Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to The Breakfast Club or it's characters.

Andrew slammed his math folder shut, groaning loudly to the empty room. He'd been starring at the same page for an hour, and hadn't even finished half the problems yet. Granted, Andrew was never especially gifted at math, or anything academic really, but at the very least, he'd always been able to keep a high enough GPA to participate in sports.

He didn't know whether it was the ghostly silence of the house, the fact that his dad wasn't leaning over his shoulder, reminding him how much his grades mattered if he was going to compete, or just his stressful predicament all together, but he hadn't the slightest ounce of motivation. It was almost torture, trying to concentrate on a problem long enough to solve it.

Whatever was the matter with him, reading over the same problem fifty times wasn't going to fix it. He needed a break. He needed some interaction. Any interaction, he just couldn't stand the silence. Joe Bender had taken his mom to her new job, so that left them out, but there was always Jake. Sure, the older Bender brother had his immature and rather obnoxious moments, but he didn't have the same disdain for everything as the other two Bender men in the house.

Deciding that Jake was probably his best bet for any sort of socialization at home, Andrew got up from his chair and started searching around the house, but he found every room just as deserted as the one he'd been studying in.

Thud. It was the slightest bump against the front door, but it was enough to send Andrew into a fast paced walk that even he was embarrassed about. He was desperate for someone to talk to. He could remember the nights when his father seemed to chase him around the house, following him room to room, not letting him get any peace. How much he'd hated it, and how much he missed it.

Jake was not outside. Instead, John sat on the front stoop, his feet up against an empty and cracked flower pot. John looked back at Andrew, giving him a look that made him uncomfortable. While Andrew just wanted someone in the house to talk to him, ask him how his day was, comment on the weather, anything, John just wanted everyone in the house to leave him alone. If it wasn't his dad and his usual antics, Jake nagging his ass with just about everything, or Mrs. Clark-Bender trying to "change his ways", it was Andrew, who just had to exist in the same area as john to send him into full irritation.

"Do you know where Jake is?" Andrew asked awkwardly. It had just dawned on him how bizarre the situation was. There he was, in John's house, his house, asking about John's brother, for no particular reason. He could practically sense John becoming increasingly irate, though he hid it well, sitting back, inhaling his tobacco smoke, and pretending like he didn't care that the school jock was wandering around his house, looking for his brother.

"What's it to ya'?" He asked, unable to resist at least some inquiry as to why Andrew would be trying to locate his god damned brother.

Since Andrew had taken up residence in the Bender household, an unspoken system had fallen into place. That system being, all parties tried as hard as they could to pretend the other wasn't there, and go about life as they normally would. John and Jake kept to their usual bond, excluding Andrew as if they, in all honesty, believed that he wasn't there, and Andrew followed their lead, keeping to himself. Only out of contempt would he converse with John, and rarely would he ever say more than two words to Jake.

So why the hell was he trying to find him?

"I don't know. Just someone to talk to, you know?" Andrew said casually, leaning against the siding of the house. As his body went into the doorframe, he could hear the rusted, unstable paneling screech up against each other.

"What makes you think he'd want to talk to a fucking cock like you?" John asked, starring back intimidatingly, "he's not home." He finally added, his tone instantly transforming from agitation, to a much more dull, half assed tone.

"Where is he?" Andrew asked, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. His mom was at work, he had no idea when Joe Bender would be home, but he sure as hell wasn't going to try talking to him, and now Jake wasn't even around.

He thought about starting a casual conversation with John. True, the two had been nothing but hostile to each other since they found out their parents had eloped, and, while there were moments when they would put up with each other, they were never really that much better to each other in detention, but if they were going to be living in the same house, maybe that could change? Maybe they could at least be able to stand each other?

"How should I know? What am I, his fucking nanny?" John asked. Truth be told, sometimes it really did bother him that he didn't know where his older brother was. Odds were, if he wasn't getting into some kind of stupid fucking trouble, over shit that didn't matter, he was with Chelsea. Either way, John didn't like thinking about it, and he surely didn't like that Andrew shared his concern for Jake's whereabouts.

"Do you have to be such an asshole all the time?" Andrew asked, actually getting heated by John's attitude. Admittedly, Andrew Clark was somewhat of a hothead, something he wasn't very proud of. He tried his hardest to be chill, be cool about things and just let them take their toll, but John really tested him. He always had. Whether he was stealing a screw from the door, taking illegal drugs out of his locker, or just being a general asshole, he made it impossible for Andrew to stay collected.

"You tell me, Sporto," John spat, pulling himself to his feet and towering over Andrew, somehow managing to look a foot taller than his opponent, even though in reality, he wasn't more than four inches taller, "do I?"

"Is there a problem, boys?"

Joe Bender slammed the door to his rusted, 1975 Ranger. John briefly looked him over. His posture was straight, mostly, his speech was impeccable, and the Ranger was in no more shitty condition than earlier that morning. He was sober.

Joe Bender came in two different varieties of asshole. There was drunk Joe Bender, who stomped through the halls of the house, knocking over furniture and bumping into couches on his way to get yet another beer to add to his already elevated blood alcohol level. Drunk Joe was best if avoided. If you came in contact with Drunk Joe, you risked setting him off, which was easily be done by any random, unplanned action. If one actually managed avoiding anything that could set the drunk Joe off, one risked being the recipient of his misdirected anger.

Sober Joe was more of a special edition type of Joe Bender. He was somewhat easier to get along with, yet less likely to happen. Sober Joe thought he was a grade A type of dad, which disgusted John. Sober Joe would rationalize all of his drunk actions, he'd even somehow rationalize some of the shit he'd do without the influence of alcohol. Sober Joe was less violent, mostly, but somehow, just as unpredictable and scary as Drunk Joe.

"None at all." John said under his breath, taking his seat back on the stoop and trying to hide the curiosity he had for his father's lack of alcohol. He'd been sober in the morning, and he was sober now. Had he gone a whole day without a bottle? Was this some kind of fucking act? That was the only logical explanation. Joe Bender was going sober, so he wouldn't lose the pussy he'd somehow snagged. If he wasn't drunk, he was more able to control himself, and less likely to scare the new family off. So, did that mean that other things, in addition to Joe's alcohol consumption, would change as well?

John didn't care to find out. John would never admit this openly, but whether his dad was drunk or sober, he was still a terrifying force. There would be times when, against his better judgment, John would lose his self-control and antagonize his father even further, but for the most part, he tried not to start conflicts that didn't need to happen. Even if there was the slightest chance that he'd set his dad off, he would bite his tongue as long as he could, especially in front of such company as Andrew.

"Take the garbage out before Janice gets home tonight." Joe said on his way into the house. John practically cringed. He didn't know which was worse, his old man slamming a few beers down, followed by him slamming his kid's head against the wall, or his old man pretending to be a normal, functioning human being.

"Look," Andrew said after Joe left, practically startling John, who'd thought Andrew had long since gone inside, "let's get things straight. I don't like you anymore than you like me, but we're living together now, alright? I don't think it would be too much to ask that you compose yourself a little instead of acting like a fucking prick all the time."

John didn't say anything. Instead, he pulled himself to his feet again, took a drag of his cigarette, and slowly blew the smoke in Andrew's face. He then threw the left over bud on the splintered deck of his stoop, smothered it under his foot, and turned to go inside the house.

Andrew had had enough. He stormed after John, catching up with him in the living room and shoving him forward, unknowingly touching a tender area on John's back. There was a slight moment of fright when John turned around, glaring down at him, but he regained his composer and stood up just as tall, getting inches away from John's face.

"I'm getting really tired of your shit, you know that? So let's end this. Enough with your fucking attitude man, I live here now, and I'm not going anywhere, so you better get used to it." Andrew demanded, his voice raised and the vein in his neck prominent.

"Yeah, well take a good look at your fucking prize Sporto," John said, laughing condescendingly while showcasing the unhomely room. It made him almost sick that Andrew was defending the honor to be a member of the same fucking household that John was ashamed of. Not that he thought Andrew was particularly thrilled to be a Bender, but to boldly announce his permanent residence there, that made John almost nauseous.

"This 'woah as me' shit is getting pretty old too. I'm tired of this act that your life is so hard. I've been living here for days now and it's not as bad as you make it out to be. I don't believe a word you fed us in detention; you probably hurt your own arm doing something stupid. You're not fooling anyone with this fucking ego shit, so stop with the melodramatic angst already, you fucking prick." Andrew shouted, officially losing the cool he'd tried so hard to hold onto.

Unfortunately, Andrew wasn't the only hothead involved in the situation. John had just as bad a temper, and Andrew had tested it. A lot of things set John Bender off, but among the most dangerous topics, was bringing up any part of his home life; especially if disbelief followed.

Without even thinking, John grabbed onto Andrew and threw him against the wall. His chest heaved in and out with every heavy breath he took. He didn't know why it pissed him off so much, considering he didn't particularly want people to know what was going on at home, but the fact that after all the shit he'd put up with, someone would say he made it all up for the sake of his fucking image…that, was a sure fire way to set John Bender off.

After the initial shock wore off, Andrew sprung at John, putting him in a head lock and bringing him to the ground. Since Andrew and his mother had moved in, John had gone out of his way to be a dick to them. He was an asshole, and he was a fucking madman who needed to be put in his place.

John grunted and grabbed Andrew's wrist, unnaturally twisting it until Andrew was forced to let go. Still holding his wrist, he jumped on top of Andrew and hit him in the face, harder than he'd ever hit anyone before, as hard as he'd always dreamed of hitting his old man.

Andrew grabbed onto John's shirt and sprung to his feet, throwing John into the small coffee table as he rose. He watched, his chest heaving, as John fell backwards, knocking over a lamp and shattering it into large shards as his body knocked over the table it once perched on.

John had hit his head against the wooden table on the way down. He didn't move, but Andrew knew that he hadn't won yet. John was dizzy, and as soon as shock from the blow wore off, he'd be right back up, and more pissed than before. Andrew hadn't won yet, but that didn't mean that he wasn't going to. He was state wrestler, and he was going to show John that he'd fucked with the wrong person.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Joe Bender asked from the door frame as John attempted to pull himself up from the upturned table and shattered lamp, and Andrew prepared his stance.

Both boys froze. Joe took four long and powerful strides into the room, bewildered at his find. There was no further questioning as to what happened. Joe didn't need to know what had happened. He didn't need to know why John was laying over the smashed up lamp. All he needed to know was that another thing in the house was broken, and, once again, his good for nothing fucking son was right there at the scene of the crime.

Joe was no longer the nonchalant guy from earlier that day. He went dead to everything short of rage. His fists curled, his eyes dilated, and the strides he took towards his son almost seemed to shake the whole house. He was like a whole new person from that morning, and he made Andrew so uneasy that he shamefully darted for refuge behind the doorframe of the room.

He watched from safety as Joe picked John up by the throat, and threw him against the wall. John crumpled at the bottom of his father's feet, lying still as the intense pain ran down his back, but Joe wasn't finished with him. Using the wall as support, Joe delivered three powerful kicks towards John's abdomen, missing with the last kick, as John curled up for protection, and instead managing to get him in the face.

Andrew watched in horror as Joe caught his breath, standing unremorsefully over his still son. Everything that had happened was too serreal to be reality. Why hadn't John fought back? What the hell had gotten into Joe? Was it a preview of Andrew's future? What he would be trapped in? What inescapable hole had his mother had dragged him into?

"Get up," Joe demanded as his breathing slowed, and his tone eerily more calm than Andrew would expect it to be. John didn't move.

"I said get up. Stop acting like a pussy. You're embarrassing yourself," Joe demanded again, his tone more threatening. He was completely accurate. John was embarrassing himself, more than his father could ever understand with his fucking drugged out mind. He wanted to pull himself up, shake it off as if nothing had happened, and be a man. But something had happened, he'd had his fucking spine thrown against a wall, and his fucking ribs and skull smashed with his father's boot, and his body remained unmoved.

"Fuck you." John said, compensating with harsh words for what he couldn't do with his body. For this, he received one more kick, this one harder than the three before. A feat that John hadn't thought to be possible, and he knew there were more to come if he continued his insolence.

John took a deep breath, before pulling himself up using the corner of the couch for support. Once he was completely straight against the wall, he glared at his father, his hair over his face, and hatred and disgust beaming from his eyes.

Joe paid this no mind. He reached for the wallet in his back pocket, and pulled out a five dollar bill, "this", he said, "is for a new lamp. You're going to replace the one you broke before Janice gets home. Is that clear boy?" he asked, his tone dangerous.

"Chrystal." John retorted, snatching the bill without breaking contact with his father.

"Get this mess cleaned up." Joe said, leaving the room. As soon as he was out of sight, John let his body slide back down the wall, having forgotten Andrew's presence in the heat of the moment. He cussed to himself. His old man really did a number on him this time. His fucking side was still throbbing faster than his heart.

As John sat against the wall, holding his side and saying profanities under his breath, Andrew's temporary paralysis wore off. He was ashamed. He'd gotten in a fight to show John that he was a man, that he wasn't someone to mess with, and he'd ran off at the first sign of danger. He was ashamed that, while John was at least staying his ground, he'd darted for the nearest safe spot. He was even ashamed that he'd been the one to throw John into the lamp, ultimately being at fault for his attack.

Andrew tried his best to shake guilty thoughts from his head, and ran to John. He kneeled down next to him, opening his mouth to ask if he was okay, but John pulled himself back up and stormed out of the room the best he could, shoulder checking Andrew on the way out.

Andrew threw his head in his palms. He needed out of that fucking house.

a/n: Why, yes, dear fanfiction readers, I did look up both Judd Nelson's height and Emilio Estevez's height just to make sure John was really taller than Andrew, and by how much. That is how much unnecessary detail I have put into this, for...no...reason. lol.

helinahandcart: I completely rewrote this story, so it's alright that you had forgotten about it lol. the earlier submission was...not...very...good. lol. I'm very happy that you get what I was trying to do with Allison, I was afraid that most people wouldn't :) Thank you for your review, it is much appreciated :)

tetisheri: I'm happy you like it :) Thank you so much for the review!