Disclaimer-Four Brothers does not belong to me.

--Frozen--

Jack sighed as he leaned against the brick wall, his warm breath turning into fog as it hit the cold, winter air. It had been a long day at school and it was only half over. He hated going, but he promised his adopted mother that he would graduate high school and that meant going to class a certain number of days. Detroit was currently in the midst of one of the coldest winters on record, which told the lanky teen that he only had three semesters left to plan. His ditch days were strategically laid out, with a few emergency days built in, just in case. And they called him stupid.

"Jesus, Mercer, don't tell me you're not cold," an equally tall, yet slightly broader boy asked as he walked around the corner and joined Jack on the wall, a cigarette dangling from his fingers.

"Nope," Jack replied shortly as he slipped his hand into his back pocket to retrieve his own box of home-rolled cigarettes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd smoked anything other then what he made himself.

"How?" the boy asked, his teeth chattering as Jack plucked a cigarette from the box, stuck it in his mouth and reached into his leather jacket to swap the flimsy, cardboard carton for his lighter.

"Dunno," Jack shrugged before lighting the cigarette and taking a deep, satisfying drag. He was lying, of course. He would never forget why he was immune to the cold.

Jack had been good all day. He had done his chores, along with everything else that had been asked of him. He was feeling proud and relieved. Tonight would be a good night. Tonight he would get dinner, do his homework and go straight to bed. There would be no beatings or prolonged stays in the closet because of bad behavior. His father would have no reason to be mad with him tonight. No, tonight was his reward for a day of good.

"Jack! Get in here and take the garbage out," a voice demanded from the kitchen. The little boy scurried into the kitchen to find his mother sitting at the rickety table that was pushed into a corner of the room. Her eyes were scanning a magazine page disinterestedly as he did as she ordered and took the overflowing bag of trash out, not even bothering to dawdle and grab a coat. He wasn't going to be outside for long, so his sweatshirt would be sufficient.

He was just putting the metal lid onto the can when he heard a loud banging noise followed by shouting emit from the house he begrudgingly called home. Jack frowned. It wasn't abnormal for his parents to fight over something stupid, but his father never hit his mother. The physical abuse was usually saved for his punishments.

Filled with anxiety, Jack quietly approached the kitchen window and climbed onto some logs his father kept stacked by the backdoor so he could see what was going on. His eyes widened as his young mind processed what was happening: his father and a strange man had his mother pressed up between them, both men's hands roaming over his mother as she yelled at them to stop, while three other men and a woman watched with predatory looks on their faces. It was when his mother's protests were met by his father's fist slamming hard into her stomach that the boy dropped down from the window and scrambled across the yard, his heart pounding with the knowledge of what was happening to his mother inside that kitchen.

The boy sat out there for quite some time as he tried to figure out what to do. He couldn't go back inside, that was for sure, but he didn't have any friends, and wandering the Detroit streets after dark didn't seem very safe for a seven year old. Finally, he made up his mind. He would stay in the backyard, curled up in a ball, trying to keep warm until the people in the kitchen either took it upstairs and dispersed. They couldn't keep at it all night could they?

But he was wrong. He didn't know how it was possible, but the men and that woman spent all night doing whatever it was they were doing to his mother. Even though he was freezing, he did his best to use his numb fingers to stop his ears so that he wouldn't have to hear the terrible moaning, groaning, and banging that seeped out of the house.

When the noises stopped and the people slowly began to trickle out of the house as the sun took it's place high in the sky, Jack struggled to pull his stiff, frozen body upright. It took him a few tries to get moving. If anyone ever asked him how he had managed it later on, he wouldn't have an answer. But he wasn't going to question it. He never questioned anything. He always got hit whenever he asked questions.

"Jack?" a weak voice asked as the backdoor opened to reveal his battered mother.

"Mom?" Jack replied, for the first time in a while calling his mother by her official title as he stumbled into the house.

"Jack, you're blue," his mother whispered as she closed the door behind him softly, not wanting to alert his father of his presence.

"I'm a l-little co-cold," he chattered in response, finally remembering how cold he was as the heat enveloped him.

"Come here," his mother insisted as she opened her arms for him. Jack allowed his mother to envelop him in her embrace, once again not asking questions. "I have to get you warm quickly. I can't keep you home. Your father will know. But you can't go back out there like that.

"It's not so bad," Jack mumbled before biting his lower lip, trying to make what he was saying the truth.

"Of course not," she soothed as she rubbed his back in a maternal fashion, warming his raw skin. Jack's eyes went wide at the touch, not understanding why his mother was being so kind to him. She was never this nice.

The pair stood, huddled together like that for some time before the older woman pulled away. Jack's teeth had finally stopped clicking together and his skin was barely blue at all anymore.

"I'm sorry, Jack," his mother said softly as she smoothed back his hair, her touch almost feeling motherly again, contrasting starkly with the usual abuse. "It shouldn't have been this way."

Jack stood still as he listened to his mother's confession, not understanding what was happening.

"Go to school and be good, okay?" she requested before getting up and moving around the kitchen. Jack frowned at his mother's words. What wasn't she telling him? He wasn't sure, but, as usual, he wouldn't question it.

"Bye," Jack mumbled with a shrug as he walked out of the kitchen, grabbed his bag from the coat rack by the front door and ran out without a coat on. His body was still cold enough to not register the low temperatures nature presented.

That night, Jack understood why his mother was being so nice. That night, his mother didn't come home. That night, his father, along with the friends he brought home, abused him in the same way they had abused his mother the night before, not caring who it was they demeaned and molested. That night, once they were finished, he slipped outside and sat out in the cold, again not remembering his coat, only this time, when he reentered the house in the morning, there was no one to warm him up.

Night after night the same thing happened until not only was his body frozen, but so was his heart. It was on that night, when the last of the goodness in the little boy froze up, that, after the nightly abuse, he set the house on fire with the help of some newspaper, the logs by the backdoor and a cigarette he had stolen from his father's coat pocket.

Jack frowned as he stood in the backyard and watched the flames eat at the house he had once begrudgingly called home. He hated listening to the sound of the fire crackling happily. It reminded him too much of the night he sat outside, listening to the sounds of his house as his father chased his mother away. Besides, at least half of the small house was burnt by now. It was safe for him to go get help.

"I'd like to report a fire," the little boy gasped at the first fireman he saw after running the mile to the firehouse. Once he had given the man his address, the firehouse spun into a flurry of activity. Jack rejected every blanket offered by the remaining firemen and sat patiently for the police to come and ask him questions. After answering everything to the satisfaction of the police, a pair of officers escorted him to a cop car and drove him across town to a group home.

After a quick explanation to both the matron of the house and to the little boy, the officers left and Jack was shoved into a large room where fifteen or so other children were beginning to get up. All of them complained of the cold floors and the lack of warm clothing, but even though he was only clad in a sweatshirt, jeans and boots, he didn't feel it. He knew he should be cold, but he wasn't.

Jack shuddered at the memory. It wasn't his finest moment, but at least the fire got him far away from his father.

"Dude, you sure you're not cold?" the other boy asked as he noticed his companion's shiver.

"I'm good," Jack insisted as he dropped his cigarette, which had turned into a small stub during his trip down memory lane. "Later."

"Later," the teen replied with a shrug as Jack slipped back inside the building, eyes narrowing at the temperature change. Even after moving into the Mercer house, he had never gotten used to the heat. Winter was the only season he would ever truly feel comfortable in.

A/N: Hm.

I'm not sure if this was any good. It's just an idea I had and so I wrote it. Love it? Hate it? Let me know.

Love and Luck,

Gaby