This Ain't Just Newsies No More ~ Sprace & Javid

36 | Aftermath | Spot

Literally all the things that I was originally going to put here became irrelevant. Anyway. Enjoy! :)

To put it lightly, everyone is a mess.

Denton has made it very clear that if Snyder, Weasel, Oscar, or Morris try anything, anything at all, they will have to face worse than what is already in store for them. So, for now, they just stay put. There's only one chair. Snyder is the one who is entitled enough to take it. He shows no emotions. Weasel and the Delanceys, however, are very obviously ticked off. They stand around the chair, their expressions very well saying I could be literally anywhere else in the world right now--just please let me be anywhere but here.

Spot helps take a head count of all the newsies that showed up.

In total, there are twelve Manhattan newsies and seven from Brooklyn. Plus David still lying in the corner. But aside from his head injury and his unconsciousness, he's just fine, so for now, there are bigger things to worry about.

For Spot, that means fussing over Race.

"You shouldn't have fought with everyone else," Spot starts as he checks over Race for any injuries, anywhere on him.

"Come on, I kinda had too."

"I should've made ya sit in the corner with Davey," Spot mutters, after turning over Race's arms. He looks closely at each finger. "Ya could've stayed with him."

"Come on, he was fine on his own. Besides, I needed to let energy out somehow. It felt good using my muscles again."

"What muscles?"

Race shoves Spot playfully.

Then, in seriousness, Spot asks, "when here...did the Delanceys...do anything to you?"

(Warning: we finally find out how Race was beaten up while kept here :/   )

Race inhales deeply. Spot holds his breath, waiting for an answer.

Wordlessly, Race lifts up his shirt a little. There's a little red mark on his stomach that goes up higher, underneath his shirt. Spot lifts the shirt a little higher, to find the red mark is actually the outline for a purple bruise. Spot gasps.

"Oh, Race!"

"'S'why didn' wanna show ya 'mmediately," Race mutters under his breath.

"Hey, I caught that."

Race continues to avert his eyes further.

"Hey." Spot brings Race's chin up with his thumb. He strokes Race's face. "I meant what I said. About you meaning the world to me."

A sliver of a small smile appears on Race's face. "Really?"

Spot nods. "I love you, Racetrack."

Then, ever so quietly, he hears, "I love you too."

Tentatively, Spot tries, "is there...is there...anything else?"

Race hesitates. "Well, if ya consider the ropes..." he rolls up one sleeve. Spot rolls up the other.  Both arms are marked, red and angry, from where the rope cut through.

"Race..."

Race just shakes his head. "Ya didn't think this was a vacation, did ya?"

"When was the last time you ate?"

Race doesn't answer.

"Race..." Spot warns.

"Don' rmmbr."