Title: Thin Lines Between Truth and Lies

Authors: sunday nights (Michelle) and BookCaseGirl (Abby)

Rating: PG-13; for language and sexual content

Summary: Chuck finds out the devastating truth about his father's death. When he learns that he isn't safe either, he must resort to asking the one person he can't let himself ask for help. He'll discover things about her, his friends, his enemies, and himself, that'll forever change the way he looks at life. Chuck/Blair, various other pairings. Set after 2.14.

Author's Note: Alright, it's Michelle here. As in sunday nights. Yeah, I'm chapter 3, because like I said, I'm odds. Reviews are pretty unsatisfactory right now, but thank you to BrittyKay247, ForeverlovinGG, addisonkarev, dew on roses, and JoJo.x for their wonderful reviews. They keep us writing! The beginning section is written by Abby (up to the itinerary line, which by the way is from the old 90210), but the rest is all by me.


III. Fib

"May I help you, Waldorf?" he asked curtly when he came outside, only to meet her once again.

"I'll tell you how you can help me. You can help me by keeping your goddamn uncle under control! Or better yet, in an assisted living home! Don't you realize what a disgrace he is? Not only to us, meaning Serena and I, but―"

"Shut the fuck up," he said in an eerily calm tone. There was an underlying twinge of exhaustion that was so fine only she could detect it. "I'm not in the mood for one of your bitch rants right now, Blair. It's three A.M. for Christ's sake."

"Go to hell," she spat, an evil and menacing look accompanying her terrifying-to-plebeian-minions venomous tone.

She walked out immediately after that, stomping like the five-year-old that she was.

Chuck screwed his sandpaper dry eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a possibly over-dramatic sigh.

After he was sure she'd left, he opened his eyes and stared at the floor where her feet had just been. He felt another sigh slip through his lips and then the common vacant look he often wore slipped over his eyes again.

"Oh, believe me," he murmured to himself, referring to her suggestion, "That is definitely...on the itinerary."

Jack awoke with a start, rubbing his crusted-over, barely opened eyes until he finally regained sight. The sheets that had seemed so pristine and proper last night seemed to be nothing but a memory now, considering they were soiled with his vomit and other bodily fluids. Gross.

He strained to remember the previous night; it wasn't possible he'd allowed one of his secrets to slip, was it?

He shuddered in remembrance of the swirling flames, dancing high into the sky, the leftover metal pieces of the car squealing in the fight against the fire, and his own blood sibling, howling into the emptiness of the night.

It wasn't as if he didn't know what was going to happen as he ordered the driver to crash full on to his brother's car. He did. He just didn't know that he'd react this badly, often tossing in the darkness of the pitch-black night, screaming his name, pleading God to bring him back. What was once spite, was now only a dim flicker of sorrow, if that.

Bass Industries was in his name. That was the plan, wasn't it? Somehow, Jack always felt that awful twinge in the pit of his stomach as he stared at the emblem on his new desk: Jacob Bass, CEO. But he'd eventually force it back down. He was meant to be on top, even if it meant taking Bart down in the long run.

"God, Jack, you're finally up," he heard an eerily familiar voice hiss from the doorway. It couldn't be… he breathed a sigh of relief realizing he wasn't hallucinating; merely hearing the voice of his nephew, Chuck.

"Chuck, where the hell are we?" Jack asked, wincing at the throbbing headache from the extreme amounts of alcohol he had consumed the night prior. He cringed again as he felt a wound in his arm. Memories of fighting flew back to him as he settled back into the soiled sheets.

"My hotel room," Chuck grimaced, "At least, it used to be, before you fucked the whole place up. I'll probably get kicked out of my own hotel," Chuck groaned.

"Your hotel?" Jack asked incredulously. Even after three months, Chuck refused to believe that any part of Bass Industries was Jack's, even though, legally, all of it belonged to Jack. "I believe it's my hotel."

"You think it actually belongs to you? When I'm legal," Chuck said, motioning the air to represent the company that was currently in Jack's possession, "all of this is going to be mine. Don't you remember? Or were you too drunk when the will was read? My father's only wish after I gain the position of CEO of Bass Industries is that you be in a high-ranked position. However, due to your terrible work ethic, it's highly possible that I'll downgrade you."

Jack scowled at his nephew. It seemed that, whenever he could, Chuck chose to flaunt the fact that Bass Enterprises only belonged to Jack for a certain period of time, "Well, until that time comes, I'm your legal guardian, Bass Industries is mine, and you have to do what I tell you to."

Chuck smirked, "Whatever you say, Jack."

And that shivering feeling ran up Jack's spine, forcing him to tremble, suddenly realizing how similar Chuck was to his father. Not only was the guilt of his murder inescapable, he now had his brother's, the victim's, son reminding him of every crimson colored flame, every scratching clang, and every whimper from that one fateful night.

Chuck hated his uncle. More than he hated Blair, more than he hated himself, more than he hated anyone in the world.

His uncle, his conceited and self-absorbed uncle, was the reason he was here. His uncle, though often filled with unkept promises, seemed to have suddenly taken interest in the company. It could have been because of Chuck's incessant mocking about his soon-to-come ownership of the company, or it could have been just because Jack wanted to look good in public. Whatever the reason, Chuck was here now, standing uncomfortably in a room filled to the brim with socialites and business moguls.

Worst of all, she was here in all her glorious splendor and standing before him, dressed royally in a beautiful grey gown, with a Duke clutched on one arm. It would have been easier if the duke was hideously ugly or had purple hair; but no, he was prim, proper, and everything Blair looked for in a man. Chuck groaned; had he really been convinced by his uncle to attend this event?

"Hello," the Duke greeted, with Blair close behind avoiding all eye contact, looking as if she was there involuntarily.

"Nice to meet you," Chuck responded, feigning politeness, sticking his hand out, returning the man's firm handshake. "And you are?" he asked, motioning towards Blair.

Blair shot him a hateful scowl, "Blair Waldorf," she answered, refusing to give him the satisfaction. The Duke gave them both strange looks, then brushed it off, ushering Blair towards the dance floor.

No, he didn't hate his uncle anymore. It was too difficult to hate him when he was so busy focusing all his hatred on the raven-haired beauty spinning in the arms of the golden-locked Duke in the middle of the ballroom floor. He hated how gorgeous she was, even with an unhappy pout upon her lips. He hated how stunning she looked, wearing a sparkling diamond necklace that was clearly not from him. He hated the tumultuous turning in his stomach, so uncomfortable he had to look away from her before the pain grew any stronger.

"A dance?" he asked politely to the girl standing next to him; she looked friendly enough. She looked innocent enough to put out to Chuck's easy charm. A good fuck was what he needed tonight, and lucky for her, she was that girl.

She giggled; it was a tinkling, embarrassed laugh. It was nothing like Blair's and he was thankful for that. He held out his hand, leading her onto the floor, wrapping an arm firmly around her waist and enclosing one hand around hers, he twirled her, letting the movements erase Blair's face from his memory.

And it worked, at least for the time being. And it would have worked for the rest of the night if Blair hadn't spun so damn close to him, so close he could smell her delicious perfume wafting from her, so close he could see the amber flecks in her eyes; so close, so close.

Chuck groaned lazily from his spot on the bed, turning over groggily. Oh, shit, the girl from the banquet was lying naked in his bed. Did he really sleep with her? Getting a good look at her in the light, he suddenly realized how utterly unattractive she was. He sighed again. It was easier to ditch the girl when he rented out a hotel room. However, they were in his suite, so he couldn't very well leave his own room. So he let her sleep.

He opened the blinds, bracing himself for the painful sunlight, but was greeted by blackness. It was still night? That meant…

He groaned again. He snatched up his phone, sliding it open, only to reveal four missed calls. From Jack. Did he really get into a fight again? It was going to be a matter of time before the board of Bass Industries found out and fired him from his job. Clearly Jack wasn't serious about it if he was willing to risk it like he did every night.

Chuck? It's your uncle Jack! Going to a bar on the corner of Lex and something. You should find it pretty easily. Bye!

It was only the first message and Jack sounded a little too happy to have been sober. He muttered curses at Jack under his breath, but they were no use. He still knew he had to save Jack. No matter how much he hated him, he was still his blood uncle, and there was nothing he could do about it.

As he called his limo, he listened to the other messages:

Chuck! They told me to call someone because apparently I'm getting kicked out, whatever that is. So I called you! Get the limo, I need a ride home.

Chuck. Where are you? Where are you? Bart. Where are you?

The last message, however, consisted of only loud, thunderous breathing and shouts in the background. Worriedly, Chuck called his limo driver again to pick up the pace. As he slid into the car uneasily, he looked around, anxious to get to the bar.

From three blocks away, Chuck could hear sirens squealing, horns honking, and he could see the bright blue and red lights flashing into the darkness of the night. His stomach sank as he realized, at once that he was finally too late.

TBC