- Chapter 81 - This chapter feels boring, so I'm sorry for that. It's not really a filler chapter, but I couldn't have everything I wanted to happen happen in one chapter lol, so you get this -
Warnings: blood, injuries, feeling sick, not trusting, mentions of kidnapping, blades
Third Person POV
"Barter, we need you for a bit."
Barter nodded. He turned to face Race, who was clearly feeling a little out of it. "Don't do anything stupid while we're gone," he told him.
"Don't do anything stupid."
Don't do anything... stupid.
Don't do... anything... stupid...
Those words repeated in Race's head as he watched Barter leave.
The door slammed shut, and Race grinned.
Didn't Barter know stupid was Race's middle name?
Well, technically not. His actual middle name was Ed., but "stupid" may as well have been his middle name, especially with how much his father called him it.
Anyway, Race had a plan.
There was a blade in the corner of the room that they didn't know Race had on him and hadn't taken from him.
Race just had to get to it so he could untie the ropes.
Of course, it was purely stupid on Sling's part because he definitely knew Race carried a blade around, but fortunately for Race, Sling was playing his role as the injured friend who didn't know what happened in Brooklyn, so he couldn't tell the others, even if he remembered.
Race gritted his teeth as he tried to move the chair.
It would've been so much easier if they hadn't tied him to a chair.
Race finally got the chair to scrape across the floor after a moment, cringing in pain.
Hopefully, they couldn't hear what was happening.
Race kept trying to move the chair. He grunted. "Come o-" he was cut off with a cry as the chair toppled. He groaned in pain. That definitely didn't help his head.
But now, the blade was within reach of one of his tied hands.
Race quickly grabbed the blade and turned it so it could cut the rope on his hands. He grunted as he attempted to cut the rope.
He hated ropes. They were so stubborn.
To be fair, so was he, but at least he didn't keep people bound to things.
After a few minutes, Race finally got the first hand free. He quickly went on to cut the second rope, which was much easier than the first one. Then, he cut the rope around his torso.
Once he had finished, he pushed the chair back a bit so he could get up. He hated the sound of the chair against the floor.
Race quickly flipped his blade closed and pocketed it, looking around.
The window.
They still hadn't fixed the window.
Race paused for a moment to consider his options.
He could go out in the mid-November weather conditions... or stay here where they can use him against his boyfriend and hurt him.
Race chose the first.
Besides, the cold never bothered him anyway.
Race ran over to the window. He quickly broke the last part of the lock and forced the window open. Then, he lifted himself up — a feat which he had deemed not easy with a head injury that felt like it was slowly getting worse by the second — and attempted to crawl out the window.
Race bet they didn't think that he could crawl out this window, but with all of the jokes they made about him being short and having not grown much over the years, they should've figured that anything was a possibility.
Race squeezed through the window, wincing in pain at the few sharp pieces left of the lock that cut his skin. He slowly slid out and laid on the ground outside of the window.
Other than the lock that was broken and the little bit of blood from some part of Race's body, the window looked fine, so Race decided to close it to at least attempt to stall them from his path for a bit.
As soon as the window (which was a very stubborn window and didn't really want to be closed again) was closed, Race quickly got up and took off, heading anywhere that wasn't here.
He just had to get out of East Side.
It didn't matter where he went after that, but if he made it out of East Side, he could get back to Spot and his brothers. Every other borough was on their side.
Well, except for Harlem, but Harlem wasn't on anyone's side. Harlem was kept out of the borough war as a whole.
It seemed like an easy task, right? To run to his borough?
Except, Race also had to made sure that no East Side Newsies saw him and his body felt like it was against him.
Hitting his head against the wall definitely didn't help his already-bad head wound. In fact, it only made him feel more dizzy the more he ran.
Race stopped in an alleyway after what felt like a few minutes, but was probably a lot longer than that.
The dirty blond-haired boy bent over, coughing a bit. He felt dizzy and sick, and his determination was winding down. He leaned against the wall next to him, resting his head back against it.
He had to get to Spot.
He had to get to Jack.
He had to get to Albert and JoJo and Crutchie and Specs and Lucky.
He kept repeating that in his mind.
Race stood up after a few minutes, determined to keep going.
Then, a voice sounded from the entrance of the alleyway.
"Who's there?!"
Race tensed quickly, reaching into his pocket to have his blade ready at any moment. He was half grateful and half disappointed that he didn't recognize the voice.
"I asked who's there?!" the voice sounded again.
Race gritted his teeth and quickly made a decision. He didn't care if it was a good decision or a bad one; it was the only option he had right now. "My name is Racetrack. I'm a Manhattan Newsie who got into some trouble with East Side and needs help getting back to his borough," he explained.
The voice didn't respond for a moment. "Step into the light," they mumbled.
Race rolled his eyes, but complied. He noticed the outline of a Newsie, who seemed to be younger.
"I can't help you..." the Newsie mumbled, "but my leader can."
Race sighed in relief. "Can you take me to your leader?" he asked.
The boy nodded. "Follow me."
And Race did, while silently hoping that he hadn't stumbled into the only borough with a leader he didn't know.
He didn't know what would happen if he had.
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