AN: I'm majorly psyched that so many of you are still reading this. I'm trying to make up for my lack of updating. This chapter is pretty D/S/N/C centered because I wanted to write in their reactions, but next one will definitely be more Dair.


The Other Side Of This Life

-xx-

That Was Then...

"The trouble with friends was that you couldn't get rid of them. There was no way to take back a friendship in the wake of betrayal or disappointment. The friendship, and everything that went with it, stayed. It just became unreliable, like an abandoned house; you still knew where all the rooms were, and which stairs creaked underfoot, but you had to check every floorboard for rot before trusting your weight to it."

― Chris Moriarty

-xx-

Good evening, Upper East Sidders!

I have a scoop that's just too good to wait until morning:

We all thought it was D who finally managed to swipe S's V-card back in Junior High, but it turns out someone else laid claim to that uncharted territory for the first time. And who might that be, you ask? None other than our resident Golden Boy: N.

It seems that while our favorite Upper East Side Renegade was busy in Paris, N and S were busy rumpling the sheets.

As D is about to learn, nobody can stick a knife between the ribs quite like the people closest to us.

You know you love me.

xoxo, Gossip Girl

-xx-

"Shit." Nate presses hand to his soon-to-be bruised jaw, he feels the metallic tinge of blood on his tongue.

The three friends stand outside Nate's town house.

Chuck struggles to hold Dan back. This is certainly a first because Chuck is firmly against anything that could mar the perfection of his face, and taking a stray punch from Dan would certainly fuck Chuck up.

"Lets try to resolve this without resorting to using our fists, Daniel," Chuck attempts to reason, "We're not savages."

Dan struggles against Chuck's hold, "DID YOU SLEEP WITH HER!?" he howls, finally breaking free and rushing to pin Nate to the ground, "You son of a bitch, I oughta kill you!"

"Dan, it wasn't like that." Nate starts, not even bothering to fight against Dan, figuring that he deserves whatever he gets. This broke the Bro Code on all levels.

Dan scoffs, "What was it like, then?" he demands, "Besides my best friend fucking my girlfriend behind my back!"

Nate sighs, "Look, I never meant for it to go as far as it did, all right? I didn't want—"

"Don't fucking lie to me and say you didn't want it!" Dan cuts him off, "'Cause we both know you did."

"I'm sorry! Alright, I know how long you and I've been best friends—"

"We're not anything!" Dan shoves Nate away, "Okay—you're done! From now on, you stay the hell away from me!"

Chuck ushers Dan into the limo, turns to Nate, "I got him."

"Chuck, you—" Nate starts.

Chuck cuts him off, "Just go home, Nathaniel." he says, climbs into the limo and they drive off.

-xx-

The sun rises and Dan is still pacing angrily around Chuck's suit at the Palace.

All night long, Dan's been refusing booze, drugs and women.

Chuck's at a loss of how he can help if Dan won't accept anything that he's offering—other than drugs, sex and alcohol, what else is there to cope with the pain?

"Have a scotch already and stop pacing," Chuck advices as he pours himself another Macallan neat. "You're making me dizzy."

Dan grabs the glass and downs the liquor in a sip, if only to shut Chuck up. "This is fucked up." he finally says, "You should've let me kick his ass."

"And what would that have accomplished, Daniel?" Chuck muses.

Dan frowns, "I'm sorry, are you taking Nate's side on this?" he demands, "He slept with Serena! Okay, he fucked her while I was away, and then he hid it from me for almost three years!"

"Either shit or get off the pot, Daniel." Chuck says with an even tone, "Because you cannot have it both ways."

"What?" Dan demands in a hiss, the anger making his blood boil.

"You don't want her." Chuck states, and Dan's face morphs from anger to confusion.

Chuck raises a skeptical eyebrow, "Am I wrong?" he questions, "You do not want Serena. Maybe before. But not anymore. And Nate, he does. He's always wanted her. Now, it was a huge douche move, but he has been your best friend since pre-school. Are you really going to let pussy come between you?"

Dan shakes his head, "It's not that simple." he says, "And do not talk about Serena that way. She wasn't a hit-it-and-quit-it for me—I loved her."

"Yeah, loved." Chuck repeats, emphasizing the past tense. "But you don't anymore."

Dan plops down onto the couch, buries his face in his hands, "This is all so fucked up." he mutters.

"Look, I only care about three things: money, the pleasures money brings me, and you two morons." Chuck starts, moves over to sit on the coffee table in front of Dan, "So, find a way to punish Nathaniel accordingly—go kick his ass if you think it'll help, send those incriminating pictures of him to Gossip Girl, steal his pot supply for the month—whatever. Just do what it takes to make it square and move on already."

Dan chuckles wryly, "You don't get it, do you?" he scoffs, "Th-this changes everything. We're not gonna be the same again."

-xx-

Dan walks into his house to find Serena sitting on his living room couch.

Even when she's running on zero sleep, Serena is beautiful.

When she sits there—her feet tucked under her, hands knotting anxiously in her lap—it's easy for Dan to remember why it is he fell in love with her once upon a time.

"What are you doing here?" Dan asks, his tone dry and detached.

Serena stands up, faces him, "Danny..." Her big, dark-blue eyes look even stormier as they gloss over with tears.

"Don't." Dan raises a hand to stop her, "Just don't—don't call me that, don't cry, don't give me whatever half-assed explanation you've been up all night concocting. I'm done."

Serena moves towards him, cupss his face in her hands, "Dan, it was a long time ago," she says, "And it was a mistake. I am sorry. But we can start over. This doesn't mean we have to end. We can work through this... Dan, I love you."

Dan shakes his head, grips her hands and pulls them off his face, "You don't love me," he steps back, "you love you! You love what I can do for you!"

"Danny—"

"And I'm done." Dan continues, undeterred, "So get out... I mean it, get out!"

Serena lets out a sob, "Dan, please,"

"GET OUT!" Dan finally screams, he rubs his eyes, "Serena, we're done. So just get out." And with that he disappears upstairs.

-xx-

Chuck has been drinking himself into a stupor ever since Dan left that morning.

The shit really hath hitteth the faneth—and not in a good way.

Chuck stumbles towards the door when he hears the incessant knocking. He's only mildly surprised to find Serena standing there. He's been expecting this.

"Come on in, S." Chuck steps aside to let her inside. "I assume you've already spoken to Daniel."

Serena stands in the suite's living room, arms crossed over her chest. "Yeah, I have." she replies, "He said he's done with me."

"Dan will come around." Chuck says, offers her a glass of scotch.

"Only three people knew about that summer, Chuck." Serena says evenly; not angry, not sad, just stating a fact. "And I know Nate and I didn't send in the tip."

Chuck's jaw twitches almost imperceptibly, and he looks away.

This is the closest Chuck Bass has come to feeling ashamed and, dare he say it, guilty.

Before Dan and Nate ever came into the picture as his bros, Chuck had met Serena.

Serena had been the one who introduced Chuck to Dan and Nate.

Serena had made them the Three Musketeers of the Upper East Side.

Hell, Serena made him Chuck.

(Before that, he was just little Charles.)

-xx-

They were five years old, playing in the exclusive Park Avenue Presbyterian playground when Serena spotted a little boy with purple shoes peeing on the sunflowers.

Serena watched interestedly as the teacher ran over to scold Chuck.

"Charles!" Ms. Harvey had shrieked, "Our private parts are just that—private!"

Chuck smirked coyly—even at five he was a conceited asshole. "I just wanted to water the flowers." he replied, "You're supposed to."

Ms. Harvey pinched the bridge of her nose, "Zip up your pants and go play, Charles."

Serena giggled at the funny boy who wanted to water the plants. "What's that's boy name?" she asked, tugging at the teacher's skirt.

"That's Charles."

"Chuck." Serena pronounced, decidedly shortening the name, running off after the funny boy who was already planning some more mischief. "Chuck! Chuck! Chuck! Chuck!" she hollered, wandering around in search of him. "Chuck, play with me!" she demanded.

The other kids picked up the chant immediately: "Chuck! Chuck! Chuck!"

The name had stuck.

As had Serena. The little blonde girl practically became Chuck's tail, and eventually Chuck started to like it (to like her, too).

The teachers were glad that little Charles had finally made a friend. He was a particularly difficult child who did not play well with others, and in many ways Serena had become a calming influence on him.

(Though in many others Serena just served to spur him on, and vice versa.)

"Charles!" The teachers would scold.

"I'm not Charles." Chuck raised an eyebrow cockily, "I'm Chuck Bass."

-xx-

Serena had made him Chuck Bass.

And because of that history, Chuck (like Dan and Nate) had kept Serena on a pedestal.

Which is why felt bad when he didn't do right by her. And with that last blast, he had effectively screwed her over.

Big time.

"It wasn't about you, S." Chuck answers, licking his lips slowly, "I was angry. At Dan, at Nate."

Serena scoffs, arms crossed over her chest, "So you trashed my relationship and their friendship because you were pissed off!"

Chuck looks away, "It was a mistake."

"It was a choice, Chuck." Serena corrects, "And it was a bad choice to make, and a chickenshit thing to do to your three best friends."

"I'm sorry."

Serena scoffs, "You're an asshole." she hisses, "They didn't deserve this from you—I didn't deserve this from you."

"And what?" Chuck questions with certain disdain, almost as if daring her. "You're gonna tell them I sent in the tip?"

Serena shakes her head, "I'm not going to tell them anything." she says, "Because for better or worse, you're all any of us really has left. How ironic is that! Or was that your endgame all along?"

"I wasn't thinking, S." Chuck says, this time with a measure of sincerity, "Okay, I didn't think. I was pissed off at Dan and Nate for bailing, and I wanted to screw them over. I am sorry."

"This time sorry's not good enough." Serena states, "Goodbye."

Chuck closes his eyes at the slamming of the door, "Fuck!" he hisses, hurling the scotch glass towards the wall.

-xx-

Dan stood in his room wearing only a pair of shredded soccer-shorts while absentmindedly bouncing a soccer ball on his knees.

(Old habit to relieve the tension.)

Over the last twelve hours everything had changed.

The things he's counted on for as long as he could remember had suddenly shifted.

Sure, they (Dan and Serena and Nate and Chuck) had always hurt other people, most of the time for sport. But they'd never hurt each other, at least not like that.

And it's suddenly making Dan question everything. Because maybe they really have been hurting each other all along.

Maybe they've just been hiding it because they can't revel in the pleasure of breaking each other.

All in all, they were all considerably predictable.

All four of them were completely the product of their upbringing:

Lily van der Woodsen danced through life, always marrying a man, but never marrying the right man. Her first life lesson to Serena had been:

"Men don't stay."

So Serena found herself three men—one to make her laugh, one to love her unconditionally, one to protect her—who would always stay.

Serena would never become her mother.

Nate's parents were in a relatively happy marriage, but they were never really all there.

So Nate had always been irresolute. His relationships had always been uncommitted and his answers had always been equivocating.

Nate wasn't sure of anything—except Dan and Chuck and Serena. Especially Serena.

Bart Bass had never hugged Chuck enough, consistently calling him lazy and vain. Bart frequently chided Charles for lacking ambition and performing poorly in school.

Misty Bass was a well-groomed socialite and a superb trophy wife. Her job was to look pretty, hire the maids, and make sure Charles always had a nanny available. Popping Xanax and Paxil was just an added benefit.

So Chuck grew cold, distant. People were pawns, and you either played them or you got played.

Chuck believed that in a family, as in a friendship, everyone was expendable until they were needed.

(Though it was hard to hold Serena and Dan and Nate to those standards, Chuck had always excelled at being selfish.)

Despite being a rolling stone, Rufus Humphrey loved his children.

But he was never around.

Alison—Dan's mother—was in Paris, making art and shacking up with her new lover.

So Dan learned to be independent, to need no one, because people were inconsistent at best.

(But he'd always had Serena and Nate and Chuck—they've always been his constant.)

Dan bounced the soccer ball too hard. It flew off, knocking down a shelf and everything resting on it. He kneeled to pick up a few books, some trophies and a broken picture frame:

Serena stared back at him with her ethereal smile. She was piggybacking Nate who had Chuck in a playful headlock while Dan blew a kiss on Serena's cheek.

They couldn't be more than fifteen in that picture.

Dan grabs the broken frame—picture and all—and tosses it in the trash bin. He reaches for his iPhone and scrolls through his contacts, double-tapping Blair Waldorf's name to call her. As of late, she is the only honest person in his life.

"Humphrey," Blair greets with her usual friendly snark.

Dan smiles in spite of himself, "Hey, I'm sorry if you're busy, but...look, I just need to talk to someone—you." he sighs, "Can you come over?"

"Yes." Blair replies immediately; she can hear the tension in his voice. "I'll be there soon. Are you alright?"

Dan licks his lips, "Yeah. Yeah, I think I'm gonna be."