When Jack was 12 he hated his family. He can remember the moment, down to the reflection in Crutchies eyes, shining off of his rising tears. He remembers that feeling of hate, hate for his mother, and his father. Hate for his brothers, who he was taking care of. It was a built up resentment, fostered over the years. Jack always had to have been on top of it. He always had to deal with their problems. He got the extra job, he walked them to school, he talked through their problems. It helped as they got older, slowly Crutchie, then Race picked up a little of the weight. The load got lighter.

At twelve Jack had been done. It's a deeply shameful feeling now. Jack doesn't think he really hated his family, but at the same time he did. It was the most confusing time of his life and it still leaves him upset.

"I wish you were dead!" Jack screamed, it had been so loud between them. Crutchie was screaming at Jack for being in his business, Jack had been screaming back that it had to be his business. Then it got silent. Crutchie's hand fell limp at his side, and Race had lost his angry expression. He had been so little, his cheeks were still puffy.

It had been true, Jack did wish they were dead. They ruined his life, and now he had to love them. He wishes his mom was dead too.

Crutchie had taken it so well, for so little. His leg had begun to fall limp. Jack was twelve. What does a twelve year old do about a limp?

Race was still looking up at him, with big eyes that couldn't understand.

I hate him. I hate his eyes. I hope he dies.

But Crutchie understood fine. He grabbed Race's hand and walked off. The wobble in his walk pierced his gaze.

Jack's chest filled with resentment, his fists squeezing, and the can in his hand crushed flat. He threw it at Crutchie with a grunt.

Crutchie did not stumble, but he hesitated. Jack wanted him to turn around so badly. Just for a second, so he could see his angry expression. Just for a second so the fight didn't end on that note. It's not fair, Jacks the older brother. Crutchie doesn't get to walk away.

But he did walk away. Jack's hands fisted on his eyes and he dropped to the ground, crying softly into his sleeves. He meant it, but why was it so painful to say?

"Please don't die on me now," Jack whispered. "I didn't mean it."

He did.

Jack fisted his hands again, just like when he was twelve, throwing cans at Crutchie. Now he wasn't twelve anymore, and his problems were even worse than before.

He hiccuped with his deep inhale, and tried hard to breath deeply through his mouth. "Oh Race."

I hope he dies.

"I'm so sorry," he said. He never apologized, to Crutchie nor Race. He just had moved on with his life. He was twelve. "I'm so sorry."

Everybody as regrets at twelve. But Jacks would haunt him for the rest of his life.

When it was night and dark, where he could see the stars and they would just allow him to see the shadows of the ceiling. Katherine would whisper to him, you were twelve Jack, you couldn't handle it. You didn't actually wish them dead.

Jack can remember the moment they had moved on. Crutchie had fallen at school, and Jack had rushed over. He was in tears, and the kids had been calling him cripple. The limp was getting worse, and it went from Crutchies while hiking to Crutchies while existing. They became his third leg, and you'd rarely see him without it.

They had just hugged and everything was alright. Race had fallen in line afterwords. No words were spoken, they had all made mistakes.

Jack remembers when Crutchie had smacked him with his cane, Jack had broken his nose and Crutchie spent the next few days apologizing and guiltily doing extra chores around the house.

Race had once come home with a gun, high and was waving it around. Shot a hole through the window next to Crutchies head and broke down on the floor, a few weeks later he'd try to break down the door, asking for money.

But never once did they wish him dead.

For Jack that was the pinochle of awful, and Jacks wish had finally come true.

The door slammed back and forth.

"Jack," Davey asked. "You gonna spend any more time on the John or are you re-applying your makeup."

Jack looked up from the sink in surprise. He splashed some cold water on his face and opened the door.

"Getting bolder Dave?" Jack raised an eyebrow.  "It's all yours."

Davey looked at Jack in the eyes. He wasn't fooled. I wouldn't expect him to be.

"We'll find him."

Jack looked down, "I know."

Someone ran down the corridor, "sir, we have a match."

Jack and Davey made eye contact before bolting down towards the computers. Every second counts.

They saw a younger police officer with a profile pulled up, "almost no credit score, pays entirely in cash. Two homes, completely paid off. Almost no record."

"Almost?" Jack asked.

The officer smiled, "a local pharmacy, middle of nowhere 4 miles off of this house seemingly surrounded by nothing but wood. Made a credit card purchase for 16 bucks, 19 hours ago."

Jack's eyebrows raised and his eyes widened. That was almost a guaranteed location. They had a warrant and everything. This was... possibly their last hope.

Jack grabbed his radio, "can we get a squad down at hackery farms road, 44507. We have a match."

"Roger that sir, on our way." Jack turned to Davey.

"We need to go now."

Davey grabbed his phone, "let's go save Race."

"Jack," Race had his face in Jacks chest, it was wet and cold yet Jack felt warm for the first time in weeks. He hadn't seen Race in a month, he's been worried sick, and balding from the pressure of pulling out his hair. Him and Crutchie had been out every night checking jails, homes, shelters, friends. It had been one of the worst months of his life.

"Where'd you go Race." Jack repeated, his hands in Race's curls. Crutchie had fallen asleep next to him. It was one of the last times they ever really "cuddled." Though that was a bit of a gushy term.

"I love you guys." Race giggled and his voice was so spacey. Fear edged on Jacks heart.

"Where'd you go." He repeated, and Race shook his head.

"Don't matter." He said. "I ain't going back."

Jack couldn't help it. Tears streamed down his face, it was so terrifying. Seeing the ones you loved, with little circles all up their arms and legs.

"Please... I have to know if you're okay." Jack cried, holding him tighter.

"I'm okay," he smiled, "promise Jack."

Jack placed his chin over Racers head, and he just rocked back and forth. He hated drugs, he hated alcohol, he hated it all. He'd do anything to keep it out of the market. To stop it all, once and for all.

"You're gonna be okay." Jack rubbed his face. Something dry and crusty was around Races nose. "I'll make sure you are."

"Promise?" Race looked up at him.

"Promise."