Chapter Text
Jack is only ten years old.
“Mama?” he says quietly, tiptoeing into his parents’ room. It’s the middle of the night and his parents should be asleep. But his mama was coughing so loud he could hear it from his room. “P-Papa?”
His mama coughs again. It sounds wet. Jack doesn’t like that sound, because it means there’s blood, and blood makes him feel like crying. As if triggered by his mama, his papa starts coughing, harsh and quick. Jack starts, too, and now the three of them are a symphony of sickness. He feels weak and shaky. There’s a dark feeling in his chest.
“Mama, are you okay?” he whispers, his voice hoarse. He places his hands on the bed, ready to climb up, but her hand reaches out to stop him. He tries to ignore the dried blood on the pillow next to her mouth. She doesn’t say anything. “Papa, what’s wrong with Mama?”
He doesn’t say anything, either.
~
He doesn’t remember how long it takes for all these people to arrive. Everything has been a blur recently. The next morning he’d opened the door, and ever since, there’s been a flow of policemen and doctors and some orphanage official, everyone walking in and out. Jack hasn’t been alone in nearly two days and it’s eating away at him.
“Sweetie,” the orphanage lady (he doesn’t know her name, either because she never told him, or because he just didn’t care to remember) says in that tone of voice he hates. “We’re going to ask you again. How long were your parents sick before they died?”
Jack shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about his parents. He can’t think about his parents. If he does, he starts to breathe weird and his eyes glaze over, and the policemen don’t like it when he does that.
“You have to tell us, or you’ll be disciplined,” a policeman says gruffly, somewhere above him. Jack is sitting on his bed, which he doesn’t like, because he feels so small.
He inhales sharply at the mention of discipline, and it sends him into a coughing fit. The orphanage lady reaches for him, but he scrambles backwards and presses his back against the wall. He must look frightened, because she jumps back, eyes wide.
“If you can’t talk, we have to take you away. You need a doctor.” He can’t tell if that’s the orphanage lady, the policeman, or someone else. His mind is spinning and his surroundings feel blurry.
Jack shakes his head furiously. He doesn’t want to be taken away. He doesn’t need a doctor. He coughs again, shivering like a leaf.
“C’mere,” the policeman grunts and suddenly there’s a hand gripping tight on his shoulder.
Jack’s mind goes instantly blank and he squeezes his eyes shut, clawing at the policeman’s arm, screaming wordlessly, and he’s only thinking let go let go LET GO LET GO LET GO—
The grip loosens just enough for him to duck under the policeman’s arm. He avoids the orphanage lady’s grasp and runs out of the room. He slams the door shut behind him, which buys him enough time to slip into his parents’ room.
I have to leave have to go can’t stay here
Tears flood down his face as he stares at the bed, where his mama and papa still lay. He can hear the policeman and the orphanage lady calling his name in the hallway. Then the voice of another policeman joins in, and Jack sobs helplessly, scratching at his arms hard enough to leave marks. He just wants to stay with Mama and Papa. Why won’t they let him stay with Mama and Papa?
He can’t stay here if they’re going to keep asking questions and threatening to take him away. He can’t stay here if it means he’s going to have to see his parents being taken wherever people go when they—
Jack hiccups through his tears, barely able to breathe, and gives one last glance to his mama and papa.
They find the room empty, a necklace missing from the dressertop, and the window hanging open.
~
He’s shivering on the streets and a chimney sweep notices him, face hidden by his papa’s cap. There’s a silver chain tangled around his hand, and he’s gripping it tightly.
“What’s a kid like you doing out here, in the cold?” the chimney sweep asks, bending down to Jack’s level. Jack doesn’t run away. He wishes he could, but his legs would shake too much, and the sweep looks fit enough that he’d be able to catch Jack, anyway. “My name’s Bert. I promise I won’t do you any harm, kid, I just want to help.”
Jack doesn’t say anything, because he can’t. He hasn’t said a single word since that night. He curls up tighter against the brick wall, sniffling. He’s still weak, still sick. Bert hums for a few moments, a tune that sounds soothing, and then pulls out a piece of chalk.
“Can you write?” Bert asks.
Jack grips the chalk the wrong way and presses it against the sidewalk. All he manages are scribbles. Then, he concentrates, and slowly, nearly unintelligibly, writes Jack.
“Hey, Jack,” Bert says softly. Like a parent would. No one’s said his name like that since—
He drops the chalk.
“How’d you get out here?” Bert asks, handing him the chalk again. When he tries to write, his mind turns to static and all he manages are scribbles, so Bert suggests he draw. Jack likes that.
He draws two people, and a smaller one in between them. He draws a house around the smiling family. And then he scribbles over the two taller people. Bert’s face falls.
“You lost your parents,” Bert says slowly, when Jack is finished.
Jack nods and bites his lip. Bert studies him for a few moments. He’s skinny and small, which is only exaggerated by the adult-sized hat resting on his head. His shirt sleeves are pulled back a little, and Bert winces when he sees red scratches lining his skin. Then the silver chain catches his eye.
“What’ve you got there?” he asks, reaching for it. The move sets off something in Jack’s brain and he makes a whining noise that’s half a scream, hugging the object tighter. The chain swings and Bert sees that it’s two wedding rings strung together. He moves back, heart aching for Jack, who’s nearly hyperventilating with panic. “Sorry, kid.”
Jack calms down eventually, and that’s when Bert suggests that they both head back to his apartment for a cup of hot cocoa. Jack considers it for a few moments. He figures staying with a basically-stranger is better than wandering the streets, so he shakily stands up. He only takes a few steps before tripping and collapsing into Bert.
Bert nearly falls over, caught off-guard by the weight. The kid is weaker than he thought. He doesn’t want to know how long he was out here, or how long he’s gone without treatment for whatever sickness he has. “Let’s get to my place. I’ll take care of you, Jack.”
Jack is still shivering and his legs are still shaking. But he’s safe now. He quietly hums something that resembles a ‘thank you’ and grips Bert’s hand tightly.