A/N: So... here's the next chapter... Hope you all enjoy... and all of that jazz. :D OOHHH! I remember what I wanted to tell you guys...

How come TheLadyPendragon was the first person to type out the typo in the name of the story? Come on people! You have to catch all my mistakes! lol, j/k, j/k. :D

Bobby was barely off the phone with Evelyn when Jack strolled out of the bathroom.

"Hey, sit down in the chair so I can take a look at your head and your ribs," Bobby ordered, digging in his bag. He always carried the basics needed to doctor himself up on trips like these. Band-aids, gauze, medical tape, peroxide, neosporin, needle and thread... He frowned as he set the items on the table next to the chair. Probably should sterilize the needle or something.

Jack obeyed silently, lounging back in the chair.

Bobby frowned. Something was wrong with the kid. He hadn't been this relaxed since Bobby'd found him in the back of his car.

"You high?" He asked casually, running the needle under hot water, watching in the mirror for the kid's reaction.

Jack's eyes flickered to the right, a panicked look on his face, before his features relaxed again. "Yeah," He said with a shrug. "Is that a problem?"

Bobby shrugged back as he walked back to the table. "I don't care what you do. But you get me caught with that shit and I'll lay you out so quick you won't know which way is up, you get me?"

The kid shrugged again. "Yeah, sure."

Bobby nodded, and grabbed hold of Jack's head in both hands to get a look at his forehead. "Look, kid, this is gonna need stitches if you want it to heal right. You gonna be cool with that, or you gonna flip out and hit me again?"

"I'm cool."

"It's gonna hurt," Bobby warned, threading the needle, and setting it to the wound. "You sure you're ready?"

Jack smiled grimly. "Trust me: it ain't gonna hurt that much."

Bobby frowned, but set himself to sewing up the three inch gash on the kid's head. Through out the entire process, Jack did nothing but grimace, keeping eerily still, not even flinching as Bobby tied it off.

"There," Bobby said proudly. "Not too bad if I say so myself. And I do, so it's pretty damn good," He added with a cocky grin. "Now pull that shirt off so I can get a look at your ribs."

Jack stood, turning around as he did, and slowly peeled his hoodie off, followed by his tee shirt, and then his long-sleeve shirt.

Bobby frowned again. "Look, kid, if I want a fuckin' strip tease, I'll go to a strip bar. I asked you to take your fuckin' shirt off, not give me a show, a'ight?" He said irritably.

Jack shrugged and went to sit back down, when Bobby stopped him.

"Nuh uh. Stay standing. Your back don't look so great either," Bobby ordered, feeling himself grow angry at the sight of the kid's back.

Old whipping scars covered his back; there wasn't an unscathed area anywhere Bobby could see. And on top of those scars were fucking claw marks.

Bobby bit his tongue, hard, as he moved around to the front. It didn't look any better. The kid's whole chest was a mass of yellow and purple bruises, with scattered cigarette burns.

"Jesus, kid," Bobby swore, opening the rubbing alcohol. "Your parents do this?"

Jack hissed a little as Bobby dabbed the burning liquid on his back, cleaning out any infection. "Some of it."

"Sorry," Bobby threw out the apology like it had burned him, but didn't stop cleaning out the wounds.

"For what?" Jack asked, turning his head to glance at him.

"I don't know. Sorry it hurts. Sorry I swatted ya in the car."

Jack laughed. "I totaled your fuckin' car. I'm pretty sure I deserved it."

Bobby scoffed as he set the the peroxide down, and picked up the neosporin and band aids. "You 'deserve' the rest of these scars too?"

Jack shrugged again, albeit a little more uncomfortably this time, Bobby noticed. "Some of 'em."

Bobby reached up and flicked the kid hard in the ear.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?"

"For bein' fuckin' stupid. That one you fuckin' deserved," He growled. "Turn around, let me get a look at your ribs."

Jack obeyed, and Bobby drew in a sharp breath. The kid's entire chest was one big yellow and purple bruise.

"Shit. How long ago this happen?" He asked, feeling for cracked ribs. He drew his hand back sharply when Jack jerked, yelping a bit. "Shit, sorry, Jack."

"No, it's... it's fine," Jack panted. "Um... I dunno. Three or four weeks. Then a guy who gave me a ride added to it a bit."

"Look, I know it hurts, but I gotta see if any of these are broken, a'ight?" At Jack's slight nod, Bobby resumed running his fingers over the kid's torso. Finally, he sat back with a grim look on his face. "Three cracked. I doubt they're broken, or if they were, they've healed by now, and you got damn lucky."

Jack sat down on the edge of the bed. "What do you mean?"

"Broken ribs are painful, but them bein' broke aren't what makes 'em dangerous. You move the wrong way, and you send one of 'em into your liver, or your kidneys. Maybe even a lung. I knew a kid once, his dad kicked him so hard, broke his rib, and drove it straight into his heart."

Jack shifted uncomfortably. "Can I uh... put my shirt back on?"

"Yeah. Just be careful you don't pull the band aids off. Imma be pissed if I have to reapply 'em."

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

Bobby sighed as Jack threw his shirt back on, nearly ripping the damn thing in his hurry.

"Look, kid, I told you I'm sorry I smacked you in the car. It was really shitty of me. I shouldn't have done it. But I ain't gonna hurt ya, 'kay? I don't bite or nothin', I promise." At Jack's blank look, Bobby shook his head. "Lost cause I guess. Look, I'm tired. I'm gonna try and grab a couple hours of sleep. Toss me one of those pillows."

Jack obeyed, then timidly asked, "Uh... do you uh... need a blanket too?"

Bobby grinned as he laid down on the floor at the foot of the bed. "Kid, it's ninety some odd degrees outside. You seriously think I need a fuckin' blanket?"