Well, the story continues on. I honestly have no idea what I want to say here... Thanks to Zickachik as usual! Still working on that award!

Disclaimer: The usual.

On with the show!

I don’t remember passing out, but I woke up sprawled out on the couch, blinking up at the stained roof. The just-barely-awake haze slowly faded and I fought to stay loose and as still as possible. I knew my back was in shreds and the weight of my own body would be putting me in enough pain in a few minutes. I steeled myself to the pain as it slowly began pulsing through my body. I knew there was no way I was moving today even though the only thing I wanted to do was get as far away from this place as possible.

I wasn’t going to be going into work today, either. That didn’t really bother me with how shitty I was beginning to feel. What bothered me was that sooner or later Evelina was going to make me feel real pain if I laid here vulnerable all day. She did that anytime I was laid up after a beating. I never bothered complaining to Pop. Ten bucks says he would go after Curly in retaliation. So I kept my trap shut because Curly didn’t deserve to get beat because his mother was a moron. He didn’t deserve to get beat because Pop liked to keep things even. He didn’t deserve to get beat because I was worthless and deserved what I got.

So I stared at the ceiling until I heard someone moving around. Pop was probably at work by now so that left me with only Shepards to expect. I was tensed and the pain was just getting worse, but if I moved, the pain I would be in would make me wish for the pain I was in now. So I waited, knowing the fascination the Shepard clan had with injuries. If it was bloody, they were interested.

Suddenly Tim’s face loomed over mine and I flinched. Damn if that didn’t hurt…everything. Tim frowned at me and I tried not to let anything show on my face. I don’t think I pulled it off.

“You look like a piece of meat through the shredder,” he commented while I just tried to keep my breathing even but too shallow to jar my ribs. “He use the buckle end?”

I shifted my gaze away, not really remembering if I took the buckle or the leather the whole time. I’d felt the buckle at the beginning, but Pop didn’t need the state looking in on this, so he may have switched before he cut me up too bad. The only difference was the buckle end could tear your skin open like nothing else and the leather just left you with welts that sometimes bled. Either way, it hurt. Pop had never been that vicious with me before. Usually I took my licks, got cut up a little, and took a beating. I’d never felt my back bloody enough to feel suctioned to the back of the couch like this. If Tim’s consideration was anything to go on, I wasn’t doing so hot.

Tim simply nodded like he already knew the answer. He looked from my right eye to my left and I wanted to chuckle. Tim Shepard may have dropped out and couldn’t tell you what the capitol of the country was, but he’d seen enough injuries to be a pretty good field doctor. Whether it was at home or out with his gang, Tim had seen enough to be an authority on concussions, contusions, abrasions, burns, and broken bones. He was often the one around here that made the calls when it came to professional help or bed rest. I figured that I’d leave that to him. I didn’t ever want to be an authority on anything so gruesome.

We stared at each other for a few minutes. Right then, it didn’t matter that I was Chet’s pain-in-the-ass kid brother or Tim’s pain-in-the-ass, unwelcome house guest or even the guy he nearly tussled with over breakfast yesterday. Right then, I was just the beat-up kid on his couch and I was miserable. He’d help me. Whoever said Tim Shepard didn’t have a heart really wasn’t that far off. He did do responsibility, though, and today, it was his responsibility to take care of this before it got worse. To say he knew his mother well was an understatement.

“C’mon. Let’s get you up,” he sighed.

I shook my head and gritted my teeth at the movement. Great, another concussion.

Tim was looking like he was thinking on something and I wondered what I could have given him to think on.

“Either that or wait for Curly, but I doubt he’ll be home before Mom,” he told me.

I nodded and Tim smirked down at me slightly. I braced myself and tried to stay loose without being as weightless as a dead fish as Tim pulled me up. I yelped in pain when I was separated from the couch cushions and Tim cursed, muttering about the damn couch. I glanced back and was pretty sure the couch was going to be covered in bloodstains until we threw the damn thing out. At least it beat smelling like vomit. Tim hardened his features and threw my left arm over his shoulders. My right one came up to protect my ribs and I was sure Pop kicked me with his boots on again. What I wouldn’t have done for a drink or twelve.

“C’mon, we’re going on a car ride,” Tim told me, helping me limp to the front door.

“Car ride?” I wheezed.

“Unless you want me to sew your back up,” he replied. “Jake has much neater stitches.”

I moaned in pain from both moving and the thought of someone stitching my back up. I hated stitches. I could feel the cuts reopening as we walked, though, and I willed myself to keep taking slow and deliberate steps. Tim let me set the pace, so it took a lot longer to get to the drive way than it should have. I was pretty sure I was going to fall over before we made it, but Tim was stubborn. That was one thing Tim and Chet had in common. I often wondered what things would be like if they’d just work together. Tim was young and could easily be incorporated and Chet always needed good people. It would have worked out well for the pair of them. They were just greedy.

I figured that was the concussion talking and forgot all about that train of thought when Tim helped me into the car. I think I passed out again because the next thing I knew, both Tim and Calligher were helping me out of the car again. I whimpered at the movement until they finally set me down in the back room of their clubhouse where there was a bed, well, a cot anyways.

“Hey, you should wake up now, Blake,” Calligher advised.

I wanted to say something rude to him, but all I managed to do was try and push him away with my left arm. He was playing touchy-feely along my ribs and it was like being prodded with ten finger-sized bricks.

“He should be at the hospital,” Calligher said, glaring at Tim.

“We don’t have the money,” Tim told him and I wanted to back him up. I hated hospitals.

“Then you should take him to his other brother. I’m sure he has money,” Calligher said, jabbing my stomach, and I groaned loudly.

“And you think I’d walk back out alive if I drug him up there looking like that?” Tim shook his head. “Just sew him up. Worse comes to worst and we’ll take him north, but that’s only if he’s going to die on us.”

Calligher bit his lip, looking down at me with pity in his eyes. “Let get some alcohol in him.”

Now, see, this is one of those times I liked Jakob Calligher. I could go for a bottle of whiskey. When Tim handed Calligher a bottle of Bourbon, I knew I wasn’t going to get to enjoy this at all. Tim helped pull me up and Calligher tried to force-feed me the bottle. I twisted my head a few times until I was dizzy and leaned my head back on Tim’s shoulder, panting. Calligher had no problems then and I coughed and sputtered around the foul drink. It seemed like no time later I was feeling fuzzy. It didn’t last long. I was suddenly on my front, screaming and bucking at the searing pain in my back. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what they did with the other half of the bottle. There was sobbing and tears and it was undignified and sissy as hell, but finally, I found unconsciousness again for the second or third time.

When I woke up again, I was still face first in the cot. Everything was back to that hazy phase. I knew in a few minutes that everything would at least be a dull throb, and that was if I was lucky.

I blinked and looked around the room, wondering why Tim hadn’t tossed me off at home yet. He didn’t like me in his clubhouse. I figured he’d like it even less if I was laid up here. And from the way I was feeling, there was nothing in this world that could have forced me to move anymore than was necessary.

“Hey, Kiddo.”

I closed my eyes. I did not need Jake Calligher trying to be nice to me. He should just leave me to my own misery.

“You should wake up. Hard part’s over,” he told me, laying a hand on my shoulder.

I wanted to ask for whom, but then the smell of Bourbon hit my nose and my eyes flew open. I was going to be sick if he even brought the bottle up to my face.

“What’s the matter?” he asked and I swallowed audibly.

The ironic bit was I was parched.

“You want some of this?” he asked, looking puzzled and holding the bottle up from where it was on the floor by the bed.

I closed my eyes tight, trying not to take in the smell. I couldn’t stomach Bourbon. I’d drank a lot of it just after Mom died and the resulting alcohol poisoning I ended up in the hospital with was enough to put me off the stuff for forever. The fact Pop beat me for it when he got me home and then made me drink even more of the stuff until I was sick again didn’t help.

“Well, you’re cut off,” Calligher’s voice cut through my nostalgia. “Water and Aspirin from here on out. We need to thicken your blood up again.”

I felt myself slump in relief. I could do water and I could do Aspirin. Calligher brushed my forehead and I opened my eyes to shoot him a glare.

“No fever, which is good,” he pointed out needlessly. “I think you’ll survive this one.”

I nodded slightly. Someone told me once that dying didn’t hurt, that if I could still feel something, than my sorry ass was still alive. Wish I remembered who.

“You know, Tim and I were talking while we worked to get your back into once piece yesterday,” he started and sat down on a chair close to the cot. “We’re going to take you to your Dad’s place tomorrow.”

I blinked at him. I could have kissed him. I wanted nothing more than to just curl up in my own bed and forget about my Pop for good. The only problem was, Pop always came for me when I ran away home and it was always worse when he caught up to me. That was the reason I never left Chez Shepard permanently. If Tim approved of the idea, though, it wouldn’t take much convincing to make Pop believe my birthday was in September instead of November, especially if he was drunk.

But I had another problem. Chet gave me a job to do and as much as I hated it, this was the opening I had been waiting for. All I had to do was convince Calligher. So I did the hardest thing I think I’d ever had to do – I turned him down.

“What do you mean, no?” he asked and I let out a little sigh, noticing my ribs were bandaged along with the cuts on my back.

“I can’t,” I rasped. “Just come an’ get me again.”

“Tim thinks he’ll let you go this time. You’re nearly eighteen,” Calligher pointed out needlessly since I knew exactly how old I was.

I guess it must have been news to Calligher, though. I didn’t look seventeen. I still looked like I was about to hit the same growth spurt Curly did at sixteen. It was a Blake trait. We hit our spurts late right around eighteen. Height, muscle and the need to shave all hit then and that was the end of it. I still looked like a kid, but like Curly said, I still looked like I was dangerous.

“No.” I shook my head.

“C’mon, Blake. He might just kill you next time,” Calligher sighed like I was a tiring child.

I laid my head back on the pillow; miserable with the fact it was a very real possibility.

“I need help,” I said softly, hating how young it sounded to my own ears.

“That’s what we’re trying to do,” he replied, but I shook my head. “What do you need help with then?”

“I have to get away,” I told him, pulling out the most pathetic mask I could muster and I don’t think I had to try very hard. “I need help.”

Calligher watched me for a moment before what I was asking for seemed to sink in through that thick skull of his.

“That ship has sailed one too many times, Danny,” he told me with a shake of his head.

“Please!” I choked. “I need enough to get away. I need to get out of Tulsa.”

“And you think you’re going to finally bury the hatchet with Tim and take a cut?” he shook his head again. “He won’t let you in on the business, not now. You told him off too many times, Danny.”

“I can do it,” I told him.

I really could. It didn’t take a moron to traffic drugs in Tulsa. Case in point: Tim and his lackeys. I’d turned it down in the past because the fuzz had my number and Chet made sure I understood that the only drugs I was ever going to touch were on his orders. He told me he didn’t need me addicted to the stuff or trying to make deals with people who could kill me. He’d seen too much of that and so had I.

“Once I get a couple cuts, I can leave!” I told him.

“It won’t happen, Danny,” he told me and I took a long breath. This was harder than I thought it would be.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I told him in a whisper. “I need out.”

“Why can’t you ask your other brother for money then? I’m sure he’d help you out of Tulsa.”

I let out a little laugh and winced as it made my muscles ache. “You think they give a hang about me?”

“I was under that impression, yes.”

“Then why do I keep getting beat? Why am I here instead of with him and Dad? It would be an easy bribe,” I told him. “They told me to stay. They don’t want me. And I don’t want them, either.”

Part of that was the truth, but the whole thing hurt to say. I met Calligher’s eyes and they were full of pity. I closed my eyes.

“Please. I can do this. One month and I’d be free.”

“Danny…”

“I don’t want to die.”

That’s when Calligher stood up and left the room. Either I’d pushed too hard or just enough. I didn’t get my answer until hours later when I was sleeping again. Tim cleared his throat loudly and I blinked at him, wondering how long he’d been sitting by the cot.

“Jake may be a push over, but I’m not,” he started off, sharp and right to the point. “You want to run drugs for me. Why?”

“I need to get out of here.”

“So go north and beg off them.”

“They abandoned me a long time ago,” I told him, adding bitterness to my voice.

Tim leaned back in his chair, frowning at me. When I was first placed with Pop, I’d gone on and on about Chet and what a great brother he was and how I was going to go to him and live up north with the rest of the Kings. Tim had always told me to just do it then. I think he was sick of hearing about Chet fairly quickly. The longer I was there, the less I talked about anything, but I was always quick to tell him how great Chet was. It was easy to assume that after so long I was disillusioned.

“Facing facts finally, huh, Blake?” he taunted.

“Shut up,” I growled at him and he smirked.

“You remember what I asked you the last time you told me no?”

“Yeah.”

Tim had asked me if I could sell in the North. I knew I could, I just didn’t want to. Like I said, Chet kept me on a tight leash when it came to drugs.

“You think you can do it?” he asked. “It’s been a long time since you were up there.”

“I still know people.” I nodded. “It won’t take much if your prices are right. Chet charges dealer fees, so the dealers charge more for the product. They’d pay for a competitive product without a fee.”

Tim seemed to be mulling it over. He finally looked at me and I kept his gaze.

“You fuck this up and I’ll just let you bleed to death next time,” he told me and I nodded. “And if you get me in trouble with that brother of yours, I’ll make sure you don’t eat another meal without a straw.”

I nodded again. Chet would pull me out before it got that far.

“Now, about these north side buyers – ”

“I need to make a few calls. I can have you a list by…what day is it?”

Tim sent me a long look. “Take your time. When you can move to the phone, you can start.”

I nodded, feeling my eyes droop. I was finally getting somewhere with this damned assignment. And all it took was a lot of blood and a lot of pain. I’d have to remember that the next time I went to get myself in the middle of Chet and Tim’s business again.

Yet again, still working on the next chapter! Hopefully that will be up soon and I can get off Zickahik's sad chapter list!

Any comments at all are welcome and flames accepted!

Tens & Zickachik