I do not own Now You See Me.

It had been six years since his mother passed. Six years of his father falling deeper and deeper into drunken oblivion. Two since he ran and didn't dare glance back.

Everyday was a battle living with Richard Wilder. The man was just about unstable as they came. Jack had learned years ago to return home through his bedroom window. Unfortunately that wasn't always enough to safeguard him from the tornado that was his father. The man would wreck everything in his path, whether it was the vase Jack's mother had bought so many years ago or Jack himself. Once he began, there was no stopping him. With tornados, atleast water can bring about their demise. With Richard there's no ending, neither tears nor blood stopped him. So maybe he was a hurricane rather than a tornado. A raging storm that wasn't done until it was done.

Tornado, hurricane, earthquake, tsunami- whatever Richard was, he was not to be trifled with. Unfortunately, Jack was born to trifle.

It had been early in the morning or late at night, Jack can't really remember. Whichever it was, it was dark. So dark that when he heard his father shouting his name he had to whip his flashlight around his room to be sure the man wasn't already in it. He turned the light off and was bathed in darkness once again. The trembling started in his legs and worked its way up until his teeth were chattering like he was left in the Arctic in nothing but his superhero boxers. He yanked his blanket up to his chin, hoping his father would think he's asleep.

Richard shouted again, even louder. The yell echoed through the house and Jack could swear it groaned in response. He considered staying there in his bed for a long time. With a third yell, he's up from the bed and his body jerked back and forth like a small crumbling leaf in freezing winds. He knew that if he didn't go to his father then, the man would come to him and only be ten times more angry.

Jack griped the hand to his door and prayed to a god he didn't believe in that he wouldn't die today. As much as he wanted to see his mother, he still had a lot of things planned for his life. One of them being to meet the famed magician he had worshiped back when his mom was still around.

Shaking himself from those thoughts, he twisted the door open and shuttered at the creak it made. The darkness encompassed him as he trailed down the silent hallway. He followed the light coming from beyond the staircase until he reached it. He ventured down the stairs slowly and as quietly as possible, as if he were attempting to not startle a wild animal. As if his father were anywhere near as rational as a wild animal.

His nose scrunched at the putrid stench of alcohol leaking into the rest of the house from the kitchen. He shuffled into the room and curled into himself at the sight of his father leaning against the counter, an empty bottle in his calloused hand. Jack gulped as his father glared at him from across the room.

"God damn Jack, does it look like I have all fucking day?" Richard bellowed, swinging the bottle like a bat ready to strike.

"I...I was sleeping," Jack stuttered, shuffling his feet nervously.

Richard suddenly grinned like the cheshire cat. His yellowed teeth contrasted his snow white skin. Jack grimaced as his father pushed himself away from the counter and towards his son.

"I'm going to pretend like you didn't just backtalk me boy," Richard hissed, his breath rancid and piercing.

Jack slowly backed away only to be yanked back towards his father by his wrist.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Richard snarled.

This exact situation has occurred time and time again. Although Jack had yet to learn how to prevent it, he did know when it was time to escape. The moment Richard released his wrist, he turned desperate to get away. He recognized when Richard's arm winded up and ducked. The glass bottle shattered against the wall in front of Jack, pieces raining down onto him. Some dug into his skin while others found purchase in the wooden floor. His legs collapsed from under him and the glass that had dug into the floor found a new home in Jack's knees. He let out a whimper and listened as his father left the kitchen and presumably went to the living room to continue some television show.

In that moment, Jack knew he had to leave. His mother wouldn't have wanted this for him, he knew that. He had always hoped this was just a phase and that one day his father would become loving once again. With bloodied knees and a back full of glass, it finally hit Jack almost harder than his father had the day before that he had to leave. Sweeping as much of the glass away from him as he could, he used his palms to lift himself back up from the floor. He cringed at his throbbing knees and quickly begin to remove the glass from his body. He dropped the bloodied pieces to the floor and used the wall as a guide until he found the old office room his mother used to use. He searched until he found where extra money had always been stashed. His father had apparently been using a lot lately, but some was better than none. Jack took the remaining money and shoved it into his pants.

He weakly led himself back to the staircase and dragged his body up to his room. He filled his backpack with any items he could. A few extra pairs of clothes, the magic cards his mother had given him, some books, and one extra pair of shoes. He threw his blanket over his shoulder and walked over to the window that would offer him one last, final escape. He peered back into his dark room and then crawled through the window. He used the trusty tree he always had to get to the ground. As soon as his shoes touched the ground, he ran. Ignoring the way his body hurt with each step, he pushed himself harder than he ever had before.

He knew from the moment his feet hit asphalt that he would never stop running.