Until Tomorrow
Summary: What's the matter with Spot? He hasn't been himself all week, has
an unwanted person come back into his life?
Disclaimer: I wish I owned the Newsies, but sadly I don't. They belong to
Disney.
A/N: This is spur of the moment fic. I was just bitten by the plot bunny so
bear with me. Also I don't feel like typing all the dialects, but you all
know what accent the newsies have. This has mild slash, don't like it? Die.
Chapter 1: Bad day
It was a dark and stormy night and Spot found himself unable to fall back asleep. He tossed and turned but could not get comfortable. Since he was the leader of the Brooklyn Newsies, he had his own room. And at the moment he was glad no one was around so see him distraught.
What ailed this "Fearless Leader?" Spot was only human, he had fears, and he had secrets that he did not want the other newsies to know about. Spot had a few things up his sleeve. No one was extremely close to him. He was respected but no one's best friend. That's what was on his mind at the moment. He was lonely. Not for girls, he could get any girl or guy he wanted. All he had to do was flash "the Conlon smirk" and people would swoon. But Spot needed to tell someone what was in his bad dreams. But when someone gets to close they loose their respect. Every newsie knew who Spot Conlon was. He was the most respected newsie in all of New York. Everyone knew his name; one of the Kings of New York of the newsies. But everyone needs a best friend.
"Snap out of it Conlon." Spot thought to himself. "You need to stop thinking and go to sleep. Tomorrow's another day."
At eleven-twenty a man got off a train at Grand Central Station. He had been "living" in Ohio for five and a half years. The man had a plan in mind. He had an anger that had been roaring for five and a half years. He was released from the State Penitentiary a month ago. He had committed a vile crime and he had gone to jail for it. The man only came with a couple of items. He carried two suitcases, a key to his old house, and wallet filled with money. He was a respectable man six years ago, before he committed his crime. He was never rich but he held a steady job up until he went to jail. He had dreams of becoming rich. Dreams of everyone knowing his name, but the only people who knew his name were the people who were his neighbors of the nicer side of Brooklyn.
This man's dream of everyone knowing his name only knew it for one day; when he murdered his wife. He would have gotten away with it to, if it weren't for his son. His son had run to the police and in doing so ruined his name. This man needed to find his son and make him pay like he had paid.
The man checked into a local hotel on Elk Street, the one right where Elk street meets Duane Street. (A/N the Manhattan Newsboy's Lodging house was on Duane Street) He was tired and not in the mood to look for the idiot of a son of his. He would start looking for Benjamin tomorrow. What he needed was rest right now. Tomorrow's another day.
No one in the Manhattan Lodging house slept well last night. With last night's storm none of the newsies wanted to wake up. Kloppman had grown smarter, he had heard that a storm was going to occur last week and he had bought himself a bell. He knew the sleeping patterns of the newsies well, and knew that none of them ever wanted to wake up after a storm. He had not yet used his bell and when he rang it most of the newsies shot up.
"Where's the fire?" Blink asked.
"Wake up boys, you got to wake up! Carry the banner! Sell your papes! WAKE UP!" Kloppman exclaimed.
Within ten minutes all the newsies where dressed and were headed to Distribution Office. They had grabbed a stale piece of bread from the nuns and munched on it while waiting in line for their papes. The headline was an unusual one it read "Mayor Approves New Beer Factory Open." The news had been alright, the headlines weren't as bad as they used to be. Pulitzer had bought himself a new headline writer. He had been doing a good job at writing catchy headlines so far. As Jack Kelly walked up to Weasel he asked for 110.
Racetrack was next in line, "Hey Weas, I'll take 75 papes."
"Don't forget," Weasel handed Race his papes, "You owe me ten cents from the other day."
"I know, I know, don't worry about it." Race took his papers and flipped through The World. There were a few stories that he could work with. The one about the Mayor could be twisted in a number of ways. There was also a story about a woman from Park Row getting sick from her husbands cooking. Racetrack smiled at that story, he could change that around too. He got up and started heading toward Brooklyn to Sheepshead (A/N- Sheepshead is actually in Brooklyn I looked it up), were he sold his papes. While he was crossing the bridge he saw Spot and walked up to him. "Hey Spot."
"Hmm? Oh hey Race." Spot let out a yawn.
"Didn't sleep well?" Spot shook his head, "That damn storm made us all sleep not so well too."
"I never liked storms to much."
"Who does? Well I gotta head to Sheepshead, I'll see ya later Spot."
"See ya Race." Spot turned around and went back to selling his papes.
Race's POV
What the hell is up with Spot? He was acting strange. He didn't seem himself. He was lacking the air of authority that he usually had. Usually when you were even in the same room with Spot you could sense who he was, that he was important, and that he was one to be respected. Just about every newsie in New York City knew who Spot Conlon was. But jeez, what the hell was up with him today? As I entered Sheepshead I started shouting headlines and put Spot's off day in the back of my mind. I was going to tell Jack about it when I got to Manhattan for lunch.
"Extra! Mayor drunk and found in alley," some people walked up to me and handed me their money, "Thank ya."
"Extra! Extra! Wife coldly murdered by chef husband! Found dead with poisoned pastry! Extra!"
That headline brought even more people over. By the time I had shouted out a couple more headlines all my papes were gone. I looked at my pocket watch; it was only 11:15. I walked over to the booth where you could place bets. I put some money on this horse that I'd been watching. Raider was his name, he was small but he was fast. I went to the railing to watch the race. When the gun went off my eyes were glued to Raider. Round and around the bed he went and then he started to pull ahead. He won! I smiled to myself and walked over to the booth. I gave him my ticket and he handed me a five dollar bill. I had only put fifty cents on him, but hey, extra cash. I wasn't complaining.
Chapter 1: Bad day
It was a dark and stormy night and Spot found himself unable to fall back asleep. He tossed and turned but could not get comfortable. Since he was the leader of the Brooklyn Newsies, he had his own room. And at the moment he was glad no one was around so see him distraught.
What ailed this "Fearless Leader?" Spot was only human, he had fears, and he had secrets that he did not want the other newsies to know about. Spot had a few things up his sleeve. No one was extremely close to him. He was respected but no one's best friend. That's what was on his mind at the moment. He was lonely. Not for girls, he could get any girl or guy he wanted. All he had to do was flash "the Conlon smirk" and people would swoon. But Spot needed to tell someone what was in his bad dreams. But when someone gets to close they loose their respect. Every newsie knew who Spot Conlon was. He was the most respected newsie in all of New York. Everyone knew his name; one of the Kings of New York of the newsies. But everyone needs a best friend.
"Snap out of it Conlon." Spot thought to himself. "You need to stop thinking and go to sleep. Tomorrow's another day."
At eleven-twenty a man got off a train at Grand Central Station. He had been "living" in Ohio for five and a half years. The man had a plan in mind. He had an anger that had been roaring for five and a half years. He was released from the State Penitentiary a month ago. He had committed a vile crime and he had gone to jail for it. The man only came with a couple of items. He carried two suitcases, a key to his old house, and wallet filled with money. He was a respectable man six years ago, before he committed his crime. He was never rich but he held a steady job up until he went to jail. He had dreams of becoming rich. Dreams of everyone knowing his name, but the only people who knew his name were the people who were his neighbors of the nicer side of Brooklyn.
This man's dream of everyone knowing his name only knew it for one day; when he murdered his wife. He would have gotten away with it to, if it weren't for his son. His son had run to the police and in doing so ruined his name. This man needed to find his son and make him pay like he had paid.
The man checked into a local hotel on Elk Street, the one right where Elk street meets Duane Street. (A/N the Manhattan Newsboy's Lodging house was on Duane Street) He was tired and not in the mood to look for the idiot of a son of his. He would start looking for Benjamin tomorrow. What he needed was rest right now. Tomorrow's another day.
No one in the Manhattan Lodging house slept well last night. With last night's storm none of the newsies wanted to wake up. Kloppman had grown smarter, he had heard that a storm was going to occur last week and he had bought himself a bell. He knew the sleeping patterns of the newsies well, and knew that none of them ever wanted to wake up after a storm. He had not yet used his bell and when he rang it most of the newsies shot up.
"Where's the fire?" Blink asked.
"Wake up boys, you got to wake up! Carry the banner! Sell your papes! WAKE UP!" Kloppman exclaimed.
Within ten minutes all the newsies where dressed and were headed to Distribution Office. They had grabbed a stale piece of bread from the nuns and munched on it while waiting in line for their papes. The headline was an unusual one it read "Mayor Approves New Beer Factory Open." The news had been alright, the headlines weren't as bad as they used to be. Pulitzer had bought himself a new headline writer. He had been doing a good job at writing catchy headlines so far. As Jack Kelly walked up to Weasel he asked for 110.
Racetrack was next in line, "Hey Weas, I'll take 75 papes."
"Don't forget," Weasel handed Race his papes, "You owe me ten cents from the other day."
"I know, I know, don't worry about it." Race took his papers and flipped through The World. There were a few stories that he could work with. The one about the Mayor could be twisted in a number of ways. There was also a story about a woman from Park Row getting sick from her husbands cooking. Racetrack smiled at that story, he could change that around too. He got up and started heading toward Brooklyn to Sheepshead (A/N- Sheepshead is actually in Brooklyn I looked it up), were he sold his papes. While he was crossing the bridge he saw Spot and walked up to him. "Hey Spot."
"Hmm? Oh hey Race." Spot let out a yawn.
"Didn't sleep well?" Spot shook his head, "That damn storm made us all sleep not so well too."
"I never liked storms to much."
"Who does? Well I gotta head to Sheepshead, I'll see ya later Spot."
"See ya Race." Spot turned around and went back to selling his papes.
Race's POV
What the hell is up with Spot? He was acting strange. He didn't seem himself. He was lacking the air of authority that he usually had. Usually when you were even in the same room with Spot you could sense who he was, that he was important, and that he was one to be respected. Just about every newsie in New York City knew who Spot Conlon was. But jeez, what the hell was up with him today? As I entered Sheepshead I started shouting headlines and put Spot's off day in the back of my mind. I was going to tell Jack about it when I got to Manhattan for lunch.
"Extra! Mayor drunk and found in alley," some people walked up to me and handed me their money, "Thank ya."
"Extra! Extra! Wife coldly murdered by chef husband! Found dead with poisoned pastry! Extra!"
That headline brought even more people over. By the time I had shouted out a couple more headlines all my papes were gone. I looked at my pocket watch; it was only 11:15. I walked over to the booth where you could place bets. I put some money on this horse that I'd been watching. Raider was his name, he was small but he was fast. I went to the railing to watch the race. When the gun went off my eyes were glued to Raider. Round and around the bed he went and then he started to pull ahead. He won! I smiled to myself and walked over to the booth. I gave him my ticket and he handed me a five dollar bill. I had only put fifty cents on him, but hey, extra cash. I wasn't complaining.