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Chapter Text

It was a joke.

As David looked around at his fellow newsies, he realised that they had, in fact, not taken it as a joke. He watched Jack rally the boys for the strike.

The strike that meant he would not make money for a while.

The strike that he accidentally helped start.

Crap.

-

After talking it out with the Manhattan newsies, they concluded that the best course of action would be to convince all the other boroughs in New York to join their cause. There is strength in numbers as they say.

David and Jack had decided to take on Brooklyn. If by decided one means that no one else would go and someone had to. It truly was a strange phenomenon to see all the newsies so apprehensive about Brooklyn. David had been there a few times, and it never seemed out of the ordinary. But then again, he had always visited as a schoolboy.

Perhaps as a newsie he would see things differently.

Or maybe the people would treat him differently.

-

As they walked on the Brooklyn bridge David realised, they didn’t really have a plan. Or well, they did but the plan was to simply talk to Spot Conlon. They hadn’t talked about the what’s and how’s of talking to him. Which, in David’s personal opinion, wasn’t really a plan.

“So,” David started, showing effort drawing out the last syllable, “how are we doing this?”

Jack turned to look at him confused “Huh, what’re you talking about?”

“Spot Conlon! What is our strategy in dealing with him?”

“We’s walk up to him and tell him to join our strike!” Jack said confidently.

David doubted that that would work. “I’m not sure if that’s the best way to convince him.”

As Jack looked ahead, he took on a serious tone. “Look Davey, I’ve known Spot a long time. He’s a man of action rather than words.” He turned back to David. “So, if you’s walk in there all hoity toity with ya fancy words and mind tricks, he’ll kick ya ass in two seconds flat.” He said, punching his hand for emphasis. “So, the best thing to do is get straight to the point with him.”

“If you say so…”. He’ll just have to trust Jack and take his word for it. “And I don’t do mind tricks” He quietly murmured to himself.

-

David and Jack had barely crossed the Brooklyn bridge before an unknown boy angrily walked towards them. Looking at the stack of newspapers in his hands, David figured he must have been a newsie.

“Whatcha doin’ here Jack? This ain’t ya turf.”

Jack grinned and put his hands on his hips “We’ve come to talk to Spot Conlon. We want him to join our strike.”

The boy scoffed “Strike?”

He obviously didn’t think they were serious about it. David opened his mouth to rebuff, but Jack beat him to it.

“Look pal, we’s doing this. And we’s gonna need all the help we can get. You and I both know that you boys from Brooklyn are the best of the best, and together we can fight for what’s right and win!”

David watched Jack as he spoke. To see him speak so animatedly filled with confidence and excitement about their strike. The way he spoke with his hands the more worked up he got. It was truly a sight to behold.

“-So either you take us to Spot Conlon, or we find him ourselves. Either way, We’s gonna talk to him.”

David was snapped out of his thoughts. Even though he hadn’t paid full attention to what Jack was saying, he still looked towards the angry boy to see his reaction. He still looked pretty sceptical, but apparently decided that he didn’t care enough to stop them meeting Spot. He shrugged. “Sure, whateva’. I’ll take ya to him.” And started walking.

As they were walking, the boy managed to sell a couple more papers before they finally arrived at the docks were the Brooklyn boys seemingly made base. Looking around David saw kids from all ages swimming and having fun. They must’ve either already sold all their papers or had enough money leftover that they could afford to take the day off.

“Well, well, well. If it ain’t Jack be Nimble, Jack be Quick.”

David turned his head to the voice that must have been Spot Conlon’s. What he saw was not at all what he had expected. From the way everyone in Manhatten feared him, David imagined someone who was physically big and strong with a deep voice and perhaps the beginnings of a beard.

He did not expect him to be this small.

While David was busy gaping in shock, Jack and Spot started slowly walking closer to each other until they met in the middle. where they started some kind of glaring contest. David watched, not sure what to do. After the short stare down, both boys grin and spit in their hands to shake.

It is still the most disgusting thing David has ever seen.

“So Jackieboy, I’ve been hearing some birdies talking. They says the stupidest things. They been sayin’ that you’s going on strike.”

“We are.” Jack said.

“But we’re not playing.” David cut in. He may not have meant to start this fight, but he is sure as hell is going to finish it. “We are striking, and we are going to win.”

“Oh yeah?” Spot said in the most condescending tone possible. He then looked towards Jack before speaking again. “What is this Jack some kinda walking mouth?”

“Yeah, he’s a mouth, a mouth with a brain, and if you had halfa one you’ll listen to him.”

Reassured Jack had his back, David felt a little more confident in trying to convince Spot to join them.

“We started the strike, but we can’t do it alone. So, we’ve been talking to other newsies all around the city.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“But we haven’t really got any answers back.” David continues, “We believe they’re waiting on your decision.”

Spot didn’t look all that impressed. “And now why would they do that?”

Either Spot truly didn’t know of his reputation, which is highly unlikely, or he was just fishing for compliments. David was quiet for a moment, thinking of what to say. He could try and flatter the boy. Who knows, maybe a few nice words will be enough to bring the famous Spot Conlon over to their side.

“Well, it’s probably because you are the most respected and famous newsie in all of New York. And probably everywhere else.” David starts, “But not only that, it’s also because you are so strong in leadership. You have so many boys to take care of, and you manage it amazingly! There is a reason that Brooklyn is considered the best borough in New York, and that reason is you!” Was he laying it on a little too thick? Maybe he should get back to the point. “And if you join the strike, then all the others will join as well. And together we’ll be unstoppable.” David paused for dramatic effect. “So you have to join us because, well,” David sputtered a bit trying to come up with a good ending argument “you have to.”

Spot smirked. “You’re right Jack, he does have a brain,”

David internally preened a little at the admission he had a brain but was more focused on proving to Spot that they knew what they were doing and that he should join the strike.

“But I’ve one too. And more than just halfa one. How do I know you ain’t gonna fold at the first sign of trouble, huh? How do I know you got what it takes to win?”

As soon as those words had left Spots mouth, David called out. “We won’t back down!” Perhaps a little louder than he had meant.

Spot was staring at him with a strange look in his eyes. One David couldn’t quite decipher. But that wasn’t important. David may have been scared and nervous, but they were fighting for a cause he believed in and wanted to succeed. He kept staring at Spot, hoping to somehow convey how much he cared about this and wasn’t going to back down.

They kept staring at each other. David wasn’t sure exactly how long, but it was probably longer that would be considered normal. He didn’t care though. He wasn’t going to back down and he definitely wasn’t going to look away first.

“I’m telling you Spot, we ain’t gonna fold.”

David startled, having completely forgotten about Jack.

Spot was still staring at David as he spoke to Jack “Prove it.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” David asked.

Spot shrugged. “Well, that’s up to you. But until you prove you’s gonna stand your ground. Brooklyn stays out of it.” 

Chapter Text

Today may have been the worst day yet.

Spot was already in a bad enough mood after hardly being able to sleep in the sweltering heat, only to find that the newspaper price had gone up to 60 cents per 100. His boys were a mixture of outraged and panicked and he was supposed to be able to calm all of them down and fix everything. Problem was, he couldn’t. Sure, Spot could use his fists and reputation to scare some lowlife creeps to leave them alone, but that wouldn’t work on rich high-class assholes who spent more money on a single haircut that he spent on food in two weeks. All Spot could do was tell his boys to suck it up and try and sell as many papes as they could. Nobody was happy about it, least of all Spot, but no one went against him.

-

After that morning’s debacle, Spot walked to the Sheepshead races to sell his overpriced papes. He doesn’t sell there too often seeing as it’s Race’s spot. And usually when the two of them are there together, Race tries to convince Spot to bet on some horses. Which will turn into the two of them spending more time with having fun and losing their money than selling papers. So, to ensure both of them making enough money for lodging and food, Spot tries to keep his visits to Sheepshead to a minimum.

Today however, Spot is actively seeking Race out. He needs to complain about all this to someone and Race is always a willing participant.

As he walked towards Sheepshead, Spot was surprised by much he was able to sell. The headline was terrible, so he made everything up, but still, there is a small but noticeable difference. When he finally arrived, he looked around to find Race but didn’t see him yet. While disappointing, this was to be expected. Race had to walk a whole lot further to get here. So, Spot simply spent his time waiting for Race by selling his papes.

-

“Hey! You there! I want to buy a newspaper.”

Hearing this, Spot threw on his award-winning smile and turned to face the voice. He saw round man wearing a fancy suit with lots of layers and a bowler hat walking towards him. He was red-faced and covered in sweat. Spot could see the golden glint of a pocket watch, poking out of the man’s breast pocket, and a golden ring on his finger. All indicators that this man was wealthy.

Turning up the charm Spot spoke to the man, “Well you sure came to the right place sir.”

The man stopped in front of him, taking a moment to capture his breath. “Finally!” He then proclaimed, “Normally I’d buy one in Manhattan on my way to work, but today I couldn’t seem to find a single newsie!”

Huh. That’s weird. In terms of who has the most newsies in the New York, Manhatten is second only to Brooklyn. It’s near impossible to walk anywhere without hearing someone shout the headlines. This guy must be real special to somehow miss all of them. Or maybe just blind. Not that it matters. This just means another penny in Spots pocket.

“Well, that’s lucky for me then sir.” Spot said, handing over a newspaper, “And this just shows that Brooklyn is much better than Manhattan.”

The man chuckled, accepting the paper, “Watch it kid, I live in Manhattan.”

“Sorry sir.”

“That’s quite alright.” The man then gave him a nickel for the newspaper. Before Spot could reach into his pockets to give back the change, the man walked away, saying he could keep it.

Spot waved the man off, yelling out his thanks before once more looking around for Race. It’s almost midday and normally he would’ve been here by now. Spot wasn’t too worried though. The dumbass had probably done something stupid enough to warrant Jack’s constant supervision. It wouldn’t be the first time. This meant of course, that if Race was stuck with Jack, he’d also be stuck in Manhattan.

Ever since becoming the leader of the Manhattan newsies, Jack stopped selling in Brooklyn. And yeah, sure Spot knew Jack had to stay in Manhattan in case anyone needed his help, It’s the same reason he hardly leaves Brooklyn, it was still a pity. Spot could hardly remember the last time the two of them were just able to spend time together without it being business related. They used to talk about the best places to get free food or what they’d do if they had all the money in the world. Now it was always about kids straying into territories they shouldn’t or lodges that have more kids than beds in them. It's sad, but there is nothing he or Jack can do about it.

In any case, this meant Spot would have to wait all the way until tomorrow before being able to speak with Race.

Typical.

After taking a minute to grumble about having to spend the rest of the day alone and cussing out Race for whatever he might have done, Spot went back to work. At some point Hotshot, his second in command, came running up to him.

“Spot!” He yells. “I’s been looking for you all over!”

“What is it?”

“They says ‘Hatten is going on strike!”

That sentence made Spot stop.

“They what?”

Hotshot nodded “Yeah! Newsies from all over have been coming here to ask what Brooklyn’s doin’.”

“What else they been sayin’.”

“They says Jack Kelly and some new kid got mad about the price and refused to pay it. They says they’s tryin’ to rally all the newsies from New York.”

Spot certainly hadn’t expected this to happen. He honestly hadn’t even thought of fighting the new prices. He thought there wasn’t anything to be done about it. He’s admittedly a little impressed with Jack. Sure, he probably didn’t think this trough at all and will likely end up getting beat down before long. But still, impressive.

“So what you think? We’s gonna help ‘em?”

Spot thought for a moment. It was unfair that them newspapers suddenly upped their price with no warning, knowing full well that newsies could hardly afford it. But a strike is dangerous, Spot has seen the trolly strikers getting soaked by the bulls first hand.

“Let them come to us first, see what they have to say ‘fore we make a decision. An’ keep ya ear out for anything new.”

Hotshot nodded and went back to selling his papes.

Spot too went back to hawking headlines, but after his talk with Hotshot, his mind was in a completely different place. He kept thinking about this potential strike and how it would affect all of them. A strike meant no money, no money meant no food, no food meant starvation. And while at this point, all of them were used to going to bed every now and then with hunger pains in their stomachs, that didn’t mean they enjoyed it. However long they could hold out, those rich bastards could afford to wait ten times as long. It honestly sounded like a hopeless endeavour to Spot.

If every single newsie decided to strike, maybe then they would have a shot. But that required a certain cooperation that simply wasn’t there. People stuck to their boroughs, and if anyone from another borough tried to sell there, they’d get their ass kicked. Simple as that. He and Jack got along fine, but they were the exception. A rare exception that is. But that didn’t mean Spot was going to go along with whatever his plans were. He’ll hear him out. If Jack actually had some proper plans in place, he may even decide to join this strike.

But until then, he’ll keep working.

Chapter Text

So.

They didn’t get Spot Conlon.

Which means they didn’t get any other boroughs on their side.

Damn.

-

All the Manhattan newsies had gathered in the square. The knowledge that no one had come to back them up had really put their moods down. Yesterday you could feel the energy in the air. It was filled with excitement, outrage, and some deep underlying feeling of we can do this.

Right now, there was only fear.

David wasn’t surprised when he heard Race asking if maybe they should stop the strike. Wait a couple more days. To gather strength and confidence. But David wasn’t going to let them. He tried talking to them, but they weren’t listening, no matter what he said. He needed Jack. They would listen to him. He was their charismatic leader who always knew best. From what David had seen, almost every newsie trusted Jack with their life.

But even with that trust in place, it seemed they were still reluctant to continue this strike. Jack’s words were almost as ineffective as David’s. So much so that he went and beckoned David to talk to them again. He tried to refuse. Spot may have dubbed him the Walking Mouth, but he really wasn’t one for public speaking. And besides, he had already tried; they simply wouldn’t listen to him. And why would they? He had only been a newsie for a few days. He had hardly talked to most of these kids. He wouldn’t listen to himself either. Jack, however, wouldn’t let up. He kept nudging and pushing David to the others until he tried again.

David closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Everybody!” David’s voice cracked. Of course, it did. “Now is the time to seize the day.”

He paused, looking around, it didn’t seem like anyone was really listening. But Jack motioned for him to continue. So, he did.

“The odds may not be on our side, but if we stand our ground, we can force them to listen to us!”

They were looking at David with a lot of hesitancy and skepticism, but they were looking at him. This meant that at very least, they were listening to his words. Step one complete. Before he could continue though, Crutchie came running over, proudly showing of his crutch, which he had decorated with a banner for the strike.

“Crutchie this is amazing!” David told him. He was happy that at least someone was still excited about this.

“You really think so?” Crutchie asked, looking at David with big, hopeful eyes.

“Absolutely.”

Seeing Crutchie so happy and excited, made some of the others start smiling along. Progress! David looked back at a grinning Jack who was once again waving at him to keep going.

David took another breath.

“Look, I know that many of you are scared. I am too. But courage is not having no fear, it is facing that fear to do something that’s right. We have to be courageous to tell those people, those powerful people, that live comfortably in their castle made of our blood, sweat and tears, that we will listen to them no more!”

At this point Jack walks back to David and throws his arm over David’s shoulder, pulling them flush together. Jack starts talking.

“Look around you. There may be few of us, but we are proud, and we stand together! And if we stand together, we can take down anyone! Even mister Pulitzer himself!

“Yeah!” Shouts Crutchie, “Let’s kick mister Pulitzer’s ass!”

A round of laughter followed his proclamation.

“So,” Jack continues. “If y’all are done whining!” He runs to the gate of the distribution centre and turns around to look at them with a wide grin. He opens his mouth with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “This strike starts right damn now!”

The newsies are laughing and cheering along. During this short moment of celebration however, a few boys manage to get past them, walk through the gate and buy some papers. As soon as the newsies see the papers in these new kids’ hands, all hell breaks loose.

“Wait, who’re they?”

“Are they buyin’papes?!

“Let’s soak ‘em!”

“No!” David yells. “We cannot fight them!” If they start fighting with each other, they will never get the support they need. The papers will just paint them as violent criminals and that is the last thing they need. “We have to stand together! Or we will get nowhere!”

The newsies are not afraid to let their displeasure be known to David. With all of them talking and yelling over one another he can hardly understand any of them. He thinks he hears the word scab being thrown around, although he isn’t sure what it means in this context. Beside that he can also hear a few boys shouting things like ‘traitors!’ and ‘they deserve it!’. Luckily Jack manages to quiet them

“No, no Davey’s right.” Jack tells them. “We have to be smart about this.”

He waits for a moment, thinking, before he puffs up his chest and walks forward. He stops somewhere around the halfway point between the newsies and the three boys with papers in their hands.

“Listen,” He starts. “I know you just want to work so you can make enough money to eat. Hell, they probably gave you a little extra today. I understand that, I- we,” Jack gestures to David and the others behind him. “Want the same thing. But we can’t let Pulitzer, get away with raising the prices just because he can. We can’t let him treat us like the dirt beneath his shoe, just ‘cause we ain’t rich. We deserve more respect than that.”

David watches, entranced by the way Jack speaks.

“And it ain’t just about us,” Jack continues, a bit more desperately “It’s about all them kids working on the streets or in factories, who oughta be playing or going to school. We’s doing it for them. So, I ask you, please, throw down your papes and join the strike.”

One of the boys huffs and starts quickly marching towards Jack. Jack keeps standing steadfastly. Glaring at the boy while he walks up to him. By the time he stops walking Jack and the boy are almost nose to nose. There is a pregnant pause where David fears punches are about to be thrown.

But instead, the boy throws down his papers and shouts “I’m with ya!” Followed by the roaring cheers of his fellow newsies.

The other two try to walk away, although one seems falter a bit and keeps looking back to them. David takes a chance. He grabs the faltering boy by the shoulder to pull him close and immediately starts talking.

“Together we can right the wrongs that have been forced on us by people like Wiesel. We deserve better than what have. Join the strike, and I promise, we will get our dues.”

The hesitant look slowly transforms into one of determination until he too, throws his papers on the ground, and gives a firm nod to David.

Once again, the newsies start cheering. They take the boy into their midst, hugging, slapping his shoulders and ruffling his hair all the way.

Jack however, decided that he should attack David. Luckily, David had seen him coming so he could brace himself for what was to come. Jack threw himself against David giving him a fierce hug. He then grabbed his shoulders to look David in the eyes. As David looked at those sparkling eyes and that blinding grin of Jack’s, he couldn’t help but smile widely in return.

“You did it Davey! I knew you could!”

“Thanks Jack,” David kept smiling, “but we’re not done yet.” He pointed to the last boy, standing uncomfortably by himself.

“Don’t you worry Davey, I got this.” Jack confidently strode towards the final boy, who looked to get more uncomfortable with every step taken in his direction. David, as well as the rest of the newsies followed Jack, ready to support him if need be.

“Listen up! We are here; we are ready to fight for our rights. The time is drawing near to take a stand. Now, are you with us or not?”

The boy hesitates for a moment before speaking. “Aw hell, my father’s gonna kill me anyway.” And he too, throws down his papers.

The loudest cheering David had ever heard, filled his ears. And he couldn’t help but cheer along. David could hardly believe it. They had managed to convince everyone to throw down their papers and join the strike. He could only watch and smile as every boy started hollering, cheering and chanting. With Jack as the ringleader, a chorus rose up.

“Strike! Strike! Strike! Strike!”

The gloom and doom that was present at the start of the day had completely evaporated. All thanks to Jack. David was honestly starting to doubt whether they even needed any help from Spot at all. With Jack and him together, figuring out this strike, they already were unstoppable.

Chapter Text

Ever since his little talk with Jack and that Walking Mouth at the docks, the latter boy had been creeping around in his head. Not many people had dared to stand up to him. The only others had been Jack and Race. But the difference between them and Mouth was that he had known Jack since they were kids, and Race is like an annoying little brother to him. Furthermore, both of them had lived on the streets of New York City and survived. To do that you needed guts. Mouth had obviously grown up a lot softer. Yet he didn’t hold that air of ‘I’m better than you’ around him that the other rich schoolboys Spot sold to held.

It was a nice change of pace, though. Normally, whenever he met a new newsie, they were terrified of him. Thinking he was some sort of bogeyman. And while that is convenient, seeing as the people who are scared of him also listen to him, it makes it a bit difficult to let his walls down. People expected a scary, strong leader. And, well, who was he to deny his people?

But this Mouth seemingly didn’t care about what was expected. Or Spot's walls. He talked back without fear and even tried to bust down his wall by buttering him up! And while he certainly didn’t mind hearing about how great he is, it did make him feel a bit funny. And he wasn’t quite sure if that was a good thing or not. He needed more information on the matter.

-

Meeting Mouth also had him thinking about meeting Jack and Race all those years ago. He first met Jack when he was only 8 years old. He was still pretty new for a newsie, having started not long ago. He was selling close to the Brooklyn Bridge, hoping to maybe catch some businessmen on their way to work. He was busy hawking headlines when he saw a newsie crossing over. The older boys had told Spot that if any newsboy who wasn’t Brooklyn tried to sell in their borough, he was allowed– hell, he was encouraged to soak them and kick them out.

Only Spot hadn’t been in that many fights yet, and in the ones that he had been in, he had ended up eating dirt. As the boy got closer, Spot got a little nervous. Should he just run up and start punching? Should he just tell him to go away? Should he ignore him? As Spot was so busy thinking over his options, he didn’t notice the boy had spotted him and gotten closer.

“Heya!”

Spot almost dropped his papers with how much he startled. He looked at the boy and immediately disliked the fact that he had to look up to see his face. He had green eyes with brown tousled hair stuffed beneath a cap too big for his head.

“Whoops, didn’t mean to scare ya.” The boy laughed. “The name’s Jack Kelly!”

Spot glares at him. “Ya ain’t s’posed to be here, ya ain’t Brooklyn.”

“Well, if you won’t tell, I won’t either.” Jack whispers with a smile.

“If ya don’t leave, I’ll soak ya.” Spot tried his best intimidating glare to scare Jack off but ultimately failed, seeing as he wasn’t shaking with fear. Spot’ll have to work on that.

“How’s about this,” He continues. “The two of us sell whatever we’ve left and then go and get one of them famous New York hotdogs together, huh? My treat!”

“Why?” Spot asks, frowning in confusion. “We ain’t friends.”

“We could be, I’m a nice fella!”

Spot wasn’t sure about this. On the one hand, free food. On the other hand, he might be lying. On the third hand, he really wasn’t supposed to let non-Brooklyn newsies sell here. But back to the first hand, free food. This really was a tough decision, so he decided to question Jack a bit further.

“How do I know ya ain’t lying?”

“Uhm.” Jack put his hand on his chin, deep in thought. After a few seconds, he excitedly sprang up.

“I got it! We shake on it! If we shake on it, it means we’s partners and if we’s partners, we won’t lie to one another!”

Jack spat in his hand and expectantly held it out towards Spot.

Spot gave himself a minute to think it over but eventually decided to go with Jack. He was right after all; partners don’t lie to each other.

Spot also spat and shook Jack's hand.

Jack was grinning at him. “Alright then partner, let’s sell these papes!”

Together they spent the rest of the day selling papers. They didn’t really talk much, too busy shouting headlines at strangers. When they were finally done, the sun, which was high up in the sky when they began, was hanging low near the ground.

Spot spoke. “I’m outta papes”

“Me too.” Said Jack. “So, let’s find us some food!” He turned around and started walking away.

Spot whooped before hurrying after Jack.

As they walked, they finally found the time to talk and learn a bit about each other. They asked each other questions while looking to find something to eat.

“So, what’s ya name anyway? I already told mine.” Jack asked.

“Spot Conlon.” He responds. “What place’re you from? Since it ain’t Brooklyn.”

“I’m from Manhattan, just on the other side of the bridge.”

“Why’d you come here? You ain’t supposed to.”

“No real reason.” Jack responded, “Just haven’t really been here before and wanted to see what it’s like.”

“That’s a dumb reason.”

“You’re dumb!” Jack replied.

Luckily, it was then that they happened to find a hotdog vendor. If they hadn’t, Spot would have likely started yelling at Jack for calling him dumb. But since Jack ordered two hotdogs and paid for them both, just like he promised, Spot decided to let it go for now.

They sat on a park bench and ate in silence, watching the East River. When they were both done, Jack stood up with a sigh and said it was time he’d be heading off.

“Don’t wanna miss curfew and be locked out, do I?” He smiled.

“Yeah, me too.”

They spat in their hands and shook one last time before heading off in different directions. As Spot went to bed in the lodging house, he wondered if he’d ever see Jack again. He wouldn’t mind if he did. Maybe he’d pay for his food again.

From now on, he decided, he would start selling close to the bridge more regularly.
-

It was about four years later that he met Racetrack. In those years Jack had been visiting Brooklyn on and off to sell with Spot. Sadly, he stopped paying for his food when he saw that Spot often made more than he did.

The Brooklyn Bridge had become his unofficial selling spot. And that day he was once again selling there when Jack came walking over. He was about to call for him when he noticed there was another kid walking with him. Now, Spot and Jack had an understanding. When they first met, he was too young and inexperienced to win any fights, but now he could easily fight kids older than him and win. The only reason Spot allowed Jack to sell in Brooklyn is because they are friends. Anyone else trying to cross the bridge will have to be prepared to eat dirt. So, Jack bringing some kid when he knows they aren’t allowed here pissed him off.

As soon as they are close enough to hear him, Spot starts yelling. “What the hell, Jack?! You know we don’t want any of you Manhattans here! I oughta soak the both of ya!”

“Aw, relax Spot, he’s just a kid. He likes horses, and I promised I’d take him to the Sheepshead racetrack to see some when we’s done selling.”

Spot crossed his arms. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon Spot, ain’t we friends?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“You ain’t even done selling yet!”

“We thought we’d sell the rest here.”

Spot throws his arms in the air out of exasperation. He can’t believe Jack. He knows how Brooklyn thinks about outsiders. And yet he still tries this shit. As Spot’s gotten older, he’s been given more responsibilities to help keep the peace in Brooklyn. And because he’s mostly stationed at the bridge, it’s his primary job to keep others out. At this point he’s vouched for Jack so much that most other newsies allow him to roam free. But Spot’s not sure if he has enough social standing to vouch for two outsiders.

But Jack just keeps nagging at him, and the kid just stands behind him silently, attempting to give him puppy eyes. Puppy eyes which are definitely not working at all. He’s too tough to be manipulated by some orphan kid who looks at him full of hope and expectations and like he’s hung the stars in the sky and… He has to take this kid to see some horses, doesn’t he? God damn it.

“Fine! Fine! I’ll take you to see the damn horses! If only to get you to shut up!”

Jack and the kid start cheering when Spot finally gives in. Spot looks away. He can’t have these people thinking he’s soft. He’s from Brooklyn, damn it!

“If you’re done with ya little party, we still got some papes to sell before we can go to the tracks.”

-

Though he loathes to admit it and would never say so out loud, Spot was actually having a good time. The weather was nice, warm but not too hot, with a slight summer breeze. The kid, who according to Jack was called Thomas or Tony or something like that, was young enough to still be cute selling papes. Meaning he was very quick in selling his. Spot and Jack each gave the kid a few of their own, so he could ‘earn getting to see the horses’, as Spot put it. Also, so he and Jack could talk instead of work, but that is neither here nor there.

“So, where’d you pick this one up, huh?” Spot asked.

Jack shrugged. “He was just a new face at the distribution centre. He looked a little lost, so I decided to help him out.” He shrugged again. “That’s all.”

Spot rolled his eyes. “Ever the hero, huh Jackie?”

Jack laughed. “I ain’t no hero Spottie—” “Don’t call me that.” “—I've just been where he’s been.”

“So’ve I.” Spot sniffed, looking at the kid. “Don’t mean I’m helping any snotnosed brats. We all gotta learn how to survive for ourselves.”

Jack clutched at his heart. “Whatever happened to that sweet kid I met on the bridge all those years ago?” He asked in mock despair.

“He grew up.”

“And yet you’re taking us to the racetracks.” Jack said with a smirk.

Spot glowered at Jack. Not having any rebuttal, he simply scowled, yelled at him to shut up and walked away faster. Followed by the sounds of Jack's laughter, he couldn’t stop the small smile forming on his face.

When they finally arrived at Sheepshead, Jack and Spot each had only a few papes left. It likely wouldn’t take too long before they’d be done and go visit the damn horses that brought on all this trouble. As Spot glanced over at the kid to give him his papes, he could see he was practically vibrating with excitement. Just looking at the place was apparently enough to fill his imagination with what was to come.

He tells him the sooner he sells those last papes, the sooner he can see the horses. Like magic, the kid starts vibrating even more. He nods wildly, before shooting off to bother some lady passing by. Jack too walks away. Saying he wanted to sell his last papes himself so he too could feel as if he’d earned the right to see the horses. Spot thought that was stupid, seeing as his little follower was more than happy to do the work, but whatever. If Jack wanted to actually work for his money instead of taking the chance of earning it while doing practically nothing, that’s on him. Jack does make him promise to keep an eye on the kid, so it’s not like he's doing nothing.

Spot was basking in the sun, listening to the bustling city around him while keeping Jack’s kid in the corner of his eye, when a sudden shout calls for his attention: “Hey! You there!” Spot turns to face the voice. There is a boy stomping angrily towards the kid. Spot recognises him. He is a few years older than Spot himself and has red hair, foul breath and a temper to rival the devil himself. Because of that temper, he was given the oh-so-flattering nickname of Tantrum. Spot can’t stand him.

“This is my spot; you can’t sell here!”

The kid looks up with wide eyes and takes a few steps back.

Spot can tell that Tantrum is about to start throwing punches, so he quickly walks over to intervene and come to the kid’s defence.

“Well, who says he can’t?”

Tantrum's face turns red when noticing Spot. And he starts yelling louder. “I do! I always sell here!”

Spot crosses his arms and puffs out his chest while giving Tantrum a death glare. “Well, we’se selling here today, so you better quit your crying.”

Looking back, Spot can tell that may have been the wrong thing to say. However, in the moment itself, Spot wasn’t gonna let this punk get away with insulting him and the kid. He promised Jack to keep an eye on him, and if that meant to get in a fight with the biggest bastard of Brooklyn, so be it. So, when Tantrum starts yelling at them to leave again, Spot stands his ground and yells even louder. And when Tantrum makes the mistake of pushing Spot, he doesn’t hesitate for a second to punch him in the face.

They start fighting. Tantrum is older and bigger than Spot, and his brute strength causes his punches to hurt more than those of the average guy in any other brawl. Spot, however, is quick on his feet and knows all the places to hit to do maximum damage with minimum effort. All in all, they are pretty evenly matched, with neither of them giving up or slowing down.

At some point however, Tantrum manages to tackle Spot to the ground. He straddles him and punches him in the face. One, two, three times. He pulls back his fist, which Spot can see is covered in the blood that’s dripping down his nose. Tantrum opens his mouth, probably to say something stupid like ‘That’ll teach you!’ or ‘Next time, think twice before messing with me!’ or some other moronic statement.

Spot is about to knee him. Either in his gut or in his balls, whatever he can hit first, when the weight on top of him is suddenly lifted. Spot immediately stands up to see what happened. Through his blurry vision Spot can see what he thinks is Jack grappling with Tantrum. He must have tackled Tantrum off him. Spot takes a moment so his vision can clear before running at them

Jack is trying to hold the redheads’ arms behind his back, which gives Spot the perfect opportunity for payback. He punches the bastard in the nose, hard enough to break it. He gives a cry of either pain or anger. With the blood gushing down his face he looks downright horrid.

With another cry, Tantrum manages to throw Jack over his shoulder and punch Spot in the throat

There is a moment of quiet where all three of them take the chance to catch their breath. Spot can see that Tantrum is about to charge at them again and tenses in preparation when he sees a small shadow moving behind him. It is only a second later when Tantrum lets out a high-pitched scream and falls to his knees, grasping his crotch. Behind him is the kid, standing proudly with a smile on his face.

It is such a ridiculous image that Spot can’t help but let out a bewildered laugh. He quickly goes back to being serious, however, when Tantrum stands up and grabs the kid by his wrist. He easily lifts him up and throws him away. Spot can see his head hit the ground as he falls.

Spot sees red.

He and Jack both storm at Tantrum once again, filled with a protective fury over this asshole hurting their kid. They punch, kick, bite and scratch. Limbs are flying everywhere, and Spot’s pretty sure he accidentally hit Jack a few times too. He doesn’t care, though. Right now, he is too busy just making sure this bastard knows not to mess with him and his friends ever again.

Somewhere in the corner of his vision he sees the kid get up. He looks a bit wobbly but otherwise fine.

They continue to fight. And although Tantrum is strong and gets some good hits in, he ultimately doesn’t stand a chance against him and Jack. When he finally notices that he isn’t going to win this fight, he starts running with his tail between his legs like the coward Spot knew he’d be.

The kid, who had stayed out of the main portion of the fight, runs a few steps after him and starts shouting. “Yeah! This is our racetrack! So, you better stay away!”

Spot gives a huff of laughter. “You sure showed him, huh, Racetrack.”

The now newly dubbed Racetrack turns around, beaming his brightest grin. He doesn’t seem to care about the blood dripping down his face or the bruises beginning to form on his wrist. All he cares about are–

"Can we see the horses now?”

The goddamned horses. Spot can’t hold it in anymore. He bursts out laughing. This fucking kid. He is completely insane. And although it hurts his bruising ribs and bleeding nose, he can’t stop laughing. Jack joined in at some point. Falling down on the ground clutching his stomach over the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

-

They go see the horses. Racetrack is over the moon. Jack is happy. And Spot, well, Spot is mostly tired. But he is happy to have spent time with his friend. And the kid following them around today hadn’t been too bad either.

Not that he’d ever let them know, of course.

He has a reputation.

-

Back in the present, Spot is still deep in thought. Deep enough that he didn’t notice when Hotshot came up to him.

“I’s been speaking with Race,” he says out of breath. “‘Hatten got soaked.”

Thankfully Spot taught himself not to flinch. It’s would have been a blow to his reputation if they knew Spot could be this distracted.

In any case, it was no surprise to hear that the Manhattan newsies got soaked, it was bound to happen sooner or later.

“So they did. What else?”

“He says that today is the last day they can afford not to work. They’s running low on cash.”
Again, Spot expected this. Newsies made pennies, hardly enough to survive one day, let alone more.

At this point Spot expected to hear that the Manhattan newsies had given up. That they were licking their wounds so they could get up bright and early to sell papes again.

“So they ain’t strikin’ no more.”

“Race didn’t say nothin’ like that. Race says they got their mugs in the papes so they’s famous now. He says they’s still fightin’, but they need food to fight another day.”

Huh. So they ain’t giving up. Spots respect towards the Manhattan boys grew a little more that day. And it did make sense. You can’t do anything if you’re starved to death.

“Alright then, they ain’t folding. Why don’t you go back to ‘Hatten and tell ‘em next time they organise something, we’ll be right there beside ‘em.”

Hotshot nodded with an “Alright!” and a grin on his face. He always did like a good fight.

Having Hotshot leave gave Spot the opportunity to start thinking again. If he was being honest, he too was excited to go to Manhattan. The last few days have been incredibly frustrating with everything that’s happened, and he’s itching for a good fight.

Spot went back to thinking about the strike and its participants. One particular boy more often than others. That Mouth really was an interesting guy.

Chapter Text

Everything was going great!

Sure, there had been a few bumps in the road with the whole Brooklyn not joining the strike, getting soaked by the bulls, Crutchie being taken to the refuge and Jack disappearing. But none of that mattered anymore!

Race told David how Spot had sent a boy to tell them that the next time they held an event, Brooklyn would join them. Then David managed to find Jack in Medda’s theatre where he was about 70 percent ready to quit the strike altogether. But David convinced him together with Katherine that they couldn’t give up now that they were so close. After that, they talked to Medda to let them borrow the theatre for the night, which she was more than happy to do. Which brings them to where they are now. David standing at the front door of the theatre. Face to face with the one and only Spot Conlon. The same boy who was giving him a cocky smirk.

“Well? You’s gonna let me in?”

David was grateful that they had Brooklyn in their corner, truly he was. And he knew if tried to fight Spot he would not only lose the fight itself, but also whatever dignity he had left. But by God did he want to punch that stupid smirk of that stupid face of his. But whether David wanted to punch Spot or not wasn’t important. What was important was the fact that he had been staring and not saying anything to the boy for far too long to be normal.

“Did I really just make the Walking Mouth go speechless? I’m even better than I thought!” Spot crowed.

He was smirking at him again. David really wanted to punch him. What happened to him? He was never this violent before joining the newsies. Perhaps having to fend for himself on the streets made him a bit more brash. David took a deep breath and let the annoyance he felt flow out of him. Then opened the doors to the theatre further and stepped aside to let the Brooklyn boys in. As the newsies walked through the door, David started talking with Spot.

“Glad you could make it. A bit later than I had hoped, but it’s good to finally have you. We can’t do this without you.”

Spot’s eyes widened a little over the sincerity with which David talked but quickly looked away and coughed before replying.

“Well, I gave my word, didn’t I? And I never back down on my word.”

Now it was David’s turn to smirk. “Technically you didn’t promise or ‘give your word’ as you said. You just said we had to prove we weren’t going to back down.”

“Don’t get smart with me that means the same!”

David laughed and gave Spot a clap on his shoulder making Spot smile at him.

“In any case,” David said “You’re here just in time. Jack will arrive soon and give a great big speech to get everyone riled up and ready for our next steps!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Jackie ain’t here yet? I thought we was the last to arrive?” Spot asked.
“No, not yet.” David replied nervously. “But I’m sure he’ll be here soon!”

David hoped Spot couldn’t tell how nervous he was about Jack being late. Because if Jack wasn’t here, then it was up to David to lead the rally. And, well… back in school he already dreaded having to do presentations in front of his small classrooms. And those are nothing compared to all the newsies from all the boroughs in New York combined. He started sweating just thinking about having to go up there and speak.

While David was stuck in his paralysing thoughts, Spot seemed to notice how stressed he was getting and tried to comfort him. He bumped his shoulder against David’s and told him to relax.

“It’ll be fine Mouth, knowing Jack, he’s just on his way to make a dramatic entrance. You just watch out; we’ll all be sitting there, annoyed to all Hell for having to wait, when suddenly Jackie boy falls through the ceiling!”

David let out a surprised laugh at the image.

Spot smiled at him “A smile suits you much better than that frown you was wearing before. You really oughta relax more, ya know?”

David felt his cheeks heat up “Ah, that’s- Uhm- Well- Thank you! I’ll try.” David internally cringed over his inability to act like a normal person as soon as a compliment was given. Could what Spot said even be considered a compliment? He only said David looks better not frowning, which is true for everyone.

David heard a soft laughing coming from his companion. “You know Mouth? You ain’t that bad a person to hang around with. I wouldn’t mind doing it more often once this strike business is done with.”

This time David simply smiled. “Thanks Spot. You’re not too bad either,” He decided to test the waters a bit. “For someone as short as you”

“Watch it.”

David laughed again. They stood there, for a few more seconds of David chuckling and Spot smirking before David decided they should probably go find the others.

“Let’s head inside,” David said, “We’re only waiting on Jack, and he knows how to get in here.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” Spot asked, “Once we get inside they’s gonna assume it’s time to get started.”

David paled, his thoughts immediately went back to mortifying ordeal of having to stand up in front of everyone and talk to them. “Perhaps we can afford to wait a little longer.” He nervously chuckled.

“Whatever you say, Mouth.”

David sighed, “I just- I really don’t want to be the one speaking up there. I can’t handle all those people looking at me.” David felt his nervousness rising again “I mean, what if something goes wrong? What if I make a fool of myself?”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it, Mouth. It’ll be fine. I’ll be right beside ya.”

David gave small smile. Spot’s words did calm him down somewhat, but internally he still felt as if something terrible was about to happen.

-

As they walked in and headed towards the stage David could hear miss Medda warming up the crowd with a song. Together Spot and David waited in the wings until she was done. David used this time look around crowd, searching for the familiar face of Jack Kelly. He still hadn’t found him when Medda finished her song. After the applause dimmed down, she started speaking.

“Welcome, newsies of New York City! Welcome to my theatre, and your revolution!”

She glanced to the wings of the theatre to see if they were ready to go on. Before David had the chance to motion for her to stall, Spot had already confidently nodded that they were.

“Now, let’s hear it for Spot Conlon and Brooklyn!”

Spot confidently stepped forward while David walked in with more hesitance.

The theatre once more exploded with cheers as soon as Spot was in view. He pumped his fists up and yelled, ‘Newsies united!’ making them cheer even louder than before. Spot seemed to bask in the attention for a moment before motioning to the newsies to quiet down. To David’s surprise, they did so immediately. In less than a second you could suddenly hear a pin drop in the theatre. David didn’t even know it was possible for them to be this quiet. For as long as he’s known them, which, admittedly, was not very long, the newsies had always been a group of cheerful, loud bundles of chaos.

“Let's see what Pulitzer's gotta say to you now!”

David clapped along with the rest. Smiling brightly. That smile dimmed however when someone asked him where Jack was. Namely because this small query is what caused everyone to start chanting Jack’s name.

“Jack! Jack! Jack!”

David desperately looked at Medda, asking with his eyes whether Jack had finally arrived. Medda however, simply looked at him with sadness and pity.

“Sorry, kid. No sign of him yet, looks like you're doing a solo.”

The familiar paralysing fear reached him with those words. He stood frozen. Just barely managing to stutter out that he couldn’t do this by himself, when a warm hand clapped on his shoulder. He looked around only to see Spot gazing at him intently.

“You’s not alone remember. We’s here for you. I’m here for you. Right beside ya.”

All right. He can do this. Everyone here has the same goal. No stress.

David takes a deep breath.

“Newsies of New York!” Surprisingly, this caused them quiet down. “Look at what we’ve done. We got newsies from every pape and every neighbourhood here tonight.” David waved his arms, to showcase everyone who had come. “Tonight, you're making history. Tonight, we declare that we are just as much a part of the newspaper as any reporter or editor.” With every word he said, David talked louder with more conviction and enthusiasm. “We are done being treated like kids. From now on, they will treat us as equals!”

“You wanna be treated like an adult maybe you should start actin’ like one.”

Hearing that voice filled David with more relief than he would have thought possible. He is sure that is audible in his voice as he almost sighs out his name surprise. He is just so happy to see Jack right now. Jack, however, refuses to even look at him as he continues to talk.

“Don’t just run your mouth, make some sense.”

While the newsies were cheering and chanting Jack’s name again, David could tell there was something bothering him. The formally confident and happy boy looks and sounds almost worse as when he found him painting after Crutchies arrest. Not to mention the fact that he hasn’t even looked at him yet. David frowns a bit but ultimately doesn’t ask him about it. They are busy holding an important rally. Once this is done, he’ll seek him out to see what’s wrong. For now, though he’ll let Jack take the lead and do what he does best.

So, after announcing Jack to crowd, David steps back and lets him take the stage, giving him one last encouraging smile. Jack flinches.

He then completely turns his back to David to face the crowd and opens his mouth.

“Pulitzer raised the price of papes without so much as a word to us, and that was a lousy thing to do…”

Chapter Text

That traitor

That damn traitor.

After everything they’ve done, Jack Kelly went and stabbed him in the back. And not just Spot, no, it was much worse than that. He betrayed everyone. He betrayed Brooklyn, Race, Mouth- Mouth!

As soon as Spot remembered Mouth, he turned towards him. Only to see him staring after Jack, seemingly heartbroken. When Spot looked over at Jack, he saw him staring right back, looking just as sad. The two seemed to be stuck in their own world, neither of them really paying attention to the chaos happening around them. Even when Jack got shoved backwards by Race and some other kids whose names Spot couldn’t remember, Jack held Mouth’s gaze.

Looking around, Spot noticed the chaos that had resulted from Jack’s betrayal. He knew that if they stayed here, it would result in all of them getting caught by the bulls.

Spot had to get them out of here.

He turned his back towards the two and started shouting.

“Everyone, out!”

Because of the commotion, only the people closest to him seemed to have heard. At least they started running towards the exit. Hopefully others would follow. Just in case, he called Race and told him to rally everyone and get them out on the streets, they had to regroup.

Race nodded and started shouting at the newsies surrounding him, leaving Spot to focus on Mouth.

“Mouth, hey Mouth, we gotta go!”

Yelling at him didn’t work. Davey and Jack had only known each other for a short time but by the way both of them were acting, you’d think they’d have known each other their whole lives. Did Mouth just get attached really quickly or something? That could get him into a lot of trouble. Would he react that way if Spot were to betray him?

Not the point.

The point was, they needed to go.

He kept yelling at Mouth to no avail. He even started swearing at him to get any kind of reaction, but nothing worked.

As a last resort Spot simply grabbed his arm and loudly yells “Davey!” in his ear.

At sound of his name the boy finally managed to tear his eyes from Jack and looks at Spot. Now that Spot could finally look in his eyes properly again, he noticed how watery they were. How could Jack do this to them. If he ever saw that asshole again after today, he would pummel him until his whole face was black and blue.

“I- He- He just- “

From the corner of his eyes Spot noticed that Jack was still longingly staring after Mouth. But he wasn’t important. Not anymore. All that was important was to get Mouth, and preferably himself, out of here.

“We don’t have time for this Davey!” Spot called out with force. “We have to go.”

He drops his hand to grab Mouth’s wrist and pulls him to the exit, pushing past other newsies heading the same way. As they run Spot hears a very soft “Davey” from Jack. He looks around to glare one more time as he feels Mouth stiffen in his hold. Jack looks terrible. As he should.

That’s what you get when you become a scab.

“C’mon Mouth, let’s go.”

Mouth’s voice cracks as he speaks. “Yeah let’s- yeah”

God, he sounds like he’s on the verge of crying. He better keeps those tears in until Spot is gone. He is not equipped to deal with a teenager with a broken heart.

They run through the streets of Manhattan. Past unfamiliar buildings and alleys leading who knows where. Normally Spot wouldn’t care, but right now he’s cursing his past self for not visiting this borough more often. When in doubt you should always know where to go when trouble finds you. But since this is the first time Spot has come in this particular corner of the city, he’s feeling lost and frustrated.

Luckily, he spots a few newsies who he saw at the rally and decides to follow them. Most likely they have a place somewhere in the city where they go to regroup when things go south like they had today.

After a few more minutes of following, they end up at a little restaurant called Jacobi’s. Spot pulls Mouth inside. There he sees about two dozen or more newsies freaking out. Most are Manhattan, but there are also some of his boys and kids from other boroughs in the fray. Everyone is yelling at each other which they really do not need right now.

“Everybody shut up!”

They immediately quiet down and look at him. He didn’t really plan on anything else to say so instead he just tells them to calm down and let them think. Afterwards, he calls Race over and the three of them walk to table in the corner so they can hopefully talk uninterrupted.

“So,” Spot says to Race. “We got fucked over.”

Race isn’t looking him in the eyes. He’s looking down at his shoes instead. He must be really feeling down about this whole betrayal. He isn’t the only one. Jack was the leader, his friend, the one meant to protect, and instead he just fucking stabbed them all in the back.

“Why are you holding Davey’s hand?”

Correction, Race wasn’t looking at his shoes, he was looking at Spot’s hand. His hand which was still wrapped around Mouth’s wrist.

He quickly drops the hand with a soft “Sorry ‘bout that.” Before sitting down. Mouth slowly sits down beside him. When Spot looks over at him, he can tell that he’s still pretty out of it. His eyes are sort of glazed over and he’s just staring at the table in front of him not doing anything.

“You payin’ attention Mouth? This concerns you too ya know.”

No reaction.

“Mouth.”

Mouth wasn’t listening to him, so he glanced at Race to try and get him to say something, but he was already looking at Mouth with clear concern on his face. He opened his mouth a few times before finally speaking up.

“Davey? C’mon Daves, I can’t do this without you.”

Mouth then closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. After a few moments of silence between the three boys, he finally speaks. “Right,” He opened his eyes and looked between the two of them while continuing to speak. “you two are right. I’m sorry, I’m paying attention now.”

“Good,” Spot says. “What’s next?”

“Uhm” Mouth rubs the back of his neck. “What exactly do you mean with ‘what’s next?’”
Spot rolls his eyes “What I mean is that everyone’s panickin’” He waves his arm to point at the other newsies in the restaurant. “And no one knows what’s comin’ next.”

Spot stands up and starts pacing around the table while he continues talking with a stony look on his face.

“Me, my boys an’ all the other boroughs came to the rally today ‘cause we believe something can come of this strike.”

“You didn’t at first though,” David cut in. “you thought we would give up.” He looks down to his lap and murmurs a quiet ‘I guess you were right'.

Spot stops pacing for a moment to tell Mouth he was being stupid “Shut up and let me talk Mouth, you didn’t give up, Jack did. So we’s here.”

Spot starts walking again.

“Most guys are probably still willing to strike. But that blowhard leader of Manhattan is gone.” He stands still again in front of Race and Mouth.

“So,” He slaps his hands on the table. “What does that leave us with”

“Just us” Race whispers.

“Exactly, we still got ‘Hatten’s second and the leader of the strike. So, my question is this, are you still in this? ‘Cause I am, but if you ain’t? Then I don’t see a reason to keep this thing goin’”

Though Spot wasn’t one pray, he couldn’t help but silently beg that the two of them were still in this. They managed to convince Spot they could do this, but without them, he doesn’t see a way this can work. Mouth is obviously the brains of the operation, the one that comes with all the ideas that will help them get closer to their goal. Race keeps morale up. He keeps the boys happy and excited, and willing to wake up the next day to another day of striking. They may have said they needed Brooklyn, that Brooklyn was the key to the strike, but the way Spot sees it, they need each other. There is no way that if Spot decided Brooklyn needed to strike by itself, they would have come as far as these Manhattan boys.

While Spot was internally praying, Mouth and Race were having some sort of silent conversation with their eyes. After about a minute Race looks back to Spot with determination. “We’s still doing this, just ‘cause Jack a scab now, don’t mean we’s giving up.”

The stony look on Spot’s face melts away to reveal a relieved smile “Good.” He then grins and jerks his head towards the other newsies. “Now go an’ tell them that.”

Mouth and Race climb on the table they were sitting at and call for attention.

“Everyone!” Mouth starts. “I know that tonight hasn’t gone as planned, but I still think we should keep this strike going!”

As soon as those words left his mouth, everybody started yelling over one another again.

“Why should we?!”

“But what about jack?”

“Your leaders a scab! We can’t trust any of ya!”

Though Race and Mouth tried to get them to quiet down and listen, none of the newsies were listening. They were too busy being angry. Spot decided take pity on the boys and help them out.

“Shut your traps and listen for Christ’s sake!” Thankfully that did the job of getting them to shut up.

“Thank you Spot.” Mouth spoke once more. “What we were trying to say is that this strike is too important to give up on!”

“But what about Jack huh?” Some kid from the Bronx asked “It’s his strike, ain’t it? How’re ya

gonna do this without him?”

This made Spot let out short laugh “Are ya stupid or what? Anyone with eyes can tell that

Mouth here is the brains behind the operation. Jack’s a blowhard, always has been. If it was just him, he wouldn’t’ve lasted a day”

Race spoke up after him “Spot’s right, we don’t need Jack. He’s a sellout. But with Davey as the brains, Spot and everyone here as the brawn, and me, obviously, as the good looks, we can still do this. We’s not giving up! And neither should you!”

After this rouching speech, where a couple of choice words were thrown at Race for only calling himself goodlooking, the newsies calmed in their anger. Mouth tentatively asked everyone if they were still willing to vote yes on the strike. There was more hesitation than Spot would have liked, but in the end, their answer was unanimous.

-

Spot is getting close to losing his temper. The combined efforts of being hungry, tired and having to deal with Race all day, have caused the amount of patience he has for bullshit to lower quite a bit. If that stupid Mouth just listened to him the first time he pitched his idea, they could have been home hours ago! All throughout the night they’ve been trying to figure out the next steps. They have concluded that they need more support, but not how to get it. They’ve all had ideas but can’t agree on which to use.

“If we just threaten ‘em to support us, and soak ‘em if they don’t, we’ll get the whole of New York on our side!” Spot tries to say again. “It ain’t that hard!”

“It is that hard! We don’t have the manpower for that! And even if we did, It would just make people hate us. If anything, we should try talk to everyone in New York and convince them that way.”

“Look guys, I know it sounds crazy, but I know if we went to the sheepshead races, I could get some of the gamblers there to bet on the outcome of this strike. We’d get the support and even make some money on the side!”

Suffice to say, they’re stuck and don’t know what to do.

Spot groans and lets his head drop to the table. It’s so goddamned hot this summer. Why couldn’t they organize this strike in the spring or fall when the heat isn’t this unbearable. And why have they still not decided. And why is someone shaking his shoulder. Can’t a man wallow in peace.

“Spot are you alright?” Spot gives a noncommittal hum. “Spot’s fine, just listen to me Davey! I know so many people who’d be willing to put some money on this!”

While he’s lying on the table, he starts dozing off a bit. He can still hear Mouth and Race argue about why they should or shouldn’t bet on the strike, but the words aren’t really registering in his head anymore.

An unknown amount of time later Spot hears Mouth sigh. “Look, it’s late and we’re getting nowhere. Why don’t we just go home and try again tomorrow?”

Spot groans and groggily lifts his head. “What time is anyway?”

“One thirty”

“Damn,” Race says. “We’s been here a long time.” He looks around the restaurant. “Everyone left.”

“Shit” Spot hisses “the lodges are closed. No wonder they’s gone already.”

“Don’ worry Spottie, Kloppman’ll still let us in. He’s on our side with the strike and all. You can stay there with me”

“I ain’t staying in ‘Hatten.”

“Yes, you will Spot.” Mouth says firmly while crossing his arms. “it’s much too late and dark to walk all the way back to Brooklyn”

“Jesus no need to be such a mama bear Mouth, I’ll stay with Race.”

The three of them say goodbye and a give big thanks to Mr. Jacobi before leaving the restaurant. Jacobi for some reason had not only allowed them to stay well past opening times but also kept them hydrated by regularly bringing them water while they argued. Spot supposes there are some adults who care about them.

-

“Alright guys, this is where I split off.” Mouth gave them a small wave. “See you tomorrow morning.”

Spot nodded and Race gave a salute while saying his goodbye.

As Spot walked beside Race towards the Manhattan lodging house, he realises how long it’s been since they’ve been able to hang out, just the two of them. He realises how much he missed talking to the younger boy. Sure, Race often went to sell in Brooklyn, and afterwords would play card games at the lodge there, but there were always other people around. And because of those other people, Spot could never truly take down his walls. He could never just take of his crown and simply have fun. Being the King of Brooklyn sadly came with some disadvantages.

“It's been quite some time since it was just us” Spot says.

“Yeah,” Race replied. “I guess there are always others around.”

“Well, that’s what you get in Brooklyn. Biggest city of the world also comes with the most people. You have it easy here in Manhattan. It’s all quiet.”

This made Race laugh. “Oh, shut up Spot!” He punches Spot in the arm. “You know as well as I do that Manhattan’s just as busy as Brooklyn.”

Spot can’t let Race get away with punching him. So, he pushes Race harshly away. “Keep ya hands to yourself asshole!”

Race, never knowing when to stop, punches Spot again, “You’re the asshole, bitch!”

They wrestle, fight and insult each other a bit more before once again calming down and walking in silence.

The silence, of course, doesn’t last long and is interrupted by Race. “Hey, I gotta ask, why do you call Davey, Mouth?”

Not expecting the question, Spot was startled a bit before he answered. “Cause he’s a walking mouth. The moment I met him he did nothing but run it”

Race laughs. “Fair enough, he’s got a habit of talking a lot. He didn’t know when to shut up when we met him too.”

“He still don’t know when to shut up.”

This makes Race laugh even louder.

Wanting to know more about Mouth, Spot decides to ask some questions himself. “So how long you known him anyway? He seems pretty green for a newsie. And I don’t remember you talkin’ ‘bout him before.”

“About a week or so, but with everything that’s happened it sure feels longer.”

A week. These people have known the Walking Mouth for less than a month and are already regarding him in such high esteem that he has a leading role amongst the Manhattan newsies. That guy sure is something.

“And already leading the strike, huh? Tell me, what makes him so special?”

“You saw how smart he is.” Race starts. “He knows all this stuff about strikes and how to do it good. And he’s nice. At first, we thought he’d be all uptight, and well, he was. But he loosened up pretty quickly. And most importantly, he managed to put up with Jack and reign him in a bit. When everyone saw how the two of them were together, well,” Race smiles softly “We knew he was a keeper.”

Suddenly Race turns and points his finger at Spot accusingly. “And besides you normally don’t get attached to people this quickly. Wat makes him different, huh? Hell, it took you years to like me!”

Spot feels his cheeks heating up a bit at being called out over his interest in Mouth. “Yeah well, you’re an annoyance.” He grumbles. “Mouth got a good head on his shoulders. And he’s a lot less irritating to deal with than you or Jack ever was.”

“I resent that.”

“Fuck off.”

Chapter Text

When David wakes up that morning, there is a moment of blissful peace where he can’t quite remember what has happened in the last few days. He lays there, half asleep, eyes closed, trying to keep out the sun filtering in through the window, when the memories crash into him. Her remembers the strike, the rally, and worst of all; he remembers Jack. He remembers how he betrayed them, how he talked about disbanding the union and giving up on the strike. All because of some stupid money.

Some tears of frustration leave his eyes. He immediately wipes them away, just in case one of his parents would walk in. Les is still asleep. Though he had begged to join the strike on the streets, David forbade it. He would not see his little brother get hurt. It’s a good thing he did too. Though Les would have probably laughed – or at the very least, pretended to laugh – the pain from being beat up by the cops away, he wouldn’t have been able to handle Jack’s betrayal. He looked up to him from the moment they met. David’s pretty sure he had already called Jack his brother. David hadn’t yet told Les about what happened last night. He didn’t know how to break it to him. And he didn’t want to try right now.

He carefully climbed out of the bed and got dressed. Making sure to keep the noise to a minimum. He was almost able to leave the room when a small voice calling his name made him stop in his tracks.

“Davey? Are you going already? You haven’t even told me what happened last night!”

David closed his eyes. He doesn’t want to talk about last night. He doesn’t even want to remember it. He doesn’t want last night to have ever happened… But he can’t say that to Les.

“Sorry Les, I have to go. I’ll tell you when I come back alright?”

“But what if you’re back late again and I’m already asleep!” Les yelled indignantly.

“Then I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?” David sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for arguing, “I’m really sorry Les, but I have to leave.”

“I want to come with you.”

“Les…”

“No! I want to come with you! I know you are lying about what’s happening! I want to help! I can help!”

“No, Les!” David snapped. His raised voice caused Les to quiet down. But not in the way he wanted. David saw how his eyes were welling up with tears and how his bottom lip was starting to tremble slightly. He didn’t want Les to cry. He didn’t want to be the cause to Les’s crying, but he really didn’t want Les to get in the line of fire. David didn’t mind being the bad guy if it kept Les save.

“I have to go, see you tonight.” David said shortly.
With those words David walked out of their shared bedroom. Before the door fully closed, he heard a small sniffle coming from the gap.

-

As David walks the empty streets of Manhattan, his head fills with worries. Worries about the strike, his family the money they very much needed and very much did not have. The fact that his mother and sister were their only source of income right now and that they did not make nearly enough to feed the whole family. That David, as the oldest son, was supposed to be the main breadwinner now that his father was out of the commission. He was thinking about everything that happened the past few days. The choices he made, the choices he should’ve made.

David knew this strike needed to happen. That without it, their bosses would try to exploit them more and more every year that went by until they would make not more than a slave’s wage. That this was the right thing to do… That didn’t change the fact that he’d rather it wasn’t him in the middle of everything.

-

As he’s nearing the circulation gate, David hears the newsies before he sees them. He hears them talk, yell and laugh amongst themselves. When he turns the corner and finally sees them, a small smile graces his face over the familiar scene. He’s happy that last night’s betrayal didn’t affect them in such a way that they’ve lost their joy.

David looks around to find Spot and Race. Luckily, it doesn’t take too long. Leaning against a wall looking bored and annoyed is the one and only Spot Conlon. By his side, talking probably 50 miles an hour and most likely the cause for the previously mentioned annoyance, is Racetrack Higgins. Seeing them makes David’s head calm down a little.

As he walks over, Spot catches his eyes and smiles. David smiles as well and his heart beats a little faster for a moment.

-

Sadly, the smile does not stay long

“We’re talking in circles again.” David sighs.

“Aw, chin up Daves, we’s just gotta–”

“I swear Race if you’s about to bring up your gambling buddies–”

“I ain’t talkin’ bout that! I just– You said so yerself Davey! We’s talking in circles going back to the same ideas and plans that won’t work.” There is a pensive pause where both David and Spot are looking at Race intensely, waiting for the next words out his mouth, “Maybe… Maybe we oughtta talk to them trolley strikers! They’s been doin’ this for weeks! They oughtta know a thing or two about striking. They could help us!”
“
That’s a nice idea an’ all,” Spot drawls, “but it ain’t like they’s getting what they want. And besides they have about as much support as us. Meaning they got zip.”

“Well, what if we’s helping them and they’s helping us? They’s get support we’s get support”

“You mean like a united front?” David asks.

A familiar female voice joins in on the conversation. “Do you really think a bunch of grown men who have their own problems are going to want to listen to a couple of loudmouth kids?”

“Kath!” Race exclaims “You’s back to helping us?”

“I never stopped, and frankly, I’m insulted you’d believe I would.”

For a short moment David worries that they really did insult her and may have just lost their only ally, but looking at the smiles on both Race and Katherine’s face, he feels it safe to say that neither took the comment to heart.

“So,” she says, “what’s your plan?”

Races smile becomes a little more strained and he rubs the back of his neck.

“Well...”

David explains the problems they’re facing.

“So, you want to get more support but are not sure how to get it? Well, me and my associate had the exact same idea as you, and luckily, we also have a plan to actually get it!”

“who’s your associate?” David asks.

Now, there are a few things that happened very quickly in a row.
Katherine asked them to keep an open mind. She then yelled at whoever it was hiding behind the corner to come and explain their plan. Then they saw Jack. Then everyone started yelling. Spot stomped over and punched him square in the face to the enjoyment of the newsies and the disturbance of Katherine. David and Race both jumped to grab Spot and keep him away from Jack who seemed to barely be able to hold himself back from attacking Spot.

“What the hell is that bastard doin’ here!” Spot yells at Katherine while struggling to get out of their arms. “I’m gonna kill him!”

David holds him tighter “Wait! Just wait!”

“I don’t wanna hear shit from this asshole, Mouth! Now let me at him!”

It becomes an even bigger struggle to keep Spot in his arms. He doesn’t seem to really want the hurt the two of them, but he’s not holding back either. Race calls for David and gestures to a little alley across the street. David nods, yells they’ll be back in a minute, and together with Race, goes to drag a very pissed of Spot across the road. Somehow, they manage. Once they’re out of sight, they let go of Spot. He immediately starts shouting at them.

“What the hell was that for!”

“Look Spot,” Race starts, “we can’t be rash, we’s gotta think about-”

“I ain’t gotta think about nothing while that traitor is here!”

“Kath says they have a plan, we–” Race is gets interrupted by shouting from across the street. He looks he towards the sound with a panicked expression. “Look, I’s gotta make sure they don’t kill Jack ‘fore we know what Kath was talking about, you can handle this Davey?”

David waves him off, not even bothering to look at Race when he hears his receding steps. He watches Spot pace up and down the alley, muttering all kinds of obscenities that David wouldn’t dare to repeat.

“That greasy, little, sonova–”

“Spot!”

“What!”

“You have got to calm down!”

“Calm down?! What the hell is wrong with you! He’s betrayed all our asses yesterday and now you’s back to kissing his?!”

David tenses, “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like, huh?! How come you ain’t as mad as me? Hell, yesterday you looked as if he’s the one that killed your mother!”

“I just– We need help!”

“Not from him.”

“Who else is there?”

Spot stops moving. He stands there, glaring at the wall as if he’s trying to melt it with his mind.

“I don’t like this.”

“I know.”

“I don’t like him.”

“I know.”

After a few moments of tense silence, Spot inhales sharply “Fine,” he spit the word with a venom made to kill “I’ll hear him out.”
-
To say it was uncomfortable, would be an understatement.

As Katherine and Jack explained their plan, Spot kept glaring at Jack. And whenever Jack made the slightest noise, that glare turned into an outright scowl. Race kept nervously glancing between the two of them while bouncing on his toes, ready to jump in if more punches would be thrown around. David himself was only looking at Katherine. He refused to look at Jack. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he did and right now, he didn’t want to find out.

He was listening to him though. Jack and Katherine took turns explaining the plan. It was smart. Smarter than what they had come up with. Where the three of them had been focused on getting support from adults, Jack and Kathrine wanted to get support from the other working kids in the city. The crux of their plans may have been similar, but support from people who knew what it was like to be treated the way they were, would be easier than to get support from those who didn’t.

When they finish, Spot speaks up, “It’s a good plan.”

“Thanks” Jack responds.

“Why don’t we just go ahead and do it without you?”

“Spot…” David sighed.

“I’m just sayin’!” Spot exclaims while gently being pulled away by David. “We got the plan now, what do we need him for, huh?”

They stop a few paces away.

David sighs, “Come on Spot, Jack… Jack’s trying to make amends, can’t you see that?”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about whatever he’s tryin’ to make,” Spot hisses lowly, “I don’t wanna have ta watch my back every second of every day we’s working with him! I told you I’d listen to him, and I did. Never said anything ‘bout workin’ with him.”

“Spot-” David paused, looking for the right words, “I’ll watch your back for you!”

Spot’s eyes snap to his. He kept staring. David is suddenly reminded of the first time they met and the stare-down they had back then. It was maybe a week ago but with everything that’s happened since then it feels more like months. Less than a week, David realises. It’s been less than a week and he already trusts Spot with his life. No that’s not it. He’d trust Spot to take care of little brother if something happened. He’d trust Spot to protect his sister, his family. It has been less than a week and David trusts Spot with the lives of his family. Two days ago, he might have said the same thing about Jack, but now… Maybe that says something about him. That he is too trusting, too naïve to see that people will think of themselves first and foremost. But looking in Spot’s eyes, he doesn’t believe that’s right. The way Spot looks at him, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle, like he can hardly believe David would have is his back just like that. David doesn’t know what he could say to make him trust his word. So, he doesn’t speak at all. He simply looks him in the eyes and hopes it’s enough.

After a few moments, Spot nods. David smiles tensely. Together they walk back to where Race, Jack and Kathrine were waiting. Race and Kath look anxious. Jack looks… Jack just looks sad. Like he truly regrets his actions. David feels conflicted. He was hurt, so incredibly hurt by Jack’s betrayal that he had hardly been able to sleep last night. His mind kept showing him visions of that day. The memories too fresh for David to try and distract himself. From Jack finally coming to rally and the immense relief David felt, to Jack saying to stop the strike, accepting the money. David can still see it all too clearly. Jack, standing there in the middle of the chaos… softly calling his name…

Jack looks up and catches his eye. When David doesn’t look away immediately he gives him a small smile. It’s broken and sad and makes David’s heart pang with emotion. If Jack really was such a bad guy, then he wouldn’t act like this would he? When David doesn’t respond Jack looks down again, David sees – no, that can’t be right – he thought for a moment he saw Jack’s eyes starting to water. But that couldn’t possibly have happened right?

Spot would say that he deserves it, that David shouldn’t feel bad about it, that it was all Jack’s fault. But David just can’t look it at it that way. People don’t just do things for no reason. And from what David knew about Jack after having spent time with, and hearing stories from the newsies, he knows that to Jack, the newsies are his family. They are a brotherhood and would always protect one another. There must be a good reason he did what he did…

He's going to talk to Jack, David decides. Alone. Without Spot, without Race, just the two of them. He cares about Spot and Race, and they are good friends, but he also feels that if they were around, Jack might not talk the way David wants him to. Especially if Spot tries to break his nose again, which, knowing Spot, he will likely try.

Lost in thought, he completely misses the rest of the conversation. He catches the important bit though. Tonight, when the clock strikes midnight, they will meet in front of Pulitzers building where Jack and Katherine will open the windows for them to sneak in.

-

“Hey, Spot? Thanks for still helping us. I know you don’t like Jack right now, but I don’t think I could do this without you.”

“Don’t be goin’ sentimental on me Mouth, we’s a team and if you think this is the best choice, I’ll follow your lead. However,” Spot smirks, “That don’t mean I’m gonna be nice about it.”

Dave laughs, “I expected no less.”

-

David was waiting by the circulation gate. The sun had set less than an hour and the clock hand stands five minutes to eleven. He and Jack had decided to meet here, an hour before the rest would come so they could talk. Jack should be coming anytime now. Spot hadn’t wanted him to go. Said he didn’t trust Jack as far as he could throw him and that David should be acting the same way. Race, however, did want to come with him. He too wanted to have words with Jack. In the end, David managed to convince the both of them to stay put and let him do this. He told Spot he could handle himself and that he could trust him. He told Race that it would be better for the blond to talk to Jack privately.

The clock strikes. The eleventh hour. Jack appears.

He looks… nervous. Fiddling with his hands and looking at the ground. When he looks up, he startles a moment before laughing nervously.

“Shoulda known you’d already be here, huh? What’s that thing you said once? Bein’ on time is bein’ too late?”

David didn’t respond to that. He simply greeted him, “Hey Jack.”

“Hiya Davey.” Jack murmurs softly.

A silence settled over them. Neither really knowing how to start this conversation.

“Do you-” “Maybe we could-” They start at the same time. David lets out a soft laugh while Jack chuckles slightly. David tries again, “Maybe we could go for a walk?”

“Yeah, no, that sounds, good.”

They head down the streets and Jack keeps talking. Which would be a good thing, since David did come here to talk to Jack, only the things he’s saying are utter nonsense.

“Just walking. Walking an’ talking. Walkin’ an’ talkin’ with me ol’ pal Davey down the streets. Nothin’ scary ‘bout that. Nice an’ dark an’ cool in the summertime–”

Jack keeps rambling, saying many words but nothing at all. David can’t help but laugh at the obvious nervous display. Startled by the sound, Jack turns to look at him, before lightly smiling again. “I’m glad you think me struggling here is funny.”

“Sorry, sorry” David tries to placate.

Jack tenses a bit before letting out big sigh. “You shouldn’t apologize. Heh, I kinda deserve it after what I did.” Jack looks up at him again, “Why don’t you just ask all your questions an’ I’ll answer ‘em, an’ then you can decide if you still wanna see me after.” Jack gives a small smile, cracking at the edges, showing the regret and sadness underneath.

“Alright. Okay…” David pauses a moment. He doesn’t really know where to start and struggles to find the words, “I don’t- I Just-” David takes a breath. Just relax, he tells himself. It’s only Jack. David takes another breath and finally asks.

“Why?”

Because that’s really all he needed to know. David didn’t care about the how’s the when’s or the where’s. All he needed to know was why.

Jack sighed deeply.

“He- he said your name. Pulitzer. But not just your name, he called you Davey. My name for you. He threatened you, he threatened your family, Davey I couldn’t– Les is just a kid, he don’t deserve to go to the refuge just ‘cause of my dumb plans.” Jack keeps rambling. Desperate to tell him everything. Hardly taking the time to breath between sentences, “-An’ I couldn’t do that to you. Your siblings, your parents, I mean what would happen with them huh? If you’s in the refuge and they’ve no proper income, they’d never even be able to buy you out. They’d not even have enough to feed themselves. You’s got a family. They need you. And- and no one deserves to go through what I went through.”

“Jack…” David can’t believe it, “How could you do that?”

“I- What?” Jack asks. His face looking perplexed.

“You- you put everything at risk, your family here, the newsies, for me? For my family?”

“Aww, don’t go thinking you’s all special, I’d have done the same for Race, Crutchie, Elmer, hell, even Spot.” Jack smirks, but it quickly leaves his face when catching Davids’s unbelieving face.

David thinks back to when Crutchie was just captured. How Jack had been ready to quit back then as well. Then he thinks about Spot, and how he'd probably be furious at Jack if he tried to sacrifice himself for him. He can already hear the response Spot would have given to this confession.

Who does that bastard think he is, I ain’t no damsel in distress that needs to be saved. If he keeps this up, someone will have to save him from me!

David softly chuckles to himself.

“The difference between them an’ you,” Jack continues, “Is that all our family’s here. When one of us is caught, we know that we’ll be here, working an’ supporting one another, about as safe as we can be. With you, your family’s not here. They’s… They wouldn’t know- They’s not used to this. They’s wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

“Jack…”

“I didn’t care what happened to me, just that you and your family would be safe.”

David’s heard enough. He rushes forward and tackles Jack in a tight embrace. At first Jack is very tense, like he doesn’t know what to, but then, slowly he relaxes and wraps his arms around David as well. They hold each other tightly. David doesn’t know how long they stand there, but when feels some wetness dripping on his shoulder, he knows that he is not the one who is going to let go first.

A short while later, maybe a minute or so Jack slowly pulls away before taking a big step back and straightening himself.

Jack sniffs, “Sorry ‘bout that,” he looks away, trying and failing to look nonchalant. “Didn’t mean to get all sappy on you.”

“Oh Jack…” David cuffs him over the head.

“Ow, what–?”

“Why’d you have to act like such a martyr!”

“Hey! Wait, what’s a mar- whatever you said?”

“A martyr. Someone who sacrifices himself for the good of others. You made everyone hate you, just so my me and my family would be safe. That makes you a martyr.”

Jack smiles defiantly and leans close to David, “Well I did get some money out of it as well.”

“Jack!”

Jack cackles, “Don’t worry I’m gonna give it back! I didn’t want that dirty money anyway. I haven’t spent a dime.”

David gives him a smile, and even though it disgusts him to do so, he spits in his hand and holds it out for Jack to take. The smile he receives is blinding; Jack too spits in his hand and the two of them shake. Both hands gripped tightly. Their gazes locked together, eyes filled with a fiery determination.

They were back and nothing would stop them now.