I changed this story's rating to T, mostly because I'm paranoid, but it's only for a small part of Blink's story for gore. Total WC: 4,548
Status update: I still don't own Newsies.
As Blink walked through Manhattan alone, the flashback's that he usually only got when he was sleeping pierced his inner eye. The memory of that day replayed for the hundredth time:
"Good going, Ryan, looks like a big one!" His father called out to Ryan as his fishing pole stretched down.
The family was out on their boat for the weekend. Ryan, his parents, and his sister, Hannah. The girls of the family were closer to the middle of the boat, laughing at the face Ryan made when his pole was bending so much it was about snap.
His father briskly walked over to Ryan, and showed him how to let some of the line and tension go so the pole wouldn't break. The line whined as Ryan let some loose.
After almost ten minutes, with his father driving the boat to chase the fish, Ryan finally pulled the fish up to the deck, his green eyes sparkling. "Hannah, come on!" He called as he tried to wrestle it over the rail towards him.
"Ew! No way!" Hannah was Ryan's younger sister. She was 7, and he was 9.
"Go on," Her mother urged. Hannah glared, but in good spirit, gently grabbed the fishing line, and gave it a yank. That was enough to get it over the edge, and right on top of Ryan, knocking him to the deck. He quickly shoved it to the side, sitting up as his family laughed.
After they got it under control, the adults decided it was time to head back home. Ryan's father had given him his leather coat when he started shivering since the fish had gotten him wet. It was wrapped around his shoulders, and Ryan thought life couldn't get any better.
And it didn't.
Out of nowhere, clouds rolled in from the sea. Dark gray, they engulfed the harbor around the boat, making them blind. Ryan's father pulled out his compass, and set them towards shore.
The waves rocked the boat in every direction, making it impossible for Ryan's father to steer. Not until that moment did Ryan realize how many jagged rocks there were in the harbor. When a wave went down, you would see the needle points of black rocks.
If the boat was caught at the top of an arch, it careened down towards the bottom as if on a slide. The sound of Hannah's terrified screams pierced the air better than any whistle. She and Ryan both held on to the railing right next to each other. Ryan held a firm grip on the coat; he wanted to be able to return it to his father after they all eventually get back to shore.
But they didn't.
One too many walls of water smashed against the hull, and the boat broke apart. The mast fell towards him. He rolled to the side, and yelled for Hannah to do the same. But she could not hear him over the wind and splintering wood. Ryan never saw her again. She was crushed, or drowned.
Ryan's screams didn't make it past his lips. He didn't have time to scream, screaming couldn't save you. When the mast fell, it cut the boat in half.
In one instant, he saw his parents, clutching each other, on the other side of the boat. Ryan locked eyes with his father. He had never seen him look so scared. They were all so helpless. His dark green eyes seemed to tell him to not give up, but that was the only option that seemed to be open to him.
Another giant wave washed over Ryan's side of the boat, pulling him under, and tearing the railing off deck. It stayed in his hand and his face fell forward, but the wood shot upward, towards the surface. A spoke of wood jammed into his face, scraping all the way from his brow to his left cheek. His scream of pain turned to bubbles and his feet churned the red water, trying to surface.
Ryan broke the surface, taking a gulp of frigid air. The waves had shrunk in size, but not in frequency. His head was constantly going underwater.
When he turned to look around, he saw that there was nothing on the surface except the wood that he was on and even smaller ones.
In one break of fog, he saw a lighthouse shine. He coughed when his blood got in his mouth and mixed with the seawater. He kicked towards the light, with his right hand on the floating wood, and his left was fixed on his father's coat, now pressed up to his eye.
He finally made it out of the black water, and there was someone there. Dressed in overalls and a fishing hat, Ryan thought he must be the owner of the lighthouse. "You all 'ight?" He asked as Ryan climbed onto the rocky shore. His voice was gravelly, but not threatening.
"No," Ryan coughed. "My parents, they're still out there." He turned to go back into the water.
He felt a restraining hand on his shoulder. "No one is out there anymore. I didn't think you would make it all by yourself."
Ryan was led into the lighthouse, he was fed and cleaned up, but not even the most skilled doctors could fix his eye. "That's all I can do, that's all anyone can do." Ryan nodded and turned over his shoulder. The man had a mirror by the door, and Ryan could see his reflection. His face was extremely pale, but his brow and cheek were scabbed, and his eye was bright red. It was horrifying to look at.
Tears welled up, and burned as they touched the scars. He sniffed and tore his gaze from the mirror. Ryan asked if he could have a knife, but the man was hesitant. "I wan' something to cover dis up." Ryan pulled the coat and put in on the table. It's yellow, brown, leather was ripped up too much to be of use.
The man understood and handed him a small pocket knife. Ryan carved out a circle larger than his eye and left enough on either side to make strings. He set the knife down and tied is around his head. He took a small amount of extra gauze and stuffed it inside the patch so it wouldn't get stained, even though he had mostly stopped bleeding. He secured it and stood up.
"You ain't leaving, are ya? It's dead of night."
"I have to, I'm sorry, and thank you so much for helping me." Without a second glance, Ryan darted out the door, deep into the city.
Blink was pulled out of his memory by a horse drawn carriage that got too close.
He can remember of how after that, he had found the Lodging House, and was taken in. Mush was the first one to talk to him. All the boys wanted to give him a name as soon as possible. He was the youngest one there, so some people wanted to call him Kid. One looked at his eye patch and wanted to call him Blinkie. He got punched in the face.
Mush suggested Kid Blink. He accepted, for there was something regal sounding about having a two-part name.
Blink sighed as he thought of Mush. His first friend and he had just sent him into Brooklyn.
Mush made it across the Bridge, and treaded through Brooklyn, heading for the docks, which is where everyone says to go if you need to find Spot.
He felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to rise. He just knew that there were birds in every alley, waiting for word on whether to attack or let him through.
So far Mush wasn't bothered. He wound through the city, following the smell of the sea, he found the docks and saw the Nest. Basically Spot's throne, a tower of fishing crates were tied together with netting and ropes, and Spot was almost always in there during the day. And so he was. Even from afar, Mush could see the red of his suspenders and the glint of the silver of handle on his cane.
Since Mush could see Spot, Spot could also see Mush.
As Mush walked on the boardwalk, Spot flicked a hand to the side. All the newsies stepped to the edges of the dock, to make a path for Mush as he approached the Nest.
"So, the artist has finally come." Spot mocked with his heavy Brooklyn drawl. Soft laughter drifted down from the Nest.
"What d'ya want, Spot?" Mush challenged, feeling particularly brave.
"It ain't what I wish, it's what you wish." Spot gave a cocky smile. With a glance down by his feet, he gave another laugh. He had the camera, and it was in the Nest.
Mush took a menacing step forward. "Give it back! Why d'ya want it anyway? There ain't no film left."
"Well," Spot leaned against the edge of the crate. "I 'ave to keep checking up on Manhattan, but I usually ain't welcome, mush easier to 'ave you come ta me."
Mush was reaching the end of his famously thick patience. "What do you want me ta pass on ta Jack?"
Spot shook his head. "Nah, not Jack. Tell Kid Blink I've done my part." He bent over to pick up the camera. He dangled it over the edge of the Nest. The strap was around his pinky finger, swinging dangerously.
He was stunned into silence. Why did Blink make a deal with Spot, and what was Blink's half?
Some of Spot's boys laughed around him, like they were in on some joke. "Spot!" Mush yelled. All the laughter was instantly silenced. "I'll be taking that now." He stepped forward and held out his hand.
"Suit yourself." He tossed it towards Mush. Mush dove for it so it wouldn't hit the dock and shatter. It landed in his outstretched palms, but the dock scraped up his knees. He didn't care. He stood up quickly, and wrapped the strap around his neck.
The two stared at each other, challenging the other person to say something that would start a fight. Mush was smart enough to not do that when Spot had over 20 of his boys on that dock.
Alright, I've done my part, now get lost." Spot jerked his head towards Manhattan, but he still had a smile.
"What did Blink do? Why did you do this?"
Spot turned more serious. "The correct grammar is 'what is Blink going to do?'."
Mush's eyes were wide with confusion. He suddenly feared for his friend. Without another word, he turned around and sprinted off the dock, back towards the Bridge, jeers and taunts from the Brooklyn newsies seemed to follow him all the way there.
He only slowed down once reached the west side of the Bridge. He still kept up the brisk pace; he needed to find Blink and figure out what is going on.
The only place he could think of to go was the Lodging House. It was late afternoon, so most of the newsies would be back already. Mush could ask around to see if anyone knew where his best friend was.
He held his camera tight; it was a reminder to how he got it.
After he sold his papes, Mush worked at a photography shop. Not as really an employee, but just running random errands in the afternoons. He became close to the owner, a kind, older man.
At the shop, customers could buy and sell their photography equipment, as well as get them repaired. One day someone came in with an old camera they wanted to sell. It was so beat up and battered; the owner couldn't give the customer as much money as he wanted to get for it. Furious, he strode out, leaving the camera without taking what little cash the owner offered.
Mush was there when it happened. He walked up and asked if the old man was okay, for there was a lot of shouting on the customer's part. The owner smiled and thanked him for his kindness. He even offered to give Mush the camera, as he didn't have enough money to pay Mush for his work that week. He gladly accepted, but wanted to pay for it. Mush had nowhere near enough, but the owner didn't want much, and settled easily for two dollars.
When he walked through the Lodging House door, Mush saw that the common room was crowded. He was greeted by various people with a simple "Hey, Mush.", but not by the one person he was looking for.
Jack was the next person to approach him. "Lookin' for Blink?" Jack always seemed to able to read his mind.
"How could ya tell?"
"I've hoird what 'appened today."
"How?"
"A little boird told me." Jack gave a cocky smile and a wink. Mush stared. Did Jack mean something about Spot or Brooklyn?
Mush was about to start asking a plethora of questions, but Jack waved his hand dismissively. "He's out back." He walked away with a small laugh.
He walked the rest of the way through the crowded boys, and out the back door. And as Jack said, Blink was there. The back alley is usually the place where some of the boys would go to smoke, but Blink didn't smoke. He was just standing there, leaning against the brick, like he was waiting for someone.
"Hey," Mush said and walked next to Blink.
"Hey," Blink replied. He had something tucked underneath his am, but Mush couldn't make out what it was.
"I'm sorry I sent you into Brooklyn alone, I-" Blink was cut off.
"Nah, I understand, wait…no, I don't understand. What's been going on?" He turned to face Blink, how was trying to avoid eye contact.
"I…I'm really sorry Mush, I just didn't know how to get rid of you for an hour or so."
"Get rid of me for what?" Mush asked, more hurt than angry.
"You've always been such a good friend to me, and I've never really done anything to repay you. I know what that camera means to you, I hope you can forgive me for putting you in Brooklyn." Blink's eye raked over Mush's scraped knees.
Mush gave a kind smile. "Of course I can, but I still don't know what's going on."
Blink laughed. "I asked Spot to somehow get you into Brooklyn for an hour so I could get something for you."
It all cleared up. Spot was just doing Blink a favor. Blink knew that Spot was going for the camera, so that's why he made huge, long tracks in the sand. To lead him right to it! And Blink always was checking the shore to see if Spot had gotten it and if it was clear to go back.
Mush breathed a sigh of relief.
"Well, this is for you. From me, with a little help from the other guys." Blink held out the rectangular box that was under his arm.
It was a box of film.
Thank you so much for reading, hope everyone has a great rest of their summer!
(btw, it was really hard to keep this story form turning into Blush, and I've never even written it before!)
