Chapter Text
Jack Rose lived in Eternyx, he lived in a big tower that was named after his mother. He was on the luckier spectrum of Eternyx residents. His world was considered a breeding ground for crime, many areas were rough. Many kept their distance from the map. Jack was held to a higher standard than most children who grew up there, for starters he was a socialite. When he got older, he was shaped into an icon. Something to put Eternyx on the map. To show the other worlds that there is more than crime and villains, that there was talent.
For his primitive years, Night Swan had made sure he’d make a fine dancer. Hours of training and being faced with his own reflection gave way to his ability. Then there came a miracle for Night Swan, her son was a very gifted singer. Something she definitely did not teach him. It wasn’t until his later teen years she began to have him embrace being a performer. To her surprise, he was very, very well received. He became an instant heartthrob in Eternyx. Not only was he a successful singer and dancer he was undoubtedly good-looking, which made people like him even more.
Months after Night Swans’ failed take over the Danceverse was healing. Coaches had begun to return to their maps and for a time everything was calm. Sara went home with the promise of returning soon. Mihaly decided to go back to their temple and focus more on honing their connection to the flow in case something like this were to happen again. Brezziana had also gone home to catch up on time lost with her friends who went missing into the swan army. Wanderlust and Jack remained together for a little while longer, having no real issue they needed to attend to. Eventually, Wander left to help his mother with a political problem on her home planet.
For the first time in his entire life, Jack was alone. With his mother gone and his friends finally dissipated, he was on his own. Luckily for him, he was still a celebrity with a rising career. His manager had knocked on his door very early one morning with the exciting news that he had scheduled him a tour. Nothing giant, just a few concerts in Eternyx, a couple in CyberFunk, and a final leg in Dancity. Jack was ecstatic, the grin that graced his features was almost blinding. Out of everything Jack did in his life, performing just felt right. There he was given attention and adoration from numerous people; he couldn’t get enough.
Adorned in a white tank top that was only a few shades lighter than his own skin, and a red pair of baggy sweats he began his weeks of preparation his mother usually enforced. Sure, she was gone, but he didn’t know what else to do. Hours were spent in the mirror room, perfecting each set, when he was too exhausted to move anymore, he sang his throat raw. When he danced it wasn’t the full force of the flow like other dancers he knew felt, it was far less. He danced as his mother had taught him. There was no room for anything less than perfection. If that meant never discovering his own true style, then so be it.
Two days before his first show he felt a wave of dread. The last time he was on stage Night Swan ruined it. She had used his crowd as easy pickings. For a whole day, he didn’t rehearse or anything. He just stared at his cell phone. Debating on whether or not to reach out to his friends. He didn’t want to distract Wander, he didn’t get too much time with his mother anyway . Sara would be super confused if he were to call her, how would she even explain it to the people she was around? He didn’t dare disturb Mihaly. That was a definite no. Brezziana, as energetic as she was, was far too much. She wouldn’t understand anyway. His phone chimed as a notification came in. A small part of him hoped it was one of them. The contact was his Manager, Roland.
Roland: First Show, Sold out.
Jack bit back the unease, people had wanted to see him. He could do this. The rest of the day was spent singing. He did other stuff while he did that but hey, he was still practicing. His phone stayed silent from its spot on his black loveseat.
Jack sat still on his chair as his eyeliner was being done. He preferred his way of doing it, but his manager had insisted. Many people were rushing by, talking on phones or wearing black jackets with the word “Security” stretching from shoulder to shoulder in bright yellow.
“Seems like there’s an unnecessary amount of security.” He spoke softly to the woman who was focused on his eye makeup. She was much older than him, she had clipped-back pink hair and a blue apron that tied around her waist which seemed very out of place on her outfit.
“Ya could never be too careful, my mother always said that ya know.” She quipped, using her free hand to guide his jaw upwards so she could have a better angle. He hummed in recognition and squinted at the bright lights from the mirror.
“Something on your mind, Hun?” She moved his face gently again causing his earring to sway slightly. He bit the inside of his mouth gently; he didn’t want to wreck his lipstick.
“No,” he sighed, wincing slightly as the brush tip of the pen jabbed his eye. “Just nerves I suppose.” She backed up slightly to get a better look before putting her hand over her heart dramatically.
“Jack Rose… Nervous? Why, that’d be a cold day in hell.” She chuckled as she capped the pen. He rolled his eyes at her and chuckled. She came back with a light red eyeshadow and a larger brush. He closed his eyes for her as the brush came closer.
“Just do what ya always do, kid.” She picked up more eye shadow onto the brush. “They’ll love ya, I bet on my mother's grave.” She grinned, stepping back to admire her work. “Whatcha think?” She turned the chair to the mirror.
“Looks like me.” The smile did not quite reach his eyes. “It’s very nice, thank you.” She smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t thank me, it’s what you’re paying me for.” He rolled his eyes with a grin. She started putting her things away but stopped suddenly and spun back around. Jack was still sitting in the chair, bent over tying his shoe.
“One thing, if I may,” she pulled a magazine from her bag and handed it to him. “My daughter’s a huge fan.” This magazine was about a year old. He was on the cover smiling brightly with a microphone in his hand.
“Oh, of course.” He smiled, before realizing. “Do you have a uh… pen?” He heard her curse under her breath while she dug through the bag.
“Will this work?” She held the eyeliner pen out to him. He nodded and took it from her and used his thigh as a hard surface to write on. Once he finished his signature, he handed her both items back. She thanked him as he rose from the chair. He had a couple of inches on her even with her heels on.
“Is your daughter here?” Jack asked while brushing some of the wrinkles out of his pants. She clicked her tongue and shook her head.
“Poor thing is sick as a dog, she’s home resting.” Jack pulled his mouth into a straight line and gave her a disappointed look.
“Well, when she’s all better, tell her she’s got a ticket waiting for her. I'd love to meet her.” She smiled before pulling him into a quick, tight hug and letting him go.
“Oh, aren’t you a dear!” The hug was unexpected and left him a tad bit stunned. She turned to keep packing her bags up. Out of habit, he clicked his phone on, a part of him hoping to see a message from any of his friends. He’s looking for crumbs at this point, a “good luck” from Mihaly or a “break a leg” from Brezziana. He knew he deeply missed Wanderlust. He still held on to hope that a portal would open, and the deity would step out and say something like “You think I’d miss this?” One could hope.
“ROSE” a shrill voice shattered through the light murmuring backstage. He made eye contact and raised his eyebrows in recognition.
“You're on in five.” A clipboard and earpiece adorned her as she turned on her heel to leave. He rubbed his temples and bit back the pit in his stomach. He stretched his arms and legs once more and made his trek to the rising platform. He could hear the openers coming to a close and the light applause that was muffled from under the stage. His fingers lightly traced over the feather insignia that has always adorned his jacket. He thought nothing of it.
Someone was saying something to him that his mind muffled. He knows the drill. The platform rocked slightly, signifying its preparation to ascend. He used the handrail to stabilize himself. As the crew started to shrink below him a small smile spread across his features. ‘Put on a show, Jack’ said the voice of a phantom that no longer haunted him.
In a hiss of hydraulics, the stage opened, and the platform locked into place. He was slightly jostled from the stop but was almost disoriented by the flashing cameras, the cheers, and handmade signs. He waved with both hands, his lipstick making his smile even more visible to the onlooking spectators. His first song would start before he stopped to address the crowd and interact with them.
The music started and vibrated the entire stadium. A stretch of his arm brought forth his mic. He spun the shaft of it slowly in his purple glove-clad hand before lifting the mic to his mouth. It was like a dream. That feeling of dread disappeared as soon as his vocal cords began to vibrate. Every well-rehearsed step was on cue. Every turn and twist were elegantly pulled off and flawless. He was close to the front of the stage and kneeled down to answer the call of grasping hands. A small hovering camera flew in closer to capture a video feed for the screens. He winked at it and heard a slight eruption of sound come from his audience. It was difficult to fight off his smiles at the approval. Nothing could ruin his mood, his mojo, his energy.
Jack's mouth shaped the words and his eyes squinted in concentration. He looked towards his right into the crowd, pointing at no one in particular, his hand shot straight up, and his wrist swiveled slightly before slowly descending back into him. While his attention was still focused on the right crowd, he was oblivious to a certain spectator on the left. As he went to face the left crowd after finishing his bit on the right, he was too slow to react. Just as his neck turned, he faced head on an object headed right towards him. There was no time. The object continued its trajectory and smashed into the left side of his face. The pain was instant, it was disorienting. His nose made a crunch, and he lost his balance. The mic slipped from his hand and made a static hiss through the sound system as it hit the stage. His vision swam, he was on his knees before he realized. A loud shattering to his left made him even more confused. Everything was blurry, everything was loud. Something warm began to seep from his nose. Jack held his face with his gold-gloved hand while his other braced himself. His eyes could faintly make out that yellow security font charging into his crowd. There was yelling. His face hurts. Every spotlight he was just sunbathing in was now melting him. He tried to stand up, but he was too dizzy and fell back to his knees.
Strong hands were pulling him up by his elbow. The figure blocked the light somewhat. What the person could not block was the sound. Someone was yelling. Yelling about him. The ache in his body was nothing to the ache in his heart as he heard someone shouting about Night Swan.
“THAT FUCKER INSLAVED MY WIFE!” That’s not true, he rebuttals in his head to himself.
“He’s evil!” Another said. He squeezes his eyes shut; this can’t be happening.
“THESE SHOWS ARE SETUPS!” Night Swans gone; how could they be?
Crimson stained his glove, it trailed down onto his jacket, boa, and stage. Unrelenting. Another object flew by him and smashed into a speaker. The hands dragged him to his feet and tried to guide him away. He stumbled and an arm found its way to his waist. He jolted at the contact and tried to fight it. Confusion wracked his core. He spotted the neck of a glass bottle on the stage and everything clicked.
Someone hit him with a glass bottle.
After he was pulled off the stage, hands were on him. They were rough and unwelcomed. Jack just wanted to be left alone. He was pushed into a chair that was against a wall, his head lolled against it. His hand pressed hard into his nose. His left eye became harder to see out of and felt stiff. His mouth was slightly parted so he could breathe short panting breaths. He couldn’t help the sluggish tears that welled up in his eyes and messed with his makeup. A much stronger hand pulled his hand away from his face. The blood made its way into his mouth. A thumb was pulling his eyelid open, light flooded in and made him cringe.
“Possible concussion, facial hemorrhaging, and maybe a broken nose, someone get a medic!” He couldn’t tell whose voice that was. He just wanted to sleep. His eyes flicked slightly; he saw a few worried glances. He tried to speak but needed to cough. Blood that seeped down the back of his throat was being regurgitated.
Unfocused eyes were able to pick apart the pink hair of his makeup artist, a dainty hand lightly pressed over her mouth in shock. Of course, she’d still be here, he had gone out only ten minutes ago. In his haze, he realized that he was surrounded by strangers, unfamiliar hands, and new faces.
A small part of him craved the familiarity of his friends and even his mother. He wanted someone to control this for him, to reduce the pain, the noise, and the stress.
Someone was handing him a balled-up T-shirt to press against his face. The hand was strong and held the cloth firmly to his face. The man was pressing hard enough to make him wince and try to push away.
His eye felt tight, and it began to swell, a deep purple starting to set across his face. Finally, the cloth pulled away from him and he savored the temporary release. A bright flash caused him to scrunch his features and turn away. A hand gripped his jaw and faced him back towards it.
“Stay still! This is evidence we need for a police report.” It sounded like Roland, but he wasn’t certain. He groaned as images were still being taken. After all the flashes and a loud murmur of voices, there were delicate hands on him. They gently angled his face like his makeup artist had a half hour prior.
“Laceration along his left cheek needs stitches,” the voice stated clearly and quietly. “His nose needs to be reset and we’re gonna have to cauterize to stop the bleeding. We also might wanna check that eye. Most definitely is concussed.” The hand probed his face once more.
“Can you walk, son?” The soft voice of a presumed medic asked. He nodded curtly and began to stagger to his feet; Jack had taken half a step before his legs seemed to become uncooperative. Rough hands reached to stabilize him, and his back arched in protest. He attributed his lightheadedness to the amount of blood that now decorated his stage, his clothes, and his face. Black spots danced in the sides of his vision, and Jack knew what that meant. He tried to blink them away, but his body gave in to the temptation of sleep. He didn’t fall again, unfamiliar hands made that so.
When Jack woke up, he was somewhere unfamiliar. Harsh yellow lights attacked his over-dilated pupils. He stirred and a small groan escaped him. He still felt like he was in a fog, but this time things felt slightly sharper. The first thing he noticed was that he was still in his stage outfit. The feathered boa had long been discarded. He couldn’t care less where it ended up. The throbbing had subsided somewhat but there was temporary gauze over his cheek and gauze strips wedged up his nose. His still bloodied gloved hand reached to pull them out.
“Hey! No don’t touch those yet.” Instinctively he recoiled his hand and tried to sit up. He made it onto his forearms but no further. “How are you doing? Kiddo?” Green eyes flashed to meet the doctors. Obviously, he wasn’t doing well.
“Someone threw something at me while I was on stage.” He muttered just loud enough for the doctor to hear.
“Yeah, I heard.” There was a moment of silence and stillness until the doctor cleared his throat, drawing his attention back. “So, we gotta talk about what needs to be done, I need your consent so we can get a move on.”
“Okay.” His eyes met the floor.
“So, your nose was broken, and we need to reset it.” The doctor rustled some papers before continuing. “The bleeding is pretty extensive so we’re also going to have to cauterize the inside.” Jack nodded at the words. “So do you know what that means?”
“Not really.” His bearings were starting to ebb back slightly.
“We need to re-break your nose, we will then cauterize to stop the bleeding. It won’t be pretty.” The doctor put a hand on his shoulder, and he shrugged it off.
“Just do it. I don’t care.” His thumb grazed over the upraised feather on the pendent unconsciously.
“Mr. Rose, why don’t you just take a moment to gather yourself before we proceed.” His hand stopped moving and he glared at the man. His teeth were pressed together so hard in an effort to not overreact.
“Can you do this quickly or do I need to get another doctor? I cannot play this patient game; I’ve had a shitty night and I just want to go home.” His voice stayed even although he wanted nothing more than to bitch and moan.
“Alright son, just relax. Is there someone we can call for you? Any family or friends?” The doctor coaxed in a soft voice reserved for trying to reduce tension.
“No. Start please.” The mention of his friends only enhanced his bitterness. Then a pang of fear gripped him. What will his friends think!? His own world had rejected him! Surely, they’d eventually see what Eternyx did.
This raging panic caused him to space out as the doctor had him lay back down and set to work. He saw it clearly now, Wanderlust with a horrified expression, keeping his distance. Wondering why he ever tried to see the light in someone like him. Jack's thoughts halted as a loud crack echoed through the small room followed by a new wave of pain that shook him to his core. His teeth clenched but he didn’t allow any noise to escape, just a small hiss. Immediately the partially clotted over wounds in his nose worked double time and blood began to overpower the gauze and leak through. He sat up coughing as it began to trickle down his throat. The doctor’s hand stabilized him securely.
“Are you okay?” He asked as he offered him something to staunch the bleeding. He groaned softly into the towel. “Maybe we should get some painkillers in you before we start the cauterizing process.” Stained-gloved hands gripped tightly to the table he was on, the sooner this was done the sooner he could leave.
“I’m okay, just do it as soon as possible.” The doctor looked concerned and took a slight step back and sighed.
“Who’s your power of attorney? I don’t think you're in the right mind to be making these choices.” Jack turned his head to face the man, eyeing him up and down.
“My mother.” The man seemed slightly taken aback. “Please, just finish so I can go home.” Jack lacked his demanding tone, this was him begging. He was hurting in more ways than one. His favorite thing in the world just backfired on him, he’s too embarrassed and ashamed to even reach out to anyone. All he wanted was for this imbecile to hurry up!
The process began, the needle-like instrument was raised to his nostril cavity and a small burning sensation forced the bleeding to stop from the newly formed scab. Jack squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to move or make a sound. The process was repeated a second time and when he recovered, he opened his eyes to see the familiar spots dancing in his vision. Jack stayed still where he lay on the table, taking steady breaths in order to fight off the lure of unconsciousness.
“Good news though, you’ll only need about eight stitches on your cheek.” The doctor replied after setting down the tool he used to cauterize Jack’s nose. Jack made an unintelligible noise that was mostly just an overstretched moan. "Oh, don’t sound too excited. Besides, we’ll numb the area beforehand. You won’t feel a thing.” Jack’s bloodied gold glove gave an uninterested thumbs up.
“Ya know, my wife and kids have been to a couple of your shows.” The doctor said while fetching his suture kit. This piqued Jack’s interest slightly, he allowed the brief distraction. “Yeah, we don’t go off-world too much, my kids loved the fact that you're from Eternyx. It gave them a sense of pride.” The doctor prepped the numbing agent as Jack held onto the lifeline that was the doctor's story. “My wife went berserk when you announced your tour.” he chuckled before continuing, “You’ll never guess what I got her for our anniversary, don’t tell my kids either.”
“Are you going to tell them about this?” he asked while fiddling with the hem of his suit. The injection went into his cheekbone area, and he squinted at the pinch.
“Technically It’s a violation of your privacy. I can’t tell them about your medical history, but I can’t wait to tell them I met ya.” he smiled and lightly tapped Jack's shoulder. Jack pulled his lips into a line.
“I don’t know if I’m going to finish the tour.” he sighed as the needle pierced his numb cheek. His eyes focused on the ceiling and not the doctor.
“Why not?” the doctor questioned, genuine surprise crossing his features. Green eyes turned to make eye contact.
“Because they all hate me.” His throat tightened slightly as he fought the emotions behind his confession. The doctor was at a loss, he clearly couldn’t speak for all of Eternyx. And sitting in front of him was the living proof of the cruelty of his world. “I just want to be my own person, Night Swan took that from me.” Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, he felt the slight ragged breathing overtake him. “They only see her when they look at me.” the doctor hummed in recognition as he also went back to sewing the wound closed. The feeling of cold latex gloves grounding him. “Where are we anyway?” The doctor remained focused as he answered.
“The private wing of Eternyx General, and I’m Dr. Soong. Not that you asked.” Jack sighed at the last joking remark. He hissed as antiseptic was sprayed on the now completed suture.
“I was gonna ask,” He grumbled as a big white bandage was pressed over the stitches.
“Look it matches the one on your nose.” Dr. Soong chuckled as he used the bottom of a shiny reflective tray to show him. Jack immediately recoiled at his reflection. The deep purple bruises surrounded both eyes, his left eye was understandably more damaged. Dried blood decorated his face and chin in oddly shaped patterns. A white splint was tapped over his nose bridge, and it indeed matched the white one that covered his cheek. Looking at the splint he readjusted his face to get a better look,
“Gee, that's attractive.” He sighed. His lipstick had almost all disappeared. His eyeliner was spotty, but he didn’t want to touch his eye to remove it. Dr. Soong laughed before agreeing. “So, am I good to go?” He asked while starting to push himself up. The dizzy feeling returned, and he shook off most of it. Again Dr. Soong chuckled.
“Yeah, no. We’re keeping you overnight for observation. You got a pretty nasty concussion.” Jack cursed loudly before dropping back on the table. The lighting in the room was dimmed but not shut off fully.
“Sleep as much as you can, someone's gonna wake you up every four hours.” he groaned in a childish manner as Dr. Soong left. The door closed with a soft click. As much as he wanted to fight it, the temptation of sleep sounded rather good. Before he knew it, Jack had drifted off into a still sleep devoid of dreams.
Unbeknownst to him, the shrill chirp of a text message rang in. During the chaos that was the concert his phone had found its way into Roland’s dress pant pocket. The manager picked up the device to glance at the name. Upon seeing who it was, he opened the phone to delete the message before pushing the red cased device back into his pocket.