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alliecat8Title: Wild
*Pt. 1 of 3*
Characters: Jack, Sawyer for this part, J/S later
Rating: PG for now, leading to...well, you know ;)
Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams
Warnings: Dark! fic. Character death, but it's not Jack or Sawyer and most of you will like it :)
Spoilers: Through the present
A/N: This idea came from an unsettling and brilliant theory of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
uberaeryn's. I took it and ran with it. But it's all her fault. ;)
Jack stops complaining about the prisoner in the hatch, the man who calls himself Henry Gale, the day he captures a prisoner of his own. A prisoner he can’t keep in the hatch, or anywhere near the other survivors. A prisoner who, he is fairly certain, has gone mad.
Earlier
They all assume that Sawyer vanished of his own accord. Since the gun fiasco, he’s been shunned. Since the frog fiasco, he’s been the object of disgust. Since his humiliation at the hands of the Others, he’s been the epitome of wounded pride. When he disappears, they assume he’s taken his guns and gone off on a quest of his own. As Sayid did. As Michael did. It never crosses their minds that he might have been taken away, for their safety and for his own.
Earlier
Jack finds her in the jungle in the dim light of sunset, face down in the dirt with a bullet hole in the back of her skull. The Others, he thinks immediately. They were here and they found her. Her worst fear, realized.
There’s a rustle in the jungle, and a figure emerges. It isn’t an Other. “Had to do it, Doc,” Sawyer tells him. “She tried to sneak up on me in my tent, but I knew she was coming. I knocked her out with a rock and brought her out here, did what had to be done. She was coming to kill me. So I killed her instead.”
Chills race down Jack’s spine. “How did you know she was coming to kill you?”
“I heard you all. Whispering.”
He stands, still as stone, and stares at Jack. Jack wonders if Sawyer will kill him, now. Instead, Sawyer drops his head, slumps, the picture of defeat. He holds out the gun, offering it to Jack. “Help me.”
Earlier
“We have to kill him.”
Jack’s stomach clenches at the finality of the words. He can’t believe it, doesn’t want to believe it. But the evidence is there.
It’s there in the mutilated carcasses that begin to appear around the campsight. It’s only small things at first, frogs, rabbits, a couple of squirrels. “It’s Sawyer,” Hurley tells Jack quietly. “I’ve seen him do it, over and over again. It’s like, he’s making sacrifices to the island or something.”
The sacrifices – if that’s what they are – grow steadily larger and more ominous. A full grown boar. A jungle cat. And then they find the body of a stranger, an unkempt and earthy stranger of the same ilk as the Others, head-shot and gutted and strung from a tree.
Danielle makes her way out of the jungle, sees Jack and Ana Lucia standing before the hanging body. “One of yours did this?”
“Why would you think—“ Jack begins, but Ana cuts him off.
“Probably,” she says in a clipped voice. “It’s the same as the animals, and we know who’s been doing that.”
Danielle shudders. “It’s the sickness. This is how it begins.”
Ana stares at her, this stranger who looks Other, but is clearly familiar to Jack. “What sickness?”
Danielle lowers her voice to a whisper. “It took my people, everyone but me. It begins with the weakest one. Montan lost his arm, and it poisoned his bloodstream. Very quickly, he became inhuman. Senses heightened, bloodlust, all traces of civilization gone. When he went from torturing small creatures to hunting human prey, we saw that there was no choice. Soon he would turn on us. He had to be killed. It took the others, one by one, until they were all dead and I was alone.”
Jack’s eyes narrow suspiciously, but he lowers his voice as well. “Why didn’t it take you?”
“I don’t know. I have wondered if perhaps my pregnancy made me immune. After I killed…the last of my group, I relocated to another part of the island, one that was perhaps not contaminated. If I had contracted the sickness, I would not be human today. Those who contract the sickness become wild.”
“Then that’s what we have to do,” Ana says, her words no less menacing for all that they’re spoken in a whisper. “We have to kill him.”
The determined tone of her voice makes Jack’s blood run cold. “No,” he says sharply. “We’re not killing anybody, that’s insane. If Sawyer is…infected, we’ll figure out what caused it, find a cure. Lock him in the hatch in the meantime—“
“Jack.” Ana’s eyes go from his to the mutilated carcass before them, and he sees in them a glittering, almost maniacal fear. “He did this. Sawyer isn’t human. Not anymore.”
This isn’t happening, Jack thinks, panic closing in on him in one great wave. He needs time to think. “It’s still daylight,” he says in his sternest leader voice. “He only hunts when it’s dark. Let me talk to the others, try to find another way. We’ll just have to come up with a civilized plan before twilight.”
Ana stares at him for a long moment, her lips tightening and her eyes bright. She doesn’t argue. Instead, she turns on her heel and stalks away.
Earlier
Sawyer never leaves his tent in the daylight anymore. He says even the faintest of lights – the monitor in the hatch, the glow of the bonfires – hurts his eyes. And he grows ever more irritable and intolerant of sound. Each morning before dawn he moves his tent a little further down the beach from the main group, complaining of being kept awake all night by their noises. And he’d taken the painkiller supply from Jack by force, demanding relief from the pain in his shoulder and headaches and all number of other physical complaints. Jack wonders if perhaps he’s becoming a hypochondriac.
Earlier
Hurley makes his way out of the jungle, finds Jack on the beach. “Dude, I think there’s something wrong with Sawyer,” he says, holding up a small mangled carcass. “Look what he did to this frog.”
TBC
Link to Chapter 2, Wild
*Pt. 1 of 3*
Characters: Jack, Sawyer for this part, J/S later
Rating: PG for now, leading to...well, you know ;)
Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams
Warnings: Dark! fic. Character death, but it's not Jack or Sawyer and most of you will like it :)
Spoilers: Through the present
A/N: This idea came from an unsettling and brilliant theory of
uberaeryn's. I took it and ran with it. But it's all her fault. ;)Jack stops complaining about the prisoner in the hatch, the man who calls himself Henry Gale, the day he captures a prisoner of his own. A prisoner he can’t keep in the hatch, or anywhere near the other survivors. A prisoner who, he is fairly certain, has gone mad.
Earlier
They all assume that Sawyer vanished of his own accord. Since the gun fiasco, he’s been shunned. Since the frog fiasco, he’s been the object of disgust. Since his humiliation at the hands of the Others, he’s been the epitome of wounded pride. When he disappears, they assume he’s taken his guns and gone off on a quest of his own. As Sayid did. As Michael did. It never crosses their minds that he might have been taken away, for their safety and for his own.
Earlier
Jack finds her in the jungle in the dim light of sunset, face down in the dirt with a bullet hole in the back of her skull. The Others, he thinks immediately. They were here and they found her. Her worst fear, realized.
There’s a rustle in the jungle, and a figure emerges. It isn’t an Other. “Had to do it, Doc,” Sawyer tells him. “She tried to sneak up on me in my tent, but I knew she was coming. I knocked her out with a rock and brought her out here, did what had to be done. She was coming to kill me. So I killed her instead.”
Chills race down Jack’s spine. “How did you know she was coming to kill you?”
“I heard you all. Whispering.”
He stands, still as stone, and stares at Jack. Jack wonders if Sawyer will kill him, now. Instead, Sawyer drops his head, slumps, the picture of defeat. He holds out the gun, offering it to Jack. “Help me.”
Earlier
“We have to kill him.”
Jack’s stomach clenches at the finality of the words. He can’t believe it, doesn’t want to believe it. But the evidence is there.
It’s there in the mutilated carcasses that begin to appear around the campsight. It’s only small things at first, frogs, rabbits, a couple of squirrels. “It’s Sawyer,” Hurley tells Jack quietly. “I’ve seen him do it, over and over again. It’s like, he’s making sacrifices to the island or something.”
The sacrifices – if that’s what they are – grow steadily larger and more ominous. A full grown boar. A jungle cat. And then they find the body of a stranger, an unkempt and earthy stranger of the same ilk as the Others, head-shot and gutted and strung from a tree.
Danielle makes her way out of the jungle, sees Jack and Ana Lucia standing before the hanging body. “One of yours did this?”
“Why would you think—“ Jack begins, but Ana cuts him off.
“Probably,” she says in a clipped voice. “It’s the same as the animals, and we know who’s been doing that.”
Danielle shudders. “It’s the sickness. This is how it begins.”
Ana stares at her, this stranger who looks Other, but is clearly familiar to Jack. “What sickness?”
Danielle lowers her voice to a whisper. “It took my people, everyone but me. It begins with the weakest one. Montan lost his arm, and it poisoned his bloodstream. Very quickly, he became inhuman. Senses heightened, bloodlust, all traces of civilization gone. When he went from torturing small creatures to hunting human prey, we saw that there was no choice. Soon he would turn on us. He had to be killed. It took the others, one by one, until they were all dead and I was alone.”
Jack’s eyes narrow suspiciously, but he lowers his voice as well. “Why didn’t it take you?”
“I don’t know. I have wondered if perhaps my pregnancy made me immune. After I killed…the last of my group, I relocated to another part of the island, one that was perhaps not contaminated. If I had contracted the sickness, I would not be human today. Those who contract the sickness become wild.”
“Then that’s what we have to do,” Ana says, her words no less menacing for all that they’re spoken in a whisper. “We have to kill him.”
The determined tone of her voice makes Jack’s blood run cold. “No,” he says sharply. “We’re not killing anybody, that’s insane. If Sawyer is…infected, we’ll figure out what caused it, find a cure. Lock him in the hatch in the meantime—“
“Jack.” Ana’s eyes go from his to the mutilated carcass before them, and he sees in them a glittering, almost maniacal fear. “He did this. Sawyer isn’t human. Not anymore.”
This isn’t happening, Jack thinks, panic closing in on him in one great wave. He needs time to think. “It’s still daylight,” he says in his sternest leader voice. “He only hunts when it’s dark. Let me talk to the others, try to find another way. We’ll just have to come up with a civilized plan before twilight.”
Ana stares at him for a long moment, her lips tightening and her eyes bright. She doesn’t argue. Instead, she turns on her heel and stalks away.
Earlier
Sawyer never leaves his tent in the daylight anymore. He says even the faintest of lights – the monitor in the hatch, the glow of the bonfires – hurts his eyes. And he grows ever more irritable and intolerant of sound. Each morning before dawn he moves his tent a little further down the beach from the main group, complaining of being kept awake all night by their noises. And he’d taken the painkiller supply from Jack by force, demanding relief from the pain in his shoulder and headaches and all number of other physical complaints. Jack wonders if perhaps he’s becoming a hypochondriac.
Earlier
Hurley makes his way out of the jungle, finds Jack on the beach. “Dude, I think there’s something wrong with Sawyer,” he says, holding up a small mangled carcass. “Look what he did to this frog.”
TBC
Link to Chapter 2, Wild
