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nightmarebeforenewsiesau · 2 months ago

Note

If you haven’t already shared, what’s Spot’s backstory?

...This one has some trigger warnings. Here's the grocery list.

ABUSE LIKE A LOT

FAMILY/RELIGIOUS TRAUMA

THE SALEM WITH TRIALS?? SORTA??

(Slight) internalized homophobia

A HAPPY TREE FREINDS SOUNDING ASS SLOW DEATH

Yeah this little guy has it bad

Sean Patrick, more commonly known to his friends as "Spot" in death due to his good aim with a slingshot, is a mystery to many. Few know what he was when he was alive, and those who do have been sworn to secrecy. From now forth you are one of these trusted individuals... he trusts that you will keep this a secret. And if not, well.... we may say he carries that cane around for a reason, and it's not for mobility. At least, far from it anymore.

You see, Spot Conlon was never some fearful king. He never lived a lavish life, was never the top of anything... and he was certainly treated as less than a king, even as far as less than a person. His own father, a prominent figure in the community, was the cause of this. While in public he treated Spot wonderfully, but at home became quite a different story. While, yes, Spot's name in the afterlife is attributed to his slingshot skills, neither Spot nor his friends were the ones to come up with it. It was his father, calling him it as an insult due to the various spots from cigarette burns up his arms.

Spot's father was a very righteous, religious, set in his ways man. He could never be swayed, never convinced of any idea that wasn't his own. He said the lower class only were there for pity, that all those richer than him were swaying the elections. He said that friendship is a waste of time and that if a man didn't have money nor a reputation he had nothing. He said that any man who didn't get himself a wife was a fool and that if he didn't raise his children right, to be just like him, they were a disgrace... what he clearly considered Spot to be. So Spot tried... he really did. He wore long sleeves, did his hair nicer, started using ametur makeup stolen from his mother to hide the various marks, scrapes, and bruises on his skin. He stopped talking, and more started just arguing. But nothing seemed to please his father, who was growing more angry with him every day.

The witch trials of the 1600s were many centuries past, mostly out of everyone's minds. Spot had read a book on them in school, but the thought never quite crossed his mind again. After all, witches and demons and the like were all fake, in his mind. But there were still many adamant believers- one man in the late 1870s beat his wife to death, believing she'd been taken and replaced with a witch. Even though it was no longer punishable by court, certain groups learned to take it upon themselves.

One day, Spot had found that his skin had uncomfortably dried out, so he put a small amount of Vaseline (yes that existed in 1899 google it) on his arm. If he hadn't done this, maybe things would have been different. But most knew this was coming. His father, mad about something or other, tried to burn Spot's arm, only to find that he couldn't- his son's arm wouldn't burn.

Spot didn't think anything of it when his Father brought him to what he called a "get together" that night... he found it strange that they chose to hold it in a forest quite a distance away, but knew better than to ask. He fell asleep on the way there. He was only awoken when a gag was shoved in his mouth and rocks- heavy, crushing ones- began falling onto his back. He heard the cracks and horrible sounds his bones were making- unfortunately he was conscious to hear most of them.

His father, a part of one of these firm groups of believers, believed his own son was a witch, and that he'd casted a spell to prevent his skin from burning. He was the one to drop the last rock, right onto Spot's face.

In death, Spot rarely takes off his mask, since the rock to his face disfigured it a slight amount. And he still flinches everytime Race's cigar accidentally gets too close to him, or when Albert collects rocks and brings them back to their home. He still hears his father's voice every once in a while scolding him for not being with a woman or focusing on getting a wife... and sometimes he almost believes that his father was right. He always comes back to his senses though, after an hour or two. In death he built up the reputation of a king, a legend, the one he couldn't achieve in life. And he accepts the treatment he knows even his father would be jealous of, because that's all he was raised to want.

Not even Race and Spot know the story of how he died. Neither does anyone else... and I trust you won't tell them. Or, I at least hope you won't. Where there's a king, there's an army.... and I know two very brutal individuals who know very well how to fight, and would go after you the minute Spot sheds a single tear. Best be careful.

#newsies #newsies au #au #the nightmare before christmas #spot conlon

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1nm806 · 1 year ago

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thinking about sean patrick "spot" conlon (circa 1992) and that there's a woman in carrying the banner who's looking for her son patrick and have you considered that maybe that's just his mom and he left and went to be in brooklyn for some reason and she doesnt know because he goes by a nickname now. wouldnt it be so funny if theres some other world out there where the paper printed their real names instead of "jack kelly", "racetrack higgins" etc. and thats how this woman discovered that her son is the renowned king of brooklyn and also currently involved in a reportedly very disruptive strike. but like would she actually recognise him in the image. does she have it up in her apartment somewhere because its the only image of her son she has in recent years until the newsies banner and then what if when spot rides off in the carriage at the end of the movie (WHY DOES HE DO THAT WHERE IS HE GOING PLEASE WHY IS HE IN THE CARRIAGE WITH TEDDY ROOSEVELT??) he passes her and actually acknowledges her and its the closest to each other theyve been in actual years and even though they will never be mother and son again their paths at least crossed one more time so they know the other is safe and well.

#punctuation is for COWARDS!!!!!#(<- takes an english language course)#newsies #92sies #spot conlon #guys guess my fave newsie!! (its SPOT CONLON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

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all-hail-the-witcher · 1 year ago

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questionable government spies, but better written and 5 years late chapter 2: please don't scramble my eggs

back at it again :)

i got stuck in florida for 5 days and produced this

___

words: 750 (short but its necessary)

edited: yes :)

warnings: kidnapping, threats, gangs

tags: @jack-kellys @ainti-pretty @boygirlctommy (let me know if you want to be tagged)

ch 1 | read it on ao3

___

*24 hours earlier*

It was a normal day for Spot. Which should have been his first red flag. There were no normal days when you worked for The Anonymous.

Which was why he really shouldn't have been surprised when between one second and the next he was getting knocked out and thrown in a van.

Next thing he knew he was blinking his eyes open in a dim, dank room. One single lightbulb flickered annoyingly above him and thick rope dug into his wrists. Something chirped in the corner. Rats, most likely. Spot wasn’t sure if the higher ups in the gang simply had no money or just had a thing for shitty movie interrogation core rooms because believe it or not, this was not the first time that he had ended up in a room that looked like this.

“Sean Patrick Conlon.”

Fucking Christ.

“Oscar if you wanted to talk to me you could have just asked like a normal person,” Spot sighed. “We work in the same building. There was really no need to pull out all the stops for me.”

Oscar stepped into the light, a sickly smile stretched across his stupid face. The hilt of the silver knife he was rolling between his hands clicked against his many gold rings. Spot resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“You know you shouldn’t talk to me like that,” Oscar grinned. “Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

“I wasn’t aware that kidnapping me and tying me to a chair fell into that category”

Faster than he could blink, Spot felt the tip of Oscar’s knife digging into his collar bone. He ground his teeth together so he wouldn’t flinch. It wouldn’t do him any favors. He waited for Oscar to make some kind of smart ass comment, but what he said instead was far more terrifying.

“Why did you never tell any of us that you have a sister?”

Spot’s blood went cold. He hadn’t seen Grace in years. She had been placed in a different foster home than he had been after their mom had dropped off of the face of the earth and he had never been able to find her again after he had aged out. After a few years he had come to accept the fact that she had likely been adopted by whatever family she had been placed with.

He fought to maintain his composure. “So what if I do?”

Oscar was unfazed. “Grace Michaels. You know she’s living in the city? 42 West 64th street. She has a cat named Slippers. Her Amazon package is arriving today, she ordered a new 10 foot iphone charger. She left the house at 7:33am with her fiancée. Did you know she was getting married? I’m assuming he didn’t ask for your permission.”

Spot narrowed his eyes. Straining against the rope would just make Oscar more annoyed.

“His name is Patrick Cortes,” Oscar continued. “He proposed during their vacation two months ago in Italy. The date is already set for next November. She picked out her dress two weeks ago.”

“What do you want with Grace?” Spot asked, fighting to keep a straight face. In a way, it was comforting to know that Grace was still alive and seemingly okay, but if Oscar was interested in her then that might not last for much longer.

Oscar flipped his knife in his hands. “Tomorrow morning you are going to go to the FBI Headquarters in Times Square and you are going to turn yourself in. In exchange for your immunity you are going to offer to work with their agents in order to take down this organization. You will refuse to work with every agent except for Antonio Higgins. You will build trust with him and help him to infiltrate our organization. After one month you will double cross him, leading him to his death.”

“And why would I do that?” Spot had a sinking feeling that he already knew the answer.

“Because it would be a shame if your sister was in a horrible accident before her wedding, don’t you think?” Oscar smirked.

“You’re sick.”

Oscar shrugged. “It’s not my plan. This one’s direct from the higher ups.”

“Of course it is,” Spot muttered. “I’m assuming I have no choice?”

“Not unless you want your roommate to find your head on his doorstep.”

Spot tried to imagine Elmer opening the door of their apartment to his head in a cardboard box. Not a good mental image. Especially when Elmer thought that he worked as a security guard at a Hilton hotel.

“Do I have to kill him?” Spot asked. That was his one remaining boundary. Over the years they had pushed him to do worse and worse things, but he had still remained firm in the fact that he didn't want to kill anyone.

“No,” Oscar said. “The higher ups have a plan for him.” Spot resisted the urge to shudder. Hopefully whoever this Antonio was was an asshole so that he didn't feel bad about leading him to what was surely to be a terrible and painful death.

It was a lose lose situation and as usual, the only way out was through. That was how things worked around here. And the worst part was, he was stuck here.

“So are you in?”

“Yeah.” Spot hated that he didn’t even hesitate. “I’m in.”

___

:O evil spot

ch3 will be long and incredible to make up for how short this one is

let me know what you think !!!

#saphie scribbles #newsies #newsies fic #ralbert #sprace #spot conlon #spies 2.0 #sprace newsies #racetrack higgins

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newmsies · 2 years ago

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we need to get something right, specifically Spot and Racetracks names

we just accepted that races name is Antonio Higgins, in reality his name was Edward or Ed "racetrack" Higgins. I'm sure the name Antonio came from some fan fiction, then someone accepting it and using it, and then everyone else using it because this one person is using it and they used it first so it must be right. his name 100% could have been something totally different from Edward Higgins, but in history cannon his name was Edward or Ed "Racetrack" Higgins.

and now with Spots name, they were often referred to as "the boy with the pink suspenders" until introducing himself as Spot Conlon, in historical cannon Spot does not have a real name, nor does she have the title of "The King of Brooklyn" of course I'm not denying that they were but Racetrack was considered the same thing, they were kings of different parts, two halves of Brooklyn. giving Spot an actual human name of course is perfectly fine but we can switch it up from Sean, cmon we're more creative then giving Spot the name of Sean from Boy Meets World. switch it up, make their real name Patrick, or Jack, or maybe a girl name works better for him, call her Coraline (it's a shade of pink after all and the real Spot is notorious for their suspenders) and you don't even have to keep it Irish! give her a Hungarian name, name them Joseph if you're set on them being a boy, give them a French name, name him Pierre, or Colette, maybe a gender neutral name. she could be Emmanuel or Esemé! we don't have to stick with one nationality or one name and personally i find it unbelievable that I've seen people be like picked on for how they want to portray Spot or what mame they give her or what gender they make him or which version they see them as, Spot Conlon doesn't have a cannon name historical or not other than Spot Conlon, use that and have fun with it all you want. for example, i call Race and Spot: Edward "Racetrack" Higgins (he/him) and Coraline "Spot" Conlon (he/she/they) because they're (partially) fictional characters that i can portray any way i want and see however i want

#92sies #newsies #92sies spot #spot conlon newsies #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #racetrack newsies #92sies race

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somedayonbroadway · 2 years ago

Note

Spot: I love you so let's hope that me running you off the road doesn't seriously hurt you or something, please marry me. (Also, what the F U C K did he do to the cat?)

That is exactly what happens, lol! Spot is sent by Race to give his cat food and medicine, however, as Spot grew up on a farm he had been taught to put sick animals out of their misery. So instead, he poisons the cat and puts it in the freezer, telling Race the cat was dead all along, but Race doesn’t believe him.

The Office AU

Race was just trying to drive home. He was staring straight ahead, as most drivers did, until he heard a screeching noise in his good ear and a loud voice blaring, “Pull over!”

Glancing at the car beside him, Race rolled down the window. “Spot?!” he yelled.

“Pull over! I need to talk to you!” Not only was Spot inching dangerously close to Race’s car, but he was speaking into a bullhorn that the entire interstate could hear.

“Spot! Knock it off!”

“I said pull over!” Spot insisted, speeding up and swerving in front of Race who had no choice but to immediately turn the wheel and slam on the brakes, nearly smacking his head on the dashboard. He turned the car off faster than he’d ever moved before and rushed out of the driver’s door before slamming it shut.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” he screamed. “Who in the hell does that?! You coulda killed me!”

“Listen to me!” Spot shouted into the bullhorn.

“Put that thing down!” Race screamed.

“I love you!”

Race froze at that. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know that, but it was never something they had said out loud. If they said it out loud, that meant it was real and it couldn’t be real. Spot was gearing up to marry someone else and Race’s life was a complete and utter mess.

Spot didn’t stop either. He kept going. “I will gladly be your secret to keep, for the rest of my life if it means I can be with you!”

Once again, the hearing aid in Race’s ear rung a high pitched, awful noise, making him wince and reach to adjust it. “Can you put that down?” he called, gesturing to the loud thing in Spot’s hand.

“This expresses how loudly I love you!” Spot continued.

Race shook his head, a small smile on his face and soft tears in his eyes. “Too loud,” he whispered.

So Spot dropped the thing and rushed to the other man, taking his face in his beet stained hands. Spot smiled and Race melted, only to be confused when Spot reached and gently removed his hearing aid from his ear. Race reached to put it back, but Spot dropped down to one knee, shoving the hearing aid in his pocket and shakily raising up his hands. “Will you marry me?” Spot signed wordlessly.

Everything blurred with tears that rushed from Race’s crystal blue eyes. He raised his hands up to cover his mouth. And all he could do was nod vigorously, dropping to his knees and desperately kissing the man he had loved so much for so long. He gripped at Spot’s soft brown hair and let himself be held for a moment before Spot pulled away and raised up a ring.

Race sniffled and wiped at his eyes, holding up his ring finger for Spot, ready to let the world know he would now and forever belong to Sean Patrick Conlon. His future husband. His Spot.

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the-sky-the-stars-the-sea · 7 months ago

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From what I’ve learned, the names come from this controversial Sprace fanfic written in 2009, I don’t know what it’s called, but it was the first use of Anthony and Sean and even though many people didn’t agree with the content (if I remember correctly it was an adult writer sexualizing the teenagers too much) the names stuck and we still use them today, even though it was one person’s headcanon (although some people claim that they can confirm that “Sean Patrick Conlon” was in fact Spot Conlon’s full name, but it’s still up for debate)

It’s actually really funny what we decide to take from the historical newsies for inspiration and what we don’t, like

Crutchie is named after Crutch Morris, so of course in fics he’s Crutchie Morris

Historical Kid Blink’s name was Louis Baletti, so Fictional Kid Blink is also Louis Baletti

And then we looked at Racetrack Higgins and went “this motherfucker is NOT named Ed”

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lynnsfics · 4 years ago

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Sleepless Nights

Pairing: Spot Conlon x Reader

Request: hello! i absolutely love your writing! could I request a spot conlon x reader with prompt #19 from list #3? thank you so much! you’re amazing! <3333 Prompt: “It’s 3 A.M., shouldn’t you be asleep?” TW: Mentions of neglect, nightmares

Word Count: Approx. 1.8k words

~~~

“Get out of my house,” your aunt’s words echoed in your mind on an endless loop. You bolted up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. Once again you were forced to relive the awful night over again in your dreams.

With a quiet sigh you forced yourself to leave your bed. Immediately you began to shiver and started to regret the decision. You kept going, however. If you decided to stay in bed all you would do is fall back into another nightmare-infected sleep, or you’d stay up the rest of the night, staring at the lodging house’s ceiling. Either way, it wouldn’t be a restful night. At least if you were up now you’d be ready for selling in the morning. Besides, maybe if you were tired enough you could sleep through the next night without issue.

While you doubted that theory, you figured there was no harm in trying it. After all it wasn’t as if you had anything to lose at this point. You quickly slipped on a sweater, effectively blocking out some of the chill. The lodging house was quiet as you made your way down the steps. Brooklyn always felt so different at night. When the city fell quiet and you finally felt like you could breathe. All you could hope was that the others wouldn’t ask questions as to why you kept staying up so late.

Reaching the entry of the lodging house, you breathed a sigh of relief. No one else seemed to be up. It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to talk to anyone, you wouldn’t have minded the company. But they were almost bound to question why you were up so late, which would lead you to spilling everything, including a lot of tears. It was better for everyone that you kept all that bottled up.

One of the good things about being a newsie was that no one would ask about your past. Almost everyone who ended up selling papes had some kind of tragic backstory so it was only polite to avoid bringing it up. Truth be told, you hadn’t properly processed the trauma of being kicked out by your only family. But to be fair, how could you? As soon as you were on the streets you had to fight to survive, you couldn’t sit around wallowing about what had happened.

As much as you tried to push it to the back of your mind you couldn’t stop the memories from resurfacing. Your mother had died when you were young, and your dad did his best to raise you. After he was tragically killed in a factory accident you were left in the care of your only remaining family- your aunt. She was an older woman who tried to raise you but had little money of her own. However she was too proud to admit to her financial situation, and wasted what money she had on frivolous trinkets rather than things you needed to survive. Your needs were always the least of her concerns.

One day you stole some bread from a local bakery, thinking you’d get away with it like usual. Most days stealing was the only way you’d be able to get something to eat. But you were tired, too tired, and didn’t notice the shopkeeper watching your movements. By the time you realized it, it was too late. The bulls had already arrived and you were taken into custody. Thankfully the shopkeeper was kind enough to insist you not be taken to the Refuge, but instead let off with a warning.

When the police escorted you home, you aunt was livid. It wasn’t because you were arrested, oh no, it was because you were arrested for stealing food. Imagine how badly that made her look! “What would people think,” she cried. “That I’m too poor to buy you food?”

“Maybe if you actually bought me food instead of worrying about your image, this wouldn’t have happened.” The words left your mouth before you even thought about it.

Your aunt’s face contorted in rage, “Why you ungrateful little wretch. Get out of my house!” After that you were living on the streets. Fortunately you became a newsie, and now hardly ever had to steal to survive.

You were too lost in thought to realize someone had entered the room you were in. It wasn’t until you heard someone say your name that you were snapped back to reality. Looking up, you glanced around the room. Your heart raced when you saw who it was.

“Oh, hey Spot,” you said, trying to play it cool. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?” You prayed you hadn’t. Waking up the King of Brooklyn was probably a crime punishable by death.

“No, I was up,” he answered, much to your relief. “But what are you doing? It’s 3 A.M., shouldn’t you be asleep?”

You shook your head, “Couldn’t sleep. You?” Maybe turning the conversation back to him would draw attention away from your vague answer.

He nodded in understanding. “Same thing. Want a cup of coffee?” You weren’t sure where he would get coffee at this hour but nodded yes anyway. It would be rude to refuse, right? Besides, maybe the coffee would help you stay up while selling papers tomorrow.

Beckoning you to follow him, he led you to a back room you had previously thought was just for storage. Instead it seemed to be a small office space. A wood burning stove sat in the corner, a pot of water boiling on its surface. The room had a homey, lived-in feel that you couldn’t help but bask in. Two plush, but worn looking, chairs sat near a desk, and Spot motioned for you to have a seat in one of them.

“It’s my private office,” Spot explained. “Don’t be tellin’ any of the others about it, or else they’ll be in here all day,” he said with a small laugh. The fact he even let you see the office was shocking. While you had talked with him often, you wouldn’t have expected him to trust you this much. After all, it didn’t seem like he became too close with any of the newsies.

He handed you a hot cup of coffee and all other thoughts instantly dissipated. It was perfect, not too sweet or too dark. Just the way you liked it. You drank your coffee in comfortable silence that was occasionally peppered with some small talk.

When the morning bell rang he walked with you to the selling window, causing whispers amongst the other newsies. After the day ended you felt tired enough to fall asleep as soon as you made it back to the lodging house. However, later that night it was the same story as always. The same words echoing in your head, the same racing heartbeat as you woke up. Again, you made your way to the lobby to clear your thoughts, only to see Spot already sitting there.

You smiled slightly, “Can’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “Nope. You too?” That’s how it happened that once again you found yourself in Spot’s office with a cup of coffee in hand. Before you knew it, it became a tradition. When you both couldn’t sleep he’d invite you to join him for a cup of coffee, and then walk with you to buy his papes. Eventually you’d end up sitting next to each other on the sofa in the lobby— close enough that you could notice the way his eyes sparkled when he spoke of a good selling day, but far enough away so if any of the other newsies came down they wouldn’t suspect anything was happening between the two of you. Because nothing was happening, right?

The two of you became closer during this time, often talking about anything and everything. As you opened up to each other he finally explained why he never seemed to sleep. Too many worries about the newsies and selling kept him up at night, leaving him unable to sleep. That night he asked the question you’d been dreading. “Why is it that youse can’t sleep?”

You stared into your coffee cup for a moment before answering quietly, “Nightmares.” For some reason you knew he wouldn’t laugh at you for being plagued by the night terrors.

“Do ya want to talk about it?” His voice was softer than usual, and you could tell he actually cared about what was bothering you.

After a moment of consideration you nodded. You explained it all, from your father’s death to your aunt’s neglect. As you finished your story, explaining the nightmares about being kicked out, a tear slipped out the corner of your eye. Until then you had managed to hold them back, not wanting to cry in front of him, but eventually your emotions had betrayed you.

He moved closer to you, gently wiping the tear away. “Hey, it’s alright,” he said quietly. “You ain’t there anymore, I’ve got you.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you found yourself leaning into his embrace.

“It doesn’t even bother me about leaving,” you said honestly. “Life wasn’t good there. I think I just don’t want to be alone again.”

His eyes met yours, “I’m here now, and I promise you that you ain’t ever going to be alone again.” Maybe it was his words, or the small gestures of kindness, or a million different things, but you felt yourself being drawn to him. He leaned in and you quickly closed the remaining distance. The kiss was soft and reassuring. As he pulled you closer to him, you felt safe for the first time in a long time.

When you finally broke apart you were breathless. For the rest of the night you two talked, opening up about your childhoods and things that worried you, occasionally sharing another kiss or two- or more. The whole time you were curled up next to him, his arms holding you gently.

Eventually you felt yourself growing tired and without even realizing it you ended up falling asleep. Spot smiled, glad you were finally able to get some rest. It wasn’t too long after that he found himself dozing off.

When you two finally awoke it was morning. The other newsies hadn’t yet woken up, which you were thankful for. That day Spot stayed with you while selling, and he did the day after that, and again until it became the normal routine. At night you’d fall asleep in his arms, a feeling of security washing over you. He was your protection from nightmares and worries, and you knew you’d never have to be alone again.

~~~

Requested By: anon

I hope everyone had a happy and safe New Year! Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist and as always likes and reblogs are appreciated! Love you all! <3

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sluttylittlenewsboy · 1 year ago

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"Don't worry, I got you"

Summery: Spots gets some bad news and turns to race for comfort

TW: suicide mention, suicide note reading, angst, vomiting, abuse

I recommend listening to You'll Go Far by Noah Kahn while reading the note

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On Christmas day four years ago, Sean Patrick Conlon escaped his abusive father and ran away from home. Unfortunately, he had to leave his beloved mother behind.

~~~

Spot had not seen his mother in four years. He thought about her every single day, though.

So, when the man running the Brooklyn lodging house said he had something from her, Spot was shocked and overjoyed. That is, until he looked at the man's face and saw the expression carved into the features. Something had happened. Something bad.

"Spot, there's really no easy way to say this..." Spot braced himself.

"Just let me hear it" Spot sighed.

"It's your mother kid, she's passed" the man spoke sorrowfully.

Spot threw his hands over his mouth, but he was too late. He vomited all over himself. The man patted his back.

"Would you like to know more?"

"No, can't handle anymore," Spot thought. Instead of saying that, he just shook his head and prepared for the worst.

"Kid, you mother, she died...well...by her own hand," the man admitted.

Spot's stomach dropped to his toes. He could feel the bile rising back in his throat.

He had expected that. It was either that, or his father had finally snapped and killed her.

As disgusting as it made him feel to think, Spot was glad it had been her because his father would've made it torture.

"Anything else?" Spot asked, his face completely void of expression. The man took a deep breath.

"She left you a note, kid" he said.

Spot's hands began to shake as the man slowly handed him the note.

"I'll leave you be now, but you know where to find me," the man said before leaving the room.

Spot lost control of his body. His feet began to move, and he didn't stop until he reached the Sheepshead racetrack. He didn't even know why he was there, until he spotted him.

Spot's boyfriend Race was sitting by the tracks watching the races. Spot walked up to him and stood wordlessly in front of the smaller boy.

Race could immediately tell something was wrong. He stood and wrapped his arms around Spot tightly. Spot began sobbing heavily into Race's shoulder.

~~~

After Spot was able to catch his breath, Race asked what was wrong. Spot answered by thrusting the note into Race's hands.

"Ma" he muttered under his breath.

Race opened the noteamd quickly read over it.

"Oh, Spotty," Race whispered.

"Read it," Spot said simply.

Rave knew that Spot had a hard time with reading, so he obliged.

"Dearest Sean," Race read. "If you are reading this, I am in a better place."

"Your father had always been unkind to me. But, after you left, it got much worse. He blamed me for you leaving"

"I need you to know that this is not your fault. I'm so very proud of you for getting away from your father. My only hope is that you're somewhere better now"

"Don't feel bad for leaving Sean darling, I'm not upset with you. I never have been:

"I am no longer able to feel anything except for pride and love for you. You are my angel Sean, you always will be. I love you darling and I'll watch over you always. Goodbye my angel"

"With love, Mom"

Spot sobbed and dry heaved the whole time Race read. But, by the end of it, Spot was back to being emotionally.

"Spot?" Race asked. There was no response.

"Sean, please look at me"

Spot reluctantly turned his head. Race could see that his eyes were completely empty. Spot was completely empty.

Race held him securely. Spot began to shake violently.

"Don't worry, I got you,"

Rave held Spot for the rest or the night.

Spot did not speak for three weeks. And, even then, he only spoke to Race.

Sean Conlon would be okay one day, but that day would not come soon.

#newsies #92sies #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #sprace #tw suicide #tw vomiting #tw suicide note #tw abuse #chase writes

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