Summary: AU – The boys have not been rescued – this was just a delusion Ralph had when his mind couldn't withstand the pressure anymore during the hunt.

4 Years later, still on the island, Ralph slowly recovers from his madness with the help of Jack, who has made the madman his possession.

This is about growing up. How do children with no parents as examples grow into adults?

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. And I'm not sure if I'd even want these psycho-kids....

Warnings: The usual violence. Not very graphic. Slash? I'm not sure. Not for chapter one, for latter chapters though.

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I AM HERE

Prologue

With a last triumphant war-cry Jack broke through the layer of foliage, the glorious leader who has driven his prey into a corner – and came to an abrupt halt.

Next to him Roger broke out of the forest, and Robert and Maurice. More and more of the children hunters stopped behind them, all of them falling into a sudden silence.

And in the first light of morning, Ralph stood on the beach, only some steps away, and laughed, and cried. Ralph stood in the sand, half naked and thin and bloody, and laughing and crying he turned around to the frozen hunters. And his eyes, though they were shining with life, didn't seem to see them.

"We're saved!" Ralph cried.

Jack started forward and the others raised their spears again, but then he changed his mind and stood still.

"We're saved!" Ralph fell to his knees and sobbed and pointed towards an empty horizon. And he laughed with the pain and joy of a madman.

1 Intangible

Sixteen by now. Is he? The fair-haired one in the shadows wonders. Jack says they are. He'd like to know that. A shame that they never counted the days. Now time is evasive and just like a dream, even less tangible than the dreams of hope and a fairy-tale world called 'home'.

If he was sixteen, then it had been four years. Four years of which he couldn't tell if he had spent awake and all the rest of his life but a dream, or if he'd spent them living a nightmare in a unreal dimension of hell.

A hell in which blinding light seeped through every pore and in which the darkness bore the shadows but the day was even worse.

What makes them smile?

What makes Jack smile?

He knows why he cried, and he has stopped crying long ago.

But he does not know a single reason for smiling, when you are living in hell.

It was always a little smile that crept over Jack's lips, when he climbed with the long and powerful strides of the well-trained hunter the last few steps of the slope. Four years of running wild in the forest, of fighting and killing of ruling his people with the power of strength and violence have made him a bundle of muscles. Long gone is the tall and sinewy pre-teen. With a swift turn of his head he could see the whole island, laying peaceful in the glittering desert of water. His land. His kingdom.

With a satisfied grin, he leapt up the final step and burst into the wooden hut were once the first signal fire burned.

Under the roof of dried palm branches was his home. He had lived here and ruled from here nearly three years. After 'The Hunt' – which is what the boys call it now, in awe – he resided in castle rock for a while, but now, that they lived in peace, playing war and army was no longer fun. With Ralph caught and obviously stark raving mad, the opposition was gone and he was the unquestioned Chief.

After a while he was tired of the smelly damp cave and he ordered his hunters to build a new shelter on the top of the mountain. And that was where he stayed. He wasn't alone. Most of the boys lived somewhere near by. Only some of the littluns lived elsewhere. They were a strange little folk, some of them more animal than human.

But this hut was without question the biggest and best on the whole island. It had an little cooking fire and pigskins to sleep on, and it held all the dear and important possessions Jack had.

Jack had quite some precious things. First was his knife, the most dangerous weapon and the most important tool on the island. He always carried it at his side, never let go of it, even in his sleep. Then there was his small collection of spears, all well sharpened and ready for hunting. Upon a small bile of wood rested the second most important tool on the island : an old pair of broken specs. Hidden under the pigskins was something else, something that had no obvious use but yet Jack wouldn't let go of it. Old, dusty and dirty but still recognisable was the black cap that once, long ago had belonged to a little choir boy.

But none of them was as strange and wondrous, as troubling and painfully reminding of the old days as his last, most precious possession. None of them he hated and loved more. None of them is as meaningful as Ralph.

At the moment Ralph was but a little bundle huddled on the pigskins in the darkest part of the hut. Only a nearly white shock of hair and a scarred pair of fists is visible.

Jack frowns while eating his meat. Really, none of his precious things is as troubling as Ralph.

In the four years since The Hunt he has only partly recovered from his insanity. His suddenly snapping mind has probably saved his life, then. When they caught him, he was far away, babbling and laughing and crying something about being rescued by a cruiser. He had been so strange and helpless and all... after the first shock, the heat of the hunt had cooled down and nobody would kill him now.

But he was strange and frightening, a madman among them and something had to be done about him. Even if Jack was angry and somehow repelled by the raving boy, he decided that nobody should touch him. And in the aftermath he had seen how great a decision this had been. Because the show of mercy had brought him awe and admiration from the boys, even more than a killing could ever have. And so he had unwillingly made a step into the right direction.

So he had tied him up and held him as a captive in his cave. And after a while Ralph had calmed down. Step by step Jack had come to understand his delusions: that a cruiser with English naval officers had come to save them. But now and then, a glimpse of the old Ralph could be seen, sometimes only for a moment, sometimes for minutes and hours, when he was back on the island and accepting his fate. This contradiction was fascinating for the boy who had become ruler and so he had once again felt himself drawn to the fair-haired one.

The time – years by now – went by slowly and unnoticeably, one sunny day melting into another. Jack moved to hill, but nothing else changed much. Once or twice one of the littluns died or vanished, but nobody really cared much. Everyone lived quiet, and almost peaceful, forgetting the days of war and hope for rescue. Long ago they had stopped building signal fires. They lived happily and undisturbed in their own little world, with their on little rules. Happily ever after.

Jack grunted. Happily ever after had never been his cup of tea. A born leader he was, and he needed something to occupy his mind.

"Ralph."

No response came from the hunch on the skins.

"Ralph!" he said in a commanding voice.

No response.

He crawled over to the boy and shook his shoulder.

"Hey! Don't play dead. I got you some meat." He waved it above his head.

"Hello? Someone in there?"

A hand shot out and grabbed the meat, and then the other boy slowly got into a sitting position. Like an animal he ripped out a big chunk of meat and began chewing, all the while wearily watching his owner.

Jack also watched him. Ralph had not grown as much as he had himself, but he was still tall. He was also horribly thin and weak, although his state had already been much worse than now. His fair and tangled hair fell over his shoulders in a long mane and of all the boys he was the palest. Even Roger with his naturally pallid complexion was bronzed compared to Ralph who had spent nearly all the time in the shadows of this hut.

He still wore the most rutty old pair of shorts and one of the pigskins around his shoulders as if he was cold.

His eyes, which could shine with the feverish quality of a true madman were at the moment only a weak, somehow distant blue.

"How was the day?"

This one, sane and normal question caught Jack off guard.

"Good," he answered without thinking.

"Good," repeated Ralph and licked his lips thoughtfully.

"Yes," said Jack.

No further response came from Ralph.

"How was your day?" asked Jack, desperately trying to keep the conversation alive.

"Good."

"Good?" Jack really didn't understand this guy. How could a day spent lying in the shadow and being mad be good?

"Yes. I have come to a conclusion."

"A conclusion?" Jack was growing more and more confused.

"Yes. I am mad."

Jack stared.

"Y.. yes," he managed. "We already knew that."

"I am having delusions of this place. I believe I live on an island with other boys, playing in the wilderness. But this is not true, this is but a dream..."

Jack bolted to his feet and began shaking the boys frail shoulders furiously.

"You are here!"

" You are here you thrice damned moron! This is real! This is reality and nothing else! I am reality!! You are here!!", he yelled at him.

Ralph was slack in his hands and didn't make a sound to protest.

He shook him more violently.

"This is real! Do you hear me? This is real!!"

Watery eyes looked solemnly at him when he finally stopped. With a crooked smile Ralph shook his head.

"No. It is not."

" But I've come to accept it. I can't escape this madness. I can't go back to sanity. Every time I try to reach it, truth becomes more evasive. This dream is the only reality I have. So I will live it."

"I am here," he sighed.