Jack was hurt.
He couldn't understand the way Sarah was acting. He could tell that something was wrong; she had seemed to be on the verge of falling apart entirely. He saw her flushed skin tone, her shaky hands, and don't think for a moment he was daft enough not to take notice of the red marks and bruises marring her frame. To put it in the smallest terms possible, Jack was very worried for her, and didn't know what to do. He wanted to help, but how could he when she wouldn't even talk to him?
His shoulders sagged and he bowed his head in dejection as he turned to go back into the lodging house. As he entered the throng of celebrating newsies, the joy in their cries of victory hardly reached his ears. He felt someone bump him, but he didn't react. Kid Blink grabbed his shoulders and shook him, trying to get a response. Jack offered him a brief smile that came out more like a grimace, but the other boy didn't seem to notice as he moved on to celebrate with another group of newsies. Jack couldn't help but wish they would all calm down and leave. He understood the feeling of ecstasy from their victory, but at the moment he only wanted to be alone.
Sighing to himself, Jack began to scan the room for the one person he only half wanted to see and talk to. Spot was the only person he felt like he could trust, and the kid was also supposed to be an expert on women, so Jack thought he might be able to shed some light on what had just occurred. After searching for a few seconds, his eyes locked with the bright blue eyes of his best friend. What he saw there, however, alarmed him more than anything else that had transpired that day. Spot's eyes were not happy, or celebratory, and for once it seemed he was having a hard time veiling his emotions. The cold wall he usually set securely in place seemed to be crumbling, and he looked more vulnerable than Jack had ever seen him in his life. It wasn't this break in character that astounded Jack, however, but it was the mix of emotions that were revealed in Spot's eyes. The boy seemed to be in the midst of an intense inward struggle with himself, and Jack could clearly distinguish guilt plastered across his face. Spot looked as if he wanted desperately to turn away, and Jack couldn't help but feel like that guilt was meant for him. What had Spot done to make him feel this way? Before Jack could move any closer to his friend, however, Spot finally seemed to snap out of his trance, and he turned and disappeared into the crowd, exiting the room, and likely the boarding house altogether. Jack had always been good at reading people, and, after that encounter, he knew one thing for sure: Spot was avoiding him.
The days that followed the fight, Spot began to have more and more trouble sleeping at night. His dreams had taken a creative turn for the worse, and he was now not only plagued with images of his dead mother, but her body would also morph into that of Sarah Jacobs. His father's cold eyes would change into those of a bigger-than-life Queens newsie who would stand over Sarah's body laughing and mocking him for not being able to save her. Spot would turn away from the scene wanting nothing more than to escape the horrifying image, but as he turned his eyes would always lock onto ones filled with resentment and hatred. Jack would glare at him with betrayal written all across his face, his scowl accusing Spot of what he had done, or rather, what he had not done.
"Yuh coulda saved huh."
"Jack, please, I tried, I-" but before Spot could continue, Jack would begin to transform before his very eyes. Morphing into a petite frame with feminine features, Spot would then see his younger sister looking up at him. He was sure he could feel his heart break in two when he saw the look of confusion and sadness in her eyes. She had trusted him, and he had let her down.
"Sean," she would say sadly. "Sean, where's mommy?" He would try to respond, but the words would stick in his throat as a lump the size of a baseball would form there. She didn't have to say another word before Spot would begin to break down as his emotions overcame him. He could have saved her, and he didn't. He could have stopped the monster, but he let her die. It was all his fault.
At this point in his nightmare Spot would always wake in a cold sweat. It had been a tortuous, continuous routine for the past three weeks, and Spot was growing very tired of it. Often times he would be leaving Brooklyn for his spot as early as two in the morning, and he wouldn't return to his bed until late into the evening. He knew that he was severely sleep deprived, but he simply had too much on his mind to fall into the bliss of a good night's sleep.
Jack was ghosting him. Even though Spot had said nothing about what had happened the day Queens had attacked Manhattan, it seemed as though Jack had figured it out somehow. The other leader had not communicated with Jack since the brawl, and the Manhattan newsies had been showing up in Brooklyn less and less. Earlier in the week Spot had tried to venture into Manhattan to see if he could resolve the unspoken tension between them, but he had been told by the Manhattan newsies that Jack wasn't around. Spot had the distinct feeling that Jack had been listening at the top of the staircase. He couldn't understand the actions of his best friend, and he missed him terribly. Especially during times when his nightmares were worst, Spot relied on Jack to help him make it through every day.
"Extra, extra! Catastrophic explosion destroys local factory!" Spot called as he made his way along the edge of the river. People brushed past him, averting their eyes as they silently refused to pay him any attention. As the hot Summer sun began to recede and the first days of Winter rolled into the city, it had become harder and harder to quickly sell his papers. Not only were there fewer people traveling the streets, but it seemed like no one wanted to stop for even a minute to take a look at the news of the day. Even when Spot exaggerated about a small electrical problem in the factories, people still failed to even give him a second glance.
Spot frowned as he noticed a small droplet of water staining the front of the newspaper in his hands. Looking up at the taciturn, grey sky, he blinked his eyes as a drop of rain pattered against his eyelid. Cursing under his breath, Spot shuffled into a sheltered alley as the sky opened up, and a fierce downpour of thick pellets of rain and snow began to hurtle toward the ground with unspeakable force.
Nuttin' like a little storm tuh match me mood, Spot thought sullenly as he miserably lifted his papers to shield his face from the ferocious torrent. The papers were entirely soaked through, and the ink had already begun to run together across the many pages. A day's wages gone. Spot knew that his boys would likely be met with the same dilemma, which meant that all the money he'd already made that day would be given up to help those less fortunate. His philosophy as a leader was that his boys always came first, no matter the cost. His stomach grumbled just at the thought of passing up food for the day, but he knew what was necessary.
Sighing forlornly, Spot let his body slide down the alley wall as he sat with a thud and rested his tired head in his hands. His sleep deprived nights and stress-filled weeks seemed to finally be catching up to him, and he began to feel drowsy despite the cold drop in temperature brought about by the storm. Snapping awake with a shake of his head, he groaned as he moved his stiff muscles to climb to his feet. He knew that if he fell asleep in these conditions, he would likely catch pneumonia or, worse, he could freeze to death without proper winter clothing to keep him warm. He shivered at the thought and attempted to hug his thin shirt tightly to his freezing torso. Shuffling down the street, Spot picked up his pace as he drew closer to home. He sighed again at the thought of the night to come, knowing it would be long and hard, filled with the downcast spirits of numerous young boys who would likely be both without food and wages for the day's grueling cycle of the hard work experienced daily as a newsie on the New York City streets.
David Jacobs frantically ran through the streets, tapping people's shoulders and desperately pleading for their help. The few citizens who traveled the streets, however, took him to be nothing more than an insignificant beggar, and, ignoring his pleas, they roughly shook him off and sauntered away in annoyance. The more he tried, the more frantic and frustrated he became, and he felt on the verge of tears as his searching yielded no results.
A large water droplet fell onto his head and rolled slowly down the brim of his cap. David let out an audible cry of anguish as he knew that yet another storm was on its way. The past week had been filled with nothing but harsh rain and snow. After the first gale, many had thought that business would pick up as normal, but it seems that fate had other plans. The continuous rain and snow had seemed to set nearly all of the workflow on hold, and, especially as a newsie, that meant little to no cash intake, and no means to provide for his family. Usually this wouldn't have been a problem, as David's father had long since recovered from his accident and had returned to work in the factories, but as luck would have it, the Jacobs father and mother had traveled out of town before the severe weather and had become stranded outside of the city. David, Sarah, and Les had been left to fend for themselves, and their resources had begun to run out after just a few days… And that was before the current calamity.
David began to trek shamefully back home with nothing to show for his endeavors, but as he looked to the other side of the street, he saw what he thought to be a godsend. Attempting to hide his sense of eagerness and relief, he rushed across the road, catching up to the boy on the other side.
"Hey, Spot!" The Brooklyn leader lifted his face to see who had called for him, and David nearly stopped in his tracks as he caught his first real glimpse of the teen. Spot looked tired. No, completely exhausted. There were dark circles surrounding his eyes, and his shoulders sagged as he took painfully slow steps. David also noticed that he looked too thin and pale, and he knew that the past week must have hit the Brooklyn newsies hard. Gulping slightly at Spot's vacant expression, David dredged up the courage to ask for the help he so desperately needed.
"Spot, it's- it's Les." The rain began to fall harder around them and David shivered from the cold atmosphere. Spot's exterior made no change and he simply observed David with a listless stare.
"He's sick, Spot, he-" David's words broke off as he choked back a sob. "He got caught in a storm while trying to sell, and he's real bad off. Our parents are out of town and we don't have enough money to pay a doctor. I wouldn't be asking, but I've heard what people say: they say that you're good with sicknesses, that you're a real good nurse when you need to be-"
Spot cut him off with a scowl and a raise of his hand. David flinched at the irritated glare on his face and wondered what he'd said to elicit such a reaction. But just as soon as Spot's anger appeared, it seemed as though all his energy rushed out of him at once, and his composure wilted in fatigue. Rubbing the back of his neck, Spot regarded his companion with disdain.
"Once a walkin' mouth, always a walkin' mouth," he muttered tiresomely. "Yuh know, Davie, if I weren't so damn tired, I'd soak yuh foh dat title."
At those words, David realized his folly. Nurse. Nurse?! Had he really called the mighty King of Brooklyn, the ever-so-fearless Spot Conlon, the most feared newsie around, a nurse?! David mentally kicked himself and was even more ashamed when he felt a blush creep up onto his cheeks. How could he have been so stupid? He just blew any shot he ever had that Spot would ever help him in a million years. He lowered his head in despair and humiliation. Spot, noticing the other boy's plight, decided to take pity on the Jacobs family. After all, he owed Sarah at least that much after the way he'd treated her for so long.
"Alright, lead da way, Mouth." David jerked his head up in surprise, eyes widening in shock. He hesitated as he scrutinized Spot in suspicion, wondering if this were some sort of trap. "Whatcha waitin' foh, Mouth, a signed petition or maybe a parade wit' dancin' elephants tuh help get da message into dat dumb ass thick skull o' yawhs? I's gonna help yuh, so get a move on, blockhead."
David yelped and faltered on the curb in his haste to scurry away. He could hear Spot snickering at him behind his back, but he didn't slow his gait. He knew enough about the King of Brooklyn to know that you didn't take any of his favors for granted.
Sarah wiped the sweat from Les's brow as she moved to replace the cloth there with a freshly soaked one. She felt tears well up in her eyes at his deathly pale complexion and glistening brow. The boy seemed to be fighting for every lungful as his breathing came out in ragged, sickly spurts. His entire body radiated the intense heat of a raging fever, and he visibly shook even though his small form was covered by several blankets. Wiping away a tear before it could fall, Sarah tried to put on a brave face. With her parents out of town, she had to remain strong for her brothers. They both looked to her in times like these and she promised herself that she would do everything in her power to help Les.
She stood to her feet as she heard voices at the door. So David had found help. She could almost have cried in relief, at least, until she saw who walked through the door. When Spot entered the room, the tension was immediate, and the two of them locked eyes as an unspoken strain settled between them. They hadn't spoken since the incident with the Queens newsies, and Sarah knew that their entire relationship had been drastically altered. She wasn't sure how she felt about him anymore, all she knew was that even the very thought of him was enough to cause her to flush and clam up. It didn't help that things were tense between her and Jack, and Spot was partially to blame. Jack wanted to know what had happened the day Queens had attacked, and Sarah simply wasn't comfortable speaking about it. She had still barely come to terms with what had happened herself, and she wasn't sure why, but something about the entire situation made her very uneasy. Her mind kept telling her that she should simply tell Jack what had happened, that he would be happy that Spot had saved her from such a ghastly fate, but her heart was telling her that she couldn't tell him. That part of her didn't want to; it was almost like it was a personal secret between her and Spot, and she felt ill just at the thought of trying to explain it to Jack. She knew that he had his suspicions anyway, and that his and Spot's friendship was suffering as a result, but she could only hope that the tension would fade with time.
Suddenly, from the small cot in the corner of the room, Les began to mumble incoherently in his feverish state. Spot didn't hesitate before he was at the boy's side, running his hand through Les's hair and across his burning forehead, and carefully taking note of each of his sickly symptoms.
Sarah couldn't help but noticed how calm Spot's practiced hands were as he tenderly cared for her younger brother. She had never seen Spot act with such care and concern for anyone other than himself. In that moment, as she watched the boy she had hated become the help she had desperately prayed for, she realized just how selfish she had been to not realize the true nature of the rumored to be heartless King of Brooklyn. She also noticed how tired and hungry he looked, and she knew that he must work hard to provide for his boys. Only someone with a deep respect and care for the people around them could show the amount of tenderness Spot was showing for Les in his examination. She realized then that Spot should never have been her enemy. She had been deceived by the outward, arrogant shell of a boy who wanted to hide his vulnerabilities. She knew then that she wanted to pursue a true friendship with him, because she knew that he was the type of friend who would be unconditionally loyal, no matter the cost to his own personal wellbeing. She had been so blind before; she couldn't believe her foolishness.
Spot turned away from his patient to the two anxious siblings waiting for his verdict. He pretended not to notice Sarah wiping tears out of her eyes, thinking it was only worry for her brother that caused her to cry. He had no idea of the revelation and inward change of heart she had just experienced, and he barely noticed how she looked at him in a different way than she ever had before.
"He has a severe case of pneumonia," Spot explained as he wiped the sweat from his own brow. "I's seen it many times in me boys, and I tink dat he'll be just fine wit da right medicine." Sarah let out a sob and David cast his gaze downward at the words. Spot looked at them in confusion, not understanding their reactions.
"Spot, we have no money," Sarah explained. "We can't afford any medicine, and our parents won't return until the storms stop." Understanding flashed across Spot's face and he simply smiled. Now it was the Jacobs' turn to be confused, as the smile seemed very out of place in the moment of crisis.
"Now, don't yuh go worryin' bout money, Princess," Spot said. "I can get da medicine for yuh, just give me a few days." David's face broke out in a grin, and Sarah looked as if she could have smothered Spot in hugs and kisses. Taking a step away from her to avoid just that, Spot continued. "Until I return, make shoh he stays in bed, and give him plenty o' fluids. Also give him baths when yuh can tuh try and control dat fevuh." Sarah and David were both looking at him gratefully, and as Spot moved to leave, David stepped in front of him, blocking his way.
"Spot, wait," he said. He seemed to be conflicted about the situation and Spot could see that he felt ashamed for not being able to provide for his brother himself. Understanding the feeling, Spot placed a hand on David's shoulder and gave him a reassuring nod. David visibly relaxed, and he met Spot's eyes as he continued. "How can we ever repay you?" Spot looked him in the eye for a moment longer before answering.
"Don't yuh go worryin' bout dat neither, Walkin' Mouth. Considuh it a once in a lifetime favuh." With that, Spot tipped his hat at the other boy, and hurried out the door.
After two days Spot returned. He had left the newsies in the capable hands of Rusty, and they did not question his actions as he would often disappear from the lodging house for days at a time. Figuring the boys would be okay without him for a bit longer, Spot decided to go immediately to the Jacobs household. Trudging through endless mud puddles and flooded gutters, Spot looked up at the vault of the sky, wondering if it had finally done enough damage to the world beneath it. The storms seemed to have come to a halt, but the effects of the relentless rain and snow could still be seen across the streets of New York. Along with the flooded and snow-filled avenues, the storms had also ushered in the first weeks of the frigid winter to come. Spot shivered just at the thought of selling papers in the soon to be far below freezing temperatures. The hardest months as newsies were upon them, and he could already tell that this winter would be harsher than most.
Reaching the Jacobs' apartment complex, Spot pushed these morbid thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. After climbing the staircase and locating the correct number, he rapped on the door loudly and waited impatiently for someone to respond. The sound of the lock sliding back could be heard, and he could soon see the pale, tired face of a very worried Sarah Jacobs. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him, something that he was sure had never occurred before, and she immediately stepped aside to let him enter.
"Oh, Spot, I'm so glad you're back," she said rapturously. He nodded at her once before quickly scanning the room and hurrying over to the bed containing one very sick boy. Sarah followed closely behind and watched anxiously as he removed the medicine from his pockets. He held three small vials in his hands: one containing antibiotics to fight the infection, one to help bring down the fever, and finally a simple aspirin to help ease the boy's suffering. Spot heard Sarah draw in a long breath of relief at the sight of the medicine, and he jumped in slight surprise as he felt her hand rest on his shoulder. He looked up to find her looking on him in gratitude and appreciation.
"You're a life-saver, Spot Conlon," she said as tears of reprieve filled her eyes. "He's only been getting worse, and I'm not sure what we would have done without you." Spot was a but taken-aback by her fair treatment of him, used to only fighting and insults being exchanged between them. He also wasn't entirely sure how to react to the look of admiration he was receiving at that moment and decided to pretend he didn't notice at all. He cleared his throat and shifted nervously.
"Well, we ain't out o' da watuh yet," he said testily. "He's still got a long road tuh recovery ahead, yuh know." Spot went on to explain the different types of medicine, how much should be administered and when, and other necessary information Sarah would need to nurse her brother back to health. She soaked in every word, and with each moment Spot only saw that look of admiration grow stronger. Whereas it still made him feel slightly unnerved, he couldn't help but feel his sense of pride swell at the way she was acting. As his instruction came to a close, he began to make his way over to the windows, opting to take the fire escape down to the streets instead of the dark apartment hallways.
"Spot, wait!" Sarah called from behind him. He turned to face her questioningly. "I know you said we didn't need to pay you, but it just doesn't feel right," she explained. "Please, is there anything we can do? David's out selling papers right now, and maybe if it doesn't rain or snow again, he'll be able to-"
"Woah, slow down, Princess," Spot cut her off as he placed a hand on the window pane. "A favuh's a favuh, and yuh should just enjoy it cause it ain't gonna happen twice." Without another word, he smirked and winked at her before swinging his body onto the fire escape and once again beginning to take his leave.
"But Spot, please!" He paused once again and nearly groaned out loud as her call stopped him a second time. "Please, Spot, there must be something…" her voice broke at the end of her plea, and Spot felt his heart thud in a feeling of empathy. She had been through so much the past couple months, and most of it had been his doing. There was one thing that had been bugging him. A promise he'd made on his birthday on which he hadn't exactly followed through. Making up his mind, he sucked in a breath through his teeth, and turned to face the girl who had haunted his thoughts daily. She was leaning out the window to look at him, and her face was filled with unbound hope.
"Alright, well, I guess there's one ting," he said nervously. Her face lit up at his words and he couldn't help but wonder how she would react to his proposal. "Yuh know I wrote yuh dat note a while, back, and maybe, uh, maybe we could try dat again." Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before remembrance took its place. Spot grimaced, sure that he had only made her upset as the last time they had tried to be friends things hadn't exactly gone very well. But slowly, her lips curled up into a smile and she beamed at him happily.
"Well then, Mr. Conlon," she said playfully. "I guess I have an appointment with you and your precious hillside in the morning then. I will see you then, insolent git." But the once insulting name was not said in respite, but rather jokingly, and soon after she disappeared back into the apartment, shutting the window behind her. Spot turned to leave with a dumfound expression on his face. He couldn't help but feel elated at her positive response, and he could only hope that the morning would transpire just as well.