Robert hadn’t left home with the intention of going anywhere, but then he never did. The fact that he always ended up at Last Station probably had some sort of sad poetry to it, something profound for a character in a novel or a movie but meaningless in real life. He did have a little bit of money left from his pension, and he still had half a bottle of liquor, and he hadn’t fallen out of bed from his nightmares, so he was calling today a good day. He figured he might as well drink the rest of it away why it still felt good.
He didn’t quite make it to the bar though.
When he saw the brawl happening on the street, his first thought was oh good, at least it’s not me for once. God knew he’d had his fair share of beat downs outside of the bar after giving lip to the wrong person. That didn’t even include the times he’d gotten into fights with whoever threw him out for not being able to pay. He’d even dare say that most nights he went into Last Station, he’d usually start the next day face down on the ground outside of it.
Then, he noticed the familiar dark hair, and the even more familiar voice shouting at them, and…
He approached the fight slowly, brow furrowing. Surely it couldn’t be. Surely it wouldn’t be. Then, he heard him cry out, and–
He’d know that cry of pain anywhere. He’d heard it after scraped knees and twisted ankles and hurt feelings ever since he was small. That sound had been ingrained in him, and with it the urge to make sure he never heard it again. The desire… to protect.
“Hey!” he shouted, and when one of the guys looked up, Robert promptly smashed his cane into his face as hard as he could swing it, sending blood and teeth across the sidewalk.
Thomas grit his teeth, ready for the inevitable crunch and grind of bone getting twisted just a bit too far, for the sharp pain that would melt into numbness, only to kick back in a half hour or an hour later. He’d broken fingers and toes before, mostly in accidents at the docks, and he knew what to expect. An arm would just hurt more. A lot more. Hopefully, Thomas told himself, gasping sharply into the pain, he wouldn’t pass out, and that once he was immobilized, these guys would leave him alone to whimper in pain and not try to beat him even worse.
There was another vice joining the cacophony, and Thomas braced himself for yet another pair of fists raining down blows on him, two more feet kicking him in the ribs to make sure he couldn’t get up. Out of spite more than anything, he struggled against the grip holding his arm back. It made his elbow and shoulder twinge, but he was able to land a half-hearted blow to the man’s stomach. It wasn’t enough to wriggle free, but it was enough that he asshole was temporarily distracted. Thomas hit again, throwing his shoulder into the man’s solar plexus hard enough to cause him to stumble, to twist his arm into a more forgiving position.
And then suddenly his arm was free, and the man who had been holding him was doubled over, blood dripping from his face. Thomas crambled to his feet, trying to bring his fists in front of his face, ready to fight, but swayed on his feet instead. Raising his hands to protect his face shot a sharp pain from his shoulder to elbow. Even if his arm wasn’t broken, something was very wrong with it.
“Ugh.” The noise broke free of his lips, uninvited, and Thomas doubled over. No. He had to fight, because there were still two attackers. He straightened up slowly, head swimming, sure he was hallucinating. The two remaining men were fighting, and one went down, a knee striking across his knees and back.
Thomas blinked, head aching. There was only one person he knew who fought with a cane, but it couldn’t be...