It had been almost two years since the last time Snyder had called Specs to his office for a beating. He really only liked picking on the littles who he could easily make cry, so after months of beating Specs without getting a reaction, he had just given up and hadn't tried again since. So when Snyder caught Specs sneaking food to the boys in the middle of the night and demanded he meet him in his office, Specs smirked and rolled his eyes. He had no fear of that place anymore. He was more upset that the food had been confiscated and his brothers would go hungry another day.
"Shirt off," Snyder ordered, and Specs did as he was told, still calm and collected. The wardrobe in Snyder's office was home to all of his torture devices: belts, switches, canes, rope, and chains. The creek of its door sent a shiver down Specs' spine as it always had, but he took a deep breath and didn't allow it to scare him. Snyder bent Specs over his desk, and with his bare chest against the cool mahogany, he was instantly transported back to his childhood when Snyder would lay him flat against the desk and beat him ruthlessly for what felt like hours. When he was finally dismissed, he'd always run to Jack who would be there ready to comfort him. But that had been long ago. He was a small child then, and almost a man now. There was nothing Spider could do to hurt him anymore.
Specs' thoughts were silenced when he was confronted by the harsh lash of a whip. A real whip. He had never felt pain like that before. In that moment, everything else ceased to exist. He wasn't afraid of Snyder or the next inevitable lash, or worried about waking his brothers with screams. Wait, was he even screaming? He couldn't be sure. He couldn't hear or see anything. His mind was completely blank other than processing the insane amount of pain. When the next lash fell, he gasped in shock and realized it was the first time his lungs felt air since the first lash. He had forgotten to breathe. Or he had forgotten how to breathe. He didn't think he could possibly experience any more pain, but with each lash, it grew exponentially. His instincts told him to run, to roll away, to at least use his arms to protect himself, but it was impossible to move. He was frozen. He couldn't know how long it went on, how many lashes he received. Time didn't exist in his new reality. Nothing but pain did.
Eventually, Snyder stood Specs upright, and gave him instructions of some sort. Specs couldn't make out what he was saying. He couldn't see him. Were his eyes even open? "Do you understand me, boy?" Specs shook his head hastily, and Snyder grabbed his chin to force him to look in his eyes. "Go to Kelly now and tell him to clean you up. And that Higgins is next." Specs nodded. "What did I just say?"
"To tell Jack to clean me up and Racer's next," Specs wasn't sure how he was even talking.
"Good. Go." Snyder shoved him out the door. When he placed his foot on the first step, it felt like every lash in his back was reopening. Blood was spilling down to his socks. Specs dropped to his knees, and tried crawling up the stairs, but reaching with his arms was even more painful. Somehow, he managed to pull himself back to his feet and wound up outside Jack's door. He shoved the door open and called for Jack before collapsing down to all fours. Jack shot up and ran to his brother, somehow not disturbing Race and Crutchie sleeping on either side of him.
Jack immediately realized what happened and wanted to cry or throw up or both, but he held himself together. "Bathroom. Now." He helped Specs to his feet, then assisted him down the hall to the bathroom, where both boys collapsed to the ground. "Can you hear me?" Specs nodded while trying to catch his breath. "Can you breathe?" Specs nodded again, more hesitantly this time. "Ya gotta breathe, Specs. Deep breaths, in and out." Jack demonstrated slow, even breathing, and Specs mirrored. His breath hitched when his lungs inflated fully and he felt like his skin was tearing open and his bruised ribs ached. "I know it hurts, but it's important," Jack soothed. Once Specs' breathing steadied, Jack reached for the rag to clean his wounds, and Specs panicked knowing how badly it would hurt to touch.
"Racer's next," Specs spat out.
"What?"
"Spider told me to tell you that Race is next."
"No. He can't." Racetrack was Snyder's favorite to torture, probably because of his smart mouth and fierce loyalty and determination to protect his brothers. If Spider got at him with a whip, Jack was sure Race wouldn't survive it.
"I know," Specs agreed. For the first time, his foggy head was starting to clear, and the thought of his brother suffering the way he was became incomprehensible.
"Stay here, I'll be right back," Jack ordered, heading for his room where he quickly shook Race awake. "Racer, ya gotta get up."
"What?" Race asked sleepily rubbing his eyes.
"You can't stay here, ya gotta go."
"What? Go where?" Race was utterly confused.
"Doesn't matter, you just can't stay here," Jack was hurried. He didn't have time to explain. He had to get back to his bloodied brother in the bathroom.
"Jack, what are-"
"Racetrack, please! Just go!" With that, Race's eyes were wide open, though he still had no idea what was happening. He slipped on his shoes and angrily slipped out the window and down the fire escape. He assumed he'd walk to Brooklyn, but had no idea what he'd say when he got there. Jack closed the window behind Race, then quickly returned to the bathroom to carry out the task he was dreading.
"This is gonna hurt like a bitch," Jack warned.
"Just get it over with," Specs conceded, focusing on his breathing like Jack instructed. Jack wiped away the dried blood and ensured each lash was clean, though Specs whimpered and hissed with pain throughout. When Jack deemed his job good enough, he again helped Specs to his feet.
"You'll stay with me tonight. We'll ask Crutchie to switch." Specs hobbled back to Jack's room with much support, and Jack gently shook his brother awake. "Hey, go sleep in Specs' room. He's not feeling well, so he's gonna sleep here tonight."
"Mmmkay," Crutchie answered, still half asleep. "Feel better, Specs." He left without further question, for which Jack was grateful.
Race arrived to Brooklyn when it was still dark out. He climbed Spot Conlon's fire escape and tapped on his window.
"Higgins, what're you doing here?"
"Honestly, I'm not sure," Race admitted. "Jack threw me out."
"Why? What'd ya do? Were you out past curfew again?"
"No! I haven't left the house in like a week! Really, I don't know what I did," Race replied.
"That doesn't make sense at all, but come in, and we'll figure it out in the morning." Race climbed through Spot's window and into his bed. He hoped he could get a little more sleep before Mr. Taylor had the Brooklyn boys up for the morning. "Oh, and if Mr. Taylor punishes me for you being here, Imma kill you, then Imma kill Kelly."
Race smiled and snuggled a little closer to the Brooklyn boy. "G'night, Spot."
"Night, Racer."
After moments of silence, before he could fall asleep, Race quietly asked, "Will he really punish you? I thought he doesn't care that you exist."
"He normally forgets we exist; he doesn't torture us for no reason like Spider would. But if you commit a crime like, I don't know, harboring a fugitive, he'll be angry for sure." Race hummed in understanding, and Spot continued. "You know how Spider will lock you in a closet only to take you out every two hours to beat the shit out of you? Taylor will lock you in a closet and forget about it until he goes to lock someone else in the same closet a week later and discovers you've been there all along."
"Well then, we'll just have to not get caught. And if he locks you in a closet, I won't forget about you," Race promised.
"Shut up, ya idiot, you're going back to Spider and Kelly tomorrow."
Race laughed and they both eventually found sleep.
Jack woke up and was able to feel heat radiating off Specs' skin from a foot away, and he knew he had a fever. He should have known that just plain water on a dirty rag wasn't going to be enough to keep infection away. His stomach was in knots when he thought about what he knew he had to do. "Specs, wake up, I gotta clean you up again." Specs groaned as pain radiated throughout his body. "Go back to the bathroom, I'll be there in a minute." Specs complied, while Jack hesitantly knocked on Snyder's bedroom door. When the old man opened the door, Jack immediately dropped his gaze to the ground. He hated him so much, he felt the anger rise in his blood. "It needs alcohol," Jack explained, and Snyder smirked.
He retrieved a bottle of rubbing alcohol and handed it to Jack. "That's gonna burn like hell," Snyder informed him, as if he didn't know.
"You're gonna burn in Hell," Jack replied under his breath. As soon as he sat down in the bathroom with Specs, the bathroom door opened again. Jack assumed it was Spider coming to watch what was probably going to be more painful than the initial beating, but when he looked up, he was surprised to find Spot Conlon.
"Shit," was all Spot could say. "What happened here?"
"Spider whipped him."
"With a real whip," Specs addended, feeling the need to defend himself for how pitiful he must have looked.
"Well I see you've got your hands full here," Spot started. "But you can't just go kicking boys out of the house when you're feeling overwhelmed. You're the leader here, Kelly, and that means taking care of everyone, not banishing people to Brooklyn when you don't feel like dealing with them anymore."
Jack's anger grew. "I didn't banish Racetrack to Brooklyn because I didn't feel like dealing with him. I sent him there because Spider threatened to whip him next."
"With the real whip," Specs clarified again.
Spot nodded in horror and in understanding, but Jack was still annoyed at the accusation. "Have you ever been whipped before?" Jack questioned Spot.
Spot could only shake his head no, but Jack's question made Specs think about the night prior, how Jack's first question was about Specs' breathing. How would Jack know how hard it was to breathe after being whipped? "Wait," Specs said turning to his older brother. "Have you?" Jack's eyes fell to the floor, so everyone knew the answer. "You never told me that before. Where was I?"
"It was before ya got here, okay?"
"You were eight years old when I got here. Spider whipped ya when you were that young?"
"Yeah, he used to whip everyone, but he stopped because..." Jack hesitated, but Spot and Specs' pleading eyes made him continue. "Well, because I almost died. My wounds got infected, and I couldn't breathe so good, so my lungs tried to quit working all together. It was the first and only time I ever saw the Spider scared. He wasn't feeling scared for me, though. I think he just realized that if I died, he could go away for murder. Lucky for him, he had a friend who was able to get some medical supplies and patched me up without me having to see a real doctor, and I eventually got better. Then you came to live here not that long after, and he never used the whip again, I guess because I really did scare him."
"Shit," Spot said again.
"So that's why it's really important you keep breathing, Specs, deep breaths even though it hurts. And I gotta clean you up better. Spot's gonna hold you still, because this is gonna hurt even worse than yesterday."
Specs pulled his knees to his chest and crossed his arms around them. Spot sat in front of him, holding each hand tight and keeping Specs' head still with his chest. Jack hesitantly poured the alcohol onto a rag and took a deep breath before touching the first lash. It took everything Specs had not to scream, and he squeezed Spot's hands as tightly as he possibly could. All three boys let out a deep sigh, then started the process again. Finally, it was over, and Jack felt confident Specs' infection wouldn't worsen. He thanked Spot for the help, then sent him back to Brooklyn after making him promise not to tell Race what was going on.
"You know Spider's gonna be pissed when he realizes Race is gone, and he's gonna take it out on the other boys. But as long as no one else gets the whip, we can deal with it. If Race knows what's happening, he'll come back to protect his brothers for sure, and we can't have him getting whipped, Spot, we can't." Spot understood and promised not to tell Race, though he wasn't sure what lie he'd make up. The boys said their goodbyes, and Spot headed out Jack's window, the same way he came in.
Jack helped Specs get dressed, hoping a light t-shirt wouldn't bother his wounds too much. Not long after, Snyder predictably came looking for Racetrack. "Where is he?" he demanded, and Jack shrugged his shoulders. If Spider tracked him down in Brooklyn, both he and Spot would be goners for sure. "The rest of the boys will pay for this, Kelly," Snyder warned, which Jack knew was coming. He reasoned with himself that as long as no one else faced the whip, it would be worth it. Snyder exited Jack's room, then straight out the front door of the building. Jack hoped beyond hope that he wouldn't find Race.
From his cozy spot in Spot's bed, Race had a view of the street below. He was absentmindedly watching the New Yorkers pass by, when one familiar man made the panic grow inside of him. "Spot? Why is Spider here?"
"Shit," Spot mumbled. "Hide. Now."
Race was confused again, but did as he was told, diving quickly beneath Spot's bed, truly the only hiding spot in his tiny room, and remaining as still and silent as possible.
"If anyone knows where he is, it'll be Conlon," Mr. Taylor's voice was just outside Spot's door. Spot and Race were frozen in fear when the two men threw the door open. "Have you seen a Racetrack Higgins?" Spot's guardian questioned.
"Have you checked the racetracks?" Spot suggested casually. "That's how he got his name, ya know."
"Don't be a smart-ass," Taylor demanded. "Where is he?"
"I haven't seen him," Spot lied, but Snyder dropped to the ground and immediately checked the easiest hiding place in the room. He caught Race by the ankle and dragged him out from under the bed dramatically. Spot hid his face in his hands, and Race's eyes were filled with panic.
"You are so done," Snyder laughed at Race's pained expression.
"And so are you," Taylor added to Spot. Both boys exchanged sympathetic glances.
"Manhattan. Now." Spider held Race by the shoulders and steered him out the door. Through their walk in Brooklyn, across the bridge, through downtown Manhattan, Spider kept his hand on Race's shoulder. It made Race feel dirty, sickened, terrified. He felt like he was a death row inmate being lead to the electric chair. His heart was in his stomach, and sweat was pooling on his skin.
"Racetrack Higgins, is that you?" a familiar voice called out. Race followed the sound and was met with the most beautiful sight, Miss Medda standing just outside her theater. She could easily read his terrified expression. "What are you doing out this time of day? Do come in for lunch!" Race brushed Snyder's hand off his shoulder, and with it the weight of the world, and ran into Medda's warm embrace. "Are you okay? What'd he do to you?" she asked hurriedly before Snyder could approach.
"Nothing yet," Race replied. "But I think he might be about to murder me."
"Sorry," Snyder stated as he got closer, reaching for Race's arm. "We already have plans, so we can't stay."
"My apologies," Medda clarified. "I wasn't inviting you. And I must insist that Racetrack stay for lunch." Medda strategically placed herself between the child and the man, and Snyder could read that she wouldn't back down.
He looked around her and made stern eye contact with Racetrack. "You'll come home straight after lunch. Trust me that you have brothers who depend on your arrival," Snyder threatened and Race understood what that meant. He'd be torturing them until he could get there to take their place.
"I can't stay, Miss Medda, I have to get back before he hurts anyone else," Race hugged her half heartedly and tried to head for the door before she stopped him.
"Boy, you must be crazy if you think I'd let you go back with that man right now. Let's gather some food for the boys, and we'll head there together."
Snyder threw the front door open and immediately called for Romeo, Finch, and Albert to meet him in his office. Jack ran ahead of them and stopped them from entering. "You can't whip them, they're too young," Jack argued.
"I'll do what I want," Snyder angrily replied trying to shove Jack aside to get to his selected victims.
"They won't survive it. They're not big enough. They'll die like I almost did, and you can't have that." The boys stared at their big brother confused. What was he talking about? There's no way the invincible Jack Kelly almost died.
"I told you Racetrack was next for the whip, and I wasn't lying. They'll get their turns, but for today, nothing worse than the belt," Snyder yielded.
Jack stared him down bravely and stole a glance at the three terrified boys behind him. He wanted to stop him, to continue to fight for his three little brothers, but once Spider made up his mind, that was it. Jack worried any further arguing would only escalate the situation. "Okay, fine," Jack acquiesced.
"What? No! Not fine! It's not fine!" Romeo panicked, his eyes already welling up with tears, grabbing onto Jack as Snyder dragged him further into his office.
"I'm sorry, Romeo," Jack whispered to him. "You will be okay, I promise. And you're protecting Racer, alright? He needs you, and you're so brave." Romeo still didn't understand, but Jack's gentle touch eased his concerns.
The three boys stood in Snyder's office, all trembling with fear but trying to save face. Snyder ordered them to each pick a tool out of his wardrobe. They hated having to pick themselves, but Snyder obviously knew that. They each chose the three flimsiest looking switches they could manage, which were still unfortunately sturdy enough to really cause pain.
Jack sat outside the door with his head in his hands listening to his brothers' cries of anguish when the front door of the building swung open revealing Racetrack, who had somehow convinced Medda to let him run ahead. She wouldn't be too far behind.
Before Jack could stand to greet him, Race had bolted toward Snyder's office. "Who does he have in there?" he demanded.
Jack grabbed his shoulders to stop him from bursting through the door. "Albert and Finch," Jack hesitated. "And... and Romeo." Race pushed even harder, but Jack held him back. "Race, I know it's not ideal, but it is not safe for you in there right now."
"He's hurting them," Race argued.
"He'll hurt you worse."
"I can take it," Race continued to try to shove past Jack, but Jack was simply stronger.
"He'll kill you, Racer, I can't let him have you."
The boys' argument was interrupted by Romeo's shrieking cry, followed by Finch's angry yell: "That's enough, Spider! He's bleeding, leave him alone!" Snyder was not amused by Finch's outburst, so he took a break from picking on Romeo to smack Finch across the head with the switch he was holding. The skin over his temple immediately busted open spilling blood down his face as he collapsed to the ground.
From the other side of the office door, Race and Jack both cringed. Race looked at Jack, hesitating for a millisecond before banging on the door yelling, "Spider, I'm here, I'm home, it's Race! Let them go, you can have me!" Snyder smiled, slowly sauntering across the room to open the door. Race shoved past him to get to Romeo who leapt into his arms and sobbed onto his shoulder as Race soothingly ran a hand through his hair and hugged back fiercely.
Jack and Albert both dropped to the ground beside Finch just as he was coming back into consciousness. As he opened his eyes, Jack quickly changed his expression from worry to a smile. "Hey, buddy. You okay? Didn't I ever teach you not to talk back to Spider when he has a weapon in his hands?" Finch buried his face in his hands out of embarrassment and to protect his eyes from the bright light that made his pounding headache worse, but he returned Jack's smile. "He got ya pretty good. Looks like ya might need some stitches," Jack helped Finch stand up and steadied him as he wobbled on his feet.
"Time for Racetrack's fun. Kelly, you'll stay to watch. And the rest of you are invited, too," Snyder offered.
"No, Albert, take them upstairs and clean them up." Jack paused. He was going to suggest asking Specs for help, but Specs was still bedridden, his recollection of which made his current situation with Race all the more terrible. "Um, ask Crutchie to help," Jack finished, and Albert obeyed.
"Shirt off," Snyder demanded. His smile made Jack's stomach turn, especially as he realized Race still didn't know what was coming, assuming Spot didn't tell him. He had to fight off that feeling of wanting to cry and vomit again.
"Lunch for everyone!" Miss Medda yelled interrupting the Snyder's plot. Immediately there were thunderous footsteps on the stairs to greet Miss Medda and the glorious feast she brought. Crutchie had haphazardly wrapped Finch's head with ACE bandage, but blood was already leaking through. "Baby, what happened?" Medda pulled him into a gigantic hug and examined his wound. Finch didn't need to answer. "That needs stitches. Eat some lunch and we'll get you to the hospital straight away."
Specs was the last one downstairs, still limping and wincing in pain with every step, but his grimace turned into a grin when he saw their angel of a visitor who eyed him up and down with concern, but he convinced her he was okay with a subtle wink. "We seem to be two boys too short," Medda announced dramatically directing her voice at Snyder's closed office door, knowing what was going on in there and desperately wanting to stop it.
Snyder sighed before he could even access his weapon. "I'm not done with you boys," he threatened, but allowed Race to dress himself and join their brothers for lunch unscathed.
The famished boys shoveled food into their faces faster than Miss Medda could imagine possible. She didn't ever want to leave them, but she knew she couldn't stay forever, and Finch needed medical attention. She pulled Jack aside and quietly asked if everything would be okay. "I've got it under control here," he reassured with a smile, but the two turned their gaze toward Specs, so Jack solemnly added, "mostly." Medda planted a kiss atop Jack's messy brown locks and said goodbye to the rest of the boys, promising she'd be back once Finch was all patched up.
As soon as Medda was out the front door, Snyder grabbed Race's arm and pulled him toward his office. "Please no," Jack begged. He hadn't had time to confiscate the whip, Specs was barely surviving, and he couldn't even fathom the thought of Race facing the same torture. Race shot Jack a confused look. What had gotten into him? Race could handle himself. Snyder ignored the older boy's pleas, pulling Race into his office and slamming the door behind them, forcing Jack to rest his hands and forehead against it on the other side. He figured this was better; he'd rather just listen than have to watch. Snyder removed Race's shirt and bent him over the desk. Like Specs, it instantly transported Race back to a time that this would terrify him. Here and now, he just felt a sense of calm. A sense of relief that it was him and not Romeo or one of the other littles.
Snyder slammed his desk drawer shut startling Race. He tried to stay still, but he jolted once again when he heard the doors of the wardrobe slam shut too. "Kelly, get in here!" Snyder demanded, and Jack was through the door in an instant. "What did you do with it?" Jack and Race were both confused.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jack promised. He had intended to steal the whip before Race could return, but he hadn't gotten the opportunity. Maybe Albert or Finch or Romeo somehow got it when they were in there. Whichever one it was, he was going to hug him so hard before he slapped him upside the head for doing something so risky. He knew they got those brave, selfless, stupid ideas from watching him all these years.
"I swear to God, Kelly, when I find it, I'm gonna make you whip Higgins yourself. 20 lashes at least, and for every one that isn't hard enough, I'll add another to the end. And someone else can get a turn too. Crutchie, perhaps."
Jack and Race shuttered at the thought, but Jack instead chose to live in the temporary victory that Race would be spared for now. They lived their lives in temporaries. Even if tomorrow's beating would be a hundred times worse, today there was a temporary reprieve. Even though Spider probably would eventually whip every last one of them, right now they were all safe upstairs. Even though they'd likely go another week without seeing food, today their bellies were temporary full, so Jack chose to be grateful.
"It's okay, baby, you can tell them what happened," Medda encouraged Finch as the triage nurse examined his cut.
"I tripped and hit it on the corner of a table," Finch recited as Snyder had always instructed. Over the years, the boys had been sent to the emergency room countless times and always had an excuse for their injuries caused by Snyder. They didn't lie only to protect Snyder (or, more accurately, protect themselves from Snyder's wrath) but also because they lived in fear of what would happen if Snyder were arrested. It would be hard to find a replacement guardian, so they'd likely all be split up in families across the state. Maybe even the region, from New Jersey to Connecticut. Even though they were tortured daily at their group home, at least they had each other which made it worth it.
"Are you sure?" asked the nurse. "This injury isn't really consistent with the edge of a table."
"They're here to help you," Medda reminded him.
"Yeah, I'm sure. My shoes were untied, I was chasing my little brother, I caught the edge just right I guess." Medda's heart broke but she understood.
The nurse brought them back to a room where the doctor would see him. Medda chose to sit on the gurney next to Finch rather than the chair where family members typically resided. She snuggled him close to her, any closer and he would have been on her lap. "Remind me, have you had stitches before?" Finch shook his head. "Well they'll give you some medicine to numb it up real good so you don't feel the needle. It'll be over before you know it, and I'll be here with you the whole time." Finch smiled gratefully, but he didn't need the reassurance. The pain of fixing his wound certainly couldn't be as bad as obtaining it.
The doctor came in, and went to work on Finch's cut. Medda was right about the numbing medicine, but she neglected to mention it would be administered though a needle right into his cut and it would burn like fire. Still, as predicted, it wasn't as bad as the initial injury, made even more tolerable by Medda's tight squeeze. He didn't feel the stitches going in at all, as seven of them sewed his head back together as good as new. "You were so brave," Medda cooed at him. "And we have one more stop before I take you back to Jack." Finch loved how Medda referred to their group home as Jack's place, not Snyder's. It really was more fitting.
Holding Finch's hand, Medda directed him into the police station where she had already arranged a meeting with the chief of police. "He did this to Finch," she started before even sitting down, gesturing toward his bandaged head.
"No, no, I hit it against a table," Finch quickly amended.
"You don't have to lie to me, son," the police chief told Finch. "I already know about Snyder's transgressions."
"And they were so starving, they finished all of the food within minutes," Medda continued. "More food than you'd eat at a Thanksgiving feast gone right before your eyes." The police chief was jotting notes in his spiral notebook, but didn't seem overly impressed. Medda sighed. "And then there's this," she added, reaching into her bag and pulling out the whip she had lifted out of Snyder's desk. It was curled on itself with the handle at one end and the other end still covered in Specs' blood. The police cheif's eyes widened (as did Finch's) and he placed the whip inside an evidence bag. "Will it be enough to arrest him?" Medda questioned.
"I'll see what I can do about it, but it will be at least a couple of days," he replied.
But Medda took that answer as a temporary win.
Jack and Race were standing solemnly back in Snyder's office after he had gone on his mission to secure a new whip, Race ready to accept his fate and Jack utterly terrified.
"I won't be able to get another one for at least a week, I'm told," Snyder informed them, and both boys let out the breath they didn't know they were holding. "But I chased you all the way to Brooklyn today, so I can't let you go unpunished. The belt doesn't hurt you badly enough anymore..."
"Yes it does," Race interrupted. "It hurts so bad."
His acting was subpar, so Snyder completely ignored him and continued thinking out loud. "I'm beginning to think you're becoming more like Jack, that it's more painful for you to watch one of the other boys get hurt than to go through it yourself. Maybe we should get Romeo back down here..."
"Jack, just give him the whip back, I can take it," Race pleaded.
"Really, I don't have it."
"Then go get Romeo," Snyder demanded. "Or your crip. Either will do."
Without warning, Race grabbed both sides of his head and fell to the ground groaning and grimacing, his eyes squeezed shut and breathing quickening. Jack dropped to the floor with him, touching his hair gently, "Racer! Race, are you okay? Hey hey, stay with me." Race didn't acknowledge him. Snyder kicked at the boy in a ball on the floor. "He gets migraines, leave him alone," Jack shoved Snyder's foot away and placed himself between the two.
"He was fine 30 seconds ago."
"Yeah, sometimes they come out of nowhere. Especially when he's stressed. Like when you're threatening his friends."
Snyder squatted down beside the two boys and lifted Race's chin to meet his eyes. Race struggled to barely open them, and as soon as he did, tears escaped which he quickly wiped away. Snyder was annoyed, but he was tired of dealing with the two of them anyway. "Fine, you can go, but I swear, someone is paying for this tomorrow. Every last one of them will get the belt, and just wait until I have my whip back," Snyder threatened, but both boys ignored him.
Jack had his arms wrapped around Race's shoulders, gently guiding him up the stairs while Race kept his eyes buried in his hands, moaning in pain. When they were about half way, the front door opened, and Snyder pulled Finch inside while pushing Medda out and slamming the door shut. "What did you tell them?" he immediately demanded.
"That I tripped on my shoelace and caught the edge of a table," Finch replied.
"Did they buy it?"
"I don't think so, but I didn't back down."
"Well I hope you can get some rest tonight, because you're getting the belt tomorrow. You have Higgins and Kelly to thank for that."
Finch glanced up at his two brothers, and Jack rolled his eyes knowing Finch wouldn't believe Spider. It still made anxiety rise in Finch's chest, as he noticed for the first time that his back was burning from the switch too, previously not noticeable over his pounding head. Jack waited for Finch to catch up and gave him a quick kiss on the outside of his bandage. "You'll be alright, we won't let anything happen to you." And Finch believed him, because he had no reason not to.
Crutchie jumped up to help when the boys returned to their room, and Jack sat Race on the bed still clutching his head. As soon as Race heard the door close, he looked up with a smile.
"You were faking it, you little jerk?" Jack shoved him so he fell back on the bed, but he bounced right back up.
"I really sold it with those tears, huh? Even I didn't think I could be that good."
"I'm gonna kill you, Racer."
"You're the third person that's threatened that today, and yet, I've somehow evaded death." They all laughed and chose to once again live in the temporary, not thinking about what tomorrow might bring.