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ebonniewashere · 2 years

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Aestiva in Ludovico Ville: Ch 1

I like writing fanfics when writing doesn’t make me want to kill someone. Rest of the fic is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35942866/chapters/89609881

would you believe me if I said this was a college au lol

Whenever Jack felt like death, he sang to himself.

The hums of childhood ring through him and out into the quiet halls of his dorm. Filling the crooked halls, followed by groans of silent agony. It's been hard this season, and Jack is fresh out of his meds. His body felt like fire, sweat clinging to his forehead and rolling freely onto his damp pillows and sheets. He'd flip it over in a more workable state, granting himself some sparse feeling of relief. Unfortunately for Jack, he dislocated his only functioning, nonmechanical arm last night, and the rest of his sore body was as usable as sandals in Snowchester.

So, he lay bed-bound, with nothing but his frail body and futile mind. And as such, he could only sing.

Or at least try.

Jack rarely sings, a pastime he keeps to himself and only himself. The most he'll do around others is a hum, or at least when sober. The skill lost on him at first, the tune starting out a strange mix of two songs Jack never really could tell the difference from each other. He mumbles out first notes, stopping and starting again till it sounds right, the exercise clearing some of his acute deliria. He then attempts to clear his throat to meet a fit of dry coughs, the last tasting of his acidic blood.

Jack groans and sighs, cursing himself as he mentally prepares to get up. He looks to his left. A cup of lukewarm water lies untouched on his bedside dresser. A mental conflict is set as Jack weighs the pros and cons of simply moving his arm toward the cup and possibly spilling it on his face while drinking it or hurting himself even more if he attempts to sit up.

Jack tenses his entire body, pain spiking as he quickly sits up, pulling his legs towards his chest and his arm squeezed at the side. His head is spinning, exhaustion weighing him down. He lays his head between his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs, wheezing out hot and damp breaths. The sheets beneath him pulled off of his skin lamely. His back was cold and wet, sweat beads rolling over moles and stretch marks.

Jack had discarded his shirt to the heat hours ago to find no relief in the disrobing. The shirt lay crumpled at his feet, alongside his sweatpants and blankets. He poked the pile with his foot; it was surprisingly dry with sweat and blood and crunched under his touch. Ew. God, he's gross. Cringing as he pulls back his foot, Jack realizes the tension in his body, his hand trembling and shoulders shaking as he, admittedly, failed at breathing. Finally, he lets go, tears falling down his face as he attempts to take low, deep breaths. But, of course, these hurt also, exhaling heat as blood, drool, and sweat roll from his mouth and face. It dries quickly, caking grossly on his face and body.

Luckily, The hard part is over.

Jack adjusts to this new position, taking a moment to feel the nice breeze around him as he somewhat escapes the heat trap that is his bed. Not even bothering to wipe his face, Jack flexes his right arm, testing its strength. Still very much dislocated. A stupid idea emerges in Jack's head; at this point, he doesn't care to get it out. Jack shifts towards the wall beside his bed, lining his arm against it in preparation. Jack presses his arm on the wall to feel around. The dislocation was merely backward, which makes this plan much more manageable. Bracing himself, he slams his body against the wall to relocate the shoulder. A clean pop could be heard, and a shiver ran through Jack's body as the pains subsided from his arm. His body still ached to no end, but at least his dominant arm was functional again; his left one still needed to cool down as it just required a lot more energy to use than whatever Jack was currently running on. Heavy metal, but at least it was thermodynamic.

A newly functional arm made the task at hand a lot more manageable.

Once again, he braces himself as he reaches for the glass cup, hands trembling slightly. His hand reaches out, sizzling as his hand meets the cold glass. Jack hissed, bringing the cup close to his face slowly. Cup to his lips, he breaths in and gulps. Steam rises from his throat, spilling out of his mouth in ribbons as he sighs. Placing the cup back down, he lays his head against the headboard, feeling the wood burn under his seething head. He doesn't smell smoke, so he doesn't bother moving.

The water didn't even help, most of it evaporating his throat before anything meaningful worked. Nevertheless, he was up at last. At least his mouth didn't taste like blood anymore.

Jack can only imagine how he looks. Something of a rotted, jangly corpse in the heat. His skin-tight, tearing at his joints and cuts lining his lips and hand.

Jack looked like shit. Hell, He felt like shit.

He thinks back to the song, Aestiva, in Ludovico Ville.

His mother sang it to him on cold nights in Thunderdome when he still lived in the Nether, usually accompanied by a cup of hot tea and her loving presence. Thunderdome was a harsh climate, where ash and smog covered everything, and the sky remained black and frozen. Comfort was not a choice word to describe the volcanic town. At least when those nights were unforgiving, his family was there.

Things he had neither of right now.

It's hard to say when he started crying again or why. Maybe it was the pain, Maybe from homesickness; the loneliness finally reached its peak. Jack can't bring himself to an honest answer. His thoughts scrambled and slowed with his fever. He hasn't seen his friends in days, and it's really kicking in how needy Jack is and how lonely his little life is without the little family he's made here. He likes it here against any better judgment, even with the added health risks and heartbreak. But, His body isn't meant to be here, nor his mind, it seems. He'd love to be anywhere else, honestly.

As of now, though, he was supposed to be in class. While Jack's phone was chucked into a corner a while ago, the sun rising gave him a good idea that he's missed his morning lecture and that Dr.Harman is going to have his ass for missing tech lab and lunch together for the second time this month.

It's really gotten worse this month.

The flare-ups have doubled with the winter months, even more so this year. Cracked skin and joint pain were common for Jack, just day-to-day life with limb enhancements and chronic pain. But, the heat death his body enacted was different, his temperature doubling overnight, leaving him restless and delirious.

It made absolutely no sense. Jack was utterly baffled as to why his body was now malfunctioning like this, of all mornings. Jack lived in the thick ashy mountains of Thunderdome, a cold town that rivaled Snowchester in temperature. His body doesn't regulate heat like Lavabornes; Jack could handle the change in the seasons. Or at least that is what he thought.

Before thinking became a chore and his body completely shut down, Jack had gone through his notes and archives to explain this game-changing development; he lasted an hour before his legs caved in, and his arms tired quickly after.

Shifting to his phone on his bed, shirtless and heaving for air. He debates texting his mother, though there were little luck prying answers from her, especially at those hours. His contact list is short, his parents, Wil, Niki, and Phil. He rarely texts these days, not really a caller, given how close everyone is nowadays on campus. Wilbur is useless, Phil already has too much on his plate, and he can't bear to bring Niki into the mess that is his decaying body and soul.

So, he continued searching, using his library account, and looking for a study, book, or anything on why he was like this. Now Jack wasn't new to this. Spending hours researching his ailments and disorders, accepting his fate as his body rejecting everything around and inside of him. It was heartbreaking watching his family cope with it, and he'd instead not put his family in that kind of position, especially with how burdened the Watson's already are with their own issues. No need for another problem child.

He's alright. He's fine

Jack's grown independent in the years; he's ridden the waves and knows the game. And when he doesn't know, he goes and finds out how. No need for other eyes on him, that kind of attention, that pity wasn't Jack's style.

Sure, it got to Jack sometimes, unable to call anyone, sleeping in an empty dorm with no one who could hear his groans or cries. And maybe he is tired of making up excuses on why he disappears for days at a time, dwindling down his friend group to what it is today. His friends may offer an open shoulder, maybe even cornering him to get answers out of him, but Jack isn't ready for that kind of vulnerability yet, and he's not sure if he'll ever be.

Okay, it scares him. Not being able to open up to anyone, a hollowing feeling fills Jack's chest at the notion. It's suffocating to think about how messed up he's gotten these days. The rationale he's developed to cope with his pathetic existence. He's accepted rotting and dying young, but it seems Jack's too selfish to rot in peace. Too scared to die alone and just too selfish to let go.

God, he's panicking now, which isn't helping the overall death he's feeling like. Tears aren't even falling off his face, dehydrated and cracked, blood dried as the wounds throb. Short and meek gasps of breath can be heard, echoing in the dark halls of his dorm, almost to mock him, haunt him. Jack leans forward, the emotional distress somehow more unbearable than the hellfire in his skin. He's clutching his chest, whole-body sobbing turned into hiccupping.

His head is spinning. His body is crashing and shutting down on itself. It's almost over.

Sometime tomorrow, Jack wakes up. He's sore but better than he was last night(?) It's dark outside, so it could very much just be night, but something in Jack tells him he was out cold for a day and a half, which displeases him greatly. He sits up, unfolding from the awkward position he was last in. He swings his legs off the bed, and his metal right foot clunk rings out. With a great sigh, he stands up, letting go of the breath as he takes off his bed.

Jack didn't bother stretching, walking towards the definitely broken remains of his phone, still sitting in the corner he chucked it at. Picking it up, he can see it split into two, a clean split with little spillage, the case keeping it together as a case to a severed finger. He could salvage this; it wasn't the first time he's broken his phone, and this won't be the last time he'll fix it. The various dents in the wall paint a consistent picture; Jack reaches out with his left arm to touch it, sighing before walking towards the door.

As he exits his room, it becomes evident that Jack hasn't eaten anything properly for over 48 hours and should before he gets nauseous again. Though, he really should fix his phone before anything and tell everyone that he, in fact, didn't die and is just a lazy nit. Heading to his workstation next door, Jack gets to work. As a chronic hothead, he's made plenty of replacement parts for his phone, having modded and developed it consistently.

He takes his time with his craft and engineering, a science that stuck with him. He grabs his toolbox, gentile and precise in handling. He unlatches the lock and gets to work.

Time passes with ease, and the phone is fixed. Jack turns on his cell phone in anticipation with a new battery pack and a note to make a better phone case. He knows Niki's probably worried sick, the pair walking to campus every morning to check up on each other, a small ritual of theirs over the months. After years of failed meetups, the two could finally hang out in person, making up for the lost time.

To his disappointment, no calls.

No DMs.

Nothing.

Jack almost felt hurt if not for the other messages he had acquired. As of now, it seemed only Dr.Harman had noticed his extended absence, first anger, melting into the closest thing to concern without outright expression.

- From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

"Jack, I swear to God if you miss this lab, I'm coming for your neck, on all things holy if you don't come here, ill make sure that dissertation is living hell." - Jack swipes right, - From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

"you better not be hiding from me kid, I know your schedule and I will hunt you down. for christ, just let me know a head of time when you cant show."

- From: [email protected] To: [email protected]

"the hell are you kid, talked to one of your little friends and it seems like they don't know where you are either. better hurry up and make yourself appear, the blonde one seems to be panicking." - Jack sighs. There goes dying alone.

#jack manifold #thunder1408 #jack manifold fanfic #jack manifold fanart #niki nihachu #jack manifold centric #fanfic #fanfiction #chronic pain #mcyt #rpf #high fantasy

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