For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Fourteen: We call...

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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"You may say your piece, Mister Russiani." The judge said, a tone to his voice saying he would rather hang upside down over a pit of man eating slugs than let the young man have the floor. But he had to, it was the law. And he upheld it, even if he didnt always agree.

Red gave Spot a small smile as he got to his feet, "Sir, if I may approach?" He came around the desk, stripping off his ebony jacket and laying it on the table top as he did so, leaving him in a white shirt and a black vest.

"You may." The judge looked slightly interested when Red didnt stop in front of him, but came around to the side.

"I apologize in advance for this, your honor."

"For wha-" The judge was cut off as his head snapped around, jerking in his seat from the force of the other's fist. There was a clatter as the guards on either door sprung forward to restrain Red, grabbing him around the waist and the arms.

Spot had jumped to his feet, eyes the size of dinner plates as he seriously considered whether or not the elder had lost his mind somehow. Red backed up, placid and quiet in the guards hands as he said calmly, "Your honor, I apologize. There was nothing personal in that, I assure you."

The judge waved the guards off and touched his slightly hurting jaw. "Then what was the purpose of this?" He demanded. "I fail to see the point!"

"You are a man and you feel the pain of a blow without any emotion behind it." Red moved back to the middle of the floor, where he was supposed to be, "Now put yourself in the shoes of a young child who was hit like that, but with the emotion of hate behind it, and the intention to harm." He looked down at his slightly red knuckles and added, "Not to mention, the blows were considerably harder, sometimes accompanied with other instruments. A belt, for instance, or a whip."

Spot sat back down, his eyes still slightly wide as he listened to the other. He had never seen Red like this before, he was focused, determined. Not only did it make him feel safer, it made him feel like he actually had a chance of getting out of this scotch free. He understood his reputation, and everything he had built, was on the line, but he hardly cared anymore.

He just didn't want to go.

"Not only did Matthew Conlon have to deal with that, he had to deal with a pair of alcoholic parents who not only forced him out of his house, but did it with a smile on their faces. Mrs. Rebecca Conlon has even forgotten she had ever born a son. She is convinced her second child, another girl, died in childbirth. She is mentally unstable, showing clear signs of being abused. It has also come to my attention Caroline Conlon, who sits just there, has also been abused by the father. Is that a household you would want your own children, who are around Matt's own age, to live in?"

"Be that as it may, there are no records of such..." The judge looked away from Red's eyes, those burning green eyes that seemed to pin him to his chair, seemed to stare straight through him to the other side. Both of them had those eyes. Spot Conlon's were just a different color.

"There are records." Red snapped open his briefcase, pulling out some paper. "I have records written and signed by the doctor who saw to Matt, on several occasions, that would be when he managed to get to the doctor's office, and..." He looked sideways at Spot, asking him silent permission to add the last puzzle piece to the mix.

Spot nodded, giving it all up to the other then. He knew they couldn't call anyone to the stand, cause that would just take him or her down as well. So they had found another way. But if he failed, even using this last resort...

"Mr. Russiani?" Monahan prompted, unaware of the private conversation they were having. "You were saying?"

Red reached in the briefcase slowly and pulled out a stack of Polaroids. "I have pictures, your honor."

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Monahan had to take a few deep breaths as he ran through the pictures. Even in black and white, they were horrific to behold. It was hard to believe that the young child in these pictures...literally torn apart and bared to the world...was the same strong willed one he saw sitting in his courthouse.

He paused on the last one, the last in the stack and the latest to be taken. It was recent, that was clear to see just by the sheer sharpness of the details. He cleared his throat, taking a sip from a glass of water one of the guards had fetched for him.

"Mister Conlon..." He started, "Please, I need to..."

Spot looked at him in confusion for a moment before realization dawned and he got to his feet, coming around the table to stand next to Red, slipping out of his heavy jacket and laying it over a chair. A gasp ran through the audience as he began to unbutton his shirt, letting it gape open. He looked up at Red one last time before he let it fall from his shoulders and down to his elbows, baring his back to the room.

That gasp turned into a scream.

The newsies were on their feet, cursing at Jake in every language known to man, some of them nearly making it close enough to try and take a swing or two at his head. The most violent and loud of the group, of course, were his own boys, the Brooklyn newsies.

They knew something had been wrong, they knew he had been abused. But never, in their wildest imaginations, could they dream something like this had happened to their beloved leader. Their blood ran through their veins like fire, burning and raging. Docks nearly leapt over the railing to get at Jake, but Shorty reached out and snagged him back.

But that was only so he could try.

"ENOUGH!" Monahan screeched, not quite having seen himself what all the commotion was about. "I SAID ENOUGH!" But, through all his screaming, they were not listening.

"Bois."

At Spot's soft voice, they all fell silent, so quickly the air around was ringing in their ears. How one word from this...shrimp, could halt such a ruckus, Monahan never got to ask, because at that moment, Spot turned to show him his back, and he forgot how to do anything but stare.

It was worse than the pictures, much worse...and this was when it had time to heal. The scars, both old and new, ran all across his pale skin. Whip scars, belt scars, knife scars, they were all there, and clearly distinguishable. He could literally see where the metal of the belt had pierced the kid's skin, and he had to turn away.

"Put...put your shirt back on..." He managed to rasp. "Please."

Spot did as he was told, not looking up until Red placed a hand on his shoulder gently in comfort. He gave him a small nod and a push back towards his seat, but not before he whispered a soft, "Im proud of ya, kid, real proud." and slipped something into his hand.

Monahan regained his composure and coughed a little, "I...Mr. Fuchs, do you have anything further to say?" He nodded at Red to retake his seat, and he did so, closing the briefcase.

The lawyer got to his feet, only slightly shaken by what he had seen. "Yes, in fact, we have one witness to call up, since she has been so unwillingly pulled into this."

Spot's hands clenched into fists so hard something sharp bit at his palm. He blinked, opening his hand, slightly remembering Red had given him something. But he had been a little preoccupied at that moment.

He unfurled his fingers and let the light reflect off of a silver key even as the lawyer smiled, not unlike his namesake, and said, "We call Caroline Conlon to the stand."

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heheheheeeee...here we go! Can Red and Spot get out of this one? Guess you'll gonna have to find out later... -giggle-