Wow, I am so inspired today! Lets roll with it!

Thank you so much to my reviewers, and even those who read silently (I am often one of you)

(earlier that morning)

Maxine Paris Higgins pulled away from the kiss almost before it was a kiss. Andy's eyebrows furrowed.

"Hey! What's wrong?" he put his hands out. His bloody face was scabbing and bruising- the last thing she wanted to do was kiss it.

"Who beat you up?" she crossed her arms.

"...some guy."

"Don't try to pull that on me. I'm not stupid, Andy."

Slash peeked around the corner.

"Cherry woke up. She said she's hungry."

Paris groaned. She pointed at Andy, "You. Don't go anywhere."

Slash took in the sight of Andy. "So Race didn't want to visit."

"You could say that."

"Is he okay?"

"What do you think genius?"

Slash stuck his hands in his pockets. "Cherry was asking about him. Drugs haven't really worn off." he glanced around the drafty abandoned house. "She should go to a hospital Andy, she really should."

"I told Race she was paralyzed."

"Why would you do that?!" Slash stepped forward.

A gunshot sounded and the seventeen year old Slash's eyes widened in shock. He fell to the floor in a stiff motion. "That's why."

…

(picking up at the time of the last chapter)

Jack wiped the sweat out of his eyes and lifted another shovelful of gravel off the pile. He was spreading it out on the ground when he heard the squealing of tires on the barely paved road above them. Guards started going down, shot, and rushing to keep control.

He expected to see the infamous black jeep the Brooklyn boys had adopted a few months ago, but instead a rickety, low riding gold car was moving at top speed on the ridge above them. Gunshots were echoing all around as he pulled Race down onto the ground beside him. They landed hard, but Race jerked away.

Jack's eyes were wide and shocked through the blur of shots and screaming. Race's eyes were sad and somehow older. He looked like he understood what was happening, and it hurt. His hand squeezed Jack's.

"Thanks for dah time of my life, bruddah."

Before Jack could stop him, he was crawling up the bank, belly close to the ground.

"Race!" he screamed. The kid was probably in trouble. Who was that? Where was Spot? He had so many questions, but mostly he was afraid. Jack Kelly was alone again. All alone.

Race was grabbing hold of the luggage rack on top of the car and hanging off it as it drove away. He was crying; but Jack couldn't see anything through his own tears.

…

Race clung to the outside of the car until they reached the Train station.

He hopped off as they parked outside and Andy opened the door. Race's heart dropped into his shoes.

"Where's the uddahs? Where's Paris?"

"We're moving on."

"Whada'ya mean?"

Andy's fingernails dug into his arm, "We have some business in Mexico. We're taking a train to the nearest airport and getting out of here."

"What business? Where's Sniper and Cherry? Where's my family?!" he screamed.

"Shut up, you wanna get taken in again? I rescued you. They're fine."

"No, yah said Cherry was paralyzed! Dat's not ok!" Race pulled away, "You wanted to meet Spot Conlon in the foist place! Dis is your fault!" Race began to circle the car around the back.

"Where do you plan on going?"

"Home."

"You can't go back to New York. You made a promise to Paris. She never wanted to see that hellhole again."

"But not tah you! I'se gonna catch a train and find my bruddah, and den we'se gonna find his bruddah and we'll be a family. You took away Jack, and my sister, and Cherry, and you'se not gonna take Slash, because I'se gonna find him and save him from the hell you made us live in!"

"Oh yeah? I already got Slash."

Race froze.

"What did you do to him?" he turned around, and with fire in his eyes slammed Andy against the car, twisting his arm in back of him and holding him in a sort of headlock.

The man groaned, but wouldn't give. Race twisted his arm just enough so an audible snap sounded. The man screamed and relented, "I shot him!"

It hit Race like a ton of bricks. Andy lied about a lot. But he wouldn't be on his way to Mexico if this wasn't the truth. Race backed up, still in shock. He lowered his gaze to his hands.

Andy, cradling his arm and breathing heavy, backed up, away from Race. For the first time, someone was afraid of him.

"Did you…" he was afraid to say it out loud. He wouldn't be able to live if Andy had done to Slash what he had done to him, "did you touch him?"

"I didn't have time." he spat, sneering. "Not as much time as I wanted."

Race didn't even speak. He began throwing his fists at Andy's face. It took him back to the day when Paris was gone and Slash had taken advantage of him while he was sleeping... It took him back to the day he came and gave him that dreadful packet, which he realized only now that he couldn't remember…. What had happened to it? His mind flashed to Jack as his fists flew. Somehow through his anger he realized he was thinking Brooklyn. His best guess was that Spot had him.

Suddenly everything was so quiet it hurt. Race stumbled backwards. It was around noon, and the sky was milk white, heavy purple in the distance as it began to rain over the overgrown, mostly empty parking lot. He shuddered as he watched Andy's chest. It wasn't moving. His bloody fingers shook as he stood on unsteady legs to check for a pulse that wasn't there, and hopefully never would be again. He made his way shakily to the car door and pulled it open, retrieving a black hoodie from the passenger's seat. It smelled like his sister- like hairspray and cheap lavender deodorant and old buildings. And cigarette smoke. He careful rolled Andy's body under the car. He tried to tell himself he was still in shock- that's why he didn't care that he had just killed someone. Somehow it didn't matter that the police would find him and that the car would be inspected and he might be taken in again. He just wanted to walk away.

Rain began to fall as he entered the station.

As he walked he pulled the hood over his head and stuck an unlit cigarette into his mouth. People didn't realize the monster they were shouldering past. When he went to buy a ticket he froze. There was no money. He searched the hoodie pockets. Nothing.

"Here," a lady behind him held out a twenty dollar bill. His hand darted out and took it, careful to hide the blood.

"Thanks miss…."

"Plumber- Katherine." she stuck her hand out. "I don't bite."

"Umm, I got a cold. Don't wanna spread dah love." He smiled shakily. "Thanks though. You don't know how much I need this." He handed it to the ticket person, and while they ran in the back to check something, he turned around to face her. "Where you headed?"

"I just got a job in New York City, as a journalist for the Sun. You?"

He chuckled, "If yah can't tell by dah accent, I'm from there. I'm going to find my bruddah."

"To… find him?"

"Yeah. We… we got separated… he's dere with his guys, I wanna find him." He glanced at her honest eyes, and pretty face, "An' bring him home."

"Where is home?"

"I dunno."

"Well, if you ever need help finding it, hit me up." She took out a slip of paper and wrote two things on it; a number and an email address. He thanked her, saying with a little embarrassment that he didn't have either, but when he did he would give her a call or write a message.

And then, for Katherine Plumber, the boy in the line for a ticket to the Big Apple all but disappeared- for however long she couldn't know.

...

Crutchie sat in the waiting room of the hospital all day, surrounded by his brothers. At around 4:30pm, a doctor appeared and gave the crowded room of Paper boys the news they'd been holding their breaths for since Specs had disappeared into that white room.

"He's going to make it." She said, sighing. "But there could heroin. It's not uncommon. But whoever put that in his food had the intent of more than a practical joke. We restarted your friend's heart three times."

Crutchie closed his eyes and shook his head. He thanked the doctor and turned to Mush, Romeo and Blink. "You guys okay to watch him tonight?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I'm takin' a bus to Brooklyn."

"What? Are you insane?" Mush stood up. "You'll get yourself soaked Crutch!"

"No. I havta know. I havta know why I was nevah allowed ovah dere. I recognized the guy who brought me dah soup. He was a kid who gave me a soakin' when I tried to sell even near dah bridge. I'se not gonna let Specs suffah for nothin'. I'se gonna get dah truth if it kills me. And you can't stop me."

As he turned around, an hand fell gently on his crutching arm, "no," replied Blink softly, "but we can come with you."

Crutchie bit back tears, half of fear, half of wonder. How did he deserve these guys? "No. Stay wit' Specs." He turned to face the thunder and rain outside, "This I havta do alone."

…

The ride back to Brooklyn, Jack couldn't sleep. He tried, but the rain poured endlessly like the way he felt- heavy and dark. The jeep had come to rescue him from himself. It had been a massacre. The guy had killed twenty people, most of them guards, while driving, and the rest had ran. But Jack lay on the gravel, curled in a ball until. Louis picked him up and Malt held him close. Malt was a quiet guy, nearly twenty, older than the rest of him. But he was like a brother or even an uncle, and while he didn't show emotions easily, he pressed a loving almost paternal kiss onto Jack's head as the boy sobbed into his chest.

Now, as Jack got out of the car in front of the shared townhouse the Brooklyn operation was running out of, the relief and letdown mixed. With Louis' strong hand on his back, he faced Spot and with great relief.

"Jack!" the other boy sprung up from his bunk when Jack entered the room. The Brooklyn leader, although shorter than him, made Jack feel very small. "Are you good? Dey hoit you? If dey did we'll bust dere-"

"No Spot." He pushed away the rough arms and back slaps of congratulation for once again outsmarting the authorities. Jack sucked up the growing dread as he thought all I want is a shot of something strong.

"I got just the thing."

Had he said that out loud.

His knees must have given out, because he was soon flat on his back in his old bunk, mind on Race, body taking in whatever Spot had given him in a glass of water.

In the backdrop of his thought he could hear the Brooklyn King's voice, "I know it's not the fun way, but you is starvin' an' you cain't have dat stuff on an empty stomach."

Jack swallowed the last drops of water and closed his eyes.

Spot turned to Malt. "Was it bad?"

"Yeah. He was alone, shakin' like a leaf. I don't think he knew, but he was callin' for 'Crutchie'. His bruddah?"

Spot put a hand to his forehead, "Yeah."

Louis pulled Spot away from Jack's hearing range, "Hey, boss, why don't you let 'im see 'is bruddah?"

"It's complicated-"

"-Conlon," Gallop entered the room in two lengthy strides, "some crips here to see you."

"What?"

"Yeah, come down. He's mad. Almost speared Ramrod with his crutch when he tried to send him away." The German accent was thicker when Gallop got mad. Spot waved him away and turned to Malt, "Stay wit' Jack. I don't want any questions asked, 'less I'se dah one askin'."

"Got it boss."

…

Race stepped off the train as the sun was 'd had a big delay and now the night was cold. But his feet were determined. He only stopped to wash the blood off his hands in a rain puddle on the side of the road.

Wherever Jack was, Spot would be.

And Race was coming to find his brother.

Yay! I am so happy with the way this is going. Sorry it's unedited, so it's probably full to the brim with mistakes and plot holes. Aaannnnnyyyyywwwaaaayyyyyy. Thanks for reading/reviewing. Please drop me a review if you can, it really makes my day!