Disclaimer: Well, I own the DVD, so technically I do own Newsies… but not the rights, so I must disclaim.

A/N: Love to Rumor, who had a review spree… November of 2004… I need to update more often.

---

I stand in front of the door to the basement, a tray of water glasses in hand, trying to work up enough courage to open the door and go downstairs. And seriously wondering what everything will be like with Danny gone.

When I was ten, my parents tool me to a theme park, and at the park there was a high diving show. One of the guys dove from eighty feet up in the air, to a ten-foot-deep pool.

I'm as fearful of taking this plunge as he was taking his. Except, of course, that my plunge lacks the promise of a painful, agonizing death at the bottom.

Unless I trip going down the stairs or something.

I push open the basement door and it cracks the drywall on the other side even more. And I make my way downstairs, making a mental note not to trip and fall and end up dying a painful, agonizing death.

After all, there's too much of that going on in my house.

"Hey, guys." I say as I turn the corner and can see the muties once more.

I don't get any real response, just a couple grunts and murmurs. Even Anthony remains quiet, only raising his eyebrow and smirking. However, I've spent enough time around this kid to realize what that means- he can't think up a witty remark.

Dude, I so win.

"So, how are you all?" I continue, pretty much just talking to myself as I hand out glasses of water.

Anthony snorts. "Well, we're not dead, so we're significantly better than others."

I flinch, and notice Jason and Tyler have done the same. No one says anything for a couple seconds until-

"Well, I'm feeling a bit better." I almost didn't hear him speak- his voice was so quiet- and I probably wouldn't have if I weren't looking right at Sean as he spoke.

Well, color me shocked.

There's a sudden burst of bitter laughter, and I turn to look at Anthony, who's sneering at Sean. "Well, I'm sure that makes Danny feel a whole lot better."

Sean flushes red as Dean snaps back, "Quit being such a jackass, Anthony."

Anthony turns red and glares at Dean, but doesn't continue the conversation. Or bitchfest. Whichever.

I hand a glass of water to Dean, who is not laying in his hospital bed, but lounging sideways on an old armchair in the corner and reading A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

"Good book?"

Dean shrugs. "It has its moments."

"Ah." I blink, and shift my weight from one foot to the other. "So. Feeling better?"

"Fan-fucking-tastic." Dean says, though from the look in his eyes I guess that he's not as well off as he's telling me. "Seriously, though, all I have to do is take a tub of pills a day, and I'm good as new."

I chuckle. "So no glowing?"

He considers it for a second. "You know, I was going to think of a snappy comeback, but I couldn't." Dean then leans around me to look at Anthony. "Hey, Racetrack ol' buddy, got any snappy comebacks for me?"

Anthony laughs. "Let me get back to you on that." And like that, any tension that was between them went away. I guess it's easy not to hold grudges when you know you can die any day now.

I raise an eyebrow as I look back at Dean. "Racetrack?"

Dean laughs. "Yeah. Remember when Jack said that he wanted a nickname? And then Anthony decided we should all have nicknames?"

"Yeah, but I thought- hoped- you were all kidding."

"Well," Dean shrugs, "It does get boring sitting in a basement all day."

"I have bedsores." Anthony- or Racetrack- put in from his place in the opposite corner. "Wanna see?" he adds, lifting his blanket.

"Anthony Higgins, if you at all expose yourself to this room, I will be forced to beat you." And once again, my mother saves my life. Or, morea accurately, my sanity. I don't think there's anyone in this world who wants Racetrack to expose himself while in his presence.

"But it will be a loving beating, of course," my mother adds.

Racetrack laughs. "Of course."

Mom notices at me and rolls her eyes in that certain way every mother can. "Jeez, Kevin, does it take you an hour to do the simplest thing?" she asks, looking at the half-full tray of glasses I hold.

I shrug. "Well, you know, I can be pretty useless."

Mom laughs, and gives me a little half-hug as she takes the water glasses and starts distributing them.

I turn back to Dean. "So, what's your nickname?"

"Snoddy." He rolls his eyes, then laughs at my blank expression. "I know, I don't get it either. Other people's nicknames get to make sense- Tyler's Dutchy, since he's Dutch; Adam's Specs, since he has glasses-"

"I'm Mush, since I'm mushy," Aaron, now Mush, puts in from his bed. I blink at him, and he shrugs. "I was kidding."

Dean smiles and goes on, "Jason's Skittery because- well, I'll show you." Dean reaches over, picks up an old college textbook of my father's (The Enduring Vision: An American History), and drops it loudly. And Jason reacts just the way his nickname suggests: by jumping out of his skin and spilling water all over himself.

He shook his head as he swatted uselessly at the damp sheets, "You know, your little demonstrations of my nickname are getting old fast." He said bitterly.

Snoddy shrugs "Sorry," he said to Skittery, then lowered his voice. "Skitts is taking Danny's death the worst- they were good friends."

I nod. I had noticed.

"The rest of us, well, we barely knew the guy. Good kid, though." His eyes shine for a second- tears?- but then he grins again.

"Who's left?" Snoddy asks, more to himself then to me. "Oh, yeah. Frankie's Itey, 'cause he's the littlest one here. Sean's Pie Eater because he… eats pies," he finishes lamely.

I look towards Jack, who appears to be asleep. "What about him."

"Well, he wanted to be called 'Cowboy', but you had already named him-" Snoddy's eyes dart towards my mom, "Well, you know. Anyway, he decided he'd just be Jack."

I'm halfway through a response to Dean- Snoddy- when my mom cuts me off, "Kevin, do me a favor and go tell Dad that dinner will be ready in half an hour."

I sigh an exaggerated sigh, "Jeez, woman, make me do everything around here." I laugh as I duck my mother's expertly thrown projectile, unable to catch a glimpse of it as I run up the stairs, grab my mask, and run out the door.

----

I slow down from my run as I enter the stable- a lifetime of doing so makes it an automatic habit- and walk briskly down the center aisle.

"Dad?" I call, and pop my head into the tack room. On the dry-erase board is a note:

Kev-

I ran to the Guarrani's to help Emmitt and Isaac with something. Tell mom I'll be back at about 7:30.

-Dad

I look at my watch and roll my eyes- it's 6:35. My parents need to work on their communication.

Seriously, if it weren't for me, neither of them would know what the hell was going on with the other.

I'm so useful.

Since I'm out here, I grab a carrot out of the mini-fridge and head down the aisle to Justin's stall. Halfway down the aisle I whistle.

Justin's neighbor, a chestnut named Griffin, sticks his head over his stall's half-door and looks at me expectantly. I laugh, and break the carrot in half, and feed him a piece while waiting for Justin to come join us.

He doesn't.

The sinking feeling I had while facing the basement door returns to me, ten-fold. I whistle again- there's no way in hell I'm going to look over the stall door and into Justin's stall unless I absolutely have to.

There's a whinny from the adjacent aisle, and some rustling from Justin's stall, followed by a large sigh.

The breath I was holding in escapes quickly- for a second there I thought Justin had died. I quickly cover the distance between Griffin's stall door and Justin's.

I whistle once more as I lean over the stall door, and smile as I see Justin start to get up.

He stops mid-motion, though, and I feel my smile disappear from my face. And as Justin collapses back onto the hay-covered floor of his stall, and looks at me with clouded brown eyes, I know and the sinking feeling returns.

Justin hadn't died, like I initially feared. Hadn't died- yet.

-------

I updated again. And I made a mid-years resolution to be more active in the writing and the updating- and perhaps even finish this thing by New Years, where I will make a REAL resolution.

Now, shout outs from Chapter 9:

L.T.N.N: Yeah, the last one was short, but this is quite a bit longer, so hopefully that's better . And Freddie Mercury ROCKS.

What? That's all? One review? I'm so disappointed (HINT!).

Anyway, I'm going to go type out the first chapter of the story I started while on vacation. Keep a look out for it.