One of Them

Chapter 1

Shrugging off his now ruined jacket, Jack shivers as the cool air goes through his sweater. Too bad his heater is currently broken or he'd turn the heat on, but Lord knows how long it would take to get someone out to his house. Uncle Jack or not, he noticed how those workers liked to "forget" to do their jobs and show up to appointments. Another flaw of Joy, he presumes, among many others. With a shake of his head, he goes to throw his jacket onto the coat rack. Maybe he could get Mrs. Nicoles to fix it for him later?

  He's not exactly hungry when he enters his kitchen. Maybe that's a good thing, considering the food in Wellington Wells was running out. Christ. What was he going to do when the foods all gone? The thought alone makes him feel sick. Maybe he should just opt out on dinner tonight and go to bed. Or tend to his scrapes, considering the burning sensation is coming back to him. He groans softly, limping his way into the bathroom and rummaging through his medicine cabinet. And of course, to contribute to the shitty day he's having, there's nothing in there to disinfect his wounds, or even bandage them up. Slamming the cabinet shut and doing one last look around the bathroom, Jack sighs. He has to go back out and buy more stuff. Exactly what he had wanted to do.

  He's not exactly in the right mindset as he leaves his house, still in his sweater and torn trousers. He limps down the street, just focused on getting to the store, softly grumbling to himself. However, his walk is stopped as a Bobby stands in his way.

"Uncle Jack?" The man looks up, the terrifying blue eyes staring at his. "What are you doing out, looking like that?"

"Just an accident," he replies, "I'm off to the store to get some things to fix me up!"

"Ah, well, do be safe," The constable bends down, whispering softly, "Between you and me, I think there are some Downers in the city. Best to hurry."

  Jack gulps. Did he know? He hoped not. Instead of overreacting like he wanted to, he thanks the man and scurries away, still limping a bit. It's chilly as he walks down the street to the store, pulling open the cold metal bars and pushing open the old wooden door, the creaking noise and bell chiming making the cashier look up.

"Uncle Jack! What a surprise!" The man gives him a giant grin, and Jack's eyes flash over to the Bobby in red standing to the side.

"Morning, sir," He tips his hat a bit, looking him up and down. "What 'appened to you?"

"Ah, just an accident," he replies, giving a nervous chuckle. "That's why I'm here now! You wouldn't happen to have some antiseptic and bandages, would you, Hank?"

"I think I do..." The man ducks behind the counter, rummaging through his things before popping back up. He hands him an antiseptic bandage and Jack's more than happy to hand over some money for a couple of them. "If you don't mind me askin', what led up to this?"

"I accidentally ran into someone," he grumbles softly, "I thought I had left my stove on and hurried home, but ended up not looking where I was going!"

  The three stand there chatting for a bit, Jack constantly glancing at the Bobby to make sure he's not catching on to him being off his Joy. And as much as he wants to run off and hide away in his home, he knows that it would raise suspicion. So he sticks it out, forcing himself to act like everyone's favorite Uncle Jack and even tell them what tonight's story will be. Of course, it's just the prerecorded story of Little Red Riding Hood. Margaret used to love that story. Only after having someone rat on them about her still being in Wellington Wells did he start doing the German accent for the villains, even going so far as to change some of the story. Of course, no one knew it, but it was a small way for him to vent out his frustrations with the Germans. She was only 12. How could you do that to a 12 year old girl?

  Finally, he says goodbye to the two men in the store and limps back home, greeting everyone he passes and even explaining his story a few times as to why he's bleeding from his knees and elbows. Someone even remarks he probably ran into a Downer. If only they knew. But he keeps up an upbeat act, acting like the normal Uncle Jack on Joy. The only Jack they know.

  It takes him longer than he wanted, but he finally makes it home, locking his door and sighing softly. Finally back, safe and sound. He moved to the bathroom, groaning softly as he walks up the stairs. He just wants to sit down, eat some dinner, then take a shower and go to bed.

  Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, he removes his shirt and turns on the faucet to a very warm temperature. He cleans away any dirt and grime in his cuts before applying the bandages, hoping that whatever Hank had sold him would work splendidly. Of course it would, he reminds himself. When was the last time Hank sold him something bogus?

  By the time he finishes, blood and some dirt has washed down the drain, and he sits there looking at himself. His now bandaged knees and elbows are wrapped up right and he's in nothing but his boxers. He feels so tired as he rubs his eyes. Forcing himself up and putting away what little bandages he had left, he puts on a robe and makes his way downstairs and to the kitchen. He has some bread, Victory Meat and, luckily, some honey. There's also some tea he had made this morning before leaving. A quick sandwich is all he needs, along with a cup of his tea. He sits at the dinner table, eating slowly. The food was running out, no doubt about that. And it's so quiet, he realizes. Normally if Margaret were here, she would be telling him all sorts of stories or ideas. Either what happened at school, what she wanted to be when she grew up, what types of clothes she wanted to make for her dolls. He always figured she would make a great fashion designer. The clothes she made and how well stitched they were. It always made him so proud. She even practiced learning German daily before she left. He sighs, setting down his half eaten sandwich and wiping away some tears. He missed her.

  A knock on his door captures his attention and he stands up. It was almost curfew. Who could possibly be knocking at this hour? Slowly walking over and opening his door, he's surprised to find a nice old lady at his doorstep, holding a small pot of steaming stew.

"Mrs. Nicoles!" he greets, smiling down at her. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

"Sorry to bother you, dearie," she starts, holding the pot out towards him. "but I heard you had a little accident today! I thought that maybe some stew would make you feel better!"

"Oh, Mrs. Nicoles. You're too kind!" He gently takes the pot from her, looking around outside. "Would you like to come inside for a bit?"

"Oh, no, that's quite all right!" She turns her heels, giving him one last smile. "You just take care of yourself, dear! I'm going to go home and listen to tonight's story. Goodnight!"

  And with that, she's walking down the cement steps and on her way home. He smiles a bit, closing his door and locking it as he looks down at the stew. It smelled amazing. Perhaps he could save it for tomorrow morning. So after setting it down in an empty spot in his fridge, he finishes the rest of his sandwich and tea and sets the cup in the sink. With a soft, content sigh, he once more makes his way upstairs and into his room. He's too exhausted for a shower tonight, plus he didn't want to change his bandages again. Standing isn't something he wants to do, either, so as he removes his robe, he sits in bed. Running a hand through his hair, he takes out a small doll in his nightstand, running his thumb over the felt material. This was the last roll Margaret had made. The was one of the few things he had left. Going to lay down, he removes his mask and holds the doll close, turning out the lamp beside him and closing his eyes.

"Goodnight, Margaret."