One:
Sort of making it is sitting in the back of a club (the crappy V.I.P section) with a heavy arm resting on your shoulder and the rough velour scratching against your neck. Jack's thin body is wracked with nervousness, his slender, spidery fingers playing with the band aid on his knee. Jimmy, with his arm over Jack's shoulder, is dressed like an Italian mobster and smells like a precocious fourteen year old invited to prom, trying ever so hard to make himself seem grown up. One of the big boys. His hair is slicked back with heavy gel that's sending small beads of sweat down the back of his neck. He retracts his arm to wipe the sweat away from his forehead and bites his lip only to return his arm to Jack's shoulder once more.

Jack is eyeing the half empty beer on the table which isn't his but is still half empty and missing it's owner. He keeps his eyes on the water droplets, sliding down the bottle, knowing that if he doesn't reach out for it soon it'll get warm.

Jimmy has big plans for the club. He wants better alcohol. He wants better entertainment. He wants it to be the popular stop for all celebrity feet entering Detroit's border. He wants Jack to convince some guy that Jimmy can attract all of the underground, indie bands and that that'll in turn attract the younger clubbers.

"You want some coke?"

Jimmy is already high.

"No,"

"You did good tonight,"

And lying. Jack did horrible.

"I'm happy you think so,"

Sort of making it is getting done with a set and walking up to the bar only to be carded and turned down. Sort of making it is slyly explaining to the bartender that you were just up on stage and having her raise an eyebrow and say 'oh really', in the end, offering her phone number and nothing else. Sort of making it is sitting around a table with your band mates, all of them drunk and you completely sober. The only seventeen year old of the group.

You, the designated driver. You, the one that's sober enough to know right from wrong. You, the one that's sober enough to be pulled into a meeting with some guy you've never met, just to convince him to invest in some shitty club you don't even want to be in, in the first place.

"You sure you don't want some coke?" Jimmy asks again, running his hand over his forehead once more and resting his arm on Jack's shoulder once more, "fuck," he reaches into his sweat suit's pocket, pulling out a small bag, "Vic is taking forever. I'm gonna' wet my pants in a minute,"

"What's this about pissing your pants Jimmy? I thought we were over that,"

Jack's insides become instantly knotted, his cheeks warm. He sees why Jimmy is so nervous.

The man is average height, black, with a roughly cut hairdo and an expensive suit on. Too expensive. The kind of expensive that shouldn't be in some crappy, Detroit club sitting across from some man with gelled down hair and track suit.

"Jesus Christ," he takes a seat in the booth across from Jack and Jimmy, "give the kid some room, you trying to take him home tonight or something?"

Jimmy pulls away, smoothing down the fabric over his knees, nervously laughing.

"How old are you kid?"

"Eighteen,"

"Jimmy said you were seventeen,"

"Eighteen next week though," Jack chokes out.

The guy across from him takes a long nod, pulling out a cigar from a container he pulled out of his pocket.

"You smoke kiddo?"

"No,"

"Fucking liar," he chuckles to himself, passing Jack a lit cigar.

Jack sucks in the smoke, his natural impulse to cough up the air. As coolly as he can though, he turns his face from the man, and covers his mouth with his right hand.

"Come on, don't spoil him. He's sweet,"

Sort of making it is missing Jimmy's velour sweat suit scratching your neck. Missing his heavy arm resting on your shoulder. Sort of making it is wishing that he would do something to steal you away from the situation, because you're sitting across from the man wearing the most expensive suit you've ever seen and with your limited knowledge of money (Bobby showing up with five hundred bucks randomly and not having any work to account for it or Angel stuffing wads of cash into Evelyn's purse and being surprised by the quiet Jack, in the kitchen doorway, watching silently) distrusting him automatically.

"Well guys, I would love to stay here forever and chat it up with you guys but the family is waiting,"

"Vic," Jimmy says, finally seeming to gain back some of his confidence, "can I talk to you for a minute?"

The man looks over at Jack and agrees, obviously reluctantly, to follow Jimmy outside of the V.I.P booth and into the back room of the club. When Jimmy walks past Jack gets a thorough view of his face and finally realizes how messed up he looks, his eyes all red from the Cocaine and nails all bitten down, the corners of most of them bleeding.

Jack uses the opportunity to sneak out of the booth, but not before grabbing the luke warm beer on the table. When walking past Jack sees the man leaning against the boxes of condiments that'll sit there for years and Jimmy rambling on nervously, his hands being thrown around excitedly. The only portion of the conversation he hears is "…he was great right?…"

And with that, he's out of there.

Jack emerged from the club before finally remembering Jerry couldn't pick him up.

"You missing something?"

"A ride,"

For some reason, with the breeze hitting him and the lukewarm bottle of beer in his hand, he wasn't so afraid of the man.

"How'd your talk go with Jimmy?"

"Jimmy's a gay coke fiend," he paused, and then said what every homophobic man says, "not that, there's anything wrong with that, but they usually don't make very good business deals. I mean, he wants me to own half of this club and pay all,"

"You don't have to sugar coat it,"

"What?"

"I'm not gay, you don't have to sugar coat it for me,"

"You aren't huh? What's your name kid?"

"Jack,"

"Like the ripper?"

"Yeah, I guess so,"

Sort of making it is sticking behind anyone that you may just like so they don't have to see you walking home. Sort of making it is being forced to walk because your mother (without her ever saying it) doesn't trust you not to drive drunk and end up in a ditch somewhere and thus can't bring herself to get you an actual car.

"That's cute. Although I guess it's not much better than mine huh?"

"I don't know. You never introduced yourself,"

"I didn't huh?" a silence fell before the man finally said, "I'm Victor Sweet,"

AN: Ok. Here we go. So, everyone knows I don't own Four Brothers but what they may not have picked up on in the summary is that this is an AU. I want to do an AU where Victor Sweet is still the main bad guy, that still involves all of the main players, but revolves around the youngest Mercer. By the way, all of the Mercers are younger than in the movie, as you see, Jack is eighteen. Not sure what the updating pattern will be on this. I want to revise each chapter as much as I can though so, we'll see. Don't forget to review :D