Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies or any of its characters, Disney does. I own Winifred "Fred" Addams and Brandon.

BANG!

Fred gasped awake from her semi-conscious nap and her eyes widened, the only thought racing through her mind was: Brandon's coming back to finish me off!

"Ah, geez, I'se didn't mean to scare you," exclaimed Racetrack as he stood over her with a concerned frown on his face, "Ah youse ok?"

Fred shut her eyes and sighed in relief before nodding, the muscles throughout her body slowly began to relax. Her heart was still racing though. Her side gave another pain, she winced and tried to lean more over onto her left side.

"Don't do dat! Doc said youse had ta remain on youse back," Race exclaimed.

"I can't do nothing but lay here like a couch potato all day, Racetrack, I have to get up and do something," Fred replied. She had been stuck in the bottom bunk now for nearly two full days, concerned faces constantly hovered over her, and more than once she was certain that Spot had tried to nickname her 'Jinx' while she was in her halfway nap.

"Whad's a couch potato?" He asked, his face filled with confusion. His wide eyes still had that innocent look to them, the look that made Fred stop whatever she was doing and just stare into those eyes.

Woah! Snap out of it girlie, you've been shot, you're not in your own time, and these kids don't know you! Now is not the time for romance! She silently scolded herself.

"It's a person who sits on a sofa or any other piece of furniture and doesn't move. Sometimes these people are lazy, sometimes their not. Everyone is a couch potato at times, I'm just not one of those people who can sit or lay for hours on end and not do anything. I need to get up and walk around a bit."

"Not happenin', the doc said youse on strict bed rest foah two weeks ta a month, or until he's convinced youse healin' well," Race replied as he crossed his arms.

Fred groaned, just what she needed, a kid a year or two older than her playing daddy. She had to admit though it was nice having someone to care for her and not try to shoot her, throw her in jail, or shout out to her 'that thief stole my wallet!'

She couldn't take it anymore, "I know what the doctor said, but what could standing up and walking around the top level just for five minutes do?"

"Hoit youse stitches," Race replied with an arched eyebrow.

"I'm sure they're in there well," she replied, "Racetrack, I'm not going to beg. If you don't want to be around while I walk around then walk off. With or without you I'm damn well getting up and moving around."

"Youse too stubborn for youse own good!"

She stared, "Yeah, I know," she replied before pressing her hands onto the mattress and lifting herself halfway up. Her side immediately began to sting and pound with pain. Her head slowly began to spin, there was no way to ignore the feeling, but she wasn't going to damn well lie there. She threw her arms out in front of her and reached for the bed post to help pull herself up, instead Race grabbed her wrists and slowly helped her sit up.

She tightened her fingers around his wrists when blood rushed downwards and gravity took its toll.

"Youse ok? How bout youse lay down now? Youse sat up, now youse ain't a couch potato," Race exclaimed.

"No, I want to stand and walk," she replied.

"It ain't a good idea. Youse gonna hoit yerself."

Fred pulled on Racetrack's arms and started to slowly stand, her side ached again and her muscles tensed. The pain put a charlie horse to shame. She gritted her teeth and finally stood, though hunched, she took a deep breath then slowly let it out and stared down at the wooden floor. The floor boards had been worn down and scratched all over from all the shoes and feet that had been on them over the long years of the lodging house's existence. She licked her lips and fought off the nausea that had begun the moment she tried to sit up on her own.

She bit her bottom lip and forced herself to stand up straight, she felt satisfied with herself though the pain in her side was telling a different story.

"Do you all have any Laudanum?" She asked.

"Pain killas? No way, too addictin!" Race replied, "I'se seen good newsies go downright crazy wid dat stuff."

"Oh, damn," she frowned before she took a shaky step forward, her side clenched, she cried out let go of Race to press her hands over the ache.

"Dat's it!" Race exclaimed as he took her arms and helped her sit back down on the bed, after giving her a minute he braced his arm behind her back and helped her to slowly lay down, then slid her legs back onto the mattress.

"Thanks," she replied through gritted teeth.

"Next time maybe youse will listen?" He scolded.

"Yeah, maybe," she replied with a small forced smile.

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Racetrack looked down at Fred, he could tell she was hurting, but that was her own fault. After she was lying back down on the bed he knew she had trouble with authority. He watched as her face went from rigid and tense with pain to slowly relaxed and tired.

"How bout youse get some sleep?"

"All I've done is sleep, but it does sound good..." She muttered.

Race shoved his hands in his pockets, he wasn't sure what to make of Fred. Yesterday she had seemed very reasonable, today she was being stubborn and hard headed. Then again, she wasn't as shocked as she had been yesterday, but still jumpy. After being shot he could understand why. Every loud bang to her must have sounded like a gunshot.

He walked out of the bunkroom and climbed quickly down the stairs, it was time to sell the evening papes.

"Hey, hows she doin'?" Jack asked from the lobby where he was staring at the framed front page of The Sun. He stared proudly at his picture before glancing over to Race.

"She's stubborn and bull headed," Race replied, "She wanted ta walk around and sat up, so I'se helped heh up. I wasn't gonna let her fall flat on heh face. She took a step forward an' dat was it, I'se got her back ta bed. When I'se left da room she was fallin back to sleep."

"Spot wants heh over in Brooklyn," Jack replied.

"What? Why?" Race asked startled, "She ain't in no position ta move and dose Brooklyn newsies could eat nails! Most of dem would probably enjoy intimidatin' her while she's down an' out!"

"I'se know, dat's what I'se been tellin' Spot," Jack replied, "But if he ordahs heh ovah dere and we'se don't get outta his way...." He said as he stared at Race.

"Yeah, I'se know, da royal Spot will come in wid his newsies an' take heh himself. What's he want wid dis goil anyway? She obviously ain't rich or middle class, and she don't wear a skoit or act like any goil I'se know." Race replied.

Jack's eyebrow arched, "Sounds ta me like youse jealous."

"Jealous of who, Spot? Not in da least," Race scoffed.

"Is it dat youse jealous," Jack asked with a playful grin, "Or youse sweet on dat goil up dere?"

"I'se ain't sweet on heh! I'se just...wanna be friends wid heh and help ta take care of her, dat's all," Race replied as he smoothed out imaginary wrinkles on his vest. "Sides, Sheriff's givin' me da eye," he smirked as he thought of the newsgirl who was the leader of the Bronx Newsies.

"Uh-huh, shoah she has," Jack replied with a smirk.

"So why does Spot want heh over dere? Fred ain't in any condition ta be moved."

"He's Spot," Jack replied, "Don't dat say it all? Who knows what goes through his mind."

"I've been asking that same thing myself," replied Alley as she walked out of the downstairs washroom. "He's Spot, Race, you know that. What he wants he gets."

"Als, youse really close ta Spot," Jack exclaimed, "He sweet on Fred?"

"I don't know if he likes her or if he's just simply fascinated by her," Alley replied with a shrug.

"Out of da two what's yer best guess?" Race asked.

Alley frowned and thought about it for a moment, "Well she's just as stubborn as he is for one, and she's obviously not afraid of authority figures, also she's almost as intimidating as he is when she gives that glare of hers. I'd say they were like two peas in a pod."

Race groaned.

"Did I say something wrong?" Alley asked in concern.

Jack laughed, "Nah, Race is just sweet on Fred."

"Oh dear," Alley frowned, "Well Race, I wish you the best of luck if you're going up against Spot. But really, I think whoever she decides to be with, if anyone, it should be her choice and hers only. You men need to remember that she's a wounded woman who was shot, she's not going to be the most trusting person in the world right now."

"Yeah, youse right," Race replied with a small frown.

"Well, anyway, I was going through that bag you all found under the distribution center's ramp yesterday," Alley exclaimed, "She doesn't seem to have much though I did find this," she frowned, "It's her diary, I erm...Read it....I thought maybe I could get to know her a little better, befriend her so she didn't feel like she was the only girl in the world. But...She was on the streets for a long time, you fellas. She pick pocketed and from everything I've read she feels really guilty and doesn't believe she earned a second chance in life."

"Everyone deserves a second chance, 'cept da Delancey bruddas, Weasel, and Snydah," replied Jack.

"Wheah youse goin'?" Race asked when Alley headed towards the doors to the lodging house.

"Back to Brooklyn, Sport's here to escort me back to the lodging house," Alley replied with a small smile.

"Als, could ya talk Spot outta takin' Fred ta Brooklyn, please?" Race asked.

Alley paused, "You know Spot, Race....But I'll try....Though I can't promise anything."

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"She's comin' to Brooklyn, Alley, and dat's dat," Spot replied an hour later. He looked outside, the full moon hung low in the sky and made shadows cast in his room.

"Spot, why not just leave her in Manhattan? She's very happy there and the Manhattan newsies all seem very fond of her. She might grow to be close to Race--uh--Jack like I'm close to you."

Spot froze. Race. He turned and stared at Alley.

"Youse tellin' me it ain't Jacky-Boy whose sayin' no it's Racetrack?" He asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

"I...He's becoming friends with her and she's at ease with him, Spot. She talks to him and she's starting to trust him."

"She trusts me too," Spot replied.

"I didn't know 'you call me Jinx again and I'll twist your nose off' meant trust," Alley replied with an arched eyebrow.

"So she's fiesty! She'll get ovah it," Spot retorted stubbornly as he crossed his arms.

Alley groaned, "You don't even know this girl, why are you so intent on having her over here?"

"Because I'se want heh ta be."

"Or is it because you like her and knowing that there's a newsie in Manhattan who likes her and is getting close to her threatens your chances with her?" Alley asked, when Spot's mouth opened she threw her hands into the air, "Men! I will never understand you all. That girl is hurt and from what it seems to me the most thing she wants to do is just learn to survive and make a few friends and find her way home."

Spot stood nose to nose with Alley before slamming the tip of his cane down onto the floorboards, "She's comin' ta Brooklyn, Alley. She's tougher than Jacky-Boy's newsies, someone like dat belongs in Brooklyn. She's comin ta Brooklyn, and she's stayin' in Brooklyn."

"Why don't you ask her where she wants to be?"

"Goodnight Alley," Spot replied as he opened his bedroom door.

"Where is she going to stay?"

"In my room."

"How about in mine?"

"She's stayin in heah wid me," Spot replied slowly, "Goodnight."

Alley groaned when she stepped out of the room and the door was quickly shut. Men! What was it Fred had said when she heard Jack and Spot arguing earlier? Oh yes, 'Testosterone spill on aisles 5-15.'

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The next morning Fred crossed her arms and glared at the leader of the Brooklyn newsies, "I'm not going anywhere," she retorted, "I'm staying here, you try to move me and you'll be known as Spot-No-Britches. After all people in power hate being caught with their pants down."

Spot gritted squared his jaw, "Don't youse evan threaten me, goil," he growled as he waved the top of his cane around in her face.

Annoyance creeped through Fred until she grabbed the cane and shoved it him, "Don't you wave that thing in my face, buster. I know in the newsie world you're someone to be highly respected, but I'm not one of your newsies. If I become a newsie, which I probably will when I can move again, I'll be a Manhattan newsie. So get off your high horse and come back down to Earth with the rest of us."

Spot slammed the bottom of his cane down on the floor, harder than he had the first time.

Fred's eyes widened as she stared at Spot, he turned into Brandon right in front of her eyes. He sneered at her before lifting his gun.

No. No. Brandon wasn't in this time, she forced herself to calm down until Brandon slowly faded away leaving the arrogant Spot Conlon behind.

"Dere, I'se glad to get youse attention," he exclaimed, "Now listen heah goil, yeah youse gettin' good care heah. I'se won't argue dat, but in me lodgin house youse can get up and walk around."

"Da doctor said-" Jack started.

"Jacky-Boy," Spot exclaimed, not once turning to glance at him.

Fred glanced over Spot's shoulder and watch the Manhattan Newsboy Leader fall silent, a look that said 'Sorry, I tried' crossing over his face.

"I'se been shot befoah and in da same place, in da right side. It hoits like hell, yeah youse need bedrest, but youse also need ta move around. And when we'se out sellin' papes Alley will look after youse and keep youse company, if youse want Jack can come too."

"How about Race?" Fred asked and was surprised to see Spot look annoyed, almost angry, at the mere mention of the idea of Racetrack staying in Brooklyn with them.

"If youse....Want," he replied.

"Yeah, I'll go over there if Race walks with us and visits now and then."

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"I'se can stay foah a while," Race replied, every fiber in his being knew he was going to regret going up against Spot Conlon, but he was fighting for the girl he was falling for. Also her being in a lodging house full of those tougher newsboys and not being able to defend herself...That idea he hated.

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Spot gritted his teeth, damn Racetrack. Race was a good friend and like all newsies he respected Brooklyn, but he was too damned close to Fred. The moment Spot had seen this girl he had liked her, he wasn't going to say he was willing to soak another newsie or die for her; those extents he wasn't about to go too.

He watched as Race helped Fred to stand up, and when the two didn't let go of each other he felt his temper go through the roof.

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Fred, meanwhile, was focusing on standing and not screaming out in pain. Her wound still hurt like hell, though the pain had gone down a small notch from the day before. She looked up and found Race and Spot glaring at each other, the kind of glares two guys got when fighting over a pretty girl.

"Hey you two knuckle heads, are we gonna walk or are we going to stand here all day glaring at each other until we know how many skin cells each other has?" She asked.

Race and Spot both jumped before Race let go of her arms and took hold of her left arm as Spot took hold of her right arm. At a slow pace they walked out of the bunkroom, in Fred's case shuffled. These guys didn't know much, well nothing really, about her and therefore had no right to go off fighting each other over her.

She wanted to get home, but until she could she'd learn to survive, make friends, and sell papes. Though it was so damned hard to trust some of these people. Race had been somewhat easy to trust, he was kind and gentle. Though Fred still kept her eye on him none the less. People never showed their true colors upon the first meeting, it was going to take a while for her to trust Race.

Spot, on the other hand, she wasn't sure if she would ever trust. Damned kid thought he could control her? Next time he went off with the idea of waving that cane of his in her face or slamming it down on the floor she'd leave him with a damned good shiner and a bloody nose. She got the fact he wasn't someone you wanted for an enemy, but he had to understand that she wasn't one of those girls who could be easily controlled. She had depended on herself all her life and be damned the man who went off treating her like she didn't know what she wanted.

Race respected her wishes and respected the fact she was stubborn and independent, he got the idea to back off after a while. Spot, however, kept refusing to learn this lesson. What was she going to have to do, hammer it into him?

"Stairs," Race frowned.

"Mush," Spot commented simply, "Mind walkin' wid us ta Brooklyn? Can ya pick Fred up."

"Excuse me?" Fred asked, "Give me a minute and I'll get down the stairs --" She didn't get a chance to finish that sentence, Mush swooped her up into his arms as if she was as light as a feather.

"Youse gotta admit, it's moah comfortable dan youse side hurtin," he said kindly.

"That's true," she replied with a small smile. Mush was another newsie along with Blink she was beginning to Trust. Mush, from what she had observed was a genuine sweet heart. He cared for everyone and always did whatever he could to help. She couldn't see the newsboy harming a fly. Which was odd for her to think, since she could envision every person harming a fly.

He carried her down the stairs, she winced whenever she bounced in his arms.

"Sorry," he frowned, "I'se goin' slow."

"No, no, you're fine," she replied, "Really you're fine."

At the base of the stairs he gently set her down. Kloppman stood behind his desk with a frown on his face, but didn't comment. Fred had been hoping he would, she guessed the newsies were just as stubborn as she was and wouldn't listen to the older man.

"Ready ta go?" Spot asked.

"No." Fred replied quite frankly.

"Good, let's go."

"Oh, bite me," Fred muttered under her breath before she shuffled forward.

---------------------------------

Spot still couldn't figure out for the life of him why Fred wanted him to bite her. Then again it could be one of those weird expressions she was constantly using. He kept his arm wrapped firmly around her right arm, they were halfway across the Brooklyn bridge. It had been two long hours, but Spot understood, the girl hurt like hell. Not once though did he hear a complaint or cry from her.

He glanced over at Race who was chatting with her about poker, telling her what to look out for in her opponent's face, and mentioned that he was the best poker play of them all.

Far from it, Higgins, Spot thought to himself.

"Youse know I'se could teach youse how to fight," Spot exclaimed.

Fred suddenly stopped in her tracks.

"You assume since I'm a girl I don't know how to fight?" She questioned, her eyes regaining that fire in them that constantly made Spot freeze in place.

"No, I'se just didn't know," he replied.

"So tell me, why did you assume I don't know how to fight? I know you all know my background, I heard Skittery saying you all found my diary, which I want you to know is an invasion of my privacy. I lived on the streets until I was sixteen, so yeah I know how to fight."

"Youse jist don't know how ta choose yer fights," Spot retorted.

"I know how to pick my fights."

"If youse did youse wouldn't be pickin' one now," Spot replied, Fred stared at him, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she looked away and began to shuffle forward again.

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Race winced at the small argument, he could tell from the moment Spot and Fred met the two weren't going to get along. Both had too similar personalities, they both were more stubborn than mules, and the two were both on high horses. Race wasn't usually sweet on girls like Fred, he tried to stay away from them due to the fact that they were basically a female Spot. One Spot was enough!

"Are dere newsies wheah youse come from?" He asked, wanting to ease the tension in the air.

"A few, but not many," she replied, "Newsies where I come from ride bicycles and throw newspapers on front lawns," she smiled.

"Deys don't shout out da headlines or try ta sell dem?" Race and Spot both asked in shocked unison.

"The newspaper center hires and pays them," she replied, "And where I come from a person usually either has the paper delivered to them in the mail, buys it from a metal box, or from the market." She shrugged, "It's just...Different, that's all."

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It was nearly lunch time when they reached the Brooklyn lodging house. Fred stared at it, it looked just the same way as it did in her time, only slightly newer. The red bricks and the fire escaped made the building look more like an office building than a lodging house. The windows were cracked and almost seemed sad. She had always viewed the building as it holding its breath waiting for its original owners to return, but they never would.

She shuffled in through the wooden door with Spot and Race, they had to walk sideways to enter. The wooden door was chipped and the paint was peeling from it, near the door handle a tiny spider scurried to the safety of one of the door's holes.

Fred couldn't blame it, she wanted to be back in Manhattan right now. But she had been the one who had given up and agreed to come to Brooklyn, she had no one to blame but herself. She squared her jaw slightly, she had to admit this was better then her own apartment... Which was basically a hole in the wall in a large apartment complex. After Tom went undercover she moved out of his house and into her own apartment, not because she wanted too but because she had too. She wasn't going to make his bills go through the roof.

Her apartment building was quite interesting, an arms dealer lived in the elevator; a crooked 'collector' lived in the apartment next door and was the best 'guard dog' a person could ever ask for; and just to top all that off they had a man who was convinced he was Bozo the clown living on the second story.

She looked around the lodging house, "Nice place," she said truthfully, "A lot better than mine."

"Youse got yer own place?" Race asked.

"Yeah, but it's known for its giant rats, cockroaches, holes in the walls, drug dealers, an illegal gun dealer living in the elevator." She replied.

Spot blinked, "Damn, dat's bad, how do youse survive?"

Fred smiled, "We watch over each other, the good people I mean, and we're there for each other when needed. A lot like you guys."