For Brooklyn 2
By: Ambrlupin
Chapter Two: Keep it hidden
Summary: Spot is being forced to leave New York, but how will Brooklyn take it? How will Red...? One thing is for sure though. No one is going to let him go without a fight. (Sequel to For Brooklyn)
Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.
A/n: SECOND half of my first Newsie fic. -smile-
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"You don't get it, do you? Spot isn't just a newsie of Brooklyn. He is Brooklyn. He is the air that you breathe, the ground under your feet, the sky above your head, everything you see he has bled to protect, and you will, BY GOD, SHOW HIM SOME RESPECT!" - Red.
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When the silent group got back to the safe-house, Spot was already asleep in Red's arms, looking no more than twelve, when in reality he was almost seventeen. His head was burrowed in the white shirt Red had thrown on, his hair sticking stubbornly to his forehead, drops of rainwater beaded on his cheek.
With one arm hooked under Spot's legs, the other curling about his shoulder to keep him steady, Red wasn't having much luck with the lock. Jack and David were a little behind, making sure they weren't being followed, so he tried to lean all of the other's weight on one arm.
That didnt work all too well.
"I got it." A voice spoke and Race came around him, quickly opening the door and moving in instantly, making way for the taller newsie. "I...Guess I'll see ya in the morning."
He had almost made it too, but...
"Race?" Red's eyes were sharp as he pinned the younger boy were he stood, those emerald depths drawing him in, drowning him, he was suffocating, he was dying...he was...
Jack and David exchanged swift, alarmed glances as they came in the door. Jack's shoulders were tense, ready to jump in the middle if the need arose, but there would be no need for such a thing.
Red smiled, his face lighting up, "Thank you."
It took Race all of a minute to realize he hadn't just been referring to the door.
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Spot sat on the edge of his bed, crying into his pillow so his father wouldn't hear him. Men weren't supposed to cry, they weren't to show any weakness at any time. If he did, he would just get punished again.
He couldn't handle another whipping.
He just couldn't.
Mother just looked away, Caroline had stood up for him once...But his father had just called in some other men to help punish her. Spot had heard her screams behind the closed door and could only hide in a corner, hands over his ears.
She hadn't raised her voice for him again after that.
"Help me..." He whispered into the wet fabric, "Help me..."
"Someone help-"
"-me..."
"Spot!"
"Kid, are you okay?"
Spot's eyes opened and he struggled to sit up. For once he would like to wake up and be able to get up using his own power. Of course that day wasn't today. Hands helped him up, and he didn't need to turn around to see who it was.
"How long have I been out?" He asked Jack, who was the one sitting in his view.
"Two days." Cowboy answered, already halfway to his feet, "Do you need something, I can go get it."
"No..." He frowned, "How much sleep has Red gotten?"
"Hey-" Red protested from behind him.
"Shush." Spot cut him off, "How much, Jackie boy?"
"None."
Without missing a beat, Spot turned and whacked Red with his cane, which was conveniently right by his hand. "WHAT did I tell you!"
"OWWW!" He complained, leaping backwards and out of reach, "I was worried, ya idiot!" He rubbed his head with a pained look as the Manhattan leader tried not to laugh.
"I told ya the FIRST time this happened that I would leave if you ever pulled an all nighter like this again!"
Red's eyes flashed, "You already DID leave!"
Spot opened his mouth and then promptly shut it, eyes losing their fighting spark as he let his cane fall back to the bed. "I..."
"Look, kid." Red sighed as he placed a hand on the other's shoulder. Jack was apparently being ignored, so he just snuck out the door, closing it behind him to give the two some privacy.
"I know the risks, I've done this before, remember?"
Spot remembered all right.
He was collapsed on the floor, arms scrabbling at the wood as he tried to get away. His father brought the heel of his boot down hard in the middle of the child's mutilated back, smirking as a scream was torn from his throat.
"Someone...someone help me...!"
Jake's smirk faded and he brought his foot down again. "Who da ya think would want you? Who do you think would help you!"
"Me." A punch to his jaw from the side and a kick in his stomach sent the father flying, smashing into a table and reducing it to matchsticks. "I want him."
Spot raised his eyes. His prayer, the one he chanted every waking second...It had been answered. He had asked for an angel, for a friend, for someone who would want him.
He got Red.
He was no angel, that much was certain as he stood in the room looking more like a lord of Hell than anything. He leaned down and picked the kid up, holding him easily. He was a friend, and as for someone who would want him...
He would just have to wait and see.
Spot felt a smile drift across his face unbidden and he couldn't help but chuckle. "Ya know, Red, when you came and saved me...At first I thought you were an angel."
The other blinked, "An angel?"
"Yeah...and then I looked again and realized you were no angel. Just a demon."
Red threw back his head and howled, "Ooh boy, aren't you just asking for it today, my little hellion?"
Spot paused, eyes widening. "You haven't called me that in a long time, Red."
The co-leader shrugged as he got to his feet, "Doesn't change the fact that its true." Smiling a little he ran a hand through his hair, "Think bout that for a little, kid. Im gonna go get something to eat. Ill bring some up."
Spot just nodded, his hand going automatically toward his neck. By habit, however, he waited until Red had left the room and the door was shut solidly behind him before his fingers pulled a glittering key from under his shirt, staring as it glittered in his palm.
He had taken good care of it, ever since Red had given it to him years ago, when Queens had first tried to take control of Brooklyn. Back when he was in training, with no clue he would soon rule over it all.
"Red...?" Spot looked concerned as he was drawn aside from their cheering comrades. "Is something wrong? Are you hurt? Did I do something wrong? Im sorry, I didnt mean to assume-"
Red held up his hand, stopping the onslaught of apologies. "Naw, kid, ya did good." His chin raised a little, eyes glinting. "Ya did really good, in fact. Which is why..."
The younger blinked in confusion as he felt the other slip something around his neck. Looking down he caught the sight of something silver and his breath caught in his throat. "Red...This is yours..."
It was the key. The key he had first seen around Red's neck, the key everyone seemed to try and steal, the key every newsie in the surrounding cities wanted. Except for Spot. He didnt want it, didnt even know what it represented.
"It might have been mine once, long ago." He leaned forward and tipped the child's head up with his finger. "But not now. Its yours, Spot Conlon. Wear it well and keep it hidden until its time to show it."
"When is the time?" He was so trusting back then, so naive, even after all he had been through so early in life. "Is it soon?"
"You'll know when." He ruffled his hair with a laugh. "Remember what I told you, tell no one you have that, not a soul. Treasure it, but in secret."
Spot nodded, he got it already. "What does it go to?"
Red paused, "You'll know that one day too. Don't ask me again."
Spot had, but that was a few years later, and a memory to recall another time as someone opened the door. He stowed the key back under his shirt even though there was no need to do it now. Everyone knew he owned it, but old habits die hard.
"Hey." Race greeted as he came in with a plate of food and a tray. "How ya feelin?"
The leader frowned, "I thought Red was getting me something to eat."
"Well yeah." The gambler set the tray up and set the food down. "But that was before he passed out in the kitchen."
Spot sprung to attention instantly, "What? Is he okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, nuttin to worry bout." He waved it away as he moved the food closer. "Just sleep derived, and you know he hasn't been eatin too well."
"No, I didnt know that." Spot was ignoring the food, even though his stomach was trying to eat itself. "Why hasn't he been eating?"
"Well..."Racetrack rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "The fight with Queens kinda put a halt in our sales, ya know? We don't...we don't have enough money to feed everyone, so Red and some of the others have been giving their share away."
At this, the leader of Brooklyn ran his friend over with more scrutinizing eyes. "You have too, haven't you, Race?"
"Naw, naw, just thought it was time I got on a diet, thats all."
A diet? The guy was skin and bones as it were! The last thing he needed was a diet! Apparently Race realized Spot had caught him and he spun on his heel. "I'm glad you're all right, Spot. But I have to go help the others-"
"Race."
The dark haired newsie turned to look back over his shoulder and came face to face with Spot, who shouldn't have been standing, much less walking. But he was, and in his hand he held his roll. "Here."
"No." He backed up, hands coming out to ward him off, "No, Spot, thats yours. Your injured and im not, I can handle being without food for a day. You eat it."
"Its been more than a 'day' Race." He snapped, "Eat the darn roll or ill shove it down your throat!"
Race ate the roll.
Satisfied, Spot turned back to his bed, nearly falling on his face except for the arm that wrapped around his stomach. "Thought you'd do that." Race smirked as he led him to the bed and set him in it. "Now, your highness, I have to get going. Try not to do something that would have Red eat me, all right?"
Spot chuckled as he watched the Manhattan newsie leave. Race was all right, once you got to know him and stopped playing poker or craps against him. You almost always lost, or so the leader had learned firsthand. He picked up the spoon to eat some of the stew and froze.
More than three-fourths of the roll was sitting on his plate. Cursing at the closed door he rubbed at his eyes. He had forgotten Race was Race. Slight of hand was one of his many and far reaching talents.
"Ill get you one of these days, Higgins!" He called.
"Doubtful!" Came the laughed reply.
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I really like this one. The interaction between Race and Spot -grin-
anyways- now- REVIEW! Muwahaha!
And I except reviews that are not signed in- so there is no excuse... besides you just hating my writing and hating me...