Disclaimer: Poor college students don't get to own cool things like Newsies

Alex's Note: In the past month, I've watched Newsies twice. My former obsession seems to be coming back, which is fabulous. I missed it.

Jack/Spot friendship is the thing legends were built on.

I like to appear pseudo profound, as you can see in this fic.

Kings of the Garden State Parkway

"What do you want?"

"Huh?" The sudden break in the heavy silence that's surrounded you for the past hour catches you off guard. He rolls his eyes at you and repeats the question, slower this time. It's an insult to your intelligence, but you don't mention it.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

"What do you want?"

"From what?"

"From life," his eyes glisten when you look at them, the way they always do when he's passionate about something. Not many people know that about him. "You know what I want, Jacky-boy? I want this." He gestures to the scenery around you; the highway, the water that flows below the spot you're sitting on, everything in sight and everything beyond that. "All of this."

You don't say anything, you just continue to smoke the filter of your long gone cigarette and stare at the highway's reflection in the dark water. It's beautiful, enchanting almost. They don't call this a scenic overlook for nothing.

"You deserve it," you tell him eventually, when the feeling of his eyes on you becomes too much.

"I know." The answer is pure Spot Conlon: short, simple, and full of arrogance. "You do too, though."

You shake your head, "I wouldn't know what to do with all of this."

He shrugs and you feel the weight of his eyes on you again, "You never know." Short, simple, more profound than you'd like to give him credit for.

You slip into silence again, a longer one this time. Time rolls by, but neither of you notice. Spot throws a rock over the barrier and you both watch the ripples that appear in the water.

"That's mine now."

He's deep when he wants to be.

"Those ripples, that stone… that piece of history is mine. It never would have happened if it wasn't for me."

"And it will be forgotten as soon as we leave."

"But that doesn't mean that it won't have happened. You know it and I know it."

"So?"

"I'm the only person who will ever sit right here and throw that rock into that exact place. No one else can ever do what I did right now."

He's right, but… "What does that get you?"

"Satisfaction? Maybe." He shrugs, "I don't know. But it makes you feel pretty damn good."

You pick up your own rock and toss it in. You can hear the splash from all the way up here, and what do you know; he's right. You've just made history.

The drive back to New York is entirely silent. You've said everything there is to say tonight and anything else would just be mindless chatter, an insult to the words you've exchanged already.

You may be going back to the place that harbors all of the problems in your life, but right now that doesn't matter. Tonight, you were important. Tonight, you made history. Tonight, you were a king, if only for a moment.

You left a rock on the barrier in hopes that maybe, just maybe, someone else will make history. Everyone deserves to feel the way you do right now.