Some say it was his fault. That everything was his fault. And it was. People will never forgive him and they shouldn't. He was a mess. And he still is.

....

"Spot, is everything okay?" you asks your boyfriend with a bit of seriousness in your tone.

You two have been dating for about a year. You two have known each other for about a couple years, but it took long to get your father's permission. You were considered high class. Your father was a successful business man and having his only daughter dating a street rat took a toll on him. But after Spot promised him that he will protect you and keep you safe, your father let Spot date you.

"Yeah. Everythin's fine," he lies. You know something was wrong, but you knew better than to push him further.

"You know you can always tell me when something is wrong, right?"

"Of course," he says. He knows he can trust you, he just doesn't want to worry you. He didn't want to stress you and to get you upset, so he kept quiet. He tried to fix the problem himself.

But he couldn't. He couldn't contain and he couldn't hide it either.

Lately, the newsies fom the Bronx and Brooklyn have not been getting alone. Their leader, Ralph, has been pushing Spot, and the Bronx newsies have been soaking other newsies- violating the newsies' rules.

Spot tried to stop this, but Ralph wouldn't cooperate. Ralph began to get frustrated and angry with Spot. He wanted to take Spot down. So, he went after Spot's weakness. You.

"Let go of me!" you yelled, but they wouldn't listen. "Spot!" you screamed over and over as they pushed you and beat you. You quieted down as all your energy left you. The alley began spinning as aches and pains were felt all over your body. You remember seeing these tall newsies kick you over and over as you layed there close to death before everything went black.

Spot was walking home after a long day of selling and trying to resolve this issue when he saw newsies from the Bronx run out of an alley. He was suspicious as to what they were doing in his territory, so he appraoched the alley. He slowly walked in seeing your body laying on the ground with pools of blood all around you. He ran to your side, rolling you over to see what they did to you. Tears pricked his eyes as he saw every bruise and scrape. He pulled you to his chest with tears running down his cheeks.

He stopped the tears as he finds out you were still breathing. You still have a chance. He picked you up bridal style and brought you to the lodging house since your father was away on business. Ignoring the terrified looks from the Brooklyn newsies, he ran into his room placing you on his bed. He cleaned you up and bandaged you as best as he could. Then he waited.

And waited. For days he sat by your side and waited. Watching you suffer and wishing he could take the pain away. He was frustrated and mad at himself. If he just let you help. If he was with you. If he just told you none of this wouldn't have happened. He bullied himself. He couldn't sleep and he refused to eat until you woke up.

He began to lose hope. Each day he saw you suffer, he wished it would just all be over, so you wouldn't be hurt anymore. So you wouldn't suffer. And watching you suffer, knowing he couldn't do anything, and that it was his fault killed him the most.

It was a Sunday afternoon when it has officially been two weeks. Two weeks of little sleep and little food. Two weeks of watching you suffer. Your father was expected to be home tomorrow, and Spot didn't know what to do. Using all the courage he had left, he spoke up.

"It's okay ta let go. It's gonna be okay," he whispered pushing a piece of stray hair away from your face. "I'll be okay," he continued as sobs raked his body uncontrollably. "I love ya and I always will," he finished placing a small kiss on your forehead. He stroked your cheek once more before your chest stopped rising.

And then you were gone.

There wasn't anything else to do except tell you dad. Tell him his only daughter died. And it was all his fault.

Your father sighs and looks away from Spot. He was too upset to be mad.

"You promised. You promised you would keep her safe," was all he could say to Spot before he gave in to the tears.

The funeral was slow. Too slow for his liking. Flowers were piled up in the worst way. Nobody knew what to say about a beautiful, young girl who died.

And as the casket was lowered into the ground, he cried harder than he has ever cried. He cried about how he'll never kiss you again. How he'll never share a laugh or a story. He'll never have a conversation with you. He'll never hold you in his arms or sleep by your side.

Watching his world crumble beside him turned Spot cold. He had no weaknesses. He had nothing to lose. He had nothing.

You were the only thing that has ever mattered to him. Part of him did not want to live without you. Another part of him wondered what you would want.

Would you want him to move on? Would you want him to live the life he is destined to live? To find another girl who will put a smile on his face?

So there he was a year later at the graveyard. He will never get over you. When you left, you took a piece of him he'll never get back. He could never replace you and he didn't want to.

He knelt beside your grave as he placed new flowers beside the tombstone to replace the old ones. "Happy birthday, princess. I hope ya know you'se were me best yeahs. I love ya and I'll love ya forevah."

A-N- Do you guys like it written this way or the 3rd Person? It doesn't matter to me, so I was wondering what you guys like better.

And for the Mush/Kid Blink one, I'm a little stuck... so I'm waiting for that lightening strike of inspiration! I have an idea of how I want it to be written, I just don't know what to write...

Anyways, I hoped you liked it as much as I liked writing it even though it was a bit jumpy. Please vote and comment! Thank you all! Love you all!