Disclaimer: I own nothing from the Sookie Stackhouse Universe. All characters mentioned in the books belong to Charlaine Harris.

Reviews are greatly appreciated. (This chapter has been revised)

Chapter 1

The house was a mess. In fact, to call it a mess would be charitable. Nearly two decades of dust blanketed the abandoned windowsills and furniture. Termite damage had all but put an end to what were once posts for the stairs and he didn't even need to see the kitchen to know what type of shape it was in. The floors desperately cried out for new carpeting he knew his meager savings could not provide. Everything in the house was near death. Holy hell, what had he gotten himself into?

He crossed the living room into the dining room, the chairs all arranged as she had left them, most likely. Cobwebs had gathered in the corners of most of the rooms he'd visited. While the wallpaper appeared to be in fairly good condition, all the windows were cracked or simply missing, allowing a fair amount of foliage to sneak its way in. He wondered how many trash bags he'd have to buy but quit halfway through the thought. He was never that great with math and thinking about money at that moment was something he'd rather avoid.

He picked up a fallen lamp, setting it aside before moving forward, further inside the place his mother once called home. Louisianan weather had destroyed a good portion of his new abode, but it wasn't completely unlivable. The water and part of the electricity were still functional and had been fixed before he'd arrived. Eerily only the master bedroom had been left untouched by the years of neglect.

Unlike most of the house, the bedroom was almost clean, though there was a small layer of dust on the wardrobe. The closet space was filled with belongings like clothes, boxes of holiday decorations, and a vacuum cleaner.

All in all, while the interior and exterior appeared almost haunted house-like, the old home still had some life for him to work with.

Why would his mother leave this place so intact, he thought, brushing his fingers across the wooden post of the bed. There were so many questions piled up in his head. What made her leave so suddenly? Why didn't she take all these things with her? He entered back into the hallway.

The lack of air conditioning and general state of disrepair left an unpleasant scent throughout the home. He'd packed some air fresheners in his luggage, which he was sure to use later on. They wouldn't take the smell away, but at least they could suppress the worst of it until the heating and air conditioning repairman was called.

He pondered whom he should call first tonight, an electrician or the pizza man. Considering his lack of funds and empty refrigerator, he leaned towards Dominos, or whatever pizza parlor was close by. Any kind of food would be good.

He checked the light bulbs in the guest room. They were dead like all the others. It didn't bother him too much though. He'd packed many of his mom's old candles and she would have hated it if they weren't put to good use. He would need to get some professional help down for sure, however. Bon Temps was not a large town by any means, so his options were more limited than back home.

Back home.

His mind drifted for a moment, his eyes watering. Memories tried to cloud his vision but he snuffed them. Breaking down now would simply be a waste of time. He had cried in the beginning. Slowly the pain had ebbed to a sharp ache in his chest. The funeral was next week, but she had been dead for a month. A month when he had left the only place he'd ever known, a month when he had met an uncle he never knew he had, a month that never seemed to end, never gave him peace from the haunting nightmares of that day.

He stopped and centered himself. His emotions were getting to him. He'd always been horrible at containing himself. Even in high school, well, before he dropped out at least, he was known to be hot-tempered. His "condition" made it even worse.

Returning to the entrance hall, he was greeted by the sight of his uncle. He was a handsome man in his late forties, though the wear and tear of time had taken its toll on his face and hands. His arms were still toned, the skin bronze and shiny, the result of years of pumping iron and hard construction work. His short blond hair was flecked through with grey, and his bright blue eyes regarded him with a kind, though sad, expression. The man led him to the porch. Bo leaned against the railing while his uncle sat on a wooden bench. It groaned under his weight.

"So…" he started. The awkwardness between the two was still there. Three weeks after meeting each other had not yet broken the strangeness of it all.

"So." The younger man replied. Neither knew what to say. His dark blue eyes traveled over the other man's face.

"I know it's not much. Hell, it's worse now than it was last fall. The place is in major need of repair. If you want me to sell it just say the word."

The boy put up a hand. "Uncle Jason, I've made my decision. Besides, your house is already full. I don't want to bother you guys any more than I already have."

Uncle Jason looked him dead on, his face serious. "You haven't bothered us at all, Bo. In fact, I'm happy I got to meet you. Family is family. Your mama helped me out of a bunch of shit when I was younger. The least I could do was take in my nephew." The crow's feet around his eyes crinkled.

"Thanks. That... that really means a lot to me," Bo said earnestly, a small smile sneaking its way across his lips. It had been a while since he had truly felt comforted, not simply pitied or regarded with suspicion like back in the Big Apple. Just like Bo, Jason had lost his parents, so he felt a little less isolated in his grief.

"I remember when your mama and I used to live here with Gran. Sookie was a tough girl, but sweet, too. I could never repay her for all that she's done for me," Uncle Jason said, the last part almost inaudible.

Bo silently agreed. His mother had protected him from a lot of things in his life. Now, without her here, life just wasn't the same. It wasn't every day your mother was murdered.

"The weather here is a lot warmer than in New York," Bo tried to change the subject. "Is it always so hot in August? It must be a hundred degrees out and it's not even lunch yet."

Jason laughed, "Nah, this summer's been especially nasty. Radio says it'll be sunny all week. But you look like you could use a little sunshine, son. You're as pale as a ghost!"

Bo glanced at his arms, their pallor stark in contrast with his red t-shirt. Ah, another one of his "ailments." He'd tried to tan multiple times, but the color faded after a night or two, bringing him back to this rather pasty complexion. Not to mention the raging headaches he'd get if he spent more than thirty minutes out of the shade. Bo hated having to put on sunscreen every morning. He would give anything for a nice tan. Alas, genetics were not on his side.

"I tend to burn easily," was his response. It was one of many in his collection of excuses.

"Yeah, my wife does, too," Jason said. "Hey, you feeling hungry? I know a place not too far off I'm sure you'd like. My treat." He picked himself up off the seat and headed towards an old blue pickup parked in the front yard.

"Anything sounds good right now," Bo replied, his stomach rejoicing at the offer. "What's the place called?"

"Merlotte's."