A/N: Thanks for the reviews. To the very kind reviewer who requested less angst-y issues—these past few chapters were honestly just the tip of the iceberg. Every single character in this story has problems they're dealing with and I'm sorry if it depresses you. It works for me, in a way, to let my negative energy out into writing.

I have indeed changed my penname again—yes, I know, you're all sick of my indecision, but this time it's to pay tribute to my favorite show of all time that has just gotten cancelled after one season: "AWAKE", starring Jason Isaacs. I'm really going to miss watching that show and I'm extremely angry at NBC for cancelling it.

Anyway, it's been a bit since the last chapter so without further ado, here's chapter ten of "Playing To Win"!

Disclaimer: I don't own Kickin' It.

"By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail."

…

—Benjamin Franklin

CHAPTER TEN: At War With The World

Victory after victory was scrawled on the board, in slightly distracted handwriting.

Not a single loss, not even a single tie. Five games into the season, and they hadn't lost once.

Though Grace was exhausted from their recent game, she had to admit that adding their most recent victory to the board would result in a lot of satisfaction. Her alert eyes traced over the scores that were recorded with deliberate precision, soaking in every memory of victory she remembered from the games: 3-2, 2-0, 2-1, 4-1, 5-0…

Her heart sank as her eyes traveled down the board and she realized that their next game was against the Seaford Black Dragons.

The little black-and-red dragon was taped to the board defiantly, next to the two intertwined Ws that symbolized the Wasabi Warriors. Each school played all the other schools at least twice in the same season. The team that came out on top at the end of the season advanced to the state playoffs, and so far each year it had been the Black Dragons that had gotten that opportunity.

Grace's heart dropped even further when she located the second game against the Black Dragons—the very last game of the season, where the most pressure was concentrated.

Oh, this was going to be complete hell. Grace was actually surprised her best friend—who took her position as captain very seriously—hadn't started running practices longer and longer while their first game against the Black Dragons was in plain sight, next weekend, seven days away. It was crucial that they beat the Black Dragons in this game and that they didn't lose a single game this entire season. They'd vowed that this year was going to be the year they made it to the state playoffs, and Grace had never broken a promise to Kim.

"She's going to go crazy," a voice commented from behind her.

Grace started and turned around; she hadn't seen the goalie walk up behind her and this in itself was very puzzling, as Jerry wasn't known for his stealth.

Maybe she'd just been preoccupied.

"Yeah," Grace nodded in agreement, trying to control her body temperature—the room seemed to have grown hotter and strangely airless. She shifted, "Kim is going to give us complete hell this week. Prepare for the next world war…"

Jerry looked slightly confused, "Which world war is the next one?"

"I'm guessing…World War III?" Grace gave him a perplexed look, shaking her head fondly at his constant state of confusion. "Don't worry about it, Jerry. I think an actual world war is a long way off from here."

Despite her words, she couldn't stop herself from turning back to stare at the board.

"Then you don't know Kim," Jerry laughed, though it sounded strained. "Maybe we should arm ourselves with carrot guns or something."

Grace paused and took a closer look at Jerry. The goalie's relaxed expression looked as if it had been forced upon his face, as if it were merely a mask that looked very close to crumbling to pieces. The mention of carrot guns had done nothing to ease the palpable tension between the two that hung in the air like a curtain.

"Are you okay?" The question flew from her lips, sharper and quicker than she had intended for it to be; she could already see that it had caught Jerry by surprise.

"Me? Fine," Jerry waved it off. "Just…nervous about the game, you know?"

Grace searched his dark eyes for something to clue her in as to why he his voice was suddenly strained. She thought back to the little dragon taped on the board and the implication of the challenges of their next game.

Oh.

However, she didn't really ask about the game—well, not really. "Are you worried about the Ricky…Thing?"

Jerry stalled uncomfortably, "I thought Kim named it the Ricky Fiasco. Whatever a fiasco is."

"We've called it many things," Grace rolled her eyes. "The Ricky Fiasco, The Ricky Thing, The Ricky Disaster…Kim doesn't like to talk about it, you know that. Usually the word fiasco comes to mind first."

Jerry shrugged generously, thankful that the attention had been diverted from him—for now. "Yeah, well, I don't blame her. I don't like talking about it either."

Grace bit her lip. "…Are you still having those nightmares?"

Jerry's face paled noticeably, but he passed it off as a sort of theatrical gesture and shook his head. "No, not really. I've had maybe one or two since school started like, two months ago."

"Has Jack noticed yet?"

Grace knew she was edging into tentative territory in terms of Jerry's personal problems but she couldn't help herself—she was curious and she was also concerned.

"No." Jerry's voice was firm and just the tiniest bit apprehensive as he continued, "I've only had one these past few weeks and I managed to stuff a pillow in front of my face. I didn't wake Jack up."

Grace leaned closer to Jerry, so close she could feel his breath on her face, and after a few seconds, whispered, "Are you sure nothing else is bothering you?"

"Grace, you worry too much, yo," Jerry brushed it off dismissively. "I'm fine."

The brunette had her doubts, but if Jerry was keeping something from her, then it must be a secret worth hiding in the dark; Jerry had told her nearly everything after they had begun to hang out more frequently, and she wondered what his current problem was. She was tempted to ask but also afraid of pressing too deeply into his private, personal business.

"Do you want to go into town or something?" Jerry offered quietly after a few moments. "The game finished early today, it's still Saturday. Maybe we can go to Starbucks?"

Surprise rippled through Grace, but now her manner toward him was less concerned and more on the grateful side. "I think I'd like that. Might as well get some relaxation before Kim starts calling practices in the middle of the night."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Jerry snorted as the pair headed down the hall, Jerry lightly tugging on Grace's hand to pull her away from the board. Electricity tingled in her palm, and she almost forgot about everything—the next game, the affair—

The affair.

She bit down on her lip, hard, and threw another glance back at the whiteboard to distract her as she and Jerry turned the corner, the numbers branded into her mind.

When she closed her eyes, the little picture of the dragon still floated in front of her, hovering before her on the inside of her eyelids, taunting her.

Jack was beyond exhausted from the practice they had just run—Monday practices were always the worst—but after a quick shower, he had decided to skip dinner in favor of heading to the library, where the chances of him being seen would be drastically minimized by the meal taking place at the exact same time.

The Bobby Wasabi Private School library was open nearly the entire day, except for the ungodly hours of the late evening and early morning, and for that Jack was grateful. He pushed open the door slowly, his backpack steady on his shoulders, and after casting a glance around and noting that the librarian was probably getting something to eat as well, plopped down at the bank of computers lining the entire left wall and logged into the student network.

As he sat back to wait for the computer to adjust all his settings and examined the dark, wooden shelves packed with books, he reminded himself that he wasn't here to indulge in fantasies or satisfy his curiosity—it was merely to look up an article for his family history project.

…Right?

Jack had to admit that while Bobby Wasabi Private School did have spectacular (and liberating) teaching methods, the assigning of the family history project couldn't have come at a worse time. Each student was to present a small speech or compile a collage on each of their immediate family members, tell about their lives, explain what they had done and who they were.

Jack was not looking forward to this—especially not with his currently screwed-up family.

Once the computer had logged him in, he immediately clicked on the web browser button and leaned forward, his muscles tightening in anticipation.

It was officially time to completely rip the bandage off—he couldn't just avoid the event like it had never happened. Jack Anderson was no coward and he couldn't afford to show fear, apprehension, or ignorance now. Completely foregoing formalities, he simply headed straight to the Dallas Morning News website and scanned the articles, clicking back a couple of pages to see the older headlines, his brown eyes scrutinizing the page.

No…no…no…

He continued to scroll down at a hurried pace until he'd finally found what he was looking for. The headline alone, typed across the top of the page in simple font, was enough to induce pure anger, unadulterated fury in Jack.

His eyes traveled down the page, taking in the stately white background and black font with an emotionless expression. The picture on the article struck Jack harder than he had expected for it to, and he was surprised by the amount of emotion the man could still evoke in him.

Jack's astonishment was also tainted with bitter resignation. That man—the one staring at him from the computer screen, his eyes pulling at all of Jack's secrets—could hardly be even called a man. He was a murderer, a criminal, and most of all, he was Jack's—

Not even bothering to read the article while it was on the screen, Jack hit the print button on the side of the web browser and heard the printer, some twenty feet away on a separate desk, start to hum with the new delivery. Quickly deleting his Internet and printing history on the computer, Jack turned, swiped the fresh article from the printer and stuffed it in his bag, promising to himself that he'd read it later in private.

The night air was cool as he stepped back outside the library again, and not a moment too soon; the librarian was just returning.

He hadn't been noticed, thank god.

Jack quickly made sure that the article was safely secure in the depths of his backpack before hurrying toward his dorm room and dropping off his school supplies. After throwing his backpack in his closet, he made a beeline for the dining hall, attempting to appear only a little bit late.

No one could know that Jack Anderson was the son of a deceased criminal.

"Oh, Kim is going to freak," Milton muttered under his breath.

Jack barely looked up from where he was currently scrawling untidily on a piece of paper, dutifully copying down the group's next question. Through several intense rounds of Rock, Paper, Scissors, their small table group of four—Jack, Milton, Julie, and Eddie—had determined that Jack would write down the answers for their activity. Jack's gray sweater, part of the school uniform, was rolled up to his elbows and he seemed to be in a slight trance as the pencil moved unsteadily across the blank paper.

"Why?" Eddie finally asked, answering the question still hanging in the air. Julie had leaned back and didn't appear to be interested in the conversation.

"Look outside," Milton pointed a pencil toward the lab windows.

Rain splattered down in pure sheets, driving against the windows with a fury Milton wouldn't have been able to describe if he'd tried. The sky, which had been a watery shade of blue just an hour or so ago, was now a dark, angry gray that seemed adamant and unwilling to let up.

Milton knew that the captain of the soccer team would be, by now, silently (or audibly) cursing out whatever deity there was in the universe for bestowing such unlucky weather on the town of San Jose. The game against Seaford Preparatory was in about four days and they'd been training extremely hard this entire week.

Milton pulled out his iPhone and, according to his trusty weather app, the rain would continue to last for the next two days—through Wednesday and partway through Thursday.

Rain on three days of the week. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday.

He could already see Kim's extremely pissed off expression.

Eddie's mouth dropped open, "When did it start raining?"

"About five minutes ago," Julie supplied coldly, her tone uncharacteristically harsh, before finally heeding a command from the teacher and whipping off her large, dark sunglasses she seemed to be toting around a lot lately. She raised her hazel eyes, tired and ringed with slight bruises, to Milton and Eddie before flicking a glance at the questions Jack was copying down. "Jack, you keep writing the word rain over and over again."

Milton thought he saw Jack's cheeks blush a faint pink. "Oh, right," Jack murmured as he lifted his head to grab an eraser. "Sorry, I'm a bit tired."

"Join the club," Julie invited, her voice soft but cruel, and Milton widened his eyes even further at her strangely sarcastic edge.

His girlfriend's behavior had been becoming increasingly strange these past few days and Milton didn't know if it was the stress of the upcoming game against Seaford or just her time of the month. However, Julie had never acted this angry and sarcastic in her life and it was beginning to worry Milton. Milton usually chalked her bad moods up to PMS, insomnia and her lack of sleep (and even then she was still sweet as honey), but she'd begun to look differently lately as well; she'd skipped wearing her glasses for three days in a row now in favor of putting in the contacts she usually reserved for soccer and she'd simply…changed.

"Why didn't you get any sleep, Jack?" Milton asked sympathetically. He knew that Julie suffered from sleeplessness, a reasonable hazard after so many late-night study sessions, but he had no clue why Jack wouldn't have been getting enough hours every night. Schoolwork wasn't starting to pile on the students yet, though Milton studied for at least two hours every evening.

Jack shifted in his seat, his eyes suddenly sharp and alert, the original cloudiness evaporated. "I was dealing with…some things. Homework."

Out of the corner of his eye, Milton saw Eddie give Jack a shifty glance as if Eddie was unsure what to add to that comment. Jack responded with a sharp, warning glare, and Eddie shrank back slightly.

"Anyway," Milton stuttered. "Jack, got those questions copied down?"

Jack tiredly handed over the sheet of notebook paper, now covered in writing that was slightly messy and distracted, as if the writer had been lost in a train of thought.

Which, Milton supposed, Jack had been.

"How are you guys doing on your English family history projects?" Milton brought up tentatively, noting the tension, practically tangible, hovering around the table.

Milton didn't miss how Jack had immediately stiffened up.

Wrong move.

While Eddie was rambling on about how his uncle was the famous Big Easy from the Harlem Globetrotters or something, Milton was correcting all the grammatical and spelling mistakes Jack had made on the paper while giving the brunet slight glances from the corner of his eyes.

Jack's reflexes must have been down due to his lack of sleep, because he didn't immediately wipe his face blank of any emotions or even attempt to not look guilty. He simply sat there, his eyes shut as if that could protect him against whatever evil he was facing, and rested his hands on his arms, folded neatly atop the table. His head had flopped down, his shaggy brown hair flipping forward, and his face disappeared from Milton's view.

"How are you doing on your family project, Jack?" Julie asked after another thirty seconds, her quiet voice somehow seeming louder than the rest of the chatter in the room combined.

Jack's previously stiff posture tensed up even more, and he jerked his head, his face still facing the ground as he refused to look up. "Fine," he said sharply, his voice cold and slightly muffled by the fabric of his sweater. "Perfectly fine."

Milton looked back down at the paper, unsure of what to do or say.

A crack of thunder boomed outside before the sky seemed to split in half, lighting the classroom even further with the lightning streak that had chosen that exact moment to sprint across the clouds. In a flash, the sudden light disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Milton watched the rain pelting on the glass not five feet from their table, for once completely forgetting a chemistry assignment.

"Yep," Milton murmured, turning his intense blue eyes to the questions before taking Julie's hand under the table, squeezing it reassuringly. He tried to wipe everything from his mind—Jack's suspicious reactions to the family project, Julie's suddenly sarcastic personality, and Eddie's association with whatever Jack was going through.

And then, to finish up his previous sentence: "Kim is going to freak."

Kim was, in fact, freaking out.

The rest of the team's predictions had been correct—Kim was silently losing control inside, her emotions as unstable as the stormy weather outside.

What kind of god would choose this week to torment the earth with pounding sheets of rain? Did whatever deity out there not realize that they had a veryveryveryvery crucial game against a very skilled soccer team and that they needed to practice, goddammit?

Her freak-out session was in a relatively empty space, though—the school's main gym. The basketball team had quit practice early and the bleachers were completely empty, devoid of people. It was a perfect place for her to plot, to plan, to think—and of course, to study. Her books were strewn all around her on the seats, above and below her. The blonde herself was situated in the very center of the mess, looking like a boarding school student sent straight from hell. She had no doubt her eyes were wild and her clothes were slightly messy; in fact, her tie was barely hanging on her neck.

With one impatient swipe, she snatched it off and threw it in the general direction of her bag.

Kim tried to think of what she could do to solve this bad weather problem. Could she ask the Wasabi Warriors to meet up in the gym for a strength and conditioning session? It wouldn't be easy, as she'd told the team that practice was canceled for the afternoon. The members of the team were no doubt spread all throughout the rainy campus, and it would be total hell to attempt to track them all down.

She had to clear her mind, she had to get her synapses firing again in coherent messages. This scrambled joining of random phrases was not working.

The main gym door creaked open.

Good, someone to hit.

Of course, Kim would have never hit anyone who walked in the door—well, okay, with a few exceptions—but once she saw it was Jack, she wanted to punch the bleachers instead of the actual boy.

She considered doing it for a moment before deciding against it. Having an injury this close to gametime was a huge no and besides, she couldn't afford to look out of control. Kimberly Crawford was captain of the soccer team—she wasn't known for losing control.

Besides, while she didn't exactly want to be all buddy-buddy with Jack, she grown to…respect him, she supposed. During the game when she'd assigned him as substitute captain, she'd watched the end of the game from under a tree and was surprised at how composed and confident Jack seemed even in a desperate situation, how encouraging he still was under pressure.

Plus, she sensed something about him—something that gave her the impression that he wasn't just a perfect person.

There was something…off about him.

Whatever it was, that game (and the two following it) had changed drastically changed her initial opinion of him.

Jack looked pleasantly surprised to see her, though his brown eyes roved over her rumpled uniform and the tie unceremoniously dropped on her bag. The coffee-colored orbs widened even further as he took in the haphazardly piled textbooks, notepads, and random school supplies.

"Study session gone wrong?" Jack quipped, inching closer but still respecting her personal space.

Kim's heart rate spiked up at his concerned gaze and she attempted to calm it down, mentally wondering what the hell was wrong with her. "Something like that, I guess."

Jack hopped gracefully up onto the bleachers and scaled the seats, plopping down a couple feet from her. "You look stressed," Jack commented.

"No duh," she rolled her eyes, but it seemed like all the fight had gone out of her.

Despite her heartbeat that was steadily increasing in beats per second, peace started to work its way through her veins. Before, he had set her nerves on edge, but now Jack Anderson seemed to have an almost…calming effect on her. It relaxed her and scared her at the same time.

"Do you mind if I study with you?" Jack asked as he threw his backpack down. "Eddie and Jerry are running around my dorm with Nerf guns and I honestly can't concentrate."

"Uh…sure?" Kim waved, drawing a weird shape in the air, meaning to convey that he could sit down. "It's a free gym."

She studied Jack's tie as he complied, finding it even more helpful to calm down if she concentrated on one single aspect of him. The green-and-gray article of clothing was slightly loosened and she chanced a glance up at his eyes.

The brown orbs were, strangely, tired and exhausted.

"Is there something on my face?" Jack smirked as he pulled an printed article of some sorts out of his bag.

Kim flushed a pale pink, "No. You just look tired. Are you working on the family project?"

"No."

Her eyes widened at his abrupt change in tone, and she held her hands up. "Hey, whoa, calm down! I'm just wondering!"

"Sorry," Jack rubbed his eyes tiredly. "The damn project has been keeping me up at night. So, yes, to answer your question, I've been working on it."

He eyed her carefully, as if debating over whether to say more before confessing, "My family's been going through some…tough times right now and it's been hard to write about my family members."

Welcome to my world, Kim wanted to sigh. I've been dealing with an older sister with anorexia. And you?

Instead, she nodded stiffly. "I…know what it's like going through family problems. If you want to…you can talk to me, I guess. Just don't make it awkward."

She had no idea where that last request had slipped out of but when Jack started to laugh, she bristled slightly. "Hey, it's not a bad demand! I hate awkwardness! If you want to talk about awkward things go to Jerry, he thrives on awkwardness."

Maybe she was acting a little too friendly but all the stress had been getting to her head, and he helped her relax—even if her words and laughter were slightly hysterical.

She was really losing it.

Jack snorted. "Maybe I will talk to him. But anyway, how are you doing? Stressed, right? I'm really sorry about the rain…"

"Oh, don't even get me started on it," Kim waved impatiently as she grabbed a textbook. "There is nothing I hate more than rain."

A warm glow ignited in her once she saw Jack's trademark smile. "Yeah," Jack rolled his eyes. "I've got time. I'll get you started. So tell me about it."

She complied.

The fields were nowhere near completely dry, but after another day of rain and one single day of clear sunshine (Milton's weather app had been wrong, to Kim's great relief), Kim deemed the fields acceptable enough to at least dribble a soccer ball on.

Have field, will play.

Game: two days away, Kim mentally noted to herself as she observed the players during a water break. It was Thursday, and the day after tomorrow was the game.

The practice was going reasonably well. Even though Grace and Kelsey were complaining about mud sticking to their cleats, Kat looked so pissed off that she could murder someone, and Eddie was whining about being hungry, everyone else looked focused and ready to kick some Seaford Prep ass.

Well, except for one other person.

Jerry's movements had seemed robotic throughout the entire practice so far. Kim watched as the goalie snagged his water bottle and immediately returned right back to the goal, staring at the net as his water bottle hung limply by his side.

To elaborate even further, his performance today so far had been…empty. Jerry was a complete klutz during school but when he was surrounded by the goal with the net backing him up and his gloves on his hands, Jerry was graceful and fluid, catching nearly every ball sent his way, results of his hard work for many years. This was the worst Kim had seen Jerry play all season and in all honesty, it was starting to scare her.

She hazarded another glance at the tired team before jogging across the field, nearing the goal and stepping softly up to Jerry's side.

"Want to tell me what's wrong?" she asked after a few long moments. She thought she had a faint idea of what was bothering him, but she was apprehensive to voice her suspicions out loud.

Jerry hadn't even bothered to acknowledge her presence so far, and his reply seemed far away as he muttered, out of the corner of his mouth, "I'm scared."

Kim's eyes widened and Jerry now turned to her fully, his brown eyes full of sharp clarity, a far cry from the uninterested gaze he'd been bearing just three seconds ago. "Jerry…"

"I mean it, Kim."

Kim looked down at the grass, before twisting sideways and pulling Jerry into a tight hug.

The goalie towered several inches above her but she still managed to whisper into his ear, "I know. And you have good reason to be, but we need you to pull yourself together. You're one of the most valuable players on this team, Jerry, we can't lose you now."

Jerry stiffened at these reprimanding words.

"I know," Kim continued soothingly, "That the stress and the pressure of this game is getting to you. Especially because it's against the Black Dragons—"

The goalie pulled away.

"But," Kim pressed on, determined to let her message be known, "You're the single best goalie in the district, Jerry. You've got nothing on Seaford's goalie, and we need you to win."

Jerry's gaze seemed even more broken now. "But…I just don't know how to explain it, Kim—I'm just scared."

If they were touching on any other topic or subject, Jerry wouldn't have dared to complain to Kim. He was aware of how much the blonde hated weakness and whining, but this was an extremely sensitive subject and Kim didn't blame him at all for feeling fear.

"I know."

Jerry's glare was sharp as he turned on her, "I don't think you do. They…they…they were so unfair, and…they—"

Jerry's voice cracked, and his eyes swiveled back to the goal. "I'm afraid I'm going to start having those nightmares again, and that I'll start bothering Jack. And everyone else."

Kim's voice was raw with surprise, "You've been having the nightmares?"

"Just one or two," Jerry admitted reluctantly, his confidence shrinking under the captain's concerned, slightly outraged glare (though the rage was in no way directed at him). "But they've been getting worse."

A long, long beat of silence.

Kim wanted to comfort him. She wanted to wrap him into another hug and tell him that everything would be okay, because the two of them were more than just a captain and a player, much more than just teammates. They were friends, two separate individuals drawn even closer than they were before because of one single event that changed them both.

It changed them both for the worse.

"Jerry," Kim whispered after a few moments of consideration. "I know what they did. To you, to me, to this team. It wasn't just unfair, it was just sick. Horrible. Trust me, none of us are strangers to underhandedness anymore."

There was a tense silence as Jerry simply repeated, "I know. And I'm still scared."

"Yeah," Kim finally muttered, her expression bleak. "To be honest, Jerry…me too."

The first thing Jack heard was mumbling.

The second thing he heard was a muffled scream.

Before he knew it, he was sitting bolt upright in bed, a hand unconsciously reaching out to snap on his bedside lamp. Squinting his brown eyes and mentally noting that his dark hair probably looked like a haystack, his eyes swept across the room in a hurry, searching for the disruption that had been so serious that it had broken his sleep.

It was Jerry.

The raven-haired goalie was evidently having a nightmare of some sort, but Jack couldn't exactly tell what the subject matter was. Jerry's forehead was beaded with cold sweat, and Jack tentatively crossed the room, tip-toeing to Jerry's bedside and leaning forward to examine his—

Jack staggered back in shock as Jerry's left arm swung out, missing Jack's face by mere centimeters as Jerry screamed something into his pillow and waved his arm frantically again, his left arm joining in this peculiar dance.

The delayed panic that Jack should have felt was now starting to settle in, and he watched helplessly for the next thirty seconds as Jerry's face pressed into his pillow, shrieking unintelligible things and his arms battling unseen enemies. Jack attempted to shake him awake, placing his hands on Jerry's shoulders and jerking the poor boy back and forth in desperation, effectively knocking Jerry's head back and forth but not rousing him from sleep.

Nothing worked.

Jerry finally flipped onto his back out of his own accord, and, just for a second, his previously agitated body stilled completely as he murmured something, his voice almost pleading. Jack leaned forward, straining to catch what it was—

"Don't…hurt…me…"

Jack's chocolate-colored orbs widened, and the possibility of what might be taking place in Jerry's nightmare frightened him enough to keep him shaking the boy in vain, desperately trying to free him from whatever dream-induced hell he was trapped in. Jerry resumed his previous movements, struggling to fight what wasn't there, what wasn't visible.

Jerry refused to wake up.

However, Jerry's fists fought Jack, and the latter found himself ducking wild swings and punches as Jerry aimed blindly. Jack carefully avoided them before catching a punch straight in the jaw, and he stumbled back several feet from the bed, his head spinning from the impact.

Willing to do anything to put a stop to Jerry's nightmares, Jack sprinted across the length of the room and snapped the lights on, the room flooding with bright light and flinging Jack into a blindness that lasted for about three seconds. His eyes narrowed in an attempt to see better, Jack staggered back to Jerry's bedside, where Jerry's fighting seemed to be coming to a gradual stop.

Jack took this opportunity to shake Jerry even further, until—

"Help!"

The scream from Jerry's lips was so unexpected that Jack completely dropped Jerry's collar, the goalie sinking back onto his sweat-soaked sheets.

"Don't hurt me!"

This shriek was even louder than the last one, if that were possible, and it struck Jack as if an actual blow had been exacted against his stomach. Jack had never heard Jerry Martinez scream like this, and whatever happened next, Jack just wanted to be able to erase the memory, the voice, from his mind.

"Let me go!"

"Dude, come on, wake up!" Jack yelled, his pleading voice riddled with fear, taking hold of Jerry's collar again. "Please, Jerry, wake up! You're in a dream, a nightmare, just please wake up—"

The next thing Jack saw was a pair of brown eyes.

Jerry's eyes had snapped open at those words, and the pupils were so dilated that Jack seemed to be staring into pools of black. Jerry's breathing was heavy, labored, as if he'd just run ten miles nonstop, and they stared at each other for a moment in pure shock.

"I—I—"

"Wait," Jack whispered fiercely, "Right here. Do not move, do not even get up. I'll be right back."

Acknowledging in the back of his mind that it was probably a bad idea to leave Jerry alone after that horrifying episode, Jack still dived out of the room and sprinted down the hall, ignoring the fact that his hair was sticking straight up and that he was in his pajamas. The water cooler located in the middle of the hallway was Jack's current salvation, and the brunet waited impatiently as the huge jug of clear liquid emptied water into the paper cup clutched in Jack's right hand.

As soon as the cup was filled to the brim with cold, icy water, Jack dutifully dashed down the hall, back the way he'd come, his eyes focusing on nothing else but the door to his room, ajar—

Jack promptly dropped the paper cup.

The small, thin container fell to the wooden floor, the contents instantly spreading across the dark wood like a ravenous monster looking for prey to consume, but at that moment, Jack couldn't have cared less about how much cleaning he was going to have to do.

He was staring at Jerry Martinez, huddled at the foot of his bed.

With a razor in his hand.

Jerry's half-surprised, half-I've-just-gotten-caught-and-I'm-so-screwed expression was what snapped Jack back to reality, and Jack practically leaped across the room and knocked the razor out of Jerry's hands, sending it skidding across the dark floor and spinning into the shadow of the goalie's bed.

"What the hell, Jerry?" Jack demanded, his voice pitchy and uneven from his lack of breath and total shock. "I asked you to do nothing for about maybe thirty seconds and when I come back you're cutting yourself—"

"Don't!" Jerry snapped right back, anger pulsating in his dark eyes, the pupils now shrunk back to normal size. The happiness, the carefree personality that Jack had grown so accustomed to witnessing was now long gone, replaced by a fury and a fear Jack had never seen in Jerry's eyes before. He looked almost insane as he spit out, "Don't even try to judge me right now! Not without knowing the full story!"

Jack exhaled sharply, his thoughts, his movements, and his voice riddled and hyped up with nervous adrenaline. "Then tell me! Why were you on the verge of cutting? One self-harming player on this team is enough!"

Jerry's eyes flickered in surprise at the mention of self-harm but then they hardened as he looked away at the opposite wall, whispering, "I was just making sure I'd really woken up."

Something about his tone dissolved all the fury Jack had managed to build up inside of him, and the brunet slowly sat down, next to Jerry, inconspicuously kicking the razor even farther away with his foot as he slid onto the ground. "Of course you woke up, Jerry. I'm here."

"Sometimes I don't think I wake up," Jerry mumbled, looking down at the ground. "It helps me if I feel pain. It reminds me that I'm awake."

Silence, as Jack pondered these words.

"But I still feel pain in my dreams. This is just a different kind of pain."

Jack's eyes grew the tiniest bit larger in diameter as he registered that quiet, matter-of-fact statement, and for once he had to think for a long time to come up with a fitting response.

"So, you want to tell me what that was all about?" Jack suggested quietly, his mind still reeling from these events. Normally, at this hour, his brain would have been working as slow as a turtle's but this slight diversion from his sleep had changed many things.

The corner of Jerry's mouth twitched up in a slight smile. "No, not really."

"You can tell me, you know."

Jerry looked doubtful.

"I mean it," Jack patted Jerry's shoulder awkwardly, but the Latino barely smiled at the kind gesture. "I know I haven't known you for that long but I really care about you—like the entire team does. You can tell me. I won't judge, I won't bite. I'm just me."

Jack could see that Jerry was struggling to come up with words and waited patiently as Jerry ventured nervously, "Well, I have…nightmares sometimes."

"What about?"

Jerry stiffened up again. "No. Don't ask that."

Jack silently cursed himself for asking such a forward question. He himself had nightmares, and while he never woke up screaming, preferring to suffer silently and grip his sheets as tightly as he dared, he knew how hard it was just to mention what topics the dreams even touched on.

"I'm sorry," Jack murmured genuinely. "But you really don't want to talk about it? I won't judge. I'm easy to talk to."

"I know that," Jerry waved it off. "I've talked to you lots before. Plus, Kim told me that."

Jack arched an eyebrow. "Kim's talked to you about me before?"

"Earlier." Jerry looked embarrassed that he'd let something that resembled a secret slip. "It was nothing bad, she was just confused after the rainy day, do you remember?"

"Yeah," Jack recalled. "I just talked to her in the gym. She ranted, got all her stress out of her system."

Jerry smirked. "I think she likes you."

Jack was a bit surprised at Jerry's sudden change in mood. "Are you always happy again so quickly after a nightmare?"

"Well, no," Jerry's gaze returned to the floor. "I don't usually have someone with me, I roomed alone last year. You're my first roommate in a while."

Jack breathed out decisively. "Well, that's good, then. Anytime you have a nightmare, tell me. If you want to talk, I'll talk with you as late as you want, but don't hesitate to tell me, okay? I'm here for you if you need it."

"Sure," Jerry shrugged, the goalie's face tinged the slightest shade of pink as he crawled back under his blankets.

Jack retreated to his side of the room, staring at Jerry's slowly relaxing face before snapping off his own light and sliding under the covers.

Sleep, however, didn't come easily.

"Kim! Hey, Kim!"

The blonde abruptly turned around in the hallway, her eyes seeking out the source currently belting out her name. After searching the crowds of students roaming the halls during passing period for at least five seconds, she finally pinpointed the voice; Jack was pushing through the crowds of people to reach her.

As much as she'd grown to at least somewhat like the brunet, she was not in the mood for anything right now. Her night had been virtually sleepless and being forced to go to school at this early hour in the morning had rendered her cranky. Plus, there was the fact that their game against the Seaford Black Dragons was tomorrow and she thought they were still very well underprepared.

Kim had the fleeting thought that she was being too hard on the Wasabi Warriors, but due to her currently cranky state she dismissed it and resolved to work even harder.

"What, Anderson?" Kim snapped as soon as Jack came within earshot, sharper than she had intended. She quickly amended, "Sorry. Late night. What's up, Jack? Something wrong?"

Jack darted a few apprehensive glances back and forth before tugging Kim behind a row of lockers, where the roar of the students was slightly muted. "Do you know anything about Jerry having…nightmares?"

The blood instantly drained out of Kim's face, and although the warning bell rang at this point and the crowds of students were thinning fast and she desperately needed to get to first period, she held Jack's intense brown eyes as she whispered, "He's been having nightmares?"

Jack nodded slowly, a bit surprised at her tone. "Yeah, he had one last night. Woke me up and everything, I had to shake him awake and calm him down. He wouldn't tell me what it was about."

"Of course he wouldn't," Kim muttered, her mind reeling.

One of her worst fears had been confirmed.

Jack seemed to be gauging her reaction before pressing, "It's a regular thing, then?"

Kim's mind was ten times more awake than it had been a minute ago, and her brain uselessly informed her that Jerry had started having these nightmares after last season, after that totally disastrous—

Breathe.

Kim inhaled sharply as she demanded, "Did he say anything? Do anything? Move, talk?"

Jack considered the words for a fraction of a second. "He kept pleading for someone not to hurt him—Kim, is something wrong?"

Jack's recent sentence seemed to have punched a hole straight through Kim's heart, and she squeezed her eyes shut. "Did he fight, did he scream for help?" she raised her eyes to him, her breathing now hitched.

"Uh…I'm not sure how you know this, but yeah—"

She had to find Jerry—now. Him having these nightmares again was not a good sign. She'd received warning signs from their conversation during practice yesterday that they were recurring again but to actually find out that they were again a reality…

"OkaythanksJackbyenow," she muttered hurriedly, her words a scrambled jumble of a phrase that had barely torn itself from her lips before she herself was tearing down the hallway, desperate to find the goalie of the team, determined to ask questions, to comfort him.

"Kim—hey, Kim?" Jack yelled at her retreating back, beyond confused at her abnormal reaction. "Where are you—?"

The door at the end of the hall swung shut with a loud bang, cutting off Kim's footsteps and Jack's unanswered question.

A/N: This chapter was a bit of a filler in terms of the soccer games. It focused mainly on their preparation for the next soccer game—against the Seaford Black Dragons. As you can see, about two weeks have elapsed since chapter nine and I can't write all the chapters out so you'll have to settle for Jerry and Grace's awkward discussions at the whiteboard.

Would anyone like to guess what Jerry's plotline is now? He also has a smaller, less major one besides what has been hinted at in the Jerry/Ricky/Kim triangle and I'm wondering if you guys know what either of the plotlines are about.

Speaking of plotlines, each character—the main ones such as Jack, Kim, Jerry, Eddie, Milton, Julie, Grace—have at least some sort of plot that will be mentioned throughout the whole story. While I was finalizing their personal issues and plots neatly I finally realized how depressing some of them—hell, all of them—will be. Their problems touch on several things that induce depression in teens: cutting, anorexia, bulimia, abuse, divorce, and affairs.

On that cheerful note, I will cut off this A/N with one final request: review, please?