"Ge... Ma... Aiss... Ou... Da... Foor..."
The raspy sound made Spot jump, and he stared at the seemingly comatose Racetrack.
"... Race?" he gently turned Race's head so he could look at his face.
His eyes were open.
He was smiling.
"Hey... Conlon... Didja... Get the... Girl?"
"Oh god, Racetrack!" He croaked, shocked to find tears falling from his eyes. With a shaky hand, he almost tenderly rubbed his cheek, laughing and rubbing his eyes with the other.
"I-I'm okay-" Racetrack rasped, letting out a wheeze and a cough that could only be described as a laugh.
"Yeah, f- for now." Spot let himself let go of his head, sniveling a little and starting to get into game mode. "Race, I don't want you to talk, okay? Don't stress yourself. Hey- HEY! You better not fall asleep on me now, you bum! We ain't going to Brooklyn, we're going to 'Hattan. Once we're on the bridge, a bird'll see us and call for back up. There's a doctor I know that we send for in emergencies; he'll fix you up real good."
As he spoke, Spot gingerly positioned Race so that his arm was around his shoulders; so he could drag him along while inflicting the least possible amount of pain.
Spot's left arm was busted; he didn't need a doctor to tell him that. His wrists probably were too, and maybe his ankles, knees, and shoulders... He slowly got up, him and Race groaning in unison as Spot's back seized and Race's bones were jostled. Spot wouldn't stop talking until Race was alright- after all, if he were to fall asleep at that point who knew whether or not he would wake up?
He wasn't taking that chance.
Hefting Race as well as he could, he walked/limped/staggered his way to the Brooklyn bridge, babbling about horses and licorice strings.
But not before turning to the bewildered richie crowd and bidding them farewell with the classic one fingered salute.

"Hurry!"
"C'mon! C'mon! Get the led outta your pants!"
"You get the led outta YOUR pants! I'm running faster than you!"
"Oh, shut up, Skittery-"
"All of you, shut it!" Mush was NOT in the best mood, all things considered. Right now, the fastest newsies of the Manhattan lodging house were sprinting to the Brooklyn bridge, where apparently Spot and Race were severely injured and in dire need of a rescue party.
How did it get to this point exactly? Well, let's rewind a bit.
Mush was outside, getting some fresh air when all of a sudden a figure jumped off of the roof of the lodging house, right in front of him. It was a little girl, barely clearing his middle, with huge chocolatey eyes and brown hair pulled back in two braids. She was dressed like a newsie, but with the obvious lack of a hat and the not-so-obvious red ribbon tied around her neck, Mush knew exactly what she was.
A bird!
Mush had never seen one in person. In fact, Jack was the only newsie in Manhattan to have met one, and even then it was for leader emergencies that only leaders had to know about, apparently.
Birds worked for Brooklyn, and even though they had a leader among them, they all listened to Spot Conlon first and foremost. The red ribbon was a bit of a calling card for them; many a shopkeeper had turned away for a second, only to find all of his food gone and a single red ribbon in its place. Each bird wore their ribbons slightly differently, some with a bow, some with a knot, some in hair, some on shoes, some on suspenders... But this girl wore hers around her neck.
Mush marveled at her. She was young, no older than 10, he expected. She had landed without a sound, and even now she held a stance that clearly showed her agility and ability to beat him senseless. She gently rocked back and forth, shaking her hands and never making eye contact. Instead she looked around, calculating escape routes, and looking for trouble.
"You a Manhattan newsie?" Mush's jaw dropped. You weren't supposed to see birds, and if you did, there was a reason behind it. Now a bird was actually talking to him?
"Y-Yeah."
"Spot Conlon's on the bridge with his friend- the Italian one."
"Racetrack?"
"Yeah, that's him. Well, 'Racetrack' needs help, and Spot said to get backup. They should be about halfway here, if they haven't died or anything."
"Holy- what happened?!"
"Hey, hey, mister, I'm just the messenger. That's what he told me to tell you. Send backup."
"Well... Besides what he told you, what did you see? Is he okay?"
She looked nervous for a second, before leaning in.
"Listen... I ain't supposed to tell you anything other than what I'm told. But between you and me... Your Raceytrack guy doesn't look too good. All bloody and limp and his legs were pointing ways they ain't supposed to. I think Spot's hurt too... But that's all I'm saying. You need to hurry!"
"But- wait! Should I- should I call a doctor or something?"
"Naw. My brother's getting a real good one now. He'll be here soon."
"Okay... Hey! Um, before you go, what's your name?"
"Robin." she said without a moment's hesitation, and right before she could leave, Mush replied with a quick,
"Mush."
She shot a grin at him, then climbed up the lodging house wall. With a quick whistle she was gone, with only a single red ribbon on the ground to show that she was there.
Mush picked it up, shoved it in his pocket, then ran inside to tell everyone the news.
Crutchy, David (visiting at the time), Jack, and many others stayed behind at the lodging house with the kids, waiting for the promised doctor.
Mush, Skittery, and Blink were nearing the bridge, hoping that their backup would be enough. Jack had wanted to come as well, but with Kloppman away, visiting his son, they needed a leader back home.
"I see it!" the Brooklyn bridge was in their sights now, and they somehow doubled their speed in haste to get there in time. They were sprinting faster than they ever had before. Each stride made them feel like they were flying; the entire world zipping past them as they neared their goal.
Blink dived under a grocers cart inconveniently pushed right into his path. Three middle class girls paused in front of Mush, making him stop suddenly. Realizing there was no way around them, and that everyone was passing him, he grabbed one girl, kissed her square on the mouth, lifted her out of the way, and kept running.
They went into alleys, through busy roads and even through buildings when they saw the bulls. They were leaping, diving, skidding, tripping, falling, trespassing, pushing, shoving, and most importantly, running, towards the bridge where Race and Spot were.
Mush couldn't tell why, but his heart clenched with sudden anxiety. Something wasn't right.

"... And then I said no, he can't go into Brooklyn because he didn't get the squirrel!" Spot finished his umpteenth story with flourish, grinning at Race's laugh despite the circumstances.
They were currently walking (read: stumbling and tripping while trying to block out the pain) down the Brooklyn bridge, everyone either ignoring them or blatantly staring.
Spot was feeling a bit optimistic about their chances for survival at that point, due to the fact that two birds, Robin and Wing if he wasn't mistaken, were on their way to the 'Hattan lodging house to get help.
"... It was a cold day and my ears felt like they were being ripped off but all the little kids were exited about the snow- Ungh..." Spot staggered, making Race hiss with pain. But Spot had his own problems as the last of his adrenaline high slipped out of him. He had tried to immobilize his left arm as best he could by grabbing his right shoulder, and his right arm was firmly around Race. So, when he stumbled towards the railing of the bridge, he couldn't stop himself from crashing into it.
Hard.
And there was some cracking as well.
Just saying.
Spot wasn't even sure if he screamed, vision flipping black as waves of agony coursed through him. He felt so tired, like he could just curl up into a fetal position and sleep forever. His breathing was getting slower, and he was cold, and hot... Spot felt so muddled. Thinking the wrong things; his body doing the opposite of what he told it to.
... He couldn't hold on any longer. Right now the only option was to give up. Any other try would just result in ultimate and painful failure, he knew that, what was the shame, he had tried his best. Spot had given it his all... But even the leader of Brooklyn knew when to quit.
"I'm sorry, Race... I'm sorry... I can't..." He tried to contain the sob growing in his throat in vain, body draped over the railing. He was crying, again. Sobbing, really... Which turned into violent hiccups and gasps, and eventually plain dry heaving over the side.
He had no more food in him.
Or life for that matter.
Or will.
Right at that moment, Spot Conlon wasn't the leader of Brooklyn, or the funny Irish boy. He was the scared, helpless little boy all alone, and without hope. "R- Racetrack?" Race... Didn't answer. He was out cold, his breathing shallow and weak. "Race- Tony. God, no don't..."
They were going to die on that bridge. The thought hit Spot like a ton of bricks, but it was the truth. Both of them, him and Race, surrounded by people who didn't care. He could almost hear someone calling, he was barely able to hear through his throbbing ears, but that didn't matter, they were going to die-
That was his last thought before the pain overtook him, and he tipped over the edge.

The boys had split up, Skittery taking the left and Blink and Mush on the right.
From where Blink was standing, Mush wasn't looking too hot.
He was pale and sweaty, looking like wanted to either scream, cry, or pass out. He had absolutely lost it by the time they reached the halfway point, gripping the rails with two shaking hands.
"I don't see them... Where- where are they-"
"Mush." Blink stopped him, grabbing his shoulders firmly. "Calm down, man. They're fine-"
And then they heard it. The loud, agonizing scream piercing their ears. No one, not even Race, had ever heard Spot make that sound.
Mush actually did yell a bit at that, rocketing off in the general direction, but...
The sight they saw was going to be branded into their memory forever.
Spot and Race, draped over the side of the bridge, Race unconscious and Spot crying like his life depended on it.
Race looked like he had been dragged through a war. There wasn't a spot of skin on him that wasn't covered in dirt, dust, or blood. His legs were mangled beyond belief, so mutilated that the newsies wanted to look away.
And then there was Spot.
He had an arm around Race, and was now dry heaving and retching. He didn't look too good either, full of scrapes and dust.
"Race! Spot! RACE! SPOT!" Mush was the closest, Blink not far behind him, with Skittery was taking up the rear.
Then, without any warning whatsoever, Spot pitched over the side.
The sound Mush made was hardly human.
"NO!" To this day, no one was positive how Mush managed to get to him so fast. But when he did, Spot was already over the rails, with Race left forgotten in a crumpled heap on the ground.
It was then that Mush did something so stupid, so INSANE, that he instantly gained the respect of every newsie in New York.
He jumped after him.
Mush's hips were over the side when he managed to clasp a hand over Spot's ankle, but at that point he was too far over to properly anchor himself in any way. Mush was being pulled in, about to fall and drown alongside Spot in the stormy waters below-
"Oh, NO you don't!" Blink dived after Mush, grabbing both his ankles with his hands. Slowly, much slower then Mush had been pulled in, his torso was pulled over the rails. When his hips began to rise as well, he panicked.
"SKITTERY!" Mush was frozen in fear as he desperately tried to hold onto Spot's foot. The Brooklynite was completely limp, held aloft by Mush's stiff form.
Mush's feet had been touching the rail before, but as Blink's body steadily rose, Mush's steadily dropped. It was with ice cold horror that he realized his life was now completely in the hands of Blink's grip. His feet weren't touching the rail. He was midair, suspended between life and death.
And damn if that wouldn't terrify anyone.
"SKITS!" Blink's toes were now straining to touch the ground. "HELP- SKITTERY!"
"BLINK!" The boy in question only had enough time to look at Skittery for a second, as he was still rising steadily and needed to focus.
However in his split second glance, he got enough information to assess the situation.
Skittery, being restrained by two bulls, eyes wide and panicking as he struggled.
"I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! I SWEAR, I DIDN'T! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"
His cries were suddenly muffled, and Blink could only guess one of them had clasped a hand over his mouth.
Deciding it was worth the risk, Blink turned his head once more... Only to see Skittery get clubbed over the head with a baton, and then get dragged away, thoroughly unconscious.
Blink swore heavily.
Great. Just great.
Suddenly they dropped another three inches, making Mush scream with fright and start crying. Blink gasped, his own scream catching in his throat. It was a horrible, nauseating feeling, just dangling and rasping out a scream that wouldn't come/
He had to do something.
What Blink needed was someone to hold them, to anchor them, which is exactly where Skittery would have come in handy. One more newsie, just one more, and Blink would still be able to feel his ribs.
Mush was out of it, silent, but still crying and trembling. The threat of him passing out and dropping Spot was suddenly, painfully, clear.
"Mush." The call wasn't overly loud, but commanding. Shakily, the boy looked up. "We're gonna be okay, you know that? We'll be fi-ine." His voice cracked as he finally let the tears fall, the hopelessness setting in. He looked into Mush's eyes, hiccoughing and struggling to keep a hold on his ankles.
"Blink?" His voice was nearly delirious. "Blink, just... Just let go."
"No! No, are you- hng! Crazy?! No way, no way in hell-" Blink's grip was faltering. He was slipping, his voice thick with tears, shaking, but he couldn't let go, he couldn't-
"Blink, c-come on, you can't." Mush's eyes were glittering, chest heaving as he tried to breathe. "You can't do it, Blink, please..."
"No." He shook his head, cursing his fingers which were starting to weaken, maddeningly. "No, I can't l- lose you, Mush." The bravery in Blink's voice was somewhat muffled by his hitching, sobbing breaths.
"Let go." It was Mush's last plea; Blink's hips were nearly over, his grip failing.
"I would rather die." He said with conviction.
Still, he couldn't contain his scream as his hips were pulled over the side.