#cuz he’s tall he’d lean a lil and face his head towards me no matter what like he’s TOO CUTE ??

[bunieboo]

how am I supposed to not feel a way when he leans his head down to talk and listen to me

[davidelizabethbowiestrider]

A background on how Diego came to Auradon would be nice... maybe via a wish?

“One wish. Any wish in the entire world, what would it be?” The group seated around the cafeteria table exchanged a look at Jane’s question, taking a moment to think on it before Mal perked up, grinning widely as she tapped her fork on the table.

“A mountain of chocolate covered strawberries. That’s my wish, right there.” Ben chuckled, sliding a small bowl of said strawberries towards the purple haired girl, and Mal beamed as she picked one up. Evie shifted in her seat, smiling at Jane as she thought on the question before responding.

“I would probably wish for a magical sewing machine that didn’t have to have it’s thread changed. It was just always the right type and colour no matter what!” Beside her, Jay snorted, and Lonnie raised a brow as she looked at him.

“Alright, Mr. Hotshot, what would you wish for?” Jay leant forward slightly, as though his wish was a huge secret, grinning widely as he spoke.

“To be able to do Tourney and Swords and Shields instead of classes. Duh.” Lonnie rolled her eyes, and Jane cleared her throat to gain their attention.

“I’d wish that I was cooler.” She stated in a small voice, causing everyone to assure her she was cool on her own. Doug wrapped an arm around Evie’s waist, grinning widely as he gazed at her with a love struck look on his face.

“I’ve already got everything I could wish for.” Beside him, Lonnie made a gagging noise, and he shot her a look. “Well what would you wish for, Lonnie?” Lonnie hummed, tapping her fingers on the table top as she thought a moment before letting out a cackle.

“I’d wish for something ridiculous, like Fairy Godmother breakdancing in the middle of the cafeteria or something. Ben?” Ben raised a brow, glancing up from where he had been slowly feeding Mal strawberries to consider the question.

“I’d wish for all world conflicts to be dealt with via laser tag.” Jay reached out for a high five, and Ben grinned before noticing that Carlos hadn’t stated what he’d wish. “Carlos? What would you wish for?” The table fell silent for a moment, all eyes on the youngest boy as he stared at the table top for a long moment, contemplating. After a few minutes, he looked up, his eyes fixed on Ben as he spoke his wish, words almost too quiet to hear over the din of student’s around them.

“I’d wish for my cousin to be brought over from the Isle even though he’s eighteen now.” Silence fell over the table, no one quite sure what to say, and Carlos pushed his half eaten tray away, excusing himself from the table to go to his dorm. The group exchanged a look, and Ben frowned as Mal leant towards him with a sad look.

“He’s sort of right, Diego and the Bad Apples are too old to be brought over for school but they shouldn’t be left on the Isle either, Ben. They’re good people…and it would do wonders for Carlos to see that his cousin’s safe. He’s been worrying about it ever since Cruella and the others went missing.” Ben frowned at Mal’s words, thinking over the list of kids Evie and Mal had put together for him the month before. None of the kids had been older than 17-still young enough to attend at least their final year at Auradon Prep. He hadn’t even considered the young adults on the Isle; too young to be truely evil like their parents, but too old to be brought over with the younger kids.

“How many kids are there Diego’s age?” 18 was old enough, in Auradon, to do a lot of things. To start college or university, to have a full time job if you weren’t a sovereign of your land, to rent an apartment. He hadn’t considered the fact that 18 was also young enough to show the way of good, to being brought to Auradon for a better life.

“Diego, Aren, Edith and Eli are all 18. Harry’s sister Harriet is nineteen I think, she graduated Serpent Prep before we left the Isle. Gil’s brothers have to be nineteen now too I think?” Mal glanced at Jay for confirmation, and the ex-thief nodded before pointing his fork at her.

“Yeah but I think they’re beyond saving after what they’ve done over the years.” The Islers at the table fell silent for a moment before Mal cleared her throat, turning her attention back to Ben.

“That’s pretty much it though. They were the first wave of kids, mostly villains who were pregnant when the Isle was created and stuff.” Ben nodded, leaning back in his seat as he contemplated the information. There had to be something he could do for the older kids. They couldn’t attend school, but…

“I’ve got it!” Dropping his napkin onto the table he pushed his seat out, beaming before leaning to kiss Mal excitedly. Mal raised a brow, and Ben’s grin widened as he waved her look off. “I have to call a council meeting. I’ll see you after Tourney practice Mal!” With that he took off, leaving the table slightly baffled.

“Well alright then.” Mal snorted, pulling her bowl of strawberries closer with a grin.

-=-=-

“Carlos? Are you in here?” Ben’s voice barely gave Carlos warning before the king was pushing open the door to his dorm, the younger teen scowling as he crossed his arms over his chest where he sat at his desk.

“Benjamin Florian what have we talked about barging into bedrooms?” Ben had the sense to look sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck, scuffing his shoe as he offered Carlos a nervous smile.

“Knocking isnt a precursor to opening the door, it’s to ask for an invitation in. But I have something really important I need your opinion on. I found something roaming the school grounds and I’m not sure what I should do with it. Please?” Carlos tilted his head slightly, curiosity roused as he neatly closed and piled his notebooks to the side of his desk, tidying his work space before standing up.

“Alright, I’m coming. But stop just opening our door please. What if Jay was in here masturbating?” Ben flushed slightly and Carlos chuckled before moving toward the door.

“I would apologize profusely if that happened. Besides, we both know he masturbates in the bathroom in the middle of the night, not in the middle of your shared dorm during Swords and Shields practice, Carlos, honestly.” The two shared an amused grin, and Ben gestured for Carlos to follow him down the hall. “I wasn’t sure the safest place to leave it so I brought it to one of the empty doem rooms for now. I figure if anyone knows what to do with strays its you.” Carlos hummed, wondering if Ben had found a stray dog in the quad.

“Well, I’d have a better idea what to do with this mysterious creature if I knew what it was, Ben.” He teased, and Ben chuckled as they came to a stop outside of the empty room between Chad’s room and the one Doug shared with another student.

“Nah you’ll see it in a second, go on in. I’m pretty sure he won’t bite.” Carlos rolled his eyes at Ben’s secrecy, pushing the door open carefully so whatever animal Ben had picked up wouldn’t be startled and bolt for the door.

“I don’t know why you keep bringing me strays, you know Fairy Godmother won’t let me keep th-“ Carlos’ words cut off as his eyes landed on the tall, slim teen standing near the bed; taking a moment to take in the quirked smile and familiar dusting of freckles over tanned skin, the black and white mohawk that the other teen had spent years of their childhood working on. “Diego.” The name was almost whispered as the older teen grinned at his cousin, opening his arms wide.

“Hey, lil’ cuz.” Ben barely had time to step into the room before Carlos was across it, throwing himself into his cousin’s arms with a half laugh, half sob. “Hey, it’s good to see you too man. No need to cry, I’m here now.” Ben leant against the doorframe, watching the reunited relatives for a moment before clearing his throat, Carlos turning to look at him without letting go of Diego as though the older deVil would vanish as soon as he let go.

“I was thinking we could keep this one, actually. I hear he’s even house broken.” Carlos snorted as Diego huffed, turning to press his face into Diego’s chest as he squeezed his arms, laughing.

“You’ve heard wrong, he sorely needs obedience training. He bites and plays dirty when you’re wrestling. Evil’s sake D, how are you still so much taller than me, I’ve grown a whole two inches in Auradon!” Diego chuckled, rubbing his cousin’s back as he glanced at Ben.

“Well first of all I take offense to that obedience training comment- I’m totally house broken, don’t let Carlos tell you otherwise your majesty. Secondly, eight months isnt enough time to kill the foot I have on you, dream on C. Are you gunna let go?” Carlos shook his head, murmuring something into Diego’s shirt and causing the boy to frown. “Wanna repeat that without the mouthful of shirt?” Carlos pulled away a fraction, his eyes focused on a rust coloured stain on the collar of his cousin’s shirt.

“If I let go you might disappear just like you do when I dream you come to Auradon.” Diego’s eyes widened, and in the doorway Ben’s expression softened as he moved towards them, placing a hand on Carlos’ back.

“He’s not going anywheres, Carlos, I promise. I started a work program for the older kids on the Isle- as long as Diego shows up for work at Lumiere’s and stays out of trouble, he’s here to stay.” Carlos turned to look at Ben, eyes wide as he gave the king a warm smile.

“Thank you, Ben. I can’t imagine the council was very happy with that decision…” Ben shrugged, letting his hand drop away as he took a small step back, giving the cousin’s some space.

“They weren’t as opposed to the idea as I thought they’d be, actually. We brought over all of the Bad Apples and Harriet Hook, though we decided against offering the opportunity to Gaston Junior and Gaston the Third.” Carlos nodded, and Ben grinned at the two, nodding towards the door. “I’m going to dinner with Mal, so I’ll leave the two of you to catch up. Diego, if you need anything at all please let me know, and remember your first shift is in two days at seven am. “ Diego gave a half salute as Carlos dragged him to sit on the bed, and Ben stepped out into the hallway, grinning to himself as he closed the dorm room door.

“I did a good thing. “ his grin widened, and he started off towards the girls dorm, whistling contently.

[gracetrack-higgins]

Secrets

welcome to my super angsty Sprace fic! it’s posted on Ao3 but I figured I’d put it here too! it’s pretty long (5k+ words!) and very angsty. I’ll put any warnings in the tags :)

*

You know Spot Conlon, right? I heard he’ll soak anyone who ain’t Brooklyn.

I heard he killed a gangsta’ who was botherin’ his Newsies.

I heard he got inta a fight wit’ a kid from the Bronx so bad the kid was laid up inna hospital for a month.

I’s heard he ain’t even real. Brooklyn kids made ‘im up so’s they look nice an’ tough.

Nah, he’s real. I saw ‘im on the Bridge one time, yellin’ at a scab or sommit.

Nuh-uh!

Yeah-huh!

I heard’s he’s a better pape’s sella’ than Jack.

Betta’ than anya us.

I heard he jumped inta the river to save a drownin’ kid!

That ain’t true!

I still don’t think he’s real.

Racetrack Higgins smirked to himself a little as he listened to the younger Newsies’ whispered speculations about the leader of the Brooklyn Newsies. At one time, Race probably would’ve believed the tall tales surrounding Spot. If he didn’t know him, that is. Race thought it rather funny how many stories there were about Spot, ones that any kid would believe. Only two of ‘em were true so far.

Race glanced at the little Newsies huddled around an overturned crate that the boys used as a table in the Lodging House. They were playing cards, a watered down version of blackjack that Race had taught all the kids how to play on their days off. How he got stuck babysittin’ he’d never know, but here he was, 17 year old Racetrack, watchin’ a gaggle of little Newsies. The youngest of ‘em wasn’t older than 6.

“Mr. Racer!” the littlest Newsie piped up, his missing front teeth giving his smile a big gap as he grinned, “Do you know ‘bout Spot Conlon?”

Race smirked. “Sure I’s do.”

The little Newsies all gasped, edging closer to where Race sat on the beat up sofa in the common room of the boy’s floor in the lodging house.

“Really?” Another boy asked, “Have ya ever met ‘im?”

Race grinned. “Maybe.”

Gasps.

“An’ ya didn’t get soaked???”

“Nah.” he shrugged. “Me an’ Spot, we’s pals.”

“You’s lyin’,” A rather skeptical eight year old replied simply. “You’s just sayin’.”

Race looked offended. “Lyin’?? Me an’ Spot’s best friends! I sell in Brooklyn twice a week wit’ ‘im.”

Tiny Newsie jaws dropped.

“No way!”

Race took the cigar out of his mouth as he leaned forward and smiled at the boys. “Yes way.”

“You ain’t Brooklyn, though’s! Ya’s from Manhattan. Ain’tcha?”

Race nodded, “Sure am. We’s got a spec’al arrangement, is all.”

“What’s the ‘rangement, Mr. Racer?” the youngest boy asked, eyes wide.

“I ain’t givin’ away all my secrets,” Race smirked, “Just know that as long’s I’m ‘round, you kiddos ain’t gotta be too scared’a ol’ Spot Conlon.”

“You ain’t scared’a ‘im??” another boy asked and Race shook his head.

“Nah.” Race put the cigar back in his mouth.

The little boys minds buzzed with new theories and just a little bit of fear toward Race, who was apparently best pals with the scariest, toughest Newsie in all’a New York.

*

Race tossed a little cloth bag with coins in it at his best friend, silly grin on his face.

“Luck’s changin’, Spotty!” Race said excitedly, “There’s ya cut.”

Spot raised a brow and opened the little bag. “Woah. How many races ya win?”

“FOUR.” Race grinned, “Can ya believe it?? I could feel somethin’ in the air today. Somethin’ lucky.”

Spot snorted, starting up the stairs of the Brooklyn lodging house, Race following. “So how mucha that’s goin’ to settle ya debts from last week, eh?”

“‘Bout half. But that means I’s got plenty for next week’s bettin’!”

“Or ya could, I dunno. Save some? Get a hot meal? Some new clothes ‘o somethin’.” Spot suggested.

Race snorted. “I don’ need that. Just wait Spotty, one’a these days I’ll hit the jackpot an’ you an’ me, we’ll be set for life.”

Spot smirked a little. “You an’ me, eh?”

Race met his eyes. “Yeah.”

Spot nodded proudly. “Yeah.”

Race followed Spot through the familiar Brooklyn lodging house. He nodded in greeting to Hotshot, Bruises and Joey where they sat around a card table, reading headlines and eating something before heading out to sell the evening edition. Race knew the Brooklyn house about as well as he knew Manhattan’s. All the other Newsies knew him by name, he was welcomed in without a second thought, and everyone, everyone, in Brooklyn knew that if you messed with Racetrack Higgins, it meant you were messing directly with Spot Conlon. No one questioned that.

Race patiently waited as Spot checked in on the younger kids in his lodge, making sure they didn’t get into any trouble on the streets today, and as he checked on one of his kids who stayed in from selling due to a head-cold. For all the tall tales of how terrifying Spot Conlon was, Race was one of the few people other than the Brooklyn kids who saw Spot’s softer side. He was a protector, through and through. He’d protect those kids with his life, and Race found it incredibly endearing.

“Poor kiddo,” Spot muttered as he climbed the ladder to his room, a small but cozy attic space that he’d claimed when he took charge of the Brooklyn Newsies. Race followed him.

“Twigs is still sick?” Race asked. Poor kid was already tiny, hence his nickname, no wonder a head-cold put him out of commission for the day.

“Yeah.” Spot frowned. “Might have to dip inta’ them winnin’s an’ get that kid some tonic.”

Race shrugged. “Ain’t gotta slush-fund for that? Them’s your winnin’s.”

Spot glanced at the bag of coins in his hand, tossing it onto his bed. “We do, but I don’ mind helpin’ the lil kid out. He ain’t got no one else. None’a them do.”

Race nodded in understanding. “You’s a nice guy, Spotty.” he said with a smile, “I’ll neva’ understand how kids’ is scared ‘a you.”

Spot puffed his chest. “‘Cuz I’m scary.”

“No you ain’t,” Race said, sliding a hand over Spot’s muscled shoulder and resting his chin on top of Spot’s head. “You’s a sweetheart.”

Spot snorted and pushed Race off him, “Shuddap.”

Race smirked, flopping dramatically onto Spot’s bed, reaching out for Spot to join him.

Spot did, sitting down next to Race, letting him play with his hand.

“You oughta get back to Manhattan ‘fore the sun goes down,” Spot mentioned as the sunset shone through his window and gave the attic an orange tint. “‘s Gettin’ late.”

Race nodded. “I’d rather stay here wit’ you.”

“You an’ I both know you ain’t suppos’d ta.”

Race shrugged, resting his head on Spot’s strong shoulder.

“Yeah well,” he gave him a secret grin. “We both knows we do things we ain’t suppos’d ta.”

Spot laughed lightly. “Yeah.” he glanced around his room, the only place in all of Brooklyn where he was allowed to relax. It was an off limits area. None of the other Newsies were allowed anywhere near his room, let alone inside. There were only a handful of people who’d ever seen Spot’s room, and only one who’d ever been allowed repeat visits. Race knew it was a very high honor.

“Only in ‘ere though.”

Race nodded, almost sadly. Spot had a funny way of making him happy no matter what. He loved annoyin’ him, playin’ pranks, makin’ jokes, sharin’ stories, and sellin’ papes with him. But he loved lots of other things about Spot too. Like that he cared so much about his Newsies. That he took such good care of his friends. Little things too, like that he was allergic to pollen in the springtime. That he loved to read. That he loved animals. That he stood up for the little guy time and time again.

Race was really proud to be Spot’s friend.

And sometimes, when they were alone, more than his friend. Race traced one finger across Spot’s bicep, tracing over the faded scar on his shoulder and connecting the dots of his freckles.

“Yeah,” Race agreed, “Only in ‘ere.” He sighed, still lazily tracing Spot’s freckles. “Why do ya think I don’t wanna leave?”

Spot smirked a little, allowing himself a moment of softness to rest his cheek against Race’s head.

“‘Cuz you’s a sap.” Spot teased. “You oughta go back to Manhattan ‘fore I soak ya.”

Race grinned, his nose crinkling. “Then ya’s gonna miss me.”

Spot grinned back. “Only a lil bit.”

“Til I’m back in Brooklyn ta bug ya on Friday.”

“Too long.” Spot said, sliding his hand into Race’s gently.

“Now who’sa sap?” Race snickered, but laces his fingers through Spot’s, squeezing gently.

Spot squeezed back. “Still you.”

“Nahhh.” Race pecked a very careful kiss to Spot’s temple, just barely brushing his lips against his hairline.

Spot turned to face him, their eyes meeting and fighting unspoken feelings and buried fears. Their faces grew closer, Race’s forehead resting against Spot’s. Race smelled like newsprint and tobacco, two scents that Spot now associated with comfort and safety. He closed his eyes, relaxing, only opening them when Race parted their heads.

“You’s prob’ly right though,” he said softly, “I oughta go back ta Manhattan.”

Spot tried not to look disappointed and nodded. “Yeah.”

Race gave him a smile, squeezing his hand. “See you’s Friday?”

“Friday.” Spot gave Race’s hand one more squeeze before letting him go. Race took the cigar from his shirt’s pocket and stuck it in his mouth, giving Spot a smile before he started down the ladder to take him downstairs.

Spot sighed as the door to his attic closed behind Race and he flopped down against the creaky mattress of his bed. He hated this. He hated the way that Race made him feel, so safe and terrified at the same time. Spot Conlon wasn't really afraid of anyone or anything, but getting hurt by Race, or worse, Race getting hurt by him, was at the top of the list of his fears.

Sneaking around wasn't smart, and both of them knew it. Lying wasn't smart either. Especially when they were lying to each other. All the late nights and drunken kisses in the world wouldn't get either boy to admit they had feelings for one another, at least not out loud. Spot hoped that it was clear how he felt, and that their quiet moments and his careful signs of affection were enough for Race to know how much he meant to him.

They couldn't talk about it, not explicitly. They both knew that they couldn't be together, not truly, not anything more than the friends they already were. And if they talked about it, if Spot ever told Race how he felt; how his heart fluttered every time they touched, how his lips burned for hours after every time they’d kissed, how he'd stay up late thinking about him and them and their lives and their futures, Spot knew he'd be done for. If he talked about it, it'd be real. If they discussed it, they'd both realize they had no future, at least not one together.

Spot was afraid that when they faced their fate head on, the secrets in Spot’s bedroom would go away. And then Race would stop sellin’ in Brooklyn. And soon he'd stop going to Sheepshead. And Spot would be alone.

Spot sat up and looked out the window from the top of the Lodging house just in time to see Race waving his goodbyes to the other Brooklyn newsies as he started his trek back over the bridge. Before he left he looked up to Spot’s bedroom window, waving a little goodbye.

Spot didn't think Race could see it, but he waved back.

Race turned and walked back over the bridge all alone.

Spot sat back down on his bed, all alone.

*

Friday was a rainy day in New York City. It was summer, so the rain was expected, but dreaded. Rainy days were always slow sellin’ days. No one wanted to stop too long to buy papes when it’d just get soaked in a few minutes anyways. Newsies typically hid under awnings or building entrances to sell what they could, but usually gave up and went back home before the weather got too nasty. There’d be a new headline and more papes to sell tomorrow, when the sun was (hopefully) shining.

Friday was Race’s day to sell with Spot in Brooklyn. And even though it was already raining when he’d left that morning, he still made the long trek over the bridge and showed up at Brooklyn’s Newsie hub in time. He and Spot sold the few papes they’d bought, they were veterans at selling in bad weather, and then retired to the Brooklyn Lodging house for the rest of the afternoon. They spent the rest of the day playing cards and checkers and taking turns keeping the peace, as there were too many young newsies hanging around in boredom.

It was getting late and the weather was worsening. Race was deeply involved in a game of blackjack between a handful of the older Brooklyn newsies, determined to win for the third game in a row. Spot had been checking on the kids, making sure no one was doing anything stupid, and that the younger ones had all eaten, before he joined in on the card game.

“Ay,” Hotshot asked, “What time is it? Shouldn’t this crook be headin’ back ta Manhattan?” Hotshot elbowed Race, who snorted.

“You’s just bitter cuz I wiped ya pockets for the third time tonight.” Race teased. He looked to Spot, who glanced up from his cards.

“It is pretty late,” he admitted, “But the weather’s awful. You wanna just stay the night, Racer?”

Race raised a brow. “I really oughta go back, Jack’ll be worried sick.”

“Psshh,” Spot waved a hand. “Kelly’ll be fine a single night without ya. You don’t wanna get pneumonia or nothin’, do ya?”

Race shrugged. “I ain’t gonna get sick,” Race said simply, setting down another card. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“You’s gonna get a different kinda soaked if ya try an’ cross the bridge in this storm.” Spot told him. Thunder crashed outside and Spot was the only one who saw Race flinch at the loud sound. He narrowed his eyes a little bit.

“You’s stayin’.” Spot said firmly, making it clear there was no room for argument.

“You want us ta make room for ‘im?” Hotshot asked, “We can kick ol’ Bruises ta the floor for the night.”

“Hey!” Bruises protested, punching Hotshot in the arm.

“Nah,” Spot brushed them off. He didn’t look up from his cards. “He’ll bunk wit’ me.”

Race felt his chest growing warm with pride.

“Whateva’ you says, boss.” Hotshot said, going back to the game. No one said anything else about it.

After their game, which Race won easily, Spot made his final nightly rounds throughout the busy lodging house. He checked on the younger kids, making sure they were going to sleep and weren’t getting into mischief. He made sure that Twigs, the little newsie who was still fighting off a cold, had enough blankets and had eaten something that evening.

Race followed Spot on his rounds, admiring how gentle but firm Spot was with the younger kids. He seemed way older than his 18 years as he cared for the kids, lifting them into their bunks and gently assuring them that they’d be back to selling papes in the morning. Race tried not to smile as he watched Spot checking Twigs’ temperature with the back of his hand, putting another ratty blanket over the little boy’s shivering form. Race also noticed that Spot had bought tonic for him, and it was sitting next to the cot the little kid was curled up on.

“He’ll be okay,” Spot said as he left the younger kids’ room, “He’s a tough little kid.”

Race had a feeling that Spot was saying it for his own benefit than anyone else’s.

Spot sighed as he closed the door to his room as Race climbed up after him, turning on the small gas-lamp in the corner so they could see.

“He’s gonna be fine, Spotty,” Race tried to encourage, “Don’t worry. You got him some tonic an’ everythin’. I’m sure he’ll beat it.”

“Yeah.” Spot said, taking off his newsie cap and tossing it onto an overturned crate. “Yeah. He’ll be fine.”

Race took his cap off too, tossing it next to Spot’s before he sat down on Spot’s bunk.

“You’s sure ‘bout me stayin’ the night?” Race asked, and Spot nodded.

“Yeah. I’d rather know you’s safe an’ dry, here. ‘Stead’a bein’ wet an’ catchin’ cold in Manhattan.” Spot said simply, sitting down next to Race on the bed. “Got it?”

“Got it.” Race nodded. Lightning crackled across the sky and thunder echoed so loud that it made the attic walls quake a little. Race jumped at the sound, groaning a little in embarrassment. Spot looked him over curiously.

“You okay, Race?”

“Mmhm.” Race avoided Spot’s eyes.

“No you ain’t.” he frowned. “You don’t like the storms?”

“Nah.” Race shrugged. “It’s dumb. Don’ worry ‘bout it.” He tugged off his over shirt and pulled off the suspenders he wore so he was in his pants and undershirt. “Can we go to bed now?”

Spot nodded, taking off his suspenders and shirt as well. He turned off the lamp so the room was lit only by the lightning cracks and faded moonlight through the rolling dark clouds. Spot climbed into the bed, which was probably too small for both of them, but they didn’t care, immediately getting comfortable next to one another. There wasn’t any awkwardness. Both boys were used to sharing their bed, and neither of them could think of anyone they’d rather share with than each other. They each respectfully maintained a small amount of distance between them, but Race’s hand reached carefully for Spot’s as another loud crash of thunder made his skin crawl. Spot gently took his hand.

Race gave him a smile in the dark, but Spot’s eyes had already adjusted so he could see the little grin.

“Tell me a secret,” Race whispered.

Spot smirked. He’d joked once that Race was the only one who knew his secrets, and now Race held that title very proudly, but privately.

“Like what?” Spot asked flatly. He noticed in the back of his head that his hand was still holding Race’s, and Race squeezed tight when another crash of thunder echoed outside.

“Anythin’. Tell me why ya didn’t let me go back to Manhattan tonight.” Race’s voice was tight, and Spot could tell he was trying to distract himself. He opted for honesty to answer Race’s question.

“You’d get sick.”

“You don’ know that. I’s got great health.”

“People what get soakin’ wet an’ don’t own enough clothes ta get dry is only gonna get sick. I...I’s seen it lotsa times.”

“You’s gotten sick from a rainstorm?” Race asked, and Spot shook his head a little.

“Nah.” his voice was quiet. “A kid in the house did, few years back.” Spot hesitated, deciding whether or not he wanted to finish. “He was little, like Twigs is. He got pneumonia real bad, an’ by the time I got ‘im to a nurse, it was too late for ‘im.”

“Oh.” Race said softly, feeling his chest ache with sorrow. “I...I’m sorry, Spotty. I didn’t realize. I wasn’t meanin’ ta joke ‘bout it.”

Spot shook his head. “It’s fine. I just know I ain’t gonna let no more kids get sick if I can help it.” he said simply. “Ain’t worth it.”

“You’s right. It ain’t.”

They were quiet again, another crash of thunder making the walls shake. Race jumped again, letting out a shaky sigh.

“That an’ I’d miss ya.” Spot said lightly, and Race gave him a little smile. He was grateful to Spot for trying to distract him.

“You’d miss me?” Race teased, and Spot snorted.

“‘Course, dumbass.”

“Why’s that?” Race asked, his tone light but intent serious.

“Tuesday’s a long way from now. ‘Sides, we’s pals.”

“Pals.” Race said softly, nodding. He subconsciously let go of Spot’s hand, but Spot grabbed it back.

“Yeah.” he held Race’s hand tight in his.

Spot wanted to elaborate. He really did. But he wasn’t even sure what this was. What they were. They were pape-sellin’-partners, and best friends, but past that? Spot had no idea. He didn’t think boyfriends was the right word for it. He didn’t think there was a right word for it. Especially when nothing about it was right.

“Your turn,” Spot said, changing the subject. “Tell me a secret.”

“I ain’t got any secrets,” Race said lightly.

“Sure ya do.”

“You know pretty much all’a ‘em.” Race admitted. He was a pretty open book when he found people he trusted, and he trusted Spot more than anyone else he’d ever met. He loved times like this, when it was just them, and nothin’ else. He loved learning new things about his best friend. He loved knowing things about him that no one else did.

“So why’s you scared’a thunder?” Spot asked, catching Race a little off guard.

“I don’t like storms.” Race said quickly. He sighed a little. “I hate ‘em,” Race said softly, “They’s so loud. I just wanna sleep but they’s loud, so’s I can’t.”

“Guess they is pretty loud,” Spot admitted. “I didn’t realize it bothered ya.”

Race shrugged a little. “Neva’ liked ‘em.” he admitted. “Bad mem’ries.”

“Yeah?” Spot wanted to know what sort of memories could be attached to rain, but he didn’t want to make Race uncomfortable so he didn’t push it.

“Yeah.”

The room lit up around them with a lightning strike that was too close for Race to be comfortable and when the crack exploded into the loudest thunder crash yet, Race practically lept from the bed. He cursed under his breath, angry at himself for being upset, and even angrier at the memories of lightning, smoke and flames that filled his head and refused to leave. The same memories that woke him up when fire sirens blared all night long in the city. The same memories that plagued him every single thunderstorm filled summer since he was a kid.

“Hey, it’s okay Racer, it’ll pass.” Spot offered, but Race paced back and forth across the room, trying to calm down.

“‘S so dumb.” he muttered under his breath.

Spot stood and took Race by the hands, leading him back to the bed. They sat next to each other, Race’s shaking hands still in Spot’s strong ones.

“Whadda ya do in Manhattan when it’s stormin’?” Spot asked.

“Dunno. Try ta sleep, walk ‘round an’ try not to wake up the boys, hide ‘til it’s done. I can’t smoke inside, so I don’t get ta calm down as much as I wanna.” he frowned, leaning his face into Spot’s shoulder. “‘m sorry. ‘S stupid.”

“No it ain’t.” Spot assured him. He put one hand gently on Race’s back. “Whadda ya want me to do? How can I’s help?”

Race leaned into Spot closer as another flash of lightning lit up the room. Spot’s strong arm held Race tight.

“I’s fine,” Race told him after a moment. “Being with you’s already helpin’.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. I know you’s got my back. I’m safe.”

Spot smiled a little, leaning into Race comfortably.

“I don’t think no one feels too safe ‘round me.” Spot admitted quietly. “I’s got a reputat’on, ya know.”

Race smiled, feeling his fears slowly fading the longer Spot held onto him.

“Well, I know I’m safe.” Race told him, “Ain’t a doubt in my mind you’s lookin’ out for me.”

Spot wasn’t thinking as he pressed a very small kiss to Race’s forehead.

“You know I is.”

*

Race left the Brooklyn lodging house early that morning, before the sun was even up. The storm was long gone, only puddles remained as a memory of the pounding rain and cracking lightning from the night before. Race wished his heart didn’t ache every time he made the walk over the bridge to go back into Lower Manhattan. He wished he didn’t feel the way he did. He also didn’t regret it. He held the secrets and reassurances from that night with him, hiding them in his heart for later as he started to walk back.

When Spot woke up just as the sun began to rise, he instantly noticed that Race was gone. For a second he wondered if he’d dreamt the whole thing, but he quickly noticed that where their hats had been sitting last night on the overturned crate next to his bed, a cigar remained instead. Spot picked it up, letting himself smile a little before he pulled on his shirt and suspenders and got ready to start the day.

*

Race reached the Manhattan Lodging house just as the sun was coming up. He opened the door and started up the stairs, searching his pocket for his key when the door opened and Jack Kelly bumped directly into him.

“Racer!” Jack exclaimed, “For the love of Pete, where were ya??” Jack hit Race with his hat, slinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a hug.

“Geez Mom, good mornin’ to ya too.” Race teased. “Stayed the night in Brooklyn ‘cuz ‘a the storm.”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed with concern. “You’s okay? Storm was pretty bad.” Other than Spot, Jack was the only person who knew how Race felt during thunderstorms. He’d been worried about him all night as he listened to the thunder rolling and rain pelting the city.

“I’m fine,” Race assured him. “But starvin’. We got any food?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jack pulled Race through the door. “Come on.”

Race was greeted by the other boys the second he walked through the door, immediately peppered with whoops, hollers and questions.

“Where were ya??” Albert asked, “You had Jackie all worried ‘bout ya.”

“Poor Mom didn’t know what to do with ya lost in Brooklyn.” Romeo teased, elbowing Jack, who rolled his eyes.

“We was ready ta send out the search party!” Elmer added.

The littler Newsies chased one another around the small kitchen until Albert shouted for them to scram. A few lingered though, surprised to see Race.

“Where’d ya go Mr. Racer?” one of the younger Newsies asked. Race snorted.

“Got caught in the rain, so I’s stayed in Brooklyn for the night.” He explained simply.

“An’ ya didn’t get soaked by them Brooklyn boys?” A kid asked, and Race laughed.

“‘Course not.”

“Where’d ya stay?” Crutchie asked, handing Race a plate with toast and half an apple on it.

“Thanks,” Race said as he started to eat. “Stayed at the Brooklyn boys’ lodgin’ house. It’s nicer ‘n ours is.” he joked, mouth full.

“You stayed there?” one of the younger kids asked.

“Yep.”

“Spot Conlon let you stay with his boys?” Another little kid asked, wide eyed.

Race flicked a piece of his crust at the kid, hitting him in the forehead. “Yeah, he did. No big thing.”

“Wow.” the kid gaped. “Why didn’t he beat ya up??”  he asked.

“‘Cuz we’s friends.” Race said simply.

The kid turned to his friend next to him. “So why’d you beat me up?” he asked, poking at his own healing black eye.

“Cuz you’s a dummy!!” his friend shouted, and the two lightly brawled until Jack kicked them out of the kitchen.

“Enough, ya knuckleheads.” he shook his head. “Go get yerselves lookin’ presentable or no one’ll wanna buy from ya today.”

The boys obeyed and ran up the stairs, leaving the older boys in the kitchen.

“You really stayed with Spot last night?” Elmer asked, a little surprised.

Race bit into his apple half. “Yeah, what of it?”

“Just curious.” Elmer said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“He ain’t the friendliest kid in the city,” Crutchie said, and Race gave him a grin.

“He’s friendly ta me.”

“You’s lucky.” Albert commented. “He’d prob’ly soak any’a us on sight for invadin’ his territory.”

Race snorted. “Nah, he ain’t so bad.”

“Sure he is.” Elmer said, “You’s heard the stories, ain’t ya?”

“Sure,” Race shrugged, “But that don’t mean they’s true.”

Jack didn’t comment, watching Race carefully. He’d been worried sick about his friend, knowing just how he felt when bad lightning storms hit, and was ready to go out in the middle of the storm to find him until Crutchie stopped him from doin’ anything dumb. He was relieved that Race was okay, and more relieved that he was indoors and not hidin’ out under the bridge or nothin’. But now Jack was curious. Race had been spending more and more time in Brooklyn lately, a lot more than his occasional excursion to the Sheepshead Races he’d take after a particularly good headline dropped and filled his pockets with extra cash. Jack had never commented on it, a little wary of questioning anything Spot Conlon did, even if it included friendship with one of his boys. Jack wouldn’t necessarily consider Spot a friend, more of a reluctant ally. He came through for them during the strike last year, and now he an’ Race were friends, which meant Manhattan an’ Brooklyn stayed allies. But that didn’t mean Jack wasn’t skeptical of Spot and his intentions with his friend.

“Alright ya slackers,” Jack interrupted, brushing Race off his perch on the kitchen counter, “Let’s get to work. Ya can bug Race ‘bout Brooklyn later.”

Race smirked and finished his apple half in one more bite, spitting the seeds onto his plate and putting it in the getting-rather-full sink.

“Let’s hope we’s got a good headline today,” Race commented as he followed Jack from the kitchen to round up the boys and head to Newsies Square. Jack fell back to walk with Race on the way over to the square.

“Ay, you sure you’s aight Racer?” he asked gently and Race gave him a toothy grin through the cigar between his teeth.

“‘Course I am, Jackie. Why?”

Jack gave him a look. They both knew why.

“I mean it,” Race insisted. “I’m a’ight. Spot was real nice to let me stay wit’ ‘im last night. I even was able to sleep.”

“Ya were?” Jack was impressed.

“Yeah.” the corners of Race’s lips were tempted to tug into a smile but he forced his expression to remain neutral. “I was.”

Jack watched him curiously. “Good.” he said, “I’m glad Spot was nice to ‘ya.” he chose his words carefully, observing Race’s reaction.

This time Race couldn’t hide his little smile. Jack tried to place where he’d seen the look in Race’s eyes before and it took him a minute to figure it out. The way Race’s eyes lit up when he talked about Spot Conlon was the exact same way Katherine’s eyes lit up when he brought her flowers at work last week. It was the same look she gave him when he made her dinner at her apartment, and the same look he was sure he gave her when she’d show him her articles to read before anyone else did, or got excited about his latest drawings.

Love.

Racetrack nodded. “Yeah, me too. He’s a good pal.” he fought the little smile away.

Jack wasn’t sure how anyone could feel anything other than respect and healthy fear for Spot Conlon, but he was pretty sure that whatever Race was feeling, it was more than that. Jack took a second to process that, wondering if he was jumping to conclusions or if he was right. He knew Race pretty well, and he could tell how much happier he was after spending the day in Brooklyn. Jack’s stomach hurt with a pang of sadness, knowing that as happy as Spot seemed to make him, he and Race could never really do anything about it. Race’s life was hard enough as it was, this would only make it harder. Spot Conlon was a dangerous kid, but being in love with him was far more dangerous. Especially Race being in love with him. Jack tried to push the thoughts away. He couldn’t protect Race from this, but he’d be there for him if he got hurt.

“I’m glad he’s your pal,” Jack settled on saying, and Race nodded.

“Yeah.” he looked down at his boots as they walked.

That’s all he’ll ever be.

*

http://archiveofourown.org/works/12941445  ao3 link :)

[empressdrega27]

It almost seems like nothing’s changed at all

WOO DID SOMEONE ORDER SOME FLUFFY JEDTAVIUS?! CUZ HERE IT IS! This is dedicated to @atomicdangos who requested it a million years ago, I’m sorry love, I had some killer writer’s block and my dog had surgery a week ago, but here it is now and I hope u like it!

Prompt: After Ahk returns to the museum, Jed and Octavius reunite.

 Octavius couldn’t remember when he’d had such a terrible headache. His temples throbbed and his neck felt far too insubstantial to hold the weight of his pounding cranium. He felt sluggish and tired, as if he’d been sleeping for too long. Wait. That’s exactly what happened. The last thing Octavius remembered was talking to Jedidiah before....  

Before the magic ran out and they became lifeless once and for all.

Octavius’s eyes flew open. Did this mean that Ahkmenrah had returned? It must be, or Octavius would still be a figurine. He took a deep breath and reveled in the feeling of being alive again. How long had it been? How long had they been lifeless? Octavius thought of his friends, it would be so good to see them again. Ahk, Atilla, Sacagawea, Teddy, Jedidiah....

He gasped. If he was awake, then Jed must be too! Octavius ran, or at least, he tried to. Apparently, he would need to take it slower. Being asleep for so long was messing with his balance. So, Octavius made his way toward the old west exhibit at a brisk walk. He wondered if Jed was encountering similar problems, or if was as exited to see Octavius as Octavius was to see him....

Meanwhile, at  the legion of doom the old west exhibit, Jedidiah was indeed experiencing similar troubles, only, his were worse. While Octavius could at least walk, Jed was finding it hard to even remain standing at all. 

“Dagnabit! What kinda ‘welcome back’ is this supposed to be?! We’re out cold for Lord knows how long, and now I cain’t even stand up?!” Jedidiah Smith was not a man who swore openly, but he had to admit, this situation was testing his resolve on that front.

Jed’s men were standing around watching their leader struggle. It wasn’t that they hadn’t tried to help him! They had! Jed just, wouldn’t let them. He was a stubborn old cowboy, that’s for sure  He probably wouldn’t even be that upset if it weren’t for his minds rampant imagination. You see, all Jed was concerned about, was Octavius. What if Octavius was in the same situation? What if it was worse for him? What if Octavius didn’t wake up at all?! WHAT IF HE DID WAKE UP AND WAS ON HIS WAY TO SEE JED RIGHT NOW, AND ENDED UP SEEING HIM LIKE THIS?!!! The cowboy was freaking out, and it wasn’t helping his situation. At all. Pretty soon, Jed’s arms gave out and he flopped backwards in defeat. Staring at the ceiling, Jed mused aloud, 

“First I’m 3 inches tall, then mah damn guns don’t fire, and now; I cain’t even get up. What’s next? The horses start their own union and demand a pay raise?!”

Jed sighed. he hoped that Octavius was doing okay.....

Octavius was almost at the old west exhibit. He was out of breath, but he was almost there. Now he just had to climb around the ledge and voila! But as Octavius looked at that ledge, he found himself more and more convinced he’d never make it. Suddenly, a familiar voice said,

“It seems you could use some assistance.”

Octavius turned around and saw Ahkmenrah, as regal as ever.

The roman smiled and replied, “My liege, your assistance is always welcome.”

Ahk picked him up and placed him gently in the old west exhibit.

“I would stay and visit with you for a time, but I know you have more, pressing, matters to attend to”, the Pharaoh said with a smile.

Octavius bowed slightly and answered, “I look forward to it. I have missed you, my friend”.

“And I you. Enjoy yourself Octavius, and give Jedidiah my regards”.

With that, Ahkmenrah departed, leaving Octavius to his quest.

He raced forward asking where Jedidiah was. The people of the old west pointed him in the right direction. Soon he had found him. Jed was laying facing the ceiling, muttering about injustice and humiliation. Octavius beamed. Jedidiah hadn’t changed at all. Octavius took his helmet off and rushed forward, falling to his knees beside Jed. Jed felt someone beside him and looked over. His eyes widened, and he sat up.

“Octavius?”, he said as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Yes Jedidiah. I’m here. I missed you so.”

Jed put his hand on Octavius’ face and whispered, “I missed you too, pardner. I didn’t think ah’d ever see ya again. Yer eyes are still so beautiful.”

Octavius chuckled and replied, “My eyes pale in comparison to yours my heart. I knew we’d meet again. We still have much to do.”

Jed smiled, “I spose’ we do, don’t we?”

The two sat together for a moment when Octavius asked, “My love, why were you laying in the dirt muttering to yourself?”

Jed grunted and told him. Octavius tried to contain his laughter, but it was too difficult.

“Hey! I didn’t laugh at you when you got stuck in that soda can a few years back! So why’re ya laughin at me?!”

“I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at the situation. You must admit, it’s rather funny”.

“I guess it is pretty funny!”

For a good long while, the hall of miniatures was filled with laughter. Eventually, the laughing died down and the two miniatures heard music. A party no doubt.

Octavius stood and said, “We should head to the party, lest they become worried and send someone to fetch us. Here”, he offered his hand, “I’ll help you up”.

Jed nodded and replied, “Yeah I reckon yer right. Don’t want them worryin’ bout us”.

Jed reached up and took Octavius’ hand. Unfortunately, Octavius was still a bit weak, and when he pulled Jed up, his own strength failed and the two of them toppled over onto each other. They sat in surprise for a moment, before they dissolved into laughter yet again. When they settled down, Jed asked, 

“Maybe we should just stay here for a lil while ya know? To get our strength back.” Jed scooched a bit closer.

Octavuis replied, “Yes, I do believe that would be wise. Wouldn’t want any more, accidents...”. Octavius leaned in and the two of them met in the middle. The kiss was sweet and gentle. Each of them put their hearts into it. They expressed every feeling; the frustration of lost time, the sorrow of goodbye, the joy of living again, and most importantly, the overwhelming love of being reunited at last. They talked for hours, and when their strength returned, they went to the party. 

Pretty soon, it was like Ahk had never even left. The museum was alive once more, and Jedidiah and Octavius were determined to not let a single moment go to waste. 

[megsblackfirewrites]

The Beginning of a Legacy: Chapter 4

Chapter 4

“Captain,” Malaha greeted as John and his group stepped into the briefing room.

“Major,” he greeted in return and saluted.

Everyone followed suit, except for Joel, who just tipped his hat like the typical Southern gentleman he tried to style himself as. The Major gave Joel a fond look before she shook her head. Leave it to Joel to charm everyone in high command into not caring if he saluted or not. He’d be charming them out of their wallets if they allowed it; he was good at getting what he wanted. John glanced past Malaha and took stock of the group assembled around the table. Young eyes stared at him, each one a little more nervous than the last.

“So, this is Overwatch?” John asked. “A motley bunch, if nothing else.”

“The best from around the world, Captain Morrison,” Malaha chuckled. “Don’t let their age fool you; they’re as dedicated to this cause as you are and just as qualified.”

“It’s not their dedication I worry about,” John replied as his eyes landed on an enormous young man with barely the beginnings of a beard on his chin. “Why the hell is there a teenager at my table?”

The boy in question grinned widely before he got to his feet, holding a massive hand out towards John. He was easily almost six and a half feet tall and by the looks of him, he wasn’t done growing yet. He wasn’t just tall, either; he was covered in thick muscles. Was it natural for a kid his age to be that ripped? It was sort of disquieting.

“Reinhardt Wilhelm at your service!” he boomed, making Laura squeak in surprise.

Kid had a good set of lungs on him too. At least someone’s voice was going to carry over the battlefield when orders needed to be shouted.

“Captain Morrison,” John replied as he shook the boy’s hand. “That doesn’t tell me why you’re here, kid.”

“Ah, I was nominated from my order,” Reinhardt beamed and puffed his chest out. “We Crusaders are the best that Germany has to offer!”

“Never heard of the group,” John said coldly. “And I question their motives for sending a child to me.”

“John,” Joel elbowed him in the side. “Ease up. I was runnin’ guns when I was his age.”

“Let’s not bring up your sordid past, Joel,” John shot him a look. “It is not a good example to use.”

“Why not? Best they know who they’re dealin’ with,” Joel smirked. “‘Sides, hard to call anyone that’s as big as Reinhardt a kid. Fuck, he’s bigger than I am and I ain’t a short-ass, unlike you, Snow White.”

“Snow White had ebony black hair; I’m more like Cinderella,” John shook his head. “Van is going to be so insulted that you didn’t pay attention to our discussion, Joel. And after she decided you were Robin Hood too.”

“Considerin’ the one she was talkin’ about was a fox, I’m sort of happy about forgettin’ it ‘til this moment,” he teased before winking at Reinhardt. “Little girls are usually pretty good at complimentin’ ya, but they’re just as fast to insult ya thinkin’ they’re being cute. She’d probably call you ‘Little John’ or Ballou cuz a yer size.”

Reinhardt grinned and puffed his chest out even more. Leave it to the kid to take being likened to a bear as a compliment. John did his best not to roll his eyes as Joel leaned on the table.

“How long you serve, Reinhardt?” Joel asked.

“A little over a year, sir,” Reinhardt smiled.

“Ah, don’t sir me; I ain’t the one with the shiny badge on my chest,” Joel laughed. “Just call me Joel. Or McCree; I’ll answer to both.”

“So they’re sending a private instead of an officer,” John growled. “They aren’t fighting their case very well.”

“John, breathe,” Joel shot him a smirk. “Decision’s already been made. Roll with it.”

“I could hit you,” John glared at him.

Joel smirked more and flipped him off. John reached out and cuffed the older man over the head, but all it got him was a gruff laugh and a hand in his hair ruffling it roughly.

“That’s ol’ Cap fer ya,” Joel crowed. “Cares too much fer his own good. Don’t worry, boys and girls, John’ll carry yer busted ass off the battlefield no matter how much he’s cussin’ you out.”

John reached up to try and fix his ruffled hair, glaring at Joel, but it softened at the man’s fond smile. Joel set his hands on his hips before he glanced around at the table.

“So, who else wants to introduce themselves?” he asked. “You know, before the Cap’ is forced to give his military spiel and we’re all reduced to numbers in some jackass’ book.”

A woman rose elegantly to her feet and bowed her head. “Shimada Miyu,” she said with a lighter Japanese accent than John was expecting. “It is an honour to serve with you, Morrison-sama.” She glanced up and smirked at him. “You can return the bow if you wish, just keep your head above mine.”

“I’ll settle for a handshake,” John replied.

“Thank Christ!” Miyu laughed as she reached across the table to shake his hand. “I hate having to deal with Americans that don’t know the first thing about proper bows.”

Joel cackled with glee at her comment and tipped his hat. “Ah, lil lady, I think we’re gunna get along just fine,” he teased.

“I should hope so,” she winked. “We ex-criminals have to stick together.”

“What?” Laura piped up.

Joel lifted his hat a little out of his eyes and squinted at Miyu. Miyu smirked and batted her eyelashes, shifting her shoulders back and forth. Joel threw his head back and laughed, reaching out to thump John’s chest.

“Well I’ll be,” he laughed. “If it ain’t the White Dragon of Hanamura! My, you grew up into a fine young lady, Miss Miyu. I didn’t recognize ya!”

“Care to fill the rest of us in?” John sighed.

“Deadlock and the Shimada clan had some dealin’s over the years,” Joel grinned. “Miyu’s the fine offspring of a powerful yakuza leader. ‘Though, I expect if yer here, that cousin of yers finally managed to wrench control from yer elders.”

“Exactly,” Miyu nodded. “I am here as a peace offering from the Shimada Clan to the Japanese Military.”

“So we’re working with criminals,” a man growled, glaring at Miyu and Joel. “Is this really the best the world has to offer?”

“Who the governments chose to send is out of my control, Sergeant,” Malaha said. “You will just have to deal with it.”

“You expect me to trust criminals to watch my back?” the Sergeant demanded, his dark eyes narrowing. “This is loco.”

“I have no reason to turn on you unless you give me a reason to, Reyes-san,” Miyu inclined her head.

Sergeant Reyes glared at her and said something in Spanish. John’s Spanish was horrible; he’d learned French in high school and the most he could say was “hello” and “where’s the bathroom”. Miyu smiled sweetly at the Sergeant before punching him across the face and knocking him flat on his ass. She gave her fist a shake and set a hand on her hip.

“You know what he said?” John asked as everyone shuffled closer to stare at the dazed man on the floor.

“Not a clue,” she shrugged. “But I know when I’ve been insulted.”

“Pretty sure I heard a puta in there,” Joel chuckled. “So he at least called you a ‘bitch’.”

“Typical,” Miyu smirked before looking at John. “So,” she smiled, “when do we leave?”

“So, you got anyone waiting for you at home, Captain?”

Joel glanced up. Sergeant Reyes still had a beautiful black eye from where Miyu had punched him, but the idiot had at least stopped insulting her when she was in hearing range. He had pitched a fit when John made it clear that Joel was his Second in Command over a “more qualified” military officer. Joel was still waiting for the right moment to pin the man to a wall and shake some sense into him. Now was not the time for his backwards, bro-military logic. They had a dangerous war to win.

“Kid,” John smiled. “Only seven.”

“Look like you or his mom?” Reyes asked.

“Him,” Laura smirked. “Damn near spitting image, if you ask me. Great big blue eyes and corn-gold blond hair. Such a little sweetie.”

“Thank you, Laura,” John shook his head. “I’m sure Jack will love that you said that. He’s always so scared people won’t know he’s my son.”

Laura grinned widely before she returned to listening to her iPod. Joel shook his head in amusement as Reyes lifted an eyebrow at Laura. He clearly didn’t approve of the scout being on the same team as him either. Whether because she was young or inexperienced with military protocol was something Joel still had to puzzle out. Reyes shook his head and turned back to John.

“So, what, you white boys just breed true or something?” he asked.

“Wow, asshole,” Joel called. “My kids look like me too.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Reyes smiled. “You know that, right, gringo?”

John shot him a look and shook his head. Just like the big boss to let insults slide so that no feathers were ruffled. Kid better not think Joel was that nice.

“What about you, Reyes? Who’s waiting at home for you?” John asked.

“Brother, sister-in-law, and their kids,” Reyes smirked.

“How sweet,” John said icily.

“Oh, come on, Cap; I’m just playing around,” Reyes said sweetly. “What’s the matter; can’t take a joke?”

“Jokes should be funny,” Miyu said as she walked over and dropped down between John and Reyes. “Not meant to make someone feel small over something as petty as living family members.”

“I’d listen to the lady,” Joel commented as he readjusted his hat. “Ain’t gunna get anywhere if we’re at each other’s throats over stupid shit like this.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to make small talk,” Reyes lifted his hands.

“Then speak of something else,” Miyu replied.

“Fine; what’s home to you?” Reyes demanded.

“A village on top of a hill,” Miyu smiled. “It’s old and swamped by tradition. Tokyo is not far from us, so at night you can see the lights in the sky. It’s beautiful in spring, full of warmth and sunshine. There are cherry blossoms floating everywhere. I miss it.”

“How long you been away, Miyu?” Joel asked.

“Two years,” Miyu looked down at her feet. “I have been protecting the rest of Asia from the omnics. I have not held my cousin’s son since he was born. My cousin tells me that he is expecting another child. I want to be there to hold them at least once.”

“Home’s a farm,” John sighed. “Corn plantations as far as the eye can see. Wide open spaces. Porch with a swing seat. Tire swing hanging from the old oak in the front yard. Chickens running around and pecking at everything. Dirt road all the way up to the highway. Sweet ice tea on a summer night.”

“Sounds like heaven,” Miyu smiled. “What happened to it?”

“Omnics,” John sighed. “Don’t know how much is left of the old farmstead. Could probably save something of it when this hell is done with. What about you, Joel?”

Joel smiled as he tipped his hat back. “Wild west is what I call home,” he chuckled. “Hot sun, sun-baked earth, not a tree fer miles in any direction. Just you, a gun, and whatever mode of transportation you prefer. Used to drive an ol’ pick-up, personally. But, home’s also a warm house filled with the laughter of children. Never thought I’d be much of a family man ‘til my little rugrats were born.”

“Apartment in Bloomington,” Laura said as she pulled an earbud out. “Not overly fancy, but it’s nice. Just me, Dad, and Tigger.”

“A village in Germany,” Reinhardt sighed softly from where he was sitting. “The cool breezes of summer wafting in out of the forest. Homemade bread filling the house. I will never see it again.”

“I’m sorry,” Joel murmured. “Omnics?”

“Ja,” Reinhardt nodded his head. “It is what spurred me into the army so young. There was nothing left of my home and I could not bear the thought of others suffering as I did. I swore I would protect all that I could. I do not plan on breaking that vow ever.”

“What about you, Reyes?” Joel asked. “What’s home to you?”

Reyes shifted uncomfortably and looked away. “A home in L.A,” he grumbled. “Nothing special about it. Just nice and full of people.”

“Any of them actually miss you?” Joel growled in Spanish. Reyes looked at him in surprise and Joel smiled. “What, you really think you’re the only one capable of knowing two languages?”

“Didn’t peg you as being Mexican,” Reyes said. “Little dark.”

“Not Mexican; Navajo,” Joel shrugged. “Learned Spanish in high school and kept at it since it was useful to know. Regardless, you’re a right arrogant bastard. You think only Mexicans can speak Spanish? A good chunk of the fucking world speaks Spanish, jackass.”

“You don’t talk like a white boy, that’s all.”

“And racist to boot,” Joel snorted, wishing he could spit. He was pretty sure the pilot would gut him if he spat in her plane. “Fuckers like you give the rest of us a bad name.”

“Rest of us?” Reyes demanded. “You’re nothing but a half-bred…”

“Oh, finish that sentence,” Joel snarled as he got to his feet, “I dare ya!”

“Joel,” John got to his feet. “I don’t know what you two are arguing about, but it’s not worth it.”

“Yes, listen to your slave driver,” Reyes smirked.

“John, I gotta lot of respect fer ya, but let me handle this,” Joel growled. “This shitstain needs to learn a lesson.”

John looked at him before he gently pulled Miyu to her feet. “You don’t want to be in his way,” he said at her indignant look. “Trust me.”

Joel waited until Miyu and John had moved to a different set of seats before he attacked. The shock in Reyes’ eyes was satisfying as Joel slammed him against the wall. He recovered fast, driving his knee up into Joel’s stomach to make him back off. He underestimated how fast Joel could recover, however, and wasted the few precious seconds to smirk.

Joel surged forward and grabbed Reyes by the head, wrenching him around. He smashed his head to the ground and got an elbow to the jaw during the maneuver. He bit the end of his tongue, filling his mouth with blood as he stumbled back. He grinned, letting Reyes see the gory sight, before he spat on the floor. He wasn’t exactly going to swallow it; he’d clean it up afterwards so the pilot didn’t kill him.

He saw the combat knife emerge from Reyes’ boot as he looked up. He blocked the blow, grinning as he twisted Reyes’ arm under his. He wrenched up, forcing Reyes’ hand open and making him drop the knife.

“Next time you pull a knife,” Joel growled before his machete came free of its sheath, “make sure your opponent doesn’t have a bigger one.” He pressed the blade against Reyes’ cheek and dragged it slowly down the curve of his jaw. “Now remember yer place or yer gunna find out why they call me ‘Coyote’. I ain’t the big boss. I ain’t nice to shits like you.”

He pulled away slowly, running the tip of his machete under Reyes’ trembling chin. He pulled it away swiftly, nicking the skin just enough to make a thin line of red appear. He slipped his machete back into its sheath before heading for the medical supply cupboard in search of something that would make his tongue stop bleeding. Reyes got the message loud and clear.