TRIGGER WARNING.

WILL SUMMARISE EVENTS OF CHAPTER AT BEGINNING OF NEXT CHAPTER FOR THOSE WHO CANNOT AND FEEL THEY SHOULD NOT READ IT.

His bank statements were stacked up on the table. Information regarding his savings accounts. His profits and t-accounts. His credit statements. His stock of perishables and unperishable. His till receipts.

Every document he could find in regard to how much money he could likely sacrifice each month. What he was able to juggle about and get rid of in order to have enough money to pay for the best kind of counselling he could afford for Jess. It helped that he had no mortgage to pay, and he could cut down on the amount spent on groceries each month easily.

But, as he crumpled into his arms, his cap falling off his head and a sigh falling from his lips, it was evident he would have to dip into his savings. The savings in place for a home someday. The savings in place for a child of his own.

If he wanted the best for Jess, then he'd just have to make that sacrifice.

Lorelai had come into the diner earlier that week, a stack of papers in her hand and a list of contact numbers for therapists in the immediate area; doctors that specialised in mental health; articles that implored the importance of talking to someone – of seeking professional help.

Luke had resigned himself then of the reality of this. He'd been trying to pretend that nothing was wrong. They never spoke about it. Jess would continue to be his sarcastic self, just with this added sense of brooding. He was scribbling in a red notebook quite a bit that Luke just assumed was a journal – and he therefore never brought it up. They continued to eat their Jess-approved meals, with Luke occasionally adding some healthy alternative to the menu. Jess continued to work at the diner and started to gather some savings. He continued to have good days, and the occasional bad day that they never spoke about.

Yet, there would be times where Luke would catch Jess looking at himself in the mirror with a clear repulsion. He would catch him pinching his arms – Luke learnt soon enough that this was a way of causing himself pain. He would catch him staring at a page of his book for far too long – like he couldn't even bring himself to concentrate on what was once his comfort.

He knew that he wasn't getting better by sheer will alone.

There was a crash followed by a series of yells from downstairs and Luke grumbled as he pushed himself away from his work and towards the disturbance. It was clear what it was from the second he pushed aside the curtain.

"You're back?"

"Yes. Now would you move Dean? I'm trying to clean up the glass that you dropped."

The man didn't move.

"When are you going to finally leave Stars Hollow in peace and actually leave for good Jess?"

Luke visibly winced. Dean had no clue how dangerous his words were, and yet Jess stood up taller against him and let a smirk fall on his face as though there was nothing wrong.

"I'll leave the moment you stop finding it annoying."

"Never." The man growled.

"Then you have you answer. Now, could you move? Or am I going to have to call Dr Frankenstein to come and collect you?"

Dean turned and left in a huff, the diner door slamming behind him. Jess bent down to pick up the glass that Dean had dropped in shock of seeing him, picking up the bigger pieces while shaking his head at the boy's ridiculous feud.

"Jess?"

"Two second's Luke." Jess grumbled, wrapping the glass in newspaper and moving out of the way so that Caesar could sweep up the remains. After throwing the remains in the bin, he turned to his uncle who was leaning against the wall, his arms folded and a scowl on his face.

"What was that?"

"I know, I know." He sighed, "Not my best comeback, but it was all I could think of in the time I had."

"Jess."

"I'll start compiling a list – Now that I know Dean is still a freak, I can prepare ahead of time."

"Jess come on!"

"It wasn't my fault Luke." Jess said eventually.

Luke grumbled, running a hand over his face. He nodded towards the stairs, "Just go take your break or something," he said, "cool off."

Jess took a step back, nodding at the command. He felt irrationally angry at his uncle, so rather than shout like he desperately wanted to do he grabbed his notepad from the side of the counter and pushed himself up the stairs.

It had always been like that. It seemed to Jess that whenever he was pitted against Dean he always lost. When Luke had berated him about fixing up after the party, despite the fact that Dean was the first one to throw the punch. When Jess was accused of fighting Dean to earn that black eye – the accusation lay on him. Rory hiding her relationship with Jess in order to spare Dean's feelings. Said relationship being threatened by him every moment – as though Rory was some prize to be won.

It's not like anyone would believe that Dean had said those things to Jess. Dean was the golden boy and could do no wrong.

Jess threw himself on the nearest dining chair and let his notepad open at a random page. He closed his eyes and let himself breathe. He tried to store away the anger – he had been angry about Dean too many times in the past to let it get to him now. They were no longer in some sick competition over Rory's attention – he didn't need to get so riled up about the boy anymore. He could threaten nothing from Jess. Jess had nothing.

He breathed. Opened his eyes and pulled the notepad towards him, slipping the biro out from between the folding. Ever since he reread through his ramblings, he began to create the character he despised with more depth than he thought capable. Fleshing him out left Jess with no other option than to write him a story to explain his emotions, his thoughts, and put him in situations to redeem himself. He wrote the story of the depressed man with such a vigour he even surprised himself – it was as if putting this fictional man through the equivalent pain, he was relieving himself of his own.

The ink in his pen had been stuttering through its last remains for the past ten minutes. It's fainting grey, no matter the pressure he pushed, made him grumbled and swear through his fictional world until finally the spell was broken and he was only writing indentations into the scrappy paper.

He blindly reached for another, throwing the useless one in the general direction of the waste-bin. As his hand lay on the table it crumpled over an excess of papers that he hadn't noticed when he had first sat down.

He finally brought his eyes up from his own written words and noticed the collection of papers that littered the dining table. Full of numbers, figures, and official greetings. T-accounts and Luke's black book for diner finances. A calculator, and scribblings on a scrap piece of paper.

He knew he should respect his uncle's privacy, but Jess still found himself reaching for the scrap of paper and attempting to make sense of the scribblings.

The numbers were evident Luke's finances. But the scrap of paper had prices on it – monthly, or weekly prices that would cause Luke to dip into his savings.

Jess knew that Luke had been saving up for his future family. As much as he was gruff, Luke was through and through a family man, and had let slip a number of times his view of the perfect future.

Jess' first thought was maybe he was actually going to be buying a house with Lorelai – taking the next step.

He found himself smiling – then his heart dropped.

Under the scraps was a list of numbers and information regarding therapy, counselling, and mental health professionals.

He was dipping into his savings for Jess. He was finding scraps of money so that he could help his delinquent, good-for-nothing, broken nephew. He was putting his happy future on hold to save the broken boy who was far from his problem.

Jess stared at the papers, passing them from hand to hand, unable to concentrate long enough to read the words further than his discovery. He stood up and began pacing, listening to his steps echo through the room, the rhythm putting him in some form of trance.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. He could feel each beat of his hear pound through his head and it felt as though his blood was aching to seep out of him. It was as if every gasp of an inhalation came the emotion that he struggled to keep in – the sob that he'd feel wrack his body, the tears that he felt were desperate to escape.

Why?!

That was the only question desperately wracking through his mind. Why did he feel like he was on the precipice of some great fall? The adrenaline pumping through his body – some kind of fight or flight instinct kicking in.

He had to get out of there. He felt trapped into a corner – pushed away and forgotten.

Jess ran to the bathroom, pushing his way through the dining room – knocking a chair over in the process. Clutching his stomach as though he were in some great pain he leant over the toilet bowl and gagged – coughing and spluttering. He fell on his knees, gripping the toilet bowl and tried to breathe through the panic.

When he felt like he could stand, he slowly pulled himself up to face the sink, glaring at the sweat that dripped down his forehead and into his eyes. He fumbled with the faucet, desperately splashing cold water on his face – wiping off the droplets and bringing a handful up to his mouth to sip from.

He let himself breath, trying to distract himself from the way he could feel the blood pumping through his body, echoing through his ears. The throbbing of his head that seemed to get stronger and stronger until he had to force his eyes closed – his hands pulling to his temples as he attempted to smooth the pain away.

He glanced up at the mirror, expecting to see blood pouring from his nostrils, or his ears, or anything that could be a reason for that much pain – the cabinet door was slightly open in a morning haste. As he glanced at himself his eyes flickered to the medicine. Luke had taken out all drugs from the premises that Jess could accidently, or intentionally, harm himself with and yet there in front of him was the shaving kit that Luke had only ever used for special occasions.

He found himself reaching for it. He wasn't sure what he was doing or why but he grabbed the bag and found himself digging through it with a speed he wasn't even sure he had. There was a pack of separate unopened blades, ready to be placed on a new handle. He fumbled with the packaging and stopped, staring at the metal on the ceramic surface for what felt like a long time, but was realistically the breath of a moment that it took for a bead of sweat to drag from his hairline to his brow.

His hands were shaking as he reached for the sharp blade. He felt suffocated. He felt blind. He felt deaf. He felt like nothing so as his hand slipped on the cold metal he had the sudden want to become nothing.

He wanted to feel nothing.

He felt like his movements blurred with the swiftness of his decision. He cut hard, from mid-arm up to his wrist, and only stopped when he heard himself hiss from the pain of it.

He felt his heart beating on his chest, speeding up as he watched the blood. The vividly red blood seep from the wound and tickle a path down his arms. He was dazzled by that red line. Feeling the pain of his own actions was distracting him enough from the pain in his mind that he took a breath and felt it take. Suddenly his lungs were once again full of air, his eyes had refocused and he could hear the subtle sound of people in the diner below.

The bathroom was red, staining from his own blood and suddenly Jess felt the panic return to him but in an entirely new way. He was already feeling weak, and as he stumbled to the towels, attempted to reach one to stop the bleeding as much as he could he slipped over in a puddle of his own being. An almighty crash resounded through the apartment and down to the diner where Jess had pulled down the shower curtain rail and smashed the only mirror in the apartment.

Luke froze.

The diner halted it's lively chatter along with the echo of a crash that came from upstairs, and a thud that followed.

Luke froze for a singular tick of a clock hand.

Then he bolted. He took the stairs two at a time and pulled his way up the stairs and into the apartment. There was a clear path to the bathroom – a chair knocked out of place, papers scattered on the floor, his budget crumpled into a mess. Luke ran for the bathroom and didn't even hesitate to kick down the door.

He saw the red first.

The blood that had diluted in the droplets of water left in the sink.

The vivid red against the cool tile of the bathroom, pooling and thick enough that the colour of the room was lost.

Jess was crouched among the chaos of a lopsided curtain rail, a dent in the wall where a toilet roll holder once stood and the remnants of the mirror that crashed off in his fall. He had several towels clutched to his wrist, but they were staining red with the speed of his bleeding. His head was lolling but the boy was still crying, apologetic and gasping for breath.

Luke didn't hesitate to dive for the boy. He readjusted the towels and screamed. He screamed, ignoring the flinch from the teenager. His voice become gruff and hoarse, but he screamed until he heard footsteps – and then he began demanding an ambulance.

"I'm sorry Luke."

Luke pulled Jess over to him, forcing pressure onto his wrist to such a degree that it made both uncle and nephew wince. He found himself rocking back and forth, muttering that it'd be okay to all and everyone concerned.

"I didn't think it'd make this much mess – I'm sorry."

"Jess be quiet. It'll be okay. Don't apologise."

"I didn't think there would be this much blood." His voice was shaking as he rambled. "I didn't think it'd be this difficult to clean up."

Luke tried to put more pressure on the wound. He found himself begging. Praying to a god he didn't trust.

The sirens wailed loud through the quiet town. Luke heard patrons down in his diner urgently direct paramedics up to the room.

He wasn't aware of much after that. Jess was pried from his arms and out of the apartment. Luke urged to follow.

"Someone call Lorelai," he shouted behind himself, tripping over his feet as he stumbled towards the ambulance.

He saw someone nod affirmative before the ambulance doors were shut and Luke was locked in with medical demands and the sound of Jess sobbing.

She'd parked over two spaces. Her handbag was wet with the coffee she had thought wouldn't spill in there. Her heel had broken off after she had stumbled down the stairs of the inn. She was pretty sure she was still holding the booking forms of the customer she was supposed to be serving. She was definitely sure she was clutching onto her mobile – still flipped open. She vaguely hopes that Lane had hung up because she definitely hadn't.

Yet somehow, she made it to the hospital.

She hobbled in. Her one in-tact heel forcing her to walk up-down-up-down like a boat forcing itself over the waves.

"Jess Mariano," She said at reception.

"Are you family?"

"No I-"

"I'm sorry, only family are currently permitted to enter."

She stopped herself from growling at the woman.

"His Uncle - Luke Danes – rang me. Well actually, his employee rang me, but he told them to contact me so that's just as good as picking up the phone himself and dialling me number –"

"Ma'am." The receptionist interrupted, "He's probably with the patient, and as I said – it's only family permitted."

"Now look here lady –"

"Lorelai?"

She pushed herself away from reception and towards Luke. He hair was ragged, his hat gone from his head and probably misplaced by this point. She hugged him as soon as he was close.

"What happened Luke? Lane didn't give me anything, just to meet you here."

"He tried again."

She stumbled back, her hands falling from around her neck, down his arms and away.

"Jess tried to kill himself again."