(A/N):The song Jerry listens to at the beginning of this chapter is called Backseat by Nicholas Podany.

WARNING!: This chapter contains implied/referenced past rape/non-con. Viewer discretion is advised.

Jerry sighed contently, leaning back in his seat. He had been driving for about ten hours now, and it was probably the calmest he'd ever felt in a really long time.

Music poured from the speakers in his car, filling the quiet with a gentle voice that mixed with a piano. Jerry sang along with the artist, taking some comfort in the fact that he was free of judging faces or complaints about how annoying it was to listen to him sing.

He found the last one to be particularly funny, considering how often Morty and Summer had enjoyed his lullabies when they were younger. Some part of him wondered if they still would enjoy them.

Probably not.

They'd more than likely tell him how much of a loser he is or that they weren't babies anymore.

It wasn't exactly cool to like your parents at their age, he reminded himself, and yet both of his children idolized their grandfather; a man who had just about as much of a job as Jerry did, with the exact same drinking problem as his own daughter.

Rick wasn't even cool. He never was. Sure, he did some pretty amazing things that Jerry would never be able to do in a million years, and, yeah, maybe he was just a little jealous that his family preferred Rick's company over his, but…

What's good about company, if the person you're with doesn't even care about you?

"You doing okay, pal?"

Jerry grimaced at the memory, trying to keep his focus on the music. Rick hadn't asked out of his own concern. He only asked because someone else in the family (probably Morty) was just mildly concerned about him.

That was it.

That had to be it.

"Seems like all the lives I've wanted belong to someone else, and my head is filled with strangers I confuse with myself…" Jerry's voice trailed off as he became more aware of the lyrics being sung, filling his mind with so much nostalgia, a distant memory of his little kids running through the front yard sprinklers, while he planted flowers in his garden, listening to their excited giggling and shouting. Beth would be there too, sitting on the porch steps, reading a novel that he was almost positive had at least something to do with horses.

He couldn't help but smile sadly.

God, Rick was right. He really was depressing, wasn't he?

—

As Jerry pulled into his parents driveway, his mom was already half-way down the porch steps with an excited smile on her face, "There's my onliest son!" Joyce called as she walked around the car to the driver's side door.

"Hi, mom," Jerry greeted, immediately being pulled into a tight embrace as he stepped out of the vehicle. He carefully returned the hug, glancing around awkwardly, "Where's dad and, uh…?"

It was still odd to think about Jacob's relationship with his parents. Especially with how needlessly detailed Leonard had described it during Christmas dinner. Jerry fought back a cringe at the memory, silently reminding himself that he should, at the very least, try to get along with Jacob during his stay.

"They're at the store," she replied, pulling away from him and moving her hands to cup his face, worried eyes taking in every little feature, thumbs tracing along the bags just under his eyes, "You look tired. Have you been eating enough?"

"Yeah, I have," he reassured, face flushing in mild embarrassment as he carefully grabbed Joyce's hands and moved them away from his face. He had almost forgotten just how doting she could be when no one else was around. Still, it was a bit odd seeing someone worry about him over something so trivial.

"Loving you is work, Jerry. Hard work."

… or maybe he just wasn't used to someone worrying about him at all.

"Do you want help with your bags?"

Jerry barely had time to protest as she moved to open the trunk, grabbing the smallest bag she could find. He couldn't help but smile in amusement, knowing full well even if he had told her he could take care of it, she'd still help him regardless, "Thanks," he said, grabbing the only two left in the trunk.

After a brief struggle up the porch steps, followed by several muttered curses as Jerry nearly dropped his bags, he finally walked past the threshold of his childhood home, and with that first step came an overwhelming flow of familiarity washing over him, leaving him helplessly lost in a corn maze of memories that he had long since forgotten or repressed. He swallowed thickly, trying to blink back tears that prickled at the corner of his eyes.

"Hasn't changed a bit," Joyce smiled fondly, eyes shifting around the room for a moment before looking up at her son, "Neither has your room."

"Really?" Jerry stared at her with some surprise, half expecting his parents to have completely changed his room into a second office or another guest bedroom. He wouldn't have really blamed them if they had, either. Holding onto the past was typically never a good thing, but it was nice knowing they still cared enough about him to keep his room intact.

Joyce hummed in response, moving to shut the door and start her walk up the stairs with one of her son's bags, "I even kept your trophy case up!" she ginned excitedly, "Made it look all nice and pretty for you."

Jerry's eyes widened in excitement, not missing a beat to follow his mom up the steps.

—

With the creak of the bedroom door slipping open, the silence that had been in the room was disrupted, and as Jerry's eyes took in every little detail that brought him back to his younger years, nothing filled him with as much joy as when he saw that sleek, glass case holding several trophies he had gained so, so long ago.

It made something stir within him, made him remember a time where his existence was important, that people… looked at him.

Carefully, he approached the case, setting the bags he had been holding on the wooden floor. His hand moved up, hovering just over the glass, not wanting to create fingerprints.

There it was, in all its glittering glory.

Like a dream.

Joyce smiled softly, placing the bag in her hands beside the others, "I'll let you get settled in."

Jerry only gave a faint nod in reply, just barely registering the creaks in the floorboards that indicated her departure, mind too full of memories that brought so much joy into his life.

They were hazy, but still so vivid at the same time; hearing cheers from the audience, feeling one of his teammates lift him up onto their shoulders, the weight of the trophy in his hands. Slowly, he took several steps back as he pulled his phone from his pocket, being sure to get everything in frame.

He snapped the photo, eyes briefly looking it over for any notable issues, then scrolled to FaceBook, thumb hovering just over the icon, hesitant.

No one would care. Not a single person would care if he posted this photo.

But I care, he stressed. And he did care.

He did. No one else might understand the significance of seeing his name engraved into something so important. Some might even see it as superficial or him being stuck in the past. It gave him hope though, a sense that he could do better.

That he was better.

"Jeez, you keep frownin' like that, and your face'll get all stuck! Then what'll I tell auntie?"

It had come abruptly. Dark, unruly hair with a pale face full of freckles. One missing baby tooth.

Jerry's eyes caught sight of a picture frame on his old desk. There was a boy standing beside him, both looking excitedly at the camera as they held up the giant fish in their small arms, soaked in lake water from previously falling out of the boat.

He smiled gently, moving to carefully pick up the frame, pulling at the fragments of a memory he hadn't thought about in a long time. As he recalled their time together, it made him realize how long it had been since they'd last spoken.

"I wonder…" he muttered quietly to himself, "Would you still see me?"

Maybe he'd hate him. Probably hate him.

Would hate you.

He swallowed thickly, quickly placing the photo back on the desk and moving to put his focus on unpacking some of his things.

How typical, it was Beth's voice this time.

He tried to ignore it. Nothing good would come from acknowledging its harsh words.

Nothing ever did.

No, instead, he sat crossed-legged on the floor, unzipped his smaller bag, and pulled out each of the items in it, placing them in a neat little row, before picking them up, one by one, and placing them back into the bag.

He did this for several minutes, each time feeling more and more unsure of what to do with the things he'd packed, wondering why he even brought certain things with him.

They were supposed to go in the bathroom, obviously, but it wasn't as if he could just put them there, even though that's where they belonged. After all, he hadn't lived in this house for years, and despite that familiarity settling in his bones, it still felt odd to imagine himself living there again.

"Hey, Jerry."

It hadn't been a particularly loud greeting, nor had the voice held any threat behind the words, yet he still gasped sharply and quickly snapped his head up to look at the doorway, eyes wide, as if he had been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to be.

Jacob was smiling down at him, hands tucked in his pockets, "Been a while, yeah?" he chuckled, sounding as casual as ever.

"Oh, uh, yeah…" Jerry quietly replied, carefully standing up from his seat on the floor, rubbing the back of his neck, "It's, uh, kinda nice to see you, again."

Kinda. He said "kinda."

"Or, what I mean is–!" he backpedaled, mind searching for some sort of correction he could use, because the last thing he needed was to get into a fight with Jacob before he barely unpacked his things, "I just, it's kind of," he made various gestures with his hands, as if that would somehow communicate what he was trying to say.

Jacob waved his hand dismissively, still smiling, "Jerry, it's fine," he reassured, "I get it."

Did he? Did he really? Or was he just saying that to try and make Jerry feel less shitty?

"Anyways," Jacob extended his hand, "How've you been? You look tired."

"Have you been eating enough?"

Jerry swallowed thickly, carefully shaking the hand Jacob had offered him, "I'm… fine."

It wasn't a lie. He was fine. Really. He was.

"The rest of the family doing good?"

Small talk. Jerry hated small talk. He saw it as an excuse for someone to pretend to be interested in him. Though, he tried to give the benefit of the doubt to Jacob. After all, he was… nice enough. Even if the relationship he has with his parents still makes him cringe.

"Yeah, they, um…" Jerry shrugged, "Nothing new has really happened. Same old, same old, you know?" he chuckled nervously, giving a lopsided grin.

Jacob hummed in response, and Jerry silently wished he could hear what the other was thinking, because there was that hint of curiosity and judgment he'd see on Rick's face when he'd ask Jerry what he was doing.

"So, um," Jerry muttered, shifting his gaze briefly to the side, trying to think of something to say, anything to get rid of this awkward feeling that had settled in his chest, "Find anything interesting at the store?"

It was a stupid question, but what else was he supposed to ask?

Still, even with that awful question, Jacob kept his friendly smile, "Well," he paused briefly, as if he was debating on saying something, eyes shifting for a moment to settle on something behind Jerry, before focusing back on him and stating, almost in a careful hum, "No, not really."

Why are you lying? Jerry didn't dare ask the question out loud, fearing what the outcome might be.

"Did you need help unpacking?" Jacob suddenly asked, leaving Jerry to stare awkwardly at him for a moment before finally replying.

"Um, sure…"

—

After he had finally settled in, Jerry found himself downstairs, fully taking in every detail of the house he hadn't seen in years.

Everything was, more or less, about the same since he had last seen it sixteen years ago. There was a faded, yet still noticeable, stain on the left couch cushion from the time he had spilled grape juice, and there was still a dent in one of the coffee table legs when he had accidentally hit it with a baseball bat, because he had gotten over excited about playing in his first big game.

It was all still the same.

His eyes caught sight of a picture that made his stomach churn uncomfortably and a sense of dread sink into him; deep, uninviting. A seed of hatred and despaire blooming in his mind, as the roots edged themselves deep into the dark pits of his memories.

Still the same…

"You kept this up?" he forced out a chuckle, fighting against the urge to shatter the frame into pieces and burn the photo to ash. His young self was staring back at him, smiling all proudly, braces reflecting in the sunlight as he lifted up his newest badge for the camera.

A hand on his shoulder. It was attached to a kind, friendly face. A face that would forever haunt him in his nightmares.

"Oh, of course!" Joyce replied from her seat in the recliner, looking up from the newspaper she had been sifting through, "You looked so adorable in your uniform," she smiled warmly.

"Still, it's… pretty old," he was forcing himself to smile, to joke, because seeing that smiling face after so long made him want to vomit.

Some type of emotion must have slipped into his posture, maybe his eyes, because soon Joyce was beside him, squeezing his arm gently and staring at the picture with a fond sadness.

"It was only seven years ago," she spoke carefully, unaware of the torment that clogged her son's throat, "But it still feels like the funeral was just yesterday."

"I'm… sad I couldn't go," he muttered around the hatred in his chest. Some part of him really was sad he hadn't gone. If only to selfishly reassure himself that the man who had hurt him into silence was never going to breath again, never hurt anyone else the way he had hurt Jerry.

"Your father and I were surprised," Joyce admitted, a sad smile on her face as she recalled a distant memeory—probably the camping trip, "You two had been so close…"

He wanted to vomit.

"Yeah…"

Jerry feared if he said any more he might actually throw up. Instead, he took what little comfort his mother's hand on his arm offered, even if it was for the wrong reasons. After all, she had no idea what he had done. No one ever would.

No one will believe you, that familiar, cruel voice taunted him. Jerry's breath almost caught in his throat and he nearly let a whimper escape him.

He was dead, Jerry reminded himself, He's dead, and he can't hurt you again.

You really believe that Jerry?

"What—" he hastily turned towards Joyce, finally pulling his eyes away from the awful photo, "What's dad making for dinner? I could help if he wanted!" Jerry tried not to let his panic show, pulling on a fake smile as he tried to forget about it.

Forget about it. Just forget.

You're thirty-five, for godsakes, he snapped at himself, Stop acting like a child.

Joyce waved a hand dismissively, "You know how Leonard gets when he's cooking," she sighed, shaking her head knowingly, "Best to just leave him be until the kitchen gets caught on fire… or he burns dinner," she couldn't help but giggle at her own joke.

Jerry found himself half-heartedly chuckling along with her, memories of his dad constantly trying to do things on his own, only for his mom to eventually step in and teach him the right way to do it.

In some way, Jerry thought it mirrored his own relationship with Beth. Yet there had always been some form of affection in Joyce's tone whenever she corrected Leonard. Her words came from a place of love, rather than malice.

"Loving you is work, Jerry."

The relationship his mother and father shared would never be something he could have. No matter how hard he tried. No matter how desperate he was.

Beth would never look at him the same way he looked at her.

(A/N): I just wanted to say that I appreciate the two reviews that had been left! It really means a lot to me that you're enjoying my work so far, and I hope to continue to post chapters that you enjoy.

Also, I just wanted to clarify that I intend to keep when this took place a little vague, though there are going to be hints that it does fit anywhere during or after season four.

Going to be honest, as well, I'm a bit nervous with how this chapter came out. I tried to keep it entertaining by incorporating some of Jerry's backstory and giving hints about characters that plan to show up later on, but I am a bit worried it came off somewhat boring. If it did seem dull, or if there's ways I should change things, please let me know!

Here's an alternative scene that had been added by my lovely friend (for a good laugh, after that downer of an endng):

"Hey, Jerry." , said Jacob. "You be a sexy homie my man. We should act out some scenes from coming out on top. I'll be the fish."

"I am loyal to my alcoholic."

"She's just an alcoholic"

"Ye ye, Mr. McGee, but she is MY alcoholic, and I love her dearly. The smell of Rose on her breath every waking moment is my favorite scent. The harsh screeches as I go to sleep are the sweetest lullaby. She also has a bangin bod."

"Okie dokie i get it. We'll have an orgy instead

"Fine by me. I'll tell beth and bird person and tammy and my boss and summer's friend who thinks beekeeping is sexy. Also I'll see if Rick can grow my bees becuase their fuzzy little bodies are erotic

"Sounds good. Lets do it in your parent's house

We'll record the noises and not tell them the origin, and later tell them it was a raccoon in the garbage can

*sexy orgy commences immediately, all characters mentioned teleport in*

*Porn*

Hopefully this gives you as much of a good laugh as it did us.