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Somedays, Jack woke up and felt like he was burning.
Not in the glorious way, like Wilbur and his martyrdom. How he lit himself on fire, and danced his way to death, humming a melody that would never be finished. How he whispered to the flames, stoking them higher and higher. He went with a smile on his face and a sword in his gut.
But Jack has burned before, and it was not pretty, or glorious. It hurt like a friend pushing him into lava and his skin melting, and the void crawling at his eyes. Burning was never beautiful, for all its metaphors. It consumed, and didn’t stop whether or not you asked politely or begged.
( A part of him wonders if Wilbur’s was ever glorious, or if it was just the way the sun hit the flames from the pedestal he was perched on. Maybe it was the fact that he had to look up to see Wilbur, and the only other fire in the sky was the sun. )
Jack burned, from the inside out. Rage and stubbornness fueled a fire at the base of his stomach, dimming on some days, licking the tip of his tongue on the others. Like the oxymoron he is, he had to keep burning to stay alive.
Jack sometimes joked that he came back from the dead out of sheer spite. He saw the depths of hell. and decided instead that he would leave. The people who wronged him were not here; but he was. And so, he carved himself a foothold, and another, and painstakingly climbed his way up. The darkness clung to his back, pushing him down one for every two footholds he made. Eventually, he came back, like a phoenix, reborn in its ashes.
It was easier to pretend that he had come back with a flare and fire trailing his ankles. That Jack had come back to vanquish the last villain and save the world.
( When he had come back, he awoke with a shuddering inhale as his lungs struggled to reinflate. Jack had coughed for what seemed like hours before a spot of blood appeared on the ground below him, and he was done. He was alive.
It was raining. Jack’s clothes were soaked with either blood or water, and his glasses were broken. His blue hoodie had turned a splotched purple that he never seemed to get out, and when he looked down, he grimaced. That had been his blood.
It was raining, and he came back from the dead alone and unannounced.
It was raining, and he decided that if nobody was going to care for him, he didn’t have to care for them either. )
And on some days, he woke up with fire in his mouth and lava in his veins. His hands would shake and shake, and when he blinked, he could see only the bones. He clenched his fists harder, and pretended like that solved anything, like it didn’t instead rub his nerves together harder.
On those days, his stomach churned like he had eaten a rock. He couldn’t eat those days. Jack was scared that if he did, the fire would be strong enough to consume him entirely. On those days, he stayed awake until he could no longer bear it.
( Jack hated the fire and he loved it. It burned him and he stoked it, raising it higher and higher with barbed words and hate.
For Jack was the fire was the anger was the thing keeping him alive. And without it, he didn’t know what he’d do. )
Today had been one of those days. He had woken up in his bed, sweaty and panicked. The fire had curled into him, and it would’ve been almost comforting if it hadn’t been whispering. Remember how they hurt you? Remember how they left you?
He looked at his hoodie, hanging up in the closet gathering dust. He hadn’t worn it in months. And so the suit went on, stiff and a little too long at the ankles, the tie around his neck, a little too tight.
Unfortunately, he had to run the hotel, and so he sat, head pressed to the cool desk like he had a fever. His head felt hot to the touch, but Jack wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not. He prayed no customers would come in, because he didn’t think he could deal with another person without snapping or crying. Possibly both.
It wasn’t the hotels fault, per say. The hotel was rather nice, with red accents and windows that naturally lit the interior. But the red accents reminded him of Tommy, and lava and everything that entailed. Bile burned at the back of his throat.
No matter how much Jack wanted to just collapse on the spot, Jack had to run the hotel, because Tommy… gave it to him? He wasn’t quite sure what had happened that day, but somewhere along the line, Tommy had, at least, lent him the Big Innit, now Big Manifold, hotel. Which brought some confusing feelings up, considering he had thought he had finally marked Tommy down.
For he thought he finally had Tommy marked down in his mind, finally had him separated in the boxes labeled ‘good’ and ‘bad’. The past him might’ve been someone Jack was friends with, hell, even loved, but after Tommy took his second life, their relationship shattered. Tommy had caused so many problems, and he hadn’t even apologized. ( No matter how hypocritical it was for Jack to try to paint it just black and white, while he himself was dripping in shades of gray.)
But Tommy had changed, to say the least. Jack wasn’t going to say he had turned over a new leaf and smoothed down his prickly edges, because one: that wouldn’t be true, and two: it was hard to think much about Tommy without the heat inside of himself burning, demanding. But Tommy seemed willing to listen to Jack, for once. ( He shut down the part of him that just wanted someone to care. ) As he swallowed down the bitter taste of ash and gasoline, he thought maybe, maybe another day, Tommy and him could work things out.
“Hey, big man!” A familiarly cheerful voice said from outside his hotel. “How’s the wife?”
His head throbbed, and he thunked it against the desk with a groan. You’ve got to be kidding me.
The one day, one day , he didn’t want Tommy to come to the hotel, the one day he didn’t want to see Tommy, of course he had to come. Like Jack’s luck could get any worse after missing an entire person with a nuke. (Like seriously - how did he dodge a nuke?)
The blonde-haired boy appeared at the edge of his vision, waving at Jack. His familiar red and white shirt was looking a little worse for the wear, like he had gotten it ripped on an obsidian shard- oo. Maybe not time to judge other’s clothes.
“Go away, Tommy.” Jack muttered, annoyance rumbling on the corners of his words. He could already feel a headache coming just from standing near him.
Tommy made a move to sit on the desk. Great . “I didn’t scare you this time,” He brushed a couple of papers to the ground, leaving Jack to watch them float helplessly to the ground. He’ll get them later, when Tommy had left. “Hope they weren’t any important.”
“They kinda were.” His words were clipped and to the point. Tommy either didn’t notice or care, as the other barreled forward with the social grace of an elephant. Just like always .
“Well, I died, so I feel like I take more importance than a bunch of papers.” Tommy leaned back, and Jack had never wanted to push the child off his desk more than now.
Jack always had a problem with blowing his fuse, especially after he died. After he died. Jack could feel his blood boiling under his skin, and his teeth grinded together with angry energy. Was Jack overreacting? Probably. But he deserved to overreact, at least just this once.
“I died too, asshole!” Jack huffed, short and angry. Tommy stared at him, slipping off the desk with a practiced movement like he had sat there before. Of course he did. The other stared at him like he was saying the sky was blue.
( Why won’t he just listen?
That’s all Jack ever wanted. )
“Yea, I know, but you didn’t die- die ,” Jack watched the other spout literal bullshit, waving his hands around. “You know?” No, Jack didn’t know. In fact, he could almost remember dying three separate times, and one to the person who stood before him, and Tommy had the audacity to tell him he didn’t.
“What do you mean?!” Jack’s nails dug into his palms. “I died three times, and none of you bastards cared!” The air was silent, and Tommy flinched back like he had been hit. Jack straightened his back, pretending he didn’t hear his voice crack.
Tommy’s hands were shaking, but his eyes were set hard. “When’d you lose your third life?” The other saw him die, and he didn’t know when he lost it? Jack scoffed. “I know you lost your second life to Technoblade, but do you need me to kill someone for you-“ The rest of it was lost to Jack, white static ringing in his ears.
His hands shook with anger, with an urge to shove or crush or burn something. Jack almost reached up to his glasses, sitting innocently on the bridge of his nose, but he resisted the urge. Besides, his glasses was the only thing that had survived all of this . Jack could barely breathe, as Tommy told him he had lost his second life to Technoblade . Jack jabbed his finger forward, poking the other hard in his chest. “You killed me back in exile!” Tommy’s face drained, mouth slacking open slightly like he had lost his anger.
(But not Jack: never Jack.
Jack was still stuck in anger, stuck in his stages of grief like tar had clung to his skin after he died like strings from the void. Jack didn’t, couldn’t lose his anger.
For if he did, he was afraid of what would happen. )
“I died! Canonically!” Jack snarled, holding a fist so tight his knuckles turned a dark, stain like purple. Tommy stumbled back, reaching for the side of the wall like he felt faint. Jack felt a sick sort of satisfaction at seeing the other finally, finally react to what he had done to Jack. Like what had happened to Jack finally mattered, for once.
“Wait, what?” Tommy barely breathed out.
Jack scoffed, turning away to look outside. The sun shone outside, and the sky glimmered a brilliant blue like lapis lazuli. Who gave it the right? “What do you mean what , you killed me!”
Tommy’s hands reached up to grasp the tips of his hair, which had begun to brush the tops of his shoulders. If it was anyone else, Jack might have offered to cut it for them. “What- no, no, you didn’t-“ He shakily inhaled, fingers tightening around the hanging curls. “You weren’t supposed to die?” Tommy looked up to him, pleading like he was asking Jack to say it was a joke, to say that he was fine and that Jack had never actually died, leaving Tommy with more blood on his hands.
( Jack had decided to grow his hair out after his revival of some sorts, at least just a little bit longer. The hair that darkened day by day had helped him remember he was still alive,
The white streak that was slowly growing in with the rest of his hair, just behind his ear, begged to differ.
Jack didn’t take his glasses off anymore. )
“But I did !” And finally, what had hurt Jack the most finally roared out, the flames burning a dark, angry blue inside of him. It was the same color of his hoodie, and he wondered if it had always been some twisted sign that Jack would be like this from the beginning. “And you never cared!”
And just like how the quickest flames burned the brightest, it was over. Jack drained, shoulders slumping in on themselves. “Nobody did.”
He sat there, clenching his eyes together so tightly that it felt as though they might pop. For a second, a dark thought wondered if that would even matter, or if they would just reappear like some twisted zombie part. Just as Jack was about to get up and demand Tommy to leave, something ran into his chest.
It was Tommy. Jack slowly opened his eyes to Tommy hugging him so tight that he wondered if his ribs were going to pop. The other had his face turned away slightly like he didn’t want Jack to see, but the tear slowly trickling down his face were visible in the sun’s light.
“You’re crying.” Jack said, sitting there limply. Tommy wasn’t supposed to care, why was he crying? His compressed boxes were beginning to fall apart in his head, the white and black mixing together gently. “Why are you crying?”
Tommy weakly grinned, squeezing him a bit. “It’s okay, Puffy said that big men can cry too.” Jack raised his eyebrow on the last bit, causing a soft chuckle from the other. “Sounds crazy, but it’s true.”
He almost didn’t hear the second part. “And because I care about you.” Tommy muttered, face pressed against his jacket like he was afraid Jack would hear him. Jack let out a disbelieving huff. That was actually really nice of Tommy, pretty out of character-
“Now stop being self-deprecating, dickhead.” There it is. Tommy lifted his head so he was staring the other in the eye. “And especially because people care about you !”
Tommy had to be lying. Jack couldn’t- he didn’t know what to do in a world where people cared about Jack Manifold. It’s Jack Manifold, for Minecraft’s sake. Jack Manifold, who was always the comedic relief, just a side character for people to ignore. Just a villain, someone a little too evil to be considered good, but a little too good to be considered evil. Never what people wanted.
Tommy must have seen the look on his face, so he continued. “What, like Niki doesn’t exist?” Tommy’s face grew slightly somber for a second, but he didn’t stop. He elbowed him slightly. “You don’t just try to assassinate someone with anybody!”
Jack winced. Perhaps not their best idea. “Er, sorry.” But’s that’s Niki, who cares about practically everyone. “That’s a whole other person.” Tommy grinned slightly, like he had won. Jack’s eyes widened; little shit, he tricked Jack into saying he cares about him.
But Tommy was already off again, talking smooth like Jack had heard time to time again with his scams and shenanigans. “Can’t really help you with the whole killing-and-revenge thing. I tried it, and it didn’t work.” Now, if Tommy’s lack of self-preservation hadn’t set off alarm bells when he had hugged the person who had tried to kill him , it was going off now. “But speaking of the nukes, Tubbo cares about you! Big T literally invented a whole new form of sciency shit with you!”
“Three people, then. Almost enough for a whole birthday party.” He drily remarked.
Tommy rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like Sam doesn’t care about you, he’s not slick with the sandwiches that ‘Sam Nook’ keeps leaving here by ‘accident’.”
“…That was him?” Tommy nodded like it was obvious. The cocky bastard. But it didn’t hold the same amount of fire that it did before, the same amount of hate . Instead, it was almost lightly playful, like he was bantering with a friend or something.
…The bastard had tricked him into friendship. Did Jack just get… scammed into getting friends?
“-boob cares about you!” Tommy was saying, and Jack snapped back to attention. “Puffy would always be around to listen if you ever want to ‘talk about your trauma’, or something.” Tommy shrugged, and Jack found himself actually listening.
…Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t the worst thing.
Tommy cut off suddenly as Jack wrapped his arms around the other for a moment, before pushing him away. “Wh- what was that for, big man?” Jack rolled his eyes.
“Has all your time away from the hotel made you slow? Chop-chop, we got to get your things!” Their banter was slightly weak, slow at times and barbed at others, but it would get better with time. Soon enough, they would be able to talk to each other without anger or tears. Tommy had dropped a white flag, and Jack had returned it, abite a bit hesitantly . “Don’t think I’m letting you freeload here!”
Tommy grinned, a childish thing Jack hadn’t seen from him in a while. “I wouldn’t dream of it, big man.” For the first time today, Jack had felt the fire calm within him.
Maybe it would all get better with time.
But not just with time. With people caring, and trying and failing and working to get better. People standing with each and for each other, not against each other. With hugs that seemed to span a thousand years and a hundred pages, and minutes together that would slowly recraft their bonds. Not the same, but just as beautiful.
With frustration and tears, and moments where it all felt like it might have been for nothing. But for each of those moments, there would be laughter and feelings of achievement tenfold. With effort, and apologizes, and smiles, and moments with hot chocolate or pillow fights or bandages wrapped gently around a wound.
With getting a new hoodie, and letting the other go with his anger. With being able to detach the fire from where it had burned chains along his arms, pulling him back. With being proud to be Jack Manifold, and being happy to be just Jack.
It will get better.
Jack knows it.