The clear blue sky and brilliant sun seemed to mock the stormy emotions of the small boy sitting amongst the rickety crates near the bridge. His frail shaking frame insignificant amongst the hustle and bustle of the Brooklyn streets as his battered hands clawed at his eyes in a feeble attempt to restrain the inevitable tears. Disgust seared through him at his weakness. He should have done more. He should have tried harder. He shouldn't have been so small. In that moment with the memory of his mother's broken body back at his equally broken home he vowed to never let anyone push him around again. He would be the strongest. He would not be weak.
She picked up her pace as she approached the crate tower. She knew he would be here. He always was. Another fight took place today. She told him again and again of her disapproval, but he always brushed her off. Bright blue eyes met hers as she turned the corner, gleaming with the air of a recent victory.
"Don't be so cocky," she scolded. "Ye know I don't approve." But his grin just widened as he hopped back, seated on his perch. "A Digguh, why do ya always havetuh be such a stick in da mud?" he taunted. Bristling she stepped forward and wagged a finger beneath his slightly bleeding nose.
"Youse don't gotsta defend yourself every time a poor kid bumps into ya! It's like you got something to prove!" With that his smirk dropped and his eyes darkened above a particularly noticeable shiner which had developed even as they spoke.
"You don't know me Digguh. You don't have a clue what Ise gotsta prove. Leave. Me. Be," he growled. And it did the trick. Digger stumbled back and grabbed one last glance before leaving her dear friend to dwell in the bitterness he clutched so tightly to.
His sneer faltered as he took in the sight below him. The boy who had earlier challenged his authority lay in a bloody mess at his feet. The final blow had sent the kid flying to the pavement, head cracking in a sickening thud. Crouching down he shook the boys shoulder in an attempt to rouse him. It worked, but the result wasn't as assuring as he'd hoped. Scared eyes flew open in fear and the words he uttered pierced to the heart. "Don't Pa, don't hit me again! Ise didn't mean it!" He immediately straightened up, rigid with conviction. Turning to the smaller redhead behind him he gave a quick order. "Find Digguh, tell er ta come and take care uh dis rat." As the boy bolted he walked away. A tremor shook through his frame as he walked. With horror he realized the truth. He had become the man he hated. He had become his father. A yell of rage ripped through his lips as he smashed his fist into the crate tower he'd approached. Skin ripped and blood made its way down from his knuckles, but he didn't care.
Something or rather someone nudged his shoulder and he jerked awake. He had fallen asleep with his back to the crate tower. Digger looked down at him disdainfully, but it melted away as she saw what his eyes held. Drowning in the blue orbs was a collection of regret, pain, disgust, and sorrow. Disgust she had seen, but regret? Never. Pain? Out of the question. But she wouldn't say a word. She knew he had learned his lesson. Instead she tenderly lifted his battered hand and began to tend to it.
The torrent of rain swept into his pale face, but he did not flinch away. He did not move. After a moment the door behind him creaked open and a hand reached out to his shoulder. "You should come in," she implored. Not to her surprise he shook her hand off and stayed resolute. "Not until he's back. Not until he makes it home," came his solid reply. He had grown into a true leader. His vow to go untrampled remained, but he had gone from defender of himself to defender of others. The warm lodging house behind him buzzed with young boys running around goofing off. But the storm held an unspoken word of foreboding. One particularly young newsie had yet to return.
"Standing out here catching your death is not the answer. Please come in," She begged, but one glance of his stormy eyes ensured he would not budge.
Hours later the door burst open and Digger looked up to see a soaking wet newsie carry an equally sopping child into the lodge. He laid the boy on a table and smoothed his hair out of his eyes. "Bets, can ya hear me?" he softly asked. The boy groaned and peeked through swollen eyes at his king before nodding. "Whose did dis? Whose hurtcha?" The boy clenched his eyes shut and shuddered. Without making eye contact he whispered, "He found me… it… it was me pa." Digger saw him twitch; she might have been the only one. She had been looking for it. But to her pride, he softened, pulled the boy to his chest tenderly rocking him as he promised, 'Youse is safe now. He ain't gonna hurt you no more."
Digger stepped forward pulled his chin her way with sincerity and admiration gleaming in her eyes before she whispered, "Ise is proud uh you Spot."