Shades of Grey

Chapter 14-Come Save Me

"And what about Spot Conlon?"

Spot clenched his fists, and took a step forward. He didn't know if he could bear to hear Racetrack say he wasn't real.

Then Racetrack began to speak.

"I…" Racetrack began, and he swallowed hard. "I…"

"Answer the question, Mr. Higgins."

"Please," Racetrack begged. "I…. he can't…"

Spot decided not to wait for the answer. The fact that Racetrack was still protesting, even after he had given up on Jack… that had to be enough. It meant something, and Spot didn't want to see Racetrack suffer anymore. He glanced over at Jack, who was still staring at Racetrack in horror.

"Now, Jack," Spot hissed, and he took a step into the hallway and rushed at the man who was hovering over the shaking Racetrack, and threw a punch straight at his jaw.

The bastard was knocked back a few steps, and Spot advanced in on him, fists up, prepared to fight. Jack had hesitated just a second, but he followed Spot in, and stood glaring at the nurse.

Spot knew that Jack didn't want to hit her. She was a girl, and none of the newsies were that type. That was below the newsies, it was practically… Delancey brothers level. Still, if it came down to that, and she was between them and Racetrack…

"Move," Spot informed her, as he went to kneel down before his shaking boyfriend. "Get out of here."

"Who do you think you are?" the woman hissed at them.

"We're getting Racetrack outta here," Spot informed her, getting to his feet. Racetrack hadn't acknowledged his touch at all; he was still sitting there, staring straight ahead, and rocking back and forth.

"Anthony is confined here in isolation because he is a danger to himself and to others. I do not appreciate you interfering with his treatment."

Spot just glared at her, and almost gained some respect for the woman when she didn't flinch back from his stare. But there wasn't anything that she could do that would make up for what she and the others had done to Racetrack.

Spot took a step forward, but the woman remained in place.

"We're taking Racetrack with us," Spot said as soon as she finished speaking. "And you are going to get the hell out of my way, right now."

Spot clenched his fists, and silently hoped that she would move. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jack sit down besides Racetrack, speaking quietly, still with no effect.

"He doesn't want to leave," the woman responded. "So I don't think that you should push the matter."

Spot could tell that she was getting a bit more nervous. He was glad that they had taken out those guards on their way in; he assumed that she was just stalling for time expecting that those guards would show up any moment. But he'd already taken care of that.

And to think Jack had insulted his plan…

Clenching his fists, he just glared at her. "We're taking him," he said finally. "And girl or not, you aren't going to stop us."

"Woman," she corrected. "And you are not removing my patient."

Spot sneered, and stepped forward, and threw a punch.

She crumbled to the floor in a heap.

Now that she had been taken care of, Spot finally had time to look around the room. It was tiny, stark, and white. Spot couldn't imagine what sort of horrors Race had been subjected to while he'd been locked up in here. Spot couldn't imagine having been confined like this… he was so used to having the freedom to go as he pleased that the mere idea of being stuck in such a tiny room for what he could only guess was days terrified him. And he hated to be scared of anything.

He finally turned his attention back to Racetrack, who was huddling in the corner, with Jack kneeling down next to him.

Racetrack looked horrible.

Spot had honestly never seen anyone look this bad and still be alive. And he'd seen a lot of beatings in his time as a Brooklyn newsie, and he'd been the cause of quite a few of them. And everyone who had been in as bad a condition as Racetrack was in now had died afterwards.

Racetrack was pale, almost ghostly, and his frame was almost skeletal. There were deep circles under his eyes, and the smell emanating from him… it almost made Spot think twice about moving closer to him.

Almost.

Moving to be closer to Racetrack, he knelt down so that he was next to him and examined his boyfriend close up. He was covered in bruises, some of which were fresh, but others had definitely been there for a few days at least. His clothing was almost hanging off of him, and it was covered with stains.

Spot wasn't sure if he wanted to know what had been done to his boyfriend anymore.

He took Racetrack's hand, and marveled at the difference between Racetrack's hand now and the last time that he had held it. Last time Racetrack had been tan from being outside at the tracks all day, but now his hand was paler than Spot had ever seen it before. Spot's skin was positively dark compared to Racetrack's, and Spot had never been one of the tanner newsies.

He closed his hand against Racetrack's, and lightly traced his fingers over Race's palm.

Racetrack was still sitting there, unresponsive. He hadn't spoken at all since Spot and Jack had appeared. His eyes were unfocused, and he was still shaking slightly.

Spot glanced over at Jack, who just shook his head slightly.

Spot knew what he was saying. Racetrack had cracked. He wasn't in there any longer.

Spot wasn't willing to believe that. He couldn't believe that. Racetrack had refused to deny Spot's existence, and that was the only proof that Spot needed for Racetrack to still be there.

"We need to get him out of here," Spot said finally.

"Race?" Jack asked hesitantly.

Racetrack didn't respond, he just continued to sit there, curled up in a fetal position.

"Racetrack?" Jack repeated softly. "Can you answer me?"

Spot only had to assume that Racetrack couldn't answer, but he had been hoping that Racetrack would come to.

"Race," he said, a hint of desperation entering into his voice. "It's me, Spot. And that's Jack."

At the sound of Spot's voice, Racetrack stopped shaking, and his eyes came to focus on Spot for a bit. He opened his mouth, and instead of a response, Racetrack's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed into a heap.

"Shit," Spot muttered. He reached to pick up Spot, but Jack beat him to it.

"I've got him," Jack said quietly, and he picked Racetrack up in his arms, holding him like a child.

Spot glared at him in response. Racetrack was his and Jack had no right to touch him.

"Look, Spot," Jack said quietly. "Just… just let me feel useful, okay? He's my best friend, and I've just fucked everything up… and let me do this much, at least."

Spot nodded his consent.

"Let's get him out of here," he said curtly, and the two of them began to make their way through the maze of corridors, Jack still holding Racetrack in his arms.


Their trip through the asylum had been completed in almost total silence, as Spot and Jack were trying to avoid the remaining guards. Spot wasn't sure exactly how long it had been since they had initially knocked out the two orderlies, but apparently, no alarm had been sounded.

It was easy. Almost too easy.

But still, Spot wasn't going to let that make him distracted, nor was he going to avoid taking advantage of the situation. The relative ease of their escape was allowing him to make plans for what was going to go on after they returned back to Brooklyn. And the one thing that Spot was sure of was that he wasn't going to allow Racetrack out of his sight again.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Jack…. Well, it was that he didn't trust Jack. This entire mess had started because Jack hadn't cared enough to go looking for him. And with the way that Racetrack was acting around Jack… or rather, the way that Racetrack was acting in general, he knew that it wouldn't be the best of ideas to allow Racetrack off with Jack. Not if he wanted Racetrack back.

Finally, they made it back to the hallway that they had started in. The corridor was empty, and all of the cells were locked up.

A hissing attracted his attention.

Spot turned around, and saw Amy gesturing at him through the bars of her cell. He went over to her, Jack following behind, still carrying an unconscious Racetrack.

"You need to get out of here," Amy said immediately. "The rest of the morning shift just got in, and they saw the whole group of us out in the hallway, and they're going to look for the intruders."

Spot nodded.

"Thanks for the warning," Jack put in, shifting Racetrack's weight in his arms.

"How's he doing?" Amy asked quietly.

Spot opened his mouth to tell her it wasn't any of her business, but Jack beat him to it.

"He'll recover, once we get him back to Manhattan."

Spot glanced at Jack in annoyance. He didn't know where Jack got off thinking that he was in charge, or that Spot was going to trust him around Racetrack after everything that happened, but now wasn't the time to talk about it. They could deal with it once Racetrack was out of this hell hole.

"Do you mind, Jacky-boy?" he asked. "Quit making small talk, and let's get out of here."

Jack nodded, and followed Spot down the corridor, until they arrived back at the spot where they had entered the asylum.

Spot glanced around, trying to find the way back to the Brooklyn. The light that had led them into the asylum seemed to have vanished.

"Fuck," Spot muttered, leaning against the wall.

He exchanged a glance with Jack. All they could do now was wait and hope that somehow the portal, or whatever had sent them here, would open back up so that they could get Racetrack to safety before the guards showed up.

Jack set Racetrack down, making sure that he placed Race in as comfortable position as he could manage, since there had still been no signs of Racetrack regaining consciousness.

Jack took a seat next to their unconscious friend, and sighed.

"I can't wait to get out of here, and get Racetrack back to Manhattan, where he belongs," Jack said finally.

"You mean Brooklyn," Spot informed him. "I'm not leaving him with you."

"He's one of my boys, Spot," Jack said, seemingly struggling to keep his voice low enough so that the guards which were supposedly combing through the asylum wouldn't notice them.

"That's where you're wrong," Spot corrected him, his voice low and dangerous. He didn't bother to keep the venom out of his tone.

Jack flinched, and Spot rolled his eyes. How such a coward ever managed to become the leader of Manhattan…

"Spot," Jack began, trying to stay calm. "It's just…is Brooklyn really the place you'd take someone when they've been hurt? Racetrack is going to need the support of his friends…. And how is he going to get that in Brooklyn?"

"I'll take care of him, Jack. After all, I've done a better job of that than you have."

"It won't be safe for him there," Jack pointed out, and Spot had to admit that there was some truth in his words. Brooklyn wasn't like Manhattan… the boys there were much more ruthless, and people weren't likely to have good friends. Spot had gotten to the top based on fear, and he knew that he'd been pushing his reputation with his obsessive search for Racetrack.

He really didn't want to admit that Jack might have a point, that it wouldn't be safe for Racetrack to be in Brooklyn. But if it came down to Brooklyn or Racetrack… Spot was fairly sure at this point that it would be Racetrack that he chose, but that would mean that they would both have to leave Brooklyn, since it wouldn't be safe for either of them there.

"I swear to God, Jack," he hissed. "I'll be checking in on him every day, and if anything happens to him while he's in your care, I'll kill you."

Jack paled considerably, and he nodded.

"I wouldn't hurt him, Spot, he's my best friend."

"You've done a real fucking good job of showing that."

A noise from where Racetrack was lying down caught his attention, and he glanced over to see that Racetrack was stirring slightly.

Spot got up, and moved over to where his boyfriend was sitting.

"Race," he said quietly, "can you hear me?"

There was no response at first, but finally, and with what appeared to be a great deal of effort, Racetrack raised his head to look directly at Spot.

"Spot?" he asked hesitantly, and Racetrack's voice sounded so… tired, like it had taken all of his energy just to manage that one word.

"I'm here," Spot said, taking Racetrack's hand, not caring about what it was going to do to his reputation. Besides, the only person here who could see him was Jack, and he didn't really care what Jack thought anymore. As long as Jack kept his mouth shut about his relationship with Racetrack anyway.

Jack was glaring at him, but Spot just ignored it. Jack was jealous. The fucker.

Racetrack's breathing was labored, but he continued to try to speak.

"Are… are you… real?"

Spot felt like he'd just been punched in the stomach.

"Of course I'm real, stupid," he snapped, and winced as the words came out of his mouth. "Jack and I are getting you out of here."

He hoped that his voice was more reassuring now, but honestly, he wasn't sure. The stress from the entire situation was really beginning to get to him, and he didn't know exactly what it was that he was supposed to be doing.

"Jack?" Racetrack sounded so confused, and Spot felt something tug at his heart, but he didn't understand what it was that he was feeling. "No… Jack… he…"

Racetrack was shaking again.

"Don't strain yourself, Higgins," Spot said quietly. "He's here, we both are."

"Spot," Jack interrupted urgently. "Look!"

Spot turned his head, and saw the glow had appeared in the corridor once again. Jack gathered Racetrack back up in his arms, and the three of them headed through the doorway, and Spot strained to hear the last words coming from Racetrack.

"…isn't real…"

And then they were caught up through the glow of the portal, and the next thing Spot knew the three of them had made it out of the asylum, and the familiar sight of the Brooklyn Bridge greeted them.

They'd done it.


Author's Notes-I live! Shockingly. This chapter was almost impossible to write, because Racetrack wasn't speaking to me. However, it was far more entertaining than studying for finals… so the chapter actually happened. Of course, as I now have 4 fics in progress… yeah…

Also, I know that Spot seems a bit…. Obsessively angry with Jack. He's just Spot. And bitter. And I adore Jack, so I'm not just bashing him, I swear.

Many thanks to everyone who put up with my bitching about this chapter, especially Rina, Maddy, Jen, and Gothica. They rule. And Lute and B are awesome for beta reading.

Chapter title comes from The Boy From Oz.

Shout outs!

B-Yeah, you're right. You're always right. And I adore you for it. And… I'm not done torturing my darling yet. He's really annoyed about that…

Hazzagriff-I'm sorry about the length! For some reason my chapters always turn out really short, and I don't know why. And that was a mean cliffhanger, wasn't it?

Saturday-Your review amused me so much. You're seriously awesome, and I hope that you like this one!

Madison Square-You've reviewed before… if that's what you meant about it seeming familiar. Although, the plot of this is loosely based off a Buffy episode. looks at typo Oops! Thanks for catching that!

Shakespearean fool-Sorry it's so short… but we're approaching the ending really fast!

Koodles-blush I'm glad you're enjoying the plot so far. It just gets weirder from here.

Rina-Yay shades cheerleader! Do you sing the captain planet sprace song? loves madly

Lute-I'm glad you enjoy. loves

Glimmer-Well, Spot did beat them all up, so I don't think that Glimmer killing everyone is necessary… but I'm glad you're enjoying. hearts

Artist-I'm glad you like this! Hopefully, the next chapter will take less time…

Iambic Pentameter-blush Thank you for the compliment! I'm really worried about my characterizations, but I adore protective Spot. So does Race. Well, when he's conscious anyway.

Gothica-It took you this long to realize that I'm evil? loves

Next chapter – Race gets back to Manhattan. And is severely screwed up.

Til next time!

TSB