Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

David Jacobs was not a reliant individual. In fact, when it came to helping himself, he was quite an independent person; he refused to take charity or pity from others, anything he wanted or needed, he could work for himself. And he stood by this for seventeen years.

Enter Jack Kelly, the boy who had, in a few weeks, turned Davey's entire life on its head. Jack was smart, charming, and the world's greatest creation known to boot (at least, in Davey's eyes), and when he had proposed this ‘strike’ against The World for the unfair treatment of Newsies and working kids, Davey could do nothing else but follow.

“Oi, Davey. What’re you gettin’?” the aforementioned Jack asked placing a hand on his shoulder. 

They were standing in line at a street vendor in Newsies Square, relishing a free hour before starting their day's strike work. 

Jack had a big meeting with Queens and Davey had some ‘top-secret’ letters to deliver for Brooklyn.

“Oh. Err…"Davey stammered. He had been so in his head that he had not had the chance to read the menu. “I'll get whatever you're getting.”

Davey handed Jack some money and watched as Jack spoke with the vendor. He then came back with an ear-to-ear grin and two greasy hotdogs in hand.

“Look, I got ’em at half price! C’mon.” Jack motioned for them to sit at the curb before handing a hotdog to Davey.

They sat down with their knees touching, Davey slung his bag of letters to the side not touching Jack and glanced at the street vendor. The street vendor, a young girl around their age, was flushed and staring right at Jack with mesmerised eyes, so distracted that Davey would be shocked if she got the next man’s order correct. He did not need to ask why Jack had gotten their food for so cheap, something in his chest lurched at the thought of Jack flirting with her, an odd but familiar bitter feeling. He did not want to get into why he felt that way; It was simply because, before Jack, he had never had such a friend before, and now the stress of the strike was messing with his head. That was it, he was sure. He glanced at Jack and began eating.

Despite priding himself on being self-reliant, Davey had recently found his days hinging on whether or not Jack would be in them. Suddenly, this unforgiving world didn’t mock him so cruelly when he was in the picture, and Davey found the stress of living was easier to manage with Jack by his side.

They ate in companionable silence. Only when he caught Jack's eyes did he realise he had been staring, he quickly averted his gaze. Something flittered in his stomach, making him feel light and tingly, the same sensation he felt when Jack's hands would linger on his back or when he would crack a joke he knew only Davey would understand. Again, he would rather not get into it.

“What, do I have somethin’ on my face?” Jack queried, rubbing the sides of his mouth.

“No! No, I was just thinking, y’know?”

“You’ve been doin’ that a lot lately,” Jack laughed. “Penny fa’ your thoughts?”

“Oh, no. I’m just revising boring strike stuff, things we’ve already…” 

His words died on his tongue at the sight of his best friend. Jack's face fell slightly at the mention of the strike, he had clearly wanted to stay in this bubble where they were just ‘Jack and Davey enjoying breakfast’ rather than ‘Strike Leader and Strike Stratergiser eating food before revolting against The World’. Davey regretted mentioning it, regretted making Jack anything but his usual, cheerful self.

“Right,” Jack said. “Well speaking of, we should probably get back to business. Pulitzer's arse ain't gonna kick itself!” Jack chuckled with an attempt at a grin. They both pushed themselves off the curb to stand.

With each passing day of the strike, more newsies were getting soaked or going hungry and unable to buy food. Jack would never admit it, but Davey knew that Jack felt guilty over telling these kids to strike. He was giving up sleep and food rations just to help some of the littles get by.

“Yeah, I guess we should. Same again tomorrow?” something in Davey squirmed at the thought of not seeing Jack until tomorrow, at not knowing whether or not he was safe until then. Jack had the same thoughts.

“Actually, Dave, do you wanna meet here this evenin’? I should be in ‘Hattan again no later than four, so maybe I could walk ya’ home.”

The unspoken message of ‘I need to make sure you get home safe’ was not missed by Davey.

“Of course, Jacky.”

Jack drew Davey into a brief hug before walking in the direction of Queens, leaving Davey with that warm and fluttery feeling again. He quickly suppressed it and grabbed his bag of letters before beginning his way to Brooklyn. He had no time to linger his thoughts on Jack, tempting as that might be, He had work to do.

-

After arriving at the Brooklyn lodging house and exchanging letters and words with Spot Conlon, Davey began the long trudge home. The sun was still bright in the sky, Davey would guess that it was maybe three o’clock, though he had given his watch to Sarah so he could not be sure. He walked along the Brooklyn Bridge. There was a lag in his step from days of constantly being on his feet aiding the strike, which reflected in his staggered pace; though frankly, he did not mind such a slow walk, this was his chance to think about, well, anything, his mind had been so focused on the strike recently that he thought of little else.

For a long moment, he ogled at the river beneath him. The sun's reflection gave his vision swimming dark spots as he stared thoughtlessly. Ten minutes passed without any deeper thought than which foot to put in front of the last, or was it ten seconds? His mind wandered to Les, his poor baby brother had come down with something fierce and was now confined to their home for the next week or ten, or at least, that was what his parents said. Truthfully, Les had nothing more than a runny nose and slight shivers and even that was pushing it, but Davey did not blame his parents for keeping him home. He knew they were concerned with Les’ safety and wanted any reason to keep him out of the strike. Thankfully, Davey had been able to just barely convince them he could fend for himself and was direly needed for the strike. Maybe Davey could bring something home one of these days to entertain Les, though he had no money for books or toys; maybe he could bring Jack in when he had a free hour or two.

Jack… Davey pictured him in their flat, recounting to Les the most preposterous stories crammed with stupid bits just to make him and Davey laugh. He pictured Les fighting sleep just to hear more of Jack's charming words. 

He pictured him and Jack alone on the fire escape talking, their shoulders touching, their faces inches apart, Jack's hand resting on his back, his warm and gentle touch…

That jittery feeling was back again, like little moths and butterflies were fluttering around in his stomach. He felt a smile on his lips and his cheeks were stupidly warm. There was a sudden dawning on him, like ice had been poured down his shirt and was now seeping through his flesh and bones. Davey was not an idiot, he knew what these feelings meant, he had seen enough schoolyard relationships to understand that what he felt now for Jack was not just friendship. But Jack was his best friend, he could not risk ruining that! And not only was he Davey's best friend, he was a boy…

Davey was ripped from his thoughts by a piercing, terrified cry.

He was back in Manhattan now, he started running towards where he had heard the screaming. Whoever had made the cry sounded young and panicked.

Davey urged his legs to move faster; his lungs were burning with his short, gasping breaths, but he didn’t care—he had to help whoever was hurt. 

He reached a back alley, secluded from the main street, where he found the source of the sounds. Smalls, a little newsie no older than Les, was backed into a corner by none other than the Delancey brothers. Smalls was shaking and curled in on himself, wide-eyed and terrified. The alley they were in was shadowed by the tall buildings that flanked it and had a stack of wooden milk crates, spiked with rusted nails. 

“Please…” He heard Smalls whisper.

“If you don’t want to get soaked, you should learn to keep your snivellin’ little nose where it belongs!” Oscar snarled, leaning in and grasping his ugly hand on the chin of the little Newsie Before pushing him back by his head.

Morris raised his arm, towering above Small‘s shrunken, quivering figure.

Davey did not even think, he launched himself between Smalls and the Delancys’, bearing the impact of morris’ fist. Distantly, he felt pain in his shoulder. it would bruise, he was sure; He did not care. He threw his fists, blindly making contact with Morris’ jaw, he stumbled back into his brother.

“Smalls, run!” Dave yelled over his shoulder. Thankfully, the boy did.

Both teams wrestled arms, attempting to gain ground on the other. They punched and kicked and scratched.

Davey kicked his knee towards Oscar, making contact with his groin. Oscar doubled over with a loud groan, blindly pushing Davey down before falling into his brothers arms.

Davey lost his balance from the push, he was many things, but a fighter was not one of them. He stepped his leg back to brace himself, it caught on the milk crates and twisted.

There was a snap, followed by a sharp and searing pain in his left ankle. He hissed as his body weight fell on his injury before coming to his senses.

This was his chance to get out, he had saved Smalls from being soaked, done his duty, now he had to get out before the Delancys’ recovered and made him sorry.

He limped away from the ally; thankfully, the Delancys no longer seemed concerned with him. The pain in his ankle shot through him as he used it, he forced himself to keep moving.

Smalls was nowhere to be seen, Davey assumed he had found his way to the lodging house. 

He found a clear bench near where the street vendor had been in the morning, it was empty now. 

He collapsed onto it, the pain in his body eased up. 

He hoisted his bad leg up on his thigh; Carefully, he drew his pant leg up to reveal his ankle. A small cut was all he saw, jagged and dirty from the scuffle, but not severe enough to be the cause of his pains. He ran his finger along the skin of it and pushed Down. The dull pain grew astronomically as he pressed on it, throbbing even after he released the pressure, he suppressed a hiss.

 He came to the unfortunate realisation that this would not be an injury he could walk off. He had to tell the others, had to let Jack know he could not handle a small ankle injury while there were newsies with broken arms and black eyes working tirelessly.

Another thought came to him, it was only a small injury. Sure it hurt, it hurt like hell, but there were younger, frailer newsies going through worse; and unlike him, they did not have mothers and fathers to coddle them. He was the strikes strategiser, the brains of the operation, Jack had said so himself. Who was he to back down from what might be the most important fight of his life for such selfish reasons as a hurt foot?

“Davey! ‘was afraid I’d missed you,” Jack called from across the square, drawing eyes from the few passersby and pulling Davey from his mind. 

As he walked closer, Davey could take him in fully. There was a tire in his step, but the smile that rested on his lips made Davey forget for a moment about the aches and bruising in his body.

“Jack,” he smiled. He stood up to meet him, Any aches and pains were worth it for Jack. He drew him in, enveloping him in a hug and lingering for a moment longer than he really ought to. If Jack minded, he did not voice it.

Davey drew back, staying close and keeping some of his weight on him so as to not stand fully on his ankle.

“Let’s get ya home before Mr and Mrs Jacobs worry their heads off.”

They began walking, Davey leaning into Jack's side.

“Jacky, you know you can call them their first names. They’ve insisted on it!”

“Sure they have. But that’s unproper like. A true business-y strike leader must ‘ave them good ‘n fancy manners.” He straightened his back fully and pulled a serious face.

“You mean ‘Improper’?”

“That’s what I said, ain’t it?”

Davey just laughed and leaned further into Jack's warm, inviting body.

“Tired, huh?” Jack asked, motioning towards how Davey was resting his weight into him. “I feel ya, Dave. I think I could rest ten moons away and still feel tired.” Jack smiled a crooked, loopy grin at him.

He was so poetic, David thought. If  Jack had been fortunate enough to not get caught selling papers his whole life, he really could have made it far as an artist. Maybe that was his sappy brain talking.

Davey stared at Jack, their faces were close, and from this angle he could see the tiresome expression that laced his every feature, like he had been absolutely exhausted since his very first day alive. Davey frowned, that probably was not far off; this burning and passionate star that was Jack had been forced into ceaseless work from the beginning, and now, he was in charge of hundreds of newsboys, caught in meetings and important decisions. Even now, walking to the Jacobs’ household, the air of stress was still prevalent in his expression. 

It was decided, then. Who was Davey to abandon Jack? Why would he burden him with the knowledge of Davey's injury? Jack would surely worry about him, tell him to go home and that he could cover his work for him while he recovered. That would just put more stress on his shoulders. 

No, Davey would manage this on his own.

Chapter Text

They carried on to the Jacobs’ household at a slow pace, slower than Davey’s pride would have allowed him had he not been wounded. He did not mind, though; he could walk for eternity alongside Jack and not mind, curse his damned ankle. He could have the most mangled, broken, pained legs and it still would not mar an evening with such a quick-witted, caring, beautiful— oh. He was in deep.

Jack walked Davey up to the start of his fire escape. David gawked up at the ladder, how on earth was he expected to climb that?

“I’ll leave ya’ here, Daves,” Jack spoke, shifting his torso to guide Dave to stand fully on his feet. Jack reached up and squeezed his shoulder. 

Davey cursed his stupid stomach for flipping slightly, as if a messed up ankle was not enough. He looked away from the ladder and down at Jack. He wore the sweetest smile, the dimness of the setting sun almost hid his fatigue.

“Right. Breakfast again tomorrow?”

“I got some stuffs ta’ deal with with Kloppman in the mornin’ but we’s can meet up fa’ lunch?”

“Lunch is fine, can you be in the square at noon?”

“‘Course I can.”

“Well I’ll see you then; get back safe, alright? No back alleys, it’s far too dark. And no detours, it’s too late and you’ll risk getting locked out. Oh, and make sure-”

Jack swatted his arm at his mothering.

“You care too much fa’ me, Davey. I'll get home in one piece, swear. see ya’ tomorrow. Yeah?”

They pulled into a short hug before Jack parted. Davey watched him walk out of sight before turning his gaze back to the fire escape, god.

David was honestly shocked his hand did not cramp with how tightly he held the bars of the ladder. He was practically hoisting himself up with his arms to avoid putting pressure on his foot.

—

That evening, after the house was dampened by calm and sleep, Davey sat on the edge of his bed illuminated by his bedside lamp. His left foot rested on his thigh so he could properly inspect it. Across from him laid Les, fast asleep.

He focused on his ankle. There were no deep cuts, just surface scrapes, but the area was swollen. The skin around the jut of his ankle bone was purple and blue, painted into a large, ugly bruise. He pushed his finger into it slightly and quickly retracted it in pain. He might have hissed or made a sound, he was grateful that Les was a deep sleeper.

Davey tallied up his symptoms before deciding on his diagnosis. It was sprained, quite severely at that.

Thankfully, having an impulsive and accident prone brother made him well versed in common injuries. He knew what to do.

A sprain needed four things: ice, compression, elevation, and rest. He did not want to wake his family by stumbling to the kitchen and grabbing ice, so he ruled that off. He could compress his ankle with bandages he kept in his bag next to him, and he could elevate it while he slept, though he suspected it might be too late.

 That left rest. As much as he knew he would be screaming for it if it was someone else, he could handle it. He had learned this information for Les, but Les was a child and had to be treated more thoroughly, Davey was very much not a child. He was almost eighteen! He had responsibilities, especially now. He could cope with a bit of pain in his ankle.

With that, Davey pulled out a roll of bandages from his bag beside him, and tightly wrapped around his lower calf, ankle, and foot, before tying it off. It felt odd being the one in bandages, he was usually the one tying them. He slipped the role back into his bag before sitting fully on the bed. He placed his bag at the far end of his bed and moved his foot on top of it before laying down and turning off his light.

That night, he thought of his job in the strike.

That night, he dreamed of Jack.

—

Davey left his house forty minutes before noon. It really did not take that long for him to get into the square, but who was he if not prepared and thorough; he had even asked his parents if he could spend the night at the lodging house, anticipating that Jack would invite him as he so often did. 

He went down the street. With each step, pain shot through his ankle. Every few feet, he grasped at the walls of the buildings he passed so he could lean on them and take weight off his leg.

While walking, a prissy looking lady and her young daughter passed him. The lady pulled her daughter to her side away from Davey, glaring at him like he was the scum under her pristine heels. He just bowed his head at them. As they passed behind him, the lady muttered to her daughter.

“See how intoxicated that urchin was? Limping and stumbling like a daylight-drunk. What has this city come to!”

Well screw her, too! Davey scowled. Was he really limping badly enough to look like a drunk? He made an effort to stand straighter as more pedestrians passed by.

A part of him melted when he saw Jack. He was leaning against the statue in the middle of Newsies Square, scribbling in an old, unused sketchbook Davey had gifted him. 

“Jacky, You’re early!”

Jack glanced up and a smile immediately broke on his face, he shoved the sketchbook and pencil back in his bag.

“No I aint! I ain’t never been early, Davey.” To prove his point, he pulled out a familiar looking watch from his pocket and shoved it in Daveys face. It read 12:06, had he really taken that long to get there?

“Hey, I think I had this exact same one! I gave it to Sarah, though.”

Jack chuckled a bit and retracted his hand. “Yeah, Sarah lent it ta’ me. She said somethin’ ‘bout how you wouldn’t get mad since it was me? I dunno.”

Davey did not want to think of those implications. He could get mad at Jack, really!; it’s just that Jack was so perfect in everything he did that there was literally nothing to get mad at him for, ever. 

“Right,” he coughed. “Uhm, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, can we go ta’ Jacobi’s? I’s got some stuffs to buy.”

“Jacobi’s it is, then.”

Jack pushed himself up so he was standing upright and placed a firm hand on his back to guide him. Davey leaned into him again, like he had the previous night. Those damn butterflies were back again.

By the time they had gotten to Jacobi’s, Davey was practically being carried by Jack with how much of his weight was being leaned on him. If Jack cared, he did not voice it. Davey claimed a booth and flopped down on the seat, sighing with relief. His ankle was killing him.

Jack shot him a look. “You’s alright?” He queried.

Davey stared up at him, he was still standing and his face had the slightest hint of concern, like he was aiming for casualness but could not help worrying. It looked remarkably similar to the expression he had worn the past few days, eyebrows furrowed and a slight frown, exhausted and stressed.

“Yeah, of course I am. I’ve got to save this table, could you order for me?” 

Davey handed him some coins, enough for his and half of Jack's meal; they did not mention it, but Davey would often give Jack extra money and refuse to take back change. He knew Jack needed it more than he did.

Davey laid back and watched as Jack went up to the counter to order before returning to their table. As he tried to sit himself into the booth, Jack’s foot knocked Davey's sore one. Davey made an embarrassing hiss of pain.

“Davey?”

“Uh, sorry. I bit my cheek,” he lied, bringing the palm of his hand to cradle his cheek So he could sell his point.

 Jack frowned again, staring doubtfully at Davey, but nodded. “Right.”

When the waiter came, Davey could have married the girl had his heart not already been taken; he had not eaten since dinner the previous night. 

They waiter placed two plates in front of them and a paper bag next to Jack before leaving. Jack grabbed the bag and placed it next to him on the bench. Davey motioned to it.

“What’s that?” He asked.

“Oh, it’s, er, just yesterday's old food from here. Y’know, stuff’s they’s can’t sell no more since it ain’t fresh, but it’s still ‘eat-able’.”

Jack looked away self-consciously, picking at his food like it was the most intricate piece of art he had ever seen. “…I know it ain’t amazin’, but I can get a lot of it fa’ real cheap. And I can’t have them other Newsies starvin’… Y’know, since I told ‘em they can’t sell papes’ no more.”

Jack had the gall to look embarrassed, like he was doing something awful, as if he was not being the most selfless, kind-hearted man Davey had ever met. As if making sure other Newsies would not starve was a heinous act.

“Jack, that’s incredible, you’re incredible.”

“Please, Dave. It ain’t that big of a deal,” He flushed.

“Oh, come on. You’ve probably saved like, a tonne of kids from starving. Is there any way I can help?”

Jack gaped at him for a second, he had this look in his eyes, glimmering with an emotion Davey could not place.

Jack thought for a moment before speaking. “Uhm, yeah, ‘course there is. We could go around ta’ the other restaurants’ ’round ‘ere and ask fa’ their leftovers too. If you ain’t busy, that is.”

“I’m not busy, we can go after we finish eating?”

“Yeah, yeah… Hey Dave?”

“Hm?”

”we’ll be walkin’ all day. Is that… alright?”

Right. Of course they would be. How could Davey have not considered that going to lots of places meant actually walking to lots of places.

“Yeah, of course that’s alright. Why wouldn’t it be?” He laughed, playing oblivious.

Davey made an effort to steel his face as Jack studied him for a moment, trying to decode whatever he thought Dave was hiding, Before apparently deciding Davey was off the hook. “Right, right, I must be…imaginin’ stuffs. Well I guess we’s gotta finish our food fast, we got a lot of places to hit.” he said finally.

They ate their food, tipped their waiter, and got up to leave. The second Davey stood up on his ankle again, pain shot through it. God, what had he gotten himself into this time?

Chapter Text

Davey wanted to cry. He wanted to admit to Jack that he was in excruciating pain, scream for them to stop and take a break before his ankle gave out and left him fallen, pathetically on the floor. He did not do any of that. He had dug his grave, now he had to carefully tread just above it, praying he would not fall in.

At least, he thought, the grave was pretty. Hanging around Jack all day might have been the only thing keeping him going. They had already hit two restaurants and were currently on their way to Flo’s Diner n’ Dash.

Davey leaned into Jack as they walked, he had made an effort to walk faster and not be half-carried by his best friend, but his willpower had fallen some time between the first and second restaurant run. He still tried to keep his limping to a minimum, though.

“curfew’ll be in an hour-ish, you’re stayin’ at the lodgin’ house, right?” Jack spoke, staring at the sunset.

Davey stared at him for a moment, their faces were close, and the dim, golden light of the sun made Jack glow — or maybe that was all him.

“Yeah, I’ve already asked, You got room in your penthouse for me?.”

Jack smiled something sweet. “For you? Always.” 

He had this airy, dazed look as he gazed at him, something Davey could not place. If he had to, though, he would say it was something akin to longing; he would also say that he was a hopelessly romantic fool who saw things that were not there. 

Jack’s Loopy smile turned slightly, his brows furrowed to take on a concerned expression. He stared Davey up and down. They had slowed to a standstill next to a building. 

“Ya’ seem ta’ really favor ya right leg. Somethin’ wrong wit’ the other?” He motioned at daveys stance.

He had not even realised he had been leaning on the building. Had he been doing that all day? His mind scrambled for an excuse.

“I… um. I got a rock in my shoe. It’s glued — so I can’t take it out.” He mumbled, “It was a, uh, prank, by… Sarah.”

Jack gave him an incredulous look.

“Sarah glued a rock to your shoe. Sarah. Dave, if ya’ wanted ta’ lie, you could've at least tried to make it believable. Like sayin’ Les did it.”

“See, I know that; if I was lying, I would have said Les did it. but I'm not lying, and Sarah did it. It’s not my fault the truth sounds fake.”

“And you didn’t mention this ‘till now because..?”

“It just never came up. You know how it is. Come on, we’re burning precious daylight here.”

Davey pushed off the wall and continued their walk before Jack could protest, wincing slightly as he did. He made a mental note to beg Sarah to play along when Jack eventually asked her.

-

Davey watched as Jack spoke to the restaurant owner, pulling what Davey could only call ‘puppy dog’ eyes to earn the lady's sympathy. Davey was beside Jack, leaning his weight on the countertop and holding their bags of food from the other restaurants so Jack's hands were free for his gesticulating and theatrics. 

Jack handed over some coins and, before long, they were set to go back to the lodging house. Davey groaned slightly as he pushed up from the counter, ignoring jacks frowning at him.

“Alright?” He asked.

No. “yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Dave, you’re clearly-”

“Hey! We should get walking if we want to make it back in time. Curfew must be soon and we’re pretty far from the lodging house, we better, er… hop to it!” Davey exclaimed quickly, bouncing slightly on his feet to sell his healthy and pain-free movement, pain shooting through his ankle.

“‘Hop to it?’ Aye, stop that before-”

“Hop to it!” Wow, did a damaged ankle give him brain damage, too?

Jack, looked at his watch, apparently, they were cutting it close, if his slightly panicked expression meant anything. Against what was probably all his better judgment, Jack dropped the subject in favour of not being locked out that night.

-

Davey made a large effort to not limp, drag, or slouch as they speed-walked back. Jack was onto him; for the first time ever, he wished Jack did not notice so much. A miniscule, dangerous part of his mind told him Jacks worrying and caring stemmed from a softer, sweeter emotion. 

“Christ, we’s gotta pick up the pace if we want’a make it back!”

They were maybe ten minutes away from the lodging house. Davey internally groaned, and probably externally did, too.

Every step shot sharp, radiating pain through his ankle. Jack was slightly ahead of him, forcing Davey to stumble forward even faster. It would be so easy to give up. 

Every footfall felt worse than the last, stronger, more overwhelming. He wanted to cry, what had he done to deserve this torture?

He forced himself to speed up. The distance between him and Jack was slowly growing. Jack had been making obvious efforts to slow down for him, but every pained step only made Davey more and more fatigued.

The lodging house was a welcome site. The sign was just barely readable. whether that was from the distance or from the tears slowly welling in his eye, he was not sure.

“C’mon, Daves. We’re so close.”

He was so close. The Lodging house was just there; maybe forty feet away. Forty feet and he would be free of this wretched pain. He would be able to lie back and forget about his ankle for another day. 

Forty feet. Thirty feet, twenty-

The worst, searing, overbearing pain washed Through him. It mercilessly tore through his foot and leg. Davey yelped and blindly threw his hands forward. His feet lost the ground beneath them. He was falling.

“Davey!”

He opened his eyes and was faced with the asphalt road. His palms were tingling and numb from the impact, but he could not feel much over the blinding pain still coursing through his ankle. A hand was on his back, warm and comforting.

“Dave! What happened, are you alright? Ya’ just collapsed!” Jack frantically yelled. “Are ya’ hurt? F’course you’re hurt. here, let me-”

Davey felt his face flush red as Jack grabbed his hands to pull him up before pulling Davey's arm over his shoulders to carry some of his weight.

“Jack, I’m fine. It was just a tumble,” he mumbled in embarrassment. 

“Like hell. You’ve been weird all day, what’s goin’ on?”

Davey unwrapped himself from Jack to give himself at least a chance at pretending he was fine. He began walking again, despite his ankle screaming at him to stop. 

“I’m fine, seriously. I tripped on my own feet,” He laughed.

Jack caught up to Davey.

“I’m not kiddin’. If you’s hurt, ya’ gotta tell me. I care about-”

“Jack? I’ve got a message from Spot, it’s urgent!” Racetrack, his saviour. He was at the doorway, clutching an envelope.

They were at the entrance of the lodging house. Racetrack ran towards them and pushed on Jack’s back to hurry him along.

“Racer, Jeez! jus’ give me a moment with Davey, then I’m all yours.”

“Oh; Hiya, Davey!” Race seemed to notice him at last. “No can do, boss. It’s real important, Spotty might maul me ‘if I don’t give it to ya’ in time.”

“Not even a few minutes? I’m sure he can wait-”

“Jack. Spot Conlon will. Maul. Me.” 

Race pushed Jack further into the Lodging house, steering him around.

“Can’t ya’ read it to me right now?”

Race shot Davey a sympathetic look. “Spotty said it had ta’ be jus’ you. He ain’t even told me.”

Davey took this opportunity to slip away. He hobbled up the fire escape to Jack’s penthouse, cursing the ladder for forcing him to hurl himself up with his arms.

He collapsed onto the lip of a concrete block, letting his pain slowly run its course then subside. He pulled his foot up on his thigh before pulling his pant leg up to reveal his ankle. Thankfully, he had the foresight to keep the bandages in his bag the night before. He pulled at the edge of the bandage and slowly unwrapped it from his foot. Was it possible that his ankle looked worse than before? 

The skin was purple and blue, the bruising had become less localised, it had bled and seeped through his skin like ink. His skin was raw and angry, having chafed from the bandaging. It had swelled to a great, grotesque mess. Davey was not squeamish, but even seen under the dimness of twilight, this was really pushing things.

He just sighed, this would take a lot of time to fully heal, time he did not have. If he wrapped it, at least he would not need to look at it for another day. He reached for the roll and began tightly winding the bandage on his ankle, slowly making his way from his lower calf to the worst of it.

As he wrapped, he let his mind drift to Jack. That sweet boy was so caring, too caring. He seemed to notice everything about Davey, so attentive, as though Davey were something worth paying attention to. But if Jack noticed so much, he would surely uncover what Davey was hiding. He would force him to stay home, away from where he was a crucial part. But he could not! Davey was finally needed for something bigger than him. For once, he was good for more than just the schoolwork he completed and the housework he did. 

That fluttery, jittery feeling in his heart and stomach turned sour. He could not let Jack find out. He thought he would be able to bluff his way through recovery, but clearly that boy was too observant for his own good, he was already onto him. Davey racked his mind for a way to stop Jack finding out. His heart dropped down to the pits of hell as he came to an awful resolution.

He would need to completely cut Jack out. For how long, he was not sure. Multiple weeks at least, would Jack get suspicious? How was he to cover himself up? He would need to work on completely separate strike tasks to what he did now.

So caught up in his mind, Davey realised he had paused wrapping the bandage. It was maybe halfway around his ankle, not nearly tight enough for his liking, parts of the swelling bulged out. He slowly unraveled the loose bandage so he could rewrap it; this time determined to not distract himself with thoughts of his best friend— Something he would need to get far better at if he was intent on following through on his plan.

“Davey..?”

Well, speak of the devil, and he doth appear.

Chapter Text

“Davey..?”

Well, speak of the devil, and he doth appear. Jack stood at the top step of the fire escape, not yet stepping foot into his ‘penthouse’. He was staring, not at his ankle—which he was sure looked like a swollen, purplish mess—but directly at Davey. Jacks lips still hung slightly open, not having shut after finishing his words, and his eyes flashed with a hundred different emotions before settling into something closed off and unreadable.

“You’re hurt.” Jack looked mad, maybe mad was not the right term, but there was definitely nothing positive in how he was staring Davey down.

 He slowly walked towards where Davey sat. Davey just stared up at him, not moving to say anything.

“…yeah,” he finally admits, adamantly looking down at his ankle and avoiding Jack's gaze. There was no point hiding it now, he had been caught. Jack would bar him from working on the strike. He would be confined to a bed like Les, watching through his bedroom window as the most important event he would ever be a part of went on without him. Something painful tightened in his chest as he waited for Jack to tell him so, to condemn him to becoming a bystander.

But no words came from his mouth. He silently knelt down right before Davey, propping one of his legs up. Davey could almost hear Racetrack mocking them, saying Jack was finally proposing; he might have laughed, had he not been so intently watching Jack grabbing the bandages from beside him.

Jack looked up at him, holding the bandage up and motioning to his ankle, wordlessly asking something. He slowly unfurled the roll, then pulled Davey’s foot to rest on his thigh. He held one end to Davey's lower calf and wrapped the bandage around and down his leg with his other hand. 

A minute or two dragged on for eternity, The city’s ambient sounds had never felt more suffocating than tonight, where it thickly filled every space between him and Jack, seeping into their uncanny silence and forcing itself down his throat. Davey expected anger, frustration, something that told him what Jack was feeling. Jack's muteness was worse than any of that, like he was wordlessly judging him, scolding him for being so weak, for slowing down their strike. Jack continued to wrap Davey’s ankle. Davey just stared down, playing with the buttons of his shirt, the quiet was unbearable.

“I, I landed on it funny.” He tried to defend himself. “Smalls was in danger—the Delanceys’. I’m sorry I couldn’t… I should have better handled it. It’s not even bad, I’m sorry I’m overrea-”

“Why didn’t ya’ tell me?” Jack softly spoke, like he was placating a terrified deer.

Davey finally met Jack's eyes, mentally bracing himself. But they were not filled with fury or disappointment, instead, there was something more tender, hurt. Davey remained silent, and watched as Jack averted his gaze again to continue wrapping his ankle.

“Why wouldn’t ya tell me you’re injured.” He seemed almost frantic as he spoke. “Did ya’ think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t care? I care about ya’, Dave. You’re one a’ the few…”

Jack's face twisted into something Davey had never seen before. His lips drew slightly thin, he tensely furrowed his brows though his eyes only grew wider. There was a moment of heavy silence, a mere few seconds that had Davey's skin feeling too tight over his body. He could almost hear Jack's mind as it furiously ran; but for once, he was at a loss for what his other half was thinking. Before he could mourn the apparent disconnect of their mental synchrony, Jack spoke again.

“…Do you not trust me?” he whispered. His mouth immediately snapped shut, like the words burned his tongue as they left. No no no. This was not the conclusion he was meant to draw.

“What?” He cried, “Jack, of course I trust you! More than anyone!” Distantly, he registered that Jack had finished tying the bandage. 

“then why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have judged or forced you ta’ keep working ‘til it got to… this!” Jack motioned to his ankle, still sitting on his leg. Davey retracted it. “I could’a helped— Picked up your tasks, too. You should be restin’! Not out and moving. Why didn’t ya’ tell me?”

“It’s stupid!” Davey half shouted at him.

“Please, Davey,” Jack pleaded, leaning forward with his words. “Whatever reason you’re thinkin’, I promise it ain’t stupid!”

“No, I mean it. My ankle—It’s stupid! There are so many newsies that are injured much worse, and they are still out and working.” At this, Jack made a noise,“They haven’t been nearly as lucky as I’ve been with such a miniscule injury! I can’t just call out of the strike for something so stupid!”

“Davey-”

“-That's pathetic! I can’t—I can’t be weaker than I already am…” The last part was murmured. The admission stung to say out loud; like inviting the world—or Jack in this case—to stop pretending Davey was anything he was not.

There was a short silence that followed, the same kind often chasing self-deprecating jokes that were slightly too accurate. Jack stared at him, his mouth was slightly ajar and his eyes were wide with disbelief. He was probably shocked that Davey had acknowledged the uncomfortable truth, he thought.

“You think you’re weak?” Jack asked softly, like he did not quite understand the words he spoke. 

“I’ve had life easier than others, and I still only do half as much as you, or Spot, or any other newsie in this strike.”

“That don’t mean nothin’, you’re not weak. And you’re anythin’ but useless. Davey, you’re—you’ve done so much. For the strike, for everyone. You’re the brains of the whole strike! You suggested the Union that started the damn thing. And last I checked, the Rally didn’t organise itself! If it weren’t for you, them scabbers wouldn’t’ve joined our cause, they would’a gotten soaked!

“You’re always carin’ ‘bout people and making sure we’re all alright.” He held up the roll of bandages, waving it desperately as he make his point. “This is half used. It’s ’cause you’re always patchin’ up Les, ain’t it? And ya’ gave Sarah your watch, your only watch ’cause ya’ saw she needed it. And—and Smalls! You fought the Delanceys’ for him, the Delanceys’! that’s how ya’ got hurt in the first place, you were looking out for others!”

There was a pause where Jack clearly expected his point to land and Davey to agree with him. Davey just gaped silently.

“I—I don’t get it!” Jack yelled, going closer to his face. “If anyone else did half the things I mentioned, you’d call them a hero! What’s so hard to believe? Davey, you’re amazin’!”

After a short quiet, Davey finally spoke. “You don’t—I’m not— you don’t really think that highly of me, do you?”

“Even a blind man would be able ta’ notice how much ya’ do…You’re incredible.” Jack stared at him with this… look. His eyes were wide and filled with what could only be described as passion and admiration, seemingly glowing with how bright they shone.

A sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss him ran through Davey’s mind, it swam down to his heart, making it pump as though he were running a marathon; his breath caught in his throat as the urge filled his lungs, constricting them, before finally making its way to his lips. Davey launched forward, closing the already short distance between Jack and him. 

Their lips met, Jack's soft, slightly chapped lips felt like heaven on his own. For a second, one blissful moment, Davey felt as though the world was finally on his side, like all he was missing in life was Jack’s kiss.

He felt a hand on his cheek, then realised with sudden horror that Jack’s lips were motionless, that he was not kissing him back. Davey jerked back, cold lightning sparked down his spine as he looked at Jack, a sickening feeling welling in his stomach. He wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He wanted to jump off the edge of Jack's penthouse and let the New York roads render him dead.

“I, um…” Jack gaped.

“Oh…Oh my god. I’m so, so sorry, Jack!” Davey cried, likely far louder than he should have. “I don’t know what came over me!”

Jack lowered Davey’s foot back onto the concrete, then moved to sit beside him. Their thighs were touching, contact Davey’s frazzled mind could not handle at the moment. “Dave, it’s-”

“Oh, you must think i'm crazy. I’m sorry, Jack. Really. I shouldn’t have—you must hate-”

Davey’s words were cut off when he felt a hand curling around his lower back. “Dave. I don’t hate you, I don’t think I ever could.” And with that, Jack brought up his hand to cradle Davey’s cheek and leaned in to kiss him.

This kiss was softer, more confident. Compared to this one, Davey could hardly call their first panicked one a kiss at all. He felt his cheek flush Beneath Jack's palm, the warmth spreading down to his heart. It made his chest feel incredibly full. 

The whole thing was over far too soon. Davey felt himself immediately mourning the absence of Jack's lips on his, though the warm feeling in his chest did not subside.

“Ya’ don’t really believe that stuff ya’ said, right?” Jack looked at him, frowning ever so slightly. Davey wanted to kiss it off him, because he could do that now. He did not, though, Jack did it for him before he could. “You’re great, Davey. So great. Do ya’ believe that?” Jack punctuated his point with a kiss to the corner of Davey’s lips and another to his cheek.

“I think I could… In time.” Davey smiled.

“Don’t worry, I’ll remind ya’ all day, every day, forever. You’ll be sick of hearin’ me tell ya’. you’ll cover my mouth 'and run away and I’ll just keep telling ya’," Jack whispered, grinning cheekily.

“Jack, I don’t think I could ever be sick of you.”

At that, Jack reached his hand down to hold Davey’s, sending electricity through his fingers and up his arm. 

The butterflies in his stomach were back again, Davey found he did not mind them, like a subtle reminder that this was really happening and not some dream. Maybe they would stay, or perhaps they would be incinerated by the burning warmth that still filled his chest. His heart fluttered at the thought of finding out, at being with Jack long enough to know. He was staring again.

“Dave?”

“Hm?”

“You’re great.” Jack giggled impishly and leaned closer to hide his face in the crook between Davey’s neck and shoulder. “You’re great. You’re amazing. You’re incredible. You’re-”

Davey cut him off by pulling Jack to look at him, then shifting to kiss him again. He could get used to this.