Work Text:
“Are you fucking Spot Conlon?”
Race glared at Jack, their faces perfectly level. When he spoke, quiet malice laced his tone.
“We both already know the answer to that, Jack,” he said, putting emphasis on the other boy’s name. “You just want to make me say it.”
Jack’s scowl deepened, the accusatory expression never leaving his face.
“Then go ahead and say it, Racetrack.”
Race growled slightly, overwhelmed by anger, frustration, and defensiveness. What gave Jack the right? What made him think he could force Race to tell him everything about his life? Ever since Race had come to stay with Jack and Medda, Jack had been acting like his older brother. All through high school, and now, when Race was finishing high school and Jack still lived at home, running a successful career as an artist. Which was fine, most of the time. He liked Jack. But he didn’t like the way Jack fought him about Spot Conlon. He didn’t like the way he tried to control Race’s relationship. This was between him and Spot, no one else. They weren’t keeping their relationship a secret, but they weren’t being particularly open about it either.
His anger growing, Race swallowed down a harsh retort, choosing to remain diplomatic.
“Spot and I are together, yes.”
Jack shook his head.
“I know you’re together, much as I might wish you weren’t.”
Race scoffed at this, well aware of Jack’s dislike for the older boy. Every time he came home from an outing with Spot, it was Conlon this, and Conlon that, Jack not keeping quiet about his hatred for the man. Honestly, he sounded like a conspiracy theorist, constantly insisting that Spot was somehow using Race to get back at Jack. The idea was ridiculous, and obviously untrue. Just because Spot and Jack had disliked each other in high school, his foster brother was content to hate Spot for the rest of his life.
Jack continued, ignoring Race’s noise of derision.
“I didn’t ask if you were together, I asked if you’re fucking him.”
Finally, Race snapped. Jack wanted an answer? Fine.
“Yes. Yes, we’re fucking. Is that what you wanted to hear? Huh? I’m fucking Spot Conlon. Actually, scratch that. He’s fucking me. Now you know, even though I know you already did. Happy now?”
Jack groaned, clenching his fists in his hair.
“No! No, I’m not happy. Don’t you get it Race? He’s in college! You’re in high school! I don’t— I don’t get what you see in him! He’s an asshole, always has been. Why are you with him when you could do so much better?”
Race’s face grew cold, his eyes narrowing. Jack was always a jerk when it came to Spot, but this was too far.
“Shut up, Jack.”
The other boy made to say something, but Race cut him off.
“No, you don’t get to talk! You don’t get to tell me why you hate my boyfriend so much! Okay? Just stop! What do you think’s gonna happen? You think I’ll suddenly decide to break up with Spot because you don’t like him? Or do you think I’ll just tell you to fuck off and go live with Spot? Because honestly, I’m this close to doing that.”
Jack sputtered helplessly, obviously at a loss for words.
Race continued anyway, ignoring his foster brother.
“Yeah, exactly. All you’re doing is driving me further away from you. And so what if I’m in high school? I’m a senior, I’m eighteen. I’m two months away from graduating, and Spot’s only two years older than me. Soon we’re going to be in college together, and then I can and will live with him. You can’t control what I do, Jack. This is my life, not yours.”
As he said those last words, Race knew he sounded like every teenager ever, but he didn’t care. He was too angry at Jack, for acting like he could control what Race did, for acting like he knew Spot.
He didn’t. Jack didn’t know Spot the way he did, he couldn’t. All Jack knew was the boy Spot used to be two years ago, the arrogant captain of the football team who drove a beat up Harley and chain-smoked cigarettes behind the gym. That Spot, the old Spot, wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t as bad as Jack made him out to be either. Race also knew that Jack wasn’t as innocent as he pretended to be. Both boys had been young and stupid, both dealing with familial problems and typical teenage drama. They were similar in many ways, and then just different enough for the similarities to be grating, to cause the two boys to harbor an immediate dislike for each other. One they never overcame, but at least Spot was trying! For Race’s sake, he’d tried to be cordial to Jack when he happened to see him, but Jack never returned the favor. And Race was sick of it.
He glared at Jack as the other boy searched for a response, emotions flitting across his face. Finally, Jack raised his head. Race could see that some of the anger seemed to have drained from his expression, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Now he was the angry one, and he doubted anything Jack could say would help.
“Look Race, I just— I just want you to be careful, okay? I don’t want you to leave. Honestly, I don’t really want you to be with Spot at all. But you already know that, I know. And you’re right. It’s your life, and I can’t tell you what to do with it. But I am your brother, and I hope that means something. I don’t trust Spot, but I trust you, so I guess.... I guess you know what you’re doing.”
Jack met his eyes, a strange look passing over his face. It was equal parts exhaustion, guilt, and frustration. Race didn’t try to mask his own frustration and anger, just met Jack’s gaze steadily, and nodded.
“Okay,” he said. He stared at Jack for another moment before turning to the door.
“Where are you going?” The other boy called after him.
Race glanced back, not stopping.
“To see Spot,” he answered over his shoulder. He didn’t look to see what Jack did, just closed the door behind him. He was still angry at Jack, but maybe in time it would get better, if Jack really meant what he said. For now, he had to spend time with Spot, and Jack could wait.