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krustywhore · 6 years

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goodbye until tomorrow

the long-awaited sequel to i could never rescue you

guys i spent so long on this and i really can’t wait for you all to read it. first of all, i have to dedicate this to my lovely friend wet @wetcoffeejpg because she kept me so motivated throughout the whole writing process with teaching me how to write her lovely oc skip, as well as how to maneuver scenes, come up with events, and get me out of so many writers block pits. i can’t thank you enough boo and i really hope i did our daughter justice;)

anyway, find it on ao3 here!

(also this thing is so goddamn long that since tumblr erases all italics, i’m just not going to redo them here. i would recommend reading this on ao3)

Jack woke up with a start that next morning. His dreamless sleep was interrupted by a jolting scream as his hazel eyes snapped open.

Snyder’s sadistic sneer was the first thing he saw as he fully took in the man pinning Race to his chest with his free hand clamped over the boy’s mouth. Race had tears pouring down his cheeks as he thrashed and shook under the old man’s grip.

Jack felt his stomach drop as he scrambled to his feet, stumbling half-awake after Snyder as he practically threw Race through the door and slammed it in Jack’s face.

“Jack! Jack help me! Please, I can’t-“

Race’s screams through the door stopped abruptly and Jack stood, pounding and kicking at the door before sinking to his knees, banging his forehead against the cold metal.

Just like that, everything had fallen apart in seconds and there was nothing he could do.

His chest felt heavy and his breaths became shallow until a small voice spoke up and he whipped around on his knees, stumbling back against the door.

“Where’s he takin’ ‘im?” A small girl stood before him with deeply-rooted fear behind her eyes as she rocked back and forth on her heels. “Is he…is he gettin’ outta’ ‘ere?”

The horror quickly turned to wonder as Jack chuckled humorlessly.

“Nah, kid. It ain’t that easy,” he sighed, too exhausted by the rocky start to the morning to traumatize a little kid. “But he…he’s gon’ be fine, don’t ya’ worry ‘bout him.”

He plastered on a fake smile as the little girl nodded, not seeming to believe Jack in the slightest.

“But he was crying! And…and screaming,” she spoke, the fear returning to her voice as Jack picked himself up off the floor and followed her back to the bunk she had been staying in.

“Yeah, kiddo, but I’m gonna’ try ta’ make sure he’s okay. I guess you’s right, maybe he ain’t okay right now, but I’s gonna’ make sure Snyder ain’t gonna’ lay another hand on ‘im,” Jack spoke, sitting beside the girl as he crossed her legs in front of her.

She nodded, tucking a strand of her short brown hair behind her ear as she shifted awkwardly in her position. Jack coupld practically hear his own heart pounding in his chest.

“So who is he then?” The little girl asked, folding her arms over her chest.

Jack sighed deeply, glancing back up at the door. “Tha’ guys back home, we all call ‘im Racetrack. Race for short. His name’s really Antonio, though.”

“Oh, so’s ya’ already knew ‘im?” Jack chuckled and told her yes. “Then why’s he ‘ere?”

Yikes.

“Well, he’s a good guy, ya’ see. He ain’t done nothin’ wrong. Actually, he was savin’ one a’ our friends from gettin’ thrown in ‘ere,” Jack spoke, an overwhelming amount of admiration in his voice.

“Why are you here, then?” Her twinkling green eyes reminded Jack quite a bit of himself back when he first entered the refuge. All he had wanted to do was meet all of the other kids and learn their stories. He still remembered almost all of the friends he made back then.

“Well, you see,” he started, noticing a few more kids around him start to listen in as he chuckled lightly, pulling off his cap to run his hands through his hair a little. “I’s one a’ them newsies that sell papes for the paper companies across the city. The pro’lem is that the bosses a’ the papes, they’s not too fond a’ us kids. So’s the raised the price we had ta’ pay ta’ get the papes by a whole dime.” The kid seemed blown away.

"Really? They's can jus' do that? But that ain't fair!"

"Yeah, we know, kiddo. That's kinda' why we's fightin'," Jack finished simply, a small smile on his face as he stood, turning away from the little girl.

Jack, like some sort of machine controlled to move, went back to the window. He sat on the ledge, leaning his head against the bars as he watched the door across the room, trying to decide if he wanted the door to open again.

On one hand, the door opening up again would likely mean getting Race back.

On the other hand, getting Race back meant whatever Snyder or his goons did to him was real.

So, he just sat there and waited. He had no idea how long it had been, but the moment the walls felt paper thin and the giant metal door felt like nothing, he could hear the screams.

“No! Get the fuck off a’ me! You can’t-do-this! Ugh, you dick! Jus’ let me back in, fuckin’ hell!”

Race’s voice was only slightly reassuring. Yeah, the words he spoke made Jack feel sick to his stomach, but at least he was alive, and at least he was conscious, and at least he seemed to be back to his typical fiery attitude.

He scrambled off the window ledge and moved across the concrete floor, motioning to the kids around the room to stay where they were as the heavy metal door scraped across the floor. There was silence as the door slowly creaked open, but just as Jack was about to go dashing through looking for Race, the boy went flying across the floor, face down and crumpled.

Jack slid across the floor on his knees situating himself by the boy’s head as he grabbed his shoulder and rolled Race onto his back.

“Fuck, Racer,” he breathed as the boy groaned, reaching up to his face as he wiped his hand under his nose, cracking his eyes open and groaning at the blood covering his hand. “Did he…what tha’ fuck did he do?”

Race just shook his head, covering. His eyes with his hand as he rubbed his temples.

“Don’ worry ‘bout it, Jackie,” he slurred, wincing as he made a move to sit upright. “I’s fine, jus’ help me up, will ya?”

Jack mumbled out a string of useless curse words as he slid his hands under Race’s back and lifted him slightly as the boy folded his legs in front of him.

Considering he had already been in pretty rough shape before, he looked terrible. His nose was probably broken, not to mention the left black eye he was already sporting seemed to have somehow gotten darker. The blood from the gash on his chest was seeping through his shirt, showing that it had reopened, and he seemed to be sitting a little awkwardly, likely meaning there were more things that Jack couldn’t even see.

“Alright, I ain’t gonna jus’ let ya’ bleed out ‘ere on tha’ ground, c’mon,” he mumbled, sliding his arms around the other and carefully lifting him across the room. Race slung one arm around Jack’s shoulders, but held tightly to the buttons along the boy’s shirt with his other hand.

“P-please, jus’…jus’ don’ l-l-leave me, Jackie,” Race mumbled, a little blood dripping from the corner of his lips. “H-he…I c-c-can’t go back-k there.”

Jack shuddered as he gently lowered the boy onto one of the sagging mattresses, making sure to be as careful as possible.

“That okay, kid?” Race nodded, shutting his eyes tight as he covered his face with his hands “You sure?”

Race paused, not responding before a weak whimper broke his lips and his hands flew to grab onto Jack’s shirt, pulling him onto his knees beside the bed.

“N-no! It…It ain’t fine! Snyder he-he made me take all my clothes off b-b-but when he saw my chest, h-he said I was hopeless n’ jus’…said he was gonna’ ‘get it ov’a with’,” Race cried, his voice a terrified whisper as his trembling hands gripped the front of Jack’s shirt tightly. “He kept t-touching me, touching my chest, Jack! H-he said he wanted ta’ make it worse so’s he could get it ov’a with…I don’…what’d he mean, Jackie? H-he didn’t…is he try’na get rid a’ me?”

His eyes were wide and bloodshot as he leaned in close to Jack’s face, whispering harshly.

Jack shuddered, his eyes flicking down to the growing patch of blood seeping through the boy’s short and almost gagging as he covered his mouth with his hand. God, he couldn’t think. Everything was just so, so much happening at once and he couldn’t breathe right because if he took a second to breathe then maybe he’d lose Race again and they’d be done for.

So he settled for hazily shaking his head and not meeting the boy’s eyes.

“Jack…,” he whispered, letting go of the boy’s shirt as he sank back into the old mattress, tears building in the corners of his eyes. “Jack, I’s so scared. H-he’s makin’ sure I ain’t gettin’ outta’ ‘ere in once piece.”

Jack nodded, inhaling sharply as he shakily sat down on the edge of the bunk and wrapped a hand gently around the boy’s shoulder.

“You’s gonna’ be okay. I don’ know how, but you’s gonna’ make it outta’ this shithole. Me n’ you, Racer. We’s gettin’ out a’ here together,” Jack whispered, a shy smile on his face as he turned back to look at the boy. Race sniffled, rubbing the tears out of his eyes as he nodded, grinning as he caught his breath. “Good. I’s gonna’ let ya’ sleep in jus’ a second, I jus’ gotta’ get a look at ya’.”

Race hummed in acceptance, but whined the moment Jack had almost peeled his shirt off completely. He motioned for Jack to keep going, but shoved his fist in his mouth to keep from screaming as the gash was exposed. There were both old and new beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as he went pale, looking away the moment he saw the damage.

“Hey,” Jack started, gently turning the boy’s head to look over at him instead. “Look at me, kid. It…it ain’t that bad. You’s gonna’ be jus’ fine, I swears it. Don’t even look, I’s gonna’ take care of it.”

Jack tore at the edge of the ratty, old bedsheet before he ripped loose a suitable sized piece to clean up the boy. Within seconds it was bright red. He was able to get rid of most of the blood, but the problem was that after that, he could really see how much shit they were going to have to deal with.

Yeah, it was pretty badly infected. He had a feeling it had been for a while at that point, but as much as he hated to admit it, there wasn’t much he could do. They didn’t really get access to more water than they needed to drink, they didn’t get a chance to shower and clean it out, and they definitely didn’t get any medicine, so they would just have to wait it out and hope for the best.

Hope for the best, he scoffed, rolling his eyes as he leaned up against the bunk bed ladder, Race already fast asleep beside him. Yeah, I’ll just hope for the best that I’m not carrying that kid’s body out of this hell-hole.

“I thought ya’ said he was gonna’ be okay?” A small voice shocked him out of his frustration. Amelia, the little girl who had come up to him earlier that day now stood in front of him with her small arms crossed over her chest.

Jack sat down on one of the lower rungs of the ladder as he tried to keep the growing anxiety subsided as much as possible.

“Don’ worry ‘bout ‘im, Ames, he’s gonna’ be fine,” Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair.

She didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. “You said he was okay, but you was lyin’! He’s all…all hurt n’ bloody!”

Jack rolled his eyes and climbed off the ladder, tucking his hands into his pockets as he headed for the window. She practically dove after him, skipping animatedly to catch up as he sat down on the window sill.

“Woah, slow down there, skipper,” he chuckled, grabbing the girl’s shoulders to steady her as she plopped down beside him in a cross-legged position. She beamed, looking up at the older boy. “What, ya’ like that? Skipper?”

Skip shrugged and nodded casually, but the pride blooming across her face from her new nickname was blatantly obvious.

“So, Skip,” Jack exhaled, teasing a little before he leaned back against the window and picked at a patch of dried blood on the cuff of his sleeve. “I’s been in ‘ere quite a few times before n’ it ain’t easy ta’ explain this, but I think you’s ready for it.”

She nodded and Jack glanced around the room before starting, his eyes lingering on Race for an extra moment as he watched the boy’s chest rising and falling slowly.

“Nobody that comes in or out a’ this place is exactly ‘okay’ or ‘not okay’. Maybe if I get outta’ ‘ere one day, I’s gonna’ be okay on the outside, but maybe I’s still gonna’ have nightmares about this place for a while. Maybe you’s gonna’ be okay inside when ya’ get outta’ ‘ere, but maybe you’s gonna’ have a few scrapes n’ bruises on tha’ outside,” Jack explained, not really wanting to look at anything other than his fingers as the bloodstained fabric slowly began to fall apart in his fingers. “Racer ain’t okay right now, but that’s jus’ today. We don’t got any idea how long it’s gonna be ’til he’s okay, but I’s gonna’ make sure he is, so you don’t have ta’ worry ‘bout anythin’, okay, kid?”

Skip seemed to understand as she nodded, looking over at Race for a second before hopping off the window ledge and skipping over to the bunk bed. She slid to her knees beside where Race remained peacefully asleep and carefully reached out to poke at his face.

Jack just about flew over there, but Race was already stirring by the time he appeared behind Skip, who still had the proudest grin on her face.

Race groaned as he rolled onto his side, cracking one eye open to squint at her as Skip waved to him.

Race opened his eyes fully, looking to Jack for a second as the latter just shrugged.

“Hey’a kid,” Race grumbled, rubbing at his eyes gently enough to not irritate the bruises.

Skip looked up at Jack behind her, pleased with herself before she hopped onto the bed, startling Race a little as he chuckled nervously.

“Uh, you got’s a name, don’t ya’?” Race seemed to be trying his hardest to not be rude in what was, frankly, a very annoying situation.

Skip just tucked her legs in front of her and she rested her arms on her knees, balancing her chin on top.

“Skip,” she spoke curtly, not doing much but staring at him. “Jack tol’ me ‘bout you.”

Race scoffed dryly, turning to look over at Jack, who shrugged.

“Can I sit?” She asked, already sitting.

Race chuckled weakly, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I see’s you’s made ya’self at home ‘ere already, Skipper.”

Skip rolled her eyes, but readjusted herself to be more comfortable nonetheless.

“So,” Race coughed, rolling onto his back as he tried to plaster something other than pain onto his face. “I’s gonna’ take a lil’ nap, but you’s welcome ta’ join me if ya’ feel so inclined.”

Right, so apparently near-death didn’t apply to his spirit.

Jack chuckled and dig into his sock before pulling out a small stick of charcoal.

“You’s ever tried drawin’ b’fore?” Jack asked, already keeping his voice down after hearing Race’s gentle snores beside him. Skip shook her head but he waved for her to follow him back to the window. He carefully pried it open and reached through to pull out a single newspaper page that Spot had left behind. Jack had already read it over a few times, it was a documentation from Specs about all of the injuries and problems from the strike after all, but the other side was nice and clean. He folded it up into a small rectangle before holding it up and sketching the little girl.

“So, Skipper. What brings ya’ in ‘ere? If ya’ don’t mind me askin’, that is,” Jack pondered as he drew, carefully capturing the slight curve at the end of her freckle-covered nose.

“Oh, uh…I uh ran away a coupl’a months ago,” she mumbled, a nervous blush growing on her cheeks. “My parents, they’s real rich, but I guess afta’ my brother died, they didn’t feel like wastin’ any more a’ they’s money on me, so I ran away.”

Jack sighed and nodded, reaching over to ruffle the girl’s dark brown waves.

“Snyder found me tryna’ get some food off a’ some cart in a farmers’ market n’ he took me ‘ere,” she finished. “That was ‘bout a week or two ago. I can’t r’member.”

“Good on ya’, kid. You’s tough,” Jack smirked, blowing off the excess charcoal dust before handing over the paper to the girl. Her eyes widened as she gazed at the portrait, the light from the setting sun making her young eyes twinkle with wonder.

“You pictured me? Jus’ like that?” Skip beamed, a new look of admiration on her face. “Are ya’ an artist?”

Jack chuckled, carefully sliding off the windowsill as he held out his hand, helping Skip hop down the same.

“It’s more like a hobby, but sure, if you’s bein’ vague ‘bout it,” Jack remarked, the girl’s awe of his talent making his cheeks go pink.

Skip simply skipped back to the bunk and gently crawled up beside Race. She was careful not to disturb the boy, but she quickly tossed her cap onto the thin mattress and used it as a pillow.

“Get some sleep, kid. Don’t hesitate ta’ get me if ya’ need anythin’,” Jack whispered, ruffling her hair before returning to the other side of the bunk and quickly pressing his hand against Race’s forehead. The boy was burning up and the beads of sweat matting his hair down to his forehead were collecting in rapid fashion. There were darkening circles around his eyes where the bruises had started to fade and his skin had gone sickeningly pale.

Goddamn, if things started falling apart already, there was no way they could make it much longer. They were just two days in and Jack could already tell that Race’s infection was catching up to him. Sure, Skip would be fine without catching it, seeing as it was almost certainly from his chest, rather than an actual contagious illness, but he didn’t want her to get worried. He would get her out of there if he could, but in all honesty, Race was his priority and if it came down to getting one person out of the three of them, he’d at least make sure it wasn’t him.

So, as the sun began to set on just their second day, Jack kept his back against the bedpost with his hand wrapped around Race’s shoulder and his eyes trained on the door. He didn’t sleep much, but he had more important things to do. Sure, he knew that if Davey knew he wasn’t taking care of himself, he’d flip out, but Jack understood these things better than his friend. Being in and out of the refuge his whole life gave him the intel he needed to know exactly how to protect the people he needed to protect and how to keep himself around for nothing more than to do his one job.

He stared out at the nearly completely silent room and sighed, tugging his cap down over his eyes and hoping at least closing his eyes for a little while would be close enough to sleeping.

The next morning, there was a rapid knocking on the window. The old glass pane rattled and Jack practically flew out of his seat. He was at the window in seconds, face to face with a small group of his friends. He fiddled with the latch through the bars before he slid open the window and threw his arms around the boy, not really minding the bars in between them.

“Davey, I’s so sorry,” Jack whined, gripping onto the boy’s vest as they separated. Davey’s eyes were raw and his cheeks were bright red, breaking Jack’s heart to think that the boy had cried for him. “I should’a done somethin’, I’s s’pposed ta’ be tha’ one takin’ care a’ you guys, but I’s tha’ one stuck up in ‘ere.”

“Shh, shh,” Davey shushed him, gripping Jack’s shoulders. “We’re going to be fine, you just worry about getting out of here in one piece. We’ve got things handled just fine, but you…you just need to keep holding your ground. Specs and I, we can handle the kids back at the house. Besides, the strike’s about to be handled now.”

Jack’s terrified eyes widened as he let go of Davey in shock. He looked through the small trio, relieved to notice nothing more than scabbing cuts and fading bruises. Davey, Albert, and a very nervous looking Katherine picking at the cuff of her blouse in the back.

“You’s all okay?” Jack asked, his voice soft and concerned as awkward nods filled the group. “Ya’ ain’t hurt or nothin’?”

Albert sniffled a little, lifting his eyes as he glanced behind Jack, looking into the room.

“W-where’s Race?” Albert shyly asked, a primitive fear in his eyes that Jack knew all too well. He put on a smile, hoping to ease some of that fear, even just for a moment.

“I ain’t gonna’ sugar coat it, he’s here. He’s still a bit worn out from the other day, so’s he’s still asleep, but he’s gonna’ be fine, don’t worry,” Jack sighed, hoping he wasn’t lying. That didn’t seem to ease his friends much, but it was something. “Albert, he told me ta’ tell ya’ thanks for what ya’ did last night. Really helped.”

That got a small smile out of the boy as he shifted off his toes, properly sitting back down.

“You okay, Kath?” Jack seemed to startle the girl, who hadn’t looked him in the eyes the entire time.

Her head shot up, her curls bouncing as she stammered out a response, “Y-yes! Yeah, um, yes. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Jack snorted, a more genuine smile filling up his face instead.

“Yeah right, you’s actin’ jus’ like you was when I first caught ya’ on tha’ streets,” Jack teased, hoping to get the girl to stop looking at him like someone just kicked her puppy.

“Sorry, sorry,” she rambled, her hands mindlessly smoothing out her hair as she flattened out her skirt. “Sorry, I’m just…a little stressed out.”

Jack smiled sadly as he reached through the bars and placed a hand on her knee.

“Kath, tha’ only thing worth worryin’ ya’ pretty little head ‘bout is keepin’ these hooligans in line n’ gettin’ out a good story. I’s gonna’ be fine. Albo, keep ya’ head on ya’ shoulders, Race’ll be fine. Jus’ be safe, all a’ you’s got nothin’ ta’ worry about ’til tha’ strike’s over,” he rambled, trying to make sure that they would be done in time to get Albert back to the lodging house and Katherine and Davey back to their families. He couldn’t stand the possibility of Snyder and his goons catching any of them on their way sneaking out. “Ju’s be careful gettin’ outta’ ‘ere. Snyder’s got a few guys that wait outside when tha’ sun goes down, jus’ make sure ta’ keep ya’ head down n’ try not ta’ call attention ta’ ya’self.”

Jack made sure to get a nod out of each of them before he let himself relax, only to almost fall off the stoop when Skip plopped down beside him.

“Jack! Jack, ya’ gotta’ come quick!” Her half-whisper, half-shout was too much for Jack to hold back a chuckle as he ruffled her hair, scooting over so she could have a proper seat on the windowsill.

“Skip, these are my friends; Davey, Albert, n’ Katherine. Guys, this is Skip,” Jack quickly explained, brightening a little when he saw his friends quickly take to the girl. “What’s goin’ on, kiddo?” He turned to her completely as she stood up just as quickly as she had sat and grabbed his hand, attempting to pull him up off the window.

“C’mon, Race is awake, finally,” she sighed dramatically as Jack felt the knot in his stomach unravel slightly. The group started to perk up slightly as Jack let himself be led by the girl back to the bunk.

Race was in a coughing fit, his face buried in the crook of his elbow as his free arm held himself up on his side. Jack quickly slid to his knees to be level with the boy, brushing the hair out of his face and easing him up to be able to sit upright. With less pressure rushing to his head, Race’s coughing subsided and he now resorted to a drowsy state of weak movement, almost as if he was about to fall asleep again in a matter of seconds.

“Hey,” Jack spoke softly, his tone gentle as he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, kid, ya’ with me?”

Race nodded weakly, his wiry curls not bouncing like the usually did, instead staying matted down to his forehead with sweat.

“Can I…can I get a quick look at ya’ chest, Racer?” Race let out a small noise of disapproval, but nodded anyway as Jack’s hands carefully began to unbutton his shirt. The skin around the gash was all yellow and purple like a fading bruise and no matter what they did it seemed impossible for it to scab over. To be honest, it looked even worse.

“S’ infected,” he grumbled, already reworking all the buttons. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, Ant. You’s gonna’ be fine.” Race didn’t seem very convinced and honestly, Jack didn’t blame him, but he had to try to help at least a little. “C’mon, let’s go say ‘hey’ ta’ our friends,” Jack muttered, sliding an arm around Race’s torso as he slung the boy’s arm over his shoulders.

“They...they’s here?” Excitement filled the boy’s face as he looked over at Jack.

“Yeah, they’s here, kid.”

Sadly, the smile that lit up Race’s face when he saw his friends was almost ruined by the look on all of their faces. Yeah, Race probably looked awful and maybe Jack was just used to it at that point, but Race looked almost heartbroken.

“H-h-hey guys,” he mumbled, suddenly much shyer than he originally had been just minutes ago.

“Race, what the hell happened?” Davey practically seethed, his eyes wide and terrified like the mama-bird friend he was and Race felt oh, so small. “Did...did Snyder do this?” It seemed like he almost didn’t really want to know the answer.

Race just shrugged his shoulders, acutely aware of how even the slightest movement made his chest sting.

“No, not really I guess,” he mumbled. “S’ from tha’ strike, but I guess Snyder didn’t make it any betta’.”

Davey motioned for him to sit on the windowsill and Race carefully lowered himself down, gripping the bars until his knuckles were white. Katherine reached through the bars to brush away a small collection of dirt on his cheek and Race almost flinched away from her completely. She frowned at the boy’s hesitance, but was gentle as she gave one last little tweak of his curls before slinking back into her previous position.

“You’s all okay?” He whispered, more hopeful than he had thought it would be. Katherine, as expected, was fine and Davey only had a few visible cuts and bruises on his face and arms, but he had no way of know just how bad everyone back at the house was.

Davey and Katherine looked at each other for a moment before they both shrugged and nodded.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. They’re all pretty scared, though,” he added, a weak smile on his face that didn’t even come close to reaching his eyes.

“They’s scared? What for? Spot tol’ me ‘imself, Brooklyn’s joinin’ tha’ strike, n’ tha’ rest a’ tha’ city, they’s pro’lly gonna’ join too n’-“

“They’s scared for you two,” Katherine interrupted, not looking up from her hands that rested carefully in her lap. “Those kids...they don’t know how this works. Most of them have never been so scared in their lives because for once, they had a family that loved them and they just lost a pretty important part of it.”

Race sniffles and nodded, feeling his heart swell with longing to be back home too.

“I miss ‘em,” he whispered, staring out past them as night fell over the rest of the city. “If I...if I don’t make it outta’ ‘ere, please jus’ promise me ya’ won’t make those kids hold on. Don’t try ta’ make ‘em all remember me or nothin’, I don’t want anybody gettin’ sad over somethin’ that ain’t they’s fault.”

No one said anything for a long time after that. Some kids had started going to bed and even Skip hand curled herself up to Jack’s side, but no one else dared to move.

After lingering for longer than any of them would like to admit, Katherine pressed a quick kiss to the top of the boy’s head as Davey squeezed his hand, following behind her as they carefully climbed down the fire escape.

Race fell asleep right there on the window sill as Jack carried Skip back to the bunk and sat right back down on the floor beside him.

Outside, Davey and Katherine reached the ground and were met with a trembling and petrified Albert waiting right at the base of the ladder.

“Albert? Hey, hey it’s okay. It’s okay just breathe. Deep breaths, okay?” Davey tried soothing the boy as he gripped his shoulders and tried to ground him but Albert just shook his head.

“N-n-no, that’s not-t...th-that’s no-“

“Shh, shh, just breathe. Just focus on breathing right now, yeah? You can try and talk to me about it later, but for now just breathe,” Davey coaxed, easing the boy down until he could see his friend relax a little.

“Th-that’s...not...my...best...friend,” he breathed, his tears beginning to fall from his tired eyes. “It-it can’t be, I don’t...”

All the two could do was hold him and hope that maybe, just maybe, he would be okay soon. They had no way of knowing anything, but even if they did get Jack and Race back soon, there was no telling how they would change.

“You again.”

Snyder’s deep, brooding voice woke the two boys with a start as they both shot up, Jack suddenly very relieved to have placed himself in front of the other boy.

The man sauntered towards them, reaching for Jack and lifting him up by the collar of his shirt. Jack reached at him, fists swinging left and right, but none with any real power.

“I thought ya’ learned your lesson tha’ first time I snatched ya’ little friend,” the man hissed, his saliva spraying in Jack’s face as he squeezed his eyes shut tight.

“Yeah, I did,” he spat back. “N’ ya’ ain’t layin’ anotha’ hand on ‘im ever again.”

Snyder laughed curtly, his snide voice bringing a chill to both the boys. Jack cracked open one eye to look past Snyder, slightly relieved to see Skip still fast asleep. In fact, most of the kids seemed to either be still asleep or to know to stay down and pretend that they were.

“You’s just as snarky as I remember ya’, Kelly,” Snyder drawled, tossing the boy back onto the ground, Jack instantly moving himself back against the wall and standing himself up in front of Race. The latter grabbed a fistful of his shirt and held on tight with shaking hands. “Ya’ really thought I wouldn’t find out you’s tryna’ break out? In case ya’ didn’t notice, I’s got it barred up now. It ain’t gonna’ be easy like last time, kid.”

Jack gulped, steadying himself back on his feet as he retained his composure, not letting his anger waver.

“We ain’t tryna’ get out, he jus’ needed some air. Ya’ see, my friend ‘ere, his chest’s got real infected n’ he jus’ needed to get some air so’s he don’t get sick,” Jack smirked, proud of how the response seemed to baffle the man.

“Right, n’ I’s s’pposed ta’ believe ya’?” Snyder huffed comedically, stepping to the side as he attempted to step around Jack, stopping when the boy moved to cover his friend immediately.

“You won’t touch him again,” Jack countered, not wavering for a second as he stood his ground. He stood as still as he could manage, carefully calculating exactly what to do in his head as dozens of situations filled his mind.

“Ahh, ya’ see, Jack,” he spoke calmly, simply casting the boy aside as Jack swung at him. “That’s why you’s in ‘ere n’ I’s out there. I can do whateva’ I want wit’ you two. So, you’s gonna’ step aside n’ let me do what I need ta’ do, n’ then you’s gonna’ cooperate when it’s your turn.”

Jack only backed up even further. He wouldn’t budge left or right as he held his hands in fists at his sides. “No.”

Snyder rolled his eyes and glared back at the boy. He took one step towards Jack and gripped the boy by his wrists as Jack swung his fists at Snyder’s head. Fear was pulsing through his veins, but all it took was a sweep at his legs and Snyder socked his head into the concrete floor. Jack was out like a light.

Race screamed, as much as his voice would let him, as Snyder grabbed him. The man held his back to his chest with his arms locked tightly around the boy’s stomach. Race squirmed, kicked, and flailed; anything that might give him a chance at getting away from the man, but to no avail.

He screamed for his friend, never taking his eyes off Jack’s crumpled form, and only giving up when the door slammed shut in his face, with Race and Snyder on the outside.

His throat wracked with sobs and coughs as he was dragged down a hallway of closed doors. He shut his eyes tight, focusing on anything but the sound of the man’s work boots squeaking on the floor, but suddenly Snyder stopped at an open door.

The next thing he knew, Race felt a kick to his back and he fell to the ground. His head smacked against the unforgiving concrete floor and he finally found a way to stop crying.

When Jack finally opened his eyes again, he was faced with a tiny room, long and narrow, with nothing but the light from a window high above and behind him to fill the space. He shifted on his knees to get a better look, but froze as he felt the shackles around his wrists. His heart sank as he realized just how screwed he really was.

He was alone, he couldn’t move, and all he could see were claustrophobically close walls and a door that felt too far away, yet too close all the same. His voice was hoarse as he cleared his throat, panic rising in his chest as he tugged at his wrists behind his back, pounding the restraints against the brick wall in an attempt to make them at least looser.

He let out a string of curses as he felt the cold metal cutting and bruising into his skin, but he couldn’t stop. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and he could hear them splattering on the ground, but he didn’t stop. The clanging metal was the only constant comfort he had at that moment.

Jack was out of options. He couldn’t get out this time, he was sure of it. He would die in that room and no one would ever know.

Hell, Race probably would too and he would never find out. In all reality, he could already be dead, but there was no way to know.

He felt sick to his stomach just thinking about it, but with hardly any food in it, his nausea just lingered.

He sat back against the wall, leaning his head against the harsh brick, and looked up at the small window above him. No bars. Just a window right above his head.

It was almost too easy.

It was more than big enough for him to fit through and the refuge building wasn’t very tall even though they were on the second floor, and if he just stood up and opened it, he could be free. Simple as that.

But he couldn’t stand up. The restraints around his wrists were far too short to even come close to a standing position.

It was like torture looking up at what was almost the perfect escape.

He pulled his knees into his chest, rested his forehead against them, and finally let himself cry.

Race wasn’t really sure if he was alive, to be honest. He was stuck in almost complete darkness and his head felt so dizzy he couldn’t even be sure if it was dark, or if he just couldn’t see.

His body ached so much he could hardly move, but he still felt…alive? Honestly, he wasn’t sure. It was freezing cold and, as he shifted around a little, he felt concrete beneath him. Right. The refuge.

He groaned, rolling onto his side as he pressed himself up with his minimal arm strength. He shifted into something that resembled a sitting position as he tried to blink himself into some sort of night-vision state.

“Jack…?” He croaked, instantly embarrassed by the sound of his groggy voice.

Silence. He wasn’t sure how big the room he was in was, but maybe he was just farther away.

“Jack?” He called a little louder that time. Still nothing. He shakily stretched out his arms and legs, trying to gauge the size of the room a little.

He couldn’t feel anything at least within arms reach, but by the way he heard his own voice, he was sure it wasn’t a very large room.

He went silent, hoping maybe there would be something he could hear that could tell him where he was, but there was nothing but dead silence.

“Jack?” He could hear the cracks in his voice as he pleaded, but still, no response came. “Jackie, please! Please, I…I’s scared Jack.”

He cried, curling himself up into a ball to the best of his ability. His chest was killing him, he could feel it. It hurt just at the faintest touch and still, after what he knew was at least three days, hadn’t scabbed over. It never seemed to stop bleeding, and if he didn’t know better than to waste his energy on what would ultimately be hopeless, he would try to repair the tourniquet Jack had made him. But he knew better.

At that point, he didn’t want to stall anything he already knew was coming to him.

Skip woke up that morning like any other. She poked the feet hanging off the bunk above her own and climbed off the thin mattress.

The window ledge was empty. She remembered her new friends had been sitting there when she had gone to bed, but when she saw the vacant ledge, she assumed that they had moved to sleep somewhere more comfortable.

She wandered around the room, glancing at every bunk, but the boys were nowhere to be found.

“Ey’, Blues!” You seen Jack?” She asked, jostling the shoulder of a kid sitting near her and picking at the laces on his shoes.

“Jack? Nah’, I ain’t Neva’ heard of ‘im,” Blues answered, only looking up at skip for a second before going back to picking at his laces.

Skip sighed, flopping down beside her friend dramatically.

“Oh c’mon! Pro’lly tha’ oldest guy ‘ere, brown hair. I think he’s got a blue shirt or somethin’,” Skip rambled as the kid seemed to understand.

“Aw, yeah! I’s seen that guy! He’s gone now, though.”

Skip looked dumbfoundedly at the boy.

“Whaddya’ mean he’s gone?” Jack and Race wouldn’t just leave her, would they? They…she didn’t think they would. “He’s…he’s really gone.” She asked shyly.

“Yeah, he n’ that otha’ kid. Snyda’ came n’ took ‘em this mornin’. They ain’t come back yet,” Blues finished, clearly not as concerned as the girl was as she sprang up and marched over to the main room door.

She huffed, taking a deep breath and gathering up every single ounce of courage she had left. She pounded on the door with both fists, rattling the cold metal and echoing throughout the room. The entire space full of kids all snapped their attention to her, but she didn’t flinch.

She stood as tall as she could, holding her breath as she heard approaching footsteps and the faint jingle of a ring of keys. She gulped, stepping back away from where the door would swing, and stood her ground.

Snyder creaked open the door, a frustrated look on his face, and Skip felt the possibilities filling her head. It had likely only been a few hours since he had taken their friends, but clearly, he hadn’t thought to change his clothes. There was a darkening red smear of blood across his shoulder and Skip felt sick to her stomach just looking at it.

“Where are they?” She bellowed fiercely, anger coursing through her veins. “What did you do to them?”

Snyder smirked, sauntering into the room and crossing his arms as he stood before the little girl.

“Ahh, Amelia,” he chided. Skip felt her blood boil at the name.

For the longest time, only her parents and older relatives would call her Amelia. She hated the name, always had, but it was her name and there wasn’t any way around it. That is, until her older brother started calling her Millie. She adored it, mostly because her brother, William, had given it to her, but they were as close as close could be and he quickly adopted the name ‘Willie’ to her ‘Millie’. They were never allowed to use those names, but the kids did in secret, knowing neither of them liked their given names.

When Amelia Crawford lost her brother, Millie died with him.

“Don’t call me that,” she spat, interrupting the man who let out a quick chuckle as he rolled his eyes.

“N’ what would ya’ like me ta’ call ya’ then, sweetheart?” There was nothing understanding about his tone. He was cruel and sarcastic and Skip knew he wouldn’t take her seriously, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Skip,” she spoke firmly. Snyder sighed, exasperated by what he viewed as childish games, and placed a hand on her back, leading her through the door.

Skip immediately shoved him away, stepping away from the man and folding her arms around her torso.

“Don’ touch me,” she hissed, speeding up her steps to stand a more comfortable distance.

“Amelia, darling, don’ you know I’d never hurt ya’?” His voice was snide and gave the girl chills, but she refused to respond.

The funny thing was that she did know he wouldn’t hurt her. She had been in the refuge for a few months at that point and she was the only one there that Snyder had never laid a hand on. She was always given her food and water rations first and Snyder even announced to the other kids that she would be allowed priority to use the small bathroom in the main room whenever she needed. It took her a while to understand why, but one night as she and a few other kids were out in the hallway doing their chores, she overheard the man and one of his guards discussing something. She stood outside his office listening in and it only took a few seconds for her to discover that they were talking about her. Or, more accurately, her parents.

The Crawford family was one of the richest in the city. They owned multiple of New York’s largest trading ships and were practically famous as far as local standings went.

The Crawfords had two children, William and Amelia, who were rarely known to the public for they were kept inside the family’s lavish apartment almost exclusively. The public heard stories from every newspaper in the city when both children were born, but hardly anyone had ever seen the brother and sister.

Over years and years of neglect and aversion from their parents, William fell sick and his parents simply couldn’t be bothered to waste their money on his medical attention. They had plenty, more than most could ever dream of, yet not enough to get their son decent medical services. They told the children and their series of nannies, butlers, and maids that it was nothing, and that he would likely be fine in a week or so. They never said a word about all of the telltale signs of polio.

Amelia Crawford lost her brother when she was barely nine years old. Afterwards, she didn’t even last a month in that house before she ran away.

She was trying to get some food when he found her. A kind old woman had been taking a stale loaf of bread out to the garbage on the curb and she had simply asked if she could have it since the woman didn’t want it. There was no harm done, even the woman agreed and even offered the little girl a chance to come inside for a while, but she was stopped in her tracks by a man grabbing her arm from behind.

She had been too focused on trying to get away to hear what the man had been telling the old woman, but she could make out a few words.

Runaway. Thief. Criminal.

She wasn’t any of those things…was she? No, she didn’t think so, at least.

So as the man took her away, she watched the old woman head back inside her house after she simply tossed the bread to a group of pigeons on the sidewalk.

Amelia Crawford ended up in the refuge just like dozens of kids before her had, but she stayed for a completely different reason.

The moment the man brought her in, she gave them her name when she was asked for it and that was the first time she met Snyder. He sat her down in his office, asked her about her family, and promised her he would keep her safe.

It had taken a few weeks for her to find out what he was really doing.

She was a ploy. A hostage being held for ransom, basically. For whatever reason, Snyder and his men were convinced that if the Crawfords found out that he had their daughter, they would pass up some large sum of money to get her back. The problem was, they had no idea how little Skip’s parents cared about their children.

So she gave up hope that she was ever getting out of the refuge. That is, she did until she met Jack, but now he was gone and so was Race.

Still, she held her head high as she followed Snyder out of the main room. She already lost one brother and there was no way in hell she was going to lose two more.

Jack was lost. Not lost lost, he knew exactly where he was, but he had no idea what he was doing. At that point, he had no clue what day it was, how long he had been alone, or anything other than there was still light shining through his window. Either he had only been there a few hours or it could’ve been a whole new day. He couldn’t decide which one would be worse.

He sat up properly, adjusting his arms as much as he could as they stayed behind his back, but he stretched his legs out as far as they could go.

Plenty of room to spare.

For the first time, he was grateful that the room was so goddamn small.

He kicked at the wall as hard as he possibly could, but nothing happened other than the faint echo of the smack through the next room over. Nothing.

Well, at least he knew the room to his right was slightly bigger than his own.

And hopefully empty.

He did the same on his left, kicking at the wall with all his strength as he waited, hoping and praying for any sort of response. Just as he was about to curl back up against the wall and accept defeat, he heard a kick back.

It made him jump, both from the unexpectedness of it, and the fact that is was so loud from the lack of echo.

“Race?” He practically sprung up and slid as close to the wall as he could get.

Nothing. He knocked lightly on the brick, stinging his knuckles, but the pain didn’t matter to him much at all.

“Racer, is that you?” He kept thinking Snyder would burst through the door and just laugh in his face, but no one came. No one burst through the door to bind his feet too and tell him to give up because his friend was dead and there was no way he was ever getting out of there again.

But then he heard it.

“Jack?” A very, very faint voice that Jack was sure he wouldn’t have heard if he wasn’t as close to the wall as he was, but he could feel the relief flood over him. “Jack, ’s that you?”

He swore the weight of the world had just been lifted off his shoulders. He didn’t care that he was trapped, he didn’t care that he probably hadn’t eaten in ages, and he didn’t care that he was probably never getting out of there.

He finally had something to hold on to.

“Race, oh my god it’s me. I’s here. I’s right here,” he rambled breathlessly. Dragging himself as close to the wall as he practically could. His arms were dragged straight back behind him, his wrists burning with pain, but none of that seemed to bother him.

He took a breath, still in disbelief that he wasn’t alone. Race was here. Was was still here. He was alive. He was alive and right on the other side of the wall and Jack felt like he could finally breathe again.

“I…I’s so sorry, Antonio,” he sniffled, not bothering to try to wipe his face as he watched the puddle of tears beneath his face get bigger and bigger. “I’s so sorry, I dragged ya’ into’ this whole mess wit’ tha’ strike n’ everythin’, n’ now you’s stuck up in ‘ere wit’ me n’ I’s sorry but I don’t think I can keep thinkin’ we’s gonna’ get outta’ this place.”

Jack sat through silence for a few moments, nothing but the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

“I know,” Race’s quiet voice spoke up after what felt like the longest comfortable silence they could bear. “As long as you’s here, that’s okay wit’ me, Jackie.”

Skip was mad. All Snyder had done was take her back to his office where she had signed in all those months ago. He was sitting in front of her, simply flipping through paperwork while Skip sat in an old wooden chair, shifting in her seat to make the wood creak.

“Please, jus’ tell me where ya’ took ‘em!” She burst out, tired of sitting in silence. “I don’ wanna’ do this anymore, jus’ tell me!”

Snyder sighed and pulled out a single folder from the bundle he had and laid it down on the desk between them.

“Amelia, darling, I’s goin’ ta’ tell ya’ about somethin’ ya’ proudly don’t wanna’ know. That Jack Kelly you’s taken so well to…well, jus’ read up,” the man spoke, standing and dropping the file into her lap. Skip opened it tentatively, seeing the boy’s name scrawled right across the top.

‘Jack Kelly. 17 years old.’

Her brown eyes skimmed over the page, widening at the list of offense after offense. Stealing, loitering, trespassing, breaking and entering, and more things Skip had never even heard of before.

This…this couldn’t be Jack. At least not the same Jack she knew. The Jack she knew slept on the floor while Skip took his place on the mattress. The Jack she knew would stand up to Snyder for any of the kids in this place without a second of hesitation. The Jack she knew wasn’t a criminal. There was no way.

“Where is he?” She screamed, tossing the file onto the ground and standing up to face the man.

Snyder sneered, his crooked yellow teeth filling her stomach with disgust.

“What, you wanna’ join ‘im? I’m sure I’s got an extra set a’ chains ‘round ‘ere somewhere,” he said, Skip’s blood running cold as her jaw dropped a little.

“N-no, I…I don’-“

“Just as I thought,” he growled, circling the desk to stand behind the girl and in front of the door. “Now, I’s got some boys to check in on, so’s you better hurry your pretty little head back in tha’ main room, yeah?”

Skip chewed on her lip, contemplating her options before she stood up and left without another word.

The walk down the corridor was almost otherworldly as she creaked open the main door and a whole room full of kids snapped their heads up to her. There were few strangers to the fact that Snyder had never hurt Skip in the near-six months that she had been in the refuge. Most kids would stand up for themselves enough to receive a beating in at least the first week, but Skip never did. She had the attitude of anyone else that had ever been in there, but no matter what she did, Snyder would never lay a hand on her.

So when she returned to the room after standing up to the man yet again without a single scratch, the collective group quickly returned to what they were doing. Skip crossed the room back to the window ledge, pressing her legs up on the wall as she leaned her head against the bars, watching the fire escape carefully. The slow cycle of people walking down the street was almost mesmerizing as she stared in complete silence for ages.

It was almost midway through the day when she felt the window start rattling. The sound of creaking and shaking metal broke her from her trance-like fascination and Skip was anxiously backing off the window ledge. She could see someone climbing carefully up the stairs, but she ducked behind the adjacent wall before she could tell who it was.

What if it was Jack? What if he broke out? What if he was coming back to get her? What if he came to rescue her?

The thought seemed almost too good to be true, but she let herself hope for the best as she heard the sliding of fabric against the metal grate flooring. A few taps on the window and she peeked her head around the corner, already fantasizing about who else it could be.

But this was someone she definitely didn’t know. He had short, dark hair that curled around the edges of his cap. A faded red shirt with the sleeves cut off covered his tan body and worn gray suspenders ran across his chest. Everything about him was screaming ‘bad’ but Skip took one look at his face and saw something completely different.

She took her seat back on the window ledge, working from the inside as the boy began to open the window. His dark brown eyes had bags around them, the lack of sleep blatantly displayed in his features, but Skip simply stared.

“Whaddya’ want, kid?” The boy grumbled, sighing heavily as he looked past her into the room.

“Well uh,” she stammered, unsure of what to do without her friends behind her. “Are ya’…are ya’ here for Jack?”

The boy shifted a little, an unsure smirk on his lips.

“Yeah, sure. Somethin’ like that,” he chuckled dryly. “Jus’ have ‘em come ‘ere, will ya?”

“Oh, uh, they ain’t ‘ere anymore,” she mumbled, afraid to meet his eyes after everything that Snyder had said.

The boy seemed to take great offense to that, rolling his eyes and gripping the bars over the window as his eyes searched the room.

“Answer me, kid,” he whispered, his voice hushed yet still carrying every ounce of fear the Skip felt prick her skin. “Where’d they go? Where’s Race?”

She felt her breath hitch as she shrunk back a little.

“He, um…he n’ Jack…Snyder took ‘em. He took ‘em away somewhere, but I dunno’ where,” Skip shuddered, her own anxiety spilling out. “They’s been gone all mornin’! I-I tried ta’ get ‘im ta’ tell me where they was, but I jus’ sent me back!”

The boy stared down at his hands for a long time. He picked at some dried blood on his knuckles and Skip was sure she heard a little sniffle.

“Are…are ya’ okay?” She spoke softly, assuming this guy was at least a friend of Race’s, if not Jack’s too. She could probably trust him. Hopefully.

The guy quickly brushed his face, sniffling some more before he sat up again, blinking away his red eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’ worry ‘bout me, kid,” he answered simply. “My, uh…my name’s Spot. I…I’s gonna’ help ya’.”

Skip smiled a little at that. At least someone here was brave enough to do something for once.

“Good,” she finished. “I head Jack tellin’ they’s otha’ friends yesterday that he thinks Race ain’t got much time left ’fore things get real bad, so’s we better’ get on it!”

The words didn’t seem to phase her much, almost as if she didn’t understand the darkness of the things she had just said.

“H-he…what?” Spot’s tone was entirely different. He was terrified as Skip looked back at him. His face went pale and his lip quivered and she instantly panicked. Had she said the wrong thing? She was just telling Spot exactly what Jack had told their other friends.

“Yeah, he’s, uh, been real sick accordin’ ta’ Jack,” she explained, watching as she just seemed to make things worse and worse.

Spot seemed to be panicking even worse than she was.

“Wha-fuck, uh, what’s ya’ name, kid?” He stumbled over his words, shaking like a leaf as his knuckles turned white from gripping the bars so tightly.

“Skip,” she mumbled quietly, confusion, fear, and anger all swirling through her head.

“Right, okay Skip, here’s what we’s gonna’ do,” he started. “I’s gonna get a coupla’ my guy ta’ steal some tools. We’s gonna’ start pryin’ off these here bars. As soon as we’s got the bars off, I’s gonna’ sneak in n’ we’s gonna’ break ‘em out, n’ then-“

“No!” Skip burst out, starling Spot slightly. “No, I…I tried that. He checks tha’ window every night when he puts everybody ta’ bed. He’d find out too easy, we’s gotta’ do it from tha’ inside.”

Spot did not look very pleased with that idea.

“Nah, there’s gotta’ be some otha’ way, I can’t jus’ leave ‘im, I can’t-“ He stopped, a pained sound breaking through his stream of consciousness speech with something that sounded so, so terrified. “Fuck this, I’s gonna’ get ‘im out, I need ta’ get in ‘ere. I’s jus’ gonna’ get myself caught n’ bust ‘im out.”

He turned towards the fire escape stairs, but Skip launched her hand through the bars, grabbing the boy’s wrist.

“Wait! Jus’…wait, please. I…I think I's got an idea how we's can do this.”

Keeping track of time in complete darkness was proving to be increasingly difficult. Race wasn't sure just how long he had been alone, but he hoped it wasn't long. Without any light, it was hard to keep his eyes open, and the mind-numbing aches throughout his body didn't help much either. He was in and out of sleep every few minutes.

He hoped Jack wouldn't do what he did. He had tried to be the hero for Crutchie and look where that got him.

Not that he regretted it! He'd take this position for any of his brothers, but if anything happened to him, he knew the guilt would eat that boy alive. He knew it would ruin Jack. He knew how badly it would destroy him if Jack ever had a chance at getting out of there without him. Still, he probably wouldn't even take it if he did.

And poor Albert. God, he had yelled at Race as he dove after the bulls. He told Race it would be a bad idea. That Crutchie knew his way out of the refuge and he'd be fine, but Race didn't listen. Race never listened.

And Fuck, if he never saw Spot again...there wasn't a single kid in Manhattan that would feel more guilty. He knew the guilt of not joining the strike would tear Spot apart, no matter how much good it did for his borough. He wouldn't care. For fuck's sake, he told Race he loved him.

He loved him.

It was unreal. Spot Conlon, the boy who Albert warned him would probably throw him off the Brooklyn Bridge the first time they 'went out' together. Spot Conlon, the boy with the unsurmountable fortress around his heart that not a single person had been able to break since he was a kid. Spot Conlon, who led the borough with the highest rate of new kids brought off the streets per month. Spot Conlon, who let Race sell on his turf for years just so they could go to the Sheepshead afterwards.

Hell, even Race felt a little bit guilty for getting himself caught. It was his fault for letting himself get close to people. If he just sold his papes and kept his mouth shut, there wouldn't be a single person to worry about. He would be sitting in that cell without a single fear of how the outside world would take it.

But none of that felt as good as seeing the smiles on his friends' faces. None of that felt like the blossoming pride of the day Jack asked him to be his second in command. Nothing was as sweet as the young nights comparing freckles with Crutchie's, trying to deduce who had more. Nothing would ever make him smile the way his and Albert's never-ending banter did. And nothing, nothing, would ever compare to those three words that Spot uttered that first night.

Those three words that filled his heart with weak hope as he drifted off to sleep again.

Jack wasn't sure what he could do. Race had stopped talking what felt like ages ago. He was alone. With no one to talk to, it was almost like the seriousness of the situation started to become real.

It was real. He was in the refuge again. Race was in the refuge. They were there together...and now they weren't.

It couldn't be real. He refused to accept that that boy was dead. It was horrible to keep telling himself something that he was almost sure, deep down, wasn't true. Race was gone and it would be real the second Snyder opened the door at the end of the room.

So he waited. He wasn't sure if he just wanted to get it over with or if he was hoping Snyder would kill him too, but the moment that door finally opened, he knew that definitely wasn't what he was expecting.

When Snyder came back, Skip had everything planned out. She wasn't sure why she trusted this Spot guy so much, but she definitely couldn't do this on her own, so right now he was her only option.

He would be back to deliver breakfast first thing in the morning and likely take a kid or two with him. She knew she was probably on thin ice after the day before, but honestly, she didn't care. She would fight tooth and nail if it meant she got out of that room. It was the only way.

So, as the huge metal door creaked open that morning, she was flying off the bed and up to meet the man. She plastered the most furious look she could muster on her face and waited until after he set out the small platter of rations.

"Ahh, mornin' sweetheart," the man greeted her, making Skip slightly sick to her stomach at the affectionate name.

"I wanna' see Jack," she spat, not wasting a single second. Snyder looked surprised for a moment but then he took in Skip's obvious anger and let a small smile creep onto his disgustingly evil face.

"Oh, do ya'? What, ya' finally ready ta' give 'im a piece a' ya' mind?" Skip nodded, the same deep-set frown still painting her face. Snyder turned, leading her out of the room with a hand on her upper back as she glanced down at the ring of keys on his belt, jingling with every step. She was almost confused when he stopped at one of the rooms down the hallway just outside where she had been seconds ago, but then it hit her. Here. They were right outside the whole time.

Snyder pulled out his keyring, taking off a single key as he handed the rest of the loop to Skip and unlocked the door. She looked through the ring with minimal interest until she saw Jack.

He looked awful. He curled back against the wall as far as he could, squinting and shielding his face from the light coming from the hallway. He was sickly thin, covered in bruises and dirt, and his wrists were wrapped in metal, holding him back against the wall.

She instantly pulled a key off the ring as Snyder closed the door behind them. It was small, no longer than the length of her hand, but the only reason she knew it was this one was the disgusting splotch of dried blood covering it. She knew the man wasn't watching so she rushed to Jack, tucking the key in one of his hands before standing back up.

"Jack, you...ya' lied ta' me," she whimpered, her face showing not a single sign of anything other than excitement and hope. "Ya' said I could trust ya', but...how can I? You's a criminal!"

Jack's face was nothing but confusion.

"I thought I could trust ya', but ya' lied! You's a liar Jack Kelly!" She could feel her smile widening as Jack carefully fiddled with the key in his hands. Skip raised her voice as she kept going, hoping to muffle any sounds of Jack unlocking his restraints. "You's nothin' but a dirty street rat! I can't trust ya' wit' nothin'!"

He kept his arms behind his back, mouthing the word 'one' as he switched to the next chain. The moment he heard the click, Skip just yelled at the top of her lungs in fake frustration. Jack almost burst out laughing, but instead, he gently laid all of the metal pieces back on the ground and wiggled his wrists, the joints cracking and stretching.

"Alright, ya' good kid?" Snyder chuckled, stepping forward to place a hand on the girl's shoulder.

Skip smiled one more time at Jack, nodding at him as she gestured to Snyder with her hand and they were golden.

Jack pressed himself off the ground, jabbing his legs at Snyder's knees and sweeping the man off his feet. The man let out a harsh yell as his back fell hard against the concrete floor, cracking and filling Jack with pride. He didn't care one bit if he broke that man's back just then. Nothing could possibly compare to the pain he had put dozens and dozens of innocent kids through for decades.

So the two kids were on the run, slamming the door shut behind them with Snyder inside and they were finally free. Skip tossed the keyring to Jack as the boy frantically worked away at the room right beside his. He was half a dozen different keys in when the lock finally clicked and he froze. God, he didn't know what he'd do if he opened that door and saw something he knew he wouldn't be able to handle.

"Jack...?" Skip stood beside the boy, watching him carefully as his hand hovered above the doorknob. His fingers were shaking as they slowly curled around the metal. "Jack, he's gonna' be okay, we jus' gotta' get outta' 'ere."

Jack seemed to shake off whatever thoughts he was entranced in and flung open the door.

And there he was.

Race was curled up on the floor, his back to Jack and Skip, and he looked so impossibly small for a kid as tall as he was. Jack practically flung himself onto the ground, sliding on his knees to situate himself beside the boy as he quickly rolled him over onto his back. Jack felt so incredibly sick just looking at him.

His cheeks were hollow, much like Jack's own, and the chain of bruises that never seemed to end only seemed to get darker and darker. His eyes were closed softly and his lips were barely parted, but the chapped skin was bleeding in places and he couldn't even bring himself to look down at the boy's chest. Jack raised a trembling hand to the boy's neck, pressing his fingers gingerly to find a pulse, but he could barely keep his hands long enough to tell the difference between the boy's pulse or Jack's own pounding heartbeat.

Still, he held his breath for just as second and a faint string of beats pounded through his fingers. Jack, for once in his life, didn't try to hold back his tears.

"C'mon kid," he whispered, a relieved smile covering his face as tears streamed across his lips. "C'mon Racer, we's gettin' out a' here."

Race still didn't stir. Jack shook him by the shoulders just slightly. His head lolled from side to side. Jack thought he might throw up.

He choked out another sob. "C'mon Higgins, I know you's still wit' me, I know you's still got it in ya', jus' please."

Skip carefully took all of the keys off the keyring, tossing the loop to the ground as she slid them all into her pocket. She would leave the boys be as she did one last thing.

Jack felt like he was in limbo. They were so close to getting out, there was nothing left stopping them, but then...then there was. Sure, he could just scoop Race up no problem and carry him out of there, but he knew Race wanted this just as fiercely as he did. He knew that boy would've wanted to see them walk out of there together. To do the impossible.

He at least had to keep trying.

"Antonio I swear, I ain't leavin' unless you's leavin' wit' me. We's gonna' walk outta' those there doors together, me n' you's. We's gonna' do it jus' like you said, but ya' gotta' wake up, kid," he mumbled, brushing some of the boy's hair out of his face. He just wanted his baby brother to be okay. "Race, please, jus' do somethin'. Jus' open ya' eyes or somethin', jus' let me know you's okay, please."

And he did. Slowly but surely, Race pried his eyes open to look up at Jack hovering above him and there was the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

"I's dead, right?" A groggy and hoarse voice whispered, and Jack had to bite back a laugh. he buried his face in his hands, thanking every possible divinity before sliding his arms around the boy's shoulders and knees as he lifted him gently and held him to his chest. They were okay. They were getting out of there and they were going to be okay.

"Nah, not quite, kid," Jack sighed, taking a second to breathe as he finally looked around him. Two tiny rooms, one with light, one with chains, and one little girl that somehow found a way to do what they had given up trying to do.

Race sighed, shifting a little in Jack's hold, but gripped onto the boy's shirt with one hand. "Good."

The left the room, Race shielding his eyes in Jack's shoulder as they slowly adjusted to seeing light again. Jack followed the hallway until he saw Skip standing outside the cell Jack had been locked in. There was a tiny piece of paper in her hands and she could barely take her eyes off of it.

"Hey, Skipper, ya' ready ta' go?" Jack asked softly, giving the girl a small smile of reassurance.

She nodded, tucking the paper into her pocket. "Yeah, I already let tha' rest a' tha' kids out. I jus' wanted ta' grab one last thing."

Jack nodded, shifting Race in his arms so the boy latched his legs around Jack's waist and held on with his arms around his neck.

"Good. C'mon, let's get outta' 'ere, shall we?" Skip beamed to match Jack's grin and she stood to leave when the door swung open again.

Snyder lunged, still not standing, but he grabbed the back of Skip's shirt and she screamed. Jack froze, tightening his grip on Race as he turned around and stood his ground.

"Get ya' hands off a' her," he spat, feeling the pride bubbling in his stomach from how fiercely he had sworn to protect the boy curled up in his arms. Race was his little brother, and after all the things she had done for the two of them, Skip was a better little sister than he could've possibly asked for. "You let 'er go n' we ain't gonna' call tha' bulls. Jus' let go n' we leave quietly. Won't even tell a soul what ya' did, we's jus' gonna' go."

But Snyder only yanked once more, pulling the girl back as she fell.

Jack knew he had three options. He could run, get Race and himself out of there as fast as he could and never look back. He could let Race down against the wall, get Skip back, and hope that even one of them would make it out alive.

Or he could find a way to get everything he wanted.

"Race, can ya' stand if I promise it won't be long?" He whispered into the boy's ear, feeling the nod against his shoulder as confirmation as he gently let Race's feet hit the ground. He steadied himself on the wall beside him and nodded to Jack that he was okay.

Jack, however, was already on his way to get that girl back.

"I tried ta' get ya' outta' this tha' easy way. My offer still stands if ya' jus' let 'er go, but I ain't afraid ta' give ya' what I's been wantin' ta do since ya' first threw me in 'ere when I was seven. I ain't afraid a you's anymore, old man," he admitted, a confident smile tugging at his lips as he saw Skip's terrified face brighten.

But the man didn't budge.

"I need 'er," he slurred, likely still delirious from when Jack knocked him out not even half an hour ago. "I neva' even hurt 'er."

Jack scoffed, kicking the man in the stomach to see if he might let go, but he simply took Skip by the wrist instead. She winced as he tightened his grip, surely leaving what would soon become a quite painful bruise.

He glanced down at his own wrists, still bloody and bruised themselves, and kicked again.

"Why? What tha' hell makes ya' think I's gonna' leave 'er here wit' you's?" Jack hissed, continuing his kicks across the man's body. "She don't deserve ta' be stuck 'ere forever! None a' them kids do!"

But Snyder only exhaled shakily, clutching the girl tighter.

"She's got parents. They's one a' tha' richest in tha' city," he spat, staring daggers at the boy. "Tha' only reason I ain't neva' hurt 'er is 'cause I's expectin' a hefty reward if they's eva' gonna' want they's little baby girl back."

Skip had tears running down her cheeks and Jack was ready to just knock that man right out again, but he couldn't risk him hurting Skip before Jack could even do it.

"Well maybe they's don't even want me back!"

Skip's wail echoed through the hallway. She refused to meet Jack's eyes, sniffling as her tears collected in a puddle on the ground below her face.

"Maybe...tha' whole reason I left 's 'cause they don't even want me," she whimpered, wiping her eyes with her free hand. "They didn't want me when they Will instead, n' afta' they lost him, they wanted me even less. He's tha' one they wanted. Or...I guess I thought they wanted."

Skip took a shaky breath, sniffling slightly.

"They ain't gonna' pay you nothin'. I don't need them anymore," she smiled weakly, looking up at Jack. "'N they don't need me."

Just when Jack was ready to let all hell break loose, the main doors burst open and he couldn't believe his eyes.

Spot Conlon, leading a whole gang of Brooklyn kids, burst through the door with fists flying left and right until Jack looked up and Snyder was gone, the cell was being locked shut, and Spot held Skip tightly on his hip. His eyes, however, were locked on Race's. The taller boy was wobbling on his feet and Jack was afraid he was about to collapse at any second.

"Get 'im. I got tha' girl, jus' don't lose him," Spot spoke with a sort of steely assertion, but Jack could still hear the fear in his voice. He nodded, carefully throwing one of Race's arms over his shoulders as he held him by the waist, keeping as much weight off of the boy's own legs as he could.

"Jus' hold on, kid. We's gettin' out. We's almost there, jus' hold on a little longer," Jack spoke in a shaky whisper, his eyes watering. Race replied with a disapproving murmur as he shook his head gently against Jack's arm. "I know it hurts, Racer. I know you's tired, but jus' keep goin' for me, please. Do it to say we made it outta' here when we all thought it was gonna' be impossible. Make it outta' here jus' ta' say you's strong enough ta' do it, because I know you are. You's tha' strongest goddamn kid I's ever known Antonio Higgins n' I ain't leavin' 'ere unless ya' do it wit' me, okay?"

Race looked up, his drooping eyelids being held open so painstakingly as he let small tears flow, and nodded. He smiled in a way that was so small and so pained that Jack knew it wasn't real yet, but as they stood in that doorway and started down those steps, he saw the dimples deepen on his cheeks and he saw that boy smile for real as they hobbled out the front doors of the refuge, together or not at all.

#my writing #sprace #jack and race #jack and race are precious #i love them #also angst #this is all angst #i hate it whoops #anyway #newsies #newsies writing #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #race higgins #spot conlon #skip #skip crawford

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thenickelportrust · 7 years

Text

Lucy’s Perspective Short

This sucks.

It’s a goddamn stupid thought but at least it keeps me from tearing apart the alcohol soaked cloth that I press to my side. The armor was ridiculously difficult to get off… but that probably had something to do with the fact that my shoulder still looks a little too sideways for my liking. Probably dislocated. Damn.

Now the shirt underneath is plastered to my side and soaked a deep red. Doesn’t matter. I’ll be there soon enough and I can change once I return home. I struggle to keep from crushing the doorknob to the discreet black building, Mambo wouldn’t be happy if I did that again and I’m sure loyal customer service can only cover so many ‘destruction of public property’ additions to my tab. Still, I can’t keep it from getting dented in the process.

Lucky for me the waiting room is nearly empty, Tango shoots me a cheery glance from her place guarding the door, lifting the rifle strapped across her chest in a kind of half-greeting. She’s holding it tightly- I wonder if there was some trouble earlier today?

“Vicky!” One of the three others in the waiting room stands up on her chair, waving to me enthusiastically. Oppenheimer’s left arm dangles by her side, the red hoodie she wears soaked an even darker color. Even with only two others in the room she makes it a point to sit as far away as possible, with her back to the wall, suspiciously eyeing the others. One of whom I recognize- Bugbite, cradling his carapace armor with nasty looking cuts dotting the few parts of his skin that poke out from a shattered mask.

I nearly collapse into the chair next to her, it takes all my strength- even enhanced as it is- to keep myself upright as the final shreds of adrenaline fade. Still, I grin widely at Oppenheimer’s enthusiasm, “Hey Op,” I nod to her arm, “Rare to see you in this dump.”

I can hear Tango scoff even across the room.

“Yeah,” Oppenheimer shifts nervously around in her seat, gloved fingers in her working hand drum her leg before reaching up to pull the handkerchief even further up her nose- it almost covers the dark tinted goggles that hide her eyes. “I… guess we all have our off days, huh?” She laughs, a squeaking sound that dies down soon as the one guy I don’t recognize turns his head towards us. Oppenheimer immediately quiets, pressing just slightly closer towards me.

I fix him with a scowl in return, locking eyes- or as much as we can with both our eyes covered- in a daring challenge. Would-be silence is filled with the ticking sound of the battery-powered head-bobbing turkey that Mambo keeps next to the orchids on the desk. Eventually, he grumbles, turning his head away and looking back at the palms of his hand.

Even still, I don’t turn away, “Who’s he?” I nudge Oppenheimer with my shoulder.

She takes one quick glance at the man across the room, the visible shadow of her eyes seem to stick to him, glued in a kind of slight awe. “Y’know… Not quite sure. I think he’s new in town, sauntered and demanded to see Mambo right this minute. Didn’t matter that he was in the middle of a surgery. Tango couldn’t talk him down… Hell, she even brought Foxtrot out to deal with ‘im.” Well, that explains her nervous grip.

“Really?” I glance around, “They still here?”

“Foxtrot?” Oppenheimer repeats slowly, shaking her head, “Nah, don’t think so, they scurried off a while ago.”

“Damn.”

Oppenheimer finally tears her eyes away from the new villain, even with the thick goggles that cover half her face I can tell she’s looking at me funny, “Something important? You could ask Tango if you really needed her to call ‘em…”

“No, no,” I wave my hand, wincing when the dislocated shoulder pops and cracks in protest, “It’s fine I’ll… catch up with them later.”

Oppenheimer shrugs, slumping back in her seat, “‘Kay, well, if it’s important I’m sure they’ll turn up sometime.”

Important…

Oppenheimer sounds hurt, and I guess I can sympathize. It’s always hard to keep friends when half of you are fighting for your life… against each other. Foxtrot is the rare exception to that rule, and sometimes I wonder if I’ve trusted them with too much but… it helps to have someone who knows how to keep a secret. It’s even better when they’re a friend of yours.

Besides, it’s like Oppenheimer says, it’s… important.

Especially considering what they helped me with last time. Even if I never asked ‘em to keep tabs on… them, Foxtrot did me a big favor by tipping me off that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to stake out Yolanda Waltz’s big event. I hate being indebted to them but…

I breathe in, a heavy, shuddering breath that makes Oppenheimer lay a hand on my back, a concerned “You okay?” Quietly rising up.

“Fine.” Snapping is a bit too much, and Oppenheimer winces, whipping her hand away and holding it to her chest as if it were injured as well. I mutter a quiet apology, digging my nails into my gloves in the kind of familiar frustration that makes my muscles feel tense and uneasy. I need to move. I need to get out of here. I stand up, Oppenheimer spares me little more than a glance.

“You can’t seriously be going for a walk now.” She shakes her head.

“I am.”

“Valkyrie-”

I brush past Tango, who quirks an eyebrow but is, like always, silent as I head towards the back door. The limp as my injured side drags across the ground only makes me want to sprint even more, as if I could run all these wounds off.

Wouldn’t that be the dream.

I tear the door open with a bit too much force, the top hinges go sideways as the nails clatter to the ground. Tango tilts her head and I sigh, letting the door hand crookedly when I look back at her, “I dented the door knob earlier, too.” Her eyebrows go up, “You really need to get an automatic.” She huffs, and I slip back into the nighttime alleyway. I don’t bother to close the door… not like that would work anymore, anyway.

My arm still pressed to the bleeding wound in my side I pace down the block and then back up, then down the side street and back up again. But it doesn’t help. No, my frustration only grows with each step that sends a searing, burning pain through my side. My legs start to wobble and my hand curls and uncurls from a fist against my side. But it’s good, at least, because the anger makes everything else a blur. It conceals any thoughts into under a haze. It keeps me from thinking about-

“Goddamnit!” I slam my hand against the boarded-up windows of the abandoned building next to Mambo’s practice, the fist goes through the wood and glass as if I were punching through water- but it still comes back with shards dug into my skin, painting the white glove red along with everything else. Fuck it, I’m already here, aren’t I?

“Getting stronger isn’t going to make it any easier to keep what’s left of our door on.” I snap around, instinctively raising my good arm defensively. But it lowers when I spot Foxtrot perched atop the dumpster filled with bloodied bandages and rusted suturing needles. They tilt their head in a funny, almost feline way, and like with every motion they make it seems to be followed by traces of red and rosy-peach mist the color of their hair and skin before fading away into oblivion. “Unless you plan on robbing another bank soon, I’d advise against it.”

“Foxtrot… Oppenheimer told me you had a busy day,” They shrug, sending another wave of mist fluttering into the air. They hop down from their perch, seeming to flicker in and out of existence for a moment when their feet touch the ground, no more than a blink of an eye and suddenly their hand rests comfortingly on my good shoulder.

“This is about earlier, isn’t it?” The touch is light and, like most things about Foxtrot, never really seems to be entirely ‘there’. Their consistently blurred face, as if they were trapped in an out-of-focus picture, twists into what I recognize as a frown. “You didn’t go, did you?”

I shake my head, “No… but you-”

“I did as you asked,” Foxtrot hums lightly, the hand doesn’t seem to fall away so much as it just… fades and ceases to be there, instead apparating at Foxtrot’s side. “Made sure they didn’t die as you asked,” They hum lightly, fading away and leaving their disembodied voice floating in the air before reappearing, back on the dumpster, sitting with their legs crossed.

“That’s…” I breathe in deeply, “Good.”

“Though they did try Waltz’s drinks,”

“They what?”

“Relax, nothing happened…” Foxtrot trails off, “Though… There was a moment when I thought I was gonna hafta haul your ex’s unconscious body outta there.” What little I can make out of a nose wrinkles, “Woulda been awkward.”

“You didn’t stop them?” I can feel my hand curling into a fist again, and before I know it I’ve stepped up to the dumpster. “Foxtrot I asked you to-”

“What was I supposed to do?” They run an incorporeal hand through misty auburn hair, “Appear at their side and say ‘Hiya! Nice to meet you! I’m Foxtrot, the friendly ghost who’s here to give you some advice- don’t do drugs, kiddo!’” They fix it with a wavering grin, a thumbs up across their chest, and a blurry-brown-eyed wink.

Immediately, the facade drops, and Foxtrot leans back on their hands, legs crossed as they shake their head, “Yeah, I… don’t think that would’ve worked.”

“I…” I sigh, kicking the dirt rumbling out something incomprehensible. Something rears it’s head in my mind, a brief flash of a memory. Little more than their face, twisted briefly into an expression of bright horror as they jumped back, nearly knocked me over. I can feel my heart squeeze at even the brief bitesized reverie but still…

I begin to laugh.

Foxtrot’s face contorts into about as much confusion and concern as their ethereal form will allow, “... Okay, now I’m worried. You alright, Val?”

“It’s just…” I turn my back to them briefly, lifting my mask just the slightest amount to wipe a tear that seems to have sprung up, unwanted to my eye, readjusting the piece, I look back at Foxtrot. “I remembered something. Something… stupid,” An inadvertent grin spreads across my face, “So stupid it was fun.”

Foxtrot glances back towards Mambo’s door, they shrug and kick their legs against the dumpster, making soft and oddly solid sounds from their otherwise immaterial legs. “We got time.”

“You want me to tell the story?”

Foxtrot scoots forward, patting the dumpster next to them as they cradle their head in their hands, a bright smile plastered across their face. “Might help more than punching a window.”

I eye the space next to them, biting my lip. The idea of talking about… them makes me heart ache even more than it did already, but… “Well, what the hell?” The stronger desire pulls me towards reminiscing- which is weird because I’ve never been one for taking strolls down memory lane but… I have always been one to go with the stronger side of me. So, I pull myself up next to them, “I… guess I could try this whole ‘talking about your past’ thing every once ‘n a while, right?”

Foxtrot claps their hands together, exclaiming excitedly, “Story time!” As they settle in.

It must have been sophmore year of college. I remember that because it was right when everybody who hadn’t declared a major yet was beginning to panic and scramble for any kind of semblance of a future job idea they could grasp. Stress was damn high and it drove us to do stupid things, drove us to believe in stupid things. For me, that was when I really got into boxing, and for my friend it was ghost stories. He would gather us all up and spew these tales about ghosts that appeared in the B-Hall parking lots at 1:15 in the morning, or houses down the street that a former headmaster had died in after one student threw a too-rowdy rave and how his ghost still haunted that place, punishing any kid who dared throw a party on the premises.

They were all a bunch of B.S. but most of them led to some pretty wild college parties. So we tended to go along, and those who didn’t were dragged in by those who did. There was one, though, that really got us curious. It was this never-finished construction project for some big mansion on a hill-style house. Supposedly, though, it was supposed to be a lair for a villain. Kinda the… mastermind’s getaway vacation house. Apparently this guy had a lot of henchmen as well, and none of them were quite happy with his reign. So the lot of them plan a revolt when he’s coming to visit and check in on the progress of the lair. He’d have none of his fancy defenses at the finished place so it was the perfect time.

Villain arrives, they revolt, yadda yadda- everyone in a 3-mile radius dies. Usual stuff. Now the place is haunted and abandoned- two factors which made it the perfect venue for one of my friend’s ghost parties.

Problem was getting everything set up, since it was pretty far away we had to arrive a solid two hours beforehand, I had volunteered to do some of the heavy lifting and…

“Your ex came along?” I don’t notice I’ve trailed off in the story until Foxtrot speaks up, supplying the detail that’s still stuck on my tongue.

I inhale deeply, “Yeah,” I nod, “Yeah that’s right, my… ex came along.” I smile, a bitterness tainting the gesture, “Always seemed like no matter what it was, they’d be there to help me. Even the small shit.”

I find myself running my good hand through my ponytail, tugging harshly at any knots still stuck from the battle, “It feels horrible now, stupidly, but if I’d known then about everything else I think that maybe I wouldn’t have been so… liberal when asking for their help, y’know?”

Foxtrot just shrugs, “Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, as they say.”

“I hate being indebted…” The breath I’d taken in comes out as a whoosh, “But I can’t say I regret it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” I grin, quickly segueing back into the story.

‘Cause you see this place, even if it wasn’t haunted, was just about the freakiest pile of rubble I’d ever been in. The entire thing reeked of death, and I knew this even before I understood what that smell felt like. We’re talking the works- half finished rooms, padlocked doors, peeling paint, rotting food in abandoned worker lunchboxes- you name it, the house had it. Now this got the host all excited about the possibilities but it also meant we had to comb through the house and set things up in the creepiest possible places. I teamed up with them, of course, and we took the second floor which was… mostly complete, really.

But that only made it creepier.

There were these furnished rooms with unpainted walls, like someone had lived in there for a day before disappearing entirely. There were nails in the halls for family photos that had never been put up and bedposts with no mattresses… Hell, even I was feeling a bit unnerved by all this. I remember they were practically shaking and… this was before things got serious but they were basically clinging to me the entire time. It was… kinda nice, actually. So I didn’t mind.

What made me laugh, though, was when we were in one of those unfinished bedrooms, and, as if that wasn’t worse enough, it was a children’s bedroom-

“Oh god.” Foxtrot interjects briefly.

Yeah, really creepy. All these dolls were lined up on the wall, most of them just harmless animals but when you’re already waiting for Krueger to pop his head around the corner and wave at you with his knife-fingers it feels a helluva lot worse than it is. We were setting up a stereo and some skeleton-themed chips in that room when apparently the shelf we were putting the bowl up on decided that was a bit too much weight. They’d just stepped away when the entire thing came crashing down. I swear they moved faster than you do, knocked me over and by the time I’d gathered what was happening they’d dragged me all the way downstairs and out the door.

I start laughing again, a wild sound that bubbles in my chest, briefly lifting the heaviness that’d settled there before it breaks down into a groan of pain. Too much joy for too many injuries. I wince, and press my hand against my side once more, swallowing the building pain, “I… had to sit there in the woods and calm them down enough to convince ‘em that it wasn’t a ghost. We ended up going back to campus before the party had started that night.” A strained smile stretches on my lips, “I promised, then, that even if it was a ghost I’d fight it off. They laughed at me. But I swore they had nothing to be afraid of…” Another sigh finds it’s way through me, “As long as I was around.”

Foxtrot says nothing, and I don’t feel the need to fill the silence either. So we end up sitting there for… who knows how long. Long enough that I hear Mambo’s front door open and close, whatever poor sap was on his table beforehand limping away. Long enough that their footsteps fade into silence. Long enough that it lasts even after that. Foxtrot takes a deep breath, they lay a quiet hand on my shoulder, “You know, it might not hurt to talk to-”

“It would.” I snap, and like Oppenheimer feel some guilt well up in me with the harshness, but unlike Oppenheimer, Foxtrot doesn’t wince, doesn’t even blink. Instead I feel their fingers curl around my shoulder, a sternes settling into what little of their face I can make out.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” Not quite as harsh this time, but just as determined.

“No, Lucy, you don’t.” Now it’s my turn to jolt back, caught off-guard by Foxtrot using my real name. Instinctively I look behind them for any eavesdroppers- but I know Foxtrot wouldn’t risk something like that unless they were absolutely certain we’re alone. “You’ve assumed the worst for four years, now, and you’ve never even tried to contact them.” Foxtrot’s blurry eyes narrow, “Do you even want to see them again?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then go!” Foxtrot releases my shoulder, hands extending out beside them, “I never thought I’d say it but you, of all people, are overthinking it, Lucy! You! Overthinking something!” They shake their head, “What’s the worst that could possibly happen?”

“They could-” I cut myself off quickly.

I trust Foxtrot enough to share parts of my past. I trust Foxtrot enough to look after them when I can’t. I even trust Foxtrot with my real name… But I could never trust anyone with that. If I did, it would make these past four years for nothing.

That’s not a fight I’m willing to lose.

Foxtrot doesn’t press the issue, they don’t get the chance to when the door slams open once more. Both of our heads turning to the mouth of the alley as heavy footsteps stomp around the corner. The unknown man from inside stands bathed in weak streetlight. “Dammit, him again…?” Foxtrot wonders beside me.

“You!” He juts an accusing finger directly at me, “I knew I recognized you! You’re Valkyrie!”

Foxtrot leans my way, “Fan of yours?”

“You hack!” He continues to scream, “You don’t deserve your spot on Nickelport’s most wanted!”

“Apparently not.” I scoff.

“What have you ever done of consequence!” He continues to rave, “You fight for nothing! Nothing! Villains like you give the rest us a bad name! We’re not all mindless slaughter-machines.” He snarls.

Foxtrot sighs, fading into a clear mist before reappearing off of the dumpster. Muttering a quiet, “Here we go again.”

“Wait.” I land beside them, grabbing their shoulder and grinning widely, “Let me.”

Foxtrot’s eyes flicker down to my side, “You sure?”

“You worried about me, Foxy?”

“Worried about him.” They jut their head towards the still-ranting man, “Far as I see it… well, the glass had a better chance against you.”

I laugh, relishing in that familiar temporary lightness that comes with it, “I’ll pull my punches.”

Even through the mist, I can see Foxtrot’s disbelief. “You never pull your punches.”

“C’mon, please?” I pat their shoulder, “I’m in the mood for a fight.”

Finally, Foxtrot relents, “Fine. Just… try not to kill him, okay?”

My grin only grows wider, “I’ll do my best.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’ve got cleanup duty tonight.”

#model citizens unmasked #lucille pinchette #short story #shorts

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