you know we've got your back from way back (Spot and Dodger)

[brooklynishere]

It was rare, very rare, when Brooklyn was outmatched. It was a point of pride for Spot Conlon that there wasn't nobody who could soak Brooklyn, or anybody from Brooklyn, and get away with it.
He didn't intend to break that track record. This upstart gang from Queens is gonna get their asses handed to them.

...just maybe not today.

His eye is stinging and he can already tell he's going to have one hell of a shiner in a couple of hours, it's going to make a nice accompaniment to his split lip and the bruises blossoming up and down his ribs. Half his boys have already scarpered and honestly, Spot doesn't blame them, they're cornered and even Racetrack wouldn't bet on them winning right now, not without reinforcements.

He smacks one of them across the face with his cane and sees a break in the scuffle, Dodger already darting away down an alley. Spot dives after him.

Queens will give chase, he knows they will, but if he can lure them deep enough into Brooklyn then revenge will be swift and merciless. If they decide to fall back, he'll get them another day, when he's healed up and has the satisfaction of soaking them himself.

He makes it down two more side streets, hot on Dodger's heels, when there's a sudden yank on his braces and he's pulled off his feet with a yelp that (thankfully) gets lost in the yelling and pounding of feet.

He swings out wildly with his cane, but it's not long before he's reduced to curling into a protective ball as boots and fist rain down on him - there's four of them and only one of him, and he still ain't that big.

He's starting to feel pretty dazed by the time there's another, more familiar shout, and suddenly his attackers are falling back under a volley of stones. The cavalry's coming.

Most of the newly arrived Brooklyn boys give chase, but a couple haul Spot to his feet and start checking him over. He waves away their fussing.

"Jus' get me back home," he mumbles, jaw stiff and swollen, and they blessedly don't need telling twice. He refuses to be carried, instead slinging his arms around their shoulders for support as he hobbles back to the lodging house - or more accurately, hops; one of his legs refuses to take any of his weight without trying to buckle underneath him.

They get him back to the house, carrying him up to the bunk room and getting him sat down on the edge of his bed. A hoard of newsies crowds around him, conflicting medical advice flying in all directions.

Comments

[artfuldawkins]

He hadn't realised that Spot wasn't right behind him.

It's not an excuse, it could never be an excuse, but even after a few years deep in Brooklyn territory, the Dodger still wasn't the greatest fighter. He could think better than he could throw a punch and with how the odds were set against them, the best choice was running for now till they could win the numbers game.

Of course he ran, taking all the back alleys and side streets he could back to the house. Spot was hot on his heels, and he didn't know when that changed. But when he got to the house and Spot wasn't right behind him, he went looking. With no real sign of him, he had to call it quits and make his way back to the house again, hoping that Spot had just taken his own little detour.

The crowd around Spot's bed put him on edge. That was not a good sign. He got into the middle of things, making his way to the front of the crowd and looking at the sight on the bed. There's that clenched dread in his stomach as he waits to see and the actual result isn't lessening it. He gives a slow nod, and speaks to the crowd.

"Leave the bloke alone," it's a command, plain and simple. "Ain't yer fussin' he's needin'." He turns to look at the gathered newsies. "You want to help? Then get back to sellin' papes. Might need the coin."

It's a dismissial as well, and he stands till they leave.

[brooklynishere]

Spot's head is pounding and his jaw aches too much to put the effort into yelling, as much as he wants to tell them all to shut up and get out of here. He's dizzy and woozy and he really wants to lie down, but instead he has to sit up and try to look less injured than he feels, waving away any of them who're trying to get a good look at him.

He looks up and sees Dodger coming and for a moment he freezes. He doesn't want anybody to see him like this, and he wants Dodger to see it least of all. He could claim it's about respect and reputation and.. and whatever else he could make up on the spot as an excuse, but he knows that's not it. The real reason is one he refuses to think about.

Still, he's more grateful than he can say when Dodger starts trying to clear the rest of them out of there. Those that look to him for confirmation get a firm (and painful) nod and a vague wave of his hand, and they all slowly start to disperse. Eventually, it's just him and Dodger in the room.

"You can get out of here too." he says quietly.

[artfuldawkins]

"Don't be daft," was the soft reply, sittng down on the edge of the bed once the room is cleared. He twisted himself to be looking directly at Spot and then cursed. "I thought you were right behind me," he said. "Shoulda kept watchin'." There was a sigh, and he shook his head. He knew better than to assume that just because they were behind you at one point, it made them safe.

Trying to push the thoughts of guilt back - he didn't do guilt - he reached out to touch Spot's face, trying to examine the extent of the injuries.

"They did a number on you," he mutters, trying not to wince at it all. "Gonna need to clean it up."

[brooklynishere]

Spot didn't know why he bothered, he should have known Dodger wouldn't leave. He did let himself relax, a little, not lying down just yet but he stopped holding himself quite so stiff, allowed the pain to show.

"Nah, I shoulda run quicker," he brushed off Dodger's attempt to take any of the blame matter-of-factly. The only person he blamed for this was himself. Well, himself and those assholes from Queens who were going to pay for this.

He let Dodger touch him, wincing slightly at the press of fingers against bruised skin, even gently, and actually tilted his head so Dodger could get a proper look.

"They'll pay for it," he muttered back, "Just leave it, Dodge, I'm fine."

[artfuldawkins]

Dodger rolled his eyes a little at Spot's attempt to shift blame but didn't open his mouth. He was too concerned with the injuries, making sure they were just skin deep. No, not true, making sure they weren't somthing that people were going to have to cough up serious coin for because they were that bad.

"Ain't no one gettin' any pay back till these are healed," he said, ignoring the command to leave it. "Goin' to need to clean 'em up," he added, touching near a cut that was covered with dried blood now. He frowned.

"They worked you right over."

[brooklynishere]

Spot nodded slightly, at least conceding that he'd have to wait until he was healed enough to get his revenge himself - though he was pretty sure his boys had probably already left the other kids looking worse than he was before he'd even made it back to the lodging house. He was pretty sure there was nothing serious, he didn't feel like he'd broken anything, just a lot of cuts and bruises - and he was pretty sure his ankle was at least sprained.

"Geez, I get it, they won, you think I don't know that." Spot snapped heatedly, shoving himself up off the bed with gritted teeth "I'll go clean up."

At least, that was the plan. As he stood he put some of his weight on his bad leg without thinking and crumpled back onto the bed with a pained curse.

[artfuldawkins]

Dodger wanted to tell him to shut the hell up and that Spot knew damn well that wasn't the issue there, but then he was crumpling back into bed in pain and that anger went out the window as he grabbed him to make sure he didn't fall wrong.

"You're just goin' to sit there," he said. "I'll get the stuff."

[brooklynishere]

Spot grabbed onto Dodger's shoulder, squeezing slightly until the pain subsided and he let go, looking almost sheepish for a moment before his face closed off again. Reluctantly, he nodded, accepting that he wasn't going to be able to deal with this by himself this time.

"Fine." he agreed, staying put. His expression was bitter and annoyed, but that was a familiar look for Spot.

[artfuldawkins]

Dodger didn't know what to say. He'd never seen Spot in that kind of pain before, and he just reached up to give his arm a small squeeze in response. He got up and went to the communal bathroom, getting a small bowl of water and one of the towels. While in the bathroom, he paused, leaning over one of the sinks.

Spot never got beaten, not like this. Yeah, he might come back from a fight with an odd scrape, cut, or bruise but this was... Not what Dodger ever wanted to see from him. So the answer was simple, really. Those punks from Queens needed to pay.

He'd sort it.

He walked back into the room. "Here, water's cold, but it'll work."

[brooklynishere]

While Dodger's away, Spot manages to shrug off his braces and get his shirt off (glad nobody can see every painful wince each movement draws out of him, and how much effort it takes to do it without making any noise) - leaving him in just his undershirt which is soaked in several places with blood. He's had to pause there, hem of his shirt in his hands, working up to pulling it over his head, because he knows that's going to hurt - not least because the blood has dried a little and in some places the shirt is basically stuck to his wounds.

"Thanks." He mutters, a hiss of pain escaping through gritted teeth as he lifts his arms to get his undershirt off. His chest underneath is not a pretty sight, it's as bruised and bloodied as his face, the nastiest wound probably being right in the centre, where the key he wore around his neck had clearly dug into his skin during the beating and left a ragged tear in its wake.

[artfuldawkins]

There's a sharp intake of breath when he sees how bad the skin under the fabric is. There's a lot of low muttered curses, and he keeps the thoughts of what he'll do to make those punks lives miserable to himself. Otherwise, it's keeping his face as expressionless as he can, dipping one of the towels in the water, and going straight for the nastiest looking wound.

"Might need to do this one a couple of times," he muttered, trying to be carefully with the water and the cleaning. "Going to scar," he added, looking at it.

Yeah, those punks had to pay.

[brooklynishere]

"Wouldn't be the first." Spot shrugs, trying not to wince at the roughness of the towel against the wound. It's true, beneath the bruises it's clear there's plenty of old scars dotted here and there - nothing unexpected for someone like Spot, though there's a few on his back that look as though they were pretty nasty at the time and hadn't healed very well.

"I'll heal, Dodge, I always do." for just a moment, there's something almost soft in his expression, but it disappears just as quickly as any kind of vulnerability that ever slips out.

[artfuldawkins]

"I know," Dodger replies easily, dipping the towel in water again and starting again on that one cut. The blood was sticking to the skin and he needed to get it off. He'd seen most of Spot's scars. Didn't make this one any less shitty to see.

"Don't mean I have to like seein' you like this," it's muttered just as softly, schooled away in a second. Work on cleaning him up, nothing else.

[brooklynishere]

Spot pauses, silent and still while Dodger works on wiping away the blood. It's not the first time one of them has said something that verges on speaking about this... tension, whatever it was, that existed between them, and whenever it's happened before it's been backed away from just as quickly. Right now though, Spot's tired, he's tired and in pain and maybe he's okay with just a little more acknowledgement than usual, maybe he just wants the comfort.

"I know," is all he says, quiet and accepting.

[artfuldawkins]

They don't address. This... whatever it was between them. It's just a general unspoken rule. It's come up, a few times, some sort of admission here or there that verges too close, but they always back away. But the way Spot's looking right now... Well, Dodger isn't in the mood for fighting in.

"This one'll take a while to heal," he just says,still speaking quietly. "Might need to get some stuff for it."

[brooklynishere]

"We can't afford it," Spot shakes his head. It's not like he doesn't have enough money coming in, between his own work and Dodger's he should have spare coin - but he never does. Anything extra Spot gets will always go on his boys, supporting them if they're having trouble selling or need any extra for food or medicine, Spot looks after Brooklyn.

"It'll heal fine."

[artfuldawkins]

"I got it covered," Dodger said simply, moving away from that cut to another one.

He had some money hidden. Not much, but stuff he hid just in case he'd need it. At one point he had considered saving to get the money for a ticket back to London but that thought changed. It wasn't as if the money didn't get used. Spot looked after Brooklyn, and Dodger helped out in his own way. Making sure a kid had an extra couple of coins was easiy enough.

"I'll get what we need."

[brooklynishere]

"You don't need to do that." Spot said bluntly, looking away. He didn't want anybody putting themselves out to help him, accepting even this much help from Dodger was a big enough deal as it was, without taking money from him too.

Still, there's something about the way he says it, the fact he says what we need, that causes something to twist in Spot's stomach in a way that's nothing to do with his injuries. It's getting harder to ignore the way he feels about Dodger, and Spot is very good at ignoring the way he feels about Dodger.

[artfuldawkins]

"Doin' it," was the quick reply. "Can't stop me," was added on as a cheeky retort, mouth quirking up in a bit of a smile.

He still kept working on cleaning up the blood. It was just... He needed to make sure that Spot was okay, that was it. Try not to think on anything else than making sure he was okay. Dipping the towel and wringing it out again and then looking up. He really needed to start on Spot's face.

"This is goin' to sting," he said, bringing it to one of the ones near an eyebrow.

[brooklynishere]

Spot just rolled his eyes, and that.. that was all the argument he put up. Either he was in a really bad way or he'd finally given up on arguing with Dodger. Probably the former, he enjoyed the arguments too much. Not that he'd ever admit to it.

"I'll live." he muttered, but the move to his face meant that he had to turn back to actually look at Dodger, catching his gaze and for a moment he just sort of stared, studying his face while he worked. "I could do this myself, you know."

[artfuldawkins]

The lack of argument just proved to Dodger that Spot was not in the best way. He could spare some coin to get what was needed to get him back in the right way. He'd send some of the younger ones out for it later, keep them from crowding too much. He had just finished the cuts on the forehead when Spot spoke up.

"...Do you want me to go?" It's asked carefully, trying not to sound too... Well, he wasn't quite sure there. It's different, a new tone than something they've spoken before but... It's not the moment to slide back into old behaviours.

[brooklynishere]

Yes. The word is right on the tip of his tongue, his default state being the desire to keep anybody else from seeing the slightest hint of weakness. Dodger should be out there telling the kids that Spot was fine, stopping any of them from going after Queens without a plan, he shouldn't be in here looking after Spot.

But he can't bring himself to actually say it. And for a moment he thinks why? Why is he letting Dodger see him like this, why can't he tell him to go, and why, if he wasn't here, would Spot trust him to take charge? Dodger isn't his second in command, not in any kind of official capacity, so why. The answer scares him, so he doesn't think about it.

"No." He admits instead, looking down.

[artfuldawkins]

He knows what Spot should say. He knows what he would say if he was in Spot's position. There's kids to round up, and make sure they don't go and do something stupid that they can't fix. That would cause a war between the boroughs and a massive headache as they tried to sort it out.

But he doesn't want that answer. So when he gets the answer, he just gives a slow nod. Trying not to think of what it means.

"Okay, then," he shrugs, continuing cleaning Spot up. He's a lot slower while working on the face his touch is careful, more gentle.

[brooklynishere]

It's hard not to look at him while he's cleaning up his face, so without even thinking about it Spot finds himself watching Dodger. There's a faintly puzzled expression on his face like he's trying to figure him out - which is weird, because Spot knows Dodger, almost as well as he knows himself. They understand one another - even when they're fighting.

He falls silent while Dodger finishes cleaning him up. Once all the dried (or still dripping) blood is washed away he looks... not a whole lot better, in truth. Most of the cuts are shallow enough and have already stopped bleeding, the messy gouge on his chest is still bleeding a little bit not too freely, the bruises are looking nastier by the second as they begin to properly blossom across his face and body, but ultimately he doesn't have any overly serious injuries - it's more the volume of them that are making him feel like crap. His legs, still covered, are just as badly bruised, and he's pretty sure he needs to bandage up his ankle, but once he's feeling a little less stiff he figures he'll just do that himself. Anything that needs dressing right now, he thinks, can probably be done - there's a box under his bed with some antiseptic, dressings and bandages, bits and pieces they've collected just in case kids got hurt, it isn't much but it'll cover him for just now until he can restock. He knows Dodger knows the box is there, so he doesn't move, figuring that's what's coming next whether he likes it or not.

"We're going to get them back." he says after a while, the silence feeling far more awkward than it normally does between them.

[artfuldawkins]

It's a bit odd, Spot looking at him so intently when he's cleaning up his face, but Dodger does his best to ignore it. He just kept his focus on the job he had to do, and make sure the dried blood was completely gone. That being said, it doesn't make things look any better, but at least he was clean.

Dodger set the bowl down, and went under the bed to grab the box of stuff to start dressing what he could. Start with the antiseptic, maybe a dressing for the worst of the cuts. He's going through the box when Spot speaks, and he looks up.

"'Course we will," he smirked at Spot. "The idiots don't know what they got comin' to them."