Chapter Text
In their line of work, they dealt with all kinds of shit. Weird cases, cases that ended well, some that ended in tragedy, cases that hit too close to home.
They all had their own way, healthy or not, of dealing with the personal cases. For Jack, it was playing pretend. He usually covered up his feelings with jokes, laughs that were a tad too loud, full, teeth-out smiles that didn’t quite crease the corner of his eyes. This, Mac could deal with. He had, on multiple occasions. He knew the signs, knew when to push serious conversations, when to play along, when he’d gone too far and how long he needed to leave Jack alone. He had even learned during their many years together when simply not to get involved, to wait for Jack to reach out.
Things were different this time. As they made progress on the case, Jack got quieter, his brows perpetually drawn, mouth in a tense line, eyes focused. He didn’t joke around, not even catching the loose Die Hard references Mac had tried to throw around out of desperation.
Jack was retreating on himself, and Mac was starting to panic, especially because he didn’t understand what had triggered such a response in his partner. They were on US soil for once, on a small mission that could turn to shit – they all did – but they definitely weren’t there yet. But as they went from lead to lead, Jack seemed to get more worried.
They were on their way to a remote location in Kansas right now, where they would allegedly find some bodies or something, anything to make the investigation progress. Jack had taken the lead at some point, giving vague and confusing explanations to every one of Mac’s questions, which stopped after one too many cold, tight-lipped answer.
The car ride was awkward. And since Jack was following a strict ‘no talking’ policy, the responsibility to break the silence was left to Mac. Which, with Mac being Mac, took some time. He carefully thought about his every words, how Jack would – or wouldn’t – respond, and went over the last few hours, reviewing yet again what he’d missed that could explain Jack’s behavior. He took a deep breath, modeled his tone to be as neutral as possible, and decided asking one more time couldn’t hurt.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Jack purposefully kept his eyes on the dirt road, and almost managed to hide the way his jaw tensed up. The question didn’t seem to surprise him. Mac wondered if he’d even realized the long hours of silence that had stretched between them.
“Mac, come on–” Jack sighed, replacing ever-so-slightly his hands on the steering wheel, but Mac wasn’t having it. He was sick and tired of tiptoeing around the issue.
“Jack. No.” Their eyes met for a fleeting second, before Jack turned to the road again. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Jack was looking straight ahead, knuckles white around the steering wheel, mouth tightly shut. Mac was getting frustrated.
Still searching for eyes that wouldn’t look at him, Mac sighed. “Okay, so you won’t say. Fine. But why are you lying to me?”
“It’s not like this.” Jack said under his breath.
He was still deflecting.
“What is it like then?” Last chance. They both knew it; Mac was rarely patient when he was being lied to.
To his credit, Mac didn’t start yelling right then and there when his question was met with more silence.
“Jesus, Jack what the fuck is going on? I just– I don’t know what to do. I keep asking and you keep lying and I give you some space and you keep not saying anything. What aren’t you telling me?”
That’s when Jack got it, and he mentally kicked himself for not realizing sooner. Mac was scared, yes, that Jack was being weird and quiet, that he wasn’t talking, but mostly he was terrified that Jack was hiding things from him. That he was being distant even with Mac.
It hurt to be the one doing this to him. It wasn’t exactly abandonment but it kinda was, and it was all Mac needed to spiral into panic. Jack knew that, and yet here he was, still being a fucking asshole.
It’s not that he didn’t want to tell Mac. Had it been about anything else, Jack wouldn’t have hesitated one second. Anything else, he wouldn’t be hiding from Mac. Anything that wasn’t hunt-related. Hunters rarely opened up about these things because people, especially loved ones, were safer not knowing. He’d witnessed it first-hand, back then.
What could he even say? I saw a small marking on a door that looked like a sigil, it might be linked to a demon I fought long ago, yes they exist, and witches and werewolves too, and this small thing made me realize that the disappearances we’re investigating might look like how said demon liked to operate so I’m worried. Mac would laugh, or have a stroke, or both, and even if he did believe him – which he wouldn’t – it would scratch that part of his giant brain that needed to find explanations, and officially make everything twenty times more dangerous, because once he realized it was real and legit, there would be an entire new world opening up before him. Jack knew Mac would start hunting, one way or another, because more bad things hiding in the dark meant more people who needed protection. More unfairness. More suffering.
Jack couldn’t have this; he’d gotten out, there was no way he’d ever let Mac go through all of this shit.
Jack was trying to convince himself that he was being ridiculous, that he was imagining things. The chances that a demon was behind all of this were definitely slim, and the signs he thought he’d seen could very well have been coincidences.
But still. What if.
Mac’s voice cut through his thoughts and Jack expected more anger, but the softness of his tone pulled Jack back to reality with the strength of a freight train.
“I thought you trusted me.” That was a low blow, and Mac usually didn’t resort to these kind of things.
“Come on Mac, you know I do. I always have.”
“Then why didn’t you want me here to have your back?”
Abandonment issues again. Of course. It stung, deep and hot, to be the one responsible for this. What was Jack supposed to say now? There wasn’t anyone in the world he trusted more than Mac, obviously. He didn’t want him here because it was dangerous, a different kind of dangerous Mac was used to. Ever since that day in Afghanistan, his only job had been protecting the kid, and bringing Mac along as the mission took a supernatural turn didn’t sit well with his helicopter-parent sixth sense. At the end of the day, Jack was fine with half-lying and keeping Mac at arms’ length if it meant the kid was safe.
Mac sighed at his silence and turned to the window, eyes a little too wet. The movement felt final; if Jack had wanted to explain himself, he’d missed the opportunity.
The atmosphere in the car was heavy when they finally pulled up to the location, an old, run-down farmhouse, all gray wood and busted windows. There was nothing around but fields, overgrown and obviously abandoned. There hadn’t been many houses along the dirt road they’d been following for the past hour.
Jack put the car into park as Mac reached for the handle of the door.
“Wait.”
Mac effectively froze, door still closed, and retreated his hand, laying it gently on his knee. Composing himself, he let out a small sigh, and looked up straight ahead, shoulders squared. This time, he was the one keeping quiet, because he was definitely not going to push now that Jack was apparently ready to talk. He hoped.
“Look,” Jack said, stuttering and hesitant and making Mac that much more scared, “you gotta wait for me here, okay?”
Mac’s head snapped to his left, fleetingly meeting Jack’s eyes, and well, of course not okay, what the– but Jack continued before he could say anything.
“It’s probably empty anyways, right? I’ll just have a look around, it won’t take long. Just– stay put okay?”
“What?” There were no attempted smiles, no deceptively light-hearted tone, no fake twinkle in Jack’s eyes. Mac was lost. If it’s empty why can’t I come with? “No way.”
“Please. Mac.” The underlying despair in Jack’s tone was so confusing and weird that he couldn’t say anything. What the actual fuck was up with this mission?
He just watched as Jack climbed out of the car and made his way to the farmhouse, gun out and ready, and lost sight of him when he opened the door and stepped inside.
Jack was all over the place, and it was not good. His gut feeling was making him nauseous; he was worried about what he might encounter in the house, he was downright scared of getting Mac involved in all of this, but most importantly he was beating himself up for, and this time quite literally, abandoning his boy. He knew Mac, knew his insecurities and his fears. It had taken a long time, literal years, for them to get where they were now. They would die for each other in a heartbeat, no questions asked, but it seemed sometimes that Mac was waiting for the day Jack would walk out on him. Jack had worked very hard to make Mac realize that yes, he was worth it, and no, Jack wasn’t going to leave anytime soon, but even the smallest of things could still send him spiraling.
Jack telling Mac that he didn’t need him there with him was not a small thing.
Focus, Dalton. Can’t blow this.
The front door opened to a long corridor. There was a moldy smell hanging in the still air, specks of dust floating, illuminated by the late afternoon glow. The wallpaper was a brownish kind of green, the floor made of dark, unpolished wood. Stairs running up the wall directly to his right, losing themselves in the shadows drowning out the upper floor. Two openings along the left wall and a closed door in front of him, at the end of the hallway. At least three rooms, and an upper floor. Jack started walking and turned sharply to the left and into the first room, gun trained in front of him. He froze right there, not bothering with clearing the space the way training had taught him to.
There was a man in the middle of the room, his back to Jack. He startled when Jack took a step inside, his entire body whipping around, immediately lifting his arms in surrender when he spotted the gun in Jack’s hand. He looked scared, disheveled hair matted, his tie hanging loose around his neck, white shirt wrinkled and dirty, the first two buttons popped open. There were specks of blood on his collar.
“Don’t you fucking move.” Jack snarled, because he didn’t care if the guy downright shat his pants, he wasn’t taking any chances.
The man’s eyes were darting around, opened wide, never staying on the same spot for more than a second.
“Please don’t shoot, Sir,” he said. The tone was a tad too imploring, the voice a little too trembling, and Jack’s instincts definitely too honed; for so many years, spotting a lie had been the difference between life and death. There was a moment of hesitation, both men seizing the other up and trying to figure out what the next move would be. Suddenly, the stranger seemed to deflate a little, his mask of fear replaced by a chilling grin. The next instant his eyes turned completely black, and Jack’s blood ran cold.
The guy lunged at Jack, who took an instinctive shot, but the demon adjusted its course and the bullet made a hole in the wall. When it reached Jack, it immediately lifted him by the throat. Its pitch-black eyes took a second to examine his face, and it smiled, cold and dangerous.
“Hello there, Jackie. Long time no see, huh?”
It didn’t give Jack time to respond as it threw him across the room and back into the hallway with such force that Jack’s back left a dent in the wall. His breath caught up in his chest, partly from the impact but mainly from the panic he felt rising.
Shit. Shitshitshit.
Spots dancing across his vision, Jack reached behind his back and wrapped his hand around the grip of his father’s old gun. He had retired from hunting a lifetime ago, but he still carried it with him just in case. There were a few silver bullets left in the chamber; it wouldn’t kill a demon, but it might slow it down enough to give Jack time to get the fuck out of here and get Mac to safety.
The demon was walking towards him, taking its time, relishing the moment.
“I cannot believe how easy it was to get you here. You’ve gotten rusty, Jackie. To think you were the one to banish me to hell all those years ago.” It shook its head, clicking its tongue. “Pathetic.”
Jack decided to play along and wait for the right moment to shoot.
“Good to see you too, man. How was hell? Want me to throw you back in there? I’ll do it for free, a special price just for you.”
The demon stopped mid-step and cocked its head.
Jack saw an opportunity, and in one swift movement took his gun out. To his left, he heard the front door open as he fired one of the silver bullets and hit the demon square between the eyes, the vessel’s skull exploding immediately.
Half a second of pause, as Jack tried to register everything. There was blood all over the demon’s still-smiling face and Jack realized it was looking intently at the door, licking its lips, and Jack felt dread rise up in his body as he followed the demon’s line of sight.
Mac stood there, in complete shock, eyes darting from Jack’s form still sitting by the wall to the vessel standing a few paces away with its brains splattered over the wooden floor. Jack felt like throwing up.
Alone in the car, Mac started to count down the seconds right after Jack entered the farmhouse, wishing he’d taken a paperclip with him. He concentrated on his breathing instead. In and out, slowly, just like he’d learned to do when he felt a panic attack coming. He wasn’t there yet, but there was nothing else to do and Jack’s behavior had put him a little on edge. So he counted the seconds and breathed.
The first shot rang out after exactly 71 seconds. Mac was out of the car a heartbeat later and started running towards the house. Jack was supposed to be alone in there; there wasn’t a car around, there hadn’t been any tracks on the dirt road, and walking to the farmhouse would have taken at least a few hours from the closest town. When he reached the door, he heard a cold voice that was definitely not Jack. Mac took a deep breath and opened the door just as another shot rang out.
The scene in front of him took his breath away.
“Jack?” Mac asked, voice small and lost, and he didn’t know what else to say because there was a man with a headshot wound standing in the hallway and looking at him and smiling and his eyes were black and he wasn’t dead, wasn’t dying, or maybe he was but “what–?”
He didn’t have time to finish his sentence as suddenly the ground started to shake, dust falling through the cracks in the ceiling, and Mac felt himself being yanked forward and just like that he was in front of the maybe-dead man and he couldn’t look away from black eyes and white teeth and redredred face. He couldn’t move, couldn’t turn his head towards Jack when he yelled out his name, couldn’t do anything but stand there, trembling, looking on as the deaddeaddead man’s hand grasped his chin and smiled even wider and licked his lips, the tip of his tongue turning bright red and Jack what please. There was another shot, and black smoke, and Mac thought he heard Jack’s panicked voice, but mostly there was a buzzing sound and he couldn’t breathe. He was unconscious before he even hit the floor.
Jack couldn’t think anymore. There was too much too fast and too many implications he didn’t have time to deal with. Mac was standing in front of the demon, trembling, a bloody hand gripping his jaw with bruising strength, and nonono please not this not after all these years no and Jack was firing another bullet, this time in the vessel’s heart. The demon's mouth was forced open, unnaturally wide, its head thrown back as black smoke rose up, collecting in a shaky cloud at the ceiling, and Jack almost sighed in relief. But the black smoke didn’t slither through the cracks in the windows or under the door like it usually did, but instead went straight for Mac. He instantly fell in a heap in the puddle of blood and brains at his feet. Jack couldn’t breathe for a few seconds, the silence deafening after the horrible buzzing noise the smoke had made.
Mac soundlessly maneuvered himself into a kneeling position, head hanging low, drops of blood falling from his hair. After a beat, he shakily got back to his feet and turned towards him, Jack’s eyes following every move.
The right side of his body was drenched in gore. His hair was plastered to his temple. Blood was dripping down the side of his face, making a small, wet noise when the drops reached the floor. Mac’s blue eyes turned neon in a sea of bright bright red. His expression was blank.
Everything stood still for a few seconds. Even Jack’s heart, it seemed, had stopped beating. Tentatively, he tried to break the silence that had fallen down on them.
“Mac?”
Mac smiled a cold, crooked smile (wrongwrongwrong) and cocked his head slightly.
“Think again,” Mac said, mocking, as his eyes turned black.
Jack couldn’t think straight because this couldn’t be real, couldn’t be happening, not now, not after the years he’d spent covering his past, the years he’d spent looking over his shoulder, the years he’d spent with Mac, protecting him. Everything he’d worked for, all gone in a split second. Not only was he fighting demons again, but he’d dragged Mac into this mess. Jack just sat there, looking at his boy and that awful, creepy smile that didn’t fit Mac’s face.
Mac sighed, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck.
“Damn, Jackie” he said in a sultry tone that so not Mac. “I don’t know what else to say but thank you.”
With a flick of his hand, he called Jack to him, grabbing him by the throat, pulling him so close to his face, Mac’s face, so sweet and innocent and nonono not that smile. The black eyes were gone, replaced by familiar baby blue, but there was a glint there that Jack had only ever seen in Murdoc’s eyes. The comparison made him gag. He could smell the dead vessel’s blood from here.
Mac (not Mac, the demon, it was the demon) was studying him intently, corrupted blue eyes scurrying his face. It seemed to go on forever, neither of them moving or saying a word, until the demon closed Mac’s eyes in concentration, his face ever so slightly angling away from Jack’s, brows furrowed. A second later he sighed, shuddering, and released Jack, who staggered but managed to stay upright, shivering.
“What is going on? What are you doing?”
The demon turned Mac’s body towards him, his smile too wide. He seemed completely unhinged, his words interrupted by little, whimper-like laughs.
“Well, your boy is a fighter, Jackie. And to think that all these years, I’ve been longing for you. Oh no, this is much better. Much, much better.”
The demon put a hand through Mac’s hair, then on his face, smearing blood everywhere. It was gloating. Mac’s voice was twisted.
“I mean, the body is a little frail,” he said, opening his arms wide, turning on himself “but the mind. Oh, Jackie, this mind feels amazing.”
Something clicked in Jack, his brain finally catching up.
“No. Please. I’m begging you, please don’t do this.”
If the demon heard him, it definitely didn’t give a shit about Jack’s begging.
“Oh, and he’s strong too. I can’t believe you never even trained him,” he was laughing and everything felt wrong “never told him anything about me? About us?” The demon twisted Mac’s face in a pout. “Frankly, Jack, I’m hurt.”
Another flick and Jack was sent flying through the room. He barely registered the pain, didn’t even bother getting up, eyes still trained on Mac. What could he do? It wasn't like he was going to shoot Mac. Fucking hell.
Mac was hunched over, hands in his hair again, tugging a little, eyes scrunched up, and a split second later he was standing straight, face to the ceiling, shuddering, his eyes opened wide in complete ecstasy.
Jack was confused and terrified, and he didn’t know what to do. “What the fuck are your doing with him?”
That twisted smile again.
“He’s trying to fight me,” the demon met Jack’s eyes, “but I’m fighting back. Wanna see?”
Mac fell to the floor as if someone had cut his strings. Jack’s immediate reflex was to get up and get to him. He fell to his knees at his boy’s side, the blood on the floor drenching his pant legs, his hands hovering an inch away from Mac’s torso. He was at a loss. He was only just starting to realize how dire the situation was, his mind unable to form even the most basic of plans.
Mac suddenly gasped, eyes opening wide in confusion, looking frantically around, his breathing erratic and uneven. He mumbled Jack’s name, hands blindly reaching out. It was Mac, right there, definitely Mac, and Jack sprang into action; this he knew how to deal with. He caught Mac’s hands with one of his own, the other going to the side of his face, guiding his eyes, grounding him.
“Ja– jack?” Mac’s voice was his again, young and confused.
Jack tried his best to keep the panic out of his voice. “Yeah man, it’s me, I’m here. You’re gonna be alright, okay?”
“Jack what is– what’s going on? I don’t–” His voice trailed down, eyes squeezing shut. He had been panicking at first, but now pain seemed to be settling in, forcing moans through clenched teeth.
Jack’s entire body went cold. I’m fighting back. Wanna see.
No. Nonono please.
To Jack’s horror, Mac’s back arched away from the floor, and he screamed.
“Mac?”
Jack’s instinct was to protect and he gathered Mac from the floor, holding his upper body in his arms as he started to rock. Mac’s hand gripped the back of his shirt so hard his short nails left marks on Jack’s back even through the fabric. His head pressed against Jack’s chest as he tried to escape the pain burning in his veins. Jack muttered small nothings in Mac’s ear, trying to soothe him, but he couldn’t even hear his own voice over Mac’s cries of agony. For what felt like the millionth time today, Jack felt utterly helpless.
Mac was trashing in his arms until he wasn’t. The ordeal hadn’t lasted long, but left Mac whimpering and panting for breath. There were tear tracks running down his face, painfully contrasting with the blood. His voice was hoarse and small.
“Jack?”
“Shh. I’m here man, I got you, just breathe.”
“I don’t– what’s going on?” Mac sounded so young and utterly scared. Jack felt a tear escape his eye.
“It’s nothing, you’re gonna be just fine, okay?”
The hand gripping his back slid down at that, and when Jack looked down Mac’s eyes were black and he was beaming. The emotional whiplash hit Jack so hard he scrambled away until his back hit the wall.
From its position sprawled on the floor, the demon turned Mac’s face towards Jack. His mouth was wide open in a giddy smile.
“So? What d’you think, hm?”
Jack took a second to recover, and felt rage pulse through his body.
“You sick son of a bitch, what the hell are you doing to him? You better let him go, you hear me?”
He knew it was useless, but he needed to act, to do anything other than lay here and watch. The demon didn’t care about any of his pointless threats; it had him now.
No, it had Mac, which was infinitely worse.
Wheels were turning behind neon blue eyes, and for the first time since the situation had gone to shit, the look on Mac’s face was familiar. For half a second, Jack could pretend they were in the war room, back at Phoenix, and Mac was just thinking over a case. It stung even deeper when the demon’s wicked smirk reappeared.
Getting up, Mac absent-mindedly dusted himself, a futile task as his shirt was drenched in blood. He didn’t seem to realize, still apparently deep in thoughts. And then black eyes were piercing through Jack, and Mac laughed, the sound distorted.
“Wait,” the demon said, his voice trailing, seemingly coming to the realization as it spoke, “he’s not just your partner, is he? He’s your kid.”
Jack tried his best not to react, but hearing Mac saying those words with his voice all weird and his tone all wrong got to him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He closed his eyes in a hopeless attempt to keep himself together. Mac’s laugh sent chills running down his spine.
“Ohh, Jackie, how you spoil me. Not only did you offer me a strong vessel, but here I go scouring his memories and what do I learn? He’s your kid! When it rains it pours, eh?”
Jack felt like throwing up. Again.
“Let me try something. He likes science, right? How about a little... experiment, huh?”
The next moment Jack felt his throat constrict, Mac looking at him through strands of bloodied hair, eyes pitch black again, arm straight in front of him, choking him from three feet away. Jack had never seen him so angry. Mac was trembling, every muscle in his body spasming, breathing heavily through his nose. Jack thought he heard him whimpering through the blood pulsing in his ears. Jack was starting to see black spots from the lack of oxygen when everything stopped. Mac fell to his knees, his hands losing themselves in his hair, his shoulders heaving.
“Mac?” Jack said, voice hoarse and rough from the abuse.
Mac made a small humming noise, breath catching in his throat, and nodded. Jack was kneeling in front of him a second later, and slowly cupped his hand around Mac’s trembling jaw. Mac’s eyes were lost on the floor somewhere between them, but he reacted to Jack’s touch.
“Go.”
It was barely a whisper, Mac’s voice trembling and frail.
“Nu-uh, Mac, I’m not going anywhere, you know that.”
“No. Go. Please, Jack, go. I can’t.” His voice trailed down. He was on the verge of tears.
“Yes you can. You’re stronger than that. I know you.”
Hypocrite. You could’ve trained him. Should have trained him.
“No, no, you don’t-” a pause, his eyes shut in concentration, much like the demon had a few times. There was a fight inside Mac’s mind. His hands clasped Jack’s wrists around his face, tugging, trying to make him let go. “I can’t. Please, Jack, please don’t make me do this.”
Jack was getting confused. Before he had anytime to voice his thoughts, Mac looked up at him, tears running down his face. His mouth was agape, trying to form words that wouldn’t come, anything that would make Jack get it. His tugs were getting more frantic, panic building up. His voice was thick when he finally found them.
“He- he wants to hurt you. Please, Jack, you have to go. Don’t make me do this, please I can’t- I can’t hurt you. Come on, Jack please.”
“I’m not leaving you behind, kid.” It was selfish, he knew, but there really was no other way this would play out.
Mac’s panic was rising, and when his fingers started digging too deep in the soft skin of Jack’s wrists, he just threw his arms around his boy and held on.
Mac was sobbing now, muttering the same words over and over again, hands flat against Jack’s chest, pushing him away. He wouldn’t budge.
“You’ll find me. I know you will but please, please you have to go. I can’t do this, don’t make me watch, no, please Jack.” His shoves were getting more and more forceful. “He’s coming back Jack, I can feel it he’s coming back please don’t make me do this.”
Mac’s strength increased in an instant, and with a yell he sent Jack reeling, hitting the wall again. There was no need to check Mac’s eyes (blackblackwrong) to know the demon was back. It crouched next to Jack and put a hand on his shoulder.
“This is on you, you know that, right?” The soft voice and the concerned expression felt so much like Mac.
Jack felt a tear roll down his cheek. “I know, and I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry won’t cut it though, will it? You could have trained me. Why didn’t you train me?” The demon was toying with him, he knew, but Jack didn’t care much. He could pretend Mac was there for a few minutes, and maybe he was; possession was a tricky thing, and the vessel could stay conscious through some of it sometimes.
“I– I didn’t want to drag you into this, I–”
“If you’d given me basic mind training we wouldn't be here, would we? You didn’t even bother trying to protect me. Why? Did you think I wasn't strong enough?”
“No, it’s not– of course not. Fuck, Mac, I’m sorry, I don’t– I had gotten out, and I didn’t want this life for you, and I didn’t–”
“Was I not worth it?”
It felt like a suckerpunch to Jack’s gut. For a moment, everything stood still. Jack’s eyes were lost on the floor, his lips parted, unable to find words. In his peripheral vision, he saw Mac slowly getting up.
“Well,” he said, his voice cold again, “it’s been nice seeing you, Jackie.”
Jack barely had time to see the demon’s foot slam into his temple before everything went black.