Chapter Text
The sun shines down onto the black pavement, making it a miserably hot day. Race stands outside of the Sheepshead Racetrack selling papers. Today, he's with Specs selling papers. Usually Manhattan newsies wouldn't be allowed to sell in Brooklyn, but Jack managed to convince Spot to let Race sell there. Right now, the two of them are standing by the water fountains. It was Specs who first recommended the idea, since it's so hot, there's bound to be plenty of people coming over to them. It was a pretty good idea, things were going just fine until a group of visibly drunk men walked up to him and Race.
"What are you doing by a white drinking fountain?"
The man glared at Specs, an accusatory tone in his voice. Race stepped between them.
"We were just tryin' to sell some papers, no harm in trying to make a day's pay, right?"
The man shoves Race's shoulder backwards. Race retaliates by kicking him in the knee. He stumbles for a second but soon the other men in the group start trying to beat on the two of them. Race tries to drag Specs away from them but one of them grabs his arm.
"Specs! Go back to Manhattan, I'll catch up with you in a bit!"
"But, I can't-"
"Just go!"
Specs just barely vanishes from Race's sight when one of them lands a solid punch to his ribs. Race crumples to the ground and covers his head, that's all he can do now. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to just wait it out. They keep kicking him and he can feel blood running down his chest. Eventually he succumbs and falls unconscious.
-
Spot heard yelling from near the racetrack while he was walking back to the lodging house. The first thing he thought of was that one of the Brooklyn newsies got into a fight. But then he heard a struggled cry for help. He ran over to where the call came from and saw a group of disheveled-looking men around someone who seemed to be on the ground. He pushed through them, and some of them yelled curses at him, and one tried to hit him, but completely missed. He shoved the men away from whoever was in the middle of the group. Once the men had dispersed and gone to leave, he looked down at the boy on the ground. He instantly recognized him as Racetrack Higgins, the Manhattan newsies that sells in Sheepshead. He remembers the time Jack had to go over to Brooklyn just to convince him to let Race sell there. He picks up the unconscious boy and lifts him over his shoulder, Kelly would kill him if one of his newsies got soaked on his turf. Spot carried Race back to the lodging house and brought him into his room. Laying him down on the bed, he leaves the room to get Stitches. He glances back into the room before shutting the door. He goes down into the dining room and spots Stitches among a group of younger newsies. He taps on his shoulder and gestures to the stairs. Stitches excuses himself from the card game he was playing with the littles and follows Spot up the stairs. He follows Spot into his room and gives him an odd look when he sees the blond boy passed out on his bed.
"I found him getting soaked by a bunch of douches at Sheepshead so I brought him here."
Stitches eyes him quizzically
"Why do you need me then?"
Spot gestures to a red spot on his shirt that is spreading.
"Shit, well I guess I can't really argue with that. I'll be right back"
Spot nods and Stitches quickly leaves the room. He unbuttons Race's shirt and puts it to the side, inspecting the different cuts. Stitches comes back in with a small box and sits down on the bed next to Race.
"What'd he do to get soaked?"
Spot shakes his head.
"No idea, all I know is that he was passed out when I found him and Kelly will personally murder me if he dies, no pressure."
Stitches snickers and opens the little box. He pulls out a small needle and fishing line and gets to stitching Race up.
-
Race wakes up to a shooting pain in his side. He tries to sit up and his side explodes with pain. He lays back down and hears a voice beside him.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
He opens his eyes and looks in the direction that the voice is coming from. Spot waves at him, and immediately goes back to shuffling the deck of cards he's holding.
"What happened?"
"You took a pretty bad beating earlier, so I took you back here to get you stitched up."
Race sits up again and hisses in pain, and pats his chest.
"Where's my shirt?"
"There was blood on it, and you won't be out in public anytime soon anyway."
Race splutters and tries to stand up.
"I need to get back to Manhattan."
Spot stands up and pushes him back into a sitting position. He lets out a painful cough, and his hand comes back with blood on it. Spot looks concerned for a second but quickly regains his unfazed expression.
"Good luck walking all the way back, Stitches says one of your ribs is broken, and I'm not carrying you again."
Race itches at the bandages wrapped around his waist.
"Can I at least get a shirt?"
Spot nods and opens his dresser, he pulls out a red shirt with vertical black stripes.
"This one might fit"
He hands it to Race. Race puts it on. The shoulders were a bit wide so they hung down, but otherwise it fit.
"How long until I can sell again?"
"I don't know, you'll have to ask Stitches."
"Won't Jack wonder where I am?
"I sent a kid to go tell him."
Race adjusts his shirt, it feels odd wearing a shirt with Brooklyn colors.
"Why did you help me? I'm not even Brooklyn."
"I couldn't just leave you there, when I got there those guys were still beating on you."
"Well, thanks."
Spot flushes slightly
"No problem, I'll bring you some food later, just don't do anything stupid."
He hands Race the deck of cards and leaves the room. Race lays his head back on the pillow and slowly falls back asleep.
-
Spot leans up against the door to his room, wondering if he should go in. Race might be asleep and he didn't want to wake him up. It was past midnight and he was exhausted. He opens the door as quietly as possible and steps lightly into the room. He sits down on the chair next to the bed and eventually drifts off. This is gonna be a long ride.