#kingryanrisenfromtheashes

Jeremy grunted wordlessly as Ryan’s hands ghosted over him, didn’t even touch him and still caused him pain. Like some sort of force field was broken and even his personal bubble (which was apparently some kind of real thing one way or another) was popped and shattered enough to cause him pain. How did he even get here? Any other heist would’ve gone the same way. A big one like this always has them splitting off, usually into groups of two, and into safehouses around the city to lose their heat and lay low for a little while. JDoolz was somewhat surprised that some of these guys even knew the meaning of the words ‘lay low,’ The Vagabond most of all. Especially when he found out that they were, magically, one and the same, that their magic flowed through some channel in them that kept them alive. It meant they couldn't push themselves--that overdoing magic was literally suicide and it didn’t even make their magic stronger on average. . .unless handled correctly. Jeremy hadn’t grown up using his magic--he had physical strength, threw punches and dropped kicks that broke bones and spirits and whatever else there may have been. He didn’t need this dangerous energy anyway. But the magical criminal underground was a whole different ballpark than the one he’d been playing in, and somehow he went from admiring the abilities of the Fake AH Crew to joining them despite hardly being able to make a spark without hurting himself in his inexperience. “You’ll be fine.” Caleb had told him and his more magically skilled friend and partner Matt, who had agreed to join him in appealing to them, really only meaning to get a closer look. But somehow Caleb was right and while it wasn’t their intention, they’d entered a surprise inauguration after doing simple temp work to help them with some “games” and upcoming jobs. After Brownman’s departure, JDoolz was pushed up onto the plate. He didn’t see how he fit that empty space in their puzzle--wasn’t a sniper so much as he was a brawler--but quickly knew, despite whisperings outside the crew and by their own little militia of lackeys and wannabes, he didn’t need to. He was his own piece of a grander sort. And that piece needed some polish--magically--to get its bearings. Since his rise to the top he’d been placed under the masked member’s tutelage. It was rare that magic flowed and formed and was used the same way in two people who worked together, with one of them being skilled enough to be a teacher to boot. With that plan in place, Jeremy and Ryan were stuck together on jobs, when fleeing police, when hiding out from danger and wherever else it did or didn’t make sense. And when they weren’t, somehow they still crossed paths, when the Crew had some downtime Jeremy would practically chase him down to demand more magical lessons. He was a little surprised the Vagabond never grew tired of him, but he took advantage of the good fortune. Yeah. That was the start of it. Was his life flashing before his eyes? He really couldn’t even tell. Maybe he was just. . .reminiscing. In all that time, he still barely got to know the guy. Jeremy couldn’t help but wonder if Ryan was worried about the same. About missed opportunities between them. He’d’ve liked to think their feelings were mutual in that it was at least pretty cool to work with someone with the same kind of magic in every way. But when he slid his hazy eyes open, the Vagabond seemed impassive as ever. The absence of his mask didn't really occur to him in the dull thumping of his being. The makeup didn’t compare, but got across the same point, and the boney grin that served as his face was replaced by a painted on set of teeth, following his lips in a toothy scowl. “I might’ve fucked myself this time.” He croaked, thankful for the warm and solid presence of the Vagabond’s chest against his back and head, and the warmth and steady hold of his arms, surprisingly gentle around his body. He wondered if he’d’ve just let go if he were on his own.

Ryan had taught him something very important about their magical abilities. They could slowly regenerate on their own overtime, sure, but it was highly detrimental to their health to go too hard with it. The period of weakness, where his magic was inaccessible at risk of his life, where Ryan would zap him with a flash of lightning off the ground if he so much as started drawing on his power after a day of practice, to put it lightly, fucking sucked. To have all this power and not be able to use it, what was the point!? How was he supposed to be a magical asset to them if he could do so little? His complaints that day, in the car with the crew, escaping the cops after a simple robbery gone right, made Ryan chuckle. His face was invisible as usual, but even Jeremy could tell he was grinning beneath the mask. “Is your gun out, JDoolz?” Always about business, The Vagabond never called him by name. Glares at him if he started using his, even in safety and private. Somebody else had to tell him his “human” name (and they used those exact words and sometimes Jeremy didn’t question their legitimacy) and “Ryan” nearly snapped him in half when he wouldn’t share who did. Jeremy stroked his firearm and lifted it into the sight of the rear view mirror, receiving a nod from the skull in the passenger’s seat. “I’m going to teach you something.” He said, still sounding amused, even pleased at the idea. “Remember when I taught you to open your channels? So your magic would flow better and you could draw it wherever you wanted, instead of recklessly throwing magic around and hoping it went in the right direction?” “Well, yeah, that was like lesson one, why?” He’d taught him to make his punches even stronger, to protect the flesh of his hands with magic in and around his fists. He’d taught him to channel his magic through not only parts of himself (which was a fun lesson, one where he swore Ryan may have even been flirtatious towards him, although Jeremy dismissed it without much comment as he had a habit of flirting with anything that showed a sign of human life now and again) but through objects as well, and he sat on the porch swing of a safehouse and watched him shoot and cast magic through sticks “like a little wizard.” He loaded up brass knuckles with “sharpened” energy to brutalize enemies from the inside with only bruises and some cuts to provide any reasoning as to how. He wrapped bullets in magic to amplify pain and effects and even recourse bullets, which nearly knocked the wind out of him with just the effort. (He took him waterskiing to help him understand physically what needed to be done to manipulate a bullet’s course, to help him route magically how to make it all happen. Jeremy found the water skiing much easier. Ryan squeezed his bicep between two fingers and claimed it was understandable as he’d only just started and he’d never really relied on his magic before. His body’s muscles were stronger than his magical ones. He tried not to flex under the pinch.) “And when I shared my magic with you?” It was one of the most intimate experiences of his life, really. He’d never felt anybody touch him that way before. Nobody really knew about his magic and he didn't really consider it something be could feel until it was gone--and then along came Ryan, rolling his own energy over him in waves, like he was dragging cloth over his skin, and then it brushed his own and they threaded together and Jeremy had never felt so powerful before, let alone so intensely one with a person. And then Ryan cut his magic off and retracted himself from him, and despute the absence Jeremy still felt like he’d been injected with caffeine or cocaine or something. Ryan’s magic was just like his own, his body accepted it and welcomed it and he could use it and adapt it to his own needs but. . .it was something else entirely. And it was part of Ryan’s own life. In essence Ryan had healed him by giving up some of his own life, and Jeremy couldn’t imagine doing the same. It seemed utterly foolish. But even when that lesson was over, he played with and examined Ryan’s magical signature--the remaining life force he’d put in him--and kept a reserve of it for as long as he could. It meshed together too well with his own, still remained distinct and even acted almost as if it still wasn’t entirely part of him, nudging and twisting around his magic like a new pet examining its housemates. Like Ryan had truly given him part of himself. “Earth to JDoolz!” Gavin’s somewhat nasally voice cut in, nudging his side as if equally curious to the contents of the lesson. “What!? Uh, yeah, of course! Sorry, just--trying to remember how that worked again.” Ryan didn’t comment on the extended silence. “Well this isn’t going to be spoon fed to you, so you might wanna cut that out of your mind and think about how you’re gonna take it this time around.”

But there was no one to take it from now. He could certainly try taking it from Ryan, but if he wanted him to break his neck he could've probably just asked. No, hiding out in a safehouse, that wasn’t an option, what he’d taught him that day. Not to mention, in the days of sharing prior, he’d taught him that magic and life force were hard to just give away. It was easy for them, their magic so similar, but Jeremy’s own magic made it possible, otherwise he’d’ve had little to “grab onto” to thread it into him. And as far as magic went, he was pretty sure he was empty. To think he did all this to impress a guy not even worried about his coming death. . .at least he was kind enough to hold him whole he faded out.

Jeremy hung out the window, same side as Ryan doing the same, their guns aimed and firing. The police car swerving behind them made it a little hard to follow the given instruction of “shoot to kill” but it was nothing he hadn’t done before. Death came from Ryan first, of course, a well-aimed shot to the chest for the passenger’s side officer. Jeremy had noticed, as he got more in tune with his magic, the dispersing of life among the dead. Some life forces clung to their bodies, only to flow away as like smoke in the wind. Others clung on better and some didn’t stick at all, flying away like popped balloons full of helium into the ether. It wasn’t a visible phenomenon to Jeremy, but one he felt. It felt. . .nice, to free that life. It made him feel like his hair stood on end, excited and energetic. Powerful. But he never realized what a familiar sensation it had been until he was as close to Vagabond doing it as he was now, as close to understanding magical life force and such as he was that day. The officer had died, the life energy, through non magical, had fled the body. . .and then it drew closer. Pulled by some mystical force--more specifically, Ryan’s magical force, which felt like fog and oncoming storms, even when it had nothing to do with those things in its action--towards them, towards Ryan, a magical life vortex swallowing up the resulting energy and channeling it into him. And once it reached him, once Ryan brought it in, the conversion was near instantaneous and with little struggle of any meaning. Like all of Ryan’s life force, it became magic, took on that same feeling of an oncoming storm. “Your turn, JDoolz!” He breathed loudly and raggedly, pleased by the extra energy surging through him. The reaction from inside the car was mixed amazement and disturbance, most never having had seen the event so close.

“Hey, Ry--ugh, Vagabond. . . .” Jeremy grumbled, drawing up whatever physical energy he had left. He didn’t have a grand speech planned--he didn’t plan on any kind of death like this. He wanted to go out active, with a fight, not in practice! But Ryan looked down at him, an eyebrow raised as if surprised he was still hanging on. He wasn’t even trying to get him any help. He must’ve been hopeless. It actually made him a little angry, how little he seemed to care. Instinctively he tried to draw magic to his fist, only to recoil in pain as his muscles all cramped impossibly tight, like they were trying to shrink him. “I didn’t mean shit to you, did I?” He finally growled, eyes screwed shut. He hoped he wasn’t tearing up. He didn’t need to go out even more embarrassed. “That’s why you aren’t upset. You didn’t care from the start, did you. This was just another “bad idea” that Geoff made you go through with, right?” “To be honest,” Jeremy braced himself. He hoped Ryan didn’t notice. “I’m really just waiting for you to give up.” “Well I’m gonna miss you.” He admitted shakily, moving his aching arms so he could grab onto Ryan’s pantsleg tightly. “I’m gonna miss doing crimes and shit with you and getting drunk and letting you take care of me and learning shit from you and killing people with you and I’m gonna miss. . .I’m gonna miss the way it feels to have you in my life. Everyone, but you the most.” He really hoped he wasn’t dying now. He’d hate for his dying breaths to be so cheesy and compliant. The Vagabond didn't need his ego stroked any more than it already had been. Unfortunately, he chuckled over him and pinched his tightened bicep, a familiar little gesture of affection that lit the tiniest spark of hope in Jeremy’s mostly lifeless body. He couldn't bear (or perhaps didn’t have the energy to) try and shake him off. “Oh, no need to worry about missing me from your life for long.”

To pull a life force from another, that other must be willing or dead. Despite what the others joked about in fear, Ryan nor Jeremy could pull the life from their bodies to fuel and heal themselves. (Yet.) Jeremy took the shot and, with some struggle, nailed the driving cop’s head. Ryan said something about this one being easier--the life was trying to stay in the body, even though a corpse struggled to maintain any life at all. (They’d had several conversations about zombie possibilities. Jeremy made plans just in case, if only because he and Matt spent so much time with a certain How To crew who were on the Fakes’ side.) A life struggling to stay in its place meant it would stay still--the only issue being their quickly moving vehicle kept it a little challenging. Ryan enjoyed playing with the weather with his magic. He drew up rain and clouds and wind and lightning storms. So a cyclone, a vortex was easy for him. Jeremy stuck to more pressure-based magic usage, powering up other things he did or used rather than trying to make blasts of energy into flames or floods or just overwhelming pain. So manipulating his energy into its own tool wasn’t his strong point. And this was even more advanced than just that. “Hurry up, Jeremy!” He heard Michael yell over the wind and the whizz and clang of bullets. Panicked at the distance between him and the still warm body of his kill, Jeremy attempted to recreate the cyclonic effect Ryan had made, using his arm as a channeling device to make things a little easier on him. The resulting stroke of magic scratched a thick stripe into the street--too physically focused, not magical enough in its own right. Ryan grabbed him to steady him when he wobbled, trying to rein his power in. “Try making it an extension of your arm instead!” He yelled, muffled through his mask. “It's not going anywhere and you do much better when you have something to base your channeling on!” There, too, he pinched his bicep, then gave his shoulder a clap and held on to encourage him. He tried again, extending his arm and his fingers, extending his magic into a sort of glove around them, then extending it, occasionally flexing his fingers to make sure everything responded accordingly. Someday he hoped Ryan would teach him to see these things(it was a little scary to just push magic into your eyes--he’d hate to join the members of the group with vision problems just because he’d ruined his vision by trying to enhance it) but for now he relied on feeling and on faith. And when his magical claw reached the lingering life force he snapped his fingers over it and gasped, recoiling as his magic snapped back, eating at and converting the other’s life into his own. It fought, for sure, and it fought hard enough that Jeremy fell back into the lads’ laps back in the car, struggling against it as it was all pulled into him and only intensified with the proximity. His magic still unstable but strong, with some screaming and fighting (and a few elbows to the crotches and stomachs of his friends) he overcame it, his magic swallowing it up until it was gone and only he remained. “Sooo, how d'you feel?” Geoff asked as he calmed down and began to breathe normally, able to feel his stabilizing power. Jeremy looked around, trying to see what may have been different besides that they were all back in the car and speeding down the road,cops lost and no more shooting going on. Ryan was watching him, mask obscuring his expression, but he nodded at him in a way Jeremy took to be approval. “I, uh.” He sat himself up with little issue, looking around still. In disappointment, he whined “I may have lost my hat.” Then he examined himself, finding no physical damage seeming to have had lasted, and even his previous wounds seemed to have had cleared up or began to. He felt awake, like he could run a mile if not for old wounds. He felt more lively and energetic than he had all day. “Otherwise, pretty fucking great! Do I--do I have more magic now? Will I live longer?” “I mean, I can’t say anything about how long you’ll live, but you’ve certainly got more life reserve you can use for magic.” Ryan chirped, popping the cowboy hat back onto Jeremy’s head, to his excitement. “Not bad for a first try.”

Ryan's skin crawled as he stepped into the warehouse, sweeping his eyes across the crew gathered.

The thing about immortals was that they were often the only people who knew about immortals. And thereby, the only people who knew how to kill an immortal. It followed, naturally, that evolution had granted immortals two very important gifts; one was the ability to sense each other, the other an immediate instinct to kill each other.

As such, Ryan could pinpoint exactly which of the people in the room were like him.

He knew Geoff. The two of them had met on a Roman Battlefield and the only reason Ryan hadn't given in to the urge to kill him then was because they had been surrounded by other soldiers. By the time they'd taken everyone down, Ryan's bloodlust had been more then satisfied and Geoff had insisted on the two of them drinking the alcohol he had hidden on him.

Jack was a similar situation. Ryan had encountered him for the first time in Florence, when he'd set aside killing to enjoy the renaissance for a few years, and he'd been so shocked by the sight of a large bearded man running through the crowd in a dress that he hadn't had time to take his sword from it's scabbard before he was being pulled along.

However, they weren't the same as Ryan who liked to throw himself into the middle of chaos. They preferred to live their lives among humans, Jack gaining knowledge and Geoff engaging in as many thrills as he could, and this was the first time Ryan had seen them in decades.

He recognized the boy with sandy hair and a large nose as Gavin Free. Geoff had found him Salem. He'd been warned away from the town by immortals who had passed through, but he'd been worried about the prospect of new immortals being born from the cruel deaths being inflicted. Gavin had been his companion ever since, but Ryan hadn't actually met him until now.

The last two in the room were what drew Ryan's attention.

One of them was an immortal with brown curls that peeked out around the edges of a green beanie. Freckles dusted the alabaster skin of his face. A scowl was set on his lips, his arms folded against his chest. The second was human. A boy with black curls and thick rimmed glasses. There was a bright smile across his face and a pink rifle over his shoulder. He had an arm slung across the brunette's shoulders and there was something in their body language that communicated a deep bond.

Ryan found himself focused on them as he crossed the room, wondering. It wasn't uncommon for immortals to be close to humans, but many of them avoided getting as close as the bond between the two appeared to be. He wondered if the boy was new enough to immortality that he still had companions from his life. Then he wondered if the other knew what his friend was, what everyone else in the room was.

"Hey," Geoff called, his gaze flickering over to Ryan. "You came."

"Yeah," Ryan said. He focused his attention on Geoff. "The wars wound down and I figured I'd come see what your proposition was before I picked up another cause."

"Calling it a cause implies you actually care what your fighting for," Jack interrupted.

Ryan shrugged one shoulder in dismissal. "Details." He raised an eyebrow at Geoff, "So, why am I here?"

Geoff was sprawled out in an armchair. There was a sort of Godfather-esque feel to it that only increased when Geoff said, "I've decided to live a life of crime. I thought you might want to join."

"Is that so?" Ryan shifted his weight back on his feet. "And what type of crime are we talking here? Because honestly, Geoff, I've been in the mafia before. It wasn't very much fun."

"Not a mob," Geoff assured. A cheshire grin spread across his face. "A heist crew."

(----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------)

Their first heist isn't a very extravagant job, just a small twenty-four hour convenience store, but it gets Ryan's blood pumping.

They all gave him some grief for killing Geoff, but he just laughed them off as he handed each of them a wad of cash with their cut.

When he reached Ray, the boy didn't reach for the money immediately. Instead, he lifted his eyes to Ryan's. There was none of the irritation from Geoff's gaze or disdain from Michael's, just curiosity. "Why kill Geoff if you weren't going to keep the money?"

Ryan considered the question. After a moment, he shrugged, "I like the way killing makes me feel."

"The fact that Geoff would come back didn't change that?"

"Death is death." Ryan gave a small shrug. "Even when it's not permanent."

Ray stared at him for another moment before giving a small nod. He reached out, long fingers curling around the stack of dollar bills, "Alright." He didn't draw the cash away from Ryan's palm.

Ryan stared down at him and Ray didn't make any attempt to look away.

A smile curled at the edges of Ryan's lips. He said, "I just admitted killing made me feel nice. You're the only mortal in this room. And yet you aren't even a little bit scared."

"You could only kill me once," Ray pointed out. "You could have a lot more fun with anyone else in this room."

"Perhaps," Ryan admitted. "But I happen to find you more intriguing then anyone else in this room. It gives you a lot more appeal."

There was a growl from beside Ray. Ryan's eyes flickered over to see Michael baring his teeth at him. "Touch Ray and I'll rip your head off myself."

Before Ryan could say anything, Ray reached out and placed a hand on Michael's shoulder. Ryan found himself a bit irritated when Ray turned his head away from Ryan to focus on Michael. "Chill. He won't do anything to me."

"I won't?" Ryan questioned, even though he already knew the answer.

"No. You won't find me nearly as intriguing if I'm nothing more then a corpse."

The smile on Ryan's face grew. He heard Jack mutter something about the expression being creepy on him.

"True enough," Ryan conceded. With all the money handed out, Ryan figured there was no reason for him to hang around the warehouse. He turned on his feet and strolled towards the doorway, calling over his shoulder, "Call me when you've got another job ready."

"Do we have to keep him?" he heard Michael say. "Couldn't we do the jobs just fine without him? He's creepy. "

"He's the best at what he does," Ray said. "Plus, I kind of like him."

There was a deep feeling of satisfaction in Ryan's chest as the door slammed shut behind him.

(---------------------)

Their second heist goes to shit even quicker then the first one and Ryan ends up getting absolutely nothing out of it.

He made sure everyone knew how pissed off about it he was.

Instead of leaving afterwards, Ryan bums around the warehouse with the rest of them. He glared at any of them when they bothered looking at him, bared his teeth and stabbed a knife into the table when Gavin looked at him since the heist had been planned by the Brit, and offered up stories about the various kills he'd made every half hour.

After several hours of this, Ray approached his table.

"What?" Ryan snapped.

"You gotta stop this shit," Ray answered with a gesture at Ryan. "Everyone is pissed off that that job sucked so much, but you don't see me making Gavin shit his pants."

"I've never had a job go this bad in my life," Ryan said. "And it has been a very long life. I'm not pleased to have this on my record."

"You're not a one man team anymore. We're gonna fuck up occasionally." Ray paused for a moment, letting Ryan soak in the words. "If you're that annoyed, then plan the next heist yourself."

Ryan was about to bark out another snappy retort when he registered the suggestion. He thought about it for a moment before dismissing it. "No one would go along with it. They'd assume I'm just doing it to kill someone."

Ray shrugged, "I don't have a problem backing your agenda as long as I get paid."

(-------------------------------------)

Ryan ends up planning a heist.

It goes well until everyone dies within the same five minutes.

At the end it's just him and Ray in the tunnels.

As they're running down them, Ryan says, "I guess there doesn't have to be two of us." He turned to Ray, gun pointed at the other.

"Don't you fucking do it," Ray answered.

He turned, shot Ryan without any hesitation.

In the few moments between Ray squeezing the trigger and the bullet slamming into his body, Ryan's feelings tipped from curious affection to love.

(------------------------------------)

When Ryan came back to, he was laid across the pool table in the warehouse and Ray was standing to the side.

He was propped up on his elbows, watching Ryan. He spoke when Ryan turned his head to face him, "I would have put you on a couch, but Jack had Michael and Gavin on them when I dragged your corpse in."

"Better than the floor, I suppose." Ryan turned away, staring up at the ceiling. There was a pause before he said, "You said before that I wouldn't kill you."

"You won't," Ray said.

"But you shot me anyway. You killed me."

"Yeah."

Ryan faced him again. He raked his eyes over Ray's body, taking in the calm set of the boy's shoulders even as he spoke to a man who had a gun pointed at him hours earlier, before reaching out.

He slid his hand up Ray's skin, cradled his jaw in his palm and spread his fingers out so that Ray's pulse was beating under one of them.

"I fell in love with you when you shot me," Ryan murmured. "The fact that you were challenging me already made you incredibly attractive to me. The fact that you had the guts to kill me only made it worse."

"You are such a weirdo," Ray answered.

"Yeah. So are you, though."

Ryan lifted off the pool table and pressed their lips together.

Ray didn't pull away.

(-------------------------------------)

Their relationship is a strange one.

They're rarely affectionate with each other though Ray has picked up a habit of ending conversations between the two of them with a quick press of their lips and whenever they stand next to each other Ryan ends up with his fingers dancing across the back of Ray's neck.

They snipe back and forth constantly, throwing sharp threats and sarcasm in every direction.

The others in the crew don't really get it, and Michael has made it clear just how much he hates that his best friend was 'shacking up with an unkillable psychopath', but Ryan doesn't really care either way.

The fact of the matter is that he finds Ray irresistible and he never wants to lose the fire that curls in his gut when they argue.

(-------------------------------------)

Michael plans their next heist.

It will be years before Ryan calms down enough to admit that his plan would have been clever had it gone the way it was supposed to.

(-------------------------------------)

Ryan goes down first. He hears Ray make some token sentiments about his anger and it's enough to make him laugh as he's falling to the ground.

The problem occurs when Ryan comes to and finds Ray on the ground. There's a bullet hole in his neck and his chest is covered in blood.

Ryan's gets loss in the pulse of his anger in his ears and the blood of cops on his fingers as he takes out every single person still in the vicinity.

Ryan's bloodlust ends up saving the day.

He had been so preoccupied with taking revenge, that he hadn't noticed Ray's fingers twitching or the gurgling sounds coming from is mouth.

It turns out getting shot in the throat and choking on your own blood while your boyfriend rampages to defend your honor counted as horrific enough to grant immortality.

(-------------------)

"I am never letting you out of my sight again," Ryan swore.

The two of them were sitting in a corner of the warehouse. Ryan had Ray sprawled across his lap, his arms around him and his head buried in his neck. They'd been sitting like that for hours and anytime one of the others tried to approach, Ryan had sent them an icy glare.

He'd thrown a knife right into Michael's heart when he had tried to approach because it's didn't matter that Michael had intended for Ryan to go down and for Ray to back off while he recovered. Ray had died and that was all on Michael.

"I'd argue now is the time when you can let me out of your sight," Ray murmured. "Given that I'm unkillable and all."

"You are not unkillable. Taking your head off would end you the same way it would anyone else," Ryan said. He punctuated his words with a nip at Ray's neck.

"Yeah, but you won't let that happen. Right?"

Ryan nodded against him. "Right."

Because the thing is, Ryan may have been drawn to Ray's humanity but it's not what kept him around.

He stayed for the cruelty hidden under the trash talk and the intelligence hidden under the jokes. He'd stayed because Ray was so much more then he appeared to be. He'd stayed because Ray was the one person worth Ryan's time.

"Fuck, I am so fired for this." Ryan Haywood sighed, pulling into the gas station. "Third time I'll be late this week, damn idiot I am, forgetting to fill up yesterday." He mumbled. Ryan couldn't believe his luck that week. First his car broke down on Monday, then there was an accident on Tuesday, and now his damn car is out of gas.

"I think the universe is trying to tell me something." He muttered. He finished filling up and went inside the gas station to pay, not bothering to lock the doors.

"Hello, sir, I'll be with you in a minute, feel free to look around for a bit." The cashier said politely. Ryan nodded and walked around, picking up a few snacks and a cup of coffee. He deserved something nice, after all. He picked up a newspaper and began to read.

"Carjackings, huh?" He mumbled.  "Been happening all over town recently. I can help you, now, by the way." The cashier said. Ryan walked up to the counter and sat his things down. "Stay safe, y'hear? Keep those car doors locked." "Thanks, Adam. And you know you can call me Ryan, right? I come here every day, we're basically friends at this point." "No can do, sir. I like to keep some level of professionalism, even if I am working a gas station. I'll see you around." Adam laughed, and Ryan smiled before going to his car.

"Geoff is going to kill me this time, I can feel it." Ryan groaned before starting his car and pulling out onto the highway. He drove for a few minutes in silence before he heard a click from behind him. God dammit, he thought, the sound registering as a gun.

"Take me to Huston, now." The stranger said from behind him. "Take me now, or I shoot." "You really had to pick me, didn't you." It wasn't phrased as a question, but the stranger answered anyway.  "You were the first person to come to that gas station and leave the car doors unlocked." He said hesitantly. Ryan sighed.  "Idiot me, forgot to lock the damn car doors."

"I don't think you fully grasp the severity of your situation; aren't you worried about the fact that I'm holding a gun to your head?" "With the week I've been having, nothing surprises me anymore. You have a name, kid?" Ryan asked. He saw the stranger lower his gun.  "Why the fuck would I tell you, so that you can report me to the police? I'm not that stupid." "Going to the police would just make me more late, I don't have time for that. Just tell me your first name at least so I don't have to keep calling you kid." "It... It's Ray." Ray muttered out. Jesus, he couldn't even carjack right.  "Well Ray, want some cheese-its? I got some at that gas station. They are pretty salty for some reason, but who cares, right?" Ryan said, tossing a pack into the back seat.  "... Thanks." Ray mumbled, opening the package and eating them one at a time.

---

Once in the desert, against the backdrop of war

-

Sand sucked.

It seemed fun at the beach, but months of it unrelentingly inserting itself into the tiniest places was enough to drive Geoff up the wall.

To be fair, this was a war zone, and there were other things that sucked more, so he didn’t complain about the sand too much.

He sighed and turned his attention to whatever bizarre story James was telling.

James told a lot of stories. Most of them involved aliens of some sort; other times he told stories of love and loss. And he was a good storyteller too, Geoff spent a lot of time listening to him when the VHS player broke down again, or when there was too much buzzing in his head and he wanted to hear someone else think for a while.

Geoff first met Captain James Hardy in the mess hall on his second night there. Later, he’d mostly muster up only vague impressions of those early days – hot wind, gritty eyes, sand already getting on his nerves – but he distinctly remembered that encounter.

James was loud and charming, in the same way a fraudster is loud and charming. Geoff thought he could see the sleaziness rolling off the man in spades, but his gut was drawn to him. There was something trustworthy about him, and James proved it over and over again in the following months.

And James was brave; he returned from some ventures that should have killed him but didn’t, and he cared about his people.

There was one night – the edge of cold and the creeping darkness – when Geoff sat with his notebook, piecing together his notes into something workable that he heard a whirring sound. A whirring, grinding, messy sound, with a note of something out of a science-fiction show. It was fucking loud, too.

In the background, whatever story it was that James was telling abruptly cut off, even as Geoff’s head snapped up and looked in that direction. His eyes were blown wide, jaw dropping open, but not even a second later he started grinning maniacally.

Everyone else in the room just looked confused and a tad frightened.

Before too long, a man in a long brown coat walked into the room. He scanned the room before fixating his gaze on James.

“Captain James Hardy. You’re being transferred.”

“Yes, sir,” James responded, huge smile on his face.

“Please come with me.”

Jack and the unidentified man walked out of the room, easily in step, and Geoff thought he could see the old camaraderie between them, and he thought he heard “Jack Harkness” whispered between them, and he couldn’t help wondering who the mysterious man was.

(Many years later, he would wonder what became of Captain James Hardy, but no one who had served with him had heard anything from him since that day.)

-

And then once in a back alley, in the middle of the night

-

The thing is, Ray doesn’t go out of his way to find dangerous situations. It’s why he stays home so much. The reason being that he finds himself in such a multitude of many tenuous situations that it’s probably not a coincidence.

It had seemed, at the time, like a good idea to head through an alleyway. It looked empty, the lighting was – well, it was shit, but it wasn’t the worst he’d ever seen – and it was wet and he just wanted to get home. So he had ducked in and made it about halfway through before being confronted by a big guy with a long, shiny knife.

Great.

“Gimme all your money, asshole.”

Ray sighed, trying not to let it show too much, and moved slowly to grab his wallet from his pocket.

“Yeah, yeah.”

He carefully extracted it and held it out to the mugger, who snatched it quickly. A second later, another man bustled through the alley, bumping into both of them.

“Hey, watch it, fucker! You -” the mugger yelled. The other man was adorned in a tweedy brown suit, and his  bright red bow tie and fez were visible even in the half-light.

Despite being almost a head smaller than the thug, the newly arrived man stared him down. Ray watched in confusion. He’d had enough trouble as it was.

"Me what? I think you ought to give this man his wallet back."

"Or?"

Ray saw the man reach into an inner pocket and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the mugger’s gaze also drawn to the silvery light-emitting device that had been extracted. It looked like it fit in the suited man’s hand. Well, at least one of them had a weapon.

“You think that’s gonna scare me?” the mugger asked, eyebrows raised sceptically.

“Three.”

“What the fuck?”

“Two. One.”

The bow-tied man sighed and pressed a button.

There was a moment of almost comical suspension of time, and then the mugger fell to his knees, desperately clamping his hands over his ears.

"Run," the strange man said, tossing him Ray wallet.

Ray did.

The two of them bolted from the alley until they found themselves almost a block away, Ray panting, trying to catch his breath, heart pumping.

“Thanks man,” he gasped out.

The other man, seeming to recover better than Ray from their impromptu exercise, just grinned.

“No problem.”

Another grin, and the suited man took off again, leaving Ray still walking it off, wondering what the hell had just happened.

-

Once when the world was in danger, but no one was awake

-

So maybe the streets were a little quieter while Michael was heading over to Gavin’s on foot. So maybe Michael wasn’t paying as much attention as he should have been to where he was walking.

So maybe he didn’t notice the huge box before he walked into it on the street.

Michael stopped and backed up a few steps as he looked at the thing he’d walked into.

It was a dark blue, wooden box, pretty tall, reminiscent of the old telephone boxes, but the wrong colour.

He ran around to the other side of the box to try and find the entrance, only to find it locked.

That was strange.

Then he looked around.

It seemed like it was a scene out of Sleeping Beauty or something.

The streets were strewn with the sleeping – how he hadn’t tripped over a body he didn’t know – and now that he noticed it, he could see a slight film over his vision, as though his glasses were getting foggy, but wiping them down didn’t seem to make any difference.

There was a slight heaviness to his limbs, as though he was dreaming, but he could read the sign on the side of the telephone box, so either Gavin was wrong or he would be waking up sooner or later.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man and a woman running along the street, nimbly navigating their way around the people on the path.

Michael tried to call out to them because they might know what the fuck is going on here, because he sure as hell didn’t but before he could, it was like he was being dragged underwater, and he couldn’t breathe –

Michael woke up.

He scrubbed his hand across his face, wondering why there was a sense of dread curled up in his gut. It felt like he was forgetting something – something that might explain why there was a sore spot on his head, something about a blue wooden panel that seemed oddly familiar.

He ran through what he had to do for the rest of the day: go to work, film, edit, get groceries, and go to Gavin’s place.

And no matter how much he squirmed or swallowed or tried to remember, there was no loosening the knot in his stomach.

He didn’t know why, but he kept his phone is his pocket the entire way to Gavin’s, paying attention to where he was going, every step of the way.

-

And once a lifetime ago

-

Gavin wasn’t at the bottom of the social ladder at his high school, but he also certainly wasn’t at the top. And one of the reasons for that was because he was friends with Dan, who was bigger than him, and super athletic, and friends with all the coolest kids.

Dan was currently overseas.

This was a slight problem, because Gavin decided – it was accidental! – to offend the coolest kid in school. It wasn’t his fault that the other kid had left himself open.

So Gavin had run. He would be able to make it up somehow but right now he didn’t feel like being cornered by a bunch of kids bigger than he was. It certainly didn’t help that they were angry at him.

There weren’t many places to hide at a high school, Gavin realised, as he swore under his breath as he ducked around a corner and tried to fit himself beside a bush.

“Oh, Gavvy-boy, we know you’re there,” came a sing-song voice.

Well, this was fucking great, wasn’t it? Gavin just tried to keep quiet, hoping he could give them the slip and head back to where the rest of his friends were hanging out.

His hopes were dashed by the sound of footprints following him around the corner.

“Stop hiding like a fucking coward.” The threat of physical violence was oh-so-clear in the tone, and Gavin gathered himself to spring up when he heard a new set of footsteps approach.

“What’s going on boys?” a voice demanded. Gavin knew that voice – Mr Smith taught science, and he was one of those super relaxed teachers that was also really cool. In a dorky, hip kind of way.

“Nothing, sir.” Even Gavin could hear the edge of condescension in the bully’s voice.

“Okay. Well, I need you to clear the area. Maintenance needs access.”

Gavin heard rather than saw the footsteps leaving. He was concentrating so much on them that he didn’t notice that Mr Smith had made his way over to him and was kneeling down in front of him, eyes level.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice soft.

“Yeah,” Gavin said, standing up and brushing off his pants.

Mr Smith mirrored his motions. “Did they do anything?”

“Nah, it was all talk,” Gavin answered, plastering a grin on his face. “I’m fine, honestly.”

“Come on, then. We need to get out.”

Gavin knows for a fact that no maintenance took place there that day. He also vaguely remembers the teacher muttering something about sticks and stones, and doesn’t want to think too hard about what that was supposed to mean.

-

Then once again when the world was falling apart

-

Ryan sort of sighed as he was borne into the air by a particularly strong gust of wind. It was terrifying, yes, but these sorts of alarming things tended to happen to him remarkably often.

It was only when he looked down that he realised, oh, the ground was literally falling apart.

Where he had been standing moments before, the concrete and asphalt had broken up like breadcrumbs and some had even started to begin shifting.

It was like a particularly bad nightmare, all things considered.

The world was breaking, he was flying, people were screaming, and in the distance, a blue box was appearing out of thin air – wait, what?

Actually, if this were a dream, Ryan wouldn’t question the strange things his subconscious came up with.

But out of the strange blue box popped two heads. They looked a little bit shocked and immediately ducked back inside.

After a moment, grey, steely matter seemed to seep out of the cracks. It looked thick, like honey gone horribly wrong.

The blue box landed on the ground.

So did Ryan.

He landed in the sticky, gooey grey – ha, he had been right – and felt it tug against his ankle, trying to drag him. He kicked out at it viciously, but it was a liquid and soon he was like the other people on the ground, limbs caught and struggling.

And in the distance, the two faces he’d seen earlier from the box seemed to be yelling at each other, a sight which then morphed into the taller man yelling something unintelligible.

Which then caused everything to stop.

That was nice.

The grey goo was still there, which was less nice, but at least it didn’t seem to want to drown him anymore.

Under the influence of some silvery wand wielded by the taller of the box inhabitants, the goo seemed to rise out of the ground, sealing up the cracks that it had created.

Ryan watched in confusion as it turned into several smaller blobs and just shot off into the sky.

After they’d disappeared from sight, Ryan looked around and saw the same bewildered expression on everyone’s faces. Well, except for the two people that disappeared into the now vanishing box.

When Ryan woke up the next day, he was certain he’d dreamt everything. But the calendar showed that he was missing a day’s worth of memories, and well, maybe it was crazy enough to be true.

-

And finally, once when they were all together.

-

They had all crashed at Geoff’s house the night before. It was two nights before Christmas, and although the weather had been cooler than usual the day before, Jack woke up to snow beginning to pile up outside.

He blinked a few times, rubbing at his eyes to make sure he was seeing it right.

That was definitely unexpected.

Snow was rare enough that native Austinites planned for it weeks in advance, but none of them had heard anything about this in the news at all.

Jack just stared out of the window, watching the snow pile up around the yard, still too sleepy to be excited.  

Behind him, he could hear Michael beginning to wake up, soft snores fading as he entered wakefulness.

“Morning, Jack,” he whispered, sidling over to the older man.

“Morning,” Jack responded, relaxing into Michael.

“Oh my god, yes! Snow day!” Michael yelled excitedly as he noticed why Jack was checking out the window, effectively waking the rest of them up.

A jumble of confused noises followed, while Jack just grinned fondly at them.

It wasn’t long before they received a call telling them not to try the traffic and that no one was expected at work, so it was just a long, lazy day of games and laughter, blanket forts and too many cushions on the couch.

Jack watched, heart fond, as his boys drifted off to a light doze in the early afternoon, Ray and Gavin leaning against Michael, who then leaned back into Ryan and Geoff, who was slumped into his side, like a domino chain of sleepiness.

Jack didn’t fight it when he felt the drowsiness as well.

And when they all woke up later, necks complaining, all the snow was gone.

-