You Can't Hurt Me

First rule of fight club is there is no fight club

"Spotty! How's our club!" Race grinned bouncing over.

Smalls who was next to him snickered while he sent a glare his way, "first of all it's not a club it's a gang, second you're not invited!"

"Pfft," Race grinned, "if I wasn't in the club would I be able to do this."

Race leapt up into the air and landed in Spots arms in a bridal hold, holding onto his neck, kicking his legs up.

Then Spot immediately let go and Race tumbled to the ground.

"Hey!" Race protested, rubbing his butt, "is that how we treat our favorite person?"

"You are not my favorite person."

"Don't lie to yourself Spotty, it's unheal..." Race locked eyes with someone as his voice died down and suddenly Race felt like throwing up, no he felt like crying for an hour and then throwing up.

"Race?" Spot asked concerned, Smalls moving next to him.

Race paid them no mind because right in front of him, was Oscar Delancey walking with his brother perfectly fine, and alive.

Race slowly got off the ground, ignoring the confused voices and walked towards him.

"Oscar?" Race felt his throat constrict, making the words small and tight.

"What d'y'a want." Oscar said quickly, walking away. Race followed him, wiping his eyes angrily as tears flowed down.

"Are you okay?" Race tried to grab for his arm but Oscar quickly just moved it.

"I'm fine," he sidestepped, "leave me alone."

Race shook his head, everything felt so light, almost like he was high again, and maybe he was. Maybe he was so high that he was hallucinating Oscar standing there. Either way, Race felt numb and he struggled to carry his legs across to follow him.

"Oscar," Race called, God his head felt so light, what was he saying? "Oscar, I'm... I'm so sorry."

"Shut up," Oscar growled as a warning.

Race stepped closer, "I didn't... I didn't mean-"

Oscar slapped him across the face. 

"Don't you touch him!" He distantly heard Spot yell.

It didn't matter though, because Race couldn't feel it. He could only feel the growing anxiety in his stomach, as he desperately searched for proof this was real.

"Oscar I'm... I'm so so sorry," Race was pretty sure he was crying, and now his legs were giving out, but he didn't care because he was hugging Oscar, who he didn't kill, who was alive, alive and okay. He didn't kill someone, he wasn't a murderer.

Oscar looked like a deer caught in headlights, like he desperately wanted this to be over, but was stuck in the gaze of lights he's never seen before.

"It's," he coughed and patted Race's back, "okay."

Race's body shook as he cried into Oscars shoulder, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, im sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry."

He repeated the word, like it meant something, like it actually changed the fact that Race had almost killed him, like he couldn't see the soft bandage peaking out from the boys hat.

"It's fine." Oscar said shortly.

It wasn't fine, it so obviously wasn't fine and even though things had never been fine before Race wanted them to be fine, he wanted to fix something that hadn't even been broken. He wanted to say something, to do something, to even feel something, but Race didn't have the words, the thoughts, the mind to fix anything, all he had was the gnawing black hole that he was alive and that Race didn't kill a person at 16.