Chapter 1: 1.
Chapter Text
Davey:
Davey’s day starts like most, selling papers at his usual spot. Most people just pass by, not sparing him a glance. Some of the fancy posh’s look at him in disgust before declining his offer. Wankers. He recognises a minority of people as regular customers while most faces remain fully strange to him.
The day has a surprising amount of sunshine which is quite pleasant if you’re out the entire day. The winters are harder. You rarely ever know if all of our mates will make it through. There’re always at least three who don’t, the youngest mainly. But Davey’s not concerned about Les. They at least have a home and warm food they can go too. A privilege compared to most newsies. Les loves talking about how great their mother is in the kitchen, if it was up to Davey he’d say average. But he leaves Les swarming about it, unwilling to disrupt his bubble.
Davey turns a corner to quietly disappear into a small, abandoned alley. It’s not his favourite part about being a Newsie -not that being one is glamorous at all- but what is he supposed to do? Being on your feet all day you have to take a piss at some point. And he knows no one gives a fuck about this alley because he uses to pee in this corner for weeks by now. Davey has never seen a single living soul but rats in this place. The windows are always bolted. Sometimes he wonders if anyone’s living in theses houses at all.
“You’re one of Jack Kelly’s boys?” A rough voice asks behind Davey. He jumps before whipping around vigorously to see a man standing at the entry of the alley, blocking the only way in and out.
The man himself is taller than Davey only by mere inches but so much broader. He comes closer and Davey feels cornered immediately. Like a wild animal in a cage. Davey clenches his jaw, taking a sharp breath in and out his nose. The man still doesn’t stop.
Usually Davey would try to fob him off with a little diplomacy but he has learned that he can just as well spare his breathe with some people, and this man doesn’t look like someone willing to listen.
“Yes.” Davey finally hisses truthfully and against his better judgement. Nothing about this man seems trustworthy but Davey is caged. He can’t get away, nor will he stand a chance against this man in a possible fight. And he has learned that only accusing a newsie of lying is enough for some people to already throw a punch. They are the bottom, the world hates newsies and a lot of people enjoy showing that verbally. They practically search for reasons to make a newsies life even harder than it already is. Not that Davey himself got attacked verbally ever, but he has seen enough newsies coming back to the lodging house with a blue eye due to a lie about the headline by now. Not that it ever stopped them. It’s about eating or getting eaten. And this man looks absolutely ready to beat Davey into a pulp for even the smallest of reason. Besides, everyone who knows the newsies knows Jack. And everyone who knows Jack knows that he is the king of Manhattan. The exact area of New York at which Davey just so happens to sell his papers in. Which means the man can either reckon the truth himself or will find out in no time. Unfortunately, lying won’t get Davey nowhere in this.
The man is almost in front of Davey and while he still wonders whether this has been a bad idea or not, the man steps closer to kicks him against the shinbone hard. Davey gasps, barely able to hold down the scream in his throat whilst he grabs down on reflex.
Before he can react with a counterattack the man goes in for a second kick, this time against Davey’s knee. Then he wrenches Davey backwards by his shirt and he goes to the ground, the fall knocking the air out his lungs. Davey’s attempt to get back on his feet ends with a kick directly in his face and for a quick moment he sees stars. Davey tries to fight back, tries to get a hold of one of the man’s legs to yank him down as well, but each time Davey gets a hold, the man simply pulls away and prepares for the next kick.
Davey can feel the man’s heavy boots kicking alternately into his ribs or stomach, each kick more painful than the last. He’ll break Davey’s ribs. He’s going to kill him. Davey will die in this alleyway.
Davey can’t say how long this goes on but at a certain point he can’t feel his arms and legs anymore, convinced the man must’ve broken his spine. He can taste iron on his tongue. More precisely, he’s choking on blood but he can’t tell where it comes from. Davey’s lungs are burning and chest heavy. He can’t breathe.
“Next time Kelly considers starting a strike, be good and remind ‘im of this.” The man barks and the last thing Davey sees is a black sole aiming directly at his face before he hears a sickening crunch. The pain is instantaneous.
Davey tastes blood, something hot dripping down his nose before he finally passes out.
Waking up Davey realises it wouldn't have made much of a difference if his head had just been smashed directly. He has never -and hopes to never again- felt something even remotely close. Davey wouldn't wonder if someone had pushed a knife through his brain directly and left it inside. The pain couldn't possibly be any worse.
He feels sore, so incredibly sore. Davey swears he can feel his organs and how some of them feel not quite to be at their assigned place yet. All he does, all he can do is lie there, trying not to wince in pain. A task sounding simpler than it is because every breathe feels like a knife cutting through his chest.
"Davey?" A slow, timid voice asks. Crutchie. Slowly lifting his eyelids and blinking to adjust his pupils to the dim light, he finds Crutchie hovering over him. To say he looks worried would be a massive understatement, horrified, in fact. It’s a strange way of viewing Crutchie out of all people. Even during the strike he used to stay optimistic all the time. Even in the refuge.
Davey wants to say something, wants to ask Crutchie what has happened during the time he has been passed out, but when Davey opens his mouth all he gets out is a mumbled "Mhm?".
Crutchie looks oddly relieved by Davey responding. "We were worried when you'd wake up.” He explains. “Almost all lads've been here to check on ya at least once."
On casual occasions, Davey would be happy to hear. Even though he has felt included right from the beginning and fought a strike alongside the others, he often can’t shake off the feeling of still getting seen as the ‘new one’ or the ‘naive one’. It’s stupid really, but being the newer in a group of people who know each other for much longer and went through so much together, it’s hard not to feel excluded from time to time. Like, you’re a part of the team but not the inner circle all the time. So on casual occasions, Davey would be happy to hear that. He’d feel included and appreciated with everyone checking on him, but not now. Right now, Davey can only focus on the horrendous pain reaching through his entire body.
How much did his knee had to take during the fight?
"How long-" Davey clears his throat. It feels terribly dry. "How long I've been out?"
Crutchie reaches over to hand him a mug of water before he answers. Davey meanwhile tries to carefully lean up on one elbow. A terrible idea he realises, when his entire body screams in agony within mere seconds. "A few hours." Crutchie says. "You looked rarely alive when Race found ya. Jack was givin’ us hell on earth."
"Well, sorry 'bout that." Davey mumbles, unsure what to make out of this. Of course Jack would be mad. Jack would always be mad, no matter which of his newsies gets hurt. Still, Davey can’t bite back the small smile creeping up his face the longer he tries to picture it lively in front of him. Had Jack cried? Is he a crier? Would he be angry, furious even? Davey knows it’s better to keep a good distance towards Jack whenever he gets mad, but in this special occasion, he’d pay gold to see him getting protective over Davey.
"How's everyone?" Davey croaks out after a beat of silence.
"Shocked." Crutchie whispers. "Scared." He adds even quieter. "Jack's incredibly wound up, ya ‘ave to tiptoe on egg shells ‘round ‘im. Lad's feeling guilty I s’pouse."
"Pish-posh. How'd that be his fault? 'T's not." Davey waves off.
"Don't tell me." Crutchie mumbles before radically changing the topic. "How're ya feelin’, anything hurtin’?"
"Anything?" Davey asks incredulous. "Fuckin’ everything."
"Bastards almost broke yer leg." Crutchie says. Then lifts the blanket from Davey's legs to reveal a terribly swollen, right knee covered in all shades of blue. "Already pumped pain killers into you as ya slept."
"Well, 't still hurts like a bitch." Davey hisses.
Crutchie smirks. "Not enough to stop you from throwing stupid comments I see."
"Well give me more." Davey demands, neatly ignoring Crutchie’s remark.
"Doubt we can give you much more." He shrugs.
"Give me whatever you got."
"Every breath fucking hurts." Davey adds when Crutchie merely throws him a gaze Davey can't quite decipher instead of answering.
"Yeah, your ribs have a few new shades too."
Crutchie leaves him begging for twenty more minutes before giving in and offering more painkillers, mumbling something about 'too much' and 'fucking dangerous'. Davey couldn’t mind less.
It's still early and Davey spends the rest of the day knackered with pain and drugs in Jack’s bed, trying to move as little as possible. Almost all boys pay him a visit before going for their daily job, some quickly, some longer but all with great sympathy and guilt on their faces. Race spent almost half an hour by his bedside, telling Davey every even so small detail about how he found him until Davey had to practically bully Race into work. Les has been sent home without Davey the evening before and visited in the morning only very briefly to make sure his brother is still alive and well and give him a tight hug before starting his work -‘alive’ and ‘well’ might be a complete exaggeration about how Davey feels but he’d rather bit his own tongue off before worrying Les with this-.
The day is boring and painful but the evening doesn't make things any better when Crutchie shyly tells him they still have to snap Davey’s nose back in place and feed him some downers. Before Davey’s drugged mind has been able to comprehend with what is happening around him Race, Albert and Romeo have already been holding him down... Davey can only hope he will never have to suffer throughout the pain of getting his own body part snapped back in place ever again.
By some sort of miracle, Davey does not have any broken bones, merely some squished ribs and a sprained knee that will keep him company for a while.
By nightfall every Newsie has paid him a visit, every Newsie but Jack. And the only Davey actually likes to see. Is he still mad? In the end even at Davey for letting himself get jumped up so easily? Or is Jack simply not interested enough to pay Davey a visit? But whenever the door opens and Davey hopes for Jacks face to peek through the doorframe, he gets utterly disappointed.
It takes Davey a few attempts but he eventually gathers all his remaining courage to ask the one question which has been lying on the tip of his tongue for hours by now. “Crutchie, do you know where Jack is?” He almost whispers, hoping for his voice to sound not half as desperate as he feels. Davey can’t put his finger on it yet but something about Jack’s present never fails to calm him. But whenever Davey feels closer towards the answer, it keeps vanishing away right in front of him. Or maybe it’s like a frog, hopping away whenever Davey gets to close. And he has been trying to catch the frog for so long by now...
Crutchie, who has just been wetting a rag to cool Davey’s knee down for the night, stops dead in his track. He sits upright, eyes darting across the room until they meet Davey’s.
“Give ‘im time.” He eventually says. The pitiful expression Davey has grown accustomed to within the last few hours -basically since the time he woke up- back on Crutchie’s face. “Told ya he’s wound up. He’ll pay ya a visit but give ‘im time.” He assures. It would be so much easier if Davey could only believe him. But unfortunately the last few hours have taught him better than to wait.
Davey purses his lips. “Do you...” He asks quietly, “...do you think he’s mad at me?” He asks slowly, barely able to hold himself together while the words leave his lips.
Crutchie looks at him for a long while, thinking about how to delicately approach such a sensitive topic. Then he, just equally gently says: “No, I don’t.”
Davey can’t help but feel relieved. Crutchie knows Jack like no one else does. If he says Jack is not mad, he is not. Still, Davey can’t come around but wonder where he is. Sure, Davey shouldn’t be so presumptuous to just assume to even be on Jack’s priority list at all, let alone on top. Sure, as king of Manhattan he must have a lot of other worries.
Jack always uses to tell Davey how he is too soft for the harsh streets of New York. Davey always took it as a joke but what if he was right all along? What if Jack realises that too right now and is currently regretting even taking Davey in first place?
Crutchie must notice the rising panic in Davey’s face because he quickly says: “Don’t worry, he has a lot of things to take care of. He’ll come.” He sounds assuring, almost promising. Sometimes Davey is so incredibly grateful for having someone as optimistic and calm as Crutchie by his side.
Davey spends the rest of his evening getting bandaged up in silence, his drugged mind occasionally slipping away from reality. How is Les doing right now? How is he copying with what has happened? Is it strange for him to have a room for himself for the first time? Is he feeling lonely? How are their parents doing? Did Les told them about what has happened or did he come up with a creative lie? What is Jack doing all day? Davey only now realises he has never asked him about what it means to bear the title ‘king of Manhattan’. What if it would be Jack bandaging Davey up instead of Crutchie? Would it make a difference? Because even though Crutchie has fast, nimble fingers, Jack’s are tenderer, warmer, more like coming home--
Davey sighs.
It’s incredibly frustrating to be bound to bed.
Jack:
Jack has been drinking straight since he has catched a first glimpse at Davey when they dragged him in. After giving each and every boy within his reach practically hell on earth, he has withdrawn himself completely along a bottle of whiskey.
To say Jack is mad would be a massive understatement. He’s furious. Not only at the guy who did this -sure, Jack wants to strangle him bare handed- but also himself. How could he allow the situation to come this far? How could he be naive enough to assume strikes have no consequences? How could he let Davey walk around alone? His sweet, well-mannered Davey who tries to solve ever issue with diplomacy first. Jack hasn’t dared to pay him a visit yet, too scared of the sight he might get greeted with. And Jack feels like a coward because of it. For being able to face everything but Davey’s pain. But no matter how much Jack drinks, he can’t drink the horror away. That horrid image of an unconscious, bloodied Davey still looming in the back of his mind. It haunts Jack in a way nothing else has before.
But the most painful moment has been when Jack has heard a muffled scream from when the boys snapped Davey’s nose back in place. He has promptly felt his heart shatter all over again and warily emptied his first whiskey bottle.
It must be around 2 a.m. by now but Jack couldn’t take it anymore. With everyone asleep, he’s sitting by Davey’s bedside, cradling his head, fingers carefully brushing through his hair. Jack has always loved Davey’s hair, has repeatedly catched himself imagining how it would feel tangled around his fingers already.
Davey looks better. There’s no blood, no dislocated nose or any open scratches no more. All swellings and cuts bandaged up. The sight feels like lifting rocks from Jack’s heart.
There’s a heavy scratch on Davey’s upper lip which will surely leave a mark. How this mark will feel later? How will it feel for Jack to run his thumb along the little rigid that’ll be left? Will he be able to feel it if he’ll ever be granted a kiss by the sleeping boy in front of him? Will he--
“Jack?” Davey mumbles, ripping Jack out his circling thoughts. His eyes snap from the connection point between his fingers and Davey’s hair to his eyes. Davey stares back through the gloominess of the room.
For a split second Jack almost melts. Hearing Davey’s voice, tired but alive and well, seeing him stare at Jack so naturally like nothing ordinary has happened feels like a light at the end of a very, very, so fucking long, dark tunnel.
Almost. Jack keeps his composure though.
“Crutchie told me yer ain’t eatin’.” He says gently, hand still intervened with Davey’s hair. But if Davey feels bothered, he’s too polite to point it out.
“Swallowin’ hurts.” Davey admits quietly and Jack can feel his heart rattle with an aborted sob. His sweet, unfortunate boy.
“Well, ya‘ve to.” He rasps, throat horribly hoarse. “How’re ya fellin’?”
“Like shit.” Davey grins.
“Yeah figured.”
“Then why bother askin’?” He teases. At least Davey didn’t lose his sharp tongue. He’s still Davey. The Davey who helped starting a strike, the Davey who likes to tease Jack, the Davey who cares about others deeply... the Davey who didn’t get jumped at...
“Holding conversation ya skank.” Jack snarls.
“Oh, shove off, wanker.”
It’s silent for a while, both grinning. That is until Jack remembers what he has just learned. So he switches into a much more earnest tone.
“If ya don’t start eatin’ like the good tosser you are, I’ll shove the damn food down your throat, ya hear me.” He rebukes, his voice sounding so much more tender than originally intended.
Davey huffs, rolling his eyes. “Would love to see that.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Jack mumbles more to himself but apparently, Davey catches it. He squints at Jack in some kind of ongoing challenge before ultimately deciding to give the topic a break. Jack’s glad, they don’t have to fight this out in the middle of the night because Jack isn’t into empty threads momentarily.
“You reek of alcohol, ya know.” Davey points out, scrunching his nose in disgust.
“Oh, sod off.” Jack mumbles, half rolling his eyes himself in fake annoyance half in amusement. Still, Davey got a good point there. Jack’s drunk. Drunk and tired. He woke Davey up in the middle of the night by accident, Davey who needs sleep more than anyone right now.
“Where ya goin’?” Davey asks when Jack stands up from his chair, his hand falling slack to his side and with that, he loses the only connection point to Davey he had. What has he been thinking to just appear in the middle of the night, totally pissed, after trying to avoid Davey the whole day?
Jack should go to bed, he needs sleep. Davey needs sleep.
“Sleepin’.” He mumbles. He’s not entirely sure where exactly now that Davey is lying in his bed but he supposes the floor will do. He can crumble up a shirt to use it as pillow. He did the night before.
“Why bother wakin’ me in first place?” Davey calls after him when Jack’s hallway out the door already.
“Wasn’t planned to wake ya.” He mutters before closing the door behind him.
11 p.m. (three hours earlier):
“I send Les home.” Crutchie informs Jack, standing in the doorframe of the small room Jack has withdrawn himself into completely since they brought Davey in.
“Good.”Jack mumbles, rarely looking up to meet Crutchie’s gaze. He has been cradling the bottle of whiskey to his chest like a lifeline for hours by now, refusing to talk to anyone. It’s been over twenty four hours since they found Davey and Jack still feels like the very first moment he has laid eyes at the unconscious boy. How could he allow this?
There’s a silence during which Crutchie only looks at him expectantly. Jack can barely bare that look. He knows what is expected of him. What is expected of a leader, but he can’t will himself to. Can’t will himself to get up and do anything but drink and have that horrid image of Davey playing in his mind in a loop.
“What?” Jack finally mutters, trying to break the silence with literally anything. He must look so pathetic right now. The fearsome leader of the Manhattan Newsies, cowering in the corner like a beaten dog.
“Don’t you think he’d like ya to pay ‘im a visit?” Crutchie asks sceptically, coaxing an eyebrow.
“Sod off.” Is all Jack mumbles.
“You know,” Crutchie continues undeterred. “sittin’ ‘ere, cryin’ like a babe ain’t get ya nothin’.” He scolds.
“Leave it Crutchie.” Jack mutters. He already feels pathetic enough even without his comments. “Please.” He adds much quieter.
“No,” Crutchie says flat. “and ya know why? Because only one room away, Davey is lying in your bed, not shedding a tear about what has happened while you--... what are you doing, drinking?!” Oh, Crutchie is so far from being done. Jack has rarely ever seen him getting this mad before. “Davey has not complained once yet! He does the best he can, we all do while you do nothing! You’re our leader and we trust you. Davey trusts you... But you chose to sit here, acting like you’re the victim. Fucking hell, get yourself together!”
Jack purses his lips. Unfortunately he has nothing to response because unfortunately Crutchie is right. He makes a break before continuing much quieter. “Next time it might not be Davey getting hurt but still another boy. And next time he might not survive.”
And with that, Crutchie turns to leave. But before he is out the door fully he calls over his shoulder one last time. “Get a grip, visit Davey, and take care of things. He needs you.” He instructs. Then Crutchie’s gone and Jack left back alone.
“S’ my fault.” Jack says, pacing around the room for good three minutes by now. Davey watches him in silence from out of Jack’s bed.
“Jack-”
“If I hadn’t organised-”
“Jack!” Davey repeats louder. Jack’s stops, his head snapping up to look Davey in the eyes directly for the first time.
“’M not mad.” Davey assures calmly.
“Well, ya should be! If I hadn’t organis-“
“I know,” Davey interrupts. “you repeat yourself.” How can he stay this calm even after everything that has happened? Jack doesn’t get him. “Why aren’t you mad? You could’ve died, you should be furious!”
It would be so much simpler if Davey would blame him. Then, at least, Jack would have someone speaking out loud what he has secretly been thinking for the past two days. It’s his fault. Jack almost killed Davey because he was too blinded by their success to think about the possible aftermath of a strike. What the people they pissed off would do about it.
Davey doesn’t answer, just looks at him with great sympathy. Jack trails of. “All of this, it just happened because I-”
“That’s not true!” Davey interrupts.
Jack blinks, confused.
“We all knew of possible consequences but chose to follow you. I choose to follow you. It has been my decision all along so I won’t blame you now.”
Jack sighs, letting himself fall in the chair next to his bed, then lifts his palms to bury his face in his hands with a loud groan.
“All because of this fucking strike.” He groans loudly.
“I know.” Davey says quietly, almost whispering. “But we won.” He smiles.
“But at what costs?”
Davey says nothing, merely looks at Jack, then at his hurt leg and a hint of amusement crosses his face before he says. “Then we should start another till they realise they can’t tyrannize us like this.”
The suggestion has Jack almost chocking on his own saliva.
“ARE YOU MENTAL?!” He bursts out the same moment the words leave Davey’s lips.
“Shhh, the others.” Davey tries to shush him but Jack will definitely not fucking have this right now.
“I don’t fuckin’ care! You got your ass beaten up not far away from ‘ere! You were unconscious, bloodied, you could’ve died! This ain’t a game no more!”
“Never thought ‘t’s one.” Davey replies impressively calm.
“No, no, NO, I will not have this! I will- I will tie you down- I will tie you to this bed, you hear me!? I’ll tell the boys you lost your mind--- did you lost your mind? You MUST! I’ll tell them to not listen to anything you say! You’ll stay in this room for the rest of your life, you will-”
“Jack!” Davey interrupts loudly. “ ‘T was a joke.”
Jack who has jumped up from his chair during the beginning of his speech turns on his heels to stare at Davey. “Are you mental?” He hisses, eyes wide whilst he grabs his chest at the vague spot Jack suspects his heart to be out of relief. For an outsider it could look like he’s currently suffering a heart attack. Pulls quick, eyes wide in fear... One more joke like this and he probably will.
“Listen to me.” Jack hisses dangerously low, kneeling down in front of his bed so their heads are on the same level, their faces only inches apart. “You start a strike, you even think of starting a strike, participating in one or anything that could harm you in any way and I’ll tie you to this bed, you hear me?”
Davey rolls his eyes dramatically. “Yes.”
“No,” Jack hisses, grabbing Davey’s chin to turn his head so he gets forced to look Jack in the eyes directly. “promise.” He demands.
“Yes, I promise.” Davey groans. Satisfied, Jack lets go of his jaw.
Unfortunately Jack has never met a braver boy than this sweet soul. Davey would probably follow him into death and that’s exactly the problem. He’s not supposed to follow Jack if it means running into his doom. No one is, Davey least of all. Jack couldn’t bear another terrible thing happening to him.
Davey opens his mouth but Jack won’t have this. He got his promise, he doesn’t want to hear anymore. No fresh idea that could possibly endanger Davey in any way.
“No.” He shushes him. “Spare me. Whatever it is, the answer’s fuckin’ ‘no’.” Jack says harshly.
Davey snaps his mouth shut, purses his lips and squints at Jack. He looks like a pouting child. Endearing.
With Davey not allowed to talk back and Jack having said everything there is to clarify, the silence following his statement is heavy. The atmosphere feels dense and frankly, Jack starts to wonder if he took it a step too far. And here’s the thing, because Jack wants to regret his words. He truly does. But the truth is, he doesn’t. Jack’s willing to do everything in his power to keep Davey out of anymore trouble. So he, in fact, is so not sorry.
It takes around 5 minutes until Davey breaks the silence. “How did- how did Les reacted when I...” He rasps.
Jack turns to look at Davey who is still refusing to meet his gaze. “Coped surprisingly well.” He mutters. Les is a tough one, always been. They all have to be, but Les is younger and Davey his brother. He did not grow up on the street like most of them did. He is closer to Davey than most of them are and he’s not used to seeing the people he loves getting hurt in front of him, unable to protect them. But despite that, Les stayed surprisingly reasonable and did exactly as he was told. Jack snorts. Les did better than Jack himself in the situation.
“Yeah,” Davey grins. “visited me yesterday morning. Didn’t seem all too worried.”
“Tough kid.” Jack murmurs.
Though Davey says nothing, he hums in agreement. “Tougher than you, ya cried like a babe I heard.” Davey taunts, a perky grin spreading from one ear to the next. The cheeky bastard.
“Ya better double check yer sources next time.”
“So ya only cried ‘cause I didn't die like ya’ll hoped?” Davey smirks, tilting his head.
Jack snaps up. All the prior playfulness vanished within a heartbeat. The room feels cold again. “Careful.” He warns.
Davey rolls his eyes. “Ya’ll have to get used to crackin’ jokes ‘bout this.”
“Don’t joke ‘bout this.” Jack mumbles. “Not with me.” Davey can be incredibly stubborn, sometimes even more than Jack himself. So if he can’t stop Davey from cracking stupid jokes about this with others, he at least doesn’t want to hear them.
Davey groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “‘M not allowed to do anythin’ no more.” He sighs.
“Don’t make a joke out of yourself.”
“‘M bedridden for two days by now, what’d ya think I should do all day, mhm?”
“Oh, you’re a plague.” Jack states.
“Only for you.” Davey replies in his best seductive voice, waving at Jack playfully.
Jack merely huffs, trying his dandiest to ignore the way it makes his stomach churn. No matter how much Jack wishes it would be different, Davey’s merely joking. He’d love to get pestered by Davey all day. Every day.
Jack gulps down the newly formed knot in his throat. “What’d Crutchie say how yer doin’?” He asks in a clumsy attempt to divert the topic into something else.
“Leg’s gettin’ better. The bastard made my knee look like a painting,” Davey grins sorely. “ribs as well. But at least I can breathe without swallowing dozens of pain killers beforehand.”
“Good.”
“That’s all ya gotta say?” Davey asks, frowning.
Jack looks up in surprise. “What’d ya want me to say?”
“Don’t know, I was kinda expecting a bit more.”
“More?” Jack repeats, eyebrows furrowed.
“Yeah, dunno.” Davey shrugs.
“Oh, Davey, it delights my heart to hear of your soon recovery. Please, tell me more about it. I can’t hear enough about your well being.” Jack says, gesturing wildly around to appear more dramatic.
Davey snickers. A lovely sound.
Chapter 2: 2.
Notes:
Change from canon: the refuge is still active. It's not overly important for the story but they talk about it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Crutchie:
Crutchie is busy with checking today’s earnings when he hears an “Ahem.” behind himself. When he turns his head, he gets surprised with the sight of Davey. He’s leaning against the doorframe for support, his leg angled to strain it as little as possible. “Can I help ya?” He asks. Crutchie only blinks dumbly at him, too stunned to see Davey out of bed this soon.
Then Cructhie’s mind catches up with the situation, noticing the danger they’re currently in. "Are you mental?" He hisses. "If Jack finds you out of bed-" For once, Crutchie is actually terrified of Jack. They know each other like the back of their hands. They’re brothers, even if not by blood or name. Jack always tends to become overprotective but when it comes to Davey-... well, Crutchie has never experienced Jack like this. Snapping not only at others but also Crutchie, drinking himself half to death in isolation. That’s a side on Jack Crutchie hasn’t seen before. And he thought he has seen every.
"Please, Crutchie. I don't want ta spend a fourth day in bed." Davey begs. He looks pitiful. Crutchie can’t grudge him. It’s been hell when he himself has been bound to bed due to his leg accident. So he casts a look down Davey’s figure, eyes narrowing in inspection. He looks... fine. Not exactly ‘fine’ but his face has gained some of its natural colours back, his nose heals better than expected and his scratches are not as bad as they appeared at the beginning. The only two things still disrupting the overall picture are Davey’s knee and ribs. He still breathes unnaturally shallow to trouble his ribs as little as possible and limps badly.
Sometimes, Davey reminds him of Jack, even if only a little. Most of the time they appear like total opposites but both can be just equally stubborn. They are brave and share a deep caring for the people closest to them. Both can also be extreme morons from time to time.
“Fine.” Crutchie gives in, conjuring a smile to Davey’s lips.
Davey wastes no time limping across the room, taking place in the chair across from Crutchie. “How was your day?” He asks. Gods, the lad must be bored.
Crutchie sighs. “Fine.”
“Ya ain’t soundin’ so fine.”
“What d’ ya want me to say. Same old same.” He shrugs. Life is always tough if you are the bottom line.
“Mhm.” Davey mumbles. Then he jokingly asks, “D’ ya think I’ll end up havin’ a knee to match yer feet?”.
“Hope not.” Crutchie grins, leaning back in his chair. Even though Crutchie has grown accustomed to his feet, he wouldn’t wish the same fate upon someone else. The constant fear of getting send to the refuge always in the back of his mind.
“Maybe I’ll sell more papes then.” Davey teases.
“I sell most papes ‘cause people like me. Ya just need ta ‘ve a charmin’ smile.”
“Ha, ‘m havin’ nightmares of yer ‘charmin’’ smile’.”
“Maybe ya need a knee to match me, maybe that’ll teach you a lesson.”
“Wishin’ for concurrence? A dangerous game.”
“You’ll never reach me. Do to yer leg whatever you want, I’ll sell more.”
“’S this a challenge? Pretty confident for someone who can’t read the shit he’s sellin’.”
“Ya think I can’t read?” Crutchie repeats, coaxing an eyebrow in amusement. “Oh, yer such a school posh.”
“Bein’ able ta read doesn’t make me a posh.” Davey snaps. Crutchie knows he doesn’t like getting called out for being able to visit the school. Probably because it makes Davey’s life sound luxurious the way most lads around say it, something his life isn’t, otherwise Davey wouldn’t have needed to start selling newspapers in first place.
“Course ‘t does.” Crutchie grins. “Besides, the only one unable to read ‘s Romeo.”
“Yeah, but just ‘cause Specs keeps distracting ‘im. Can’t focus on anythin’ with Specs ‘round, the poor sod.” Davey grins back. “’D ya think they’ll ever fuck? Or will he just keep starrin’ till the end of his days?”
Oh, OH, Davey should definitely be the last to risk a fat lip when it comes to acting pathetic around their adored. Jack at least is aware of his feelings. Not that he has admitted that to Crutchie yet. He doesn’t need to. But Davey-? Crutchie has already witnessed dozens of newsies falling in and out of love (most with some posh girl who’s not sparing them a second glance) but none has ever been as hopelessly in denial as David Jacobs, which might also be due to the fact that both of them are lads. Just because most newsies have other worries but to think about who fucks who, doesn’t mean the rest of the world does to. Crutchie highly doubts Davey is homophobic or anything close. Obviously he is aware that two blokes are perfectly capable of fancying each other but past that...
Crutchie would have to be blind to not see how smitten both are about one another. But he also knows better than to intervene. They have to sort this out themselves.
“Both sound possible enough.” Crutchie mumbles, leaning further back in his chair and interlocking his arms behind his head. “You know, the time ya’ve been new I thought there’d be a time where Jack and you’d get into a massive fight and that’s it. Turns out yer ain’t so unlike us, merely... inexperienced.” He says. Davey has parents, a home, visits school, things most newsies can only dream of. But past that, by character and heart, Davey’s one of them and no one would ever come across the idea of doubting that. It still doesn’t fail to impress Crutchie how Davey didn’t hesitate to stand up for the rights of his fellow employees even though they didn’t know each other for long back then. It’s been the moment even the last newsie has adopted Davey into their family and for sure the moment Jack fell for him.
“Well, ‘t turns out Jack’s not ‘s bad as expected.” Davey murmurs and Crutchie hums in agreement.
Then the old, moody door opens with a screeching sound and both heads turn toward the entry. Jack’s gaze lands on Davey and his pupils widen the second he enters. Crutchie’s and Davey’s eyes find each other, both with the same expression.
"Bed. Now." Jack commands harsh.
Davey groans. "Yes, mom." He scoffs while throwing his head back dramatically. Though, he doesn’t seem willing to get up anytime soon.
For Davey sake, Crutchie hopes Jack will leave it. But again, he knows Jack far too well to have more than a faint flicker hope. And Jack, of course, doesn’t let it go. Instead of saying any more, he makes himself tall, crossing his arms in front of his chest to show authority. His gaze a clear warning.
“’T’s my fourth day of recovery, I can be out of bed perfectly well, thank you.” Davey attempts to argue.
“’T’s only your fourth day.” Jack corrects and Davey groans.
Still in his chair, Davey squints at Jack, pursing his lips, trying to stare back. He’s mad, Crutchie can tell. Something inside of Davey is working.
They keep starring each other down for a good minute, making Crutchie want to be anywhere but in the middle of this. Finally Davey slowly lifts himself up, his murderous gaze not leaving Jack once. Despite trying to hide his discomfort, Davey can't help but whimper when he puts his bodily weight on his injured leg. Even though Jack says nothing, his expression speaks volumes. Davey wordlessly and angry limps past Jack, hands in fists and jaw clenched.
“You’re being cruel.” Crutchie notes the moment Davey is out the door. “If ’t was you, ya’d ‘ve jumped out of bed much earlier.”
Jack sinks into the newly empty chair across from Crutchie. “Good thing ‘t’s not.” He mutters.
Crutchie raises both eyebrows, swivelling his head to throw a ‘ya’re serious?’ look Jack’s way.
“What’d ya have me do?” He asks exasperated. “Say ‘yes Davey, please participate in a strike’?”
“Dunno which of ya’s worse.” Crutchie mumbles. Jack has told him about his and Davey’s conversation a few days prior, precisely about Davey’s joke. In fact, Jack has been pacing around the room nonstop, upsetting himself about Davey’s attempt to crack a few jokes in full length. Crutchie has merely nodded through everything and waited till Jack has tuckered himself out enough to cool down. He didn’t understand the fuzz but he doesn’t, he merely has to be there for Jack to complain. That’s what mates are for. “Yer not responsible for ‘im, leave the poor lad some air to breathe.”
“But I am.” Jack snaps.
Crutchie can’t say he’s entirely wrong, nor is he right. Davey is old enough to make his own decisions. He has parents and a home. But he’s also a Manhattan newsie which makes Jack at least partly responsible for him (at least in Jack’s opinion). Crutchie can’t entirely agree with him, nor does he want to disagree. He knows how terribly Jack blames himself for what happened.
Jack clears his throat into the silence. “Soled all yer papes?” He asks, voice scratchy in a weak attempt to change the topic to something lighter.
“Almost.” Crutchie murmurs. He can’t deny that a small part inside him is grateful for the opportunity of a topic switch. He hates having to tiptoe around Jack the entire day just so he won’t act up.
Jack frowns. “Almost?” He repeats incredulous.
“All but one.” Crutchie grins.
“Ya scared me there for a sec’. Yer gettin’ careless.”
“Tried to sell to a posh woman for good two minutes but she kept cold as a stone. Had to get back before-.” Crutchie gulps, unwilling to finish his sentence. He doesn’t have to. Jack gets him anyways.
“Cructhie-”
“I know what yer thinkin’.” He cuts in. “Answer’s no, risk’s too high.”
It’s about the refuge. It’s always about the refuge. But there’s no way in hell Crutchie will risk getting locked in there again. Jack can say whatever he wishes. He wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences. And Crutchie has never been more afraid of anything in his life. He still has to battle nightmares from last time. He would rather hop down the nearest bridge than go back.
Jack opens his mouth to object but before any sound can escape his lips the door gets ripped open and Race bashes inside, heaving and only stopping in his track when he notices that he’s interrupting something. He must’ve run for the better part of his way. “Oh, sorry,” He breathes.
“’T’s ok. We’re merely discussing today’s earnings.” Crutchie answers, throwing Jack a stern look. A clear warning not trail on with the refuge topic.
“Wanker ‘ere didn’t sell all ‘is papes’.”Jack snarls, turning to have a better look at Race.
“Naww, ‘s yer leg trick not workin’ no more?” Race asks in teeth rotting fake sympathy.
Crutchie rolls his eyes. “Oh, shove off. Ya know ‘m simply the best in sellin’, no matter my feet.”
Race lets out a disbelieving huff before he turns back to Jack and says, “Yeah, anyway, Jack we need ya outside.”.
The evening goes surprisingly quiet with a variety of different card games. Davey insisted to participate outside of bed. Something Jack did not approved even the slightest but he could hardly do anything about it. So while everyone is having a good time, drinking, laughing and playing games, Jack is only drinking, watching Davey like a hawk the entire evening.
Davey is either oblivious to it or, at least, acts so.
“Jack,” Crutchie mumbles, sitting down in the chair next to him.
“Mhm?” Jack replies without shifting his gaze, his entire focus on one person only.
“Ya ‘ve ta stop that. This ain’t healthy, for none of ya. This way you’ll only keep frustratin’ one ‘nother. Listen, I know you feel responsible for ‘im and I get it. We all do in some way but-... this ain’t the way. You can’t will Davey in bed. He’s already restin’ most of the day so let ‘im enjoy ‘imself a bit.”
Jack, finally, slowly turns his head, his gaze hollow and dazed from the alcohol. “I-” He starts, voice hoarse. “I can’t.” He says quietly, looking ashamed to admit. “Every fucking time I close my eyes I see him. Every. single. time.”
“... Jack I-” Crutchie stops. Jack’s so incredibly wound up Crutchie instinctively wants to soothe him. But the truth is that there’s no real answer to his confession, no right way to fix this, nothing to say to make Jack feel less terrible.
“Crutchie come over!” Race calls over two tables. “We need ya ‘ere, these morons think they can just-”
“Gi’me a minute, will ya?” Crutchie cuts in.
“No, ‘t’s ok, go.” Jack mumbles.
“You sure?” He asks worried. He has a bad feeling about leaving Jack alone with his thoughts.
“’Course, go.” Crutchie throws him a last gaze, some mix of worry and pity, before he wordlessly gets up and leaves. And just when Crutchie is about to take his seat next to Race he hears something that has him halt in his movement.
“Hey Davey, how’s yer leg doin’?”Albert asks. He, Davey, Elmer, Mush and a few others are playing a few rounds of poker at another table.
Crutchie’s eyes travel across the room to find Jack on instinct. Sure, Albert meant no harm with his question, he never does. In fact, sometimes Crutchie thinks Albert can be too nice. Always worried about others and willing to help. But Crutchie thought they all had a silent agreement to not bring the topic up as long as Jack is still in the room. His thinking was wrong, apparently.
“Better. Can’t bend down without my ribs givin’ me hell but I can walk normal again.” Davey answers, checking his poker hand to decide which card he lays down next.
Walking has sounded almost impossible the first day Davey tried to get out of bed, which, to be fair, has been only hours after the incident. Crutchie has helped as much as he could. Kept taking care that Davey’s knee is always getting cooled down until he has been able to, even with a temporary limp, be back on his feet.
“You limp.” Jack snaps from across the room, his tone harsh and eyelids narrowing into tiny slits. Everyone in the lodging house has understood that Davey would still be bedridden if it was up to Jack by now. And hearing Davey talk about his injury so casually must dig deep into his wound.
Davey’s smile slowly vanishes as he’s faced with Jack’s grim expression. “Not permanently.” He scoffs, eyes narrowing as well.
“You should rest more.” Jack observes, sounding like he’s trying to command Davey. Davey says nothing, merely keeps starring at Jack, a hint of anger glittering in his eyes.
“I am res-”
“Not enough!” Jack interrupts loudly. The entire room falls utterly silent, so utterly silent that every single boy would be perfectly capable of hearing a single pin dropping to the floor. That’s how silent it is. And it is never silent in a house where so many different boys live. Jack’s words hang in the air heavily.
Davey opens and closes his mouth without a word escaping. For a split second the conversation seems over until Jack says, “You’ve had enough for today, you should lie down.”, and Davey’s mouth falls back open.
“Excuse me?” He asks half abashed, half offended. For a moment both merely stare at each other, Davey shocked and Jack determined.
“You heard me.” Jack says dryly. He sounds final.
Davey looks across the room with an almost pleading expression. But most boys just turn away, probably out of fear. Albert has his mouth covered with his hand and Race does his dandiest to look at anything but the scene unfolding in front of him. Crutchie doesn’t look away, though he wouldn’t dare to get involved either.
Slowly, all colours fade from Davey’s face until he’ completely pale, pupils blown and heaving into his lower abdomen. Still silent, Davey turns back to blink at Jack, the sheer anger in his eyes now more penetrating than before. Then he slowly lifts himself up, his gaze not leaving Jack once. No one dares to breathe when Davey limps past him, gaze murderous and spats “Fuck you Jack.”. Jack doesn’t react, merely glares after Davey.
The minute the door falls shut behind him it feels like everyone is collectively taking in a deep breath. Still, no one dares to say anything, all starring at Jack incredulous. Crutchie is not sure if his mind can comprehend with what just happened. Jack Kelly sent his beloved Davey to bed like a child.
“What!?” Jack barks.
Everyone remains silent.
Crutchie clears his throat. “...Maybe you should sit down.” He suggests carefully.
Race:
Race is sure he’d smoother Jack in his sleep if he was in Davey’s stead. Most boys would. The entire ‘Davey situation’ as most lads call it, is getting more and more out of hand. Even before Davey got soaked Jack has been a fury whenever it came down to the lad, but now? He has been snapping at each and everyone within his reach since day one but now at Davey as well... Davey has held himself back to not aggravate the situation further but even his rope is getting significantly shorter. It’s only a matter of time till both explode.
Race is sitting cross legged on the floor, cigar in mouth and playing poker with Albert. Peaceful moments like these have become rare in the lodging house.
“Yer cheatin’.” Albert accuses when Race lays his last card on the floor only to win the third round in a row.
“Na-ah.” Race muffles, cigar still in mouth. “’M simply better.” He taunts. Albert tilts his head to the side, inspecting Race in suspicion. “What, yer jealous?” He asks, taking the cigar out of his mouth to hold it between his middle and index finger and leaning back triumphal.
“Oh, shove off, yer a cheater, nothin’ more.” He laughs and Race jumps up. He will not have someone questioning his poker honour and get away with it unharmed. He’s at Albert height within one step, launching himself onto the lad to put him in a headlock. “Say that again.” He demands, while ungracefully ruffling through Albert’s hair.
“Fuck you.” Albert yelps, trying to wrestle himself out of Race’s grip which only leads for Race being forced to tighten his grip around the lad.
“No, no, no, if ya’ve somethin’ to say, say it.” Race demands, trying his dandiest to suppress a grin.
“Yer a fuckin’ cheater.” Albert calls out.
The door flies open with a loud thud and both boys halt in their movement. They surely must look comedic with Race leaned over Albert, his bicep tight around his neck and Albert’s ass high in the air, his arm slung over Race’s shoulder in a poor attempt to wrestle him off. Jack merely raises an eyebrow as he walks past them and into the centre of the room. “New rule.” He announces loudly. “From now on we’ll only sell in pair.”
Race lets go of Albert on reflex, both standing within seconds. Jack’s words take a minute to sink in, then it feels like everyone is talking at once.
“-yer serious-”
“-why-”
“-this’ stupid-”
“-Crutchie talk some sense into this man-” The last voice belongs to Tommy boy.
“Hey!” Jack cuts in. This’ for our all safety.” He explains and Race has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “Jack this’ bullocks. We don’t earn as good when being bound to one another.” He complains loudly. Where’s Davey? Maybe he can talk some sense into this man because this is obviously about him again. It’s always about Davey these days. Race couldn’t be sicker of it.
And as if on cue he can hear Davey speaking up behind him. “’T’s not.” Davey hisses angry. “’T’s for mine.”
“And what would be so wrong about your safety?” Jack asks, both eyebrow raised high.
“Jack stop it-” Davey demands, still trying for the most diplomacy way just like Race knows him best.
“Stop what?”
“THAT, whatever this is-.”
“You’ll have to get a bit more precisely Davey.”
It’s like a puppet show to witness, merely much more uncomfortable. Race can practically see how Davey’s robe is finally reaching its end due to Jack’s gut wrenching ignorance. But in great difference to a puppet show no one feels entertained, the opposite, rather. Everyone, including Race, wants to be just as far from the lodging house as possible right now. Race wishes he could crawl out his own skin but some mix of horror and fascination forces him to keep watching.
“Ya ain’t controllin’ me! And I’ll not have you reduce the earnings of everyone ‘ere simple because-” Davey starts, face red as a ripped tomato.
“Simply because what Davey? Because I want to protect-” Jack stops mid sentence and shakes his head angrily before he says, “...my people?!” A pathetic safe, Race thinks. “Shouldn’t you know what selling alone can get you better than anyone?”
“No you want to control me, like you want to control everything! But you can’t, alright?!” Race has never actually seen Davey explode. In difference to Jack, who is far more emotional, Davey usually keeps his composure. Usually.
“But I can try!” Jack’s voice rings back in the otherwise silent room. Race could tear his hair out. Albert has his mouth covered again and even Crutchie looks about willing to die.
The next sound Race hears is Davey laughing dryly. “That’s a joke right?” He asks, looking completely appalled by Jack’s audacity. “Not even you can be this presumptuous!”
“And once again you’re underestimating me.” Jack hisses. “If I’d control you, you wouldn’t even be here in first place. You’d be in bed, healing as you should!”
“I know, everyone knows! Yous making this abundantly clear!” Davey is heaving heavily now, angry tears pricking in the corners of his eyes.
Jack takes a large step towards Davey, so abruptly that Race fears he might knock him over. When he comes to a screeching halt in front of him, they’re so close they might as well be just sharing a breath at this point. Their noses are almost brushing. To Race it feels almost like they’re daring the other to back off first.
“Yeah, then why aren’t you?” Jack hisses low, barely loud enough for Race to catch.
“Because you are not. fucking. controlling me.!” Davey spats. At this point Race wouldn’t even be surprised if he’d just spit into Jack’s face directly. He would. But it’s still Davey they’re talking about. “GET THIS INTO YOUR FUCKING HEAD!”
Jack looks like has just received the biggest slap across the face. Race couldn’t pity him even if he tried. Jack had that coming a long time ago, with only himself to be too blind to see.
“Careful.” Jack hisses.
“Or what?” Davey challenges, raising both eyebrows. “Will you- will you gag me- will you lock me up in here? Will you follow me every step I do to make sure no one tries to soak me? And even if- what will you do? How are you planning to prevent that? Are you goin’ to battle every attacker off yourself? Because if he’s as well build as the last one, I’m pretty sure you’d be on the ground in no time-”
“FUCKING STOP IT DAVEY!” Jack bursts.
“NO, I’ll not! I- I-” Davey stops, raging. “...you know what? Just fuck off Jack!” With that, Davey turns on his heels. Race doesn’t dare to breathe.
Jack takes a quick step forward, trying to grab Davey by the arm but Davey is faster. “No, you’ll not fucking leave now!” Jack demands.
That has Davey spun around again. He’s glaring. “Watch me!” Davey spats. Before Race can keep up with the situation, Davey slams the door shut behind himself.
Jack’s eyes are in tiny slits, hands in fists and he’s heaving, starring at the door like he can will Davey to come back. Davey doesn’t.
It takes a few minutes till Race feels comfortable enough to move again.
Notes:
I'm very bad in direct confrontations as you might have noticed.
Next chapter we will get Davey's perspective again as well as more romance and yearning.
Funfact: my favourite part to write has been Race and Albert play fighting over poker.
ion_bond on Chapter 1 Wed 05 Nov 2025 03:13PM UTC
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Shrimp_on_hike on Chapter 1 Wed 05 Nov 2025 05:57PM UTC
Last Edited Mon 08 Dec 2025 09:30PM UTC
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Apollos_Glowstick on Chapter 2 Mon 08 Dec 2025 03:15AM UTC
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Shrimp_on_hike on Chapter 2 Mon 08 Dec 2025 09:29PM UTC
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