Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The newsies for years sold papers. The same ol' hawking headlines and carrying the banner. Until Joseph Pulitzer decided it would be best to raise the newsies prices. The boys took it upon themselves to strike against it just like how the trolley workers fought for equal pay.

The first order of business? Get the other boroughs to team up with Lower Manhattan and fight against Pulitzer and Hearst, who only thought of the boys as nothing. It's hard for a council of people to agree on one thing. Unless you were a newsie there was actually one exception..

They won't strike until Spot Conlon and Brooklyn are on strike. They want to know what Brooklyn’s got to say. Fisheye.

Well shit, so much for it being hard.

Race, Jack, Davey, and Les were on the Brooklyn bridge. They were halfway to the other side by now, joking and talking all the way there. More like Race and Les were joking, Jack and Davey spoke at a normal volume about their gameplan. At least that’s what Race assumed for he wasn’t even listening.

Les clung onto Race's shoulders, holding his wooden sword high above it all. Race knew Jack had a plan, he always did when it came to Spot and all his cronies. This time they had newcomers on the scene. Davey and Les hadn't ever been to Brooklyn. Let alone seen any of Spot's boys.

Stepping onto Brooklyn's turf was like stepping into molten lava. Race really wished he went with the safe choice, Midtown, instead of feeding himself to the dogs. He almost went through with it too, but something in the back of his head was screaming for him to go with his gut. Which so happened to be exactly why he was now in this predicament.

So, Race decided to distract himself with what he knew how to do best, be annoying.

It all started with a few jokes, everything felt lighter when Race got the kid to smile. Now twenty minutes later, Les was on his shoulders pretending that Race is his loyal steed. Race was fully in character until they stepped off the bridge, Brooklyn soil.

That certain heaviness in his chest returned faster than Race could keep up with.

He gently set Les back down onto his feet. Les gave him a confused eyebrow raise then an exasperated huff. But ultimately didn’t say anything once he realized they were off the bridge.

Race’s throat felt uncomfortably dry, this obviously wasn’t Race’s first time in Brooklyn. So why was he so nervous now? If he thought about it too hard he almost couldn’t stomach it. But he’d stepped foot on this very ground more times than he could count on his fingers. He would’ve never gotten his name if he’d stayed put in Lower Manhattan, who would Racetrack Higgins be without the Sheepshead races?

Who knew everything could spiral out of control because of a seriously short temper and a deal with a King?

May 1899

It was a surprisingly warm day for it being May, not that Race minded. He was currently walking away from the Sheepshead Racetrack with a pocket full of coins and a grin on his face. Race had trusted his gut and bet his money on a certain horse and won! The longer Race thought about the odds the more he felt like he was on top of the world! He began counting his winnings in the palm of his hand, grinning wider the higher he counted. Race was about to get the final total when he slammed face first into someone who definitely wasn’t there a second ago.

“Hey! Watch where you’re goin’ will ya? You made me lose count!” Race exclaimed before he could stop himself. He found himself having to glance up at the figure who definitely bumped into him and not the other way around. The boy was a bit older than him, apparent by how muscular his build was. He wore a black eyepatch that covered his right eye. The guy's chest puffed out as he huffed like he was some kind of angry bird.

“How’s about you watchit'?" He spat, Race blinked. Instead of cowering, Race let out a mix of scoff and a snicker.

“Okay then, sorry that you got in my way.” Race rocked back on his heels, pulling open his pocket to stow away his winnings. Mr Toughguy didn’t say anything, instead he just gave Race a death glare that would probably scare off someone who didn’t just win a particular bet he never had luck on his side for before. Race was impressed by its intensity at least but that was all that it had going for him.

Race stepped to the side and continued down the sidewalk, making faces to himself as he processed whatever that was. He would’ve kept walking if it wasn’t for the odd feeling that he was being followed. Of course his gut yet again proved itself right when he looked over his shoulder to see Mr Powerhouse stalking behind him.

Instead of running, which would’ve been smart, Race instead spun his body back around and faced the guy head on.

"I said sorry, what more ya' want?" Race raised an eyebrow as he popped his cigar in his mouth. The boy squinted his only visible eye.

"You's ain't from around here are ya.." He said lowly, finally at that Race shrunk in on himself.

"I jus' came for a visit is all, came from the sheepshead. I actually won a bet-"

"I's don't care, blue." The guy cut him off, stepping closer to him. Race took a step back in response, that’s when he noticed how the boy in front of him wore a shredded red flannel. Spot Conlon's turf, Spot Conlon's boys.

Yeesh, the rumors weren't wrong then. Them Brooklyn boys big.

"How do I's know you aren't jus' sellin' on our turf?" He took another step, Race took yet another step back.

"See any papes on me?" Race smirked as the Brooklyn boy actually paused to look at him closer. Race thought about the couple extra pennies he scored earlier, selling at the Sheepshead was like a goldmine.

A little white lie never hurt anyone, right?

Without warning Race was stumbling backward and was now shoved up against a brick wall with a fist balled in his shirt.

"Don't play dumb wit' me blue." Brooklyn boy snarled. Race winced when his head hit the brick.

"I'm not playing dumb with ya'—" Race spoke quickly, stopping himself before he could start stammering.

"Then what’s all tis' in you’s pockets?" With his free hand the guy reached into Race's vest pocket, pulling out Race’s pile of assorted coins.

"Hey! Those are my winnings you thieving vazey son of a–!" Race stomped on the guy's foot, what came from it was the sound of his various precious coins hitting the ground. The guy without a second to waste pulled Race away from the wall like he was some ragdoll that weighed nothing.

"..you little—" With a harsh shove Race stumbled back. Catching himself, Race scoffed, if he wanted a fight he was sure as hell going to get one. He lunged at the guy with full force.

This guy wasn’t going to just steal his money, drop it all over the floor, and get away with it!

Race shoved him back as hard as he could. The guy lost his footing slightly. Enough for Race to punch him clean across the face. The Brooklyn boy’s face whacked to the side, he grunted as he wiggled his jaw.

Uh oh. Race’s stomach dropped as he took a step back. He managed to dodge a matching swing from the other, and at that victory he finally started to make a run for it.

It was short lived, the guy reached his stupidly massive arm out and grabbed his shoulder like it was yet again nothing. He pulled Race close and sent his fist straight into Race’s gut. If that wasn’t enough, he shoved Race to the ground after.

Race got the wind heavily knocked out of him, he couldn’t goddamn breathe. He gasped for air pitifully, trying to cover it up with a low groan. If things couldn’t get any better, Race hadn’t braced himself for landing and smacked his head hard against the pavement. It was all a blur but somehow Race ended up on his back.

That boy had some muscles, Race didn’t stand a chance, perhaps he may have been a little too cocky? He barely lifted a finger and now Race was floor-bound.

"What’s goin' on here, York?" From the alleyway came a voice. The Brooklyn boy, whose name must be York whipped his head around, his furrowed brow dropping.

"Boss, I's found blue on our turf." York pointed, suddenly acting like a tattletail. He might be all muscle and not much of anything else after all. Race felt relief wash over his body, until he registered who York was referring to. Race lifted his head up, ignoring the heavy pain that pulsed through his entire head. Spot Conlon the king of Brooklyn himself stood with his arms crossed with a blank expression. This wasn’t the first time Race had ever crossed paths with Spot. He’d been rather good at avoiding the Brooklyn boys. Unless he was accompanied by Jack, which he definitely wasn’t with currently.

So in every sense of the word, Race was screwed. Not that he was going to act like it, that is, Race never backed down. Power through it to get through it, that became his motto in a way. Which is a completely healthy mindset to have.

There was a chilling moment of silence, Race was sure that Spot was deciding what form of execution Race was in for at that moment. To preoccupy himself in what may be his final moments, he bit his tongue and pulled himself up. Taking it upon himself to use the nearest light post as a helping hand. His eyes followed the crime scene that was his scattered coins. With the two of them distracted he quietly began picking them up, making quick glances up at them.

"Leave em' be, he's one of Jack's boys." Spot finally broke the silence and waved a dismissing hand, his gaze lowering in York’s direction. Even though he had to look up at the not so tough guy. Race tilted his head as he heard York begin to fight back.

Spot’s expression darkened as he looked at York through his brows. York’s mouth snapped shut at that. Spot huffed, shoved past York and held a hand out for Race. Race blinked at the gesture, Spot remained where he stood. With great caution, Race took Spot's hand, pulling himself up. He couldn’t help the cocky grin that tugged at his lips, brushing himself off in the process.

"A ‘hattan boy, aye'? What’s a hattan' boy doin' in Brooklyn without Kelly?" York actually sounded surprised, surprising Race himself with his ability to actually show other emotions other than rage.

"Gee Spotty, you sure have some bright ones—" York growled, Race just smirked at him.

"Don't call me that." Spot scowled at the nickname.

Silence fell over the three, Race awkwardly rocked on his heels. York and Spot shared a long look. Race could have sworn it was like they were having a conversation with just their eyes. York blinked and grumbled, Race smiled wider.

"Like I said.." Race shoved his money in his pocket.

"I was at the sheepshead, no pape sold on ya' turf. I already sold my lot back home." Race leaned forward, scratching the back of his head. Yet again ignoring how even that slight pressure hurt, this time it was harder to do so.

"York get outta' here's, I'll deal wit' ‘blue’." Like an obedient puppy York began moving, passing Spot, and shoving past Race harshly. He slammed his shoulder into Race’s, making the ‘hattan boy’ stumble. Before Race could even scoff he was off down the street and into a nearby alleyway. Race gave Spot an exasperated look, Spot didn’t grace him with a change in facial expression.

"You's too. Git' outta' here. You's don't belong on this side of the bridge." Race was about to respond when he suddenly and finally became aware of the burning headache that stabbed into his skull. Everything felt foggy at an alarming rate.

"..but–" Race trailed off, losing his train of thought at that same alarming speed. There was a distant ringing in his ears, the more he thought about it the louder it got. The pitch made Race's head scream. Everything around him felt like it was spinning, the world around felt empty as the ringing took over his thoughts. With that.. his knees gave out.

Chapter Text

"woah there-" Spot to his best ability against Race's heavy body, caught him by the under arms.

Spot couldn't believe the scene that played out in front of him. He felt like he was watching a moving picture. He now found himself holding the practically unconscious arms of one of Jack's boys in his hands. With a grunt he pulled Race's limp body into the alleyway he was originally hiding in. He pushed the blonde to sit up.

"okay. you can wake up now." Spot smacked Race's pale cheek. For a moment the blonde didn't respond. "Mm.. I'm up, I.. I'm up." Race's words slurred; his eyes opened heavily. "i's gonna need you to keep you's eyes open." Spot demanded as he pulled Race back up on his feet. "I don't feel real well." The blonde chuckled.

"the hell- did York soak ya'?" The other just shrugged, Spot rolled his eyes. He slung Races arm around his shoulder. He was off into the alleyway, dodging debris and garbage with ease. Spot in an open patch watched closely at his boys at the docks, watching if any of them saw their leader. When no one batted an eye, he was turning the corner for the Brooklyn lodging houses very own fire escape.

His calves screamed at him as he hit the last set to his room. Being the king had some perks. Like having your own private room big enough to fit a nice bed, bedside table, and cramped desk. Spot with Race giggling all while draped over his shoulder set the other down gently onto his bed.

"You.. get your own room?" Race took a look around the medium sized room, almost in awe. "yeah, bein' king has its perks." He smirked lightly. He turned to dig into his desk, while walking Race to the house he noticed his knee was scraped up as well. He pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a roll of gauze.

After patching up Race's wounds, which left the other with gauze wrapped nicely around his right knee. "wait here for a second." Spot stood up and opened his door with a creak. He closed it behind himself leaving Race alone.

Race ended up lying upside down over the edge of the bed with his cigar dangling out of his mouth, which didn't help his headache nor the fog one bit. There was a small knock on the door, Race perked up. He sat himself upright and cursed when the blood rushed to his head. The door creaked back open once more.

"Boss, have you's-" Hotshot poked his head in. Instead of Spot he was greeted by Race's surprised expression. "Racetrack?? What are you's doin' here's?" Hotshot, to say the least, looked flabbergasted.

"Smacked my head." Race blinked, his reply muffled by his cigar between his teeth.

"Boss didn't rough you up did he?" Hotshot with caution shut the door behind her. Race shook his head, hissing when his headache spiked. "Nah, wasn't him. That vazey bitch, York." The Manhattan boy grumbled; Hotshot audibly laughed. "Makes sense, boy can't handle his anger real well." The other clutched his stomach. She dragged over Spot's desk chair to be in front of Race.

"So.. where's Boss anyway'"

"Went out."

"..where?"

"To get somthin'"

"Very descriptive. Thanks for you's wise words." Hotshot rolled his eyes. Race's eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinted in a confused manner.

"I wouldn't call my words 'wise' but.."

"Race. I's was bein' sarc-"

The door opened without a knock. Spot stood in the doorway with a glass jar wrapped in a towel.

"Heyy Boss, there you's are..." Hotshot sat awkwardly, his lips pressed in a thin line. "shot, what are you's doing here's." Spot asked. However, with the tone of Spot's voice it sounded more like a statement than a question.

"Oh, I jus' wanted to tell you's I's got a response from Midtown about our offer-"

"What offer.?" Race interrupted, snapping out of his zoning out episode. Spot glared at Hotshot. She shrunk in on himself as he came to the realization.

"Shit Boss, was I's not supposed to say anythin'?" Spot shook his head as he pushed Hotshot aside. "we's will talk later, run along." Hotshot squinted, her eyebrows furrowing. He got up from the desk chair and left the room, leaving the atmosphere thick with tension.

The silent room was almost deafening. Spot sighed, rolling his shoulders. He passed the towel covered jar over to Race. The blonde held it in both his hands. The jar was just cold enough that Race wanted to shiver. He glanced up at Spot who had been awkwardly hovering over the blonde. Racer raised an eyebrow.

"What's this for?"

"for you's head." Spot stated plainly. Race unwrapped the towel from the glass. The jar had been filled almost to the top with small ice cubes. "huh.." Race nodded, almost impressed with the thinking. He placed the frigid glass against the throbbing pain in the back of his skull. His eye twitched when his headache spiked.

"were you selling at the sheepshead?" Spot sat himself down where Hotshot once was. His eyes darkening as he made eye contact with the Manhattan boy. Race smirked at him, on the inside his nerves stabbed at his chest.

"Are you making a mysterious deal with Midtown?" Spot blinked, only allowing Race's cocky smirk to widen. The other rolled his eyes, running his hands over his face.

"It's none of ya' business, Higgins. I's not gonna ask again.. Were you selling at the Sheepshead." Spot's hands balled up into fists. Race almost recoiled, Spot wasn't really good at asking questions Race decided. Spot's darkened gaze and the threat of being punched was what made Race crack.

"A couple.. yeah."

"jesus. So I's made York back off for nothin'?" Spot stood up again, towering over Race. Race could've sworn he could see Spot's upper lip hold back a smirk, but he wasn't certain. His head hurt..
The blonde scratched the back of his head. Silence fell over the two again, Race didn't like the quiet.

"Let's make a deal, yeah?" Spot sat back down, fidgeting with his thumbs. Race raised an eyebrow, his head tilting in intrigue.

"You's can.. sell at the Sheepshead- under one of my boys watch.. if you don't go blabbin' your mouth to Kelly about what you heard." Spot deadpanned. Race had never been so confused and honored at the same time. Spot Conlon was making a deal with him?

"You haven't even told me the offer." Race added, Spot's mouth snapped shut. He hesitated for a good minute before opening his mouth.

"..the Midtown lodge ran out of bunks and I and Brooklyn offered to house some of them boys for the time bein', happy?" Spot leaned back in his chair, hitting the back rest with a 'hmph'. Race couldn't think straight let alone wrap his head around Spot making an offer like that, especially for Midtown.

"I never would have pinned hospitality on you, Spotty." Race joked, laying upside down again. He managed to forget how any sudden movement hurt. Spot scoffed as he pulled his hat off and ran a hand through his hair.

"Don't call me that."

"Yeah.. yeah." Race trailed off, the blonde began to noticed how Spot's hair moved so smoothly.. it looked so soft.. he wanted to touch it.. there was more silence once again. Was Race dreaming? The thought only crossed his mind when he suddenly felt as if he couldn't feel his fingers.. Race looked up from his hands only to be met with Spot's intense stare.

"So.. Lemme' get this straight. You are lettin' me sell at the sheepshead whenever I wanna'?" Race asked. Spot continued to stare at him blankly, leaning forward in his chair.

"..with one of your boy's watch..." Race rolled his eyes. With that Spot nodded, straightening his back once again.

"Do we's have ourselves a deal?" Spot raised an eyebrow, Race's eyes squinted as he contemplated it. He'd never have to deal with almost being robbed ever again, plus he could brag he's made a deal with the king of Brooklyn himself... Race sat upright again, cursing again at the rush.

"It's a deal, Brooklyn." Race spat into his open palm and held it out for a handshake. "Hmph- It's a deal, Hattan'" Spot spit into his own and they shook hands. Race was allowed to sell at the sheepshead.. only if he kept his mouth shut.

"Does that head of yours still hurt?" Spot asked once they pulled away. "It's not as foggy as earlier but- aw.. are you worried about me, Spotty?" Race teased. Spot's face scrunched up in disgust.

"No, I just want you out of my bed." Spot deadpanned. Race snickered under his breath, when he made eye contact with Spot his laughter ended abruptly. He shrunk in on himself at the hot anger that Spot conveyed.

...

The time was inching towards sundown. Race finally felt like he could maybe actually stand up properly without a throbbing headache! The Manhattan boy needed to get back home. As much as he "enjoyed" his surprise vacation, he needed to get going.

"..are you's able to get back to Hattan' on you's own.?" Spot asked. He actually sounded for once like he was asking a question instead of a demand. Race, to distract himself from the pit forming in his stomach, comedically rubbed his chin in thought. He took a deep breath in and scooted himself off of Spot's bed. The springs of the mattress creaking at the loss of Race's weight. The blonde hoisted himself up. He was inches taller than Spot and it was noticeable. Race knew Spot had a gnarly bite, but he couldn't help but snicker at the height difference. Race expected the world to spin and his knees to buckle once more. But all he felt was the ground beneath his feet.

"I think I can make it on my own." Race decided. "Mind if I take's this?" Race gestured towards the jar as he shook it slightly, the water sloshing behind the glass.

"Whatever-" Spot mumbled. "Take the fire escape down, don't get in anymore trouble." Spot demanded. Race rolled his eyes. He climbed through the window and his boots clanged against the metal platform. When Race didn't leave immediately, Spot looked at him puzzlingly.

"Thanks for.. not soakin' me." Race said, bitting his lip as Spot was quiet. It was like that for almost too long before Spot began to speak.

"Thanks for not crackin' you's skull open." Spot replied, earning a genuine laugh from the depths of Race's pit stomach. The blonde was relieved it didn't hurt to laugh anymore.

"Yeah that wouldn't have been fun to explain to Jackie-boy now would it." Race said in between giggles. Spot nodded, watching silently as Race's giggles subsided.

"See you around?" Race asked, raising an eyebrow with his usual smirk.

"Not too often, Higgins. Don't get you'self hurt here again." Spot mirrored the blondes smirk, genuinely surprising him. Before Race could get another word in Spot tipped his hat and turned on his heel. He opened his bedroom door and closed it behind himself.

Race took his time down those metal steps. The house alleyway was cleaner than Manhattans, which surprised the blonde a bit. He popped his cigar back in his mouth as he examined the jar full of cold water that was now in his possession. Why did he ask to keep it??

...

Race made it back to Manhattan in one piece. As soon as he walked into the lodging house he was met with smiling faces and animated conversations. The complete opposite of the Icy feeling of Brooklyn. Great timing Race made, he thought to himself. He walked towards the dining room, focusing in on a certain group at the table.

"I am telling you! She was real pretty and she winked at me!" Romeo exclaimed as he leaned back in his chair "For someone named Romeo.. is there a reason you don't have a Juliet?" Albert joked, cocking his head to the side. Romeo gasped dramatically one of his hands covered his "heart".

"Your hearts on the other side." Finch piped up, the group erupted into a fit of laughter. Romeo embarrassingly dipped his head down. Race reached his arm over the chair and rubbed Romeo's hat over his eyes. Romeo whipped his head up to look up at his 'attacker.' Race wiggled his eyebrows as he twisted the cigar in his mouth with his teeth.

"Heya Racer! Where you been?" Elmer asked, the tables attention was now on the blondes sudden appearance. He hopped himself up onto the wooden table. "I was in Brooklyn.." Race replied. The group's eyes collectively widened. Everyone at once began to ask questions.

"Brooklyn?!"

"Did you see one of Spot's boys?"

"Did they soak ya?"

"Did Spot know you were there?"

"Don't tell me—"

Race blinked. "I's here in one piece aren't I?" Besides the concussion Race wanted to say, bitting his tongue. "I won a bet at the Sheepshead—"

"Ooh, Racer you a rich man now?" Albert shook Race's shoulders. Race grinned, ignoring the small pain in his head.

He suddenly felt another hand on his shoulder, a tight grip. Race whipped his head around to see the one and only cowboy.

"Jesus, Racer. Where have you been, I been lookin' for you since lunchtime." Jack said, the other boys simultaneously began to whistle and whisper 'OooOoOo's to each other. Jack smiled at the group before turning back to the blonde, expecting an answer. Race put on his best poker face.

"Got distracted at the sheepshead tis' all. Sorry Jackie-boy-" Jack waved a hand, brushing it off.

"It's nothin' jus' glad you ain't' missing or anything. So, did you win?" Jack asked, Race flashed him a cocky smile.

"Jackie-boy, when do I ever not win." He winked, digging in his pocket and pulled out his proud earnings.

…

Some boys began to head off to bed for the night. Race however wasn’t tired, apparently neither was Albert. The two had been talking to each other on the floor for a good amount of time. Until there were only the two of them left.

“So, Racer?” Albert began, Race tuned his head to look Albert in the eye. “Yeah, Al?”

“What were you actually doing in Brooklyn?” Albert asked, almost out of nowhere. Race raised an eyebrow. “Winning a good bet at the Sheepshead? Al, I already told-”

“Racer, I know you. You never stay in one place.” Albert said. Race blinked, Albert was right and Race absolutely knew it. The other could read Race like it was nothing. The blonde looked around the practicality vacant dinning room and sighed.

“Okay you caught me.” Race rolled his eyes with a smile. Albert’s eyes practically glittered with excitement.

“Really?! What-” Race put a hand to Albert’s lips, shushing him. “You gotta’ promise to keep you mouth shut.” Race smirked as Albert’s face contorted with concern. “Race, you’re scarin’ me a lil-” Albert said, his voice muffled by the blonde’s hand.

“You think I be lyin’ but.. I’ve made a deal with Spot Conlon himself..” Race said, the smirk turning smug. Albert’s eyes widened. Race let the others face go and Albert clasped his hands on Race’s forearms.

“No way, you jokin’-”

“I’m serious, Al.”

“What happened?” Albert asked as his eyebrows furrowed.

“I was on my way back from the Sheepshead when one of Spot’s boys started a fight.” Race paused, now.. how was he going to explain this without telling Al about the Midtown offer? Albert was staring intensely at Race, waiting almost impatiently for him to continue.

“Spot showed up and made a deal wit’ me. I can sell at the Sheepshead whenever I wanna’.. If! I leave his boys alone.” Race finished and Albert’s eyes squinted.

“But his boy was who started the fight?” Albert cocked his head to the side a little too far.

“I know! That vazey bitch hit me to the ground first! Sayin’-” Race put on an exaggerated impression of York, deepening his voice significantly. “You sellin’ on our turf!-” Albert laughed as Race went back to his normal voice. “He was makin’ ungrounded accusations!” Race exclaimed. He learned that from Weasel, but that’s unimportant.

The two laughed for another good while until it was time for bed. Albert was spending the night tonight. The best friends made it up the stairs to the bunks and got into their familiar beds. Race preferred the bottom bunk as Albert was top bunk. Race placed the now empty jar on the bedside table and placed his cigar into it. He stared at it blankly with his lips pressed in a firm line. He still didn’t understand why he asked to keep the jar. Guess it’s an unsolved mystery.

He got in his bed, sighing at the familiar comfort of it..

…

After a while Race noticed how cold the room was. Maybe tonight was significantly cooler than the last couple days? He shivered, wrapping his blankets around himself tighter in hopes of holding in some type of heat. The raggedy old knitted blanket hardly did anything to help, however.

It obviously was noticeable as Race thought because there was commotion coming from the bunk above him. Albert’s face suddenly appeared upside down from above him. He mouthed some unintelligible words at Race. Instead of asking what Albert meant he just nodded. He’d figure it out at some point. Albert’s head disappeared and quickly as it came. And then Albert was suddenly on top of Race. With an ‘oof’ Race realized what was happening.

Albert asked to cuddle.

The other got himself under the covers and wrapped his arms around Race. The blonde did the same. The two sighed, the warmth from their bodies shielding themselves from the cold bunk room. Albert dug his face in Race’s shoulder, and the blonde chuckled quietly.

“Night Al.” Race whispered in the others ear.

“Night Racer.” Albert replied in the same tone.

As the clock ticked on, Race felt Albert fall asleep first. His breath slowing, Race sighed once more and relished the feeling. He began to copy Albert’s small breaths and finally dozed off into a heavy sleep..

Chapter Text

Spot never understood why he made that deal with Race. He knew the Manhattan boy had stepped foot in Brooklyn before. He’d heard reports from his boys. Spot wasn’t one for impulsive decisions. All of his plans were thought out amongst him and his most trusted. Those being Hotshot and York. Spot needed to speak with him about not disturbing anyone unless they genuinely pick a fight. York was known to search for a good segue into combat. Hotshot, well he does most the talking. Sometimes that could be a pain. But who was Spot without his boys..

Spot leaned his weight on the closed bedroom door behind him. He dragged a hand down his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. His upper lip protested at the past tension. Spot cursed under his breath as he bit his bottom lip to distract. He didn’t look back as he made his way down the stairs to the main house areas. By this time his boys would be coming home from the docks. That would distract Spot from the stupidest thing he’s ever done. Some boys began to file into the main room. Spot was greeted with silent nods and grunts.

He sat himself at a smaller table that was secluded from the rest of the room. Most boys talked amongst themselves. But Spot caught himself listening in on a conversation to the left of him. Bart and Myron seemed to be bickering about if the docks water was too cold to swim in or not.

Just fascinating..

Spot pulled his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. As time ticked on Spot began to lose hope of any sort of activity until Hotshot walked through the doorway.

“Shot.” Spot announced, his usual tone slipping as Hotshot made begrudging eye contact. Hotshot finished his conversation with a younger one of the Brooklyn boys and approached Spot.

“Finally ready to talk now, Boss?” She crossed his arms, staring blankly at Spot. Spot gestured for him to sit, she obliged reluctantly. Spot rested his elbows on the table and opened his mouth to speak.

“I shouldn’t have thrown you’s out like that.” Spot fidgeted with his thumbs. Hotshot laughed dryly. “Ya think Boss?” Spot sighed.

“I didn’t want Kelly’s lot to know about Midtown because..”

“Blah blah, your reputation. I get it.” Hotshot rolled his eyes. Spot’s eyebrows furrowed, pointing a finger in Hotshot’s face. “Not jus’ mine, Shot. Brooklyn’s reputation.” He added, Hotshot blinked.

“What’s wrong with a soft side? I’s say not everyone in Brooklyn is up for a fight like you and York. What’s the problem with a bit of friendliness?” Hotshot tilted her head to the side, resting his face in her hands. Spot thought about it for a moment, he shook his head

“We’s in one of the largest cities in the whole world. Nobody gonna believe we’s softened up.” Spot was expressionless, Hotshot always managed to read his mind anyways. Hotshot breathed a sigh through her nose.

“Speakin’ of softenin’ up.. since when does Spot Conlon take in a Manhattan boy into his room to fix up?” Hotshot raised an eyebrow, Spot scoffed.

“Didn’t he says anything to you? York roughed him up and he was passing out on me. I don’t need one of Kelly’s boys dying on our soil.” Spot explained and Hotshot squinted. Spot shook his head.

“Never mind that. What did Midtown say.” Hotshot laughed, Spot deadpanned.

…

*June 1899*

Race was in Brooklyn again, Spot began to notice the other had formed a schedule. He’d come to the Sheepshead when the headline was especially selling well. His papers would be sold in under two hours. He at first had Myron keep an eye on Race. That soon came to an end when Myron began to scare off customers. He also noticed Myron began to talk fondly of Race like he was a friend. Great, next he watched Bart make conversation with Race. He almost made York watch next. Spot didn’t want another concussion on his hands. That meant he only had one option left—

Hotshot volunteered to watch Race next. She made an effort to promise he wasn’t even going to humor Race, no small talk, no speaking to one another. Spot for some reason felt he couldn’t trust that.. it wasn’t even kings honor. Spot took it upon himself to keep an eye on Hotshot watching Race. He didn’t want to, but he just didn’t believe his right hand man is all.

Spot watched from the shadows, listening close. He sold his own papers in the meantime, a kings gotta eat too. He watched with a roll of the eyes as Race greeted Hotshot with great enthusiasm.

“Hotty! You keepin’ the eye on me today, hm?” Race fiddled with his cigar in his fingers. Hotshot’s face scrunched up as she crossed her arms.

“Hotty.?” Hotshot squinted, a confused smile tugging at his lips. “Y’know, Hotshot? Hotty? Plus you ain’t bad lookin’ so it works.” Race smiled, winking. Spot swallowed dryly, grumbling to himself. He looked away to grab the attention of a passing business man with a well-off looking woman. He pocketed his earnings and turned his attention back to the two. They were laughing about something, that Spot didn’t quite catch. Shit.

As time passed he continued to watch with close interest as Race sold his last paper. He even got applause from Hotshot, who had a few papers left of her own. Spot himself had a few to sell, damnit.

“Well I better be off, Boss’ll want a report on your behavior.” Hotshot chuckled, tipping her hat towards Race. “See ya around Hotty! There’s no need to report back anyways. He’s been here this entire time!” Race made dead eye contact with Spot. Spot’s eyes widened, how long did Race know Spot was there?!

Hotshot whirled around, almost stumbling as she steadied himself. “Boss! How long have you’s been there..” Hotshot said through gritted teeth. Spot was too astonished by Race’s eye he didn’t even respond. “Boss..? You good there?” Hotshot raised an eyebrow. Race’s smile was so wide, Spot wanted to punch that smile right off his stupid face. Should he fight him? Spot didn’t know what the fuck to do in this situation. Spot’s eyebrows furrowed as he snapped out of his astonishment.

“I’m fine, Shot. I’ve been here long enough.” Spot readjusted his hat and huffed. Hotshot bit his lip awkwardly. She smiled as she looked from Spot then to Race.

“I was about to come and find you! Good thing you’s here now— Anyways, I’s got’s other business wit’ the fellas to attend to— I’ll be off now!” Hotshot waved his goodbyes and was off down the street, a newspaper in hand. Now Spot and Race were left alone, just great.

“Hey Spotty, I was jus’ about to see the race, wanna come with.?” He hitched his thumb behind his back toward the Sheepshead. Spot raised an eyebrow. “You’s inviting me?” Spot crossed his arms, squinting skeptically.

“Why not? You need to loosen up anyways.” Race shrugged nonchalantly, he reached forward and grabbed Spot by the arm. Spot begrudgingly followed behind, guess this is happening now.

Race’s eyes were practically sparkling with excitement as they approached the Sheepshead. Spot wouldn’t be surprised if he started bouncing up and down pretty soon. His grin was so wide it looks like it hurt. Race paid for their tickets, shushing Spot before he could protest.

Spot watched to the side as Race placed his bets on a horse at the teller booth. There wasn’t anything special about the one he chose. Spot didn’t say anything, as Race confirmed his choice and turned back around.

“I just know this one is a good one.” Race muttered, fidgeting with his cigar as Spot watched. Race still had those stars in his eyes, but only Spot knew that the pit of anticipation in Race’s stomach was intense.

They found their seats and waited. Spot would sneak peeks of Race’s smiling face. Race tore his eyes off the track to turn his smile towards Spot, who deadpanned in the direction of the starting point.

“C’mon! Lighten up, Spotty! It’s bouta’ start!” Race bounced in his seat, shaking Spot’s shoulder excitedly. Spot snickered at the seer happiness that radiated off of the boy next to him.

There was a sudden whistle, then a gunshot, and at last the race had begun. Race was on the edge of his seat, his cigar in between his teeth, it almost looked as if he was biting down. Everyone around them were cheering, Spot couldn’t help but take in the adrenaline of it all. He’d heard the commotion of a race from the outside in the past, but being in the middle of it all was a different story.

It had reached the last lap and even Spot was getting riled up now. Race was now practically screaming over everyone else. Spot cheered right beside him, Spot swore he saw Race glance at him in the corner of his eye..

Race’s horse was in third. Just as almost all hope was lost, the horse in second lagged behind. Race’s horse sped past, gaining its place. Race shook Spot’s shoulder’s absentmindedly as he rose from his seat. The two horses fought for the lead. They rounded the corner to their end goal, they rushed by and crossed the finish line..

First place.. Racer’s horse was in first place.

Race threw his hands into the air, cheering at the sky as he bounced up and down, Spot smacked his fist into his palm and whooped. Race whipped around to face Spot, before Spot could even raise an eyebrow, Race practically dove himself into Spot’s arms. Spot tensed his eyes widened for a moment before he tightly wrapped his arms around Race’s waist in a hug of victory.

Race continued to jump up and down. With the position they were in it was impossible for Spot to not jump along side him. Race pulled away and put an arm around Spot’s shoulder’s, pulling him in closer to his side.

“Sweet victory!” Race yelled to the sky, Spot stared at him with a smile, Race was truly in his element. Spot pulled his hat off and ran a hand through his hair.

“How do you do it Higgins? The odds of that happenin’ was-” Spot’s mouth was agape as he trailed off.

“I just know, Spotty! My gut tells me everythin’!” Race joked as he let out a bark of laughter, patting his stomach. The two eventually made it back to the teller booth. Race with the smug look only cocky victorious people used approached and got his winnings.

As they exited the stadium onto the street, Race didn’t stop gloating. Spot only listened, quietly smirking to himself as Race rambled on. Something about Race being in his element with a pile of fresh coins in his hands made Spot feel in awe. It’s the idea of someone being so happy over something so little, it was almost like Race hadn’t a care in the world. It was just Spot, Race, and the lingering adrenaline. Why did he suddenly feel so.. odd?

Spot shook away the feeling almost instantly. After all he had wasted precious selling time watching a horse show. As they walked down the street, Spot interrupted Race’s victory ramble.

With his intimidating stature it was hard for Spot to sell newspapers at a fast rate. He hadn’t the attributes of a quick seller, young, witty, pitiful. However in Brooklyn, intimidation worked just fine. He called out the days headline, waving a newspaper in the air. A man he saw in the stands prior handed him a coin and Spot thanked him and gave the man his paper. A similar interaction repeated itself a couple times more until Spot’s hands were empty.

He turned back to find Race leaned up against a wall, shifting the coins back and forth in his hands with his cigar between his teeth. Spot approached him leaning against the wall besides him. Race pocketed the coins and took the cigar out his mouth. He dug in another pocket for a moment.

“Think we earned a smoke dontcha’ think?” Race twiddled with the singular match in between his fingers.

“Ain’t that your only one?” Spot’s face scrunched as the question escaped his lips. Race nodded and then shrugged.

“Ye- but I can buy another one wit’ the cash I got.” Race patted his coin pocket. Spot snorted.

“What kinda’ newsie keeps a match in his back pocket?” Spot smiled, Race looked as if he was smacked across the face.

“For moments like these?” Race motioned around to nowhere in particular. “Come on-“ He grabbed Spot’s arm again and led him to a nearby alleyway.

“So some vazey bitch don’t come barkin’ at us.” Spot nodded, sure that works. There were a lot of people still exiting the race after all. Race striked the match against the brick wall behind them. He lit the cigar and shook the match out. He took a deep inhale, he coughed just slightly and blew it out, letting out a long dragged out sigh. He leaned his head against the brick wall, his face tilted towards the sky.

Spot gulped suddenly, Race gestured for Spot to take the cigar. When Spot hesitated Race looked back down at him.

“What you waitin’ for, Red?” Spot with a glare and without a word practically snatched the cigar from him. He took a long drag of his own. Then his eyes fluttered shut.

Race couldn’t help but stare at the smoke flow from Spot’s lips. He couldn’t help but be entranced by the casual technique as the tobacco entered his lungs. The effortless exhale of it all. The smoke flowed with the ease of an addict. Race’s technique wasn’t perfect, smoking didn’t come easy. He never let himself smoke his cigar, considering he hadn’t the money for a new pack.

When Spot opened his eyes again he was met with Race staring at him. Race felt compelled to take a step forward. When Spot didn’t move, Race took another. They now were standing face to face. Race thought he saw Spot seem to glance down. He took another slow drag and blew it out. A small smile appeared on his lips. Race took in that smile, how many boys have seen the king of Brooklyn smile? Race reached a hand forward, as he was about to place a hand on Spot’s chest there was a loud shout coming from outside of the alley. Spot whipped his head around, Race’s breath caught in his throat. Spot looked back to Race, his upper lip twitched and he sprinted down the alleyway. Race couldn’t get a word in before Spot turned the corner and was gone. The blonde could practically hear his heartbeat in his ears.

As sundown came near the cigar had been long since gone. Race with the money bought a new cigar. It was shiny, new, and unsmoked. It certainly was going to be fun explaining how he got his hands on a brand new cigar. Albert would definitely notice, Race thought.

He reached the Brooklyn Bridge. He began taking in the sight of the view from the bridge. He couldn’t help but take his winning back out from his pocket. But as he glanced down at those coins he furrowed his brows. He began to ponder what had happened in that alleyway. That blasted pit in Race’s stomach returned to spite him. Why did he feel like this?

Race had a good eye for a gut feeling, but this feeling was new..

Chapter Text

Spot felt stupid. Completely and utterly stupid. He cursed himself as he stormed into the lodging house. The king had indirectly made a spectacle of himself as he stormed up the steps, presumably to his room.

"What's up with him?" York grunted, his face hidden behind some playing cards. Hotshot looked up from his play. Her eyebrows furrowed as he frowned. "Not sure. Might have to do with that Racer that keeps comin' here's." Hotshot shrugged as she flipped a coin into the pot.

"You mean Racetrack?" Myron spoke up, Hotshot nodded. "Oh yeah I know em'" Myron crossed his arms. Graves nodded along with everyone as he examined his cards. York eyed everyone at the table.

"You's all met blue?" York raised an eyebrow. Everyone nodded, York looked surprised. Well as surprised as he could look with that clunky eye patch.

"Yeah he ain't a bad guy." Graves said, rolling his shoulder. York scoffed, Hotshot poked her head up as he scanned York's facial expression.

"Ye', he's at the sheepshead almost every day now." Bart added, causing York's eye to widen. "Blue's been trespassin' all this time? Why ain't none of you's told me?! Or boss?!" York asked, his voice raising in volume by the minute. Hotshot rolled her eyes.

"Calm down big boy, no need for ya' to soak em' again." Hotshot drawled sarcastically. "Boss has been making us watch 'Blue' for the las' month so he doesn't do anything stupid, like get another concussion." Hotshot put the nickname Blue in air quotes, glaring at the other. York slammed a fist against the table, making the slowly growing money pot shift. He glared at Hotshot, leaving the table in a frozen standstill.

"Why hasn't he soaked em' yet." York growled, Hotshot glanced around the table. She seemed completely unfazed by York's tough talk and smokers voice. Did this dude smoke seventeen cigarettes a day? Can he even count to seventeen? Okay that was a little harsh. Hotshot leaned back in his chair, letting it tip back just a bit.

"I dunno, musta' made some deal with Jack to let him sell on our turf." Hotshot shrugged, her stomach sunk as she knew he lied straight to his somewhat families face. This seemed to calm York down, which inherently calmed everyone at the poker tables nerves.

Hotshot went all in, getting a few quizzical looks from a couple of the boys at the table. That didn't seem to bother her at all. Hotshot pushed out of his chair and without saying anything quit the poker game. She collected the money he won in that short time period.

"I'll go check on boss." She said, turning on his heel and made the climb up to the King's room.

"Does Hotshot always have a death sentence?" Graves asked as soon as Hotshot was out of view. "Eh, he's the only one to ever knock some sense into Spot." Bart shrugged, betting way too high during his play.

-

*July 1899*

Race wasn't immediately convinced they should strike. It all happened so fast and everyone was so excited.. all it took was the support of his peers and he was on board.

Now suddenly here Race was, stepping onto molten lava that he once thought was solid ground. A place he could sell without a sinking feeling in his stomach. He'd been nervous to come back to Brooklyn ever since that fateful June afternoon. His heart almost felt like it was fluttering when they began walking towards the dock.

Jack had his usual calm smirking expression on his face, which completely felt like an impossible thing to Race.

Being calm, yeah as if.

Davey looked like he wanted to die right on the spot. He eyed every person that walked past the four. Les walked by Race's side, a slight skip in his step to keep up with everyone else. His arms swung at his sides carelessly, switching his wooden sword between hands.

"Hey Racer, think you can handle this one?" Jack said, Race's shoulders perked up. In the distance there were Brooklyn boys all over the place, it felt like the place was infested with ants.

When the four approached the docks the boys began to murmur softly to each other.

"What's Manhattan doing here?"

"This about what I's thinks it's about?"

"Jack's here to talk to Spot, you think?"

Race's footsteps felt heavy against the wood. His eyes darted around the surrounding area, hoping to recognize a certain leader- Why did he suddenly feel so tense?

"Racetrack?" A familiar voice broke Race out of his searching game. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at who he saw.

Scout was one of the first guys Spot assigned to keep an eye on Race at the sheepshead. Scout was the first to crack too.

"Scout! Nice seein' ya!" Race greeted the boy. Scout pulled Race into a welcoming side hug, Race's face scrunched up as he heard Jack's distant snickering. Then the two spat into their hands. Their hands lock together in a pretty damn good handshake.

"I's haven't seen your face at the sheepshead lately, where have you been?" Scout asked, his eyes wide with curiosity. Race fidgeted with his cigar between his fingers out of habit.

"Yeah, I've been takin' a break from the races, I been gettin' better buyers back home." Race lied, it's been shit since he began avoiding the Sheepshead and Brooklyn. It was almost like he was avoiding the black plague. Scout nodded, squinting just slightly at the sun beating down on the docks.

"Well thas' good- you should come for a swim sometime, the water heats up pretty nice this time of year." Scout suggests, hitching a thumb over his shoulder just as another boy dives into the water.

"Sounds like a plan!" Race didn't know how to swim.

"So, you heard what's goin' down?" Race asked with a smirk.

"Ye, and I's all for it." Scout said, Race's face lights up. A grin stretches across his cheeks. Race playfully punched Scout in the arm. Scout didn't even flinch.

"Say.. are you here to see Spot?" Scout squinted briefly as he saw other non Brooklyns behind the blue wearing blonde. Race glanced over at the group he came with. Scout waved at them. Jack nodded as Davey waved politely. Les was distracted by the big Brooklyn boys diving from the edge of the docks.

Scout began to dig in his vest pocket, Race raised an eyebrow. Scout approached Les, tapping him on the shoulder. Les turned his body towards him before turning his head to look up.

"Hey little guy, never seen you before. What's your name?" Scout asked, Les blinked briefly.

"I'm Les, that's my brother David!" Les practically announced. He waved his wooden sword in the general direction of Davey. Scout looked up at him, Davey nodded at him.

"This your first time here?" Scout asked, Les nodded. Scout held out his closed hand.

"Take these. My friend gave them to me but... think of this as a welcoming gift." Scout opened his hand to reveal three different color glass marbles. Les's eyes widened and he took them gratefully.

"Thanks! Are you an angel?" Les asked with a tilt of the head. Jack and Race collectively snickered to each other.

"Eh, maybe I am." Scout shrugged. He gave Les a smirk. Another newsboy caught his attention and he ran off. Les wiggled happily and turned to Davey with a big smile.

"Well if it ain't Jack be nimble, Jack be quick." An all too familiar voice made Race turn his head. His stomach churned as Spot sauntered up to Jack. Race watched the two shake hands.

Race stood off to the side, not daring to move a muscle. Spot hadn't changed since he last saw him, Race didn't expect him too. But something made Race hear his heartbeat in his ears again. He felt like he was in that alleyway again.

That's when Spot's eyes fell on Race. The two blinked at each other briefly before Spot broke it. Race felt like everything had come to a screeching halt. His throat felt dry, he tried his hardest to swallow the feeling away. He looked down at his feet, then stuck his cigar in his mouth. He hoped that the familiarity would calm his nerves.

His mind didn't clear. He thought of the smoke, that smile, that damned alleyway. Race felt his chest flutter with a significant warmth. This was that new feeling he felt on that bridge wasn't it?

Race observed as Jack and Davey said their pieces to the king. He raised his chin up with his cigar between his teeth. He stared blankly with a slight eyebrow furrow. He hoped to come off as intimidating as possible.

But try as he might; Race couldn't seem to stand still. His cigar now went from hand to hand, fidgeting with his whole body. He felt like he was overseeing all. Race felt like Jack and Davey's bodyguard. It seemed like if he wasn't there they'd be torn to pieces, how would a strike happen then? Race sure as hell couldn't orchestrate something like a strike. Race didn't think too rationally when it came to stressful situations.

One practically useless conversation, in Race's opinion, later. They had to show him, that bastard. He said they'd have to show him. He didn't believe in them whatsoever. Race felt like scoffing, rolling his eyes, starting a fight. He wanted to yell up at the sky, anyone who would listen. He'd show them all right..

-

The next day rolled around to Race's dismay. Even though they basically had no leads on what anyone thought, Jack still persisted the trolley's will be stopped. He silently hoped as he slept that night that he'd wake up to find it all had been a godawful dream. That morning he'd woken up way too early for anyone to function, from a night of unwanted tossing and turning.

Now Race was standing outside the circulation gate. He was aimlessly stood there, pacing, fidgeting with everything he had at hand. Soon a handful of other boys showed up. They seemed to be less stressed out than Race was, which he resented. He silently watched Finch, Mush, and Specs talk amongst themselves. Race looked at his shoes.

Specs tapped Race on the shoulder. The three began asking him questions about any information about Brooklyn's status. God did Race hate putting on some fake smile and explaining in his own kinder way that they were absolutely fucked.

Just as Race began to fumble over his words Jack showed up, accompanied by Davey and Les. Since this whole thing began it seemed to be the norm, Race wanted to roll his eyes. But petty jealousy aside he once again stood to the side as he watched Jack do the same thing Race tried to pull.

Harlem, Queens, and Midtown all had the same response. Fish-eye. If things could get any worse, the Delancey brothers knew about the strike.

Race had this sinking feeling in his gut, maybe they should put this off a few days? Really bargain with the guys, get them on their side with words and such. Davey seemed like a good candidate for that spot.

They couldn't exactly just not work, like Jack said they'd just replace them. Davey talked like his life depended on it just as the rest of the newsies arrived. Race rushed over as Crutchie was showing off the sign that was attached to his crutch. Race smiled in the direction of the boy but as soon as he turned around, he's never eye rolled so hard in his life.

Race felt his stomach drop even further as Specs confirmed there was absolutely no sign of reinforcement. Not that Race didn't believe in his friends but this certainly wasn't looking good. He sighed, pulling his hat off and smacking his own thigh with it.

Once again Race stood off to the side. They wouldn't obey would they? Davey's hand on Race's shoulder lingered. As much as Race wanted to run away, he swallowed that fear.

Okay fuck it they're doing this.

Chapter Text

Spot sat himself in the corner at the secluded place he always did at the lodging house. He was picking at his scalp, zoning out to look like he was deep in thought. He leaned back in his chair with a huff. This was a common occurrence, Spot was the lone soul in the lodging house. He always seemed to sell his papers faster than the others. It’s just how things turned out, Spot had gotten used to it.

He looked out the window, he still had more time before the others returned. Then the sound of the door opening surprised him. Hotshot walked in first, Scout following in behind her. They were quiet. Scout’s already big eyes were wider than usual as the two shared a nod. Scout turned the opposite direction and went up the stairs presumably to the bunks. Hotshot watched the other climb a moment, he finally turned his attention to Spot. Hotshot’s brow was furrowed. That made Spot sit tall in his seat.

“Hey Boss. I’s just got word from Scout.” Hotshot stepped towards Spot, she took a breath. It felt like it was years long. “Jack’s boys got pretty beat by the bulls. They went through with their plan, and according to Smalls- Jack’s gone missin’ too.” Hotshot finished, Spot’s lips pressed into a thin line. His mind immediately went to a certain someone.. he quickly pushed that thought away. Though it still wanted to linger.

“They actually did it.. Kelly’s stubborn. I’s knew he’d attempt somethin’ but..” Spot breathed. What stayed with Spot the most was the idea of Jack being missing. Sounded like those boys now don’t have a leader, that concerned him. Spot had cut himself off, which was something he rarely did. He usually spoke his mind thoroughly.

“You’s did say they had to show you they was serious.” Hotshot said, Spot blinked up at her. Spot only pondered that for a moment as that feeling of dread settled in his chest. He looked down at his hands.

“I’s gonna put it plainly because you’s need to hear it.” Hotshot spoke again, Spot looked back up at her. “They need our help. Not to pat ourselves on the back but without Brooklyn they’re not gonna stand a chance against the papes.” Hotshot finished with a huff.

“I know.” Spot said with a monotone Hotshot knew all too well. She cracked a smile as if he could read the king like a good book.

…

Race stumbled into the lodging house. He’d been running and hiding around the block avoiding the bulls for a good while. His eye stung and burned. He knew he’d have a few bruises on his shoulder and chest. Those bulls really did a number on him and he hated it. He hated that they could just do that to them. Was that his excuse to personally punch Weasel in the face? Maybe. Did he regret it one bit? Absolutely not! That was an adrenaline rush in itself.
He choked on his heavy breath. His eyes had been screwed shut.. until now.

Race’s eyes widened at the scene in front of him. His eyes scanned the room, there were groups of boys with bloodied clothes. He jumped as Buttons ran by with three rolls of gauze and pillowcases to use as slings. That made the Race’s stomach drop harder, some kids had broken bones. They’ve been hurt so badly that.. Race gulped.

“Has anyone seen Jack??” Race practically shouted into the room of wounded newsboys, his friends. No one spoke up, not a word said, Race’s shoulders slumped, his chest ached. He felt a small jolt of relief as he saw a head of recognizable red hair in the dining room.

“Al-Al- Hey, wh-where’s Jack?” Race stammered over his words, his stutters masked as chuckles. Albert had been wrapping a piece of cloth around his arm right above his elbow. He looked up at Race, his eyes weren’t as lively as Race usually saw them..

“I dunno- the Delancy’s are making up rumors already.” Albert said with an eye roll. Race bit his lip, across the table sat Specs.

“Uh, yeah. And Crutchie got taken off to the refuge..” Specs spoke up, he was wrapping some bandages over his bruised knuckles. He didn’t make eye contact or flinched as Race shakily slammed his palm against the table. He didn’t even expect himself to do it, he winced.

He was alone now, wasn’t he..

…

*First Day of Winter, 1896*

The sludge from two day old snow was squashed under passing shoes. It hadn’t snowed all day but it still was cold as hell.The cool blustery breeze sent a chill down Race’s spine. He’d been freezing all day, his head felt heavy and foggy. His throat was itchy, and he was annoyed by his runny nose. He had definitely caught a cold. Race dreaded admitting it as he needed money from selling, but he felt miserable.

Race trudged into the lodging house, it wasn’t time of day yet for his friends to be back home. He plopped himself down at one of the dining tables. He was thankful it was warmer inside, a candlestick flickered as he sat down. Race wrapped his shivering arms around himself to produce some kind of warmth for himself. He squeezed his eyes shut as time seemed to pass in dreaded slow motion.

The clink of something being placed in front of Race brought him back to reality. He blinked his eyes open and was met with a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup. Race’s eyes widened with surprise as the savory aroma took over his senses. He turned his head to the right, a kind smile greeted him. That charismatic smile Race had come to know well, Jack Kelly. Jack sat himself down in the seat across from the blonde.

“You feelin’ alright, Racer? I saw ya’ when I walked in, thought I’d get you somethin’” He said. His voice was soft and, to Race’s surprise, worried. Race let out a puff of air, scooting his chair closer to the table as he grabbed the spoon.

“You got this for me? Don’tcha gotta feed yourself?” Race said, a bit defensive. He let the broth drip from his lifted spoon. Jack rested his elbows against the table, watching Race with close eyes.

“Eh, I had a big lunch.” Jack shrugged, leaning back in his chair now. Race raised an eyebrow. “Really?” He said, a knowing look blatant on his face. Jack deadpanned for a second before relaxing with a smirk.

“Don’t worry your little head about me. Jus’ eat it Tony, before it gets cold.” Jack brushed him off, Race was too cold to argue. He savored the taste, he wasn’t feeling hungry but he knew if he didn’t eat now there would be problems later.

Race eventually got to the point where he was drinking from the bowl itself. He pulled the bowl away from his lips and placed it back down on the table.

“Thanks Jackie, you know I owe you one now, right?” Race asked, his tone indicating he wasn’t going to change his mind. Jack only shrugged.

“It was nothin’, Tony. I don’t wantcha to suffer. Bein’ sick this time of year is tough.” Jack stood up now, Race watched him with his eyes.

“You act like I don’t know that.” Race quirked a smile, Jack smirked in response.

“Go get some rest, Tony. Crutchie’s waiting on me.” Jack rolled his shoulder, stretching like he always did. Race felt his chest tighten at that.

Right.. Crutchie.

That kid had shown up last year and he and Jack were quick to become friends.

“Jack?” Race began. “Hm?” Jack hummed, turning back to stare right at Race.

“Promise me that you ain’t one to run away on me, okay?” Race said, his eyes getting heavier with every second of silence that passed.

“I promise Racer.” Jack said.

“Come on. You’re fallin’ asleep just sittin’ there.” Jack added, Race begrudgingly got up and climbed up to the bunks. He was positively exhausted.

Race believed in Jack. No matter what happened.

That’s what Race thought at first anyways.

…

Race rubbed at his eye, determined to not show any indication of cracking. He flexed his fingers, the pain rushing through them grounded him. A hand on his arm snapped him back, his blue eyes landed on Albert’s brown ones.

“Are you okay?” Albert asked in a hushed tone. Race stared at him a moment, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He nodded quickly, Albert gave him a look. Race knew that look well. It meant that his best friend knew he was full of shit. But without a fight Albert averted his eyes from Race’s.

“Do you need patching up at all?” Albert asked softly, Race shook his head. He was grateful for Albert not pushing him for the truth. He could tell that Albert knew something was obviously wrong, but Albert knew when not to pry.

“Can’t patch up a bruise.” Race said barely loud enough for Albert to hear. He was very distracted now. Memories and ideas swirling around in his fatigued mind. Those thoughts molded themselves into anger.

That anger swirled in his stomach. They would’ve had a better chance if everyone wasn’t so goddamn dependent on Brooklyn and.. Spot Conlon.

His thoughts came to a halt for a moment.

Boys shrunk and cowered at the mere idea of Spot and his cronies. For Race, his fear of Brooklyn died after his short stay in their lodging house. The idea of fearing those boys felt foreign to Race. They were his friends, sure they were intense at times but hell that’s just their personalities.

Scout always managed to have a friendly face despite where he called home.

Myron offered Race a haircut as soon as the topic came up.

Bart rambled about his farm back home. That including all his chickens' names. All ten of them.

Graves, though a bit mysterious, told Race he’d always wanted to go to a baseball game.

Hotshot was great to joke with and probably his favorite babysitter.

And York.. well.. he was the exception.

But then there’s Spot. The king of Brooklyn. Race knew him as more than that. Spot was more than a title, he was a human being. But Spot seemed more interested in keeping that title his whole personality, it made Race’s chest tighten. He felt like he’d been so close to cracking the facade. If he even slightly got close enough to touch.. he was burned.

His thoughts turned hostile once again. Spot had told them they’d have to show him. That made his blood boil all over again. Was this enough for him? Race was sure as hell going to convince him of such. He snapped his head up, a new found determination and anger coursed through his veins.

“Al? You’re in charge, alright?” Race declared. Albert was taken aback for a second before inevitably nodding. It wasn’t like he had a choice with how serious Race looked.

“Where are you going?” Specs chimed in, wiping the fingerprints off his glasses.

“Brooklyn.” He said plainly, Specs raised an eyebrow. He didn’t speak as his surprised expression turned into one of mischief.

“Go get em’” Specs grinned, Race nodded. Specs was an absolute wild card, this guy was one of the most daring boys Race had ever met. You wouldn’t expect it, him having spectacles and such. You’d think he was a know-it-all at first glance. He was so much better than that. Race swears he’s seen this kid avoid the bulls on more than one occasion.

Never mind that, Race turned on his heel and was back outside. He was determined as he began his journey to that all familiar bridge.

It was annoying how slow Race seemed to walk. His legs were tired and he was exhausted, but he was determined and when Race set his mind on something he was going to get it. Easy as that. He was stepping on molten lava again, it burned red and hot with an infuriating heat that only made Race trudge on further.

Race knew where the Brooklyn lodging house was with all his days selling over the bridge. He’d walked with some of his babysitters a few times. He hadn’t stepped foot inside before until now. The building was different from back home and so were the inhabitants. Race walked through the doorway and seemed to freeze with intent. It was surprisingly quiet in the room. Everyone kept to themselves unlike what the blonde knew. Race stuck out like a sore thumb and it was rather apparent.

“He’s at the docks.” A voice Race didn’t recognize spoke up. Race turned his head towards the sound. A golden brown haired boy with striking grey eyes was staring up at him expectantly from his seat. Race looked around the room and tried to wrap his head around who this mystery kid is. Most importantly, he wasn’t wearing red.

“What?”

“You’re looking for Spot, right?” He asked, keeping his expression the exact same.

“How did you-”

“-For the two months I’s been livin’ here- when someone with that much purpose walks in.. it’s clear who they’re here for. It’s never one of us.” The kid leaned back in his seat, Race’s jaw clenched. Then his eyebrows furrowed, it hit him. This kid wasn’t from Brooklyn. It was quite apparent from the lack of red in his wardrobe. Race in that short moment was transported back to two months ago when he was concussed in Spot’s bed.

“You’re from Midtown aren't you.” Race voiced his realization. He was starting to think that the whole deal situation never made it past Hotshot and Spot. But obviously it played out considering he now stared at this mysterious kid.

“What gave it away?” The boy smiled, rising from his chair. “I’m Clover, I’s don’t think we’s been introduced..” Clover, apparently that was his name, held his hand out for a handshake.

“Racetrack..” Race hesitantly shook it. Race had a pretty good relationship with Midtown. He’d run into those boys a few times, mostly to kindly make them change their spots because they were too close to Race’s place for the day. But he’d never seen this Clover guy once in his life, he must’ve sold around the upper areas.

“Racetrack- I’s heard that name before. You’re the hattan’ boy who spends his time gamblin’.” Clover hit the target pretty well if Race said so himself. But he really had no interest in casual conversation.

“Great meetin’ you but-”

“-Yeah it’s great to put a face to the name..” Clover interrupted Race with a sly smile, Race smiled back out of politeness. He wasn’t appreciating this kid's habit of interrupting.

“Now that we’s met.. I’ll say it again- Spot's at the docks.” Clover crossed his arms and sat back down.

“Right- thanks..” Race nodded, turning back around from once he came.

…

The docks were eerie when nobody was around. For instance, it was quiet and still. Race hated the quiet so the silence already made him uncomfortable. He ran a hand up and down up his arm, his arms were cold. Race could’ve easily rolled down his sleeves but he hadn’t thought of that. He squinted his eyes around in the dim light.

Wait, dim light? Shouldn’t it be rather dark over here? Race realized there was the flicker of a lantern's glow, Race raised an eyebrow with intrigue. He followed the light and found what he had been looking for. There Spot sat, his eyes shut and with his chin towards the sky. Race couldn’t help but stare a moment, gawk at how Spot seemed to give no shits when he sat up there on that makeshift throne. Race broke the silence with a quick whistle. Spot tensed, his head snapping down in an instant.

“Wh- Race? What are you doin’ here?” Spot asked, it actually sounded like a real question. This only made Race scoff.

“Haven’t you heard the news?” Race spat sarcastically, his hands balled into fists as his eyes bored into Spot’s skull.

“Race-” “Hold on a minute, King.”

“Is this enough for you?” Race began, Spot was silent. “Back at home all my friends der’ are beaten. Black eyes, bruises. Sent to the refuge even. Is that enough for you?” Race’s voice grew in volume with each word. Spot’s gaze hardened at the volume.

“That’s not what I meant and you’s know it.” Spot finally spoke up, Race was breathing harshly now. “I’s wouldn’t wish anyone to be injured or taken like that- not in a fight with the bulls-”

“Oh so you do know what happened? You’ve had time to think about it?” Race tilted his head to the side, his eyes wide almost uncomfortably.

“Scout found out and Hot put his nose in it. Information flies fast over here.” Spot said. Race swallowed, his harsh breathing was making his bruised side ache.

“Oh I’m sure it does.” Race said with a bite of sarcasm, it was true though.

“But.. none of anything seems to be enough anymore.” Spot spoke with a grumble, his hand gripping the lanterns handle harshly.

“The hell does that mean- at least make sense if you’re going to defend yourself.” Race’s face scrunched up with confusion. At Spot’s silence he continued to speak.

“I’m not some royal subject of yours- I don’t take rules from some high and mighty kid from across a bridge–” Race continued to ramble on. Spot stood up now, he hopped down from his lookout, lantern and all.

“Coming down to my level are ya’? Was being all high and mighty getting too much for you?” Race added once he realized Spot had moved.

“Stop it, will you?.” Spot walked over and stood in front of Race. The blonde huffed and crossed his arms. Spot in that moment lifted the lanturn to bring Race’s face into the light. Race looked exhausted, Spot’s gaze fell on the redness that was forming around Race’s eye. That wasn’t the only bruise forming, there was more redness prickling Race’s opposite cheekbone. The blonde wanted to shrink in on himself, bury himself in the dirt, jump in that cold water and hide from that look on Spot’s face.

“You.. your face-” Spot began, his fingertips itched to move. Race’s eyebrows twitched from anger to sadness.

“Are you surprised I can defend myself?” Race tried to keep the fire that he faced Spot with in the beginning, but that was crumbling way faster than Race would like to admit. This seemed to cause some type of reaction because Spot took a step closer.

“No I’s knew you could, I’s seen it first hand.” Spot shook his head, this threw Race off guard. Mostly because the space between the two wasn’t personal anymore.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-” Race’s voice was quiet, meekly. It didn’t sound confident like it was moments ago.

“I’s don’t think I’s ever heard someone talk to York like you had.” Spot said, his eyebrows furrowed tightly again. Race realized what the other had meant now. It felt like a long time ago now since York had pulled that stunt with him. The memory of his own skull cracking against the pavement made a shiver go down his spine.

“I’m not going to take some vazey bitch stealing my earnings.” Race hummed, Spot looked up at him. This seemed to press Race’s buttons again.

“Never mind that- I’m not done with this talk- You--” Race had begun as Spot blew out the candle that was inside the lantern and hung it up. It was significantly darker than before, Race tensed.

“Hey, I’s wanna show you something.” Spot suddenly said, grabbing Race’s arm with surprising gentleness. Confusion bubbled in Race’s stomach, or was it?

“Wait- where are you taking me- let go–” Race basically demanded, at the command Spot let go. This only confused the blonde more. For some reason Race still felt as if he should follow behind Spot anyways. After walking behind Spot in complete silence for a good while. Just after Race popped his cigar back between his teeth did he realize where they were going.

Once they were at the bridge's starting point is where Spot stopped.

“Here we are.” Spot finally said after a moment, Race blinked.

“Spotty I’ve been here before- how do you think I got here?” Race’s face scrunched up, Spot thought that must’ve not felt great to do.

“I’s knew that, Race. I’s meant..” Spot stepped to the railing and gestured outward, Race appeared beside him. Spot looked over at the taller blonde, Race’s eyes were glued to the shimmering water in the moonlight, the stars twinkling without a care. There was that sparkle in his eyes.. Spot stared, he couldn’t help it. It was like that look made everything around him stop..

“I’ve never heard New York be so quiet before, thought it was alway that loud..” Race muttered. Before Spot could protest, Race was grabbing the railing and pulling himself up. Spot’s eyes widened as his breath halted in his throat.

“Live a little, Spotty.” Race turned back to flash Spot a cheeky grin. Spot stammered with words he couldn’t speak.

“You-You’s got a death wish, Higgins?” He eventually got out, Race shrugged.

“I don’t feel like dyin’ anytime soon. I got a lot left in me.”

“Then why the hell are ya–”

“-Just get up here, Spotty. Views better from here..” Race interrupted, Spot’s eyebrows furrowed. Nobody had ever interrupted him before, it was odd happening now. Wait, what has Race been calling him all this time?

“Don’t call me that.” Spot grumbled, his feet still firmly planted on the safe part of the bridge.

“Eh, you don’t seem too bothered with it. C’mon.” Race held a hand out for Spot to take. Spot looked at Race's hand then to the blonde's face.

“You kill me, you’s dead. Got it?” Spot warned as he took Race’s hand. He pulled himself up and immediately went to hold onto the pillar beside them. Spot let go of the other’s hand almost instantly. Their silence was comfortable yet filled with adrenaline. Spot gazed out at the view. For it only being a few more feet up to where they were previously, it really was a better view. Spot felt like he was hovering over the whole world, the world he called his own. He took a deep breath in, letting the cold air fill his lungs. When he breathed out he felt eyes on him.

“I’m not one for beggin’ but..” Spot heard Race begin, his tone completely different and back to that unconfident sound from earlier.

“We ain't gonna win this war without you.” Race said, making straight eye contact with the side of Spot’s head. “Without Jack around.. We might as well get dragged off to the refuge now. Get goin’ sooner than later before we get more broke bones.” Race’s voice wavered, staring at the mellow river that’s far below. Spot pulled his eyes away from the skyline, he watched as Race’s eyes became foggy and unfocused. Spot tensed, his fingers twitched at his side. His hand moved ever so slightly towards the blonde’s hand opposite of it.

“I’s won’t let that happen.” Spot said, it almost mumbled. Words only for Race’s ears to hear. Race perked up at this, his posture straightening. Their pinky fingers brushed in that moment. Spot’s finger flinched back but then, after a moment of contemplation, hesitantly nudged Race’s hand again.

“Shot earlier said you’s boys got hurt and I.. you’s got Brooklyn. That’s our cue.” Spot said, looking away from Race again. In fear they’d make eye contact, Spot didn’t think he could handle that.

Something collectively clicked in both of their minds then, the sound reminded the pair of a key clicking in a lock..

Chapter Text

The slight and continuous sound of the water below grounded Race more than he’d like to admit. As his feet dangled it felt as if he was walking on pure sweet air. The ash of past anger chipped and fluttered away with every slowed breath.

“It’s pretty late..” Spot had said only a moment earlier. Race glanced at the water then back to Spot.

“I know.” He responded quietly, pride swirled in his gut at each realization he had about their predicament.

“..how about you’s stay ere’? For oldtimes sake?” Spot asked then, his voice the meekest Race had ever heard. Race’s cigar then twisted between his fingers, a habit Race had been trying to perfect for years now.

“For oldtimes sake?” Race echoed, Spot just shrugged.

“Everyone’s gotta be asleep by now- that or Hot’s gonna be waitin’ on me. But it wouldn’t be hard to shoo em’ off. What do ya say?” Spot hopped down from the edge then, placing his feet back onto the solid ground of the Brooklyn Bridge. Race had watched all of this, he looked back at the view once more. Spot held out a hand for Race to take, Race kicked his legs over and grabbed it. He settled himself on the ground.

“Spotty, I’m flattered but I-” He paused, Spot had been staring directly at him. Race almost completely lost his train of thought because of those intense eyes.

“I jus.. I just can’t leave Al and the boys hangin’ like that. I told em’ where I was goin’, they’re gonna be worried.” Race’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, Spot’s hand dropped at his side.

“Oh right.” Spot said, Race could feel that Spot wasn’t looking at him anymore. He crossed his arms, picking at the skin of his always exposed biceps.

“Did you forget?” Race asked, his voice quiet. That’s probably what made Spot look so scared. But who’s to say Spot could even get scared? Race was seeing things wrong again, right?

“No I’s didn’t, I’s thought-” Spot started, his voice trailing off at the expression on Race’s features. He was conflicted, shown by his furrowed eyebrows. That moment of silence was pure deafening, if not worrisome.

“Y’know, I really should be mad at you.” Race ended up saying while frowning. Race watched as Spot looked up at him then.

“Why aren’t you?” Spot flexed his fingers. Race chuckled, Spot’s lips looked like they couldn’t help but twitch into a small smile after that. But how would Race know that? He totally and completely wasn’t eyeing Spot’s lips. That would be ridiculous, right?

“You somehow keep defusing the fire.” Race said, then he grabbed the other in by the shoulder to pull him into an odd side hug. After taking a chance and squeezing Spot’s opposite shoulder, he pulled away.

“See you soon, Spotty?” Race tilted his head and let slip an easy smile. He popped his cigar in his mouth, how could he forget?

“You’s can count on Brooklyn, on me.” Spot laid a hand over his chest, the indication of the outline of a necklace intrigued Race’s interest. But before he could question it, Spot’s arms were back down at his sides. His hands took the burning curiosity with it.

…

Spot ran a hand through his hair, he muttered quietly to himself. Turning his back against the bridge but more so turning away from Race. The disapointment in his gut was extremely distracting. He felt like his whole body was on fire and tingling. Why wouldn’t his heart stop racing? With a furrowed brow he strided towards his destination. Each step he took away from the bridge the more he felt relieved. Relief from his hammering beating heart.

When he got home, it was practically pitch black. The only thing that stood out in Spot’s eyes was the flicker of a lit candlestick. That could only mean one thing, Spot had predicted it perfectly. Hotshot was in fact waiting on him.

“Someone's home late.” Hotshot chided, there was a clear distinction of a playful manner. Spot knew not to get too riled up over it.

“Yeah and what’s it to you’s?” Spot responded with fraying compliance to their conversation.

“Nothin’ jus’ curious.. Was it king business or Spot business?” Hotshot pried, Spot wasn’t appreciating being interrogated like a guilty child. Now, did Spot have an answer to that question? Was he even going to answer it at all? Every other fiber in his being wanted to say it was king of Brooklyn business and Hotshot could go off and goddamn leave him alone. But there were a few stragglers in Spot’s bones that wanted to say it was entirely his own. That the words left from his mouth were entirely planned. Only a fool would believe that. Spot couldn’t fool his own heart. Why did he have to have such the stupid heart?

“I’s heard Race came by here earlier lookin’ for you. Did he end up achieving that?” Hotshot continued talking, Spot didn’t know if he should call that talent of her’s a gift or a curse against him. Spot nodded and crossed his arms.

“You like him a lot don’t you.” Hotshot uncrossed her legs and stood up, looking down at Spot with his usual knowing look. Spot sputtered then covered it with a cough. He cringed as Hotshot continued to watch him.

“No, he’s just from Kelly’s lot. I’s gotta deal wit’ him somehow.” Spot said, trying to stay as nonchalant as possible. Hotshot sighed, Spot cursed himself. There was no denying that no matter how much covering up Spot attempted to do.. his best friend could always read him.

“It astonishes me that you’s still think you’s can lie to me.” Hotshot smiled sweetly, Spot huffed and rolled his eyes so hard his eyes might as well get stuck.

“It-” Spot started but he cut himself off when he realized then that he actually didn’t know what he and Race were. Were they friends? No they weren’t, he made that very clear in his mind a while ago. Race was just this boy from Manhattan who always knew how to perfectly get under Spot’s skin. Who was charming and who wasn’t afraid of taking risks. Take tonight for example. But there was another example that Spot wanted to hide in his room and force himself to forget. That Spot couldn’t get the blonde’s smile out of his damn head.

There was this too, that fateful day where he was taken against his will to the Sheepshead. Spot remembered every second of it, even the part that keeps him up at night. Why did he have to run?

“It’s complicated?” Hotshot filled in the blank that Spot couldn’t put into words. He wanted to say it wasn’t but if he did he’d just be lying to himself some more, and who was he kidding? Hotshot would know something more was up anyways.

“Yeah.” He nodded.

…?

He sat on the edge of the top step of the stairs, completely unbeknownst to the two other newsboys. His face was stone straight, he was lightly tapping his fingers against his knee. So, his suspicions were correct.. Guess he was lucky after all..

Chapter Text

Race walked home on the usual path he took during the day. He tried to ignore the feeling in his stomach. However, he couldn't help but notice that his heart was fluttering, his chest warm with a soft heat that almost was uncomfortable.

It was getting him all caught up in a flurry of messy thoughts that he should most definitely be shoving down. But he couldn’t stop himself, it was almost addicting. Race must've been coming down with something that wasn’t making him think straight.

Yeah.. has to be.

Race got back to the lodging house not long after. He was surprised to find that nobody was present in the front room. Race felt guilty that he had taken that long in Brooklyn, he thought for sure that Albert would’ve been waiting for him.

It was silent, a ghost town.

The emptiness made Race feel incredibly uneasy. He snuck up to the bunks, thankfully he had enough money for a bed tonight. He felt a bit better when he found that most of his friends were just asleep, exhausted from the fight.

There was Albert in the bunk above Race’s. Race chewed on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t dare disturb him. With the lightest movement possible, Race climbed into bed.

Not a wink of sleep relieved Racetrack Higgins.

It felt like weeks, but only an hour had passed since Race started to stare up at the ceiling. He couldn’t shake the feeling of it being so incredibly off that Race was alone with his thoughts. It hadn’t been that long since Race had gotten home and yet his thoughts wouldn’t let him have peace.

He sighed softly as he sat up in bed. The others around him snored in their sleep. He couldn't take it any longer, the repetitiveness and the overall quiet that followed it was getting to him. He slid out from under the covers and tiptoed his way towards the washroom.

The blonde passed the threshold between the bunk room and the washroom. The second window to the right of the sinks was his destination. But something made him slow and falter at one of the many mirrors.

Race’s eyebrows furrowed at what he saw. The moonlight through the tinted glass windows was enough to eluminate his figure. He stared at his reflection, his fingers instantly and carefully grazed the red blotches on his skin. Once his fingers reached the forming bruise on his cheekbone, his eyes fluttered shut. His breathing felt shaky and uneven. His mind flashed to the events of this morning, each memory only making the hole in Race’s consciousness deepen.

All his mind did was wonder. It was out of his control when he got like this. With his eyes shut, the possibilities were endless. For behind his eyelids, he could be in a completely different place, mindset, and be wherever he truly wanted to be all at once. His happy place was obvious, but tonight his thoughts had different plans.

A hand that wasn’t his own hesitantly reached out for the boy’s cheek. The rough skin cupped Race’s face, it was vaguely familiar. Almost like it wasn’t a feeling Race knew but somewhere it desperately wanted to be learned. When a face etched itself into view with each detail appearing at a time.. Too many came into view at an alarming rate.

Racetrack’s heartbeat quickened in his chest.

His eyes shot open, letting out an involetary gasp. He smacked both his hands against his mouth, fear paralizing him in one place. His cigar clattered to the floor, it bounced and landed on the wood below. The blonde's eyes darted towards the bunks. Once he determined there were no sounds of movement he leaned down to pick up his precious fallen cigar in a lightning hurry.

What the hell was that? That wasn’t the Sheepshead, why the fuck wasn’t it the Sheepshead?

He clutched his cigar close to his chest, his fingers gathering his shirt around it. He needed to get out of here, he needed fresh air. His attention hit the window closest to him, the fire escape was just behind that glass. He bit down on his cigar and approached the frame.

He cringed lightly when the window creaked as he pulled it open. At that point he couldn’t care less if one of his friends woke up. He’d be gone before they’d even notice he was ever there.

Race climbed through the window, his feet landed on the metal platform. He plopped himself down on one of the steps. The blonde looked down at his hands, they were shaking. He tensed his hands into fists, watching as his knuckles turned to white.

“Racer?” A voice asked in a whisper into the night air. Race sharply inhaled, flinching back at the sudden voice. His head whipped to the side, wide eyes were met with ginger hair and confused brown eyes.

Maybe he cared after all, the guilt that washed over Race was powerful. Did he wake him up?

“Hey, Al- did I wake you up?” Race attempted to act casual, like he didn’t almost shit himself in fear.

“Mh, I was already awake when you came up.” Albert shrugged, leaning his arms out the open window.

Great, Albert heard everything! Race looked down at his hands again, pretending to be invested in his cubicles.

“That doesn’t matter, the hell are you doin’ out here?” Albert invited himself to sit down besides Race on the step. Even in the dim night moonlight, Race could tell Albert was exhausted. He could feel the others eyes on him, Race wanted to dissapear in this moment. He’d never been so sure of something, he definitely wanted to blink out of existence.

“..I couldn’t sleep.” Race muttered. He leaned his elbows against his knees and rested his head in his hands. Albert tilted his head down to keep his face level with the blonde.

“So you decided sitting on the fire escape was the best course of action?” Albert squinted his eyes, raising a brow as he gestured toward anything and everything. It might as well have been the whole world from where they were sitting.

“Yeah.. that’s all there is to it, really.” Race shrugged, when Albert silently stared at him in response.. that’s all it took for him to open his mouth again.

“Just.. felt too heavy in there, too many empty beds tonight..” Race ended up saying. He had too many things plaguing his thoughts. At least this one didn’t send butterflies loose in his stomach. Albert nodded in understanding, he nudged Race’s shoulder lightly.

“You weren’t just puttin’ on some show for all the boys, right? Did you actually go to Brooklyn?” The redhead asked, Race twisted his cigar between his fingers again, staring blankly at his nails wasn’t enough. He didn’t know what would happen if he stopped moving.

“..I spoke to Spot.” Race began, Albert leaned forward in anticipation. The smallest smile pulled at Race’s lips.

“We’s got Brooklyn.” He echoed in the way Spot would talk. Albert blinked rapidly at Race in astonisment.

“You serious, right? You ain't screwing with me?” Albert said with his eyes so wide Race recoiled a little at the sight. He knew he should be more ecstatic about this information, but.. he just couldn't do it. Not in front of Albert anyways.

“I ain’t pullin’ your leg, Al.” Race tilted his head softly, nudging Albert back. It was a little late but the sentiment was there. Albert was still staring before shaking it off with a hum. He clasped his hands together. The sound echoed just enough to make Race flinch a little.

"..Damn, Racer. You actually got Brooklyn on our side.. how'd you manage that?" Albert furrowed his eyebrows.

“It wasn’t all me, it was the strike too. Word flies fast in Brooklyn, apparently. I blame Hotshot-” Race almost began rambling.

“Hotshot?” Albert asked, Race almost forgot for a second that not everyone knows almost all the Brooklyn newsies by name.

“Oh- one of Spot’s boys, between you and me.. He’s definitely his favorite.” Race said, making an attempt to lighten the mood. Albert leaned back against the stairs, looking up for a moment.

"..We're actually on the edge of pulling this off, ain't we?" The redhead whispered.

“..maybe.” The blonde responded softly. He hadn’t thought they could get through this without.. well.. without their leader around..

Race was supposed to be optomistic about stuff like this, he was too tired for it.

"What do you mean, maybe? We've got Brooklyn. Brooklyn, Racer-" Albert squinted his eyes, Race looked away again.

“I know- I know- I just..” Race shrugged, he really was supposed to be the optimistic one. He wasn’t always like that.. he just rarely showed it, his mind wandered a lot. His mind played out every horrible outcome, he couldn’t stop it if he tried.

“Didn’t think it would happen like this.” Race gestured towards nothing, referring to the outcome of their attempt at a revolution. It wasn’t all for nothing but.. Race didn’t think he’d end up being so defeated in the end. He could tell Albert was trying to read him again, he could tell by the red head straightening his posture.

"You're thinking about Jack... aren't you?.."

Damn, was Race really that easy to read?

Race glanced at Albert with no response, it was evident that the redhead was right on the money.

Race never thought that Jack would leave them alone and empty handed like this. The blonde had seen everything play out in front of him. It was such a blur, seeing Crutchie be sent off to the refuge like that.. what Race still didn’t understand was why Jack would just.. abandon them boys like that.. abandon the strike, abandon him..

Albert put a hand on Race’s shoulder. Race closed his eyes for a moment, he took a breath in. When he opened his eyes again, he looked over at the other.

“Well- we might as well try to sleep now, huh?” The look in Race’s eyes were distant and far away, but there wasn’t any way to bring them up without making it worse.

"..Yeah.. yeah, let's get inside.." Albert muttered in response.