This is the last chapter! Yay!

It's also almost 4k words... so... yay!

Warnings: Severe injury, borderline panic attacks, child abuse

Thanks to snakeyboimusical on Tumblr for reading this over for me!

~TH~

"A pleasure ma'am," Racetrack winked, pocketing his penny.

His last pape sold, he began the long walk back to the Lodging House. He was done early, so he might make it back in a reasonable time. Not that it mattered all too much. As much as he enjoyed the company of his boys, he also appreciated being alone for a few hours.

He was a little more than half-way home when he saw a boy running towards him. Race jogged towards him. "Les? What are you doing here?" there was no way Davey was already letting him sell by himself.

"We gotta go, now!" The boy grabbed his sleeve, pulling him forward.

Race let him, surprise keeping him from responding. After a moment, he stopped, pulling his arm away. Les turned to look at him. The boy looked terrified, his eyes were wide and his face was pale.

Racetrack pulled the young Newsie into an alley. "Les, tell me what's wrong."

"We gotta go!" He started to take off again, but Race grabbed him.

"Okay, okay, we will go, but first, you need to tell me what's going on."

The boy was breathing hard, tears leaking out of his eyes. "I-it's Jack. He-he's hurt, hurt real bad. Davey, He-he told me to get you. You've gotta help Race, Jack can't die!"

Die? This was bad. Davey sent Les by himself to Brooklyn? This was bad.

Race grabbed Les arm and took off running.

~N~

He reached the Lodging House at almost the same time as Jack and Davey. Where had they been selling? What had taken them so long to get back?

Les was a few feet behind him, Race couldn't keep hold of him and still keep his pace.

The first thing Racetrack noticed was the blood. Blood running down Jack's neck. The older Newsie was struggling to stay upright, greatly leaning on Davey. Without a word, he slipped underneath Jack's left arm as they continued entering the building. He vaguely heard Davey send Les home, but his mind was on Jack. His friend was out of it, barely conscious. The cut on his throat wasn't an accident, that was clear, but there also wasn't enough blood to cause any real damage. There had to be something else.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I think he got stabbed."

"In the neck?!"

"No, the side, the neck is superficial."

"Superficial?"

"Not deep. Just looks bad."

Race grunted in acknowledgement. Jack was swaying dangerously as they headed up the stairs.

"Stop." Racetrack ordered.

Jack paused, bending over slightly, gasping. When his friend was breathing relatively normal, they continued.

As they approached the bunk room, Race leaned over and started whispering to Jack.

"Hey, Jacky, we're gonna lay you down, kay?" There was no response as they kept walking. Jack didn't like being forced to do things. If they threw him, even gently, onto the floor and started touching him he would freak out.

"Jack!" He tried again.

"Huh?"

"We need to lay you down, okay? We have to use the floor because ain't nobody gonna want blood in their bed and the only table we got is for cards and not near big 'nough for ya." He slammed his mouth shut. This wasn't helping anything, he needed to stay calm.

"'M fine."

Race let out a humoured breath, always the hero, always fine. "Sure ya are Jack."

Davey looked over at him. "I'm going to go get some water and rags."

"Yeah, yeah." The older boy started to leave, "Wait! Where did you say the cuts at?"

"Right side." He supplied before leaving the room.

Race grabbed his empty Newsie bag, readjusting himself on Jack's other side. There was blood soaking through the shirt, but the vest was hanging open, pushed behind Jack's back. He removed his cigar, placing it beside him, then took a shaky breath and pressed the cloth into the wound.

Jack jerked away, whimpering.

Race hated this. Hated it. "Sit still, we gotta stop the bleedin'."

Jack stopped fighting. His eyes slipped closed.

No no no no.

"Jack!"

"Huh?" Green eyes flashed open

"Yous gotta stay awake, kay?" His hands were shaking. He couldn't do this, but he had to. Jack was more than his leader, he was his friend. Quite possibly his best friend. And he was Jack's second-in-command. If something happened... He wasn't ready to lead.

Stop. He needed to stop. He needed to calm down. Everything was going to be fine.

Eventually, Davey returned with rags and a bowl of water. He leaned down beside Race and pulled up on the shirt. "We gotta get him on his stomach. The cut is closer to his back and it's hard to reach from here."

Race helped, but felt unnerved that Jack's breathing had become even more ragged,

"We need to get his shirt off. We could cut it off, I'm pretty sure this one is ruined anyway."

"I, uh, ain't so sure that's a good idea." Jack never took his shirt off. It didn't matter if it was the hottest day of the summer, he was always at least wearing an undershirt. He was never seen without his back fully covered. Race had his suspicions, but not even he ever tried to push the issue.

"What do you mean? We have to-"

"No. Don-don' like it. Jus' work 'round it." Jack said in a dangerous sounding gasp.

Davey sounded exasperated. "Jack, we can't we need it off."

"No!" The leader of Newsies called out before he began to wheeze. He wasn't getting air in.

No no no no no no no no.

"Jack, hey Jack stay with me." Race lightly touched his friends face.

The only answer was for the body to slump forward, the fight completely gone.

"Davey?!" No. This wasn't happening. No.

"He's fine, he's fine, just... unconscious." Davey sounded like he was starting to panic too.

Race bit his lip, "Fine, we can cut through the shirt, but try to save the vest, it's the only one he's got."

He didn't know why but the idea of saving the vest made him feel a little better.

"It would probably be easiest if we were able to cut it off."

Race nodded. He reached into his boot and pulled out the small knife he always kept there. He held it over the fabric, he knew he needed to this. It would help Jack. It just felt like he was crossing this invisible line and that once he crossed it, there was no turning back.

"Here, I can start over here, there's already a cut in the fabric." Davey's voice made Race almost close his eyes in relief as he handed over the knife.

Just as the first slit in the shirt was made, Race heard footsteps."The boys." He stood up in a panic. The couldn't come up. They couldn't see.

He ran out of the room, meeting a few of the boys on the steps. They stopped, staring at him with wide eyes, "Go downstairs. Now."

They obeyed as Race followed them. There were several boys downstairs, most of them looking like they just got back. They all turned to look at him. He stayed on the steps, fidgeting with his hands.

"Listen, we're havin' a bit of a problem. Upstairs. Everythin' will be fine." He hoped, "Jus' stay down here until I come and get you."

"What happened?" Specs asked, his eyes scanning Race.

How much should he tell them? "Uh, someone got hurt. Me 'n Davey are takin' care of everything. Don' worry about it."

"Where's Jack?" Crutchie's voice was quiet, like he knew he shouldn't be asking. But it had been asked and now he had to answer.

Race paused, looking down. His hands were covered in blood, most of him was covered in blood, no wonder they were all looking at him so weird. He was probably scaring them even as he tried to reassure them. "Jack, uh, he's the one who got hurt." There were whispers among the older boys, while the younger ones just stared at him. Jack never got hurt and if he did, there was never a fuss about it. "But he'll be fine. Okay? Jus' stay down here." He made eye contact with Specs who nodded, moving to sit on the bottom stairs.

Race turned and ran up the stairs.

He couldn't do this. Too much stress. How did Jack do this? How did he lead and care for them? He had had one conversation with them and was already freaking out.

Race entered the bunk room. Davey pulled the final piece of fabric and looked up in triumph.

But all Race could see was Jack's back. It was awful. Even worse than he imagined. There were so many scars. Too many. Race felt such unbending anger as he looked at the lash marks. The burn scars. Knife cuts?

And some of them were recent.

"Race," He almost felt bad for Davey. The boy obviously had no inclination beforehand. He came from a different world. Race had gotten the belt a few times when he was a kid, before he became a Newsie, but even he had to admit, these were bad. He kneeled beside his friend, his brother, a hand nervously reaching out and brushing the skin.

"I know." He couldn't process his emotions. The best thing to do right now was to shut them off.

"But some of them, they're new. They can't be more than a month old."

Pulitzer. It had to be."I know." He couldn't look anymore. "How's his side?"

There was a pause before David answered, "I think, I think there's glass in there."

"Glass?" How-?

"Les said the guy had a bottle, I bet he didn't use a knife. He just saw the broken glass and improvised. "

Race let out a noise of acknowledgement before looking at Jack's back. It was almost mesmerizing. It was so awful and... final. He had assumed for years, but to actually see it...

"We need a doctor." Davey's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

Racetrack found himself laughing, resentment bubbling inside him. "We ain't gettin' no doctor."

"But Race-"

"We ain't got money for a doctor! The only time we ever get a doctor is when someone has been sick for months and Jack saves enough to get one. We don' jut get one when there's an emergency. It don' work that way!" Jack was the only one who ever got a doctor. And Jack typically worked himself nearly to death to get one. Race wasn't prepared for something like this. If Jack had money hidden away, he wasn't sure exactly where. Maybe if he wasn't a stupid gambler and learned how to save some money instead of betting it on cheap horse races they'd be able to get one!

"Then I have to get the glass out."

"You what?" No. That wouldn't work. That couldn't work.

"I have to get the glass out. Hold him down."

"I ain't holdin' him down." Jack hated to be trapped. Hated it. The idea of holding him down... of putting him in a position he knew that Jack was terrified of... he couldn't do it!

"You have to!" He could hear the anger rising in Davey's voice.

"He's unconscious anyway! Why do I have ta-?"

"Just do it!" The sound exploded in the large room. Race couldn't help but wonder if the boys downstairs heard it. He still didn't want to, but guessed he really didn't have much of a choice. He gently placed his hands on Jack's shoulder, not putting any real pressure on him.

Race kept his attention on Jack as Davey prepared himself. Then seemingly out of nowhere, Jack screamed. Race jerked his hands away, feeling the panic rise.

"Racer! you have to hold him down!"

Okay, okay he could do this. He pressed his arms along Jack's back, putting his full weight on him and preventing him from arching away. It lasted forever. Jack kept screaming and jerking away. It took all of Race's strength to hold him down. He'd seen the aftermath of Jack being hurt, but to activly be part of it was torture in itself.

Eventually, Jack passed out. He was still breathing, so he was only unconscious. Racer didn't remove the pressure for fear that he would wake back up.

"Got it!" David cried out victoriously, collapsing backwards. Race moved over beside him to help stop the bleeding. The cut was now red and puffy. It probably needed stitches. There was nothing they could do about that right now.

"We need something to keep pressure on it." Davey turned to him once the bleeding had relatively stopped.

Race couldn't bring himself to speak. All of it was too surreal. He nodded, going to grab a belt, whose belt exactly he wasn't sure, but if they weren't wearing it now they wouldn't miss it.

The belt worked to hold the rag in place. It also outlined the many marks on Jack's back. There were just as many small ones as big ones. Some had definitely been done by a belt and some by other straps of some kind. Race thought he recognized the lashes of a horse whip.

He couldn't stand to look at it anymore. He grabbed the vest, still in reasonable condition by some miracle, and he and Davey put it on Jack. They then propped him up against one of the bunks.

"Does he have a bed?"

Jack had a bed, but it was rarely occupied by him. It was typically given to one of the boys who hadn't made enough to stay the night. Together, they moved the Newsies leader to the bunk closest to the window. Before he officially moved into his 'Penhouse' Jack had chosen this particular bed because he could easily sneak out onto the fire escape.

Race just stared at him for a long time, chewing on his lip. He finally leaned down and buttoned the vest, better hiding the scars that wrapped around his torso.

Davey headed over to the mess covering the floor.

"Don't worry about it." He hated how quiet his voice was, but he was so tired. "Get home to Les. I know he was worried."

David picked up the now shredded shirt. "I'll, uh, see if I have an extra shirt at home. I'll be back tomorrow."

Race nodded as Davey turned to head down the stairs. "Use the fire escape. If you go down the boys won't ever let you leave."

"Thanks," he smiled weakly, ducking out of the window. "And... let me know if... anything happens."

Race knew what he meant, what he was insinuating. The terrifying part was that it was a valid request. Jack's side was already getting infected. The infection could spread and give him a dangerous fever. He could bleed out during the night. It wouldn't be the first time a fever had stolen a member of the Lodging House.

His only answer was a nod.

Davey disappeared through the window. Race sighed, leaning up against one of the bunks. Taking a shuddering breath he moved over to the bloodstained floor.

Using the few rags he had left, he mopped up the blood. When the floor was as clean as he would be able to get it, he took the bloody cloth and threw it in one of the side closets that held cleaning equipment no one ever used. He used the red-tinted water to rinse his hands off before dumping it down the sink in the washroom.

He picked up his cigar, entertaining the idea of lighting it. No, that would just cause even more problems. Sticking it between his teeth, he headed downstairs. All eyes turned to him as the room went deathly silent.

"He's asleep. You can go up if you plan on going to bed, but not if you're going to be loud." He didn't know what else to say. He just stood there, trying to avoid the many eyes on him.

Crutchie pushed past him, moving at a rapid pace up the stairs. Race closed his eyes, holding the railing a little tighter, taking a shuddering breath. Finally, he followed his friend up, a few of the older Newsies behind him.

He wasn't surprised to see Crutchie sitting on the side of the bed, talking to the unconscious Jack. The other boys moved around quietly, some grabbing cards from under mattresses or books from hidden holes in the wall to take downstairs. Race stood motionless in the middle of the room. It was like he had frozen in place. He couldn't think. He felt numb.

Someone touched his arm and he flinched backwards. Specs gave him an apologetic look before handing over a shirt. Race looked down at himself. His own shirt was stained red. He was covered in blood. He bet he scared the littles even more this time after listening to all of the screams.

With a shaky hand he accepted the shirt.

No one said anything as they slipped back into the common floor. Crutchie continued his vigil beside his friend. Race sighed and put his head in his hands. The silence was almost more overhwelming than the screaming.

~N~

It was just a small intake of breath. It typically wouldn't have even awakened him. The heavy breathing continued until there was a shift in the bed.

Jack was awake. Race wasn't sure if he should be relieved or concerned. Crutchie was asleep on the bed opposite of Jack. Race had taken the bunk above Jack, it wasn't his normal bed, but nobody argued with him.

Everybody else was asleep. Should he check on Jack or just leave him alone? Had he started bleeding again? Did he have a fever?

He moved to get up, but before he could, there was a light grunt and Jack was pushing himself off of the bed.

"Jack! What are you doing?" Race said in a harsh whisper.

The older boy didn't answer as he stumbled towards the window.

Racer climbed down from the bed as quietly as he could and grabbed Jack's arm. Jack jerked back, breathing heavy, eyes wide. He nearly fell over in his attempt to get away.

"Hey, Jack, it's me. It's Race." He was still whispering, hoping that he wouldn't wake everyone else up.

"Race?" Jack's eyes started to clear. "I have to get out."

"No Jacky, you gotta get back to bed." He started to lead him towards the abandoned bunk.

"Please Race, I-I can't-" His voice went ragged for a moment, "I need to get out."

Racetrack noticed the look in his friend's eyes. It was a slowly rising panic. It was the reason Jack had taken to sleeping outside when the weather was good enough, sometimes even when it wasn't.

"Okay, but you gotta let me help you."

Jack nodded as Race helped him walk, more like sway, over to the window. Getting through it was the hard part, but they managed to get him outside on the fire escape.

Once outside, Jack leaned against the railing, breathing heavily. Race let him, leaning against the wall.

After a long stint of silence, a raspy voice whispered, "What happened to my shirt?"

Race froze. It was the one thing Jack had asked them not to do. "We, uh, we had to cut it off. We had to Jack, we needed ta look at the cut and it was near impossible with it on."

"Okay." There was such exhaustion in that one word. Jack sounded so incredibly tired and defeated.

"I di'n want to, honest."

Jack nodded, then went quiet, leaning his head on the rail. A long moment passed before he stood up straighter, and not looking back said. "Go ahead."

Race wasn't exactly sure what he meant by that.

"Ask. I know you have questions. If you're going to ask, ask now."

Oh. "You don't have'ta tell me if you don'-"

"If you don't ask now, yous just gonna ask later when I don't want to answer." It was said almost angrily, but the weakness made it so that there was barely any heat behind the words.

Race bit his lip, he must have left his cigar inside. "They from Snyda'?"

"Mostly. Some from the guards. A few from my old man when he got drunk. But, yeah, most of 'em." There was no emotion in the voice. Almost as if he was talking about someone else's scars and not his own.

"What, about-" He paused not really wanting to know the answer.

Jack sighed, "Go ahead Racer, just ask."

"The new ones. How'd you get the new ones?"

"New ones? I don-" He stopped. Freezing in place, his breath hitching slightly. "Oh, they're from Snyder."

Snyder? He had been sure it was Pulitzer... "How? They ain't from last time you was in the Refuge, it's been too long for them to still look like that."

Jack gripped the railing harder. "No, theys from the Rally. Right before it. Pulitzer sent Snyda' to beat some common sense inta me." He let out a breathy laugh. "Thought it would help convince me. Followed me ta the Rally too. Was there the whole time. Woulda arrested everyone if I di'n say what he wanted me to."

Race stood dumbstruck. He hadn't heard that part of the story. Everyone knew about Jack's sudden change of heart after the rally. They all assumed that Katherine had talked sense into him. According to this new information, he had never wanted to speak against the Rally. The money didn't factor into Jack's decision at all.

"Jack-"

"I know, okay, I know I shouldn'a done it. It was stupid. I was weak. I just couldn't let Snyder take everyone. I couldn't let him take me." He sighed. "It don't matter. It's over now."

"Hey, you're many things Jacky, but weak ain't one of them. You was hurt. You shoulda told someone."

"I did." He sounded almost indignant. "I ain't completely stupid Racer."

"And who would that be." He crossed his arms. If he, Crutchie, or David didn't know, who would Jack possibly tell?

"I don' see how it matters, but if you 'avta know, Spot." He sighed, "Can we just drop this whole thing? I answered your questions. I ain't answerin' no more."

Race nodded, still in shock. He almost felt hurt that Jack would take his problems to the Brooklyn leader before his own friends.

"We should probably go back in. If the boys wake up and you ain't there they'll be worried."

"Yeah, yous probably right." He pushed himself off the railing, letting out a hiss as he straightened.

Race could feel the heat coming from Jack's skin as he helped him back through the window. He hoped that it was just stress and not infection, but he knew better than to hope. Maybe he should start saving up for a doctor, just in case.

He helped Jack into bed then climbed into his own.

He felt guilty. He should have known. All of it. How had no one noticed that Jack was hurting during the rally? He'd disappeared for hours then betrayed them, they should have wondered why instead of just branding him a traitor.

And even after the strike, he had left with Spot and not returned, only to be found asleep in the Lodging House. They knew he was tired, but he had been hurt. Their leader, friend, brother had been hurt and nobody had noticed.

Racetrack sighed, closing his eyes. If any of the other boys had been hurt, Jack would have noticed immediately and yet not one person noticed when Jack was hurting. That was going to have to change.

With this thought, the stress of the day finally caught up with him and he fell asleep.

~TH~

There you are my friends!

And just FYI, I plan on writing a story focusing around the Spot and Jack storyline introduced in this story. Keep an eye out if you are interested. 

Anyway, please let me know what you think! Comments are my lifeline!

God bless,
Jamie Dawn