A/N: Hello everyone! Please note that this is a Slash story (male love only here!) with adult themes and adult language. That means, if you aren't 18 years old, please leave!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you would recognize.

All We Are

Chapter 1: A Father's Love

We all hope for a miracle at some point in our lives: to win the lotto in order to get out of financial ruin; to find a cure for a deadly or crippling disease; to find the love of your life; to find hope where none is available.

I don't believe in miracles, but it doesn't stop me from wishing I had one. I don't believe in fate either, but I can't help but wonder if our lives are already planned out for us. Is free will really just a pipe dream? If it is real, then why would I choose to have this life?

Speaking of pipes, I really need to lay off of this shit. I get to fucking philosophical for my own good when I'm loaded. I shake my head, trying to clear it a bit while I scoot off of my bed to open my bedroom window. I turn my ceiling fan on and hope the cloud that has enveloped me dissipates a bit before Dad gets home.

I let my mind wander for a while, relishing in the fact that it's Friday and we finished football practice early for once. I had minimal homework since I was able to get most of it done during my free period so I wasn't worried about putting it off until some later time this weekend.

I was contemplating whether I should go to Jessica Stanley's "my parents are out of town for the weekend" party tonight, but I think I might just enjoy a quiet night to myself more. It's not often that Dad worked the night shift on a Friday night.

I'm still pretty fucking relaxed when I hear the garage door open. I look at the alarm clock on my nightstand knowing that he shouldn't be home until tomorrow morning. He's always been really strict about his schedule and never deviated unless he had to. You could set your clock by him. Something must be wrong. Instinctively, I rub my already bruised ribs and hope he decides to leave that side alone. Coming home early can only mean one thing.

Someone's in trouble.

I have been able to explain the bruises I get pretty fucking often by being on the football team at school. My stepbrother, Edward, doesn't have that luxury since he's a runner, and usually blames it on me being to rough with him.

He is kind of a pansy.

But I would do anything to protect him. He is, after all, family.

My mind starts to wander to when I first met the pip-squeak.

Dad called me down stairs to meet his new wife, Esme and her son Edward. I said hello to Esme but I couldn't see Edward that well since he was hiding behind her. I stuck my hand out and said "Hello Edward. My name is Jasper Whitlock. Do you want to see my toys?" I wanted to look at Dad to make sure that I acted correctly, but I also wanted to meet my new stepbrother.

I watched as his wide green eyes came into view slowly. He had wild hair that looked like the color of a penny. Weird. He was shorter than me, and skinny. This was the kind of kid you wanted to sit down and feed several times a day!

He tentatively shook my hand and said quietly, "My name is Edward Masen." As soon as our hands touched, he pulled it back. I rubbed my hand on my pants feeling a slight shock. He must have dragged his feet on the carpet when he took his shoes off at the front door.

After excusing ourselves, we ran upstairs to my room where I showed him all of my best toys. We shared a room for a while until Esme and Dad were able to clean out Mom's old office for him.

"JASPER!" he shouts from the living room, shaking me from my memories. "GET DOWN HERE, YOU WORTHLESS FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!" he screams at me.

Groaning, I get up and run down the stairs, still in a slightly hazy state, before he has to call me again. That will only make it worse.

"Dad," I say quietly, looking him in the eye. He hated any sign of weakness, and not being able to look him in the eye was one of his biggest pet peeves.

I did stay out of his immediate reach though.

"What the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to embarrass me? Are you trying to make me the laughing stock of the town? I am the fucking police chief of this shitty town! I will not tolerate bullshit in my town or in my house!" he spits out. I stared at him wide-eyed. "You are the star fucking quarterback. I expect to hear about you fucking random girls in the locker room, or a scandal with some cheerleaders. I don't expect to hear how my son is sucking some guys cock in the back seat of his car," he growls at me stepping closer and closer with each word as I'm backing up. "No son of mine will be a fag," he growls as he pulls his arm back. "No son of mine is going to be a fucking cocksucker," he sneers before the first blow hits.

He got my sore ribs first and as I bent over trying to protect them, he pulls back and punches my left eye. He's never hit us in the face before, it would be too hard to explain. I barely register the hit before he's hitting me again.

And again.

And again.

I think about fighting back, I know that with his military and police training, I wouldn't stand a chance against him. He's bigger and stronger than me. All I can do is try to protect myself as best as I can. I have my right leg up and my arms up trying to protect my torso and my face as much as possible.

I hear him yelling words like "cocksucker" and "fag" and "fucking homo" between hits. He's using me like a punching a bag with no end in sight. I finally drop to the ground, not able to hold myself up anymore. I curl up as tight as I can while he continues to punch and kick me. I feel something tight around my throat, but able to open my eyes as they are already swelling shut. I try to gasp for air, but it seems my supply is being cut off. I struggle with the unseen force constricting me as consciousness slowly fades from me.

I hear a distant shout and feel a sharp pain on the back of my head before everything is gone.

Blissful blackness.

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