((cowers)) Don't hurt me! I'm sorry, I know I've got quite a few stories on the go now, but I promise, I won't take forever to update. I'm off school for exams starting today! And since I only have one written exam and one performance exam(stupid repertoire), I will have nothing to do until February 7th! Except, you know, hanging out with my friends and sleeping and that stuff. But other than that! No homework, no studying, nothing! This idea just randomly graced me with it's presence one day out of the blue. And it got me wondering, "Who is Tibby?" For ages, we Newsies fan writers have been writing about Tibby's. In every piece that takes place in the era of Newsies, they go to Tibby's. Or, at least, in the majority of pieces I've come across. I've written about it several times myself. And so, one day, I just started wondering these things and thought, "What if you could see the boys through the eyes of Tibby? If he could hear what they're saying and see what they see? He might know nothing about them at all, or he may know their name and where they sleep every night and their birth parents' names. Who is this oddity called Tibby?" So here you have it. Yet another fic from me, your darling Moseph. If you read it and like it, review, please!

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies or the characters. I don't even own Tibby. I only own the waiters that I name, like Craig. Don't sue me, I don't got five bucks. I don't even got five cents. Well, I do, but why would you sue someone for only five cents? That's just stupid.

I'm Tibby. No, really, I am. Joseph Tibby, to be exact, but the boys here all call me by my last name, as younger lads like to do. I'm the owner of Tibby's Diner, like it says on the door. Or at least, as the door suggests. You've probably walked by that door hundreds of times, but never wondered who Tibby is or was or how he came to own a diner named after him. That's because I'm invisible.

Well, not really invisible. I mean, I'm there and everything, bones and flesh and all. And at the ripe old age of sixty-four, I think that's pretty good. What I mean is, when I don't intend to be seen, I'm not seen. I'm clearly visible, but you don't even notice my presence. This comes in quite handy when I intend to eavesdrop, which is often, to tell the truth. I don't use this power for evil, strictly for good and to satisfy an old man's idle curiosity.

So, back to who I am. Yes, there is a real Tibby, it's not just some random, catchy name. I own this restaurant, I wait tables, do the books, even cook from time to time(I make a mean meatloaf). I started this diner because I was always just wandering. I never had a place to go to do my thinking, to talk to my friends, to do anything, for that matter. I had a home, but it wasn't the most peaceful of places. When I was eighteen, I brought together every penny I had and bought this restaurant. My parents told me I was crazy and, to tell the truth, half of the time I believed them. But after about a year of decorating, budgeting, buying furniture and silverware, test-cooking and hiring my staff, I had the restaurant up and running. My friends came in from time to time to cook for free and so I let them have as many free meals as they wanted. The restaurant gave me freedom. It was a place to crash when I had nowhere else or, if I closed all the windows, a place to entertain the ladies. If my parents were yelling at me and kicked me out or if something was getting me down, I'd come here and I could think things out and be with my friends.

I'm glad to see this tradition has passed on. Those newsboys are in here practically every day. The meals are cheap and it's a nice, friendly atmosphere. They feel comfortable talking to their friends here about anything from the weather to very serious negotiations. I should know, I've heard 'em all. I was here when that Jack Kelly and that nice David Jacobs kid and his brother were being interviewed by Denton, a reporter. Of course, they didn't notice me, but I heard every word they said. I was there when Jack suggested the idea of a newsie rally. And I was there after the rally when Denton betrayed them all. Those kids never figure it out that someone is listening to their every word. They figure the waiters are stupid(which, most of the time, they are), but they never think about Tibby himself do they? Ears of a hawk, I tell you.

I look up as I notice a particular group of newsboys I'm rather fond of: that nice David kid, with his brother, and three other boys who I believe are called Mush, Racetrack and Kid Blink, if my memory doesn't deceive me. They sit down in a booth near the centre of the restaurant. I send Craig, one of the boys, over to take their order and make sure it gets to them on time. In fact, I deliver the drinks myself, but they take no notice of me other than to say a quick thanks.

"So I was over in Brooklyn las' night," the blond one with the eyepatch begins. I guess that one's Kid Blink.

"Serious? What're you doin' in Brooklyn?" the Italian demands. That one's Racetrack and I have to agree with him. I know how dangerous Brooklyn was when I was their age and even now I've seen it's effects. Not a pretty sight, let me tell you.

"I was playin' craps," Kid Blink says casually. "Wit a few 'a Spot's guys."

"So? What's your point?" David asks. I always liked David. He's smart, he's funny and he's got a good head on his shoulders. Real sensible. And, of course, he's getting more street wise by the hour thanks to the newsies.

"Well, dey was tellin' me some interestin' tings," Blink says, practically inviting them to ask him what. The boy who I can only assume is Mush furrows his eyebrows.

"Like what?" he asks worriedly.

"Like some odd habits 'a Spot's goil, Caitlyn. Like ev'ry time he gets hisself some whores, she goes out wanderin' or she makes excuses 'bout goin' to da store or to da docks or even tah Church. Like she always looks noivous aroun' Spot, but Spot don't even notice. Like she comes back every night all mussed up. Dey figure she's cheatin' on ol' Spotty," Kid Blink says, waggling his eyebrows. That Mush kid looks even more worried than before. Of course, that kid always had a soft spot, so it doesn't surprise me that he's concerned. David frowns like he doesn't quite buy it and Les, his little brother, just keeps eating that hot dog. Racetrack snorts.

"Yeah, like any dame'd be so stoopid as tah cheat on Spot Conlon. He'd rip 'er tah shreds and da guy who's screwin' 'er too," Racetrack says. I'm the only one who notices Mush gulp guiltily and try to hide behind his glass by taking a long drink. The other guys just keep talking about how stupid a guy would have to be to be doing Spot's girl.

"Well, maybe she came on tah him. And you know how gorgeous dose goil's 'a Spot's always are. Maybe da guy couldn't resist," Mush says, jumping in. The other boys wave it off as an act of idiocy, but Mush still looks nervous and unsure. I notice his glass is empty and quickly tiptoe over to take it from him. He doesn't even notice my hand reaching in front of him. I whisk his glass away and set it on the counter, pausing to think about him. Mush sure is looking, to me anyway, like he's the stupid bastard who's been screwing Spot's girl and by the sounds of it, if he's found out, it won't end well. I look up when I hear a new batch of customers enter and what I see makes my stomach drop. I've only seen the kid once, but I'd recognize him anywhere. It's Spot Conlon, leading the way, a large group of Brooklynites, I suppose, following him, his arm slung around the shoulders of a pretty, brunette girl who I can only assume is Caitlyn. Mush blanches for a moment, then covers it with a welcoming grin. The others shout hello to the Brooklynites and they have a set in the booth adjacent to the others. Soon, they're calling for a waiter. I send over Craig and pray for the best.

Hope you enjoyed! I've got a lot more ideas, but I won't continue unless I know this one's being read and liked. So, if you like it and want to see it continued, review!

newsiesmoseph