Hello again! This is a request that I got a very long time ago from Les Phansie. I'm am so sorry it took so long! But here it is!
I hope you all enjoy!
Running was all he could do. It was, after all, what he did best. That's why Jack called him Race. Racer. God, he couldn't think about Jack right now. If he let himself think of what Jack would say to him the next time he saw him, he swore he'd go insane.
He'd done it. He knew he'd done it. This was his fault. He was going to be back on the streets. Only, this time, he'd be on his own. Jack wouldn't be there to protect him.
The small device in his pocket buzzed again, for what must've been the millionth time. He didn't answer it. How could he? He didn't know what to do and he'd long forgotten how to breathe. His legs moved automatically. Where or how was lost on him. It wasn't until he caught sight of the Brooklyn bridge that he began to understand where his feet and jumbled mind were taking him.
He knew the way without thinking. He continued on, letting his mind wander, only to be met with the memory of last night all over again.
He knew he shouldn't be doing this. He knew it was wrong and bad and he needed to stop. But as the smoke entered his lungs, the thoughts fell into place. He could think now. He set his fingers down on the keyboard and began to type. He could do this, he could finish this.
Jack had grounded him for this before. Twice, actually. He couldn't help it. He'd been savoring this pack for a month. He'd need more soon.
Every time he took a drag, he made sure he was by the window. He knew this was wrong. He just couldn't stop it.
It was working. He could finish this paper. One hundred more words and that would be that. He just hadn't been prepared for the knock that sounded on his door.
"Racer!" Race flinched at his brother's voice, taking a very quick puff of the cigarette in between his fingers before shoving the thing behind some books on his desk and grabbing the can of air freshener from beneath his bed, spraying it around his immediate area all before the man continue on. "Take a break," he continued as the door began to creak open. "Time for dinner..."
The boy did his best to not react when Jack trailed off. He wouldn't give himself away. Not this time. He had to finish this paper. He could do it. But him ignoring the young man only seemed to make Jack all the more suspicious.
"What're ya doin', pal?" he questioned. Race really shouldn't be surprised. His big brother could read him like a book while most others never broke through his poker face.
But Race was in this for the long haul.
"Finishing this paper. Two hundred points cause Weasel told me ta sit still n' I didn't," he explained. It wasn't a lie. Just not the whole truth.
He really did hate to tell Jack these things. His ADHD was no secret, after all. Jack felt guilty for some reason, God knows why because Jack struggled with ADD too. Race didn't understand. He wasn't sick. Not like Charlie was. He didn't need heavy medication. He just wanted a way to control it; focus. The stress balls and fidget spinners only did so much. That wasn't Jack's fault. But the guilty look on his big brother's face let Race know exactly how terrible he felt.
The man sighed. "I'm sorry, buddy... I'll email the school later. He can't do that to ya," he stated. There was a sort of edge to his voice. Race didn't respond. Grown ups always liked to say that. They can't do that. They could. They always did. So he kept vigorously typing. He had to finish this. He could do it. But Jack seemed to recognize the stress in his eyes.
Without a word, Jack stepped further into the room, reaching for the laptop and siding it out of the boy's reach slowly, gently closing it. Race scowled. Not at Jack, more at his asshole of an English teacher. But Jack just held out his hand for him. "C'mon," he urged lightly. "Ya look like ya ain't eaten all day. Let's go. Dinner."
Reluctantly, Race took it, sighing when his brother's arm wrapped around his shoulders. He let the embrace itself calm him down as they made their way to the door. His racing heart seemed to slow down immediately as he was led out of his bedroom. Exhaustion was catching up with him for only a moment before the man who'd raised him leaned in to speak softly in his ear. "If I catch you smokin', though, you're gonna be grounded for a month, ya understand?" His voice wasn't judgmental or hurtful. It was just a warning. After all, Jack couldn't prove he'd done anything yet.
The teenager did not reply. He only mutely nodded his head, not looking Jack in the eye as they made their way to the kitchen where Charlie was already waiting for them.
He wished he could listen. Why couldn't he just listen?! If he'd listened to Jack in the first place, he never would've even gotten himself addicted. He wouldn't be in this mess.
Everything was a blur as his phone continued to vibrate in his pocket. He couldn't answer it. Not right now. All he could do was blearily knock on the door in front of him too many times to count until the damn thing opened for him.
"Race?" a voice asked eventually, sounding more worried than he'd ever heard it before. That just broke Race even more.
"Spot!" he cried out, the tears coming faster now. They wouldn't stop.
The boy at the door gaped, not entirely sure what to do. Race was just standing there, sobbing, trying to create some kind of explanation. It wasn't working. "Racer, what's wrong? Are ya hurt?" he asked in a hurry.
It was almost funny. Race always let himself laugh when Spot showed any kind of concern. Spot Conlon, the mighty king of Brooklyn, was a big softy. And Race was one of the few who knew it.
After several moments of Race desperately trying to speak, Spot just forcefully pulled him into his apartment, immediately guiding him to the nearest couch. Race tried to calm himself down, wiping at his face with his sleeves, not caring that his rough flannel was irritating his skin. It was only then that Race actually looked at the fabric. It wasn't his. It was Jack's.
"Tyler James Kelly, If you don't tell me you're not hurt right now, I will literally take you to the hospital. What. Happened?" Spot asked slowly, trying to be stern but gentle at the same time.
That was when the words began to pour out. "I didn't mean to! You gotta help me! I don't know what ta do! Jacks freakin' out n' Charlie hardly knows what's goin' on n' they said it was gonna cost so much ta fix it! We don't have that kinda money! Miss Medda tol' me Jack was just thinkin' but I could hear him-"
"Racer!" The boy jumped, realizing he hadn't taken a breath. Spot grabbed his wrist, giving him a warning look. It meant Race's heart was beating too fast. Jack's old foster brother really did know the struggles that he went through with his anxiety. Sometimes, Race swore he knew Spot better than Jack did. "Take a breath," he instructed. Race did as he was told. "Okay, now let it out." Again, Race did not object. "Now, tell me what happened..."
He didn't want to. The kid was still trying to convince himself that he would soon wake up from this nightmare. He knew he wouldn't. He knew he just had to come out and admit it. So, with a sniffle and one more sob, Race just spit it out.
"I... I set our house on fire..."
Nothing prepared him for the way Spot looked at him after that.
Hours had passed. Race had not finished that essay. And that was okay. In fact, Race had long forgotten the whole assignment, instead choosing to contently sit in their small living room with Jack's head in his lap. The young man was sprawled out on the couch, dead asleep, allowing Race to sit, quietly watching old cartoons on their old television.
This was normal, to say the least. Jack never intended to fall asleep. It was an exhaustion that came with working two jobs, raising two kids, being in a committed relationship and still managing to somehow have a real social life.
Race had figured out a long time ago that his big brother was Superman. He didn't mind it when the man fell asleep on him. It was a small price to pay.
It was getting late. Charlie, the small eleven year old, was already back in his bed, fast asleep. Race was the only one that was still awake. It was nothing new. The night was supposed to continue on like normal.
But he hadn't smelled the smoke. No... Jack had. Out of nowhere, his big brother had reached up, rubbing at his eyes. "What is that?" he asked in a daze. Race squinted his eyes at him.
"What?" he replied, confused.
With a groggy voice, Jack spoke through a yawn, "smells like smoke..." he stated. Race's eyes widened for a moment, thinking Jack might be smelling his clothes. But the second Race caught sight of the hallway, he panicked.
"Oh my God!" he cried. Jack shot up immediately. Race stood, backing up as he caught a whiff of the smoke too. Something was definitely burning. Something was on fire. And it was coming from a direction that Race really hoped he was wrong about.
In mere seconds Jack was reacting. He always was quick. But Race still flinched when his wrist was grabbed onto. It was only then he realized how blurred everything was. There were tears in his eyes. Everything felt far away. "Tyler! Listen ta me!" He was trying. Truly, he was. "Tyler, go out the back. I'm right behind you," Jack promised.
Race shook his head. Those were famous last words. One of them was still back there. And Jack was going to go back for him. "Jack-" he cut himself off when the flames introduced themselves from around the corner. It was moving. The fire was coming for them. And Jack didn't have time to argue with him.
"Tyler, now!" That was all that was shouted at him before he was shoved towards the back door and Jack was running towards the fire like the idiot he was.
He was gone before Race could argue. So the boy did as he was told, heading out the back, leaving the door open so his brothers might have a way out.
On he went without them, praying that the only family he had would somehow make it out of the house that was their only protection from the harsh world outside.
"You did what?" Spot asked him, like he hadn't heard he boy the first time. Race was shaking again. He felt like he couldn't breathe. It was a mistake. He hadn't meant it.
"I didn't mean to, Spot!" he defended immediately, standing to his feet because he just couldn't sit still anymore. "I couldn't focus so I had a cigarette n' I didn't want Jack ta catch me, so I hid it!" His phone was vibrating again. He couldn't answer it. Not now. "I didn't think that it was that close ta my books!" The kid wanted to hit something. He didn't know why, but he did.
For some reason, he was expecting arms to wrap around him the second he lashed out at the wall. It would've been normal. Because when he started not knowing how to deal with his anger, Jack was there to hold him down and let him tire himself out. But Spot only wrenched at his arm, forcing him back to the center of the room and causing the tears to trail down his cheeks. Without saying a word, Spot reached into Race's back pocket and grabbed the phone that was blowing up with calls and messages.
"Hello?"
"Spot?" a confused voice responded. It was shaken and weak and so, so scared.
With a sigh, Spot looked at the kid. He was trying so hard to be angry, but the poor thing was just too tired. So he just collapsed back down onto the couch. "Tyler's here. He's fine. Ya want me ta bring him back?" he asked simply.
On the other end of the line, Spot could hear Jack trying to take in the fact that his kid was safe. He'd clearly been crying. "N-no... no, I'll come get him... I'll be there soon," he decided. Then the line went dead. And Spot was left alone with a terrified fifteen year old curled up on his couch, hardly breathing.
Jack cradled his baby brother close to his chest as he rushed through the house. The kid was still basically asleep, only barely mumbling into his ear and asking what was going on. The man didn't have time to explain, and honestly he was too frantic to even think up an explanation. He just tucked the blanket further around the boy as he continued running, coughing wildly as smoke filled his lungs.
The windows were guarded by screens. Jack didn't have a knife or scissors. He couldn't just cut through them. He tried to kick them out already. Nothing happened. The hallway was filled with flames and smoke. The flames were beginning to move faster. He had to get out. He had to get his brother out. And that was the only way.
"I gotcha, baby... don't let go, okay?" The only reply he got was a small nod against his shoulder. The boy's fists tightened in the back of his shirt. Jack was beginning to think the kid was catching onto the situation.
He only hoped the boy wasn't catching onto his fear.
Jack rushed out into the hallway, holding his breath as best he could as he simply sprinted through his home as fast as he could. No one was there to get him out of this one. He had to make it to the door.
But he couldn't help but cry out when he he felt a flame nipping at his shoulder. He heard his baby brother hiss and pull one of his hands away. "Jack!" he cried out.
"We're almost there, Charlie!" Jack promised. "It's gonna be okay!"
It was loud. It was so loud. But he continued on. He rushed out the backdoor, relieved at the cool air that surrounded him, still coughing as he gasped for air. With his vision blurred and his legs going weak, he was hardly able to stumble around to the front of the house where he now saw lights. There were no sirens, but he could see the lights. None of it mattered. With one of his baby brothers in his arms, all he had eyes for was Racer.
"Jack!" the teenager cried out, rushing towards him. Before the boy could crash into him, Jack held out Crutchie towards him. Race took him without question and let Jack grip onto his shoulder as he breathed hard, remembering how to all over again. He didn't have to look up to see how tightly Race was holding Crutchie in his arms. "Jack, are you okay?"
"Sir, you should really come with us-"
At that, Jack straightened up, collapsing on top of Race, enveloping their littlest brother in between them. Both of his boy grasped onto him for dear life as Jack gripped onto the back of Race's hair and took Charlie back to his chest. "I'm fine," he insisted as the fire woman behind him tried to guide him to a stretcher.
"Sir-"
"I said I'm fine!" he insisted again.
He wasn't. He was sure his arm was burned. But he couldn't afford a hospital visit right now. And, against his better judgement, he glanced back up at his home, his heart breaking at the sight of it. He held his family tightly to him. "We're fine... it'll all be okay..."
He didn't know if it would be. But he wasn't about to let them know that.
It would be fine. It had to be.
Jack barely had to knock on Spot's door. The other man opened it in seconds and he was being ushered in. "Where is he?" His foster brother just gestured to the main room in silence. Jack wasn't surprised.
Trying not to give into his emotions or his strong protective instincts, he did not rush up and embrace the boy. He simply walked into the room and sharply waved at Race to go with him. The child's face was completely soaked. It was tearing Jack's heart to pieces. But the boy reluctantly stood to his feet and walked towards him and Spot who stood side by side in the entry way.
"Thank you, Spot..." Jack mumbled out, trying not to let his voice shake too much. It wasn't working. But he tried.
The other man simply nodded and held out his hand. Jack shook it immediately, his grip firm and strong. He was scared. And Spot knew it. "No problem. I's sorry ya had ta drive all the way down here..." he sighed. Jack just shrugged and nodded at his little brother to come with him, still angry, by the looks of it. But the fear of losing the kid was stronger than any other emotion whirling around inside him.
The other man stopped him when he tried to walk out the door. "Jack... call me later, okay?" he asked sincerely. It was then Jack realized that Spot knew what happened. He had no choice but to nod his head as he continued out the door, watching his little brother pause in front of Spot, the almighty king of Brooklyn.
Race couldn't help himself. He threw his arms around the man and buried his face in his shoulder. Spot, always shocked at the gesture from the kid, tensed a little before returning the hug stronger than the kid could. But before the child could pull away from him, he leaned towards his ear. "Tell him." That was it. The only advice Spot had for him. And then he was pushed out the door.
The second Race got into the car he knew he was in for a long ride. Jack still hadn't spoken to him. He didn't think he was going to either. And that hurt.
He didn't know what to do. He curled up in the passenger seat, leaning against the cool window as Jack stayed eerily silent next to him. He didn't want to look over at him. Race could imagine the scowl on his face. It wouldn't be the first time Jack had ever been mad at him. It happened more often than Race cared to admit. But this was a different kind of anger. A kind of anger that was more worry than anything else.
He'd known there would be traffic. There always was in New York. Jack hadn't even wanted a car. But when he'd been trying to adopt him and Crutchie, their social worker had said it would look better if they had a car. So here they were with a beaten up old blue truck, getting caught in the afternoon rush instead of getting on a crowded subway and being halfway home already.
None of this was distracting him from the fact that Jack still hadn't said anything. None of it stopped the butterflies in the boy's stomach as he held his knees even closer to his chest.
After about fifteen minutes of silence, Race finally gave up. "Are ya gonna say somethin'?" he asked, turning his head to see his brother much too focused on driving. While his big brother's ADD was never as bad as his own ADHD, Jack still had trouble focusing much on anything but his art. The young man's jaw was clenched. His hands gripped the wheel too tightly. "Jack, please just-"
"What in the hell were you thinkin'?!" There it was. Race shouldn't have flinched at the yell. He'd asked for it. But he couldn't help it. "I called you fifteen times, Race! Fifteen! Ya didn't think you could pick up ta tell me that you was still alive?!" His big brother was practically seething. Race could tell he was having a hard time not driving like a maniac. Jack always did his best to have a level head, but when he got mad, he got mad. "After everything that happened yesterday, ya still go off an' pull some stupid stunt like this?! I was terrified, Tyler! No one knew where you were!"
There wasn't anything the boy could really say to make it better. "I'm sorry..." he tried pathetically, fully turning to face his guardian. "I just needed ta get some air-"
"Last time I checked there was air in Manhattan! Ya don't gotta run all the way ta Brooklyn ta get it," Jack shot back, glancing over at him. The child had tears trailing down his face. "What? Tell me what? What was so bad that ya couldn't come ta me? That ya had ta go all the way ta Spot ta talk about it?" Jack wasn't yelling anymore. Jack was heartbroken.
And Race had never felt more guilty in his life. "I... I didn't... I- Jack-" He didn't know what to say. He stuttered. He should've known what this was about. Jack was hurt because Race hadn't gone to him. It wasn't because he didn't want to. It was because he couldn't.
"Look, if you're not ready ta tell me, ya don't gotta," the young man sighed, barely moving forward on the street, not having the energy to be pissed when the light turned green and no one hit the gas. "But you don't just get ta leave wheneva' ya want without tellin' me where you're goin', n' ya don't get ta ignore my calls, n' ya don't get eva' scare me like ya did, do you understand me?" he demanded. Race nodded as he fisted at his face.
The boy couldn't speak. He didn't know what he could possibly say.
It was about a half an hour later when they finally pulled into the driveway of their temporary home. "You're goin' straight ta your room, ya understand me?" Race still didn't speak. His and Crutchie's old room was still set up for them. It was a good thing it was. Jack was sleeping on the couch, despite Race's insistence that he take his bed. "I'm keepin' your phone for a week. Your grounded."
Race knew it would get worse after he said what he had to say next. He didn't want to say it. But he had to. He had to get it off his chest. He wanted to breathe again. "Jackie... I gotta tell ta somethin'..."
"I really ain't in the mood right now, kid..." Jack tried, but Race grabbed his wrist when he tried to step out of the car. The young man turned back to him, a little surprised, but sat back down and turned to the boy. "Okay... what?" he asked, closing the door. Jack really did know him better than anyone else. He knew Race wanted this to be private.
The kid tensed a bit, still gripping onto Jack's wrist like he was afraid that after he said this his guardian would just leave, like he'd walk out of his life right then and there. "It was my fault..." he admitted, his voice shaking as he stared down at Jack's wrist, not able to actually look him in the eye.
"What?" the young man breathed. Race felt his body begin to tremble.
"I... you... You was right... I was smokin' yesterday..." When Jack didn't respond, he kept going. "When you's came in I hid it... I forgot 'bout it afta' that, n' then... I guess I left the window open so the wind j'st... I don't know... I just... It was my fault..." he finished, hoping that his brother understood what he was trying to say.
Silence consumed the small car. Race could feel Jack tense under his touch. He couldn't help but let himself shake with silent sobs. "I swear I'll never touch a cigarette again, and I'll get a job ta help pay for it, and I'll be grounded for the rest of my life," he mumbled through his cries. "I'm so sorry..."
The harsh grip he was expecting never came. Neither did any kind of smack or shout or anything that Jack had ever right to do. He'd burned half of their house. He'd almost gotten his baby brother killed. Jack had ever right to kick him to the curb right now. But the two of them just sat there. Jack would not say anything. And that was scary. "Please... I didn't know any of this would happen... I just... please say somethin', Jackie..."
Without warning, a gentle hand reached up to his cheek. Race couldn't help the fact that he flinched. He knew deep down his brother would never hit him, but he couldn't help it. His breath caught in his throat when he looked up to see those green eyes. They were angry and stressed but Race could see the heartbreak in them. "You bet your ass you're gettin' a job. You bet you're ass you're grounded for the rest of your life n' you bet you're ass I will be checkin' your room every night before ya go ta bed," he bit out. Race nodded, leaning into Jack's touch like he was afraid he'd never have it again. The tears fell even faster down his face as they just sat there for a moment.
Until Jack's hand left. Until his big brother was out of the car, rounding over to him and wrenching his door open. Before Race could even think up a scenario of what might be happening, he was pulled to his feet and held to his guardian's chest with a kind of embrace he never wanted to back out of. "You are gonna go inside n' you are gonna find Charlie n' you are gonna hold him and tell him you love him and you're gonna tell him how sorry you are, and then you're gonna go up to your room and stay there until I say so."
Race sniffled, trying to hold back his sobs. He nodded against Jack's chest. He tried to pull away and do as he was told, but the man held him still. "But you're gonna stay here for a minute first," he decided, somehow holding the boy even tighter. It was only then that Race realized how much he'd scared Jack when he'd run away. He hadn't meant to. But Jack had had enough. Almost losing Charlie one day and then thinking Race had gotten hit by a car or something the next. It was a lot.
"I love you, Jackie... I'm sorry..."
With a small kiss to his head, Jack just sighed and closed his eyes, letting the tears stream down his cheeks too. His family was still whole. It was okay.
In truth, the house could've been burned down completely. But as long as his brothers were still in his arms, it was okay.
They would be okay.
"I love you too, kiddo..."
Alright, this was such a fun request to write! Again, I am so sorry that it took so long. The request was for a modern AU where Race accidentally sets the house on fire with a cigarette. I had way too much fun putting this together.
As always, thanks for reading! Make sure to tell me what you liked, what you didn't, what you'd change or what you'd improve by leaving me a review! Love ya, fansies!