In which they visit the park before going to the docks at sunset :)

And then...there's a little...something......................
(Don't worry no one gets hurt)

The title isn't really great but I've been in an alliteration mood lately so it stays until I can think of something better.

Why hello there aroace character I did not intend on making but here you are!

Enjoy! :)

--------------------------------------------------------

Warning: some ableism and aphobia :(

(Homophobia but towards asexual people)
(I'm not going to write anything explicit or innuendos, but there is definitely something yucky being implied. No I don't like it either.)

"I don't think I've been to this park before," Race comments.

"Probably because you are on only two tracks when it comes to Brooklyn: Sheepshead and your grandparents' house," Spot responds instantly.

"Heyy." Race knocks his shoulder with Spot's playfully.

"You can't deny it. Name exactly one other place you've been to in Brooklyn."

"The Brooklyn newsies lodging house."

"Okay fine, maybe you do have more than just two pathways...but do you know any more spots in Brooklyn that you don't have an emotionally deep attachment to?"

"..."

"That's what I thought."'

Race glares reproachfully at Spot's smug grin. "It's not my fault I grew up in Manhattan."

"No it's not," Spot agrees. "Ironically, it's my cousin's fault. And he's the one who is fiercely proud to be from Brooklyn."

"But now he's living in Manhattan," Race counters, "so look at how that turned out for him."

"Hmmmmm touché."

Race looks around, taking it all in. There's a statue of some American man in the center. Adults are wandering around, some of them looking after the kids scurrying around. 

This easily could have been where their revolutionary strike begun. He could almost see it now, instead of them dancing around the Horace Greeley statue they are dancing around this guy, yelling about how the world will know, how they are going to seize the day.

And in a little corner that imaginary Race is playing a harmonica.

He grins at this little mental image he conjured.

What an entirely different life he would have lead if he was a Brooklyn newsie.

He swallows. If only there wasn't a fire.

"Race? Spot? What are you doin' 'ere?"

They turn around to see Brooklyn's newly crowned leader Mallard, alongside a few Brooklyn newsies.

Spot smiles. "Better question, whaddaya you'se doin' 'ere?"

The two groups walk together, Race saying a little "hi" as Spot spits and shakes hands with the group.

"I thought you guys would be long gone by now," one of them, Zap, comments.

"Leave Brooklyn within a week? Get outta here," Spot playfully shoves him.

"Can't get rid of us that easily!" Race jokes.

A couple glances are passed around as he tries to fit into the group, but he doesn't notice them. Or at least, he pretends not to notice. He could just be imagining things.

"So what's the next plan?" they continue to ask Spot.

"We're just wandering for now," Spot responds smoothly.

"So you don't know what job you're going to have now?"

Spot begins to answer, very patiently, no we haven't figured it out yet, we still wanna drift for now, but Race is already mentally gone from this conversation.

He despises this question. What job are you going to have now? Isn't he allowed to have a little bit of grace? A little bit of time to breathe? He just finished the only job he's ever had in life. Surely he deserves some time to decide before choosing what he wants to do next.

But so many don't get that choice. He bites his lip. Most people haven't been as lucky as he has been. He didn't have it rich as a kid, but he had it good. He was never desperate, fretfully thinking up a new way to make sure food was always on the table. 

It's not like everyone has the luxury of saving up like Race and Spot have--albeit how little it is--to wander around like this. Not everyone has people like they do to fall back on. Race clenches his fists as he thinks of all the people out there--all the people within a hundred yards of him--who only know the cycles of mercy and ruthlessness of their bosses, the cycles of hard work all day and little sleep at night.

The conversation has shifted now, but it's moved along so much that Race has no idea what's been said in the past couple minutes. He sighs. So much for trying to make himself a part of the conversation.

He tries listening. He really does. A lot of small talk is being made, a lot of talk about current headlines and the Brooklyn rumors. Race is fully aware that he is not going to understand much of this or have much to contribute since he is not a Brooklynite like they are.

Then they start talking about some memories from when they were younger newsies, the age Race and Spot were when they started selling. This is when he is fully aware that he cannot be fully a part of their conversation.

He pretends he's okay though, keeps smiling, keeps standing next to Spot, trying to not fidget as much, trying not to feel like he's just a hollow husk next to lively people.

That's when something catches his eye: a butterfly. He takes a step to the right, balancing on one foot as he leans towards the butterfly, then putting his next foot forward to catch himself before he falls.

All he does is nudge Spot, get his attention, and points at the butterfly. Spot nods, and so Race knows he has the okay to dip out of the conversation.

He turns his back to them, grinning, following his butterfly.

Over the years, he has gained little bits and pieces of knowledge of the few wildlife that live in New York city. He's following a yellow butterfly with black stripes and beautiful blue on the bottom tips of its wings. Since Giacomo has a surprising amount of knowledge about butterflies, Race knows that this butterfly is called an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail. Race may or may not have asked Giacomo that at least fives times in the past three years.

He doesn't remember all the cool facts about this butterfly--which Giacomo told him happily while Andrea watched Giacomo dreamily--but he definitely is still enjoying all the pretty colors, hoping that this butterfly might choose him to be the special person it chooses to land on.

He walks farther and farther away from the group, glancing back every now and then to check that they didn't magically teleport somewhere else. He catches Spot's gaze once, gives a nod that he knows where he is and where Spot is. Spot nods in return, and so Race turns around and grins and keeps following this butterfly, this beautiful farfalla, who he reaaaaaaally wants to come up with a cool name for.

Spot smiles as he watches Race follow the butterfly, a little dance in his step, his hands moving happily to Race's own rhythm. He's glad that Race lets him know when he wants to wander away, and that he waits for Spot to show him that he understood the message. Sure, he loves being attached to Race at the hip, but he also understands Race needs him time to himself. 

"Does Race always need your approval?" Stitch asks, drawing Spot's attention back to the group.

"It's not quite approval," Spot tells them, "it's more like...he's telling me what he's about to do, and he doesn't do it until he can tell that I know what he's about to do and that I don't oppose it."

They learned through years of walking around together that it's always better for them to alert the other when they are about to go in a different direction, because over the years both Race and Spot have wandered away without the other knowing. So now they have a system that works for them.

"It's hard looking out for him like he's a child, isn't it?" Stitch responds with sympathy.

Spot bristles. "He's not a child. He has two legs. He walks around like a normal human does. We make sure the other knows when we are going in a different direction so we don't lose each other accidentally. It's called communicating."

Stitch rolls his eyes, no response to follow.

Spot takes a deep breath in, trying to calm himself down a little, but his hackles are still raised.

"So how are you two?" Mallard asks. "It sounds like you're good at communicating, which is always good for relationships."

Spot smiles. "It's going great, yeah. I'm happy when I'm with him. No matter what we do or where we go, every day is an adventure."

Mallard eyes crinkles as he smiles. "That's great. I'm happy to hear that."

For some reason a couple of the others don't seem convinced.

"So...what's it like at night with him?" Spike asks him.

Spot smiles. "We like to watch the stars together. We talk about the constellations we know. We also have many blanket forts and cuddle under all the blankets."

"Aw, that's sweet!" Mallard exclaims.

But for some reason Spike, Stitch, and Zap look at each other and roll their eyes.

"Not like that," Spike retorts. "I mean..."

Spot bristles again. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I mean." Spike wiggles his eyebrows. "The other things people like to do in the night."

Spot now understands immediately and wishes he didn't. "Oh no. We don't...we don't do that."

"Why not?" Zap asks.

"It's just..." Spot doesn't know how to explain it.

"Do you feel like you're taking advantage of him?" Stitch offers.

Spot turns his head sharply to face him. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, everyone knows he's not like the rest of us," Stitch responds. "I mean, I get it. I'd want a partner I'd think is mentally competent too. Don't worry. You'll find someone someday. Race'll be out of the picture at some point."

Spot is about five seconds away from punching him. "How dare you!"

Stitch puts his hands up in defense. "I'm just sayin'. You're not going to be stuck with Race forever."

Spot sees red. "Stuck with Race?"

"I mean, yeah," Spike puts in his unwanted two cents. "When you don't want him anymore because you're done pitying him-"

Spot can't control it anymore and grabs Spike's shirt. "You think I'm with Race because I pity him?"

"Why else would you take the poor guy out?"

And suddenly Spot is done trying to act civil.

"YOU FOUL SON OF A GUN. I'LL SOAK YA GOOD! I'LL SOAK YA REAL WELL-" 

Zap and Mallard have to work together to hold Spot back from causing a public disturbance. 

"You don't have to listen to them," Mallard murmurs in his ear soothingly, rubbing his back. "They don't get it. They don't understand. Don't let them make you do something you'll surely regret."

Spot takes a deep breath in, hearing the reason in Mallard's words. He closes his eyes in the exhale. He shrugs out of Mallard and Zap's arms, who were holding on more loosely seeing that he had calmed down.

When he opens his eyes, he glares at Zap, Stitch, and Spike. He wishes he could kill with his eyes.

He points his pimp cane at them. "I never wanna hear or see you again."

They turn to Mallard. "You gonna let him talk to us like that?"

Mallard stares them down calmly. "You are the one who aggrivated him."

With nothing to say to that, the three scoff, say "fine", and "have it your way", and "what did we even do?", and then they walk away, muttering "who does he think he is anyway?" and "what's gotten into him?" as they wander out of earshot.

Mallard puts his hand on Spot's shoulder, face full of sympathy. "I'm sorry they said all those things. And that I did nothing to stop them."

"No, it wasn't your fault." Spot sighs, deflating. "You couldn't have done anything. I should'a known that they were small minded jerks."

"That still doesn't give them any right to say any of that stuff though."

"No, but at least they weren't genuinely good people sayin' stuff like that," Spot mutters.

"That's true too."

Spot looks to Mallard. "Why are you on my side though?"

"Well, call me crazy, but I don't forget loyalties over the course of two days."

Spot chuckles. "I'm glad."

"I also don't believe all of the things they said," Mallard continues. "I think you and Race get to define your relationship however you want to. And Race is a lovely person. Sure, he's different. But you don't pity him. I can tell that you genuinely want him."

A smile tugs at Spot's lips. "Thanks Mallard. Really."

Mallard smiles back. "Basic human decency and compassion is the least I can do for one of my oldest friends."

Spot grins.

"You and Race are really good for each other," Mallard comments. "You guys compliment each other and make each other genuinely happy. Don't listen to what the others say. Just keep doing your relationship your way, communicate, and never hesitate to tell the other how you really feel."

"Will do." Spot nods thoughtfully, taking in all the good advice. "When did you get so good at relationship advice anyway?" he asks, grinning. "To my knowledge you've never been in one."

Mallard shrugs, grinning, feigning innocence. "Well, I guess I have to be the one with good judgement because I'm not the one in the relationship."

"There might be some truth to that." A pause. "Do you want a relationship of your own though?"

Mallard thinks for a second, then shakes his head. "I don't think so. I mean, I do crave some forms of intimacy, but I have a lot of friends who I'm intimate with. I just don't feel attracted to anyone in that way, I guess."

"Huh." Spot contemplates it. "So neither of us is normal when it comes to experiencing romantic attraction."

Mallard grins. "Guess not."

But Spot thinks for a moment. "There's just something I don't get."

"What's that?"

Spot hesitates, trying to figure out how to put it into words. "They...were fine about me being in a relationship with another boy. And they were fine that he's from Manhattan. But the other things that are different about Race...they couldn't accept 'em." He chews his lip. "It's just...you'd think if they accepted one thing, they'd accept 'em all, right?"

"You'd think so," Mallard agrees sympathetically. "Look at me. I don't like anybody like that. And I understand Race's view on not wanting anything...well, you know. But also I don't feel romance towards anyone." He droops a little. "In a world like this, it's very easy to make a guy like me feel broken."

"You're not broken," Spot assures him emphatically, putting a hand on his shoulder. "If there's one thing I learned from Race, it's that everyone is different, and no one deserves to think they're broken. You can't let society get ya down like that."

Mallard offers a small smile that does not quite reach his eyes; he appreciates Spot's words but knows he's saying something unrealistic. "Thanks Spot."

"'Course. Accepting other human beings is the least I can do. I'm also not normal by a couple accounts."

"Which is why we all stick together." Mallard's eyes crinkle as this time the smile reaches his eyes. "You likes boys, I likes nobody. Your folks came from Ireland, mine came from China. But we're both from Brooklyn. And we're both newsies. And so a lotta people don't like us for their own reasons. But we stick together and we're ten times stronger than they'll ever be."

Spot grins. "This is why I chose you to be the next leader of Brooklyn, y'know? You got the smarts, the compassion, and the encouraging speeches."

Mallard averts his eyes. "Ah, I don't know if I'm all that-"

"Come on, don't sell yourself short," Spot knocks his shoulder against Mallard's. "You're all that and more."

"Okay, you got me," Mallard chuckles. He bites his lip. "Just...don't let Race feel broken, okay? Don't let him think that you think he's broken like others think he is."

"I will never let that happen," Spot responds emphatically. "Never ever." He looks over to where Race disappeared. "I promise."

Meanwhile, Race is still following the butterfly, happy music playing in his mind.

After a while, the butterfly flutters close to Race, making his whole body freeze.

And then, finally, after waiting so long, finally, the butterfly lands on him.

His eyes light up. He bites his lip, grinning, trying to contain his excitement.

Be as still as a stone. I am a mountain.

The butterfly stays on him for no longer than a minute before taking off.

Race sighs, only a little disappointed. He's just honored that the butterfly chose him for however many seconds that was.

He knows he should probably think about getting back to Spot, but his gaze continues to linger longinlgy on the butterfly.

Oh, to be a free little farfallina.

It flutters a little further.

Race decides only a couple more steps are okay.

And when he does...

He freezes.

There's something in the air that's...different around here.

He can't explain it.

It's like déjà vu coupled with a gut feeling that something awful happened here.

It doesn't look like something awful happened at this building that's in front of him, but...he can feel it in his bones.

It feels like...he knows that this is not the original building. Whatever was standing here before is not what is standing in front of him now.

Without realizing it he starts taking a couple steps backwards. Upon realizing it, figuring that it's a pretty good idea, he starts to return to where he left Spot.

After what feels like forever, Race comes back, hoping Spot can't tell that he's a little shook up. "Hey."

Spot grins when he sees Race. "Hey."

They both are trying to contain how much their earlier events got to them. But, in trying to cover it up, both key in to the other that something is wrong. Seeing that Mallard is here, they won't confront it now, but they both can tell that this is going to be a discussion for later.

"Where'd everyone else go?" Race asks them.

Spot hesitates, trying to figure out if he wants to make a big deal out of it, pretend it was nothing, or deny that anything happened at all. "They...realized that it was better for them to be elsewhere."

"They got on Spot's bad side," Mallard supplies.

Spot shoots a grateful look at Mallard. He doesn't want to delve back in on the conversation now.

Race glances between the two. "Well is anyone going home with new shiners or...?"

"Luckily no," Mallard answers. "But be careful when you and Spot go out into the wild; I can't guarantee he'll always remain civil."

"Oh, he will when I'm around." He slings an arm around Spot, grinning. "Right, Spot?"

Spot finds that in an instant most of the burning angry fire inside him is extinguished.

Mallard smacks his forehead. "That's right, I forgot who I was talkin' to. Y'know, I'm impressed. You are the only person I have ever seen who has been able to effectively get Spot to drop his mean demeanor without fail."

"Yeah, yeah, we've heard this already." Spot waves his hand in Mallard's grinning face.

"Well, I should probably head out to check on the other newsies in Brooklyn, "Mallard tells them. "Try to make sure as little of them are causing trouble as possible."

Spot grins. "You got this, Mallard."

Mallard grins, waves, and after they say their final goodbyes, Mallard walks off to another part of Brooklyn.

Race turns to Spot. "So. The docks?"

Spot grins. "The docks."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hello 3000 word chapter I didn't plan on.

I am. Trying to figure out how this reached 3000 words. I. I don't. Understand. And  it's close to 4000 now?? What??

Why am I never able to fit all of my contents I want to be in one chapter into just one chapter haha.

So yeah we needed a Good newsie and I wanted a bird name, so...Mallard it was. I was debating heavily between Mallard and Plover.

(Why didn't I just write Finch? Well my good friends, I don't feel like I know enough about Livesies nor Finch to write him properly.)

Also I wasn't planning on him being aroace, it kinda just...happened haha. And I enjoyed writing that.

So uh. Aphobia. 

Unfortunately it is still very common, even today in 2024. I can't imagine what it must have been like before there was a word for it. And just...I hate how most of the world treats us like we don't exist. Like we're making this up. That we're broken. But we're not. We're just built differently.

Sure, only 1% of the world population is asexual. But that's still 80,000,000 people. The percentage of people in the world with green eyes is 2%, and we agree a significant amount of people have green eyes, right? Only 1-2% of the population has peanut allergies and we agree that a significant amount of people still peanut allergies, right? 80 million people is larger than the population of actually quite a lot of countries. That's why there are so many memes about asexuals invading Denmark, because there are more asexuals in the world than people who live in Denmark.

Aaaaaand the ableism. I can't even pretend there's less ableism today. It may not be the same as it was back then, but I can't pretend that neurodivergent people aren't still having their rights taken away today.

I'm gonna be real with you guys, I procrastinated on writing the discriminatory part of this chapter for a while, because I really did not want to write what those boys were saying. They said some hurtful things, and unfortunately they're all things people have been saying for centuries.

Let's try to make the aphobia and the ableism stop with us, okay?

Lighter topic now, shall we?

For funsies I wanted to research what butterflies are found in New York because I didn't want to include a butterfly that is found no where near New York haha. I chose the Eastern Tiger Swallowtail because it looks pretty :)

I don't know if you guys have watched the k-drama Extraordinary Attorney Woo, but I kinda wanted this scene to have the vibe of where they're all drunk and they are convinced that Lee Jun-Ho (neurotypical man) is dating Woo Young Woo (the autistic lawyer) because he pities her, and he just goes ballistic on them (his own friends) because NO that's HIS girlfriend who he is VERY MUCH IN LOVE WITH and NO ONE says ANYTHING mean about her.

 Extraordinary Attorney Woo is just a great show in general. And even though the actress who plays the autistic woman is not actually autistic, she tried playing the role respectfully, and autism was well researched by her and the creative team. Pretty low standard to meet but honestly it's some of the best we can get right now before being autistic is more accepted.

Soooo I don't have many M/F OTPS, but Lee Jun-Ho/Woo Young-Woo is definitely one of my top five. Gosh I love them so much. It's been a couple years since I've watched the show but still. They showed me that not only love is real but loving an autistic person is real.

(They also have a "loving me is hard." "It appears so." "So are you going to keep doing it anyway?" "Of course." Moment so ahhhhhhhhhhhh)

(By the way!! 1% of the world's population is also autistic!! I'm not gonna reiterate the words above for the asexuals but that's still a pretty significant number!!)

(Ace people are more likely to be autistic and vice versa. True it can turn into a harmful stereotype that if someone is one they must be the other, but you will find many asexual people who are autistic and many autistic people who are ace, as well as genderfluid people. And queer people in general. Queer people are more likely to be neurodivergent than cishetallo folks actually.)

I think that's all I have for now. Hope you guys made it out of this chapter okay.

Please, no homophobia/transphobia/aphobia, profanities directed at other users, hate etc in the comment section at all times.

Best,

~Your Beloved Author (who thinks modern day Racetrack Higgins would call Luigi Mangione his hero)