Newsies One Shots

Skeletons - Sprace

But of course, life has a nasty little way of never going the way you want, no matter how you might try to steer it in the right direction. It was late afternoon, slipping into evening and Race had finished selling a little while ago; his pocket was full and the coins clinked satisfyingly when he moved. He'd kept a spare paper, skimming the stories for the mention of horse racing printed small on the front page that caught his interest, and it was propped open on a bedpost. He heard Albert mutter something beside him and dug his elbow very deliberately into the redheads ribs.

"Oi!" Albert yelped, indignation flashing on his face as he barged Race back with his shoulder.

"I ain't addicted ta' gamblin'," Race told him, his brow furrowing and his bottom lip sticking out comically.

"Well...ya kinda is," Albert said, defending his comment but scooting back on the bed to avoid Race's anticipated blow. His grin was it's usual wicked affair and he snickered as Race missed him.

"I likes it. Ain't a damn addiction, you ass," Race insisted, closing the paper and shoving it under his threadbare pillow to swing at Albert again.

Albert jumped back, staggering awkwardly off the bed and sticking up his middle finger. "No needs ta' get violent Racer," he tutted. His tongue was caught between his teeth and his eyes were alight with mischief.

"This ain't near violent," Race shot back.

"Was that a threat?"

"You knows it,"

"I'se shakin' in my boots," Albert crossed his arms, his tone dry as he raised an eyebrow.

"Fuck off Red," Race pulled of his cap to chuck it at Albert, hitting him square in the face and crowing delightedly as Albert's serious facade broke into offended splutters. "I wins,"

Albert glared as he stooped to grab the hat, tucking it under his arm before reconsidering and whacking Race's unruly curls with it. "You ain't won nothin',"

Race grinned and went to tackle Albert, the pair of them laughing like kids as they wrestled with each other. Albert had Race's head under his arm, the blonde wriggling furiously to free himself when life decided to twist things again. The knock was loud, rapid and then dead silent, startling the pair and they twisted to peer down the stairs, still shoving into each other and still grinning like Cheshire cats.

"Who the fuck bothers wit' knockin'?" Albert asked, releasing Race from the headlock and looking around the lodgings. They were nearly empty, the others still selling or doing who knows what, but they knew it wasn't any of them; the newsies didn't knock.

Race shrugged. "Long as it ain't the bulls I doesn't care," he said, descending the stairs to check it out, his curiosity getting the better of him. He pulled his hat back on as he did, setting it at an intentionally crooked angle. "Maybe s'some news shit,"

Albert snorted, a few steps behind him. "Yeah, reportin' bout what? Increase in shopliftin' by a stupid poor Italian?"

"Exactly that," Race said with a nod, flipping Albert off over his shoulder and jumping down the last few steps. The old floorboards groaned out their protest.

Race heard Albert bark a laugh and he grinned. He pulled at the rusted door handle, twisting it just so and fully expecting to find either a cop or some rich bastard with a complaint about the noise or maybe Jack or Tommy Boy swiping something from them behind it; that wasn't something that would be considered unusual. After the initial banging, it was dead silent, whoever it was possibly having left already, so when Race yanked the door open he was...taken aback to say the least. Taken aback and then immediately panicked, cold, sick ice settling in the pit of his stomach to spread through his limbs as he saw the person standing outside.