part of the kennel. master list here. takes place after will's rescue.

The television catches her attention from the next room. 

“The young man, identified as twenty-two-old William Cartwright, was extracted from DeAngelis’ compound by federal agents just yesterday.” 

Casey freezes, even if she can’t explain why. William Cartwright isn’t such an unusual name; there are probably dozens of them who are the same age as he is. This person they’re talking about, it isn’t her Will. Not that he’s her Will. He hasn’t been. Not for a very long time. 

“Casey?” Dan asks, but she only puts her hand up to silence him. She walks into the living room like a ghost. 

The reporter is in front of what looks like a hospital. LIVE FROM ST. ANTHONY’S, reads the tag at the bottom of the screen. Casey peers closer. It is. It’s the hospital where Will was born.  

“Mr. Cartwright is currently in critical condition. While the FBI isn’t providing specifics at this time, sources from inside of the hospital suggest that he suffered unthinkable treatment during his year in captivity. Mr. Cartwright is the latest in a string of high profile rescues from a human trafficking ring linked to Dr. Paul Barker, who was apprehended earlier this year.” 

And then there is a picture. Will, probably in high school, years older than when she last saw him. His arm wrapped around a curly-headed blond boy. They both look so familiar, but they are not familiar at all.

"Cartwright was kidnapped with his friend, Thomas Mahoney, in November of last year. As you'll remember, Mahoney was rescued with Barker's daughter in a raid several months ago."

The screen cuts to a perky blonde woman at a news desk. "I can't imagine how glad these families are to have their children home."

"Oh my God," Casey murmurs. "Oh my God."

"Case?"

Dan looks back at her. He doesn’t understand. She’s never told him. She left her married name behind just the way she left her son. Brian’s son. He was always so much like Brian. But so far as Dan knows, Casey is run-of-the-mill horrified. She has no special interest in this story. 

Except for the fact that she does. 

For Jacky and Joe, early recovery in the regular timeline.

Was it too much to ask? 

Jack doesn’t say the words out loud, but they echo in his head like he’s screamed them. He watches Joe, uncertain if he should say anything else, but Joe doesn’t move. He just stares at Jack, his mouth hanging very slightly open. 

“Are you–are you sure?” Joe asks. 

Jack stares down at the box of plastic bricks on the table. His cheeks burn, and he isn’t sure why. Maybe it’s because he can feel Joe’s eyes on his face. It’s been a while since Joe has looked right at him. “Yeah. I, uh–I thought we could do it together, Joe.” 

“You want me to help?” 

“Please. Joe.” Jack’s voice is soft, and it wraps around Joe’s name with a warmth that seems to surprise them both. “I want you to help.” 

Joe’s face breaks into a smile. He sits across from Jack, folding his hands gently on the table top. “What are we making then?”

The Christmas tree is already up. It's not quite Thanksgiving yet, but Jack couldn't resist. It's Hallie's first Christmas, and he wants to do it up big. He wants her to have everything he couldn't. The tree, the stockings, Santa Claus and a fucking truckload of presents. A family.

Joe comes into the living room with Hallie in his arms. She's milk drunk, her curly head lolling on Joe's shoulder. Her big brown eyes are already nudging toward sleep. Jack's heart squeezes at the sight of them. They're his, and this is his life. It really is.

He stands to the side of the tree, suddenly shy. He curls his toes against the carpet and ducks his head. "Well, what do you think?"

"I think it looks beautiful, Jackie," Joe says. "Like Hallmark threw up everywhere."

Jack laughs. "That's a good thing, right?"

"It is definitely a good thing. Hallie-bear, look at the lights Daddy put up for you."

Joe bounces Hallie, and her eyes flutter open. Joe leans her toward one of the white-lit boughs, and Hallie's doughy little fist fastens around the light. Her skin glows pink, and she giggles, a soft baby gurgle that turns Jack's heart to absolute fucking mush.

"I think it meets with her approval," Joe says, prying Hallie's fingers away from the bulb.

"Good. I--I want her to have the very best Christmas."

"Baby, she won't even remember this Christmas."

Jack shrugs, his eyes stuck on the glowing lights. "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, so long as I know that she's never had a bad one."

He thinks of the years spent in the system, in juvie, in group homes. The first Christmas he ever really had growing up was at Bill's, and he spent most of that Christmas Day in his bedroom closet, trying to forget about Bill's "gift" from the night before.

He might not be able to forget, but he would make sure that all of Hallie's memories were happy ones.

Joe runs his fingers through Jack's hair, smiling as Jack leans into the touch. It's taken them so long to get here, for touch to be casual and simple; Joe knows he'll never take it for granted again. Not that he took Jack for granted before. He's always known how lucky he is. But now--well, it means more.

"That feels good," Jack murmurs.

"Well, that was the aim."

Joe leans in to kiss Jack's hair. It's thick and glossy again, the way it was when they first started seeing one another; it was thin when he came home, coming out in wispy handfuls. But now, it's beautiful, just like Jack is. He's let it grow long again too. He's not afraid of what Joe will do with it. Not anymore.

Jack finally feels safe. Joe can finally breathe.

Jack snuggles closer. "Mission accomplished, then."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is."

Role Reversal AU Joe, Post-Rescue:

Joe frowns in his sleep. He faces Jack, his hands twined together in front of him just as if they were still bound. His forehead wrinkles, and his head shifts slightly backward, but he doesn't wake.

It's hard for Jack to watch. Not that he should be watching. He should be asleep too. Lord knows he needs the rest. But he worries. Joe's nightmares seem to be getting less frequent, but until Joe finds his voice again, it's hard for Jack to know what he needs. So, Jack watches. And he waits. And he tries his very best to do what he hopes is right. What he thinks Joe would have done for him.

He just misses his Joe. This Joe, Ivan's Joe, isn't the same. His smile is different, spread thin, not quite right. He lets Jack touch him, but it's hard not to notice the way that his muscles tense under even the softest brush of skin. And, God, Jack misses Joe's voice. He misses listening to Joe wax philosophic about something he's read, his hands matching the cadence of his words. He misses the low rumble in his ear every night: I love you, Jackie.

Jack tries to make up for it. He reads to Joe until he's hoarse; it's his whispered love that slips into Joe's ear every night; he tries not to show Joe how badly he's hurting. And he knows it isn't forever. Joe will speak again, once he's had time to heal. They both know how this works.

But the quiet means he's still hurting, and Jack doesn't want him to hurt. Not because of him. Not ever.

Joe's breath shifts, and his face crumples into a grimace. And then, Jack hears it.

"No."

Joe's voice is barely a whisper, but it's there.

"No!" he says again, his back arching away from Jack. His eyes flutter fast beneath their lids. Air wheezes through the cracks in his voice. "Please. Please don't."

"Joey," Jack murmurs. He slips closer to Joe's tense body, setting his hands gently on Joe's shoulders. "Joe, baby, you're okay. It's okay."

Joe's head wrenches to one side. "Don't hurt him! Jackie--"

Jack's eyes sting with tears. It's the first time he's heard Joe say his name in he doesn't know how long. "I'm right here. You're okay. It's just a dream."

"Jackie," Joe whispers. "Jackie, I'm sorry."

Jack draws him close. He can feel Joe shaking in his arms, but he leans his mouth close to Joe's ear. "There's nothing to be sorry for, baby. It's okay. We're okay."

"I miss you," Joe murmurs, and he nuzzles into Jack's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"I miss you too," Jack whispers. He feels hot tears against his shoulder and on his cheeks. "But I'll be here, baby. Always. I'll wait for you."

Joe's arms wrap around him, and gradually, his breath slows. He's asleep again. Jack won't let him go. He kisses Joe's hair and settles on his back, keeping Joe cradled against his chest.

"I love you, Joey."

Jack doesn't know if he'll hear Joe's voice tomorrow, but he's grateful for what he heard tonight. It's a start.

Canon, Just After "Lucky:"

Hallie's brow furrows as she focuses. Jack watches her from his spot across the table, smothering his smile behind his hand.

"Okay, Daddy. L-E-M--is it A or I next?"

"It's an O, baby," Jack says. "Lem-O-nade."

"It doesn't sound like an O," Hallie fires back, but her black crayon moves in a precise circle anyway. She blows her curly bangs out of her face. "But then an N, yeah?"

"Yep," says Jack, popping the 'p.' He scribbles idly at the coloring page in front of him, a dinosaur wearing sunglasses and lounging on a beach. Hallie chose it for him, of course. "N-A-D-E."

Hallie nods, and her tongue pops out from between her lips as she carefully prints the next letters. When she's done, she drops her crayon dramatically and throws her arms wide. "Okay! Lemonade!"

Jack peeks over at her work. The letters are a little lopsided, and Hallie's N is backwards, but it's not bad for a recent Kindergarten graduate.

"Looks great, punky. How much do you think you should charge?"

"Um, like, twenty bucks."

Jack laughs. "For one cup?"

"You make really good lemonade, Daddy," Hallie says seriously.

"I mix really good lemonade."

"I like it."

"I'm glad," Jack says. "But maybe it would be better if we charged a quarter."

Hallie's eyebrows wiggle upward. "A dollar?"

"Hallie, you can't gouge people for Country Time lemonade."

"What's gouge?"

Jack smiles. "Overcharge. People don't want to pay more money than they would spend on the lemonade at the store."

"Well, they should!" Hallie says. She kneels on the seat of her chair and stares purposefully at Jack. "It's for something important. We need lotsa money to help the people pets."

It was Hallie's idea, of course. She doesn't ask too many questions about what happened to Jack, but since she found out that he'd been in the system, she's been hellbent on doing what she can to help the people still in it. She's already made signs for her bedroom--PEOPLE ARE NOT PETS, backwards N and all--and called every relative and canvassed for donations. The lemonade stand is her first real entrepreneurial venture. Jack agreed to help her because Joe gets choked up every time they talk about it.

"You're right, baby. It is important, but we also want to be fair."

Hallie sighs, slumping back in her chair. "I guess."

"Hallie Marilyn, do you know how much I love you?"

Hallie lifts her head. "You should prob'ly tell me."

Jack gets up and moves to Hallie's side of the table. He wraps his arms around her little body and kisses her cheek. "More than lemonade, that's for sure."

"I think I love you almost as much as chocolate."

Jack rests his chin on her dark curls. "I'll take it."

Canon, Just Before the Events of "Lightning Glass:"

"Take a breath," Joe says. "You're okay."

Jack tries, but already, he can hear the dull murmur of the waiting crowd. Chairs creak and cameras click, and Jack's mouth goes dry.

"I don't know if I can do this," he says, fidgeting with the tie at his throat. His fingertips brush against the scars from the collar. They're too high. Everyone will see. It doesn't matter how dressed up he is or what he has to say.

"You can," says Joe. He stops Jack's hands and laces their fingers together. Jack's palms are sweaty. Joe only squeezes his hands tighter.

"Everyone's going to know," Jack whispers. "They'll know what I am."

"No, they'll know what happened to you. Not what you are."

"It's the same thing."

It isn't the same thing. He knows that, even as he says it. He's worked hard to learn it, to scrub away the stains that Bill and Ivan left behind. He isn't a whore. He isn't a sweet boy, or even a good one.

If he was, he wouldn't be about to step onstage and tell the world about what those men did to him. What he let happen because he thought he wasn't worth anything better. What WRU does to make their workers compliant and ready for service.

It's just that he's fucking terrified. Once he tells his story, it won't belong to him anymore, and he doesn't know what the rest of the world will do with it.

"I'll be right there with you," Joe says. His hand pulses around Jack's.

On the other side of the curtain, the press consultant is starting to quiet the crowd. Jack's gut clenches, and he feels suddenly cold. He closes his eyes.

"Joey--"

He feels gentle lips on his cheek. He opens his eyes, and Joe's green eyes are looking back at him, warm and sure.

"You're going to help so many people, Jackie. That's what you've always wanted to do, isn't it? You've got this. I know it." Joe says. This time, his kiss lands soft on Jack's lips. "And I won't leave you. I promise."

The curtain shifts, and the consultant peeks back at them.

"Are you ready?" she asks.

Jack holds Joe's hand as tightly as he can. "We are."

Canon, Recent Post-Rescue Jack:

He stops in the doorway, frozen by the sight in front of him.

Joe's face is lit blue by the computer screen, and he has his hand to his mouth like he might be sick. He doesn't look away from the monitor. Maybe he can't.

He doesn't know that Jack is just behind him. He doesn't know that Jack can see.

It's a video. Jack doesn't remember it being taken--his memories of his time with Ivan are fragmented at best--but he recognizes himself in the frame. Naked on his hands and knees in the crate. Muzzled, eyes streaming.

"You should be ashamed, shouldn't you?" Ivan's voice hisses from the computer speakers. "What would Joe say?"

Jack braces himself against the doorframe. It takes everything he has not to sink to his knees and wait for his punishment. The Jack in the video presses his forehead to the wire floor of the crate. Joe's hoodie is beneath him.

"Oh, baby, no," Joe murmurs. He presses his fingertips to the computer screen and takes a heaving breath.

Jack doesn't understand. Joe seems upset. Like what he's seeing on the screen isn't what he wanted. But there are so many things about Joe that Jack doesn't understand now.

Jack hears himself scream when the collar lights up, and he unconsciously reaches for his throat. It's bare, only a band of scar tissue left behind. There is no collar now. He's home. This is supposed to be home.

Joe lets go a ragged sob. His fingers tangle in his dark curls, and still, he doesn't turn around.

"I'm sorry, Jackie," Joe whispers. "I'm so sorry."

Jack knows that he is talking to the Jack on the screen, that the words aren't for him. But still, he imagines that Joe knows he's there, and that Joe wants to make it right. He imagines that he could let him.

(For Role Reversal AU Joe)

The blanket is warm, and Carl is soft. Carl makes everything warmer, actually. His big body is nestled right alongside Joe's in the bed, and every so often, he bats his big paw against Joe's shoulder. Carl's breath is a little doggy, a little sour on Joe's face, but he doesn't mind.

He's home.

Joe shifts his feet under the blanket, and they move freely; there are no cuffs, no chains to keep him in the bed. He can wear pajamas now, can fall asleep without wondering what Ivan will do to him in the dark.

He can't talk yet, but his thoughts are starting to fall back in line.

He thinks he is happy to be home. Well, he knows it. It's only that it's a little scary to feel happy again. To believe that they're safe.

"Baby?"

Joe turns. Jack is in the doorway, holding two mugs of tea. Joe smiles, the expression still hesitant and unfamiliar. Jack smiles back.

"I thought maybe I'd read to you?" Jack says. He stays in the doorway, and his toes curl at the joints, pushing awkwardly against the plush carpet. "It--it always made me feel better when you did it for me. What do you think?"

Joe nods, and his smile stays put. He thinks it would be nice, to hear Jack's voice, to have him so close. No, he knows it.