A hard punch to his chest knocked the air out of TJ's lungs and sent him to the gravel covered ground. His ribs creaked and ached with every breath, but he was sure none of them were broken; they would hurt more, and he would barely be able to move.

"You okay?" One of them asked. TJ nodded.

His skull throbbed with the movement. God, he must look like a mess. The rising bruise on his chest from the latest blow was barely scraping the surface. A few of his fingers were grossly bent out of shape and swelling. Blood dripped down his left arm from one of the many cuts sliced into his flesh. He wasn't entirely sure if a few of his teeth weren't loose, after a number of punches to the face.

"I didn't say the safe word, did I?" He asked, slowly climbing back onto his feet. A considerable challenge, considering his knee's were bruised and bleeding under his jeans. Even with that, though, his upper body was taking most of the hits.

"So what next? Your back?" Another one of them asked.

"No, I don't do back injuries," he said. "I like being able to walk. The back of my thighs, that hasn't been touched yet."

One of them gripped the baseball bat that they brought with them and got ready to swing.

ZZZ

867-9954: alias?

: yeah?

867-9954: will you ever tell us who you are?

: no.

: never.

ZZZ

The blood dripping down from the gash on his forehead and over his eyes made it hard to see which one of them had a handful of his hair in their fist and was landing punches at his fast. He lost track of how many hits he took around 7.

When they finally stopped and let go of his hair, TJ let himself fall to the ground. Now a busted lip joined the wounds on his face. While he could stitch it up himself, his parents were going to see it and ask questions and not let him go until he gave them answers.

Or his lip could just be swollen. Nothing an ice pack and some rest couldn't fix.

He wiped the blood from his eyes and felt around his forehead and the edge of his scalp for where the cuts were. Luckily for him, it was on his scalp, out of the sight of prying eyes if he wore a beanie. Okay. Okay.

Good.

Last question, was he bleeding internally?

. . .

. . .

Probably not. Just like he didn't like hits to his back, TJ wasn't fond of too many hits to his gut. The few that hurt his ribs was enough.

"You good, dude?" One of them asked.

"Yeah. . .uh, yeah. I'm, uh, I done, haha," he said. "I'm going home. . ."

"Wait," another said. "Do you want a ride home? Can you even stand?"

". . ah. . .yeah. Yeah, I can stand. . ."

TJ wasn't entirely sure of that statement. Slowly, he managed to get his feet under him again and stand. Though 'standing' would be a generous description. More like 'bent over on shaking legs and struggling to not collapse completely'. The muscles in his legs felt like a rubber band about to snap at the slightest tug.

Nothing he couldn't walk off.

"Nah, I'm good. I can make it home," said TJ.

". . .I really don't think you can. We'll give you a ride home, okay?" One of them said. Between the pain and the bleeding, TJ didn't have much energy left to argue with them.

ZZZ

445-0912: alias, who are you?

: someone who's number was texted on accident, gave advice, and now people ask me to fix their problems

: constantly

445-0912: does that annoy you

: no?

: sometimes

: not enough to tell everyone to fuck off

445-0912: but why do it?

: idk

: I like helping people i guess

ZZZ

They didn't know where he lived, so TJ was able to give them an address blocks away from his and they wouldn't have been able to tell he was lying. With as much agony he was in, TJ wasn't lying about walking it off. He needed to compose himself before he came home, and walking around a bit was always a good way. Especially since his parents home. Seeing their son walk in hunched over was going to raise questions.

Granted he was wearing a hoodie and was using that to hide his face, but he didn't want to give them any reason to get a closer look.

But goddamn. . .

. . .

This, uh, was a lot of blood. . .

His skull felt like a mallet was trying to drive a rusty nail through it. Breathing was hard before, but now he had to stop his already slow paced walking to catch his breath. His vision started to swim as he looked around to orient himself.

Where the hell was he, anyways?

This was Mikey's neighborhood, of all places. In front of his house, even. It's been years since he's been over any of those guys houses willingly, but he still recognized the neighborhoods enough.

Fuck.

Ignoring his broken and sprained fingers, he patted his pockets in search of his phone.

: Are you home

Mikey: TJ?

Mikey: yes im home, why

: come outside

Mikey: why

: just come outside

ZZZ

It was Sunday night, and since school was tomorrow, Mikey wasn't doing much before bed except writing down some notes of a poem he was writing but struggling with. He was ready to call it a night when his phone went off. Expecting it to be another rant from Spinelli, he opened his phone. But much to his surprise, it was from TJ.

He was telling him to come outside. Mikey's window didn't give him a view of the sidewalk, so he had no other choice but to make his way out to the front to see what the problem was. TJ was barely managing to stand on the sidewalk, trembling, looking like he was hit by a truck. Spinelli and Vince had told the rest of them about the night they found him bruised and bloody, but had to imagine that was nothing in comparison to what was in front of him.

"TJ? What happened to you?" Mikey asked, running to him.

"Hey, Mikey," he said in a ragged voice. "Call 911, will ya?"

"O-okay-"

"And don't give me any shit when I get out the hospital, okay?"

"Alright. . ."

And just like that, TJ collapsed, and the only thing keeping him from landing hard on the sidewalk was Mikey catching him.