So, I was originally going to wait to post this until I had already had a decent start on my other fic 'Family' because it is in the process of going through a major reboot, but I wanted to post something new so I could let people know that chapters 1-4 on 'Family' have been updated. Fanfiction doesn't let you guys know when I fix a chapter, and I didn't want anyone to be overwhelmed with new content. So if any of you want to stay updated on that situation, there you go!

Okay, I also wanted to put some darker and more mature themes in 'Family' but I didn't want to change the rating again so that's what this fic is for! Beware, there will be some smut and rape in future chapters. Of course, I will let you know when that stuff comes up and I'll make it possible to skip over without missing much.

…

Jack fell off a ladder. A tall ladder, one he had to jump to just to reach the first rung-and given his height, that was saying something. The ladder wasn't his, no, it sat screwed into the side of a mildewed-brick building. It was the slick, green substance that made him slip, for when he came to a rung split down the middle he opted to kick at the wall with his feet to propel himself upwards-but that didn't work out. It was times like that when he wished he had the ability to fly.

He laid on his back gazing up in defeat at the ladder extending up into the humid, low-hanging clouds. A heavy sigh escaped from his lips. His head had cracked against the pavement and a loud ringing sounded in his ears, making the rest of the world around him look like an old, noiseless, black and white movie.

Just vanishing over the top of the ladder, a voice shouted down to him: "You're going to have to be faster than that, Frost!"

Jack thought about yelling back to the other boy, but the pain in his head made his snide comment die in his throat. It was a game the two of them played. Definitely not a very nice one, but it was a game nonetheless. Oftentimes Jack was declared the winner, but on days like these where the weather seemed warmer and the white-haired boy had spent most of the night keeping a watchful eye on the other homeless people occupying the alleyway, he just didn't have it in him to keep up. Besides, he had to watch out for the other people. The last time he fell asleep to early, he was woken up again by some drunk bastard trying to slip off Jack's clothes.

Jack didn't move from his spot on the ground but instead enjoyed the cool sensation of the shaded concrete on the back of his head. It wasn't regular that Jack got a chance to relax. After all, growing up on the streets wasn't as laid back a lifestyle as it was cracked up to be. There was a time Jack could just vaguely remember having everything, and wanting nothing. Now he stayed up well into the night sparing harsh glances at the drowsy drunks that walked out of the nearby bar, and stopped to eye at him suggestively.

He thinks it has something to do with his white hair. It certainly wasn't a normal hair color to have, but he has to keep insisting it's natural. When did people stop believing in things just because they seemed improbable? The Cold War. Maybe that did it. The Red Scare, unbridled fear of communism, that had to be it, Jack thought to himself. He didn't know for sure, but it passed enough time to wonder, didn't it?

By now, the sun had gotten unbearably hot, and Jack was forced to get up. He took his time standing up and dusting the dirt off his blue hoodie and brown pants. Not that it did much-he was always covered in some kind of dirt now a days.

Jack made a half-hearted effort to scan the area for any signs of his friend, Peter, but he didn't see him. So Jack went off on his own.

He was just about to walk into the street, when a band of shouting voices approached him. They sounded like they were running, and usually that didn't mean anything good, so Jack ducked back into the alley behind a wall until the voices passed. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw an older man in his late thirties getting chased down the street by two men in pressed suits. It definitely wasn't an odd thing to see-gangs tracking down people who they thought stepped out of line. By how the chased man panted and kept stealing nervous glances at the gaining men over his shoulder, Jack guessed this guy was in some deep shit.

Jack shrank back into the alley thinking he should wait awhile longer before stepping into broad daylight. He didn't have any beef with any of the gang bosses at large in the city, but that didn't mean it was impossible for him to get dragged into something. And orphans were a pretty easy target, too.

The smell of pies, cake, and bread wafted from the bakery across the street and Jack couldn't help but melt when it reached his nostrils. His stomach growled for added effect-which only did to worsen Jack's growing knowledge of just how damn hungry he was. He groaned inwardly at his inability to keep himself under control. Just how pathetic can I get? Jack thought.

Against his better judgment, Jack stepped closer to the street, peering around the corner for any sudden movements or other tell-tale signs of trouble. Seeing nothing, Jack cautiously made his way into the sidewalk and looked both ways twice before he crossed the street. Every so often, a particularly loud sound-a baby wailing, a trash can being kicked over, a car honking-jolted the boy out of his concentration and caused him to freeze in his tracks. Of course, from experience, he learned freezing in your tracks was not a good idea. It was always better to keep running, even if you were limping.

With a sigh of relief, Jack found himself standing in front of the epicenter for ever tantalizingly-delicious smell within a three mile radius. Peering through the window while trying not look at all suspicious, he noticed how empty the shop was. Rather than thinking of why it was empty, Jack saw it as a stroke of good luck and decided to go on in.

A shrill bell dinged twice when Jack pushed open the door. Immediately, he felt like he had more attention than he wanted; his presence had never been alerted like that and he didn't like the new spotlight. Over in the corner, a man sat behind an unfolded newspaper that obscured his entire face. Next to the man, stood another at his side looking out the large shop window, and in the other open seat sat one more. Those were the store's only occupants-save for the store manager and one employee of course. Now that Jack saw how empty it really was, he wasn't sure if that would make his job a whole lot easier or a whole lot harder.

The white-haired boy huffed when he realized he stood out now more than ever. No going back now though.

Jack walked over to the counter when the manager disappeared in a back room and the employee had her back turned counting money from the register. Now.

An array of pastries and different types of breads were spread out across the display counter in glass coverings. There were a few items left uncovered and Jack chose those to be his target of focus. He strolled over as casually and purposefully as he could, hopefully to give the impression that he might be a potentially paying customer. Keyword: potentially.

The employee didn't look up or turn around and Jack didn't hear any rustling newspaper; he was in the clear. He walked up to the counter and as discreetly as possible, began stuffing the cakes into his hoodie pocket. This wasn't his thought at that exact moment, but that icing smearing into the blue fabric of his hoodie would be a bitch to get off later. Jack finished filling his pockets just as the manager walked back out. "Hey!" the man shouted and caught the entire shop's attention.

Shit! Jack scrambled to pull himself together and rushed out the door and down the street before the more overweight manager could even get around the counter. The younger boy laughed to himself when he saw no one chasing after him. He released a sigh of relief and went to take a shortcut back to one of the back alleys to eat his dinner.

Back in the shop, the man sat down his newspaper, the pages crinkling as he did so. The shop manager rubbed a dirty rag across his sweaty brow in irritation while he inspected the damage done. There wasn't much of anything out of place: maybe a table was pushed a few inches off, and maybe there were a few empty spaces in the neatly arranged cake display. But that was it. E. Aster Bunnymund was impressed.

"Hey boss?" the man sitting in the chair next to him asked, "Should we go after him?"

Aster mulled it over for a second, humming lightly in thought. "Sure. Why not? He's an interesting fella, isn't he?" the boss decided. "If anything, ya know I'm always looking for more obedient underlings. You saw where he went, didn't ya?" Aster addressed the man at the window.

"I did."

"Great," Aster smiled and put out the cigar he had held between his teeth. "And ya know what to do if he's difficult, just to don't scratch up 'is face too much, I happen to like looking at it."

With that the Australian gang boss got up from his chair and lit a new cigar for his walk to the car. The bell chimed when he left the store and disappeared down the street. His men stayed behind and gathered their belongings, taking extra care to make sure their carry-ons were loaded and concealed appropriately. Cops didn't go out of their way to catch them so long as they didn't advertise.

The two men left the store a few minutes later, setting to the street to begin looking for the teenager with noticeably white hair-he wouldn't be hard to find at all.

….

Jack sat on top of a metal window sill low to the ground with his acquired goods balanced on his stomach. Some people would get tired of hearing sugar so often, maybe ever to the point they would be begging for vegetables-but not Jack. He would never get tired of living off junk food and pastries and half eaten dinner left-overs from the dump outside the Italian pasta restaurant two blocks over. Things always tasted so much better when you didn't have to pay for them.

Jack was just about to take another bite out of the cake in his hand when he heard two pairs of footsteps enter the alley. How did I not notice?

Without moving a muscle, Jack stared at the two men waiting to see if they would do something. Then, after a few minutes of petrified staring, Jack realized he recognized these two men. He also realized why the store had been so empty.

Everyone across the city knew about the rising gang bosses and their growing influence with the people. There were the Russians who occupied most of the northern part of the city. They got their start with a group of Russian immigrant who built up their reputation as thieves and later evolved it into something more formal and reputable, I suppose you could say. Jack had seen them the most since he liked to stick around the northern area simply for its lack of sunlight and cooler summers. Every so often Jack saw one on the street and even without knowing the person, you could guess they were with the Russian mafia based on the sheer amount of facial hair and surprising tolerance for alcohol. All of them had a sort of gruff, ruffian type of look that was instantly recognizable to anyone who knew what to look for.

Then there was the gang run by a woman on the eastern part of the city. It was known for its demographic and cultural diversity within its ranks because the leader, Toothiana, made a point of allowing all sorts of peoples into her good graces. Many of her more trusted members were female, but that didn't at all stop people from fearing them all the same as the Russians. Toothiana had grown up in a wealthy, upper class family, with strong discriminative ways-or so the rumor goes-and out of her irritation she joined a small street gang and began her string of crime while making a point to leave behind a few colored feathers-her calling card.

The Russian and Colored gangs had a known relationship with each other. Apparently the two bosses were old drinking buddies, but another rumor claimed them to more than just 'buddies.'

As of recent, a new gang in the west recently emerged-one made up of Australian immigrants with thick accents and intimidating glares. It was safe to say they easily became friends with the Russian mob and soon their boss too was in a dim bar booth with the two other gang leaders sipping assortments of whiskey and vodka and taking slow puffs from exotic cigars.

They formed a mutually beneficial relationship doing favors out of kindness for one another. Each had the decency to not be too demanding or absurd with requests so it worked out perfectly. All of the diverse groups managed to balance each other out pretty well.

But there was another gang-one of the firsts, even before the Russians took their power. This particular mob manifested in the deep south of the city where few people lived because of how the area's economic state promoted a surplus of crime and is now only occupied by remnants of broken beer bottles and discarded plastic shopping bags. Even more people fled the area when the gang reached its high point out of fear for its violent ways, often promoting more crime than they could scare off. Jack himself had never seen any of them, he thought it was hard enough trying to get by in the west-where he spent most of his time-he didn't want to think about just how much worse it could get.

So Jack still stood rooted to his spot while he watched the men approach him. He thought about booking out of there, but the bulge in their chests underneath the black suits they wore suggested he would be safer not trying that. They got closer with every step until they were just a few feet in front of him. It was at this horrible time that Jack thought he should at least try to get out of there. With lightning-fast reflexes, he jerked from his spot, dropping the left-overs of his meal onto the ground, and made to take off in the opposite direction. But one of the men grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt, choking him with the collar and then throwing him back against the pavement.

Jack heard his back smack against the concrete and had to stifle a scream. A burning pain shot up his spine where he skid along the fine mixture of small rocks and he was certain that he would have a bruise, scrape, or both in a few short hours. The men walked up again, this time the other man landed a swift punch to Jack's stomach and another to the side of his face. So much for keeping the boy's face scratch-free.

Jack couldn't do much to fight back since he was disoriented and in too much pain to even shout for help. Not that anyone would want to help an orphaned street-rat, but it was nice to think someone would.

The men each took one of Jack's arms and threw them around their necks to support the boy while they dragged him to their car parked down the street. To the unsuspecting eye, the laid-back position would only appear they were good friends taking a nice stroll together. And not that two were a couple of mobsters dragging a beaten teenager into the backseat of their car.

….

Aster waited patiently for his men to return. The whole evening he spent thinking about the kid. He didn't understand why, but he thought it might have something to do with the pure whiteness of the boy's hair. Never had Aster seen anything like it. He wasn't going to lie, that kid looked annoying as hell, I mean, who steals from a sophisticated pastry shop when there's a perfectly run down Readi-Mart right next door? But at least the kid was an ambitious bastard, Aster thought he could probably at least get some sort of mild amusement out of the kid.

Just then his men stumbled through the door with a limp form draped across their shoulders. The pair of suits knelt down as close as their aging knees would take them to the floor and dropped Jack the rest of the way.

"Careful mates, we don't want to kill 'im. At least not without a reason, of course," Aster reprimanded them. He approached the white-haired figure lying motionlessly there on the floor. The first thing Aster noticed was the bruise forming on the boy's jaw and how beautifully the purples and blues contrasted with the stark-paleness of his skin. "I thought I told you not to mark up his face?" Aster asked, albeit not so much caring about it anymore now that he saw how the boy pulled the look off well.

"Sorry boss. He tried to run."

"As expected," Aster laughed while raking his eyes across the boy's figure. Just then, a skittish man ran into Aster's office with a stack of papers.

"Sir! We have a big problem with our finances-I caught an inaccuracy with-" the man started spouting but Aster cut him off.

Aster, now angry for being disturbed, especially with his new toy, yelled, "Phil, I'm not in the mood to pretend I like ya today. If it isn't something extremely important, don't bother me with it. Go ahead and put the files on my desk and I'll get to it when I get to it. Now leave."

The anxious man jumped when Aster barked at him but left the papers on his boss's desk and skittered out the door. When he was gone, Aster groaned and massaged his temples in exasperation while grumbling about a 'bloody groundhog-looking bastard.'

"What should we do with the kid, boss?" one of his men asked.

"Put him in my room," Aster instructed after being roused from his own negative thoughts. "And for the love of God cuff 'im or something so I don't 'ave to worry about him escaping," he added while watching as the men collaboratively picked Jack back up and carried him out of the room.

Things should get a lot more interesting around here, Aster thought to himself. Of course, he also expected to get a lot of trouble from the brat too, he could tell the kid would be one to cause mischief.

…

Feedback would be great because this is my first time posting something like this so your reviews are greatly appreciated. I promise Sandy will come in later, I just wanted to get things going first. Phil is the groundhog-as you might have already guessed; I got the name 'Phil' from the movie Groundhog Day. And Peter who was mentioned at the beginning is Peter as in Peter Pan; I just didn't want to make an OC. He won't come up very much though.

Thanks for reading!

~BSotM

(As a side note, I want to thank the guest reviewer who pointed out that I screwed up Bunny being Australian. I'm honestly not sure where the whole Irish thing came from and I'm punching myself in the face because of how stupid a mistake that was. That just goes to show how long I've been away from this fandom. So thanks again! )