A/N: I'm not sure if I want to keep this one going, the idea just kind of hit me one rainy day recently. But if you read it and like it (or hate it for that matter) please let me know so I can keep going and put a little more time in to this one! Oh, as always, I have no ownership of TBC or any of its characters (millionaire John Hughes does- damn him) though if I did own Judd Nelson I would have some very naughty ideas running through my head. But read, enjoy, and REVIEW! Review me and I'll return the favor (or, so I'm a review whore- so sue me!)

As John Bender walked home he carefully fingered the new diamond stud in his ear. He couldn't believe that he and Claire had spent a whole day together and not killed each other. And not only had they not killed each other, but they had both come out of the experience liking each other. A lot. At least, he knew how much he liked her. But of course, he heard the little voice in the back of his head saying that she didn't like him. That she had deluded herself in to reaching out for someone on that long, boring Saturday in detention. He knew that she didn't go in to that library liking him or, for that matter, wanting anything to do with him at all. But he felt, at least he hoped that, she had left the library feeling something. He walked slowly past the nicer houses that surrounded the high school. He knew that soon his walk would lead him past these nice, spacious houses and they're perfectly manicured lawns. The road he was on would then lead him past small condos and duplexes, and then past the trashier apartments to the place he lived- he lived in the apartment's right outside the trailer park. In fact, he spent more time inside the trailer park than he did inside his own house.

As the sun dipped low over the trees, he watched the shadows on the ground grow long. The wind picked up and began to play with his hair. He reached up reflexively and tried his best to sweep his hair out of his eyes. He turned the corner and tripped over the sudden crack in the pavement. The transition from "their" side of town to his was almost instant. There was no in-between. As soon as you were off the main roads, you were in his side of town. He looked around "home" and almost snarled with disgust at his own "people" and the way they lived their life. He walked down his street, which was already completely dark since the county hadn't quite gotten around to fixing those street lights yet. He glanced to his left and saw one of the many neighborhood crack dealers slip some acid in to the hands of a waiting customer, a girl so pale and boney that she looked almost skeletal. John recognized her vaguely as a girl that he took to a school dance back in the seventh grade. She had been a lot cuter then. Her name was April. He picked up his pace a little, knowing his old man was going to skin him alive for not being home before nightfall. But then again, even if he was home before dark he knew his old man would find some shit to pick at him for. Shit that usually always ended up in a fight between the two. As he turned the final corner, he almost smiled to himself to see the sparse lawn, compete with an old '79 pickup on cinderblocks out front. He opened the screen door, hearing the familiar squeak and letting it shut with a bang. He surveyed the sight around him and gasped in a familiar sense of horror.

The apartment lay in shambles. The kitchen table lay overturned in the middle of the kitchenette, and the bowl of fruit that was usually on it was half way across the living room. Beer cans and shattered beer bottles lay strewn to the four corners of the apartment, lying bent and broken after being thrown. The couch was full of razor blade cuts and his mother and dog, Trixie, lay huddled together in the corner of the living room, covered in broken glass from the window and TV, which both lay busted beside them. John rushed over to his mother.

"Mom?! What happened?"

"You're dad and I got in another fight."

"What about this time?"

"What do you think?"

John nodded and helped his mother stand up. He took Trixie in his arms and led both of them to the back bedroom, where his mom and dad usually slept. He set Trixie down on the floor after looking over her carefully and finding nothing but a few small cuts and what appeared to be a bruised rib or two. She had encountered much worse over the years. His mother was another story.

Her hair was matted to her head with blood. Her eye was already swollen and blackened; her arms were covered in small cuts and bruises. Her leg, which had been broken almost a week ago, was splattered with blood. John helped his mother in to bed, saying nothing. She was right; he knew what the fight had been about. The fight had been about him. The fights were always about him. He knew that his mother didn't like him either, but at least his mom always did her best not to talk bad about him, unless her dad was already laying in to him. John knew that his mom loved him, that she was just trying to divert his dad's drunken rages on to someone else. But John still found it really hard to forgive her cowardice. He headed back to the living room and began to pick up the living room. He took all of the beer bottles and cans and threw them out the back window in to the dumpster. He began to sweep up the broken glass, cutting himself at least a hundred times in the process. He was used to pain. Just as he was turning the kitchen table right side up, he heard a key in the door. He looked up as the bulky figure of his father filled the doorway.

His father was about 6'2, 250 pounds of solid bulk. He had long, stringy, oily hair and packed a mean right hook. His eyes were bloodshot from years of tequila and dope, and every day he wore a ring on each finger, a habit that lead to some rather interesting bruises on some days. His father stood in the doorway, his hands full of paper bags that no doubt contained only beer and no groceries, even though John new that the only thing in the refrigerator right now was a jar of mayonnaise. John's father crossed the apartment in three quick strides, setting the paper bags down on the counter and pulling a beer out of the bag, smiling to himself as he heard the fizz as he pulled the tab. John shook his head in disgust and set the last chair at its place around the table. He began to walk to his room, which involved walking past his dad. That was the biggest mistake he could have made.

Just as John crossed one foot in to his fathers past, he felt his fathers hand on the back of his neck. His instincts led him to raise his arm and reach out to smack his dad. But his dad was too quick. His dad reached out and hit him square in the nose, causing his eyes to water and John to drop his hand. John wondered what had provoked the attack this time when suddenly his question was answered. He felt his dads hand creep around his neck and grasp firmly on to the diamond earring he was wearing. Before John could stop him, John felt his dad pull on the earring with all of his strength.

John collapsed to the floor, screaming in pain. Blood gushed from both his nose and his ear where the flesh had been torn all the way through. He looked up at his dad who held the bloody stud in his hand. He looked disgustedly down at John.

"Wazzis? Diamonds? Where'd you get it? Stole it, no doubt, yalil shit. Duzzn surprise me. Or fucked some little rich girl and got it as payment. I don't really care. But you look like a fag wearing it. Now get up and get this hellhole cleaned up. And you make one more fucking peep and I'll take that dog of yours and shoot it square between the eyes. Don't try me on that, you little no good dis-respecting fucker."

And with that Johns father kicked him once square in the ribs before spitting on his son's head. John lay on the floor quietly. He knew his dad was telling the truth about Trixie. He had threatened to do it before and the last time he had defied his dad, he had almost broke Trixie's back. John lay there on the kitchen floor, noticing how dirty it was as he listened to his dad peeing, brushing his teeth, and then finally slamming the door to his room. He heard him begin to speak to his mom in apologetic, soothing overtones, and after a while he heard the rhythmic squeaks of the bed springs that told him it was ok to get up and move. John hurriedly set up the last of the kitchen utensils in their proper place before he grabbed his trench coat and scarf and opened the door quietly. He spit quickly on to the door hinges to keep them from squeaking and then he shut the door softly behind him. He pulled a handkerchief of his grandma's out of his pocket and held it to his ear, trying to stop the bleeding. The slightest movements made him wince in pain. His ear had been torn clean through. John walked quickly, fingering the switchblade and thinking of where he could go. He couldn't go home- he knew that his dad would be passed out until tomorrow afternoon, when he would wake up again and go straight back to drinking. He wouldn't even notice that John was gone. He could go to Lizz's house, but he knew that she probably wasn't home- there was supposed to be a big rave on the other side of town, and he would have put a hundred dollars on the fact that that's where she would be. If he had a car he could have gone to his aunt's house, but he didn't have a car or cab fare. So he just kept walking. He walked half the night, not noticing where he was going. Eventually he jerked his head up and looked around him. It was pitch black and he didn't quite know where he was until he passed a familiar rose garden that held a rather familiar looking pot of geraniums as well. Claire's house. Of all the places. He glanced at his watch and it read 3:42 am. John knew that he couldn't exactly just go ring the doorbell, but he really needed to see her all of a sudden. He needed to see her smile, hear her voice, and just hold her in his arms. He circled the house slowly, noticing only one window with the light still lit. He picked up a handful of little rocks and began chucking them at the window, praying to God that, for once in his life, something would work out in his favor. He smiled as he saw the brilliant flash of red hair, those marvelously white teeth as she saw him and waved, motioning that she'd be right down.