For Brooklyn 2
By: Ambrlupin
Chapter Ten: Death solves nothing
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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There was nothing anyone could do.
Nothing...But stand there as the cops led Spot out of the Manhattan safe-house, an armed guard on either side with a firm grip on his upper arm, in case he tried to bolt. But where would he go? He couldn't run forever.
"Why did he call you?" Red asked for the thirtieth time as he blocked the door. "Sp- Matthew is perfectly fine and happy here! He doesn't need them!"
"That is not your concern, kid!" The deputy snapped as he jerked Spot forward by the arm, "Get outta the way!"
The leader of Brooklyn's anger flared, both from his rotten treatment and at the assumption Red was a child. And it most certainly WAS his concern! It was Red's concern more than it was anyone else!
"Don't talk to my father like dat!" He snarled, the room quieting around him instantly. It was the first time he had ever said it out loud like that. "If Jake Conlon wants me back, he can fight for me. In court!"
For the longest time afterwards, Spot couldn't tell you why he had said that, why he could put himself at such a risk. In court, nothing was secret. Everything Jake Conlon had done to him would come into play, into the open.
His dark secrets that he had tried to hide away, the very mention of what he had let happen to him. His reputation would shatter, he would no longer be feared, but laughed at.
Pitied even.
The pity he wouldn't allow, but the reputation...He could live without. For seeing his birth-father's face twisted in rage at the court summons would be an image he would cherish for the rest of his life.
Then his happy bubble shattered.
Red's eye twitched, "What did you just say? Did you just say you STILL have to take him back there!" His hands closed into fists at his sides, so hard his nails cut at his palms.
"Im sorry, sir, but that isn't my concern-"
"Make it your concern."
Spot's eyes widened, "Race?" He tore one arm free and took a step back into the room, eyes darting to the second floor landing. It was only natural, he supposed, that the noise would have woken him...But...
Race was leaning heavily on the railing at the top of the stairs, a concerned Mush hovering right behind him, as if fearing the other would fall and hurt himself. He kept looking at the cops and then at Spot, confused as to what had happened.
There was no need to worry about Race falling, however. His body might have been weak, but the spirit raging behind those dark eyes, was strong. He glared at the cops as if they had done something unforgivable.
And they had.
"Make it your concern." He repeated, "An abused child stands there, fear in his eyes at the mere mention of his father and his home, and you want to take him back?"
Those last words were sharp, precise, and said with so much hatred, even the calm and collected David was looking at the poker player in complete shock.
Spot was pretty sure he was anything but afraid, but what else could Race say? He didn't want to go back there, that much was obvious, but really, what choice did he have? He couldn't run away again, they'd just find him.
"Defy me again...and I might just take the little kid. The one with the brown hair and the sharp tongue."
His eyes flew toward his men on pure instinct, running over each and every one before falling on Shorty's face. He wasn't that young, despite how he looked, but...
'Could he handle it? Could any of them?'
He wasn't going to get an answer to his own question...Nor was he going to hold another friend's...another brother's broken body in his arms again. He wouldn't, couldn't handle it. He wasn't going to be the reason for any more pain among his boys.
He would take his own blows, shoulder his own pain.
"Im sorry."
He was speaking to Race. Only to Race.
"You can't go back there, Spot." Race's face was so white it made paper nearly look black as he gripped the rail tighter. "He'll kill you."
"I know." For once, he was afraid. Afraid of being weak, being worthless.
But not of dying, never of dying.
"Which is why..." He reached up with shaking fingers and unclasped the key around his neck, among gasps and started looks from Red and the others from Brooklyn and Manhattan alike. Never before had that key left Spot's neck.
Red took a step toward him, "No, Spot...No one but you can hold dat." He took those last steps, closing his fingers around the key in Spot's hand, pushing it to the younger's chest. "Keep it." The silver hit the light and flared.
"I don't want to risk him getting it." The leader smiled weakly as he pressed it into the other's hand. "I know you'll take good care of it, Red."
He shrugged loose from the other cop, who didn't really offer up much resistance now that he knew the kid was coming with them, and walked up the stairs, until he stood just a few feet away from Race.
"And I know you'll take good care of this, Race."
The very world held its breath, as, in front of everyone, Spot Conlon handed his cane, the flag of the Brooklyn newsies, to Racetrack Higgins.
Race looked down at the cane in his hand in complete and utter shock. "I...cant..."
"You can and you will." Spot's voice held that edge to it that told everyone it was an order, "I can trust you with it, brother."
And he turned and walked away. Just walked away without another word, past everyone, slowing only as he got closer to the Deputy and his men. He didn't want to leave...But he had to. So he took the time he could to commit it all to memory, to remember...
"Wait!" Race called out suddenly as he lunged past Mush and somewhat half-fell half-ran down the set of stairs, "Matt, wait!"
Spot's feet froze to the floor, despite his every attempt at making them keep moving. If he stopped he was going to change his mind, if he stopped he was going to loose his nerve, if he stopped...
"Nothing you will say will make me change my mind, Racetrack. This is something I have to do." He prayed his voice wasn't a shaky as he thought it was.
The poker player stopped a foot in front of him, hand gripping the cane so tightly his knuckles were bone white. "No...I just thought, before you went...That you'd like to know..."
Know? Know what?
"The name's Anthony."
Complete silence fell, broken only by Spot Conlon's weak, "You...?"
"Remember? Yes, for a little while now." He laid a hand on the other's shoulder, and once again, they were the only ones in the room it seemed. "I've beaten my past, its time for you to beat yours. Which is why I wont stop you...Whatever it is you decide to do in the end."
The youth stared up at him in astonishment, swallowing the lump in his throat. "How did you...?" How could he know, everything he had been thinking...The one thought, of maybe...
Ending it all...?
Race gave him a small smile, "I know that look, remember? You are not the only one who thought death was a good way out...But, know this, Conlon." His eyes grew cold for a moment, "Death solves nothing."
They were the same. The same words Spot had growled that day, so long ago when he had been lucky. Lucky enough to save Race when he needed saving the most, saving him from being a splatter on the pavement.
But nothing could save Spot now.
He left then, led back to Hell by the very people who should have helped him, and away from the family who would.
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that's kinda sad, eh? BUT- hey, Spot admitted Red was his father out loud, and he is standing up to Jake...so, we'll see what happens, right? -wink-
Reviews make me happy! You all know this by now. -smile-