***Disclaimer***I don't own Newsies, Disney does. I don't own any of the characters except, Leigh, Ten, (Aunt) Claire, Rick, Conlon, Donna, Charles, and Red (There might be more, I think that's it though). ***Notes***I'm going to try and update once a week. At least that's what I am hoping to do.

Chapter Two (Past Relived)

"As we live on, we lose a little bit more. Shrouded in falsehoods and lies, we stand frozen to the spot, unable to cry out." (Fukai Mori; Deep Forest)

Spot gets up from the dock he is sitting on. He takes a cigarette out of his pant's pocket. He puts it to his lips and holds it there, while with the other hand takes a match out of the same pocket. He lights the match and then the cigarette. Flicking away the match he begins to walk, where, he wasn't sure. He inhales the smoke from the cigarette, letting it fill his lungs. He continues to walk and think of her, Leigh.

"Nooo! Dad!!!!! It's going to be fine dad!"

"Wo,wo, it's okay. Hey, it's okay. Leigh, Leigh, wake up." Spot says to Leigh as he tries to awaken her from a fitful dream. Spot leans in closer to her.

"Nooo!" Leigh shouts as she punches Spot hard in the chin. Spot falls back in shock and from the hard punch that landed upon him.

"Oww!" Spot grabs his chin.

"Oh my gosh! Spot I'm SO sorry! I didn't mean ta, honest!" Leigh gets out of her bed and runs to Spot. "I was still half asleep and, and, oh I'm sorry." Leigh stammers in the confusion of all that just happened.

"It's okay. Geez do you got a good right hook!" Spot says with a slight smile. Leigh smiles, her face turning crimson. "You're stronger den some of me boys! Remind me not ta get in a fight width you." Leigh was glade to see that Spot wasn't seriously hurt, and that he wasn't mad at her.

"So, what was all dat about?" Spot asks. Leigh looks at him. She knows that he is talking about her dream. Spot notices in her eyes that she really doesn't want to talk about it. She turns her eyes to the ground, not able to stare into his gaze any longer. "Hey it's alright. Forget I asked."

"No. It's nothin'. I was just dreaming about da past. You see about a year ago my dad was killed in front of me. But I really don't care ta talk about it now." She pauses. "You're not mad are yous?" Leigh looks up at Spot to see if she can read his face.

Spot places his arm around her waist. "Of course I ain't mad at you! Trust me, I have plenty of things from my past dat I really don't care ta think about." Spot gives Leigh a reassuring squeeze. "If you ever do need to talk, I am a good listener." Leigh gives him a look of thanks.

"I'll be sure ta remember dat."

The following day Spot asked Leigh if she would like to go to Manhattan for the day. "The boys dere are plannin' on going to a show. Ya see every Friday we get tagether. They want ta know if we would like ta go width em."

"Sure! That would be great!" Leigh decided that she needed to have some fun. Going out with her friends would be the ideal thing to do.

"Good. We'll be leavin' here shortly then." Spot digs his hand into his pocket looking for a cigarette. His fingertips feel one and with satisfaction he pulls it out and lights it while bringing it up to his mouth. Shortly afterwards they were crossing the Brooklyn bridge to meet with the rest of the newsies that were going out that night.

The two of them walk at an easy pace. Leigh begins to slow down until she comes to a stop. Noticing, Spot turns to see what's wrong. "Is everythin' okay?" He takes hold of Leigh's hand. Leigh looks at his hand, then follows it up his arm, until her gaze falls upon his face.

"It might not be right of me ta ask, but,"

"But what?" Spot says, trying to get her to continue.

"Well I was just wonderin,' how did you became a newsie?" Spot's eyes held a look of pain within them after hearing Leigh's question. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't of asked. Forget about-"

"No." Spot interrupts. "It's okay. I just haven't thought about da past in a long time. Your question made me realize that it's still dere."

"You really don't have ta go into it." Leigh says while placing her free hand over Spot's hand, which is holding her other hand.

"No, it's fine. Come on, let's walk and talk." They release hands and continue across the bridge. "Jack is the only udder person who knows about me past." Spot starts to tell Leigh what lead him to wear he was today. "It's not like there's anythin' really ta hide, it's just dat, as you already know, I'm sure ya have noticed, I keep ta myself." Spot looks beside him to see Leigh nod her head in agreement. He takes it as his que to continue.

"While giving birth to me me mudder died. I guess Rick," Spot turns to look at Leigh. "that's me fadder," Leigh nods her head to show she understands. He then looks straight ahead and continues. "well I guess he took her death preddy hard. He blamed me for what happened ta er." Spot let out a sigh and began to relive the past.

"Aunt Claire, pleeeease don't go!" A small child of about the age of five holds onto an older woman's green long wool skirt. He continues to beg. "I'll be good. I promise! Just don't go!!" The woman kneels down to look at the little boy's face. His clear crystal blue eyes are blurred with tears, and his cheeks damp from those that have escaped. "Don't you love me?" He asks her.

"There now little one." The woman places her hands on the heaving shoulders of the crying boy. "You're not a bad little boy. I do love ye, and I always shall. I want to stay with ye, but I can't any longer." She spoke with a fading Irish accent.

"But why? Take me with you, just don't leave me here!" Tim says pleadingly. Tears weld in the woman's eyes now. She had been trying so hard not to cry, but she could not fight the tears any longer.

"You're da doesn't want me here anymore, because he says," She tries to think quickly of an excuse that would not upset the boy about his father. "he says that I'm to old ta be takin' care of ye. He wants me ta rest. Do you understand that?" She looks into his eyes. He nods his head. "I'm sorry I can't take care of ye anymore. But don't worry, I'll come and visit you." Knowing that she had just lied to the child tore her heart apart.

Rick, Tim's father, walks into the room. He looks at Claire with disgust, lets out a grunt, and then says, "It's time for you ta leave Claire." Claire slowly nods and then begins to rise.

"I love you Aunt Claire!" Tim tightly places his small arms around her before she can get up. Tears stream down both of their cheeks.

"I love you too darling." She gives a quick hug back and then is grabbed by the arm and forced out the door.

Rick slams the door behind them and then looks at Claire. "Now you get out of here and don't come back! I'm sick of you tellin' me how ta raise my child and always tellin' me what ta do! GO!" Claire looks directly into his eyes, and then turns and walks down the unsanitary hallway, to leave and never return.

"Aunt Claire raised me since me mudder died and me fadder was never home. She was the only mudder I ever had. I never saw her after dat." Spot shrugged his shoulders to help bring him out of the memories. Leigh felt absolutely horrible for asking Spot to relive such a horrible past.

"Spot you don't have ta continue. I understand."

"No. I want you ta understand me bedder. Ta do so ya gotta know my past." He continues. "Well, as soon as Aunt Claire left I knew that I was in big trouble. Ya see, she always protected me from Rick. Now no one was there for me."

"What da hell do ya think you're doin'!?" Rick's shout causes Tim to jump. He didn't know how to answer. "If I answer him he'll hit me, if I don't answer him he'll hit me." Tim thought to himself, weighing his options. He decides to keep quite. "Get over here you little shit!!!" Tim obeys and drops the broom he had been using to clean up the broken liquor bottles that lay on the floor from the previous night. He crosses the small room until he stops in front of his father. "Are you causing problems again? Huh? HUH?!" Tim inhales the all too familiar smell of liquor off of his father's breath as he is violently shaken. His father reeks of cigar and cigarette smoke from the bar that he spent every night at after work.

Tim inwardly cursed himself for not estimating when he would be home. "I didn't think he would be coming home for at least a few more hours." To avoid his father's wrath he had learned that the best thing to do was keep out of his sight. But sometimes that didn't always work. Several nights Rick would come home and yank him out of his bed to use him as a punching bag. Tim braces himself for what he knows is coming any moment, and sure enough there it was, the first blow to the stomach.

Tim raps his arms tightly around his stomach, trying to do anything to relieve the pain. He is unable to concentrate on his stomach long, for another punch lands on his already blue and swollen eye. He didn't really cry out that much while the beating continued. This was routine for him. He had learned that crying out only made the punches harder and quicker. His father raises the small seven-year-old frame off of the ground and slams him against the old worn wall. Tim falls unconscious to the floor, where he will remain for hours.

"Oh god Spot! That's awful!" Leigh grabs Spot's hand that is hanging down at his side. This pulls Spot out of his memories. He looks at Leigh and reads her face.

"She cares so much about me. What did I do ta deserve her?" "Thanks Leigh." He says while giving her hand a squeeze. "Well, the beatings continued, and Rick started to spend more and more of his time at da bars, rather than at work or at home. Now the home part I didn't mind at all. But without him working there was absolutely no food. That's when I started ta leave the complex and go looking for food on da streets."

A small boy, at the age of seven, walks down the chipping cement stairs that lead into his complex, and steps into the busy streets of Manhattan. He looks around to make sure that his father is nowhere in sight. He then begins his journey into the chaotic surroundings that lie all around him.

He had been outside the complex very few times. Everything was so interesting and new to him. He wondered the side streets for a long time, making sure that he knew at all times how to get back to the complex.

"Gees, I'm wastin' way too much time. Dad will probably be home late tanight, but I want ta make sure I get home early, just in-case." Tim thinks to himself as he exits an alley and enters a busy main street. "Now back ta what I'm here for, food." With that Tim glances around to find what he would think to be a good victim. Without any experience in stealing he was going to go for the easiest target there was. He sees a man in his twenties and thinks best not to try him. He continues searching the crowd and spots a woman fussing with her infant. "No, that's too low for me ta go." Next his eyes rest on a preoccupied boy who looks to be in his teens. "Well dat seems ta be the only option I's got."

He quietly approaches the boy from behind. He figures it was best to try and do it as quickly as possible, so he wouldn't be noticed. He reaches the boy and is about to reach into his pocket for any money he could use to buy food with, but he stops. "Come on just do it! But what if I get caught! I have ta do it, I need ta eat." Tim makes up his mind and reaches into the pocket and quickly pulls out a few pennies. Pleased he turns and runs away.

"I did it! Yes!!!!!!!" Tim gleefully runs down the street. He has successfully stolen on his first try. While passing an alley he trips and falls on something. He looks to see what it is and sees a foot. He follows the foot to the leg that is attached to it, he continues to travel his gaze upwards until he comes upon the face of the boy he had stolen from. Tim's mouth drops open. "Oh no!" Was all that went through his mind.

"You thought I didn't see ya steelin' from me? Boy are you a stupid one!" The boy grabs Tim by his dirty collar and pulls him into the alley. Tim is thrown against the rough brick wall. "This is not good." He thinks to himself. "I'll just have ta teach ya a lesson." With that said the boy throws his first punch into Tim's already bruised ribs. To the boy's surprise the child did not cry out in pain. He threw another punch into him. Nothing. The young boy didn't groan or anything. Of course he wasn't punching the kid as hard as he could. He just wanted to teach the kid a lesson, not kill him, but still the kid wasn't reacting.

Tim accepted the few punches that landed upon him. But then something inside of him snapped. He couldn't just take being beaten up anymore. He lunged forward onto the now surprised older boy. "What da hell?" Was all the older boy could say as the child he had just been punching came at him, his fists flying. "Now this has never happened before." He thought to himself as he accepted the punches. The hits he took didn't hurt much, but they did have power behind them for such a small boy.

The older boy had had enough. He grabbed Tim's hands and forced them down to his side. He looked at the child who had one black and blue eye, which he was positive he didn't give him. "Gees you're a fighter. What's your name kid?" Tim looked at him confused. "Why does he want ta know my name?" Sensing the child's uneasiness the boy decided to take a different approach. He releases the child's arms and then speaks. "Me names Conlon, Conlon O'Brian." He spat into his hand and then extended it in the child's direction. Tim looked at it, unsure. He then thought, "What da heck." Following the older boy's actions he spat into his hand and placed it into the older boy's, that he now knew as Conlon.

"Da name's Tim." They shook hands and a friendship began.

"That's how I met Conlon. Later I learned that he was visiting some of his friends in Manhattan, and he was actually the leader of the Brooklyn newsies. I found out what a newsie was and whenever Rick left for a long time I would go an sell papes with em and his gang in Brooklyn. He taught me everythin' I know. He was like a brudder, or ya could say, even like a fadder ta me."