Fic: Rescue (Comfortember)

[csi_sanders1129]

Title: Rescue
Chapters: 1/1
Author:csi_sanders1129
Genre: Drama
Ratings: T
Word Count: 1138
Pairings/Characters: Jack Kelly, David Jacobs, Delancey Brothers
Synopsis: In which Jack hears the Delancey’s are out looking for revenge.
Comments: Written for Comfortember 2020, Prompt: Rescue. Comments and kudos would be awesome. Enjoy!

"Jack!" Race catches him just as he's walking into the boarding house for the night. "D'ya hear? Those rotten Delancey brothers have been prowlin' around lookin' for ya. Musta finally got themselves outta trouble for helpin' Weasel and now they're out lookin' for more."

Something sinks in Jack's stomach. The realization that David's walking home alone with those two idiots out there, ready for a fight, it doesn't sit well with him. He heads back toward the door, "Thanks for the heads up."

He rushes off in the direction Davey must have gone – they only split paths a few minutes ago, he can't be far. He listens intently for signs of a struggle, like the one he walked up on during the strike, but nothing sounds out of place, just the usual cacophony of noise on a chilly New York evening.

There's a shortcut David sometimes takes to get home and Jack thinks of how much of a risk that'll be if Oscar and Morris catch him there, with no one around to step in. He heads that way, but when he rounds the corner into the alley, he does not find David. He does, however, find a trap.

Something swings across the mouth of the alley, hits him hard enough in the head to drop him to the ground. Sure enough, the two goons are there, leaning over him, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

"Oh, look what we have here," Oscar beams. "If it isn't Cowboy! We were just looking to finish what we started with your boy Davey, but this is even better. You can watch."

Morris is silhouetted by the dim light at the end of the alleyway and he spins his weapon around threateningly. "If ya can still when we're done with ya, that is," he adds.

Jack's head is spinning form the impact of whatever they'd nailed him with – a piece of old pipe, maybe? – and he can feel hot, sticky blood trailing down from somewhere just above his eyebrow. "You rotten-" he starts to say as he tries to get up, but Oscar shoves a boot hard into his chest and pushes him back down, cutting him off. "You touch Davey and I'll-"

"You'll what?" Oscar demands, before looking to his brother. "Hit him again."

Morris does not need to be told twice. He swings the pipe hard, but Jack raises an arm to deflect it. He can feel the force of the hit echo through his whole body and he hopes he didn't just break his arm – still, better than his head.

They wrangle him to his feet, Morris pins his arms behind his back, and he seems to take exceptional pleasure in wrenching the arm he just hit as much as possible. Oscar revels in landing punch after punch – splits Jack's lip open, bloodies his nose, lands a solid punch over his eye, which he already feel swellings shut. It's certainly going to blacken if he makes it out of this. There's a hit in the stomach has him doubling over as much as he can while still restrained.

However, in wrangling Jack, Morris dropped the pipe.

Now, someone swings it hard at Morris' back, forcing him to release his hold on Jack or remain open to further assault. Morris falls one way, into a pile of crates piled in the alley while Jack falls the opposite direction. He fully expects to crash into the wall, but familiar hands catch him, hold him steady.

David.

"Can you walk?" he asks, still brandishing the pipe at the Delancey brother who's still standing. "Or run, preferably?"

"Maybe?" Jack offers, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the concrete. He cradles his injured arm close to his chest.

"Don't think we'll let ya get away so easy," Oscar snarls, tries to lunge for the pipe, but David dodges out of the way. Morris' groaning makes it clear enough that he's willing to fight back. "If we don't get ya tonight, we'll get you another time. Sooner or later, we'll get one of you alone, and the other won't have anything to rescue when we're done." Disgruntled, Oscar drags his brother to his feet and the two of them back off, "This isn't over Cowboy!"

But it's over for tonight.

David drops the pipe. He wraps an arm around Jack's back, pulls Jack's good arm over his shoulder, and the two of them shuffle away from the alley as quickly as possible. No need to chance the Delancey's coming back or the police showing up to investigate.

Jack just kind of goes along for the ride – he knows he's safe now, knows David's safe, too, because he's here – and his head is still spinning and everything hurts.

The next thing he knows, he's sitting on the edge of David's bed while David patches up his wounds. He's got the bleeding stopped already, but now he's prodding at the edges of the cut on his forehead where that first hit got him with a cloth dampened with some disinfectant, offering something cold for the swelling on his eye. He's borrowed a sling from Meyer's old injury for Jack's arm, which, like his eye, has already started turning a brutal shade of purple-black.

"I gotta get back to the boarding house," Jack mumbles. "If it's too late, I won't have a place ta sleep."

"Oh, no. You're not going anywhere tonight," David tells him, leaving absolutely no room for argument. "You're staying here with me tonight, and you're taking the day off tomorrow." Jack's about to protest, but David continues, "Trust me, Jack, you're not going to feel like getting out of bed tomorrow, much less running around New York selling papers."

Jack can almost believe that already. All he really wants to do is sleep. "Promise you won't go out there," he manages, though, because he needs to be sure David won't get himself cornered like he did tonight.

"How about I stay with you? Someone should keep an eye on you," David offers, which Jack can't refuse, even though he should. David's trying to support his family, not just himself, and he shouldn't be giving that up just to watch over him. Still, Jack's too out of it to make that argument, so he nods in silent agreement. David seems relieved.

Ten minutes later and Jack's still sitting on the edge of the bed, but David's helped him out of his shirt (he'll have to get the blood out of it at some point) and pants. Now, David coaxes him under the blankets and climbs in beside him.

"Sleep," David insists, settling down next to him in bed, the blankets wrapped around them both.

"Whatever ya say, Davey," Jack agrees, and maybe, with David there with him, everything hurts a little less.