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
Summary of Chapter 15:-Spot and Hunter get into a fight because Spot kills Hunter's date
-Bumlets agrees to be Dutchy's fake boyfriend in order to get Specs jealous
-Itey accidentally tells Skittery that he loves him and Skittery runs off
-Spot and Racetrack hang out
-Swifty tries to teach Jack how to skateboard
-Blink, Mush, Itey, and Skittery all watch The Nutcracker together
-Bumlets and Dutchy sleep together
-Jack ditches Swifty to hang out with Masson
Getting Back Together Again
XVI
Spot to the Rescue
"Yo, Bossman," Slinghot said quietly as he tried to wake Spot.
"What?" Spot growled out before sitting up in his bed.
"Stealth's creeping people out by staring at them," Slingshot answered as he tossed Spot some pants and a shirt, "And Bam keeps screaming about his hair and how he doesn't look like a girl. Hunter just got done watching Spiderman cartoons and now thinks he can walk on walls. Speed's trying to get Gadget to drive the jeep even though Gadget is terrified of being behind a golf cart. And I'm really hungry but there's no food."
Spot gave a silent snort before throwing the clothing Slingshot gave him onto the floor. "So a regular Sunday morning then. What? Are you expecting me to do something about it?"
"And get the whole I'm-not-everyone's-parent speech again?" Slingshot asked. "No thank you. This was more of my version of trying to hide from all the chaos." After a moment's pause he continued. "So? If I can't make you get up then shove over. I need more sleep."
Spot didn't move. "Did you forget the rules? You aren't allowed in this bed unless I'm fucking you. Remember? Now get the hell out of here and let me sleep in peace."
"Okay, what if we fuck and then I sleep in the bed?" Slingshot pleaded. "Hunter woke up way too early so he could try and play a prank on Stealth. …It didn't work…obviously. Stealth was up and waiting for him. It would have been fine, but then Hunter couldn't go back to sleep and he got bored so he decided it'd be a brilliant idea to wake me up."
"I don't feel like fucking you," Spot answered, seemingly ignoring his friend's rant, "But even if I did you wouldn't sleep in my bed afterwards because you get all clingy."
"I do not get clingy!" Slingshot argued. "You say that every time! What the hell do I do that's so clingy?"
"We always end up spooning," Spot pointed out, "And I'm always the fucking little spoon. I'd call that being clingy."
"Okay, fine, so next time after sex, you can be the big spoon, okay?"
"I don't want to be the big spoon," Spot snapped, "I don't want to do it at all."
"What's the problem with spooning?"
"It's gay."
"You are gay!"
"That doesn't mean I have to act like it."
"Private moment, I know," Bam interrupted, walking into Spot's room but making sure to keep the door open behind him. "And I tried waiting but this kind of has some importance to it."
"Okay, you've slept in the same bed as me," Slingshot announced, appearing to not have heard a word Bam said. "Am I clingy?"
"Hell yeah," Bam answered, "You always insist on spooning and every damn time I'm the fucking little spoon."
"Told you," Spot said smugly to Slingshot before turning to Bam, "So what'd you do?"
"I may or may not've…punched a kid out for calling me pretty?" Bam reluctantly admitted, phrasing his statement as a question. "And he may or may not be busy bleeding in his room while unconscious."
"God damn. …Again?" Spot cursed before getting out of bed. "Sling, go get someone to treat the kid."
"Well, you think they'd stop calling me pretty after awhile," Bam said, trying to convince Spot it wasn't his fault as he followed behind. "So, really, it's just their own fault for being stupid."
"You think maybe they always tell you you're pretty because you are pretty," Spot mused. "God, I'm pretty sure the kid who you knocked out last week actually meant it as a come on."
"I'm not-! You think he meant it as a come on? Which one last week? Not the cute one?" Bam asked, suddenly curious.
"If by 'cute one' you're talking about the skinny guy with blonde hair, then yes, the 'cute one'," Spot answered.
"Like…dirty blonde hair? Because the cute one I'm remembering had dirty blonde hair."
"Dirty blonde? Yeah, that was him."
"Fuck, he was coming on to me? Shit, he was so cute. I remember thinking about how much I wanted to hug him when I was keeping watch over him after I knocked him out. I can't believe I didn't know he was trying to flirt with me," Bam muttered to himself loud enough so that Spot could hear him.
"He wasn't exactly good at it," Spot shrugged off. "Apparently he hit on me too. Stealth's the one that told me."
"That guy notices everything," Bam marveled. "But he doesn't talk. How the fuck do you get him to actually tell you shit? Does he just write it down for you or something?"
"He talks to me," Spot assured him. "Maybe if you shut up every once in awhile and gave him the chance he'd talk to you too."
"You think he'd start telling me which boys check me out?" Bam asked.
Spot shrugged. "If you have enough patience he'll probably tell you anything you want."
Bumlets swallowed loudly before sitting up and lightly nudging Dutchy. "Yo, Dutch," his voice cracked slightly, making him clear his throat. "You need to get up so we can talk about shit."
Dutchy smiled sleepily. "What's to talk about? Everything's so perfect right now. It's all like…super perfect. Sex with you is better than drugs."
"See, that's kind of the whole thing," Bumlets replied reluctantly, "Things aren't so perfect right now."
"Feels perfect enough," Dutchy pointed out.
"Well…as much…Jesus… It's not perfect, okay? So get up so I can tell you why," Bumlets ordered.
"Why the hell would I wake up and help you ruin my absolutely perfect mood?" Dutchy asked. "Sorry, but I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be listening."
"This is difficult enough without you…"
"Why are you trying so hard to ruin my awesome mood?" Dutchy asked, finally opening his eyes. "You're not being a very good friend right now."
Bumets flinched.
"Oh my god, what did you do?" Dutchy asked in panic as his eyes widened. "Tell me. Right now. What the fuck did you do?"
"I'm not going to be your boyfriend, Dutch," Bumlets forced out.
Dutchy looked at him curiously, his panic dropping. "Well…duh. But I still want you to be my fake boyfriend. I mean, I deserve that much, right? You did take my virginity, after all."
Bumlets glared disbelievingly at his friend. "You did not agree to sex with me just so you could guilt trip me into becoming your fake boyfriend, you manipulative little ass fuck."
"Chill," Dutchy smiled, "It was just a passing thought. The thought only did a minor appearance between 'god, I'm actually going to have sex' and 'holy fuck, I never realized that Bumlets was so ripped'."
Bumlets looked pleased. "You think I'm ripped?"
"It took me by surprise too," Dutchy answered.
Bumlets looked placated for a moment before getting confused. "What the hell happened to 'sex is supposed to be beautiful'? Didn't you say that, like, two days ago?"
Dutchy shrugged. "I guess I just thought about what Skittery said. You know, the whole 'sex is sex' thing. And I just realized I really wanted sex. It was fucking amazing, by the way. I mean, painful, hell yes, but excellent, nonetheless. I'm definitely gay. Which leads us to the question 'what the hell are you?'"
Bumlets shook his head. "I like sex with girls. I mean, I like sex with girls more than sex with guys, but…last night…it was…good."
"Just good?" Dutchy asked, looking crushed.
Bumlets smiled, "Glad to see you're the same old Dutchy; you're as insecure as ever. It was…better than good…awesome. It was…damn…it was comfortable. I mean, at first it was a little weird, right? But after a while I just fell into it and I didn't have to think about girls or boobs, I just…had to think about sex."
"So? That makes you what? Bisexual?"
"Maybe? Hell, I don't know. I still don't like dick," Bumlets replied.
"So what? You're like a flexible straight man?"
"Jesus, I don't know. I was up all night worrying about how to tell you this was just casual sex; I kind of left my sexual orientation crisis for later," Bumlets confessed.
Dutchy sighed. "This conversation has completely ruined the morning after for me. I hope you're willing to make it up to me."
"By being your fake boyfriend?"
"By being my fake boyfriend that everyone knows about," Dutchy corrected. "And maybe with some more sex."
"Dutch, come on, you know fuck buddies don't work. It always gets way too complicated," Bumlets pointed out.
"Usually, yeah, okay, but look at Skittery and Itey, right? They're…okay, I don't know what they are, but they're kind of like fuck buddies and they've been working out fine. Plus, I don't have any romantic feelings for you what-so-ever, so it won't be a problem," Dutchy replied confidently.
"It would be nice to not have to try so hard for sex," Bumlets muttered.
Dutchy's eyes lit up. "Great. And you'll be my fake boyfriend?"
"Up until your plan utterly fails or you find someone else to crush on," Bumlets pledged reluctantly.
"Awesome, so it's all decided," Dutchy declared. "Now, fuck me."
Bumlets forced a grin. He knew this whole thing was a bad idea that would probably fuck them both over, but at the moment he found he really didn't care very much.
Racetrack sulked down the steps in the hopes of prolonging his trip to rehab as much as he could.
"Hurry up," Mrs. Higgins chided, "We're going to be late and I want to meet your group counselor before everything starts."
Racetrack sighed. "I don't see why I have to do this, Mom. I'm not a gambling addict."
"You're pants are on fire," Mrs. Higgins replied before taking on a more motherly tone. "I know it's a hard thing to admit to, Anthony, but that's the first step. I care about you, honey. You know that, right? I don't want this to become a bigger problem for you in the future. You'll thank me for it later."
Racetrack immediately felt the guilt that only a mother could bring. "I know, Mom," he replied.
"Well? Let's go then," Mrs. Higgins ordered. "If you spend any more time sulking you're going to make us late."
Racetrack rolled his eyes. "I'm not sulking," he denied even though he knew he kind of was. "And we have plenty of time."
"Not if I want to talk to your group counselor," Mrs. Higgins told her son, "We've gone over this already, Anthony. We need to be there early so I have enough time to make sure everything is okay. And, on top of that, your counselor wants you there early so he can talk to you one-on-one for a few minutes. In other words, no we do not have enough time."
Racetrack sighed, slowly heading to the front door. "Okay, let's go then."
"Do I need to pick you up and carry you?" Mrs. Higgins threatened. "Get a move on, buster. We're late as it is."
"I'm coming," Racetrack replied, picking up his pace a little. "How long does it take to get there?"
"Too long," Mrs. Higgins answered, holding the front door open for her son.
"Can I drive there?"
"Maybe if you had your car."
"It wasn't my fault," Racetrack claimed as he obediently climbed into the passenger seat.
"If you were a little more responsible-" Mrs. Higgins started to lecture as she started the car.
"You got your car stolen!" Racetrack interrupted.
"That wasn't my fault."
"And it's not my fault that someone decided that it might be fun to use my car as a piñata!"
"No one just decides to smash a car," Mrs. Higgins claimed, "You mush have said something to someone and they got upset and decided to take it out on your car. Frankly, I'm not too surprised. All the other teachers constantly complain to me about your smart mouth…"
Racetrack rolled his eyes again, knowing that he wouldn't get anywhere in trying to convince his mom that his car's current state wasn't his fault.
"You could stand to be more polite, is all I'm saying," Mrs. Higgins dragged on. "No one appreciates back talk."
"Yes, Mom," Racetrack reluctantly agreed when it become apparent that he was expected to.
"I'm just glad you have a good friend like Sean," Mrs. Higgins continued, nodding appreciatively. "I wonder if he would mind me meeting his parents."
Racetrack shrugged, trying to avoid being asked any questions about Spot's nonexistent parents.
A few minutes past before the inevitable happened. "Have you met Sean's parents yet?"
"No," Racetrack answered. "Can I turn on the radio?"
Mrs. Higgins frowned slightly. "You don't listen to the radio while you're the one driving, do you?"
"No."
"Because it's a great distraction, Anthony, and I don't want you doing it. You kids always get so caught up in your music and you never seem to think about road safety while it's playing-"
"I don't listen to music while I drive, Mom," Racetrack assured her with a tone that clearly stated how annoyed he was.
"You know I just worry about you," Mrs. Higgins said in a pacifying manner.
"I know," Racetrack grumbled.
"I just want you to be safe."
"I know."
"And when this little stage of rebellion is over-"
"It's not a little stage of rebellion, Mom!" Racetrack snapped. "This is me! …Trying to get out from under the huge rock you've put me under since I was born, except you won't let me do that because you're too interested in the little kid who used to do whatever you told him to do."
"Anthony, that's enough!" Mrs. Higgins replied, turning into the rehabilitation center's parking lot. "Come on, let's go," she ordered stiffly as she opened her own car door.
"Hey, Mom and Dad left early," Sarah stated as soon as she saw her brother. "They told me to tell you that they expect you to have vacuumed before they get home."
"That's always been your job on Sundays," David pointed out.
"Yeah, but I'm not the one that punched my best friend in the face a couple of days ago, was I?" Sarah asked him smugly. "I have to admit, I kind of like being the good kid for once. Did you know Mom and Dad spent all of last night trying to figure out why their 'sweet, responsible boy' would resort to punching someone?"
David sighed. "Thanks for the guilt trip, Sarah, but it wasn't really necessary," he replied.
"Okay, big-sister-time, then, is it?" Sarah asked when she saw how miserable her baby brother looked. "So, let's go. Sit down on the couch and tell me about all of your problems."
David sat, not really questioning why Sarah was being so nice to him even though they hadn't really talked for years. "It's complicated."
"So explain it. I've got the time. I'm supposed to be watching you to make sure you don't do anything bad so it's either this or homework," Sarah explained nonchalantly.
"I don't know where to start."
"You can start with the real reason you punched Specs," Sarah suggested. She continued when David gave her a look of disbelief. "I'm not dense, David. You seem to have forgotten we attend the same school and I do hear things about you every now and then. So what happened? Did Specs cheat on you or something? Because if he did you did the right thing by punching him."
David looked confused for a minute before realization dawned on him. "You…you think Specs and I were actually going out?"
"You weren't?"
"No! I can't believe you… Why would I go out with Specs, of all people? He's my best friend; it would just completely complicate things."
"Oh, glad I didn't tell Mom and Dad then," Sarah admitted. "Because that would have been awkward. …And I probably would have gotten in trouble for listening to gossip."
"You were going to tell Mom and Dad?"
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Only when I got in big trouble and needed them to focus their anger on someone else," she told him, acting as if that was the thing she was expected to do. "Except the next time I got in trouble it was over failing some big test and it didn't seem appropriate to tell them then. After that I didn't get in trouble for awhile and it kind of just slipped my mind. But let's get back to the point. Why'd you punch Specs?"
"It's complicated," David repeated. "And I'm not all that sure I should tell you because you might decide to tell Mom and Dad the next time you get in trouble."
"Oh, so it's juicy then? Bring it on," Sarah challenged, looking a lot more interested now.
"You're planning to tell everyone at school, aren't you?"
"No! You're my kid brother; you wouldn't do that to you," Sarah promised. "Whatever you tell me will never leave this couch, okay? And I promise to never bring anything you tell me up ever again. Sound good? Now spill."
"I…I really don't want to tell you. Can't you just leave it alone?"
Sarah sighed. "You don't punch people, David. Even though I don't ever talk to you that is something that I can say with complete confidence. The fact that you punched your best friend means that something is very wrong and I'm concerned."
"I'm… No, wait, not I good place to start probably," David mumbled to himself, "I was just… That's not a good explanation. Specs is… Bumlets… I really can't explain. It's no big deal, okay?"
"It is a big deal and I'm going to keep nagging you until I know what's going on," Sarah declared. "Alright, so start at Bumlets. When did you start hanging out with him again? You're not taking drugs are you?"
"Of course I'm not taking drugs!" David snapped. "Bumlets is in my Calculus class. He's trying to get me to stand up for myself more."
"He's trying to get you to stand up for yourself more by… What? Encouraging you to punch kids in the face?" Sarah asked in confusion. "Okay, I like Bumlets, really, I do. We used to hang out together all the time back in middle school. But it seems to me like he's a bad influence on you. And don't even get me started on Skittery and Itey."
"This is why I didn't want to start with Bumlets," David confessed. "You wouldn't understand until I told you about what an asshole Specs has been lately and you wouldn't understand that until I told you that Specs found out about that rumor about him and I dating and freaked out and then I told him I was gay and accidentally hit on him and I talked to Bumlets about it and he really helped so now he's my friend and so are Skitts and Itey because they've been pretty nice about everything."
"Alright, you were right. I didn't understand that at all," Sarah admitted. "Give me a minute to convert the David-babble into proper English. So…you were never going out with Specs but you are gay. I'm going to completely ignore the part about you accidentally hitting on him because I don't understand how that could happen and I don't want too. Okay, so you told Specs you were gay and he freaked out. …How does Bumelts fit into this?"
"He talked me through my freaking out about Specs' freak out," David replied. "I sat with him, and Skittery, and Itey, and Dutchy, and Specs at lunch."
"Why was Specs at the druggie table. Mm…no what? Never mind. It's not essential and frankly I don't care about that much," Sarah said. "I think I got the basics anyway. Specs was disrespecting you and you punched him in order to stand up for your beliefs. I can stand behind that. You know, your life's a lot more interesting than I gave you credit for."
"Uh…thanks…I think," David replied.
"Oh, but if Skittery and Itey ever come back here again I'm shaving off your eyebrows while you sleep," Sarah warned. "Bumlets can still come over though. And I guess Dutchy, even though he's a little on the weird side. Now, get the hell out of here so I can vacuum."
"I thought I was supposed to vacuum," David pointed out in confusion.
Sarah rolled her eyes. "I only said that so I wouldn't have to. Duh. But, for today only, I decided to be a good sister and not take advantage of your extreme gullibility so get lost and go appreciate it."
"Thanks…again…I think."
"Okay," Hunter announced loudly while rolling up his sleeves. "Watch and be amazed! I'm going to taking a running start, using the couch as a couple of stairs. Then I'll leap off the top of the couch, using my momentum to climb the wall a few steps. When that happens I will have officially and successfully walked on a wall just like Spiderman."
"How do you know if you've done it?" someone in the watching crowd asked.
"I'll touch the ceiling with my foot, okay?" Hunter offered. "And if I succeed each of you chumps have to give me twenty bucks. Agreed?"
"Where's Spot?" Speed asked as soon as he walked into the room with a trembling Gadget hanging off him. "Gadget crashed a car even though he promised he wouldn't drive one ever again."
"You told me I'd be okay!" Gadget reminded Speed, still clinging to the other boy's shoulder.
"Yeah, I also told you not to crash," Speed pointed out. "You did crash, meaning you didn't follow my rules, meaning all promises are dropped."
"Shut up and watch my amazing stunt!" Hunter ordered before he started to run at the couch. He took the two steps needed to get on top of the couch, took a flying leap feet first towards the wall, and landed smack on his back before his feet even managed to touch the wall.
"That's farther than you usually get," Speed congratulated dispassionately. "Someone want to tell me where Spot is now?"
"Taking care of a kid Bam knocked out," Hunter mumbled from the floor. "Can you please call someone to look at me? I think I broke something."
Speed rolled his eyes. "You're fine, man. 'What doesn't kill us makes us stronger' and all that rot. Stop being a baby," he ordered before pulling Gadget along with him to continue their search for Spot.
"Hey! Creepy McCreeperston!" Speed called as soon as he stepped onto the stairs and saw Stealth. "You have any idea where Spot is?"
Stealth just stared as Gadget tried to take a few steps behind Speed.
"You don't have to actually say anything," Speed tried to persuade him. "You just have to point or…nod your head in the right direction or something."
Stealth continued with his staring.
"Okay, fine, you don't know where he is then," Speed assumed before continuing on.
"He's with Bam," Stealth finally answered, "They were talking about me." Unfortunately Speed was already too far away to hear him.
Racetrack followed his mother into the rehab center with great reluctance. He really didn't want to be here, but he had learned long ago that he had to pick fights with his mother and this was one that he knew he wasn't going to be able to win.
Immediately upon entering the building they were greeted by a man that looked to be in his late twenties.
"You must be Anthony," the man claimed with too much excitement. "And you're the boy's mother, the wonderful woman that I talked with on the phone, correct?"
Mrs. Higgins practically melted at the compliment. Wonderful woman? Yes indeed. "Oh my, well aren't you just the sweetest thing? I know you wanted to talk to Anthony alone before the group counseling started, but I was wondering if I could speak to you as well…alone…in your office, perhaps?"
"Of course," the man easily agreed. "We encourage parents to be as involved in their child's life as possible. Anthony? Why don't you just wait here for a few minutes? The other kids will start coming in soon so please don't be too shy to introduce yourself."
Racetrack solemnly nodded as he watched the two adults walk away. He slumped in a nearby chair. He already hated this place with a passion. He couldn't believe that Spot had thought that he would like it.
"I don't know you," a girl stated, interrupting Racetrack's musings as she sat down next to him.
"Not all that surprising," Racetrack answered back flippantly.
The girl didn't seem to take any offense. "So what are you supposed to be in for? Or did your parents just want you to get rid of you for a couple of hours? That happens every once and again."
"It's not really any of your business, is it?" Racetrack snapped at her.
The girl shrugged. "I guess it's not. Nobody's really had a problem sharing things with me before so I just thought…but I guess I shouldn't have made the assumption. The assuming possum never gets laid."
Racetrack looked at her in confusion. Possum? What? And why the hell isn't he getting laid?
"The assuming possum never got laid?" the girl asked, sensing the boy's perplexity. "It's an expression. Or it might do more like 'the assum possum gets laid everyday."
"I've never heard of any expressions that include a possum," Racetrack told her honestly.
"Huh. Oh! You know who would know? Spike! …Or is his name Split? …Spit? …Spitter? Spotter? Yellow spotted fish! I like the purple ones better though."
Racetrack moved a few chairs down in an attempt to get away from her. It was just his luck that the rehab wouldn't have any problem accepting a nut job or two.
Speed slipped into Spot's room, pulling Gadget along with him. "Spot! Yo, man, you in here? Gadget crashed another car."
"Get the hell out of here," Slingshot ordered from underneath the bed covers.
"Oh shit!" Speed exclaimed, covering both his and Gadget's eyes. "You're doing the whole…horizontal tango together and you didn't even bother to lock the door? What the hell's wrong with you two? Anyone could have wandered in here."
"I'm the only one here," Slingshot snapped in annoyance.
"You're…" Speed looked at Gadget for a second before continuing, "…M-A-S-T-U-R-B-A-T-E-I-N-G in Spot's bed?"
"No!" Slingshot answered, finally sitting up and letting the covers fall off him a bit. "As you can see I'm fully clothed. I was just taking a nap."
"I can spell masturbating, you know," Gadget spoke up, "I also know what it is. I've even engage in it. Like…three times a day…at least…for like, two years. Do I really have to keep telling you that I'm fourteen, not four? Also, you spelled it wrong; 'masturbating' doesn't have an 'e' in it."
"Well…you crashed the jeep like a four year old," Speed retorted.
"Four year olds can't even crash jeeps…their feet can't reach the gas pedals," Gadget muttered angrily under his breath.
"Spot's with Bam," Slingshot said, interrupting their argument. "If you want him he's in our room. If you wanted me then you're out of luck because I am taking a nice long nap."
"Alrighty," Speed accepted, "You just be sure Spot doesn't find out you slept in his bed."
"I plan on putting out," Slingshot told him matter-of-factly, "It should even things out quite a bit."
"Not in front of the kid, man," Speed whispered, jerkily nodding his head at Gadget.
Gadget rolled his eyes. "Let's just fucking go."
"Watch your language," Speed scolded as Gadget pulled him out the door.
They ran into Spot and Bam not five seconds after.
"Gadget crashed the jeep," Speed said immediately.
"So fix it," Spot ordered, rolling his eyes. He really didn't like Sundays in Brooklyn. He idly wondered what Racetrack was doing. He should be at the rehab place by now.
"Are you smiling?" Speed asked in confusion, interrupting Spot's thoughts. "Why the hell are you smiling? It's creepy. Please stop. Are you thinking of killing someone? A lot of people?"
"I'm not thinking of killing anyone," Spot roughly assured him.
"Are you thinking of killing me?" Speed asked in slight panic, not believing Spot. "Because that's just not cool at all. I promise not to talk Gadget into taking another joy ride, alright?"
"I wasn't even smiling," Spot denied.
"You totally were," Bam tried to convince him, "And it was super creepy because that was a smile of pure joy and pure joy to you means pain and misery for others."
"It wasn't a smile of pure joy," Spot argued. Jesus, god, and the holy ghost, hanging out with Racetrack was better than dealing with these complete idiots.
"He's smiling again," Bam announced in a worried voice.
"Who votes for leaving?" Speed asked hurriedly, already beginning to run away while pulling Gadget with him.
Bam immediately followed after them.
Spot rolled his eyes. What a bunch of incompetent morons.
"Thanks for letting me crash here, Mushie," Itey said as soon as he woke up on Mush's chest. "I know I was a pain in the ass, but I think the whole sleep over thing really helped."
"It wasn't any trouble," Mush assured him. "I just wish I could do more for you."
"It was my fault," Itey claimed as he rolled off of Mush in order to lie on his back in the bed. "I'm the one who made Skittery head for the hills with all that 'love' shit. I don't believe I actually told him that."
"You shouldn't blame yourself," Mush replied. "You opened yourself up to someone you love and they hurt you; you don't need to add guilt on top of everything else you're dealing with."
Itey sighed. "He seems fine with it too. I mean, he just acted like nothing was the matter. I thought… Everything we had together and he was able to ignore it so quickly. He acted fine. Didn't he act fine? Fuck, I'm starting to cry again. I need some beer in the worst way."
"No beer," Mush ordered. "You know that's not going to make anything better and I don't want to see you drunk. I'm sure Skittery's hurting too right now. He was just trying to cover it up and act okay. You were acting pretty okay too, by the time he got there."
"Yeah? Because I certainly don't feel okay," Itey argued. "My sinuses are clogged from crying all night, my throat hurts from all the smoking I did in order to try and relax, and it feels like someone ran over my chest with a dump truck. If I can't have beer can I have weed instead?"
"No drugs," Mush demanded. "They aren't a good way for you to deal with your problems. You just have to wait it out. It'll get better if you just give it time."
"Has anyone every rolled over your chest with a dump truck, Mushie?" Itey snapped. "It fucking hurts. I can't…I'm not going to be able to deal with this. I can't just wait; I need to do something about it. And I have to see him everyday. And he'll be happy and offensive and so Skittery that I won't be able to stand it. He's the person I call at two in the morning when I can't sleep. He's the person I skip class with. We spend every waking second of our lives either physically together or imagining ourselves being together…or at least I do. And now, suddenly, it's just gone. No more Skittery."
"You know you can call me whenever," Mush offered, trying his best to make Itey feel better.
Itey forced out a small chuckle as he roughly wiped away his tears. "You going to take his place, Mush? Can you be my fuck buddy, too?"
Mush looked shocked for a moment. "I…no. I'm not trying to replace him. I'm just trying to… I want to be there for you, you know? So if you need me I'm…here, okay?"
"Yeah," Itey nodded. "Sorry. …About the whole fuck buddy thing, I mean. I'm not exactly in my right mind."
"Well, who would be when their chest just got run over by a dump truck?" Mush asked with a sympathetic smile.
"Thanks for letting me sleep here, Little Buddy," Skittery said as he woke up and caught Blink sleeping on him. "I probably would have gone home and gotten fucked up on drugs and then gone out and done something incredibly stupid."
"I'm pretty sure you already did something stupid," Blink replied as he got off of Skittery. "You want to tell me what happened between you and Itey now?"
"Well, apparently you already think it's my fault, so why should I bother?" Skittery asked before he sat up in bed.
"I think I deserve an explanation of some sort," Blink declared. "I have no idea what the hell's going on even though everyone else seems to know perfectly well. I'd like to know what I'm involved in."
"You aren't involved," Skittery argued. "I just spent the night at your place because you're a friend, alright? It's no big deal anyway."
"You kept me up half the night because you couldn't sleep," Blink reminded him. "That kind of points to something being wrong."
"Itey broke a promise and I freaked out about it and now we aren't sleeping together anymore," Skittery snapped. "See? No big deal."
"You and Itey broke up? How is that not a big deal?" Blink exclaimed. "I want details. Now."
"Itey told me he loved me," Skittery admitted with reluctance. "And I freaked out about it and left."
"Itey told you he loved you? That's the problem?" Blink asked with disbelief. "Itey told you that he loved you and you just… What? Got up and left? Who the hell does that?"
"Me. I do that," Skittery snapped. "And if you don't mind I'm kind of drowning in the guilt as is it so if you could just lay off-"
"You're such a fucktard," Blink stated, making Skittery snap to attention. "Itey loves you and you love Itey. That's easy enough to see. What the hell's the problem with saying it?"
"I don't do relationships."
"Why not?" Blink asked, still angry.
"Because they make me happy."
Blink paused a second to try to work out his confusion. "And you don't want to be happy?" he asked slowly.
"Not flowers-and-chocolates happy," Skittery tried to explain. "I don't like the whole hearts-and-rainbows thing. I like chaos and drama and passion and fights and mayhem."
Blinnk rolled his eye. "And you think that by telling Itey you love him everything thing will change."
Skittery nodded.
"Fucktard! You already have a relationship, you dimwit. No one changes their entire personality just because they tell someone they love them."
"We don't have a real relationship…at least not in the romantic sense," Skittery argued. "I've done relationships before, Blink, and they don't work out. I suddenly start seeing 'em as my jailhouse. My head starts telling me all the things I can't do anymore. With Itey…we're fuck buddies. I do who I want, when I want. I tell him I…you know…him then we get in a relationship and I won't…you know… him and I'm not putting him through that."
"Have you ever told anyone that you loved them?"
"Seriously told them? No. That's kind of my other problem, isn't it? Can't do it."
Blink sighed.
"This is the song the never ends, yes it goes on and on my friends," the psycho girl mumbled darkly under her breath. She was really starting to creep Racetrack out. "Some people, started singin' it, not knowin' what it was, and they'll continue singin' it forever just because, this is the song that never ends, yes it goes on and on, my friends…"
Racetrack grit his teeth in frustration. He really couldn't take much more of this. Just when he was about to snap his mom and the counselor finally came out of the office.
"Anthony!" the counselor greeted again, still seeming way too excited about everything. "It looks as if we're finally ready for you. Do you mind stepping into my office for a bit?"
Racetrack shot another look at Psycho Girl before turning to nod at the counselor. No, he really, really didn't mind...at all.
"Goodbye Anthony," Mrs. Higgins said, reminding her son that she had yet to leave. She pulled him into a hug. "I'll be back in about an hour, okay? Try your best," she ordered him before pulling away and heading towards the exit.
Racetrack looked back at the counselor and saw him smiling at him in a creepy way. Okay, maybe he did have a problem being alone in an office with him.
"Shall we get going then?" the counselor asked happily, still sporting the too wide smile and too wide eyes.
Racetrack just nodded while idly wondering if it was the wrong choice.
"So!" the counselor began, practically shoving Racetrack into a chair before shutting and locking the door behind him.
Locking the door? Okay, that did not seem like a good omen at all.
"My name's Stan Chofsky, but you can call me Rambler," the man announced, still being so happy that it had to be fake. "Spot called ahead to make sure we took extra good care of you."
'…Extra good care…'? That didn't sound very calming either, but Racetrack just nodded blankly. He hadn't spent hours perfecting his poker face for nothing.
"So how is Spot anyway?" Rambler asked, dropping his creepy smile as he leaned forward in his chair and spoke with an excitement that seemed genuine. "I haven't really talked to him in a good number of years. Well, I talk to him, but not really. You know how it is. He pretty much just gives me orders and I follow them. It's a shame, really. But I understand. Of course I do. He still blames me for his brother's death. Of course he does. How could he not? I'm the guy that sold the dude the bag of coke that he OD'd on after all. But really, it wasn't my fault he never had any self-control. But Spot? He's never forgiven me for it. It's a shame, really. I used to really like him. Back when he was a kid at least. But you know how it is. People grow up. Of course they do. Why wouldn't they?"
He stopped for a second before his creepy smile slipped back on. He slowly got out of his seat and sauntered over to Racetrack in order to touch his cheek. "You have a really pretty face," he commented, back to sounding way too happy. "How easily do you bleed?"
Racetrack stood up abruptly, shoving the man away. He kicked around the door's handle as hard as he could, effectively smashing the lock before walking out of the building with a forced calm. He was going to kill Sean.
Spot had come into his bedroom to find Slingshot happily sleeping in his bed. He had literally kicked his second-in-command to the floor but before he could start yelling at him Slingshot had pointed out that Spot was smiling and it was really creeping him out. Without another word Slingshot was gone.
Typically Spot would have been curious has to why people kept telling him he was smiling when he wasn't, but this was the first time he had been left alone in his room during the day so he really couldn't bring himself to care all that much. He was just having a good time enjoying the silence.
"Okay, all! Watch and be amazed as I climb this wall!" Spot heard the muffled voice through the thin walls before a distinct thump came. Spot rolled his eyes. Hunter could be such an idiot. But it gave everyone else something to watch on Sundays instead of trying to find trouble so Spot refused to stop the stupid kid. Plus, the stupid fuck deserved all the aches and pains he got if he seriously thought he was anything like Spiderman.
Spot was abruptly interrupted from his musings when his door slammed shut.
"What the fuck Spot? What the hell was that?" Racetrack shouted immediately, "Is this your idea of a joke? Do you think this is funny? Because I am so very far from laughing."
"So I take it you met Rambler?" Spot asked with a smirk, clearly not feeling all that intimidated by Racetrack's shouting.
"Yes, I fucking met Rambler," Racetrack snapped. "He's an absolute nutcase! I can't believe my mother just left me there after she had talked to him in an enclosed room for ten minutes!"
"He's not that bad," Spot brushed off, "He's just a little too locked in his own head sometimes."
"He locked me in his office and told me I was pretty before asking how easily I bleed," Racetrack told him, "And the entire time he was just smiling at me and being completely creepy!"
"He was probably just thinking of all the ways it'd be fun to kill you," Spot guessed with nonchalance. "He does it all the time, but he never usually acts on it. Just tell him that you'd like to kill him in his sleep and before you know you'll be best friends."
"I don't want to be fucking friends with him," Racetrack replied angrily, "The guy's a damn maniac. I don't want anything to do with him!"
"You're being way too dramatic," Spot scoffed, "He's perfectly sane when he starts his rambling. If he starts to creep you out again all you have to do is ask him about something he likes."
Racetrack's anger was quickly replaced with surprise. "So all that stuff he told me…? …Everything about your brother? That was all true?"
Spot looked less than pleased. "Is he going around telling people about that shit? Yeah, it was probably true."
"About-?"
"Yes," Spot snapped to interrupt. "Stop asking."
"I didn't realize that was a sore spot for you," Racetrack replied honestly, "I didn't even know you had sore spots."
"It's not a sore spot," Sean denied. "You were just getting annoying."
"You have a sore spot," Racetrack repeated smugly.
Spot rolled his eyes, "It's not a sore spot, you retard. You don't know anything about it."
"So tell me about it," Racetrack demanded before sitting down on one corner of Spot's bed.
"And I'm guessing you're going to be annoying and sit there until I do?" Spot asked with some irritation.
"Pretty much."
"And you don't think I'll snap your neck to shut you up?"
Racetrack shrugged. "I get the feeling you want to talk about it."
"He wasn't really a brother," Spot replied, surprising Racetrack by answering but surprising himself more by telling the truth. "He took care of me after my parents died. I hated him. One day I saw him passed out on the living room floor. It was pretty clear to see he had OD'd. He was still alive but I just decided to leave him there. I packed up my stuff and left the next morning. He was the first person I killed."
"You didn't kill him," Racetrack argued quietly.
Spot just shrugged as if he didn't really care. "Doesn't really matter. He died, I moved out…shit happens…you know how it is."
"I really don't," Racetrack answered honestly before silence fell.
"You should probably be getting back to the rehab center," Spot finally reminded him. "Your mom's picking you up there, right?"
"Shit, yeah," Racetrack replied. "Fuck, there's no way I'll get there on time if I'm walking."
"I'll drive you," Spot offered without any of his usually smugness.
"This has been a good day," Dutchy stated as he sighed with contentment. "Like, a really good day, you know? I don't think I've ever felt this good in my entire life. Sex is awesomeness in a can…seriously."
"Glad I could make it so good for you," Bumlets replied with his regular monotone as he lied beside his friend on the bed.
"I can't even move right now," Dutchy commented. "And I don't even want to because I'm just so…fucking…satisfied."
"What can I say? I'm a sex god," Bumlets retorted with sarcasm.
"I can back that up," Dutchy realized with glee. "I'm not a virgin anymore. Jesus, I'm not a virgin anymore. Did you know that?"
"I was kind of there," Bumlets reminded him with a small smile. His smile dropped as he changed the subject, "So…you and me… There's nothing between us, right? You haven't changed your mind?"
Dutchy sighed in irritation. "Are you seriously still worrying about that? We're friends and that's it, all right? I know that fuck buddies is as far as our relationship goes in the sex department."
"I don't want to end up hurting you, Dutch," Bumlets explained with honesty as he rolled over onto his side in order to look his friend in the eye. "I mean that, okay?"
Dutchy yawned. "Bumlets, I love you, I seriously do, but not like that, okay? This won't become anymore than it is."
Bumlets nodded, not really sure whether to believe him or not. "I'm surprised your parents let you stay here last night," Bumlets remarked, changing the subject once again.
Dutchy's eyes widened. "Holy fuck and a puppy!"
Bumlets felt his stomach sink as realization dawned on him. "You never called your parents last night."
"I never fucking called my parents last night!" Dutchy repeated on a more panicked note as he jumped from the bed and started searching for his pants. "I never… Oh fuck. Oh fuck. This isn't good. This is not… this could quite possibly be the worst thing that will ever happen to me. They're going to think I stayed out all night so I could mess around with some guy and they're going to be right this time and I don't know how to react to them being right."
"Hey," Bumlets interrupted, grapping his friend's hand and pulling him back into the bed. "Chill for a minute, okay? Everything's going to be fine. Look, just go home, act normal, and just ride it out. I'll be here if you need me, okay?"
Dutchy tried to calm down, but it was quite apparent that he was still freaking out. "My parents are going to kill me. It doesn't matter what I say they're going to…they might… what if they kick me out? Oh god."
"If they kick you out then you come here," Bumlets replied firmly. "And you can stay for as long as you want."
"What if they send me away to get…fixed or whatever? I don't want to be fixed, Bumlets. I'm starting to like being gay."
"Then come here," Bumlets said again. "You're going to be eighteen in less than a month, right? Pretty soon they're not going to have any legal control over you at all so just…ride it out for a bit longer, all right? I'll be here if you need me."
"I don't want to go home," Dutchy whined. "I don't want to face them."
"They're probably worried about you and you really should go back, but if you don't want to I don't mind you staying here," Bumlets answered.
"I should go," Dutchy replied, trying his best to be responsible. "Will you stay by your phone in case I need you?"
Bumlets smiled. "Are you trying to turn me into a girl now? You want me waste the entire day by waiting by the phone?"
Dutchy faltered. "It's too much to ask for. I'm sorry, I shouldn't've-"
"I'll wait," Bumlets assured. "Now get the fuck out of here before your parents get even more pissed."
Dutchy jerkily nodded before heading towards the door.
Spot was busy driving one of his cars back to the hotel from the rehabilitation center where he had dropped Racetrack off. They had beat Mrs. Higgins there by less than a minute. It was something Spot was extremely thankful for because it meant he didn't have to engage in conversation with Rambler.
He was still trying to figure out what had made him tell Racetrack about Rambler.
Sure, he hadn't told Racetrack everything.
He hadn't told Racetrack that his guardian had OD'd on coke. He hadn't told Racetrack how his pseudo brother snorted coke at least three times a day. He hadn't told Racetrack that he (an eight year old that was already way too grown up for his age) had been the one to get the money for all the coke (and he definitely told him how he'd obtained the money). He hadn't told Racetrack how he had celebrated, actually celebrated on the day his fake brother was declared dead because it meant that he was finally free.
But he had told him the basics and that was a lot more than he did for most people.
So what made him do it?
As far as he could tell it was nothing. He didn't need to tell him. He didn't tell him to get something for him. He just…wanted to tell him. Clearly it was a moment of weakness. …And that was a bit more than weird because he was pretty sure he hadn't really had moments of weakness before.
He idly found himself wondering if Racetrack had even believed his story.
Jack slowly walked down some street he only vaguely knew wandering what to do with himself. He had no money so that ruled out…practically everything but walking.
He hadn't slept last night. After the late night and slightly illegal party in the park he couldn't bring himself to go to Swifty's; he felt too guilty over ditching him. He couldn't go to Bumlets, Dutchy's, Itey's, or Skittery's because he had quite blatantly told them that he wouldn't sleep over at their houses anymore. So, without anywhere comfortable to sleep and morning pretty much dawning anyway he had decided that it was probably better to not sleep at all.
Now he was cranky, hungry, and bored, but he really couldn't do anything about any of his problems.
Fuck, he had really screwed himself over.
He was wearing Swifty's clothes because those were really the only ones he had. He had left one pair of (dirty) clothing at Swifty's house and everything else he had was currently residing at one of the druggies' houses. It looked as if he'd be wearing this outfit to school tomorrow which would bring suspicion since all of his friends seemed to really concentrate on clothing. And what the hell would he say when they asked about it?
He supposed that he could always steal some clothes from a store but…he felt kind of apprehensive about that. If he got caught it would only make things worse. How would he go about explaining that he got caught shoplifting even though he was rich? Everyone would think he was a kleptomaniac.
How did things manage to get so screwed up?
He finally took another look at his surrounding. Fuck, where the hell was he?
Awesome. Not only was he hungry, tired, and dirty with no place to go now, on top of everything else, he was lost. Fucking lost.
He tilted his head up to the sky and closed his eyes, trying to keep from screaming or kicking something or…he didn't even know what at this point. He had lost control over everything and was pretty fucking close to just giving up. He officially sucked at life. He wondered how easily it would be to just quit. Admit defeat. Say, 'Okay, I lost. I give up. You win.' He just wanted it to end.
"Why if it isn't Jacky-boy," Sean's smug voice cut in. "Looking for a rematch?"
"I wouldn't put up much of a fight," Jack admitted honestly.
Sean took a second took look the other boy other before nodding to himself and sighing. "Right then. Let's go."
"And where, exactly, am I going?" Jack asked with suspicion.
Sean looked at him curiously for a few seconds. "I'm giving you a place to sleep since you don't seem to have one."
Jack looked surprised for a minute before glaring. "I don't need your charity, got it?"
"Yeah, of course you don't," Sean agreed with sarcasm. "Don't try and bullshit me; I know a homeless kid when I see them. I'm offering you a bed, food, and a shower with no questions asked. Fucking take the offer before I change my mind."
Jack soberly nodded his head in agreement, realizing that he couldn't really say 'no'.
A/N:
I've reposted chapters one through nine so far so if you ever find yourself with absolutely nothing to do you can feel free to reread those chapters. I haven't changed a lot, (it was mostly just spelling mistakes and what not) but there were a couple scenes I changed or took out.
Also, this story's one-year anniversary is coming up in approximately six weeks. I kind of want to write a chapter that has nothing to do with the plot as a celebration. I was thinking about letting you spend the day with all the Brooklyn OC's (and Spot, obviously) but if anyone has any other ideas I'd love to hear them.
Until Next Time,
Please Don't Hold Back
Oi! Where do you think you're going? Are you about to leave me without writing a review? That's just not cool. Come on now, do the right thing and send in a review. I promise to love you forever if you do.