TRIGGER WARNING! SELF HARM IN THIS CHAPTER!

"Dammit." Damon thought to himself with a scowl. He was on the roof of the building, smoking some of the weed that he'd taken from the wannabe rapist the previous night. Sadly, it wasn't any good. He wanted to get high, but the only thing that stuff did was make him sleepy. And he only had ten minutes before break ended and his classes continued. "Cheapskate." With a sigh, he tossed the joint into a bin.

He let out another deep sigh as he leaned back. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to relax. He knew he probably shouldn't, but he was tired, and he had ten minutes to just lie around. He doubted he'd fall asleep so quickly.

How wrong he was...

~~Dream Start~~

He opened his eyes, finding himself sitting in the front seat of a car. It took a moment, but he realized it was a car he'd been in many times before. He wore a plain white shirt with a solid black wolf's head, a pair of black jeans, an old wristwatch, and a pair of black converse with white soles. The car was driving on a highway in Oregon that he recognized. Also, the passenger seat was on the right. A US car…

Looking over at the driver's seat, his heart dropped when he saw who was driving it.

William Price.

At least, it looked like him. It practically was, but his face was dulled, blank. Basically, it wasn't there. Everything he knew of that man was gone with his face. He was a blank slate driving a car.

"Everything's different, but nothing has changed. Walking these streets, I still feel strange..." Damon found himself singing along with the music. "If you wanna see the things that I see, come on and take a little walk with me…" He sang softly with a small smile. He'd always loved that song.

A caw caught his attention. On the hood of the car, there stood a raven. Even as the car drove along, the bird just stood there, unphased by the speed at which the car was driving. It looked the teen in the eyes for but a moment before it flew off. A bright light erupted on the side of the vehicle, blinding him.

~~Dream End~~

Damon shot up with a gasp, his hand on his head, panting as he heard the bell ringing. He looked around him, seeing he was still on the roof of his school. As the bell stopped ringing he let out a loud groan and fell back, staring at the cloudy sky. He was really down. A shitty start to the day with Genevieve, a highly unnerving dream, and now he has to deal with a judgemental nun trying to teach him Religious Studies.

He let out a sigh.

"Bad dream, Mr Azrail?" An all too familiar voice piped up. Damon sat up and had to stop himself from scowling. Reverend Michael, the Catholic School equivalent of the headmaster. He looked quite good for a man in his 50s, but his grey pornstache, perpetual scowl, and bald head, one didn't automatically feel comfortable around him. His priest's suit did not improve matters.

"Forgive me Reverend, I hadn't intended to sleep until break ended." Damon said simply. He didn't want to go through the trouble of arguing with this man. He was so incredibly stubborn and caught in his ways that he'd suspend someone for wearing the wrong socks. Religious bigots were the worst in Damon's opinion, second only to rapists.

"That would be all fine and well, if you had slept through only break." Reverend Michael said, a calm glare in his eyes. Damon was surprised. He'd slept that long? It didn't feel like it. "Break ended 45 minutes ago. You missed half of your Religious Studies period." He informed. Damon could swear he saw an evil glint in the man's eyes. "Have you anything to say?" The man asked, barely suppressing a smirk.

"Uh, I slept through half of my Religious Studies period?" Damon tried. The Reverend narrowed his eyes at the boy. "You're the one who's told me on multiple occasions 'Repent and thou shalt be saved' you know." The teen pointed out, making the Reverend's glare return.

"Tomorrow morning, I expect you and your mother in my office." The Reverend said simply. "Ignoring the word of God is one thing, but mocking it is another." He almost growled. "Now get to your class." Damon rolled his eyes as he watched the elder man walk off.

"If only you knew the mocking I did behind your back." he mumbled, grabbing his bag. He headed off towards his next class. What remained of it anyway.

Again, it seemed like karma insisted on screwing him over. As soon as he entered his half finished class, he was treated to a lecture from Sister Wendy, who insisted on pausing her class and going on and on about how he was the most sinful individual she'd ever met. Really, his only issues were his attitude, work ethic, and atheism, as far as the school was concerned, so failed to see how he was the most sinful guy in the school.

She tried to make herself look like she was the good guy by saying she didn't want to see his soul eternally damned and that he was destroying his whole future and all that bullshit, but really she was just a bigoted, self-righteous hag who thought her way of life was the right way, and anybody who disagreed was evil and sinful. The same could be said of just about anybody who taught at the school.

As soon as the class ended, Damon had made his decision. It was a stupid, reckless, and even somewhat dangerous decision, but desperate times call for desperate measures. His mother didn't want to listen when he said he wanted to leave the school, the Reverend didn't listen when he said he didn't belong there, and all of his peers were such Ameri-phobes that he couldn't walk through the halls without someone making a joke about him shooting someone or getting fat. It didn't help that he was older than his peers, due to his education started at the age of 6 to 7 in America, instead of 5 to 6 in London. It would have been a year later for him given his birthday was in September. This made him two years older than his classmates. Nobody listened to his thoughts or feelings.

Time to make them listen.

He'd snuck away to the infirmary and gotten his hands on some rubbing alcohol. Then he made his way to the cafeteria and grabbed some matches, which they used to ignite the gas stoves. Finally, he went to the library and grabbed a few bibles, enough to make a small stack. Then, in the main hall, he made a few calculations with trigonometry to ascertain the exact ranged of each fire sprinkler. With the information, he was able to mark a spot where water wouldn't touch, even if all the sprinklers went off. At least, not immediately.

Chuckling evilly, he placed the stack of bibles on the spot that he'd marked an X on with a permanent marker. He poured the entire bottle of rubbing alcohol on the stack, a manic grin on his face. When all the liquid was out, he tossed the bottle aside and pulled out the match box. If he'd timed this correctly, the Reverend would be leaving his office in the next two minutes or so for his cup of afternoon tea. Grinning madly, Damon took out a match from the box and ignited it.

"Let there be light, motherfucker!" Damon howled, laughing loudly as he dropped the match on the stack. The books, which had been soaked in rubbing alcohol, ignited in a burst of blue and orange flames, making Damon step back quickly. Immediately, he grabbed his bag and made for the exit, laughing like a maniac the whole time. "Ooh, this is not going to end well." He said to himself. Despite that, he couldn't help smiling widely.

Within the next few seconds, he heard the fire alarm go off, and the sprinklers following. With the way he placed the books, it would take a while for them to go out, unless someone put them out themselves. However, they'd probably be too occupied with getting everybody out in time, so he doubted that would happen immediately.

The euphoria of his arsony died down a little quicker than he would have liked. It was a highly impulsive decision, and whilst he didn't entirely regret it, he was dreading the consequences. Unlike most teens his age, Damon was able to see that his actions had consequences. Most of the time he was either willing to deal with them, or was able to avoid them. Or at least mitigate them to a minimal. This time around, he wasn't so collected. He'd acted brashly, and would no doubt be punished, either by repeating the year, or being expelled from the school.

And whilst he hates the infernal Catholic school, he did know the value of quality education.

For now though, he didn't want to think about that. Instead, he just strolled about the area. He'd head home after a few hours. He had his train pass; he could get just about anywhere in the city easily enough. It would take a bit of walking, but not much. First thing he did after leaving the school was grab a coffee from a nearby cafe. He needed a pick-me-up.

After getting his coffee, he strolled about the city, keeping to areas he knew. Three years in the City of London, and he still didn't know it half as well as he did his old town, Arcadia Bay. Eventually, he found himself in a park, void of any people, thank goodness. He could use his usual outlet to get his mind off of what would most likely happen in the next few hours. Sipping his coffee, he sighed as he put his cup down on the ground. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a small hunting knife that he'd gotten his hands on some time prior. It was his grandfather's. He'd stolen it from his grandad's cupboard around six months before. He doubted he'd noticed it was gone; it was hidden under a lot of clutter.

Pulling his sleeve up, he took a deep breath as he slowly slid the sharp edge over his forearm. He let out a grunt as he felt his flesh splitting slightly before he made another, identical cut right next to it. "I needed this…" He thought to himself as let out a slight hum before making a third cut. Cutting himself hurt, sure, but there was also an uncanny feeling of… pleasure, that came after it. He knew that cutting triggered a release of endorphins that dulled pain. They were meant to help the body deal with physical stresses and pains, but it also worked on relieving emotional pain and stress. It was why he found cutting to be so addictive. Who wouldn't want to have all their pain swept away?

"Two more…" He told himself. That was his ritual. Five cuts, no more no less. He never went beyond five in one 'session,' as he called it. He'd cut almost everyday for the past few months. His biceps were starting to look like a cross-hatching drawing. He was sure that some of the cuts he'd made were going to scar. Nothing he could do about that. With another sigh, he made to start his fourth cut, but something stopped him. Some kind of projectile had soared through the air, and knocked the knife right out of his hand. "Gah!" He hissed in pain as the knife fell to the ground. He looked up and saw the culprit who'd thrown the stone.

It was a woman, significantly older than he was. In her 40s or maybe 50s, he guessed. She was in really good shape, wearing a tracksuit that showed off her strong build. Her long black hair was greying quite a bit, tied into a ponytail, and there were a few wrinkles visible on her face, but it was clear to him that woman was in very good shape, and probably stronger than he was, in spite of her age. By her facial structure, he could easily tell that she was Asian. She was also tossing a rock up and down in her hand.

"Nice aim." Damon spat sarcastically, flipping her the bird before standing up and picking up his knife.

"You're not going to solve anything by cutting yourself Young man." The woman spoke. By her accent, it was clear that, like him, she grew up in the States. A mid-Atlantic accent, if he wasn't mistaken.

"How about I worry about my problems and you worry about yours, ok?" He shot back, leaning down to grab his bag. "Fuck!" he cursed as the woman threw a stone, knocking his knife from his hand again. "Would you stop that?" He snapped as she approached and picked the knife up. He tried to snatch it from her grip, but she expertly sidestepped his attempt. Growling in frustration he got a little more violent in trying to take the knife back, but she easily dodged or blocked him, and in a split second he found himself on the ground, the air knocked out of him. She'd knocked him back with an elbow to his gut.

"Try again when you're a little more focussed." The woman smirked down at him, twirling the dagger expertly. Clearly, she had some skills.

"Give me the knife back, bitch." He spat at her, standing up.

"You want it back, come visit me here." She said, pocketing the knife and pulling out a business card. She held it out for him, and he rudey swiped it from her hand. "Maybe your knife won't be the only thing you'll get back if you come by." She said cryptically, walking off. Damon glared at the card.

"Natasha Kim's Mixed Martial Arts Dojo…" He read out loud. "So that's it." He rolled his eyes. She was a martial artist. No wonder she had him on the ground so fast.

Now he had to go. He didn't want to lose his grandad's knife. He intended to give it back once he was either caught cutting, or grew out of it.

This is just what he needed. Another old lady who thought she knew what was right for him.

Mum: Damon, answer your fucking phone
Mum: This isn't funny. You crossed a line.
Mum: You could be arrested, do you realise this?
Mum: Damon
Mum: Pick up the phone!
Mum: DAMON!

Damon rolled his eyes as he saw his mother's texts. She'd called him about seventeen times in the past hour, and each time he left the device to ring. He actually put it on silent because of how annoying the constant ringing was. Eventually, she started texting, though that proved to be just as fruitless. He had no intention of talking to anyone for the foreseeable future. He wasn't running away, but he wasn't going to just go back and bend over backwards for everyone. Not his mother, not his teachers, and most certainly not Genevieve.

Suddenly, the sound of a siren resounded behind him as he walked along the pavement. He turned to face the incoming police vehicle. He'd heard sirens before, of course, crime was prominent in London, though it had gone down in recent years. What he wasn't expecting was for the vehicle to stop at the pavement right by him. As the siren stopped, the policeman stepped out. Damon sighed as he recognised the man.

"Constable Parker…" He greeted the man dryly. Constable Parker was a tall-ish African-English man with a small afro, and a bit of a mustache. He was in his late 20s, wearing a classic policeman uniform, looking at Damon with tired disappointment.

"Damon, I'm going to have to ask you to come with me." He said simply. He'd arrested the boy once or twice before.

"Oh boy, a trip to the nick then?" Damon asked drolly, handing his bag over to the officer of the law.

"No, and be thankful for that." Parker said warningly. "Miss Olsen was able to pull some strings and have you not be put in the cells for the night." He held out his hands. With a roll of his eyes, Damon handed over the possessions in his pockets: his phone, key chain, wallet, and lighter. Parker gave a suspicious look at the last one. "Whether or not charges are to be pressed is yet to be seen." He noted, opening the back door of the car. "You will be confined to your house though." He added.

"No cuffs?" Damon snarked.

"We both know resisting arrest is not your style." Parker deadpanned.

"Yesterday, one would have said the same thing about arson." Damon returned, hopping into the car.

"Fair enough." Parker shook his head, closing the door. "I still don't find it necessary though." He added before the door closed completely. Damon sighed. He wasn't all that surprised that the day turned out like this, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant. He'd hoped he'd have more time away from his mother and Genevieve before he went home.

"Blah-blah-blah-blah cannot believe this, blah-blah-blah-blah raised you better, blah-blah-blah-blah any idea what you've done, yada-yada." Damon tuned out the lecture his mother was giving him as he sat on the couch, Klare pacing in front of him, going on and on about how wrong what he did was, how he should know better, how he could be going to prison, and so on.

"Someone kill me…" Damon grumbled in his mind as his mother went on.

"Damon!" The enraged woman snapped. "Are you even listening to me?" She demanded.

"I'm trying to, but you keep repeating the same basic principle over and over." The teen deadpanned. "What I did was wrong, I shouldn't have done it, there will be consequences, etc, etc, etc." He listed, making his mother massage her temples.

"This is a very serious situation here Damon, and I do not have the time or the constitution currently to deal with your attitude." She spoke calmly and seriously. "You could very well be charged with arson, and spend jail time." She emphasised the last two words. "So I'm going to give you one shot to tell me why you would do something so monumentally stupid." She decided. Damon stared at her for a silent moment before sighing.

"I tried to tell you that I wanted to leave that school. I tried speaking to the councillor, to the sisters, to the fucking Reverend, but nobody listened when I said that that school was not right for me. I needed to be somewhere else." He started.

"Maybe you're sixteen and don't know what you need." Klare shot.

"Maybe I'm the first sixteen year old that you've ever raised, and you don't know what I need either." Damon shot back, making his mother's jaw drop in outrage. "I don't give a rat's ass how much more experienced in the world you are Mum, your 'experience' in this world isn't going to help with my problems!" He hissed. "I didn't know how to get it through your skull that I'M RIGHT, and that school is not good for me. You've called me stubborn any number of times, and you've even admitted that I get it from you, but you don't see when you're being stubborn!"

"I am your mother Damon!" Klare snapped in anger. "That school was the only decent place I could get you into with our funds. If there was a better place to send you, I would have done so already." She growled, crossing her arms. "And I've yet to hear a good reason as to why you tried to set your school on fire." She reminded him.

"Nobody listened to me when I said that place wasn't good, so I decided to make them listen." Damon said simply.

"By getting yourself expelled? Because I can bet you anything that that's what's going to happen when you and I speak to the Reverend tomorrow!" Klare stressed.

"Send me to a public school then!"

"Damon, you have a photographic memory, an IQ where you'd have to lose 50 points to be classified as 'smart,' and a shit ton of potential to do whatever you set your mind to." Klare listed. "I'll be damned if I send my son to a public high school, where he's just a number to them." He said firmly.

"I'm just another sinner to the school I go to now." Damon shot back.

"Well whose fault is that?" Klare demanded. "Flaunting your atheism at anyone who'd listen, blatantly disrespecting the Reverend and the sisters, smoking on campus, illicit sexual activities with a sister's niece-"

"In my defence, she came onto me." Damon interjected. "And it's not like I bonked her on the school grounds, we were making out in a classroom. And that's ALL we did! We never even saw each other again!" He defended himself.

"That's besides the point." Klare returned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You've gone out of your way to antagonise the people in that school." She looked him in the eyes.

"Well maybe if I was treated a little better, I'd be a little nicer." The teen huffed.

"Thus far, I've yet to hear a reason as to why you nearly burnt your school down." Klare brought the conversation back to their initial topic. "Other than a glorified temper tantrum." She added.

"That about sums it up." Damon decided to just surrender. "Shitty school, bitchy lawyer in my home trying to tell me what to do, and a lack of any real friends to fall back on, I decided to act out to let everybody know how pissed I am with the world." He slumped into the couch.

"Damon, I thought we were passed you agreeing with me just to make me stop talking." Klare sighed in exasperation. "It's horrifically disrespectful."

"Well, ever since we moved to London and Genevieve came into the picture, you've not looked like a very respectable figure." Damon said quietly, shocking his mother. Without another word, he stood up and skulked off to his room.

"Are you still cooking tonight, or are you going to sulk in your room for the rest of the day?" Klare asked, not looking at him.

"I'll cook." Damon responded, entering his room. It was still rather early for supper, so he opted to do it later.

~~Dream Start~~

He found himself in the car again. It was the exact same make and model as last time, but the driver and passenger seats had switched places. He was now on a highway that he had only seen once before. It was the road one takes between London and Wales. Country music was playing on the radio, filling the teen with nostalgia. Sitting in the driver's seat, driving on a UK road, in a UK car, as she'd been doing so all her life, was Chloe Price. She wore the same clothes she wore to her father's funeral last time Damon saw her, but she looked a little older. Her hair was shorter, and her face had matured a little. Hanging from the rearview mirror, there was a Polaroid photograph of William.

"I just came to tell you that I miss you my old friend…" She sang along with the music, her voice a little deeper and huskier since they'd last spoken. "Burnin' the midnight oil again." She went on.

"William loved that song…" Damon whispered.

"Yeah." Chloe agreed, smiling in amusement. "If Mom were here, she'd say-"

"Turn that shit off." Damon and Chloe said together, mimicking Joyce's Southern drawl, sharing a chuckle. Damon's happiness at the sweet moment left as quickly as it came, and tears started to fall from his eye.

"Dude, why're you crying?" Chloe asked, sparing the boy a glance. Reality seemed to glitch around him for a moment. The photograph turned to one of Genevieve for a split second, and the car seemed to look more like a Audi A3 for a moment there. Chloe's clothing seemed to switch between her funeral clothes, and a Catholic school uniform. Also, when reality glitched back, there was a raven perched on the car's bonnet.

"Because this isn't real…" Damon whispered. "None of this is real…" he sighed in depression, looking out the window.

"Ain't it?" Chloe asked with a raised eyebrow. Damon let out a mirthless chuckle, shaking his head. Suddenly, his arm felt warm and wet. Looking at his forearm, he saw blood seeping out of the cuts he'd inflicted earlier that day, showing no signs of stopping. "Damn, looks like you picked a fight with the wrong guy." Chloe quipped.

"Yeah, myself…" Damon said drolly, sighing.

"Hard to believe the Shrink's son is a cutter. That's irony for ya." Chloe chuckled.

"She's a psychologist, not a shrink." Damon rolled his eyes.

"Eh, potato, potahto." Chloe shrugged. As she drove, they passed by a figure on the side of the road. It looked familiar to Damon for a moment. "You know, you're not gonna get anywhere in life if you keep letting yourself spiral downwards like this." She warned him.

"I don't need this from you of all people Chloe." Damon sighed. "If I know you, you're probably not in much better condition that I am." He pointed out.

"Technically, that is true, considering I'm just a figment of your imagination." Chloe said with a cheeky grin. "And since I'm a figment of your imagination, that means you're really telling yourself you need help." She added.

"Sure, whatever." Damon rolled his eyes.

"Maybe all you need is a friend." Chloe suggested. Reality flickered again. In Chloe's place, for a split second, appeared the Asian woman that had stolen his knife.

"The friend I need is on the other side of the planet, and clearly not interested in talking." Damon rolled his eyes.

"Maybe not a friend then, but something else?" Chloe suggested as the car started to slow down. She came to a full stop, and just outside of Damon's window, a figure approached. It was the Asian woman. Her eyes narrowed at him as it started to rain outside of the car. But something was different about the rain. "Who knows? Maybe the answers to all your problems are in the last place you'd expect to find them." Chloe suggested as the rain got heavier.

That's when Damon saw it.

The rain soaking the woman was not your typical rain. It was dark, thick, and red. Blood. The car seemed unaffected, but with each passing second, the woman was becoming more and more bloodsoaked. She held up a camera, and old polaroid that Damon hadn't seen since he was last in Arcadia Bay, and snapped a photo of him.

The light was blinding.

~~Dream End~~

Damon shot out of sleep with a gasp, sitting up in his bed, the duvet falling off the bed. Clearly, he'd be tossing about a lot in his sleep. He calmed after a moment and looked at his alarm clock. 4am. He let out a groan and fell into his pillow, not bothering to pick up his duvet. He let out a deep sigh as he sank into his mattress.

"Well, I'm not sleeping anymore tonight." He deadpanned to himself.

OK, I know it's been a while people. Real life is getting a bit hectic right now. The shop I worked in closed down, I started a night class, and my job hunt is just as fruitless this time around as the last time. Not to mention, I'm kinda nervous about leaving the house with Coronavirus floating about. It's getting more and more prominent here in ACT.

And no, the later than expected update has NOTHING to do with me getting writer's block, getting into more trouble than I'd like to admit, playing Mass Effect for the first time ever, and watching Firefly and House MD. No, not at all.

Anywho, I hope you guys enjoy the new chapter. I'll try to update a little more often, but with all the shit going on, I'm finding it a little difficult to find the motivation or ideas to write anything, so… fingers crossed!