Around five seconds of screaming later, Blink realized he wasn't dead.
Someone was holding him back, no, TWO people. No... Wait... Three. Three people. Skittery? Swifty? Jack?
No. Too small. Too blonde. Too... Frilly.
Blink realized his position quickly, and the shock of it quite nearly made him drop Mush. This could NOT be happening. No. Absolutely NOT. (Impossible.)
How were three richies, richie GIRLS nonetheless, holding them up? What sort of twisted fate was this?!
One had her arms around his waist, the second had his right leg, and the third had his left leg. They were pulling them back in. They had lunged in the nick of time and saved them, and WERE PULLING THEM IN.
"Are you okay?" The one closest to him asked, but he was too shocked to reply with anything but a garbled mix of teary gibberish. "I said, are you okay!"
"I-I... Fine! I'm... Fine! Yeah! Fine!"
"Good." She said, then continued to haul him up. Soon his feet were firmly on the ground, and he didn't miss a beat before starting to haul Mush up as well. The three girls were winded, probably not used to physical activity whatsoever, and plopped on the ground. Two grown men in suits replaced them through, pushing a shell shocked Blink to the ground as they pulled Mush and Spot up as well.
You could just tip Blink over with a feather at that point. Richies... Richies everywhere. When the three girls jumped at him, everyone else were startled out of their stupor. Suits, dresses, canes, parasols, dainty heels and fine leather shoes...
Richies.
Richies EVERYWHERE.
Spot and Race were laying side by side, both unconscious and unresponsive. Some women were checking their pulse, breathing...
But Blink only had eyes for Mush.
Blink scrabbled forward, grabbing his friend's head with both hands and letting out a teary laugh.
"Oh, thank god." Blink pulled him in, burying Mush's face into his neck. Mush was shaking, weakly lifting a hand to clutch at Blink's back. "Oh, oh thank god."
"You didn't let me go." He croaked, and Blink felt his shirt getting wet, but hell, he didn't care-
"No, I didn't."
"I th- thought you would."
"Then you haven't been paying a lick of attention for the last ten years." Blink's good eye burned, the lump in his throat growing. "Because you don't know the first thing about me."
"I thought- I thought you would!" Mush let himself cry out, muffled by Blink's shirt and clutching to him like a lifeline.
"I meant it. You know?" Blink clutched the back of Mush's head, feeling his curls with a faint smile. "I would rather die."
"No way, Buddy. You sit back down. You're in no position to be up and about." A tall, weasel like richie stopped a struggling Blink from returning to Race and Spot.
"But we have to get back home! We've got a doctor waiting and everything!"
"Should I send someone to fetch your mother? Would that help?" He asked next, the gold chains strung around his neck gleaming in the sunlight.
"We haven't got any parents, mister. We're newsies. But we have got a family, and they'll be real worried if we don't hurry up. I appreciate your help... But we gotta go."
The man considered Blink's words, before smiling at him and jogging to a group of young men. They all had pinstriped suits, very hoity toity looking, Blink thought ruefully. They exchanged some words, before going to pick up Race and Spot, their lumpiness almost comical.
"Alright, buddy! We'll take you home." A different man said, offering Blink a hand that he took gratefully.
"Um... My friend isn't doing so good, mister. Could you help him out?" Blink whispered, gesturing to Mush, who was lying down.
"No problem." Was his reply, and he walked over to Mush, lifting him up to his feet. He put an arm around his shoulders, and started to walk away with the uncomplaining Mush in tow.
Blink smiled.
Maybe richies weren't that bad after all.
"Alright. Let's go." The weasel- man had come back, after giving Mush to one of his friends, and was now supporting Blink instead. He was waiting for him to take the first step; to start walking in the direction the others were going. But Blink didn't. "Ah... son?"
"I-I... Can't-" Suddenly Blink's knees buckled, a strange feeling buzzing in his gut and his head. The darkness crashed over him like a wave, so sudden he didn't even feel himself fall forwards.
"BLINK?!"
"MUSH!"
"SPOT, WHAT THE-"
"Someone get Jack, now!"
"RACE!"
"What the hell-!"
All the newsies ran outside, freezing in shock when they saw their friends, limp and in various stages of unconsciousness. Jack pushed to the front of the mob, his eyes darkening when he saw the state they were in.
"What... What's wrong with 'em?" He asked numbly.
"Well, these ones I ain't got a clue," one richie with dark hair and gold jewelry hanging off of him like ornaments on a Christmas tree gestured to Race and Spot. "And these ones we found on the bridge. It doesn't look like anything's wrong with them, so I don't know."
A young richie looked shocked for a second, before whispering something that sounded like, "Why aren't we telling-" to the tall, shifty looking man. Still with a forced smile plastered on his face, the tall richie stomped hard on his foot, cutting him off and making him hop around in pain. Thankfully, Jack didn't notice. That was because he was busy looking through the crowd with a panicked look on his face.
"Where... Where's Skittery?" Jack asked, accompanied by gasps from the newsies when they realized that their pessimist was no where to be found. The richies, comically in sync, tilted their heads in confusion. "My friend. Tall, brown hair, complains a lot..." Jack trailed off, realizing that they had no idea who he was talking about. "Alright then... Lets get them inside."
The Doctor faced the worried newsies with a grim expression. He had told them his name, but of course the only thing they picked up on was "Doctor".
And of course, newsies being newsies, they shortened that to Doc.
"Well, Doc? How they doing?" Bumlets blurted, making the older man flinch.
Mush and Blink were sleeping upstairs and Spot and Race were inside a back room on the main floor. The newsies had decked it out with cots and supplies, per the doctor's orders.
It had been nearly 24 hours, and now they were finally going to figure out what was going on.
"Well... I have good news and bad news."
"Bad news first!"
"Naw, stupid! Good news!"
"But-"
"Good news first, duh."
"But with Bad news you can-"
"GOOD NEWS FIRST, DOC!"
Doc blinked twice, before sighing and combing his fingers through his graying brown hair.
"Okay... Good news then. Your friends... Mush, and Blink, are fine physically, only minor scrapes and bruises. As for the phycological issues-"
"Uh, mister?" Jack interrupted. "English? Please?"
"Ah, of course, my apologies. Well, they seemed to have been scared witless, Mush especially. None of us have the full story yet, as they need to rest, but I can only suspect that something... Traumatic happened. Mister Blink looked better off... If I had to say, I think he's nearly recovered. Mush... Not so much."
"... That was good news?!" Boots exclaimed, to the general agreement of the newsies.
"Yes, it is. Two of out of your four friends have a near certain chance of survival, and only a slight chance of lifelong... Mm... A slim chance of being 'scarred for life' as you say. I'm not saying they'll be fine in a week, or even a month. But yes, in all other aspects, they are fine."
The newsies sighed in relief.
"So... Racetrack and Spot? What about them?"
"That... Is the bad news, I'm afraid. Again, I don't have the story, but Racetrack looks like he's been... Crushed. Literally. And Spot seems to have done some heavy lifting, so I can only guess that something fell on Racetrack and Spot lifted it off. Apart from that, I'm not sure."
The boys were silent.
"Racetrack's arms... Legs... Ribs... Everything, really, are smashed. I set the bones to the best of my ability, splinted them... Only time will tell if they will heal properly. Spot was slightly different; only a couple of his bones were broken. The rest of his injuries are dislocations- bones being popped out of their joints- and pulled muscles. He will be sore for a very long time, and once his bones are healed, I recommend cycling between stretching and bed rest."
Jack shook his head, running a hand through his hair as the silence pressed in on them. He was the leader, he had to speak for his newsies.
"That's it, huh? Well, I guess all we can do now is wait and see if their bones heal alright-"
"No... No, that's not it. That was- technically- still my good news."
"Then... Then what's the bad news?" Snipeshooter stuttered, eyes wide.
"Mister Racetrack and Mister Spot are getting sick. Racetrack's leg is infected, and on top of that he has a fever. Spot's fever is exceptionally high though, higher than Racetrack's by a mile. I've done all I can with the medicine I own, but if your friends don't get better medication in a week, they will... Almost certainly die."
"No." Jack shot up out of his seat, gasping for air. "We can't just let them die! Where can we get better meds?!"
"I know where to get it... The same place I get my medicine. That's not the issue. The issue is that it's too expensive, even for me, to buy. Believe me, if I could afford it, I would get it in a heartbeat. But I am not a wealthy man. I can't help you."
"How much is it? I bet if we pool our money we can-"
"It's not just that... I am not the most experienced doctor in New York. I work for free. I do odd jobs to get by. I am afraid I don't know what to give them, how much to give them... You would need to pay a more skilled doctor to look at them, then for however much medicine they need. There's nothing you or I can do about it."
Jack let out a strangled sound, maybe a sob, maybe words he couldn't get out. Lying in those cots were two of his oldest friends, and upstairs there were two more who might never be the same again... Another was missing, and Jack had no idea where to look. And he was supposed to stand in the middle of it all, tall and strong and everything leaders needed to be?
He couldn't.
But... He had to say something...
"O- Okay. Thank you... For- for... Helping us. You... Are welcome to stay... As long as you want. I-I... I have to go..." At at that, Jack ran out the door, and no one followed him. One by one, the newsies followed suit.
Eventually... So did Doc. And none of the newsies ever saw that Doctor again.
It had been two days, and the light at the end of Jack's tunnel was nearly out.
Blink and Mush were still sleeping. Who knows if they'd ever wake up.
Race and Spot were dying.
There was no more doubt, they were dying, and without the proper medication soon, the would continue dying until they ultimately... Died.
Dark thoughts were invading Jack's mind, black, evil, bad thoughts. He kept envisioning what would happen; Race would die first, due to infection, and then Spot would die shortly after, as if he knew his brother was gone and he didn't want to fight anymore.
Race's last breath would be, bafflingly, like a chuckle. It would sound like he was laughing. And he would smile too, and die that way, so in a sick way, Race would always have the last laugh. Spot's death on the other hand would be a little more turbulent, with him twitching and convulsing until finally... He would sigh out his final breath, features relaxing into an expression of restfulness that he hadn't let himself show in years.
All the newsies would pitch in for a tiny funeral service, any and every newsie, bartender, jockey, gambler, shoe shiner, street rat, richie, and blacksmith who knew Race or Spot invited. The Brooklyn newsies and the birds would make the bulk of the population, mourning in every way under the sun. Like all the mighty, Spot Conlon had fallen, struck in his prime. He was going places, they told themselves. He was going places, but now he was gone, just like that.
Jack kept seeing Mush, surrounded in his own blood on the bathroom floor. Blink, walking in and seeing him lying there. Deciding to take a one way walk to the Brooklyn Bridge so he could see him again, he had to see him again.
And Jack... What would Jack do when it was all over? He would be sitting in the smoldering wreckage of a place he once loved, a place he once called home.
If things really turned out the way they seemed to be heading, Jack would move, definitely. No more saving up, no more excuses. He would walk to his destination if he had to.
But how could he move on? The thought struck him in the chest, hard, because he knew he couldn't. He was alone even then, huddled in one of the chairs in the lobby as the rain poured outside. Say... Say they did die. And say... Hypothetically... He did too. Jack didn't know where his thoughts ended and his dreams began, but soon he was looking into a world of white. Or at least, what it would look like.
It would look like Santa Fe, except the horses would all be fast and they would all have wings. And everyone would wear white; white slacks, white hat, white boots, white vest. And people would have wings too, so you could fly on your own. People would also have halos, but Jack would use his as a lasso, because a real cowboy needed a lasso.
You were never lost in heaven. It was huge, but seemed to shrink when you needed to get somewhere. People who didn't like a certain place never had to see it, but if you wanted to, it was just over there, and it had never left. It was never too crowded. If you wanted to find someone, they'd be there.
And Spot and Race would be sitting at a table playing poker when he arrived, and they'd throw down their cards and welcome him as he walked up to them on the dusty path. They'd look like they always did, except all their clothes would be white, and their huge wings would be folded on their backs. Race would look less tired, and Spot would look less stressed, and they just would look happy in general, like they should every day. And Jack would be crying, but they'd have to go and be smart alecs and stupid idiots like they always were and ruin the mood.
"Oh, dear me! What is that unpleasant aroma? I fear the sewers may have backed up during the night." Race would say, before winking at Jack because he knew he'd remember. And Spot would laugh, a real laugh like he'd use to do, and continue by saying,
"Look at Jacky boy, coming out of Santa Fe like a rough n' tough cowboy or something." And Race would snort, pulling Jack into a hug as he mumbled,
"Nice to see you, Cowboy. Heaven ain't heaven without you."
And then Spot would ruin the moment by saying something stupid like,
"Welcome to paradise, Jacky boy! You took your sweet time!"
And then he would hear a splash, coming from behind the lodging house. Yes, Race and Spot were playing poker on the porch of what looked to be the Manhattan lodging house, as crazy as that sounded.
Race would grin and grab him by the arm and start pulling him around the house, with Spot laughing and pushing him along from behind.
Suddenly Jack would be in a different world. Brooklyn, at the docks, to be precise. Except the docks would look clean and new, like you wouldn't get a splinter on your bare rear by sitting down. There would be some notable changes though, the most obvious one being the tiny island a good 5 meters out. There would only be room for one big tree, a huge maple tree that would shine in all the colors of a sunset.
And... Blink and Mush.
They would be laughing, flinging one another out of a tire swing tied to the tree. Jack would stand there, with Race smiling at him and Spot laughing at how much of a crybaby he was being.
Mush would see Jack first, falling into the water and floundering ridiculously until Blink would drag him back up. They would swoop madly towards him, using those huge wings that they obviously hadn't gotten the hang of, and tackle him to the ground.
"Jack!" They'd scream, and laugh, and cry along with him, because they weren't tough idiots like Race and Spot.
They'd both look happier, healthier, jabbering on about how it had taken him long enough and that there was so much they had to show him, and there were so many cool things in heaven, and you could meet anyone, and they would never have to be unhappy or hungry again-
Jack was jolted out of his stupor by a bang of thunder. The lodging house felt cold and drafty, everything dark and shadowy, and he shuddered at the harsh reality around him.
Real life looked so horrible after that.
Something inside Jack was going to snap, soon. Something had to happen, and that something was either going to fix the whole mess that Race had probably brought upon himself (who knew what the idiot could've done to get crushed like that) or smash it to pieces.
Jack just wished he was a little less alone.
I know things look a little bleak right now... But don't worry, things will start shaping up very soon! Thank you for all your kind reviews and follows!