"Brooklyn's Here..."
...In Which an Unlikely Friendship Is Formed.
Manhattan, Late Fall 1892
Newsies from Brooklyn go wherever they want to go—that's what he older boys had been telling nine-year-old Spot since he'd joined their little band a few months before. One day, he finished selling early and decided to put it to the test. Bundled up against an early winter's chill as best he could, the short and scrawny boy wandered into Manhattan, mostly to see just what would happen. He was trying to mimic the confidence of the older boys he worked with, but he felt a little silly.
He got distracted for a second, not seeing the two older boys until he ran into one of them. "Watch where you're going, pipsqueak!" one of them growled, hauling a very surprised Spot up by the front of his shirt and pressing him against the wall.
"Hey, Morris!" the other laughed, "Check out da hat an' bag—I think it's one of da new newsies!"
A wicked grin spread across Morris's face as he held the still-pinned boy. "I think you're right, Oscar. Now look here, youse. Our uncle's in charge of you little rats, so you gotta tread careful round us, if you wanna keep your job!"
Spot was scared, but trying not to show it. "He's not da boss of me—I'm from Brooklyn!"
"Den youse got no business here, have you?" Oscar asked. "Trespassin', dey call it."
Spot knew what was coming—he could practically feel them winding up to unleash a beating on him. He squirmed, trying to break free, but the older, bigger boys held him fast. Before they could start hitting him, however, they were interrupted...by a tomato.
The rotting fruit hit Morris between the shoulder blades, drawing a roar of surprise and outrage. As his brother turned to see what had happened, he, too, got a projectile—this time to the face. Oscar was not as lucky as his Morris, however—his was a potato that was as hard as a rock. He reeled back, clutching his nose, unconsciously releasing Spot, who did the only thing he could think of to do—he ducked and ran down the alley towards the direction the produce had come from. Better unknown, unseen potential allies than definite enemies.
He'd only gotten halfway down the alley before small hands grabbed his arm and pulled him behind an upturned crate. Remembering the attack he'd only just escaped, he tried to twist away and shout when someone clapped a hand over his mouth.
"Quiet, or dose rotten Delancey's will find us!"
It was a kid's voice, and it cut through Spot's panic enough to see two other kids crouching behind the crate with him. The blonde who'd spoken seemed to have a bum leg—at least, it w s at an odd angle and there was a crutch on the ground between them. The other, smaller figure was sitting up, keeping a careful lookout, and testing the weight of a shriveled apple, obviously ready to throw if the Delancey's tried to follow their quarry. If the bags were anything to go by, he'd just been rescued by two Manhattan newsies. Embarrassing, but maybe not as bad as returning to Brooklyn covered in bruises.
Suddenly, the dark-haired newsie pitched the apple with frightening speed, ducking back down as another shout of pain testified the target had been hit. Still, the blonde asked. "Did you get him?"
"Yeah, Now Morris gots a black eye to go wit' his brudder's bloody nose." Now that the third newsie was right beside him, Spot realized that he was actually bigger than the marksman—not a common occurrence for the scrawny boy. "I think dey learned dere lesson, I don' hear dem comin' dis way. Good shot by da way, Crutchie. Your aim's getting' better."
The one apparently called Crutchie shrugged. "Potatoes is easy, Squirt—you're still da best shot next ta Snipes, an even he needs da sling shot."
Spot was still staring at Squirt, and when he realized the truth, he couldn't keep his mouth shut. "Are youse a girl?"
Both other newsies stiffened—apparently unused to people figuring it out. "Yeah, but it's a secret," she said at last. "You can't tell nobody."
Spot glanced down at their bags—they still had papers in them, meaning these two had taken time away from their living to rescue a perfect stranger. "I swear I won't tell anybody—not even da o'dders in Brooklyn. I'm Spot, by da way."
"I'm Crutchie, and dis is Squirt. Da Delancey's didn't actually hit ya, did dey?"
"No, dey didn't have time." He wanted to thank them, but was loath to appear any weaker than he knew he already did—he, the tough kid from Brooklyn, had been saved by a girl and a crip.
Squirt sized him up. "You're really from Brooklyn? I heard Paddy's tough."
Spot nodded, thinking of the boy in charge. "Someday, I'm gonna be big an' tough like him, an' den I'll show dose Delancey's what a kid from Brooklyn can really do." He puffed his scrawny chest out, hoping he looked impressive and not ridiculous. "An—An' if youse don't tell anybody about dis, I'll help you, when you need it—promise."
He spat in his hand, extending it. They both mimicked his action, shaking on it. Crutchie smiled wide before he asked, "Think we could stop by Brooklyn sometime an' see you?"
"Sure—jus' say youse a friend of Spot, an' it'll be okay. Jus' don' tell 'im how we met." He looked at their bags again, feeling a little guilty. "Youse better get back to sellin' if you wants to be able to get papes tomorrow."
They both glanced down, as if they'd forgotten their burden temporarily. Maybe they had, in their rush to help. "Yeah," Squirt admitted. "Bruiser will have a fit if we finish up too late."
With that, they made their way out of the alley as fast as Crutchie could limp, pausing at the street to wave goodbye. Spot returned the wave, watching as his new friends disappeared from view.
"I promise," he repeated, though there was no one to hear it. No one from Brooklyn—or anywhere else—would give those two a hard time as long as he had any say in the matter.
So, yeah. As promised, yet another face from the show. I saw one fic that had Spot and Crutchie be really good friends, and I like that idea and how it might play into the events of the strike, so I stole it and put Squirt in as well.
As always, if you saw something you liked, or something you think I can fix/improve on for next time, don't hesitate to leave a review and let me know!
