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The air was cold.
It was the middle of January in England, which meant that kids everywhere were being nagged by their mothers to make sure to remember their jacket, and schools weren’t letting kids out for recess anymore because of the weather. That kind of cold.
The wind nipped at his face as he walked home from school, his choir cape blowing in the wind. At least that was keeping him a little warm.
As he approached his front porch, the light above the door flickered as moths flew into the light. Jack understood how they felt. He wished he could fly into a light like that and have it all be over, but things just could never be that simple.
A pit formed in his stomach as he wrapped his hand around the door knob. Taking in a deep breath, he prepared himself for whatever he would be facing on the other side.
He pushed the door open and heaved a sigh of relief when he saw nothing. However the house smelled of yeast and alcohol, which told Jack that he would have to be much more careful tonight if he wanted to keep himself safe.
After he set his bookbag down carefully and put his shoes in a straight line where they belonged, he ran as fast as possible up the stairs to his room before his dad came out of wherever he was.
Once Jack was finished with his homework, he decided it was time to take a shower and go to bed. Checking his clock, he noticed it was 7:30, so he would have about 30 minutes to get clean, get his pajamas on, and get into bed with the lights out. And he hadn’t seen his dad yet, which was a good sign.
The water ran through his hair and to his scalp, rinsing off all the dirt. He winced as the water ran over fresh wounds on his back, but it would be fine. It would always be fine.
The water was cold, he wasn’t allowed to use warm water, it was wasteful. But Jack enjoyed showers. They were calming, because he finally had time to himself. Even if he didn’t like the way his torso looked in the mirror when he had to dry off, or how when he brushed his hair he would always be reminded that his mum was gone, or how he hated how every part of his body was covered in freckles, looking like something akin to a messed up painting.
Jack got out of the shower and tried to calm his shivering from the water, combing his hair and putting on clean night clothes. As he walked down the hall to his room, he heard noises in the kitchen. He picked up his pace to his bedroom.
As he settled into bed, the sheets closed in around him and he felt so warm. His head was still soaked, but he loved getting sleep.
Unfortunately, it was not the night for Jack. He tossed and turned and tried every trick in the book, but he just couldn’t seem to sleep. Anxiety began to tickle at his throat, so he decided to stand up and go get some water from downstairs before he started to panic about not being able to sleep.
Tiptoeing downstairs, he made sure not to make a sound. Over the years, Jack had mastered the art of silence. He knew how to close a door properly so it made no sound, he knew to wear socks when he walked around at night so he didn’t make noise. He wore socks that night to make sure he made no sound, as it was strictly past 8, midnight actually, and he was definitely not allowed to be up. His father would have his head if he found out Jack was awake.
But Jack was so far in the clear, so he made his way gently down the wooden stairs to the kitchen to get some tap water.
As he got a glass from the cabinet, he carefully turned on the tap water and made sure that the water went directly into the cup so it didn’t splash.
Then he heard a sound that made his stomach drop.
A creak of a door. For anyone other than Jack, it would mean that a draft came in or that a door needed to be greased or that someone from the house was walking into a different room. For Jack, it meant that he had to be hyper aware so he didn’t fall into a trap or do something that would get him in trouble.
“Jack?”
The red-head boy spun around at the direct question, as he leaned against the sink.
“Yes father?”
In the moonlight that filtered in from the window behind the boy, Jack could see the glint of a brown bottle in his father’s left hand. As the man walked closer and into the light, Jack could see him better.
He looked horrible, and he obviously had gone to work because he still had on his white undershirt, but it was partially unbuttoned and sloppy. His face was marred with a scowl, and his eyes were dark and bloodshot. His ginger hair was a mess and he had stains on his shirt. Drool lined his chin, blood dripped from his busted knuckles.
“What are you doing up so late?” he growled. “You were supposed to be asleep by eight, you know better.” He began to inch closer and Jack’s breathing quickened.
Jack’s eyes darted all over the room as he looked for some way, any way, to get out of this situation. “I’m, I’m sorry sir, I’ll be going now—” the boy quickly walked past his father and to the stairs, but not fast enough, as his arm was harshly grabbed as he winced and pulled close to his father’s chest.
Whispering, his father snarled, “You heard me, answer me. Why are you up so late? You’re breaking a rule Jack.” He paused, looking down and finally making eye contact with his son. “You know what happens when you break rules.” The boy quaked in his grasp, his father’s nails digging into his skin, beads of blood appearing on top of freckles. Jack whimpered. “I, I was just, just getting a, a glass of, of water, sir. I’m, I’m, sorry. I promise I, I won’t do, do it again.” the boy spoke, trying to hide the ever present shake and stutter in his voice.
After a few moments, his father looked up, above Jack’s head, not even looking at him anymore. His grip tightened and Jack’s breath quickened. “You know that it’s said that the devil is often up at late hours of the night, past when most people are, correct?”
Jack could only nod.
“If this is true, it means that people are more vulnerable to being corrupted by Lucifer late at night during times like this. Were you going to do something now so I wouldn’t see? Were you going to do something,” Jack’s father pulled him close, “sinful, Jack?”
It took everything in him not to cry, shaking in fear, “No, no sir! I promise–” Jack took the opportunity to try and pull away slightly, which his father caught and used to his advantage.
“Oh, you’re trying to get away from me now, is that it?”
“No-no! I promise I wasn’t, I swear I just—”
The man gripped Jack’s arm and pulled him close to throw him to the ground, making Jack let out an oof sound as he let out a cough. When he looked up as he cowered on the ground, the glint of metal in the moonlight caught his eye. A belt.
Jack tried to get up, but his father stepped on his wrist to keep him down and the boy cried out. As his father looped the belt around his hands and began to hit Jack, the red-head boy feebly put his arms up in some form of self defense to protect his face, as his hurt eye was almost done healing.
This only angered his father further however, as he let out an angry, dark, chuckle and threw the belt at Jack and grabbed his collar, picking Jack up off the ground and into the air.
His knuckle was pressed into Jack’s throat, making it harder to breathe. Jack coughed and kicked in the air, begging for his father to let him down, tears threatened to spill over. However it was no use, his father fought in World War 1; Jack was no match compared to his father. As if he would try and fight back anyway. “I am so tired of your shit, Jack!” A hit. “You will behave, do you understand? I will do whatever it takes to make sure you are the perfect boy, and you will do what I say when I say it exactly how I say it, do you understand me?” a pause. Another hit, this time to Jack’s other eye. “I said, do you understand me, boy?”
Jack wheezed and sputtered, terrified to speak. He felt like a mouse under a cat’s paw. He was being given mercy, why was he being so ungrateful? He should be thankful to his father for not making his punishment worse. “Yes, yes, s-sir.” Jack mumbled. Without warning, Jack’s father picked Jack up slightly higher and tossed him across the room, as if he were nothing more than a pillow or a light cushion.
The red-haired boy’s head hit the wall first, then his back as he slammed against it, sliding down as he elicited a yelp. His head hurt. Very much. Too much. His ears began to ring, and dizziness fogged his head. Before Jack knew it, a hard object hit Jack in the head that made a loud glass shattering sound that hurt his ears. A warm liquid began to drip down his face.
As his vision blurred, two of his father came walking towards him, kneeling down to Jack’s level, his hot breath on his face, reeking of alcohol. It made Jack nauseous.
“You will not disobey me Jack. I don’t care what I have to do to get that fact into that thick, stubborn head of yours, but I will.” His father’s eyes darkened. “Maybe you need some time in the prayer closet. It’s been a while. Too long.”
Jack choked back a sob, terrified, “No, please, I’ll do anything, please don’t make me go in there. It’s dark and, and, and—”
"Wait, no, I have a better idea, one that’s more likely to teach you a lesson.” His father grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close again, close enough that Jack could see his father's gray in his stubble.
“If you can’t be grateful for the roof I put over your head and the blankets I give you to sleep with, then maybe you need some time outside to understand how lucky you are. How good you have it. That way you won’t break simple rules like going to sleep at eight.”
Before Jack could protest, he cried out as his father’s calloused hands grabbed his still wet hair and began to pull him towards the door, dragging him along the ground. The boy kicked and struggled, his scalp hurt like Hell.
Jack begged his father to let him stay, promising he would go straight to bed and would do whatever his father wanted him to do, that he would double his chores and work himself to the bone, anything, but his pleas fell on deaf ears as the door was swung open and he was thrown out mercilessly into the snow.
As soon as the frost hit his uncovered skin, Jack clumsily slipped back up the steps as he knocked on the door and pleaded to be let back in. The cold was already starting to seep in, and he had only been out in the cold a few moments.
Then suddenly, all the lights turned off and the locks clicked in the door, confirming that Jack was utterly alone.
Once the thought finally soaked in, Jack began to shiver and panic. He only had on a short-sleeved shirt, some thin pants and a pair of socks. He was nowhere near covered enough to be out in the snow. His breath came in puffs of smoke-like air as he breathed, in and out, trying to come up with a plan.
The boy wrapped his arms around himself in a hug-like position, teeth chattering. He was already so cold. His hair was still wet and it was beginning to freeze, it was that cold. Jack was not in any way equipped to face the elements.
After a few moments of sitting and staring into the distance, Jack decided he should come up with somewhere to stay. He thought about houses that were close, and they all were twenty minutes by car. In the snow and on foot? He would freeze to death before he got half way there.
Maurice and Roger? Too far. And Simon’s house was close, but Simon was, he was…
Then suddenly, Jack remembered a flat that wasn’t far, it was only about ten minutes away in car, so about thirty minutes on foot. It wasn’t optimal, but it was the only choice Jack had. All the stores were closed in town and most people aren’t up at one in the morning. Jack didn’t want to bother anybody.
So he began the walk there. He got the address of the flat a few months ago in a letter, that said it was to be used for emergencies. The moment he got the address, he memorized it, just in case.
He thought this qualified as an emergency, he hoped.
As the minutes passed, Jack began to shiver uncontrollably, and then violently. His breath was coming in short bursts, gasps. His socks were soaked and his hair was so, so cold. Just as he drudged through the next patch of snow, he felt something on his nose. Then another, then another.
It began to snow again.
He was going as fast as he could, but if he wanted to make it to the flat he had to pick up the pace.
.
.
.
Some ten minutes passed, and the flat was in sight. Jack saw the crooked mailbox with the right numbers on it from the address he was given. He saw that the flat was connected to other flats, all made out of bricks that all looked about the same. This particular flat though had plants on the outside, winter jasmines. Jack smiled softly, his mother used to plant those, before she…left.
Jack didn’t want to think about that right now, he had to focus on the task at hand. His movements were getting slower, and he felt the cold in his bones. He was as cold as ice, his eyes began to droop and he stumbled every few steps. He knew he had to keep going, he was almost there, but he was just so so tired. He just wanted to lay down in the snow and fall asleep. It would be so easy.
He couldn’t even remember why he was going here. Where was he? Who’s flat was this? He didn’t remember, but he knew in his gut that he had to keep going, he just didn't know why, his mind was fuzzy and thinking was really hard. Too hard.
At one point, he tripped and fell over his own feet, and he felt his eyes slip shut, but he clumsily pulled himself out of the snow and stumbled forward, almost to the steps.
Once he was there, he tripped over the steps, as there was black ice on them. He plummeted onto the doorstep, why was he there again? And he grabbed a post to pull himself up, as he had no more strength to stand himself. He wasn't shaking anymore and he was just so, so, tired.
Slumping against the door frame, he weakly knocked on the door. He didn’t know, didn’t think anyone would answer, but it was worth a shot.
He just hoped that if someone was going to come, that they would open the door soon, because he could feep himself slipping and he didn’t know if he could stay awake much longer.
.
.
.
The blonde boy woke up to the sound of a thud outside.
At first he thought it was the wind, but then shortly after, he heard three soft knocks at the door. It almost sounded like gentle tree branches hitting the side of the flat, but something about the knocks sounded human. Something in Ralph’s gut told him something was wrong.
So the boy carefully got out of his warm bed and stretched, careful not to wake his kitten as he moved the covers. She hated being woken up.
As he gently shut the bedroom door behind him, he walked to the living room and then to the front door.
So many thoughts ran through his mind, anxiety building in his stomach. What if it’s just a tree and you came here for nothing? What if it’s someone asking for money? What if it’s an old man who needs help and he dies on your doorstep? What if it’s a burglar who holds you at gunpoint? What if it’s a serial killer who has come to slit your throat? What if it’s Roger and he’s come to finish what he—
Taking a deep breath and ignoring his paranoia, he rested his hand on the doorknob. He knew that his father would be so worried if saw Ralph right now, but his dad was asleep and if someone on the other side really wanted to hurt him, his dad would hear his screams.
As he opened the door, he expected to see ranges of different ages, to nobody at all.
What he did not expect to see was a red-haired boy swaying like a leaf in the wind.
Jack. It wasn’t just any boy, it was Jack. Jack Merridew.
At first, pure and utter fear filled Ralph like a bucket in the rain. But then, he got a closer look at Jack and realized he had nothing to fear.
Jack looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes. His fingers and nose were an unnatural blueish color, and his cheeks were pink, the rest of his body extremely pale, too pale. His half-lidded, flickering eyes were dim and his pupils dilated, with a haze that Ralph couldn’t describe.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it. Concern flooded Ralph’s mind as he noticed bruises that decorated Jack’s body. Some particularly bad ones on his eye and arms. Cuts and scrapes covered him as well, a gash stood out on his face, dripping blood down his cheek.
He was only dressed in a short sleeve shirt and pants, his hair was frozen to his head, and one of his socks was missing. His foot was blue. Jack somehow wasn’t shivering, which Ralph couldn’t remember if that was good or bad.
“Jack…? What’s—”
Jack cut him off, swaying even more, eyelids threatening to shut, “I, I, I didn’t, I didn’t, know, where else, else, to, to, go, go–”
With those raspy, quiet words, Jack’s eyes rolled back and he collapsed forward, unconscious, into Ralph’s arms, making him gasp.
“Jack! No, no, no, stay with me, hey, Jack, hey, hey, you gotta wake up Jack, come on—” Ralph touched Jack’s hands and physically jerked back, shocked by how cold Jack was. There was not a spot of warmth on his body. He was blue. Ralph sunk to the floor with Jack in his arms as he cradled him like a small child, although he was much taller. Ralph noticed Jack was breathing extremely slowly, too slowly. And when he put his fingers to check for a pulse, it was way too slow.
“Who did this to you…” Ralph quietly mumbled, worry flooding his brain. Jack was on death’s doorstep, he knew it. And he knew if he didn’t do something fast, Jack wouldn’t wake up.
“PA!” He cried, holding Jack close. “Come on, Jack, stay with me, keep fighting—PA!”
Footsteps were heard running as Raoul, Ralph’s dad, came bolting out of the bedroom.
“RALPH–Christ, Ralph, you scared me, what’s wron—-oh..”
Raoul noticed the gaunt, fail, weak, boy in Ralph’s arms. He swore he recognized him from somewhere, but he couldn’t quite place it. The boy was clearly freezing, most likely ill in some way. But from afar, it was clear to Ralph’s dad that the boy was skinny, way too skinny. And bruises covered him, littering his face and arms and peeking from under his shirt. On his arms, there were larger bruises in the shapes of rectangles. Belt shaped, he realizes.
As he knelt, Ralph’s dad began to fire questions, “Who is this? Where did you find him?”
“He was at our door, and he’s, he’s…” The faraway look in Ralph’s eyes told Raoul that Ralph knew this boy as more than just someone that showed up at the door.
“Ralph, do you know this boy?”
After a long period of silence, Ralph nodded. “He was from the island, actually. I, we, we were close.”
“And then?”
Ralph sighed. “Things happened, I screwed up, he screwed up. It was mutual screwing up.” He quickly shook his head, “But that doesn’t matter, we need to help him, he looks really terrible dad.”
Raoul nodded. “I think he has hypothermia. Moderate, at least, based on the absence of shivering and the blue. Men in the Navy used to get hypothermia sometimes, so I know how to take care of him. Give him here—” Raoul bent down, sitting on the ground next to Ralph as his son sniffed back tears.
“Will he be okay?”
His dad sighed, not wanting to answer that. He wanted to say yes, but he truthfully didn’t know. “I will do my best to make sure he is. He was lucky we found him when we did, or else he would definitely not be okay”
The first thing Raoul checked was his pulse, and it was extremely slow. Definitely moderate hypothermia, he concluded. “Ralph, go get some spare clothes. We have to get him changed out of these wet ones, or else he’ll stay cold.” Ralph nodded in response and rushed to get some clothes.
While Ralph was gone, Raoul lifted the boy’s shirt slightly and gasped. There were gashes on his back, and big, dark, bruises covered his stomach near his ribs, like someone had been kicking him, repeatedly. Shit.
The weird thing was that for a kid that was this beaten up, he had no scuffs on his knuckles. It seemed like the fight had been pretty one sided, with the red-head boy not fighting back at all.
Then it hit him. All the pieces fit together. Running from something, someone, bruises, cuts…
This poor boy was being…
Ralph abruptly came back from his bedroom with folded clothes in his arms, they looked perfect. They were red and fluffy, warm.
Gently, Raoul began to peel off the boy’s shirt, asking Ralph to bring him a towel. Once he wiped him down to get rid of the water and blood, Raoul softly pulled the long sleeve shirt over his head and put his arms through. They did the same thing for his pants and socks.
“Now the most important thing we have to do is to heat his center, so his heart and lungs are protected. If we heat his limbs, the cold will go to his center and he could die. But we also can’t reheat him too quickly, or it could damage his heart. Ralph, can you go get me some bla—”
Ralph’s dad was interrupted by a whimper from between them, Jack was stirring finally. His eyes opened briefly, but shut quickly as he covered his eyes.
“Bright.”
“We can turn off the lights, it’s okay.” Ralph offered, shutting off the lamp. Jack squinted open his eyes and saw the man and Ralph and gasped, skittering backwards out of fear, running into furniture. Raoul reached out but Jack flinched, scared. “Hey, hey, kid, I promise I won’t hurt you—Ralph, what’s his name?”
“Jack.”
“Jack, I promise, we are here to help you. We won’t hurt you, we promise. I promise.”
Jack looked between the two of them, confused and afraid. “Where?”
Ralph scooted closer, “What do you mean?”
Jack wasn’t strong enough to form complete sentences, his head hurt too much, so he said, “Where m’ I?” he slurred. Ralph understood. “Jack, do you not remember? I helped carry you inside after you fell in my arms on the porch. I found you out in the cold."
“Why…helping me?”
Raoul and Ralph both looked at each other sadly. Jack was asking why they were helping him. He couldn’t physically comprehend people wanting to help him, especially after the history he had with Ralph. Jack automatically assumed Ralph thought he was a monster who deserved to be punished, who deserved to die alone in the snow.
Ralph sighed and scooted closer to Jack, gently cupping his hands around Jack’s, trying desperately to ignore Jack’s harsh flinch, “Jack, we are helping you because you deserve to be helped. You are hypothermic and we aren’t just going to let you freeze to death. We care about you.”
Jack choked back tears, trying his damndest not to cry. He had never had someone say that to him before. He would not cry. He would not, it was a sign of weakness, he had been told. He wouldn’t cry.
“--ck? Jack?” Ralph was waving his hand in front of Jack’s face, frightening him again as he blocked his face. Ralph gasped, “No–I’m sorry, I promise I’m not going to hit you. We won’t hurt you, we promise.” A pause. “Jack?”
“‘M?”
“Is it ok if we help bandage you up? You have lots of cuts and we need to cover them so they don’t get infected.”
Jack subconsciously curled in on himself, feeling vulnerable and unprotected. Had they seen his scars? His gashes? He hoped not. His dad would be so mad if he found out Jack told someone about his punishments.
“M’ scared.” Jack looked at Ralph with hazy eyes. “Please, g-gentle.” he mumbled, hands shaking from nerves. His eye was starting to swell shut from earlier.
“I promise I’ll be gentle.” Ralph noted quietly, scooting close to Jack with the first aid. “But first, we have to go to my room where all the blankets are.”
“Can’t w-walk. Weak.” Jack slurred, beginning to shiver uncontrollably. “Cold.”
Ralph sighed, “I understand, but we have to get you to my room so I can cover you in blankets and fix your wounds. I’ll help you, and so will dad. Come,” Ralph scooted close to Jack so he could grab his arms. Jack flinched back, but Ralph was gentle and he melted into his warm, familiar, kind, touch. He missed when touch didn’t always mean pain.
The blonde boy helped Jack to his feet, but his knees buckled and he fell back down as Ralph caught him. This time, Ralph’s dad was on the other side so that he could help support Jack too, preventing his fall.
They both carried the boy to Ralph’s room and sat him down on the carpet, as Jack didn’t want to take up Ralph’s bed. Raoul shut the door and left them to be, as Jack was uncomfortable with showing his injuries with Ralph’s dad in the room too.
“Can you show me the worst ones first, and then we can handle the others as we go?” Jack nodded in response, shuddering, afraid Ralph would see him the way he saw himself if Ralph was shown all the parts of his life he desperately had tried to hide from the world.
After a few moment’s hesitation, Jack pointed to the gash on his cheek. “T-this one. Hurts worst.” Ralph nodded and wet a cloth with cleaning solution, dabbing Jack’s face gently with the cloth. Kind touch was so foreign to him, he couldn’t help but lean into it. Once that one was done, Ralph asked to see the next one, and Jack paused. He knew the next worse was his back, but he has been avoiding the belt gashes. He was afraid.
Jack turned around and pulled his shirt forward and up, hearing a soft gasp from behind.
“Jack, oh my god, what happened to you?”
He didn’t want to rat out his dad, so he just shook his head. “Can’t tell, m’ sorry.” his shoulders slumped. Ralph deserved to know, but he was scared of what Ralph would think of him, or that Ralph would call the police.
Ralph was extremely gentle cleaning them, but he noticed all of the scars that covered Jack’s back. How long had this been going on for? Was this why Jack didn’t want to keep the fire lit all that time ago? Because he didn't want to go home?
He finished bandaging all of Jack’s wounds and doing what he could for his bruises, excluding ice of course, considering the circumstances. Once they were done, the blonde boy got all of his blankets out of his closet and covered Jack, turning him into somewhat of a blanket pile. Jack smiled for the first time and sunk into the pile, cozy and warm.
“Warm.” Jack mumbled, closing his eyes.
A knock came at the bedroom door. “Speaking of warm, I made you boys soup, is that alright?” Raoul held a bowl in each hand, passing one to Ralph and setting the other on the bookshelf next to the door. “I’ll set this one here. I’m going back to sleep, but call me if you need anything, alright kid?” Ralph smiled and nodded. “I love you, goodnight.” Raoul came over and kissed Ralph’s head, shutting the door quietly. Jack’s heart ached, as he wished Ralph saw just how much Jack wished he were Ralph, even just for one day. What would it feel like to have someone love you like that? To know you were always safe and cared for in your home?
Jack spoke, “Sorry, c-can’t eat.” Making up an excuse, he moved the blankets slightly to show his arms were covered.
Ralph raised an eyebrow. “Too bad, I’ll feed you if I have to. Train style if I have to.” He grabbed the bowl off the bookshelf and grabbed the spoon. Jack shrunk away.
He grabbed a spoonful and blew on it slightly, holding it up to Jack’s face. Jack shook his head. “m’ good.”
The blonde boy shook his head again, “Nope, not doing this. I will force feed you if I have to Jack, come on.” Jack groaned and took a bite. It was so good. He hadn’t had real food in ages, only the scraps that his father would allow him to have, or the scraps he would allow himself to have. Homemade food was so good. And it was so warm, it warmed his insides too.
After Ralph finished helping Jack eat, he ate his soup too and they were both content, falling asleep on the floor.
.
.
.
Jack woke up in the middle of a nightmare, suddenly in Ralph’s comfy bed under his comforters. Ralph was snoring next to him, with a kitten at his feet (when did he get a cat?). All he knew was that he had to get out of there, he couldn’t let Ralph and his dad waste time on Jack anymore. He was being selfish, a burden. He had to leave.
He stood up, but immediately fell over. When he tried to walk, his balance was all messed up and he couldn’t even get a step in, falling every time. Tears welled in his eyes. What happened to him? His head hurt so badly.
A quiet whisper came from behind him. “Jack? Where are you going?”
Jack froze, unsure of what to do. He wanted to tell Ralph what was going on, but he didn’t want to bother him anymore. “I h-have to, to go Ralph. M’sorry I took food, it was wrong.” Next thing Jack knew, Ralph was next to him and looking at his eyes. Raoul came over and asked, “hey Jack, did you ever hit your head last night at all?”
Jack was quiet for a long time, because he didn’t want to rat out his dad, or else he’d really be in trouble. And Jack deserved it anyway, he had sinned and gone against his father, against God, so it was what he deserved. It was. Quietly, Jack replied, “yes…I hit, hit my, my head hard against a w-wall.” He looked away.
Ralph’s dad nodded. “I thought so. Your pupils are dilated and I think you have a concussion. You will most likely be feeling symptoms for the next few weeks, but just please rest. You—”
“I can’t. I-I have, have to, to go. I’m sorry for, for burdening you.” Jack tried to stand up again, but fell. His balance was so messed up, as well as his coordination. And now that he was more aware, he became really dizzy. “I just…” Jack paused, then the flood gates open.
Jack’s body was wracked with sobs as he choked on his own air, tears flowing down his cheeks as he wept. “I don’t, don’t even know what, what I did, did wrong. And I’m, I’m so, so sorry, for, for coming here and, and bothering you two, two, but I just,” Jack cried, “I just, just had nowhere, where else to go.” he bawled, “when, when he, just, threw, threw me, out, I, just…but, I will do, do what,whatever you need me, me to do, to do to make up, up for this.” he sniffed, “I’ll clean the, the house from top, top to bottom, once I can move, move, and anything else, you need—”
Suddenly, Ralph wrapped his arms around Jack and gave him the tightest hug. Jack froze, because the last time somebody hugged him was when Simon was alive. The gentle touch was enough to make Jack break down, sobbing, gasping for air. “Jack, you don’t need to do anything to make up for this. We did it because we wanted to help you, not because we want something from you. You are more than just what you are capable of giving others and doing things for others, you know that right?” Jack squeezed tighter and shook his head. Ralph wished he could just make everything better, but he couldn’t.
As the red-head in his arms continued to cry softly, Ralph remembered what his mother used to do when he would cry as a boy. So Ralph gently began to run his fingers through Jack’s hair, working his way through the blood matts and the water that used to be ice. It calmed Jack down, and eventually stopped his crying completely.
Ralph adjusted and noticed Jack was now asleep, based on the steady rise and fall of his chest and his closed eyes. His head was leaning on Ralph’s shoulder as his arms were wrapped around him. The blonde boy moved into a comfier position and pulled the blankets close so that Jack was completely covered.
He didn't think he’d ever seen Jack so content. He looked almost peaceful, despite the bruises and the tear-stained cheeks. Even if Ralph knew he couldn't protect Jack from the world, at least he knew Jack would always be safe here.
Ralph gently placed his head on top of Jack’s soft curls and sighed as he felt his eyelids flutter shut.