For Brooklyn 2
By: Ambrlupin
Chapter Four: Mine as well
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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Spot couldn't believe it.
His home...His life...
Queens had destroyed it.
He stood on the docks that led to the Brooklyn safe-house and could feel hot tears sliding down his cheeks. It was in ruins. The roof was smashed in, the fine framework he had helped put up smashed beyond recognition. Everywhere he looked there was destruction.
How could someone do this?
On silent and shaking feet he walked over the dock, his cane the only sound around as it tapped lightly with each step. Moving over the loose board on pure instinct, he paused and looked down, the water glinting merrily at him.
"What is this place, Red?"
"Your new home, kid...If ya want it."
He bowed his head, choking back a sob. He had wanted, oh, had he wanted it! A place to call his own, a family who would love him. That was all he had ever really wanted, not to be leader, not to own Brooklyn, not to even do something with his life.
He had just wanted to be loved.
He ran a finger along a board and sighed. So much laughter, so many tears. It was all captured here, within these boundaries, a place where anyone could come and be wanted, leaving their old life behind If they so chose too.
Something glittered just too his right and he bent down to pick it up, wiping the mud off of it. A crimson marble, just the perfect size. He sniffed, looking around for something he could...
By pure luck, a single glass bottle sat on a broken beam, teetering on the edge.
"Hey, Red? Can I ask you something?"
He turned slightly, "Yeah. What is it?"
Spot held out his palm, "Is this a good shooter?"
Red appraised the red toy with a raised eyebrow, "That's real good, kid. This will fly true all right." He rolled it over, grinning at its flawless surface. "Where did you get this?"
"Oh, I found it on the street." He smiled, slipping it into his pocket.
Finger's tightening, he pulled his slingshot with one hand, aiming carefully.
SHATTER.
His marble went clear through, hitting the back wall and sliding down to land back by his feet. He laughed, throwing it in the air so he could catch it again, a rare and contented smile on his face. He couldn't stay angry in this place, it was too magical, in a way, too full of hopes and dreams.
Even shattered like this.
"Spot? Do you...Do you know what Brooklyn is?"
Spot blinked up at him, an eyebrow arched in confusion. "A city...?"
Laughing, he looked out over the midnight colored water. "Yeah, it's a city, but its more than that too. Its...A place of change, a place that never stays the same."
"But that describes everything!"
Red grinned at him, a mysterious smile on his face, "Yeah, it does."
Spot hadn't realized what he had said then, but now, after everything that had happened, he did. Red had meant you could change, no matter who you were or where you were, you had the ability to change, to be something other than what you were brought up to be.
"Sometimes, Red, you gave the greatest advice." He chuckled up at the sky, "But I doubt you even realized you were doin' it."
"Who da ya think would want you? Who do you think would help you!"
Brooklyn would. Manhattan would. Bronx would.
The answers came unbidden, but that didnt change the fact they were there and they were true. He hadn't meant to, had tried his utmost NOT to, but he found himself knee deep in friends and sinking fast, without a hand-hold to pull himself out.
Not that he really wanted to.
But still, look how he was treating them! You think they'd get the hint, but NO! They had to crowd him, even though he tried to send them signs, signals, telling him to leave him be, not to talk to him, not to be seen. They didnt get it, and look what he had to do.
He had hurt perhaps the only other person, besides Red, who would never have judged him. He had hurt Race, and it was all because he didn't want to see the young newsie broken like he was. He didn't want to see him dying, torn apart by cruelty.
"What, do you think I care about you or sometin? Do you think that gives you the right to tell me what is or is not your business? Well wake up, Race! I don't care, you hear me? I DON'T CARE!"
Dear lord, they were almost the same words he had said to Red not long before, forcing Brooklyn and Manhattan into a war neither of them could afford. It felt like so long ago, a lifetime, words he wished he had never said to the only father he had ever had.
" You know! Whaddya think you KNOW! YOU DON'T KNOW ME! STOP TRYIN' TA MAKE FRIENDS WIT ME! I DON'T NEED YA!"
Was his life nothing but one large circle? One road that all led to the same place, going round and round, pressure pulling it until it either yielded or snapped under the pressure. The only question was, which would Spot do?
Yield...or snap...?
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"I see." Ace bit the edge of his lip as he sat back in the chair, "And you don't know where he is now?"
Jack looked over his shoulder to where Race was curled up under the blanket, back to the other newsies. "Race knows."
"Then why not ask him?" The Bronx leader asked with a raised eyebrow. "It'll solve all this real fast, no?"
"He doesn't want to talk about it." David explained softly, "And I don't think its right to demand the information...Its not polite."
"Forget polite!" Ace muttered, getting to his feet. Despite Jack and David's obvious attempts at getting him to stop, he just sat on the edge of the bed lightly and waited.
He didn't wait long.
"Go away." Race snarled, "I don't want to talk, leave me be."
"No, I wont go away."
Race's answer to that was to roll off the other side of the bunk, grab his pillow and blanket, and walk out the door, everyone's eyes watching him in confusion.
"Where is he going?" Ace asked in surprise, looking around the room.
No one had an answer for him.
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A child with chocolate colored hair and matching eyes slammed backwards into the corral that housed the horses, cracking his scull on the lock. Moaning in agony he staggered forward a little even as three full grown men came around the corner, knives glinting in their hands.
"There he is!" One of them cried, rushing forward. "Get him!"
Gasping his hand gripped hard over his gold pocket-watch, he slipped into the corral, hoping to slide out the other side before they could catch him. They couldn't have the watch, it was the only thing he had from his past.
The only link he had to what he couldn't remember.
Throwing his pillow up onto the roof, Race tied his blanket around his waist and jumped up to grab a hold of the gutter, pulling himself up. Tucking his pillow under his arm he climbed to the center of the roof and sat down, blanket thrown over his shoulder's cape style. It was cold now that the sun was down.
Absently he rubbed his upper arm, remembering the cold sting of the blade as it cut through his skin, showing him blood for the first time. His own blood. He had been seven at the time, with no memory of his past except for a pocket-watch, no place to live off of then the Sheepshead track, where he had found himself one morning.
Screaming the child fell backwards, clutching at his arm. It hurt, it hurt so bad! Alarmed by his scream, the horses panicked, running to the other end of the corral, clearing the area between him and his attackers, giving them easier access to the boy who was scrambling to get away.
All the horses, save one. It was a stallion, in the prime of his life, with a glorious chestnut coat with a slightly darker mane and tail. A white star blazed on his forehead, eyes full of fire and fury as he rushed the men, whinnying so loud it was like a thunderclap.
Terrified, he scampered backwards, trying to mold with the wood that made up one side of the corral. The men were running, through the gate, slamming it behind them with a clang, thinking the kid was as good as dead in there alone.
They couldn't have been more wrong.
The stallion came over to him, gently sniffing him before nudging his shoulder slightly with his nose. He almost seemed to be asking if he was okay. It was all that time the stable hands came running in, with them the owner of the track, A Mr. Arthur Higgins.
"What are you doing in there?" He snapped, before noticing the blood that stained the boys clothing. His anger dying, he helped him to the infirmary, sitting him down so he could look at the cut.
"What's your name, son?"
When the other didn't answer, the man turned his head slightly. Whether it was something he saw or something he guessed, Higgins didnt ask again, just smiled at him.
"Well, you need a name if you're going to stay here." He grinned a little, "How about Racetrack? Race for short."
"R-Race...?" He whispered. He had a name?
"Yeah, after my horse that saved you. His name is Race too. I hope you don't think that's stupid or anything..."
The child couldn't have been more thrilled.
Race looked down at his hands and then out across the city. "Ya see, Spot? I know what you're going through right know. I might not know everything, but I know enough to recognize that look in your eyes...Because it was in mine as well."
The look of a boy who had lost everything and found himself on the verge of losing the one last thing that was his to keep.
Himself.
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I really, really liked this chapter -grin-
personally, my take on Race's past is uber original, and I love it!
Now review foah me!