Chapter Text
It’d gone wrong. God, everything had gone so, so wrong. Racetrack hadn’t stopped replaying the day’s events in his head: the attack from Pulitzer’s thugs, the shrill tweet of a police whistle, Romeo backhanded by a bull so hard he’d been knocked to the ground... and then everything had been a blur. Race just remembered grabbing Smalls’ arm, ignoring the other newsie’s cry of pain, and then running.
Everyone but Jack and Crutchie had made it back to the lodging house. Race had directed everyone up to the bunk rooms whilst he waited in the lobby, desperately hoping his brothers would be through the door any moment. They’d be fine, they’d be fine, they’d be fine...
Except it wouldn’t be fine, because he knew where Crutchie was. Race didn’t want to think about it too long, if he thought about it then it’d be real. He just hoped Crutchie could tough it out. As for Jack-
A pained cry from upstairs snapped him from his thoughts. Tommy Boy. He’d been cut with a knife, Race vaguely remembered.
Thinking about Jack and Crutchie would have to wait. He had brothers here who needed him, and he was in charge now. He stood from the chair he’d been sat in and hurried up the two flights of stairs, taking a moment to compose himself before entering the older boys room, where everyone had taken refuge. He felt a sharp stab of worry and guilt at the sight of his friends, his brothers.
Buttons was sacrificing sewing materials left, right and centre, spools of thread once used to stitch fabric now stitching skin. Tommy Boy let out another hiss of pain as Buttons tied off the thread, murmuring apologies.
Mush had a cloth pressed to Kid Blink’s head, trying to stem the blood trickling down his cheek from his temple. The blonde boy hadn’t woken up yet. Race was relieved that someone had seen to Mush’s own injuries, if the bandage around his arm was any indication.
Elmer was sobbing into JoJo’s shoulder as he wrapped a bandage around the younger boy’s head. JoJo was muttering a prayer under his breath in Spanish as he worked.
Mike was trying to calm Ike, gently wrapping a blanket around his twin’s shoulder. Neither looked badly hurt, thankfully, but they were clearly very shaken.
“Race!” Davey suddenly approached, eyes wide. He looked fairly uninjured too; Race looked past him to Les, his arm in a makeshift sling.
“Any sign of Jack?” Davey pressed urgently, looking as worried as Racetrack felt. Race forced himself to sound calm; the guys needed him to keep it together.
“Nothin’.” Race muttered, “Any major injuries?”
Davey hesitated for a moment.
“Blink‘s got a bad head wound and Romeo’s still saying he feels dizzy, but they should be okay. Sniper’s got some bad bruising on his neck and back.” He nodded to where the boy was curled up on one of the far bunks, already asleep, “And.. Finch is pretty worked up about Crutchie. Said he heard him calling his name before they arrested him.”
Race nodded slightly in thanks, quickly making a beeline for where Finch was sat. Henry was patching up a cut on the tall boy’s cheek, whilst Finch stared off into space. Race winced in sympathy as Elmer’s cries grew louder across the room, but he had to tackle each issue one at a time.
“Finch?” His voice was soft, but he didn’t missed how it made Finch jump slightly. His green eyes flicked over to meet Racetrack’s blue, and it only took a moment before he broke down and practically fell into Race’s arms.
“I- I just left him there! He was shoutin’ for me, shoutin’ for all of us-!” Finch tried to continue, before another sob caught in his throat. Race hadn’t since Finch cry like this since he first arrived at the lodging house. He took Finch’s shoulders, making sure the younger boy was looking at him before he continued.
“It ain’t your fault, Finch. We all know that, an’ Crutchie knows it too. You coulda been caught too. We’re... we’re lucky only one’a us got taken.”
Finch nodded shaky, sniffling. Race patted his shoulder.
“Long as they didn’t get Jack too.” Henry muttered darkly, moving on to help Albert with his injuries.
Racetrack didn’t answer.
He stood up, relieved when Specs quickly took his place beside Finch. JoJo had managed to soothe Elmer, who’d fallen asleep, and Buttons was packing up what little thread he had left. He looked exhausted and stressed, and Race felt another stab of emotion; Buttons was too young to have to be stitching up his friends wounds. Albert had offered when they’d first realised some wounds needed more than just bandages, but Buttons had the steadiest hands and most experience in sewing.
“Try an’ get some rest.” He instructed. Buttons nodded slightly, eyes dull. None of the younger boys seemed to have any indication they were going to their own bunk room, and Racetrack wasn’t about to make them. Buttons curled up back-to-back with Splasher, eyes quickly slipping shut.
Race decided to take a closer look at Sniper. The fact he’d arrived so much later than the rest of them worried him, and for once he found himself praying Sniper had simply gone home.
The bruises visible on the other boy’s neck were almost black. Race could only imagine his back was the same. Carefully laying a blanket over him, he left Sniper to sleep; it would be the best medicine.
Most of the boys had fallen into an uneasy sleep by now. Mush kept a silent vigil beside Blink and JoJo was humming a hymn softly to himself, arms wrapped securely around a sleeping Elmer and Henry as if afraid they’d be snatched away.
“Racetrack?” Race jumped as Davey approached him again, carrying Les.
“..Yeah?”
“We need to go home. Do you.. do you need anything else?”
Race didn’t know what to say. He wanted to sob and beg Davey to stay because he needed someone else here, he couldn’t do this without Jack- but he shook his head.
“..Nah. Just.. be here tomorrow mornin’, if you can. We need everyone available.”
Davey nodded silently, before heading out the door and downstairs. Race was left alone, surrounded by his beaten, battered companions. He had to be strong for them.
None of the boys still awake seemed to notice as he climbed out onto the fire escape, heading up to the roof. The makeshift little tent that Jack -and occasionally Crutchie- slept in was untouched, the meagre bedding inside messy and unmade. Crutchie’s pile of blankets was equally messy; none of the boys cared much for being neat, but somehow Jack and Crutchie outdid them all in messiness.
Race took a few shaky steps forward, sitting down amidst the messy bedding in the tent. He couldn’t be up there long, one of the boys might need him. He willed himself not to cry, taking a shaky breath.
“Where are you, Jack? We needs you.”
A few tears spilled.
“I can’t do this alone.”