Danger's Doorstep
By: Shorty Carter
A/N I don't own Newsies, though I wish I did. Brooklyn and John Smalls are of my own creation. Please Review! Ideas are always welcome, too! Flames excepted!
Summary: Brooklyn Smalls, a nobody, a Charge, is thrown out of her abusive home and into the hands of the Newsies of both Brooklyn and Manhattan. As Jack and Race make plans to build up her self esteem and get rid of her fear of men by sending her to Brooklyn with Spot, Brooklyn's father makes plans to get his "Charge" back. But her father doesn't want her back to apologize. No. He wants her back to finish what he started. Something he had started with her mother.
She hit the brick wall with a sickening thud, sinking painfully to the cold stone floor. A hand came into her blurred vision, grabbing her by the neck and lifting her off the ground.
"Ya lousy Bitch! I'd taught I's tolds ya nots ta move!" Brooklyn Smalls father, John yelled, throwing her across the small room. She landed hard, and heard something crack. White-hot pain shot through her right arm, forcing tears out of her misty gray eyes. He had been doing this since she was five, when her mother died. He blamed her for everything, and she became the object of his anger. He stalked over to her, hauling her up by the front of her torn dress.
"I's done wit ya! Git ya lousy ass outta me house! An don'ts ya comes back!" He dragged her over to the door, flinging it open and throwing her out. She passed out the minute she hit the ground, sinking into a wonderful black void.
Later that same day, night to be exact, Jack Kelly and Racetrack Higgins walked down a deserted alley, laughing and joking with each other.
"So, Jack. Ya gonna take Sarah out dis Friday?" Race asked, playfully punching his friend in the shoulder. Jack grinned, thinking about his girlfriend Sarah Jacobs.
"I's tink so. I's just don't know weah ta take her. Got any suggestions?" Race thought, or at least tried to.
"I's would suggest Tibby's, but it ain't really romantic. How 'bout Medda's? I'm sure Medda could put together somethin' for ya goil. I know she would fo me!" Jack laughed at this.
"Ya have a goil? Please tell me it don't have four legs dis time!" Race pretended to look hurt, then turned and gave Jack a shove.
"Da last one I's had didn' have four legs! It had three!" They both burst out laughing, continuing on their way to the Lodging House. The street lamps and moonlight shed a soft glow on a figure lying in the middle of the alley. Both boys stopped their joking around and looked at the figure.
"Well dat's an unusuals place ta sleep. Especially's on a cold night likes dis," Race commented, walking over to the person. The two soon found out it was a girl lying in her own blood, her dress torn and blood soaked. Scars and cuts criss-crossed her exposed flesh, while bruises dotted her pale skin. The only thing clean lookin on her was her strawberry hair tied back into two braids, though blood dripped into it from a long cut on her forehead.
"God, what happen ta her? She looks likes someone beat real bad on hers," Race whispered, looking in shock.
"Someone probably did. We need to get her ta da Lodgin' House. Run ahead an' call da Doc! Go!" Jack shouted when Race just stood there. Racetrack took off instantly, while Jack lifted the girl off the ground and half walked half ran with her to the Lodging House.
John Smalls paced his small apartment, thinking of how he was going to get his charge back. No longer did he refer to her as his daughter. She became his charge, no more, no less. He ran a strong tanned hand through his auburn hair, darker than his charges. His dark brown eyes flickered around the room like a flame hungry for oxygen. Different ideas ran through his mind, but none of them seemed perfect.
"Damn her! I should 'ave done aways wit 'er when me had da chance!" he said aloud to himself. Then it hit him, like hail falling out of a clear blue sky. Clearer than a stream racing over smooth stones. Grabbing his overcoat, he headed out the door and into the cool Manhattan night.
By: Shorty Carter
A/N I don't own Newsies, though I wish I did. Brooklyn and John Smalls are of my own creation. Please Review! Ideas are always welcome, too! Flames excepted!
Summary: Brooklyn Smalls, a nobody, a Charge, is thrown out of her abusive home and into the hands of the Newsies of both Brooklyn and Manhattan. As Jack and Race make plans to build up her self esteem and get rid of her fear of men by sending her to Brooklyn with Spot, Brooklyn's father makes plans to get his "Charge" back. But her father doesn't want her back to apologize. No. He wants her back to finish what he started. Something he had started with her mother.
She hit the brick wall with a sickening thud, sinking painfully to the cold stone floor. A hand came into her blurred vision, grabbing her by the neck and lifting her off the ground.
"Ya lousy Bitch! I'd taught I's tolds ya nots ta move!" Brooklyn Smalls father, John yelled, throwing her across the small room. She landed hard, and heard something crack. White-hot pain shot through her right arm, forcing tears out of her misty gray eyes. He had been doing this since she was five, when her mother died. He blamed her for everything, and she became the object of his anger. He stalked over to her, hauling her up by the front of her torn dress.
"I's done wit ya! Git ya lousy ass outta me house! An don'ts ya comes back!" He dragged her over to the door, flinging it open and throwing her out. She passed out the minute she hit the ground, sinking into a wonderful black void.
Later that same day, night to be exact, Jack Kelly and Racetrack Higgins walked down a deserted alley, laughing and joking with each other.
"So, Jack. Ya gonna take Sarah out dis Friday?" Race asked, playfully punching his friend in the shoulder. Jack grinned, thinking about his girlfriend Sarah Jacobs.
"I's tink so. I's just don't know weah ta take her. Got any suggestions?" Race thought, or at least tried to.
"I's would suggest Tibby's, but it ain't really romantic. How 'bout Medda's? I'm sure Medda could put together somethin' for ya goil. I know she would fo me!" Jack laughed at this.
"Ya have a goil? Please tell me it don't have four legs dis time!" Race pretended to look hurt, then turned and gave Jack a shove.
"Da last one I's had didn' have four legs! It had three!" They both burst out laughing, continuing on their way to the Lodging House. The street lamps and moonlight shed a soft glow on a figure lying in the middle of the alley. Both boys stopped their joking around and looked at the figure.
"Well dat's an unusuals place ta sleep. Especially's on a cold night likes dis," Race commented, walking over to the person. The two soon found out it was a girl lying in her own blood, her dress torn and blood soaked. Scars and cuts criss-crossed her exposed flesh, while bruises dotted her pale skin. The only thing clean lookin on her was her strawberry hair tied back into two braids, though blood dripped into it from a long cut on her forehead.
"God, what happen ta her? She looks likes someone beat real bad on hers," Race whispered, looking in shock.
"Someone probably did. We need to get her ta da Lodgin' House. Run ahead an' call da Doc! Go!" Jack shouted when Race just stood there. Racetrack took off instantly, while Jack lifted the girl off the ground and half walked half ran with her to the Lodging House.
John Smalls paced his small apartment, thinking of how he was going to get his charge back. No longer did he refer to her as his daughter. She became his charge, no more, no less. He ran a strong tanned hand through his auburn hair, darker than his charges. His dark brown eyes flickered around the room like a flame hungry for oxygen. Different ideas ran through his mind, but none of them seemed perfect.
"Damn her! I should 'ave done aways wit 'er when me had da chance!" he said aloud to himself. Then it hit him, like hail falling out of a clear blue sky. Clearer than a stream racing over smooth stones. Grabbing his overcoat, he headed out the door and into the cool Manhattan night.