So this is a story I've been working on for a while. It's a lot self indulgent with some fluff, plot and angst. I will continue to work on my other stories as well though one will need an entire overhaul. Anyway I won't abandon them.

Quick warning please read

Suicidal thoughts horribly low self esteem and suicide attempt in this chapter

Proceed with caution!

It was all too much. Jack was on the verge of a breakdown.

The Conflict was getting to be ridiculous. Well, really the people involved in the Conflict were the problem. The monks wouldn't give him a break, not to heal, not to relax, not to build better robots so that he could stop getting his butt kicked every single day, sometimes twice a day. Yay.

On top of that, he was alone. There was no mentor, no teacher, no friends, no parents, not even someone who wanted to use him; there was no one to help him through this time of hardship. Hell, at this point Wuya's loud intrusive verbally abusive ghost form would be welcome. He was that desperate.

Jack needed a break from the Conflict, from the monks, how to put this nicely?

Thuggish ways? No.

Willful bullying? No, no.

Abusive activities? No, no, no!

How had Fung put it when he'd finally gone to complain about the break ins and had gotten a broken arm for his troubles before even laying eyes on the man? Ah, yes.

Overvigilance.

Fung had promised to speak to them about it and had even set his arm and offered to let him stay and get cared for until he healed. Jack politely refused for many, many reasons, four of which had glared suspiciously as he'd flown away. Anyway, the abuses had continued although the night break ins stopped for awhile which, admittedly, was a nice week. But, that very next week, Jack had felt brave enough to try to sleep through the night. Jack was a fool, a naive fool. Gullible and hopeful all at once, he'd even had the nerve to be surprised when it happened.

There is a popular phrase in the world "the calm comes before the storm". Well, the storm came through his living room. It was scorched, and soaked all at once. There were dent marks on the ceiling and a wall on the floor. The monks had almost looked sheepish when they saw him in the tightly belted robe he'd rushed down in at the first crash, still casted arm cradled against wrapped ribs. Jack had looked at the damage and had ignored the monks monologues as he sighed and rubbed his temple.

"There is a door for a reason! Use it ok?! It is literally right next to the wall you demolished!" He pointed directing their attention before cutting off his rant midway with a frustrated growl.

"But why am I wasting my breath? Are you done now? Got your stress relief? Good, get out."

With that he turned headed back to bed. On the bright side they'd absolutely incinerated a couple of his least favorite family photos, so there's that. After that he figured if he quit he could dedicate his time to mental health… and physical health… and emotional- you know what just health in general. He'd even tried giving up his Wu, but the monks still came to trash his lab with the excuse of wondering what his plan was. Apparently, they'd "kept track" of the Wu that he supposedly had. Bullshit! They couldn't even keep track of their own damn wu! How the fuck were they claiming to keep track of his?! Jack called immediate bullshit before grabbing anything he could throw at them and launching it as hard as he could, screaming abuse at them all the while. Eventually, though they easily dodged the debris, not a scratch on those God forsaken monsters, they'd left muttering about his apparent insanity.

So, he sat in the middle of a trashed lab, absolutely, definitely not holding back tears as he considered using the sharp, metallic remnants to end it all. He heard the door open and close upstairs but ignored the sounds of movement on the main floor, deep in contemplation of the pros and cons of such an action. The biggest pros being, there weren't many who would miss him, and that he'd finally get some rest. He reached one shaking hand towards the jagged metal, he could take the pain, not really but it would totally not last long and then it'd be over. Like really over. A dramatic ending followed by a forever dirt nap. Jack caught his reflection in a large piece of metal close by, he could really, really use a nap, dirt or otherwise. He could totally do this. Totally. Probably.

"Jacquie! Jacquie?! We're back! Where are you?"

Ignore it, you've had this dream before, just grab the metal, good…

"Jacquie! Come out, come out wherever you are!"

Close your eyes. It'll all be over in a second...

"There you are, Jacquie, why didn't you say anything?"

Just one vertical slice, think of all the good you'll do. Everyone will be so happy...

"What the hell are you doing?!"

If you were just gone.

The metal was snatched from loose fingers and warm, solid arms were wrapped around him in an instant. As he was pulled into an equally warm, soft chest, sobs ripped through his body leaving him trembling.

"You're not real!" He cried, voice broken and higher than usual. "You're never real, I'm alone..." He was sobbing too hard to say more as a hand gently rubbed his back.

"Damn it! How long has it been since you've slept? You should have called us if it was this bad." A soothing, masculine voice asked comfortingly.

"Can't sleep, someone will come. They always come. It hurts. Always hurts." Both in real life and in the nightmares. "Ruin, ruin everything I touch. Couldn't ruin you too. So you're not here. You can't be here. Not real. All alone."

Twin growls of rage and disbelief filled the room, then came a cold, feminine voice, "Bastards."

Jack struggled to open his eyes heavy with sleep and tears, "I miss you guys," he said to the two blurred hallucinations in a whimper.

"We missed you too sis," a gentle hug and kiss on the cheek. "Now sleep, we're here now, we'll take care of everything."

Jack finally could rest, or rather he was too tired to do anything else as his body gave up the fight to stay awake. Still, with the last of his coherent thoughts, he was hoping that this time it was real, that this time they were home, and that he could shed this stupid disguise. But it was probably a dream just like all the other times. He would wake up tomorrow… alone

broken

despised

lonely

like always

Hopefully this time he at least wouldn't be under attack. He snorted. Now that was a fruitless dream. With that thought he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Of course as always let me know what you think! Thanks for all of your support!