Jatie angst for the win! Ahaha, yeah…

This was SUPPOSED to be posted this morning. But oh no, my alarm decided to go off thirty minutes late. No big deal. We're not on speaking terms at the moment, mind you.

Just to warn you, this fic, especially this first chapter, shall be very angsty at times and deal with erm…"darker" themes. I would just come out and say it, but I don't want to spoil anything for you!

Also, this is wholly dedicated to Mudmaster94, who requested more Jatie. Hope you like it!

P.S. On "Big Time Mansion," Kendall said that he was sixteen while trying to convince Mrs. Knight to let him house-sit, and Logan said "Together, we're sixty-four!", implying that they were all sixteen. So why Logan doesn't have his license, I'm not sure…but anyways, on "Big Time Fever," when Buddha Bob creepily popped out of the pool (ahaha, he's so awkward; I love him!) and offered to help Katie get out of her contract, she said, "Dude, I'm ten!" Therefore, I have deduced that Katie and James are six years apart.


Katie whimpered, wrapping her arms protectively around her legs. Her knees were bunched to her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to forget the terrifying images flashing through her mind. But even beneath her eyelids, she still saw the red, the dripping, oozing scarlet pooling onto the kitchen tile. She still heard Kendall's screams, saw him turn his head in fear, smacking a hand to his cheek in defense and disbelief. His fingers were crimson as he pulled them back, staring at them in horror. She still saw him advancing for her now. "D-don't you dare touch her!" Kendall snarled, lunging for him once again.

One solid punch to the gut and Kendall was crumpled on the floor, weeping in agony. Katie could feel herself hyperventilating, tears silently rolling down her cheeks. Her body quaked with fear as he raised his fist. Clenched with whitened knuckles. "You worthless little brat," he hisses, teeth gritted and glistening in the faded glow from the kitchen light fixture.

"K-Kendall," she choked out, her back pressed painfully to the wall. Her fingers scrabbled across the blue wallpaper, searching uselessly for an escape, a sanctuary, anything.

"Leave her alone!" Kendall shouted, his voice breaking. He tried to raise himself up, only to collapse back onto the floor.

"Please," she begged desperately, repeating the only word her tongue could form, "please."

A fistful of her long brown hair. Yanking hard. She screamed because it hurt. "Stop!" Kendall wailed, his jade eyes wild and frantic, "Please! Please just stop! I'll do anything!"

He just threw his head back and laughed. His breath reeked of alcohol. Katie flinched. "Shut up, pretty boy," he sneered, "She needs to be disciplined."

Kendall flung himself at him feebly, but his bruised body simply slammed back to the floor. He laughed again, jerking at the tresses a second time. Katie shrieked, crying harder at the pain. The fist was raised again. The cracking sound it had made when it smashed into Kendall's jaw rang deafeningly in her ears. Red. Now, she would be red too. She closed her eyes because she didn't want to look. But instead of hearing bone shatter, she heard him yell out. Her hair was falling loosely around her shoulders. She peered up cautiously, afraid of seeing the ivory knuckles again. And the scarlet. But it was angels instead. Her escape, her sanctuary, her saviors.

Officer Garcia had him by the scruff of his neck, tossing him against a wall. Logan was kneeling by Kendall, easing him onto unsteady feet. Carlos punched him, before Officer Garcia could retaliate. Now he was the one yelling in pain, not Kendall. "Aye, hijo!" Officer Garcia scolded, swatting the infuriated Carlos away.

"You sick piece of trash," Carlos spat behind his father's extended arm.

His tan fist was ready to punch again over his father, but James clasped onto the wrist. "Not now," he muttered, locking eyes with his friend.

Carlos growled but lowered his fist. Logan had Kendall's arm slung around his shoulders, and the blonde leaned into him for support. "Call 911," Logan croaked, his voice raw with worry.

Katie felt dizzy, and her knees buckled beneath her. She plummeted to the tile, her body shaking with her passionate sobs. She felt her body being towed into strong arms, a kiss being pressed to her hair. "Katie." Her vision blurred.


Katie rested her forehead on her knees. Father. Dad. Daddy. None of them suited him anymore. None of them ever really suited him in the first place. When Mom worked late nights to make ends meet, he would turn to his liquor to forget the day's failures, the lack of money, the disappointment that Katie and Kendall carried with them. Mom was never home when he got angry. Kendall and Katie never said a word because he told them not to. Usually, Kendall would just lock him and Katie in his bedroom and hold her while he cursed and threw things downstairs, shouting an occasional coherent phrase about his flawed and worthless offspring. Kendall would rock Katie gently, softly singing her a song from his heart until the man a floor beneath them was forgotten as Katie fell asleep. But tonight, they had been too late. Tonight, Kendall had asked about money for hockey before running to his room. Tonight, he had roared back that there was barely enough money for food and that the money would not be wasted away on his weakling son's pastimes. Kendall would rather play his guitar to the rhythm of his soul then go to a study session to the rhythm of Dad's fist. Therefore, he was stupid. He was weak. He was worthless.

Tonight, Kendall had screamed back that Dad didn't even know him. Tonight, Dad had been more than angry. He had been furious. He had thundered back that he knew enough. That he knew that Kendall was meaningless. That Kendall was an idiot. That Kendall could never play hockey because he was so fragile, so delicate. That he would never call trash like Kendall his son. He had roared that he knew enough, that that was enough. Then his fist flew and the red came. Katie shuddered, goosebumps flecking her skin at the thought.

She looked around the empty waiting room. It was 1:38 in the morning, the clock said. Mom was on her way. Dad was gone. Kendall was gone. Logan and Carlos were talking to someone in the next room. Katie could hear them, although they probably didn't want her to. "He was supposed to practice hockey with us, but he didn't show up and he wouldn't answer his phone," Carlos' voice echoed exhaustion.

"Mr. Garcia went to his house with us to check on him, which is where we found him," Logan continued in hushed tones, adding thoughtfully, "I think his jaw is dislocated."

"It is," a voice Katie didn't recognize answered, "he's also got three bruised ribs and some minor internal bleeding. We'll operate on him and give him stitches in ten minutes."

He was broken. Katie sniffled, biting her lip. She wanted Kendall to hold her, to sing her to sleep, to tell her that everything would be okay. She wanted Kendall so badly. Warmth was suddenly draped across her shoulders. "You should get some rest," James whispered, tucking the blanket securely around her.

"Will he be okay?" Katie's breaths were labored and sounded strangled.

James pulled her into his lap, hugging her close to his chest. Katie could hear his heart beating beneath his jacket, still pounding wildly from the night's encounters. "He'll be fine, Katie," James propped his chin on Katie's head, "I promise."

Something shattered within Katie, and she began bawling into James' shoulder. James ran his hands along her back, tugging her closer and whispering comforts into her hair. "I promise, Katie," he murmured, "He'll never come near you or Kendall again; I won't let him. I'm so sorry, but you're safe now. I've got you; it's gonna be okay."

Her body still shivering, Katie snuggled deeper into the heat that was so pleasantly and wholly James. "Thank you," she sniffled, swallowing down the rest of her sobs.

James kissed her forehead softly, "You're welcome."

Katie felt herself fading again, a drowsiness overwhelming her suddenly. Sleep whisked her away with her head on James' shoulder, him still cradling her blanketed form and rocking the both of them gently, humming quietly.

An eight year-old in a fourteen year-old's arms. On discovering that they were unrelated, many would find it strange, different, obscure. Maybe even wrong. But neither of them cared in the slightest.