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Spot

It's raining, yet despite that annoyance, Spot is making his way through the streets of Manhattan towards the awful children's jail known as the Refuge. It's not really his true destination, Race is, but that happens to be the place he's currently lock up in.

Spot growls as he steps in yet another puddle that was deeper than it initially appeared. It shouldn't bother him, not with how his socks and shoes are already soaked, but it does. And he hates it. And the rain. And the stupid Refuge for interrupting his routine.

His Brooklyn "brothers" had, of course, teased him the moment they found out where he was going and mocked his inability to keep his Manhattan friends safe from the bulls. Elph had been a bit more sympathetic, considering he appreciated Jack and Race for keeping Spot company and mitigating his tendency towards violence, but he too gave Spot a stern look as he had stalked out of the boarding house earlier this evening.

With the sky darkened from rainclouds, the Refuge doesn't cast as imposing of a shadow as it did last time Spot visited. Just like last time, it sits on the corner of the street, dark and lifeless. Remembering what Race said last time about the screaming, Spot strains his ears to try and catch it, but gets nothing but the pitter patter of ran drops on the building's metal pieces.

Spot looks around one last time to make sure no one's watching before sneaking around towards the building's metal fire escape. He grips one of the rungs of the ladder and tests his body weight again the slippery metal. The last thing he needs to be doing is slipping off the fire escape of the damn children's jail. It would probably end up with him being locked inside of it with Race and Jack, which was exactly what Race had been concerned about during his last visit.

He takes special care with each rungs of the ladder as he inches himself upwards, before finally hoisting himself up on to the platform. Spot kneels initially, letting the metal dig in to his knees, before slowly getting his feet under him and sneaking towards the window he'd found Race at last time.

The water running down the old glass of the window just makes it impossibly hard to see through, but Spot takes a leap of faith and gently knocks on it. He hopes Race is there. He can see movement on the other side, blurry blobs shifting about on the bed, before two apparent hands press up against the bottom edge of the window and pull it up.

It's Race, but Spot's initial excitement at seeing his friend falters when he sees the apparent bruises coving Race's face and the exposed parts of his arms.

"Hey Spot," Race sadly smiles back to him, wincing a little as he shifts.

"What the 'ell Racetrack? I leave ya for one night and I come back to ya looking like a carriage run ya over," Spot growls. He can feel a scowl setting in to his face.

Race's smile disappears and he marginally sways away from Spot; the movement almost too little to notice, but it doesn't escape Spot's attention. He signs and rubs a hand through his soaked hair. He shouldn't have talked to Race like that. Race is obviously scared and now he's scared of him. "Race-" Spot begins, but dammit he's not any good at this feelings or comforting stuff. He doesn't know how not to scare Race any further. "I shouldn't a growled at ya, but the 'ell happened?" He tries to keep his tone even, if not calm.

Spot frowns as Race winces when he shrugs, apparently not committing to an answer. His gaze drops to his hands, which are occupied, picking dirt from under his fingernails. "I found out who was screamin' Spot." He whispers, nearly too quiet for Spot to pick up, but he doesn't dare try and move closer and risk startling Race again. "It was Jack," gets out with a sob. "It was Jack." He repeats. "Snyda' was keepin' 'im the basement." Tears are slowly streaming down the boy's face now.

He gives Race a moment to continue, but after nothing more comes from the younger boy, he pushes, "And how'd ya find that out Race?"

Race surveys the sleeping littles piled on to the bed around him – there are six of them now – before quickly whispering, "When we gots here, the bulls put Jack in tha basement and when Snyder made us all go downstairs and clean and I didn' see 'im I knocked on the door ta try and see if he was still there but one of the bulls saw and pushed me down there too."

Spot takes a moment to try and process what Race just said. Race had spit it out so fast, he's sure he missed some of the details, but he thinks he got the gist, which he would sum up to Race not having any sense of surroundings or self-preservation. He cuts himself off before he can tell that Race out loud. Now is not the time. He's not sure what Race needs right now, but it is certainly not a lecture.

The pair, plus the littles, sit in silence for a while, before Race's face flashes with an unrecognizable expression and he whip his head around to face Spot once again. "Can you check the other windows for Jack? When they took me out of the basement, they took 'im out too."

Spot can place the expression now and it's something between hope and desperation. He can't say no to that. If Race needs him to talk to Jack, then that's what he's gonna do. "You knows what room he might be in?"

Race looks back towards the door of the room and does some pointing with his hands, wincing all the while, before finally returning his gaze to Spot and rushing out, "They pushed 'im in to the first room on this side of the hall, so that ways I think." He points in the direction that Spot had come from.

Spot hesitates for a moment before trying to lighten Race's mood with, "I'll comes back in a couple minutes Race and I 'xpects ya to not look any worse. Got it?"

Race sadly smiles and Spot takes that as his cue to leave, sneaking back down the fire escape to come to a stop at the first window on this level. Once again, the rain waterfalls down the old glass and he can not tell what is on the other side. He imagines it is another bunk room, looking much like the one Race is in, but he can't rely on that being true. For all he knows, he's managed to find the wrong window and Snyder himself is sitting on the other side doing paperwork or whatever else his job entails. He knocks quietly, hoping that by some miracle Jack has managed to find himself in the bed on the other side.

After a minute of nothing happening, he knocks again, just a bit harder. The vibration on of the glass interrupts the steady stream of water flowing down the window and Spot is able to get just enough of a glimpse through the window to figure that the room is indeed another bunk room.

Pale blobs appear at the bottom of the window; hands – Spot's brain provides – why would they be anything else?

The window budges slowly and intermittently. Spot gets frustrated and ends up pushing his hands through the metal bars once again to help pull it up from his side.

"Hey Spotty," Jack's breathy voice come from the other side.

Spot has to press his head to the bars to see Jack, who appears to have fallen back on to the bed once the window was opened. He doesn't look good. He's pale and even in the pale moonlight, sweat glistens on his forehead. Like Race, he's also covered in bruises.

"You look like shit Kelly," he comments, not sure what else to say and deciding to not put in the effort figure out whether or not it's an appropriate thing to say at this time.

Jack closes his eyes and smirks, "Thank Spotty, I was just wonderin' how I looked. How'd you know?"

Spot rolls his eyes at Jack's attempt at humor. It's a stark contrast to Race's sullen demeanor and he's not sure which one is worse.

He's shocked out of his thoughts by Jack's hand grasping for the bar he had just had his head resting against. The boy's knuckles are white as he clings on and pulls himself in to a sitting position, keeping his left hand over his left hip. He lays his head against the bars, not even flinching when the rain splatters in to his hair and drips down his face.

"Seriously Jack, ya look like shit," Spot repeats as he watches the other boy's grip on the window tighten to keep him upright. His eyes are closed again and his breathes are coming short. Spot's fairly sure Jack heard him, but he doesn't respond.

"Race's covered in bruises too, won't tell me much more than he got thrown down in the basement with ya," Spot starts, hoping Jack will continue the thought and explain.

Jack takes a deep breath and shifts back from the bars for a moment, only to allow his head to fall back on to it with a soft thud. "Told 'im ta stay unda the stairs."

Spot rolls his eyes yet again. Race may worship Jack for whatever reason, but he's got the same savior complex as Jack. No doubt because he wanted to be just like him. If Jack thought Race would actually stay hidden while he was getting soaked, which is pretty apparent what happened from his state, Jack's more of an idiot than he thought.

"Ya didn' really 'xpect 'im ta stay hidden while yous was getting soaked, did ya?" Spot dryly asks.

All he gets in response is a shrug. Even the simple motion has Jack hissing with pain.

"You gonna go back and talk ta Race tonight?" Jack's voice weakly comes from where he's laid his head on his arm.

"Yeahs, told 'im I'd come back after I talked to ya," Spot tries to keep his voice flat. It's not an admission to caring about Race. It's just a statement. Jack can't think anything different.

"If there's 'nough light, will ya ask 'im to show ya where his chest hurts? Not much we can do and I don't think it's broken. Don't won't him worrying that I'm wrong."

Spot tries to ignore the implication that Jack knows enough about broken ribs to know what they look like and feel like. He himself doesn't have much experience with broken ribs, other than the ones he's seen on others. He learned to stand up for himself pretty quickly after he met Jack and Race and has had too much trouble he can't take care of since.

"Sure Kelly," he confirms.

Jack's hand slips from the bar he'd been clutching to in order to keep himself upright and he falls back to the bed. Spot has to lean forward to see him again and presses his face to the bars. Jack's left hand is still clutching at his left hip and he can now make out the darkening of his shirt underneath the hand. He's obviously hurt beyond what he knows how to take care of, or beyond what he can feasibly take care of right now.

"Pull up yer shirt Kelly," he growls out, unafraid of scaring Jack with his tone of voice.

"Spot-"

"I said pull up yer shirt Kelly or I'll tell Racer just how bad off ya is," he threatens.

Jack eyes open once again to glare at him. Spot smirks. He's known Jack long enough to know his soft spots and not appearing weak or hurt in front of Race is definitely one of them. He watches as Jack shifts his hand, which is stained red from blood, to pull up the bottom left corner of his shirt.

Spot suppresses the urge to wince at what he sees. Just inside Jack's hip are seven stacked cuts running up his abdomen. The middle ones are red and inflamed, evident signs of infection setting in, and the bottom one is still slowly seeping blood. The cuts are neat and deliberate, making Spot wonder after what their purpose. Around the entire area are bruises and though Jack didn't life up his shirt any farther than necessary to reveal the cuts, Spot imagine the bruises continue elsewhere.

"Don't tell Race. Please," Jack whines before tugging his shirt back down and gently letting it fall back over the cuts.

Spot huffs, watching the water splatter off his face as he does so, "Sure Kelly. SO long as ya tell me why the 'ell someone's been carvin' ya like some fancy ham."

The comparison gets a small smirk out of Jack before he whispers, "Six for the dollars I cost Snyder by runnin' away the last two times."

"And the last one-"

"Snyder said he'd release Racer by the end of tha week if I let 'im do an extra one. He would a done it anyway though. He'd already decided," Jack winces out.

What Jack just revealed weighs heavy on Spot's mind, blurring his thoughts together for a moment. Race-released-end of week. "Ya didn't think ta start with that Kelly? That Race is getting out by the end of the week?"

Jack shrugs, though the movement is barely noticeable. "Can't trust Snyda to keep 'is word."

"Ya didn' think ta warn me just in case so I can keep an eye out for 'im?" Spot growls, angry with Jack once again.

Jack's eyes wearily open and Spot thinks he detects surprise in the other boy's glare.

" 'Course I's gonna look out for 'im Kelly. He may be 'hattan, but he's my-" he hesitates, unwilling to commit to the word that is on the tip of his tongue before just spitting it out, "friend too."

Jack closes his eyes again and his chest rattles with a small chuckle. "Thanks Spotty." A momentary silence. "Don't tell Race-"

"That ya look like shit? Wouldn' think of it. He's already trying ta be ya and take care of all the other littles in that room with ya." It's not until he says it out loud that Spot realizes that is exactly what Rece is doing – trying to be just like Jack for those littles.

Jack eyes shoot open, "Wait, he's in room six?"

Spot shrugs. There isn't exactly room numbers on the outside of the building.

Jack props himself on his elbows and winces, "The rest of tha kids in 'is room, are they all littles? Like real little?"

Spot nods, "Yeahs. He's got about ten of 'im curled up in the same bed as 'im."

Jack falls backwards and runs his hands through his hair, weakly tugging on it.

"What's wrong with room six, Kelly?" He growls again, sensing Jack is hiding something from him.

Jack's hand's move down to rest over his eyes. "Spotty – you's got ta tell 'im that if anyone other than the Spida comes in that room that he's got ta hide or be tha worst behaved little he's ever seen."

Spot growls with frustration. "That ain't no explanation Kelly. And I ain't tellin' 'im unless ya explain."

Jack lets out a high pitched whine of frustration. "Spotty-"

"Kelly-"

"Room six-" he pauses and takes a shaky deep breath "-it's tha room Snyda puts all the real little littles in. Ones who ain't done nothin' to get themselves put in here 'xcept not having a home. And Snyda's got these real rich friends and if they comes to 'im looking for a new maid or doorman to train or just a pet-" ,he spits out the last word, "Snyda brings 'em to that room and they get's theys choice. For a price, I's sure." He takes another deep breath before more quietely continuing, "Racer's too old for that room. I don' know why he'd put 'im there."

Spot takes a deep breath to match Jack's. Yeah, seeing Race look all black and blue was awful enough, but now he's also got to worry about 'im being sold off like some pet. Spot shakes his head. He's Spot Conlon. He doesn't worry. But he is. And he hates the feeling.

"And how ya know that Kelly?" He pushes.

Jack pulls his hands away from his face to return them to his bleeding side. "First time I was here I was in that room for all of a week 'fore Snyda decided he liked me too much." He smirks with the last couple of words.

Spot watches as Jack pulls his hand away from his side to view the blood glazed over it. He winces for Jack, who doesn't seem so much worried about the blood as he is fascinated. He briefly wonders if the other boy took a hard hit to the head too. He digs in his pocket for a moment before finding what he was looking for, albeit soaked through because of the rain: his old handkerchief. He tosses it through the window and splats on to Jack's chest.

"Clean ya cuts up Kelly. They ain't lookin' good," he commands.

Jack gives him a confused look which Spot pointedly ignores. "I's gonna go back and talk to Race like I told 'im I would. Ya want me to come back 'ere after?"

Jack lifts the handkerchief from his chest and slowly tucks it under the corner of his shirt and wiping at the cuts. "Nah, Spotty. Just check in with Racer then get yerself out of 'ere before someone sees ya."

Spot nods and places his hands on the window to close it, hesitating for just a moment to watch Jack do as he commanded and try and clean up his wounds. The window rattles as it meets the frame upon closing and Spot watches the slightly slower waterfall resume over the glass.

He quickly scurries back over to the other window to find Race holding his hand out in the rain, letting the water cascade down the shape he's made with his hand. Spot reaches out to grab Race's hand and look at the now more visible bruises on the boy's wrist, but the second he does the hand gets yanked back through the window.

Spot pops his head in to view to find Race clutching his hand to his chest, eyes shut. He internally curses at himself. He should have waited until Race saw him to go for his hand. All he's managed to do is scare him again.

"Race. It's Spot. I didn' mean ta scare ya. I just wanted to look at the bruise on ya wrist," he whispers.

It takes a moment for Race to relax and slowly open his eyes. Spot wants to lean back and away from the gaze, because it feels like Race is looking right through him and at the same time skewering him in his spot.

"Spot?" He quietly asks. One of the littles around his whimpers in their sleep and Race tugs her on to his lap, where she immediately wraps her arms around his waist, causing him to wince and reminding Spot of what Jack said.

"Yeah Race-"

" 'S Jack okay? He didn' look good yesterday," Race whispers and he lets his hands fall to his sides, away from the girl now curled up on his lap.

Spot sighs and glazes over the situation with, "He's gonna be fine Race. Just a little bruised, just like ya." He sighs with relief when Race seems to accept his answer.

"He said ya might have a busted rib and asked I look it," Spot begins, unsure what Race's response will be.

"I's fine Spot. Jack said it's probly just a bruise or cracked. Not broken," Race whispers as he looks down to his torso.

"I still told 'im I'd look at it," Spot insists.

Race looks up at Spot with teary eyes and Spot regrets pushing him so hard, but the boy does as he asks and lifts up his shirt to reveal a startlingly dark bruise on his pale skin. With his other arm, he reaches around and pokes at the bruise, hissing as he does so.

Spot's arm darts through the bars to grab Race's hand and stop him from prodding. "Stop it," he growls before lightening his voice, "Yous just gonna make it hurt more." He slowly unwraps his fingers from Race's wrist and is glad to see that he doesn't continue poking at the bruise.

"I wanna press my hand to it Race; see if I can tell if it's broken, 'kay?" Spot tries to lightly ask.

Race slowly nods and pointedly looks away as Spot lays his hand flat over the bruise. "I's gonna press a little, 'kay Race? Might hurt a little." Only when Race nods does Spot lightly press on the bruise. He immediately removed his hand when the other boy hisses.

"I's done Racer. Don't feel like it's broken, but don't poke it no more okay?"

Race turns to face Spot again and smirks, "Sure thing Spotty."

Spot rolls his eyes, annoyed that Race has adopted Jack's annoying nickname for him.

The rain has faltered a bit and the clouds are starting to part, enough so that he can see the moon starting to lower on the horizon. He's got to get going.

"Race?"

Race hums in acknowledgement.

"Jack said one more thing, about this room with all the littles-" Race's eyes glow a little with the prospect of getting more information from Jack. "He says that if anyone otha than Snyda' comes in 'ere yous got ta be the worst behaved little you's ever seen, 'kay?"

Race cocks an eyebrow and gives him a strange look. He's looking for an explanation, Spot is sure of it, but he doesn't have the words to explain. He gives it his best though, "he says a lot of the little in 'ere are just orphans and –" he pauses, unsure of what direction he's taking this lie, "sometimes people from otha places come and takes them to live in otha cities." He signs with relief as he finishes, then holds his breath as he waits to see if Race caught the lie.

Race yawns and shrugs, "Okay, I can do that."

Spot continues breathing normally at Race's response. He glances once more at the sinking moon. "I's got ta get goin' Race."

Race softly smiles, to hide a frown, Spot thinks, before saying, " 'Kay Spotty. I's glad ya came."

"Me too Race and I'll try my best to be 'ere when ya get out, but if I's not I want ya to come to my boardin' house, kay?" Spot has every intention of sneaking in to Manhattan to sell near the Refuge over the next couple days just in case Snyder wasn't lying to Jack, but he wants to make sure Race knows to come to him just in case.

Race's smile falters and he whispers, "Snyda' said I's gonna be 'ere for a month though."

Spot tries to give a reassuring smile and debates whether or not he should tell Race about Jack's deal, before ultimately deciding against it. "I'll keep comin' by then, 'kay?"

Race yawns again and nods and Spot gives him one last glance before closing the window. He confirms with himself that he will do everything possible to be nearby when Race gets out. He doesn't trust that kid to not do something stupid without Jack around and he's going to keep an eye on him until then.

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