Author's Note: This is another ficlet, but I'm not going to try and keep it under 100 words this time. Let's see how this works out, shall we?

Just My Brother

"I don't get you."

Racetrack looked up from his paper to see Jack playing with his deck of cards. He shuffled them back and forth, watching the tiny pieces of paper shift around each other. He attempted to do a trick with them over the table, but they ended up falling out of his hands, making an unattractive pile on the rough surface. Picking them up and piling on the table them one by one he continued:

"You do realize I'm waiting for you to ask, 'Why?'"

"Yeah, I do," Racetrack folded up the unsold newspaper and laid it on the table beside his feet, "but I figure you'll tell me anyways."

Jack rolled his eyes, piling faster now. He picked a card up and used it to point at a short, chubby faced boy.

"Him," he said, simply. Racetrack followed the direction of the card. Snipeshooter, the boy in question, was wrestling with Boots playfully. Tumbler joined in. Racetrack noticed that Snipeshooter was losing the battle painfully. He grinned.

"That's it!" Jack hissed. He reached out and grabbed Racetrack's cheek, tugging on it annoyingly. Racetrack swatted his hand away and stole back the cards which had been taken from him, finishing the job of piling them with ease. Jack watched with a jealous glare as he fiddled with the deck, manipulating the cards perfectly. Racetrack looked at them as he spoke.

"What's it?"

"What you just did."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Why don't you go over there and stop 'em?" Racetrack looked up at Jack, an eyebrow raised.

"Why do you mean, Kelly? They're just playin'."

"Sure, but one wrong step and the little ones are gone. Done for."

"Don't be daft, Jack." Racetrack looked back down at his cards.

"He is."

"Sorry?" He raised his head once more, still shuffling perfectly. Jack rolled his eyes.

"He keeps playin' with them, even when he always loses."

"What's wrong with losing every now and then?" Racetrack smirked, obviously referring to Jack's many losses in Poker. "Or always, for that matter."

Again, Jack rolled his eyes. He exhaled loudly.

"It's…degrading."

The boys were now piled on top of Snipeshooter, him laughing and expressing his "anger" at being defeated.

"We both know he could win in a second, Racetrack. He's bigger than they are, stronger."

"What if he just didn't want to win?"

"Why would he not want to win?"

"So he doesn't hurt 'em, I guess." Racetrack spread the deck across the table and picked it back up in the other direction, resulting in a perfect pile. He began to deal the cards back and forth from himself to Jack.

"What do you mean? I don't think he could actually hurt them, just mess 'em up a little."

"Maybe he knows that there are worse hurts than the kind on your body."

"You make him sound like a revolutionary or something."

"He's not."

Racetrack gave himself and Jack five cards each. He picked them up, spreading them between his fingers in front of his face.

"He's just my brother."

Jack rolled his eyes one last time. He placed two of his own cards down and replaced them with new ones.

"Let me win and I'll kill you."

Racetrack chuckled.

"Deal."

Author's Note: shrugs It needed to be written.