Don't Tempt Me

Forgive me if I don’t remember what my plan had been - I only had her in my hands for a few hours before your fuckin’ dad decided to chase me into hiding and give me a few new holes for my trouble.

[ Mood for joking gone, evidently. ]

Yes, sorry, I forgot you’re the only person who has ever been tortured or experienced pain. Some of us just fucking shut up about it and make sure it won’t affect us so much in the future.

“If I remember correctly the plan was to turn me into your own personal weapon while holding my family hostage as leverage, with an added shock collar as insurance.” Voice still flat. Trying so hard not to bring up Targent, because this Jean was the better one that was trying to be good.

Imagine being afraid of pain. Pathetic.

…Hey, that’s a false equivalency and you know it. I kept Nate very safe, and Leonard positively spoiled her! Sure, maybe I could’ve gone about it a little better, but we didn’t hurt a hair on her head! And you’re still assuming that I’m going to miss!

“... ...You used her as blackmail, Jean. How was I to know that hurting a child wasn’t something you’d do? You’d already been hurting me, and I was also still a child at the time. Nothing you’d ever done before that point implied you’d do anything other than treat her as yet another fun new toy to torture.” Voice soft. Just kind of staring at Jean.

Oh, I understand it. What I don’t understand is why you, of all people, are so vehemently against being shot in the head – and also why everyone in the room was convinced that I was going to miss.

“I’m afraid of being shot in the head because it hurts, Jean. Just because it won’t kill me permanently doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell. Plus, last time I was shot in the head you kind of kidnapped my child, so I’m just a bit wary of it.

:(

And has it crossed your mind that maybe not everyone wants to be “a perfectly ordinary man”? Maybe you’re right that Desmond put me here, but not once have you considered that maybe here is where I want to be?

[ Some of Hershel’s swings miss, and part of Jean is convinced that it’s the only thing keeping him composed. He knows far more than he should, far more than Jean thinks he would ever tell someone he hates this much - hell, not even Leonard knew any of this - but the trip ups are just enough for Jean to remain in his delusion that he’s just getting lucky. ]

[ When Hershel impales himself on Jean’s knife, he’s given pause. It’s enough to distract him from where his mind had been going - zoning in on the word lookalike, wondering if that’s the only reason Desmond picked him out - and for a moment, he just looks at where blade meets shirt, and beneath it, flesh, seemingly numb to the development. ]

[ And then, just as it looks like he’s about to snap out of it and start laughing again, Hershel swings, and the surprise of a fist connecting with the side of his head means that not only does he stumble backwards, he also lets go of the knife, leaving it embedded in his adversary’s chest. ]

[ Shit. ]

If I were doing as Desmond wanted, I wouldn’t be here. I definitely wouldn’t be causing harm to his precious little brother. I would be out in the fucking boonies digging for million-year-old secrets, but instead of that I’m doing something just as pointless. Did you forget your place, Hershel? Did you forget how healthy fear can be?

[ His only weapon is on Hershel’s person. Jean’s only option is to try and get it back, so ignoring the threat of being punched again, he moves back in. ]

“Of course you’re ordinary. You’re boring and predictable. ‘I don’t like this person, so I’m going to kill them’,’this man made me angry, so I’m going to kill them’, on and on until the end of bloody time.” Hershel spat, gripping onto the knife’s handle when Jean fell away. “Your solution to any trouble or issue is ‘stab it with something sharp until it stops moving’, unless you’re feeling creative in which case the answer changes to ‘shoot it with a gun until it stops moving’, with the occasional sprinkling of ‘stick it in the basement, until it stops moving’.” Jean was dangerous, but he’d hardly been the most creative.

Everything he could do, and he chose the cliche option.

He stood there a moment, panting. Glaring hard at Jean, holding onto the knife-handle. Yanking it out with a pained cry, and trying not to think about the sensation of flesh trying to knit itself back together now that the obstruction was gone. The fact it was healing now didn’t stop it from hurting like hell, however.

[ He’s not backing away. He’s not cowering, or asking him to leave him alone, or begging him to put the knife down. He’s just angry. Jean, for convenience’s sake, wishes he’d come more prepared; it’s always easier to have a gun, as much as he doesn’t like using them in a populated area. But Hershel, for all his bravery, is slightly less threatening in form than he had been the last time they met, and he’s welcoming death. Jean fancies his chances. ]

I see what you’re doing. [ The outward portion of his anger flows out with a short sigh. He’s in control. He’s staying in control. ] No, Layton, I’m afraid nobody turned me into a killer but myself. I don’t answer to anyone, especially not ghosts.

[ As much as he knows those ghosts can still cause harm. ]

[ Jean gets close enough to press the point of the knife into Hershel’s sternum, as though testing the waters, making sure he’s not going to try anything funny when he gets close enough. Then, after some thought, he moves it just slightly up, and just slightly left, orienting his weapon so the flat side of the blade is horizontal, confident in his ability to slide it between a couple of ribs. ]

The artist is dead, Layton. I killed your brother. The masterpiece has ownership of itself, now, and here it is, making decisions on its own. [ How best to hide a dead body so it can’t escape when it wakes back up? ] Do you have anything to say to Nate? I might not know where she is, but I can pass the word on, I’m sure…

“I was under the impression that if not for Simon, you’d have just been a perfectly ordinary man. Because nothing would have happened to you. No Simon, no Targent, No Layton - none of it.” That had been how things went, right? Simon needed a Descole, and that in turn put him in Layton’s path, which led to the immortality thing. Right? “What reason would you have had to be a monster if Simon hadn’t plucked himself a look-alike out of the crowd? He taught you to be a monster, and instead of spitting on his memory and being a good person anyway, you decide to follow along and do just as he wanted.”

That was something he’d never understood. Killing Simon just meant Simon had succeeded, didn’t it? He’d wanted a killer and that’s what he’d gotten, tenfold over. Dying meant nothing if his project succeeded in the end.

“Your Simon isn’t my brother. Don’t try to trip me up feeling bad about somebody I never met.” Again his gaze flicks to the knife. So close to his person, it makes him nervous. Jean fully intends to stab him, but something in Hershel gets angry at that idea. So, with a brief moment to gather himself - he quickly steps forward. Into the knife, wincing at the pain but resuming his glare at Jean as quickly as he can manage.

‘Come on Hershel, you've gone through way worse than this’, he tells himself.

“The masterpiece is still acting out the motions he programmed into it.” He spits, through the admittedly horrid pain burning through him. “You could’ve done everything in your power to get away from it, to spit on everything he stood for, and look at you. You didn’t. Targent tried to do the same thing to me. And you on top of that. And I haven’t taken a single life in years. You’re weak, and you know it.” He follows up by trying to deck the man - no more fear. None.

[ Jean doesn’t even dignify that first part with a response - he doesn’t want to encourage Hershel to talk about the other Jean more than strictly necessary. He’s not sure whether it’s their differences, or the act that he’s in such close quarters with another version of himself, but it’s beginning to make him feel sick. ]

[ Well, there’s that, and then there’s the fact that what Hershel says next damn near stops him from breathing. Every muscle Jean’s got stiffens, anger shifting in the blink of an eye from cold and cruel to loud and fiery and completely, completely unable to be reasoned with. The cane has to be in only one hand, now, his right - where it’s most needed - while his left hand slips under his jacket’s lapel, pulling out a knife so big it may as well be a machete. ]

Who the hell have you been talking to? He is not – he was not my master, and you’ll do well to – [ The cane drops to the ground. Jean feels pretty confident that he’s not going to have to do any running away. He’s charging, instead, towards Hershel, one hand on the knife, another ready to grab anything to hold him in place. ] – I am going to cut your fucking tongue out. Reckon you could regrow it? You’d better hope you don’t.

I’ve got all year, kid. I don’t mind killing you until you don’t wake up again.

“Oh isn’t he? Apparently he’s the one turned you into a killer, with the express purpose of being a killer, and oh would you look at that - here you are, obeying masters orders years later like the good little dog you are.” Anger. Hatred at this man for being so terrible a person even after it came to light that Simon had forced it into the man against his will.

He hadn’t tried even once to take off that collar of his until Teddy came around.

“Like I said, it’s been years, and Jean’s getting regretful. I’ve overheard things here and there - probably Jean’d throw a fit over that - and it’s made it pretty clear to me that you, at least at this point in time, have no desire to be anything other than the walking weapon Simon made you into.” Glaring hard,, gaze flicking between Not-Jean and the blade, wishing in Gluttony’s direction that he could turn the monster thing on and off. “I’m not afraid of you, Damon. Kill me as many times as you want to, I’m sure your master’d be proud of you. Proud of his bloody masterpiece.”

[ The more he hears about his “current self”, the more he despises him. Jean gives Hershel time to talk, but the time he spends in silence just saps away his good humour until he’s back down to his mood without the acting. There’s enough venom in his one eye to kill an army, and every drop of it is boring into Hershel, all the worse for the fact that he’s neither angry nor scared. ]

Then maybe we’re less alike than I’ve been giving him the credit for. He may be miserable, but I am not. Obviously he’s grown complacent, let himself be domesticated…the same isn’t going to happen to me, especially not now that I’ve seen this.

[ He hooks the cane’s handle into the crook of his arm, looking at his hands, adjusting his cuffs, acting like there’s no blood on them at all. ]

What are you trying to do, Layton? Piss me off? It’s not going to end well for you.

“Oh you have no idea how dissimilar you are, really. Your current self actually regrets some of it, far as I can tell. Told me to my face, that he deserved what I did to him, and that he deserved all the anger I spat at him the first time I saw him after three years.” It made Hershel feel better - albeit after he’d had time to get over his own wildly pent-up rage - to know the man thought Hershel’s attack justified.

It did make him wonder, though - if given the change to do things over again, what would he change?

[ Hershel is successful in one area, at least; stunning Jean enough that he actually shuts up for a few seconds, the grip on his cane settling as he just blinks at the younger man as though buffering. This blessed silence doesn’t last long, though, because as soon as he’s got his wits back about him, he laughs in Hershel’s face. ]

Oh, my, someone’s grown some balls! You fancy yourself quite the little therapist, don’t you? If I didn’t hate you so much, I’m sure I’d find that desperate scrabbling adorable.

[ His disposition is positively sunny, but he’s got both hands on his walking-aid-slash-weapon, and the way the knuckles of his flesh hand are turning white with the intensity of his grip is pretty telling of how he’s feeling beneath the surface condescension. ]

Someone back in primary school may have told you that bullies are only mean because they’re unhappy, but I’m afraid the real world isn’t so black and white. I thought you’d have learned that by now. I’ll get you, Layton; we’ll see who’s tragic then, won’t we?

“Mate, current you already has a therapist - and I’ve overheard plenty enough to know why you’re such an ass.” Getting laughed at does make Hershel scowl though. He’d forgotten just how much he hated this iteration of Jean. Thank god time had passed and he’d vented his piece to Jean, else he’d probably already have sunk into hissing and spitting at him ten times over by now.

Seemed like the poorly directed anger had been useful in the end after all.

“I dunno...” Leaning back. Slight smirk. “Current you is pretty obvious about being miserable about the past. Fits pretty well, the idea that you’re only cruel because you were made to be. Taken from his family and brainwashed to be a nasty, terrible little man, and now he takes it out on everyone else because it’s not fair they get to be happy while he doesn’t.” He doesn’t even care if Jean killed him. While he’d prefer it didn’t happen, he can’t see this man getting away with it. Nothing is unseen very long these days, it feels like.

I’m not going to pose a threat to your precious little girl - have you even been listening to me?!

[ There’s a beat of silence where it’s almost like he has to stop and tell himself to calm down, because he knows that raising his voice isn’t going to get him anywhere in these circumstances - Hershel clearly isn’t as frightened of him as he used to be, and even if he were, Jean has always found that keeping himself level-headed is the surest way to scare someone stupid when you don’t have much in the way of physical strength. ]

You can be as big and brave as you like. We’ll see how much of that bluster you’ve got left when I’m pressing a stun gun against your neck. Or cutting you open…or force-feeding you dead bodies. The potential has always been so vast with you, Layton.

“Yeah, right, I don’t trust you, and I don’t trust him. Last time you got a hold of her you used her as blackmail to keep your precious little weapon-to-be in check. So, you’ll forgive me if I don’t trust that you’re not planning something that heavily involves my little girl.” He refrains on making a Targent comparison, the whole thing about Targent using family as blackmail just the same way, because it won’t help anything.

Frankly it’d probably come off as him getting agitated, and pulling a baiting card in turn. Jean would probably get even more confident then. Ugh.

Seven…then she might struggle if she’s left on her own. I have no intention of going after her, I was just wondering…

[ He’s relaxed, and pleasant, almost as though he really is just checking up on Hershel’s daughter, almost as though he’s about to ask when her birthday is and what she’d want for a present. But Hershel knows him well enough by now, and there’s a glint in his eye that betrays the threat lingering beneath his words. ]

You know I can do more than just kill you, right, Layton? 

“She’s smarter than you give her credit for. If she needs help, I’ve taught her numbers she can call. I do have friends, you know. Friends that you lot don’t know.” He also likes to think she’s clever enough to catch the difference between the two Jeans - or at least enough to be distrusting if the man that apparently told her to stay home suddenly starts trying to take her far away.

Then again, she was still just a child.

So that’s how lax I’ve gotten, is it? You shouldn’t know that. You…

[ Jean cuts himself off with an actual growl, a rough sound from deep in his chest, realising that dwelling on Simon is exactly what Hershel wants. Being driven by emotion always makes him sloppy - it’s always why he slips up, and he gets the feeling he can’t afford many mistakes in his current situation. ]

[ So he pauses, and takes a deep breath, and then smiles. ]

How old is Nate now, Layton? Old enough to fend for herself for a while?

Nate. His soft spot, and the obvious go-to for Jean. He used her as leverage once before, so of course he’d go for it again. Admittedly, Hershel is nervous Jean’ll find her anyway, but he’s trusting in that the change in where he lives would be enough to trip Jean up. And the fact that Roric wouldn’t know this Jean’s scent.

“She’s seven now, and bites as hard as Roric does, by the way. The sharp teeth help.” Not exactly a threat, but still. “I’d like to see you try to reach her. Lots can change in three years. A bitey, yelling seven year old is a lot harder to steal away than a baby. Especially when there’s an angry Shepard trying to keep his packmate safe from a stranger.”

[ The shit-eating grin disappears very quickly, and Jean slips into anger - that icy anger that simmers under the surface when someone’s actually given him reason to be angry, and he’s not just looking for fights to start. ]

Got turned into a weapon, did I? I think you should probably rethink your statement before I get violent - we both know you don’t want that.

“Why? It’s true. Simon turned you into a weapon and when you see a struggling kid you decide that it’d be great to do that same thing to him. ‘I hate what was done to me, so lets continue the cycle’. Brilliant.”

The only reason he’s so confident is because he’s fairly certain this Jean doesn’t know where he lives - or at least thinks he still lives in Misthallery. So the man really shouldn’t be able to do much - or at least anything particularly permanent.

Oooh, therapy! Look at you!