Warnings: Alternate Universe, Out of character Lucas, Karen, Keith, and Haley. Mentions of abortion, and slightly graphic scenes with cutting.

What if Karen hadn't been such a saint in raising Lucas? What if Keith had never stuck around to help and taught Lucas how to be a good man? How would motherhood at 18 and losing the 2 men she loved affected her parenting? And how would this different Lucas affected everything in Tree Hill?

I got this idea from when I saw Lucas with the black hair and make up "Pictures of You"

I don't own anything.

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Why Lucas? Why do you dye your hair black? Why do you have a tongue ring? Why do you always wear black? Why do you cut your wrists? And why do you hate your parents?

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These were the questions I always heard from teachers, my peers, therapists, or my mother. But it didn't matter, I was all the same to all of these people.

The freak...

The goth...

The bastard son to the most prosperous man in Tree Hill...

The insults, the taunts, and the gossip had ceased to bother me anymore. After hearing them for so long, I was completely convinced that everything they said was true. Most of it was anyways.

Staring at myself in the mirror wasn't helping disprove these theories and to boost my non-existence self-esteem.

Faded black hair on top of my head revealed dirty blonde roots. I was going to have to buy some more dye soon before I actually went blonde once again.

Below that were my eye shadow lined blue eyes. I hated those eyes, they made me look like a small desperate child. And that was a part of myself I was fighting like Hell to leave behind. I didn't let my eyes travel below to my forearms, which were covered in different shades of scars.

God I was ugly. It was no wonder that no one wanted anything to do with me, including my mom; Speak of the devil...

"Lucas, get your ass out here. I'm leaving in five minutes and if you're not out here, then you will be walking to school!" The cigarette ridden voice of my mother echoed through the paper thin walls of our house.

I couldn't really afford to be late for school again considering that most of my teachers all had a grude against me for not being as good as my half-brother, but that was a whole different story that I didn't feel like diving into right now.

Sighing, I hurried to pull on my black wardrobe and left the bathroom to meet my mother, who was already half way out the door.

My stomach growled in protest as I passed the refrigerator and counter without bothering to grab anything. I knew that there wouldn't be a lot in the refrigerator though, whenever grocery shopping got done, I was the one who was doing it. So once again, no food, and maybe if I was lucky, I would be able to scare some freshman into giving me their lunch money.

The car ride was silent except for the aged car rumbling down the road and the occasional puff from my mother smoking another one of her cigarettes. I was tempted to ask her for some lunch money after my stomach continued growling and a headache approached, but I knew what would happen if I dared to ask her for anything.

I knew that she would go into a rant about how she gave up all of her dreams and opportunities for a disappointment...me. She would yell about how it was my fault that my father wouldn't even look at us. Yeah, no matter how hungry I was, I wasn't going to set my self up for more degradation from her.

Our junky car pulled up to the curb in front of my school as I prepared to get out of the car. But I had a question to ask first.

"Mom, can you pick me up after school today? I think that its supposed to rain this afternoon and I don't really want to walk home in the rain." I was well aware what the answer would be no, but I still had to ask.

"No Lucas, I'm busy." The response was short and held an air of agitatation that I would actually have the nerve to ask her for something. After she pulled the car away from the curb, I swallowed back the feelings of resentment I had towards my mother and turned to walk in to my second Hell.

All in all, I think that school was the worst part of my teen years. It held all of the reminders of my father's abandonment and clear favoritism of my half-brother. This building held all of the teachers that didn't like my lack of motivation, and all of the students that were too afraid of my attitude to be my friend.

Except for one girl...

As I stalked through the halls on my way to my locker, I spotted the one girl that I considered my friend. I wasn't sure if that title went both ways, but she had never called me any derogatory names, so I guess that had to stand for something. Right?

Anyways, Haley James was struggling to collect the books she had dropped. Other students were unknowingly kicking around one of her binders on the floor. I couldn't stand watching her struggle like this so I nonchalantly walked over there and shoved a student out of the way that was kicking her binder. Picking up her binder and putting it in her arms, I immediately walked away, not really wanting any interaction with anyone at the moment.

"Hey Luke! Thanks!" I heard Haley call after me as I walked away. I almost felt bad because I knew that Haley had no other friends than me, and I wasn't exactly the best friend material.

Haley and I were almost inseperable when we were little kids. I know, tough old me having a girl for a best friend, funny right. But I didn't have anyone else and either did she, so naturally, loners gravitated to eachother, even in first grade.

But things changed...My mother became less caring, which turned me and my emotions somewhat cold. When the bullying took a turn for the worst and became personal and involving my father's non-involvment, I began retreating into my self to spare my low self-esteem. And unfortunately, I began growing so isolated that I even isolated my best and only friend.

I still cared about her, but it was hard for me to really show someone that I cared about something anymore. People tended to use my emotions, whatever rarity they were, against me.

Once in home room, I sat in my assigned seat and began shuffling through my bag to find what ever homework that I failed to do the night before. Maybe this is why my grades always suffered, because my homework always turned in to homeroom work.

The bell rang just as I was blowing through an essay for history. I had already finished the algebra assignment, and it was sure to recieve a failing grade. But a failing grade was better than not turning in the paper at all. I had already learned that they called your parents, or parent, if you failed to turn in assignments.

My hand was just beginning to cramp from my quick writing as I heard the seat behind me grow occupied. I knew who it was and instantly damned the alphabetical seating chart in my head.

"How are you today Pucas?"

I hated the person that the voice belonged to. It was my half-brother and my worst enemy, Nathan Scott.

Yes, after my father so lovingly left because my mother wouldn't get an abortion, he went on and concieved this moron just three months later. And my father stuck around for this pregnancy.

"Shut the fuck up and leave me alone asshole." This wasn't my usual response to Nathan. Usually I played passive, but I was already in a bad mood from my mother's uncaring attitude so my testy side was coming out.

"Oh, the gothic bastard is finally growing a backbone. Your father must be so proud. Oh yeah, your father wishes that you were a stain on the bed sheets. My bad." Came Nathan's reply, along with the laughs of many of his other friends that really only liked him for the ridiculous amounts of money that his...excuse me, our father made.

I knew that there was nothing really to say to that comment. Sure it stung, but it wasn't anything I had never heard before. Instead I chewed on my chipped black painted nails to keep from retorting and getting myself in trouble.

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My day went the same througout the torturous six hours that I was required to stay in school. My peers made more taunts that I didn't bother to retort against because they were all pretty accurate, my teachers gave me that same disappointed sigh everytime I handed in an incomplete paper or no paper at all, and of course when lunch came by, I starved.

Just like usual...

Now it was after school, and I was procrastinating about walking home in the pourning rain that I had told my mother was coming.

Having nowhere else to go, I gravitated towards the gym, where I could hear the loud voices of my brother and his friends laughing and warming up their basketball skills. I opened the gym doors and was instantly hit with many memories from my earlier childhood.

A blissfully ignorant 7 year-old that wanted to join the basketball team...

That same boy being so confused as to why the other boys made fun of him...

"Mommy, what does 'bastard' mean?...

"I'm busy Lucas, bother me with your questions later...

"Mom, is Dan Scott my father?...

"Yes, and he doesn't want anything to do with us because of you..."

When I was a younger child I had always enjoyed playing basketball. It was like I had been drawn to it from the first time I picked up a basketball during recess and shot the ball through the hoop. I even remember playing an innocent game with Nathan and the rest of the boys before the circumstances of my parentage came to Nathan's knowledge and I was quickly ostracized.

But when I had asked to join the junior basketball league, that was when the softer side of my mother came out. I had found her crying on the floor with a jersey clutched in one hand, and an aged photo in the other. I had gone to hug her and she pulled me in tight and placed a kiss on the top of my head.

"You're so much like your father. You're so determined, strong, and stubborn. I love him and miss him so much."

I still remember that day vividly, and I doubt that I will ever forget it. That was the first day that my mother had ever mentioned my father. And it was a few years after that night that I noticed my mother never said that she loved me...just my father.

She loved me for the fact that I exhibited behaviors that were like my father's. But once I learned who he was, and what he had done to my mother and I, I was determined to be nothing like that man. Hence the black wardrobe, hair, nails, and the silver stud embedded in my tongue.

I had really hoped that when my mother saw that she wasn't raising me, and I was learning what was right and what was wrong from whatever I chose to watch on television, that she would stand up and be my parent, because no one else had been. My hopes had been unheeded.

As I continued to watch the basketball practice in fascination, I felt a yearning growing in my stomach. I yearned to be out on that court with all of the other guys, having fun and having the compainionship of being team mates. But that was a joke. I would never fit in with those guys. Yeah, a dark emo boy with black hair, among all of the perfect guys on the team. That would happen.

Dark brown hair, and a black suit caught my eye at the door of the gym. The man was talking to Principle Turner as they turned to watch the basketball players execute a play as directed by the booming voice of Coach Whitey Durham

I stared intently at this pair as they talked like they were old friends. The man with the dark brown hair must have sensed eyes on him and turned around.

Instantly, I saw the sharp blue eyes and knew who it was I was staring at; My father, Dan Scott.

I immediately tore my eyes away from the piercing glare, embarrassed at being caught staring at the one man that could intimidate me with just a glance. Keeping my head down to hide my flushed cheeks and my humiliation, I really wished that my father wasn't blocking the entrance to the gym so I could make my escape. Rain or not, I was eager to get out of here.

"It seems that I made the right choice when I chose your brother. He has so much promise and potential. You and your mother held no future for me, but I do think that your mother would have had a better life if she had just aborted you. Looking at you now, I think she made a mistake in carrying you to term."

There was a long pause of silence in which I took in the sight of my father standing in front of me in his intimidating stance. I let his words sink their claws in to my emotions as he sat down next to me. In my mind, I wondered how someone could say such cruel and hurtful words in a tone that sounded like a heart to heart.

"Don't yearn for something that will never be. You on the basketball team, me as your father. None of that will ever happen. Get on with your life Lucas." Dan patted me on my back for a few moments before standing up and walking away.

My breathing was short from the utter shock of the situation. My father had come to talk to me, he had basically told me that I was a mistake, and then he told me that I could never achieve my dream of joining the team, or ever have a father. At the same time he was using a tone that a nice father would use when talking to a son that he actually wanted to be born. Then he patted me on the back, it almost felt like an affectionate gesture. But I knew that I shouldn't read too much into this.

I knew that this was probably a just some tactic meant to lower my self-esteem and make sure that I didn't join the team and potentially pose a threat to the good son's chances.

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Now here I was once again, sitting on my grimy bathroom floor, my trusty pocket knife was wielded and I was staring at the shockingly sharp blade that was staring at me, mocking me almost.

You know you want to do this Lucas...He said it himself...He didn't want you and he never will...You'll never be enough Lucas...That's why you have to do this...Just one little slice...then another...Then we can see who notices...If anyone notices...

Lifting up the sleeve of my sweatshirt, I stared down at the numerous scars from previous occasions. Some were tan and healed, others were still sensitive and sore when he touched them.

Each time I did this, I promised myself that it would be the last. But I couldn't help myself when every day, I am reminded that no one wanted to stick around and be my father. I am reminded that my mother could hardly be bothered with motherhood, and that everytime I put some snippet of the real me out there, someone can't help but to cut it down.

Slice...The blood flowed to the surface and then spilled over the fresh cut, trickling down my forearm.

Maybe that's why I really kept myself in black garb and hair dye. It was becuase the real me, the one that had dirty blonde hair that liked basketball and classic novels, and wore blue jeans and colored T-shirts was the one that was too weak to handle to unwilling solitude that shrouded my life.

Slice...Slice...Slice...

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Ok guys, I know that they are all pretty out of character, but that is why I labeled this as AU, this will be a Brucas, but it will not be centered around them, because this is mainly a Lucas-centric story. Please review, thanks, Broody.