For Brooklyn

By: Ambrlupin

Chapter Ten: Goodbye, my bruddah

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!

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"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

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Ace and his men took them to the border of Manhattan before they turned toward home, having quite enough clean up of their own to deal with there. Jack and David got down to shake the youth's hand and with a final tip of his hat and a salute, Ace was gone.

Denton turned the carriage toward home and the solemn procession continued on, the safe-house coming into view relatively quickly. No one wanted to be on the streets anymore. That much was obvious.

The young newsies who had stayed behind rushed to the door, all ready to party with the others over the defeat of Queens and Bronx. I mean, what else could have...happened...

They stopped cold on the doorstep.

The carriage was deathly silent, Jack and David sitting next to Denton while he drove, eyes on the ground, neither of them looking up even as they came to a halt.

On the horse sat Spot, eyes red from crying, mouth a thin line. In front of him, head bowed over his still chest was Red, blood stained clear through his jacket and splattered on his shattered face.

Spot's broken arm kept Red's body from falling as he pulled his mount to a stop and dismounted, carefully pulling his best friend down into his arms.

"Spot?" It was the first word anyone had dared to utter. No surprise that it was from David.

"Spot?" The dark haired newsie tried again as everyone filed out of the carriage. "Maybe you should...you know, Denton...He can take care of it..."

The leader of Brooklyn tensed, but dished out no resistance as the reporter gently took Red from him and settled him on the ground, wrapping him up in a dark colored blanket. He was about to cover his face when David's hand shot out, halting him. He looked up, confused, but David just nodded over at Spot, who was staring down at his hands.

Spot didnt even know where he was. All he saw was blood covering his palms, his arms...dried blood, new blood, running over his fingers. It was choking him, he was drowning in it. No, not it. 'It' was Red... Red's blood on his hands. His breath was ragged and uneven even as he felt someone calling out a name. Who was Spot? Why did they keep saying that name! Didn't they know there was no one by that name here! Why couldn't they just shut up! WHY COULDN'T THEY JUST SHUT UP!

"Matthew!"

'Red?'

Spot's head shot up. Jack, it was Jack. Jack who was leading him toward Denton, Jack who wiped the blood from Red's face, Jack who looked back at him with a soft look on his face.

"Aren't you going to say goodbye?"

Goodbye...He was dead.

Red was dead.

He shook his head hurriedly, not wanting to get any closer. Red...he couldn't be dead! He had just been laughing with him, had just been joking around...They were going home, they were going home so they could tease the other's about worrying! They were going home- this was some sort of mistake! Some terrible, terrible mistake!

Jack sighed softly and waved his guys forward. Each of them knelt by Red, whispering something only meant for the redhead's silenced ears. No one heard what each other said, and no one asked. At last, Brooklyn came forward leaning on their sticks and boards, sinking to their knees. Everyone heard what they had to say, but that was all right.

Their were no dry eyes in the place when it was time.

Spot Conlon's shaking hands went to his side as he knelt to the ground, pulling something off of his belt-loop. With his boys at his back, Spot slipped his sling-shot into Red's hand, leaning over to kiss him softly on the forehead. It took him a few tries, but finally he forced the words out, and when he did, they were strong, proud, and...full of compassion and love. Trust and honor.

"Goodbye, my bruddah."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"He's been in there quite a while, hasn't he?" David asked softly as they sat outside the outer door that led to the washroom. Spot had gone in there the minute Denton had left with Red's body, and hadn't been seen since then.

"I'll check on him." Jack got to his feet, a little more than slightly worried about the leader of Brooklyn. He made his way into the room, motioning David to stay. Sighing, he knocked on the last door. "Spot? You okay in there?"

Sobbing reached his ears and the newsie's heart thumped hard in his chest. He couldn't stand to see the strong Spot like this, it wasn't natural. Not at all. He shut the door softly behind him and looked over to the corner, where the tub was.

The sight he saw both saddened him and angered him. If Karlof wasn't already dead, he would have stormed to Queens and done it himself at that very moment.

Spot was kneeling in the tub, shivering as the once hot water turned ice-cold around him. Tears were streaming down his face, his skin red and torn in some places where he had rubbed himself raw.

He looked up at Jack's soft intake of breath, but instead of yelling at him to get out, or he'd stick something up his rear and twist, he just opened his mouth and whispered, "I...I cant...get clean..." And he went back to scrubbing at his chest, skin tearing and blood starting to well to the surface. He was going to scrub himself raw if someone didnt do something.

Before he knew what he was doing, Cowboy had snagged the hand that held the rough sponge and squeezed until it fell over the side, using his other hand to, above Spot's soft cry of pain, pull him into a fierce hug.

Spot was so startled his eyes were wide, his tears momentarily on pause. No one had done this before. No one would dare. "Wha...?"

"Im sorry." Jack whispered, hardly caring that his clothes were getting soaked with the freezing water. "Im so sorry, Spot." Even his own voice was choked up.

Slowly Spot's wide eyes slid shut as he sobbed, head falling forward to the older boy's shoulder. "I cant...cant get clean...no matter how hard..."

"Shh, Spot, shhh..Don't worry about that now, okay? You're clean, I swear..." He was cut off as Spot tried to jerk away, trembling violently and making a pass for the sponge on the floor within easy reach.

"NO! ITS MY FAULT!" His fingers closed over it, "ITS ALL MY FAULT! I HAVE TO GET IT OFF ME!"

"No, Spot!" Jack nearly fell in the tub himself as he jerked the other back, smacking his hand so hard that the bath item flew all the way across the room, "No its NOT your fault!" He winced as Spot's elbow crashed into his face, but he didnt let go. "Listen to me- OW! Spot!"

"LET ME GO! IM UNCLEAN! LET ME GO!"

"RED WOULDN'T HAVE WANTED THIS!" Jack screamed and all the fight went out of the Brooklyn leader like a switch had been thrown.

Panting, he licked his dry lips, "Red...Wouldn't have wanted you to try and hurt yourself, Spot. Would you do this to him after he died for you?"

Spot's shoulders were hunched and he relaxed in Jack's arms, "No...No...I wont..."

"Good. Good, Spot...It'll be all right now, you'll see." A tear slid down his own face as he held Spot tightly to him."You'll see...Everything will be all right now..."

They stayed like that until they both cried themselves to exhaustion...

And there were no more tears left to shed.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

puttin em all up tonight.

So giveth me reviews!