Chapter Text
Jack's whole body hurt.
He was making his way to the lodging house through Manhattan's streets. His back was screaming in pain, his left knee was most likely dislocated, and his ribs hurt every time he tried to breathe.
On top of that, Jack hadn't eaten anything since yesterday morning, before he went to Pulitzer's office.
Why did he do that? Why was he so goddamm stupid?
He had a responsibility toward those kids. He dragged them into this mess, promising a way to right the wrongs committed against them, a way to get back what was rightfully theirs. A way to fix just a tiny part of the broken system they lived in.
He was a fool who should have known better. He was so invested in his dream, in the opportunity to receive the respect they deserve, that he was blind to the ugly truth; they have no power, and no one gives two shits about them.
They were the invisible kids, the children who had no one to advocate for them, no one to protect them. He wanted to believe that the situation was changeable, but at the end of the day, his stupid fantasy had nearly gotten his kids killed.
Could still get Crutchie killed.
It took him twice the usual time to get from the Bowery to the lodging house. His body throbbed in pain with every step, and deep inside, he could admit he was walking slower than he had to, trying to postpone the inevitable confrontation with his newsies.
He couldn't shake the look of betrayal on their faces from his mind. Race had looked so confused, Albert had looked at him with such anger, and Davey...
The heartbreak in his eyes was going to haunt Jack until the day he died.
He did the right thing. The only thing.
But it didn't make the situation any better. He dragged the boys into this and now left them alone and confused in it.
He could hear his boys inside. They were quieter than usual, even the littles that weren't at the rally, sensing the anger at the house and making less noise than they would usually. It tore him up inside.
Jack couldn't bring himself to enter the room, to look those boys in the eye and see the deserved hate and anger. Instead, he turned and began to climb up the fire escape.
With each step he took, the pain in his body got worse, and Jack wondered for a moment if this was how Charlie felt each day.
Charlie, who was still locked in the refuge, was beaten beyond recognition, completely at the mercy of the spider. Charlie, whose only wish from Jack was to keep the boys together, even as he faced hell.
Charlie, his brother, His smart, annoying, stupid fucking brother, who's gonna be so fucking disappointed in Jack when he gets out.
If he'll ever get out.
With a groan, Jack finally made it up to the roof. He collapsed against the wall, trying to breathe slowly.
It wasn't a particularly cold night, but Jack found himself shivering nonetheless. He wrapped the thin blanket Crutchie kept on the penthouse around himself, taking comfort in the familiarity of it.
He kept thinking how cold Crutchie must be without it.
Does his leg bother him more now? Are the other boys helping him? How long can his brother hold on?
Jack could hear the familiar sound of the boys getting ready to sleep. The sound of a kid crying out in anger about his shirt being stolen, the quick taps of the small children running around, and the arguing from the kitchen where the older ones attempted to cook without killing each other.
The sound of his home.
All Jack wanted to do right now was go down the stairs and act like nothing happened. Smack Albert over the head for messing with the littles, make fun of Race for gambling his money away, or just talk to the kids, tell them they did a good job when they show him what they made that day, with their big smiles and bright eyes.
Of course, that is not possible. They hate him now and for a good fucking reason.
Jack tossed and turned on his thin mattress, attempting to find a position that wouldn't hurt his bruised body more. After a few minutes, he gave up and just accepted the pain.
Lying on his back, the mattress digging into his wounds, Jack drifted into a restless sleep.
He woke up from the morning bell.
On a normal day, He would wake up from the noise Crutch made while he got ready for the day. He would groan and scold Charlie for waking him up so early, grumbling and complaining while he put his shirt on.
His brother would roll his eyes, and then Jack would help him climb down the ladder. Crutchie would go shower while Jack woke up the kids who had slept in.
Race would make sure the older kids were getting ready and not holding the showers, and they would all be ready by the time the second bell rang.
They would take to the streets, at least five of the kids arguing about whatever and waking up the whole neighborhood. Albert would hum that melody he always did, and Jack would give a piggyback to one of the littles who hadn't completely woken up yet.
Now, instead of the usual arguing and bickering, the kids quietly got ready. They would go and try to make money however way they could, and God did that not break Jack's heart.
He could see the stream of kids hitting the streets, unnaturally quiet.
Half an hour after he was certain all of the kids had gone out, Jack made his way down to the bonks.
Grunting in pain, he pulled his bloodied shirt off, the fabric sticking to the whip marks on his back and making it agonizing to take off. he could feel the wounds on his back reopening when he tore the shirt away from them, the sensation of blood slowly starting to trickle down his back making him feel sticky and dirty.
Jack knew he should have taken care of that yesterday, but he couldn't bring himself to face the kids, let alone let them see him so weak and broken.
They already saw him giving up his morals, being a lowly scabber; they didn't need to know how weak he really was.
Jack made his way to his bunk, knowing the robbing alcohol was somewhere under it. As he braced himself for the pain of kneeling to look, he heard a soft "Thump".
Oh no.
How could that be? He had counted them; every single newsie had gone out.
"Jack?"
Shit.
He knew that voice.
"Jack!"
Davey's voice was now concerned, and Jack could almost see the little frown between his eyebrows, the one that appeared every time Jack had one of his stupid ideas.
"What are ya doing 'ere?" He replied without turning. It's bad enough that Davey had seen the whip marks on his back; there really is no need for him to see the odd angles of Jack's ribs or the colorful bruises decorating his torso.
"Race left his cap here, couldn't get away from the kids to go get it, so I volunteered. Jack... What the fuck happened to you?"
Jack couldn't stop the bitter laugh from escaping him. "Karma."
"Jack..." He could hear Davey hesitate and then step closer. "Who did this?"
The young newsie repressed another laugh. "Like you care."
"Of course I care!" Davey exclaimed as he reached to touch his shoulder.
Jack couldn't stop himself from shrinking in fear as he felt Davey's hand on his skin. The memory of the hands holding him down as Snider brought his cane down on his back was fresh in his mind, and even tho Davey's hand was soft and warm, the touch still caused him panic.
"Jack-"
"Please leave." Jack was not above begging at this point.
"No."
"Davey-"
"Don't be stupid," Davey cut him off. "Let me help you."
Reluctantly, Jack turned around to face the older newsie. He could pinpoint the moment Davey noticed the damage done to his chest, his eyes going wide and his mouth opening slightly in shock.
After a moment, Davey came back to his senses. "You gotta get this cleaned."
"No shit," Jack replied. "I was getting the alcohol."
"Let me help you," Dave replied, helping Jack sit on his bunk. Without saying anything more, he lowered himself to the ground and pulled the first aid kit from beneath Jack's bed.
He didn't know how Davey knew where to find it, and at this point could hardly bring himself to care. The world looked foggy, as if Jack was looking at it through dirty glass, and his back was killing him.
As much as he didn't want Davey to see him like this, he admitted to himself that Davey's help might be useful in his current state.
Quietly, Davey began cleaning the wounds on his chest. The cane left mostly bruises, but Oscar's brass knuckles left two shallow cuts on his torso and stomach.
"Turn around," Davey quietly ordered, and Jack complied. He felt burning hot pain as Davey gently cleaned the gashes on his back, feeling the blood trickle down from the reopened wounds.
When he was done, Davey walked around the bed to look Jack in the eyes.
"What happened?"
"Pulitzer," Jack admitted, all the fight draining away from him at the sight of Davey's worried eyes. "Pulitzer happened."
Davey pursed his lips. "Tell me."
And Jack, stupid, weak Jack, who was never able to deny Davey anything, told him everything.
He told him about going to Pulitzer's office. He told him about Katherine. He told him how Snider showed up and how he was cornered like the gutter rat he was. He managed to hold his tears inside until he felt Davey's arms wrapping around him, and then sobbed into his chest as he kept talking.
His voice broke as he explained the threats Pulitzer made, silently begging Davey to understand he tried, he tried to be strong. He forced his voice to be stable as he described the way the Delancys held him against the printing press while Snider's whip soared through the air.
After telling Davey about the way he cowered in the corner, scared and broken and feeling like an 8-year-old again, Jack completely broke down. He was sobbing uncontrollably, his tears staining Davey's shirt.
Even through the haze of hunger, fear, and pain, he could feel Davey's fingers combing through his hair, while his other arm was wrapped carefully around Jack's back, holding him as close as he could without hurting him further.
"I'm sorry," He whispered through tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so-"
"No," Davey held him closer. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Jack. You did good. You did so fucking good."
His words only made Jack sob harder.
"I should have known," He said quietly. "God, Jackie, I am so sorry. I should have known."
Jack clenched onto his shirt like a lifeline, needing the reassurance that Davey is here, he is here and holding him and not going away and-
"You hate me," Jack sniffled.
"No- Fuck- Jack, look at me," Davey let him go, only to grab his face in his hands. "I don't hate you. I never did, I was- I was just angry. And I should have known better, Shit, I was so stupid, but listen, Jack..."
Davey took a moment to breathe and forced Jack to look into his sky-blue eyes. "I didn't hate you. And I am so sorry that I made you feel like I did, and for being a dick, and for everything, but I'm here now, ok? I'm here now and I ain't gonna let anything bad happen to you anymore, I promise."
When Davey let go of his face, Jack allowed himself to rest his head on Davey's shoulder
He knew this wasn't the end of it. The rest of the boys still hated him; he was still a dirty scab, and the strike still wasn't over.
But for now, for the first time in years, he allowed himself to loll in the feeling of safety.
And so, with Davey's arms around him, Jack drifted off to sleep.