Brothers: Part 2

Who: Jackson, Paul and Danny
Where: The Drunk Tank
When: So early in the morning it feels like night still.

Jackson had stalled the descent to the cells and paced for a while. Drunk coffee. Kicked over a trash can. Tried to regain a little composure. Failed miserably. Then he'd decided, fuck it, probably wasn't even Paul. Coincidence. So he'd marched down the stairs and into the cellblock, clanging metal harshly. They were empty, mostly. Some strung out hooker passed out in the far corner whimpered slightly as he clashed the rusty doors, and he winced at the sight of her. This time tomorrow, he hoped, she'd be out of a job and forced to find something a little more decent. Which got him to thinking, hadn't he promised some girl a job in the filing rooms? He'd have to go down when he got a moment and speak to the girls there.

He was stalling. He looked at the solid metal door that opened into the drunk tank and caught his breath slightly. Hell. This was a terrible idea. Jackson was not in a good mental state to deal with that evil, repulsive scumbag. He pressed his forehead against the door and groaned slightly. God damnit.

Paul's head was throbbing. He'd come out of the deep drunken sleep a short while earlier because of it, and now some stupid son of a bitch was banging his way through the place in the middle of the night. At first, that was a little disorienting, because he didn't have a clear memory of where he was, but when he opened his eyes, it wasn't too tough to figure out.

He groaned, sat partway up, and rubbed his face, wincing at the sore spots and the goose egg on his forehead. He was going to need a fix soon. Hopefully he hadn't done anything that would keep him locked up for too long. "People trying to sleep here!" he yelled out, but then the yelling made him wince.

Jackson looked up at the voice, his hands pressed against the door. He frowned. That... yeah.. He recognised that voice. He pulled the key out of his belt loop and with a tightly clenched jaw he unlocked the cell door with a loud click and pushed his way into the cell, not really prepared for the man inside to be who he was. Jackson simply gaped for a few moments, his fists clenched, unable to think of what to say. There were no words that could sum up the intense burning rage and hate that bubbled underneath his skin. "You," he said simply, staring at the bleary eyed man who was quite clearly his older brother, "Danny said it was you."

The door opened, and Paul ran his hands through his hair, trying to straighten out the bed head and feeling for more lumps and bruises. Then as he heard that voice, he looked up and just froze. Paul knew him instantly. Jackson seemed a hell of a lot bigger than he remembered, though. He didn't have anything to say. What was there to say? He simply sat there staring blankly. He really, really wasn't prepared for this.

"Get up," said Jackson simply, colour draining from his face, his knuckles clenched. He took a couple steps forewards. He wasn't going to pound the shit out of him while he sat there like a useless coward. He was going to fight him like a man - not that Paul was a man, but Jackson had standards about hitting someone when they were down - "Get on your feet, right now," his tone was dangerous - cold, hard, and very quiet.

Paul knew that look. He stiffly dragged himself up off the cot, intending to tell his brother he could just turn around and walk out and they wouldn't have to see each other again. They didn't have to think about it. Didn't have to remember. "Look, Jackie..."

Jackie. Even when he'd liked Paul, Jackie had not been a nickname he'd had fondness for. Jackie was a girl's name. He might have said something, if Paul hadn't dropped the J-bomb, but that was just the last thing on a pile of anger that was already overflowing massively. "I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING RAT!" bellowed Jackson, and he cannonballed at Paul with speed and strength he didn't think himself capable of.

Danny had headed down the cell block before Jackson, giving the guys working the block a break. Actually is was more of a "leave and don't come back until I tell you" sort of break. He was standing not far from Jackson, just outside the cell waiting just in case. Of course when Jack jumped Paul it caught Danny so off guard Jackson was already on Paul before Danny could grab him around the waist trying to pull him off.

Jackson was so blind in rage as he tackled Paul to the floor he hadn't even noticed Danny come in, and as Danny grabbed him and hauled him back, Jackson shot out a couple of kicks at Paul which didn't quite connect, and flailed, wrestling with Danny, "Get off of me! I'm going to fucking break his fucking neck! Get off!"

Paul hit the floor hard, but managed a couple of good swings. Well, he thought they were good. One of them hit the cot. He scrambled back onto the cot when Jack was pulled off of him, getting out of range of the kicks. "What the fuck, man!" He was standing, crouched in the corner on the pillow with his hands out in front of him. "What the fuck!"

"Stop squirming you dick," Danny managed to say just as he lost control of Jackson. "Don't do anything you'd regret!" It was a last ditch yell as he fell back, landing on his butt on the floor of the cell.

"This has nothing to do with you, and there is absolutely nothing I would regret about beating this slimebag's face into an unrecognisable fucking PULP!" Jackson yelled at Danny, taking strides towards Paul, his face going from white, to red, to kind of blotchy. It was an all-or-nothing kind of anger, "What did you do? What the fuck did you do this time? I'LL KILL YOU!" Jackson shrieked, everything releasing. The doll made sense. The doll, wearing the clothes she had worn when she'd been raped. The Jenny doll, and then Paul turns up again? He was going to skin the bastard alive, but he felt could hardly move he was so angry, his eyes refused to drag themselves away from Paul. There was nothing, nothing about that pathetic weasel-y unshaven face that didn't fill him with the most burning of rages.

"I didn't do shit!" He kicked at Jackson a few times trying to keep him back. "What the fuck!" He knew Jackson probably wouldn't welcome him with open arms, but what the hell was this? Paul hadn't done anything. Not anything to hurt them. He'd kept them safe for years by doing what he was told. He hopped a couple of times on the pillow, looking for an opening to run like hell through the open door, and kicking any time Jack got even a step closer. Paul had no interest in fighting Jackson, and wouldn't even if the guy wasn't huge and more pissed off than anyone he'd ever seen in his life.

Danny scrambled to his feet as best he could and spotting that Paul seemed to be eying the door--not that Danny could blame him--he shifted to cover it. The last thing he needed to do was lose a prisoner. "I'm gonna guess you probably did something. Jack's reason's don't always make sense, but he's always got them."

"You didn't do anything?" Jackson said incredulously, speaking somewhat over Danny, not even really registering he was in the room any more, "You might wanna rephrase that and tell it to MY BABY FUCKING SISTER!" Jackson screamed, loosing it again, and flying at Paul, ignoring the kicks, and just grabbing and pulling the man back to the floor, wailing his knuckles into whatever bodyparts were closest, as hard as he fucking could. At this point he didn't care if Paul hit back - he couldn't feel anything, he could just feel the hurt, the hurt, the hurt, and he didn't know any way to make it stop that wasn't hitting Paul until his knuckles disintegrated.

Paul kept yelling "I didn't do shit!" With everyone yelling, though, there wasn't a whole lot of listening. Then Jackson brought up Jenny... and Paul yelled back, "Our sister, fucker! I tried to get out..." and then he was on his back again. He did hit back, but not in any really effective way, since he was also trying to cover his head.

Jesus fucking Christ, Danny was starting to get too old for this nonsense. Again he lunched forward, grabbing at Jackson trying to keep him from murdering Paul, although the prisoner was starting to look like a used punching bag. The mention of Jack's sister surprised Danny a little. He knew the girl was sick and she required tending to, but he had no idea why. Jackson didn't really go into details, no matter how drunk he got.

Jackson wasn't even aware of the fact that he had tears streaming down his face, if he had been he probably would've freaked out even worse. He'd been holding his shit together by the thinnest of threads for the last few days and really, seeing Paul again after such a long time... it was too much. "She's not your sister, you don't get to go anywhere near her, you don't even get to think about her you evil, sick, twisted bastard. You didn't even fucking come to the hospital. You vanished, after everything that you did, you disgusting fucking COWARD!" Jackson said, sounding hoarse, shaky, broken. He didn't struggle against Danny this time, and he was shaking. He didn't know what to do. He felt like he was a teenager again, it was all falling apart all over...oh God.

Paul lay on the floor bleeding and crying. He had stopped fighting back at some point before Danny pulled his brother off of him again. "After all I did? I taught her to tie her damn shoes.. taught her and you both to ride your bikes. I chased away the monster in the closet.... How the hell could I go to the hospital? How could I come back? I made sure they didn't do it again... I made sure."

Danny was baffled. Not long ago Jackson had been trying to throw Danny around his office and now he was standing over his bloodied brother with tears streaming. Thankfully he'd gone willingly this time at least. "Jack?" The question was loaded, could Danny trust Jackson enough to let the guy go, was he going to be ok?

Jackson just stared at Paul. Was he fucking kidding? He didn't give a fuck about their family. He had ruined everything. He had destroyed their entire family unit... and that was his feeble excuse? Jackson felt his fists reclenching. He wanted to break him. Break every single bone in his body, burst every blood vessle, make him understand what pain meant.

But Jackson was not a killer.

"Danny," he said shakily, pulling his gaze away from Paul, unable to stomach looking at him without the wave of nausea and rage, "If you don't take me out of this room I am going to kill him, and I won't turn myself into a criminal for him. I won't do it. He's not fucking worth it. He's not worth anything. And, hey, guess what?" he spat back at Paul, with pure spite, "Once was enough, you fucking mook. Come anywhere near me again, and I'll tear your face off and feed it you."

Paul knew well that once was enough. More than enough. And that it was his fault. "I thought it would be me. I couldn't do what they wanted and I thought it was gonna be me." He curled up, pulling his arm against his chest and rubbing at the mixed blood and tears in his eyes. "It was supposed to be me."

Danny had Jackson by the arm, tugging him out of the cell so he could close the door behind him. Once there were bars between them Danny actually felt like he could breath again. For a minute there he really though that Jackson might kill Paul. He was going to have to seriously explain himself.

Jackson kicked the cell door and cursed, he hadn't even really heard Paul whinging as he left - but no doubt it was something lame, and pointless, because he was an uncareing, soulless, cowardly fucker. Jackson tried to cut off his train of thought and simply looked at Danny, with an apologetic sort of flavour to his rage. "You shouldn't have gotten involved. But I'm glad you did."

"Not a problem," Danny said, clapping a hand on Jackson's shoulder. Danny himself would be in pain tomorrow, not as bad off as either Jackson or Paul, but still hurting. He was getting too damn old for this.

Left alone in the cell, Paul just lay there, forced to think of all the things he spent almost all of his energy avoiding thinking about. He had run from more than his brother's righteous anger back then. He had run from all of it. From all of the things that would have come with taking responsibility for what had happened, though he still couldn't think of it that way. He had tried to run from his own guilt, but never quite managed to get away from that.