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Spot Conlon was having a pretty shit day thus far. Some idiot on the printing line had fucked up the papes so you couldn't read shit, so the the morning crowd was wasted for the day. It started raining almost right after that, so its not like many people were taking pity on the newsies when they were getting soaked on the way to work.
Most of the younger kids were catching colds now because they hadn't been able to keep out of the rain or buy themselves something to eat, so he had to spend an hour with Sikes scrapping up food so they wouldn't be wasted for tomorrow. The sun had set now and it was cold and he forgot his fucking jacket because he woke up late today.
So when he did a double-take into an alley a couple blocks from his shit-hole apartment it was impressive that he even managed any surprise.
Racetrack Higgins, from Manhattan he might add, was struggling to stand up with one hand bracing the wall and the other clutching at his side. A smart man woulda kept walking, kept the blood off his hands and let someone else deal with it, but Spot always acted pretty stupid when it came to Race, so he groaned and walked over, well aware that he could probably drown himself in self-pity right now.
"Funny meetin' ya here," Spot said lowly, kneeling down and cursing because god everything was still wet from all the goddamn rain.
"Aw if you're lookin' for a good time I can't help ya out Spotty," Race said, trying to smile but quickly grimacing as he slid down the wall, resigning himself to sit.
Spot got halfway through a laugh before he really looked at Race, the kid was bad off, real bad. "What happened?" He ignored the slight flinch brought on by the sudden hardness of his voice. Race started to shake his head a bit and Spot cut him off, "And I swear ta God if you say nothin' I'll soak ya worse than this."
Race slumped down, looking weakly up and sighing, "I came ova' to collect some money, couple of your boys made some bets, couldn't pay." Spot let out a low growl, his boys knew fuckin' better than to overplay their hand with Manhattan boys, "I tried to strike a deal and got soaked."
"Who?" It really wasn't a question and they both knew it, you don't start trouble across the bridge like that, that was the point of being organized.
"It's dark Spot-"
"Bullshit it's dark, who was it?"
Race sighed heavily, he knew the way things worked though, "Carver and his gang, probably five of em' in all."
Spot clenched his fists, "Goddamn bastards, I'll get em' Race I fuckin' swear-" He stopped when he felt Race's hand touch his chest lightly, looked down to see his bruised face, he cut his lip up pretty bad too, from how he was sitting he might of cracked a rib or two. "Sorry Racer, c'mon, let's go."
He helped him up, slinging an arm around Race's shoulders, careful not to hit a pretty good sized scrape on his neck. Carver would be down before this time tomorrow, he didn't have to worry about that right now, right now Race was bleeding onto his shirt and catching his death, he could prioritize.
They limped out of the alley, taking a minute to adjust so Spot wouldn't touch one of Race's many injuries. When they made a left, heading toward Spot's apartment and deeper into the city, Race lagged a bit and looked up, "Ya can just drop me off at the bridge Spotty, I should get back."
Spot snorted, tugging Race further, "Ya think imma let you walk home like this? You'll either bleed out or get jumped, either way Jack Kelly'll be on my ass." Race rolled his eyes, giving in as they made slow progress toward the apartment.
They got there after half an hour even though it was only a couple of blocks away, every time Race winced in pain Spot had to adjust his hold, so it was slow going. They both knew they didn't have to worry about walking around Brooklyn at night, the only guy they had to look out for was currently struggling under the weight of his surprisingly heavy Italian friend. Said friend almost fell over when Spot had to get out his key, groaning when they finally got inside and had to go up the stairs.
"Damn Race, Manhattan's makin' ya soft, I live on the second floor, you'll live." Race snapped something about Manhattan and being tough but Spot really wasn't paying attention because his arm was killing him and he was still fucking freezing, the heat busted in this place most of the time.
Finally they got into the apartment and Race stumbled onto the couch, still gripping his side but Spot was pretty sure the bleeding had stopped, the stain hadn't grown any bigger anyway. "Okay strip kid," Spot ordered, grabbing a first aid kit from his bathroom, boys stopped by often enough when they got in a scrap so he stocked up.
"You outta ask me out to dinner first don't ya think?" Race quipped, pulling off his shirt and biting back another groan as he looked down at his side. He got knifed pretty good, over the ribs so they hadn't hit a kidney or nothing but still pretty bad. Spot smacked his head lightly when he sat down, sure that a few of Race's ribs were cracked now, bruises already started to form.
"Smartass," he growled, pouring a bit of alcohol on a cloth before cleaning off around the cut, fighting back the instinct to stop once Race yelped. "It's gonna sting, can't help it, hold still." Race did stop squirming, settling for letting out a string of curses in Italian and English.
Spot quickly finished, basically having to hold Race down when he poured alcohol directly on the cut, finally taping some gauze to it and sitting back. "Damn Racer it ain't that bad, fuckin' Christ."
"Easy for you to say Conlon, you looked awful happy when I was in pain, sadist."
"You're a child, I gotta tap your ribs sit up."
Race growled, doing as he was told and gritting his teeth as Spot, gently as he could, wrapped his torso in a thick layer of tap. "Tell Jackie he's gotta replace this in a few days, and the one on your side."
"I can do it myself, Jack ain't my mother," Race said, an edge in his voice, but Spot knew he wasn't really mad, he'd deny it to his grave but he knew Race loved being taken care of. Something Spot was awful quick to remind him of.
"Aw you love this Racer, don't lie," Spot quipped, grinning as Race stuttered and blushed, "You told me you did, remember? You got drunk and sai-" a pillow hitting his face cut him off as Race buried his head in his hands, clearly embarrassed. Spot threw it back, getting up and putting back his first aid kit. He then grabbed a couple of old rolls from his cabinet and tossed them at Race.
"Eat em' you're lookin' sick." He started making some coffee, somehow he was still fucking cold, and waited in the kitchen for it to be done. The silence between him and Race was light, they knew each other well enough to be quiet comfortably around each other.
Spot made two cups when it was done, walking back over to Race, who had grabbed a blanket and wrapped himself in it. "Thanks Spotty," he yawned, grabbing the cup and starting to gulp it down.
"Damn slow down, no one's gonna take it away," Spot said, noticing he'd already downed the rolls, "You really ain't eatin' enough over there are ya?"
Race nodded, swallowing, "S'not so bad, bunch of us are gettin' sick, we've been trying to give them more y'know?" Spot nodded, it had been like that all over with this shitty weather. "Jack's tryna get some more from the shelter but they won't take us no more," Race sighed, putting down his coffee and leaning back.
"S'like that over here too, winter's gonna be rough."
The air between them felt heavier all the sudden, both of them consumed in thought as they thought about the future, bleak to say the least. Spot was just starting to sink, thinking about how hard it was last year to get enough blankets for all the boys when Race spoke up.
"You got anything to drink?"
Spot smiled, getting up and grabbing a bottle of old whiskey from the kitchen, "I like the way you think, Manhattan."
Race smiled, reaching for the bottle and taking a sip, letting out a contented sigh before pouring some into the rest of his coffee. "That's damn smooth Conlon." Spot took the bottle back, taking a sip himself before screwing the cap back on, as much as he wanted to get drunk he felt a cold coming on and whiskey wouldn't help.
"Don't drink so much, I don't wanna deal with you hungover and sore in the morning."
Race smirked, throwing him a wink and saying, "Wouldn't be the first time Spotty."
Spot kicked himself for blushing, damn flirt caught him off guard was all, "Shut it Higgins, from what I remember you was always the one comin' onto me." Race laughed and moved over so that he was shoulder to shoulder with Spot, taking a sip of his spiked coffee and smiling happily.
"You're just lucky I'm hurt, you wouldn't be able ta resist me otherwise."
Spot groaned, pulling Race into a half headlock playfully, "Nah, I got guys in Queens better'n you."
Race started laughing again, partly from the joke and partly from the whiskey, and Spot rolled his eyes, getting up and yawning, "You should get some sleep, c'mon."
Accepting the offered hand, Race stood up, walking on his own now, though a little unsteadily. He sat down on Spot's bed heavily, thanking Spot when he tossed him a hoodie and pants to sleep in. Spot changed himself, turning off the light once Race was done and getting in bed. Race was already drifting off, exhausted, and Spot soon joined him.
"'Night Racer," he murmured, gripping his pillow and allowing himself to relax.
"'Night."
"Imma kill Carver y'know."
"Goodnight Spot."
"...Goodnight Race."