#davey jacobs angst

[loiteringandlurking]

after the strike, the older manhattan newsies are *ruined*. like, comatose, barely awake, exhausted to the CORE. and the younger newsies are SO full of energy like 'YAYY WE DID IT' and the older newsies can only respond with 'ough' before they collapse onto a table at jacobi's. some of the older newsies have taken to sleeping in the same beds at the lodge because it helps them sleep easier. after jack moves to be with davey working in pulitzer's office, race and albert take over the manhattan newsies, trying to keep the morale up while barely keeping it together themselves. when albert suddenly breaks down in tears trying to get the younger newsies to just please listen to him, the only thing race really knows to do is hug him as tight as he can and try to kiss his cheek as inconspicuously as possible.

of course, it doesn't go unnoticed. it creates tradition and openness within the younger newsies; they feel comfortable crying in front of each other for the first time, and often kiss each other on the cheek or forehead to cheer each other up. when jack comes to visit and he finds such a supportive environment, led by race and albert holding hands and wearing steel promise rings, he's spellbound.

he can't believe that race and albert brought this about.

he's so proud of them because now they can finally be themselves.

[cowboy-caboodles]

Nightmares (1/2)

took me awhile to put this comic together but now that the holidays are over (at least for this Yid) i have time on my hands!

i like to think that the jacobs’ apartment is a safe place for the manhattan newsies, and a few of them come over for dinner or a warm place to sleep when they can. (most specifically Jack, who took a while to warm up to the idea of Davey’s parents offering him shelter and food, but once he did he spent half his time sleeping over)

[leading-manhattan]

David is absolutely swamped with all the work he's piled on top of himself which leads to him blowing Jack off time and time again. David doesn't realize just how out of control it's all gotten until a few chance conversations with Katherine and Crutchie lead him to the horrifying conclusion that Jack might not be as okay as he's always assumed. Modern AU.

This is ridiculous. The dumbest fight David thinks he's ever had in a relationship. That was because he'd never been in a relationship with Jack Kelly before. Jack, who was apparently determined to start arguments over the most rudimentary things. David is busy and Jack's made it into this whole thing that it never had to be. David sighs, harsh and aggravated, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Even when he was trying to get his work done somehow Jack writhed his way to the front of David's mind.

"Trouble in paradise?" Katherine teases from the other end of the table they've commandeered at the library. Between classwork, his internship, and his job David doesn't have time for anything outside of work so he's grateful to have friends who consider studying together quality time. David heaves another sigh, glaring up at her through his bangs. She gazes back sympathetically, resting her elbows on the table and tucking her face into her hands. She waits patiently, knowing damn well that he was a talker and he was bound to spill if she just gave him enough opportunities to. Katherine was sweet but she was nothing if not nosey, a journalist through and through.

"Jack and I are fighting." David murmurs, turning his glare down to the textbook laid open before him. He's not really looking at the words but it feels rude to point his ire at Katherine. Katherine hums inquisitively and David groans, raking a hand through his hair, "It's just he won't leave me alone. I love him, so much, but I'm completely swamped right now with everything and he keeps trying to get me to go out or make plans and no matter how many times I tell him I can't he just won't take no for an answer and I just- It came to a head and things were said and now we aren't talking." David sags, hunching over the table and resting his forehead pitifully on the pages of his notebook. It sounds even more ridiculous out loud but it's driven David up the wall these past few weeks and now they've gone and made a mountain out of a molehill.

"Oh, pfft," David glances up to see Katherine waving a dismissive hand. "That's just Jack. He's dramatic sometimes."

David grunts, pulling himself back up, "That doesn't mean he gets to pester me when I'm trying to do something important. I have a lot to do, Kath. And now that he's finally leaving me alone he's still somehow managing to distract me." After weeks of nonstop texts and calls and showing up at David's door he finally has some peace and he can't even enjoy it because he's so frustrated with— and worried about— his relationship.

"Yeah, that's why we broke up." Katherine shrugs, a soft smile on her face that David can only read as pitying. "He's like a puppy, David. He needs a lot of attention."

David groans again and lets his head fall back to the table with a jarring thud.

At least the rest of the day passed with a modicum of productivity. He didn't get a lot of schoolwork done but he got pretty much all the housework around the apartment wrapped up before the night's end. Hopefully that would make getting his actual work done this weekend more manageable.

It's when he wakes up that morning and checks his phone to see no texts from Jack that he remembers the shit show he was currently in the middle of. He's half-tempted to text Jack himself but the last time he tried to address this whole thing it nearly ended in a screaming match. He was too worn down to have the conversation he needs to have so instead he just puts his phone back down and resigns himself to talk to Jack tomorrow after they both had a little more time to cool down and sort themselves out. There goes his plans for a productive weekend. He can't help the resentment that bubbles up in him. Jack's not even talking to him and somehow he's still throwing a wrench into David's plans. It's not Jack's fault that David can't stop thinking about their stupid fight, he knows that, but he can't help but be mad at him for it anyway. He's hoping that maybe he can get himself to calm down and regulate a bit before he gathers himself up to go talk to Jack later but as he goes through the morning he only grows increasingly irritated with the whole situation.

By the time noon comes around David is practically fuming. He's heading towards one of his favorite cafés near campus in hopes that maybe the soothing environment of the quaint little place with help soothe his anger. David likes to think that he's a fairly self-aware person and he knows that the burnout from his workload is contributing more to his fury than the actual argument itself. Being aware, unfortunately, does nothing to remedy anything.

When he spots the cafè just a little further down the street David picks up the pace, nearly knocking into someone as he rips open the door. Almost immediately after he enters a sense of peace blankets and he knows that he made the right choice. It's just a little coffeehouse, only about four tables to sit at crowded off to the side, with a bunch of little plants scattered around the counters. It's a homey place filled with the warm glow of the sun. David takes a deep breath and lets the tension bleed out of him as he exhales.

"Heya Dave," A familiar voice calls from behind the register. David glances over and offers a tired smile. "Long time no see." Crutchie's face is warm and welcoming but David can see some curiosity there that tells him that Jack got to him first. Damn it.

"Hey Crutchie. Sorry it's been a while, I've been so slammed." David runs a hand down his face as he steps up to the counter. He doesn't even need to look at the menu before Crutchie punches in his order and David is handing over his card. "You been okay?"

"Oh, yeah, fine! It's been a little busy here recently but I got it handled." Crutchie beams, grabbing one of his crutches as he goes about putting together David's usual. There's a long pause while Crutchie makes his coffee and he is painfully conscious of the the steady tension growing between them.

"You can ask." David sighs.

Crutchie's shoulders slump and he shoots David an unsure look, "You sure?" Which definitely makes it sound like it won't be a conversation in David's favor. He nods. Crutchie bites his lip and turns back to the coffee, "You and Jack haven't been spendin' a lotta time together lately, huh?" He presses tentatively.

David groans, his anger spiking, but he reels it back in quickly. He's not mad at Crutchie. He's not even as mad at Jack as he feels. "I don't have the time, Charlie."

Crutchie is silent for a few telling moments. "You have the time to come here." He says it softly. There's no bitterness in his tone but it still feels so accusatory.

"I'm here to get work done." David argues. He is. It's nice to see Crutchie but he's here to try and catch up on the studying he couldn't focus on yesterday. He thought the familiar environment and the welcome company would help keep him focused and accountable.

"You had time to study with Katherine yesterday." Crutchie says and, okay, how many people did Crutchie talk to before he finally got around to David? This was starting to feel like a very small intervention.

"I was working then, too, I have a lot I need to do, Crutch." David hates how pleading he sounds. His anger is flickering, struggling for air where it burns hot beneath his ribs. That's one of Crutchie's many superpowers. It's so hard to stay angry when Crutchie is there with a kind smile, a sunny disposition, and a kindness that rivaled any person David's ever known.

"So you can't work with Jack?" Crutchie pushes lightly, curiously, setting David's finished coffee to the side like the hostage it was.

"That's not what he wants. He keeps asking to go out, to get dinner, to do things. I just- I can't." He wants to. God, he wants to. He misses Jack, it's been so long since they've really seen each other outside of passing glances and they haven't had a full conversation outside of a screen in weeks if you don't count their recent fight.

Crutchie hums empathetically. David's always buried himself in his workload no matter how many times people tried to convince him to give himself a little more wiggle room. It's a prison made from his own ambition and restlessness he hasn't been able to escape from since High School. "Did you ever..." Crutchie pauses, gaze flitting away as he clearly deliberates with himself. "Did you ever offer an alternative?"

David blinks.

Crutchie looks at him suddenly, eyes shining with understanding, "You know. Like havin' dinner at your place so you can keep workin' after or let him tag along when you come out here to study." He explains and the anger snuffs out so suddenly it leaves David feeling almost hollow without it. Something cold and sad rushes in to take its place.

"I didn't even think about that." David admits sheepishly, cringing. Crutchie's advice is shifting his perspective and David isn't really happy with the picture that it's painting.

"Jack can be..." Crutchie trails off and David immediately fills in dramatic. That's what everyone says. Jack's just being dramatic, they'd laugh. "Overbearing. He's been through a lot, I just-" Crutchie sighs, frowning, the first sign of real turmoil shining through. David doesn't know much about Jack's childhood but he knows that it wasn't good. He knows that Crutchie, Racetrack, and Jack are adopted but he's never pushed. "He needs reassurance. And people. He won't admit it but he does. You don't gotta forgive 'im but he loves you a lot and I know you love him too. You don't need to go out and do things to spend time together, right?" Crutchie's right. He knows Crutchie's right. David will have to set some boundaries about inviting him out when he's so busy but he'd been so lost in himself that he hadn't even tried to consider why Jack has been so desperate to spend time together.

"Yeah. God, yeah, I haven't even thought about it like that." David frowns, glancing over at the table he was going to settle into for the foreseeable future. "Can I get that coffee to go?" When he looks back Crutchie is already holding out his cup with a lid snapped on top.

Walking up to Jack's door has never felt more daunting. His irrational fury spurred on by the pit of exhaustion he dug himself into is completely extinguished and now all he has to pull him forward is the guilt at having blown off Jack completely for three weeks straight. How Jack hasn't snapped at him is a mystery of its own but David sure feels absolutely dreadful for having snapped at Jack. He clutches his coffee like a lifeline and hopes the muffin Crutchie gifted him to offer as an olive branch is a decent way to start an apology. He sucks in a long, bracing breath and raises his fist to knock before he chickens out. He'd dig out his phone if his hands were free but part of him is worried that if Jack knew it was him he wouldn't even come to the door.

"Comin'!" David hears Jack's muffled voice and he's immediately blindsided by a wave of longing. He really has missed Jack these past few weeks and he wishes he was coming over under better circumstances. The door swings open and for a fleeting moment David catches a glimpse of Jack's smile, a flash of teeth and bright eyes, but the second they make eye contact Jack's face falls. Jack's eyes flick from David's face to the café bag held in David's hand and something like defeat settles heavy on his shoulders. "Ah, shit. Okay." He mutters, stepping back and holding the door open in silent invitation.

David slips easily into the familiar apartment but he's never felt so unwelcome. "Hey," David greets quietly, setting his coffee down on the table and holding out the muffin bag to Jack, "I brought a peace offering. It's blueberry." He tries to keep his tone lighthearted but the joke falls flat. Still, Jack accepts the gift and David forces himself to take that as a good sign. "We really need to talk, Jackie."

Jack flinches, the bag crinkling in his hands as his grip instinctively tightens. A breathy laugh tumbles from Jack's lips but it lacks any mirth, "Ha, yeah. I was waitin' for this." He sounds so utterly devastated and it stabs David right through the heart. Jack can't look at him, head ducked and wild strands of dark hair blocking his eyes from view. "I'm kind of a lot to handle, right? I know I'm pretty needy." Jack chuckles and it sounds strained and David doesn't understand.

"Jack," David swallows. Jack looks up and David is surprised to see the wetness in his eyes. He's trying to put up a front, laughing despite how obviously hurt he is. "What do you think is happening?"

Jack blinks and scoffs, all false humor falling away. "I mean, it sure sounds like you're breakin' up with me. No one really wants to hear the words we need to talk, you know."

Realization slams into David hard and he immediately backtracks, "No!" He shouts, quieting when Jack flinches, "No, Jack, no. That's not it at all. I meant that we actually, really need to talk. Crutchie kind of helped me realize a few things and I just… I missed you." He confesses, holding his hands out and allowing himself a moment of relief when Jack steps forward. He gently cups Jack's face in his hands and wipes his thumbs carefully over Jack's eyes to clear away the tears clinging to his lashes.

"You did?" Jack looks at him with so much uncertainty it nearly makes David sick. Did he really give off the impression that he hadn't wanted to see Jack at all during his workaholic frenzy?

"Of course I did, Jackie, I always miss you." David pleads for him to understand. The long nights yearning for the feeling of Jack's arms around him. The afternoons trapped at his job almost praying for Jack to appear at the door just to make him smile. David hadn't wanted to be apart but he hadn't realized how many opportunities they'd actually had to be together.

"Alright, alright," Jack huffs a laugh and bats David's hands away playfully. "You're so mushy, Jacobs." He rolls his eyes but a content smile is spreading across his face so David basks in the small victory.

"You're so much worse, don't even start." David throws back, grabbing his drink and taking a long sip for the first time since he got it. He has a feeling that he's going to want to be caffeinated for what's to come.

"Oh, shuddup," Jack huffs, peeling open the bag and reaching in to tear a piece of the muffin free. "So you talked to Charlie?" It's not so much a question as it is a confirmation. They both know that Crutchie worked today and the café's logo is printed on David's cup and the bag. Not to mention David's confession that it was Crutchie who knocked some sense into him. Jack's not asking if he saw Crutchie, he's asking about what Crutchie spilled while Jack wasn't around to swear him to silence. David doesn't really know where to start. Everything has been such a whirlwind for the past month and even now, while he's here with Jack, he's worried about falling behind somewhere. Despite that, he knows that this is the most important thing he could be doing right now and the last thing he wants to do is mess it up.

"I'm sorry," He starts because that feels like the right thing to say. He wants Jack to know first and foremost that he was so sorry for brushing him to the side. "I was so caught up in myself I totally dismissed you and that was horrible of me." He cradles his drink in his hands, holding it tightly and trying to steal its warmth like it could chase away the internal chill of regret.

Jack shrugs, nibbling distractedly on the chunk of muffin in his hand, "You were busy. 'M sorry I kept buggin' you, I just figured eventually you'd be free."

"I could've offered an alternative." David mournfully echos Crutchie's advice. Jack shrugs again and David wants to shake him. He yearns to know why Jack is so dismissive of his own feelings, why he's so forgiving, why it's so easy for him to accept being brushed aside. David wants to know but he won't push because he knows Jack will just close up if he tries to seek out the answers he so desperately craves. "I should've offered an alternative and I am so sorry that I didn't even think to until Crutchie had to shove the idea in my face."

Jack rolls his eyes, shoving the rest of the chunk into his mouth in a clear attempt to give himself more time to think before he speaks. Jack looks away, leaning back against the counter, and he would've succeeded in projecting this uncaring aura if David didn't know him so well. Jack's uncomfortable and David can see it clear as day.

"Don't listen to Crutch, alright?" Jack finally settles on, tearing off another piece of muffin, and David realizes that he's keeping his hands busy. Jack rolls his shoulders and looks over to meet David's eyes, his gaze is hard and his face is set in a firm mask to keep the more vulnerable emotions under wraps, "He's just tryin' to help but he don't know what he's talkin' about. I was just bein' dramatic is all."

There it is. That word. He needs reassurance. And people. That's what Crutchie said. Nausea churns in David's gut when he thinks back to his conversation with Katherine. How easily she'd waved David off when she heard about their argument. She'd been so quick to dismiss Jack as dramatic, ignoring the fact that both Jack and David were in genuine distress. To her, Jack was just like that. How many times has Jack sought comfort only to be met with rejection? Was it just Katherine who looked at Jack in need of reassurance and company and turned him away or have others disregarded him just because they didn't understand? How many times has Jack laughed away his own needs because others thought they were a joke? Sifting through group interactions in his mind David isn't liking the answers he's coming up with.

"Who told you that?" David implores despite knowing full well that at least two important people in Jack's life have said that very thing to Jack's face. A pit opens up in his stomach when Jack just stares at him in shock.

Jack is quick to shake himself out of his stupor, staring at David with suspicion. "What'd'ya mean? No one told me that, that's just how it is." Jack shakes his head like it's David who's the weird one and like he isn't breaking David's heart.

"You aren't being dramatic because you need something." David insists. He's desperate for Jack to understand. He hates this new side of Jack he's accidentally uncovered, it's small and resigned and nothing like the bright man that Jack's always been. David's chest constricts painfully knowing that people have taken Jack's innate desire to be around the people he loves and turned it into something to be ashamed of. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to forgive himself for ever being a part of it even if he never intended to be.

"I don't just need somethin' Dave. I'm needy and demandin' and I get all whiny instead of takin' no for an answer like an adult. It's dramatic and stupid and I'm tryin' to break the habit." Jack disagrees curtly, nearly biting his fingers when he shoves another piece of muffin into his mouth. The resentment that's rolling off of Jack in waves is horrendous. Jack's so convinced that his need to be acknowledged is such a toxic trait that for a moment David swears he can feel bile crawling up his throat.   

David's never found Jack whiny or demanding. Needy on occasions but he's always been more than happy to oblige when Jack was in need of a little more attention than usual. To watch Jack stand there and say so confidently that he was certain he was all sorts of things he's never been is gut-wrenching. To hear that he was trying to break the habit of reaching out was the final straw.

David makes a choked noise and frantically tries to blink away the tears that suddenly flood his vision as he hastily puts his drink down before it could tumble from shaking hands. Jack startles, worry suddenly replacing the self-loathing, and practically throws the muffin aside to free his hands. "Hey, woah, Davey," Jack coos, reaching out slowly to make sure David has time to back away if he wants and the easy care and devotion only makes the tears come faster. "What'd I say? I'm sorry, love."

"No," David sniffs, wiping his tears away and trying to compose himself. "Please don't apologize, it's not you." He promises, allowing Jack's hands to come up and rest comfortingly on his biceps.

Jack smiles, amused, "Also not somethin' a guy wants to hear from his distressed boyfriend." He teases. His eyes are still shining with worry, concern dripping off him, and David is overwhelmed with affection. David came here to apologize to Jack, to make sure that Jack felt loved, and to communicate his boundaries to avoid this all spiraling out of control again. Yet here Jack was, dropping everything because David is upset. It was cruel how terribly the world has treated Jack Kelly and just how long it's taken David to really notice.

"Don't make me laugh right now," David huffs, squashing the chuckle building in his chest. He gently smacks Jack's arm, "I'm serious. I just wish you believed me. I don't think you're being dramatic, Jack. I don't think you ever have been, not about stuff like this. I'm sorry people made you believe that but please, please listen to me when I tell you that if you need me I'll make the time. I can always make the time for you, I've just been so stressed I forgot that for a little bit."

Jack shifts and reaches up to try to smooth out the sorrowful crease in David's brow with the pad of his thumb. David can't help but giggle and waves Jack's arm away. Jack's smug little expression is enough to send warmth flooding through David's veins and he swears he's never been so in love. "It's alright—" Jack promises.

"It's not. It's not, but I want you to know that I never wanted to hurt you like that." David interrupted. The last thing he wants right now is for Jack to push aside his feelings to appease David.

"I already forgave you." Jack replies swiftly with such confidence and conviction that it feels like a blow to the sternum. David just laughs and finally gives in to the need to pull Jack close, wrapping his arms around Jack's shoulders and tugging him in for a clumsy embrace. Jack submits easily, arms slipping around David's waist before he nuzzles soothingly at David's shoulder. "I really am sorry too. I shouldn't have kept pushin'." He mutters into David's chest.

"It's alright." David echos fondly.

"Thank you." Jack whispers after a few beats of silence. David doesn't respond, not verbally, instead tightening his hold and pressing a firm kiss to the side of Jack's head. He doesn't need to ask for what, he knows what Jack meant, and while it hurts his heart to know that Jack thought it was something he needed to thank David for he's still so glad that Jack acknowledged it at all. They'd be okay.

[baura-bear]

Just so u know my Davey has a crooked nose from breaking it when he was younger

[pigeonwit]

No one's mine sounds interesting :D

IT'S NOT :D

it's a little jack character study with longform hurt/comfort :) the idea is he misses a union meeting, leaving davey to fend for himself, which leaves davey feeling embarrassed and angry that jack would do that to him again for what, skiving? but then jack doesn't come back to the lodging house, and that's when davey starts getting worried. and people tell him not to be, because 'oh, jack just does this sometimes', but davey doesn't... like that. and he doesn't think everyone else should be treating it like it's just a thing that happens sometimes. so he goes out looking and oh, look at that, jack's perfectly fine, he's drunk and playing poker with some harlem kids just like everyone said. so davey's furious. and then jack just - cracks. and davey realizes oh, no, this isn't fine, actually. none of this is. jack disappearing at random so he can drink himself half to death with strangers is not normal and it shouldn't be treated that way, like, at all. so he's going to fix it. or try, at least.

i actually have posted the two good snippets i have for this already and i dont wanna muddle things up so i'll just link them here and here

[thatsallshewrot3]

Newsies Prompts!

(I do love a good Jack/Davey story, but I have nothing against Jack/Katherine. Also these mostly revolve around the musical story line)

Let me know if y’all use these prompts or if you have any fic recommendations!

-The newsies go looking for Jack when he’s locked in basement and find him chained/beaten up

-Jack starves himself so the others can eat and people start to notice

-Jack suffers with depression or sh

-Jack gets hurt in the refuge and the others rescue him

-Jack takes crutchies place in the refuge and he gets hurt

-Jack starts do illegal things (secret fights, drugs, prostitution, etc.) to make more money to feed the newsies

-Jack goes mute after a traumatic event

-Jack stuck inside a burning building after running in to save Les, who unknown to Jack was already out

-Jack gets arrested and the newsies are at the hearing and eventually save him from the refuge

-what if in order to lower the price of papes Jack made a deal to do some illegal activities for Pulitzer?

-jack kidnapped

-s*icidal jack (maybe the newsies take shifts watching him and trying to help him)

-Jack struggles with addiction

Im here for all the angst 😅 I would love to see these with a modern twist on them too!

[roseofsherwood]

I’m writing newsies fics again…

This time it’s

javid ?!

angst AND fluff ?!

and eight pages long ?!

We’re entering new territories kids. This could be dangerous.

[onemorestrangeronthestreet]

For research purposes can you let me know yalls headcanons on different newsies in the refuge?

Who is submissive to Snyders abuse? Who stands up for themselves / resists and gets beat up for it? Who are the "favourites" who don't get beat up as much? Who protects the other kids?

Why are they like this?

[ethereal-bumble-bee]

Goodnight- Jack Kelly

Note: Trigger warning for death, grief, graveyards, and mentions of homophobia (this one’s not fun, folks). Enjoy some angst!

There it was.

    It was a small grave, nearly nothing compared to the ornate tombstones scattered around the graveyard, but it was all the newsies could afford. The headstone looked as if it was already crumbling, slightly tilted from not being put in the ground correctly. When they first bought it, it had no name on it, no chance to identify who was below the stone.

    Jack had carved the name in himself.

    Stepping back, blinking tears from his eyes, Jack could just barely read the inscription on the headstone. A pocket knife doesn’t do much in the way of carving rock. The words were a bit lopsided, tapering down at the end, but Jack could make out the letters and that was enough.

  David Jacobs- Our Beloved Friend.

   It was a shitty inscription, but the newsies couldn’t think of anything else to put on it. What else could have summed up the life of someone so amazing? What words could have described the way Davey had cared for them, for Jack, loyal to his friends until his last breath? Race had suggested looking around at other graves, but Jack couldn’t fathom taking someone else’s final words about someone and using them for his own. He’d done enough taking in his life.

    They could have done something better if Davey’s family had wanted to pitch in, like Les had begged them to, but they didn’t have anything to do with their son up until his death. Even Sarah had turned away from him when he needed it most, and that’s what angered Jack to no end. The dirt beneath his feet was damp from rain, feeling as if it had soaked up all of the grieving tears shed upon it. Jack could practically hear the sniffles of the younger newsies and the barely-choked-back sobs of the older boys, and he was struck just for a moment with how unfair this all was.

    “Sorry, Dave,” Jack whispered. “It ain’t enough, I know, but please forgive us. We did the best we could.”

    Not that Davey would be angry. Jack knew that if he were here, the boy would understand, and he’d go and reassure each and every one of them that it was alright. He was kind like that, always there to lend a helping hand if you needed him. 

  If they hadn’t kicked you out, if you hadn’t’a gotten sick…

  He knew that there was no use crying about it now, that Davey was gone for good, but tears poured freely down his face anyway. It didn’t feel real- like Davey would walk up, hug him from behind, and ask him what was wrong any moment. Davey had fallen ill so suddenly, deteriorated so quickly, that Jack could hardly process that he was gone.

    Sometimes, Jack wondered what would have happened if Davey’s parents hadn’t turned him out, if Davey had never gone to them with the confession of his feelings for Jack. He wondered if Davey would still be here, laughing up a storm at something Race had done, and squeezing Jack’s hand when he got nervous. He wondered what Davey could have been- Jack knew he would have gone far. Would he have gone to college? Could he have been a doctor? A scientist? A schoolteacher?

     It doesn’t matter now. You’ll never get to see.

   Slowly, Jack knelt next to the grave, wishing he had something to leave there. Flowers, a note, anything for the grave to look less…dead. He brushed a hand across the headstone, knowing that now, he had nothing keeping him tethered to New York anymore. Since the moment Davey died, the strings connecting him to Santa Fe began to pull at his heart again, and he had made up his mind to leave as soon as he said his goodbyes.

    “I’m going to miss you,” he murmured into the empty air, clearing his throat of the tears that choked his voice. “I’m sorry it ended like this. You deserved so much more…”

    It was getting later in the night now, and Jack could barely see save for the light of the moon, the words he’d carved on the tombstone now shrouded in darkness. He didn’t know what to say, how to send his dearest friend and love into the endless night. 

    So he merely sat there, wishing he could kiss Davey one last time and hold his hand in the moonlight. He’d tell Davey just how much he cared for him, how wonderful he was- everything that Davey had died without knowing. 

    “Goodnight, Dave,” he whispered instead, a single tear rolling down his face and landing in the freshly turned dirt. “I love you.”

[the-lavender-lapin]

“I’m sorry I’m not strong enough.”

Javey

The crowd erupted in cheers as Les signaled to the crowd what Jack had just told them, they had won. The strike was over. And for a moment David was elated, they had actually done it. They had done something that nobody had tried before.

David was celebrating, that was until he heard the conversation between Denton and Jack.

“I told him you could use a ride.” Denton informed Jack with a grin.

“Think he’ll take me to the train yards?” Jack asked him.

The train yard… Of course, Jack was still set on going to Santa Fe. Even after all they had accomplished. Even after they had that kiss in the alley before Jack scabbed. The smile on Dave’s face fell and he put a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“Can I have a word before you go?” He asked softly, pulling Jack out of the crowd and away from listening ears.

“Whas a matta Davey? We won ya shoul be celebratin! Ya can tell ya ol man ya will be gettin mo money.” Jack laughed, patting Dave on the shoulder.

Dave didn’t join in on his laughter. “Jack, you can’t go.” He stated, forcing himself to meet his eyes.

“Wha ya mean? Santa Fe was always tha plan David. Ya know tha. Win tha strike then go west. I ben planin this fo yeas. I hav ta go. Francis is thee.” He replied, eyebrows knitting together. David had known this. He told him how his brother, Francis, moved to Santa Fe to get them a home. He had to go.

“Jack, he hasn’t written to you in years. Santa Fe is a big city. Face it, he’s gone. But Jack, here you have a family. You have the boys and Medda and..” he paused for a moment, looking around to make sure nobody was listening. “And you have me. That kiss, I know it meant something to you.” He said softly, hand resting on Jack’s bicep as he spoke.

Jack ripped his arm away from David. How dare he. How dare he talk about Francis like that. Sure he hadn’t written in a while but they were brothers. “Ya don know anythin bou Francis. I goin Dave. I alredy made up me min. Now I have ta go, cant keep tha govana waitin’.” He huffed, turning around to start walking towards the carriage Teddy Roosevelt was in, but Dave caught his hand before he could leave.

“Please, Jack. Stay.” He pleaded, tears now swimming in his baby blues. And Jack hesitated, frozen to the spot. Was Davey really crying over him? Did he care that much?

“Jack, I can't do this without you. I’m sorry, I’m not strong enough. So please. Stay.” David added, tightening his grip on Jack’s hand ever so slightly.

Jack forced himself to look away from Davey, biting his lip. “I’m sorry Dave, it’s my dream. I.. I have to go.” He whispered before walking towards the carriage. Jack kept his eyes forward as he walked, he knew if he looked back at David he would cave. He had to keep looking forward. This was his dream, right?

~~~~~~

It turned into angst… oopsie 😇

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ꒱ა

-Lav

[violetwolfraven]

A New World Is Gunning For You Chapter 11: Oceans

She’s here bitches! Sorry it took so long!

…

“I’m asking you to get out of my way.” he concludes, “But I will make you if I have to.”

Rafaela shrugs, “Fine. Just one more thing.”

Spot groans, but allows it, “What?”

“Why are you doing this?”

Above all other questions, that’s the one he doesn’t want to answer.

Not with the conclusion he’s becoming more and more certain of the more he thinks it through.

He bullshits something else instead, “Because it’s in our best interest to keep things friendly with Manhattan.”

“Bullshit. If you wanted friendly, you’d tell Cowboy what you know and leave it at that.”

“Fine. Cowboy’s an old friend. Higgins is important to him. Sue me for being sentimental.”

“Also bullshit. You and Cowboy are old something, but ‘friends’ isn’t the word I would use.”

Only Rafaela would push him like this.

The others in the inner circle… they haven’t been here long enough, or they trust him too much, or they’d push only long enough to get to the 2nd level of excuses. They’re his friends, the only people in the gang he’d feel comfortable saying he trusts, the closest to family he’s got… but the others don’t know him well enough to get to the real reason he’s helping Manhattan find their second. Even Hotshot would believe it’s his history with Cowboy.

“You’re really gonna make me say it?”

Read the chapter here!

[loiteringandlurking]

picture this: davey when jack betrays the newsies ...... davey had just realised he had fallen with jack, this boy who he thought was sent from heaven .. he was going to tell him after the rally .. but jacks betrayal left him feeling heartbroken . davey sitting on a roof, watching New York, too numb to cry . the boy he thought he had loved ... only for his own personal gain ... davey feels used . unloved . completely useless ........ cue that mitski song ...

[finchfvkingcortes]

The thought of a seize the day reprise after the rally and something to believe in which is just an opportunity for Davey to be angry at Jack for betraying them before once and for all haunts my dreams

[leading-manhattan]

During the strike there's more time between the rally and the plan to use the printing press in the basement of the World. Newsies are rightfully pissed with Jack and he'd be the first person to tell you that he deserved the cold treatment he's been getting ever since his betrayal. As aware as Jack is that this is just the consequences of his actions he'll still do anything to make up for what he's done, he despises what things have become and he won't just stand by and let the people he cares about pull away from him. He throws himself into his quest for forgiveness without so much as a second thought.

Jack didn't realize that even though his boys were angry with him they could never hate him. Maybe if he'd just taken a minute to talk about what happened things wouldn't have spiraled the way they did.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

He can't stop thinking about the deal. If you could really call it that. It hadn't been a deal, it had been a threat. Pulitzer knew damn well that he couldn't buy Jack. Pulitzer had Snyder in his pocket ready to push all of Jack's buttons and Snyder had been more than happy to oblige. Jack can still feel the buzz of fear in his veins remnant from when Snyder had appeared around the corner with that vile smirk plastered all over his disgusting mug. The way his stomach dropped and his heart clawed its way into his throat. He can still feel that all-encompassing dread. Jack was proud of how swiftly he reacted regardless of how the Delanceys had been right there to keep him from bolting. If nothing else his survival instincts were still intact. Even if he swore it took him an extra few minutes to remember how to breathe as he struggled fruitlessly for his freedom.

Despite how pathetically terrified he'd been he was still prepared to stand his ground. He'd survive in the Refuge, he'd done it before, but he wasn't going to turn his back on his boys for a few pretty pennies and a tainted promise that he'd remain unharmed. The strike was more important than him. Then Pulitzer started talking about his boys. The threat had been clear wrapped in the low bite of his voice.

Jack felt his defenses start to crack and the fear that had been squirming beneath his skin boiled over when he realized that it wasn't just himself on the line anymore. He hates how easily Davey's name slipped Pulitzer's mind and he despises just how easily it fell out of Snyder's mouth. It made Jack sick and all he could do in retaliation was make sure that Pulitzer knew he was a bastard. Suddenly Jack really understood how small he was in comparison to the big bad. He remembers the betrayal that sat heavy in his chest when he recalled that it was Katherine who called Pulitzer a modern day Goliath. He supposes she'd know, wouldn't she.

He'd still had some fight left in him when he was carted down to the cellar.

Snyder has always been good at beating that out of him.

He can't stop thinking about that damn deal. The rally was over, he'd stood in front of all the newsies in New York and painted himself as nothing more than a sniveling, cowardly rat. It was done. The strike was still on despite Jack's compliance, thank God, but he still couldn't get the whole damn thing out of his head. He's painfully aware of just how alone he is up in the penthouse, curled up in the corner of the roof with only the low whistle of the midnight breeze and the faint call of some late night drunkards to keep him company. Crutchie isn't here, Crutchie's been gone for days, but now Jack feels his absence more than ever knowing that not a soul beneath this roof wants anything to do with him.

It's worth it though. He can imagine what it would've looked like had Snyder and the Bulls stormed the theater; Medda screaming about how they can't just barge in there while newises scrambled for a way out. He's an artist, after all, he can paint a picture. It adds to the hollow dread still burrowed in his stomach and he feels so empty his eyes start burning not for the first time that night. He blinks away the tears that try to form— what right did he have to cry over his own shortcomings?— and turns over to burrow deeper into the ratty blankets piled up around him.

He wills himself to sleep despite the well of unpleasant memories his reunion with Snyder has dug up. It's because he needs the rest that he craves sleep but because he's desperate for the escape. The guilt is festering deep inside of him and he wants to drown out the rotting sensation eating him alive with anything he can, even if it's images of locked rooms cramped too full or basements spotted with years of blood stains.

He has a lot to make up for in the morning anyway.

Jack, surprisingly, wakes to the sound of the morning bell. He hadn't expected to sleep that long, if he'd slept at all, but maybe he was too exhausted from the last few days to do anything other than drift off. He groans as he uncurls from his fetal position tucked away in his blanket cocoon. Fresh bruises splattered across his torso make themselves known as he attempts to just breathe through the pain. It hurts, of course it does, but he can't just hide away up here all day no matter how tempting that is. Snyder and the Delanceys sure hadn't pulled any of their punches. Jack was sure feeling that today now that all the adrenaline was finally out of his system and the chill of the night could no longer sooth his aches. Hesitantly he waits to see if anyone will call up for him. The pit in his gut hasn't shrunk any during the night and it somehow grows impossibly bigger when the minutes pass and there's no effort to get him. He didn't expect anything more but the sting is still there all the same.

He can hear Racetrack waking everyone up, taking the lead with an undercurrent of bitterness that does nothing to dampen his jovial tone. Racer has always had an upbeat energy that couldn't be tamed. Jack wishes the pride he feels wasn't tainted with the sorrowful realization that they don't need him any more than they want him.

The strike is in a weird place right now. The boys know they need to keep selling, they can't survive with nothing in their pockets even if Kloppman has been outrageously supportive during the whole ordeal. They needed to pay the old man back for heaps of free lodging for dozens of boys and they didn't have any money left to feed themselves. They had some savings put aside that Jack kept up on the roof but not even the whole jar would be enough to cover their debt to Kloppman and keep everyone fed. No, newsies still had to work even if they were still protesting. For the other boys showing up at the gates and getting their papes was still done with defiance but Jack knows that no one will see that when they watch him place down his dime and collect his papers. They'll see a rat; a scab.

Jack also knows he can't just sit up here and wallow. There wouldn't be anyone to come draw him back in like last time. No Davey to sniff him out and tug him out of his rut, no Katherine to call him out on his whining, no Les to cheer him on. Jack had to pull himself up because for the first time in a long time there was no one else to do it for him. He was all he had. So he pries himself off the floor with nothing more than a grimace, using the ledge to haul himself to his feet so he can pull his shirt from the fire escape railing and get ready for the day ahead of him. It takes him a pathetically long time to pull on his button up but there's a deep bruise on his shoulder that makes it near impossible to raise his arm high enough to get the sleeve on so his only option is to suck it up and suffer through the pain.

By the time he makes it down from the penthouse and slips into the boarding room everyone is gone. It's no surprise. He doesn't know why it still hurts.

He peers at the empty bunks while he passes, habitually glancing at the ruffled sheets and small side tables to make sure that no one forgot anything. Race had his cigar, Specs rarely forgot his glasses, Finch's slingshot was nowhere to be seen, and there wasn't a scally cap in sight. The place feels eerily vacant as he makes his way through the halls and down the stairs, the walls closing in on him and turning his sedated pace into a rush for the door. He doesn't think he's ever left without the familiar roughhousing and rowdiness pressing at his sides and the world feels so empty without it. Sure he's had his fights with all the boys before but never has everyone been so unanimously furious with him. He's never felt so suffocated inside the lodging house before and he doesn't even spare a glance Kloppman's way as he bolts out the front doors and out into the streets. He can't breathe any better out in the open air of the noisy city but at least he doesn't feel so abandoned. These people don't know who he is, not really, and they don't know what he's done.

Jack tries to bask in the noise of New York as he treks the familiar path down to the circulation gates. He tries so hard to enjoy the usual sounds of the city waking up but everything feels so dull and there's not a damn thing around to lighten his mood. That only makes him feel more ridiculous. He's done this to himself, hasn't he? He was the one who stormed into Pulitzer's office like he owned the place. He's the one who took the damn deal. This was his own mess and yet here he was whimpering about the consequences like he had the right. At least the burst of anger and self-loathing that sparks beneath his ribs feels like something, a lick of flame in an inky vacuum.

He's grateful that by the time he gets to the circulation gates it sounds like only a handful of newsies are lingering around. At least he's successfully dragged his feet enough to save himself from the humiliation of all of his boys watching him buy his papes like he's Pulitzer's loyal dog. These boys are here because they have to be but they see Jack and they think he's here because he rolled over and bared his throat like a bitch. Maybe they're right. The tremor that still shakes through his hands and the desire to keep looking over his shoulder tells him that maybe he's been knocked down further than he'd like to admit. Jack may be a traitor but he won't be a coward. He raises his head high and rolls his shoulders back before stepping through the gates with the confidence of man he wasn't sure he would ever be again.

Jack is glad to see that he was right at least. There's only a few boys left and they're already slinging their bags over their shoulders and tucking their papers away. He can't hide from their scathing glares no matter how much he'd like to and they don't say anything to him as they storm right by to start their days. He swallows down the urge to call after them, clenching his jaw to physically bite down the desire to plead for them to just listen. Jack Kelly didn't beg. Besides, there wasn't a thing he could say that would fix anything. Instead he lets them pass as he stalks over to Wiesel, digging the necessary coin from his trousers and silently slipping it into the box. He buys more than he usually would even before the price was hiked and it makes him uneasy just how empty his pockets are afterward. Jack hates the way Wiesel grins smugly down at him, pleased to see him quiet and subdued. He also sees the Delanceys over Wiesel's shoulder with bruises on their knuckles that match the ones on Jack's ribs and he pretends the trembling in his hands doesn't become more pronounced at the reminder. He takes his papers just as silently as he'd paid for them even as he refuses to bow his head, returning Oscar's snarl with one of his own and snatching up a bag with more anger than strictly necessary.

It's while Jack is slinging the bag over his shoulder that he realizes the last few stranglers still haven't left and he hesitantly turns his head to meet Davey's expectant gaze. Davey and Les are quiet as Jack shoves his papers into the bag, adjusting the strap to give his hands something to do. He expects Davey to say something, anything, considering the other boy had obviously hung back to talk to Jack. When Davey just stares Jack can't help but open his mouth. "Whatcha starin' at?" He bites, the anger that'd been a blessing before only succeeding now in helping him dig a deeper hole to die in. Davey just sighs and shakes his head, the disappointment clear even as he wraps an arm around an uncertain Les tucked into his side.

"What happened, Jack?" Davey demands, his brilliant crystal eyes so cold. He's never looked at Jack like that before. Not even when they'd first met and Davey was certain Jack was just playing them for a bigger payout. There had been wariness and doubt but never once has he looked at Jack with this calculated contempt before. It made Jack feel small. The same way he had when Pulitzer stared down his nose at him like Jack could never be anything more than the dirt beneath his shoe; like the strike was an inconvenient joke and not hundreds of boys screaming out at a terrible injustice. Davey wasn't supposed to make him feel this insignificant.

"Nothin' happened," Jack huffs, swiping the back of his hand under his nose and clutching at the strap of his bag like a lifeline. No one needs to know what happened. No one needs to know that he was beat into submission. He made his choice and he had to live with that.

"Bullshit," Davey snaps and Jack startles, even Les uncharacteristically quiet at Davey's side jerks and stares up at his brother in awe.

"Davey-" Jack sighs.

"My name is David," Davey— David— hisses, a fiery glare replacing his frigid gaze. "You can't just show up and- and tell us to give up and then refuse to explain yourself! What happened, Jack?" David's anger is a quick flash, a spark that settles before it can catch, and after it dies out all Jack can see is desperation. David's begging for answers that Jack just isn't willing to give.

"Nothin'." Jack insists, fixing his own glare on his face and grasping at the fury still burning inside of him like it can keep him from falling apart. "I just ain't gonna fight a losin' battle," Jack shrugs, shoving his free hand deep into his pocket to hide the pathetic shakes. He can feel the Delanceys eyes on him and he wants nothing more than to whip around to make sure they can't get the drop on him. Thing is, he isn't so sure anymore that he's safer with David at his back.

"Since when have you just let people walk all over you?" David huffs, his irritation growing when Jack doesn't give. If anything David should be used to Jack's stubbornness by now but somehow the other boy has gotten it in his head that he's the exception to Jack's rule. Well, Jack's great at disappointing people. "You were right, Jack, if we let him Pulitzer is going to keep raising the prices and that's why we can't let him win!" David gestures back to where Wiesel and his lackeys are still poised not even pretending to listen to their squabble.

"He already won," Or at least Jack felt like he lost. Nothing about this felt like they had a chance, not anymore, and Jack can't believe he'd ever been stupid enough to think otherwise.

David scoffs, looking at Jack as if he couldn't believe the boy standing in front of him was the same one who started a strike against one of the most powerful men in New York with reckless abandon. Les looks so impossibly small pressed against David's hip and he looks at Jack with wide, disbelieving eyes but all Jack can think is Good, I ain't fit to be your hero anyway. Something dark settles across David's features when Jack doesn't say anything more, that frozen steel glinting in his eyes again when he finds whatever it is he's been searching for. He shifts, gently guiding Les over to the gates so they can get a start on the day. Les doesn't even look Jack's way, his head tilted down and his chin wobbling as he scampers past, and David roughly shoulder checks Jack as he leaves. Pain ricochets down from Jack's injured shoulder all the way down to his fingers and for a brief moment the air is stolen from his lungs leaving him gaping breathlessly, frozen by the wagons. Part of him expects David to realize, to glance back and ask. When he finally manages to suck in a trembling breath and turn around David and Les are long gone.

"Better get a move on, Cowboy!" Wiesel shouts from the stall, "Those papers aren't gonna sell themselves!" He's right, as much as Jack loathes to admit it. So Jack gathers his bearings and stumbles back towards the streets. He heads off to his usual selling spot, unsure if David headed off the same way or if he split off to sell with someone else but knowing either way there's no where he'll be welcome. He doubts anyone would be happy to see him in their territory today, even his own boys. He's positive his boys would sooner raise a fist than let him sell with them.

Luckily there's no sign of David when he makes it to his first street. He hates that David not being around is a relief. How wide the divide between him and the others feels makes his heart plummet. He loathes that he did this to himself but it was still better than the alternative. It was either him or them, this separation or who knows how many of them locked up in a place that'd tear them apart. The fight wasn't over, they hadn't crumbled when he spoke out against the strike, they were still powering through even without him. Knowing that, he's certain that he'd do it all over again. He could take it. He'd spend the rest of his sorry life trying to earn their forgiveness as long as it meant he had the chance to work for it at all.

So he does the only thing he can. He sells. He hawks papes with more vigor than he has in years, throwing himself into the craft and weaving the most interesting headlines he could possibly think of. He'd bought more than he typically would've for a reason and if this was going to serve as even a drop in the ocean of everything he had to do to make up for the rally than he had to sell them all. It would be easier with Les, especially with the look of hurt that'd been in those big eyes. The kid was probably an absolute gold mine right now and he prays that the Jacobs brothers are holding up out there. Knowing David and Les they'll sell out long before Jack does, especially with the extra papes weighing down his bag, but Jack still prays he'll be able to find them after he wraps up. Jack wouldn't be shocked if their partnership was called off after everything but that didn't mean he had any intention of keeping everything he made for himself. He'd hunt them down to divvy up the money regardless but it'd be a lot easier if they didn't fight him on it.

It takes Jack hours to sell out. Longer than it ever has before but by the time he's finished his pockets are so full they jingle loudly with each step. That's step one wrapped up even with his ribs throbbing and his shoulder screaming from the exertion. It's past noon now, he's lucky some kind older folk were willing to buy in support of the news boys and their strike otherwise there's no way he would've sold his last few papes this far into the afternoon. He yanks off his hat and uses the back of his hand to wipe away the sweat that's accumulated on his brow. The weather wasn't in his favor today either. The morning had started out overcast but warm enough but as the day progressed the clouds had disappeared and left him selling under the bright light of the hot sun. Sweat was pooling beneath his clothes and sticking the cloth painfully to the bruises and welts coloring his skin underneath. The pain and the heat leeched away all of his energy and left him exhausted. He's not done yet however. He still needs to find David.

First, though, Jack allows himself a few minutes to sit down and catch his breath before he collapses. He tucks himself away on a bench in the shade, melting into the hard wood panels and wondering if all of this would even make a dent. He knows that it won't be enough but he doesn't know if the effort will even be noticed at all. Will David even realize? Jack swallows thickly. What if he does notice and David thinks he's trying to pay him off? It's a disgusting, bitter thought that leaves his mouth dry but he knows that it wouldn't be unwarranted. After all, the whole rally saw the bundle of cash shoved into his hands. Why wouldn't David think he's just going to do same thing to him that Pulitzer did to Jack? Shit, maybe this was a terrible idea-

"Sleepin' on the job?" Jack jerks up— he hadn't even realized he closed his eyes— and snaps his head towards the speaker. Albert stands a few feet away with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face but there's something like concern in his eyes that makes Jack's heart pound.

"Hey, Al, just finished up is all," Jack doesn't know if he should be playing along like this but Albert spoke to him first so he latches onto the conversation while he can. He ignores the flash of confusion that crosses Albert's face and sits up, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain that circles around his chest and squeezes, "I need to split up the earnin's with Davey, you seen 'im?"  

Albert just stares at him for a few seconds and Jack thinks that maybe he fucked up. Maybe he wasn't supposed to act like nothing happened. Has he already lost touch with his boys after just a few measly hours? But Albert shrugs, "He was sellin' with Race today, theys headed to Jacobi's. Might still be there."

Jack grins, hauling himself to his feet with only a small grunt of effort, "Thanks," he reaches out to lay a hand on Albert's shoulder before he thinks better of it, drawing it back and shoving it into his pocket to ebb to desire. He's always been a tactile bastard. He debates on making his exit now but before he can think better of it he opens his stupid mouth again, "I'll see you around?" he asks hesitantly like it isn't painfully obvious what he really means.

Albert's expression softens just so and hope sparks in Jack's chest. Maybe he had a chance to make up for the rally after all. "Of course you will," Albert says, "We live together." He means more than that. He's still pissed, it's obvious in the way he holds himself, but he hadn't swatted away Jack's olive branch and that gives him something to hold onto.

Jack walks away before he manages to make an even bigger fool of himself but he feels lighter than he has since the rally. The walk to Jacobi's is easy and familiar and by the time he's at the deli he isn't sure whether or not he wants to find David and Racetrack inside. He crosses the threshold and almost immediately his eyes are drawn to a table not far from the entrance where three familiar boys are sat. David and Les both have their backs to him but Racetrack is sitting facing the doors. Well, at least he can't go putting this off any longer. He doesn't allow himself to hesitate and just walks over. He wonders just how much of that Kelly charm he should be injecting into this performance to avoid adding a black eye to his long list of injuries.

It's obvious the moment Racetrack spots him. The smile on his face drops and his eyes shutter, the mirth draining away and leaving only open disdain in its wake. It hits Jack like a punch to the gut but he forces himself not to falter. It's only through a lot of practice that he can puppeteer himself like this. "What'd'ya want, Kelly?" Racer sniffs, aiming for disinterest but his biting tone sounding nothing less than hostile.

Jack raises his hands in surrender, watching out of the corner of his eye as Les and David turn to see who just walked up. David's face falls similarly to how Racetrack's had and Jack tries in vain to ignore how it brings back the hollow sensation in his gut with a vengeance. "I ain't here to cause no problems," Jack swears, reaching into his pocket and digging out what he's earned for the day. He holds it out as a peace offering, "Just here to split things with Dav-id." He barely stops himself from saying Davey but for some reason David still cringes when he audibly stumbles to corrects himself.

Race leans back in his chair, looking Jack up and down like he's sizing up a threat, and Jack feels bile climbing up the back of his throat, "I thought you was all about money now, eh?"

Jack can't help but flinch then and the shame that follows curdles in the black hole that's made itself at home inside of him. "I ain't gonna cheat someone outta a deal," he says before he realizes just how terrible it must sound coming out of his mouth.

Race snorts, pushing his cigar between his teeth in an obvious effort to keep from exchanging more choice words. He pointedly looks away, glaring daggers off to the side while David heaves a heavy sigh. "Let's get this over with then." He shifts in his seat, reaching deep into his own pocket to pull out what he and Les made this morning. When the coins are placed on the table it's a noticeably smaller pile than the heavy handful that Jack places down beside it and David huffs, rolling his eyes. Jack is sure there's a smart comment on his tongue that he's holding back even though Jack pitifully wishes he wouldn't. He hadn't realized that David being mad at him meant that he'd talk so much less but even after just one morning without David to chatter with Jack's desperate to hear his voice again.

Jack is quick to start the sorting himself before David has a chance to try. That'd ruin everything and he was already on such shaky ground. He's grateful, now, that Racer won't even look at him because the younger boy would clock him in a second. Still, Jack moves quick. He moves the money swiftly, placing as many pennies into his pile as he could while conveniently placing whatever dimes or quarters they managed to wrangle into David's pile. By the end of it David and Les' pile looks much smaller regardless of how much more he's given them. It was about a fifty-fifty split, though he gave the extra penny to them just to be safe. Before they have a chance to say anything he scoops up his pile and shoves it back into his pocket. He grins, hopes it doesn't look as shattered as it feels, and steps back, "Always a pleasure."

David frowns, watches as he pulls away, and for a beat Jack is worried that he's going to call him out. About the money or about how fake his smile is he isn't sure but he's still worried just the same. But David just sighs again and turns back around. Jack takes that as his chance to make a quick exit before something else can happen. He thinks, actually, he would've preferred if Race had just hit him.

Again stepping outside does nothing to alleviate the pressure on his chest the way he hopes it would and again he pushes himself to keep going anyway. He can't stop, he doesn't have the luxury to take a break if he wants even a glimpse of redemption. Usually after a successful morning he'd be off to check on the boys or sitting back at Jacobi's with David and Racer but he's not welcome now so he heads straight back for the lodging house to complete the next step of his feeble plan. It's not much and it's even more subtle than what he'd just done with David but he's afraid that if it's obvious he's asking for forgiveness then that'll give everyone another reason to deny him what he doesn't deserve. He knows that by the time he gets back to the lodging house that some of the others will be there too and while he's glad that they'll be bringing some life back to the place he's equally anxious of having to face them. He hopes that if nothing else whoever he runs into will be like Albert and Race; rightfully pissed but at least able to restrain themselves from giving him a physical or verbal lashing. He's in no state to take any sort of beating.

Jack hates that he has to brace himself to walk into a place that he's lived in for the better part of ten years. Still, though, he has to pause just outside the doors and take a deep breath before he can step into the lodging house. Immediately he hears a conversation somewhere to his left die out but he wills himself not to look as he strides up to Kloppman's stall. He digs the coin out of his pocket and counts it out carefully before laying down enough to pay for three nights. It's almost all of what he has but he gives it up all the same.

Kloppman just raises his eyebrows, curious but not going to pry, and Jack offers the man a stiff nod before he ducks away and makes straight for the stairs. He notices how the conversation picks back up the second he's out of sight and he hopes it's not obvious how quickly he's fleeing. Kloppman probably thinks that Jack is paying for his boarding in advance. It's unusual but not unheard of. Jack will have to make sure that it's clear he's trying to pay off their debt when he comes back tomorrow to pay for another three nights, assuming he makes enough.

There are a few boys strewn about the boarding room when he makes it upstairs. He notices Finch sat on one of the bunks sewing up a pretty bad hole in pants and Jojo laid out across his own bed with a tattered book held in his hands. Both of them only offer a quick glance in his direction before they return to their tasks. They don't look up when he climbs out the window and makes his way up the ladder to the penthouse.

Alone again after a whole day of craving nothing more than a companion he walks over to the emergency savings he keeps up on the roof, a broken glass jar tucked away in the corner of the open space, and drops the rest of his earnings in. He convinces himself that he can survive the night without anything to eat despite knowing that he hasn't eaten in well over twenty-four hours already. The last time he'd had anything in his stomach was the morning before the rally but he hadn't been able to eat the next day and he certain hadn't had an appetite after.

He'll survive. He was good at that.

For a moment he doesn't know what to do with himself. Usually it's a struggle to get any time to himself but now there's no one vying for his attention and no gathering he's expected to make an appearance at. It only takes him a second to decide how he'll spend the rest of his day but the moment the idea pops into his head he's already moving across the rooftop and grabbing at the art supplies he's collected over the years. He sifts around for a stretch of clear paper before he tucks himself neatly against the ledge and snatches a loose lump of charcoal from the floor. If there was one thing Jack knew he could do it was transfer his pain onto a page. He would never say it out loud in fear of sounding like some emotional sap but art really was an intoxicating release.

He throws himself into the sketch, focus zeroing in on the chunk of charcoal clutched between his experienced fingers until the rest of the world fell away. He doesn't have anything in mind when he starts but the rough shapes build swiftly into a vivid picture. It doesn't feel like long before the lines come together and he finds the printing press in Pulitzer's cellar staring back at him. It's still nothing but an outline, basic in every way, but his stomach still twists at the sight of it. It looks so unimposing all on its own, innocently tucked away in the center of Pulitzer's basement like the garbage it was, but Jack can't see it that way. He huffs and rolls his wrist before starting in on the rest of the picture. The metal staircase off to the side, the clutter pushed further back into the musty room, the dirt coating the cold stone walls. It's when he's adding details and shading to the piece that he notices his lighting has shifted. The warm yellow of the sun had changed to the cool white of a day coming to its end somewhere along the line. When he lifts his head to get a look his neck protests after being stuck in one position so long.

Jack hadn't realized just how lost in his art he'd gotten. Even if that was the goal it would usually only take a couple hours at most before there was a newsie clambering up the ladder to drag him off. It's the reminder of just how outcasted he's become that returns his attention down to the drawing settled in his lap. It's a painfully realistic depiction of his temporary prison even though the angle itself isn't familiar. It's the detached outside perspective of an audience rather than a first person account. Anger makes a reappearance deep in his chest, bursting and snapping like a wild fire, and Jack grips the charcoal tightly as he channels that fury into messy scribbles. He scratches the vague outline of a man under the walkway of the stairs, hidden under the dark shadows of the cellar but still a clear and dark silhouette with a cane clutched in its hand carried around for more nefarious purposes than a walking aid. He smudges dark splotches onto the floor and across the warped wood of the old printing press, dark pools splattered across the surface and blending into the muck and dust covering every inch. Even in a picture devoid of color the mess of blood is clear as day.

Jack wishes that the anger fueling the haphazard additions was directed at his boys but it's bitter and raw and directed inwards. He's so, so angry with himself that the self-loathing only intertwines with the guilt and loneliness that's been crushing him all day. That only succeeds in making the rage that much worse. It's an endless cycle of emotions building a torrential cacophony inside of him and he doesn't know what will happen when it reaches its inevitable climax.

Throwing the charcoal to the side with enough force that it shatters against the roof Jack rolls up his drawing with quick, jerky movements before shoving it into the tube containing all the pictures he's made depicting the horrors of the Refuge. No one was allowed to touch that tube and he prayed that no matter how much they all now despised him that everyone would still respect that.

It's still early despite how the sky is quickly blackening but Jack doesn't pay the last vestiges of sunlight any mind as he crawls into his bundle of threadbare blankets. His stomach is growling hopelessly and the sweat from working injured and hungry under the sun all day clings uncomfortably to his skin; he's exhausted from fighting too many battles alone and he's grateful when unconsciousness swallows him up readily.

No one comes to call him for supper.

[thehyperfixationsaretakingover]

You could barely see a thing. Newsies boys throwing punches and scabs swepping legs. Right now, it was war. Race was entagled in another big looking scab who probably had too much of an ego. He pushed Race to where he fell backward, scraping his back on the top of the building. He recovered by kicking him in the balls. He frantically looked around for people to help. Mush and Blink were killing everyone in sight, (mostly Blink) Davey was holding his own for the most part with some assistance from Jack, and Finch and Ablert were gathering all the young Brooklyn Newsies and driving them away, but it looked like Romeo was in trouble. He was backed into a wall and was really about to get torn into by this big looking guy. Race was quick to run over and kick him in the balls. Race partly wished they hadn't come, but they would have. After all, if you get word that all the scabs in and near Brooklyn were going to jump the Brooklyn boys, even with how big they can get, they needed all the help they could get.-

"BANG."

Everything went silent. It was like a scene from a movie. Everyone stopped moving even if you were about to throw a punch. Race looked around for what caused it. A boy was standing facing outwards with his arm stretched out holding a gun. He teeth were clenched, and you couldn't see the anger in his eyes. Race followed the trail where the bullet would have followed. His eyes landed on a boy standing near the ledge. A short boy. A boy with a big temper and ego. A boy with calm, dirty blonde hair despite it being messy in the moment. A boy with a pimp cane that he wore at his side that was now broken and scattered across the roof. A boy that had a stern look but a soft smile. A boy that was clutching his shoulder with blood spilling through his fingers. A boy that Race loved. A boy who closed his eyes for the last time and fell off the roof.

[atticusredwood]

Rude awakening.

Part 1/??

There was a loud scream. Three of them, really. The first one was a physically pained cry from the anonymous leader of Queens, known as Angel of Death, but more simply called Pinky by his newsies. His arm was broken in two spots, bent and bruised, unbearable, his facade of no pain began to slip. He saw blood.

But I’m not bleeding…

He thought as he slowly stopped his pained cries and sat up.

The second scream followed. One of mental pain and distress, grief and remorse for the first time slap him in the face as he looks at the decapitated body of his little brother. Poor little blue Jay..

Frantically, desperately, with a choked sob, he grabs his brother’s body and head, sobbing as he tries to put him back together. Pleading with him not to leave but knowing it was already too late to bring back the 7 year old he cradled.

They say when someone gets decapitated their brain still functions for 30 seconds. Perhaps Jay-Jay saw his brother’s desperate cries, maybe he wished to comfort him, maybe he finally realized that his brother was not ignoring him but tired and talking to the one person who could still give him the energy for this strike. Maybe all he could focus on was the unbearable pain in his neck.

Once reality finally drowned Atticus’ head, there was the third scream of anguish and rage.

No wagon should be going that fast that it could decapitate someone it runs over. But then why is my arm still attached?

He thinks for a moment before coming to the weak conclusion that when he slipped and accidentally pushed his little brother under the wheel that his brother was at perfect time to be hit by both wheels whereas Atticus was hit by one.

Felix and a large portion of the Queens newsies were near them because it was almost time for Atticus to lead them to the Brooklyn bridge and Medda’s theater for the rally Davey planned.

Atticus stood up, shaking so much he had to use his crowbar at first. Then he grabbed a stick from off the ground and some medical tape from his satchel, he started to make a splint.

The only two things on him that weren’t covered in blood were his mother’s scarf and a love letter he struggled to write, for he was in denial of his deafening love for a boy, his pastor swore he’d go to hell if he ever liked a boy. So he’ll always say it wasn’t written for the tall pale runaway with the soft fluffy black hair and the scar over his left eye.

He promised he would burn his anonymity for this strike and that is exactly what he’ll do.

“Come along, there’s no time left to waste!” He shouted in his usual loud, cocky, confident voice, though it quivered as he forced the facade back onto his bloody and tear lined face.

Felix stared at Atticus but sighed. Off they went to the rally, their anonymous leader now criminally unstable.

Part 2