A Spot Conlon Origin Story
Ship - None
Era - Cannon
Triggers - Mentions of fighting, blood, murder, homophobia, shouting and crying.
Spot Conlon was the most feared Newsie in New York.
He never intended to rise to that status but sometimes things don't go to plan.
He joined the Brooklyn Newsies at seven-years-old.
The only family he had was either sick or a newborn so he had no other choice but to work.
While working, he'd grown quite close to one of the older boys, Split, he was fourteen-years-old and the second in command.
He was also the boy who helped Spot learn how to hawk papers and use his size to make people feel bad for him.
One day, when Spot was ten, some of the older Newsies found Split kissing a boy in a back alley and were none too pleased.
Instead of reporting him to the police as any offended citizen may have done, they decided to take matters into their own hands.
They bound his hands and feet and threw him and the Bronx Newsie he was caught kissing off the Brooklyn Bridge, while Spot and all the other Newsies were forced to watch.
And for good measure, they gave Spot a soaking to 'beat any queerness out of him' due to how close they had been.
From that day on, Spot swore that he would never get close to a person ever again, especially if they were another Newsie.
He couldn't risk the situation happening all over again.
He also swore that if he were to ever become leader he'd beat anyone who tried to hurt Newsies like him within an inch of their life.
Newsies who loved other Newsies, and not in a brotherly way.
He didn't support violence but he also thought that nobody deserved to be killed for loving someone.
~~~
"Spot," one of the older Newsies called.
Spot turned around and looked up at the older Newsie.
"Yeah," Spot said, his lack of patience clearly showing.
"I was told to pass on that Graves is in a fight," the Newsie explained. "And he's not winning."
"Did you try help him?" Spot asked, his anger really starting to show.
"No," the older Newsie scoffed.
Spot let out a breath and curled his hands into fists. "We'll talk later. I have to go help Graves."
He turned away from the conversation and grabbed his overshirt before leaving the Lodging House.
He had no idea why he was the one who had to go help Graves.
Graves had friends who could help him and Spot wasn't one of those friends.
Spot wasn't anyone's friend but that was fine.
He'd made himself a promise and he wasn't planning to break it.
Upon arriving to where he was told Graves would be, Spot was not surprised to find him being soaked by two bigger boys.
Something in him was infuriated at the sight.
Graves was only eleven and, yes, Spot was only a year older but he hated to see a kid being bet on by two teenagers.
"What are you doing?" Spot called out.
"Nothing that's your business," one of the boys called out in reply.
"Like hell it isn't my business," Spot shouted. "That's one of my Newsies."
"Isn't much of a Newsie is he? I found him selling and nobody wanted to buy from him so I helped him."
"By beating on him. He's only a kid," Spot argued against the boy. "You're not helping him. You're just looking for an excuse to soak him."
"What are you going to do about it shortie?" the other boy sneered.
Spot lunged at the boy, swinging his fist.
The feeling of satisfaction that ran through him at the cracking of the other boy's nose filled him with adrenaline.
"Graves, go back to the Lodging House," Spot instructed the younger Brooklyn boy. "I've got these two."
Graves nodded and left the alleyway but didn't leave for the Lodging House.
Spot turned back to the two boys and grinned. "Now it's just us. You can run or you can fight. It's your call."
The taller of the two boys lunged at Spot, swinging his fists.
Spot moved to the side and punched the boy in the stomach.
A grin came on his face as the boy doubled over.
"You know, you two aren't so tough," he said. "I mean, you're losing to a 'shortie'."
The shorter boy practically had steam coming out of his ears.
Spot grinned as he watched the boy.
"What? Scared to admit I'm right?"
That set the boy off and ended in Spot yet again having someone charging at him.
Spot kicked his leg out and tripped him up.
Turning back around, Spot watched as the two boys scrambled to their feet.
In a fight of flying fists and kicks, Spot managed to win against the two boys.
Spot watched as the two boys laid on the ground, injured.
"If you come after any of the Newsies again, you'll end up a lot worse," he threatened.
Spot turned on his heel, leaving to go back to the Lodging House.
Looking down at his shirt, he cursed loudly.
"This is my favourite shirt," he groaned in annoyance.
~~~
"I'm not crazy," Graves argued. "He fought them and said that if he heard they were going after Newsies he'd do a lot worse."
Despite Spot telling him to go back to the Lodging House, he'd waited to see what Spot was going to do.
He was somewhat unsure of the boy, he kept to himself and always looked like he was plotting a murder.
"That doesn't sound like something he'd do."
Once he did eventually return to the Lodging House, he started to tell everyone what he saw.
Funnily enough, nobody believed that Spot would actually help someone, especially not willingly.
"That doesn't sound like something who'd do?" Spot said as he walked through the doors of the Lodging House.
"Graves is going around saying that you soaked some guys who were trying to soak him. We told him that that's stupid but he keeps saying it," Hotshot explained.
"Why is that stupid?" Spot asked. "I'm not a monster. I know I'm not all chummy with you all but I'd rather not have anyone die."
"Spot, you don't care for anyone except yourself. So why would you help him?"
"You don't know me," Spot said in a low voice. "So stop saying who I do or don't care for."
He turned around and tried to make his way up to the bunk room but was grabbed on the shoulder by Hotshot.
"What is your problem?" he said, pushing Hotshot away.
"What's my problem?" Hotshot shouted. "You don't talk to any of us and I'd be pretty sure you hate us yet you didn't just stop those guys from soaking Graves, you made sure they'd never do anything like that again."
"I apologise for not wanting a Newsie to almost be killed. I'll let him get beat within an inch of his life next time if it bothers you so much."
Spot noticed some of the other Newsies moving away from the argument but was too invested to pay any heed.
"You are so full of yourself. Why don't you try care for someone other than yourself for once? We don't hate you and we'd actually like to try be your friend but whenever we talk to you you just push us away."
"I'm full of myself. I'm sorry that the only Newsie I've ever cared for in life was murdered and I had to watch it when I was ten," Spot shouted. "So I'm sorry if I don't want to be all chummy with you lot."
Hotshot blinked, he'd heard of a Newsie dying but everybody said that he'd fallen off the Brooklyn Bridge, not that he was murdered.
"What are you talking about?" Hotshot asked, his voice a lot quieter than it had been previously.
"I was close to one person and they were killed by other Newsies for something stupid," Spot said, not meeting Hotshot's eyes. "So I realised that whenever I am close to someone they end up dead so what's the point."
"Spot," Hotshot started slowly. "I'm so sorry."
"Save it, I know you're just saying that because you think you have to."
Spot pushed past Hotshot harshly and left the Lodging House, deciding he needed to be away from everyone.
He walked around Brooklyn aimlessly with no real plan other than staying away from the Lodging House and especially Hotshot.
He seriously hated Hotshot.
Couldn't he just be left alone? He clearly didn't want any friends so why did they keep trying to talk to him.
After what Spot felt couldn't be more than an hour of wandering, Spot found himself on the Brooklyn Bridge, overlooking where Split had been killed all those years ago.
All his emotions finally becoming too much, he kicked the barrier with a shout.
"Hey, are you alright?"
Spot spun around quickly, hoping it wasn't one of the Brooklyn Newsies who'd seen him letting his emotions get the best of him.
A boy, maybe around his age just a few inches taller stood a few feet away.
"Who are you?" Spot called out, holding the railing firmly.
"I'm Jack, who are you?" the voice, belonging to the Jack guy, replied.
"I'm Spot."
"Hello Spot. Are you alright?" Jack asked again.
"Why do you care?"
"Well, when I see someone visibly upset I like to ask if they're okay," Jack explained, moving closer to Spot. "And I always ask if they're okay if they're a fellow Newsie."
"What if I'm not a Newsie?" Spot asked with a smirk.
"Then I'd say you pull one off very well. With the cap and the shoes that look like they're about to fall apart you can't not be a Newsie."
"So what if I am a Newsie, what are you going to do? Tell me off."
"No but there's talk of a Brooklyn Newsie running out last night and he never came back at all during the night," Jack explained.
Spot cursed himself, he'd been so caught up in his own head he hadn't even noticed that it was night.
"And? I'm just out on a walk. I'm not whoever you're looking for," Spot lied.
"Really? Because I was told that I was to help look for a guy called Spot, somewhat short and not too friendly."
"I don't know what to tell you," Spot said with a shrug. "I'm not him."
"For some reason I don't believe you."
"Well that sounds like a you problem."
"Spot," Jack said defectively. "Just go back to the Lodging House. It'll save us both from wrinkling early."
"It's probably too late for you," Spot replied snarkily.
"Spot."
"Fine, I'll go back but not because you want me to."
"I don't care why you go back," Jack said. "I just care you get back. Hotshot's worried about you. Says he wants to apologise or something."
Spot rolled his eyes, of course Hotshot wanted to be the bigger person and find him.
After much complaining and snarky comments from Spot, Jack finally managed to get Spot back to the Brooklyn Lodging House.
"Spot," Hotshot started once he saw Spot but was quickly stopped by aforementioned boy.
"Don't. I get you want to show how great you are because you forgave the weird guy with no friends but I don't care."
"Spot. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted at you. It was wrong and- I'm sorry. I really am."
Spot nodded and looked down at his feet, not knowing how to respond.
"Spot, are you okay?" Hotshot asked.
Something inside of Spot broke. He shook his head and tried to blink away the tears forming.
Hotshot moved close to Spot and blocked him from anyone else's view.
They mightn't have the greatest of relationships but he knew Spot cared about what people thought of him.
He manoeuvred himself and Spot through the Lodging House and into the empty room that usually went to the leader.
Their leader had gone MIA a week prior, taking his belongings with him and everything, and nobody knew what to do.
"It's okay Spot. You cry all you need to. I'm right here."
Spot wanted to shout, he was hugging the one person he hated and hated him but he liked the feeling of someone holding him close.
"I'm sorry. That was stupid," Spot said once he stopped crying. "I shouldn't have cried. Or shouted at you earlier."
"Don't worry. We both did not so great things so let's call it even."
Spot sighed but agreed regardless. "Deal."
~~~
From that day on, Spot and Hotshot found themselves becoming close friends, going to each other for help, support and just someone to be an idiot with.
Hotshot did eventually force Spot to interact with the other Newsies, which quite surprisingly went not horrifically.
Spot became leader a few months later, immediately appointing Hotshot to his second.
Eventually, after much threatening and fights, Spot changed the Brooklyn Newsies entirely.
From once being a group that would kill each other without batting an eye to a group of brothers who always have each others' backs through thick and thin.
It was quite possibly the thing he was most proud of in his life.
~~~
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