AN- Okay, so this is going to be a prologue to my crossover story of True Blood and Newsies, The Vampire and The Newsie. (It can be found in the crossover section, obviously) In TVATN I refer to Spot and Skittery's past a lot, but I don't really have enough time to really get into what, in my mind, happened that made them the way they are and made them so close. So I decided it needed its own story. This will start with them being young, and show how they got out of their parents grasps and came to be Brooklyn newsies and will go up until shortly after Skittery leaves Brooklyn and Spot behind to go to Manhattan. I will warn you that the first chapter will deal with child abuse, so if that makes you uncomfortable, you may not want to read them. If it seems at all rushed, or vague, I apologize, but I found it an extremely difficult topic to write about. I do NOT condone child abuse in any way, shape, or form, I myself am a mother and cannot see how anyone can do that, but I know it happens, and t is a crucial part of their past in my story, so unfortunately I had to suck it up and write it. In TVATN they are supposed to be 19 and 16, so in this story they start out at 10 and 7, and it will go until they're about 18 and 15 or so. Anyways, please enjoy, and don't forget to review!

Disclaimer – I own nothing, still, aside from Skittery who I kidnapped years ago, and Spot who I kidnapped and sent through FedEx to DramaLo. Other than that, all official Newsies characters mentioned belong to Disney, and no monetary gain was made off this. Loss, yes, gain, no. Any Brooklyn newsie mentioned other than Spot belongs to me, though. Credit for the names of Pretty Boy, Crane, and Laces, Bull, and Spades belongs to Thrufirewithoutaburn. Credit for the name Bug belongs to DramaLo.

Oh yes, and this is completely dedicated to DramaLo who can apparently read my mind and figure out the plotline before I write it.

1891

Ten year old Skittery grabbed the hand of his younger cousin who was attempting to leave the house. He had a sack slung over his shoulder filled with his few belongings, and he huffed at his older cousin in annoyance.

"We can't leave, Spot! Where we gonna go?" Skittery tugged the younger boy back through the doorway, exasperated.

"I don't know yet, but anywhere is better dan dis!" Spot retorted, angered at being stopped by Skittery.

Skittery let his shoulders sag, as did Spot, as they both drank in the truths of the other's statements. Spot knew they had nowhere better go, just as Skittery knew anywhere was better than where they were.

Spot set his bag on the floor, and plopped down next to it, as Skittery snuck a peek out the window, earnestly pulling Spot back to the corner of the living room when he saw their parents stumbling towards the front door. "C'mon, Spot." He threw his cousins bag behind the couch, hoping none of the adults would be sober enough to notice it.

Skittery was extremely protective of the younger boy. Every time one of their parents raised a hand at Spot, Skittery would insert himself between them, usually ending up on the floor with a black eye or a bloodied lip as his consequence.

Neither of the young boys could remember a time in their lives when their parents had been nice. They weren't wanted, and they knew it. Skittery and Spot's mom were sisters, and they all lived together in the tiny cramped apartment in Brooklyn. Their dad's were criminals who spent their time out robbing and murdering, and their mothers were whores, who spent their time selling themselves to make enough money for more drugs and alcohol.

Every night when they went to sleep, Skittery would lay awake on the ground next to Spot, keeping watch, because there was never any telling who would be in their house. After one fateful night when Skittery had awoken to some random man kicking Spot in the ribs for lying in his way while their parents just laughed in the background, Skittery had refused to sleep until his parents were home and asleep.

They were treated around the house as nothing more than slaves, forced to do all the cleaning and cooking, and for the past three years they had also had to go out and sell each edition of the newspaper, bringing home any money they made to their parents. Skittery would sometimes lie about the money they made, though, and he had a stash hidden away that no one had found yet, saving up every penny he could scrape together with the hope of getting enough together that he and Spot could leave.

Skittery crossed his fingers, and squeezed his eyes shut, praying that their parents weren't as drunk as they had looked, since the drunker they got, the more abusive and mean they got as well. Both young boys sat still as statues in the corner, hoping to go unnoticed as the doorknob turned and their parents tripped into the house.

Skittery put an arm around the younger boy, pulling him closer, pretending to be invisible. He breathed a sigh of relief when they went unnoticed. He tried to ignore the growling in the pit of his stomach, since he had no idea when the next time they'd eat would be. The food in the house was kept in a locked cabinet, and they were lucky to be allowed a piece of bread a day. Usually when they were out selling, Skittery or Spot would steal food off a cart when the vendor was distracted.

Spot huddled next to his cousin, only seven years old but already he'd seen things in his life that most adults shouldn't have to witness. He'd sat next to Skittery many times, hiding his face in the older boy's shoulder while their dad's would torture and kill people, and their mom's would sleep with the highest bidder.

Spot risked a peek at the adults splayed on the mismatched furniture in the room. His mom and dad were leaned over pipe, her dirty blonde hair mixing with the light brown of his dad's. His mother could have been beautiful if she took care of herself. Spot had his mom's hair color and slight frame, but his features were identical to that of his dad's. Skittery on the other hand, was the spitting image of his dad, except for his eyes which were exactly like his mom's and aunt's.

At one point, the two boys had had real names, but Skittery's dad, without a doubt the crueler of the two, dubbed them Spot and Skittery years before. He claimed Skittery was always on edge, ignoring the fact that it was his own fault, and he claimed Spot was a sore spot in his parent's marriage, since he hadn't actually been wanted in the first place.

Spot cringed as he watched his dad rise from the couch, noticing the boys in the corner, and stalking towards them.

"Should't da two a ya worthless shits be cleanin' or out earnin' money?" He thundered as he drew close to them.

Skittery jumped up, standing in front of the younger boy, hands clenched into fists at his side.

"Da place is clean! An' da evenin' edition don't come out for anudder hour!" He tried to hide his fear behind tough words, but the tremor in his voice gave him away.

Spot's dad let out loud guffaw, as he turned behind him. "Hey Jimmy, ya hear dat? Ya boy t'inks dat he's a big tough guy!"

Jimmy snickered, "Well jus' show 'im who's boss, Frank!"

Frank took that as his cue, and backhanded Skittery, sending him stumbling backwards and crashing into the mirror behind him. He could feel the glass biting into his flesh, and the sting on his face that would be a bruise come morning, but he refused to give Frank the satisfaction of shedding a single tear.

Spot jumped up, ready to defend his cousin, only to join him on the floor a few seconds later when his dad smacked him, then aimed a kick directly at the young boys stomach, knocking the wind out of him, and leaving Spot with a cracked rib or two.

Skittery made the mistake of getting back up, instead of just laying there until Frank got bored, and Jimmy joined Frank as they both pounded him until he could barely see straight.

"Well, whaddya waitn' for? Go sell some papes, an' earn us some money," Jimmy spat at his son, as he left the room. Frank flicked a couple of quarters at the boys to buy their papers with, and joined Jimmy in the kitchen, as their moms stepped over them, ignoring them completely, leaving the two young, beaten boys alone in the living room once again.

Skittery, making a valiant effort to sit up and help Spot up as well, whispered urgently to his cousin. "Go get ya bag, an' put me stuff in it too. I's meet ya outside. Don't let dem see ya got a sack widdya, though."

Sluggishly and painfully, Skittery snuck his way into the one bedroom in the apartment, practically crawling. He lifted up the mattress, feeling for the small tear, and worked out the small bag with drawstrings, shoving it deep in his pockets. He managed to get back to the living room, and out of the house before anyone noticed him, and he limped over to his cousin, grasping his hand and pulling him along, as both boys ignored the pain that walking brought them.

When they were a few blocks from their apartment, but still a ways away from the distribution center, Skittery turned Spot onto a bench, pulling the bag from his pocket. He wasn't very good at counting, but he did his best, and by his calculations, including the fifty cents they had to buy papers with, they had eighty three cents all together.

Spot was quiet, waiting on his cousin to finish counting.

"We ain't goin' back dere," Skittery declared after a moment's contemplation. "Never."

Spot gave a small grin towards Skittery, before it faded away and he asked, "Well what we's gonna do?"

"I dunno. But we's figure out. Let's go buy some papes an' try ta sell 'em. People'll wanna buy from us taday, we's look pathetic," He tried to keep his voice upbeat so the younger one wouldn't sense his distress. They both slowly stood from the bench and headed toward the distribution center.

They got in the back of the line when they arrived, avoiding eye contact and pretending not to notice the hushed whispers of the other boys. When they got to the front of the line, Skittery took a gamble, placing both quarters on the counter. "Hundred, please," He squeaked, hoping he wasn't making a huge mistake.

He took the papers the man handed him, handing a smaller stack to Spot, as they trudged down the steps, looking left to right, trying to decide where to sell. Skittery started to steer Spot one direction, when a tall older boy blocked his path. Skittery let his eyes travel upwards, and let out a sigh of relief.

"Hi Chance," Skittery greeted the leader of the Brooklyn newsies, who was known for taking risks. He towered over the younger boys, his grey cap sitting far back on his head, allowing his ink black hair to spill into his eyes, his blue eye shining with concern for the younger kids.

Chance was a fearless leader, but had a soft spot for the two young boys who would show up consistently each day for every edition of the paper. He didn't know their story, but thinking about what must have gone on wherever they came from did nothing short of make his blood boil. He couldn't count the number of times he'd seen the two show up beaten, bruised, and bloodied. But without fail, they'd be there; getting their papes, sticking to each other's side like glue, and keeping to themselves. He'd never seen them look so bad before though, and he squatted down until he was eye level with the two frightened boys.

"You's two okay?" He asked, knowing they wouldn't admit it even if they weren't.

Skittery gave a determined nod of his head, shifting the heavy stack of papers, trying not to grimace at the pain it brought.

Chance studied them silently, before reaching out and taking both stacks. "C'mon. You's two can sell widdme taday, we's split evenly, all right?"

"T'anks," chorused the younger boys as they trailed behind Chance.

"Don't t'ank me, I's get me papes sold quicker wid da two a ya bein' widdme," He smiled down at them, pulling a cigarette from his pocket, as they all called out the headline.

Chance was proved correct a couple hours later when they had rid themselves of all two hundred papes in record time. He turned back to the two boys, stalling, not wanting to let them go back to whomever had put them in that condition, so he tried to hide his smile when Skittery finally spoke up.

"Dat lodgin' house you's newsies stay at, can anyone who can pay stay dere if dey sell papes?"

"Sure can kid," Chance said around the cigarette dangling from his lips. "An' it jus' so happens we have quite a few empty beds right now, and Lawrence, da guy who runs da place, he don't like havin' empty bunks." He counted out the change, handing half over to Skittery, who pulled out the crumpled drawstring bag, dropping his and Spot's share in.

"How much?"

"Six cents a night, and anudder nickel if ya eat dinner dere. Best deal around for street rats like us, kid."

Skittery scrunched his face up in concentration before he gave a firm nod of his head. "Can ya take us dere?"

"I'd be happy ta," Chance replied with a grin. "An' Lawrence is pretty good when it comes ta scrapes an' bruises, so he'll take a look at da two a ya, free a charge." He couldn't help but add, as he cast a glance at the two boys who were trying so hard to hide their pain.

Neither boy responded to that, and Skittery looked away embarrassed, as Spot tugged on his sleeve. "So's we don't gotta go back ta our parents? Ever?"

Skittery shook his head, reassuring the younger boy. "Nope. Dey won't be beatin' up on us no more, promise."