a/n: jet x fightclub x tyler all the way, random's christmas gift!~ hope you enjoy it love, and if not scream and rage. And I'll rewrite another, Um - this is after the war, sometime after jet's funeral (he's a ghost...just so there isn't any wtfness.) And if you haven't read or seen fightclub you are so deprived and shouldn't even be here. kay thanks.

disclaimer: I AM NOT WORTHY.

It's hard to be seventeen and all alone in this big, cold world, where everything (everyone?) you know and love thinks you're dead. You are an outcast, but you aren't alone. And that's how you end up in the basement of a place you're not really sure of. You hear a voice - at least, you think you hear a voice. "Listen up, maggots. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else." You can't make a difference. You can't save the world. You're not the Avatar, Jet, you're just a boy. And you're not doing very well at that - you're fucking dead.

You wake up in casket.

You tell all your friends that you're fucking fine, but they aren't listening. You're screaming at them, but they still aren't listening to you, and it occurs to you: they can't hear you. They're crying and mourning, and you're trying to tell them "I'll be okay, I'm fucking okay," but they can't hear you. You close your eyes and drift back to sleep.

You wake up in the basement.

You mouth the words you know too well. "The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club." These are people who lost their lives because of the War. These people are making a difference in their lives. You envy them. Hate them. "The second rule of Fight Club is: you DO NOT talk about Fight Club." You find this comical. Everyone, everyone here will tell their brothers, neighbors, the bastards in the street. It'll go on. It'll become the dream. Your dream. Revolution on the tips of the tongue, but better. So much better.

The world never saw this coming.

Sure, the Avatar saved the world, but there's more than that. The world needs rebuilding, and that's just one thing he can't do. He can't produce enough chaos to upset a sleeping baby. So, something has to be done. "…and the eighth and final rule: if this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight." They cheer. They bullshit. They love this guy. They love the thrill. And you only wish that you had discovered it while you were alive. You never fight. You watch. People walk right through you, and you can only watch their revolution. Anger always burns in your eyes. You wanted to fight.

Too bad you already lost.