A/N: Well, for some reason I've had this obsession with Jay lately. I don't know how, but he's kind of become my favorite character. I think it's because he's just so fucked up. He doesn't have a specific problem, like cutting or drinking or an eating disorder. He's just normal screwed in the head. As ironic as that sounds, I think there's something to it. Because that's the kind of fucked up most people are, the one we can all, on some level relate to. So, this fic, though I don't know where it's going, is about examining that. Really, an introspective thing on Jay. There may be relationships, there may not be. Fair warning, this story will most likely not be 'ship centric. So no flames, kay?

Consider this chapter an introduction of sorts.

Disclaimer: I do not own Degrassi: TNG. I have nothing to do with it. No copyright infringement is intended by writing this, it is simply fan fiction written by a fan who adores the show. If you want to sue, all you're gonna get is about eleven dollars and this really neat pen I have that looks like a chili pepper.

The Fool

Chapter One: When All Your Love Is Gone

Jay stood at the corner of the street, unlit cigarette dangling between his lips. He was watching cars pass by. Nothing better to do, really. And this wasn't the shit part of town, either. This was just two or three blocks away from The Dot. These were upper middle class and middle class sections, leading into an area populated by businesses. Mini vans and other sensible but sleek cars made their way down Degrassi's streets, cruising past him. And he couldn't help but think that if this was the good part of town, no wonder the shit part was so damn shitty.

His own car was sitting outside his house where he'd left it when he'd gone for a walk. Contrary to popular belief (if anybody even cared anymore) Jay was not super glued into the drivers seat. Occasionally he liked to get out and move his legs. He reached into his pocket for his red Zippo lighter, the one Alex had given him for his birthday. That was the year they had first started dating. He held it in his hand for a moment, feeling the weight, then lit up, inhaling what was sure to be the cause of his eventual demise. That was, if somebody didn't murder him before hand. At this point, he wouldn't be shocked.

He made his way down the street slowly, glancing every now and then at the cars and the people in them. People smiling, people laughing. Happy people. How did they get so fucking happy, anyway? He thought back to his house. The empty beer cans and bottles lying around on the carpet. Of course, he wasn't the only kid at Degrassi with an alcoholic parent or two. Except he seemed to be the only one following in their footsteps, and probably getting worse. He laughed at himself in a bitter way. Christ, he had almost gotten J.T. killed by getting him involved with a criminally insane drug dealer.

"What's so funny?"

The voice to the right of him startled him a bit, but he didn't let it show. His cigarette was half ashes, and he'd only taken a couple puffs. He took one more long draw, and flicked it to the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot. He smiled, and when he answered, smoke came out with the reply.

"My pathetic existence. I assume that's what you were thinking." Darcy crossed her arms over her chest, and Jay looked for a moment at the sign behind her. He had already walked all the way to The Dot. She was probably on her way to see Spinner. And then they would sing Jesus songs and cuddle.

"No, actually. It wasn't." She shifted from foot to foot for a moment, and then looked him in the eye. "I've been praying for you, you know."

"Really. And why's that?" He looked through the window and saw Spinner there at the counter. His eyes shifted back toward Darcy as she uncrossed her arms.

"Because it seems like you need some help." Her answer was so goddamned simple. It was infuriating.

"The way I see it, you're the one who needs help. I mean, you are in a cult. Dangerous stuff, Darce. Maybe you should check yourself into a mental hospital, or something. And while you're at it, get your boyfriend's head examined too. I mean, he's with you, right? Something's gotta be wrong."

Darcy rolled her eyes, and turned around, heading toward The Dot. Before she got to the door, Jay's voice could be heard again.

"Hey, and could you not pray for me anymore? It makes the '666' tattooed on my ass burn, and that is really uncomfortable." He watched as she approached Spinner, looking upset. And he thought that she really needed to get a tougher skin… or a fucking clue. God wasn't saving anybody, especially not him. He kept walking, and took another cigarette from his pack. He lit it up, breathed in, and thought that, with any luck, lung cancer would set in soon.

xxxx

By the time he got back to his house it was dark out, and the shabby imitation of a home loomed before him, a menacing shadow. He breathed in, and opened the door. The stench of vomit hit him like a punch to the gut, and he shut the door behind him. The sour smell grew stronger as he made his way to the couch. He flicked the light switch, his face expressionless.

"Dad." The word was spoken with a tired familiarity that belied his experience with this type of situation. Jacob Hogart was sprawled on the couch, vomit trailing on his cheek and dotting his flannel shirt. Jay nudged him with his boot. "Dad, get up." His dad moaned and shifted, turning over. "Goddamnit, dad…" Jay mumbled, more to himself than to his dad. He reached down and sat his dad upright. This earned him a few ill-aimed smacks, most of which landed on his shoulders and chest. But one of them caught him on the cheek. He felt the sting of a scratch, but didn't really care at the moment.

"What… I was… the… Jay?" Jacob's eyes were squinted up at Jay, and he was holding his head in his hands.

"Come on, dad. You need to go to bed." His father was compliant as Jay helped him to stand, and walked him into his bedroom. He helped him into the bed, and when he left, closed the door with a sigh. He hated it. He hated his father. Jacob never hit him; he wasn't a violent drunk. He didn't do anything. He just got drunk; sometimes he cried, then he threw up or pissed himself, or both. And then Jay would have to clean it up. He hated his father because he was too pathetic to hate. He set to work cleaning up the mess his father had made, and afterward he opened all the windows in the living room to air it out. That night he practically fell into his bed, and was asleep within minutes.