It was still early in the morning when the boys arrived at the lodging house with Racetrack. The mood had lifted somewhat between them on the walk. Even Blink had shed his stoic demeanor and began cracking a few tentative jokes. Jack ignored them. He found it difficult to find anything funny about the situation.

Kloppman didn't look up from his racing form when they burst through the door. Jack did his best to get the rest of the boys up the narrow staircase without hurting Race anymore than he already was. He felt Kloppman's eyes on him from across the room. The old man was looking for a crack in his shell and Jack knew it. He also knew that, with small beads of sweat running down his neck and a pained expression on his face, it would be easy to find.

"He alright?" the old man asked in his gravelly tone. Jack nodded absently at him from his spot near the stairs. He waited a few moments to collect himself. Kloppman was good at two things, waking them up every morning and exploiting any weaknesses, usually for cash.

"He'll be fine, Kloppy," Jack said sardonically, "Nice ta know you cares so much."

"I like Race just as much as any of yous. But, ah," Jack smiled mockingly, knowing what was going the come next, "I don't know how bad he is or when he's gonna wake up, so before you alls forget, I'm gonna need his fee," the old man said plainly, "Short bit oughta do it." Kloppman wasn't one to beat around the bush and stuck firmly to the principle that there was no room for compassion when you needed to make a living, and Jack held a modicum of respect for that. But the respect only stretched to a point, a point that had been crossed when Mush found one of his best friends near dead in an alley. He scowled at the man, but nodded in agreement regardless and fished around in his pockets for the ten-cent admission charge. Kloppman grabbed it up impatiently and Jack lingered while the old man placed the money in the register, toying with the broken service bell that also sat on the counter. The weak dings grew tiresome quickly and it wasn't long until Kloppman seized the bell from Jack's fidgeting hands.

"What is it you want?" The old man said sharply. Jack looked up innocently, a sheepish smile playing across his lips.

"Yous got anything for cuts back there?" he asked with the mocking smile still firmly in place. Kloppman sneered at the boy's cheekiness, only making Jack smile wider.

"Sure, sure," Kloppman said with a waved of his hand after a moment or two of deliberation. As he turned, Jack started eyeing the still open register hungrily. He would have succeeded in borrowing a bit had he acted faster, but the sound of closing cabinets alerted him that his window of opportunity had closed.

"So," the old man said as he turned around after producing a brown glass bottle from his stores, "I'm afraid I'm gonna to need a few pennies before you take this anywheres."

Jack screwed up his face into a pensive frown, "How do I knows it's not jus' wata'?"

"Here," Kloppman held out the bottle kindly with only the slightest trace of a smirk on his craggy features, "give it a whiff. I guarantee ya, it ain't water."

Hesitantly, Jack reached out and uncorked the bottle. Unprepared for what would happen next; Jack he held his nose near the bottle's opening and inhaled deeply. Nevertheless, it took a few minutes for Kloppman to stop laughing at Jack's coughing and spluttering. He nearly dropped the bottle from the shock of the strong aroma.

"What is that?" Jack gasped after regaining his composure. His nose still felt a burning sensation after breathing in the vile concoction and he suddenly felt very skeptical that something as horrible as this could help Race at all.

"It's a tincture of iodine," Kloppman said as if it were common knowledge, which frustrated Jack slightly, "You just pour a tiny bit on a cut and it keeps it from going black and swellin' over." Jack furrowed his brow slightly at Kloppman's all too accurate description of an infected wound, and began gingerly examining the bottle. It seemed alright, if you ignored the smell that is.

"Well, alrigh' then," Jack consented before pocketing the bottle, "Thanks, Kloppy." The young man turned quickly and began making his way towards the bunkroom.

"Hold on, Cowboy," Kloppman said sternly, "That stuff's expensive. I believe we decided on about 2 bits for that bottle."

Jack looked affronted, "Yous said a few pennies!"

Kloppman shook his head knowingly, "You wanna go out and hunt down some o' this from an apothecary and buy it offa' some bloodsuckin' kike, be my guest. I'm given you a bargain," his voice developed a bit of an edge as he finished and Jack scowled, wishing now more than ever that he had taken advantage of the open register earlier.

"It's not like we's gonna use the whole bottle," Jack muttered to himself, counting out the change in his hand, "I hope Race's good for all this, cause it ain't a gift." Jack slapped the money on the desk, growling slightly. Granted, he wasn't going to be sleeping in the streets now, but he hated getting cheated and not being able to do a damn thing about it.

"Nice doin' business wit' you," Kloppman smiled smarmily. Jack just continued to scowl and mutter oaths under his breath ask he walked up the stairs. Maybe they had gotten Race up by now, although he doubted that even that could improve his mood any.

"Don't shake 'em so hard! Jeez, whaddya wanna do, break his other arm?"

"Calm down, Blink, I know what I'se doin'."

"Like hell, you do."

He could hear their words, they buzzed in his ears like a fly that wouldn't leave him alone. But in the end, his inability to tie the floating voices to any particular face made that fact useless. Besides, he could hardly remember what his own voice sounded like.

"So, any good news?" A deep, slightly lispy voice called. He was further away than the others, making his voice less piercing and more understandable. The name of its owner was on the tip of his tongue.

"Naw, Jack. Poor bum's still out like a light." A voice came from directly above him. The speaker snapped his fingers next to Race's ear for emphases. The resulting ringing was unbearable and Race flinched. Judging by the low clamor that followed, he supposed someone must have noticed. To his chagrin, the ear-splitting snapping was repeated a few more times. Race tried to think, despite the blaring sound that seemed to encompass his whole reality. He needed a name. What had the boy said? John? Jim? He was grasping at straws, but that was better than nothing. In desperation, Race chose the first name that popped into his head.

"…Vince?"

The murmuring stopped for a moment, only to start up again a moment later, this time with more hushed and hurried tones. Suddenly, Race felt pressure on his left arm. The pain was dizzying and he nearly blacked out again. The pressure was lifted quickly but the pain did not. Race's eyes were open now, though he couldn't comprehend the blurred shapes around him. Instinctively, his other hand flew to his arm but that only succeeded in worsening the already agonizing ache. Race began grinding his teeth.

"Snipes! What the hell didja' do!" one of the voices shouted franticly.

"I-I-I…" a small voice trailed off, only to start back up again with renewed vigor, "Look, he's stoppin'! Look!"

Race begrudgingly agreed with the voice. The pain was still there, but had dulled considerably in its intensity. His head was beginning to clear up as well and the shapes in front of him slowly focused. The first thing he saw clearly was Jack and Blink staring at him, each with an identical expression on their faces. Race would have laughed but, considering how painful breathing was, decided against it.

"Heya, Race," Mush said awkwardly, breaking the silence, "Uh, you okay?"

Race furrowed his brow for a moment. Was he okay? The pain in his arm, chest and head certainly said otherwise.

"Yea," he said tightly, discovering talking was almost as difficult as breathing, "I'm okay."

I know I said I would start chipping away at Snipes's story here, but it didn't really fit right. But at least Race is up and, well, he's up. Let's leave it at that. ;)

You know, I've always heard reviews are good for broken arms. hint hint

Also, a big thank you to Arlene2! It's quite rare that someone as skilled as her offers to beta your fic, but I guess I'm just that lucky. I really reccommend you check her out. She has three brillient Newsies gen fics that rank within the top 1 of stories in this fandom. Thanks Arlene!

Next time: Concerns over Snipes's odd behavior are adressed, along with questions about "Vince"