For Brooklyn 2

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Fifteen: The verdict

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 could only stare as Caroline walked up to stand next to the lawyer. All he could think about was the way her shoulder's slumped forward, her hands shaking ever so slightly. They were all bad signs, but the worst of them all...?

She never once looked back at him.

"Miss Conlon." The judge nodded politely at her, "How are you this morning?"

"I..I'm content, your honor." She said, trembling. "I cannot complain."

Spot's heart fell. She wasn't going to tell them the truth, she wasn't going to protect him any longer. But could he truly blame her? No, he could not. Family they may be, but he couldn't fault her for looking after herself.

"Mr. Fuchs." Monahan prompted, "You may start."

The German smiled as he slid his hands into his pockets, completely at ease. "Miss Conlon, please, tell us. Has your father ever hit your mother?"

"No sir."

Red looked over at Spot, concerned as the latter seemed to fold in upon himself, clutching at the key so hard blood was dribbling down his arm. He reached over and placed his fingers around the other's wrist, even as the lawyer asked his next question.

"Has your father ever hit you?"

A slight pause. "No sir."

Jake was looking pretty happy just about now. He leaned back and grinned at his daughter with pride. He had it in the bag now, all she needed to do was stay with the 'no sir' and they were set. He knew her last night of training would do her some good. No more of those rebellious stages, not in his children.

"Has your father ever hit your brother?"

Spot flinched, head bowed as his breath came a little fast. He was so tense he almost missed her response. Almost.

"Yes sir."

His head flew up, eyes snapping open. When had he closed them? He stared, openmouthed at his sister, praying he had heard right. Has she just stuck up for him? Again? But how could that be?

Mr. Fuchs frowned, "Excuse me? Perhaps you didn't understand me. I asked if your father has ever hit your brother."

"And I said yes." She snapped, eyes flashing. "Perhaps you didn't understand me, sir. I believe I was speaking English, but if you wish for me to translate it into something you understand, my answer is Ja." (Yes)

The newsies laughed and the tension eased from Spot's shoulders, giving him the courage to risk a glance in his father's direction. He was still in the too shocked to do anything stage, but it was clear in his eyes that Caroline would not get out of this one unscathed.

And it was clear in HER eyes, that she didn't give a darn.

After all, she was Spot Conlon's sister.

Monahan ran a hand through his hair, eyes roaming from the daughter to the son and then back to the father. What a mess this was, a mess indeed. He picked up his gavel and sighed, banging it a few times.

"All rise." The guard called as the judge stood to take his leave. "Court will be in recess. We shall reassemble in an hour to hear the verdict."

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Spot nearly fell into a chair just outside the courthouse, burying his head in his hands. He wasn't crying, but his nerves were shot all to heck and back. Too much had happened lately, too much for him to take in. He felt arms wrap around his shoulders, and he knew from the touch that the person behind him wasn't Red, but the next second he knew the person behind him was nearly the same height and relaxed.

"Heya, Race." He whispered, letting his hands fall as he turned his head to look at the other.

Race looked horrible, there were dark shadows under his eyes, and he was sporting a fading bruise on the bottom of his face, above his jaw line. It looked like someone had slugged the heck out of him. Spot was about to ask what had happened, but it was then the rest of the newsies found him, and he was swamped with bodies.

"Spot!"

"Spot, man! I cant believe he did that to you!"

"Want me to kill em?"

"Yeah! Just say the word!"

"That's right! Brooklyn sticks together!"

"We gotta stick together!"

Feeling not unlike a bird in a cage, Spot pushed at the newsies surrounding him, vainly trying to get some air, some room between them. It was stifling, suffocating. Every time he opened his mouth to order them to go away, someone yelled over him.

He was just about to kill them all and be done with it, when a voice rose over it all, snapping like a whip through the chaos. He breathed an audible sigh of relief as the crowd dispersed and he could think again.

"Come on, give him some room. What do you wanna do? Kill him?" Red asked with a raised eyebrow as he came through the newsies, Ace at his side. "How ya doin, kid? Holding up all right?"

Spot raised his eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. "Where the heck did you get those clothes?" Truthfully, he thought Red kind of looked like an adult, but that wasn't something he really wanted to think about, much less say.

"Ace let me borrow em." Red sighed, collapsing in a chair, running a hand through his hair. "God, I don't know what im doin. Im no lawyer."

"Ya doin a good job to me." Race said from behind Spot. But it was the way he said it that made the younger take notice. Spot cleared his throat loudly, his fingers clenching the key of Brooklyn, somehow knowing what he was about to hear would not be good.

"I want answers. Now."

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They were called back in precisely an hour, taking their seats without much preamble. Spot was in a state of suspended shock, his mind trying to wrap itself about the sheer sacrifices his friends had made for him.

What the HECK had he done to deserve it?

Monahan was called in and everyone rose, waiting, as was proper, until the other took his seat. However, once he had, he stayed in his seat and shuffled the papers, never saying a word. He looked like he was waiting for something.

After a few minutes of silence, broken only by the occasional shuffle or whisper, Red ventured a soft, "Your honor? Are you all right?"

"Yes...yes...the verdict..."

The judge cast a look around the courtroom, sighing a little as he picked up his gavel. "I hereby announce that Matthew Christopher Conlon is to be under the custody of his parents until his twenty-first birthday, signed and witnessed today, this day of-"

Anything else he had to say was drowned out by the voices of every newsie in the room, but it was Red who leapt forward, "YOU CANT DO THIS!"

The two guards sprung forward, grabbing the youth and trying to forcibly restrain him even as he tried to get at the judge, cursing him at the top of his lungs. Spot was sitting in his seat, unrestrained horror on his face, frozen in shock. There was no way...

"Take him OUT OF HERE!" The judge roared, motioning at Red, "Get him OUT OF HERE NOW!"

"YOU PIECE OF CRAP!" Red decked one of the guards and leapt forward, "ILL KILL YOU! YOU BETTER WATCH YOUR BACK BECAUSE IM GONNA KILL YOU!"

"GUARDS!"

It took everyone of the guards in the courtroom to restrain Red, pulling him off toward the door which lead to the jail. His hair flying around his enraged eyes, the co-leader of Brooklyn let his last words be known as they echoed through the room.

"YOU'RE GOING TO PAY! YOU'RE GOING TO SO PAY FOR THIS!"

And through it all, Spot hadn't moved a muscle, unable to even make a sound or tear his eyes away from the table top. It was over. After everything, they had lost.

And he...He was leaving New York.

Forever.

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heheheheeeeeeee. -grin- betcha werent expecting that. now review and tell me whatcha think! -snicker-