Destructive - Newsies | Sprace

Fourteen | Race

Trigger warning: Slight homophobia

Race's eyes fluttered open and he was met with bright light. His first thought was that he was dead, but then the memories of walking back to the lodge with Spot came flooding in he knew that he was still alive. It took a minute, but Race figured out that he was in the sickbay area in the Manhattan Lodge.

"Mornin' Racer," A voice chuckled.

Race looked up and saw Spot Conlon sitting on the bed on his left. He had a small bruise on his cheek, but besides that, he looked uninjured. Race did take the time to notice that Spot had dark bags under his eyes implying that he hadn't slept recently.

"Hey, Spot," Race greeted, his throat sore and itchy.

Race was lying in one of the thin beds that lined the walls of the fourth floor in the building. Race's whole body ached. He was wearing new clothes, ones that he didn't recognize. It was a large shirt that practically swamped his body and Race could feel a pair of loose shorts on his legs. He tried to sit up but winced in pain as he did so. There were bandages wrapped around his arms, his head, and he could feel them on his torso without having to see them.

"How're you holdin' up?" Spot asked, coming over to sit on the edge of Race's bed.

"Eh, I've been better," Race joked, "Whadda 'bout you?"

Spot shrugged, "I ain't the one laid up in bed."

Race tried to sit up further, despite the fact that it hurt. "Do they know?"

"About what? What happened? They knows the story I told 'em. That I found you by your selling spot, knocked unconscious? That we got into a fight and the killer ran away? Yeah, they know." Spot leaned toward Race and smiled.

Spot's hand inched forward, his fingertips just barely touching Race's. Silence fell over them until they heard a yawn.

Race turned his head and saw Crutchie lying two beds away, just beginning to wake up. Race didn't see Specs anywhere, so he assumed that he must have gotten better during the time he was occupied with William. 

"Well, I better be on my way," Spot announced, standing up.

"What? Don't go," Race pleaded.

"I got things to do Racer, I jus' wanted to be here to make sure you woke up,"

Race rolled his eyes. "Okay," he sighed.

"I'll see you around, Racer,"

Race watched as Spot left the room, waving to the groggy Crutchie on his way out.

As soon as Spot had left the room, Crutchie spoke. "Wowza! You too must be real close for Spot to come and ditch a days pay for you."

"What do you mean by that?" Race asked, turning to face Crutchie in the bed over.

"Well, he's been here since they dragged you in last night. It's far past noon by now. I woke up a little whiles ago and saw Spot just sitting on your bed, waitin' for you to wake up." Crutchie coughed in between his words.

Racetrack gulped. "Hey, Crutchie? Can I tell ya somethin'?"

"Sure!" Crutchie exclaimed, wiping his red nose on the end of a long sleeve.

Race's stomach was in knots, but he felt like he needed to tell someone. Crutchie was one of the sweetest people Race had ever met, so he was almost positive Crutchie wouldn't freak out.

"Spot and I gots feelin's for each other."

Crutchie's face crumpled. "Whatcha mean?"

"I mean like... how girls feel about boys. Like... feelin's." Race didn't really know how to explain it to his newsie friend.

"That's... possible?" Crutchie cocked his head.

"I guess so..." Race's words trailed off.

"But... I thought... Race..." Crutchie's eyes looked Race up and down as if he was a totally different person.

Race began to regret sharing his feelings for Spot Conlon. "It's still me, Crutchie! There ain't nothing different 'bout me. I'm still Racetrack."

Crutchie gulped. "Race... I dunno, it just doesn't seem right. Are you sure you like him in that way?"

Race nodded his head slowly. "Jus'... please don't tell nobody. Jus' forget I said anythin'! Just pretend you never heard what I said and we can both go on livin' our lives!"

"That's a pretty big thing to keep to yourself-"

Race jumped in and cut Crutchie off. "Well, tell anyone you want! I couldn't care less. I can leave and I got no baggage to take wit' me. Just... if you goes around tellin' people, do me one favour? Don't let anyone know that Spot Conlon is on the other end. Please?"

Race had never been so desperate in his life. He had been beaten up, thrown around, locked away, but this was worse than anything he had ever felt. It felt as if someone had stabbed him in the stomach with a burning knife and he just couldn't die.

"Crutchie?" Race asked after a moment of silence passed.

"I'm sorry, Race," was all the boy said before rolling his bed so his back was facing Racetrack.

Race leaned his head back against the wall behind his bed. His eyes began to fill with water and he suddenly felt lost. He had hit rock bottom before: during the strike when Pulitzer banned strike news. Back when he first joined the newsies and realized he was never going to see his parents again. He had a rough life, and he had pushed through it.

But this, this. This was a pain that Racetrack never imagined. He felt as if he was all alone yet the whole world was watching and judging him, all at the same time.

What was even more painful was that Race felt a wave of guilt when he realized that he could have just ruined Spot's whole career. Race was selfish, or so he thought. In his attempt to make the weight lighter, he only added another 50 pounds. If the word got out that Spot Conlon was a queer, he would be dethroned in a second. Nobody would ever listen to him again and his own boys would turn on him.

Spot had it rough enough as it, but once things began to look up, Racetrack had to go and ruin it. I'm so sorry, Spot. He repeated the phrase over and over in his head as if somewhere Spot would hear him.

Race had gotten his friend back, and they might have even gotten the chance to have been more than that- a dream that Race had pushed to the back of his mind too many times before.

I'm so sorry, Spot. 

-1089 Words-