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leading-manhattan · 9 days

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Chapter One | Chapter Two

Actually stepping over the bridge into Brooklyn immediately puts a damper on the jovial atmosphere the boys crafted during their walk over. Nothing changes, not really, but slipping into someone else's territory makes the streets feel much more sinister. His boys were never eager to step foot in Brooklyn on a good day so it doesn't help that any and all alliances Manhattan may have had were certainly on unsettled ground at best. Even Racetrack quiets down, wary eyes flicking this way and that as he tries to keep an eye out for anything that may try to get the drop of them. Jack feels like he's walking to his execution for the third time in the past week and it's a feeling he's really starting to resent. He can't help it, he knows he's not safe here. It would've been nice to feel less like prey. "Keep your heads up, boys," Jack sniffs, eyes scanning every alley they pass. Part of the problem with trying to get to the Brooklyn lodge while it's empty is knowing that in turn all the Brooklyn boys had to still be out on the streets. They could get cornered at any second but Jack would be damned if they came all the way here only to never make it to Spot at all.

"Are you really that scared of Brooklyn?" Davey glances around at each of them curiously. He'd been to Brooklyn, he'd watched Spot Conlon command a room filled with well over a hundred boys with little more than a way of his hands, but Jack understands that he'd never seen a boy beat by Brooklyn before. There was a healthy intimidation that kept Dave subdued as they walked through the streets but he couldn't understand the spark of fear planted in the rest of their chests. Manhattan and Brooklyn had never been on such poor terms before and Jack really hoped to remedy the relationship between the boroughs before any of his boys got jumped just for being associated with a rat like him.

"It ain't a good idea to be on Brooklyn's bad side." Sniper grumbles. The seasoned newsies pointedly leave it at that. Davey looks like he wants to push, his need to know never sated, but luckily he keeps his trap shut.

They make it to the boarding house without any issue and while that should be a relief it only succeeds in feeding the anxiety curdling in Jack's stomach. His chest constricts and it has nothing to do with his healing ribs. It's unusual how empty the streets are. Regular passersby were still bustling about but there wasn't a newsie in sight as they made their way deeper and deeper into enemy territory. That alone puts Jack even more on edge. Spotting just a handful of newsies here and there, sure, but not a single one? It left a bitter taste in Jack's mouth that screamed at him trap. He shoots a quick look back at Racer as they stop a block or so away from the Brooklyn lodging house and the wariness in Racetrack's eyes and the furrow between his brows confirms that he's just as suspicious as Jack is.

"Theys waitin' for us," Sniper breaks the heavy silence, not tearing his eyes away from the boarding house standing tall and mighty in front of them. Sniper rolls his shoulders back and cracks his knuckles as if he'd have any chance at taking a whole building full of Brooklyn boys. The protective fire burning in his eyes is like a soothing balm over Jack's fraying nerves regardless. He realizes in the safety of his own mind that he hadn't been too sure whether or not they'd find him worthy to defend if things went to shit. It's unfair and illogical and a bunch of other things Davey would say if he shared that thought out loud. He knows they forgave him for what he did but he also knew that despite that plenty of his boys were still harboring some bitterness spawned from his intentional sabotage. Just because they forgave him doesn't mean they wouldn't get some satisfaction out of seeing him knocked around a bit. That was only fair if you asked Jack.

"Must've had a lookout." Albert fidgets, his uncertainty plastered clear across his face alongside his determination.

"If they let us get this far they must want to talk though, right?" Dave interjects hopefully, swallowing thickly as the understanding that they could be in serious danger starts to settle into his bones. Davey wasn't a fighter, not really. He'd throw a punch if he had to but he'd throw it wrong and land it worse. Once they finish this damn strike Jack's gonna have to teach the beanpole how to fight if he's gonna keep handing around a trouble magnet like Manhattan.

"Maybe." Racetrack offers distractedly, eyes narrowed as he stares daggers at the boarding house. "Or theys just wanted us to be in too deep to run." Dave's face pales significantly and Jack reaches over to smack Race on the shoulder. Racetrack shrugs helplessly and Jack sighs. It's not like he's wrong, it's a possibility, but it'd do them no good to psych Dave out before they even stepped through the doors.

"You ain't gotta come with us," Jack turns soft eyes to Davey. Davey who's rushed to Jack's side time and time again to pull him out of the dark. Jack didn't want to see him get hurt again because of something Jack dragged him into and he certainly didn't want Dave to think it was expected of him. Jack didn't want anything between them to feel like an obligation.

Davey looks outright offended at the implication and his hand shoots out to tenderly brush against Jack's, "I'm not going anywhere." He swears, steadfast. Jack melts, a small smile pulling at his lips despite the looming sense of doom that lingers over them.

"Alright sweethearts, let's get this movin'," Racetrack teases earning a snicker from Albert and a smirk from Sniper. The mood lightens for a brief moment and they all share a fond laugh even as Jack reaches over again to gently smack Race upside the head. Jack spots the moment Racetrack realizes he's overstepping, eyes widening and mouth popping open to form a small 'o' when he remembers how Jack had shut down Albert earlier. Still, Dave cracks a smile, hesitant but real.

Dread flares through Jack as he turns back to the boarding house and he hates the genuine fear that bleeds into him the longer he stares. His mind flashes involuntarily to the World and then, worse, that horrible cellar. He suddenly feels so trapped, cornered by predators, even surrounded by the open air out on the streets of New York. His breath hitches and he squeezes his eyes shut against the memories clawing for his attention. God, what's wrong with him, he hasn't even gone inside and he's already losing it. Warmth touches his hand and panic floods through him— who was touching him? Don't, please— until nimble fingers intertwine so softly with his own. Jack's head snaps down and he gapes at the hand holding his own so boldly out in the open like this. His eyes trail up the arm attached until he meets Davey's worried gaze and Dave squeezes his hand reassuringly. It's astonishingly grounding and like magic the haunting memories of the cellar are brushed to the back of his mind. They still writhe, desperate to be acknowledged, but it's so much easier to root himself in the present with Davey's hand clasped in his own. Jack nods curtly and sets his jaw. He slips his hand hesitantly from Davey's before dragging himself forward through sheer force of will. His instincts beg him to get out while he still can but he forces one foot after the other.

There's no resistance as they slip in through the front doors but the second they walk in they're surrounded. The lobby of the Brooklyn lodging is different than the one in Manhattan. First and foremost it's bigger. Not by too much but they house a lot more bodies here and the building was built to accommodate the size of the borough. Aside from that it's furnished with ratty, broken couches clearly taken off the streets scattered around and pressed against the walls. There are dozens upon dozens of boys packed tightly onto the cushions and standing around the room, all dressed in splashes of red with arms crossed to display their muscles. It's a clear threat of what's to come if any of them so much as breathe wrong and Jack is frighteningly aware of how little pull he has here. The best he'd be able to do if things went south was tell his boys to run and even then he doesn't think a single damn one of them would listen to him.

"You gotta lot of nerve showin' up 'round here," Spot's familiar voice cuts through the crowd and Jack easily finds him lounging in the back of the room. Spot's sat on the back of one of the couches, raising him up, and he looks down at Jack with a dark expression, feigning disinterest but painted with licks of flame. Jack expected Spot to be pissed, he had every right to be, but he hadn't expected to be greeted with such a show of hostility and strength. Spot tilts his head, obviously sizing Jack up, and for the first time since his quality time with Snyder and the Delanceys Jack wishes his injuries were more visible. "Clear out," Spot commands. For a second no one moves and Jack thinks that maybe the rest of the Brooklyn boys are just as shocked as Jack himself. Who was he kidding, they had probably just been looking forward to getting their shot in. "Did yous not hear me? Out." Spot growls and promptly sends the room into chaos. Jack forces himself not to flinch as some Brooklyn boys slide past them to head out onto the streets while the rest climb the stairs to relax up in the boarding rooms. Two boys don't move from Spot's side but Spot doesn't even acknowledge them as he watches the rest of his boys flood out of the room. Jack's stomach twists and he swallows back a wave of nausea. It seems that whatever was happening Spot had it planned out from the beginning. What could possibly follow up such a show of power?

It doesn't take long for the room to empty out and the further they get into this mess the more antsy Jack gets. He resists the urge to fidget, keeping his shoulders back and his head high, and latches on to the presence of his boys fanning out behind him. He wasn't alone and he needed to remember that. When it came down to it Jack really didn't think Spot actually wanted to hurt them anyway. He hopes, at least, that the camaraderie they shared before the rally wasn't completely destroyed. Jack's gaze locks with Spot's and the tension in the room steadily increases as the two leaders stare at each other in silence. Jack can see a guarded curiosity in Spot's eyes shrouded by a sheen of anger and betrayal and he allows a tentative hope to take root. He clutches to the idea that he has a chance to turn things back around and undo the damage he's done.

Jack knows that there's no good way for him to start this conversation, whether he apologizes first or once again requests Brooklyn's help he's sure it will set Spot off. Jack steels himself and speaks, "We still need you." He says like it matters, like he has any right to expect Spot to care, and just as Jack suspected Spot's face twists into a sneer.

Spot barks a laugh, "You got some audacity, Kelly, I'll give you that," he snaps as he gracefully slides off the back of the couch and onto his feet. "What's it? See your fight's still goin' without you and now you want back in, huh?" Spot stalks across the floor and despite the height advantage Jack knew that he didn't stand a chance. Immediately, without so much as a warning, a hand lands on Jack's shoulder and yanks him back. Jack can't stop the shocked yelp that slips out but he doesn't have much time to be ashamed about it before Sniper is stepping between him and Spot. Racetrack and Albert swiftly slide up to Jack's sides and Jack's almost positive that if he craned his neck to look Dave would be right at his back. They were boxing him in; shielding him. Spot stops his advance, raising a disbelieving eyebrow and giving a condescending snort, "Usin' your boys as a meat shield now? Fittin'." Jack cringes, shrinking slightly into the safety of the bubble his boys hastily made.

Spot isn't interested in being denied, however, and he's already made it clear that he's thought ahead. They were outplayed from the start and Jack never should have let any of them come with him. Spot clicks his tongue and the two other Brooklyn boys surge forward like trained attack dogs. They cross the room in the blink of an eye and Jack barely has time to scream in protest before Race and Albert are torn away from him. Spot reaches out and yanks Sniper to the side like he weighs nothing and Jack instinctively steps forward to try and catch him when he predictably stumbles. Jack doesn't get the chance, watching helplessly as Sniper tumbles to the floor as two sets of arms circle around his arms and hold him firmly in place. It's a painfully familiar sensation and panic bursts in his chest. The arms holding him are stronger and the boys taller but the hold itself is agonizingly similar to how the Delanceys caught him when he tried to flee Pulitzer's office. Frantically Jack jerks against the restraining grip but they don't so much as budge and he's forced to realize that he was trapped. Again. No.

"Stop! What're you doing!" Davey.

"Don't!" Jack snaps and he doesn't know if he's talking to Spot or Dave. The panic grows and wraps painfully around his chest, tightening until Jack wasn't sure he could breathe. He turns terrified eyes to Spot and he's haunted by the cold detachment that he sees there, "Leave 'em alone, they didn't do nothin', alright?" Jack pleads, pulling against the grip that keeps him from running like the coward he was. It hurts, his bruised shoulder and busted ribs whining at the harsh strain. Spot knew he had fast feet and had quickly eliminated the possibility that he'd flee. It was smart and it was calculated and Jack was scared.

"They're your boys, ain't they?" Spot disagrees, closing the gap between them and crossing his arms. Spot is acting like this is just another one of their casual chats and not the threat that it was. Just one more thing on the growing list of things reminding Jack of his time in Pulitzer's office.

"They didn't know," Jack stressed through gritted teeth, gathering his strength and glaring daggers down at Spot. He has half a mind to try and kick the bastard over but then Spot would beat on his boys just to teach Jack a lesson. This wasn't the Brooklyn leader Jack shared a bond stronger than blood with, this was the Brooklyn leader that earned a reputation of unbeatable violence.

"Ain't a good look for Manhattan," Spot tisks, watching Jack try to wrench himself free with practiced disinterest. Jack growls and tries in vain to get his captors to loosen their grip even just a little. With his arms wrenched up and back like this his shoulder has started to throb with sharp pains and the welts on his back are stretching uncomfortably. When he left, if he left, Jack's sure that all the healing he's been able to do will have been undone. "A good man leads by example. Who's to say all of your boys ain't rats?'

No. Jack gives one final tug, jerking with all his strength against the powerhouses holding him, but it's just as pointless as it was before. Jack sags, panting pathetically from the exertion and the hurt bubbling up like blood across his aching body. Jack throws a quick glance to Sniper frozen partially off the floor. Davey is at his side, holding him up, and they both stare at Jack with worried eyes; Davey's blown wide and Sniper's narrowed darkly. A quick look in the other direction reveals Racetrack and Albert looking for all intents and purposes like they're about to do something stupid.

"Just leave 'em alone, Sean," Jack begs, letting his head fall to his chest in defeat. "Do whatever you want to me but leave them outta it, alright?" Jack swallows convulsively, powerless to keep back the fear that coils up his spine and digs sharp thorns into his skin. He's done this dance before and he still bears the wounds from the beating it earned him. But he'd take a knife for his boys without so much as a thought, what's another round of fists? "Just," Jack gasps, his shoulder is screaming, "Just don't give up on everyone else. This strike is more than me, you knows that. Please." He hates how pitiful he sounds and shame rushes through him to blend with the defeat and terror. It's a vile, curdling concoction that only succeeds in making Jack feel less than human. Humiliated and subdued. Broken.

Jack hears shoes scuff the floor and his head snaps up in time to see Racetrack and Albert rush in. Racetrack lands a solid blow to the cheek of one of the boys holding Jack and Albert tackles the other roughly around the middle. Instinctively the Brooklyn boys release Jack and in turn Jack very nearly collapses. He stumbles and barely manages to catch himself last minute on shaking legs. His shoulder burns and Jack snaps a hand up to cradle it with a pained whine that's drowned out by the scuffle behind him. "Don't—" Jack tries to warn. They couldn't afford to be on worse terms with Brooklyn, they couldn't handle a damn war on top of the strike and Pulitzer and Snyder—

Sniper leaps off the floor and socks Spot right in the face.

The room freezes. One of the Brooklyn boys has Racetrack by the collar of his shirt, fist reeled back and ready to throw a punch while the other is still stuck beneath Albert on the floor. Dave, standing awkwardly to the side, looks like he doesn't know whether to be confused or share in the shock that's turned everyone to stone. Sniper just looks smug, flexing his fingers to try and shake the pain that comes from a well-placed hit. They all stare, transfixed on Spot as he stumbles back and stretches his jaw to test whether or not Sniper fucking dislocate it. Dread burrows itself deep into Jack's very soul. Shit.

Spot shoots Sniper an appraising look and Sniper only shrinks back a little under his harsh gaze. It's impressive, actually, and under different circumstances Jack would be proud. Spot turns back to the room, still comically paused, and jerks his chin towards the stairs, "Let 'em go. Get outta here." A blatant command for his boys. They only hesitate for a moment but ultimately follow Spot's orders without question. Race fixes his shirt with a scowl the second he's released and Albert is shoved aside easily so the boy beneath him can get up. The leave without a word and Jack can only stare dumbfounded after them as they're left alone in the lobby with Spot.

"What just happened?" Racetrack murmurs, voice impossibly loud in the sudden silence.

Spot snorts, rolls his eyes, and faces Jack. Jack flinches, tightening his hold on his shoulder, and tries to stand tall. He fails, not necessarily unexpectedly but disappointingly, immediately stumbling on uncoordinated limbs. Thankfully Davey appears to have been watching him carefully and rushes to his side to hold him steady. So much for standing strong. "What happened." Spot presses. It's not a question.

"We couldn't have skipped the scare tactics?" Davey hisses bitterly and Jack can feel his hands shaking where they're braced on Jack's arms. It takes Jack a second to decipher what Davey means. Dave's always been the brain between the two of them and Jack's still reeling from the promise of a beating and the plethora of memories it dug up. Scare tactics, Jack thinks dully, feeling so disconnected from himself.

"Yous tryin' to tell me that was a fuckin' test?" Racetrack snaps, all rage in a way that's so jarring coming from an energetic ball of chaos like him.

Spot shrugs, "Not all of it," He admits without remorse, recrossing his arms. Jack's starting to resent his casual air, regardless of whether or not it's projected or genuine, and if he wasn't still trying to catch up with everything happening right now he thinks he'd be furious. "Jackie-boy just doesn't seem like he's doin' too hot and he's a lil' too desperate to be a traitor. Besides, he clearly won you lot over. Last I heard yous was all pissed with 'im too." Spot reasons and this time when Jack forces himself to meet his eyes there's a blatant concern there that Jack didn't realize he needed to see. Spot frowns but offers a soft nod in quiet reassurance. Things weren't fixed but Spot was willing to give him a chance. Jack melts with relief and nearly sends Davey to the floor as he scrambles to accommodate more of Jack's weight. "Sit down, you moron. You's gonna fall." Spot snaps, reaching out to grab him. Jack flinches, eyes wide as he curls closer to Dave. Sniper takes an aborted step forward, fist clenched. Spot pulls back instantly and instead gestures to the nearest couch.

Jack is grateful that Davey helps him stumble over. He's fine, really, but the pains scattered around his torso combined with the beginning of an adrenaline crash have made him a bit weak in the knees. He was already humiliated enough, he didn't need to go tripping over himself. He collapses into the cushions, wincing when the irritated wounds on his back press against the worn back of the couch. Davey waits until he's settled before carefully lowering himself down next to Jack. He's wary of jostling Jack and if it wasn't such a relief after what just happened Jack would've snapped at him to cut it out. He wasn't some fragile creature but he can admit to himself that he'd like a break from all the hurts. Spot is watching him with calculating eyes, not bothering to hide how he's taking in every detail and tucking them away. Spot wasn't dumb. He was a hard ass and an asshole but he was good at what he did. In the background Racetrack helps Albert off the floor and they both scramble over to Jack's side. Sniper lingers back a little longer before ultimately following their lead so they can all form a protective wall between Jack and Spot. Spot raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment.

"The hell happened to you, Kelly?" Spot huffs, clearly not happy at having to repeat himself. At least it sounds like he's asking this time.

Jack sighs, melting into the couch and fighting off the sudden wave of exhaustion that crashes into him. He really wasn't looking forward to this conversation, he never is, but on the other hand he was so glad that the threat of violence wasn't hanging over his head anymore. He was so tired of hurting. "Spyder," He confesses before Spot starts getting irritated. Spot was pretty good at not treating newsies from other boroughs like they were under his leadership but he was still used to a certain brand of respect that got him answers when he wanted them. Usually Jack would be happy to push those buttons but right now he just feels meek and shaken. He doesn't want trouble and he doesn't think he'd survive it if Spot actually hit him right now, emotionally or physically.

Surprise flashes across Spot's face and it's a testament to how raw the shock was by how unfiltered his expression is. Jack can see that it hadn't ever crossed Spot's mind that Snyder could've been involved and that was the genius of it. Pulitzer was a bastard but he was a bastard who knew what he was doing. Spot was well acquainted with Snyder's affinity for Jack and just what that could mean for the young borough leader. "I'ma need you to give me more than that if yous gonna ask for my help again."

"I know." Jack murmurs bitterly, glaring up at the ceiling. There are water stains and odd dips and he counts them to give himself some more time to compose himself. He hates how often he's felt the need to pick up the pieces recently. He started this strike bright-eyed and self-assured, leading a crowd of boys with the spirit of a fighter. They haven't even won and it feels like the life has been pried forcefully out of him. He's a husk of what he was marching on not for himself but for the people that look to him for guidance. Jack lets his eyes drift closed and he focuses intently on the warmth of Davey's body beside him. He starts the same way he always does, "I was stupid. Got cocky before the rally, guess I was ridin' that high." He scoffs a laugh lacking of any humor. He can only look back on his actions with resentment now. He was so stupid. "Stormed into the World to rub the strike right into Pulitzer's face. I wanted him to feel as trapped as he made us. I wanted the bastard to know we was comin' for 'im and that he couldn't do a damn thing about it." Jack snarls, old fury coming back with a vengeance. He had been so smug in his righteousness and Pulitzer struck him down with the ease of a man truly powerful. Jack was just a poor imitation, nothing in comparison. "I was wrong. Old man had Snyder in his pocket and the Delanceys on his payroll. I couldn't get out and he said if I didn't call off the strike then he'd round up as many newsies as he could and cart 'em off to the Refuge."

Spot wasn't stupid. "And theys beat the shit outta you." It's a statement, not a question.

"And theys beat the shit outta me." Jack agrees miserably. He fucking hurts and Spot's warm welcome made the dull aches turn to angry throbs. He really had been healing up pretty well after being kept up on the roof for a few days and while he knows it's not true it feels like all that progress has been stripped away in the past twenty minutes. "Fuck," He breathes, leaning pitifully into Davey. Dave tenses immediately, his whole body winding up tight, and Jack grunts to make his displeasure known.

"You can relax, Mouth," Spot chuckles and Jack imagines he's smirking.

Davey's still coiled with tension beneath him and Jack reaches over to poke him in the side. "He knows, he's cool." Jack huffs, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. Brooklyn was a rough place but they had no room to judge when it came to boys kissing boys. It was hard to have this many kids under one roof and not have some queers mixed in with the rest of the lot.

Racetrack and Albert are snickering again at Davey's expense and when Jack cracks an eye open to kick out at them he spots a small grin on Sniper's face too. Dave sharply exhales, some of the unease bleeding out of him and ultimately making him a much better pillow, "That would've been nice to know beforehand, you know." He bites but it lacks any real hostility as he raises an arm to curl comfortingly around Jack's shoulders. He avoids putting any pressure on Jack's bruised shoulder with practiced ease, days of forcing Jack to let himself be cared for giving Dave all the experience he needs to avoid pressing on any especially painful injuries.

Jack snorts, tilting his head to shoot Dave a shit-eating grin, "Sorry, didn't really expect it to come up." He really hadn't. Regardless of how this confrontation went Jack fully expected it to be all business. He definitely hadn't been planning for leaning so heavily on Davey out in the open at the Brooklyn lodgings. A part of Jack assumed that after something as big as what he'd done that his connection with Spot would be severed for good. He was immensely grateful that it seemed he was wrong. If nothing else Spot was willing to listen and Jack could work with that.

"Alright, you pests, move." Spot slinks forward and tries to wave Jack's boys away.

"What, Spotty, ain't happy to see me?" Racetrack teases, stepping closer to Sniper and making their human barricade even tighter.

"Can it, Higgins," Spot snaps and Jack can hear the annoyance starting to trickle into his tone.

"Stop. It's fine, we's good." Jack interjects before someone tries to hit Spot again. Spot could respect a good punch but Jack sincerely doubts he'd be willing to just take another blow. Jack would prefer if they all headed back to Manhattan in relatively one piece.

Reluctantly Albert grips Sniper's arm and pulls him to the side and Racetrack retreats to the opposite end of the couch. Jack's touched by their desire to stay close, unwilling to abandon Jack to an unknown fate with someone who had mere moments ago been so willing to tear him apart. Spot doesn't look like he cares that they're still here and instead just erases the distance between them. Slowly Spot reaches out and takes Jack by the chin, tilting his face this way and that, brows furrowed. "You alright?" He asks, tilting Jack's head back like he expects to find something on his throat or hidden just beneath his collar.

Jack grunts, pulling his face away and batting at Spot's probing hands, "Fine." He insists, disgruntled.

"He's full of shit," Race chirps without missing a beat.

"Theys got 'im good," Albert agrees, much more reserved, "Couldn't even get up the fire escape."

"Hey!" Jack cries. He wants to refute that but he'd only gotten down the fire escape just fine. He had been well aware that going up wouldn't go over well for him, even just the ladder up to the roof had been too much for him during those first couple of days. "That was then, this is now. I'm alright, honest. Just sore." He meant it. His definition of alright might not align with theirs but he could breathe easier and had almost a full range of motion back in his shoulder, that was pretty damn good if you asked him.

"He's better," Davey concedes, "Not in top shape yet but we've been taking care of him." It was an honest answer and Dave confidently meets Spot's eyes when Spot turns to look at him. Spot nods, satisfied, and leans back.

"So, what crazy plan you got this time?" Spot hums. Warmth floods through Jack in response and he pushes away from Davey with a low groan. His ribs weren't happy with the roughhousing and the strain there only added to the ever-present agony resonating from his back and shoulder. Christ, what Jack wouldn't give for a hot bath right now.

"Katherine wrote up an article. A call to action, not just for the newsies, but for every workin' kid bein' overworked and underpaid by this damn city. 'Course Pulitzer gots a ban on printin' anything about the strike." Jack leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees to keep himself from falling over. Spot's eyes sharpen and Jack knows that he has his full attention. "Thing is, when Pulitzer had Snyder and them work me over theys brought me down to the basement of the World, right?" Spot's eyes narrow and Jack knows this time that the fury isn't directed towards him but rather the bastards that dared to drag him around like a piece of property and lay their hands on him like they had a right. That's one of the great things about having Spot in your corner. A lot of people would think Jack insane if he dared say it out loud but Spot Conlon cared even if he had a very peculiar way of showing it. A sharp grin cuts across Jack's features and with it a spark of his old mischief comes to life inside of him, "Well, you see, he's got an ol' printin' press down there he ain't using."

"Oh, you got balls, Kelly," Spot barks a laugh but the smile that settles onto his face is deadly. "Usin' Pulitzer's own press to bring 'im down? How could I say no to that?"

"You in?" Jack blinks, hope tentatively spawning beneath his ribs. He needs to confirm. He needs to know for certain before he starts getting excited but the idea that they still had a chance is too intoxicating to just cast aside. Dave's hand slides into his own and Jack latches onto it as tightly as he could. It feels like Jack and his boys are waiting with bated breath. They just might be but Jack doesn't dare check.

Spot's eyes soften and Jack knows the answer before it even leaves his mouth, "I'm in."

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leading-manhattan · 11 days

Text

Now that they had a plan in place all they had to do was set it in motion. The only problem was that they knew they wouldn't stand a chance without Brooklyn at their backs. Unfortunately, that meant that Jack needed to talk to Spot and they haven't seen each other since the disaster back at the rally which has left resentment festering between them.

Luckily for Jack his boys refuse to let him travel to Brooklyn alone knowing that the tensions were so high. All he has to do is convince Spot that he wasn't a rotten scab. That couldn't be too hard, right? Who was he kidding, he was a dead man walking.

Sequel to Rotten Deal.

Chapter One | Chapter Two

They had a plan. It was a very finicky, unstable plan that could fall apart at any second but they've gotten this far on luck and bullshit so why stop now. Thing was, they needed Brooklyn. The last thing Jack wanted was to have to rely on the other Newsies of New York but they couldn't have a successful call to action without Spot Conlon on their side. No newsie outside of Lower Manhattan would even think to show up if Brooklyn wasn't backing them up, especially not with Jack leading them, and while Jack thought it was ridiculous that they wouldn't fight for their own damn interests he could understand their fear. If anyone could understand fearing the consequences of standing up the Pulitzer it was Jack.

He's had a few more days to heal up after his conversation with his boys. Race and Davey were kind enough to go about setting everything in motion with Katherine while Jack was encouraged— meaning forced— to rest up on the rooftop the last two days. He couldn't lie and say he didn't appreciate the time to recuperate. He got restless confined to the rooftop for so long but it felt damn good not having to stumble around Manhattan praying his legs wouldn't give out before he got back to the lodging house. He expected it to be a painfully lonely healing period but it turns out that no one had any plans to go back to selling papers while they put together the next part of the strike. The few days of selling they got in landed them enough spare change to keep themselves fed sparingly for a few days and Kloppman was still more than willing to let them stay as long as they slid a few quarters his way when they could. That means that Jack had more than enough company while he was healing up. Jack's pretty sure the lodge had a whole rotation sorted out to make sure he always had someone up there with him. He sat through Mike and Ike's antics, Racetrack's attempts to get him to play just a few rounds of cards, Specs' less-than-legal games with Finch's pilfered slingshot, and Albert's enthusiastic retelling of a new game the littles put together. It was a lot to go from being shunned so harshly to constantly having someone talking his ear off but Jack swears he couldn't stop smiling the whole time.

Now Jack was up on steady feet and they had their plan all sorted out. The only thing keeping them from following through was Brooklyn. The last piece of the puzzle, it seems, was going to be the hardest one to fit into place. "He ain't gonna be happy to see me," Jack grumbles, shrugging on his shirt with only slight difficulty. He still couldn't raise his arm up all the way without his shoulder complaining at him but he's gotten a lot more motion back since he's been benched.

"It's got to be you, Jackie," Davey reminds him sympathetically. Spot wouldn't hear out anyone else. Hell, Jack isn't sure Spot will hear him out but he's hoping that the Brooklyn leader will at least give him a chance to explain before he soaks Jack back to Manhattan.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Jack huffs, tugging on his waistcoat. He wasn't looking forward to this, he knows that no matter how well it goes it's going to be a rocky start and a tentative finish at best. He'll be lucky if he can even make it to the Brooklyn lodging without getting accosted by some of Spot's boys first. "Guess 'm just tired of getting' the shit kicked outta me."

"We're not gonna let anything happen to you." Davey protests with a load of misplaced confidence. His eyes are bright with the determination that Jack's come to love and his chin is tilted up defiantly. For such a lanky kid he looks like he's ready to take on the world.

Jack laughs, and though the sound is tainted with bitterness he can't help but look back at Dave fondly while he finished up the buttons on his vest, "There ain't enough newsies in Manhattan to take on those Brooklyn boys, Dave, but it's a nice sentiment." Brooklyn was big and the boys were even bigger. Everyone knew that you don't mess with Brooklyn and that's exactly why they need them.

"They can't just beat you up!" Dave throws his hands up in the air, exasperated, and Jack tries to stifle his laughter. Davey was still getting used to the way things worked out on the streets of New York and it would never stop being funny how riled he could get at the nuances of life as a newsie.

"Theys could soak me just for walkin' into their territory if they really wanted." Jack sing-songs just to see Dave's scowl. Davey does not disappoint, a harsh frown creasing his features while he glares back unhappily. Jack lets the laugh free, a bright smile firmly in place while he closes the short distance between them and grabs Dave gently by the biceps, "It's alright, Davey, honest. We ain't lawless, we's just a bit rougher than you's used to." There was an understanding between boroughs that kept people in line. Things could get dangerous but the designated leaders were responsible for their boys and Jack trusted the kids out here on the streets to watch each other. Even if Jack got jumped the second he stepped into Brooklyn he knows for certain that Spot would make sure whoever did it without his permission would face the consequences. Newsies kept each other honest and safe because no one else in this world would. Spot may be pissed with Jack but that doesn't mean Spot wants him dead. Potentially a bit roughed up but not dead. Davey doesn't have anything to worry about.

Davey reaches up and cups Jack's face tenderly in his hands, scanning him over for any trace of dishonesty or omissive embellishments. "I just don't want you to get hurt again." He admits, eyes flicking down to Jack's chest. This time around he's actually seen the extensive bruises beneath the thin layers. Dave had done his best to help clean up the worst of the wounds but in the end a majority of the work had been left to Racer's experienced hands. Davey was used to taking care of scrapped knees and paper cuts not cracked ribs and weeping welts.

"Can't avoid it forever," Jack throws back with a grin. His tone is light but the words settle heavily on Davey's shoulders. Jack's life wasn't one defined by safety or security and he wouldn't lie and tell Dave that he'd never get beat on again. This is certainly one of the worst beatings he's taken in his life but it was far from the first. His own father had been keen on corporal punishment. He didn't want Davey to go hoping for something that just wouldn't happen. Jack could lie to sell a pape but he wouldn't lie to Davey. "Don't go lookin' so sad. Just 'cause I go down doesn't mean I won't be gettin' back up. I'll be alright." Jack nuzzles playfully into Davey's palm, beaming with success when it draws a light chuckle out of him.

Still Davey's eyes are shrouded with apprehension and he swipes a thumb tenderly along Jack's cheek. There are words so obviously sitting on the tip of his tongue but he opts not to share and Jack can't help but wonder what could be going on in that head of his. Dave draws in a long breath through his nose and visibly steels himself, shoulders rolling back and head tilting up as that determination that Jack's come to know and adore cascades over him. "I'll take your word for it." Dave draws his hands back and Jack lets him go so they can part. Dave looks him over one last time, making sure that Jack really is as okay as he says, "Just be careful, okay?" There are words left unspoken again but this time Jack can hear them clear as day. For me, goes unsaid, left to be understood between them, and Jack grins back.

"I'm always careful," He swears cheekily, basking in the pure adoration that rolls off Davey as he rolls his eyes.

"You're insufferable." Davey hums, stepping forward again and straightening out Jack's waistcoat. It's unnecessary but Dave's been especially tactile since he found out what went down before the rally. Part of it is just assuring Jack that he's there through actions rather than words, proving that he's not going anywhere with gentle touches that Jack can't refute if he tried. The other part is Dave reassuring himself, feeling the warmth of Jack's body beneath his fingers and the rumble of his voice when he speaks. Jack thinks that Dave might need him to be okay more than he does.

Jack hums, closing the short gap between them and pressing his chest to Davey's. He tilts his head up and smirks, watching with no small amount of pleasure as Davey's eyes widen and his breath catches in his throat. "I can show you how insufferable I can be," He practically purrs just to see red blossom along Davey's face. It's intoxicating to watch as scarlet springs to his cheeks and blooms across his temples.

Jack can practically see the gears whirring in Dave's head and it's just so endearing how innocent Davey can be that Jack's composure cracks and he laughs, burying his face into Dave's chest to muffle his mirth. He can feel Dave tense beneath him, "Jack!" Davey hisses and Jack doesn't even need to look to see the indignant expression twisting up Dave's red face. He tries his best to quiet down but even as Dave lightly smacks him upside the head he can't help the last few giggles that slip out.

He notices too late the telltale clang of someone climbing up the ladder. "Alright, boys, take any longer and we ain't gonna make it to Brooklyn by noon, so—" Racetrack's voice spills out over the rooftop and Jack's laughter immediately kicks back up. He pushes away from Dave to see Race peeking over the edge of the roof, sharp eyes flicking back and forth between him and Davey, "Well, I's glad yous are gettin' along but this seems like the wrong time to—"

"We aren't doing anything." Davey interrupts sharply and when Jack looks back at him he can see that the red has spread down Dave's neck and over to the tips of his ears. He wasn't aware Dave could blush like that. He can't help but wonder what other parts of him changed colors.

"Well, if you ain't too busy bein' sweethearts we should get goin' then." Race grins. It's cute, Jack muses, how flustered Dave is. Davey'd been worried about what the boys would think, the world wasn't fond of people like them, but he was forced to quickly realize that the newsies didn't care who you loved they only cared about pestering you about it. Jack and Dave haven't heard the end of it the last few days, hooting and hollering following them whenever Davey came around so long as there weren't any strangers around to overhear.

"Yeah, yeah, we's comin'. Get outta here," Jack waves Racer away. He figures he can at least let Dave compose himself in peace after all the grief he's just given him. Race offers a dramatic two-fingered salute before scampering back inside. They really should get going. The bastards let Jack sleep in— again— and it was already well into the day at this point. It'd be ideal if they could make it to Brooklyn while it was still morning. If they're lucky they'll be able to avoid most of the newsies but the more time they waste the more likely it'd be they'd arrive to a packed lodging. Jack wasn't particularly fond of walking into a building full of Brooklyn boys who want his head.

It seems that Davey's uncertainty has returned with a vengeance too. His face was cooling down rapidly now that the teasing has come to an end and Jack yearns for its return when he sees barely concealed fear flood in to take its place. He hates how hard Davey's taking Jack's time in the cellar. The other boys still care, of course they do, but someone dragging themselves home beat to shit isn't exactly uncommon. They'd cause a fuss, anger and a burning call for retribution in their veins, but it wouldn't haunt them the way it's haunting Davey. Davey's never seen someone hurt like this and it's scared him in a way Jack doesn't think Dave's ever been scared before. Dave looks at him now with such terror locked deep in his eyes. His face does nothing to give him away but there's not a damn thing Dave could hide from Jack with eyes like that. His hands twitch with the desire to reach out again and Jack wouldn't be surprised if Davey wanted nothing more than to wrap Jack up in his arms and make sure nothing could hurt him. It's a sweet thought even if they both know that Jack would hate to be coddled like that. The things coming after him weren't the kind of things Davey could protect him from anyhow. "You ready?" Jack presses.

Dave nods once, curt, eyes glinting with steel, "Yeah." he breathes.

"Then let's get a move on. We're losin' daylight." Jack playfully knocks their shoulders together and takes the first of many steps towards Brooklyn. He makes his way across the roof and swings down gracefully onto the ladder, shooting Dave a wink as he expertly climbs down with a distinct lack of supervision. The last thing he sees before disappearing down the side of the building is Dave scoffing a soft laugh and rolling his eyes. Good, Jack got him to loosen up a little bit.

Jack doesn't wait for Dave before crawling in through the open window. He knows the other boy is right on his heels and even as he slips into the boarding room he can hear Davey's steps descending the rungs just outside. There aren't many boys still lingering around, most of them were out on the streets causing a ruckus even if they weren't hawking, but he catches a glimpse of Skittery out in the hall and a handful of boys are scattered around the room waiting for them. Sniper is leaning against one of the bunks chatting with Albert about something or other and Race is tugging at his shirt to make sure he looks alright before they head out. Jack hums, "Yous all comin'?" He asks, eyeing the boys warily.

Sniper looks over, his conversation easily falling away, "You think we's lettin' just the three of you go over to Brooklyn? When there's blood in the water?" He says it like Jack's stupid for even asking and Jack has half a mind to box his ears for it.

"Ah, shut it, will you?" Jack moves further into the room just in time for Dave to duck in through the window. For a moment Dave struggles to meet anyone's eyes, his cheeks tinting slightly as he remembers just what Race thought he was walking in on moments ago. Clearly Albert notices too and eagerly takes the opportunity for what it is.

"Heard you two were havin' a lil' fun up there," Al waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Even as Jack reaches out to smack him upside the head he can't help but enjoy how Dave sputters.

"Racetrack Higgins!" Davey glares at the offending newsie and Jack thinks that it'll be over for Racer when Dave inevitably learns his real name. That's a new kind of scolding Race hasn't built an immunity to. Jack has already been full named plenty of times.

Race raises his hands in surrender, grinning around the cigar tucked between his teeth, "Hey, I didn't say a word. Maybe it's just the glow yous givin' off—" Race scrambles out of the way of the pillow Dave chucks at him. Davey's face is once again colored a deep, enticing scarlet and Jack only crosses his arms and sits back to watch the show. "Yeah, that one!" Racetrack cheers only to take the next pillow right to the face. His cigar topples to the floor along with the successful projectile but it does nothing to whip the shit-eating grin off of Racer's face.

"You're all terrible." Dave hisses, fists clenched tightly at his sides. He's the perfect picture of mortification and Jack feels bad enough that he decides it's time to step in.

"Alright, leave 'im alone." Jack raises his voice enough to cut off whatever smart remark Albert opened his mouth to say, shooting the younger boy a pointed look to make sure he kept his thoughts to himself. Albert snickers but quiets without complaint. "It ain't like the rest of yous got a sweetheart to get with anyway." He smirks, eyes shining, and he's immediately met with the expected cries of protest. A hand knocks his shoulder in retaliation and Jack's overwhelmed with fondness at how gentle Sniper's touch is. Careful with him but unwilling to exclude him from the integral roughhousing that's raised them all.

"Get off it, Kelly," Sniper huffs bitterly, given away by the smile still bright on his face.

"Oh, he's gettin' off alright!" Race chimes in eagerly.

"We really should get goin' anyway." Albert adjusts his cap, pulling it on backward while he shoots Dave a very unconvincing apologetic look. Dave just sighs, looking up at the ceiling like he's asking the heavens for strength, and Jack watches his whole body deflate with the exhale. The boys thankfully take that as their cue and make for the door. Race throws an arm around Albert's shoulders and they don't even bother to hide their snickers as they make their way out into the hall together.

Jack rolls his eyes and turns to gather Dave's ammunition from the floor. He sends a sideways glance Davey's direction as he crosses the room and he can't help but frown when he sees that Dave hasn't moved from his slumped position. Jack scoops up the first pillow and chucks it over at Davey. It smacks Dave in the chest and he instinctively reaches up to grab it before it can fall back to the ground. Jack's brows furrow at the guarded look in Davey's bright eyes and in turn Dave averts his gaze.

Jack hums, allowing Dave a few more moments to gather himself while Jack collects the other pillow. "You know they don't mean nothin' by it." Jack states nonchalantly, uselessly fluffing the flattened pillow to add to his casual air. He's not even sure if he's clocked it right but he's taking a shot in the dark here with the idea that maybe it'll get Dave talking regardless. Dave offers a noncommittal grunt in lieu of an answer and Jack sees that he's hit the nail on the head. Jack's frown deepens and he tosses his pillow carelessly onto the nearest bunk. He throws the casual attitude to the wind and quickly shortens the space between them, "Hey, theys just givin' you some shit, alright? I'll get 'em to lay off you if you want, yeah?" He bends over to put himself in Dave's line of sight. He scans Davey's face and internally squirms at the genuine distress he glimpses before Dave's face settles into a practiced mask. Jack never realized how terrible it felt to be on the other end of that.

Jack hates the feeling of helplessness that stirs up in his chest watching Dave clutch a stupid pillow to his chest while he stomps down whatever's bothering him. Jack had assumed that Dave wouldn't mind the boys' teasing but even just two days into such a new relationship Jack can admit that they've been a little heavy-handed with the banter and Dave's never really reciprocated and God how didn't Jack notice? "Let's get going, we're wasting time," Dave dismisses sternly, forcefully prying his fingers away from where they curled into the pillow in his arms. He steps back from Jack and turns away, settling the pillow down with stiff movements riddled with discomfort.

"Davey," Jack murmurs sadly, once again moving forward to step slowly into Dave's space. He didn't want to let Davey pull away now, especially after discovering such a personal issue that's flown right over his head for days, and he's relieved when Dave doesn't step back again. "Talk to me. You gotta know by now that I love the sound of your voice." He grins, dancing skillfully around Dave to get a good view of his face. Dave rolls his eyes and breathes a soft laugh that plants a swell of pride deep in Jack's chest. The joy is short-lived and Dave's guarded expression quickly returns.

"It really doesn't matter, Jack," Dave insists, awkwardly fluffing the pillow that's already outlived its days in a blatant attempt to keep his eyes off on something else. "You said it yourself, they don't mean anything by it."

"But it bothers you." Jack huffs, crossing his arms and watching as Dave practically makes the whole bed instead of continuing the conversation.

Davey realizes quickly that Jack isn't going to drop it and slumps in defeat, eyes closing as he reaches up with one hand to remove his cap and uses the other to comb his fingers through his hair. "It shouldn't though. I don't know why it bothers me so much, I know that if any of them had a real problem with us they'd do more than poke fun but…" Dave trails off, biting his lip, and Jack forgets sometimes how anxious Davey is. The strike may have filled him with a newfound confidence but he was still a man made of worry. It isn't normal for people to be so accepting of relationships like theirs and it occurs to Jack now with frightening clarity just how uncomfortable this all must be for Dave. A bunch of boys constantly ragging on them, even with as friendly as it is, has to be terrifying.

A knock on the door frame drags Jack's attention away from Davey but he's not blind to how Dave immediately coils back up with tension like he's expecting something terrible and not just Racetrack peeking back in, "Are yous comin' or—"

"Out." Jack commands curtly and Race flees without even batting an eye. He's thankful for how much trust his boys have in him even if he often finds their blind faith in him misplaced. He tries his best to do right by them and in turn they don't question him. Even Racetrack knows when he's expected to listen and Jack is especially grateful for that as he watches Dave visibly relax again. "I'll tell 'em off. I can't promise theys won't make comments here and there but I guess we, ah, didn't realize how new this could be for you." He admits, reaching up to sheepishly rub the back of his neck. He knew what the world thought of guys like them, boys kissing boys, but growing up in the lodging house he's forgotten how terrifying it can be for other people to know. Usually when someone found you out you'd be beaten black and blue if not killed outright but things were a bit different in Manhattan. Not all the boroughs were as kind but here, with Jack and his boys, they were already considered the lowest of the low and they didn't really see a point in making a big deal out of a single thing on the long list that made them outcasts and criminals.

"I haven't even told Les," Davey confesses quietly, tone broken and so, so scared. He looks up at Jack and Jack hates the hopelessness he sees there. "I don't even know how I'd tell him but what if he hates me, Jackie? He's heard what people have to say about sodomites and our mom isn't exactly quiet about what she thinks about people like us. I don't know what I'd do if—" Dave makes a choked sound, a quiet whine slipping from his lips as tears rush to his eyes.

"Oh, Davey," Jack coos sympathetically, reaching out and dragging Dave into a secure embrace. He rubs a hand up and down between Davey's shoulders soothingly while Dave hunches over to bury his face into Jack's shoulder. "Les would never hate you. That kid fuckin' adores you, Dave, it'd take more than you kissin' a guy to change that. Think you'd make a real activist outta 'im if he found out your ma's been raggin' on you this whole time." Jack doesn't have to imagine the resentment and grief that came from your own family ridiculing you for things out of your control. He doesn't remember too much of his folks after all this time, whether it's just been too long or he's repressed the worst of it, but he knows that he was out on the streets long before his old man finally kicked the bucket.

Dave chuckles wetly into his shoulder and Jack offers a reassuring squeeze in response. He knows how hard this kind of thing is, a handful of boys in the lodging have had to fight with themselves for years to come to terms with themselves, and Jack knows that no matter what he says he can't really make that journey any easier. He can promise that Davey isn't alone, though. He can swear that while it won't be easy there are dozens of boys that would stand with Dave through anything, no matter who he liked or what happened if his family ever found out. Davey had support, through and through, and no one under this roof thought he was disgusting or vile or wrong just because he loved differently than the average Joe.

Before he gets to say any of that Davey pries himself away from Jack and hastily wipes his eyes. His face is dry but his eyes are rimmed red and Jack winces sympathetically. "We really do need to get doing." Dave swallows and straightens out his waistcoat, brushing imaginary dirt from his sleeves in a physical attempt to pull himself together. Jack can take the hint and he hesitantly goes along with the topic change.

"I suppose you's right," Jack mutters, giving Dave one last once over just in case. Dave just raises an unimpressed eyebrow and ushers Jack towards the door. Jack allows himself to be herded out, raising his hands in surrender as they finally make their way out of the room and off down the stairs to meet up with the others in the lobby.

"Took yous long enough," Albert teases brightly, a suggestive smirk on his face.

"Cut it out," Jack snaps, shooting Albert a glare that promises retribution if he were to ignore the warning. Albert raises his eyebrows, shocked but not afraid, and nods back. All three of his boys stare as him curiously but they thankfully don't mention the uncharacteristic shutdown. Jack's never been one to care much about teasing, if anything he was as guilty as Race when it came to tossing around jabs and jokes, but maybe that's why they were so quick to accept the sudden shift. Clearly if he was shutting it down so sternly there had to be a reason and they were smart enough to know that it probably had something to do with Davey. Jack makes a mental note to talk to them all about it later, really explain that any banter around his blossoming relationship was to be directed at Jack and Jack alone. For now, though, they had more important places to be. "Alright, let's get a move on. If we's lucky we can still get there before them Brooklyn boys start gettin' home." Even as they head out onto the streets and make for the Brooklyn bridge Jack can't help the apprehension clawing at his insides. Race slings his arm back around Albert's shoulders and even though Jack doesn't catch what he says he can tell it's something stupid by the way he sweeps an arm out in front of them. Sniper walks beside the other two, watching Racetrack's antics with mischievous eyes. Jack looks down when something brushes and his hand and sees Davey's finger grazing his own, not holding but close enough to touch. Jack's glad he's not making this trip alone. Lucky, yeah right, Jack's never been lucky.

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