Right, this is more like it!Okay, the last Chapter was basically to get Jack home and to show the beginnings of how his traumas have affected him, i personally wasnt over the moon with it but i honestly could not think of any other ways to write it!

But you still reviewed in the positive and i thank you all for it, you're all MARVELLOUS.

Disclaimer: Alright kids, this ones a doozy, we've got foul language, drug use, self harming, references to underage sex...its pretty dark actually, so be warned, Jackie's going off the rails an bit and i dont really want to hold back on it so, this is how it is.

My thanks and love as always go out to my reviewers, to Aly, cos she rocks and doesnt realise how much repsecti have for her and how she inspires me (well she does to some degree cos i rob stuff off her but i say sorry, lol!), and to my darling Mikey who has and will help me out with the music stuff and is the image of Garrett Hedlund and who i love to death, TO DEATH MIKEY.

R+R.xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hey Mercer, you do that English assignment?" one of the teenagers slurred, passing the lit joint across to Jack.

Jack, fifteen years old, took the joint and took a lazy hit, holding it in for as long as he was able before letting the smoke billow out between his lips "I did it a week ago man" he said lazily "No you're not lending my copy, do you own fuckin work" he sniffed, running one hand through his scruffy dark blonde hair.

"Aw come on man" the kid muttered, sinking into his seat on the couch "Just, this…this one time" he asked.

"No" Jack stated coolly.

"Fuck" the kid spat.

"This shit aint doin dick for me" Jack frowned at the joint "What'd you do, dry up some friggin crab grass?" he turned to his companion, a kid named Gordie.

"No, its from my guy" Gordie said defensively "And I don't think there's anything wrong with it" he added petulantly.

"That's cos you don't know good shit" Jack shook his head, pushing himself to his feet "Where will your guy be, I'm gonna go get some real stuff and not…oregano, what ever this crap is" Jack coughed heavily into his hand, pulling an inhaler from his pocket and taking a hit.

"I'll show you" Gordie sighed, standing reluctantly.

They walked out of the basement den emerging in the kitchen. Gordie's mother was leaning over the kitchen table, reading a magazine while something sweet smelling baked in the oven behind her.

"Mom we're going out" Gordie called nervously.

"Okay honey, don't be too long" she answered, glancing up at them.

She saw Jack and her face hardened momentarily "Hello Jack" she said, polite but forcibly so.

"Hi Mrs Fry" Jack replied not even pretending to be pleasant about it.

"How's your mother?" Mrs Fry asked, her eyes flickering to his out fit.

Jack wore worn out black jeans, battered sneakers, a long sleeved t-shirt under a worn out Nirvana short sleeved t and a tired looking denim jacket "She's just fine" Jack gave her a tight grin.

He was not, and never had been comfortable around adults who where not his mother Evelyn. People like Gordie's mother where the worst, as they took an instant dislike to him due to his back ground. They would be aggressive to him in attitude if not physically, or they would just be flat out rude and Jack didn't react well.

"And your brothers, isn't one of them in prison, again?" She crossed her arms over her chest, shooting angry looks at her son.

"No ma'am, Bobby just got out, Jerry's getting married next year and Angel just wrote us from overseas" Jack told her proudly.

"Mmhmm?" her grin was tightening as she got more and more angry "And what about you, have you been keeping out of trouble?"

"Nope" Jack shrugged, not seeing any reason to lie "Bye Mrs Fry"

Gordie was snickering into his hand as Jack turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen, through the house, and out the front door. Shooting his mother nervous looks, Gordie ran after Jack, catching up with him at the end of the drive way.

"Where's your guy I hate bein fuckin sober on a weekend?" Jack asked, shoving his hands in his pockets in lieu of gloves.

"Uh, he'll be by Moira's, he goes there sometimes" Gordie nodded to himself.

They walked hurriedly to the old Irish bar, striding past it and rounding the corner it stood near.

"Where is he?" Jack asked.

"That's him" Gordie pointed to a man of about 30 sitting on a bench, pretending to read a magazine.

Jack strode over and sat beside him, gazing out casually at the street.

"Hey man" the man said "I'm Hook" he told his magazine.

"Hook you sold my buddy oregano" Jack told him.

"Yeah kid?" Hook shrugged "So?"

"So he's a fucking idiot, I'm not, I know crap from good shit and I want to buy some good shit" Jack gave a wave of his hand and Gordie ran over to him, sitting beside him on the bench.

"Hey Hook man, this is Jack" Gordie said as an introduction.

"I sell you shit man?" Hook asked him.

"Jack says you did" Gordie told him.

"How the fuck does 'Jack' know?" Hook asked aggressively.

"Jack Mercer" Jack said stoically.

Hook hesitated in turning the page of his magazine briefly.

"Mercer" he repeated.

"Yeah man" Gordie noticed Hook's reaction and warmed to the subject "As in the Mercer brothers" he nodded "He aint just some punk he's some one you gotta be wary of" Gordie grinned.

"So what do you want man?" Hook asked.

"I told you already, I want good shit, I want to get fucked up today" Jack stated "I'm bored as fuck" he said.

"I got lots of shit man, I have weed, I have some pills, I got lots of shit" Hook grinned.

"just give me some shit to get me stoned" Jack shook his head angrily.

"I can give you enough to get you through this weekend and next, good real quality stuff too, if this shit doesn't get you stoned then you got the tolerance level of a fuckin elephant" Hook grinned.

"Jack did heroin when he was ten man" Gordie bragged.

Jack grabbed Gordie's leg and squeezed tightly, to the point that Gordie squealed in pain and grabbed Jack's wrist to try and make him let go "You don't talk about that Gordie, what did I tell you?" Jack leaned close to Gordie as he spoke, his tone void of emotion but some how threatening.

Hook watched the exchange with wide eyes as Jack shoved Gordie off the bench.

"How much?" Jack asked.

"Seventy" Hook responed.

Jack looked straight at him and Hook resisted the urge to gulp "But for a Mercer, call it fifty five?" he raised an eyebrow at Jack "And that includes the pills"

Jack sighed and began to dig through his pockets, coming up with twenty in crinkled notes. He yelled to Gordie for more and Gordie came up with fifteen.

"We got thirty five" Jack looked at Hook.

"I can only go so low, even for a Mercer" Hook shrugged.

"So we need to make up twenty?" Jack nodded to himself "I can make it worth your while if you just give us it for what we have" Jack met Hook's eye and gave him a tiny suggestive smile.

Hook took a second before he realised what Jack meant, then drew back ever so slightly "I'm not into that man" he said quietly.

"Then we got a problem" Jack squinted.

"I'm not but I know some people who are. I'll give you the shit for what I got and if you give me your number I'll 'hook' you up with some people, you can pay me off" Hook told him.

"I can pay you off with one meeting" Jack frowned.

"Maybe I can hook you up with more stuff down the line if you keep doing these jobs" Hook was staring across the road, "You're what, fourteen?"

"fifteen" Jack corrected.

"You don't this sort of thing before?" Hook asked.

"Would I be offering it if I hadn't?" Jack shot back "When I was a kid my dad saw the potential. And the last couple summers, if I get bored or I want money…" he trailed off and shrugged again.

"So you know how this works out?" Hook asked.

"Duh" Jack rolled his eyes.

"Alright. Gimme your number and my money. Then put your hand down beside your leg, in between us both" Hook told him.

Jack dug a piece of paper and a chewed pencil out of another pocket and scribbled down his phone number. He folded the number and the cash into his palm and shook hands with Hook, transferring the money.

He dropped his hand to his side and Hook dug in a pocket, pulling out various baggies and slipped them into Jack's palm.

"I'll call you kid" Hook told him.

Jack stood and strode away, brushing past Gordie.

"Did we get it?" Gordie asked, having missed the quietly spoken final halve of the conversation.
"Yeah we got it" Jack told him "You got papers?" he asked.

"Yeah"

"Let's go the park and get fucking stoned" Jack smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. It never did.

Jack was sitting at the table, tapping his fork against the side of his plate rhythmically nodding his head in time to some riff he was working on and was playing back inside his own head.

"Jackie?" Evelyn Mercer asked "Aren't you hungry?" she nodded to his untouched plate.

"No Ma" Jack shook his head, "I ate at the park with Gordie" he lied. Jack never got the munchies from smoking a joint, if anything it curbed his appetite. As a result, despite being six feet tall already, he was skinny, toned from boxing, but skinny.

"You never eat" Evelyn correctly remarked, her face still pretty even in her later years.

"I don't get hungry Ma" Jack shrugged "It's not your cookin" he smirked at her.

"I know its not" Evelyn scoffed "It never is, but you cant live on…what, cereal?" she frowned.

"Sure I can, its all carbs and fibre anyway" Jack raised an eye brow.

"At least eat your vegetables?" Evelyn asked.

Jack gave her a look and a smirk "I'm not hungry Ma" he stated "Lizzie can eat em" he nodded at the ten year old girl who was staying with them for a few months while her mother recovered from a car accident.

Lizzie had no past of abuse or neglect, her mother had simply crashed the car leaving Lizzie with no immediate family to take care of her. Since she lived near by anyway it had been no trouble for Evelyn to take her on for the three her four months her mother would be in the hospital recovering.

"I don't want em!" Lizzie squeaked, her own plate half empty "You eat em!"

"It's the law Liz, I'm bigger so I say you have to eat them" Jack shrugged at her.

"Miss Evelyn is that true?" Lizzie looked over at Evelyn.

"No it's not sweetie…Jack if you're not going to eat, go put your plate in the kitchen, I'll save it for if you want it later…Lizzie are you almost done?"

The African American girl nodded, her tight, intricate braids flicking around her head as she tried to emphasize her answer. "Well you finish up and we'll watch a video, have our dessert in the den, alright?" Evelyn smiled.

"We ought to get a DVD" Jack told her.

"We will when they get cheap" Evelyn replied.

Jack grinned and stood, picking up his plate and heading for the kitchen. He wrapped his food and put the plate in the fridge, grabbing a box of cereal from the cupboard and moving to leave the room. The phone rang shrilly and he snatched it from the cradle.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"It's Hook" Came the dealers gruff voice "I got a job for you"

"Where?" Jack asked, picking up a pencil and making a note on the little post it pad Evelyn kept beside the phone.

He got the address and the time and tore the note, and a few of the blank sheets beneath his up, pocketing them "I'll be there" he said blankly.

He walked back through the dining room. "Who was it?" Evelyn asked.

"Gordie, I'm gonna go meet him, I'll be back later" he said in passing, getting out of the house before Evelyn had time to comment.

He looked at the note again and headed to the relevant neighbourhood. He had to take a bus to get there, as the house he was visiting was in the nice part of town. He whistled as he approached the gated house glancing around in the early evening darkness. There was an intercom system and Jack pushed the buzzer.

"Who is it?" a male voice asked.

"Hook sent me" Jack told the box.

There was an electrical hum and the gates began to open slowly, so Jack jogged through them and headed for the door. He knocked at the door casually and waited in the cold night air, shuddering against the cold, or so he told him self.

The door opened and a tall man, taller than Jack, peered out, smiling sweetly. "You should come in out of the cold" he said kindly, pulling the door wide enough for Jack to enter.

Jack walked into the house, whistling again at the size of the house. He immediately began making a list in his head of the various expensive trinkets and figurines he could pocket, automatically crossing off the things that would be missed, the things that could easily be traced, anything that had been personalised in any way. He followed the man into another huge room that contained a roaring fire in an antique heath, and a beautiful mahogany bar set neatly in one corner.
"Would you like a drink, something to warm you up?" the man asked in the calm tones who had experience in these matters.

"Sure" Jack replied, spotting a bookshelf made of the same wood as the bar and heading over to it.

He began to read some of the titles of the leather bound books and turned to look at the man "You're a judge?" he asked.

"For almost fifteen years now" the whit haired man smiled "names Toby"

"You're into criminal law?" Jack asked "you probably put some friends of mine away" he smiled, walking over to Toby as the man poured him a brandy.

He took the glass and sipped at the drink, nodding appreciatively.

"Don't you have…staff, in a house this big?" Jack asked, leaning on the bar.

"I have a small group of friends who help me keep the house in top running order…it's their night off" the older man chuckled.

"They wouldn't approve?" Jack asked innocently.

"No, no I don't think they would" Toby gave him a smile.

"You mind if I smoke a joint?" Jack held up his baggie of weed from Hook.

"Not if you share" Toby chuckled.

Jack gave him a smile and fished out his papers, constructing a couple of joints carefully and easily. He spoke as he worked "So is or was there a wife in the picture?" he asked politely.

"I had a wife some years ago…we divorced not long after I became a judge. She decided she wanted the prestige that came from being married to a judge, without the burden of being married to a judge" Toby gave a sad smile "I caught her cheating on me with our cleaner, Janine, and sent her on her way"

Jack laughed through a lungful of smoke, passing the joint to Toby as he tried to breath around his cough.

"Sorry, it's not funny" he gasped apologetically, still chuckling faintly.

"No, it is, a dyke and a fag in a loveless marriage for twenty five years. Thank God we never had kids, I can only imagine the damage we would have inflicted" Toby took a hit from the joint and nodded appreciatively "Hook?" he asked, holding the joint up.

Jack nodded, a slow grin spreading over his face.

"So Jack, how experienced are you at…this sort of thing?" Toby asked.

"Very" Jack assured him "But I'm telling you right now, I plan to be as stoned as I can safely get" Jack stated.

"Why?" Toby frowned.

"I might freak out otherwise" Jack said bluntly.

"But I though you where experienced at this" Toby told him.

"Doesn't mean I'm comfortable with it" Jack shrugged. He let a flirtatious grin slide over his lips as he took a long hit of the joint "It's nothing personal Your Honor, I just don't like people"

"Then why do this?" Toby asked.

"I like money and drugs" Jack stated.

"Well why don't you smoke that up and we can go upstairs?" Toby grinned again.

Jack walked over and dropped into one of the deep, plush chairs that where arranged around the fire.

"Why do we even have to go upstairs?" he asked.

Hours later Jack walked in through the front door of his home, stumbling slightly as he closed the door behind him.

He saw that Evelyn and Lizzie where still in the den and pressed his lips together, trying to keep quiet despite his inebriated state. "Is that you Jack?" Evelyn called out.

Jack cursed silently, clenching his teeth briefly to try and compose himself "Yeah Ma" he managed to shout back.

"Come join us?" Evelyn suggested.

"No Ma, I'm just gonna go take a shower, Gordie kicked mud at me" he lied about the last.

"Alright sweetie, well your dinner from before is in the fridge" Evelyn told him.

Jack stared at the door way to the den, chewing his lip as he swayed on his feet. He walked heavily up the stairs, wandering into his room and emptying his pockets. He hid the weed and the pills he had left in a place he knew his mother would never find them. He pulled some of the things he had taken from Toby's house, examining each little piece he had managed to spirit away. It was mostly small crystal or silver pieces, nothing so special it would be missed, while still being aesthetically pleasing enough to make some money when he sold them on.

He pulled off his t shirts, leaving them in a heap on his floor and headed into the bathroom, closing the door and turning the water on hot. He stared at his own reflection in the mirror, noticing the colours on the edge of his vision, rubbing at his eyes. The water warmed up and Jack stripped down, removing the leather wrist cuff and chain he wore wrapped around his right wrist, and stepped into the shower, sitting down in the tub and letting the water spray over him like warm rain. He slumped against the side of the bath, positioning himself in such a way that he could safely doze against the side of the bath but still stay under the spray of the shower.

He dozed, on and off, making sure he was sitting uncomfortably so that the pain kept him mostly long conscious. It took a while for him to realise how much of the dampness on his face, which was angled away from the water, was tears. He leaned over the side of the tub and reached his jeans, pulling them toward him. Digging through his pocket, Jack retrieved his pen knife, thumbing the blade out with ease, examining how the metal glinted in the light. He held his arm up, turning so he stared at the inside of his wrist. Scars, old and new, decorated his wrist, some faded to various degrees, some fresher, one or two clearly made in the last few days.

He held the knife up and pressed the sharp blade to his skin and pressed down, hissing at the first quiver of pain that ran through him, savouring it. He dredged up the memories of what he had done that night with Toby, of what his father had done, of what the men his father had given him to had done. He got all the images and the smells, and the feelings and the fear and the anger, and he visualised it in his head as a black, noxious poison. He had been taught to do this by therapists when he was younger, to give his 'issues' a form and to mentally expel that form. One of the therapists had told him to visualize it as bad air and to expel it in big breaths. Jack had never found that to work, so he had modified it. When he opened his eyes again, he didn't see the blood on his arm as red. It was black, viscous, like oil. Jack drew the blade down slowly, gasping as the pain shot through his whole body, making his nerves tingle in something that walked the line between pain and release.

He sliced again, staring at the blood as it ran down his damp skin, the humidity of the shower making the blood run faster than it normally would. Another slice, deeper this time and the pain overwhelmed him. He dropped the knife clenching his fist as the wave of pain washed over him and he gritted his teeth, clenching his fist. Jack took deep breaths until he felt steady enough to stand. He took another deep breath, letting it out in a long, shuddering sigh. He stepped under the stream of water, holding his arm under the jets. It hurt, but he kept his arm where it was until the pain became something he could bare. He looked at the wounds. In his minds eye, he saw the last dredges of the oily substance that was the badness inside him drain away. Stoically, operating on auto pilot, Jack washed himself, his body and hair, hissing again when the soap got into the cuts on his arms and made them sting.

He let the hot water run on the wounds, cleaning them, then shut off the shower and climbed out, wrapping himself in a thick towel, pressing a dark blue wash cloth to his wrist. He gathered up his clothes and dumped them in the laundry hamper, scooping up the wrist accessories and his knife and darting back to his room as quickly as he could. There was a box of cereal sitting on his desk. Jack smiled, silently thanking his mother as he tore open the box and ate a handful of the cereal.

He dried off and pulled a pair of sweatpants on, pocketing the knife automatically, and pulled the wash cloth away from the wounds. He folded the cloth over and pressed it against his skin until the bleeding began to stop.

He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a few band aids, sticking them in place and tugging the wrist bands over them, more or less completely hiding them. Jack picked up the cereal box, his note book, and a pen, and went to sit on his bed, crossing his legs to create a desk for himself. He opened the note book to a marked page on which he had glued several sheets of manuscript. He began to write down notes, humming them in his head as he scribbled them down. He wrote furiously, then without stopping he dropped the pen and pulled a pencil from within the spine of the note book, flipping to a page in the back and starting to sketch manically. His eyes had gone hard and blank as he watched his own hand weaving back and forth, the image taking place on the page. It was an image of an emaciated man struggling to walk forward down a forest path, held back by long thick chains that where hooked into his skin, stretching his skin, spilling his blood in puddles that stained the route he had already walked. The man's face was twisted in a grim snarl of fear and anger and sinewy muscles stood out on his body where he strained against the tugging chains.

Jack gasped suddenly and pushed the note book away from him, onto the floor. He turned his bed side lamp on, but turned the main light of his room out and climbed under the covers of his bed, staring at the bright light. He sat up in the bed, hugging the covers around him and pushed himself back so that his back was pressed against the corner his bed was pushed into. He dug the knife out of his pocket and thumbed the blade out, holding the knife in front of him, staring at his own bedroom door.

Jack knew, he knew for a fact that there was no one on the house that would do him harm, that he was safe, but that knowledge did not sooth him, and he huddled the sheets around him. He reached out his free hand and squeezed the fresh wounds on his wrist, using the pain to keep him focused on the door. And there he sat, until the sun began to rise and his room began to lighten and he began to feel like he could turn off his lamp and go to sleep. He was muttering under his breath to himself and as a bird began to chirp out side his window he pushed himself away from the wall so that he lay on the bed, closing his knife and clenching it in his hand. His body ached all over from being motionless for so long and Jack closed his eyes, knowing that total physical exhaustion would win over eventually, and put him safely to sleep. But as he lay waiting for sleep to come, he prayed, as he did whenever he slept, that he would not dream. His prayers where not heard.