Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 Racetrack Higgins was convinced his brother Jack Kelly was the most annoying person in the world, but everyone knows he really adores him and is just feigning annoyance. At least his brothers friend David saved him from the constant bugging, much easier to get along with than his other half; he and Race shared quite a few interests despite their larger differences. Both attached to a book at practically all times, they tended to have read the same titles at one time or another, and often indulged in honest discussion over The Great Gatsby or some classic title that bored Jack and his graphic novels to the core. 

This particular day Jack was chewing on the eraser of his pencil and occasionally peeking over Race’s shoulder to see his notes, he had issues with writing notes fast enough to catch up with the teacher and Davey was sitting on the other side of the class, so Race let him read his notes without commenting. The teacher, Mr. Kloppman, was rambling on about food safety tests for their culinary unit after the break, slides upon slides of safety details boring almost the whole class to death. Scribbling down the general outline of the rules in the kitchen, Race jumped slightly and sighed when Jack let the pencil fall from his mouth and hit the floor with a clatter. 

That drew Mr. Kloppman’s gaze towards the pair, noticing Jack’s awkward leaning stance as he tried to read over Race’s shoulder, struggling quite a bit. He didn’t comment, but raised an eyebrow at the brunette, and Race heard Davey stifle a quiet laugh from across the classroom. Then, the teacher continued on, searching for the remote to switch the slide. Racer grinned, poking his older brothers shoulder teasingly, which earned him a light shove in return.  

Finally after what Race swore was at least twenty-five more slides, the bell rang signifying the switching of classes, which triggered Jack to jump to his feet with a shit-eating grin plastered over his features. As his desk partner practically ran to meet Davey in the middle of the class, Race took the time he had to pack up his belongings and then make his way to the other two boys. 

“And then he-” Jack was telling Davey a story very animatedly, one he had told the other boy multiple times no doubt, but both boys seemed equally invested despite of that. 

Race decided this signified he’d probably be fine to move onto his next class without them then, since they had to depart to different ends of the school anyway, so he slipped out of the classroom leaving the two to their moment. He made his way down the hallways, waving briefly at Katherine as she passed him to which she replied with a small greeting salute. 

Race, being raised in Brooklyn with no schooling except for what his cousin, Arabella, could offer, still found going to school everyday a little overwhelming, but he made do. When he was 12 he got put into the foster system after Arabella died, so he switched from family to family in New York until he was 15 and escaped a particularly bad house with his younger brother, Charlie, and the two were soon found by a girl who happened to be a Bowery Beauty at a local theatre. After that they met Medda, she instantly took the two neglected boys under her wing, Racer could never thank her enough.

Medda had taken care of so many kids over her life, mostly teens and older children, he had siblings who lived all over the world, some of whom he had never met, but they all were connected, at least that’s what Medda always tells him. Jack was her first, she adopted him when he was a week old, after she found him in an alley in Manhattan she immediately fought to take care of him forever. He was raised in the theatre, painting sets from a young age, you could never get a pencil and sketchbook out of his hands, even before he learnt how to walk. 

When Jack turned five, Medda decided to move to a town about an hour off from New York, to run a community theatre, that was when Davey and Jack had met. Almost instantly drawn to each other, the two boys had always done everything together. They still visited the city often, to visit the Beauties, and the oldest of Race’s siblings for the holidays. 

Now, Medda was only currently looking after three kids, Jack, Charlie and Race. Medda ceased to foster more kids, but her home always had its door open to anyone, often kids from the theatre would stay for nights or the Jacob’s would stay for weeks on end, specifically Davey. 

As Race neared the fine arts portion of the school, occupied by a dance studio, small rehearsal hall and art studio he could hear the chatter of his classmates in the dance studio as he approached. 

Sarah Jacobs smirked at Race as he entered, waving him over almost instantly. “Hey, Race.” 

“Sarah.” He let himself shoot a small grin at the girl, Davey’s twin sister. 

“Are you ready for spring break, full of tech week and all that fun stuff?” Sarah said, poking his shoulder as he settled down beside her on the dance bench. 

Medda had convinced him to be stage manager for the spring production you see, and Race kind of regretted it. He just didn’t understand before now how incredibly and absolutely annoying actors could be at times, maybe he understood now why Jack decided to act for his senior show instead of terrorizing the crew on headset. “It almost feels like rehearsal started a month ago, we need another month.” Race groaned, rubbing his eyes. 

“That’s what everyone says, don’t worry we’ve got it. It’s all blocked and choreographed and I think the cast knows at least half their harmonies.” The girl chuckled the last bit under her breath. 

This just triggered Race to sigh loudly and dramatically, causing the girl to laugh a little louder and pat his shoulder in an exaggerated movement. “It’ll all be fine.” 

“Maybe if we had done fight choreo two months ago it’d be fine, but opening night is in two weeks..” Racer threw his head back dramatically, accentuating each word to add to the effect. 

Before Sarah could reply, the teacher started class. A highschool dance class was definitely different from Race’s professional studio classes, mostly just teaching the basics he knew already and the history side of dance and its styles. It was an easy mark though, plus it was nice to have a class with Sarah for a change. 

Eventually, after the teacher taught a hour long lesson on the history of tap, she pulled out a bin of old tap shoes that have definitely seen better days and started to hand them out to the class, instructing them to learn the most basic of tap moves. After glancing at Sarah to confirm she had somewhat of a clue of what she was doing, he stood up and slipped out of the class. After all, he sort of specialized in tap and the class had come to one of his showcases a few months ago, much to his distress, so the teacher probably knew that and allowed him to escape silently. 

Race made his way outside, and let the façade drop, pulling a crumpled packet of candy cigarettes out of his pockets and sitting on the cold pavement. It was dark today, the sky overcast with grey clouds that stood stark against the green of spring time. That's one thing he wouldn’t miss about New York, the lack of greenery. Sure, they had parks and city planted trees, but his school bordered on a slightly overgrown school field which led into a small forested area, where on sunny days he and his friends would go to eat lunch. 

The candy started to dissolve between his teeth, tasting like sugary chalk. He promised Medda he’d try to substitute the real cigarettes for something else, and these things worked sort of effectively, so he stuck with them. She had done everything for him and Charlie when they were stranded, so he would do this small thing for her until he could do more. 

He looked out past the field, into the trees behind it, his mind beginning to churn with things he had to grab before rehearsal tonight. 

Apparently one of Medda's Beauties knew a professional fight choreographer so on a favor, he was visiting with his apprentice to work with them for an incredibly last minute attempt to get the show together. As much as Racer stressed, he knew the cast could get it together in time for the show, and he had no doubt about it. He pulled the small notebook out of his pocket, jotting down things to make sure he doesn’t forget anything before he heads to the theatre after school. 

By the time the bell rang, Race had snuck through the halls, past a monitor and at least three teachers to grab his backpack from his locker and was already leaving the front doors. He impatiently hovered by Jack’s blue truck, knowing his brother always stayed a little late after school, he eventually relented and pulled the passenger's seat door handle in the specific way that made it unlock and pushed forward the passenger seat to climb into the backseat. 

He pulled his iPod out of his bag and shoved his headphones into his ears, leaning against the hard glass of the window watching as the students filtered out of the school to go home for the break. Race only turned his gaze when he noticed Davey and Jack climb into the car, enthralled in their conversation as his brother started the truck and after checking Racetrack had his seatbelt on three times, two genuine times and a third to bother him, Jack pulled the vehicle out of the school parking lot. 

Once they made it back to Medda’s, Racer waited for Davey to slide out of the car and pull the seat forward for him, and then climbed out of the car, backpack in hand. He trailed behind the duo and then made his way up to his room, discarding his school bag and filling his spare bag with the items he needed for rehearsal. He promptly hurried downstairs, as call time was 3:30 and it was already 3:15, plus he needed to hurry Jack up or else they'd be late. At least he didn't need to worry about his brother forgetting since Davey was here.  

When he made it downstairs he found Charlie sitting at the dining table, sitting over some homework. “Hey Charlie.” He grinned, sneaking up behind his youngest brother and ruffling his hair. 

The boy was only slightly startled, “Hi Racer.” He said after a moment, grinning up at his brother. 

“What ya’ working on?” 

“Some English stuff.” Charlie shrugged, pushing the papers away from him and moving to get up. Race backed up and moved toward the fridge as his younger brother said offhandedly, “There’s some leftovers in there, Medda told me to tell you, so that you, Jack and Davey eat before we leave. But, that's only if they even get down here fast enough to have time to eat.” 

Race pulled the tray of leftovers out of the fridge and shouted down the hallway, “Mouth, Cowboy! Hurry up before I eat all the food Medda left us, because I will. Don’t challenge me.” 

At that he heard indignant shouts from Jack, a he scrambled to the kitchen, a slightly disheveled Davey in tow. 

Race warmed the food in the microwave quickly, and then handed it to Jack to dish out for the four of them as he grabbed utensils. They all quickly ate the food before cleaning up and rushing out the door. 

As they pulled up to the theatre, he could see the rest of the cast showing up as well, Finch and Romeo standing by the stage door as they waited to be let in, Katherine hovering near where Sarah was grabbing her belongings from the Jacobs family car, and also keeping an eye on Les so he didn’t run off. When Jack pulled into a parking spot, Race and Davey grabbed the bags from the back of the truck and Jack helped Charlie out into the parking lot. 

Instantly Charlie scurried off over to Finch and Romeo, grinning wildly at his friends. Racetrack lagged behind his brother and his friend, mentally checking off everyone in the cast to make sure everyone was in attendance. Once Medda opened the stage door for them from the inside, the cast began to filter into the theatre. Once he made it up to the door, he grinned at Medda and she pulled him into a tight hug, “How are you today, Gioia?”  

He laughed slightly when she used Italian, it was something she did for all her kids, incorporating their languages into everyday life, so they wouldn’t lose that part of them when they moved in with her. She definitely wasn’t fluent in Italian yet, but she had learnt Spanish when Jack was little, so she could teach her first son when he was young. Race knew it was important to her that all of the kids she looked after feel their identity is seen. 

“I’m okay Medda, long day.” Racer let himself lean into the hug for a minute before pulling away, looking at the lady. Sometimes it shocks him that he's taller than her now, no longer able to see directly eye to eye. 

“Oh, Racer. I forgot to tell you this morning, but the choreographer couldn’t make it, family emergency. But, his apprentice still came, his mentor assured me that he knew the choreography almost better than himself at this point and could teach the cast by himself. He’ll be staying with us until the end of the show run.” . 

Race raised his eyebrows at her, slightly distressed but decided to let it go, “That’s okay, I trust his apprentice has got it if his mentor believes so. I’m not one to judge.” 

Medda nodded, smiling, “He is quite remarkable, I think you’ll like him.” 

He didn’t quite know how to react to that so he awkwardly nodded and then made his way down the hall past the dressing rooms where he could hear the cast conversing as they changed into their rehearsal clothes. He made his way down into the theatre, over the stage and settled in the middle of the second row so he could view the actors as they ran through the show clearly. 

The cast was briefly led in by a boy with dark hair, he was quite muscular and well built, though sort of short. He had an aura of business around him, like he knew what he was doing and you wouldn't dare challenge that. He had grey eyes, seemed about the same age as Racer, and wore clothes that looked just a size bigger than he was. Race felt his eyes drawn to him as he led the actor's physical warm up, and then it occurred to Race that he was definitely the choreographer's apprentice and he should definitely not be watching him unwaveringly. 

He reached up to rub his eyes and then was startled by Les running up to him and sitting in the seat directly next to him, “Racer! Have you met Sean?” 

“No I haven’t, have you?” 

“Yeah! I totally ran into him in the hallway, and Sarah made me apologize.” Les said with a slight sheepish twinge to his tone. 

“You do usually have to apologize to people when you run into them, Les.” Race laughed softly. 

Les completely ignored that and moved on without a thought, he knew what he wanted, “Can I look at your script Race?” He grinned up at the older boy, rocking back and forth in the red theatre chair. 

“Sure, for now.” He let out a sarcastic sigh, but grinned fondly at the 9 year old and handed over his script. 

The younger boy immediately got to ‘work’, flipping through the pages and nodding to himself at Race’s notes for the specific scenes. It was at this point Racer turned his attention back to the stage, where they had started to run through the beginning steps of the fight choreography. Race instantly realized it was the rumble, as it was the most physically intense and complicated scene that they had to get down in a week before tech. 

He watched as Sean demonstrated moves to the cast, showing Jack how to feign an uppercut and Charlie how to fight with his crutches safely, it was sort of transfixing watching him teach. His rhythm and technique seemed to help the actors pick up on it quickly, getting through half of the scene in just under an hour smoothly, and by the time it hit five-thirty, and it was time for a break, Race was sure the cast would be able to do it with sound and lighting after the break. 

Race sent everyone out of the theatre for their dinner break, so it could be closed for its mandatory hour and made his way over to Sean. “Nice to meet you, I’m Racer. Or Race or Racetrack at your service.” He grinned, and awkwardly held his hand out to the other boy. 

Sean looked surprised but took Race’s hand and shook it, “ Sean Conlon. Nice to meet you, Racetrack is an interesting name, how does someone even come up with that?.” 

“Came up with it myself,” It wasn't a complete lie he decided, Race smirked at Sean and continued, noticing a freckle directly under his eye, “Jack usually gives the nicknames to people though, it’s almost natural. Almost everyone here has a nickname, but if we’re being formal my name is Antonio Higgins.” 

Sean seemed guarded, but didn’t seem to shy away from the conversation. Nonetheless, the two then looked at each other awkwardly unsure what to say next, Race felt himself start to grow warm with embarrassment so he blurted out, “Can I call you Freckles?” 

“Freckles?” Sean seemed slightly horrified, almost comically.

Race felt a giggle bubble up in his chest, “What about Spot then?” 

“Anything is better than Freckles. Oh my god.” Spot scrubbed his face with his hands, looking more than slightly distressed over the idea of being called Freckles. 

“Okay! Spotty it is.” 

“I agreed to Spot, not Spotty.” The shorter boy deadpanned.

“Too late.” Spot grinned, making his way out of the theatre. Hearing Spot groan in exasperation behind him he called back to remind him, “We have to close the theatre for an hour by the way, get outta here, Spotty.” He made sure to really enunciate the nickname which got him a annoyed grunt in reply, but the other boy followed him out this time. 

He found the entire cast in the green room, crowded around the table where Medda was giving out cookies, he couldn’t see Jack and Davey anywhere but Charlie, Finch, Specs, Jojo and Romeo were all sitting around a table invested in a very competitive game of go-fish. Racer trailed out of the room to go look for the duo, and peaking around the corner into the room where the tech storage was, he heard two familiar voices murmuring. When he peeked around the corner of the doorframe, and immediately jumped back behind it, due to the scene he happened in upon.  

Davey was holding Jack’s face, running his thumb along his cheekbone, his brother was looking at the latter like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky. Race could practically feel the tension in the air radiating around the pair, he was most definitely interrupting something that was important and not for him to see, that he most definitely didn't want to see. So, he tried to walk backwards slowly and quietly to escape, but tripped over a loose wire, cursing under his breath at whoever didn't put it back away, a loud clatter rang through the hallway as his giant script crashed open and scattered loose papers all over the floor. 

Chapter Text

As Racetrack struggled to grab his papers strewn all over the floor, he quickly abandoned his mission when he heard Davey call out a hesitant, “Hello?”

Sending a relenting look to all his note sheets and various script pages spread over the linoleum, he scrambled to his feet and hurried down the hallway, ducking into the first doorway he happened upon. This action ended in him nearly crashing directly into Medda as she was organizing costumes, as they were planning to do a fitting tonight. “Oh, hello Racer.”

“Hi.” He managed to choke out, startled by the sudden greeting after he practically ran her over.

“Me and Les are just organizing the costumes while Katherine takes a quick break before the fitting, care to join us?” Race quickly nodded, steadying himself and making his way over to the younger boy who was repairing a small rip in a costume piece with surprising accuracy. When Les was younger he was quite sickly, from what Davey had told Race and Jack, so he had practically been glued to his mothers side. Mrs. Jacobs is a seamstress, so he eventually picked up her skills of a steady hand and the ability to repair almost anything.

So, as Racer sorted through costumes with Medda and Les, he let his mind wander back to Jack and Davey. He really didn’t care about the two of them secretly doing, whatever he walked into, and he definitely wasn’t hurt because the two hadn’t told him. Though whenever he thought about it too hard, he felt a twinge in his chest, it wasn’t jealousy, almost a longing for the same sort of relationship the two had. The stolen glances, and the way they both seemed to be attached at the hip at all times and how people knew them as a pair. Jack Kelly and David Jacobs, you never saw them apart, and if you did you knew the other was somewhere nearby.

Race tried to avoid his friends when they were being all lovey-dovey, Kath and Sarah were the only two who really noticed, but they knew it wasn’t out of hostility. He had never really experienced romance before, and often found himself getting flustered new people too quickly, ending in him instantly distancing himself from any sort of possibility of a deeper relationship with them. So, he lives, convinced he has some sort of romance adverse force field around him, as he isolates himself from others subconciously.

Davey and Jack, he really was happy for them. Davey was already family, so it didn’t change much. They were already all over each other before, and everyone knew and were waiting for the moment they finally figured it out themselves. But, Race couldn’t shake the nagging fear that they would leave him behind, his two best friends, despite one being his adoptive brother, what if they left him behind. He wouldn’t voice this fear, because it was ridiculous and childish, he couldn’t tell anyone or he would never hear the end of it, so he shook his head to force the thought out of his head and focus on the task at hand.

Eventually Race was pulled out of his organizational trance by Les tapping his arm, “The cast is here now.”

“Okay awesome. Where’s Kath?”

“Right here Racer,” Katherine appeared in the doorway grinning, safety pins attached to the loop of her jeans and measuring tape secure in her hand for any last minute adjustments. “Come on, Finch you’re first.”

Race searched for the hanger labeled with Finch’s name and then promptly handed it to Katherine, the girl taking it and handing it to Finch who was already in his skins. The boy then pulled on the black sleeveless shirt and dark jeans, fastening them with a brown belt and shrugging on a jean jacket with the collar popped. “Kath should we get the rest of the cast to stay in their costumes for rehearsal after this?”

“Yeah probably, and if they aren’t a character in the rumble, get them to stay in costume until the end of practice, so they can let me know if anything needs to be altered.” Kath said as she shooed Finch out of the room and gestured the next person into the costume room.

“Okay awesome.” He took note of the next actor and handed their costume to them and then sent them off to their dressing room after they tried it on. This repetitive action repeated until most costumes were off the rack, except for a select few that weren’t needed for the scene.

Then, he and Katherine made their way to the theatre where Spot had gathered the cast in their costumes. Finch sat in the audience, as he wasn’t in this scene and seemed to be slightly zoned out while watching. They both made their way over to the younger boy and sat on either side of him, Katherine chatting to him about something from one of their extracurriculars. Race leaned over to look into his bag and cursed under his breath when he realized he never went back to collect his binder he had left in the middle of the hallway in his flurry of panic. At that moment it seemed that Spot had briefly dismissed the cast to prepare themselves for the run through, and Jack was making his way over to the trio in the seats, Racer’s binder in hand. Hoping his brother hadn’t put the pieces together, he averted his gaze to act distracted while he waited for the other boy to make his way over to where he sat.

“Racer this is your binder right?” Jack said, offering it out to his younger brother.

“Uh, yeah. I was looking for that, Thanks.” He willed himself silently to act normal, grabbing the binder and stumbling over his words. Guilt flooded his mind, like he knew something Jack would be mad at him about though he only saw by accident. Deep down he knows his brother probably wouldn’t be upset with him, he’d probably be embarrassed, but he ignored that as guilt clouded his mind.

“Oh yeah! I saw that in the hall when I was making my way to the costume room, I figured it was yours Racer. Shoulda picked it up though. Was that the loud clattering noise from down the hallway?” Finch said, turning from his conversation with Katherine to the two brothers.

Still avoiding his brother's eyes, he dodged Finch’s brother by bringing up a new topic, “How’s fight the choreo comin’ along?” He knew Kath noticed the diversion by how she sent him a confused look briefly, and then immediately diverted her attention to Jack’s answer.

“He’s great, the way he teaches really makes sense and is easy to pick up on. Which sort of surprised me.”

Finch nodded in agreement, “When he was teaching me and Charlie the choreo for the fight in the beginning with the Socs he was real great at communicating technique.”

Then Katherine and Finch broke back into their individual conversation, now on the topic of quick changes, though this show didn’t really have any. Jack sat down beside Race, poking him on the shoulder and sending him a questioning look, he knew Race was upset and that made the younger boy wince internally. “You good Racer?”

“Yeah sorry, just tired. Long day y’know.”

“I get it.” Jack reached over to squeeze Race’s hand, offering an unsaid comfort to his younger brother, and then Spot called back the cast for places and the boy lingered for a moment with Race, before sending him a smile in farewell and hurrying his way back to the stage.

Racer watched as the cast ran through the choreography one time, before Spot said something about sound and he scurried up to the booth as the cast ran through the scene by itself one more time. He booted up the computer and inputted the song for the rumble, an old 60s rock song that really encapsulated the inner world of the play. Once actors were in place, he clicked the sound board and watched as they ran through the scene, Spot shouting out encouragement and feedback the whole time. He quickly jotted down some notes on timing and trimming the sound queue in his binder, and after they ran the scene four more times, the actors were dismissed to collect their belongings and return their costumes.

“It looks great by the way.” He greeted Spot, which made the other boy startle slightly, who had been lost in thought as he gazed at the stage.

“Thanks, they really work well together. Thank god, people that don’t cooperate are the worst to teach.”

“We’re pretty lucky to have a group so willing to work with each other, it’s kind of a blessing. Though we aren’t completely devoid of issues, Mike and Ike never get along.” Race sighed, just remembering the last spat he had to break up between the twins.

“Yeah, but those two get along when they need to. Jack and Davey fight like an old couple though.” Spot smiled a little, amused. Racer turned away from him, his stomach churning slightly at the expression.

“They really are a retired married couple.” He laughed to himself, thinking fondly of the duo.

“Where did the name Racetrack come from?”

That threw Race off quite a bit and he took a small step back, feigning horror, “At least take me to dinner first before you start getting all deep and personal, Spotty.”

Spot glanced at him awkwardly, “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was personal.”

“It is but not really, I’ll tell you anyway," He shrugged, "Short story or long one?” Racetrack grinned at him, moving his hands in an exaggerated movement to signify him to choose.

“Uhm,” Spot thought for a moment, face knitted into a frown, “Short?”

“Well, when I was younger my cousin would take me to the horse races. We lived in Brooklyn so we had to travel a bit, I would ask to go for my birthday every year. Eventually it sort of morphed into a nickname.” Race shared, glancing over at the other boy.

“I like it.” Spot said bluntly.

“Thanks?” 

“You’re welcome.”

The two looked at each other for a brief moment, Racetrack felt confused and he didn’t even know why, but, after a moment he managed to say, “Where are you staying?”

“With you, I think. Medda invited me to stay with her so I wouldn’t have to worry about hotels or meals or anything.”

“Oh awesome! That means you’re probably coming home with me and my brothers?”

“I think Medda mentioned that yeah, she said something about staying late after rehearsal to close up the building.”

“She’s gotta lock up, but are you good to leave now then?”

“Mhm, just have ta' grab my bag from the green room.”

So, the two boys made their way out of the theatre and down the hall together, Race waving at his friends as he saw them on their way out in the hallway. Turning into the green room, Jack, Davey and Charlie sat waiting at a table. Or more like Charlie had dozed off onto Davey’s shoulder and the two older boys whispered quietly to each other from across the table. He trailed over to the closet and pulled out his bag, Spot doing the same next to him and he heard Davey softly awakening the youngest boy.

The five made their way out of the building, and they all climbed into Jack’s truck, Davey, Spot and Race squished into the back seat and Charlie in the passenger seat, who was dozing off already. The radio softly played some sort of ballad Jack hummed quietly along too, eyes fixed on the road. Davey watched Jack, his eyes soft, a small smile dancing on his lips. Racer looked away, that silent fear gripping him once again as he tried to shove it down into a mental box, he should be happy for them. He accidentally caught the gaze of Spot, whose eyes gave away nothing. Once the group made it out of the vehicle and into the house, he bid his brothers, Spot and Davey goodbye before heading to his room. He immediately dropped his bag on the floor, changing into a comfier set of clothing before climbing under his covers. He closed his eyes and listened to the noises of his brothers preparing for bed, Charlie on the phone with who he presumed, was Finch, saying goodnight despite seeing the other boy less than an hour ago and Jack murmuring quietly outside in the hallway. He felt his mind start to race the moment he felt peaceful, fears of his family leaving him and what ifs clouding his mind, which made him grip the edge of his duvet and pull it closer to himself. But, once he grasped a safe thought, he let himself fall into it, slowly drifting into darkness.

-

When Race awoke he heard laughter radiating warmly from downstairs, the soft sound of Medda’s music drifting up the stairs. He rubbed his eyes, stretching and dragging himself out of bed and into the bathroom. After making sure he wasn’t a complete wreck, he made his way downstairs still in his pajamas where Medda was attempting to teach Jack how to make an omelet, to which he was failing miserably at. Charlie sat at the table next to Spot, who seemed to be looking over some papers and pointing at specific points, to which Charlie nodded and started scribbling something down onto the paper. Davey was nowhere to be seen so Racer figured he had gone home earlier, considering it was already ten-thirty.

“Morning Gioia, do you want some eggs? Only if Jack actually ever figures out how to make them.” Medda greeted him, the woman teasing her oldest son fondly.

“I’ll get it I swear.” Jack said through gritted teeth, fully vexed by this omelet.

“I know, cariño.” His mom laughed.

“Mamá.” Jack groaned.

Racer settled down at the table next to Charlie, peering over the younger boy's shoulder to look at the paper he and Spot were working on, it was some sort of English worksheet, probably the one he had been working on yesterday, an article with reflection questions. “Hey Racer.” His younger brother greeted absentmindedly, focused on his work.

“Hi Charlie, how’s your homework treating ya’?”

“It’s okay, Sean showed me how to understand it better.”

“I’m not surprised, Spotty knows everything it seems.”

Spot shot Racer a glare and the blonde just replied with a laugh.

“Wait. Spotty? Did you come up with that Racer?” Jack asked, turning from his third failed omelet since Race had come downstairs.

“Yep. Spot, because of his freckle right..,” Race looked at Spot for reference and then poked the mirroring spot on his own face where Spot’s freckle lived, “Here.”

“Spot.. It’s fitting.”

“Whatever. Just don’t start calling me Spotty, and don't even try Freckles.” Spot frowned.

“Freckles?”

Racer laughed, catching Spot’s eyes that seemed to glow slightly as he cracked a small smile causing Race to turn away swiftly when he felt his ears grow warm. This was an issue.

Chapter Text

JACK

Jack watched as Racer made his way upstairs to his room, and then turned to Davey who was leant against the doorway. Charlie had led Spot down to the basement to show him to the guest room, where Davey would usually be staying. “Slumber party?” The boy opposing grinned, shifting his weight from the door and picking up the bag that sat on the floor at his side. 

“Nothin’ I’d want more.” Jack grinned, shrugging off his jacket and dropping his shoes into the shoe basket. 

The two boys hurried upstairs, bags in hand. Jack immediately fell onto his bed, and Davey went into his closet and pulled out two pairs of the other boy's old basketball shorts and a t-shirt for the both of them, throwing one set to the boy on the bed. He turned away and Jack climbed off his bed briefly to change into the clothes, back turned to Davey. He sat back down on the bed, turning to Davey once the other boy signified he was dressed, the last of the sunlight from the day shone from the window and reflected off the brunette boy's curls as he smiled softly at Jack who lay on the bed. 

“Hey.” Davey grinned, joy lacing every word. 

Jack’s heart stuttered, he always turned into a nervous puddle the moment he and Davey had a moment alone, nothing expected of them for a brief window of time. He took in the way the sun made him look radiant, his brown eyes dark but filled with golden speckles, his skin flushed just along his cheeks and the tip of his nose. The pair made eye contact, the air crackling with unspoken tension, he had wanted Davey so long. To love him, not anything else, he just wanted his presence near him for as long as the world would let him have it. So Jack found himself more than a little bit scared for what would happen, they hadn’t properly talked since they ended up holding each other in the storage room, their moment being interrupted by an innocent bystander who had fled the scene instantly. Since then he had felt Davey’s gaze lingering on him every time he looked away, just narrowly avoiding Jack’s eyes. It wasn’t like Jack wasn’t looking at the brunette every time he had turned away either, lost for what to say to him. 

“How are you Davey?” 

“Beautiful, Jackie, do you know why?” 

“No, you should probably come tell me.” Jack reached out his hand to Davey in invitation.  

The boy took his hand and crawled onto the bed above him, resting his head on Jack’s chest, tangling their legs together. Jack attempted to take a deep breath to calm his racing heart and fluttering nerves, but it wasn’t very successful, ending in a shaky exhale. 

“You.” Davey whispered into Jack’s shirt. 

“Huh?” 

“You made my day beautiful, Jack. I think you made the stars shine brighter.” 

“Davey?” 

“Yes?” 

“What are we doing?” Jack blurted out, instantly regretting it the moment the other boy pulled away after he said it, wincing. 

The boy rested upon him immediately drew away, almost wincing at Jack's question. "I'm so sorry, Jack. I'm probably misunderstanding. Please forget all about it, I'll go sleep on the couch." Davey began to climb off of the bed, lifting himself into a sitting position.  

He sat, slightly stunned at the instant mood change, but realizing the misunderstanding he interrupted the brunette, “Davey, stop. It’s okay, it’s okay.” He reached out to hold the other boy's cheeks in the palms of his hands. 

Davey stopped, startled, and looked at Jack, his eyes glistening in the faint light of sunset that slipped through the curtains. “Sorry.” 

"You never need to apologize for misunderstanding something like that Davey, at least to me."

The two looked into each others eyes, and once again Jack knew that the two of them could feel the tension in the air, sparking and burning. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, “Can I..?” 

Before he could even finish speaking Davey interrupted him, unwaveringly, “Yes.” 

Then, with the longing of two thirteen year old's who had held hands under the bleachers, to not acknowledge it for years or the fifteen year old's who seemed glued to each others sides, inseparable, Davey kissed Jack first. Beginning soft and nervous, then turning into something raw, something that lay, pushed into the depths of their mind for years and years. Eventually, Jack pulled away, grinning wildly at the other boy, who’s hair was now sticking up with his hand tangled in the curls. He hugged him tight then, not afraid that if he let go that the other boy would be gone in a moment, the two laid down onto the bed, tangled together. In a comfortable silence, the two drifted off entangled and enchanted. 

Chapter Text

RACETRACK

Racer had hurriedly ate his breakfast in a flurry after catching himself flustered over Spot, he thanked Medda, (and Jack who had stood there while Medda finished the omelettes in fear he would ruin all of the eggs), and scurried back up to his room. Once upstairs, the boy shoved the embarrassment to the back of his mind, three breaths in and three out, and then pulled a well-loved t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans out of his dresser and shrugged them on. He stuffed the half-finished pack of candy cigarettes into his jean pockets, his wallet, ipod and headphones, before shuffling downstairs.

Everyone still sat in the kitchen, minus Jack who had seemed to have gone off somewhere due to the missing truck keys on the hook next to the door. Spot was standing up from the kitchen counter, Charlie was still bent over the papers strewn about and Medda had migrated to the table across from him, going through what seemed to be some sort of list. “I’m gonna go out for a bit.” 

Medda nodded and continued with her task and Spot turned to him, “I’m coming.” 

“Wow, bold of you to assume you were invited.” Racer feigned annoyance, but grinned at the other boy. 

“It’s repayment for calling me Freckles, you're my personal tour guide.” 

Race raised an eyebrow at the shorter boy, and Spot started to collect his few items from the table and stow them away in his jean pockets and took the few steps across the kitchen to get to the taller boy. 

Racer, as he pretended to be annoyed by the others presence on his outing, made his way out of the door, pulling on his sneakers as he left. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Spot grab his leather jacket and haphazardly balance on one leg at a time to pull on his Converse, then try to cover the fact he stumbled out the door due to losing his balance. He jumped down the few steps at the entrance to the house and led the way down the sidewalk, heading towards the direction of the convenience store and the park. Across the street an older lady, with yellowing curls and blue eyeshadow painting her eyelids, walked a pitbull with brown and white spots, sporting a flowery yellow collar. He began to fabricate a whole life for her in his mind, a fictional one, she kept flowers in a planter by her front door, and loved herbal tea. She let the neighbours young kids play with her dog in her yard and brought dinners over for them once a week to help out. She volunteered at a local shelter, and worked on the weekdays training service dogs. 

He could feel Spot’s presence behind him as he trailed along the sidewalk, the occasional car driving by slowly and sending a breeze through Racer’s curls. Feeling slightly like he owed the other boy an explanation for why he was going out, despite the shorter boy not inquiring before immediately deciding to leave the house with Race. It sort of puzzled the taller boy if he was honest, Spot hadn’t even known him for a day, but seemed to barge into his life with no apologies, like a storm or some sort of wanted company. 

The two wandered down the street in what felt like a comfortable silence, if Race could give it a name, or more like Race made his way down his usual path and offered Spot no explanation, which it seemed the brunette wasn’t wanting one anyways. Eventually, they reached the convenience store and he pushed through the doors, the bell inside the doorframe ringing at the motion. He made his way to the back of the store and grabbed two random drinks, things he had never tried before, and made his way back to the cashier, beckoning Spot to follow him. 

After purchasing his items, he finally offered an explanation to the other boy. “Most days when I have time, I try to make it down to the park. I like to people watch, I guess. Gets me out of my own head and I usually buy some random drink or whatever to try. Most of the time I hate them. The drinks.” He rambled on, glancing sideways at the shorter boy as they walked side by side the rest of the short distance to the park. 

“People watch?” 

“Like uhm. When you kind of just observe-” Race began. 

“I know what people watching is, stupid. Sorry, I kinda meant it like, why do you do it? What makes it interesting for you?” Spot sent him a sideways glance. 

“Well, I find it kind of gets me out of my own head if I think about how other people have lives full of things important to them. Sometimes I come up with guesses to the things they like, or their jobs or their favourite foods. It’s sorta fun too.” 

“I bet he does dance.” Spot said, pointing to a man with a short beard, brightly coloured clothes and sunglasses that lay on a picnic blanket across the park from them. 

“I do dance.” 

“Do you think fighting choreo counts as dancing?” 

“Probably. Both choreographed.” Racer grins at Spot. 

“I think he likes to buy green smoothies with pineapple, and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.” 

“I think he wears a lot of plaid.” 

“He has six cats.” 

“And a hedgehog.” Spot was smiling, even though Race couldn’t see his face he could hear it in the other boy's voice. 

“A hedgehog? You can have those as pets?” Race turned to Spot, eyes wide. 

“Yeah, my teacher had one as a class pet when I was in grade three I think.”

Race hummed in acknowledgement, nodding to himself as he stored this new information in his brain, maybe it would come in use later. Across from the bench the pair had sat down upon after arriving at the park, a very awkward couple made their way across the sidewalk. They held hands, but seemed to walk as far as possible from each other without breaking the grasp of their hands. A few moments later a teenaged boy with a mohawk rode his bike slowly with a young girl riding next to him, in her small basket attached to her handlebars sat a stuffed orange cat, and they sang some sort of rhyme, giggling as they rode along. A man chased after a dog whose leash had been dropped, calling out a name breathlessly and the dog never got too far, it seemed to be teasing him. Racetrack and Spot sat in silence, just watching and occasionally swapping thoughts every few minutes, until over an hour had passed and they made their way back to Medda’s. 

Once they stepped inside they were greeted with the smell of incense and the sound of conversation down the hall into the living room, music played from upstairs, some sort of classic rock. Racer made his way down the hallway and noted that Spot went upstairs, in the living room Charlie and Finch were sitting on the floor, grumbling at each other over the game they were playing on the TV. Les sat on the couch, which meant that Davey was here somewhere and possibly Sarah, which meant Katherine was most likely here as well. It seemed Medda’s is where kids escaped to on the weekends, wanting space or even just a place to have no worries. Which meant that Racer was used to finding all his friends randomly in his living room, or basement, or kitchen at any time. 

Finch and Charlie promptly turned from grumbling at each other into Finch wrestling the controller out of the other boy's hand and shoving it into the couch cushion. This resulted in Charlie sending Les running with Finch’s controller out into the yard, grinning from ear to ear as Finch yelled a curse word to no one in particular, resounding in a “Language!”, from Medda upstairs. Eventually the controller war died down and Racer convinced Les to grab a movie for the three of them to watch, and after minimal complaints they turned on some sort of animated movie. Once he ensured they all seemed engrossed enough in it, he slipped upstairs and knocked on Jack’s door.

The sound of the springs in Jack’s bed that he refused to replace met Racer’s ears with a creak, and Jack opened the door with a grin. He wore his painting apron, decorated in paint strokes all over, he smelt slightly of oil paints and canvas. He left the door open for his younger brother and made his way back to his spot he was perched on his bed before, canvas and paints balanced precariously on the edge of his bed. Across the room, Davey sat at Jack’s desk in his spinning chair, draped over the arm rests akin to a cat, reading some fantasy novel off of Jack’s shelves. He threw himself onto Jack’s bean bag and stole a book from the shelf next to him, which caused his brother to frown and tell him not to make a mess, to which Racer replied by sticking out his tongue.

Eventually Jack got upset at his painting and cast it away from his bed, which ended up in Davey migrating to sit with him, still invested in his book. Racer took that as a queue to end the moment, he put his book that he hadn’t really read all that much of, back onto the shelf and took his leave, with a half-hearted wave to the boys on the bed as he left. He made his way down to his bedroom, slipping through the doorframe and closing it softly behind him, it felt like he was suffocating. It took Race a long time to get used to being around Davey and Jack, or even Medda and Charlie, and for some small reason he could feel the urge to isolate and hide away again. He hadn’t felt this in a year. Maybe it was the fear that his brother felt he couldn’t trust Racer with the information about whatever was happening between him and Davey, or the fact that he felt guilty for even feeling a little bit left out for not being told of an event that really wasn’t any of his business. 

Race knows he’s jealous deep down. Not of Davey or Jack specifically, but of the concept of a relationship, someone to understand him. He clings to any little attention someone lends him, proof of that flaw presents in his readiness to flirt subtly with anyone he hasn’t met before, his immediate flustering towards Spot. He shoves his face into his pillow, groaning inwardly. These were petty, teenaged, issues he had gone over with the trainee counselor at his school once a week for a year, which she had assured him were normal and not petty or stupid, but he still neglected to believe her. He also knew that she would tell him just to talk to Jack, that his brother most likely would understand. Race was not doing that, that’s for sure. 

Deciding he didn’t want to brew on those thoughts for any longer, in fear of feeling sorry for himself, he pulled his bunched up duvet over him right up to his ears. He attempted to take grounding breaths, before he gave up and eventually ended up scrolling through the music on his iPod for the thousandth time. 

Race awoke to the sound of Medda calling his name up the stairs, and realized he slept too long and it was time to leave to the theatre once again. Throwing his duvet off him, and onto the floor in the process, he grabbed his binder, still yet to be organized again, and flew down the stairs. Stumbling on the last step, Medda seemed to be the only one still home, shoes absent from the rack by the door and Jack’s keys missing from the hook. 

“I told them to go on about a half hour ago, Katherine had it under control.” Medda was holding his jacket, and a packed container of food. It was still light outside, but not quite as light as it would be if it were summer as the two made their way out to the small convertible that had been pulled into the driveway. 

He slid into the passenger seat, stealing a pair of Medda’s large sunglasses from the center console to block the blinding sun from his eyes somewhat. “Thanks for letting me sleep, Ma.” 

Medda smiled at him in the mirror, “Of course, it seemed like you needed it. Are you doing alright, Gioia ?”

Meeting her eyes in the reflection of the mirror, he weighed the pros and the cons of telling her the shortened, and less personal, version of his struggles. He decided it would most likely be alright and diverting his gaze outside as they pulled out of the driveway he said, “I’m just tired, I think. Lonely maybe? But it’ll be okay.” 

“Lonely like last year?” 

Last year, Racer tried not to think about it. When he turned so far into himself in fear none of his family or friends truly liked or loved him, staying in his room all day. Hopeless and fearful. Avoiding Jack's gaze at any cost, brushing Medda off nervously, making excuses not to read with Davey or play games with Les and Charlie. Isolating himself for so long he ended up in the darkest pits of his mind, fearing interaction in the case he did anything wrong. 

“No, Medda. I promise that won’t happen again.” 

“Tony, you don’t need to promise that. I hope and pray that you never struggle like that again, Gioia, but if you did I would never hold it against you. All I would ask is that you try your hardest to reach out, and that I notice before it goes that far again.” 

Unable to think of another answer, despite all the thoughts racing through his mind, he just met her eyes in the mirror and gave her a small smile, “Thanks, ma. I love you.” 

“I love you too, my Gioia."

Chapter Text

SPOT

Spot somehow ended up squished into the backseat of Jack’s blue pick-up truck, Davey and Jack murmuring to each other and laughing every few minutes over something the other said. On his left somehow both Finch and Charlie were sharing a seat. This was most definitely illegal, and they were sharing a seatbelt, but neither wanted to wait for Racer and Medda so this was the solution he was sure only came to be out of Medda’s exasperation. On his right, Les, Davey’s younger brother, is sitting playing on someone's phone, whose it is? Spot has no clue. 

The radio played just loud enough to mask Davey and Jack’s conversation and also make the backseat have to shout to hear each other for the minimum amount of communication. Spot had slipped into a half-consciousness, spaced out into nowhere when the sudden jolt and concerning noise that came out of the truck, signified they had reached the theatre. Les immediately launched himself out of his seat, flinging open his door with a dismayed cry of ‘Les I told you not to do that anymore!’, from Jack. Spot climbed out of the ajar door from the young boy’s burst of energy and softly shut it, in attempts to savour Jack’s sanity. 

While Finch helped Charlie shuffle out of the car, Spot grabbed his crutches from the back for the car to try to help out. Rounding the car, Charlie was leaning onto the now closed door, and gave the older boy a wide grin, taking the crutches from him and fixing them onto his forearms. Then, with an impressive speed, he hurried off after his older brother, Finch in tow. Spot followed the group slower, watching them ahead, falling into a familiar routine they had been partaking in for years, like clockwork. Albert, a redhead filled with intensity he had met yesterday, leant against the door next to two girls, Sarah and Katherine who he had also briefly met. Two bicycles were locked onto the stand next to the door, one decorated with a woven basket and the other with crocheted handlebar covers. 

Ten minutes passed and the sound of a car pulling into the lot alerted the group in front of the doors, and Les began to wave wildly at the newcomers. Spot turned from his conversation with Katherine to see Medda and Race through the glaring windows, Racer waving back at the kid, a grin plastered over his face. Medda pulled into the parking spot closest to the group and her son immediately jumped out of the car, launching himself at Albert with friendly violence. The redhead immediately shoved him away and then it turned into a scuffle until Medda made her way to the group and scolded them half-hearted, but also jokingly. She unlocked the door, with a purple keyring filled to the brim with beaded, handmade keychains and various shaped keys. It was like a storm, the way they all bundled into the small stage door hallway, signing in and booking it down into the dressing rooms. Lagging behind, Spot signed in only second last to Racer who had seemed to make his way to the back of the group on purpose. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” The taller boy sent him a grin, aware of the stupidity. 

“Racer.” He glanced up at him sideways, raising his eyebrows. 

“How was the journey in Jack’s truck?” The amusement in his voice is evident.

“Why does it make those noises? I thought I was gonna die. Genuinely and seriously. Also I don’t think the seating arrangement was safe,” He paused, “Or legal.” He mumbled to himself. 

“Jack says the noises are just speaking to him. Or something like that. Ignore it and nothing bad will happen is my motto in life.” 

“Nice motto.” 

“Thanks. Picked it up from the years in foster care. Though it didn’t work in those situations.” Racer laughed, obviously unaware of the information drop on Spot. 

Spot paused for a moment, but continued speaking quickly so as to not queue Racer in onto his thoughts, “I think I’ll steal your motto, though I’m sure you didn’t create it.” 

“You can steal it, just credit me. Also, I definitely created it, ask Charlie.” The blonde scampered ahead, sending Spot a smirk over his shoulder. 

“You can’t do that. He’s your kid brother, he’ll believe you.” 

“Oh he doesn’t believe me, but we made a secret pact. So everything he says about me is true.” With that, Racer ducked into the tech room, with a wave to Spot. 

Spot grinned despite himself, and continued down the hall to the entrance of the theatre as Miss Medda’s voice echoed through the theatre calling ten minutes until a meeting to the theatre to warm up. He walked across the stage, his footsteps sending an empty echo across the floorboards, up the seats and into the tall ceiling above. If he listened closely he could almost hear the still air due to the lack of windows, the creaking of metal above in the catwalks, the hum of electricity threading up into the stage lights. Sitting on one of the red seats at the front of the theatre, just a little below the stage, he took this not quite silent moment to think. 

This group of such different people, that seemed to rotate around each other like some ancient system or the solar system, that are so mysterious but full of light to share perplexed him. Spot took up helping his mentor with choreo after meeting him on a particularly troubling day at school, sporting a black eye but irritated knuckles to match. He was offered a chance, a way to do something, and he refused at first. But his mentor, Hotshot is what he called him, not much older than him having only graduated a year before Spot reached high school, was persistent. He told the younger boy he understood, had been in that headspace, is still at times, and that school didn’t define him. So, Spot eventually agreed, that was when he was a freshman, now he has somehow ended up moving in with the older boy, more like his brother now. He takes online school, but Hotshot makes him go to way too many social events so he doesn’t withdraw completely. Spot likes to keep to himself, treating everyone but his brother stand-offishly hostile, but it was something about this group. Maybe it was because he met them through something other than a counseling group or a youth center, that they didn’t view him through a lense of his past. That he didn’t view them through that same lens. He likes Jack, his teasing, despite how his truck rattles concerningly, Davey’s knowledge, Charlie’s ability to be filled with joy to the brim, Finch, Les, Katherine and Sarah. Racer. 

But he knows, if he gets any closer to this group he’ll get scared. He might show what he gets like when everything is too much, when it gets a little more familiar. Spot has to hold back for a bit longer, just until he can go home. He can’t get attached, he has to return inwards at the end of the day, go back to his and his brothers apartment. 

Chapter Text

RACETRACK

Racer bundles into the tech room, tripping over his own feet and stumbling backwards into the wall. Behind him he heard a giggle from Katherine, of whom he had no clue was in the room. “Nice entrance, Race.” 

“Kath.” He grumbled, rubbing where he had hit the back of his leg. 

He turned to face her, and she sat at the table against the back wall, sewing kit open and splayed throughout the surface in a chaotic but organized mess. One of the many embroidered jean vests is laid, back facing up, with a nearly finished design on the back. “This is the last one,” She said beckoning towards the jacket on the table, “I swear I will never take on a project like this again. I miss my blog, I miss writing.” She groaned, scrubbing her face with her hands decorated with dark blue painted nails. 

Racer gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder, “Thank you for your sacrifices, our dearest Katherine Plumber.” 

She sent him an affectionate but withering look, turning back to her sewing kit she began to thread a needle and Racer sat next to her, fiddling with a spool of pink thread. He began to run through a cycle of picking up thread, and Katherine stealing it from him a moment later, placing it back down onto the table. Eventually every colour and variation of material had migrated to the opposite end of the table and he resigned to observing Katherine as she slowly embroidered, an announcement echoed throughout the hallway calling actors to warm up on the stage. That was probably his call to make his way down to the theatre, and with a goodbye to Katherine, he followed the group of people making their way down the hallway. 

***

S POT

It was something about the darkness outside when they broke into the night air, that made him wave off the offers of rides and precariously sharing bicycles home and decidedly walk the few blocks back to Medda’s on his own. The air was cold and bitter, making him try to bundle further into his light hoodie, relenting on his earlier decision he’d be too warm for a coat. Bats flitted above, and Spot watched as they ate the first stray mosquitos of the year. A car clicked past, exhaust pouring lazily out of the end, and the radio played faintly inside. The headlights bounced off of the windows, reflecting back into his eyes, blinding him every few minutes when a car drove by. It was when a particularly hurried, red truck whipped past him, that he felt his phone buzz in his back pocket. Something about it seemed urgent, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he grabbed it from his pocket. The screen was lit, a singular message from a spam number lingered below the time reading, Hello, this is your father, I am stuck in a foreign country… , the rest was pretty self explanatory. He laughed bitterly at the black inky letters staining the screen and swiped it away. 

Then he noticed the red truck, which was not actually red at all, making a U-turn a few buildings ahead of him. It was completely black, hubcaps, windows, bumper and all. Except for one red stripe down each side, blaring and obvious in its call for attention. Blaring its horn once, at the singular only other car, it sped towards Spot, and violently pulled onto the sidewalk mere feet away from him. Confronted with a dark truck, now shutting off at the sound of people climbing out, he felt the urge to run, but he knew he couldn't, it wouldn’t end well either way. This idea was confirmed when the people stepped into the light, their eyes glinting in the dim streetlamp. These people knew him, but he didn’t know them. 

The taller of the two, had a sharp grin, his face freckled and blonde hair falling just short of his eyes, and the shorter had short, rigid brown hair, dark eyes. She seemed to have frown lines drawn deep into her skin from years of worry. The taller had an eyepatch slung across his face. Kid Blink. The name flashed into his head when Spot met his eyes, no introductions were to be made with the dark haired girl, because when he caught her eye she looked at him blankly, and no name flashed into his head. 

“Sean.” Kid Blink seemed to have to cough up the name, disgust filling the single syllable. “Long time no see.” 

He decided to risk it, “Do I know you?” 

The two laughed, to themselves, but seemingly no humor was found in the noise. The air around them seemed to actually be crackling with energy, leaking into his ears, gripping his cognition and he felt himself shutting down. It was familiar in a sickening way, images of dusty tunnels, shushed giggles and dark closets stained his thoughts. When he finally could see again, and the images faded slowly from his mind's eye, the girl, Smalls, he now knew. Was the only one standing there. 

“Do you remember?”

“Just go away.” 

“Do you remember, Sean?” She said more forcefully this time. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“So you do remember?” 

He shot a glare up at her from where he sat below on the pavement, “What do you want, 

Smalls?” 

“Come back.” She most likely didn’t want that, it was someone else messaging it through her. Smalls looked at him with betrayal and years of brewing disdain, he could remember a time where that wasn’t how it was. She’s not too much younger than him and Kid Blink, he remembers that too, but in that place even 2 years makes a big difference. He remembers him and a face that's familiar but he can’t quite place sneaking her stick dolls, made out of whatever scraps they could salvage and find, her naming them after him and the other he couldn’t quite place. He could see now, two sharpened sticks with tattered rags tied around them poking slightly out of her bag. 

“You don’t want that.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“Then why are you and Kid Blink here?” 

“God, Sean. Do I really need to spell it out for you?,” She exclaimed in frusteration, pent up anger spilling over, “It’s in shambles. It was in shambles before you left and atleast when you were there everyone was fed. Then one day you up and disappeared with that new kid, the older one covered in tattoos and left it all to Blink, with nothing but a note and a switchblade to spare for him. You sure as hell know leading a group like that isn’t easy, especially at 15, staying in and hiding from everyone out of fear of what will happen. So why did you take off huh? Why did you leave us there? We need help, desperately, enough to find you.” Smalls spat, she was digging her nails, painted in deep red chipped polish, into the palms of her hands. The air was violently churning around her, sending chilled waves of wind towards Spot. 

He looked at her, and knew then he was missing a large part of this story. A gap in his memory preventing him from knowing why he left, just before and that he did. Leaving with his brother in search of something he forgot once he was gone. “Someone left.” 

“More than one person left, Sean. They forgot too. It’s fucked up, but you didn’t need to forget us, leave us there to hold it all together. Hotshot left after you too, y’know, to find you. But I figure he didn’t remember you as soon as he stepped out of that place.”  

“Who left before me? Please, Smalls, who left?” Spot was sick to his stomach, he knew something was missing now, someone, something important. 

“Why don’t you figure it out yourself. I’ll give you a clue. Mostly everyone left before you, but at least they didn’t choose to, unlike you.” With that, Smalls turned on him and the truck sparked to life, the lights illuminated Kid Blink standing in a patch of darkness just behind the truck, listening and watching silently. Smalls climbed into the passenger side with a door slam, rattling the vehicle. 

“Look, Sean.” Kid Blink paused thoughtfully and continued, “Spot. We need help, and I’m not one to ask for it, as you know. Figure yourself out, I don’t think in anyway this was the way for you to remember, you’ll find them, the people you forgot. I know you will. Sort yourself out and we’ll be back, two weeks from now.” 

Two weeks until he had to decide to return, most definitely to unfriendly faces, gauging the reaction from Smalls as the general consensus. Now feeling the most nauseous he had ever felt, his vision turning around him sickeningly, he coughed out an “Okay.” 

Kid Blink returned to his emotionless grin once again, sharp and cutting, having used up his emotional vulnerability for the month, as he walked up to Spot and rested his hand on his forehead. “See ya’ later, Spot.” 

And the world was dark. 

***

When Spot came to, he was being gently shook by a figure in a motorcycle helmet and familiar brown leather jacket. His arms speckled in tattoos, not the artistic ones you choose to have, tattoos of tally lines. The sort you use to count points in a game or days, sprawling along the length of his visible arms. “Spot, wake up.” 

He blinked blearily up at the figure, as it all came back to him a blaring pain shot suddenly though the peak of his head and keeled over, sure he was going to throw up. “What are you doing here Split?” He muttered, trying to sound light-hearted but failing miserably. 

“Well, I rode out here to check on you and help a bit, as there's been a pause in business for the past few days. But when I got to Miss Medda’s you weren’t there and we waited a few hours, but you never showed up so I told her she should get some sleep and I’d come to look for you. So what happened?” 

“Uh.” Spot paused and decided not to tell the truth, with a gut feeling Split wouldn’t react well, “I was just feeling really sick walking back, and I guess I passed out here?” 

His brother immediately noticed the lie, he could tell by the flash in his eyes and the hardening of his expression, but he didn’t push it. “Do you feel good enough to ride back? I have your helmet.” 

Spot nodded and Split helped him up from the sidewalk. He glanced around the street, noticing everything felt so much darker now, patches of complete darkness splattered the street more often now, the feeling of something bigger lurking plagued him. He was handed his helmet and Split shrugged off his jacket, handing it over to Spot and he didn’t even try to refuse. Shakey and with the residue of sickness, he climbed onto the back of the motorbike and they took off in the direction of Medda’s house. 

When they reached the house, the kitchen and living room lights glowed with the beginning of dawn, and Spot realized how long he had been out on the street for and sighed a quiet sigh in thanks of Split’s sudden appearance. His brother hovered behind him as they made their way into the house, a silent presence, and Spot saw Medda making her way throughout the kitchen. Jack sat at the counter reading a book, but otherwise the house was silent with the sound of sleep. “I’m going back home, Spot. I’ll see you soon.” And with no sound, Split slipped out of the house leaving no explanation but his brown leather jacket. Spot stood in the foyer until he heard the roar of the motorcycle departing, then resigned himself to entering the kitchen on his own. 

Immediately upon spotting him, Medda swept him up into a tight hug, hurrying around him and scanning him for injury right after. She made him sit down at the table next to Jack, who grinned at him too knowingly for his own good, and passed him a plate of food and a glass of water. Insisting that he should eat before he rests for a while. One thing Spot really appreciated Medda didn’t do, unlike any other caretaker in his life, is that she didn’t ask pushing questions or try to pry the reason for his absence from his thoughts. Just silently worried and made sure he was alright before shooing him up to bed, with Jack to make sure he got there in one piece. Spot would’ve been annoyed that she didn’t think he could make his way up a flight of stairs without disintegrating, but Medda’s caring was something he didn’t think could completely annoy anyone. 

Once he made it to his room with Jack as a silent observer behind him, he turned to face the other boy and give him a weak grin and thanks , but he didn’t get a word out before Jack spoke first, “I don’t know what happened, but if you need anything I’m just down the hall. If it was anything bad I urge you to tell someone, instead of keeping it in. That doesn’t end well for anyone, bottling it up, that is, I would know.” He said this all with a practiced, easy and casual grin like he had said it a million times, but seriously meant it every time. 

Jack turned with a wave to leave the room, but Spot quickly said, “Jack?” 

“Yeah?” Jack had turned back around, curious.

“Have you met Kid Blink?” 

“Huh? No. Who’s that?” The older boy replied, but a distant recognition flickered in the back of his gaze, like he knew the name but couldn’t quite place it. 

“It doesn’t matter. Thanks for saying that earlier by the way.” Spot gave the other boy a small smile. 

“Of course, I really do mean it.” 

And with a goodnight and a wave, Jack departed down the hallway to his own room. Spot retreated out of the doorway, shrugged off Split’s jacket and crawled under the heavy duvet of his bed. It felt extra suffocating tonight, resulting in him shrugging it on and off as he laid there. Eventually his imagination grew wild with the beginning of sleep, he imagined long winding tunnels, under concrete buildings, immense fear and small glimpses of happiness. Hidden nights and complying days. Until he fell into a dark sleep, where it felt like something lurked just out of sight. 

*** 

RACETRACK

Racetrack awoke in a cold sweat, and with fearful dreams gripping the last of his unconsciousness. Today felt bigger than it all. When he laid in bed, having gone to sleep immediately after getting home, he only knew of Spot not coming back until early when Jack had shown up a few hours prior to his awakening, to share he had made it back. By a quick visit by his brother. Jack had also picked up on the stressed air of Racer, with panic in his eyes from the dreams, so he now slept with his duvet thrown into a ball by the wall and splayed ungracefully across Race’s carpet. As the fear from the dreams wore away, he grinned at the stupidity of his brother on the floor and rose out of bed, creeping by out the doorway so as not to wake him. 

He made his way down to the kitchen where he found Spot sitting, with dark circles under his eyes and lost in thought, staring at the clock on the stove across the kitchen from him. It read 8:00 AM. There was a note from both Charlie and Medda, explaining their absence from the house would be the whole day. Something about doctors appointments in the city. Medda often made appointments in the city, so she could ensure they didn’t become completely dreaded days for the brothers, they would go for dinner and usually end up at the park or an arcade. 

“Freckles?” He turned to Spot, who was now across the island from him. 

“Racer.” Spot seemed to try to put a positive lilt onto his voice, and grin at the taller boy. But it failed, falling right back down after. 

“Rough night, huh.” It wasn’t a question. 

“My head hurts when I look at you.” 

“Want an Ibuprofen?” 

“Maybe it’s the pure annoying energy radiating off of you.” Spot genuinely smiled a little. “I do want Ibuprofen.” 

“I’ll get Jack up then, I don’t know the code to the cabinet.” Racer said, made no move to go get his brother but opened his mouth to shout for him to wake up. Then remembered Spot’s headache and resigned to spam calling him, which his brother replied to after about the 50th text, saying he’d be down in 10 minutes. “Want something to eat?” 

“Do you actually know how to cook or is it just gonna be charred eggs?” 

“I can make toast. Be nice to me.” Racer grabbed the bread out of the cabinet.

Spot laughed, “I’d love toast.” 

Racer put the slices of bread into the toaster and began to aimlessly move throughout the kitchen to kill time, something about being around Spot felt eerily familiar, something he couldn’t quite place. He thinks Spot feels it too, if how they treat each other is any indication of mutual understanding. He then proceeded to think about everything and nothing at all and was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell and the toast popping up consecutively. Jack also bounded down the stairs to the door before he could even move, so Racer took the toast out of the toaster and slid it on a plate to Spot. “I’m just gonna see who’s here.” He aimed towards Spot, who nodded in reply, as he slid all of the 5 different sorts of jam from the fridge across the table one by one. 

Racer then exited the kitchen into the foyer where he saw Davey and Jack, eating each other's faces off, (Jack pecking Davey’s cheek but what's the difference), and he let out an overdramatic screech. “Good lord have some decency!” He cried, whipping around to face his back to them. “Sorry.” He muttered in embarrassment. He could also feel himself getting emotional for what seemed like no reason, but he was scared. What if now that he knew, even if Davey and Jack brushed it off, they hated him. Or that they wouldn’t let him hang out with them anymore. This felt childish. 

“Hey Race.” Davey laughed, he sounded embarrassed as well. And in this moment Race knew that he had overthought it, as he always did. Jack and Davey wouldn’t have ever pushed him away for something like that, and it was silly to think that way. But, that's just how he is, scared of the possibility, the fear of losing something he had, though he had never lost anything that he can remember. He turned back around to face the two, Jack’s ears were bright red and Davey was grinning stupidly. 

“You two need to choose better spots to be gay as hell, by the way. Not the foyer or the tech room.” He laughed, partially to himself. 

“Oh my god you saw. That's why your papers were there!” Jack gasped. 

Racer nodded and then Jack began to laugh, and so did Davey. Then the three fell into a familiar circle of laughter, over their individual fears of this situation. Until Spot appeared in the doorway. 

“Unless somebody was murdered, can I please have Ibuprofen now?” But he was smiling too. 

So the laughter died down and Jack unlocked the medicine cabinet. 

***

SPOT

The show was pushed back. Medda shared the next day. At least two weeks after the original show dates. The theatre had a leak and faulty wires, and there was an inspection this morning saying it was unsafe for use until it was fixed. So consequently rehearsal was paused for two weeks and the show had to be pushed back as well. Which meant free time, for everyone. Probably the most free time they’ve had in months. Race mourned the fact this meant Spot would be returning home, since he couldn’t work on choreography without rehearsal, there was technically no reason for him to stay, as his work was paused. 

Race was convinced he was leaving for the break, because though the two had forged the budding of a friendship, obviously Spot would want to go back to his life in Brooklyn if he had the chance. He was surprised when he was making his way downstairs that evening when he heard Spot asking Medda if he could stay longer. 

“See, I haven’t really heard from my brother since that night, I asked him if I should come home and he said to ask to stay with you for awhile. Something about work holding him up, he said you’d understand and he’d send a message your way.” 

Racetrack was now eavesdropping in the stairway, and he felt a little guilty. 

“Of course. You can stay for as long as you want, Sean. You didn’t even need to ask really, though I do appreciate it, your welcome here anytime and as long as you want.”

“Thank you so much, Miss Medda. He said he’d let you know when he would be here to pick me up, but I’m not really sure when that’ll be.” 

“Don’t worry about it, don’t feel like your imposing. We want you here, don’t think otherwise.”

Race grinned to himself, it felt sort of selfish but he was thrilled that Spot was staying for longer. He moved from his perch on the stairs and bounded down them two at a time, making his presence known to the whole house. Finch and Charlie also sat in the kitchen, so it wasn’t really a completely private conversation, though they were completely engrossed in something on Finch’s phone, giggling to themselves every few seconds. Medda had disappeared but Spot still stood in the kitchen, grabbing a plastic cup from the cupboard. 

“You staying?” Race asked the shorter boy, despite knowing the answer, flinging himself onto the edge of the island and leant forward. 

“Yep. Not for you though.” 

“Bummer. Thought I was what made you stay.” 

Spot glanced at him and grinned, “That’s a bonus.” 

Racer felt his face grow warm, and he frowned but said, “I’m glad you're staying, just so you know.” 

“Me too.” 

There were two days filled with tours to nowhere and meaningless, but joyous, conversation until one night Jack didn’t come home. It wasn’t too unusual at first, assuming he just fell asleep at Davey’s house and forgot to let Medda know until a quick call to the Jacob’s confirmed he wasn’t there and then Davey was at the door holding his pillow and a bag, decidingly staying until Jack came back. Jack’s phone went immediately to voicemail, and no one they called knew where he was.

Spot sat next to Race and Davey on the couch, a bad feeling curling in his gut. It wasn’t until the two fell asleep on the couch and Medda seemed to fall asleep on the phone that he left the house to look for him. Outside on the driveway, an unfamiliar bike sat with a yellow sticky note stuck onto it’s windshield. It read, 

You have your license, figured you’d need this soon. Call you when I’m back in town.        -S

But more importantly, he then noticed Jack sitting against it on the side facing the street, blocked from the house's view. “Jack?” 

“I met Kid Blink.” The older boy grimaced while he spoke, the sound of his own voice obviously hurting his head. 

This indicated enough to Spot and when he made his way over to help Jack up and they made eye contact, a small piece of the missing puzzle in his mind clicked into place. 

Jack’s eyebrows knitted. “I didn’t know I forgot.” 

The two had never been the closest in that place. But he and Spot were the leaders of their respective groups, and fought for the same cause, so they had to get along when their paths crossed. There was something else that kept them tied together that Spot couldn’t place, and didn’t ask Jack if he knew either. 

“They need help.” Jack continued. 

“I know, it makes sense they came to us first.” Spot helped him up.

While he helped the older boy keep his footing on his way to the front door, Jack didn’t say anything more but, “Nice to meet you again, Conlon.” 

“You too, Kelly.”