Thunder (G/T P!Septiplier)

Tribulation

A/N Well, it certainly has been a while. I apologize for the lack of updates, things have still been a bit chaotic on my end. I'm fortunately between semesters now, and have had enough time on my hands to realize how starved I am as a bookworm right now: I have none of my physical books here during Quarantine, but I've had some productive time to work on my drawing practice. Regardless, thank you all for your patience with me, I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Back to you, Jim!

Jack wasn't sure how long it'd been since the crash; since the forest fire that had brought him to Mark. But many days of winter had passed now, though he hadn't heard Amy and Mark speak of moving back to the warmer-seasons location yet. His translator was getting better, more effective, to the point that only a few words of the alien language would not translate— but it got easier and easier to listen to the giants, just as it got easier to walk.

He could take more steps now without needing to rest as immediately. But he still had nightmares; visions of darkness, of red lights, smirking shadows and fangs of fire baring at him with glowing green ember eyes, snarling  at him with claws to slash, ready to attack. One of the times they went to that rock wall in the middle of the night, Jack tried drawing out one of his dreams for Mark, to convey the suffocating darkness of space, the closing in lack of air, the empty nothingness and claustrophobic walls of metal. He'd diagramed how above the alien planet was where he'd come from, mapping out the smudge of colour before putting the small round figure of his pod in, blurred and hurtling toward the forest far below. Mark had shown himself to be surprisingly intuitive, understanding despite the restricting boundaries between them that what Jack had gone through was important. And though he didn't get the whole story, he'd ended the unnerving drawings by holding Jack close in a protective hug.

One of the downsides to these nighttime escapades, however, was the temperature; normally, such a thing was not an issue with Mark around, but before they could head back this late night the wind had begun to howl, and a flurry of snow began to pour. So with a muttered curse, Mark had retreated into the depths of the ancient cave, with Jack cupped safely to his chest as they settled down to wait the storm out. 

"Ay, I still smell the storm," Mark sighed. He was curled up on his side like a cat, with Jack nestled under the slant of his chest, hammocked over the inner side of the warrior's tucked forearm. It was an awkward way to sit to an outsider, but it was a comfortable way for Mark to rest his spine while letting Jack sit as he pleased without the cold stone floor stealing his precious body heat— plus the pelt cloak made for a thermal curtain, concealing the small Irishman and retaining a warm comfortable atmosphere. "We should try resting while we wait it out, da?" Mark tilted his head to look at Jack. With a sigh, Jack nodded in agreement, letting out a yawn; he was still healing after all. He moved to rub his eyes, while Mark moved to lift the small human and hold him against his chest. He turned over so that his back was to the snarling storm, and his arms enveloped his companion once more so that they were both safe and secure enough to relax. Jack simply yawned again, having hardly reacted as he closed his eyes and nestled against the insulating furs and warm skin...

He weakly coughed as he staggered onward, his arms clenched against his body, and his clothes stained with blood and water. The ground foliage around him swayed wildly in the wind; the trees stood tall and imposing, glaring down at their reflection in the crystal river that was coursing with the downpour. Jack felt cold and empty, soaked to the bone and shivering as he tried to keep going, to keep moving, but it took so much effort just to cycle his legs; left, right... left...