"You have nothing? I have nothing!" Jess to Luke, season 3

.***.

Jess could turn off his brain when bad things were happening. He retreated to a place far within himself, the same quiet place he went to when he read, a solitude so sharp that a day could pass without noticing, time slipping away like oil off glass.

Carl took Jess's shirt off all the way, ripped it off, and Jess went to that place, determined not to feel the hands moving over his skin, lower. It wasn't as if this hadn't happened before. But before he'd been fourteen and scrawny, getting by mostly on his mouth and his speed, and when Carl cornered him at night after Liz passed out from the drugs he pumped into her, Jess had nowhere to run. When Carl put a knife to Liz's unconsciousness neck, Jess had taken his clothes off himself.

So he was the one who began it. After that, Jess meant to tell his mother but couldn't bring himself to admit that he'd had sex (been raped, a logical part of him corrected, raped) by mom's boyfriend.

Carl flipped him onto his stomach and Jess moved bonelessly, thinking of the people downstairs. Luke, whose brotherly opinion of Liz was already wavering. Rory, who was with someone else, who wasn't his to think about at all. Lorelei and all the other townspeople who wouldn't mind seeing him dead or at the very least gone, who probably would walk in on a scene like the one he and Carl were creating and click their tongues like they never expected anything different.

"Still such a great piece of ass," Carl's breath was hot on Jess's neck and brought him back to the floor and the pain. For the first time, Jess squirmed, and Carl's hand wrapped around the back of his neck and ground him into the floor.

This time, Jess fought back, feeling the old hot rage in his stomach, the rage that he knew scared Liz, that scared Luke, the rage he kept bottled up because of the man on top of him. He bucked, threw Carl off, stood up. He was naked, and shaking. "You're not going to hurt Luke," he said. "You never hurt Liz."

"You always did what I said," Carl drawled, sounding amused.

"Or I was too dumb to call your bluff," Jess said, turning his back just for a moment to grab a towel from the rack in the bathroom.

Carl grabbed him, hand bruising his upper arm. "You think so? You want to see just how easy it is for me to hurt these stupid people?"

Just like that, Carl was gone, zipping up his jeans and blowing down the stairs. Jess started to follow him, heart pounding, thinking of Luke, of Rory, of the hammer Carl had grabbed. But he needed to pull on his clothes and that took precious seconds. By the time he got downstairs, Carl was already sitting next to Rory at the counter.

"Rory," Jess said, voice tight, interrupting the conversation, "Can I talk to you?"

"No," the girl said, frowning, "I'm talking to Carl. And I have nothing to say to you."

"Please."

"Aww, little lady, go on and talk to the kid. He was real broken up when you left him with me upstairs." Carl reached out a hand and Rory, the good girl, shook it.

"Ouch!" She yelled, looking at her palm where blood was already beading, bright as a ruby. She looked at Carl, incredulous, even as Lorelei was bustling over, attuned to the cries of her child.

"Did Luke's food succeed in actually claiming a victim?" Lorelei asked, taking Rory's hurt hand. "Oh honey, I think you've got the stigmata. We need to change our route so it doesn't go by the church anymore, I think it's starting to sink in."

Rory was eyeing Carl, whose face was the picture of grief even as he looked over Rory's shoulder at Jess. "Sorry little lady. Must've been a nail I forgot in my hand. My fault."

"It's no problem," Rory said. Luke was pressing a napkin to her hand, "It's already stopped bleeding." She furrowed her brow. "Jess? Are you okay?"

Everyone was looking at him, so Jess tried to get his breathing under control. But his vision tunneled down to Carl, grinning at him, knowing that this, this one pinprick, meant that he won, that he could do whatever he wanted in this town and he'd be forgiven while he, Jess, would never be anything more than a burden.

He'd been quiet for just a moment too long, "I'm fine," he said. Everyone kept looking, and Jess coughed, looked down, "Are you okay, Rory?"

"She's fine. We're all fine. And also ready to leave," Lorelei tugged Rory's arm and pulled her out of the chair. She glanced back at Jess. "Why aren't you wearing shoes?"

Carl laughed once, too loud, and then he drank the rest of Lorelei's coffee and went upstairs. Luke was still staring at Jess. "What?" Jess demanded.

"I don't know," Luke said, taking off his hat, nervous habit, "You look. I don't know."

"Well, when you do know, tell me."

"You look like you've been crying," Luke said, all at once, at a fierce whisper.

Jess scrubbed a hand over his face, "I haven't been."

"Is something wrong?" Luke said.

The problem was that he looked sincere, he looked like he would listen to whatever Jess said. What if he knew that Jess was clutching the counter because it was hard to stand upright, he was crying because he was embarrassed and scared but also in pain, physical pain? He might care, might even go upstairs and throw Carl out of their house. Or he might throw Jess out, because Jess was passive, weak, and Luke expected so much from him and this was just one more disappointment.

"No," Jess said, "There's nothing wrong."

Luke put his hat back on, shifted his weight, "Okay," he grabbed an order from the counter, "go get your shoes."

"Can I have a minute?" Jess asked, and he hated his own voice, hated that it bordered on a whine.

"You just had twenty," Luke said, "People are coming in. Shoes, kid."

Luke watched as Jess bit his lip, turned to back up the stairs. There was something Jess wasn't telling him. He couldn't climb the stairs easily, as if his back hurt, or his legs. And on the back of his neck was a bruise like a hand. More fights. Luke resigned himself to getting another call from a concerned parent and didn't think of his nephew's injuries again.

That evening, when the repairman told Luke that the wall was going to take another week to come down, Luke just nodded absentmindedly, not looking up when Jess walked out the door, not even looking up when the repairman walked right out after him

.***.

The next day was school, thank God, and Jess lost himself in the back of his classes, staring at books and trying to keep still when he ached everywhere. Carl had held Jess down again late at night, in his car, and Jess had gone out willingly because Carl had a key and had no problem bashing Luke's head in. Jess failed a quiz in history and couldn't bring himself to care. When he got back an earlier grade, one from weeks ago, when he was still just pining for Rory and could actually concentrate, he stuffed it in his bag before anyone could see it was an A.

But of course someone saw. Jess swung his bag over his shoulder, trying to hold back the wince, and rolled his eyes when Dean detached from the group of super-jocks. "Hey," Dean said, articulately.

"Hey," Jess waited for Dean to continue the conversation but when nothing else seemed forthcoming he said, "Well, this was riveting, but I have to go to work."

"I saw your history quiz," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. He kept his voice low, "I don't think anyone else got an A but you."

"Lucky me."

"If I don't bring up my history grade, coach isn't going to let me play basketball."

"Who will lead the Hoosiers to victory then?"

Dean blinked at him, and flashed a grin, and Dean rolled his eyes because this has been a weird weekend and the fact that Dean was talking to him without being all chest-pounding territorial about Rory was just a little too much strangeness to handle. "Yeah, well, I was wondering if you had notes I could study from. Or something. I mean, we do work right next to each other. If you wanted to study together..."

"I'd be tutoring you."

Dean rolled eyes, "Forget it man. I was trying to, I don't know, be nice to you, pay you a compliment. Rory thought we should be friends."

"Rory put you up to this?" Jess said.

"Forget it," Dean said, "I'll figure out history myself."

Jess shrugged and turned down the hall, taking the book out of his back pocket more out of habit than actual want to concentrate on the already swimming letters. He didn't know that Dean was still staring after him, eyes focused on the bruise on the back of his neck.

.***.

Four days later, Jess was close to breaking. It wasn't just the sex (rape). It was the fact that no one knew or would care, that he was essentially alone, and that aloneness used to seem like a protection but now it was a burden, because there were still people he cared about enough to play Carl's stupid games to protect, but they didn't care about him.

That was the day Luke went to help Lorelei get a raccoon out of her kitchen and Carl practically dragged Jess up the stairs. Weirdly, his first thought had been that no one was watching the diner. "I can't stand it," Carl said, watching as Jess took off his shirt, folded it, "Seeing you walk around in those shirts gets me so..." he didn't finish his sentence. He kissed Jess and bit his lip hard enough to bleed.

Sometimes, Liz would come up from the drugs and slap Jess around, telling him not to spread filthy lies, saying that Carl was a good man, who paid the rent and paid for smack and they owed him. Telling the truth had only caused Jess more pain, and so he couldn't say the rest, which was that sometimes people paid Carl cash to see Jess and touch him.

It was painful today, Carl rough, upset that he couldn't think of any more excuses to delay the project, that he'd have to move on. The memory was painful, too, and Jess deliberately pulled himself away from it, tried to think of gentler things. The book Rory had given him "because it's Tuesday." The time Luke had realized Jess had never played catch with anyone and so had gone out and gotten gloves and balls and they threw the ball back and forth for hours, until the sun was gone, until it was too dark to see the white ball, to see each other.

Carl hit him. He was already on his stomach, and the blow landed across his back. "Don't go zoning out, kiddo. This is just you and me." He hit Jess again, because he could.

That was the day that Jess couldn't move when he got back down to the diner. He went into the kitchen and begged Caesar to go out to the front, run plates, play bus boy, and he'd take over the stove. When Luke got back, he got an earful. "You can't even scramble an egg!"

"No one came in," Jess mumbled, poking at a burger patty. "I didn't poison anyone."

"Yet. Why would you even want to be back here? It's hot."

"I fancied a change of scene."

"Oh yeah? Well you won't be getting one for a couple of hours. You're working until ten tonight."

Jess didn't think he could stay on his feet that long. His head was pounding, his chest hurt, his ass hurt. He wanted Luke to hug him. He wanted to curl into a ball. He wanted to disappear. "Come on. I have school tomorrow."

"You'll get your beauty rest, princess."

"I was only at the stove for five minutes!"

Luke raised an eyebrow. Jess usually didn't complain in so many words. He'd rattle plates and sigh and make snarky comments but he almost never whined like he did now. "What's up with you lately?" Luke said, "All this week you've been disappearing and talking back and trying to get people fired."

"He should be fired," Jess muttered.

"Why?" Luke demanded, "One good reason, Jess, that's all I'm asking."

Jess bit his lip, taking off the apron and handing it to Caesar. "He...he hurt Rory."

To his surprise, Luke nodded, "If it was any worse than a pinprick, I might consider that. But even you've got to know an accident when you see it."

"Yeah," Jess said. He looked out into the diner. It had never seemed so large before. So much walking would be involved, and he already felt so strained and drawn and done. "Sorry, Luke." He brushed by his uncle, picking up a pad, searching for a pencil, trying not to move like an invalid.

Luke rolled his eyes and wondered if parenting ever got any easier.

.***.

Jess leaned against the trashcans and wondered if he could make it to the dock. If he was going to kill himself, he'd like it to be there, in that place. His place. It was ten, and the diner was finally closing, and Jess didn't know if he could make it back up the couple of stairs from the alley, let alone half a mile outside of town.

"Hey."

It wasn't manly, but Jess screamed. Carl had developed a habit of sneaking up on him, touching him, watching him jump. He turned and tried to turn his scream into a snort, but it was too late. Dean already looked worried.

"You okay?" Dean asked, moving another step forward. He was two feet away, and Jess realized in that moment that Dean was tall, really tall, and jock probably meant that he was strong. He knew it was crazy, but it didn't stop his heart from pounding in his ears.

His default position was snark, anyway, "I'm fine."

"Jess," Dean shuffled awkwardly, glanced at the diner's side door, lowered his voice, "I saw the bruises."

If Jess could move without looking like he was an escapee from a geriatric ward, he would have just gone back inside, left Dean alone with his speculations. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I know you're not from around here, and it's hard to go against someone who grew up here. And I know we haven't exactly been welcoming-I haven't been welcoming-but I can help. You come clean to me here and we'll go down to the police station. I know one of the cops, he'll listen to me, which means he'll listen to you."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked, trying to wrap his head around the fact that Dean had noticed, that Dean of all people had seen the signs he'd been trying to hide and was confronting him about it. Mostly he was ashamed, angry, disappointed that he couldn't hide it better. But a part of him was so, so happy that someone else knew.

Dean grabbed his arm, and the move was so gentle, so unlike anything Carl had done that Jess let him. He pushed up Jess's sleeve and whistled at the sight of the hand-shaped bruise. It was black and deep. You could count fingers. "You don't deserve this."

Jess pulled away, "What do you know about what I deserve?"

"If Luke is hurting you..."

He didn't get any further than that. Jess stared at Dean and then burst out laughing. It was a real laugh, and it felt good. Luke, hurt him? No way. The guy was all bark and no bite. He was protective. He was nothing like Carl. "Luke? Who are you going to accuse next, Dean? You think Miss Patty's got a dark side to her?"

Dean shook his head, looked confused, as if this wasn't what he was expecting. "If it's not Luke, then who's hurting you?"

"Haven't you heard?" Jess said, raising an eyebrow, "I'm the town delinquent. I've got to pick fights sometimes. Keep up my status."

The thought of Luke beating him made him buoyant. It was preposterous, and the very revelation that Luke would never lay a pinky finger on him made Jess feel lighter. One more day, and he'd be in the clear. One more day, and Carl would be gone. He went back into the diner whistling, leaving Dean in the alley alone.

.***.

"You're going to come with me," Carl said. He was lying on top of Jess like a heavy, sweaty sandbag, crushing him.

"No I'm not," Jess said. "One week. That was the deal."

"The deal was, you do what I say or I hurt your uncle and that girl. I say we blow this popsicle stand."

Jess elbowed Carl in the ribs, for which he received a smack in the head that left him seeing stars. He was weaker than he'd been at the beginning of all this. Food no longer stayed down. He panted and lay still under Carl. "I'll kill myself."

"You won't. It's the coward's way out."

"The coward's way out is what I did when I was a kid. I should have turned you in."

"Why didn't you?"

It would have broken Liz's heart, and at that point Jess had still thought he could make his relationship with his mother work. If he'd known she would have shipped him away anyway...well, maybe he would have gone to NYPD and told the boys in blue his sob story. Maybe he was still little enough, cute enough, that someone might have cared.

Now he was too old, too scarred, too angry for anyone to care about. "I'm not going with you," Jess said, looking at the door. They were back up in Luke's apartment. The wall was down and tools and wood was scattered, just waiting to be cleaned up. Carl was supposed to be leaving. This was supposed to be happy.

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Carl said, kissing down Jess's neck. "You're mine, and I can do whatever I want with you."

So Jess was just trying to prove him wrong when he grabbed the piece of wood from off the floor by the bed and swung it behind his head. Carl made a small noise, and then went still.

Of course, that was the moment Luke walked in.

.***.

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