Summary: When seeing his older brother in the newspapers, Chris recalls the night that changed everything. The night his brother decided to leave, giving Chris the choice to come with him or stay. The night Chris would regret the rest of his life.

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When I saw James's picture in the paper I couldn't believe my eyes. I didn't think he had what it took to live on the streets. For so long I had thought he was dead, but there he was, staring me in the face. Full of pride, full of rapture, full of hope. Even though the picture was black and white, I could see the sparkle in his crystal blue eyes. The glint of happiness that was absent his entire childhood. Memories of before he left came flooding back; overwhelming me with despair and regret. There was one night that stood out above the rest, the night that changed everything.

I remember standing at the kitchen sink washing the few dishes from our meager dinner. I began to daydream about a better life, a life away from my father, a life away from this city, a life where my brother and I were happy. As my thoughts drifted farther from my task, my grasp on the plate loosened and the plate slipped through my fingers. I watched in horror as it shattered into a million shards of glass on the floor. I knelt down and began scooping up the debris, hoping to clean the mess before Father came in to interrogate what had provoked the sound. The tiny remains began to pierce my flesh deeper and deeper, until blood was flowing profusely down my forearms. Soon part of the floor was covered with my blood strewn with the glass. Tears began to well up in my eyes but I refused to cry. Crying would only draw Father to the kitchen faster.

I heard footsteps coming down the hall and I froze in panic. I just sat on the ground, covered in blood and glass, my watering eyes fixated on the door. James stepped through the door and I felt my body relax, exhaling a breath that I could have sworn I had been holding for a lifetime. He knelt besides me, wiping the tears I had been trying not to shed, and comforted me. He whispered words of assurance in my ear and hugged me tight, not noticing the crimson liquid ruining his favorite shirt. He told me to clean myself up and while I did, he began picking up the broken glass.

I was beginning to think everything would be okay. That father had not noticed my ruckus and would never know what had happened. When night had come I was positive I had gotten away with it. James came into my room to say goodnight and leaned down to kiss my forehead. He never did. Father stormed into my room, fists held high in fury. He screamed so loud and so fast I couldn't understand what he was saying. I didn't need to and neither did James. We knew it was about the plate, and I knew tonight would be long and painful.

James stood up and looked Father in the eye, and said it was him who broke the dish. Father eyed him suspiciously as to make sure he wasn't about to beat the wrong child. He didn't really care who he beat though; I think he liked the way our skin felt against his. The way the dark blue, black, and sometimes a greenish brown mixed together to form our bruises. The authority he felt when we cowered in his presence. Tonight was different though; tonight was the night Father wouldn't feel authority over James. Tonight was the night James's skin wouldn't turn hideous colors of black and blue; tonight was the night James would fight back.

Father began to castigate James just as he did every night. I brought my knees to my chest and curled into the smallest ball I could manage. The only thing I hated more than having to watch my big brother be battered was having to listen to it. I began to sing softly to myself but the sound of skin on skin kept overpowering my near silent voice. My volume increased until I was rocking back and forth singing at a normal intensity. My father screamed something at me, but I wasn't listening. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet. His hand went back in slow motion and I watched petrified, as it came towards me, finally connecting with my cheek.

That was when James finally snapped. He tackled Father to the ground and began to strike him. James's usual calm face was replaced with animosity; his customary apathetic eyes filled with ardent hatred. I curled back into my ball and cried. My tears contorted their figures and my moans camouflaged their struggle. Then as suddenly as the strife started, it ceased. I kept my eyes shut; I didn't need to uncover James's unconscious or even dead body lying on the floor in my room. I didn't need to face the austerity of the situation. I jumped when a hand touched my shoulder. I looked up to find James smiling mournfully at me. He took me into his arms and condoled me for the second time that night.

When he left home, he asked me to go with him. I said no. I didn't think he could survive on the streets, and I knew I wouldn't. I told him he would get farther in life by staying here than by running away and becoming a newsie, but I was wrong. James became one of the most respected and well know newsie in all of New York, the famous Spot Conlon. Standing up to Pulitzer and Hearst, just like he had to our father. He is out there having the time of his life, and me, well I'm sitting in my bedroom, admiring his picture while nursing the fresh bruises from Father. The only thing running through my mind is what I gave up when I turned him down that night. I gave up my happiness, my future, and my brother.

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A/N: I'm actually pretty happy with how this turned out. I hope you guys like it as much as I do! Review and tell me what you think! Good or bad, I wanna know!