Author's note: Yeeesh, it's been a while since I've last updated my baby (and for those of you who are still following, I thank you for sticking with me). While I've wandered into other fandoms, I've been playing GTA again (mostly Episodes From Liberty City) and it's gotten me back into the whole crime atmosphere. I've actually had this idea in my head since last December and I wasn't sure how to have it play out until recently.

1990... So Much Blood

For as far back as she could remember, Kate could always count on seeing one of her brothers yell, scream, or hit one another. It was just how it was in their home. Their parents tried to intervene in the beginning, but as the kids got older and became involved with the gangster lifestyle, they were torn on how to handle them. Their mother insisted they needed more church and that they should maintain their core family values. Their father, on the other hand...

"Save it for the streets or just kill each other when nobody's home," he warned them one day for the very last time. "Otherwise I'll shoot you myself."

He never said such things to her, of course. She was the baby of the family, the little princess. She never did anything wrong in his eyes. Derrick, Francis, and Gerald did their best to mind their manners whenever she was in the same room as them. Packie, who was only a year older than her, wasn't so mindful about his mouth or manners and it often earned him a smack upside the head. It was like a silent agreement amongst the boys: out of everyone in the McReary family, one of them needed to grow up halfway decent, and that person was Kate.

"Packie… Packie, wake up."

She poked her brother's backside and mindfully ducked when he threw an arm over his waist to slap her. After she continued to poke him, he finally rolled onto his back and glared at her through the darkness. "What? Do you know what time it is? Go back to sleep."

Before Kate could answer, a loud crash was heard downstairs. Throwing aside his blankets, Packie slid out of bed and scrambled out of the room with Kate right on his heels. The two froze at the top of the staircase as they heard a lot of cursing and dishes being broken, followed by fists striking flesh. The only light in the home came from the kitchen and two large shadows came into view. One of the shadows had its hands wrapped around the other shadow's neck.

"Burglars?" Kate whispered as she pressed up against Packie's arm. "They woke me up and that's why I went and got you."

"Don't be stupid," Packie retorted. "Who'd be dumb enough to hit our house?"

Packie was extremely proud of their family's criminal history while Kate… not so much.

Suddenly Gerald's voice boomed throughout the entire household.

"You're a fucking dead man, you no good piece of shit!"

Kate trembled violently as Packie very slowly edged his way down the stairs, using the banister for support. Kate didn't want to go and she tried to tug her brother back up but she was afraid to leave him alone and also afraid to be left by herself. She had no choice but to creep with him until they arrived at the bottom. They cautiously approached the source of the noises with Kate's fingers clutching Packie's night shirt. That was when they heard Francis's pitiful pleas.

"Don't do this to me! You can't… We're brothers… Swear to God I didn't mean to-!"

She would never forget the sounds of bones cracking as Francis's body sailed from the kitchen and into the living room. He landed at their feet, stopping them in their tracks, and he was like nothing they'd seen before: battered, bloodied, and broken. While their father took a hand at beating on the boys now and again, none of them ever looked so messed up to where they resembled a freshly mangled corpse.

Packie inhaled sharply and started to back away. He didn't get very far as he bumped into Kate who was literally frozen in her spot. He was about to open his mouth when he took a good look at her.

Blood was splattered across her little face and her green eyes had grown much larger than usual.

"Oh Jesus - Katie!" Gerald charged out from the kitchen like a bull, stepped over Francis, and knelt before her. His large hands, caked with dried blood and small scratches, clamped down on her tiny shoulders to prevent her from running off. He didn't seem to realize his forehead had been cut wide open, one eye was swollen completely shut, and his bottom lip was puffed up twice its normal size. The front of his shirt was stained red with blood. "You okay, sweetie? Did Francis do anything to hurt you?"

"I think it got on her when he fell down," Packie commented in a strangely mild manner tone. "It came out from his mouth."

Gerald shot him a nasty look and barked, "Get your asshole brother to the bathroom and clean him up before the folks get back. I ain't even supposed to be here tonight."

"But he's heavy!" Packie whined.

"GET!"

Packie sighed and he took a hold of one of Francis's hands. He grunted as he pulled on his much larger brother's dead weight with all of his might. Thankfully Francis started to come around and he was helped to his knees. But instead of following Packie, he shuffled in place until he was also looking at Kate.

Both of his eyes were swollen and his mug was covered with various lacerations and bruises. Blood trickled down from his broken nose and split lip. Much of his clothing was ripped and also covered in his own blood.

"Katie… Kate…" Francis panted as he struggled to keep himself upright and conscious. "You know how your brothers are. We were… just playing around." He coughed up blood and much of it dribbled onto the carpet. "Right, Gerry?"

"Yeah, yeah," Gerald remarked without looking at him. "Just horsing around, Katie-girl. You know how we get. We're rough."

Without saying a word, Kate reached up and touched the blood that was sprayed on her face with her fingertips. She stared at her fingers as she recalled the many, many, many times she'd actually observed the vicious brutality coming from her older brothers. When they didn't realize it, she'd seen them at their worst. Whether they were throwing fists or slinging insults, to being literally thrown across the dinner table because nobody volunteered to say grace. One time she even witnessed Derrick, during a drug induced rage, pull out a gun and press it against Gerald's head right in front of a priest who was visit their home at the time. Then she saw Gerald and Francis fighting in her mind's eyes, with Gerald's fist pounding relentlessly into Francis's face over and over and over again, each time more blood being spewed from his nose and mouth. Gerald's own fist was becoming riddled with cuts that oozed with blood from hitting bone and cartilage without mercy.

Blood, blood, blood. There was so much of it. She found herself drowning in their blood, choking in it, filling her lungs with it...

All of a sudden it became too much for her to handle. Snapping out of her daze, she let out a horrific scream that could be heard all throughout the Dukes neighborhood.

The very next day, Maureen McReary made an appointment for her ten year old daughter to undergo therapy.