The old man's brittle arms shake as he slowly lifts himself off the ground. When he raises his head, through the crack in the door, Ty can perfectly see the damage done to his nose. Thick dark blood oozes in sticky clumps out of his nostrils, and the bridge of his nose red and oddly dented to the side.
'One punch, and they broke his nose.'
Barry's grim eyes land on Ty's through the crack. It almost looked like he shook his head a little before his eyes lifted and landed on the violent men towering over him.
'Don't dare come out 'till they're gone. If you do, I'll fire ye.'
Behind the door, Ty shook his own head.
'Shit.'
Barry's gruff voice is horribly uneven.
"I... told you last time I ain't got... n-no money to give."
Baldy explodes in blaring, hideous laughter.
"BUAHAHAHAHAHA! YE HEAR 'IM, BOYS?! SOMEONE OUGHT TO TEACH HIM WE AIN'T HEARIN' EM NO'S."
Skull-Face cracks his knuckles, grinning through rotten teeth as he watches Barry struggle to stand up. Just as he's about to make it to his feet, Greasy kicks him back to the ground. Then again. And again.
A loud CRACK rings through Ty's ears, followed by a blood-curdling scream.
'Don't dare come out 'till they're gone. If you do, I'll fire ye.'
He watches in absolute horror as Skull-Face and Greasy kick Barry to a pile of oddly-shaped flesh and blood among the torn-up shop.
'No, no, no, no. This is too much. This is way too much.'
The pile of flesh at the goon's feet twitches. Blood is seeping through the tacky fisherman's clothing and pooling around his odd-angled body.
The horrendous sight was hardly of the old crabby boss he knew. It was hardly human.
'HE'S GOING TO DIE.'
Searing pain spreads from Ty's hands. A quick glance down confirms his nails were dug far too deep into his clenched fists, drawing blood from his palms. The sight was nowhere near as horrifying as the image of Barry at the moment, but it made his body convulse just as bad.
When he looks back out the crack in the door, it wasn't Barry broken and bleeding out, but Eve.
An intensive wave of nausea crashes throughout his body, clenching every muscle so tight together until they screamed inaudibly.
Horrible noises fill his ears as his wide terrified eyes are stuck on the gut-wrenching scene before him.
'Why?'
Crunch.
'WHY?'
Squelch.
'WHY?!'
CRASH.
Blaring screams alight every fiber of his being until it feels like he's on fire. His vision narrows and deepens to a dark, ferocious red.
What happened next didn't make a lot of sense to Ty. Time, for a moment, seemed to wobble and bend. He wasn't sure when he got on his feet. He wasn't sure when he had left the kitchen. He wasn't sure if the blood on Greasy's face was his or Ty's. But, wait, why was Greasy now on the ground, stuck in a crashed crate of fish? Why was Ty standing over him?
Ty's breathing is haggard, and for a moment, everything is silent except for these heavy breaths in his ears. The three goons and even broken Barry behind him just stare at him for a moment, as if trying to comprehend what had happened.
By the time Ty regained his senses, it was too late. Baldy was already on him.
Before he could force his body to dart away-
A sudden hand clasps his shoulder.
Baldy, whom it belonged to, was cackling at his red-cheeked buddy getting out of the crate while towering over Ty.
"BUAHAHAHAHAHAHA! RATTY, YOU JUST GOT TOTALLED IN ONE HIT- BY A KID!"
Greasy - or Ratty - grunts and spits out a bit of blood before standing back up and rolling his shoulders back.
"Not totalled."
Baldy cackles again at his buddy's comment, then turns back to Ty beside him.
"Solid punch there, kid. You always take on lumps four times yer size? Didn't know ol' Barry hired up some protection beside us, eh?"
At the end of that last comment, Baldy kicks his foot backwards and hits Barry bleeding out on the ground behind them. A weak yelp is released from the old man.
Ty's blood boils and his hands clench into tight fists again.
Looking down at this reaction, Baldy's face contorts into a big ugly grin as if he were watching a small dog attempt an intimidating look.
"Name's Muggsy. Yours, white-head?"
Ty's knuckles turn as white as his hair. Hot red blood drips off his fists.
"What's that, eh? Not much of a talker? Listen, kid. You's a lucky twat. You've impressed me, an' I ain't getting a shock like that much no more. So how 'bout this. You work for me now, eh?"
Ty speaks through a clenched jaw, focused on listening for Barry's quiet groans at the same time.
"No."
'Please still be conscious. Please hang in there, Barry.'
"No?"
Muggsy's giant hand grips his shoulder with a brute force that could easily shatter the bone.
"Kid, you realize who yer saying no to? We're the Falcon Raiders."
The other two goons give a horrible holler.
"The youngin's are all idiots these days, eh?"
Muggsy grins to the two goons before leaning down to Ty, massive hand still on his shoulder.
"It's a sudden offer, ain't it? I get it, I get it. Why don't you take some time to think about the situation yer in, eh? You seem like a smart kid. We'll come again soon for that shit-smelling fish Ratty fell in 'n hear yer real answer, eh?"
The beast-sized man inhales heavily as he takes in the kid before him one last time.
"Damn, that hair of yers."
He aggressively ruffles Ty's hair with more force than necessary.
"I wanna sell it."
The other two snicker, and then Muggsy lets out a final cackle.
"HEHA! SEE YA SOON, WHITE-HEAD!"
The three men's boots stomp extra hard on the ruins of the turquoise door on their way out. The sounds of motorcycles revving can be heard, grumbling and snickering just like the boasting hyenas riding them off.
The three gang men have left the front door in ruin, shop destroyed, and Barry broken in a sea of his own blood.
Ty falls to the ground before Barry, the knees of his jeans down in the blood pooling around the man's frightfully twitching body. The damage was clearly bad. No, the damage was horrible.
"Barry! Barry, can you hear me?!"
It's hard to even make out the man's face among the blood and blue and purple features swelling on the exposed parts of his body.
Ty goes to wipe the blood off the man's face, but quickly remembers his own hands are covered in his own blood.
A nauseating parallel to his time on the train, Ty trembles as he uses the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe the blood off his hands and Barry's face.
"T... Ty."
The old man croaks, convulsing as he lets out a blood-filled cough.
"Barry! Okay, okay, don't talk. Shit, shit, shit. I- ah-"
It's so hard for Ty to think. It's as if an alarm is blaring in his mind, drowning out any real thought he'd like to have. He feels ready to vomit all over the scene. The bloody image before him keeps flickering between Barry and his little sister Eve.
'MURDERERS. DEATH. THEN, NOW. ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS.'
Ty's words tumble out of his mouth in a frantic jumble.
"I- uh- ah- cops- I need to call the cops!"
"N... n..."
Barry tries to speak again, but something is clearly wrong with his throat. There's blood. There's blood everywhere. There's too much blood everywhere and not enough left in Barry.
"N... no hos...pital."
The broken man struggles to spit out without a clump of blood.
"Hospital... bill..."
Hot tears burn Ty's face as they fall down his cheeks.
'Of course.'
His tears mix with the pool of Barry's blood as they land on the floor.
'The hospital bill. Not everyone's situation is like Eve's now in St. Bernadette. The Southside people... many can't afford anything more than a cold. Barry... Barry certainly can't.'
His lip quivers as he whispers to the red man before him.
"I'm sorry, Barry. I'm so sorry."
"Hush... boy."
The man manages to croak again. It takes him everything left in him to say these words.
"I ain't... kicking the... bucket yet. J-just... get me to my bed."
Barry then loses consciousness.
Ty weeps as he lifts up Barry's limp, broken, bloody body and slowly brings him to the back of the shop through another false-wall door that leads to Barry's bedroom. He sets the man down on his makeshift bed as gently as possible, smearing blood over the covers.
With stinging bloodshot eyes, Ty soon washes his hands in the kitchen, watching the blood stream down the dirty sink.
He wets some old rags and goes back to Barry's unconscious body, starting to wash the blood off and get a better look at his wounds. He then opens up an old tin first aid kit and begins tending to them, but it's bad. Of course it's bad.
Bandaids don't fix broken bones.