(Disc.: I do not own any recognizable characters, places, things, or songs mentioned in this story unless otherwise noted.)

"Walk into splintered sunlight;
Inch your way through dead dreams, to another land.
Maybe you're tired and broken;
Your tongue is twisted, with words half spoken
And thoughts unclear.

What do you want me to do?
To do for you, to see you through?
A box of rain will ease the pain, and love will see you through."

-Box of Rain, Grateful Dead

Chapter 10: In Which Bret Gets… Comfortably Uncomfortable

Bret tossed his board down, hopping onto it as he skated away from the apartment complex toward Tony's. He'd been to the house once or twice for some reason or another, but never for one of their famously-raucous parties. Not too far along his journey, he heard someone fall into rhythm with him and didn't need to look up to know it was Jay keeping his pace.

"Jezebel's…" he began sullenly, before being cut off: "I know. Let's rage."

"Man, I just can't get over it. Guess this's partly on both of us, huh." It wasn't a question Bret was posing, so much as a statement; an admission of guilt, if you will.

"Yeah, I guess bro. But like Stacy told me, we can't help her like they can. Actually no, she's a big girl. She's gotta take care-a herself, there's only so much we can do. Seriously, let's forget tonight. You never really spent much time with the dudes in the group, huh? Without her, I mean," Jay asked noncommittally.

"Nah man, but not for lack of trying," he answered cryptically.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jay asked, stopping suddenly and grabbing Bret's jacket-back to stop him, too, about three blocks down the street from Tony's place.

This was the first time Bret actually ventured a look closely at one of Jez's best friends since childhood who was now holding him with that ever-challenging, piercing blue-eyed stare the blonde had going.

"I mean… you haven't exactly made it easy for me, is all," Bret responded, trying to keep his cool, reaching up to fiddle with his Mohawk in the cooling night air.

"No, seriously, what d'you mean? I got no problem with you. Like I said, Bel's a big girl..." Jay tried weakly to shrug off the issue, but Bret saw right through his attempt.

"Dude. You like to pretend that, but there's something else you ain't telling me. What's the deal? She's, like, your sister right? What about you and Kathy?" Bret frowned.

"Yeah. She is my sister. Which is why I wanna protect 'er. I been takin' care of the girl since she was three, so yeah, 'scuse me if she means more to me than you understand. 'M not trying to steal your girl, man, I got my own." Jay sounded sincere, yet still guarded. 'My sister that I might actually want to steal since, y'know, I know her better and have been there for her forever,' he thought privately.

"Look, I can drop this if you can. This night's getting a little too heavy, what with everything going on. What say we shake, agree we both love 'er in different ways, and try to forget this whole thing for a night. Then we go back to having a friendly, unspoken rivalry tomorrow. Truce, bro. I like you, I really do. We gotta be family," Bret stuck out his hand awkwardly, and Jay grabbed it to shake, bringing his shoulder towards Bret in an attempt to bump the other boy's in a friendly manner, but he was a lot taller.

"Fine by me," Jay answered, relieved that Bret was finally going to be willing to drop the painful conversation.

Bret dropped his head, bumping the sides of their heads together instead in a gesture that looked like running toward the other boy while looking him straight in the eye, in a greeting he'd seen other punks use before. Jay pushed back with his own head, then they separated and bumped knuckles. Bret pulled the 'devil's horns' sign, sticking out his tongue.

"Bro, that's cool – I like that," Jay said suddenly, hopping back onto his abandoned skateboard and shoving his feelings back into his brain's file to tackle another day.

"Yah, the punks on the East Coast all do it," Bret answered, taking off sideways alongside Jay.

They arrived at the Alva residence and Bret noted the sheer number of bodies crammed into the small abode, filling the small house to near-capacity. The usual crew was strewn across the front lawn, porch, and spilling out from inside the house. As they approached the porch and stashed their boards behind some lawn chairs, Bret grabbed Jay's shoulder. "Hey man, let's only tell Tony and Peggy, if we see 'em. Let's not go around sharing her personal business with the whole party," Bret gave him a serious gaze.

"Good plan," was all he offered with a nod.

"C'mon," he gestured, plucking at Bret's jacket sleeve with a jerking motion of his head to the left to indicate going into the house. "Bro, Red Dog, you remember Bret right? Jez's flame," Jay introduced.

"Yeah man, Bret-dude. 'Sup?" Red Dog asked in his easy way, raising his red cup in greeting. His dislike for the other boy had lessened over the past few weeks as he observed the other boy's treatment of Jezebel.

"Not much. Whatcha drinkin'?" Bret responded, glancing into the cup.

"Ah, 'Tony Special'," he made air quotes with his free hand, "which is to say, Jack, rum, 'n a tiny splash a Coke that can hardly be considered a sip. Take it easy on this shit; help yerself, it's in that giant bowl over there," he pointed with the rim of the cup.

"Hey thanks," Bret responded, patting his hand a couple times onto Red Dog's shoulder in a friendly manner. He glanced around before turning to look for Jay, who had immediately all but disappeared from sight. He shrugged and headed toward the folding table where Red Dog pointed, which was where he found the subject of his search. He was leaning against Kathy. She was pretty, in his opinion, with her caramel skin and long, brown hair tied into a single braid along her back, and he could see why Jay would go for her even if she was considerably older than him.

"Hey while you were off getting all buddy-buddy with Red Dog, I told Peggy about the sitch, ahem, and she said she was down to help out tomorrow, you know about that thing we said we'd do... about it. Y'know… just so ya know. So, Tony's all yours, I done my duty." He said confusingly, then took this opportunity to pause, bending Kathy backwards to kiss her as she tried to keep her cup of beer from sloshing all over. She grinned against him, closing her eyes.

Bret used all his mental faculties to try and figure out what Jay was saying; as he did so, he picked up the ladle to pour his own red plastic cupful of the so-called 'Tony Special'. He took a quick swig, made a face, and added some more into the cup to top it off. The purpose of this night was to forget, after all, and he was sure as hell going to try to forget as much as humanly possible. Even if the drink of choice tasted like shit. Still, his girlfriend crowded the back of his mind as he tucked into the crowd in search of the party's other host.

He found his target in the backyard, surrounded by what could only be described as a harem of ladies in various shapes, sizes, and ethnicities. "Gotta talk to you, serious stuff man." He raised his eyebrows, trying to convey the message as discreetly as possible to Tony, who had a bottle of beer in each hand as he leaned into a large-bosomed, valley-looking brunette who definitely wasn't his current girlfriend.

"What's got yer panties in a twist, Bret-ster?" Tony asked crudely, removing himself from the aforementioned bosoms and gesturing toward a wooden shed off to the side, "step into my office of confident-ial-it-y."

Bret followed him into the rickety structure and Tony closed the door. Bret looked concerned as he glanced around at the art materials and spare skateboard parts. Cans of spray paint littered the ground, and half-assembled boards were stacked against one wall. There was hardly room for the two of them to stand. "You sure this ain't gonna collapse around us?" He deadpanned, glancing around the considerably muffled shed.

"Nah, it's solid bro. Been here ages. What's with the serious scowl?" Tony asked, gesturing toward Bret's face and setting one of his now-empty beer bottles on a workbench.

"I want you to hear from me. Bella's in the hospital. SHE'S FINE, SHE'S FINE–" Bret's voice raised as he pushed Tony back; he'd leaned forward with the intention of storming out in valiance, but paused at Bret's movement. "She collapsed at that surf comp with Stacy and Craig – Tony I swear, she'll be okay –," he held the older boy back as he tried to bolt again, "and she needs pro help. She's sick dude, she doesn't eat." He'd paused when Tony gave him a sideways glare through a clump of hair which was constantly in his face.

Tony was still eyeing him with distrust as he flipped the hair dramatically out of his eyes. "That's my best chick surfer, she better be..." he slammed the rest of his remaining beer and collected both bottles.

"She will. Thanks for being her coach-in-shining-wet-suit, Tony, she's really grateful," Bret reassured earnestly.

"Ay, vato, this's gotta be hard for you, sharing your girl with so many bros. Thanks for lettin' us stay around 'er, she's really somethin' special, y'know." Tony patted Bret's arm and opened the shed door. "I mean, I got no patience, but I got no problem coaching her. 'N that's saying something."

Bret followed him out.

"You bros having a little makeout-sesh in there sans bunnies, or what?" Bob laughed, shoving Bret's head to one side playfully. This was one Z-boy with whom Bret was pretty well-acquainted, having frequently interacted with him when they hung out with Peggy.

"You bet, bro, and we were just takin' turns banging yer mom before that!" Tony shouted, letting out a measured 'ha ha' and shoving Biniak into the wall of the house as he pretended everything was normal. Bret finished his drink and wandered inside to pour another. Stacy had arrived and was helping himself to his own drink; he had a frothy cup of keg-beer in one hand.

"Man, you're pretty brave there Peralta, showing up to a party wearing white pants. Probably shoulda thought that one over at home – you're bound to be disappointed by the end of the night, what with all the drunk girls around here," Bret ribbed, pumping beer from the keg into his own now-empty cup as he laughed to himself about their near-matching, yet comically oppositely-styled, outfits.

"Eh, it's whatever, I'll live. Mom's idea of 'water conservation' is doing less laundry, dude, I'm down to the dregs of my wardrobe here. I'm not really a 'clothes' guy anyway," Stacy answered, glancing down at his battered, ripped white khakis and red-and-white striped shirt. "So... you gearing up to visit Bel tomorrow? Skip said he'd check in with the hospital and make sure she can have visitors."

"Yeah, fer sure. Hey I wanted to say thanks, for you know, helping out. I'm glad you were there when it all went down. You really are a great bro. I… didn't realize she was so... unstable..." he broke off, tossing back some more of his drink.

"Oh man, it was definitely no problem. She's got real potential in surfing, I just want to see her health get better. She's been so wishy-washy lately, I was really starting to worry," Stacy confided uneasily. "Hey don't beat yourself up about it, y'know?"

He personally felt much older than Jezebel, even though the numerical age difference between them was only three or four years. He felt he had so much more life experience. Watching her stumble around, trying to find her place in this mess called life was really upsetting. Like Jay, she was immature, reckless, impulsive. Stacy thought back to earlier that afternoon, when he'd asked Jay if he ever thought before he spoke or acted. Jay had essentially said no, he didn't, and he liked it that way thank you very much. Sometimes, Stacy wondered if he thought too much, and perhaps jilted himself out of sharing his true thoughts in favor of trying not to hurt anyone's feelings.

In a flash of hair, he shook those thoughts from his mind and brought himself back to the party at-hand. Empty red cups and beer cans littered the space, and various girls hung off nearly every free inch of furniture. No flat surface was uncovered; if not by paraphernalia or drinks, then by bodies. If he was really going to let go of his inhibitions, one of Tony's parties would be the place to do it. Bret watched Stacy walk away, having given a simple wave and a, "well, see ya 'round, Bret."

He spotted Shogo standing near the front of the house and headed in that direction. Shogo had a bong in one hand and a lighter in the other, and was attempting to gather a group to smoke with him. Stacy decided this would be just as good an opportunity as any to follow through with his plan, to Shogo's surprise. He was usually a one-or-two hit kinda guy, never really one to hang out too long. Parties weren't particularly his favorite place to be.

Meanwhile, Bret fought a mini-war within himself. Did he want to try to hang out with Jay, someone he somewhat knew, or Tony, who he didn't really know well at all but was pretty chill at this time, or choose another Z-boy to get to know? Peggy and Biniak were sucking face nearby, so they were out. Apparently they were more than the 'just friends' that they liked to insist whilst sober. He realized Kathy and Jay were nowhere to be found, and would only venture a guess as to where they might be. There were a number of closed doors in this house, and the pair could be lurking behind virtually any of them doing what horny teenagers do. He frowned and wished Jezebel was here; if she were, he wouldn't be in this quandary. Not to say he felt the need to do something sexual with someone; just that having his girlfriend around in this scene, her scene, would have made him feel a little less out-there.

He snorted as he realized there was an uncharacteristically 'country' sounding song playing on the radio, and recognized it as 'Driving My Life Away'. Eddie Rabbit had been someone his mother had listened to extensively during his childhood, before she died. As he stood there contemplating, the radio station changed abruptly, not without some static-y fanfare, and someone backed into him at precisely that same moment.

"Uh, 'scuse me," the voice said, and he turned around. It was that Wentzle guy. Yet another blonde, the pair were the same age. It seemed this night was choosing for him as he turned around to face the other guy.

"Hey it's no problem. What's up?" Bret asked, looking at him expectantly.

"Uh, was gonna go smoke some hash, you wanta come? I don't know if you remember, I'm Wentzle… it's Bret, right? Jez's boyfriend," the boy asked, pulling a plastic baggie out of his back jeans pocket.

"'S me, yep. And 'm in," he answered, starting to feel a little buzzed but throwing caution to the wind and deciding to let this night take him in whatever direction it chose.

"Daddy…" whispered Jezebel weakly from her hospital bed, stirring from her groggy, fitful nap. Skip sat in a chair next to her, holding her hand. When she'd come in the afternoon before, she'd been sedated since she refused to walk through the doors, then collapsed. She'd been in and out of consciousness since then, never fully aware of where she was or what was happening. Skip's heart jumped into his throat and he nearly jumped out of his skin at her quiet, more-raspy-than-usual voice. Had she just referred to him as 'dad'?

After Jezebel's admission yesterday, she was receiving IV fluids and would begin a strict regimen undergoing regular, supervised meals as soon as she was cleared to eat again. When she was strong enough, she'd be transferred to a residential care facility to recover and learn proper, healthy eating habits.

"Jez… ya called me dad," Skip remarked, still astonished. He added wistfully, "you haven't called me 'dad' since you were, like, five…"

"You came. Oh Dad, you came... why did you let them bring me here? I didn't want to... I just want to go home," the young blonde pleaded, gazing at him with heavy eyelids. She was still so, so tired. It had probably been about 18 hours since she'd been admitted, and she had zero energy. They were saying she had an infection that was made easier for her to contract due to malnourishment, and it could've originated anywhere from an infected cut on her foot getting dirt or something else in it when she was in the ocean.

"Jezi-Bit, babe. I been worried sick. You need help... you been hiding this too long. The doctors're gonna help ya get better, then you can come home – you can even come stay at the house again, if ya want." He looked at her in earnest; this was quite possibly the soberest she'd seen him in years. She loved the way he called her 'Jezi-Bit', a mixture of two of her many nicknames – Jezi and Li'l Bit. Glancing at the clock, she noticed it was just after 1 PM.

"I'm sorry I never call you 'Dad' anymore. I was just so... mad at you, for such a long time. You never knew how to raise me. But I know now, you had to figure it out on your own as you went along. You had basically no help at all, 'cept 'Lane and Jay, and I been a handful. Dad, I said some awful things to Stace... things I didn't mean. I hope he doesn't hate me. Does it seem like I'm saying 'Dad' a lot? I feel like I need to make up for all the times I didn't say it," she rambled, unable to keep the waterfall of words from spewing out of her mouth at warp-speed.

"Bel, I could never hate you. I'm your biggest big bro." She turned her head slowly to see Stacy leaning in the doorframe with his arms crossed. "I mean, the oldest and the tallest, even."

The group of five had gone down to the cafeteria after arriving an hour earlier whilst she slept, following Skip's arrival.

"Seriously lady, haven't you figured this out yet? You're one of us – you're stuck with us, chica-chick. Us townies stick together, no if's, and's, or… well, some butts," Tony chortled with a grin at his own joke. His head popped around from behind Stacy, and from the hallway, in wandered Bret and Jay, too. Jay sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Jezebel as she lay pathetically in the bed before deciding to look literally anywhere else. Peggy stood nervously behind Tony, fidgeting with a brown faux-leather cuff bracelet she was wearing on her wrist with intricate designs carved into it. Minorly disappointed that Jezebel, who claimed to be her best friend, hadn't trusted her enough to tell her what was happening, she was uneasy about letting the other girl know she was there.

"Shit Jez, you competing with T.A. here for 'biggest hair' award? Cuz… I think you're winning, lady," Jay teased, finally resolving to move close and ruffle it with his hands. "You gotta get better though bro, so we can surf together again," he added, moving away to lean on the heat register with his arms crossed across his T. Rex band t-shirt, then nodded toward Tony as an afterthought, "an' he's still gotta beat your ass for that first place women's title."

"Jay, you're a jackass," she retorted, her voice crackling as a smile played at the corners of her lips.

"Yeah maybe, but your favorite jackass though," he replied.

The group snickered at the exchange. Bret sat on the end of the hospital bed and said nothing. She gave him the once-over, then observed, "Bret, baby, you look trashed. You okay?"

"That's 'cause he is trashed. Or was, last night," Jay answered matter-of-factly, receiving a scowl in response from said party.

"I'm fine, Bella. Question is, are you okay?" Bret finally spoke, rubbing her knee through the thin hospital blanket and trying to perk up as much as he could muster.

She raised her hand with the IV in it, pointing to it with her other hand, then said, "best care I could possibly get. Needles in your body counts as 'punk rock', right? You sure you don't need one of these too? I'm sure I could get Nellie or Francie or whatever-her-name-is to hook you up…"

"So punk rock," Bret answered with a tired smile, nearly dropping his pulled-together facade. "About as punk rock as I feel right now – you sure we aren't on a ship rolling over the ocean? And I think I'm good on the IV thing."

Bret had stumbled home merely four hours earlier, and Skip showed up to drive the two to the hospital. He'd slept in the car for a while, but was still massively hungover. Stacy moved out of the doorframe and joined Jay, leaning back against the heat register.

"You had him so worried, he hung out and smoked with Wentzle. Wentzle, man!" Tony joked, moving into the room to balance precariously on the back of one of the wooden chairs placed in there, his feet on the seat, forcing Peggy out of her hiding place and into plain sight.

"Peg," Jezebel said solemnly, "you came…"

"Yeah well, I just wanted to know if you were dead or not, and then these bozos dragged me along," the girl looked like she might burst into tears at any given moment, and water pooled beneath her eyes. "But little sis, where you get off not telling me about this sooner? I could've helped. You know Ma's a therapist."

"Oh yeah, that woulda gone over well – being 'psychic-analyzed' by my best friend's ma, you don't think that'd make it a bit awkward between us? I mean, come on, you 'n your mom tell each other everything," Jezebel shot back with an irritated tone in her voice, looking out the window and refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Something was making her retreat unhappily into herself, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what was bothering her.

Peggy moved closer to the bed and put her hand on Jezebel's shoulder. "First of all, it's 'psychoanalyzed', you dork. And second, no – Ma doesn't tell me about her patients, it's a privacy thing. I just don't want you to be sick."

Something like anger flashed through Jezebel's eyes as she turned to make direct eye-contact with the elder girl, but it quickly disappeared as she saw the obvious pain in her friend's eyes. Jezebel sighed. "Peg-ster, c'mere and gimme a hug…"

It was all she needed to say as Peggy practically jumped on top of her, squeezing her arms in a tight hug. Jezebel awkwardly reached up and patted her friend on the back as best she could with her arms mostly pinned to her sides. She glanced over the girl's shoulder, an expression of horror creeping slowly across her features – "oh no, don't you all dare! I am fucking fragile!"

Her protests were in vain, as at that exact moment all the other bodies in the room aside from Skip took advantage of the situation and piled on top of Peggy in the small, creaky hospital bed, forming an enormous dogpile with Jezebel as the base. The girl on the bottom squeaked in appreciation when Bret called from the top, "alright you lot, everyone off my girl!", with a laughing lilt in his voice as the bed made a loud groaning sound.

Everyone clambered off and offered words of wisdom, along with various appropriate displays of affection. Tony was second-to-last and ruffled her hair, saying in a coach-like manner, "get better, so we can go kick some more girls' asses at nationals in Hawaii next year after the next surf comp."

One of the friendly nurses with short, black hair wearing a paper hat stuck her head into the suite, noting: "Okay, fellas – and chica – visiting hours are officially over. I'll give you a few moments to say goodbye, but after that it's parent or legal guardian only. Jezebel, I'll be back in a few minutes to check your vitals, change your IV, and the doctor will come in to speak with you."

The nurse disappeared again as Bret swept some of Jez's long, blonde hair out of her eyes and bent down to kiss her. "Come back home soon, so you can be my punk rock princess and I can be your Rolling Stone king, 'kay?" He gazed deeply into her eyes and released her. The group of friends slowly filed out, muttering friendly goodbyes and tossing nice platitudes in her direction. Jay exited just before Bret, dropping a kiss on her cheek before patting her arm and telling her, "I'll miss ya, kid. Stay strong."

Jezebel sighed. Bret took her face in both hands, gently dropping one last kiss onto her forehead and then her lips. They lingered longer than ever during this visit, and only broke apart when they could no longer breathe. Luckily Skip hadn't been paying attention, leafing absently through some magazine he'd swiped from the reception area. With one last glance, Bret disappeared into the hall and Jezebel sniffled slightly. These next couple months were going to be hell, she could tell. Retraining herself and learning to let go of old habits which had accumulated over the years couldn't be pleasant, she reasoned.

Skip put his magazine down and gazed at his daughter. "Well… guess I oughta let you rest some more, Li'l Bit. I'm gonna try cutting back on some of the bad stuff myself. You take care, and I'll be there to pick you up when it's over. 'Course you got the house phone and the shop phone, so's you can call anytime. I really do love you, baby-doll."

"Dad… please hug me," Jezebel requested in a tiny, faraway child-like voice. Skip looked slightly taken aback for a moment, gazing at her small frame curled up in the large hospital bed, but then moved to oblige, giving her a hearty, tight squeeze and even adding a kiss atop her head for good measure before he stood. She began to sniffle a little as he left, knowing vaguely what she was getting herself into; somewhere between being brought in the day before and now, she decided she would do all she could to get better. This thing was not going to beat her, and she was going to come out the other side of this ordeal stronger and in a better place than ever before.

She just hoped everyone would still be there for her when she came back.