Summary: What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a new beginning. The end is where we start from. An AU twist to the Big A Reveal slowly developing from a one-shot into a story of its own.
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xTieOnWings
presents
-A Twist in Our Story
A Pretty Little Liars Fan-Fiction
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Chapter Four: I've Got You
It is supposed to be a god damn wake, but as he looks around all he sees is Rosewood's social elite gathered about engrossed in casual chitchat and acting as if his father's casket is no more than a piece of décor. It sickens him, how the so called mourners don't seem mournful in the least. Sure, they do their due diligence and share their condolences to him and his sister but there is never any sincerity in their delivery.
And what's worse, he can't blame them…
Kenneth DiLaurentis was nothing more than a ladder climbing, social elite, workaholic snob that was so engrossed in his search for his perfect image that he was willing to let his son think he was insane to cover up an imperfection. No, not his son, Jason notes realizing the imperfections in his thought process. He isn't Kenneth son. But he did raise him, so shouldn't he feel something… Anything?
That's when he realizes he does feel something, just not for Kenneth. For Allison. She is the only one amongst the sea of mourners actually grieving. Still daddy's little girl despite everything he'd done. Ali is in pain and that is at least one thing he can feel sorry about. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Jason maneuvers through the sea of small talk and to his sister's side in front of the casket, gently nudging her to pull her from her trance.
"How you holding up?" he questions, eyes on Ali so he doesn't have to look at the empty shell that was Ken.
It is supposed to be a harmless question, but she doesn't take it as one. She turns to him, lips pinched into a thin line and her glare has such a burn behind it that he thinks she may actually have heat vision. "Not as good as you. I mean, seriously Jason, you could at least pretend to be sad that he's gone."
It is a hushed whisper but the tone is as venomous as they came. How losing their mother could bring them closer together and losing their father could tear them apart, he can't say he fully understood. All he knows is he hates it. Biting his lip, Jason turns his gaze to their father trying to will some sort of emotion to appease his irate sister. For the first twenty something years of his life, this man was his father. He should look at him and see something good. But the halo he used to see above his father's head had broken in two and been reimagined into horns long ago and after all the lies it is all Jason can see.
"I can't," he mutters beneath his breath, before meeting her gaze. "I'm sorry, Ali. I just - I can't."
He has apologized to his sister so many times recently that even he is getting tired of hearing it, but it is all he can muster before the urge to be anywhere but here becomes too much. He can't be strong for Ali. He can't even be strong for himself.
xXx
Rain, rain, is here to stay. Yet again, rain pours down on the sleepy little town, the dark sky dropping large beads of bone-chilling water. The soft pitter-patter of the rain that had been present in the background of the funeral parlor is now a harsh storm that rages over the town which he drunkenly stumbles through, the curtain of rain occasionally being cracked open by lightning and accompanied by its echoing drums. A rational mind would seek shelter in the hellacious storm but he's too intoxicated and too in his head to even worry about it.
Bringing the bottle to his lips, Jason polishes off the last bit of the scotch with a satisfying gulp. Over the years, Jason had dabbled in various "escapes" but scotch was by far his favorite of them all. No the high of weed, heroine, or even ecstasy could compare to the bliss he felt with the buzz of scotch. And he had no idea why…
But the onlooker did.
His little brother mirrored him in more ways than he thought possible… including his drink of choice. Their so-called father was also a scotch man dubbing it a true man's drink. The refined pallet of a man earmarked for success. And scotch was them trying to get closer to him, reaching for some deeper connection and common ground they never had. But this time Jason reaches too far toppling over and down onto the pavement. Jason had always had that Icarus-like quality, always reaching too far, wanting too much and inevitably crashing and burning.
He cared too much and Wren didn't care enough. He remembered at a young age learning the word sociopath and its definition and he remembered how much he liked it. Finally, a word to describe why he was different. Sure it wasn't the most flattering of definitions but it was something… he had answers. He knew exactly what he was. He didn't feel. He certainly didn't care. So what was stopping him from putting his car back into drive and leave Jason in the gutter?
Wren felt something thrillingly unfamiliar swirling inside of him, something he found almost as tempestuous as it was dangerous. It was such a foreign concept to him that it took a moment to realize what it actually was. There was a piece of him that cared about the fate of his younger brother. He mulled over the feeling and wondered if he should act on it- weighing the intensity within and wondering if it hinted at a potential for greatness…or something devastatingly destructive. And it was only as he realized that he wasn't sure which way the scales tipped, that he felt alive again. Since the frame up job of CeCe Drake and murdering his "father", he'd felt like a zombie, just going through the motions. No challenge. No thrill. Nothing. And whatever this was. It was something.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Jason climbed out of his car and pulled up his hood tight in a feeble attempt to conceal himself from the hellacious downpour. Chills bunched over his flesh as he neared his brother adding to the exhilaration surging within as he closed the distance between him and his younger brother. Kneeling down he surveyed his little brother squinting to make sure that his chest was still rising and falling through the curtain of rain and felt relief when he saw that Jason was still alive. Relief. He never gave a damn about the well-being of others. He was them all as dolls, mere puppets for his amusement but looking down at his little brother, Wren felt something he hadn't in decades.
Human.
With a gentleness he used with his patients, Wren gingerly picked up his brother and climbed to his feet cradling Jason to his chest. Given his hard muscled form, long legs, and height, it proved to be a difficult task but Jason was in no condition to stand on his own two feet. Glazed blue eyes flicker open in an intoxicated haze and narrow in on Wren. He looked to Wren like a little child who has a boo-boo or illness and they want their parents to make it all better.
"S'alright, little brother. I've got you," Wren comforted and Jason closed his eyes again. "I got you."
End of Chapter Four
