For Brooklyn
By: Ambrlupin
Chapter Two: Branded
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?
Warning: Torture stuff ahead! Also a rape scene, sorta. Please be wary if that stuff offends you.
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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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"Aw come on, Spot!" Red stood over him, arms crossed. "How d'ya 'spect to be leadah like this?" He looked at the boy on the ground without an inch of remorse. "Leadah's don't let themselves be beaten by anything, they don't cry!"
Spot Conlon glared up at his friend through a sheen of tears. His golden brown hair was mussed, his hand holding his jaw. "Whaddya mean! DAT HURT!"
Red's eyes flashed fire, "Leadah's don't let themselves feel the pain, Spot.They'se better
than the pain, don't cha get that yet?"
A hand tore across Spot's face, bringing him snapping back to reality. His eyes opened wearily and he moved his aching arms, pain shooting through his body, forcing a little moan from his mouth. He was chained to a wall behind him, hand and foot, and one or both of his arms felt broken.
"Hurts doesn't it?" A voice sneered as a hand gripped his chin and forced him to meet a pair of beady black eyes. "I told them not to mark you, but I see they failed me on that regard."
Spot forced his vision to stop reeling for at least a moment. The haze was clearing, but slowly. What had happened? Where was he? Who the HECK was touching him! He shook his head to dislodge the hand and slammed his eyes shut as the world swam.
He swore he wasn't going to do that again. As he waited for his equilibrium to even back out, he licked his dry and cracked lips and murmurred, "Who're you?"
Was that HIS voice? That weak little whimper? That was HIM!
A chuckle reached his ears. "Would it matter?" The hand that had been holding his chin slid down, over his shoulder and down his chest. Spot thought his heart was going to stop beating in his chest, his blood froze and he sucked in a breath of horror.
"Your boys put up quite a fight, I believe. You should be proud of them. A pity really."
Spot forced his attention away from the hand that was undoing his shirt. His eyes snapped open and they were flashing silver fire. "Whaddya mean 'A pity'!" His voice was sharp, angry, sounding more like himself every second.
The man in front of him, yes it was a man, maybe twenty or so, smirked as he pulled back slightly, black hair falling over those matching eyes. "Hehe, there we go. I was starting to wonder if they had brought me the wrong one after all, until I saw this look." He ran a finger along Spot's face.
Snarling and taking a bite at the fingers, Spot growled, "What didya do to my bois!"
"Lets just say...Brooklyn is under new management..."
Anger unlike anything he had ever felt before gripped the newsie and he bucked, trying to tear his body from the chains. "BROOKLYN IS MINE YA PIECE OF-" His voice cut off abruptly as something fire hot was pressed to the bare skin on the side of his body, above his pant line.
"Leadah's don't let themselves feel the pain, Spot."
'Sorry Red...' Somehow Spot's mind was able to form coherent thoughts even as he screamed in agony. 'I let ya down...again..." His body jerked and twitched, eyes firmly sealed shut, voice cracking from the force of his screams.
Pleased, the man pulled his hand back, twirling the brand as he looked at his handiwork. It was a little blurred on the edges, because of the kid's moving, but it was still legible. An octagonal brand with big block letters that spelled 'Queens'. "There we go..." He purred, hands unbuttoning the other's pants.
Spot's head was laying on his chest, chest heaving as he panted. He was holding onto consciousness only by sheer will. They had branded him, he could see the red skin, smell it in the air. It hurt so much...He wanted to die. But he couldn't, he couldn't die...He was Brooklyn...And Brooklyn never died...nor did it give up.
"Do...whatcha's want wit dis body..." He murmurred weakly, steel in his voice. "But know...youse will neva get Brooklyn..." Darkness was starting to eat at his vision, and it took all his strength to keep his voice steady.
The pants fell and the other snickered, "You're too late on that, Spot Conlon. Brooklyn is ours...and you...are Queen's property now."
Those were the last words the now ex-leader of Brooklyn heard before he sagged in his bonds, out cold, and completely at the mercy of the man in front of him.
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"Where did cha go, Red?" Shorty asked, propped up by a pillow. "Why werent ya 'ere when we's needed ya?"
Red sighed, a hand running through his hair. "Im sorry, Shorty. I was in Staten for a bit 'fore I heard what had happened 'ere. I ran all the ways back, but I was too late."
"Don't let that get youse down." Docks spoke up, "It aint yer fault, Reddy."
There was a murmur of agreements and Red nodded at all the Brooklyn newsies in thanks. "Red, I hate to ask, but how are ya gonna go about getting Spot back?"
That voice hadn't belonged to one of the Brooklyn boys. He turned in his seat to look behind him, running over David with a sharp eye before gesturing for him to take a seat. Most of the Manhattan newsies were out working, but the 'Mouth' as Spot called him, had stayed to help out.
"Well." The elder bit his lip, his gaze straying to where he had stuck the cane in his belt loop. He had cleaned off as much of the blood as he could, but a lot of it had stained the wood, and turned some of the gold a reddish color. He knew whose blood it was, and it sickened him.
Sickened him to think Spot was in those ruthless hands.
"I don't know." He admitted, but then his gaze hardened. "But I do know this. Im going ta Queens. Tonight."
There was an immediate protest from everyone around him, but he didnt care. He wasn't going to leave Spot there for one more day, no matter what. He knew what Queens was capable of. Perhaps better than anyone in this room.
David caught the movement as Red rubbed his side with a pained look on his face. "What is it?" He asked softly, startling the other so much he jumped out of his chair.
"Red?" Cal, one of the other newsies, sat up, his honey colored hair plastered to his head with sweat. "Red...wassa matter?"
Gulping, he shook his head, backing up slightly, but David was too quick for him. With speed Red would never have guessed he owned, he had reached out and snagged the other's shirt, popping the buttons with a hard jerk.
"HEY!" Red cried, but the damaged had been done.
"Wha...?" Shorty whispered, trying to sit up further, his eyes wide. "What...is that...?"
Spinning on his heel, Red decked David so hard the latter flew off the chair, hitting a nearby tray table and knocking it over. "How DARE you!"
The Brooklyn boys, the ones who could move more than a few inches, went to stop him, but Red had already grabbed his coat and swept toward the door, anger radiating from his eyes, cursing under his breath.
David was getting to his feet, wiping some blood off of his lip, when Red slammed the door behind him so hard the home shook. But not before they all got one last glimpse of his side...and the old, yet still slightly red brand that shone of it. And all knew now why he was so adamant at going after Spot.
The brand read 'Queens.'
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Oooh, guess Red DOES know better than any one else, eh? Hehe, me thinks Queens is gonna get soaked, whatcha think? I think so too. The reason why this one is up so early, is because I might not be able to get a lot of chapters out for a bit- school and all.
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