#angst-off

               To be honest, he didn’t know how many years it had been. It certainly had been more than one—but two? Five? Thirty? They all bled together at this point. And this Día de Muertos passed like any other: the whole Land of the Dead enjoyed a vibrant, joyous holiday with visits home and time spent with family, and he was here, holed up in his beautiful, empty hacienda. If he wanted to, he could probably find an ofrenda with him somewhere—after all, his bones were still snowy white, and let’s be honest, everyone loves a good villain.

                And, if these past few years were any indication, Ernesto was a very good villain.

                But, really what was the point of milling about the living? There wasn’t anyone out there that he still cared about. Certainly not enough to bear the glares, whispers and even outright insults he’d endure heading all the way to the exit gates. So he stayed inside. His alebrijes were much better company than a bunch of strangers, anyway.

                After Día de Muertos, the days bled into each other again but—not too long after the holiday—something changed. Something interesting happened.

                There was a knock at the door.

                For a long time, he’d ignored any and all unsolicited contact. It wasn’t like there was any way to smooth over throwing a child off a ledge, and his agent had always told him that silence was the best option in this sort of circumstance. But there hadn’t been a knock on that door for years. He was still tempted to wait for them to leave, but then something even more interesting happened: a second knock came.

                Well…it would break up the monotony, at least.

                Luckily, he still dressed to the nines—he’d always taken pride in his appearance, and being disgraced wasn’t about to stop him from that comfort—so all he needed was a quick smoothing back of his hair before he put on his best Ernesto de la Cruz smile and opened the door. He kept his smile up for a full minute before he recognized the skeleton on the other side of the door.

                Last time, he’d been completely caught off-guard not only by how ragged and brittle Héctor was, but by just how different he looked without his skin. This time, he was struck by his manner. He stood tall—save for the little bit of a slouch he’d always had—and his face stayed composed as he met Ernesto’s eyes. If it weren’t for the way his fingers twitched, as if they were plucking at invisible strings, he might not have known that Héctor was nervous.

                A few years ago, Ernesto might have slammed the door in his old friend’s face, or spat out all manner of vitriol, asking if he was happy how things were now, if he was enjoying the fame that he’d won.

                But he was tired now. Too tired to fight, especially to fight a determined Héctor—he only faced issues head-on if it was important, and him coming up here alone clearly showed this was important. So, rubbing his eyes with a long sigh, Ernesto kept the door open and asked, “What do you want?”

                Héctor took a deep breath, his eyes flicking between the doorframe and Ernetso’s face a few times before he finally spoke. “Do you remember, every year on my birthday, I set a goal for the year?”

                Ah. That’s what day it was. Ernesto didn’t respond, and Héctor continued.

                “I’m turning a hundred and twenty-five this year…”

                “Feliz cumpleaños.”

                Héctor grimaced at the dry reply, but pressed on. “…and this seems like a good year for answers.”

                Ah.

                Ernesto’s first instinct was to shut the door in Héctor’s face, but he resisted. He couldn’t, though, figure out where to begin to think of excuses. He’d spent so long burying what he’d done, buring Héctor’s existence as thoroughly as his body, that he’d never even thought of how to excuse his actions. And because of that, he realized in one horrifying moment, whatever question Héctor asked would have to be met with the truth.

                The best course of action, then, would be to scare Héctor away. So, feigning ease, he leaned in the doorway.

                “Does your wife know you’re here?’ he asked, the same acid in his tone with the words as there had been over a century ago. On cue, Héctor straightened fully, immediately on the defensive. Looked like that part of him was still the same.

                “No, and that’s for your sake.” Héctor’s pose relaxed again, and he lifted his chin defiantly. “Unless you want to be a cat toy again.”

                That was enough to shake Ernesto’s plan. It was hard to intimidate someone whose wife had an alebrije the size of a trolley and deadly good aim. He winced, then gave a huff as he stepped back and gestured for Héctor to step inside. He could still get through this. Even after all this time, he knew Héctor. Once he got emotional, he would lose his cool, and Ernesto would have no choice but to ask him to leave. Though, as he guided hector to the sitting room of his mansion, it seemed like there weren’t many buttons to push after murder, theft, leaving him to be Forgotten, and almost killing his great-great-grandson (twice).

                Honestly, he should have just shut the damn door.

                “I won’t offer you a drink,” he said dryly, dropping into one of the beautiful chairs beside the huge, empty fireplace. Héctor sat down lightly in the chair across from him, awkwardly adjusting the leather apron he wore. So. Now he was a shoemaker, too. Of course. That wife of his always commandeered his life.

                Ernesto shook his head and crossed his arms for a moment as he stared at Héctor. So. There really was no scaring him off, at least not before they talked. He should have known that scrap of mercy was too much for the universe to give him. He waved his hand.

                “So what do you want the answer to?” he asked, voice flat. “Why I murdered you? Why I stole your songs? What, Héctor?’

                Héctor stayed quiet for a moment, drumming his fingers on his knee and staring hard at the floor. Maybe Ernesto’s bluntness had thrown him off. Maybe he’d realize he didn’t want these answers. Maybe…

                “Was that all our friendship was worth to you? An old notebook?”

                Ernesto froze, Héctor’s gentle bluntness catching him off-guard. “Are you stupid?” he asked, cool exterior faltering. “Your music was…still is the best in all of México!”

                Héctor suddenly looked very tired at Ernesto’s words, and his shoulder sagged slightly before he shrugged. “I just…I thought maybe after all we’d been through, I was worth more to you than some scribblings.”

                Ernesto stared at Héctor, swallowing hard. He hadn’t had a throat in so long, but he could still feel the phantom sensation of it closing up and leaving him unable to speak. Hector’s eyes flicked up to him for a moment before he squared his shoulders and leaned forward.

                “I would have forgiven you for the songs—even ‘Remember Me’. At the end of the day, they’re just words and…and dots on paper. But…” Héctor’s jaw clenched—in life, he would have pressed his lips together—and he let out a shaking breath before he said, “I thought of you as my brother.”

                “And you think I didn’t think the same of you?”

                The words came out surprisingly cold and crisp, and he kept his face still as Héctor sat back, eyes wide. Ernesto blew a long breath out through his nasal cavity, eyes firmly fixed to the side, away from Héctor.

                “You want answers? You want the truth? Then I’ll start with this. You are the closest…” He shook his head. “You are the only family I have left. The only person I’ve ever put my whole trust in. The only person I have ever wanted to spend years and years with hopping on trains and playing where we could. You meant the world to me.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “But I wanted the world, too. And so I had to sacrifice the only thing—the only person—who meant that much to me.”

                His voice stayed even as he spoke; he’d live with this realization for decades, even before he’d died. He looked up at Héctor, waiting to see his reaction. Brown eyes darted over his face, his mouth opened for a split second before it shut. He looked as if he were searching for some kind of punchline to a cruel joke.

                “Is that…is that really what you think?” Héctor swallowed, shaking his head as he fell back into stunned silence for a moment. “That was worth keeping me from going home? Some…some stupid idea of bartering with…with God or the universe or whatever for fame?”

                “I couldn’t have done it if you’d left,” Ernesto replied matter-of-factly, then rubbed one of his temples. “And, honestly, I don’t think I could have gotten the world even if you’d decided to stay.”

                He glanced up at Héctor, watching quietly as his head dipped forward, hands gripping his hair. He stayed still, then slowly began shaking his skull.

                “Ernesto, what happened to you?” he finally asked, voice breaking, before he looked up. “You have to have some shred of decency left in you. The…the Ernesto I grew up with was a good kid, a good man.”

                “Was I? Or did you just want me to be and made yourself see me as good?” Finally, a tinge of heat colored Ernesto’s words. He leaned forward, meeting Héctor’s eyes dead-on. “I know what kind of man I am, Héctor. I’ve known for a very long time.”

                Héctor blinked, face starting to slacken back into weariness. “So that’s it for you?” he asked, a catch in his voice. “You can’t even manage some sort of…apology?”

                Ernesto shut his eyes with a long sigh. “You know, before your great-great-grandson came along, I might have.” His mouth quirked up slightly. “I would have. I would have given you the most beautiful apology. Because I know that’s all you would have needed. If you hadn’t ambushed me on that Día de Muertos, if you’d come just a little sooner, I might have even gotten you to write a song or two with me before you were Forgotten. It’d be good press, wouldn’t it?” He opened his eyes, though he kept his gaze on the floor. “But I’ve had time to think since then. Being a social pariah gives you plenty of time to look back on everything you’ve done. And…why you did it.

                “The fact is, you still mean far too much to me to give you some empty apology just because that’s what you want to hear. You deserve better than that, Héctor. So the best thing I can give you is the truth. I can’t give you anything more than that.”

                Héctor stared at him, brown eyes wide and hurt. Ernesto had seen that expression hundreds of times while they were alive, and just once after they’d died. It was funny; he thought years of being Forgotten, of hearing bastardizations of his songs played everywhere would have hardened him.

                He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed that his friend’s heart was still so soft.

                He gave a long sigh as he sank back in his seat. “Go home, Héctor,” he said, meeting Héctor’s eyes directly. “Go back to your family. Go back to the fame you deserve.” He gave a long sigh as he looked down at the rug at their feet. “Go home.”

                Héctor hesitated, then slowly got to his feet. Even without looking at him, Ernesto could feel Héctor’s stare on him.

                “One last question, Ernesto. Just one.” Once Ernesto nodded, Héctor took a deep breath and asked, “If you had the chance to go back, all the way back to that night you…we shared that drink, would you change anything?”

                Ernesto’s eyes flicked up to look at him. “After how everything’s gone?”

                “Yes.”

                “I wouldn’t even hesitate to do it again.”

                Héctor took a deep breath, eyes wide, then slowly let it out as he sadly shook his head. He stuck his hands in his pockets, wilting slightly where he stood. “I guess…that’s all I needed to know.”

                Ernesto shut his eyes and said nothing more. He could feel Héctor lingering for a few moments more, but soon enough shoes clacked away on the marble floors. Eventually, in the distance, he heard the grand front door open and shut, leaving him alone again.

                He waited a moment, then got to his feet and walked over to the window. Below, the Land of the Dead glittered and pulsed with lights and pure joy, just as it did every other day. And he watched as a little figure below, gangly and still uncomfortable in his leather apron, disappeared back into the thriving world out there. Where he deserved to be. Where he belonged.

                Ernesto hadn’t been quite honest with Héctor, despite everything. There was another bargain he’d made in order to gain the world. The moment he’d entertained the idea of poisoning Héctor, he knew there’d be hell to pay. Maybe not immediately, maybe not for nearly a hundred years. But he’d always felt it, right on the edge of the horizon. A few years ago, his time had come, that was all. And Ernesto always knew when it was time to pay for his wrongdoings, for his ill-gotten gains.

                After all, he was a very good villain.

                And even now, even after his catastrophic fall from grace and being mired in the depths of infamy, he would not hesitate to do it all again.

STORY A

trigger warning: explicit death and dying, explicit physical injury, grieving

Race was walking back from the Sheepshead when he heard shouts coming from a nearby alley. Hesitantly, he approached the opening and peeked in.

Race’s stomach dropped out from him. Albert was shoved against the wall of the alley, his lip and nose bleeding, trying desperately to hold his own against Oscar and Morris, who were approaching him menacingly. Morris had his knife out.

Race threw down his paper bag running toward them. “HEY! LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

Oscar and Morris turned around at the sound of Race’s voice, mischievous smiles playing on their faces. “Is this your little boyfriend, Dasilva? Has he come to save you?” Oscar teased.

Albert ignored him. “Race! What are you doing? Get out of here!”

Race shook his head, biting back tears as he approached the Delanceys. “Not without you!”

Morris gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. “Good luck with that,” he snarled, slashing his knife blindly behind him into Albert’s stomach before grabbing his brother and running out of the alley.

Albert’s eyes flew open wide with shock and for one painful moment he made direct eye contact with Race, blood dripping from his shirt onto the dirty street before he collapsed.

“Albie, oh my god, Albie,” Race mumbled as he ran toward his fallen boyfriend on shaky legs. Albert was slumped against the wall, practically choking on his breath, eyelids fluttering dangerously, one hand partially obscuring the gaping wound in his stomach.

“Hey, hey, baby,” Race rambled, tears dripping down his cheeks. Albert wasn't going to make it. There was too much blood. He was breathing all wrong. They were too far from the house. But he had to try, he had to at least try. “Look at me, look at me, right at me. It’s gonna be okay, everything is going to be okay. I’m gonna get you back to the lodge, Mush is gonna fix you up. Just stay with me, baby, please.” He slid his arms around Albert, trying to lift him.

“No, no, ‘ace,” Albert slurred, wiggling out of Race’s grip. “‘S no use.”

“No, baby, it’s gonna be okay, I promise, just let me get you -”

“‘S not,” Albert said gently, opening his eyes all the way to look up at Race’s tear stricken face. “‘S okay, don’ cry, I ‘ad a good life, I go’ t’ be wit’ you.”

Race pulled Albert’s head into his lap, one hand combing gently through his hair and the other firmly grasping Albert’s hand. “I know, I just wish we had more time.”

Albert gave him a pained smile. “We ‘ad all th’ ‘ime we needed.”

Race sniffled as a fresh round of tears filled his eyes. Even in the shadow of death, Albert still managed to be poetic. “I don't know what I’m going to do without you, Albie,” Race sobbed, leaning his head down on Albert’s shoulder. “You’re my everything. Who’s gonna steal my cigars in the morning? Who’s gonna make jokes with me at the gate? Who am I gonna cuddle with after a long day?” Race’s voice cracked as he fisted his hands in Albert’s hair.

“Shhhhh,” Albert whispered, draping one of his arms around Race’s back, he lacked the energy to provide any other comfort. “You’re gonna be fine, ‘ace. Jus’ keep goin’. Don’ cry when ‘m gone. Don’ let me stop you from livin’. ‘ou ‘till b’long ‘ere. Don’ try t’ follow me.”

Race nodded into Albert’s shoulder. What had he done to deserve him? And how was it that he was about to lose him?

Albert shifted, groaning in pain, and Race quickly sat up, murmuring reassurances. Albert reached up and, with some difficulty, removed his hat, letting his red hair spill into Race’s lap. Then he motioned for Race to lean down, and removed Race’s hat, putting his own in its place. “‘ere,” he mumbled, staring up at Race with tears in his eyes, “somethin’ t’ remember me by.”

Race quickly leaned down pressing a kiss to Albert’s lips, which he returned with desperation, suddenly very aware that this would be their last kiss. Fresh tears sprung into Race’s eyes at the thought. “As if I could ever forget you.”

Albert smiled, but it turned into a painful cough, wracking his weak body with sharp movements, blood splattering onto his lips.

“Shhhhh, shhh its okay, its okay,” Race soothed, rubbing Albert’s shoulder and squeezing his hand gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Te- tell th’ boys I love ‘em,” Albert rasped, his breathing now more irregular, “an’ not t’ miss me too much. An’ all my stuff, me shirts an’ stuff in m’ bunk, I want ya t’ ‘ave ‘em, ‘ace.”

“No, no, I couldn't.” Race continued to rub circles into Albert’s shoulder.

“Please, ‘ace?” Albert asked and Race couldn't say no to the desperation in his eyes. He nodded his head in confirmation.

Albert’s body was seized by another coughing fit, this one much more violent and intense. His eyes blinked closed several times, making Race’s heart clench. “C’mon, baby, look at me, one last time.”

At the sound of Race’s pleading voice, Albert’s eyes blinked open halfway and he gently squeezed Race’s hand. “I love ya, ‘tonio, don’ firget ‘t,” he mumbled in his barely there voice.

Race leaned down close to Albert, thumbing his fingers through his hair soothingly. “I love you too, Albie. So, so much.”

Albert gave Race one last smile before his eyes fluttered shut and the grip on Race’s hand released.

Race jolted awake with a start, wiping away his tears and forcing himself to take a few deep breaths before dragging himself out of bed and towards the window. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed Albert’s hat from the end of his bed.

Race climbed up the ladder to the roof to where he knew Jack was sleeping. Crutchie had opted to sleep inside tonight.

Jack was leaning against the rail, looking out over the city. Race wordlessly wandered over and joined him, his hands toying with the hat in his hands.

After a few minutes, Jack spoke up. “You had the nightmare again?”

“Yeah,” Race whispered. “I don't understand, Jackie, it’s been almost a year, why does it still happen? Why do I have to relive it every night?”

“I don't know, Racer,” Jack sighed, leaning over to place his hand on Race’s.

“It just makes it worse,” Race continued. “I know he’s gone. I know he’s not coming back. And then, every night I see the whole thing happen again. And then I wake up, and expect it to be a dream, that he’ll be there any second to reassure me that everything’s going to be okay, that he’s okay, but he’s not, Jack. He’s gone. He’s never coming back.” His voice cracked on the last word and he bowed his head in defeat, the cool New York air biting at his tear stained cheeks.

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Jack sighed, putting an arm around Race’s shoulders, holding him gently. Race tensed at first, he didn't like people touching him that much anymore, but then he relaxed into Jack’s embrace.

“I didn't try hard enough to save him,” Race sighed. “I could have brought him back here, we could have at least tried.”

“No, Race,” Jack said gently. “You did what he wanted. You made him comfortable. He just wanted to be with you one last time, and you gave him that.”

“I guess,” Race sighed. “Everything just feels so pointless without him here anymore.”

“He wanted you to keep living, right? That's what you told me?” Jack asked softly.

Race closed his eyes, reciting the words he had told him from memory. “You’re going to be fine, Race. Just keep going. Don’t cry when I’m gone. Don’t let me stop you from living. You still belong here. Don't try to follow me.”

“See,” Jack soothed, “He wants you here. You've done a great job, Race. I don't think I could have been as strong as you've been this past year.”

“It’s so hard though,” Race whispered. “I just want one more day with him. Is that too much to ask?”

Jack rubbed Race’s arms comfortingly. “Sometimes, the universe is a cruel place. You’ll see him again one day. I promise.”

“One day” turned out to be a lot closer than Race had expected. About a month later, he was thrown in the Refuge for stealing an apple from a street vendor. It wasn't his fault, he had been hungry and selling had been tough the last year without his partner in crime.

Snyder had locked Race in one of the basement rooms and beat him for mouthing off to a guard. Not that he really cared. He hadn’t cared about what happened to him in almost a year. He didn't have a boyfriend to come home to anymore, so what did it matter. He did stupid stuff, mouthed off to people, got in fights, and this time it had cost him.

Race groaned in pain, his ribs screaming from being kicked down the stairs, his back on fire from the lashes he’d received, and his leg was beginning to go numb, which he didn't think was a good sign. Race tried to keep his eyes open, but the darkness called out to him and it sounded so appealing that he allowed himself to slip away.

When Race awoke he was laying on something - no wait, someone. There was a hand comfortingly stroking his hair and Race leaned into it, sighing in satisfaction. The pain was still there, but it was much duller than before, barely an ache and disappearing by the second.

“Dammit, Tonio,” a voice said from above him. “Everything was just starting to get better, and then you do this?”

Race sucked in a sharp breath. He’d know that annoyed voice anywhere. But, it couldn't be…

“Albie?” Race spoke the name of his boyfriend for the first time in a year, it felt foreign on his lips and his voice cracked, almost as if he had forgotten what it was like to be someone’s everything.

“Yes, Race, I’m here,” Albert said soothingly.

Race hesitantly opened his eyes, crying tears of happiness when he saw Albert’s face above him. He looked just as Race remembered, messy reddish hair, warm brown eyes, lightly freckled skin, glorious smile. He was wearing the same clothes as the last time Race had seen him, less the hat, which was firmly jammed on Race’s head. He even smelled the same, like freshly printed papers, and new york city, and lingering cigar smoke.

“I- but- you’re, you’re dead,” Race stuttered. “Does that mean I’m dead too?”

“Not quite yet,” Albert said, running his hand gently over Race’s face. “You’re getting there, though.”

Race lifted himself up slightly, looking around. “Where are we? This isn’t the Refuge.”

Albert pushed him gently back down so his head was resting in his lap once again. “Shhh, stay down, okay? You’re hurt real bad, don't want it to get worse.” He paused. “We’re on the roof of the lodging house. I usually hang around you guys, it’s where I’m the strongest.”

“What do you mean?” Race asked, picking up Albert’s hand and holding it tightly. The pain in his back was beginning to return and he needed something to hold onto.

Albert gave him a soft smile. “I’m still around Race. I follow you when you go out selling every day, I’m standing right next to you when you're betting at the Sheepshead, I sleep next to you in the lodge every night. I’m always there when you wake up from that nightmare. And I wish I could comfort you, I really do,” he paused, sniffling, “It’s so hard to see you in pain, because of me.”

“You didn't do anything wrong, Al,” Race whispered. “Don't beat yourself up over this.”

Albert smiled slightly. “I told you not to cry over me when I was gone. And you still did.”

Race felt tears coming on. “It was hard not to, you were my everything. Heck, you still are my everything.”

“I know, I know,” Albert sighed. “But you were doing so good, Racey. So, so good. And then this happened. I told you to keep living, right?”

Race squeezed Albert’s hand tightly, repeating the words from that fateful day. “You’re going to be fine, Race. Just keep going. Don’t cry when I’m gone. Don’t let me stop you from living. You still belong here. Don't try to follow me.”

“And look, you tried to follow me,” Albert paused. “You never used to be that careless Race, what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.” Race winced, more pain shooting through his back and across his ribs.

Albert noticed immediately. “Baby? What is it? Talk to me, Tonio.” He stared at Race with a look of concern.

“Hurts,” Race said through gritted teeth.

Albert looked at him sadly before getting a far-off expression on his face. “Jack’s pulling you out from the Refuge,” he whispered.

“What?” Race’s face contorted in pain as he shifted in Albert’s lap.

“In the real world,” Albert looked down at Race, “Jack just rescued you from the Refuge. He’s bringing you back to the house right now. If- if you're feeling pain, that means that you're going to make it.”

“What does that mean?” Race asked shakily, needing to hear it from Albert.

“You can’t stay here with me,” Albert whispered, his eyes filling with tears. “You have to back.”

Race felt his own tears spilling over. “But I wanna stay here with you,” he protested. “I just got you back, I can’t lose you again.”

“Shhhhhh,” Albert soothed, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to Race’s lips. Race kissed him back desperately, trying to memorize the feeling of his lips, the way he tasted, everything. “You're getting a second chance, Antonio,” Albert whispered. “Aren’t you happy?”

“No,” Race wheezed, the pain was really setting in now. “I want to be with you. I can’t be without you, Albie. It nearly killed me when you died. I had to carry you back to the house, I had to explain to the boys what happened. I had to go to bed that night, knowing that you wouldn’t be there when I woke up. I had to keep living without my second half. I can’t go through that again, Albie. Let me stay with you, please,” he begged, clutching Albert’s hand as if he might disappear any second, which judging from his flickering, fading image was a high possibility.

“Tonio, listen to me, baby,” Albert said softly, tears clogging his voice. “You belong on Earth, living. You mean so much to all those boys down there, they’re all so worried about you. I can see it right now, Jack just put you on your bunk, Mush is pulling off your shirt, starting to clean your back. He’s crying. Romeo is hovering by the corner, and Specs is holding him back from jumping on you. Behind him is JoJo and Blink and Henry and Tommy Boy and everyone else. They’re all trying to hold it together. Elmer just ran out to go get Davey. They care about you, baby, they really do. They’ve already lost me, I don't want them to lose you too.”

“But I don't want to lose you,” Race sobbed. “Can’t I just have five more minutes? Is that too much to ask?”

Albert looked at him sadly, shaking his head. “No, Tonio, you have to go back. Don't try to follow me again. You're going to have a nice, long life. Don't rush it just to get back to me.”

Race’s vision blurred from his tears and the blinding pain that was becoming more intense every second. “Will I ever see you again?”

Albert nodded. “One day, I promise, Antonio, I’m not going anywhere.”

Race stared up at Albert’s fading image. “I don't want you to go,” he whispered in a pained, broken voice.

“Shhhhhh, just concentrate on living for me, okay baby?” Albert soothed, rubbing his hand through Races hair.

Race nodded weakly, his eyes began to flutter and he forced them to stay open.

“Tell the boys hello for me,” Albert whispered. “I love you, Antonio, don’t forget it.”

Race almost laughed at the irony as he stared up at the love of his life one final time. “I love you too, Albie,” he managed to choke out. “So, so much.” Then his eyes slipped closed.

The next thing Race knew, he was laying on a soft bed, muted voices surrounding him. He let out a pained groan. Immediately, the voices subsided.

“Race?”

Race cracked open his eye to see Jack kneeling next to his bed, Mush, Romeo, Specs, Blink, JoJo, Henry, Elmer, Crutchie, Tommy Boy and Davey all standing behind him, holding their breath.

Tears were flooding Race’s eyes before he could even stop them and he shoved his head into his pillow, reaching one hand up blindly to feel for Albert’s cap which was still on his head.

“Whoa, hey, Race, its okay, you're okay, we’re at the lodge, everything's gonna be fine,” Jack soothed.

“I saw him, Jack,” Race sobbed. “I saw Albert. He was okay. He talked to me. He -” Race gasped. “He sent me back here, told me to keep living.”

“It’s okay, Race, it’s okay,” Jack rubbed his hand through Race’s hair.

Race let out another sob. Albert was wrong. He couldn't keep living without him. He wanted to be where Albert was. But he’d lost his chance. Now all he could do was wait and hope the wait wouldn’t be too long.

STORY B

trigger warning: injury, child abuse, emotional abuse, sort of kidnapping

The basement was cold. There was a dead rat in the corner and the ceiling was dripping, the sound echoing off the walls and ringing back in Albert’s ears. His growling stomach, the pounding in his head, and the aching bruises were all he had to show for two weeks alone in the Refuge.

He sighed, drawing his good leg up to his chest. Snyder hadn’t even bothered to handcuff him. It wasn’t like he had the energy to move anyway. He’d fought until one of the guards had slammed a chair over his leg. From the sickening way it was twisted and the fire shooting up and down, he couldn’t guarantee it wasn’t broken.

Which was just fantastic.

He was picking at the dried blood under his nails when the door opened. A sliver of light at the top of the stairs was like a spotlight in the dark room. Two tall, broad shadows were there when Albert blinked and squinted. They were holding a third person between them.

“How are we feeling today, DaSilva?” The cold, demeaning voice involuntarily sent a shiver up his spine. “Still in the mood to talk back and disobey orders? Or are we ready to behave?”

Snyder came down the stairs, hands clasped behind his back and eyes greedy in the light. Albert took a deep breath.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, so it’s going to be one of those days, is it?” Snyder chuckled, shaking his head as if trying to get through to a stubborn child. “Maybe this will change your mind.”

The guard behind him threw the third person down the rest of the stairs, and Albert winced as they hit the ground. There was a bag over their head, their shirt was ripped and threadbare, and their pants were slipping over their hips.

And then Snyder pulled the bag off.

Albert felt his entire body go cold. His mind went numb. His thoughts were on autopilot, a stream of no, no, no, no, no, no -

Race’s hair was matted with blood. A gag was keeping him quiet. He was glaring up at Snyder until the guard slapped him on the back of the head and his eyes landed on Albert. Then his twisted leg, then the bruises painting his face and bare arms. His hard demeanor collapsed. So did Albert’s heart.

“Recognize this face by any chance, red?” Snyder cooed, leaning down to grab Race’s chin.

Albert stayed silent.

“At a loss for words? Isn’t it just a miracle?”

Albert flinched as Snyder ripped the gag out of Race’s mouth with more force than necessary.

“Should we leave you and your little boy toy alone for a moment?”

Albert tore his eyes away from Race’s pale face to Snyder’s sneer. It hit him like another fist in the face when the spark in Snyder’s eyes gave away what he really wanted Albert to say.

He wanted him to crack.

He wanted Albert to beg and scream, he wanted Race to lose hope and go mute. He wanted the kids under his watch to lose whatever childhood they had left. He wanted them to leave the Refuge feeling like they lost their soul going in.

Race had been in the Refuge before. Albert had seen him come out as a new person. A person with dark circles under his eyes and tense shoulders and haunted looks.

He couldn’t let that happen again.

He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat, struggling to keep a straight face, and looked Snyder dead in the eye.

“You’re using him as leverage? That’s the best you could do?”

Race looked confused. “Al, it’s okay. I’m okay.” His voice was raspy and hoarse. Albert looked at him, feeling his heart pound against his ribs. Tears were pushing, but he kept them in.

It’s for the best, don’t you dare cry, don’t you dare mess this up, you’ve gotten Race in the Refuge as it is. The last thing you need is to get him hurt.

“You think I actually care if you’re okay?” he scoffed. “God, you really haven’t figured it out?”

Race shook his head weakly, shoulders rigid like an invisible string was keeping him up. “A-Al, you don’t have to - I’ll be fine, please just sto-”

“Don’t have to what? As long as we’re here, you might as well know. You were just an experiment. I was bored and you were there. I never wanted whatever you think we have.”

Tears were streaming down Race’s cheeks. His eyes were like ice. “You-you’re not -”

Albert rolled his eyes. “You think anything you say is gonna make me give a damn?”

Race looked down. He was out of words. Albert didn’t think he could keep going, and he risked a look back up.

Snyder’s scowl was halfway between pleasant and disappointed. He spat at Albert’s shoes, kicking at his bad leg. “Take the boy back upstairs,” he snapped. “He’s useless.”

The guard heaved Race up under the arms, twisting them behind him, and Albert bit his lip until he tasted copper when Race cried out.

“And you,” Snyder said, grabbing Albert’s hair to force his head up. “I’ll break you, boy. They always break.”

He slammed Albert’s head against the wall, spun around, and stomped upstairs with the guard in tow.

“Albie?” Dammit. God dammit. Guilt was already eating away at his heart, and he didn’t think he could bear to hear Race’s voice break like that.

Race was staring at him as the guard pinned him to his chest and dragged him up the stairs. He wasn’t struggling, he wasn’t shouting. He was limp, like there was nothing left in the world that could bring the bright smile back to his face. “Please, this is - is this real? I don’t -”

No. No, no. I love you so, so much. I’m keeping you safe, I’m trying to protect you, you’re only gonna get hurt if you stay with me, I’m not worth it, letting you go was the hardest thing I ever had to do, please come back, I love you, I love you.

All he could do was will Race to meet his eyes. He was mouthing the words over and over again, ‘I love you, I love you so much’, but nothing was coming out.

It was too late.

The thing was, Logan always had a plan.

That was his thing. No matter how ridiculous the situation might be, Logan would have thought of it and made a plan to deal with it accordingly.

The last time he had failed to predict a situation, failed to have a plan ready and waiting to be executed, that was when they had lost Virgil. Because Logan had failed to account for the fact that Virgil had only been placed in the group house with them as a temporary measure until his parents got out of rehab and they could be reunited. Worse, he managed to fail to account for the fact that Virgil was seemingly terrified of his parents and would likely do anything to keep from going with them. By the time Logan realized these things it was too late to come up with a plan, and they had lost part of their family.

Logan still couldn’t get the image of Virgil the last time they saw him out of his mind, looking so much like the first time he had arrived, curled in on himself and shaking in fear, his head down and his eyes full of tears and void of all the hope they had worked so hard to give him. Virgil had looked broken, defeated, and more terrified than Logan had ever seen him. It broke Logan’s heart, and he knew it broke Patton and Roman’s hearts too, and none of them had been the same since that day.

Patton hardly smiled anymore except to try and cheer up Roman, his puns lacked their usual joy and even his drawings that had once been his means of escape had become depressing. Roman, usually so full of life and energy you couldn’t get him to hold still, hardly ever left Patton’s or Logan’s side out of a new fear he might lose. His usually exuberant and loud personality seemed to have faded away, leaving behind a subdued quiet that seemed out of place. Even the things that once excited him couldn’t elicit more than a weak smile.

As for Logan... it probably didn’t seem like much had changed in him from the outside, but Patton and Roman knew better. Because looking from the outside you wouldn’t know that the bags under his eyes were because he refused to sleep from fear that he might lose another part of his family, wouldn’t know that he spent hours on end coming up with every scenario he could think where there might be danger and creating a plan to address it because he didn’t want to be in another situation where he didn’t have one. Logan had always been one of the more reserved children at the group home, but now not even Patton could get more than two words out of him unless someone needed comfort after a nightmare.

When they lost Virgil he had taken along with him a piece of each of the boys. It had hurt more than anything else, but Logan had sworn it was going to be the worst thing they ever had to deal with, and he made his plans to make sure none of them ever had to face that heartbreak again.

He was sure he had accounted for every scenario. But two weeks after Virgil was taken, Logan realized that he was wrong.

Because in all of his research and all of his planning, he had never thought to plan for the fact that there would ever be a way for them to get Virgil back. Had never once stopped to consider the circumstances under which the boy would be returned to their group home. Never once entertained the fact that they would come terrifyingly close to losing Virgil for a second time before they ever got him back, this time for good.

He should have seen it coming from a mile a while, should have put together the pieces of the puzzle on his own and figured it out long before, he should have been able to stop this from happening, if only he had looked closer, if only he had thought harder.

If only he hadn’t been stupid enough to believe the lie the matrons told him that there was nothing going on in Virgil’s home life. That he would be safe at home with his parents now that their problems with drugs had been fixed because that was the only thing that had ever been wrong in the Antley household.

Logan had wanted so badly for that to be the truth he had bothered to look into it any further and now Virgil had paid the price of ignorance. Logan knew something was off and he ignored it, pushed it out of his thoughts and out of his plans and now...

Now Virgil was in the hospital after spending three days locked in a basement, bruised and with several broken bones from where he was pushed down the stairs and then beaten by his parents, and sure he was stable for now but he was still in critical condition and they didn’t know when he would wake up (If he would wake, Logan added in his head), and no one had even bothered to tell the boys what had happened until Logan saw something on the news and the three boys had rushed the matrons demanding answers.

Worse still though was the fact that the matrons insisted that the boys couldn’t visit the hospital, they were too young to go alone and there was no one free to take them, and besides Virgil was even awake and he was in critical condition and they weren’t mature enough to handle seeing him like that.

“It would just upset you” they insisted, shooing the boys into the dining room for dinner. “You can see him when he returns to the home.”

“But what if he doesn’t return?” Roman had asked after they had retreated to their room for the night, his voice soft like he was scared to even put the thought into the universe, but was too worried to hold it in. Patton sniffled quietly at the question, pulling Roman closer to him as the younger boy started to cry, soothing him “He will return to us. I know it.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” Roman repeated, louder this time, and his voice shook slightly at the end betraying just how much the idea scared him. “Or what if he thinks we abandoned him and he doesn’t want us anymore? What if he hates us because we’re not there?”

“Virgil would never hate us. He’s family.” Patton protested, but even he could hear the doubt in his own words. It wasn’t like any of them couldn’t blame Virgil if he did hate them, they had let him in the worst way possible. Before he could stop himself Patton let out a loud sob, and Roman lifted his head alarmed to look at him. “Patton?”

“We left him, Logan,” Patton whispered, looking over at Logan who was sitting a little distance away from them writing in his notebook, trying to come up with a solution he couldn’t find. As soon as Patton said his name he looked up, guilt filling his eyes, and without a word he set his notebook aside and wrapped both of the others in a hug. “We let him down.”

“We did.” Logan agreed, closing his eyes as Patton leaned against him, trying to stop his own tears before they could fall. There was no time for crying right now. They needed him to be strong. “We let Virgil down, but we are not going to do it again. I promise.”

Patton lifted his head suddenly, and when Logan opened his eyes both Patton and Roman were staring at him in shock. Quietly, Roman asked, “You have a plan?”

“I have a plan,” Logan confirmed, letting out a shaky breath and Patton tilted his head just slightly. He knew that look.

“Is it a good one?”

Logan stiffened slightly, avoiding Patton’s gaze as he repeated: “I have a plan.”

Patton narrowed his eyes at Logan’s word. “Is it a legal plan?”

“I am not completely sure if we are being honest. It depends on what happens,” Logan replied, looking down at Roman when he asked quietly “But it’ll get us to Virgil?”

“It should.”

“And what if it doesn’t?” Patton countered, and Logan straightened his shoulders before looking at Patton, saying with the evenest voice he could muster “They could decide that he would be better off in a different home. It is our best chance at getting to him though.”

Silence fell over the trio for a minute as Patton searched Logan’s face for any sign that he was lying, trying to gauge how much of a chance they had at succeeding. But behind the obvious guilt and worry for Virgil, there was a confidence in Logan’s eyes that told Patton he really did think they could do this.