For Brooklyn

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Nine: A father, a friend, a brother.

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: Blood and maybe more torture is ahead in the rest of this story. Please be wary if that stuff offends you. Thanks!

Guys, this story isnt going to be much longer AT ALL. Its almost over!

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"Weakness. How I'se hate that word. To show weakness means youse a sissy, and I'se no sissy; Im Brooklyn. Ya hear me? IM Brooklyn. And Brooklyn neva falls." - Spot

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Time was frozen.

Spot's shocked eyes moved from the gun Karlof clutched in his hands to Red, collapsed on the floor, arm thrown over his face as a pool of blood spread underneath him, inch by inch over the dirty floor.

And he snapped.

"AHHH!" He roared, flying forward, vision turning crimson. He pulled his cane back, baseball style. He heard nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing. But HIM.

Karlof saw his death in those flaming silver blue eyes, but it was too late. He managed another shot, but it went too wide, spinning harmlessly past Spot's right ear.

With an almighty THWACK that echoed through the warehouse, the leader of Brooklyn brought the golden end of his cane straight against Karlof's temple.

The stunned man fell like a sack of potatoes, not another sound coming from his throat, not another word was spoken at all except for a soft, whispered...

"...Spot...?"

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Jack had heard the gunshots and he struggled even more, nails split and bleeding from where he had tried to break his attacker's grip. His vision was starting to darken on the edges and he struggled harder, not even noticing as someone vaulted up the ladder, fist slamming into the nearest thug and knocking him clear over the edge.

There was an almighty roar of noise and then the boy strangling Jack was no where to be found. Jack coughed, hands flying to his throat as he looked up at his savior. He thought his eyes were going to burst out of his head.

"D-Davey!" He rasped, not able to help thinking that his best friend had never looked better, standing there with a cap sideways on his head, a solid piece of wood in his right hand.

Taking the hand that the other offered him, Cowboy looked around in half surprise and half pride as he leaned momentarily against David.

Manhattan had come to help.

Blinking his shocked eyes over the edge he turned to David, "That aint just Manhattan."

"Nope." He shook his head with a grin, "That would be Ace and Bronx t-too..." His eyes widened and his hand flew to his mouth. Confused, Jack followed his gaze and froze as well.

"Red..."

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Ace called his boys to a halt, eyes riveted to Spot Conlon, a guy he had never actually met face-to-face, but one who, like everyone else, had heard of. He had always thought the Brooklyn leader would be something to be feared, something that would install fear into anything he looked at.

At least, that was what they said about him.

But all he saw was a kid, a broken and weary kid who did not deserve what had been done to him. He couldn't stand looking and turned his face away, especially when he saw the redheaded youth on the ground. He knew without a second look that there was nothing that could be done. He had seen guns and their work before.

Red...wasn't going to survive this wound.

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Hobbling on their sticks and leaning on one another for support, Brooklyn came tumbling in the door, expecting a fight. But there was no fight to be had. Instead they stopped, frozen on the threshold, their mouths open in shock.

They saw their leader, standing with his hands at his sides, his face unreadable, his eyes a haunted thing as everyone stopped, even the Queen's group. Karlof's body lay just behind Spot, head bashed in. No one breathed, no one spoke, save for one...

"...Spot..." Red tried again, his eyes cracking open wearily as a hand traveled to the dreadful bullet hole in his chest.

Spot snapped out of it and flew forward, "Red!" Falling to his knees, he pulled his friend into his arms as best he could, "Red...Are you okay...?"

The elder licked his lips, eyes half lidded, the emerald that once burned as sharp as any fire now dulling even as Spot watched. "Im...glad I met ya...Leadah..."

Fear clutched the newsie's heart, clutched and tore great wide gashes in it. "Wha...Whaddya talkin bout? You sound...ya sound like ya sayin' good bye..."

He chuckled weakly, "I do...do I...?" He reached up and ran a fingertip under the youth's eye, coming away with a tear. "What d-did I tell ya? Leadahs...dont...cry..."

Jack came down from the alcove, arm thrown over David's shoulders, his eyes pain filled as he looked upon the sorry sight. The Brooklyn newsies were utterly still, each of them watching as the fatal wound took its toll on their co-leader, a young man who many of them had looked up to, whom many of them treated as a father, a brother, a friend.

Red's hand went limp, eyes closing and head falling back against Spot's chest with a last sigh. He looked peaceful in death, serene even. All around the newsies took off their caps, saluting the loss of one of the greatest newsies the town had ever seen.

He had been a leader for a time, a patrol man, a man whose name was said in line with, if not before, Spot Conlon's own...at least at the beginning. After he had installed Spot as leader he had faded in the back, kept out of the fights, out of the gossip.

It was almost like he hadn't existed from then to now.

"R-Red...? Come on, man..." He whispered, hardly registering that the fighting around him had stopped. "Don't do this, dont...please...? Look..I understand now...listen to me, all right!"

"Leadah's don't let themselves be beaten by anything, they don't cry!"

"I didnt understand...when you told me those words..." Spot whispered as he held Red's body in his arms, tears streaming down his face. "That what you really meant was...that it was okay to cry." He smiled weakly, pulling back, "See? I get it...so, wake up Red. Wake...Up..."

He screamed, head bowed over his best friend, "JUST WAKE UP RED!"

Jack turned his head away, unable to bear it anymore either. He and David averted their eyes, and slowly, one by one Ace's men faded out of the warehouse, followed by Manhattan, leaving Brooklyn and their leader alone in the warehouse, which was silent except for Spot's frantic calling to a friend who would never ever hear him again.

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Welll...yeah...heh...hehe... -runs before you an catch me-

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