For Brooklyn
By: Ambrlupin
Chapter One: Brooklyn neva gives up
Summary: "If someone out there is strong nuff to soak Brooklyn..." The manhattan boys have their work cut out for them- to take care of the handful of surviving Brooklyn newsies, keep their turf and men safe...and send out a rescue party to save one Spot Conlon...and Brooklyn with him.
Disclaimer: No. I. Do. Not. OWN. Blah.
A/n: FIRST Newsie fic! Please be nice and give me credit? Ok?
This chapter is dedicated to PatriotsxDreams, not only my first reviewer, but my beta, who made sure I didnt add twenty thousand accents to everyone's speech...tho I think I did it anyway... -grins-
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"Weakness. How I'se hate that word. To show weakness means youse are a sissy, and I'se no sissy; Im Brooklyn. Ya hear me? IM Brooklyn. And Brooklyn neva falls." - Spot
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With Jack helping them, the newsies of Brooklyn were able to limp toward the safe-house that had been built for Manhattan after the strike. It wasn't real special or nothing, but it was home. And, Jack noted as he looked over the guys he was helping, they certainly looked like they needed a home.
He wanted desperately to ask what had happened, who had done this, but he held his tongue. Partly due to the fact that they didn't look quite like they would answer him, and partly because his mind was reeling from what he saw when he got to the safe-house.
"What is goin on ere!" He cried, striding forward, boots pounding the dirt. The doors were barred, leaving David outside, banging on them and yelling at the top of his voice for them to let him in ."Davey-"
A rock slammed into t he dirt in front of Jack's feet, and his wide eyes sprung up to see Kid Blink hanging out the window, eyes cold. "We aint housin' em ere, Jack!"
"What the heck is yer problem!"
"Someone's afta them!" Kid pointed angrily at the Brooklyn boys, "And we aint gonna keep em ere! Thems people are gonna do what they did to them and we aint gonna take it!"
Rage burned in the elder's eyes and he stalked to the door, pulling his legs back and kicking the door down. "IM the leader ere!" He yelled, "Not you! Now get yer butts movin and get some bandages!"
At first, the Manhattan newsies refused, but as their eyes cleared and got a good look at what had stumbled onto their doorstep, they couldn't help but want to help, and that was before David got onto them too.
"What did you think you were doin'!" David was so livid, his accent was showing, and that was a rare occurrence indeed. "Those people helped you befor' and ye turn em away when they need ya! How cruel can ya be!"
One of the Brooklyn newsies raised his head, revealing pain filled brown eyes. "Naw, David. Let it be. Brooklyn neva 'cepted pity!"
"Shorty..." Jack began, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. "We aint givin ya pity. We're helpin ya because ya helped us when we needed it." Cowboy's eyes ran over his newsies. "Aint we?"
There was a chorus of "Yes, Jack." and "Whateva ya say, Cowboy." David, who had apparently just noticed the state of their guests let out a shocked, "What the heck happened to you guys!" Which wasn't too smart on his account.
At once a silence fell over the group, on both sides. Jack shot his best friend an irritated glare and the younger's eyes fell. "I...Im sorry. I didn't mean to.."
"No." Shorty shook his head as he looked behind him. "I'sa thinks ya need ta know."
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Another bottle exploded, sending green glass every which way. Slipping another pebble into his slingshot, Spot pulled it back and aimed.
SHATTER. There went the last one that he had lined up on the fence. Oh well, there were plenty more where those came from. Slipping his weapon into his belt loop he made his way toward the stack of beer bottles, flipping a few in his hand as he swept glass out of the way to stand them up as targets.
He was bored.
"Hey, Spot." A voice asked from behind him. Turning his head slightly, the leader of Brooklyn raised an eyebrow.
"Whaddya want Red?" He snapped.
Hardly intimidated by his best friend, Red smirked as his hand moved quickly to his slingshot, locked, loaded and shot in a split second. The rock soared through the air, aimed directly at Spot's forehead.
His hand snapping up, Spot's hand closed over the missile, centimeter's from his face. Lowering his hand he gazed at the other for a moment before smirking. "Anyones else'd be on theys back righ' now."
Red slipped his slingshot back into his belt-loop. "Anyones else." He agreed, but frowned, "Whats de mahta, Spot? Sometins bothrin' ya."
The leader snorted as he finished lining up the bottles, "What gave yous that idea?"
Sitting down on a nearby crate, Red braced his head with one hand, "Youse didnt try ta hit me bac'." Anyone knew that something was wrong with their leader, but no one had the courage to ask him face-to-face, except for Red that was.
Spot didnt have an answer for that one so he just walked back to where he had started. He took a deep breath, and then his hand was a blur, load and shoot. One by one the bottles shattered, a sort of music only Spot was able to create.
"Spot." Red murmured softly, his voice cutting through the air with more force than a shout. The leader faltered, and the unthinkable happened.
Spot missed.
The last bottle seemed to glint merrily at him, mocking him as he stared at it in shock. He had never missed, never. His aim was perfect, even in the midst of battle, with yelling on either side. How could one whisper cause him to...?
"There's sometin wrong, Spot. I aint stupid, I know sometins bothrin ya."
"Whaddya youse know!" Spot yelled, spinning on him, hand clenched around his slingshot. "Whaddya think youse know! YOUSE DON'T KNOW ME!"
Red looked slightly hurt by this, but Spot hardly cared. "STOP TRYIN' TA MAKE FRIENDS WIT ME! I DON'T NEED YA!"
He knew the minute those words left his mouth he had went too far.
Red stared at him for a moment before his eyes hardened and he got to his feet. "Fine. I'se leavin."
"What?" Spot blinked at him.
"I'se leavin Brooklyn." He repeated, "I'll see ya 'round Leadah." Spinning on his heel, his red hair flashing like fire in the sunlight, Red made his way out of Brooklyn.
"Red!" Spot cried, chasing after him, one hand on his hat to keep it from flying off. "Red- WAIT!"
Red didnt wait.
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"Spot hasn't said a word since?" David asked with wide eyes.
"Red lef' too." Shorty said sadly, "If he had been there, we'd might'a had a chance."
"But I don't see how that relates to-"
The doors of the safe house flew open with a bang, a young man standing there, a large brimmed hat hiding his face. And in his hands...The sunlight glinted off a cane, its gold head shining merrily, a red liquid having stained some of the handle and the side of the gold.
Jack's eyes narrowed, "Who are you!" He got up slowly from where he was sitting.
A smirk was all that was seen, as he turned to, not Jack, but at the Brooklyn boys that were stationed around the room, bandaged and resting. "Youse leadah was a fool. He's da one who let this happen to youse. We told him, we gave him the chance ta give up-"
He gagged, falling forward, the cane released by his hand, falling towards the floor. Before it hit, though, a hand reached down and snagged it up. "Youse a lot to learn bout Brooklyn." A new voice snarled. "Brooklyn neva gives up."
Shorty let out a happy little screech, sitting up from where he was laying down on a bed, his chest bandaged. "Red!"
Bringing the cane up in his hand, he touched it to his forehead and saluted them. "Brooklyn bois don't neva give up." He smiled with some humor as he kicked at the out cold boy at his feet.
"Queen's gotsa lot to learn."
"Queens!" David and Jack sputtered, "They're the ones behind dis!"
Red shook his head slightly, "Not jus' them. Bronx and Queen thinks by tryin ta take Brooklyn, they can control all the area."
"Not try to take, Red." Shorty's head fell, "They got it, they took Brooklyn."
The older newsie looked around at all of them, his eyebrow raised. "On that you'se wrong. Brooklyn isnt a thing they can take."
"Whatya talkin' bout, Reddy?" A new voice said wearily from a cot.
"Look it this way, Docks." He held the cane in his hands, looking at it with a thoughtful expression. "Youse is Brooklyn, I'se is Brooklyn, this is Brooklyn." He moved his hand and lifted the familiar memento of their leader, "And Spot is Brooklyn."
David smiled a bit as Red looked around at all of them, "I'se don't know bout youse, but I aint theirs, Spot aint theirs, and THIS." The cane punched the air. "Aint theirs."
All of the newsies cheered and whistled as Jack strode forward and shook the other's hand, spit sealing it. "Brooklyn aint theirs, and Manhattan is here ta help." Cowboy said with a smirk. "We'll show em what happens when ya mess with us!"
Red grinned and nodded, his grip on the cane tight.
'We'se a coming for ya, Spot. Just hold on.'
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Whooo, nice chapter! -smile- lots of angsty ness and action. Yays! Now review I command thee! The sooner I get reviews...the sooner I put up next chapter...