The next day Spot woke up with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. It only took him a moment to figure out what had caused it.
'Ah shit. I screwed up. Wait, no, it's fine. I don't want a soulmate and he wouldn't want me anyway. He's probably decided to just ignore me...Which is what I want...Right.
I wonder if his number's still there...'
He sat up quickly and glanced at his arm. Race's number was still there. He hesitated for a second before grabbing his phone and creating a new contact. He almost deleted it, but he put it down and stood up, starting his normal day.
<^> <v> <^>
Race woke up later than usual. He had stayed up really late on the phone with Albert, telling him what had happened, then again with Crutchie. When he finally did wake up, it was almost 1:00 and he was very hungry.
He walked into his kitchen, well his and Albert's, but Albert was out of town, so it was just his. Anyway, he was met with the unusual sight of a blond boy with a backwards baseball hat and a crutch sitting at his kitchen table, eating some of his stress-spaghetti.
"Crutchie! What are you doing here?"
The Ray of Sunshine looked up and smiled at him. "After our conversation last night, well, this morning, I figured you would do better if you weren't alone today."
Race smiled slightly. "Yeah that would be nice." Then his face fell. "Wait, don't you have work?"
Crutchie waved a hand like he was swatting a fly. "I can cash in a day off."
"Cruuutch." Race whined. "Don't lose money because of me, I'm not worth that."
Without missing a beat, Crutchie replied. "Yes you are."
The two held eye contact, Crutchie silently daring Race to disagree with him.
Finally, Race cracked a small grin and sat down.
"Thanks Crutchie."
<^> <v> <^>
"A'right, good form! Harley, move your right foot back a little more, good, and Piper, make that punch straight forward, lose the ark, and Ace- wait, Ace? What are you doing here?!"
Ace walked over to Spot from the corner he'd been standing in. His usual shit-eating grin was absent, his hands were deep in his pockets, and he was looking at the ground.
Spot sighed. "Ace, what's wrong? You look like a kicked puppy."
"I, uh." Ace said nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "I kinda wanted to talk to you?"
"'Bout what?" Spot asked. "Gabriel! Hit the bag, not your friend."
"I think you know." Answered Ace.
Spot didn't look at him for a few long seconds.
"...My class lets out in ten minutes, then I've got a lunch break. Can you wait for me upstairs?"
Ace nodded and made his way up to Spot's apartment.
<^> <v> <^>
Twenty minutes later, Spot and Ace were sitting at Spot's little table, eating sandwiches.
"You still mad at me Mr. President?" Ace asked, attempting his usual tone.
Spot looked over at him, his expression monotone. "I'm not mad Ace."
"Really? Cause you kinda seem like you are." Squeaked Ace.
"If you don't get to the point then I might be."
Ace held his hands up in mock surrender.
"How'd your conversation with your soulmate go? I'm assuming you had it..."
"Yeah. I talked to him. Well, we wrote, you know."
"You don't seem too happy Spot. What happened?"
Spot didn't respond. He just held out his arm to Ace, who read the conversation quickly, then face planted into the table.
"You definitely didn't become president using your people skills." He groaned.
That was Spot's breaking point. "Yeah, I didn't." He snapped. "I'm only the 'King of Brooklyn' because I've done stuff that no one else had the guts to do" He spat angrily. "And YOU KNOW WHAT? Maybe I SHOULDN'T HAVE. 'Cause if I hadn't, do you know what would've happened? A LOT of people would STILL BE ALIVE TODAY."
"We don't know tha-"
"YES WE DO. You know how I know? Huh? Because why are the Clarks dead, or the Browns, or Theodore Smith, or Alec Bings, or Mrs. Walters, Cassandra Winchester, Taylor Gunnings, HUNTER JOHNSON, MICHAEL O'CONNEL, SARAH PRATCHETT. Why are ANY OF THEM DEAD, ACE? Because I KILLED THEM. ME.
"That's why I am where I am. Because I. Am. A. Murderer, Ace. Do you understand that? Do you think ANYONE would EVER want a MURDERER AS A SOULMATE?!"
At this point Spot was up and pacing, trying not to punch something.
"Spot-"
"The answer is no, Ace. He would learn to hate me anyway. I'm just speeding that along."
Ace stood up and pulled Spot into a hug. The shorter boy didn't reciprocate, he never did, but he seemed to relax a little. He eventually pulled away and figured out what to say.
"Spot," He began softly. "What if you just met him? Face to face. Just once. Then you can go back to hating him."
Spot scoffed. "If he happened to show up in Brooklyn? Yeah, sure, why not. But that won't happen. He probably lives on the other side of the country or something."
They heard a timer go off and Spot turned to Ace again.
"I gotta go teach my next class. You can stay here if you want, or hang out in the classroom, or whatever. I don't care, just please don't distract me while I'm teaching."
"Got it." Ace answered. "Can I hang out up here for a little while?"
"Yeah, help yourself to the fridge."
"Goodbye Your Honor."
"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you Ace."
<^> <v> <^>
"Crutch, you've got work in thirty minutes. You should go, I'll be fine."
"Nope."
"Crutchiiiiiieeee."
"Not happenin-"
He was cut off by a phone ringing.
The two boys glanced around for the source, Crutchie took his hat off to jokingly check inside of it, then Race grabbed his phone off the couch.
"No caller ID..." He murmured. "Ah screw it, why not."
"Hello?"
"Hey, is this, uh, Antonio 'Racetrack' Higgins?"
"Yeah, who's this?"
"My name's Ace. I'm a friend of Spot."
"Oh, um, how'd you get my number?"
"Spot put it in his contacts and I stole his phone."
"Alright then. But, won't he notice?"
"Nah, he's teaching for at least another hour."
"Teaching? He's a teacher? I didn't take him for the type..."
"Not a schoolteacher, but he, uh... You know what, why don't you come see for yourself."
"Er, I don't know if you know this, but he kinda hates me."
"Trust me, he doesn't. I'll explain everything to you, if you come to Brooklyn?"
"Wait, Brooklyn?"
"Yeah. Wait, do you live on the other side of the country? 'Cause if you do, you don't have to come all the way out here..."
"No, it's alright. I live in Manhattan."
"Really?! That's great! Where should I pick you up?"
Race chuckled at his enthusiasm and gave him his address, then they hung up.
"So what was that about?" Asked Crutchie, still sitting at the kitchen table.
"I'm... going to meet my soulmate. A friend of his called and he's gonna pick me up."
"Wait, wait, wait..." Crutchie held up a hand. "You're getting in a car with a stranger? Not a chance in Hell, Racetrack." He pulled his hat back on, backwards as usual, letting a few tufts of hair poke through. "I'm going with you."
"Cruuuuuutchiiiiiiiiieeee..."
<^> <v> <^>
A little over 30 minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Race opened it and was greeted by the sight of a black-haired boy with a red shirt and a weird grey hat.
"Heya there, you Racetrack?" The boy asked.
"Yep." Race responded. "I'm assuming you're Ace?"
"The one and only." He mock-bowed. "And who might you be?" He asked Crutchie politely.
Crutchie hobbled forward, then stuck out a hand, leaning on his crutch. "Charlie Morris." He chirped. "Everyone calls me Crutchie."
"Pleasure." Ace smiled as he shook the boy's hand.
Race cleared his throat rather awkwardly and said, "Right, so, uh, Crutchie's coming too. I couldn't talk him out of it. Sorry."
"No complaints here." Ace answered, eyes still on Crutchie.
"So... We gonna go?" Race questioned.
"Wha- Oh, yeah, my car's out front."
<^> <v> <^>
After a few minutes of Ace glancing at Crutchie in the rear view mirror, Race cleared his throat and asked the question that had been on his mind since their phone call.
"Why are you doing this Ace?"
"What do ya mean?"
"Helping me, and coming all the way out here."
"Well," started Ace. "First, it's really not that far. Second, you deserve to at least meet your soulmate. And three," He took a breath and didn't look at any of them. "I owe Spot."
"What do you mean, 'you owe Spot?'" Piped up Crutchie from the backseat.
"I mean that without Spot, I probably wouldn't be alive. Or at least I wouldn't be free to go to Manhattan."
"You make it sound like he saved your life."
"He did." Ace said seriously. "He saved my life, and the lives of pretty much everyone in Brooklyn. 'Round here we even call him 'the King.'"
"'The King?'"
"'The King of Brooklyn.'"
"Why?"
Ace took his hat off before answering. "We, uh, Brooklyn, that is, used to be overrun by these two gangs. It was awful. They robbed us and killed people. A lot of us ended up in a gang out of sheer terror, including me. We all just wanted it to stop, but we didn't know what to do about it. So, we gave up before we even tried.
"Every single person in the entire damn city just gave up. Except Spot.
"He was a determined little shit, with nothing to lose. He joined both gangs, to this day no one knows how he managed that, and he fought his way to the top, until he was the leader of both gangs. Then he took them apart. Some of us went to jail, or rehab, or got kicked out of Brooklyn. I was sent to rehab. Got out a few months ago actually. Never felt better in my life." He cracked a small smile.
"And I owe it to Spot. We all do. We owe him everything. He even owns a little studio where he teaches folks how to defend themselves. He's a genuinely good guy. He's just a little scary."
After Ace had finished his tale, there was silence in the car. It was broken by Crutchie asking, "When did all that happen?"
Ace thought for a minute, before answering. "He started breaking up the gangs a little less than a year ago. He spent seven years carrying out his plan."
"How old are you Ace?" Crutchie asked with concern.
"Turned twenty-one last week."
"Ad how old were you when you joined?"
"...Fifteen."
Since they were stopped at a red light, Crutchie leaned forward and wrapped Ace up in a one-armed hug. Ace smiled a little and squeezed his arm in return.
"What about Spot?" Asked Race quietly.
"I, uh, I don't know for sure. I only learned his current age yesterday, but doing the math, I'm pretty sure he had just turned fourteen."
The three sat in silence for a few minutes, thinking about what Ace had said. Finally Ace sniffled a little and joked weakly, "Well, now that we're all good and depressed, any other questions?"
Race tried to speak but it came out incoherent.
"Er, what was that?"
"I think he wants to know why Spot hates him." Crutchie answered for him.
"I don't think he does." Replied Ace. "He... He's done some... things he's not proud of, and he thinks no one would want him as a soulmate."
"What things?" Asked Race.
"I think it would be better if you heard that from him."
Race looked curious, but he dropped it.
"Oh!" Ace suddenly laughed. "I forgot you don't know what he looks like, so I'm just gonna give you a fair warning. He's short. Like really short."
"How short?" Race smiled a little.
"Maaaaybe up to your shoulder. Maybe."
Crutchie and Race both started laughing and Ace joined in after a few seconds.
<^> <v> <^>
"Good work today guys. Mary, just work on that kick a little more and you've got it." Spot called to his class as they left.
He started cleaning up, smiling a bit, but was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. He quickly let his usual expression return and he looked up to see Ace walking in, his usual shit-eating grin firmly in place.
"Evening Your Honor. How was your class?"
"Glad to see you're back to normal." Spot grumbled sarcastically.
"I got a little surprise for you Spot."
"Judging by the fact that you called me by my name, I'm guessing I won't like it."
Ace just shuffled his feet, not meeting Spot's eyes.
"Ace." Spot suddenly realized. "Tell me you didn't."
Ace turned around and motioned through the glass door to someone Spot couldn't see. Then, the door opened again. And in walked a blond boy with a crutch, closely followed by-
'Holy shit.'
<^> <v> <^>
Race and Crutchie had been waiting nervously by the door when Ace motioned for them to come in.
Crutchie walked in first, closely followed by Race. The gambler's eyes moved from Crutchie to Ace and finally to-
'Holy shit.'
He was 99% sure his jaw had dropped.
'He's my soulmate?! How did I get so lucky?... My God. He's... he's... Wow...'
<^> <v> <^>
Spot's mind was in panic mode.
'Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! He's hot. SHIT! He's really hot. Oh, I'm dead. I can't do this. Imma die... But HOLY SHIT! He is hot.'
<^> <v> <^>
Ace and Crutchie were standing to the side, watching Race and Spot stare at each other. Race's jaw had dropped open into a comical 'o' and Spot looked like he was in shock. Neither was moving.
"You think they're dead?" Ace muttered, leaning towards Crutchie.
He let out a small chuckle, then whispered back. "Maybe we should leave them alone."
The two quietly slipped out the door and walked across the street.
So... there's gonna be a part 3. Yay? (Questioning jazz hands)
I promise, I did not plan for it to be so long. Sorry.