Chapter Text
Bert’s apartment is relatively small, but it has enough room for the two of them. Jack shakes his head furiously and refuses to move when he first walks in. Alarm bells start ringing in his mind, new place new place new place, and it’s not until Bert lets him look into every room that he finally relaxes.
(“Checking for monsters?” Bert had joked. The tiny twitch of a not-quite-smile on Jack’s lips was all he needed.)
Now Jack’s sitting at the kitchen table, fidgeting and watching Bert make hot cocoa.
“Here you go, kid,” he says, setting two mugs down. He sits down across from Jack, mind still whirring. He doesn’t have any parents, he can’t speak, and Bert doesn’t want to call it strange, exactly, but the kid’s behavior is definitely not normal. Is there anywhere for him to go? Bert doesn’t want to give him up to an orphanage, but he also doesn’t know anyone who would be willing to take him in.
Jack takes the cup with both hands and looks up, like he’s asking permission. He’s so polite. Bert takes a long drink from his own cup so the kid can’t see his eyes watering. Then he clears his throat. “Go ahead, kid. It should be cool by now.”
Jack lifts the cup to his mouth and takes a slow, careful sip.
Suddenly the mug cracks on the wood, and a puddle of hot cocoa spreads across the table.
Jack is wheezing and from his facial expression, it looks like the drink was too hot— but Bert knows it wasn’t.
“Alright, Jack, calm down,” Bert says, trying to hide the shakiness of his voice. He grabs a towel and hastily spreads it over the spill. Then he goes right to Jack, who looks like he’s about to cry. “Did you spill any on yourself?”
Jack shakes his head. He wants to say, it was too hot and now my tongue hurts, but he can’t.
“Was it too hot?” Bert asks. Jack nods. “Well, don’t worry, I’m not mad that you dropped it.”
Jack looks away and starts scratching his arms. I’m still sorry and now I’m embarrassed and the heat surprised me and my tongue still hurts.
“Don’t do that,” Bert says, a bit harshly. Jack looks at him fearfully. “I just don’t want you hurtin’ yourself. You seem pretty scratched up already, don’t want you makin’ it worse. I don’t think I have any bandages, but tomorrow morning we can go to the store and I’ll get some for your arms.”
Jack’s heart starts racing at the very mention of going to the store. Going to the store means leaving Bert’s apartment, which means walking somewhere new, which means meeting new people, which means everything is going to be unfamiliar—
“I can go alone,” Bert says, seeing his distressed look and interrupting his thoughts. “And you can stay here. I should get some medicine, too. You’re still sick, you know.”
Jack shakes his head as if to argue, but the sneeze he gives afterwards doesn’t help his case. Bert laughs, and Jack, for the first time, smiles.
~
“This is my guest room,” Bert says, standing in the doorway. “It’s not very big, but neither is any other room in here, I suppose.”
Jack shuffles over to the bed and sits down, rubbing a hand over the soft covers. Bert starts rummaging through the drawers while Jack unties his shoes.
“I dunno about pajamas that would fit you, but I have a lotta old shirts you could wear,” he offers, holding one up. Bert’s clothes aren’t outrageously large, but compared to Jack, the shirt looks like it’d go down to his knees. Bert doesn’t want to assume, but for a brief moment he worries if Jack’s parents fed him enough. He’s so small and scrawny. Maybe that’s just how he is.
Jack takes the shirt and nods instead of saying ‘thank you’ but Bert gets what he means anyway. Bert cleans up the kitchen while he changes.
“Chim chiminey, chim chiminey, chim chim cher-ee,” he sings quietly to himself as he washes the mugs. “A sweep is as lucky as lucky can be!”
After a few minutes, he goes back to the guest room and knocks on the door. It opens, and he’s greeted with Jack, wearing Bert’s old shirt, his cap, and with his necklace tangled around his hand.
“Time for bed, then!” Bert says with sort-of-faked cheerfulness. He tucks Jack in gently, noticing how slow and cautious the kid is being. As he steps towards the lightswitch, Jack moves to take his hat off. “You don’t hafta take that off if you don’t want to, kid. I don’t mind.”
A look of relief flickers over his face and then he settles in, curling up underneath the blankets. For as anxious and alert as he’s seemed all evening, he falls right asleep, breathing evenly by the time Bert shuts the lights off.
Bert has his hand on the doorknob, gazing into the nearly-dark room. He sighs to himself, frustrated and tired and angry, but not at Jack. He’s frustrated at the people who he knows walk by the place he found Jack every day, who probably saw the poor kid and didn’t help. He’s tired at the sickness that’s been spreading around lately, the sickness that probably killed the kid’s parents. He’s angry at the universe, at the world, for hurting this boy so badly and so early.
“I could really use your help right about now, Mary,” he whispers, and then closes the door.
~
“Aw, pobrecito, tienes un fiebre,” Mama says sweetly.
“Nuh-uh,” Jack replies matter-of-factly, despite the fact that his mama’s hand is warm against his forehead. He does not have a fever.
“Sí, tienes un fiebre,” Papa says. Jack pouts. “Or, perhaps you don’t. I suppose you will have to go to school after all, mijo.”
Jack’s mouth drops open, immediately regretting his denial, and both of his parents laugh. Both of his parents—
Both of his parents are in bed with a fever that won’t go down, and the doctor makes Jack leave the room but Jack can hear him faintly muffled through the door, explaining to his mama and papa how serious this sickness is. Jack feels himself getting weaker every day but doesn’t tell the doctor because he doesn’t want to hear it directed at him, he doesn’t want to hear his health compared with his even-sicker parents.
Reality twists and so does Jack’s stomach, because now he’s laying in between his parents and they’re so pale, so weak, so quiet, why couldn’t it have just been a tiny fever? Jack starts to cry for his parents but something seems wrong, he doesn’t remember crying this hard, something isn’t right. Something isn’t—
Something isn’t working and the medicine is losing its effect. The doctor says Jack needs to stay away, but how can he, when his parents need him? Jack stays. He’ll always stay. Jack’s crying again, in the hallway outside his parents’ room, because he didn’t stay, wait a minute, what’s happening? Of course he’s staying, of course, he’s still here, swiping the necklace from the dressertop that they took off the night before it happened, he’s still here, pushing open the window and feeling the cool air bite his skin, he’s still here, he’s still here, he’s still, will always be, here—
“I’m here!” someone that sounds like his papa is saying, but the accent is different, something is different, but it’s too dark for him to tell. “Jack, I’m right here, please wake up.”
Jack’s breathing hard and he’s clutching onto someone’s arm for dear life, tears are streaming down his face, and it’s the middle of the night and he’s... oh. He’s at Bert’s house, it’s Bert he’s clinging to, it’s Bert’s bed he fell asleep in.
Still sobbing, he clenches and unclenches his hand and then makes a motion like he’s writing.
“D’you want me to get you some paper?” Bert asks. Jack nods.
The one minute Bert is gone gives Jack time to calm down, if just a little bit. He rewraps the necklace around his hand.
“Here you go.”
He takes the paper and pen and scrawls out nightmare in messy handwriting. Then he adds about my parents and even though the room is mostly dark, he can see Bert’s face soften.
“I’m sorry, kid,” he says quietly. They sit in silence for a while. Jack puts the paper on the bedside table and then rubs the edge of the blanket. “Can you go back to sleep? It’s only been a few hours.”
Jack shrugs, because he really doesn’t know.
“If you have another nightmare, I’ll be here.” Bert pats the bed awkwardly and then walks to the door. “G’night, Jack.”
Jack nods. He doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.
~
The next morning, Bert comes back from the store with a bag full of items. He dramatically places them on the kitchen table like they're delicate golden trophies, which makes Jack smile.
The first is a sketchbook and a pencil. "So you can talk to me without, y'know, talkin' to me," Bert explains. The first thing written in it is thank you.
The second is a box of medicine, which makes Jack fidget and look purposefully in the other direction. Bert shoves it into the back of a cabinet and reminds himself to make a list of what might make the kid nervous.
The third is bandages. Jack says he doesn't need them because he's not bleeding anymore, but Bert points out the newer scratches could get infected.
So now they're sitting across from each other, Jack squirming in his seat.
"I'm gonna have to, but I'll try not to touch you too much," Bert says. Jack nods stiffly. "If you get uncomfortable, start shakin' your head and I'll stop, alright?"
The moment Bert's hands touch his skin, Jack's mind turns to static. It's a familiar feeling. Usually when this happens, Jack screams and cries and scratches his arms, but right now he's too exhausted for that. Time passes, he's not sure how much.
"You alright?" Bert says. Jack feels himself nod. Slowly. Bert switches to his other arm and his eyes glaze over.
He's tired. He's so tired.
"Jack?"
Bert's voice registers in his mind. Jack blinks up at him.
"You're spacin' out. You okay? I've finished."
He doesn't answer. Instead, he curls up on the kitchen chair, hugging his knees to his chest. He suddenly feels like crying, but he’s too tired.
Bert’s saying something, but it’s muffled in his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks about nothing.
~
He opens his eyes at the sound of a plate being placed in front of him. He blinks a few times, like he’s waking up from a nap, but he didn’t sleep. Bert is pouring him a glass of water.
Sorry, Jack says, still half-curled up. He’s holding the pencil wrong but Bert doesn’t say anything about that.
“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” he says instead. He sits down, holding the box of medicine. Jack stares down at the sandwich on his plate. “I... I dunno what exactly you went through before I found you. But I think it’s normal to have a reaction like this? I’ve known a couple people who’ve lost their parents, too. Even... I lost my mum when I was around your age.”
I’m sorry.
“Nah, it’s okay. I still had my father.” Bert opens up the medicine and drops a pill into Jack’s hand. “Not that he was any help other than feedin’ me and makin’ money. But hey, I got through it. I left home as soon as I could an’ now I’m here.”
He smiles, and Jack smiles, too.
“Now, take your medicine so you can get better. Then eat some lunch. You’re pretty small, kid,” he says.
I’ve always been small, Jack says.
“Well, you wanna get big and strong, don’t you?” Bert winks at him. Jack nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, there you go!”
~
Later that night, Bert’s sitting by the fire in the living room. He’s reading aloud so Jack can hear from where he’s perched by the window. There’s not much to see out there except a few people walking by and the slowly setting sun. Jack’s kneeling backwards on the chair and has his head rested on his arms, eyes big as he stares.
“And then the dirty rascal said—” Bert’s interrupted by the sound of a hand smacking itself on the cushions. He looks up to see Jack hitting the chair, trying to get his attention. “What’s wrong?”
Jack hops off the chair and stands by the window, flapping his hands. Bert raises his eyebrows and sets the book down. When he gets to the window, he chuckles, seeing what the kid’s so excited about.
It’s a lamplighter, bike parked near the base of the post as he climbs up his ladder. He lights the lamp and Jack starts bouncing up and down.
“That’s a leerie! You’ve seem ‘em before, haven’t you?” Bert asks. Jack shakes his head. “We can go out and meet him, if you like.”
The look on Jack’s face tells him that’s definitely what they’re going to do.
“Hi, Bert!” the leerie says cheerfully as they walk outside. “Oh, who’s this?”
He looks down at Jack, who has Bert’s jacket wrapped around his shoulders and is still flapping his hands a little.
“This is Jack! He’s stayin’ with me for a bit,” Bert says, not wanting to give out any context. “Jack, this is Louis.”
Jack waves. Bert and Louis go through small talk while Louis moves his things to the next lamp. Before he starts climbing up the ladder, Louis lets Jack hold his lamplighting pole.
“This is what I use to light the lamps,” Louis explains to a grinning Jack. “I only have to use it sometimes, when the lamps are bein’ troublesome.”
He continues to talk about his job, and Jack gets a warm, happy feeling in his chest that he’s never felt before. It feels like fire, but a nice kind of fire that makes his insides feel cozy. It feels like there’s a lamp in his heart, flickering to life.
“Oh,” Louis interrupts himself suddenly, hand on the lamp’s switch. The fire is already lit, brightening the street around them. “Must’ve turned it without realizing.”
“A repetitive job like this, probably happens often,” Bert says, something itching at the back of his mind. He turns to Jack, whose dark eyes are reflecting yellow-orange. “I’m a leerie sometimes, y’know. I’m mostly a sweep, but if they need any help, I can hop in!”
Jack looks so shocked and excited that Bert can’t help but laugh.
“Let’s head inside now, Louis has got plenty more lamps to light and we can’t be wastin’ his time,” he says, nodding to the door.
Jack waves goodbye to Louis and then hops up the stairs. Bert’s about to step inside when Louis calls his name.
“Bert?” he says, swinging a leg over his bike. “Hang onto that kid. He seems pretty special.”
“Yeah,” Bert says distractedly. “Yeah, I will.”
He closes the door behind him. As he passes the window, he glances at the lamp, burning strong in the dark. Then he looks to Jack, curled up half-asleep with the book in his hands. I definitely will.