Disclaimer: The song used in this story was written by Brad Paisley, I do not own it or Spot. The rest is mine.

Authors Note: This is a sad story and is not for the faint hearted. There is strong language at one point and includes suicide, drinking, and references to sex. If you have the song I recommend listening to it while you read.

Whiskey Lullaby

She put him out like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette
She broke his heart he spent his whole life tryin' to forget

"I hate you Spot Conlon!" She cried angrily, tears of hurt, hatred and frustration running down her porcelain-like face.

Spot flinched, "You don't mean that baby! Emily, please! I'm sorry!" She pulled away from him as he tried to grab her hand.

She took a step back, "No," she sobbed softly, "what you did was unforgivable, I will never forgive you! I can't believe you would do that to me! You hurt me Spot, you hurt me real bad."

"It ain't true!" He tried desperately to convince her of it, "Whoever told you it was, they were lying! Please Emily, you have gotta believe me! I love you!" He reached for her again, striving to persuade the love of his life to reconsider.

She stepped back again, shaking her head, but only slightly, "Good bye, Spot." With that said, she turned away quickly, running away from the Brooklyn leader, leaving him hurt, confused and broken. She never looked back.

We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time
But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind

"Spot, you can't keep going on like this! You have to move on! Forget about her." All of his newsies tried to convince him. He had been like this since that dreadful night a year ago; cold, alone and heartless.

"Fuck you!" cried the man who was once Brooklyn's greatest leader, only to become a drunk, broken mess of a boy. He took another immense drink from the bottle that was ruining his life; that was ruining him, "Just leave me the fuck alone! You don't know a fucking thing about it! I fucking loved her. She left me to become a fucking mess, she never fucking cared!"

He stood abruptly, swaying slightly as his vision blurred from his drunkenness, "She never cared," he whispered again as he slowly staggered up the stairs to the sanctuary that was his room.

He tripped on a step and fell backwards toward the floor, "Shit!" He cried, as he landed. No one moved to help him.

"Fuck all of you!" He screamed again as he picked himself up off the ground and successfully made it up the stairs.

Until the night
He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away her memory

He stumbled into his room and went to the dresser by his bed, "I'll love her till I die," He said softly, grabbing the cold gun out of the drawer. He knelt by his bed and replayed parts of his life in his head.

…

"Would you like to buy a pape, miss?" He asked the beautiful young lady in front of him.

Her response was simple, "What's in it for me?" she asked with a smirk, looking over the boy in front of her.

…

"Will you be my girl, Emily?" He asked her one day, as they sat in the shade of the willow tree by the river.

She leaned over until her face was within a centimeter of his, "What's in it for me?" she smiled and kissed his lips softly as he remembered when they had first met, "of course I will, Spot"

…

All newsies throughout New York met up at Medda's for a huge celebration. He had asked her to dance with him and her response was almost expected, "What's in it for me?" she laughed heartily as he lead her to the dance floor.

He danced with her the whole night until his feet felt as though they would fall off.

"You sure are amazing, Emily," He said suddenly. She smiled as he twirled her around.

He brought her back close to him and she laughed, "Tell me something I don't know." She said jokingly, causing him to chuckle in return.

"Alright," he said, "I love you." He pulled her in to the deepest, most passionate kiss either of them had ever experienced. When they broke apart she smiled.

"I already knew that." She blushed slightly, "I love you too."


Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees

He took the gun and raised it slowly to his head. '"What's in it for me?"' He thought, spitefully. 'Everything was for her.' He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The shot rang through the air.

…

Pain. She had slapped him, hard, across the face. "How could you?!" she shouted at him.

"What did I do?" He asked, genuinely flustered.

She began to sob uncontrollably, "Sarah! You slept with her didn't you!?" she grabbed the front of his shirt, "DIDN'T YOU?!"

He looked her in the eyes and grabbed her hands, "What are you on about? I never slept with anyone!"

She jerked her hands out of his grasp, "Yeah right! That's not what I've heard."

…

He rose, with great difficulty, from his knees, his head spun as everything began to grow black. The pain in his head was terrible.

…

"Well what you heard was wrong!" He yelled back, "I never did anything! I've been nothing but faithful to you!"

"STOP LYING!" She screamed at him with pure rage, "How could you? How could you do this to me?" she turned to walk away.

…

He fell, face first to his bed, holding onto a piece of paper, then…

…

He grabbed her hand; "I didn't do it!" she pulled away and looked him in the eye.

"I hate you Spot Conlon!" His heart broke. Nothing was left, just dark, cold, emptiness.

…

Blackness.


We found him with his face down in the pillow
With a note that said I'll love her till I die

The newsies ran, making their way up the stairs. They heard the gun shot and hoped that they weren't too late. They reached the door and listened, no sound came from inside. Strider, Spots second in command, threw the door open and they were all in shock at the sight before them. Spot Conlon, the legendary leader of Brooklyn, the most respected and famous newsie in all of New York was dead, face down in his pillow.

They walked over to his body and pulled the crumpled piece of paper from his hand.

"I'll love her till I die." It said. Those were the last words that Spot Conlon ever said, the last thing he ever wrote.

And when we buried him beneath the willow
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby

The willow tree by the river. That was Spot Conlon's favorite place in the whole world and they all knew why. He had asked Emily if she would be his girl under that tree, and she accepted. They never thought it would come to this.

Spots funeral was the hardest day for most of his newsies. Having to bury their leader, their friend, their king. There was not a single dry eye in the area. Brooklyn newsies weren't supposed to cry, but that rule died right along with the one who made it.

Strider wiped at his eyes, "We should get his death in the papes." He said softly, "That's what he would have wanted." They all agreed.

The rumors flew but nobody know how much she blamed herself
For years and years she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath

Emily was walking through the streets when she heard the news. A newsie yelled out the headline, "Extry extry! Brooklyn's king of the newsies, dead from a broken heart!"

Emily's heart nearly stopped. She ran to the newsie, "I'd…I'd like to buy…buy a…um, here." she held out a penny. The newsie gave her an odd look but noticing the tears in her unbelieving eyes, he nodded, took the penny and handed her a paper.

She thanked him as he walked away then turned the opposite direction.

"I hear that the girl who broke his heart doesn't even care that she did." An old lady said as she past Emily, "I also heard that he caught her cheating on him, that's how they fell apart."

Tears poured from Emily's eyes when she heard this. What did they know?

It had been 2 years since she found out about her loves death. Two years since she found out just how wrong she had been. He never slept with Sarah, he never lied to her and she just threw him out of her life. She hated herself.

Every night she would go out to the bar, she would drink, meet some guy, and then entertain him for the night. It was the only thing she knew to do; it's what her mother did.

Every day when she went into work she wouldn't talk to anyone. She didn't want them to smell the alcohol on her breath; she didn't want to talk about it.


She finally drank her pain away a little at a time

But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind

Each night she got more and more drunk. She didn't know how else to rid herself of her guilt. Over the past years, getting drunk would get rid of the pain, but now her body was immune to it. It didn't affect her.

Finally one night she couldn't take it. She went up to her room opened her drawer and pulled out two things. She looked down at the picture in her hand. Her and Spot were so happy. In the picture he had come up behind her and wrapped his arms around her right as it was taken. His features were so young, so innocent, so…happy. She took that away from him. Now he was dead and it was all her fault. She just couldn't take that guilt any more. She looked at the gun.

Until the night
She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away his memory

The shot could be heard all throughout New York.


Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength she had to get up off her knees
We found her with her face down in the pillow
Clinging to his picture for dear life

When they found her the next day, she still held his picture. It was secured between the fingers of her right hand; the gun lay on the floor by her bed. Her and Spot loved each other, they died the same way.


We laid her next to him beneath the willow
While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby

Many people attended the funeral. Half of New York gathered under that willow tree to pay their condolences. The story of their love was in the paper the next day. Now everyone knows the truth.

Wow…This story made me cry just writing it. My first real one shot! WOOT! I hope you liked it, tell me what you think.