This will be a story about the characters of the Newsies movie, and what happens to them after the strike. It will switch between the stories/perspectives of Spot Conlon, Sarah Jacobs, and Jack Kelly. Fair warning I'm not an expert on the strike or on the movie and I might make mistakes or plot holes, so feel free to leave constructive criticism. Also just want to quick mention that this is not a slash story... Enjoy!

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence and some strong language uses


He stumbled. Gritting his teeth, he forced his wobbly knees not to give out, and blinked the sweat and dirt out of his tired eyes. Focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, the seventeen-year-old slowly made his way along the river towards the newsie boarding house. He looked down at his hands and groaned when he saw that the tips of his fingers had begun to turn a sickening black color. It was late December and the first of the year's coldest weeks in New York. He had become accustomed to selling newspapers in the winter, but never before had he been out for so long, or in such a condition as he was now. He knew that if he didn't reach his destination soon, he would become another victim of the merciless New York streets.

The last year of his life had gone to complete shit, and most of it was his fault. He had lost his best friend, hurt those closest to him, and nearly lost his own life countless times. And here he was again, fighting to stay conscious as his own existence hung in the balance. The boy cursed aloud as he stumbled again, this time falling forward and crashing head-first into a well-dressed business man traveling in the opposite direction. The boy felt both the physical pain and the insult to his pride as the man pushed him away, causing him to collapse to the ground, land on his injured shoulder and give out a painful cry.

"Filthy street rat!" the man grumbled as he continued on his way without a second glance at the suffering boy in his wake.

The boy groaned again as his frozen hands grappled about his broken body, attempting to staunch the ever-flowing river of blood seeping through his thin clothes. How had his life come to this? Too weak to even stand on his own, and without a single friend to help him. At the thought of his friends, the boy felt another onslaught of mental pain. He had pushed them all away. His pride truly had become his fall.

Busy upper-class men and women bustled past him, going about their business. A few of them looked worriedly in his direction, but none bothered to stop. Some of the lower-class gave him second glances and he could see the recognition in their eyes. So they'd heard of him. But either they were all too afraid of his reputation to help or they considered him to be the nobody that he was. Kin' of Brooklyn, my ass, he thought blandly.

Maybe he should just give up. As a small pool of blood began to form beneath his weary body, and the pain began to melt away with the growing numbness of his limbs, the thought of death seemed more and more welcome in his mind. He didn't know what would come after death, but he was positive of one thing: anything would be better than the hell he was living in now.

"Screw Brooklyn, screw Manhattan. What did dey evuh do fawh me anyway," he muttered to himself as he let his eyelids flutter closed. But even as the word Manhattan left his lips, she appeared in his thoughts. Her flawless brunette ringlets tumbling graciously across her shoulders; her sweet pink lips curling up into that irritatingly perfect smile; and her penetrating brown eyes that he could never forget in a million years. He had pushed her away too. Just when she had needed him most, he had given up on everything they had. And he knew that he couldn't let himself die. If not for himself, if not for his boys, for his lost friends, he had to do it for her. He owed her that much.

He grunted in effort as he gripped the railing that separated the river from the busy streets of Brooklyn and tried desperately to climb to his feet. His bones cracked, and his entire body screamed in protest, but his unwavering determination gave him the strength to continue. When he finally managed to lift himself off the ground, he leaned heavily against the railing for support. He instantly began to regret standing up so fast as his vision began to fade in and out. Focusing hard on calming his heartbeat and maintaining consciousness, the boy's entire body began to shake intensely.

"Spot?" The name sounded muffled and far away. Maybe he had imagined it and was simply going delirious as he succumbed to his injuries. He knew no one was looking for him, so who would be calling his name? Whether it had been real or simply a figment of his tormented mind, the king of Brooklyn would never know, for at that moment, he stumbled once before blacking out entirely and slipping over the railing to crash into the icy waters of the river below.

So there you have it. This is a short prologue to what will hopefully be a very long story (the chapters will be much longer, I promise haha). In case you're confused, this prologue is something that will happen during the climax of the story and is therefore a flash forward of what is to come. I hope you liked this little sneak peek! Please follow for more of the story and leave a comment to let me know what you think!