Chapter Text
Even when I was a child
I've always known
There was something to be frightened of.
It's back again. Jack groaned into his pillow, wanting to throw it at the wall. Hell, he wanted to ball up under his blue comforter and haul it over his head like a little kid. Not again. He knew not to make too much noise, though; his sister's room was next door, and Emma'd never been a heavy sleeper.
That was how this whole thing started, anyways. That's what the psychiatrists thought. Jack hadn't made the connection himself until they'd pulled the whole story out of him, piece by piece.
She was ten years younger than him, and Jack had been determined to be a good older brother. So it wasn't really a surprise that when they shared a room, she toddled across the floor to climb in bed with him when she couldn't sleep. Jack would hug her, wrap her in his comforter, and tell her that he'd keep the nightmares away. And Emma would finally sleep, dead to the world, while Jack gradually suffered worse and worse dreams.
Dreams of losing Emma in a crowd, where he couldn't find the tousled brunette head no matter how long he looked. Dreams of failing every class and test where words suddenly swam and became incomprehensible. Dreams of upsetting his mother, disappointing his father. Dreams of falling into darkness and never being able to make it back up to the light, no matter how hard he tried.
He'd wake up, trembling and shaking and praying he'd been silent this time. But his cardinal rule was that he must never wake up Emma.
They'd come in waves; he'd be fine for a few months, then for a week or two he'd barely be able to sleep. Finally, when he was fourteen, his parents had sent him to therapy. Who told them that Jack was a remarkable resilient young man, but perhaps they were putting too much stress on him to look after his younger sister. That wasn't long before his parents divorced and Jack figured that his mom needed someone to talk to more than him. After that, he tried to hide signs of when it was happening. He was fine. He'd be fine. He wasn't depressed, he wasn't crazy. It was just this thing that happened, and he couldn't help it.
At least he got to discover the wonderful world of coffee by the time he hit high school. They moved often enough to follow his mom's jobs that it didn't make sense to worry about finding a new therapist every time, and no one ever really cared if the pale, weird kid at school came in with bags under his eyes for a week. Jack got better at coming up with cover stories as he went; stayed up all night studying, couldn't stop reading this book, got sucked into the MMO raid that never ended. . . His mom would smile indulgently at him. Sometimes, he thought she'd call him out on it, but she never did. Maybe she just wanted to believe they'd stopped, too.
They didn't. Jack never really figured out what made them stop and start; he just knew when he was in for a bad night.
This was going to be one.
It was like the anxiety and fear crept into his bones and made themselves at home. He knew it wasn't part of him, it wasn't his usual self, but he couldn't stop thinking about every little thing that bothered him. Was he actually going to graduate all right? Would he be able to keep his friends here for once? Did his friends actually like him, or was it just because he'd made good with their de facto leader? Would he be able to go to college, and if he did, what about Emma? Maybe he'd drop out and be a failure for the rest of his life.
Some nights, he never managed to fall asleep; other times, he did, and he regretted it, because whatever his subconscious threw at him was always worse than anything he could ever think up awake.
Jack rolled over on his back, throwing his covers off. Augh. Fine. So that's the way the night was going. He grumbled a little as the cold autumn air hit him, shuffling out of bed to his desk. The light from the computer shouldn't reach the door; the last thing he wanted was his mom checking on him. She'd probably think he's looking at porn or something equally horrifying. Gah.
The flash the screen made as the computer booted up always made the shadows flicker oddly. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack thought he saw a shape for a second, then shook his head and squinted as his eyes adjusted. Nah, nothing. Probably just that he'd left his closet door open with his jacket tossed over the corner.
He turned his attention back to the screen as a chat window pinged open.
IWantToBelieve: Hey, you're up late.
Jack grinned wryly. Only a little past midnight, of course Jamie was still up. The sophomore had a bad TV habit. He'd teased Jamie about not knowing what a DVR was for, and gotten a stubborn "It's not the same!" from the younger boy. Something about it feeling more authentic catching glimpses of things in the dead of night. Like staying up late with a flashlight to catch Santa Claus.
Me: Yeah, doubt I'm sleeping tonight. What're you watching, Mulder?
IWantToBelieve: A really cheesy cryptozoology show on SyFy- they're going to Bhutan to look for yeti. Insomnia?
Me: Bhutan? Not really, just can't sleep sometimes.
IWantToBelieve: http://lmgtfy.com/?q=where+is+Bhutan That's sorta what insomnia means, Jack
Me: Smartass. Himalayas? I thought yeti were all . . . polar, Russia and backwoods Canada.
IWantToBelieve: That's one theory, anyways. You've actually been paying attention?
Me: You kinda make it hard not to. And some of it's kinda cool. Haven't forgiven you for making me play Slender with you, though. I almost thought I saw something tonight
IWantToBelieve: Really?
IWantToBelieve: Oh man, I'm sorry if it's giving you nightmares. Didn't think about that.
Me: Just a shadow out of the corner of my eye. Nothing's actually there, don't get excited. And totally not your fault, I just get bad dreams sometimes all on my own.
IWantToBelieve: That's your not-insomnia?
Jack hesitated, biting his lip, then went ahead and shrugged to himself. Jamie had come clean about being a paranormal enthusiast and total myth geek practically right away when Jack had met him; he wasn't going to tease Jack about it. It was easier to admit to over the computer than in person.
Me: Yeah. Every couple of months, I can't sleep for a week or two, then I'm good.
IWantToBelieve: You've tried sleeping pills?
Oh, had that been a mistake when he was fourteen. He'd only tried a few nights before flushing away the rest of them and lying through his teeth about them not working properly.
Me: Tried, do not even want to go there again. Try having really bad nightmares you can't wake up from.
IWantToBelieve: Ouch. That sucks
IWantToBelieve: Have you tried talking to someone?
Code words for "Dude, have you made sure you're not crazy?" Jack rolled his eyes. At least Jamie was trying to be polite about it, a lot better than some kids had who'd found out he was getting therapy. He hadn't been sad to leave that school behind. Middle class Pennsylvania suburbia did have aggressive tolerance going for it.
Me: Yep, certified clean bill of health. They don't know what's wrong with me, either.
IWantToBelieve: Maybe it's not you
Me: What?
IWantToBelieve: Maybe you're being . . . haunted or something
Me: What, you want to arrange an exorcism? Thanks but no thanks
Jack rubbed the back of his neck to get rid of the odd prickles. Maybe there was a draft.
IWantToBelieve: It's not just ghosts, there's other things that do nightmares. Let me do some research
IWantToBelieve: Ugh, show's over, Mom'll be pissed if she catches me still up. I'll talk to you tomorrow.
Me: Knock yourself out. Night, Jamie
Jack leaned back from the computer, scanning his room. Everything was right where it always was; desk, dresser, messy closet, twin bed shoved up against the wall. Nothing looked weird. No reason to think he wasn't alone.
Except his coat wasn't on the closet door, it was tossed on his dresser. Awesome.
Definitely not even trying to sleep tonight.