A/N: Oh, I love Racetrack. A lot. So this is about him. I'm thinking about doing more about him. Please read and review.

Nah, Bum Odds

From the time Racetrack was three years old, he was a gamble. When he was three, he got a case of influenza and it went nearly untreated, except by a midwife whom his dad happened to be friends with. When he pulled through it, barely the worse for wear, his dad told him (his dad took bets at the horse races) that the whole time he was sick it'd been "bum odds." Ever since then, though his dad took off for a "night on the town" with his friends and didn't come back when he was ten, that had stuck with him. Once he hung around at the races for a while and learned the language of gambling, he figured out what his dad had been saying. He'd been a gamble, a longshot. He was proud of that, it was something to show around. "Nah, I almost didn't make it. Bum odds, ya know? But here I am." When he needed to impress someone at the racetrack, that was what he did. It showed that he knew the lingo, and that he was a fighter.

Once he was a newsie, he didn't need it so much. After all, there, it didn't matter who you were, as long as you sold papes. But Race still kept it in the back of his mind, a little thing to remember, be proud of, pull out when you needed a good story. And he remembered it for a while he was in the streets, not in the lodging house. He remembered it after particularly bad beatings, and he remembered it while he forced himself to learn to soak people who messed with him and his friends. He wasn't much of a fighter, not really. But he was sarcastic, a smart-aleck, and that came out in how he fought. He didn't throw stellar punches like Blink, and he wasn't a born fighter, like Jack or some of the others. But he was smart, and he knew when to duck, and when to weave, and when to throw in one of his uppercuts. And, almost more importantly, when to toss out a well calculated insult that would leave his opponent livid, and hopefully, distracted.

That was what he used when he was on the ground, down, out. When he was bleeding, or cold, or exhausted. He was a longshot. A born gambler, a risk from the start. That was what brought him back to the racetrack too. That was in his blood.

In The Refuge, in the street, in the lodging house, it didn't matter where, when it was "difficult" (that was pretty much code for "I'm beaten, I'm broken, I might as well be dead, but hey, here I am") he remembered it, what he was, the thing that'd happened.

"Nah, bum odds."

A/N: A bit short I know. I might do another one about Race. I LOVE THAT GUY. (erm, okay then... done now...)

I have a question actually. I was thinking about doing a oneshot for this group about the newsies, saying that they're "only memories." You know, the strike and stuff. That it's become sort of a tall tale, a legend. But then I remembered that I'd read something like that in the X-Men movie fandom. At least, I think I did. Beautifully written by the way. So, does anyone think this is true, or did anyone write this? I don't want to plagiarize, but I really want to write that oneshot.

Other than that, please read and review. :D