Free Bird. Chapter One.

disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from the movie, the movie (which is sad because I don't even have the dvd yet : ( ...no extras for me!) or any of the plot elements taken from the movie and injected into my story.
an: I'm unsure if this is going to be an epic or a tale. More importantly, I'm unsure of where this is going. I know that Jack's introduction into the family has been done so many times that we all now accept on some kind of common ground the events surrounding it. I hope this is in some way different. I'm also unsure if this beginning makes me sick and/or twisted. Boy-oh-boy do I hope not. On with the show:
I.
One was forty-three. Relatively handsome and living a lie. He kept on telling the other one that it was alright even when it wasn't. He kept his fingers curled into his messy hair and tried smiling so he wouldn't face what was really happening. He didn't want to think about it actually. He felt sick when he thought about it. He wasn't a bad person. Really. He also kept on convincing himself that the one, the other one, was legal. He was tall enough to be of legal age. That made it a little less daunting. Thinking that it was actually a consenting adult instead of a child on his knees and that he wouldn't have to pay him afterwards.

He wasn't of legal age. Fifteen to be exact. He kept his eyes lowered and his teeth gritted as if not allowing the reality of what he was doing sink in. He had done it many a time. He didn't even really mind it anymore. It was instinct. Pure instinct. He had been conditioned to think about the money and the money only. All he needed was to survive and it was really the only thing that he could do. He kept glancing at his back pack feet away from him. It bothered him. When he did it, he liked to focus. Things in his peripheral reminded him that he was on Earth still. Not in some dream, nightmare, or alternate universe.

"You need help with that?" the man chuckled some when the fifteen year old, on his knees, took longer than expected unbuttoning his slacks. He stopped to wipe the sweat off of his forehead. He was trembling, his fingers shaking nervously, almost the extent of feebleness when it came to getting the dress pants down.

"Um," he stood and looked around the dark alley with some contempt, "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry," he pulled the knife out from his waist band, "I need your wallet,"

He had known from the beginning that the guy was rich. He just had that kind of air. That kind of 'I-could-buy-if-I-really-wanted-to' attitude. The kid had run into many of his kind. "Don't do this kid," he scoffed, pulling his leather wallet out and handing it over.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, taking out the cash and handing him back the wallet.

The kid grabbed the back pack cautiously. He backed out of the alley, lowering his head and walking past the black sports car he suspected the man's wife sat in.

How fucking dramatic.

All he wanted was to be normal.

He didn't want still-in-the-closet businessmen to approach him and offer fifties for blow jobs while his unsuspecting wife kept the Benz running.

But he had to have something. He did have enough customers and he rarely approached others. The first one was Chris. Chris, in the back of the bar they had played in the first night he had run away.

He could still remember Rob whispering in his ear.

"Chris wants to talk to you"
"Who's Chris?"
"The owner. He said he liked your guitar,"
Pause.
"Where is he?"
"In the back...and Jack...?"
"Yeah?"
"Please don't screw this up. This is our rent money,"

He could still remember how he felt when Chris just about threw the money at him. He picked it up off the floor, avoiding eye contact, and met Rob outside. The next day Rob had gotten the call that they would be playing every Friday of the rest of the month. It was kind of how he felt, walking past that black sport's car, hanging his head in shame.

That's when he started running.

He didn't stop until he felt some uneasiness in his stomach. He was going to puke. He felt a sickness rising inside of him until he was lurching forward. His knees fell into the muddy lawn and his hands couldn't work fast enough to steady him.

He stayed there for a couple of minutes before rolling over and pulling his knees into his chest.

He still felt the bills in his palm. He was trying to count the money through the tears. Needless to say, it wasn't as easy as he wished it would be.

"One hundred, two hundred, three hundred..."

"Hey," he hadn't even really heard the car pulling up in front of him he was so into counting the money.

He looked around, getting ready to make a mad dash for it. He hadn't gone through all of that just to have his money taken.

She had white hair and a kind face. And her sweat pants and oversized t-shirt told the story of a woman that had just gone out the door for a quick run.

"No. Don't run," the woman said when he saw the kid standing up, "come here," she beckoned, waving the kid forward. When she saw the kid backing away he put is hand up, "No. come. Just stand there. I want to help you ok?" she stepped forward some, "ok,"she smiled some, "let me see your face,"

For some reason the kid trusted her. He trusted no one but for some reason she looked like she wouldn't lie.

He stuffed the cash into his pocket and looked in back of him. "Do you have a home?"

"What do you care?"

"Ahhh...so you can talk,"

"I don't do that anymore," he mumbled, clutching his left arm with his right hand.

"Your face is all bruised up," she ignored his muttering and flicked her thumb over his cheek, "what's your name kiddo?"

"Jack," his voice had thinned out. Not that he had sounded so strong in the first place. Just that he was beginning to sound as if he would cry.

Jack pulled away.

"Ok Jack," she nodded kindly, "my name is Evelyn,"

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