Updated: 4-12-08

Disclaimer: I have no delusions about owning or holding rights over Newsies; you shouldn't either. Don't sue.
Also, any pop culture references...guess what? Don't own those either. Actually...anything that you may have heard of and/or recognized in this story is owned by someone who isn't me.

Warning:Updates may (and probably will be) slow.
This contains SLASH, in other words same sex couples. If this doesn't appeal to you, you shouldn't be here. It also contains drug use, violence, sexual situations, and may contain a(n OC) death. This story is marked for mature readers only, please treat it as such.

Pairings: Will be switching around quite a bit. If you have any preferences please let me know. They probably won't end up together unless I already planned for it to happen, but I can put in a couple flings for you if you ask nice enough

Getting Back Together Again

IV
Betting on Spot's Birthday

He didn't always bet; he didn't always have the money to be able to do so. It didn't matter, as long as he could be here and watch the race and cheer for the horse that he thought would win. Though admittedly, when he did scrape together enough money to bet it was usually ten times more exhilarating.

It was actually pretty stupid, because this was Brooklyn and in Brooklyn everything was fixed. If you were friends with the right people you knew for a fact who was going to win, who was going to come in second place, third place, and so on.

But Race didn't want that. He didn't come here for the money; he came here for the excitement and anticipation that came with guessing. So whenever he did have money (like he did today, for instance) he would survey the horses and choose which one he thought would win, then he'd hope that he was correct in picking the one that wasn't paid to drop behind.

"Twenty-five dollars on Blue Colt," Race announced to the man behind the counter, sliding him the minimum betting amount with a confident smile.

He slid a cigarette into his mouth as he got his receipt and he was back at his usually seat before he even lit up.

"What's Itey doing?" Skitts asked with boredom bursting out of his voice.

"His parents are home today," Bumlets reminded his friend before taking a hit off his cigarette and looking out into his front yard from where they sat on his porch.

Itey's parents being at home meant that Itey wasn't going anywhere, at least not without the threat of a mess of new bruises hanging over his head…and obviously he wasn't much fun when he had any kind of threat nagging at the back of his mind.

"God damn it, I'm so bored I can hardly move," Skitts complained.

"What about Dutchy?" Bumlets asked, still staring out into his front yard for lack of anything better to look at.

"Date," Skitts forced out the answer.

"Date? With who?" Bumlets asked, finally turning to Skittery and becoming interested.

"Don't get too excited; it's some chick his parents forced on him. She's probably fat and ugly and-"

"…And he won't be scoring…I got it," Bumlets finished for his friend, suddenly becoming very bored and very disinterested again.

"You wanna try hanging out with Leon and everybody?" Skittery asked, talking about the other potheads the school thought they were best friends with.

"Weren't they supposed to be trying coke this weekend? No thanks man, that shit's way too addictive."

"…And expensive as fuck," Skittery added, agreeing whole-hearted with his friend. Smoking pot was one thing; snorting coke was a whole other level of druggie that he didn't really want to experience…at least not yet. He might someday, just to prove that he wasn't a prude, but certainly not today.

"Let's just go smoke man," Bumlets suggested, dragging himself up from where he was lying horizontal on a small bench.

"Yeah, whatever," Skitts agreed, not thinking of anything better to do as he rose from where he was lying down on the concrete that was the porch.

"Damn man, we've got to find something more productive to do with our time," Bumlets commented as he put his cigarette out on the side of the house and walked inside to get the pot, assuming Skitts would follow him.

"Yeah, but you seem to be so against coke," Skittery joked as he grabbed the door behind Bumlets and went inside himself.

Racetrack sat unmoving in his seat as he glared at his horse; it was coming in next-to-last. God damn it! That was a good horse! It could have easily won if Brooklyn weren't filled with so many cheaters and money-grubbers. Unfortunately this was the only racetrack for quite a few miles and this was certainly the only one that Racetrack could go to that would leave his parents still thinking that he was innocent of the gambling world.

And really, if the truth were told, Race would have much rather tried to win than to just sit there with money in his pocket. Yeah, he was a gambling addict, what of it?

Feeling a little less happy than before (but still a lot happier than he did during all the other days of the week) he walked out of the building and back into the streets.

He hadn't taken the car because technically he was supposed to be grounded, and taking it would have been a huge tip off to his parents that he wasn't actually in his room sleeping.

But walking home in the sunshine wasn't a horrible thing, especially since he was walking home from the racetrack. True, it would have been better if he would have been walking home a winner, but still, losing aside it had been a glorious race. Racetrack was pretty sure that someone hadn't paid close enough attention when they were told what place they were supposed to finish in, because the horses drastically kept changing their places in line.

Race smiled, that didn't happen too often, but when it did the excitement and anxiousness of the crowd was almost too much of a wonderful feeling. God, what Race wouldn't give to build an honest racetrack somewhere in Manhattan and be able to run it.

Without anything to do at home but stare at the wall Race decided that spending another hour in Brooklyn wouldn't be a particularly bad idea. Plus, he wanted to see if there were any more rumors about Brooklyn's leader. Obviously he had never met him, but he did sound pretty terrifying and Race wanted to know if he was really dead or not. Plus, the back of his mind added, Sean might want to know about the new rumors.

He's not gay, he reminded himself angrily as he squashed the other voice. He was falling for a straight person; god, that was a little pathetic. Maybe he needed to get laid more than he thought.

"He never left; I told you they were stupid rumors," Race heard from the conversation going on ahead of him.

"He ordered the CIA to clone him, and now there're two Spots; one's with the government and the clone's ordering around Brooklyn," argued another voice.

Racetrack smiled; rumors about the Brooklyn gang leader were getting easier to stumble upon by the day.

"They're all just rumors, man; stupid gossip that people make up just because they're bored. Nothing happened to Spot and nothing will happen to Spot; he's way too dedicated to Brooklyn to go anywhere. Hell, I'm pretty sure he'd raise himself from the dead just so he could continue running the place."

"Then what happened to him after he kicked in that guy's knee cap, huh? He hasn't been at school since, and if he was just suspended or expelled we'd see him on the streets more often. But no, we've barely even heard about what he's doing; it's like he's not here half the time."

"Yeah? And that's happened thousands of times before. Get your head outta your ass and start thinking realistically. You think that if Spot were gone all the people right under him wouldn't be putting up a fuss about who's next to command? The gang would be restless without Spot. I'm pretty sure at this point if Spot just disappeared the gang would be in total disrepair within days."

"Nah man, that's not so. Some other guy would come along and scoop that gang right up. It's powerful, it's feared…everybody wants it."

"Exactly. And you think that all those people in that gang will swear allegiance to someone else after they've served under Spot? Nobody seems to realize all the work Spot puts into maintaining everything. He puts his whole life into it; no one else is going to be able to do that."

"That's true, I guess running the Brooklyn gang is harder than running any other gang…what with all the mutinies that seem to occur weekly."

"Yeah, yeah, and Spot's the only person who can snuff them out before anything really happens. I don't know how he does it, but the man's a genius about running things."

"Hey, did you hear that rumor about how Spot's actually a girl?"

"Oh, not that bullshit again."

"C'mon man, no one sees him face-to-face much, and people do say he's pretty…and short…and has a womanly type figure."

"Yeah? Well, then it must be true…except for the fact that any woman in the Brooklyn gang would be raped and killed before she could say 'shit, I think I made a mistake'. It's happened before man, don't deny hard evidence."

"Okay, okay, but you can't deny that he's not pretty. I mean, I can't believe he hasn't gotten raped before, you know? He must've…at one point…when he was an underling or something."

"That's real sick man, seriously."

Specs sat on Mark's living room floor, berating himself for ever agreeing to go to a study party on a Saturday afternoon. What had he been thinking, anyway? These people made David look lazy, for god's sake.

"Hey, did anyone get the square root of thirty-nine cubed for question number twenty-three?" someone in the group asked (Specs was trying hard not to pay any attention at this point).

"I got the square root of thirty-eight cubed," someone else answered.

"Yeah, that's what I got," another spoke up.

"Me too," David said. "Specs? What did you get?"

"Oh right, I got…Fuck, I am not this much of a loser," Specs replied, closing both his notebook and math book.

"Specs!" David scolded, "We aren't losers. We're challenging ourselves, we're preparing for the future, we're-"

"…Losers," Specs finished. "It's okay, Dave, I understand, and I won't treat you any differently because of it…well, I will, but I've always known you were a loser, so I won't treat you any different from how I normally treat you."

"Specs!"

"It's okay, David, we've been called losers so much that it's not like we care any more," Mark said, playing defense. He turned to Specs. "You can just leave, if you want, or go watch television up in my room, or raid my fridge or something; you don't have to study with us if you don't want to."

"Leaving's good, let's go with that," Specs decided, getting up from the couch and walking towards the door. "I'll see you guys at school."

"I'm so sorry about him," David apologized as soon as the front door opened and closed, signaling Specs' exit.

"Don't worry, Dave," Stephen interrupted, "He's our friend too, after all."

"Though I have to admit I'm not sure exactly why he's our friend," Terrance spoke up.

"Terrance! You're just as bad as he is, don't act like you aren't," Mark reprimanded.

"Hey, it's not like I said he wasn't my friend," Terrance shrugged, "And it's not like I blame him for that outburst; studying is pretty lame."

"You can leave too, you know," Mark reminded him, "You're the one who wanted to come."

"Yeah, because Specs was going to be here; he makes things interesting. Now he's gone so I'm off too," Terrance grumbled.

After the door slammed shut behind Terrance Stephen asked the question that was on everyone else's minds. "Why do we have such assholes for friends?"

"I can't believe those fuckers lied to me!" Slingshot exclaimed. "'Blue Colt's going to win, we've made sure of it'," he imitated in a voice that was clearly distorted to make the speaker sound retarded. "Fuck if I'm ever going to listen to those fucking fucktards again."

"That's very eloquent, Sling," Spot commented.

"Haven't you learned that those guys plan to fuck everyone over? If you aren't in their circle or if you don't hand over some kind of bribe, they aren't going to give you accurate information. Isn't this, like, the fifteenth time they've screwed you over? When are you going to learn?" the third in command, Hunter, voiced.

"Believe me when I say, 'I am never listening to those mother-fucking fucks again'," Slingshot growled out.

"You say that every time," Spot reminded him.

"Fuck you."

"Nice Sling, it's always a good idea to cuss out the higher ups," Hunter said when he noticed Spot's narrowed eyes.

"Oh," Slingshot replied, just now realizing what he said, "Sorry boss."

"So," Hunter started, planning on switching to a more light-hearted subject matter, "I heard your birthday's tomorrow. How old will you be? Seventeen?"

Spot shot a look of pure death at Slingshot, but remained quiet.

"Sorry boss," Slingshot apologized again, "It just sort of slipped."

"So what do you want as a present?" Hunter continued, not registering that his boss didn't want to talk about it.

"Sean?" a voice saved Spot from answering.

Spot turned and saw the boy that sat next to him in his first period class. "…Anthony?" he asked after racking his brain for a name.

"Call me Racetrack," Race ordered with a smile on his face.

"Racetrack?" Slingshot asked, sounding as if he thought having a nickname was odd.

"Yeah, cause I go to the racetrack a lot. I actually just got back from losing all my money on Blue Colt," Race shrugged.

"Yeah? Me too man!" Slingshot burst out happily, enjoying the fact that someone else had been cheated as well.

"Don't you two have somewhere you need to be?" Spot asked with narrowed eyes, wanting his closest associates to leave so he could make sure his cover wasn't blown.

"But I need to know what-" Hunter began before he was cut off.

"And fuck off with all that birthday shit. I don't want anything," Spot answered with irritation.

"Ah, come on, you don't mean that," Hunter stupidly pressed.

"Trust me, he does," Slingshot said after Spot shot them both a glare. "C'mon man, let's go get some food," he suggested, grabbing Hunter's shoulder and dragging him away.

"So what are you doing in Brooklyn?" Race asked, feeling a little awkward because he just realized he didn't really have anything to say.

Spot shrugged, not even trying to keep the conversation going.

Fortunately another member of Spot's gang interrupted the complete awkwardness.

"Boss!" Speed called out, racing up to Spot and then stopping to catch his breath.

"Chauffeur," Spot shrugged to Race's confused expression, explaining why Speed was calling him 'boss' with the same excuse as before.

"We need to go. Now," Speed forced out, not paying any attention to the other boy beside Spot that was giving him weird looks.

Spot narrowed his eyes and clenched the fist that held his cane a little tighter, immediately knowing that a fight involving him had broken out. Well, at least he wasn't at school; he could get to it with ease. "Lead the way," Spot commanded, racing off after Speed and leaving Racetrack behind without a second glance.

Race (who was probably too curious for his own good) waited just milliseconds before racing off after the two men, taking care to remain hidden from them as he followed stealthily behind.

"You're losing your touch," Jack commented has he took a few moments to catch his breath. "Fourteen-two."

"God Jack, I told you, 'I'm not cut out for basketball,' I've got no depth perception," Swifty complained.

"Yeah well, too bad; it's my turn to pick the sport we play and I chose basketball, so deal with it," Jack argued jokingly.

"I suppose it's fair," Swifty admitted, tossing the basketball from one hand into the other as he waited for the game to resume, "I mean, I did kick your ass so bad at the long jump last week."

"Dude, you pick the weirdest sports to compete with me in; I've never played half of them, therefore, it's unfair to expect me to do well," Jack complained.

"Stop whining, Jackey," Swifty commanded, dropping the ball he was throwing between his two hands to the ground and dribbling towards the hoop at the other side of the court with what seemed like super sonic speed. Within seconds he made a slam-dunk and upped the score to fourteen-four.

"That's cheating!" Jack accused, screaming at the indignity of it.

"You should have kept on your guard," Swifty pointed out, carelessly throwing the ball to Jack with one hand. "Let's go; your ball."

"Man, I'm going to wipe the floor with you, you little bitch," Jack claimed, catching the ball and preparing kick his friend's ass.

Skitts giggled, letting go of everything in favor of focusing on the dense cloud that covered his brain.

"Dude, I'm totally feeling it," Bumlets claimed in a detached voice with his eyes half-lidded as he took his last hit.

Skittery just giggled again, nodding his head up and down in agreement.

"Dude," Bumlets said, acting as if he just had a great revelation, "You know what would be excellent right now? Pie."

"Hell yeah," Skittery agreed, giggling through his words.

"Dude, I just got a better idea," Bumlets said, changing his mind and acting as if this was the greatest plan on earth. "Let's go to the pet store and look at the fish tanks."

"Hell yeah!" Skittery agreed again with wide eyes before he went back to his giggling.

Spot breathed a sigh of relief at the anticlimactic fight. When he came on the scene it was pretty bad, but it seemed as if the rumors surrounding his fighting ability were growing, because after he had stepped onto the scene the rebels seemed to run off in all directions.

Of course, Spot had learned to be suspicious and unforgiving, so he ordered his men to search and capture those that had been trying to dethrone him. This might have been the beginning of something bigger, or it might have just been stupid people with delusions of running a gang. Either way, Spot wasn't about to just let them get away.

A good amount of meters away from him Race stood, quietly listening to the conversations around him and putting two and two together.

"I told you if we just got Spot the fighting would stop. Those bitches practically wet themselves."

"The boss is good, no doubt about it."

"And Speed sure got to him fast. I mean, Jesus man, not only can Speed fly in a car, he could be like a track star or something if he wanted."

"Not that he would ever do that; his days are completely devoted to the boss."

"Yeah, Spot's got this like…leader aura or something, man, whatever it is no sane person could even think about being a replacement for him."

"This gang hangs on Spot's shoulder's, no one else's, that's for sure."

"I just wish I could have seen him fight."

Of course, the conversations going on around him weren't quite enough. Sure Sean had come right before the fighting stopped, but so could have the real boss. There were more concrete signs than that. Not only were people in the conversations looking over to Sean as if he was some god, but also the boy had an undeniable air about him; it broke no argument that he was the one running the show.

Needless to say Racetrack was a little frozen at what this revelation meant. Not only was the Brooklyn leader going to school in Manhattan (a fact that definitely needed to be looked into), but he had first period with him, he had talked to him, and had even gone up to him in the streets of Brooklyn.

It also answered quite a few rumors.

"So what'd you do Friday night?" Jack asked, twirling the basketball on his finger. He was still holding the smug smirk that had jumped onto his face when he beat Swifty twenty-one to four.

"I ran errands for my mom," Swifty lied. "Then afterwards I just walked around a bit; it was late and I didn't really feel like being there with people already overly drunk while I was completely sober."

"Yeah, but we could have changed that real fast," Jack offered, "So definitely come next time, even if you are going to be way late."

"Did Masson even realize I wasn't there?" Swifty asked, knowing that if the answer were 'yes' it would just mean that Jack was lying.

"I actually didn't see him much. I'm pretty sure he was with Brittany most of the time," Jack shrugged.

"Ah yes, head cheerleader; I should have seen that stereotype coming. I bet they were locked in a room snorting coke off each other's stomach's and fucking like bunnies," Swifty replied crudely.

"Masson doesn't do coke," Jack said as if the idea was crazy.

"All super rich and popular kids do coke, it's practically a fact," Swifty shrugged, stealing the ball from Jack and trying to spin it on his own finger.

"That's crap man. What about you and me? We're popular and look…we've never done coke," Jack pointed out.

"Yeah, okay, throw logic at me, but Brittany actually does do coke. She's offered it to me on more than one occasion, and you know she could talk Masson into doing practically anything," Swifty argued.

"Now that's a little closer to the truth," Jack answered, stealing the ball back from Swifty and dribbling to the closest basket to make a shot. "I should totally try out for the basketball team," he claimed as the ball gracefully fell into the hoop without even touching the rim.

"Right man, good luck with that," Swifty replied, grabbing the ball up and dribbling to the hoop on the opposite side of the court. He threw it into the hoop, but it hit the rim and came back at him.

"Are you looking for a rematch, is that it, you little bitch?" Jack asked as he caught the ball and dunked it in. "You know I'll just kick your ass again, right?"

"What am I doing here?" Skitts mumbled as soon as he woke up and noticed that he wasn't in his familiar room.

"I saw you in the pet shop (acting like a total nutcase, might I add) and brought you back home," Dutchy answered with some amusement. "You better be thankful my parents had to leave last night and won't get back until sometime during the week. I'm pretty sure that if they had seen me bringing you two home they'd think it was because we were planning a three-way."

Skittery rose from where he was lying on Dutchy's bed with an affronted look on his face, "Like I could ever do something like that without Itey."

Bumlets snorted, "Like I could ever do something like that with the two of you." He was sitting on the couch that was shoved off to the side, a cup of coffee balancing on his knee. He took a sip of it before continuing, "You guys aren't that attractive."

"Excuse me?" Dutchy exclaimed, looking horrified at the insult, "I am the very epitome of attractiveness."

"I'm surprised you even know how to pronounce 'epitome'," Bumlets confessed.

"Are you implying that I'm stupid now?" Dutchy asked with disbelief. "A man can only take so much."

"Jesus, Dutchy, give it a rest," Skittery commanded, falling back down on the bed, "God, sometimes I think you actually do have a crush on Bumlets."

"Oh, fuck you, that's the last time I ever drag your sorry asses away from the fish tanks at the pet store."

"Good; the fishes are a lot better to look at than you," Skittery insulted. "Back me up here, Bum."

"Fish are awesome to look at when you're high, but without drugs I'd much rather look at Dutch," Bumlets confessed. "What time is it?" he asked quickly before anyone could say anymore on the subject.

Dutchy shot Skittery a smug grin before answering, "It's a bit after ten o'clock, so you're getting up pretty early given the fact that you smoked yourselves stupid last night."

"Aw, smoking yourself stupid," Skitts sighed, "Now that's the way to spend an evening."

"It certainly wasn't boring," Bumlets agreed before taking another sip of coffee.

"I can't believe that while you two were off staring at fish I was out on a date with a girl who kept throwing herself at me," Dutchy grumbled.

"It really is too bad," Bumlets replied, "A lot of desperate guys would have died to go out with a slut, but you just don't appreciate it at all."

"Yeah, I'm sure next time you're forced to go on a date Bumlets would trade places with you," Skittery offered,

"Was that a clever and tactful way of calling me desperate?" Bumlets asked with disbelief in his voice. "I'm impressed; you're usually just oozing crude bluntness."

"Eh," Skittery shrugged, "I just feel like I should step up my game a bit, you know? I don't want my insults to become too repetitive and predictable."

Sean woke up and received approximately forty-five seconds to think it was just an average morning. Regrettable it was interrupted when Hunter burst into his room without knocking and happily wished his boss a happy birthday.

"Didn't I tell you to give all the birthday shit a rest, you fucktard?" Spot grumbled while glaring at his third in command. "I hope you didn't think I was just fucking around when I told you that."

"C'mon boss, everyone deserves to have a day just to celebrate themselves for being themselves," Hunter lectured happily.

"God damn it, did you lose your fucking manhood in the poker game last night? Stop being such a pussy. You want to celebrate me? Do it on the day I became gang leader. Hell, do it on any other day and I won't care. Don't pick a day I had absolutely no control over," Spot ranted.

"I had no idea you felt like that boss," Hunter replied with sympathy. "It's just normal that people celebrate their existence on the day they came to exist," he told him.

"Then wouldn't it make more sense to celebrate on the day of conception?" Spot asked tiredly. "Never mind," he said quickly afterwards when it became apparent that Hunter was going to reply. "Just get the fuck out; I'm still sleeping."

"You're such a party-pooper," Hunter complained, not looking as if he planned on following orders anytime soon.

"Get out, Hunt," Spot ordered. "I'm not in the mood for this today and I'm fully prepared to kill you if I feel like I have to."

"Okay, no party," Hunter readily agreed, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Jeez, you didn't have to threaten to kill me, you know. You could have just told me-"

"Get the hell out, Hunt," Spot ordered again.

"Alright, Mr. McCranky Pants," Hunter grumbled as he headed to the door, "I'm leaving, but I'm not giving you my birthday surprise."

"Jack, man, wake up. You gotta go before my mom leaves for work," Itey commanded, squatting down outside of his car and trying his best to rouse the other boy out of sleep.

"What's the big deal? I'm not even in the house," Jack grumbled tiredly, not moving from his horizontal position in the back seat.

"Yeah, but my ma's car broke down, so she's gotta use mine to get to work. And if she sees you just taking a nap in the back seat of my car she's going to be pissed and then there'll be hell to pay," Itey explained hurriedly. "I already waited longer than I should have to get you up; she'll be out any minute now."

"Jesus, the sun hasn't even completely risen yet," Jack complained as he forced himself into a sitting position. "Where am I supposed to go?"

"Just hide out in the backyard until she leaves. Then you can come in and change and shower and stuff," Itey bargained quickly. "Okay? Now, let's go. Get outta the car."

"Yeah, yeah, fine," Jack reluctantly agreed as the other boy pulled him from the car and dragged him around to the backyard.

"Just wait there until I come back out and get you," Itey directed, pointing to the back of the house that was covered by bushes.

"I really hope you're kidding," Jack warned before he was shoved down onto the small gap between the bushes and the wall of the house.

"I'll come get you soon," Itey promised, ignoring Jack's clear irritation at both him and the situation. "Just stay there and be quiet," he demanded before dashing back into the house through the side door.

Jack sat on the ground where he had been shoved and silently fumed. How the hell did he ever get reduced to hiding behind a bush on the property of a guy he had stopped being friends with years ago?

He suppressed the desire to scream at the entire situation when one of the bush's branches scraped him across the face and the scratch started to bleed. Sure it was just a small wound, but in some twisted way it reminded him of all the crap he had been forced to go through.

Here he was: an intelligent, well-behaved, athletic teenager, and what did he have? Nothing; no home, no family, no parents, no one to confide in… The only thing he did have was a reputation at school that he couldn't even begin to live up to and couldn't possibly bring himself to break.

He had gradually fallen into a trap that was cleverly made from sheer bad luck and complete obliviousness.

"Jack," Itey said from the other side of the bushes, unknowingly interrupting the other man's thoughts, "You can come in now, my dearest darling mother just left."

"Thank god," Jack sighed quietly before crawling out from the bushes and painstakingly avoiding all the branches in order to not get scratched again.

"Sorry about that," Itey apologized to Jack while leading him indoors, "but you know how my parents are."

"Eh, it didn't take as long as I thought it would," Jack replied, shrugging it off.

Silence followed as the two boys carried themselves upstairs, neither knowing what subject to converse on, nor wanting to be the first on to speak.

"My dad should be coming straight home from work," Itey finally said, reluctantly breaking the silence, "so you can only be here for a few more hours." Silence followed him as he handed the other boy a towel for the shower.

"I won't take long," Jack ensured, hiding the sudden and illogical annoyance that flared up at being rushed. He grabbed the towel Itey was holding and stormed into the bathroom. Luckily he got a hold of his anger enough to not slam the door shut. Jack wasn't so wrapped up in himself as to not realize that a pissed off teenager was something that Itey didn't need to deal with right now.

"Where the hell am I?" Specs muttered to himself. He felt very much like shit. His head throbbed, his body ached, and staying completely motionless where he was lying (wherever the fuck that was) suddenly seemed like the best idea man had ever or could ever come up with.

Or rather it seemed like a good idea, but that was before he heard the definite male grunt from beside him.

"What the fuck?" Specs burst out, making a strange leap while still horizontal in his attempt to get away from whoever the other man was. Quite predictably it ended up with him tumbling from the bed he was previously on and falling onto the floor in a painful heap.

"What the hell's your problem?" Terrance muttered, clearly still half-asleep as he looked down at his friend from the side of the bed.

"What the hell happened last night? Why did I just wake up next to you?" Specs exclaimed, not being able to remember anything past leaving Mark's house and then running into Terrance just minutes after.

"Jesus man, calm down. We got drunk off our asses in my basement and managed to drag ourselves up here right before we passed out," Terrance answered. "What'd you think? We fucked or something? Hey man, you may be into that type of thing and that's cool, but I'm not."

"You're calling me gay?" Specs asked with some disbelief. "Not only were you the one that wasn't surprised to wake up next to another dude, you don't have a shirt on," he pointed out to the other boy.

"I don't mind waking up next to a guy because I know nothing would ever happen because I'm not gay. I didn't notice if you were wearing a shirt or not because I'm not interested in your ugly-ass, naked chest. And you should probably stop claiming to be straight when everybody already knows that you're going out with David," Terrance argued.

"I'm not going out with David!" Specs shouted, looking quite disgusted, "Who the fuck said that?"

"It's not like it's a secret," Terrance replied as he rolled his eyes, "I mean, everyone at school knows."

"What? Since when?"

"It's an old rumor," Terrance shrugged. Finally he decided to try and calm his friend down, "Look, everybody knows and nobody cares so it's not as if it's a big deal. You two might as well just come out of that closet you're both hiding in. You won't be treated any differently or anything like that."

"We're not in the closet! There is no closet for us. And even if there were some sort of closet-like structure we would not be in it together. We're straight! …As straight as…as something really, really straight," Specs rambled in his panic.

"Fine, keep it a secret. Whatever, man," Terrance replied before rolling over and trying to fall back asleep.

"Slingshot," Spot greeted with indifference as soon as he answered the knocking at his door and saw his second-in-command standing there.

"Hey boss, it's been a couple of hours since Hunter bugged you and I wanted to make sure you were okay. It's past noon," Slingshot replied nonchalantly.

"C'mon Slingshot, it's my birthday; I should be allowed to sleep in," Spot mocked, choosing to not tell Slingshot that he had actually been up for a little over an hour.

"Yeah, I know…it's your birthday…whoopee and all that, by the way. Anyway, that's kind of the point of me being up here," Slingshot explained, "I still haven't given you your present yet."

"Oh god," Spot responded in annoyance. He had completely forgotten that even though he had chased Hunter away he still had to deal with Slingshot. He really hated birthdays.

"You'll like it, I promise," Slingshot swore. "It involves breaking the law," he tried to tempt in a singsong voice.

"I break the law everyday," Spot explained as if he was talking to a three year old, "Any form of fun or excitement I get out of it has long been replaced by complete and utter indifference."

"Okay, but see, it also involves risking your life," Slingshot tried again.

"That's pretty much the same story, wouldn't you say? I mean god, I'm leader of a gang; the idea of risking my life and breaking the law isn't very new or exciting to me," Spot enlightened his second-in-command.

"Yeah, but this present will put the fun and excitement right back into disobeying the law and almost killing yourself," Slingshot tried to explain. "Just come down and you'll see it. I swear to any god there might be that you'll like it...probably even love it."

"Fine then," Spot reluctantly replied, not quite believing the other man, but realizing agreeing would be the fastest way to make him leave, "Where is it?"

"It's right outside," Slingshot directed happily before he walked out of Spot's room and started down the stairs, "Come on. I can't wait to see your face."

"This is as much as anyone's doing for my birthday," Spot warned him as he followed behind, "If anyone sings me 'Happy Birthday' I swear I really will kill someone."

"Yeah, I know. This is it, I promise. No cake, no songs, no other presents," Slingshot replied, "I kind of thought that I should keep it discreet and quiet after you tried to strangle me to death when you found out I used Speed to deliver the payment needed for your present."

"Blue Colt? Haven't you bet on him before?" Mush asked as he lied comfortably on Blink's king-sized bed.

"Uh…yeah, I think I bet on him a few weeks back," Racetrack racked his brain as he lied right beside his friend, their shoulders pressed together.

"You lost that time too, right?" Blink asked from the other side of Mush as he smiled happily.

"Shut up," Race commanded, not really all that mad. "He would win if he ever ran in a fair race."

"So your parents didn't realize you snuck out?" Mush asked with concern as he changed the subject.

"Nah, they were totally oblivious," Racetrack claimed smugly.

"And what about today? I thought you were grounded all weekend," Mush pressed on.

"Mom's going to this charity thing over in Pennsylvania and Dad got called out for a business meeting in New Jersey at the last minute. They both won't be home until at least six or seven o'clock this evening," Race explained. "So I'm a free man…for now, at least."

"Yeah Mush, stop worrying; Race's got it all under control," Blink ensured. "So did anything else happen in Brooklyn?"

"Besides losing all my money at the racetrack? Not really," Racetrack answered, deciding to not tell his friends about how Sean Conlon was actually the infamous gang leader of Brooklyn.

"Yeah, Blink and I didn't really do much either," Mush said.

"We aren't doing much now," Blink pointed out.

"Yeah, this is kind of stupid," Race agreed, jumping off the bed. "Let's go do something."

"Like what?" Blink asked, following Race's lead and getting off the bed as well.

"You want to just go get something to eat?" Mush asked his two friends.

"Sit around here doing nothing, or sit around a diner getting fat…" Race mused.

"Oh, the latter definitely," Blink chose. "Plus, there might be cute waiters we can hit on."

"Yeah, because I really want to try and flirt with a guy while I'm stuffing my face," Race replied sarcastically as he rolled his eyes.

"It was just a suggestion," Blink shrugged.

"I'm gay," Specs announced as soon as someone picked up on the other end of the phone.

"David!" he heard Sarah shout, "One of your freaky friends are on the phone!"

"I got it!" David's muffled voice called out before Specs heard a clear "Hello?" from the phone.

"I'm gay," Specs repeated, not bothering to explain anything as he continued. "And it's not just me; you're gay too."

"No I'm not," David replied in an indifferent voice, more like he was stating a fact than defending himself.

"No, you are," Specs claimed, "and so am I and we're going out."

"No we aren't," David answered as confusion finally made its appearance known through his voice.

"I know!" Specs agreed. "But that's what the entire, stupid school thinks!"

"Oh," David responded, still a little confused. So the whole school thought he and Specs were going out. …Was that really that upsetting? No one but Mark, Terrance, and Stephen bothered to talk to them anyway. What was the big deal?

"It is a big deal Dave," Specs assured his friend as if reading his thoughts. "I'm not gay."

"Weren't you preaching to everyone about how gays should receive equal marriage rights just a few months ago?" David asked. "I thought-"

"You think that's where people got the idea that I'm gay? Because I'm not; I was just picking up a cause!" Specs claimed.

"No! I was going to say 'I thought you didn't have a problem with gays'," David interrupted.

"I don't! And if I was gay I wouldn't have any problem with people knowing that, but I'm not gay so…so people are just spreading lies about me!" Specs explained.

"I can't believe you have a problem with being gay," David said with disbelief.

"What? You're not even the least bit upset that people think you're gay?"

"No. All the people who really believe we're going out aren't people we talk to anyway, so it's not like anything is going to change."

"Terrance thinks so too, though."

"He does? Why?"

"I don't know!" Specs shouted.

"Still, it doesn't matter. It's just a stupid rumor and it'll be disregarded as unimportant soon enough."

"But Terrance said it was an old rumor!"

"Oh, well then most people must have already disregarded it," David claimed, "So it really isn't a big deal."

"Yeah? Maybe you're right," Specs agreed, not quite believing his friend and happy that he had paid Sean to sit with them at lunch so that they wouldn't be sitting alone tomorrow.

"It's all blown over by now Specs; there's no use in worrying about it," David told him.

"Fuck," Spot muttered, turning the smile he couldn't suppress into a smirk.

"Does that mean you like it?" Slingshot asked, not bothering to turn his smile into anything other than what it was.

"Hell yeah," Spot breathed, walking over to his present and inspecting it.

It was a motorcycle. It was a fucking motorcycle. It was small and had all sorts of parts from different brands, but fuck, it was a motorcycle.

"Not only is it practically a machine of death, but every time you drive it you'll be breaking the law since you don't have a motorcycle license. Not to mention that if you choose to, you can break a mess of other laws as well. I didn't even bother buying you a helmet," Slingshot said proudly. "So? What do you think?"

Spot walked over to his second-in-command wordlessly before he kissed him hard on the cheek, maintaining his smirk the entire time.

"Well sweet," Slingshot replied, more than a little surprised at his boss's response.