The next few weeks were some of the hardest Tony's ever known. Watching Riff suffer, in pain, through physical therapy hurt him so much he felt like his own heart had been ripped out of his body.

Tony hasn't realized how naive he'd been when it came to the gravity of Riff's injury. Somehow he'd gotten it in his head that getting Riff out of the hospital would somehow heal him. He'd heard Dr. Mccallin when he said the rehab wouldn't be easy, but he hasn't truly understood.

It had been a whole three weeks since Riff had gotten home and if Tony were being completely honest with himself-which he only allowed to happen in the deepest darkest places of his thought-there had been little to no improvement.

It seemed to take every amount of strength Riff had to even be able to slightly lift his feet off of the bed. Within ten minutes of having the therapist work with him, Riff would be drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Tony had seen him less worked over after a fight.

It seemed like the idea of Riff walking again was such a far unattainable goal it made Tony feel physically ill. There were times Tony would give his right arm just to see Riff in a standing position in front of him again.

Riff, on his end, didn't say much during any of this. He always answered with a short. "No" when one of the therapists asked him if anything hurt. Tony could tell though by Riff's eyes and the way his mouth twisted into a scowl he was in severe pain.

It wasn't necessarily smooth sailing at home either. After a session, Riff's moods borderline between volatile and completely uncommunicative. They spent many dinners eating in complete silence. Or with Riff and Valentina sniping at one another over something trivial.

"Elbows off the table, Riff." Valentina said one evening.

"Why?" Riff had bit back, "Ain't like we're at some fine dining room."

Tony had been taken back by the comment because he hadn't even known Riff knew about such things. It wasn't like he was a walking example of manners or etiquette.

"Because it's rude." Valentina replied, "You're a nice looking boy. It's time you start trying to act like one."

"I didn't know I signed up for pedigree classes." Riff replied, not budging.

"As long as you're living under this roof, I expect certain courtesies." The second the words came out of her mouth, Tony knew Riff was going to blow up.

Sure enough, he was right.

"Trust me," Riff spat, pushing himself away from the table, heading out of the kitchen. ``If I had any other options, I wouldn't be here."

"If you had any other options I wouldn't have you here."

Tony shut his eyes, knowing from previous experience it only made things worse when he tried to get in the middle of their arguing.

Besides, to be honest, Tony was almost appreciative of their arguing. It was one of the only things that still felt normal.

The Jets themselves weren't doing well.

Anybodys and Action were always at each other's throats. They ended up fist fighting at least once a week. Yesterday, Riff tried to grab Action by the arm to stop him. This resulted in Action in turn elbowing Riff hard in the nose, in an attempt to free himself. Tony, being the fucking crazy bastard he was known for practically launched Action halfway across the street, screaming at him every curse word he's ever known, ordering him to go the fuck home.

Riff shot Tony a look of pure disgust before wheeling himself down the street, with Baby John running behind him.

When Tony got home that night, after getting drunk with Ice and Mouthpiece, Riff confronted him, his cheeks and ears red with either embarrassment or rage. Tony couldn't tell which one. Maybe both.

"You're completely outta control." He told Tony, "You lost your shit for no reason."

"Me?!" Tony exploded, "What about Action? Damnit, Riff, why'd you even step in the middle of that fight? You coulda really gotten hurt!"

"Stop treatin me like I'm fucking broken." Riff snapped back, "Ain't like I need reminded."

Tony swore and stormed away, not so much because he was pissed at Riff, but because Riff had been right on both accounts. Tony was treating him like he was broken, because Riff was in fact broken.

It wasn't that Tony planned on treating Riff so protectively. It was more he was scared not to.

He imagined he felt kinda like how a new parent feels when their baby is learning to walk for the first time. Like he needed to safe-proof the house… hovering behind and ready to prevent any type of accident.

But then Riff wasn't a baby and he sure in hell wasn't walking.

Knowing this though didn't take away from the fact that he'd almost lost him. That the Jets almost lost him.

If Bernardo had aimed differently….

If Riff hadn't turned when he had…

Tony continuously played the "ifs" in his head. He knew he was playing a dangerous game because the "ifs" fueled his anger and rage.

Tony knew one thing for sure….if Bernardo had killed Riff, Tony would have killed Bernardo.

He would have killed Maria's brother.

Maria, who at one point, he wanted to run away with. Maria, who he fell in love with at first sight. Maria, who was good and gentle and kind. Who represented the complete opposite of the world he helped create.

He knew he still loved her, but he also loved Riff.

Not in the same way of course, but he realized maybe the way he loved Riff meant more than the way he could ever love Maria.

He could live without Maria. He was living without her. But one thing that had been made clear over the last month and a half; He couldn't live without Riff.

Riff was his brother. His blood. He was his only thing when he had nothing.

More importantly, he knew he was completely Riff's one and only thing. And sometimes as much as Tony would deny it, being needed the way Riff always needed him, meant a hell of a lot.


Riff woke up in the middle of the night in pain. Just like he had for the past four nights.

He shifted, wincing as he felt the now familiar sharp pain shoot through him where the knife had met all too willingly with his spine.

The pain was so consistent, he couldn't remember what life had been like before his life imploded on him. At times the pain was so bad it felt like it had a mind of its own. That there was this thing trying to pull him under somewhere he never knew existed.

Riff swallowed hard, trying to regain some control of his senses, of his body. He tried to convince himself that he'd felt worse, that this was nothing, but he knew this pain put him in a whole new category.

Unfortunately, his back wasn't what bothered him the most. It was everything (well not everything-certain parts were working just fine- much to his relief) below his back. Below his "line of injury".

Riff couldn't wrap his mind over what was happening to his body.

Where he could feel his legs…feel them ache with heaviness of misuse…ache with muscle cramp after muscle cramp…he was still not able to move them.

It had been weeks and he was still unable to do anything besides wiggle his toes and slightly roll his ankles.

Dr. Mccallin, who he just had a check up with, had a lot of terms and names with what has been going on with him. He'd done everything but listen to the explanations. He instead focused on the damn crack in the ceiling above him, the rainy weather outside as fall came rolling into town, and the sound of the people walking in the hallways not realizing how lucky they were.

He knew he could ask Tony what was said. Tony who sat there like a damn fool, writing down everything and anything the doctors or therapists said. Tony who would babble away, acting like Riff was part of the conversation as they made their way home, giving his own positive spin on things.

Yeah, he could ask Tony. Only he didn't really want to know. It's not like knowing would change anything.

Besides, Riff knew what no one was really saying, that no one wanted to say; He wasn't getting any better.

He didn't need any doctor or therapist to tell him that.

The only thing that was getting him through this was the Jets.

He hadn't seen or heard from his ma since that day in the hospital. Not that he expected to. It didn't mean it still didn't hurt. It didn't mean there still wasn't a part of him that hoped she'd drop by to see how he was doing.

But he had the Jets. He had his and Tony's guys.

Even if Action and Anybodys were constantly fighting.

Even if A-rab was drunk most of the time.

Even if Ice might have gotten his girl pregnant.

Even if Baby John chewed his nails down to bits wherever he looked at Riff.

And even if Tony came to most hang out but hung back like he was some type of new kid or outsider who didn't belong.

Riff didn't care about any of that. He just cared that they were all together. He just cared that the Jets were still his guys. His and Tony's.

Riff found himself beginning to help out here and there at Doc's. It wasn't intentional-it was more out of instinct and maybe perhaps some level of boredom. Tony would be stocking shelves, and Riff would follow behind him, with the box of cans in his lap. Or he'd be scooting through the store and notice something had been knocked down or put back out of place. Valentina noticed and even started giving Riff some pocket money for his efforts.

She of course made it clear she didn't trust him alone with the cash register like she did Tony-hell Riff wouldn't either.

One day, Tony had run downstairs to grab another crate of tomatoes, leaving Riff alone in the store. Riff was busy restocking the mess Tony created with his big gigantuan hands when he tried to stock the cans in a pyramid when someone spoke behind him.

"Hey." The voice was quiet and mixed with a slight accent.

Riff paused, not bothering to acknowledge the voice immediately. He knew he recognized the it, but he just couldn't place it. He placed the last can as high as he could reach before he turned around, feeling his stomach drop as he did so.

That's when he came face to face with Bernardo.