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Short story that predates the events in Best Sister Ever.

He had hit me pretty hard, and I'd have a solid goose egg in the morning, but he hadn't come anywhere near knocking me out or even really disorienting me. Mostly he had just pissed me off.

Second, he stepped over to Robin and raised the bottle to hit her with it. I no longer felt that I didn't want to hurt him.

I grew up chubby and unpopular in a neighborhood that didn't forgive that sort of thing. I wasn't slow, but there were always a lot more of them than necessary. I never won, at first.

It took a few years of having my ass kicked every day before I started to learn a few things. I thought about it, I watched, I paid attention to the places they hit me, what hurt, what didn't, what parts of the body were the weakest, thought about how to use my weight and move it around a little better. I learned that being the strongest wasn't a bad thing, but that it wasn't necessary either. I learned to be efficient, and I learned to be brutal. When I had it good and figured out, I showed the kids in the neighborhood what their years of ganging up on me had taught me. I only had to do it once.

I decided, in that moment, that I would show him, too.

I rolled to my feet, getting up as fast as I ever had back in my old neighborhood, and grabbed the upraised arm in my right hand when it was at its highest. I pulled back and slammed my open left hand into his elbow, shoving forward as hard as I could. The joint gave, and bent in the opposite direction it was made to. I slid my left hand forward, around, under his arm, stepping forward and snaking my left arm under his now broken right, using leverage against the ruined joint to push his upper body forward while I turned and wrapped my right arm under his chin, cutting off his air and hauling upward just enough to straighten his legs.

I stomped my left foot into his knee, hearing the patella crack and the joint behind it give just like his elbow. I let go of his head and let him collapse to the ground, screaming like a pig gone to slaughter.

I heard sirens as I turned to check on Robin. The downstairs bartender had called the cops as soon as she'd seen him hit me with the bottle. Robin had raised herself up on her elbows and was looking at me a little wide-eyed. I crouched down next to her.

"You okay?" I asked.

She nodded, still staring at me, her eyes bright with... something. I wasn't sure what.

"Why are you looking at me like I just sprouted a unicorn horn?" She blinked and smiled a little sheepishly at that.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. Her eyes widened a little and she started to cry. "Oh fuck, I'm so sorry, Shane! This is all my fault! Are you okay? He hit you so hard, I was afraid you were dead and then I thought he was going to kill me and then you were there all of a sudden and you took him down so fast and-"

Her words were choked off by sobs as she completely broke down, her arms shaking as she tried to hold herself up. I wrapped one arm under hers and one under her legs, careful to pull the hem of her skirt up, and lifted, cradling her in my arms as she clung to me and cried.

"Shh," I whispered. "It's not your fault at all. He's drunk, and a little crazy. You couldn't have known this would happen. Besides, he didn't hit me all that hard. Just a little bump. I'm fine, and he's not going to be anybody's problem for a while."

I whispered reassurances to her, gently stroking her side. She slowly calmed down, her sobs growing more gentle until they were sniffles, then just slow, deep breaths. Finally, she looked up at me, her tears done, and she smiled, her eyes searching mine for any sign that I was angry with her or blamed her. I wasn't, and I didn't.

The cops took statements from all of us, even Robin's now ex-boyfriend (she had crouched down next to him after she stopped crying long enough to tell him she was breaking up with him) as the ambulance came and paramedics go to work putting on splints and loading him up for his trip to the hospital.

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