TW: referenced self harm
The next morning, Specs was up before sunrise to go find Spot. As he raced out the door, he almost ran into Crutchie.
"Hey Specs. What'cha doin?" he asked, cheerful as ever.
"I gotta find Spot, Jack can fill you in," Specs told him before running out the door.
"O-Okay. Bye Specs!" Crutchie called. However, Specs was long gone.
By the time Specs got to Brooklyn, he was breathing harder than he thought possible and clutching a cramp in his side as he pounded on the door of the Brooklyn newsie lodgings. A very grumpy Spot answered the door.
"What'cha doin' here, uh…"
"Specs… sir."
"Specs." Spot grumbled. "It's only seven in the morning."
"Um, it's Racetrack. He just came back from—from the Refuge." Spot's expression immediately shifted to one of—concern? as he disappeared back into the building for a few moments, reappearing with a first aid kit and a bottle of alcohol. Specs led the way as they ran through the crowded street and finally made it to the Manhattan lodge. They burst through the door, Specs collapsing onto his bed.
"Spot, thanks for coming. Romeo came down with a fever and Race still won't leave the bathroom. The door is locked and he has the key," Jack said.
"What did you do for Romeo?" Spot asked.
"We cleaned the dirt out of his wounds and bandaged them, but I don't think the water disinfected them enough, since we can't get into the bathroom.
"'Kay. Clean them again with this," he said, tossing them the bottle of alcohol, "and I'll see what I can do for Race." He walked towards the bathroom door, first aid kit in hand, and knocked.
"I's fine, Jack," Race said, the door muffling his voice.
"Race. Open the door," Spot said, making his voice as commanding as possible.
The lock clicked.
Spot carefully opened the door, making sure not to startle or hit Race. He didn't have to worry, however; Race was hiding in the corner next to the bathtub. Spot stepped in and closed the door, laying the first aid supplies on the counter.
"P-Please don't hurt me," Race whispered, his eyes closed.
"Race, it's Spot, I ain't gonna hurt you," Spot replied. "Can I come over there?" Race slowly looked up at Spot and nodded ever so slightly. Spot took that as his signal to slowly walk towards the other boy; he walked as quietly as possible without making any sudden movements. He gently put his hand on Race's shoulder, wincing when Race flinched. Race must have sensed his worry, as he whispered, "I's fine."
"No you're not," Spot replied. "Jack told me you've been in here since around eleven last night? And please don't lie."
Race nodded.
"That's what I thought. If that's the case, you need some medical attention. C'mere." He picked Race up, bridal style, and set him on the counter. For the first time, he realized how beaten up his friend was. Blood stained his shirt, too obvious to ignore even over the plaid pattern, and he had two black eyes. His arms were covered in—
"Oh sh—schuttas," he whispered. "Race?" Race followed his line of sight and winced.
"I's s-sorry," he breathed, looking like he was about to cry.
Tiny cuts ran up and down his forearms, some slowly oozing blood. Spot glanced around the bathroom and found a razor behind the trash can, then looked back at Race, who was staring at his hands.
"Racetrack." Race sat as still as possible, his chest barely moving as he breathed. "Anthony Alessandro Higgins."
"So you're pulling the full name card, huh," Race said, attempting sarcasm and barely choking back a sob. He still didn't look up.
"Race, I just wanna make sure you're okay," Spot said.
"Well, I's obviously not! Great job, Sherlock," Race nearly shouted.
"Race, please just let me help you! I don't want you to be in pain."
"But I don't deserve your help, Spot. I 'preciate that you care, but I's just a burden."
"You're not a burden! Don't ever say that." He started gently removing Race's vest and shirt, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Race feebly tried to swat his hands away, but Spot ignored it. When he pulled of Race's undershirt, the boy wouldn't meet his gaze.
"How are you still alive?" Spot asked incredulously.
"I shouldn't be."
"Race…"
"It's true!" Race said. "I's older and I's supposed to take care of Romeo, but I screwed up. I begged him to hurt me instead, I did! But he wouldn't listen, and Romeo got hurt. I was s'posed to protect him, and instead he protected me. I didn't deserve that. I—" he was cut off as Spot placed a hand in front of his mouth.
"Shh, you didn't do anything wrong, Race."
"But I—"
"No."
"Romeo—"
"Race, shh. It's fine, you didn't do anything wrong and Romeo getting hurt is not your fault."
"I failed him! He almost died because of me! Don't say it's not my fault." He started to sob, not protesting when Spot picked him up and cradled him like a baby.
"Race it isn't your fault. I'm assuming Romeo took the punishment for you because you couldn't take any more—stop right there. Since you're the oldest, you naturally want to protect all the littles, right?"
A nod.
"But even you get to a point where you can't take it. Romeo doesn't want you to get hurt, kid."
"I's no kid, Spot."
"Race, he couldn't stand to watch you get hurt. And Romeo's pretty smart, so if he thought you wouldn't be able to take it, he was most likely correct." Race slowly nodded.
"Now you need to hold still so I can clean you up, 'kay?"
"A-Alright."
A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed! It means a lot to me and I appreciate it. I'm really enjoying writing this and I hope you are enjoying reading it as well.
Also, sorry this is kind of a short chapter, I figured y'all would want an update sooner? Plus I stink at long chapters. Expect another update sometime next week, as I'm gone this weekend.
