AN: I wrote this very quickly, even though I did proofread, I apologize for any errors. I came up with the idea for this today, and needed to write it immediately. I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review!

It was impossible for them not to hear the screams some nights. Apartment walls weren't that thick, and the screams were loud. They all knew they didn't come from Jack. Yes, the man did have some nightmares of his own, but his were of a different pitch and tone, and if he did scream, it was only once. No, the most frequent screams were of his- his what? Friend? Little brother? Son? Twink boyfriend? No one knew for sure, but everyone had a different opinion on why the boy screamed during some of the nights he stayed over at Jack's.

Next door lived an old widow. She saw the bruises, and she heard the screams. She worried a lot. Jack insisted that he was doing everything he could to keep Mac safe, but the boy and trouble were like magnets. She knew there was more than that. The way Jack said it made it seem like Mac was getting into drugs or gang violence, but that was the only time he ever said anything even close to that. She'd seen him defend Mac to other prying eyes, and she knew Mac herself. He and Jack had helped her a lot after her husband passed, and they were always willing to help fix her fridge whenever it broke. Mac was an absolute genius, and a kid that smart and kind and loving wouldn't be getting into drugs or gangs. Besides, she could tell how much Jack loved him, and she knew there was no way that Jack would let him get messed up in that. Still, she saw him covered in bruises and cuts sometimes, and it took everything she had not to ask what was wrong, what had happened. Something was going on, and she wanted to know, but it wasn't any of her business. The screams in the night scared her too. She heard the boy calling out for Jack, for something to stop, that he didn't know anything, and even that he didn't want it. She had her suspicions, and they only broke her heart. It was a good thing Mac had someone like Jack to take care of him, who loved him unconditionally.

There was a woman about Jack's age that lived close by. They'd almost dated, but quickly realized they had absolutely nothing in common. She didn't know Mac that well, but she saw him beat up enough to be concerned, and heard him screaming enough to almost call the police. From all of the conversations she'd had with Jack about Mac, she knew the kid had a crappy childhood. His mother was dead and his dad was a complete douchebag. Jack had never elaborated much, but when she heard the boy screaming in the night, she could only think that maybe his father had been abusive, maybe the man still was abusive and that was why Mac was so often hurt. It was a good thing that Mac had Jack as a surrogate father figure, because that's clearly what he was, and anyone who couldn't see that was blind. She wasn't sure how old Mac was - depending on the day he looked anywhere from sixteen to twenty-six - but if he was getting beat up at home by his old man, she hoped that Jack would be able to get him out. She didn't know how he and Jack knew each other, but it was a damn good thing that they did.

At the end of the hall lived a sex offender, and he had a lot of opinions on the subject. He saw the boy hurt, very often. He was often beat up and cut up and with casts. Dalton must have been his abusive boyfriend. A better person would try to help the boy out of the situation, but he was in fact not a good person, and he didn't care. He was actually jealous. He would have loved to have been the one to get his hands on that pretty boy and make him scream. Being at the end of the hall, he didn't hear the screams that were much different than the ones he was imagining. Every day that he saw the boy, he was all he could think about. If he'd been braver, he would try to take the boy for himself, by any means necessary, but Dalton was a large man with bulging muscles - attractive, but not his type - and he could easily kill him if he tried to touch what was his. At least, that's how he imagined that would go down. Besides, he really didn't want to go back to prison, so he just kept his thoughts to himself, and pictured them vividly when he was alone. No thoughts were more pleasurable than of the pretty little blond boy.

There was a small family who lived in that hall too, complete with a burgeoning soccer mom. She also had a lot of opinions on the subject of the boy who was so often with Mr. Dalton. At first, she had figured that the boy was his son, and stayed with him whenever the custody agreement allowed, but she eventually realized that that didn't quite make sense. There wasn't always a pattern to when he stayed over, and he had to be at least eighteen, right? And he couldn't be Mr. Dalton's son because no father would allow their son to get into drugs, and that had to be the problem. She'd seen the boy stumbling around with Dalton a few times, clearly on something, and usually beat to hell. But when she heard the screams in the night, it didn't quite make sense that he was a junkie. Withdrawal screams like that would make anyone sober up, but he kept screaming. Maybe he was a dealer who was sometimes forced to sample the merchandise. That made a bit more sense. Maybe he had to sell drugs for the money, or even sell himself for the money. That would certainly explain the screams. A pretty blond boy like that would attract a certain clientele who wouldn't be too easy on him if he sold himself to them. Still, just in case he was a junkie, she warned her kids to stay away from him. She didn't want any bad influences around them.

There were a few young men living together in apartment in the same hall, fresh out of college. They saw Mac and heard the screams, and they had no idea what was going on. They knew it couldn't be drug related, because one time, they'd asked Mac if he wanted to smoke with them - he was their age, and it probably got boring hanging out with an overprotective big brother - and he had politely but very firmly declined. Besides, they knew what withdrawals were like, and Mac's screams didn't fit that. They had no idea what was going on, but whatever it was, it scared them. They'd tried to make friends with Mac at first, but after hearing some of those screams and seeing him beat to hell a few times, they stopped, and could only stare. They did feel bad about it, because Mac clearly was self-conscious about it, but they couldn't help their morbid curiosity at what could possibly be going on. But one death glare from Jack always made them immediately avert their gaze, and leave well enough alone.

Directly across the hall lived a Vietnam War veteran. He knew the horrors of war firsthand, and from the very first time he met Mac, he knew the boy had too. The way he carried himself, the respect he had for the flag and the country, even his respect for and old vet like him, everything about it screamed soldier. He'd even asked as much that first time he met the boy, and wasn't surprised to find out that he saw combat in Afghanistan. Jack had been his EOD overwatch, and the two had seemed to keep to their roles, even though they were no longer deployed. The three of them got together for beers sometimes, sharing war stories, both good and bad. He couldn't believe that Mac had even been old enough to see combat. It wasn't right, a kid that young, but then again, he'd been the same age in much the same situation, so he couldn't say anything. Still, he saw Mac come home to Jack with cuts and bruises and he heard his vivid screams in the night. Some of those screams could be chalked up to memories of war, but not all of them, and certainly not the bruises. He knew that there was something else going on in the lives of Mac and Jack, but he didn't ask. After the war, he'd gotten himself a covert government job that he couldn't talk about, and he saw some things that he still couldn't shake. It pained him to think that the boy was probably going through the same thing, but at least he had Jack with him. Jack was a good man.

All of Jack's neighbors had their opinions - some accurate, others, not so much. The more accurate they were, the more attention they paid, and the more they cared. But there was one thing that they all got right: he would destroy anyone who hurt his kid.