A/N: A second story. Who knew I had another one in my head? It's part of the same universe as my first (called "The Incident"). I recommend you check it out before starting this one to really understand Deeks' current state of mind, but if not, you'll catch up soon enough about recent events in his life.

I should also warn those who read "The Incident" that this story is quite different. I've moved from family fluffiness to full on angst and hurt/comfort. (Keep in mind that Frank Military is my favorite of the shows' writers.) I was surprised at how bloodthirsty I turned out to be, so if you don't enjoy the genre, this story probably isn't for you. The good news is that drafts of all 20 chapters are already written so updates should post weekly, and I promise to leave Deeks mostly better off than I found him.

Story warnings apply for language (more than the actual show), violence (about as much as the actual show), really heinous ideas espoused by the bad guys, and an occasional chapter-ending cliffhanger. No major warnings apply to this short opening chapter.

City of the dead
At the end of another lost highway
Signs misleading to nowhere
City of the damned
Lost children with dirty faces today
No one really seems to care

-"City of the Damned," Part II of "Jesus of Suburbia," Green Day

. . .

The late morning sun washed across his face as Marty Deeks stepped out of the New Directions Homeless Shelter. Summer didn't really get started in L.A. until August, and this mid-June day had begun unseasonably cool. As he pulled his worn green army jacket over his t-shirt, he paused to soak in the warmth and reflect on how lucky he was. Volunteering down on Skid Row never ceased to fill him with gratitude for his safe and happy life, made complete by his wife Kensi, his adopted son Derrick, and his sixteen-month-old baby girl Delilah. He had everything he ever wanted, more than he ever thought he deserved. Striving to be the kind of father he could only wish he'd had, and savoring every special second with his children, had brought him more joy than he ever expected to experience.

Within a few minutes, fifteen-year-old Derrick followed him out of the building and came to stand beside him. Since Deeks' retirement from LAPD, he had been working part-time as an attorney representing non-profit organizations like the shelter. Today had not been spent in his legal role, but instead he and Derrick had come in to help process donations to the shelter's food pantry. They'd been volunteering together like this for a couple months, Deeks wanting to teach Derrick about giving back to those in need. The boy had experienced more than his fair share of tragedy in his young life, losing his arms dealer father and NCIS executive director mother to violent deaths, and Deeks wanted him to see that no matter how rough you thought you had it, it could always be worse. A change of perspective could change your whole outlook on life. Derrick had eagerly taken to the work, sometimes helping with the manual labor like today, but most often tutoring kids whose family's troubles had caused them to fall behind on their schoolwork.

"Where'd we park again?" asked Deeks.

"The lot on Seventh," Derrick reminded him. He'd grown much more aware of details like this since getting his learner's permit six weeks ago.

"You wanna get tacos at Guisado's before we head home?" Deeks asked, receiving a big smile in response.

As they plunged themselves back into the loud and chaotic Skid Row streets filled with traffic and people and cluttered with makeshift shelters, an older white man with closely shorn grey hair walking past them in the opposite direction suddenly stopped and called out in a scratchy voice, "Gentry! What are you doing down here?" The man squinted at Derrick with suspicion. "And who's your friend?" His jeans and t-shirt showed off his wiry physique and his many tattoos, the most prominent being a chain of interlinked red swastikas and black iron crosses that appeared to wrap completely around his neck.

At the mention of his alter ego, Deeks froze in his tracks. A chill ran down his spine and his mouth went dry. His mind struggled to process the collision occurring between his past and present. He turned to fully face the man, having already recognized him by the sound of his voice alone. The knowledge that he brought danger leapt to the forefront of his thoughts. He needed to protect Derrick at all costs and he instinctively stepped in front of the boy. The idea of declaring himself LAPD and flashing his badge and gun flitted through his mind, but the fact that he was no longer LAPD and had no badge or gun forced him to abandon the tactic.

Instead he just replied, "Ripley. Long time no see." The adrenaline coursing through his veins made it harder to control his reactions, and while he tried to make his voice match Max's calm and collected tone, he doubted he'd succeeded.

The man called Ripley seemed to dismiss Derrick as a point of interest and said to Deeks, "I haven't seen you in a minute. Where you been? Did you just get out? Are you back with Benny?" He leaned in toward Deeks, the smell of nicotine oozing from his pores, and whispered, "Were you in on his big score? Real military grade stuff, am I right?"

Deeks' stomach sank at Ripley's news, knowing it meant he couldn't just brush the man off and get back to his life. Benjamin Johnson was a weapons dealer from Deeks' days as an undercover LAPD detective, and he knew he needed to find out more about Benny's "score," even as his gut screamed at him to take Derrick and run in the opposite direction. It felt like he was being slammed years backward in time and into a past life.

Without looking back at his son, he said, "Derrick, go back inside for a minute, OK? I need to talk in private. I'll come get you in just a sec." Derrick appeared puzzled by the whole exchange and more than a little concerned, but the unusual firmness of Deeks' voice, its slight edge, eliminated any possibility of debate. Derrick turned and headed back into the shelter, looking back at Deeks several times as if to question the order.

"Who's the kid anyway?" asked Ripley.

Deeks' mind raced for a response that would keep Derrick from coming under any increased scrutiny. "I came down here looking for a friend, and the kid has information about him. I was taking him out for a meal to see what I could get out of him."

A look of distaste passed over Ripley's face, but he seemed satisfied by the explanation.

Momentarily relieved, Deeks focused on what he needed to know to end the conversation. "I just got back into town, I'm actually looking for work." Lowering his voice conspiratorially, he said, "Tell me more about Benny's haul. Where'd it come from?"

"Oh," Ripley laughed out. "That's quite a story. It involves some Pendleton ghost skins and the badass hijacking skills of some of Johnson's newest members."

"Hmmm, good for him. He always was a hard worker looking to take his tribe bigger and better," Deeks complimented, his stomach twisting as he spewed out the bullshit. "So you think he could use some help? Someone with my expertise?"

"Gentry, you may never have been a true believer, but you are useful, that's for sure. Remember that time when those Old Town Locos tried to kick us out of their territory?"

At the mention of a dark moment from Max's past, Deeks fought to respond. He knew he needed to project Max's confident, cocky self, but at the moment he felt the exact opposite. "Mm hmm," he simply replied. "Good times." Thank goodness Max was a man of few words. Trying to end the conversation, he prompted Ripley, "Where can I find Benny?"

"He's still down in the South Bay. He and the boys are doing a lot of riding, been hanging out at Godmother's in Torrance or Walker's in Pedro. I'm sure you can track 'em down there. But you better hurry if you want in on the action. They're planning to pass their merchandise out to as many different groups of true believers as they can, to cause as much mayhem," he grinned with the word, "as they can."

Deeks forced a smile, working to appear glad to hear the news. "Sounds promising. Thanks for the lead, Ripley. Good to see you." Pointing a thumb toward the shelter and trying to look resigned, he added, "I gotta get back to this kid."

Ripley shrugged, clearly still puzzled over Max's involvement with Derrick, but said, "OK, whatever. Good luck with Benny. Hope it works out for you."

"Thanks, man," Deeks replied. He felt no gratitude though, only sadness, resignation, and a huge sense of dread.

A/N: The story's title comes from a Green Day song called "Give Me Novacaine." It and all the chapter titles and song excerpts come from the Broadway show inspired by their great albums American Idiot and 21st Century Breakdown, which I'll say a little more about at the end of the story. They aren't intended as an actual playlist, but you could do worse than to listen to each song with its chapter.

On a separate note, I want to thank Sweet Lu and Psyched for all their wise words of advice whenever I had questions about this fiction writing stuff, and also thanks to all the other great writers who have offered assistance. I appreciate it so much! This story quickly became way more ambitious than I have any business trying to write, so I continue to welcome any and all constructive criticism.