Disclaimer: Just totally realized I had forgotten disclaimers up until now! Okay, here it goes. I don't own anything you already recognize from the Disney version of Newsies. Except Racetrack. He's locked in my closet right now. Any original newsgirls belong to themselves (trust me, I wouldn't want to own Sli and Mouth). Spark, Arianna, Shai, Dev, Ricochet, Skirmish, and Roman belong to me. All plot ideas belong to me. Okay, glad that's cleared up.

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"Speak of the devil," I heard Alex say and I turned around in the chair to face her. "Spot, we were just telling the kids some stories from the past. We were right at your injury and stay at Spark and Kloppman Hospital," she joked.

"Ya aren't tellin' 'em everythin' are ya?" he asked, looking pointedly at Devy.

"Within reason we is," I cut in. Seeing Spot as a father was still odd, but he really suited the role better now than when he was younger. As a young man he'd been reckless, not to mention a newsie, but now he was a respected man working at an office building. Slider and he were eventually joined in holy matrimony about a year after Spark and me had our own wedding.

When you think about it, all of my friends had done well for themselves. As well as uneducated kids from the streets could anyway. Mouth, Sli, and Blink worked for Medda as a singer, dancer, and actor respectfully. David had gotten enough of an education to make it into University and was working on becoming a doctor. Jack, ironically enough, took a position as head of the Refuge. Let's just say it's a lot better with Kelly in charge. Spot, as I said before, worked in an office building as did Skittery. The rest of the boys tended to stay in the newspaper business taking jobs like Weasel's. I'd stayed in the newspaper business as well, but in a different way. I was a journalist, just like Denton. I freelanced, writing for whatever paper wanted to pick up my story. I had drifted so far off into thought that I didn't even feel Skirmish, Skittery's kid, tugging at my pants for a while.

"Can you'se finish da story?" Skirmish asked. I looked at the other children and they had similar looks of interest on their faces.

"Of coise I can," I said before once again resettling myself in the chair and leaning towards them, hunching my back and started to talk. "Now where was I?" I asked, just like every storyteller before they begin.

"Me daddy was hoit!" Dev shouted, eager to hear the rest of the story.

I chuckled. "How stupid of me ta forget," I said, with feigned embarrassment. This made the children giggle and I decided I could start my story again.

-*-*-*-

Now I'm not one to have my heart stop because someone I know has a cut, but Spot was looking bad. He had knife slashes all the way down his arms and a fine cut that traced his jaw perfectly. His hair was matted the blood from a gash on the back of his head, and both his eyes had become instant shiners. He leaned on the table to walk into the room and collapsed onto the nearest bed, groaning in pain.

"Spot!" Spark shouted. I could see tears already beginning to form in her eyes as she looked at him. Blinking them back she popped up and grabbed the doctors kit beside her, setting to work on Spot. She worked mechanically, without any of the emotion that was always present in her face. She was hurt beyond emotion; she was beyond grief and beyond tears. Every ounce of her strength went towards making Spot live. "You're gonna be okay, You're gonna be okay." She laid her head down on his stomach, shaking with silent sobs. I stood by and watched the scene unfold before me, unable to help her in any way. I felt helpless and lost as I watched her cry.

"Deah G-d," I whispered, facing the sky. "If you do exist.. I know I don' pray enough an' I'se not dat good of a boy, but I'se askin' ya somethin' an' it ain' for me. I love dis goil wit' all me heaht an' I she don' deserve ta have somethin' like dis happen ta her. Please, G-d, please let Michael 'Spot' Conlon live. Please, let 'im be all right. Let 'em all be all right." I stopped praying somewhere in there and started talking to myself. "Why da hell do we hafta fight? Why does it always have ta end dis way? Why are happy endin's only in stories? What da hell happened ta da woild? Innocent boys an' goils are killin' each othah wit'out considerin' da othah's life! What's wrong wit' people?"

When I finally opened my eyes, I scanned the room to see who'd been brought in. Nearly every Brooklyn or Manhattan newsie lay in the room as well as some Queens boys who looked to be in bad condition. I assumed the rest of the boys and girls from the other boroughs had gone back to their own lodging houses. I saw all of the 'Hattan girls, some running around and helping Kloppman and Roman and others injured themselves.

I heard someone on my left side and I turned to see Mouth curled into a ball on the floor. I whispered her name and reached out my hand, trying to comfort an old friend. "Mouth? You all right?"

Her body was shaking as she answered with one word. "Dominic," she croaked.

"It's okay, it's okay," I said, pulling her close to me and stroking her coarse red hair. "It'll all woik out," I promised, though looking at my fellow newsies I really didn't know. If I was the one that got off easy.. I couldn't think about it. I turned my attention back towards Mouth "You'se ain' hoit, are ya?"

She shook her head no and buried her face into my shoulder, but no tears ever came from those dry eyes. She'd seen too much hurt and pain in her short life to cry. All of us had. We were teenagers who didn't even cry when our significant other died. We'd been through some tough shit, but this was the first time I realized how cold we had grown. Or rather, how cold they had grown. I was nearly in tears just looking around the room, and my own family was safe and cozy.

When Mouth fell asleep leaning on me I called Roman over, asking him if I could please see my children. He promised to go get them from Medda's first thing the next morning and I agreed. After we moved Mouth into a separate bed I asked for news. "What happened? What's the status?"

"Chant's dead - Spot killed 'im," was all he said before glancing at his leader and departing from the room. I sat, worrying for a long, long time about how things would turn out. I saw Mush and Kid Blink nursing broken arms, nothing more serious. Jack had gotten a little worse off, a broken leg. It would keep him from selling for a while, but at least he wasn't dead. Boots and Snipes - who had stayed back as they were too young to be involved in bloody gang wars -- told me that Itey, Snith, and Skittery were okay, but I never got to see them since they were in the other room. The girls seemed to have minor injuries only. Slider was the worst off, with a broken wrist and a double shiner. I couldn't help but selfishly be glad Spark couldn't have fought. I couldn't' stand to see her like this. It wasn't' all going to get better though, Bumlets was gone, as were two Brooklyn boys and one from Queens. And Spot wasn't exactly in prime condition.

As I drifted into the world of slumber, I found myself praying once again to the G-d I never had truly believe in until now. "Please, Lord, save dese poor children. Dat's all we are.. children! Mush just reached sixteen an' Sprite's jus' a yeah behind 'im. Fifteen an' she's in heah wit' 'er arms wrapped up from knife cuts. Please, G-d, please."

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A/N: I wasn't really trying to be preachy by making him pray, it's just what I think he would do in that situation. I know my Racetrack is a little more emotional than most people's perception of him, but if you just watch those eyes. And that grin. Innocence covers his face. Now I'm going off on a tangent. Anyway.. hope you liked it.

Shoutouts:

Plaid Pajamas: If you must know, Spot is going to be okay. Well, you should know that because he still exists at the beginning. Either way. LOL. Sorry, I'm hyper again. * mumbles something about Sureshot Higgins and fun-dip *

Soaker: I think they're gonna be okay. Hehe. I don't like writing happy chapters. But we determined that I torture my characters while I was writing Family Ties. Did you expect me to change? * manic laugh * Anyway, I promise that after chapter 6 I'm writing loads of happy chapters. Just think of it this way.. at least Chant's dead.

Sli: Dude, I so missed when you were reviewing my story right next to me. And you were talking about it too. I'm sooo stupid sometimes. You could be intimidating.. maybe. If I didn't know you. But you will be! When we take over hell you'll have to be intimidating. As your campaign manager I require it. xD

Sweets: I know you've been waiting patiently for about a week, sorry it took so long. Think of it this way, I promised one after my English project and you got it tonight. Either way, I promise another one before I go to West Texas and more after I get back (I'll write while I'm there). : )

Drama-Queen: I'll tell you what I told Plaid Pajamas, at least we know Spot lives. I mean, after all, he's not a ghost when he comes back. Hehe, that would be funny. Ghost Spot. LOL.

A/N: As I said to Sweets, expect another update before I leave for evil West Texas on the 5th. Mush love to all who review. You can get-Choco. dipped * your favorite newsie here * Step right up and place your orders!! Mwahahahahahaha.