#impaled palm

”Jackie, there’s more than just one ball. It’s just that whoever gets the Snitch almost always wins.”

“Then what’s the point of actually scoring any goals if whoeva’ catches that otha’ one wins?”

Jack laughed when Race looked up and gave him an annoyed look. Yes, Jack knew the rules of Quidditch. He’d read the books too, when he was younger. But it was always worth the teasing to see that smile that spread on Race’s lips. 

They were rarer now. Any kind of joy they could find in this place was a miracle. But the thing that Jack was most grateful for was that neither of them had been moved here alone. There was no way they could survive this alone.

It was labeled a group home. Some had called it a boy’s home. It was big. An old building that was falling apart at the seems. It was almost like an orphanage that Jack thought he’d seen in an old movie.

They made sure to keep to themselves. Kids here weren’t exactly the friendliest. Jack was one of the oldest boys. He was almost out. And he was taking Race with him. No matter what.

“You’re so annoyin’,” Race muttered as he went back to reading his book, pushing his reading glasses up further on his nose. Jack wasn’t even sure which  the last one he’d snuck in for him. It was the fifth, maybe the sixth. All he knew was that his brother loved to read. And their guardian never wanted to let him.

They were sitting in the kitchen. Well, the younger boy was. Jack was supposed to be cleaning it. He was. Although, it was a bit difficult to focus. He hadn’t eaten anything. Not since yesterday. He’d been barely able to make sure Race had eaten something that night.

He was scrubbing the dishes right now. Race had offered to help him, but Jack always hated it when the boy actually did. He didn’t deserve to be put to work like that. Chores were not something new. Chores were fine. But these were more than chores. These were a sort of way to keep all the boys in line. And they all knew it.

Jack tried to blink himself awake as his hands ran under the warm water from the sink. There was something about this place that always made him so tired. Maybe it was that it was so dark. Maybe it was all the cleaning he had to do. Maybe it was that he couldn’t eat too much. Maybe it was all of it.

He turned around, planning on talking to his brother who was definitely supposed to be in his room upstairs. He wanted to start a conversation just so that he’d stay awake. But when he turned, he found the boy reading. Not the book. Something else. A letter. So Jack turned back around, trying to hide the slight frown that he couldn’t help.

Too bad he hadn’t quite been fast enough. He heard the chair slide backwards. In a matter of seconds, he felt a weight on his back as arms encircled his torso. “I’m sorry, Jack. I shouldn’t have brought that out here, I forgot I put it in there and I ain’t read it yet n’-“

Jack put a hand over one of his brother’s arms. “It’s okay, Racer...” he sighed, looking down at the sink he stood in front of, clearing his throat a little. “I’m... I’m sorry. Ya shouldn’t have ta feel bad about hearin’ from him...” he stated. Reaching to turn the water off and grab a towel to start drying the plate he’d just washed. “Is he... is he doin’ okay? His home is-“

“He’s doin’ good... he’s got a good foster mama...” Race promised quietly, releasing Jack from his hold. “He misses you... just don’t know what ta say...”

Swallowing hard, Jack nodded. He didn’t really want to talk about this. He just wanted to know that the other boy was okay.

He missed him too.

“You should go ta bed, bubba... before-“

“What the hell are you two doing down here?!” Jack winced. Too late. He hadn’t even truly thought they’d get caught. He just wanted to finish this and not have to think about Charlie. Not have to think about the last time he’d seen the boy. Just a year younger than him. Damn, he missed him.

Quickly, Jack dried his hands and turned to take a subtle step in front of his brother. “I’m sorry, Sir. I was tryin’ ta finish cleanin’ the kitchen and Tony couldn’t sleep. I told him ta come out here,” he stated, taking full responsibility. Because this wasn’t his brother’s fault.

The man wasn’t even that old. Mid-thirties at the most. But he looked older. He was big. But it wasn’t exactly all muscle. He knew the only way to get the upper hand on a lot of these boys was to starve them.

And Jack was starving.

When the man took a step towards them, Jack took a step backwards, immediately putting out an arm in front of his little brother. A smirk formed on the old man’s face. “What’s the matter, Kelly?” he asked, a glint in his eyes as he knew every boy in that house feared him. He took another step forward and Jack took another step backwards. It was no use trying to fight. He didn’t want another fight.

Looking behind Jack, the man glared hard at the little boy behind him. “You. Go to your room. Now.”

The order was quick and pointed. And Jack looked down at his brother. Those big blue eyes were teary behind those glasses that were almost too big for his face. Jack just gave him a nod, silently telling him that it was okay, to just go. Race quickly glanced back up at the man and then down at the floor as Jack allowed him to step around him. He lowered his head as he walked past their guardian.

So he didn’t see the man reach to shove him.

“You don’t need his goddamn permission to follow orders, boy!” His head was shoved down even further, the push hard and deliberate. The boy lost balance, tripping and falling flat on his face. He grunted as his nose hit the floor. He could feel it begin to bleed. And the crunch of his glasses made his heart drop. He reached for them, watching one of the lenses crumble from the frame. He rolled over, about to push himself up, when the old man’s fist went up above him. The child gasped and raised his hands over his head, waiting for impact.

It never came.

Fighting never led anywhere good. But, Jack supposed it less of a fight than it was a beating. He hated to think of it like that, though. A beating meant Jack wasn’t fighting back. Jack had always been a fighter. But, in his mind, a fight should always be fair. This fight wasn’t fair. And yet, he reacted the only way he could when he saw his foster father raise a hand at his little brother.

He grabbed the man’s arm, pulling it back and forcing the guy to spin around. He didn’t care what this guy did to him. But Race couldn’t be the target. Not ever. “Don’t touch him, Snyder!” Jack demanded, the fear in his eyes melding together with anger as the man turned on him. ”Don’t you dare touch my little brotha,” he hissed, his grip still firm on the man’s arm.

The seventeen year old hardly had a second to panic before Snyder was whirling to face him fully, his other fist completely free and ready to punch. The hit came for Jack’s left eye and the boy cried out at the impact, falling against the sink and barely able to duck and dodge the next blow.

This was Snyder’s favorite game. Whenever Jack did something he didn’t like, he’d try to knock him out. All the boy could do was slide down to the ground as the man tried harder and harder to hit him.

“Stop it! Please! He didn’t do nothin’!” Race begged, wishing beyond everything that Charlie was there. Charlie knew what to say. Charlie always knew how to calm him down when Jack couldn’t. Charlie always knew how to get Jack out of trouble. How to keep Jack out of trouble. And Lord knows Jack was good at getting into trouble.

“Go to your room! Now!” Snyder screamed at him. But Race only stood and tried to rip the man off of his big brother. He was just shoved backwards as the man somehow got the older boy to the ground. Jack curled up, protecting himself as best he could as the kicks came.

Counting was the only way Jack got through it. It was like when kids got angry and adults that didn’t know them at all told them to count to ten to calm down. Jack wished Snyder would try that. Maybe he’d actually realize that he could actually kill someone.

Sometimes Jack swore he saw Snyder’s eyes widen after he hit them. Like it didn’t happen everyday. Like that hadn’t been his intention.. But he never told them he was sorry. He told them it was for their own good. It was for them to learn that stupid mistakes could get them hurt worse in the real world. It was messed up. 

He could only do this once. There would only be one opportunity to strike back. So Jack counted. He sat and he forced himself to breathe as he counted, wishing that Charlie was there.

Charlie always knew how to keep him out of trouble.

Snyder lifted up his fist again as his leg was probably getting tired. So Jack stood fast, pushing the man back into the center island of the kitchen. The man’s back hit it. Jack’s plan had been to run. That was always the best way to go.

What he hadn’t expected, was for the old man’s hand to curl around something that lay behind him. A knife. And Jack didn’t dare run when the thing was pointed at him.

It was a sharp knife. A new one, by the looks of it. Newly used just that night.  

It hadn’t been cleaned yet. “Snyder... put the knife down,” Jack said calmly, raising up his hands in surrender. He’d reasoned with the man before. When he went too far. Snyder would normally just frogmarch him to his room and lock him in for the night. It was fine. Better than this.

But the look in Snyder’s eyes was different tonight. It did not look like he was going to back down. “Please, Sir. I’m sorry! Just... calm down-“

“You do not get to give me orders, boy,” Snyder spat. Jack couldn’t hide behind anger anymore. He was scared.

“I’m sorry! Just please don’t-“

It was too late. Snyder was already coming at him. He closed his eyes. Waiting for impact.

It never came.

Race’s mouth hung open as everything moved in slow motion. The pain was excruciating. He hadn’t really been expecting it. Truly, he didn’t know what he had been expecting. All he could do was stare with wide eyes and a fallen jaw at his own impaled palm before the knife that had gone all the way through his hand was pulled back from it, only hurting all the more.

A scream ripped from his throat as he stumbled back into his big brother. Arms wrapped around him immediately. They both looked up in shock at the man before them, whose own eyes were wide at the blood on the kitchen knife in his hand.

Snyder’s eyes were shocked before he looked up at them. He’d never stabbed any of them before. Sure, he’d cut one or two of the boys on occasion. But normally it was just a threat. An empty one.

Not anymore.

And he couldn’t let them know it was a mistake.

Jack’s eyes widened when Snyder took another step closer to them. The boy did the only thing he could think of. There was a frying pan laying next to the sink, newly clean. He latched onto the handle and swung hard. The thing went over Race’s head and hit Snyder square in the jaw. He went down. But he wasn’t out.

The man was relentless. He stood back up, growling. Jack held Race close to him. The boy was still crying out. His sobs rang throughout the house. The guards would be up here soon. They ones that kept all of them from running. Some local thugs that Snyder had hired. And there dumb as hell dogs. “When I’m though with you, James, you’ll wish you’d never been born,” he promised.

The young teenager screamed again when Snyder reached out for Jack. And Jack swung again. Harder this time. The sound of metal hitting bone echoed. Jack pulled Race further away from the man as his eyes rolled back in his head. He fell to the side, unconscious.

Race was still crying. Jack was breathing hard. He stood, completely stunned for a moment as he stared at the body of his guardian. He didn’t have the will or the energy to check for a pulse. The man’s chest was moving shallowly. That was good enough for him. So when his baby brother cried out again, Jack turned to him, kneeling down in front of him. He gently reached for his brother’s hand.

“Hey! What’s goin’ on up there?!” That authoritative question was followed promptly by a couple of barks. Jack’s heart dropped.

The blood was moving fast. “Okay... okay...”

Jack was no expert. He was seventeen. What he was, was a foster kid. A foster kid who’d had a lot of odd foster parents. Including one who just so happened to be going to school to become a doctor. All she talked about was medicine and how to clean out wounds with or without it.

That house hadn’t exactly been a keeper. But damn, if it wasn’t useful...

The teenager gave his little brother a sorry look before he stood up and looked around the kitchen quickly. His eyes landed on Snyder’s liquor cabinet. Locked. But Jack knew it was all they really had. They wouldn’t be going to a hospital. Not yet. Not if those guards and their dogs found them.

It wouldn’t be the first time one of them went in for a bite.

Jack grabbed a trash bag from under the sink. He grabbed dish rags, a pencil, duct tape, scissors and Race’s book after neatly tucking the letter inside of it, all the while the younger boy was sobbing by the sink. Then Jack looked up at the cabinet and rushed up to it, turning so his back was facing it. He brought his arm in front of it and hit the glass hard with his elbow. The glass shattered.

The whiskey was the first thing he grabbed.

After that, it was just a matter of getting out. Jesus, Jack wished Charlie was here.

He rushed over to his little brother and scooped him up in his arms, gripping the trash bag tightly as he began to run. They couldn’t go downstairs. They’d be caught downstairs. The dogs would attack downstairs.

Upstairs was the only option.

So Jack ran.

It was dark. A little too dark. Jack frantically looked around for some kind of flashlight. He found a lantern a few feet away, sitting on an old kiddy table of some kind. Jack has never seen most of this stuff. It looked like a lot of it was made for a little girl. But he grabbed the thing and flicked it on, reaching for the trash bag seconds later.

“‘M-m s-sorry...” Race sobbed out, making Jack pause. He looked up at the boy who was trying like hell to stay quiet as they heard barks below them. The whole house had to be awake by now. “I... I shoulda just gone ta my... my r-room-“

The older boy cut him off quickly, shaking his head and resting a trembling hand on his cheek. “No, no... this is not your fault, baby brother... take a deep breath, okay? I’m gonna take care of it...” he promised, reaching for the bag again and pulling it closer to him.

The book was the first thing that came out. Jack didn’t want to get blood on it. So he put it to the side. Next, he carefully began to pull out every other item, one by one placing them on top of the bag so that he could see them all. Race looked up at him in fear. Jack leaned forward to press a kiss to his head. “I want you ta know that no matta’ what happens right now, I love you... so, so much...” 

All the child could give him in response was a shaky nod. So Jack sat back, picking up the bottle of whiskey and opening the thing. He stood, crouched over as he moved to his brother’s side. Then he pressed the bottle to his lips. “Take a sip. It’s okay...” he promised, petting the boy’s head as he did what he was told. After a second, Jack pulled the bottle back as Race coughed and stuck his tongue out in disgust at the bitter taste. “It’ll help, I promise.” His brother didn’t argue, he just choked back another sob.

“J-j’st leave it-“ the child began to beg, knowing whatever was about to happen would hurt like hell.

But Jack cut him off. “It’ll get infected. That knife wasn’t clean. I have to do this, kiddo. It’s gonna be okay...” he promised, gently taking the kid’s wrist in his hand. He reached back for the tape and looked around for something, anything to lay the hand down on. And he spotted a stool. Two of them, actually. They seemed to go with the table that Jack had found before. He slid them towards him.

Carefully and slowly, he lay Race’s forearm down over both of them. The back of the boy’s fingers were all that touched the one closer to Jack. And then Jack began to unroll the duct tape and carefully pin the kid’s fingers down to the thing.

The look of pure panic did not go unnoticed by Jack. “It’s okay, Racer. Breathe... I just need ta make sure ya don’t move it...” he explained. He made sure the boy’s fingers were secure against the stool nearest to him and then he taped down the kid’s wrist to the other. The wound hovered over the ground, in between them both. The boy was still hyperventilating. “Hey... Hey, what’d Charlie say? In his letter? What’d he say?” he asked, putting the tape behind him and grabbing the whiskey and one of the cloths. The thickest one he had.

Again, not something Jack truly wanted to talk about. But he knew Race did. They both missed their brother. So much. “H-he... uhm... he said that... that he’s got some friends he wan-nts me ta m-meet... c-cause he kn-nows I-I ain’t good at makin’ friends,” Race forced out with a bitter smile as more tears streamed down his face. “N-n’ he said... he s-said h-he misses you... n-n’ th-that I-I should h-hug ya f-for him...”

Blinking back his tears, Jack nodded, opening up the bottle and reaching to run a hand over Race’s hair before he picked up the rag. “You know what we’re gonna do when this is ova’? Huh?” Jack asked. Race shook his head, his lip quivering. “We’re gonna go see Crutchie n’ you’s gonna hug him, okay? Ya just gotta get through this, yeah?”

The hope that sparked in Race’s eyes was enough to make Jack melt. He smiled at him. He set the bottle down between them and reached to move the rag towards his little brother’s mouth. “Bite down on this. I know this’s gonna hurt, but ya gotta try not ta scream, okay?”

Race bit down hard on the thing. Jack nodded as he squeezed his eyes shut tight. The older boy reached for the bottle and quickly poured it over the wound flinching when Race cried out through the cloth in his mouth. “Okay! It’s okay! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, baby brother,” he rushed out brokenly. It was taking everything in him not to start sobbing. “Please try not ta scream. I know it’s hard, but ya gotta try, okay?” The child did not open his eyes. But he nodded.

The worst was yet to come.

Jack turned for the pencil. He felt a pain stab through his own hand at the thought of what he was about to do. He gripped the thing tightly with his left hand and then grabbed for a thinner cloth from the bag.

Whiskey was poured over the thing, making Race wince at the smell. Jack sighed, pulling the metal eraser off of the pencil and making sure the edge wasn’t too sharp. He wrapped the cloth around the small wooden stick as tears came to his eyes. He sucked in a breath as he sat up on his knees to lean over and give his brother a kiss on the head. “Okay... okay, baby, I’m so sorry! Don’t move, okay?” he rushed out in a breath as he tried to prepare himself for this.

Jack didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t need Race to know what he was about to do. He let the tip of the covered pencil hover above the wound. And then, he slowly began to push it through.

Nothing could’ve prepared him for the muffled scream Race let out at that.

Moving slowly was the only option. Jack made sure the cloth spread out so it could fully disinfect the entire wound. He was careful not to tear even more skin apart. He didn’t want that. He just wanted his brother to be okay. “I’m so sorry, T... I’m so sorry... It’s almost over, I promise...” The boy was mumbling. Race was screaming. Trying to hold back, but still screaming. 

They’d find them soon. Jack knew they would. Those dogs were dumb, though. All they had to do was get past those stupid dogs and get out of this damn house and maybe Jack could even run. With his brothers. Both of them. Maybe Charlie would finally forgive him or at least want to be with Race enough that he’d just go with them. Because Jack was not losing Race. Not a chance. 

The pencil was still in Race’s hand. The boy’s whole body was tense as he bit down hard on the cloth in his mouth. He was sure his teeth were going to break. It hurt. “Almost there, bubba, I swear... it’s almost through...” 

Race shook his head. He didn’t believe him. It hurt so bad. But he felt Jack’s hand hover below the back of his own. And the pencil was now being pulled rather than pushed. In a matter of moment the thing was gone and tossed aside and Jack was grabbing for another cloth. A longer one. One that he quickly began wrapping around the child’s hand.

The cloth fell slowly from the child’s mouth. Saliva and blood stuck to it as it fell to the ground. Race had forgotten his nose had been bleeding. It must’ve stopped by now. He didn’t care. All he cared about were the quick gasps that were all he could take in for air. 

Jack sighed as he tied the makeshift bandage and lowered his head in defeat. He hated seeing his brother in pain. It was the most painful thing he’d ever felt. He wanted so badly to take it from him. To carry all the pain himself. He couldn’t. Life didn’t work that way. 

He scooped up the duct tape again, making sure it didn’t touch the wound, but securing the bandage around his brother’s hand as best he could. And then, with the scissors he had, he cut through the tape that pinned the child’s hand down to the stools. 

The hand was cradled against his brother’s chest again in an instant. Race was breathing shallowly. He was still sobbing. And all Jack had to offer him was what was left of the bottle of whiskey he’d stolen from a man who would be more than angry when he found them. 

“Here... drink a little bit... it’ll help,” he coaxed. Race took the bottle quickly, taking a swig and coughing even more than he had the first time. “Okay...” Jack breathed, taking the bottle back and placing it behind him. “You did so good, kiddo... so, so good...” 

Sniffling, Race looked him dead in the eyes. Jack always loved Race’s eyes. They were so different from his and Crutchie’s green ones. They were the purest kind of blue Jack had ever seen. But right now, they were so, so scared. “C-can we g-go see Charlie now?” he asked desperately. 

Feeling his heart just about shatter, Jack took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah... yeah, we can go see Charlie now...” he whispered, reaching to run his fingers through the child’s hair. Race let him. And Jack called that a victory. 

They could still hear people below them, looking for them. Jack moved to pull his brother into his lap. The weakened boy let him. The dogs were barking and the other kids were groaning and all Jack could do was hold his brother as the younger boy began to fall asleep in his arms. Well, pass out in his arms. 

Not daring to doze off, Jack looked around for anything to distract himself. He looked around for anything to do while he waited for the search party to die down. And his eyes landed on Race’s book. But Jack had no interest in reading about a magical land with a magical train station or a flying car at the moment. No... what sparked his curiosity was that letter sticking out from inside it. And Jack couldn’t help himself anymore. 

He grabbed the thing. And he couldn’t stop himself from reading it. 

Hey, Racer, it read, in their brother’s neat handwriting. Jack took a deep breath.

I miss you too, buddy. I miss you so much. And, don’t go telling old Jackie-boy this, but I miss him too. Make sure to give him a big hug from me, okay? 

Jack sniffled. He held his brother tighter. 

Look, I know you didn’t want me to ask. But... how’s the new place? Are you both safe? I know you said you can’t sleep in the same room, here. I’m sorry about that, kid. I know how much you hate that. But do you have a nice bed? Do you sleep at night? Are the other kids nice to you?

I know you don’t like to talk about it. But, I need to know that you’re both okay. Clearly whoever your with doesn’t let you use your phone too much, otherwise I’d be talking to you everyday. Just let me know that you’re safe and warm and you have a new book to read. 

My foster mama is great. Her name’s Miss Medda. She’s a doll. A singer. You’d love her. She loves you already. And Jack (even though I told her he can be a bit of a handful).

Jack actually laughed at that, though he knew it was true. 

Think of it, kid. All three of us in the same house again. She wants to take you guys in. She wants to meet you. Maybe the next time I get to visit you at the park, I’ll bring her along. 

And.. maybe bring Jack. I know he thinks I’m still mad at him... but bring Jack. 

Oh! And I’ve got some friends that I want you to meet. I know you don’t like meeting new people, but you’d love these guys. They’re just as annoying as you are. 

Your brother,

Crutchie

P.S. In case you need it ~ 332-555-6147. 

P.P.S. I love you, baby brother.

Oh what Jack would give just to see his little brother right now. The boy was always so level headed and smart. He needed that right now. Someone level headed. Because Jack swore the next time he saw Snyder he’d actually run a steak knife through his hand. 

He sniffled, closing his eyes for just a minute. He leaned down to press another kiss to Race’s head. It amazed him that the boy was asleep. He might’ve had more whiskey than Jack had thought. But it didn’t matter. Jack was glad for that. It was better that the boy be asleep than be awake to feel the throb in his hand. So he let him rest, silently swearing to keep him safe until it was okay to move. 

It wasn’t until hours later that Jack and Race were able to slip from the house unnoticed. It had to be close to two in the morning. The guards had long since moved on from the house. They were on the streets now. No way that Snyder was calling the cops. He couldn’t have that on his record. 

So Jack scooped his brother up in his arms, shoving the book and the letter beneath his sweatshirt and he began to make his way to the front door. 

He didn’t really know what to do next. All that he could think about was Charlie. What would Charlie do? Would he be subjecting Race to this kind of cold? Would he take the kid to a hospital? Would he report Snyder and risk them all getting separated? 

Jack was scared. 

So, without much else to do, Jack found a payphone. He couldn’t answer these questions. He wasn’t Charlie. Only one person would be able to tell him what to do right now. Besides, he’d made Race a promise.

Grabbing a quarter out of his pocket, Jack typed in a number and waited, letting Race cling to him with arms around his neck and knees around his hips. He swayed slightly, trying not to wake the boy up too much. 

“Hello?” a tried voice answered. Jack blinked back his tears once again, leaning his cheek against the back of Race’s head as he held the phone up to his ear. “Hello?” the voice asked again. 

Clearing his throat, Jack managed to come up with a small, “Hi...” He never was the best with words. 

But apparently, that was all that was necessary. “Jack?” 

Forgetting for a moment that the boy on the other end of the line couldn’t see him, Jack nodded. And then he shook his head, trying to focus. “Look, Charlie I don’t have time ta apologize, but know that I want to, okay? Right now... right now Tony needs you... so-“ 

That was all it took. “Where are you?” 

Fifteen minutes later, a nice black car pulled up to the curb Jack stood on. And a sixteen year old with wispy blond hair and worried green eyes was standing from the passenger seat and rushing towards them. Well... limping towards them. With a silver crutch beneath his right arm. 

Jack didn’t say anything as Charlie immediately began to try and check over the boy in his arms. His eyes only lingered on the kid’s bandaged hand for a moment. Race was almost fully asleep now. Jack couldn’t blame him. “Get him in the car,” the boy ordered calmly, going to open the back door for him. Jack did as he was told. 

Gently and carefully, he sat Race in the backseat, mindful of his hand. He buckled the boy in, watching as his head lulled to the side a bit. He carefully pressed a kiss to the boy’s shoulder before he stood back up and quietly shut the door beside him. He barely turned around before he had arms thrown around him. Jack couldn’t help but return them. “Hey, Crutchie...” he whispered, sniffling and pressing his face up against the side of his brother’s head. 

“Hey, Jackie...” the boy responded, tightening his hold. 

They stood there for a long while. It was odd. Something that hadn’t happened in a long time. And Jack had missed it. “I’m so sorry, Charlie...” he breathed, a single stray tear falling down his cheek. “Thank you for coming...” 

“I’ll always come for you guys...” the younger boy swore, pulling away and offering Jack the most innocent smile he’d ever seen. “Now get in the damn car,” he instructed. 

And Jack smiled too. 

The car smelled like new. Jack hadn’t been in a new car in years. He rarely ever had foster parents on the richer side. But this car was nice. He pushed that to the back of his mind though, as he turned to his baby brother again. He pet the boy’s hair gently and smiled as he watched the boy sleep for a moment. 

“You must be Jack.” Jack turned at the female voice that met his ears. He smiled sadly and nodded. “And that’s Racer...” she stated, gesturing towards him. She was twisted around in the driver’s seat. She was a woman with chocolate skin and pearly white teeth that shined even in the darkness. She was smiling. She was smiling even though it was 2:25 in the morning and she’d had to get up, get in her car and pick up two complete strangers. “I’m Medda. It’s so nice to meet you two, Charlie tells me about you all the time!” she smiled. 

“So what happened?” Crutchie asked as Miss Medda began to pull back onto the road. 

Hesitantly, Jack looked down at the boy right next to him and then back up at the two people in the front seat. “Um... he... he got stabbed...” 

It was a miracle that Crutchie didn’t somehow jump back there. He whirled around even further. “What?!” he hissed as Medda pulled back over so she could turn around. His green eyes were wide and terrified. And Jack could see the anger in them. He assumed it had to be directed at him. After all, he was supposed to protect Race. He was supposed to keep him safe. 

Suddenly, Jack felt himself getting more and more uncomfortable. He shrunk in on himself a bit as Race’s head rolled onto his shoulder. “Our foster dad came at me with a knife. Racer jumped in front of me and put his hands up to defend himself and the knife went right through his palm,” Jack explained quietly. 

“And you didn’t take him to a hospital?!” 

These were the kinds of things that were the start of the arguments. It always was. Because they both loved Race so much. And they both thought they knew what was best. “It ain’t that simple, Charlie-“

“What ain’t that simple?! Takin’ our baby brother ta the hospital when he gets stabbed through the hand?!” the sixteen year old demanded. 

Jack scooted forward in his seat. “When I’m bein’ hunted down by dogs n’ two maniacs who’re there ta keep us inside?! No! It ain’t that simple!” he shot back. That seemed to shut Crutchie up quick. He sat back down in his seat with wide eyes. He hadn’t known. Jack hadn’t meant to make him feel bad. Not really. He’d just wanted him to understand. “We hid for a while. I... I disinfected it as best I could n’ I waited until I could call you...” he explained. 

A groan made its way through the air. “Please don’t tell me you did what I think you did,” Charlie begged, sounding sick. 

“What did you want me ta do, Crutch? Just leave it like it was?” 

“You didn’t have ta put him through that-“

“He’s stronger than you think he is! All I did was try ta keep it clean-“

“I can’t believe you did that ta him-“ 

“I am not the one who hurt him-“ 

“Jack, would you just-“

“We’ve been together for two minutes and you’re already on my back-“

“Boys!” 

Miss Medda’s voice was quiet but somehow it was still booming. Jack and Crutchie stopped arguing immediately. Charlie actually turned back in his seat and faced forward. Jack just sat back, leaning his cheek on top of Race’s head. “I’m sorry, Miss Medda,” he mumbled. 

“Honey, I’m going to take him to the hospital, alright? We’ll all go together. I’ll make sure neither of you are going back to that house,” she promised. And Jack’s heart melted. He felt warm teas fill up in his eyes. But he didn't want to let them fall. Not yet.

All he was able to say was, “Okay...” as the car pulled forward. 

It was then that Charlie turned around again. “Can we wake him up? I really wanna talk ta him,” he asked quietly. His eyes looked the sleeping child up and down with a sort of longing. Jack had heard an old foster parent of theirs once say that they all had a certain “love language.” And that somehow, theirs had miraculously all turned out to be touch. Charlie wanted to hold Race. And Jack wanted to hold them both. 

However, in all honesty, Jack didn’t truly want to wake Race up. But he supposed, if they were in fact going to the hospital, it might be best for them to tell the kid that. So he lightly pressed a kiss to the child’s head. “Hey... Tony, can ya open your eyes for a second?” he asked, reaching over to squeeze his arm a bit. 

Smiling as his baby brother stirred a bit, Charlie sighed. “Racer...” he whispered. “Wake up, kid...” 

Without even opening his eyes, a very sleepy fourteen year old sucked in a quick breath. Like he was shocked. “Charlie?” he whimpered. 

The older boy nodded, reaching back to rest a hand on his little brother’s knee. Jack smiled. The boy did flinch. “Hey, buddy!” Charlie whispered. “Can ya open your eyes for me, pal?” 

Slowly but surely, those big blue eyes opened up and a sleepy grin spread over the kid’s face. “Hi, Char...” he breathed, curling further into Jack. “What’re ya doin’ here?” he asked, confused. He thought they were still at Snyder’s. Jack pressed another soft kiss to his head. 

“I’m here ta see you, silly,” he laughed, smiling over at Jack. “You’re gonna be okay, baby brother...” 

Jack nodded, reaching to place a hand over Crutchie’s. The sixteen year old looked over at him with a kind of forgiveness in his eyes. Jack felt his chest warm a bit. And Race nodded into his shoulder, believing that maybe everything would be okay.  

Medda watched them through her rearview mirror. It was the first night that she’d ever get to spend with all three of her boys. And she’d treasure it for the rest of her life. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This was so different for me in so many ways. Writing Crutchie as older than Race possibly being the biggest one. But, jeez, that was fun as heck.

Anything specific anyone would like to see with these prompts? Lemme know!

Error hissed as he held his hand tensely in his lap, fingers in stiff curls. A moment’s distraction in his and Ink’s fight and several inches of sharp bone had impaled his palm, skewering the flesh and glove like butter.

Not that he hadn’t returned the favour on the artist. Ink had suffered a few broken ribs before they parted, the thought of which made Error’s pained grimace take the edge of a smile.

It was hardly the first time he had walked away with injuries, and he knew it would only take a few days of patience and lots of stolen chocolate to be healed.

But still, the wound stung with each heartbeat. Blood leaked at the edges and smeared across his palm, tinting his skin red.

Only the knowledge that the bone was blocking the bloodflow kept him from tearing the maddening thing out immediately. Instead the glitch hissed curses under his breath, sitting hunched over, cross-legged under the emptiness of the Antivoid as his strings dragged a towel down to him, to wrap the wound and hopefully limit the bleeding. He definitely didn’t want to bleed out.

Now he just had to... pull it out. With wincing movements, Error gripped the end of the bone, feeling jolts of pain at the small shift. He took a breath, let go, steeled himself, already flinching and anticipating the pain. Before he could reconsider he grabbed it and ripped it out.

Stars, it burned. Swearing viciously Error pressed his bleeding hand into the towel, bending almost double as he wrapped his arm in cloth. His strings lashed around in a sympathetic frenzy, glitches crackling and swarming his vision until he was almost blind.

What was supposed to be a simple hunt turned into a hot mess when the demons arrived. Sam’s challenge to all of Hell hadn’t been taken lightly. The strongest of the demons have risen to the challenge of going through Sam first, quite literally.

The name of the demon and her lackeys that ambushed them is unimportant. Her monologue has only served to give Castiel and Sam time to mentally ready themselves and get closer to each other in preparation for a fight.

It’s a good thing Cass is an angel, and Sam can give him mental instructions through prayer— unfortunately that communication is only one way, but that’s why Sam is the leader here. The Chief and his commander. Sam lays out the plan and Castiel carries it out like the dutiful second in charge he has become after Dean’s extended disappearance.

So when the demons decide they’ve had enough talking and decide to attack, Castiel and Sam are ready, each taking down their targets like a well-trained, singular unit.

That is, until they get to the leader, the lady Demon intent on claiming Hell for herself.

She has an angel blade and when he sees it Sam warns Castiel to back off while he deals with her. But she’s stronger than he expects. She gives him a lot of trouble while he tries to outmatch her in skill since she definitely has him beat in terms of strength.

It seems to be over when she knocks him to the floor and kneels on his chest, lifting the blade over her head to bring it down on him.

Sam throws his hands up to protect himself as she brings the blade down, but it never connects.

Castiel dives in from where he was hanging back, dropping to his knees when he slides in. He catches the blade as she tries to deal a fatal blow to Sam, grunting from the effort of not only stopping the blade, but running in and dropping to his knees.

Before she can recover (or retrieve her blade from Castiel), the seraph drops his own blade into his other hand and swings for her side, effectively stabbing her just under the rib cage.

She dies with a scream and Castiel relaxes. Finally, he has a chance to take a breath.

Sam is similarly relieved, up until he sees blood. And then he follows the source to Castiel’s hand— oh, he didn’t catch the blade.

“Cass!” Sam exclaims, pushing himself up in an instant as he sees the angel blade lodged in Castiel’s palm.

Castiel looks over at Sam, seeming almost confused about the note of panic in his voice. “What?”

“Your hand…”

“Oh, it’s fine.”

Sam gives an exasperated huff, throwing Castiel a look that clearly says he doesn’t believe him. “You’re worse than Dean, I swear. Come on, let’s get back to the car and I’ll wrap your hand up.”

Castiel sighs a little but doesn’t protest too vehemently. “It’s just my hand, Sam. I’m not human, it’s not as if I’m going to bleed out.”

“Maybe not, but you won’t be able to use that hand for much until it’s healed,” Sam pulls Castiel to his feet using the angel’s good arm. “Thanks for the save.”

“Of course,” Castiel responds simply, not mentioning the lack of usability of his hand.

Sam pats his friend’s back, bending down to pull Castiel’s blade from the demoness and wipe it off before tucking it back away.

They leave the blade embedded in Castiel’s hand until they get to the car. Maybe Castiel won’t die from blood loss, but it’s probably better to just not pull the blade out until Sam can clean it and wrap it up.

Castiel, for his part, is patient and relatively cooperative for Sam. More so than Dean usually is, at least. He complains that this is completely unnecessary, but other than that he lets Sam take care of his wound.

The angel winces a few times as Sam pours alcohol over his wound and stitches it up as best he can before wrapping bandages around his hand. Sam can tell that the blade hurt him more than he’s letting on, but Castiel clearly doesn’t want to make a big deal of it so Sam doesn’t make him talk about it.

When his hand is all cleaned up, Sam pulls the smaller man into a tight hug.

Castiel freezes up a little bit before relaxing— he doesn’t get many hugs from Sam but he always appreciates them.

“Thank you for saving my life,” Sam says earnestly before letting Castiel go.

The angel gives his friend a small smile. “You say that like you don’t save lives every day, Sam.”

“You took a blade for me. That’s different.”

“To the hand. It isn’t a big deal.” His quiet smile stays in place. “You have to know by now that I’ll take a blade for you or your brother any day.”

Sam hugs him tightly again at that statement. “And we would for you too, Cass. But… Jesus, Cass, you scared me. Don’t do that again.”