as regularly. Three pricks in the morning, two midday, and five at night. Eventually, he couldn’t tell when they were injecting something into him or taking something out - it all made him sick just the same.
After the first time the coats entered his cell, Jack tried being civil. He thought if he complied, they would treat him with just a bit of humanity. Instead, it was like he wasn’t a person to them, but a mad scientist’s manikin.
So, he tried talking to them.
“So, what’s your name?” He had asked a suit, before being thrown back into what could only be described as a human kiln. Jack soon developed a distaste for severe heat - something rare for Southerners.
He even tried flirting with them.
“Woah there, doll. Let me buy you dinner first, yeah.” He thought that line had been particularly good, but the coat still didn’t so much as spare him an extra glance. She just continued to test how much blood Jack could lose before losing consciousness. At least, that’s what Jack had assumed she was doing.
So, he started outright resisting instead. When a coat or suit got too close to him, Jack would lunge to bite their legs. He even drew blood, a few times.
It never did any permanent damage, nor help him to escape. But Jack found that being viewed as a feral animal was much better than as a manikin. At least then it was like he was still alive.
But when the days started all blending together, and all sense of time was lost, he wasn’t interested in being alive, either.
During the earlier days of Jack’s time at the facility, a suit would bring him to a bathroom when deemed necessary. After a few weeks, a bucket was thrown into the cell. Suits would come in and clean it out, regularly enough. Later, it was barely. Eventually, it was never.
If only the same could be said about the testing.
It became completely unpredictable when, or what they would do to him. It felt like he could go days without any form of human contact. Other times, it was like neverending objects being inserted into every part of him or constant exposure to extreme temperatures.
He thought about his mother, as well as Xerek, a lot. It had been a long time since he could touch his mother without fear of hurting her, but still was comforted by her presence alone. Physical affection from Xerek was enough, anyway…
When he was very young, he remembered his mother had received a holiday bonus from one of her jobs. Selfless as always, instead of buying something nice for herself, she had taken Jack to the first and only movie he ever saw at the theater. Even the car ride there was exciting, as they got to make a rare trip to the nearest city. Then, they got to go ‘window shopping’, as his mother called it, on the walk to and from the theater.
Jack had thought there wasn’t much talking in the movie - if only he could see the conditions he ended up in. Additionally, his mom had to keep explaining to him that the other people in the movie weren’t really there - “But Ma, I can see them right there on the screen!” She had smiled at him, shaking her head. “Yes, Jackie, you can see them. And so can the main character. But she’s the only one who can, because she’s just hallucinating.”
He had to ask what that word meant, too. She had explained to him, even after the man sitting behind them had made a loud “Shush!” sound and held a finger up to his lips.
The movie itself wasn’t even close to the best part of that outing, but he found himself terribly jealous of the protagonist, as he rotted in the cell. Jack wished he could hallucinate Ma or The Unforgivables leader. Instead, he just had his memories.
She had beamed when she showed Jack the tickets. Jack wished he could glow like her. Her glow was bright and warm like the sun, and made everything around her bask in her warmth and prosper. His glow had only served to get him into this stupid cell. And killed her glow. And probably her.
Memories really weren’t enough. Not when his mind was so good at twisting them into something that only made him feel worse.
Jack got to a point where he tried to stop thinking altogether. He thought that the coats may have been helping with that - surely when they kept strapping him down and sending electric shocks through his skull, that had to have caused some damage to his mind.
It seemed to only end when they got bored of him. Towards the end, he barely saw anyone anymore.
When he thought they were just going to let him die in that cell, a coat had come in with a syringe. Jack remembered finding it odd that there wasn’t even a suit with him, before he lost consciousness.
Jack awoke to blue above him, instead of white. It had been so long since he had seen the sky, he assumed he was being waterboarded again. The second a furry animal scurried over his naked body, though, he realized he was outside.
Jack didn’t celebrate his freedom. He didn’t look for food, despite the fact he was starving. Didn’t even try to find something to cover himself.
No, he had shot right into the air, ignoring every single protest from his abused body, to fly home as soon as possible.
“Fuck, her cure!”
Every second that passed where he couldn’t find the bank felt agonizing. Finally, he saw it below, and rushed to retrieve the vial. He teared up when it was still right where he left it.
Jack launched himself back into the air, rushing home.
He nearly melted the door off its hinges with the force he used to get inside.
“Ma! I have something for you.”
There was no reply.
He ignored the way dread seeped into every inch of his body as he walked up to the couch. It wasn’t like she could speak anymore, and she slept a lot nowadays, Jack had reminded himself.
“Ma! I have the cure, you’ll be all better now!”
Jack looked over the couch, and his world finally ended.
His mother was dead.
“So… let’s unpack all that, yeah?”
That voice isn’t coming from inside of his head. He’s finally back in the therapy office.
It takes him a moment to process what the hell Psycwave is daring to say to him.
“Unpack…? No, you need to stay the hell outta my head!”
“Alright, I’ll admit, your session may have gotten a bit out of hand, and the reaction you’re having is not entirely unreasonable-”
“Unreasonable?!”
“Okay, you know what, Jackson Dottie Hart? I’ll just take the lead here, since you don’t seem ready to talk about-”
Gamma Jack jumps up from the armchair he’s sitting on, before he disintegrates it beneath him.
“I’m ready for anything! It’s just none of your damned business,” His jaw clenches around the words. “And don’t you ever say my mother’s name again.”
A vein bulges in his forehead when Psycwave seems to just brush past his words.
“Those memories weren’t random. It’s important to see how they’re affecting your current relationships. Well, relationship, to be more specific. Do you see how your past has shaped your romantic and sexual desires with-”
“Fuck you.”
“And I’m not just talking about your mommy and daddy issues. I initially was under the impression that Simon was your first gay relationship, with a long line of failed heterosexual ones coming before, but since, in actuality, your first reciprocated relations were with a man, Xerek-”
“Fuck you!”
He can’t even look at her as he speaks, too preoccupied with getting to the door. Burn marks are imprinted upon it in his rush to leave.
“Gamma Jack, I was looking for you-”
He slams directly into someone in the hallway during his not-scramble. Jack doesn’t care who it is, nor why they want to see him. His vision is tunneled, and he just needs to get far, far away from…
Those are your memories, Jack. You can’t outrun yourself.
“Fuck off!”
“Jack?” The voice is much softer now. Also male, notably unlike the one still harassing him mentally.
He knows this voice.
“Simon?” Jack can’t help the hope creeping into his tone. Right now, there’s really only one person he wants to see.
A strangled noise comes from above him. Gamma Jack looks up to see a familiar ‘GB’ visor.
“I do not know a ‘Simon’. Are you alright?” Gazerbeam now sounds flatout concerned.
Maybe he should be. Why would Simon even be in the NSA Headquarters? No way I just got them confused.
What the fuck did you do to me?!
No one responds to his mental outburst.
Oh, so when I actually have something to say to you, that’s when you disappear.
He really is alone in his head.
But not in the waking world. There’s a hand reaching for his face. He snatches it in his own before it can make contact.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Ah, sorry, It’s just-,” Gazerbeam turns his head away, timid. “You’re, uh, crying.”
Gamma Jack touches his cheek. He feels the moisture through his gloves.
“No, this isn’t-,” It’s not the first time Gazerbeam has seen him cry, which might just make this time worse. “She did something to me!”
“What? Did she hurt you?“ Shockingly, Gazerbeam sounds like he’s ready to storm right into Psycwave’s office.
Suddenly, Gamma Jack feels suffocated by their closeness. He realizes that their hands are still intertwined. He quickly yanks his own back to his chest, stepping away from Gazerbeam in the process.
“It doesn’t matter,” Gamma Jack tries to sound flippant. His words just come out tight, “You said you were looking for me, yeah?”
“Yes, I was, but if you’re not feeling well-”
“I’m perfectly peachy, One Eyes,” He snaps.
Gazerbeam wrenches his jaw shut.
He rubs the back of his visor awkwardly before mustering up the courage to speak again, “Great to see that you can still use that awful nickname.”
If Gamma Jack was in a better mood, he’d have laughed at Gazerbeam’s mild exasperation.
“Better yet, I can still defeat any villain. So, what’s our mission?”
Killing some baddie should perk me right up.
“Ah, it’s not a field assignment, if that’s what you were thinking.”
Gamma Jack can’t help but groan, “What, don’t tell me Supers have to do office work?”
“Well, yes, but no, not today.”
He tilts his head up at Gazerbeam, “So what are we doing?”
“As you know, public support of Supers is incredibly important for government funding,” Gazerbeam explains, “And you are definitely the most talked about Super right now.”
“You flatter me, One Eyes,” Gamma Jack fawns over himself, but truthfully, he has no idea where his partner’s going with this.
“You have fans now, Gamma Jack,” Gazerbeam states plainly, “So, you’ve been invited to your first Super meet-and-greet.”