*Has some angst, implied rape. A little darker than what I normally do. Starts out with Jack/Spot, Jack/Davey. Some Racetrack/Spot. Also contains some spoilers. Based off the movie, that I do not own people!
Was watching Newsies with my sister today. Got inspired to write a bit about the great character of Spot Conlon. Please leave reviews. This is a quick draft I wrote in less than an hour. Planning on revising it when I get feedback. Hope you enjoy! -Darce*
"We'll Soak 'Em"
"What is this Jacky-Boy? Some kind of walkin' mouth?" I stared at this kid, Davey. I looked him in the eyes, but I couldn't tell. It was fuckin' infuriatin', but I couldn't tell. Was he that typa walkin' mouth? The kind that'd get down on his knees for Jacky-Boy, any hour o' the day. Was he the kind that'd follow Jacky-Boy around no matter what it did to his own pride, to his own defenses. Would he end breaked, like the bottle I just thrashed with Boot's shooter? Jacky-Boy took a step closer to me, puttin' a hand on Davey's shoulder. His new possession. His new toy.
"Yeah it's a mouth, but a mouth with a brain. And if you have half of one you'll listen to what he has to say." I bit my tongue, nodding to Davey to speak before backing away from them. Was this Jacky-Boy's way of telling me we never had nothing special? That all those nights on platforms under the bridge that only accentuated our screams, were driven by his need for, not my mouth, but anyone's. Was it because I said I didn't want to do this anymore that he found Davey? Or was it that I knew he would replace me with someone more eager to bend over backwards, forwards, inside-fucking-out, whatever got Jacky-Boy off with no promise of anything more? Is he trying to tell me I didn't think. Or maybe that I did too much of the thinking. But now, I was thinking that I was pissed. Jacky-Boy shows up. He's standing in fronta me with his same rosy cheeks and stupid cowboy hat afta almost a year of hearing nothin'. I'll latch on to every word, cause that's all I can do. Even if the words belong to not Jack, but Davey;
"Well, we started the strike but a- we can't do it alone, so we've been talking to other Newsies all around the city." I didn't look away from Davey's eyes.
"Yeah, they told me." I crossed my arms, biting on my lip as my eyes thinned. "But what did they tell you?" Did they tell you who I was before I came out to Brooklyn? Did they tell you all the shit I used to put up with just so Jack would shift my hat and give me a pat on the head like the bitch he took me for. For a moment, I saw the first emotion in Davey's eyes that I had seen since they'd showed up on me bridge. Nervousness. He blinked it away and started his kiss-ass speech again.
"They're waiting to see what Spot Conlon does... That you're the key. That Spot Conlon is the most respected and famous newsy in all of New York." Famous, maybe, respected, not a chance in hell. But I make people fear me. It's the look in my eyes. The determination to fuck them up if they look at me wrong. The lack of anxiety or tremble of my lip. I ain't afraid of anything no more. Except for, maybe, as I swallowed the warm spit on my tongue, Davey.
"You're right Jack. Brains." I shut him up. "But I got brains too. And more than just half of one. How do I know you punks won't run the first time some goon comes at you with a club?" How do I know that you won't run like you did when that bum found me pressed against the alleyway, your weight keeping me pressed as you took me for the third time that day? How can I fuckin' know that you know how to get what you want without letting some scabbers take that away from you. How could I know that you still want me?
"Cause I'm telling you spot." But words mean nothing anymore Jacky-Boy.
" You gotta show me."
And he did show me. At least I thought he did when I told my boys that we was headed to Manhattan to help Jacky-Boy play strike. When he called up to me in the crowd and I swung down below, giving him a shake as he pulled me to him in a quick hug. Like a flashback to everything I used to live for. I grabbed my cane and I remembered, those days I used to play baseball with Jack's boys, out in the dumps behind the city's dump. And I kept hitting home-runs. Enough that when the reporter called out to smile, Blink pushed me into view, slapping a hand on me back and telling me it was good to have me back, and of course, a thanks for saving his ass.
Jack told me this too, but not with words. "You gotta show me." I repeated as he pushed me back against a tree quickly throwin' off my hat and clawin' his hands into my hair. His mouth latched on to mine and his hands gripped my hips. They lowered to my ass as he squeezed and the last bit a air shot out of my mouth. I choked, snappin' my head away to cough at his chin but his mouth wanted more. It latched onto my neck, bitin' sharply as my head smashed back into the bark and a short scream made its way through the unmovin', black, Manhattan air.
I felt sap bleed onto my shoulder. I went to reach a hand up to wipe the liquid away, but then I realized where they were. One was restrained in Jacky-Boy's hold, while the other was in his lap, rubbin' at the bulge that was beginnin' to swell. How long had we been like this? Shirtless, with nothin' but heat in our eyes. Was this to celebrate today or to celebrate the tomorrows? I was 'bout to ask when I saw a shadow flicker under the streetlight. Two of 'em. I coulda sworn they were holding hands, but by the time Jack looked at my line of vision, they was a good distance apart. Blink was there standin' next to Mush. Even from their distance away, I could see Mush as his eyes darted to anywhere except us- and I could see Blink massage the back of his head unsure of what to do now that they found us. And Jacky-Boy had a similar dilemma. The fact that they could see his stick pressing into the seam of his pants the moment he turned away from me.
"It's just Blink." I tried. He had already known about our previous encounters. and Mush, knowin' he had a thing for Blink, wouldn't dare share what he had seen with any of the others.
"This is getting out of hand." Jack pulled away, findin' his discarded shirt and pulling it over his head.
"What is?" I asked him, findin' my shirt and beginnin' to, slowly, button it back up.
"This." He said, pointing to the tension filled air between the two of us. "I gotta get back to the lodging house. I'll see ya tomorrow." Typical Jack. Leave you rottin' one night, but expect to see you the next.
"I'll be there."
"I know." He gave a coy smile, flickin' his nose with his thumb. "Hey, my treat tomorrow." I felt my face heat up as I looked at the ground. "At the diner I mean."
"Ya sure." I heard him scoff before I looked back up. His back was to me now as he threw a fist up in the air, greetin' Blink and Mush as they began their walk back to this night's roof.
I met him at the diner. The reporter paid, so Jacky-Boy didn't have to. Nothin' much happened 'cept excitement and drinks. The boys were happy, feastin' like kings and dancin' round like drunkards. Jack told me to stop thinkin' bout myself when I searched for my picture in the paper, then yellin' at anyone who brushed a finger over the ink of his face. But I said nothin', just rested my chin on his shoulder as he, for the first time, let me. Davey was there, but he didn't seem bothered. He was busy talking to the reporter as I laughed alongside Racetrack as Blink kept making jokes, to Mush's dismay, about having some dirty fun with the mayor's underage daughter. Eventually, Jack left his seat and sat in a corner with Davey, Davey's brother Les, and the reporter. Race pulled out a cigar, motioning it towards me before walking out of the restaurant. I followed him, taking the pipe when he offered it to me. He watched me, his head tilted and his lips pursed, eagerly bringing it back to his lips and letting out a puff of smoke.
"What's left to do? Our picture's in the papes, we're famous. We can get anything we want now."
"You dumb or somethin'?" I asked him, grabbin' at the cigar again. "Fame don't get you nowhere."
"Not the ways I see it." Another inhale. "Famous gets you out there."
"And then you spends the rest of ya life trying to find a way back in." I heard the bell ring as the restaurant's door swung open. Standing there was Snipeshooter, the little twerp. Instantly, he started shaking, violently rubbing at his arms.
"Come back inside you guys! It's cold out here."
"Yeah." The both agreed. "Cold."
"You guys are weird." He cocked a grin before lungin' for Race's cigar.
"Hey, that's mine!" Race tripped over his own feet before falling into the swinging door.
"You'll steal another!" I heard Snipe tease before the door shut me out, again.
"We ain't there yet, and maybe it's only gonna get tougher from now on. But that's fine, we'll just get tougher with it!" Everyone in the rally cheered as the theatre echoes with whistles and deep laughter. I clapped along with the crowd for what I, with just slightly more than half a brain, thought to be a hidden meanin' in his words. That he would fight with me. That he would fight for me. That we would be together and screw the world. That all we needed was our boys, and our papes. And if our boys didn't respect us no more, we would soak 'em and that would be the end of that. But it was a stupid dream. And reality, was just as bitter. Jack motioned his arms to the audience, waitin' a moment for the crowd to die down. "But also", Jack looked behind at me dismissively before turnin' to Davey. "We gotta get smart and start listenin' to my pal, David." I bit at my lip again before taking a step forward and patting Davey on the back. I shut up and took it when David told me that I was all wrong and that scabbers didn't need to be soaked, rather fought with methods other than violence, but something in his voice pissed me the fuck off. It was like, he thought he was better than me. Like I was just some delinquent who's power was coming to an end. Like... Like I hadn't led Brooklyn the way I oughta, like I didn't know what I was doin'. So I took a stand, moved a few feet down the walkway and started yelling to the Newsies above.
"It ain't what they say, it's what we say. And nobody ain't gonna listen to us unless we make 'em." Everyone got riled up then, more than they did for Davey, and I knew I won. But Jacky-Boy wasn't pleased. He pulled me to the side, whispering about this and that, about strategizing, about giving it a go. About trust, about trustin' him. And I did. So when he asked me what I said, I told him. I told everyone.
"I say," I proclaimed, my nose merely inches away from his, "That what you say, is what I say." He smiled at me, and right there, in front of everyone, his lips captured mine. And everyone who had heard of Jack and Spot in the good old day, knew the rumors to be true.
"Looks like we have tomorrow's headline." Race kid to the newsy next to him who just cupped his hands and clapped heavily. The cheering never slowed. It might have gotten louder, but I heard nothing until the bolt's whistle cut through to the stage.
That kiss is what got me where I am now. Standing at the front of the line in Manhattan, tellin' Jack's young boys to knock off their fightin'. I was never one to have kids on my turf. They usually sold in other districts. Too competitive, having their little faces and high voices squanderin' for a penny or two on the streets. But Jack. He had a lot of little ones to look after, and dumbly, I admired him for it. Meant he had to spend a lot of time stoppin' the lot of ones that would get into fights with each other about nothin', or pull at another's knickers when they weren't looking. And I wasn't sure if it was out of the older's respect, or out of the midgets' weaselin', that they always seemed to make it to the front, standin' beside me as if they were the leader of something other than ill-managed pranks.
"Hey hey hey, break it up. Break it up." I tried, shoving two kids away from each other. In the empty space, in front of where the quarrel had just been separated, stood somethin' I thought could only be an illusion. I grabbed for the only person within reach. Race.
"Tell me I'm seein' things. Just tell me I'm seein' things." I pleaded. My hands came up, shakin'. I didn't even try to hide them, I kept them up, watchin' them tremble more with each step towards me he took. Blink and Mush were the first to talk to him, tryin' to wake him up from whatever nightmare he was in, but Jack said nothin'. He just stood there in a iron-pressed suit, adjustin' his tie as he held his papers firmly under his arm. You give up this easy, Jack? You don't just give up yourself, you take us all down with you. Fuck you, you traitor. But no words came out.
Race approached the bolt's block, yelling over their shoulders, calling Jack a bum, a fake. I was ready to get my hands dirty. I pulled Race back, grabbing my cane as I jumped forward. "Come here you dirty rotten scabber!" It was then I felt chest explode, the wind knocked out of me by Jack's confident breath. I couldn't fuckin' breathe no more. Tears were everywhere. In my eyes. In Race's. But in Jack's. Nothing. Not a fuckin' emotion in his porcelain face.
Race, along with a couple others, grabbed me, and then Race pulled me into his chest as I sobbed. Davey, wiping at his eyes, took my spot on the ground. Something in his eyes made Weasel let him in, past the guards, to talk to Jack. And that's what hurt at me the most. That even Weasel could see that only the love that Davey had could affect Jack. I was worthless to him. I was just a walkin', suckin', moanin', silent mouth available to the Scabber whenever he needed a fix.
I shoved Race off of me and pushed through the newsies, finding the alleyway where Jack had first slammed himself against me, into me, at me. Where Jack had first told me he wanted to fuck me, and I had first told him I wanted to love him. Back to the allyway where Jack had left me, left me to fight off the horny bastard who had caught us in the act, and didn't come back despite my screams for help or my pleads for the man to stop. That allyway was where I decided to become Brooklyn and make sure that we were tough enough to protect each other, no matter what consequences stood in our way for doin' so.
I sunk to the ground instantly, but I wasn't alone. I gasped when I felt a hand reach my shoulder, as I thought back to the attack. I struggled in the hold but they just held me against them. They shushed me, as they rocked me back and forth. They reeked like the corner store cigars and I embraced the stench, calmin' down as I recognized the boy. After the angry screams softened in the distance, Race pulled back from me. He rubbed at his temple as if trying to figure out what to say, and I hid my face in my hands, too embarrassed to look up at him.
"We'll soak him." He promised, lifting my chin up so I had no choice but to look into his honest, shimmerin' eyes. I don't know what I was thinkin'. That's the problem with having just over half a brain, but I grabbed his head, pullin' his mouth onto mine. This was all the invitation he needed. His tongue was instantly on my teeth as he reached under my shirt and rubbed on my skin, but somethin' was different. It wasn't hurried, it wasn't rough. It was careful, like he didn't want to break me. Brooklyn might be tough, but Spot Conlon. Everyone seemed to forget that Spot Conlon was a human. That Spot Conlon could hurt (others) like everyone else and break (noses) too. And maybe that was my fault for never admitting my weaknesses, for never trusting others words or offerin' many myself, but I showed it when I clawed on to Race with the intention of never letting go. Especially when he leaned back and whispered in my ear one last time. "We'll soak him."