Phew *wipes away fake sweat* finally got this chapter written up. I need to work on my stories. Special thanks go to cybale for the support and Are You Ready cause I forced her at school to read my story and yea XD she had a hard time understanding the newsies parts but oh well. HERE IT IS! TADA!

After pizza Spot went outside, leaning against the wall near the door, watching the sunset. He was old, and knew he'd never be able to fight at this age. Hell, these were his only grandchildren. His sons' children weren't like the Curtis's, and they had wondered what their mother, his daughter, was like. He sighed, reminiscing how his little girl came to be. Born a Conlon died a Curtis. Her death had hit him and Doll hard. That was the only daughter they had, their youngest, the baby of the family and she had died. The boys had been so sad too.

Born Aishilinn Alice Conlon, she was a little bundle of sunshine for her parents. They weren't rich, but that had never bothered little Ashy. But as she got older… she became ashamed of how her parents couldn't call police for anything, at the fact that they had to live paycheck to paycheck. She loved the family, but she felt like she was being a burden. So, before Spot or Doll could even say anything, she had moved to Tulsa when she was eighteen. For a long time she was single, but then soon enough she had her boys.

But… then she had died. That practically killed him and Doll. Their baby was gone. Spot had been used to death, and so had Doll, but it was still hard on them. Very hard. Losing a child cannot be described, for one would never be able to describe it. His grandsons would never know that feeling, the feeling of losing a child, why? Because they'd never lost anyone more than a parent. Sure, losing a parent hurt, if the parent cared. Spot's father never cared for him, only his mother. Doll only liked her father, so both of them knew what both losing a parent and a child was like now.

By far it had been worse on his wife, since Aishilinn had been her only girl. Her baby girl. If anyone was a protective mother it had been Doll. She had always made sure her boys got an education when Jonathan had been dyslexic, and when Marcus wouldn't become more social she had made him get out there and talk to kids. And Aishy… with baby Aishy she taught her everything. Spot had always made sure they were on the right track, making sure they looked after each other. That's how it had been, before Baby Aishy wanted out.

Spot guessed, she just didn't want the life anymore. Looking out at the street, he watched kids trying to look tough, others just walking, talking, looking over at him. Glaring at them, they averted their eyes, and he couldn't help the smirk on his face. He still had it. He was still a king. If the boys back home had seen this… they wouldn't have been surprised. Some of them were already dead. Race, Cowboy, Skittery, hell even Mush was gone. Spot, and a couple of his men, were practically the only ones left of the eighteen-ninty nine newsboys army.

Yep, he had had the good life.

Sellin' papes for a penny each, hollering the headlines out, that had been his life. He looked down at his hands and half smiled, reminiscing the memories of bein' on the street, hawking headlines and helping save the day when the strike needed saving. Now, his hands weren't the pitch black of a newsies, only a tint of grey, whatever couldn't have washed off over time. Hell he never tried to wash off the ink, it just would. Whenever he was set in a mood, he could look at his hands, and see who he was, or had been before.

But then something happened. He grew up. Everyone grew up, hell every single one of them didn't even wanna grow up, but why had they? Simple. They had to. When he worked in the factory with Bear, he knew that Bear wished life was how it had been. Sometimes he'd see Doll looking through old pictures, ones of when they could afford, some sketches someone gave her, or hear her talk about those times with Muse. He could hear his grandsons and their friends inside, joking and goofing off, but he'd hear them stop occasionally and look outside, wondering what the old, tough, Spot Conlon was thinking of. But the thing was they'd never know.

"Hey Pone," Soda said, looking out the window at Spot, "What do ya think he's thinkin' 'bout?"

"I don't know," Pony replied, "Maybe he's homesick?"

"He's reminiscing the old days," Johnny said, looking out with Soda, "You can tell. Sometimes some of you get that look when your remembering something real nice. Except you guys smile, instead of half smiling."

"Johnny cake how come you understand him better than us?" Two-bit asked.

"Cause I know what it's like to life on the streets. It's just an understanding of people. He lived on the streets his whole life, and I've survived this long. Hell I bet he knows I'm abused to. He knows things."

"What kind of things?" Steve asked like a smart alec, "Does he know who's gonna win the next presidential election? Or when the world's gonna end?"

"No," Johnny stated defensively, "He just knows things. Like when it's gonna rain cause he's been outside long enough, and when to buy things from when they cost too much. You saw how Dally reacted to seeing Spot, he's tough, but a hero."

A voice came from the doorway, "I'se nobody's hero, no matter how much your grandmother says I am. Don't underestimate my hearing." Spot strode in, looking for a place to sit and Soda got up, moving to sit on the ground next to Ponyboy. "You know boys," he said, sitting down, "When I was your age, I had me some little boidies, they reported everything to me. I'se don't need them to know that people are still talkin' 'bout me, even if they mean no harm."