Newsies Oneshots 2.0

I'll Do Anthing (Part 2)-Sprace

It's been, like, two years but a lot of people wanted a sequel for some reason so here it is lol

This is actually the idea I had for the continuation of this when I first wrote the oneshot so...I was just postponing it haha

Please note that this will be a bit disgusting. There's the description of a dead body and someone vomiting so be warned! Oh, and murder, but I feel like you guys already knew that. And bad language

Enjoy!!

——————————————————————

Race sobs, his cries of fear being the loudest ever and his tears hitting the wooden floor. Jet clicked his tongue. "One..."

Spot whispered sweet things to him, trying to calm Race from crying. "I love you. I'm with you forever."

"Two..."

"I love you a million times infinity", Race whispered through his tears, sobbing. "I'll stay with you forever."

Jet pointed the gun at them, smirking. It was almost over. Their lives were in his hands, and that was the biggest high he could get off on.

"Three!"

One shot sounded off, a bullet flying somewhere in the air. Spot expected Race's body to go limp, to feel red hot blood on his tan fingers and forehead. But nothing came.

He didn't fall.

Spot squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing heavy and loud. He squeezed Race's yellow hair, listening for any sign of life through his own beating heart. He cried quietly, his tears blotching Race's shirt, struck with the plaguing realization that Race might be dead.

"I'm so sorry", he cried, feeling the floor take him in, leaving him to wallow in his sorrow much like Race did. "I'm so sorry, Racer."

He shuddered, sobbing and struggling to breathe, his throat closing as if he was allergic to himself. He pulled Race closer to his chest, crafting his fingers through his hair, feeling the last of him. "Please tell me you ain't dead, Racer. For the love of God, say something-"

"I ain't dead", Race croaked, coughing nastily into Spot's chest. It was then he realized he was far too past delusion to truly experience it, and he pulled his boyfriend from him, staring at him with teary eyes. "Just stop squeezin' me. I'm getting queezy."

Spot gasped, staring at the battered and half-dead pretty boy in front of him. Purple-eyed, swollen cheeked, bloody lipped—bloody-browed—boyfriend sitting in front of him, hurt but alive. "You're...okay."

"Of course I'm okay", Race grinned, wincing at the pain it caused him. "It's gotta take more than a bullet to stop me."

Spot chuckled unamusedly, dry laughing as a means to disbelief and relief. He pulled Race into him once again, ignoring the pained groan that came from the blond. "I've never been more happy you're alive."

"Gee", Race chuckled, patting his boyfriend's back. "Don't get too used to it, sweetheart. I gotta die someday."

"Race?! Spot?!" The two turned to look at the entrance, watching as Davey ran in after them, more emotional than Spot had ever seen him. He slid to his knees, dirtying his only clean pair of slacks with the blood of someone he considered his brother, and Spot cringed, hearing the soft splatter under Davey's knees.

"Are you both okay?" Race nodded, falling for the calm exterior Davey displayed, but Spot could see the panic boiling in his eyes, pushing against him like water against a dam. "Okay. Okay, that's, that's good. We should go now."