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Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Chip

Days Remaining: 7

Chip folded her arms behind her head, watching the stars make their slow swirl towards the brightening horizon. The deep plum sky seemed to stretch on forever, a French gown hemmed with starry rhinestones. Her view was striped with the slats of the stair landing above her. If she shifted to see the eastward edge of the skinny platform, she could see the silhouette of Crutchie, his fair blond hair draping down towards her through the rails. Jack was already up, pacing back and forth on his half with a quiet creaking. He and Crutchie had the best platform- right up beside the roof of the building, nothing between them and the moon but dreams and wind. Chip’s “bunk” was right beneath them- she was lucky enough to have that whole level to herself.

Jack hummed softly to himself, a familiar tune to the newsies. His song about leaving New York, making his way to a beautiful land far away called Santa Fe. When she was younger, he’d make a habit of telling her a story of it every Sunday evening, as the sky was set ablaze with the fading sun. Crutchie would listen with rapt attention, eyes sparkling with hope as Jack described waters so bright and magical, a blind man could dip a pinky finger in and see again. If Chip closed her eyes, she could see it: a land of clay and fire shaped by the hands of generations of its inhabitants. She had decided long ago that Santa Fe was red- not red in the way blood was red, but red like fire and leaves in autumn. Like rust on old rails, just like the ones above her.

A loud bong shook Chip out of her reverie. She shook off the tattered jacket she used as a blanket, getting to her feet as the other newsies groaned, stretching themselves awake.

“Rise an’ shine, newsies!” shouted Jack, hands cupped around his mouth. “Them papes don’t sell themselves!”

Chip began the slow climb down, catching bits of the boys’ conversation as she snatched her newsgirl cap off the ladder.

“I was havin’ the most beautiful dream,” sighed Albert, pulling on his vest. “My lips is still tingling.”

Race nudged him. “Oh? A pretty girl?” 

“A leg of lamb.”

“Oy, Chip. You sleep alright?”

“As good as it gets,” Chip answered, tipping her hat at her brother as she descended past their bunk.

Race’s outraged voice sounded down after her. “Hey! That’s my cigar!”

“You’ll steal another,” Albert scoffed, voice muffled by presumably the stolen goods.

“Enough monkeyin’ around, boys. Let’s go!” Jack called, helping Crutchie down.

With a good amount of rough-housing, the newsies made it down to the pavement. Katherine, arm-in-arm with what must be one of her father’s friends, gave them a wave. “Morning, boys!”

Chip cleared her throat, arms crossed.

“And Chip, of course,” she grinned.

Romeo approached, hand on his hip. “Well, hello, hello, hello, beautiful.”

“Respect for the lady, please, loverboy,” Jack reprimanded, pulling him back by the back of his shirt. “Mornin’ Katherine. How’s the pape-writing goin’?”

“Still confined to the women's column. They won't let me publish front-page articles. Because I'm a girl.”

“Well, that ain’t fair,” protested Chip. 

“I know. I’ll get my way one day. Soon.” 

Her companion cleared his throat meaningfully. “Maybe we should be going, Miss Katherine.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll see you all later!”

“Ain’t she something,” whistled Ike, staring after her.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Honestly. And you boys wonder why you ain’t got no girl.”

The group began the trek to the World gate, good-humoured chatter warming the air as they poked fun at each other. 

“Hey, Crutchie,” called Race. “What’s ya’ leg say? Gonna rain?”

The blond newsie leaned over, making a show of shaking his leg. “Hmm… no rain. Aha! Partly cloudy, clear by evenin’!”

“They oughta bottle this guy,” cheered Finch, giving him a hearty slap to the back.

“And the limp sells fifty papes a week, all by itself!”

“I don’t need the limp to sell papes,” claimed Crutchie. “I got personality.”

They paused by the church as the nuns came bearing coffee and a tray of doughnuts. 

“Curdled coffee,” grimaced Elmer, letting the foul liquid slosh around in the silver mug.

“You’ll drink it and you’ll like it,” answered Sister Charlotte good-naturedly, handing him a stale pastry.

Crutchie poked him in the shoulder. “Hey. We’re just lucky they give us food.”

The nun laughed. “Now that there, that’s a good kid. You be like him, Elmer.” 

The brick-like breakfast lasted all the way to the gate, just in time for the headline. The newsies crowded the iron bars, craning their necks to read the chalk marks appearing letter by letter.

“I hope it’s real bloody,” Specs grinned, “with a nice clear picture.”

“I gotta good feeling about this one,” claimed Chip, pulling herself up a bit higher on the bars.

Boots crossed his fingers, eyes fixed on the board. “Please be a murder, please be a murder…”

Trolley Strike Enters Third Week

Collective groans erupted from the crowd. “Really? The trolley strike?” complained Elmer.

“Not again!”

“Three weeks o’ the same story.”

“They’re killin’ us with that snoozer!”

“I was hoping to eat today,” grumbled Albert as the Delancey boys approached with the gate key.

“Make way, step aside,” called the older brother to the boys. Morris.

“Dear me,” Race gasped, fanning his nose dramatically. “What is that unpleasant aroma? I fear the sewer maya’ backed up durin’ the night!”

Albert shot the boys a cheeky grin. “Or could it be…”

“The Delancey brothers!” chorused the newsies, jeering at the two as they opened the gate.

“Alright, that’s enough,” shouted the younger brother, Oscar, shoving Crutchie to the ground. “You want some of that too? Ya’ lousy crip.”

Chip helped the boy to his feet, blowing a raspberry at the Delanceys. Jack stepped forward, practically nose-to-nose with them. “Now, that’s not nice, Morris.”

Sudden silence punctuated the tension, each paper-seller with their eyes on the brewing battle.

“Aw, ten-to-one Jack skunks ‘em,” crowed Race.

Jack eyed Oscar, subtly reaching out his hand for the crutch. Quick as a flash, he swiped it out under the boys' feet, forcing them to stumble to their knees.

“Wait ‘til I get my hands on you!” Morris shouted, getting back to his feet.

“You gotta catch me first,” he teased, making a beeline for the paper stand, the rest of the newsies right on his heels.

“Papers for the newsies,” called Wiesel, holding a stack of newspapers. “Let’s go, I haven’t got all day. Line up, line up!”

“Mornin’, Weasel. Ya’ miss me?”

He sighed. “It’s Wie-sel.”

“Ain’t that what I said?” Jack slapped down a pair of quarters. “I’ll take the usual.”

“A hundred papers for the wise guy.”

Oscar shoved the news into his hands, nearly knocking him over. Jack blew him a kiss.

Race leaned over the wooden edge of the stall. “How’s it goin’, Weasel?”

“At least call me ‘mister’.”

“I’ll call ya’ sweetheart if you spot me fifty papes,” he smirked, much to the amusement of the rest of the line-up.

“Drop the cash and move along.”

“Whatever happened to romance?” Race asked, feigning a dagger to the heart as he flipped his coin onto the papers.

Chip revealed a gap-toothed grin, counting out her coins. “Hey, Weasel.”

“Honestly, these boys are getting to be such a bad influence on you!”

“Nah, we loves a lil’ one,” called Buttons. “She gets more papes than all else!”

“ ‘Scept Jack,” countered Elmer.

“Sixty papers for the little newsie.”

She grabbed her papers, riffling through them to count out the proper number as she took a seat on a hay bale.

“I’ll take twenty newspapers, please.”

She glanced up. A new voice?

“Twenty for the new kid,” confirmed Wiesel. “Let’s see the dime.”

“I’ll pay you when I sell them?”

“Funny, kid. C’mon, cash up front.”

“But… whatever I don’t sell, you buy back, right?”

The newsies chuckled.

“Certainly,” Wiesel’s voice took on a sugary-sweet tone. “And every time you lose a tooth, I put a penny under your pillow.” He glared at the kid. “Cough up the cash or blow.”

The boy reluctantly slid a coin over to him. Behind him, an even younger kid followed, barely taller than the news counter. He tossed Wiesel a quarter. “Fifty papers- uh, papes, please!”

“Fifty papers for the midget,” he called to Oscar.

“Sorry, excuse me. I’m David,” the new kid told Wiesel. “I paid for twenty, but you only gave me nineteen.”

Chip froze. This kid was gonna get himself beat.

Jack swooped in, plucking David’s papers and counting them up.

Oscar snarled at him. “You callin’ me a liar?”

“I just want what I paid for!”

“Beat it!”

“Hey,” Jack glared at him. “New guy’s right. You only gave him nineteen.”

Wiesel shoved a paper into David’s arms. “There. Now, scram!”

The newsies regrouped around the new workers. Jack leaned down to the young kid. “And who might you be?”

He grinned. “I’m Les. David’s my brother.”

“Nice to meet you, Les. You too, Davey. And, Les- how old are you?”

“I’m eight. Almost!”

“If anyone asks, you’re six. Younger sells more papes, and if we’s gonna be partners-”

“Hold on, hold on. Who said anything about partners?” Davey interrupted.

Crutchie rested a hand on his shoulder. “Selling with Jack is the chance of a lifetime! You learn from him, you learn from the best!”

“If he’s the best, what does he need with me?”

“ ‘Cause you got a little brother, an’ I don’t,” Jack answered. 

Davey sighed. “Well, I dunno…”

“Look here. I’ll toss in the lil’ girl too. She sells papes like they’s free- customers can’t resist a little face, eh?” Jack glanced towards Chip, and she nodded fervently, giving what she hoped was a convincing grin.

Les pouted, making puppy eyes. “Please, David? Please?”

“Alright, alright.”

“Thatta boy!"

Jack spat on his hand, offering it to Les. The pair shook heartily.

"That's disgusting," Davey deadpanned.

"It's just business. Alright, we’ll go up to my spot by the Grand Central," Jack answered. "I’ll show Davey here the ropes, an’ Chip, you teach Les how we sell.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Les

Days Remaining: 7

Les dropped his stack of papers, watching the people walk past. “So, how are we gonna do this?”

“Watch me,” Chip answered with a freckled grin, curls bouncing as she bounded to the street, news in hand. She approached a fussy-looking woman, widening her eyes and pitching her voice up half an octave.

“ ‘Sc- ‘scuse me, miss. Would you… uh, be interested in…” she trailed off, pretending to forget what to say. Chip held the paper up, covering everything up except big, pleading eyes.

“Oh, you sweet thing! Of course I’ll buy a paper.” The woman pressed a coin into her hand, gently plucking the newspaper away.

“See?” she bragged, flirting the shiny copper piece in the palm of her hand.

Jealous, Les glanced away, devising a strategy on how he would sell his papers twice as fast as hers. No, three times! “What kind of name is ‘Chip’, anyway?”

“It’s short for ‘Chipmunk’. ‘Cause I’m quick, and my cheeks puff when I smile. See?”

“Your name is ‘Chipmunk’?”

“Naw, that’s my nickname,” she explained.

“What’s your real name?”

“Well…” Chip drew it out. “I dunno if I can trust you with this.”

“Oh, c’mon, I won’t tell anyone!”

“Okay, okay. It’s Paige.”

“Like a page of paper!”

“Yeah! Pretty sure it’s spelled differen’, though.”

“ ‘Pretty sure’?”

“Well, I never went to school, so I can’t read real good.”

Les gaped at her. “You never went to school?”

“I mean, yeah. My da’s long gone and my ma died when I was four! My brother- that’s Race- he took us to the newsies and I been livin’ here e’er since.”

“So, you’ve been selling papers for- how old are you?”

“Eight,” she announced proudly.

“Four years!”

“Well, nah. I started two years ago, ‘cause Jack figured the streetwalkers’d be suckers for a six-year-old. He din’t want me workin’ too young, though.”

“I wish I had a newsie brother.”

“Don’t worry. Once you’re here long enou’, the whole lot of ‘em feel like family!”

The pair were silent for a moment, watching the bustle of the streets.

“Hey, Chip?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you get a nickname?”

“Well… I dunno. Jack’ll see something about you, and then bam , you got a new name.”

“Hey, kids!” the man himself called from across the square. “Less chattin’, more sellin’!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Chip rolled her eyes, picking up her paper. "C'mon. You give it a try."

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Katherine

Days Remaining: 7

Katherine walked the hallway at a quick pace, her heels playing a crisp click-clack of a drumbeat on the marble floor. 204, 205, 206… there. Room 207- office of editor-in-chief George Robson. Not bothering to knock, she let herself in, planting her hands on either side of the polished mahogany desk. One held a copy of the morning The World, bought from a grinning Les. She slapped the paper down on the table.

“Mr. Robson,” she began, carefully controlling her tone. “Why did my article in the Women’s Column get replaced entirely with a recipe for stew?”

The editor chuckled, gazing passively at the furious reporter over steepled fingers. “Katherine, Katherine, Katherine. Women don’t want to read about suffragettes and voting. Quite frankly, it bores them. Political matters are for men, darling. They want to know how to please their husbands. The recipe was a perfect substitute.”

Katherine balled her fists. “It’s important information that women need to know.”

“ ‘Need’ is a little excessive, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think.”

“Look, Katherine. You’re lucky I’m even letting you keep that ridiculous “women’s column”. At least do something useful with it, hmm, sweetie?” Robson slid his hand possessively over hers, mouth splitting into a lewd grin. “Why don’t you… loosen up a bit.”

Disgusted, Katherine pulled her hand away, resisting the urge to leave a red handprint all over that smug face. She half slammed the door behind her, heels tapping in a fury. She would get her article published. She would get women the right to vote. 

She would show Robson. She would show everyone.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Davey

Days Remaining: 7

“...and then he slides his greasy hand over mine, and tells me to loosen up!” Katherine exclaimed, pacing back and forth between the diner’s tables. “Who does he think he is?”

“Gee, that Robson sure sounds like a jerk. Don’t think he’d treat you right. Me, however…” Romeo grinned, leaning across the table. 

“Aw, shut up, will ya’?” groaned Race, slapping him upwards the head. “She ain’t gonna want you now or ever.”

Elmer knocked back his glass of water. “So, what’re you gonna do now?”

“I… I…” Katherine paused.

 “How about this,” Davey suggested. “You write your article. Get a petition too as part of it… maybe interview some girls? Robson can’t ignore it if it’s got enough signatures!”

“Hey, not bad, new guy!” Jack exclaimed, awarding him a mighty slap on the back. “Sharp thinker.”

“You could interview me, Kathy!” Chip offered hopefully. Crutchie ruffled her hair with a lopsided grin.

“I bet you’d be a great help,” Katherine smiled. “And hey, Davey, I think I’ll do just that. Anyone know any girls around our age? Persuasive, good for an interview?”

Jack snorted. “Like any of these guys is smooth enou’ talkers to get thesselves one.”

Silence.

Davey sighed. “I have a sister.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Katherine

Days Remaining: 7

“Hey, Mam, this is Katherine,” Davey introduced, hanging his cap on a hook behind the door.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Jacobs,” Katherine smiled, shaking the grey-haired woman’s hand.

“Oh, please. Call me Ethel, dear.”

“So, Katherine was wondering if she could have a word with Sarah-”

A young woman slipped out of the kitchen, flawless features curving into a smile. “Who wants to have a word with me?”

Katherine outright gaped at the angel in front of her- never in her life had she seen such easy natural beauty. Sarah’s hair was a waterfall of chestnut clouds, something she just wanted to run her hands through over and over and over…

“Uh, Katherine?” Mrs. Jacobs asked.

She jolted. “Yeah. That’s me. Katherine Plumber. I want to have a word with you. For the, uh…”

“Newspaper,” Davey supplied quietly, amused at the redhead’s loss for words. 

“What he said. The newspaper.”

Les skipped down the stairs two at a time, greeting Katherine with a wave as he turned his attention to his sister. “Aw, c’mon, Sarah! You’ll be famous!”

She gifted the starstruck reporter a beautiful smile, gently punching her little brother in the shoulder. “Let’s go to my room.”

“Which is also my room,” Davey added. “So don’t mess it up too much with the whole reporter set-up.”

“It’s mine too,” Les added, convinced it was important information.

“The set-up isn’t much,” Katherine assured the eldest Jacobs brother. “Just a notepad and ink pen-”

Sarah twined the flustered girl’s fingers with her own, pulling her up the stairs.

What a day, Katherine thought dazedly. Robson doesn’t print my article, I’m about to write the piece of the century, and a pretty girl’s holding my hand. What a day.

“Here,” Sarah declared, opening a battered door to reveal a rather small room, adorned with nothing but two beds, a desk and a chair. “You can sit on the chair if you need the desk for writing.” She took a seat on the edge of the smaller bed, the worn mattress sagging beneath her weight.

Katherine obliged, tucking the pen behind her ear. “Okay. Let’s start. Tell me a bit about yourself!”

“Well…” Sarah tilted her head, a lock of hazel hair obscuring one sparkling dark eye. “What’s this interview supposed to be about, anyway?”

“Right! Right, sorry. I’m doing a piece on women’s rights. Trying to get us a vote, you know. At least in the city, if not the state. We’ll get there one day.”

“Katherine- the elections for mayors are in a week!”

“I know.”

“You think the article will be enough to convince the officials?”

“Well, I hope…”

“You’ve got a beautiful dream,” Sarah remarked softly. 

And you’ve got a beautiful smile.

“Hey, that’s a good place to start! What’s your dream?”

The girl’s concealing expression faltered. “To… marry. To marry a rich man and live in a big house with plenty of children.”

Katherine had heard this enough times around the city for it to be believable… but the way it was said was too prepared. Too mechanical. “That’s what you’re told to say, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Sarah admitted, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt in an adorably awkward fashion.

“What’s your real dream?”

“Honest?”

Katherine nodded.

“My dream is to be a chef.” Her dark eyes glimmered again, fixed on something in the distance. “I’d take over Jacobi’s diner. Head chef, owner, the whole deal… hire a load of waiters, waitresses, and I’d reinvent the menu. But the rest of what I said before’s not untrue- I would like to live in a big house with a kid or two. And- can I tell you a secret?” Sarah leaned in, her nose inches away from the reporter’s. “I really don’t want a rich husband. I’d rather… a rich wife. Or a poor wife. Either way.”

Katherine’s heart leapt into her throat, and suddenly all she could see was Sarah’s sparkling eyes, her glossy lips, slightly parted… the scent of raspberries and rainfall twined around her, and she could have sworn she was getting closer-

Sarah pulled away abruptly, clearing her throat. The slightly musty smell of the room returned, and Katherine turned back to her notepad, pinching her cheeks to get rid of the blush that was sure to be colouring her face.

“So. Where does Les sleep, then?”

“Well, he usually switches between my bed and David’s. Mam promises she’ll get him a right and proper one of his own when he’s ten.”

“Do you not have enough money for one now?” Katherine asked, genuinely curious, but Sarah didn’t seem offended.

“With Pa hurt, all three of us kids gotta work to keep our family fed and clothed. My parents didn’t want me to be a newsie. See, they don’t think hanging around teenage boys all day will be safe. Y’know, they might… try something.”

“They’re a good lot, though. Your brothers fit right in.”

“Les? I believe it. David’ll have a tough time, though.”

“He’s doing alright. Jack seems to have taken a liking to him.”

“That’s sweet. I should visit them sometime at work… buy a paper or two.”

“How about we go together? Tomorrow?”

“I have work of my own,” Sarah lamented. “I’d really like to do that sometime, though.”

Katherine pulled out her notepad, going over the questions she’d prepared. “What job do you work?”

“Waitress at Jacobi’s. I’ll work my way up to being a chef, though. Someday.”

“Why don’t you ask?”

“Because they don’t trust a woman to cook professionally. In her own home, it’s accepted. Expected, even. However, in a workplace… we can’t be trusted, apparently.”

“What if the chef called in sick?”

“There’s an assistant chef.”

“And if both can’t make it?”

Sarah grinned. “It’ll never happen. Wouldn’t that be something, though!”

Outside, a series of bongs sounded, shaking the flimsy walls of the Jacobs household. Katherine swore under her breath. “I’m sorry, Sarah, I have to go! Maybe… maybe we can finish this tomorrow?”

“I’d like that. And you know what, Plumber? I really like you. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.” She gave a last dazzling grin as Katherine practically sprinted down the stairs, face a colour to rival her hair.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Davey

Days Remaining: 6

“Paper! Paper! Evening paper, here!” Davey waved a newspaper earnestly to a pack of teenage girls, sagging with disappointment as they trotted away with a snicker.

Jack leaned easily against the side of the wash house, picking his teeth with a sliver of wood. “Oh, sing ‘em to sleep, why dontcha?” 

Davey sighed. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Here. Watch.”  Jack snagged the paper, making his way to the edge of the sidewalk. “Extra! Extra! Terrified flight from burning inferno! You heard the story right here!”

A posh-looking man tossed him a penny, all but yanking the paper from his hands. “Thanks, son.”

“Thank you, mister!” Jack called after him, tipping his cap.

“You made that up!”

“Did not.” He leaned over to Davey, a cheeky grin on his lips. “I said he heard it right here, an’ he did.”

“My father taught us not to lie.”

“And mine taught me not to starve.”

At just that moment, Les and Chip came skipping down the pavement, empty-handed. “I just sold my last paper,” beamed Chip.

Davey ruffled his brother’s hair. “I’ve got one more.”

“Give it here.” Les picked up the last paper, approaching a kind-faced woman with large, sad eyes. “B-buy a paper from a poor orphan boy?” He coughed as best he could.

“Why, absolutely, sweetheart!” She slipped him the dime with a pitying smile.

Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Born to the breed!”

“Oh, come on, Les. What would Mam think?”

“She’d be proud of me for bringin’ food to the table!”

“That’s the attitude!” praised Jack. “How’s about we split the money and grab somethin’ to eat?”

“Oh… well, that’s awfully nice of you, but we have to get home. Our folks will be waiting.”

“You got folks, huh?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” asked Les.

Chip elbowed him in the side. 

“Most of the newsies ain’t got a family. You count yes’selves lucky.”

“Hey, do you wanna come have dinner with us?” Davey suggested, suddenly bold.

“Ah… no, Chip and me’s gotta meet up with someone. Maybe another time.”

“Is that who you’re meeting up with?” Les asked, pointing at a shadowy figure approaching down the street. Chip froze. 

Snyder.

Jack swore under his breath.

“Language, Jack, there’s kids here,” Davey protested.

“Look, we gotta go, an’ we gotta go now. Come with me.” Jack beckoned the brothers, setting off at a run down a cramped alley

“Officer, grab him! You, Jack Kelly, stop! Kelly!” shouted Snyder, sprinting as fast as his rather stumpy legs would allow.

Chip grabbed Jack’s sleeve. “We gotta go to Medda’s!”

“Yeah, I know, kid. Where d’you think we’s headed?” He felt along the alley’s wall, stopping at a humble wooden door. “Here’s the back. Let’s go.”

A set of dimly lit oak stairs stretched out, reaching a wooden platform that resembled an attic. A rail was set on the side opposite the wall, perfect to lean over and watch the backstage bustle on.

“Hey! You up there, shoo! No kids allowed in the theatre,” called a large woman in a jaw-droppingly extravagant pink dress.

“Not even us, Miss Medda?” pleaded Jack, slinging an arm around Chip’s shoulders.

“Jack Kelly and Chip Higgins? Get yourselves down here and give me a hug!”

The four made their way down to the polished floor, wary of leaving behind any dirt off their scruffy shoes. Medda wrapped the two familiar newsies in a choking hug, ruffling Jack’s hair.

“Now, where have you two been keeping yourselves?”

“Never far from you, Miss Medda,” grinned Chip.

“Davey and Les, may I present to you the lovely Medda Larkin, star of the show!”

“The greatest star on the Bowery today,” added the younger newsie.

“A pleasure,” Davey smiled, shaking her hand. He nudged his brother. “Les? What do we say?”

Les had his eyes fixed on a pair of pretty girls in tiny costumes. Davey smacked him gently up the head. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Are you blind? She’s got no clothes on!”

It was Chip’s turn to give him a smack. “That’s her costume.”

“I’m sorry for him, Miss Medda, the kid has yet to learn some manners,” Davey apologised, grabbing Les by the shoulders to turn him towards the Bowery star.

“Nonsense, young man. Theatre’s not only entertaining, it’s educational. Got the picture, kid?”

“Medda, we’s got a bit of a situation out on the street. Mind if we hide out here a while?”

“Where better to escape trouble? Snyder after you again?”

“As always.”

She scoffed. “That sleazy rat. He’ll get himself in jail one day or another, and we’ll have a celebration when he does! Say, Jack, when you’ve got time, I’d like you to paint another of these backdrops.” Medda gestured at a stunning canvas painted with leafy boughs that seemed to stretch right out of the painting. “Things have been going so well that I can pay for it!”

“I couldn’t take your money, Miss Medda.”

Les gazed up at Jack with wide eyes. “You really painted that? All by yourself?”

“That’s right. Your friend here is quite the artist,” the showboat boasted.

“Aw, shucks. It’s just a bunch o’ trees.”

“Hey.” Davey rested a hand on Jack’s. “You’re really good.”

Jack fixed him with an unrecognisable emotion in his gaze. Realising what he’d done, Davey quickly pulled his arm back, face flushing with embarrassment. 

A balding man with a nervous look poked his face backstage. “Miss Medda, you’re on!”

“Yeah? How’m I doing?” She chuckled. “Chip, boys, lock the door and stay all night. You’re with Medda now!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: 

Days Remaining: 5

“I’m gonna be a star like Miss Medda someday, y’know,” Chip babbled, skipping along the pavement. Her hand was a small, slight weight in Jack’s calloused palm.

“I betcha’ are, kid. You gonna sing?”

“No, I’m gonna be famous!”

Jack chuckled, mussing up her hair. “I believe it.”

“Is this the way back to the newsie place?” Les asked.

“You bet. Right down this street, turn to the right.”

“That’s perfect,” noted Davey. “Our place is just a couple blocks down the opposite way.”

The four had indulged in Medda’s generosity, finding themselves enthralled in her performance. Les had especially enjoyed the Bowery Beauties’ song, seeming unable to grasp the concept of tights. 

The sun’s first glow was just peeking over the building, tainting the dark sky purple at the edges. The circulation bell would be soon to ring. Perhaps an hour, or even two left, if time was feeling generous this chilled morning.

“Y’know what? There ain’t much time left before we’s heading out again to sell. How’s about you folks stay with us for a bit?”

Les’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh, we couldn’t,” Davey answered. “Our folks will be worried.”

Chip pouted. “Aw, please, Davey? There ain’t no kids my age around to play with.”

“Yeah, c’mon! I’ll be sleepin’ on the street like a real newsie,” Les declared proudly.

“I…”

Jack made puppy-eyes, taking his hat off and pressing it to his chest. “Pretty please?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

“No, I don’t,” Davey lied. He turned back to his block, contemplating what his parents would say… well, they won’t mind if it's to get on the streets early, will they?  “Okay, okay. I can tell when I’m being teamed up on.”

Les cheered, locking hands with Chip as she led him towards the lodging house. “Come here, I’ll show you where you can sleep! I’ve got the level right under Jack and Crutchie’s, so I can almost see the whole sky. You won’t believe…” her voice trailed off as she drifted farther away from the older boys.

Davey cleared his throat. “So. Where will I be sleeping?”

“You ain’t gonna get much sleep, but I’ll find a spot. Let’s see… not my usual, can’t fit the three of us there with Crutchie. We’ll go inside the lodging house, there’s sure to be an empty bed or two. Yeah?”

“That sounds nice.”

A quiet morning mist was beginning to seep through the street, curling around their ankles like tendrils of watery smoke.

“Hey, look, Jack, I just wanna say… thanks. For doing this. You didn’t have to.”

“Aw, c’mon. Newsies watch each other’s backs.”

“Like you’d do this for Race.”

Jack leaned in, close enough that he could see every eyelash in crisp definition around Davey’s hazel-green irises. “Well, maybe I like you a little more.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Davey

Days Remaining: 5

Jack carefully eased the lodging house door open, slipping inside without a sound. “Don’t let Halls catcha’, or she’ll have you paying’ a dime for the night’s rent,” he whispered. "She don't like sneakers."

Davey followed, tip-toeing on the floorboards, wincing at every creak as he passed rows of thin-looking mattresses on rickety frames, newsboys passed on every one of them.

Except… one bed was left open, covers unmade, in the very corner of the lodging room. 

One bed.

And two people needing a rest.

“Hey. Psst, Finch,” Jack murmured, pushing him.

The dark-haired boy cracked an eye open, glaring. “It’s the middle of the night!”

“Where’s Race?”

“Gone.”

“He gonna be back?”

“In the morning’s my guess.”

“ ‘Kay. Thanks.”

Finch mumbled something indistinguishable, turning to press his face into his pillow.

Jack pointed at the empty bed. “There. It’s Race’s.”

“But- only one of us can sleep there!”

“Well, I ain’t wastin’ my one night not restin’ on bars.”

“Then I’ll sleep on the ground.”

“Now, that there wouldn’t be very good hostin’, huh?”

“Then-”

“Look, Davey.” Jack placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “It don’t mean nothin’. Just a place to sleep, ‘kay? Only for an hour or so.”

Davey wanted to say no, he really did, but with Jack’s sturdy palms on his shoulders, eyes clear and focused… “Okay. Fine.”

The moment was over as soon as it started. Both boys clambered into the tiny bed, back-to-back. 

Davey didn’t think he’d get much rest, but there was something about having something warm and solid against him that helped him into the best sleep he’d had in a while.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Crutchie

Days Remaining: 5

“They don’t worry about no gimp leg in Santa Fe,” Crutchie claimed, recalling the stories Jack would tell him. “I’d just hop a palomino, be ridin’ in style!” He mimed riding a horse, jerking on the reins. Chip and Les giggled on the level beneath him, each on opposite sides of the barred strip.

“Hey, Crutchie?”

“Yeah?”

“When you go to Santa Fe, will you take us with you?” asked Chip, hope threading her voice.

“Of course I will. I’ll bring Davey too. Aw, heck, I’ll bring all the newsies!”

Les laughed. “Well, how’re we gonna get there, then?”

“Y’know what? I think we’ll fly.” He rolled over, peering at the kids through the iron slats.

Chip’s eyes widened, taking up nearly half her face. “Fly?”

“Don’t be silly, Chip. I bet he’s making it up,” scoffed Les.

“Not in a million years. Jack’ll paint us a flock of birds... they’ll come right out of the painting and carry us to Santa Fe, see,” Crutchie told him, limp forgotten. Here, giggling like a child, fantasising about a magical land of clay and fire, he could’ve run for miles.

“What kind o’ birds?” Chip questioned suspiciously. “They’s better not be pigeons. I can’t stand pigeons.”

Crutchie didn’t know any other birds besides pigeons. He thought for a moment. “Well, Chip. They’ll be special pigeons, huh? Santa Fe pigeons. Red and orange and gold. As big as… as windows, and as strong as horses. We’ll each of us fly on the back of one.”

“I wouldn’t mind Santa Fe pigeons,” Les remarked thoughtfully. “I wished they lived in New York.”

“They can’t. It’s too dirty… see, Santa Fe pigeons can only live where it’s clean an’ pretty as themselves.”

“They could live with me. I’m pretty,” claimed the youngest newsie, much to Crutchie’s amusement.

Chip kicked him, snickering. “No, you ain’t. I bet they live on the clouds.”

The three were silent for a moment, watching the sun’s glow chase the stars out of the sky. Crutchie could almost see a flock of those imaginary birds, each ridden by a laughing newsie as they flew towards the horizon, disappearing into specks of a dream. Free.

“Crutchie?”

“Mm?”

“We are going, right? For sure?” Chip asked, uncharacteristically quiet.

Crutchie smiled, a soft, sad thing. “For sure.” 

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Jack

Days Remaining: 5

A bell sounded somewhere high above Jack, but he barely stirred. For once, the early rays of dawn hadn’t roused him from his slumber. He felt more rested than he had in years. Something solid poked the small of his back and he turned, finding a sleeping Davey curled up on the side of the bed, elbow sticking out.

Jack sat up. He should wake Davey, he really should, but… he looked so peaceful, straight out of a fairy-tale, almost, pink-cheeked and calm, a gentle smile just barely curving the corners of his lips.

I wish I could make him smile like that, Jack thought suddenly. He immediately brushed it away, mentally chiding himself. Why would he think that?

The other boys were stirring now, Mike groaning about how the bell seemed to get earlier every day. Elmer raised an eyebrow at Jack, gesturing to his bed partner.

“There weren't no more beds when we got here,” he explained hastily. “We ain’t… y’know, done nothin’.”

“Sure, Jack. Sure.”

Davey blinked his eyes open at that moment, eyeing Jack with a healthy dollop of confusion. “Where…”

“The lodging house, ‘member? We came here after Medda’s.”

“Right. Right, yeah.” Davey paused, panic filling his gaze as he scanned the room. “Les?”

“He’s with Chip an’ Crutchie.”

He sank back on the bed. “Yeah. Okay.”

“What’re you relaxin’ for? Bell’s rung. Time for papes!”

“I gotta change my clothes!”

“You ain’t got time to run home, fancypants. Most of us jus’ wears the same clothes for a while. We ain’t got the time or money for the wash house every week.”

Davey winced, pushing himself up off the ratty mattress. “Sorry. Stupid thing for me to say.”

“I don’t blame ya’. Ain’t got the time. Let’s go, let’s go!”

Race burst in through the door, pink-faced and panting. “Hey fellas, am I late?”

“Damn well close, Higgins,” accused Jack. “Where ya’ been?”

“Why’re you in here?”

“Davey’s a guest. Can't have him sleepin' outdoors.”

“Instead in my bed?”

Elmer rolled his eyes. “Chill out, wouldja-”

“Shut up, Elmer. Hey Jack, who told ya’ you could sleep in my bed?”

“I ain’t a snitch.”

“It was Finch,” grinned Albert.

“How’d you know?” 

“You ain’t as quiet as you thinks you is, Kelly.”

Finch groaned. “Thanks a load, Albert.”

“Finch!”

“Yes, dearest?” This won a round of chuckles.

“Can it. Why’d you tell Cowboy here he can just waltz in and take over a place he don’t pay the rent for?”

“I din’t say nothin’ of the sort. I told him you were gone, and you were.”

“Hey Race, it’s just a bed. Ain’t a big deal,” Ike called, placing his cap on his head with a flourish.

“Ike, that’s my hat,” complained Mike, holding out a considerably more tattered newsboy headpiece.

“Where were you anyways, Race?” Mush asked.

Race’s face coloured. “Nunya’ business.”

“Ooh,” Romeo sang. “Racey’s got a sweetheart.”

“No cigar too,” Elmer noted. “You been kissing someone?”

The newsies catcalled him, cupping their hands around their mouths as they shouted his name in falsetto.

“Oh, Racey-poo!”

“Race, darling, don’t forget your lunch for work!”

“Oh, dear Mr. Higgins, you do make me chuckle!”

“Give us a smile, dollface!”

Race rolled his eyes, cheeks taking on a fiery hue as he smacked Albert’s shoulder on his way to fetch a cigar from the communal desk. “Ain’t we got somewhere to be? Some papes to sell?”

“He’s right, folks, wrap it up,” called Jack. “Don’t want to keep the Delanceys waiting, do we?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Chip

Days Remaining: 5

Chip gnawed at her stale donut, struggling to take a bite without chipping a tooth. She licked her lips, gazing through the iron bars of the gate.

“Over there’s where they writes the headline,” she explained, pointing at the large chalkboard mounted on a building beyond the newspaper stall.

“Who writes it?” Les asked, eyes fixed on the grey-clad man chalking out the day’s title.

“The headline man,” Chip scoffed. “Obviously.”

“Quiet now,” Jack chided. “You can’t talk when it’s bein’ written, it’s bad luck.”

The newsies held their breath, waiting for the man to move out of the way.

Newsie Cuts Underway

Elmer’s jaw dropped open. “What?”

Les's eyes widened in shame. "Did I jinx it?"

The Delanceys, grinning sourly, opened up the gates. 

“Those poor, poor, newsies,” Oscar simpered, pouting. “What will they ever do?”

“Live in the gutter like the rats they are, of course,” Morris hissed.

Chip nearly launched herself at those disgusting, sleazy blockheads, but Race beat her to it. He lunged himself at them full force, barely held back by Crutchie. Les cheered. “Get ‘em, Race!”

“Let me- at ‘em- I’ll show ‘em who runs this city-”

“No, you’ll get yourself soaked,” Crutchie answered, letting go of his shirt. 

Race spat his cigar into his hand, gripping it so hard it looked halfway to snapping. “Well? Ain’t you gonna do something, O Mighty Jack, king of the Manhattan newsies?”

“Not until I find what this headline’s all about.” Jack strode forward, slapping a penny down. “Two copies, Weasel.”

“Wiesel,” the man corrected, sneering. “By God, I hope it’s you they cut out. Might want to start treating your superiors with a little more respect, huh, boy?

Jack grabbed his two papers off the pile, tossing one to Davey and opening one for himself.

Chip and Les peered over his shoulder, the latter scanning the article while Chip watched Jack’s expression to give away the news.

The newsie leader cleared his throat.

“Newsie Cuts Underway. Joseph Pulitzer, as of yesterday, recognized the absurd amount of newsies selling on the street. These extra children aren’t helping anyone, not even themselves. They’re thinning the amount of newspapers sold, as well as harassing streetgoers.”

Albert scoffed. “Oh, please-”

“For their benefit, Pulitzer decided to cut the amount of sellers in each area, leaving the extras open to more diverse, better-paying jobs,” Davey interrupted, wide-eyed.

“We’s gonna lose our jobs,” Specs translated.

The newsies erupted in an outraged babble.

“He can’t do that!”

“Yes, he can, dimwit, he’s Pulitzer. ”

“I’ll be sleeping on the streets!”

“You already sleep on the streets.”

“In a worse neighbourhood,” Crutchie protested.

“Ain’t we got no rights?”

“We got the right to starve. C’mon, let’s just grab the papes and hit the streets.”

“I can’t sell papes knowin’ some o’ my brothers gon’ be jobless in weeks!”

“Days!”

“Aw, you thinks we’s your brothers?”

“Shaddup, Race.”

“We gotta do something?”

“Ask Jack. He’ll do something.”

“That’s right. Hey Jack! Ya’ think o’ somethin’ yet?”

The outraged mob crowded him, shouting their respective ideas louder each time in a desperate attempt to be heard.

“Stop crowding him,” Les shouted, pushing the boys away.

“Let the man think,” added Chip wisely.

Blissful silence reigned for a whole half of a second.

“Hey Jack, you still thinkin’?”

“Sure he is,” grinned Race. “Can’t ya’ smell smoke?”

“Shaddup, Race,” chorused several newsies.

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Jack announced, standing up on a hay bale. “If we don’t sell papes, no one sells papes. Nobody gets to that window until Pulitzer drops his plan.”

Davey raised an eyebrow, setting down his paper. “Like a strike?”

“Hey, you heard the man. We’re on strike!”

The group cheered, a few even tossing their caps in the air.

“Hold on, I didn’t say-”

“Here’s the plan, boys. And girl,” he added, glancing at Chip. “We come to work. We sit over here. No one touches that window. People need news! Pulitzer will cave in by day two!”

“And if he doesn’t?” called Ike. “If he stays strong day three? Four?” I can’t survive four days without money.”

“I know-”

“We can’t, Jack,” Crutchie stated. “The boys can’t pay rent. We’ll be out on the streets, beggin’ for food and water. We won’t make it through a week without a job.”

“Don’t worry. The new rule’ll come into place tomorrow, or the day after, and by then, Pulitzer’ll have already seen the effect,” Jack assured the worried crowd.

“Actually,” Wiesel called from the stall, “Mr. Pulitzer’s new rule is to be put in motion on Saturday.” He made a big show of counting his fingers. “That’s… five days. Do you think you boys can survive five days without a dime to your name?” He grinned, not bothering to fake a shred of sympathy.

Jack cursed. “Strike’s outta the question, then. Can’t put you all in danger. Here, get close, give me all o’ your ideas.”

“How about a day strike?” suggested a familiar voice behind them.

“Katherine!” cheered Chip, tackling the older girl with a hug.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Very heroic entrance, Kath, but we jes’ overruled a strike.”

“No, I mean a one-day strike. It’s perfect, Jack! If all the newsies are gone, who’s Pulitzer going to fire? He needs you to sell the papers. I’d be plenty happy to write an article. My breakthrough article should be out by then, so they’ll have to be letting me write real news. Front page, newsies, you could be front page!”

“I ain’t never noted no girl reporters writin’ hard news. What’s the last article you written?”

“What’s the last strike you organised?”

A chorus of “oohs” issued from the audience.

“You’re out of your league, Kelly,” advised Romeo, sidling up to the reporter. “Methinks the lady needs to be handled by a real man.”

Katherine pushed his arm off her shoulder. “You thinks wrong, Romeo.”

Mush raised a hand. “Miss Katherine?”

“Just Katherine, if you please.”

“Us newsies ain’t enough to change Pulitzer’s mind. He’s got sellers in every area of New York.”

“Then we get those, too,” Jack announced. “Let’s split up and spread the word!”

“I’ll take Harlem!”

“I got Midtown.”

“And I got the Bowery.”

“Perfect,” he grinned. “Specs, you take Queens, Albert, you’re on the Eastside. Who wants Brooklyn?”

Dead silence. The newsies averted their eyes from the Manhattan leader.

“Oh, c’mon. Brooklyn? Spot Conlon’s turf? Finch, you tellin’ me you scared of Brooklyn?”

“I ain’t scared of no turf!” He paused. “But… that Spot Conlon got me a little jittery.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Fine. Me an’ Davey’ll take Brooklyn.”

“Me? But…”

“And me,” added Chip hopefully.

“Not this time, kid. That borough’s no place for little ‘uns.”

Les waved his hand. “I’m not little! Take me?”

Davey shook his head fervently. “Nope. No way.”

“Come on, boys,” Jack called, addressing his boys. “Even the little newsies ain’t scared o’ no turf!”

“Yeah, ‘cause they ain’t never been to Brooklyn,” spat Ike.

Katherine tipped her head, scrutinising the boys’ fearful expressions. “Why’s everyone so scared of Brooklyn?”

“Largest county in all o’ New York. You get Brooklyn, you got the motherload,” Jack explained.

“So?”

“The king of Brooklyn is Spot Conlon,” Crutchie added, whispering the name almost reverently. “A legend. They say he’d take on ten bulls at a time to protect his newsies. He don’t let no one who isn’t born and raised there on his territory.”

Race snorted. “ Almost no one.”

Albert gave him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothin’, nothin’.”

“Look,” Jack announced. “I said; me an’ Davey’ll take Brooklyn. Sell your papes, boys- and girl- but tonight, we bring together the boroughs of New York!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: Les

Days Remaining: 5

“Psst. Hey, Chip. Chip!”

The girl rolled over, met with a bright-eyed Les on the ladder.

“Les? What’re you doin’-”

“Shh. Don’t wake Crutchie.”

Jack was already gone, presumably heading to Brooklyn with Davey. Only Crutchie remained. Though he’d said it didn’t matter, he had very obviously been hurt to be excluded from the newsies’ plans.

“I’m here so we can go to Brooklyn!”

“Brooklyn?”

“If Jack won’t let us go, we’ll just find the way ourselves. We’ll beat him there and get Spot Conlon to join us!”

“That’s perfect,” Chip whispered, quickly pulling on the tattered jacket that doubled as her blanket. “Go on now, I gotta get down the ladder.”

The pair carefully picked their way down the side of the building, wary of waking the newsies in the lodging house. After what seemed like hours, solid ground finally met their feet. Chip surveyed the darkened street, feeling a chill seep into her veins at the empty buildings awash in moonlight and draped with pieces of the night sky. Manhattan looked like a ghost town, eerily quiet and slightly blurry with a pale night fog. She tucked her hands in her coat pockets. “How we’s gonna get to Brooklyn?”

“I heard Davey talking to Sarah ‘bout the Brooklyn Bridge. All we gotta do is cross it, and we’ll be in Brooklyn!”

“That’s almost too easy,” grinned Chip. “C’mon, let’s go find the bridge!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Chip

Days Remaining: 4

It had been nearly two hours since Chip had set out for Brooklyn, and she was starting to regret it. A chill was seeping into her skin through the ragged coat, and the hours spent wandering Manhattan streets had been fruitless. Not a single bridge in sight. “Hey, Les?”

“Yeah?”

“Listen, maybe it’s time to go home, now. It’s cold, an’ I’m tired, and-”

“Chip!” Les’s eyes widened, and he pointed at a narrow gap between two buildings.

“What?”

“C’mon!” He led her through the tiny alley, walls closing in on them both. Chip squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the rough brick scrape her cheek.

“Look!”

She opened her eyes.

There, just in front of her, stretched a drawbridge, a rather small one, arcing across a river of glassy ebony sprinkled with the reflections of the few stars pressed into the night sky.

“You think that’s it?”

“It’s gotta be!”

“So…” Chip pointed at the opposite bank. “That’s Brooklyn?”

Les revealed an ear-to-ear grin. “We made it, Chip!”

The pair locked hands, feet flying over the ground, nearly tripping over a large lever embedded in the ground. It felt like soaring, like diving through a deep sea of clouds. Chip stopped halfway through, halting her friend as well. “Look at that, Les. That’s the border between Manhattan and Brooklyn,” she whispered, pointing at the river. “And we’re right on it-”

A loud clanking interrupted her and she whirled around, searching for the offender. No use. It was too dark.

Les stumbled, falling to the ground with a shout. The entire bridge was splitting in half to the horrible, sickening drumbeat of incessant clanking. Chip grabbed for her friend’s hand, but the path was cracking right between them, tilting her upwards. She fumbled for a ledge in the side, latching on for dear life as she was lifted nearly vertical, hanging in the air like meat at the butcher’s out to dry.

“Well, well, well. Come over here and look at this funny little fish I caught, Morris,” Oscar Delancey grinned, his smile a sinister yellow curl in the dim moonlight.

“Two little minnows for dinner. Snyder will be pleased,” a voice responded from the other side, no doubt Morris, taunting Les.

Chip kicked out as Oscar approached, grabbing for her ankles. “Go away,” she shouted. “Leave us alone.”

“But how will we earn our pretty coins if we go away,” Oscar pouted, putting on a child’s voice. “You don’t want us to go home empty-handed, do you?”

“Yes, we do,” Les yelled from behind. “I hope you go home empty-handed forever and ever!”

“That’s not very nice. In fact, that’s downright naughty. What do we do with naughty children, Morris?”

“We punish them.”

The brothers cracked their knuckles, Oscar reaching up to his prey, grinning as she shrieked and writhed, twisting away from his crooked fingers. Yet, before Chip could blink, he was on the ground, a fair-haired newsie standing over him, the weapon of choice a crutch in his hand.

“Crutchie!”

“Go, Chip! I’ll get Les!” He leaned against the steeply angled bridge, breaking the younger newsie’s fall with an outstretched arm. “Run. And don’t look back, no matter what you hear.”

Chip could only manage a terrified nod as she took off like a shot into the darkness. She’d barely taken a gasp of breath before she slammed into something warm and solid and horribly alive .

“And where might you be going, little girl? Are you lost?”

Chip crawled backwards, desperately scuttling away from the shadowy figure slowly advancing on her.

“I think you’ll be a nice addition to the Refuge,” Snyder leered. “Oh, you’ll just love it there.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: Les

Days Remaining: 4

Les rested his head against the side of the wagon. The way to the refuge was by a horse-drawn wooden box, almost a cage. He, Crutchie and Chip occupied opposite corners. Chip had her face turned away from him, stubbornly glaring at the wall.

“Hey, Chip. C’mon. It’s-”

“Dontcha’ dare “c’mon” me! It’s your fault we’re going’ to jail! You an’ your stupid plan to go to Brooklyn!”

“It’s not jail, it’s just the Refuge.”

“Great. That’s even worse.”

“Was I the one who had to stop in the middle of the bridge?”

“We wouldn’t even had been outside if you hadna’ come crawlin’ up my ladder in the mil’ o’ the night!”

Crutchie shifted uncomfortably. “Hey, let’s just-”

“It’s your fault, Les, it’s all your fault! We’re gonna go to the Refuge an’ Snyder’s gonna soak us and we’re gonna die, an’ it’ll be all your fault. ”

“Shut up, Paige!”

Her face coloured, and she raised her voice to a shout. “My name is Chip!”

“Paige!”

“Lester!”

“P-”

“Stop it!” Crutchie yelled.

Both kids immediately ceased their arguing, facing the older boy with shock. They’d never seen him raise his voice before. 

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s just… if we’re going to the Refuge, we gotta stick together. Jack told me about the times he’s been there, and I know it’ll be so much easier if we have each other. I’ll protect you both with my life, but there’s no use to it if you’re constantly bickering.”

“Sorry, Crutchie,” Les mumbled, ashamed.

“Don’t apologise to me.”

“Sorry, Chip.”

“Sorry, Les,” Chip muttered, caving in.

The three sat in silence for a moment, listening to the quiet beat of horse hooves on the dirt road. The barest glimmer of moonlight seeped into the box, illuminating a trio of nervous faces, no doubt hiding fearful thoughts.

“Are we really gonna die?” Les blurted, voice trembling.

“Of course not,” Crutchie assured him. “I promise.”

Chip turned to him, revealing the tears glassing her eyes. “Pinky promise?”

“I pinky promise.” He linked little fingers with the younger newsies. “Get some sleep now. As much as you can.”

Les curled up in the corner, resting his head on the surprisingly soft wood of the wagon. The wall was likely rotting, but he was too tired to care. Thoughts of the Refuge fled his mind, pushed out by dreams of flying away on the back of a bird the colour of wildfire. One day, he reminded himself. We'll be there one day...

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: Jack

Days Remaining: 4

The old smell of rain permeated the paper stall square, dark clouds gathering over the crowd of paperboys come to discuss their results the next morning. The air was tense, each of the sellers with their eyes on Jack and Davey, waiting for the bombshell. Nothing came.

“Well?” Elmer prompted.

“What?”

“Y’know what we’s talkin’ about. Didja get Brooklyn?”

Jack met Davey’s eyes. “Yes?”

Ike scoffed. “You don’t sound too sure, Cowboy.”

“Did you see Spot?” Mush asked.

“Sure, we seen him.”

“And about twenty of his newsie gang,” Davey added. “Those Brooklyn kids are huge.”

“I gotta say, Spot was very impressed with our offer, wasn’t he?” Jack lied.

“I’d say.”

Race plucked the cigar out of his mouth. “So, they’re with us?”

“That… depends on how you look at it,” faltered the Davey. “They needed proof that we’re not gonna fold at the first sign of trouble.”

Finch raised a hand. “Are we?”

“We are not! ” Jack spoke, outraged. “There’s us, an’ Harlem-”

“Not so fast, Jack,” Mush interrupted, barging into the crowd. “Harlem wants to know what Brooklyn’s gonna do.”

“How about Queens?”

Specs nodded. “Queens’ll be right here backing us up-”

“There, see?”

“-as soon as they get the nod from Brooklyn.”

“I got the same load o’ bull in Eastside,” Albert added unhelpfully.

“Great. Thanks a load, boys.” Almost on reflex, Jack scanned the crowd for Chip’s demand to be included too.

Nothing.

“Hey. Where’s Chip? And Crutchie?”

Davey’s eyes widened. “Where’s Les?”

Morris sauntered forward, singsonging to the newsie. “I know where your brother is, and you don’t!”

“Where is he?”

“Hmm… vertical at the edge of a bridge, wasn’t he, Morris,” Oscar drawled, propping his chin on his fingers. “Oh no, then we took him into the carriage with his lovely little friends.”

Davey pushed his way past the mob, face-to-face with the Delancey boys. “I said, where is he. ”

“Oh, look, softie here’s got fangs!” Morris crowed. “If only his brother had a pair, he wouldn’t be rotting in the Refuge-” The newsies erupted into furious shouting, but before another word could be uttered, Davey flat-out decked the boy in the face, watching with grim satisfaction as he crumpled to the ground, holding his nose as he cried out in pain.

“That’s for Les,” he spat, kicking the Delancey over onto his back.

Jack whistled. “Give it up for Dave Jacobs, boys!” He cheered wildly.

“What was that for?” called Oscar out of the deafening din, helping his brother up. A trickle of blood made its way to Morris’s chin.

“Oh, you want some, Delancey?” Race crowed, checking him with a shoulder. “Come on! Face me, chicken-legs!” He glanced towards Jack last second, waiting for approval,

Jack nodded, raising a fist in the air. “Let’s soak ‘em, boys!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: Katherine

Days Remaining: 4

Women Demand Equal Rights

In the petition below, you’ll see the names of four thousand and eighteen-

Katherine tore the paper off the typewriter, crumpling the sheet into a ball and lobbing it into her wastebasket. “Too formal.”

Thousands of women risk their lives by making themselves known in this petition-

Rip. Toss. Gone. “Too dramatic.”

Sarah Jacobs, first to be interviewed in this crusade for women’s rights, in an exclusive piece, front page!

“That’s not too bad...”

Jacobs, seventeen, is a moderately tall girl lady young woman with cascading hair and beautiful eyes-

Katherine nearly threw her typewriter out the darkened window. “God, Kath,” she whispered to herself, eyeing the rough draft, seeing where it could be salvaged. “C’mon, brain, think of things. Be so smart.”

The moderately tall young woman herself burst through the door at just that moment, breathless.

Katherine spun to face her, blocking the manuscript behind her with her back. “Sarah? Hi! Good to see you here and all-”

“I got fired.”

“What?”

“I got fired, Kath,” she trembled, a choked sob rising through her throat.

“Oh, Sarah-” Katherine launched Sarah into a hug scented of rain, arms winding around the desolate girl’s waist. “What happened? Here, sit down. Are you- are you okay?”

Both girls took a seat on the fancy four-post bed, Katherine’s arm still around the other.

“I just- I don’t know what to do, Kath,” Sarah whimpered, voice cracking. “Les and David don’t get paid nearly enough to feed the family, so they’re relying on me for income. What if they starve? What if they die because I couldn’t keep a job waitressing at a diner? Oh, Kath, I’m a disappointment.”

“Sarah-” 

“And- and David came home today and told us that Les is in the Refuge, the Refuge, and we can’t even do anything about it, because it’s perfectly legal, and… it’s my fault if my family’s out on the streets-”

“It’s not your fault,” Katherine opposed sternly, pulling her closer. “You’re a star, Sarah. The strongest girl I know. Whatever reason you lost your job for, it can’t have been your fault.”

“It is, I overreacted, I shouldn’t have-”

“I’ll judge that. Start from the beginning.”

Sarah took a deep breath, calming herself down. “Okay.” Breath. “Okay. I was serving tables at work today, and there was this family of four. From the start, I didn’t like the husband. He was watching me funny… well, the apron dress I have to wear is awful short, and he kept dropping things when I was near, to watch me bend over to pick them up, see.”

“That son of a-”

“And I was getting sick of it, but I didn’t complain because I didn’t want to lose my job. He kept bothering me, and I came to get their dessert orders and he pinched my thigh, and… oh, Katherine, I yelled. I yelled at him to quit touching me, and the whole restaurant was looking, and Mr. Jacobi came out front, and…” she buried her head in her hands, her entire body shaking with the force of the tears she was holding in. 

“Hey. Hey, look at me.”

Sarah turned to her, tears trailing down her cheeks. “I failed my family,” she whispered.

“No, you didn’t. That man touched you, and you asked him to stop-”

“I yelled at him to stop-”

“Fine. You yelled at him to stop. Well, he was a married man. With kids . I think he’s the one at fault here.”

Sarah opened her mouth, then shut it with a snap. She laughed, wiping away her tears with the hem of her sleeve. “Thanks, Kath. I’m just… I’m worried. About my family. And Les... oh, dear Les. I’ve heard horror stories about the Refuge, and…” she trailed off, but both girls heard the unspoken words. What if he doesn’t come back?

“I don’t want him to die. Or worse, grow old in that prison.”

Katherine took her hand. “I would eat Snyder’s unibrow off his face rather than let that happen. Jack’s escaped from the Refuge before. I'll talk to him and we’ll make a plan to get your brother back, okay?”

“You would do that for Les?”

“And for you,” she smiled softly. Realising what she’d just said, Katherine cleared her throat, pulling her arm away. “Yeah. I can go visit the newsies tonight, and we’ll figure something out.”

“I…” Sarah bit her lip. “Do you think it would be okay if I came along too? I don’t think I’m quite ready to face my parents yet.”

“Of course.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 17: Sarah

Days Remaining: 4

Katherine paused outside of Jacobi’s. “They’ll be in here. Are you sure this is fine?”

“Yeah,” Sarah smiled. “I’ll be okay.” She pushed open the doors.

The gang of newsies was much quieter than usual,  seeming to occupy less than the four or so tables they were seated on. 

Mush tipped his cap. “Evenin’, Miss Katherine. Miss Katherine’s friend.” 

Romeo offered both girls a flirty smile, managing a wink before Race shoved him off the table. “Down, boy.”

“Sarah? What’re you doing here?” Davey asked, rising to his feet.

“We’re forming a plan to get Les back,” Katherine explained for her. “A couple of you have been to the Refuge, so we’ll need your help for the plan.”

“We’re getting Crutchie and Chip back too, right?” called Mike.

“They’re at the Refuge too?”

The newsies nodded.

Katherine cursed under her breath. “Joy.”

“There’s no escapin’ that place,” Jack announced, hoarse-voiced. “Snyder and his goons are on the kids around the clock.”

“We’ll go when he sleeps, then,” Sarah decided.

“He’s got goons, I told ya’. There ain’t never gonna be a moment when there ain’t four of ‘em watchin’.”

“Then we’ll need a diversion,” Davey suggested.

Jack chuckled humorlessly, clutching his glass of water so hard the palms of his hands were turning white. “It’d take a mighty big diversion to take all the goons outta there. There’d have to be ten thousand kids causin’ havoc to force all the bulls to deal.”

“Ten thousand kids…” Katherine muttered. “Ten thou- Jack!”

“I’m right here, y’know, there’s no need to shout-”

“Jack, the strike! Don’t you suppose there’s at least ten thousand newsies in this city?”

“There’s only a couple thousand,” Jack answered, downing his drink without much conviction. "We ain't got Brooklyn, though. We ain't got 'em, we ain't got anyone."

“Then… then we’ll include all the working kids in New York City!”

Elmer raised an eyebrow. “And how we’s gonna do that?”

“We’ll print a newspaper detailing all they need to know, and we’ll get you and the other newsies to spread it!”

“And get our heads busted in by the bulls?” Albert scoffed.

Sarah stepped forward, virtually sparkling with determination. “We’ll spread the word by night. Find an old printing press, discreetly take over the city. The morning after, every working child will meet in Times Square. They’ll call in all the cops- the bulls- to deal with the riot and that’ll leave the Refugees unguarded for our rescue.”

Katherine’s eyes widened in amazement. “Sarah, that’s genius!”

“There’s locks,” Jack protested. “Locks an’ bolts. An’ half o’ the kids’ll be too scared to come with us!” 

“Snyder’s got a key, I bet,” Davey muttered thoughtfully. “Crutchie’s smart enough to get that from him!”

“I-”

“And we could visit him at the Refuge, tell him the plan!”

Race grinned. “Wouldja look at that. Davey’s got some brains, there!”

“But-”

Davey grabbed his shoulders. “Tell me how quitting does Crutchie any good?”

Jack made a strangled noise, gesturing wildly.

“Exactly! C’mon Jackie, think about it, we’ll have them surrounded!”

“Aw, Dave, what the hell, did they bust up your brains or something? It ain’t gonna work!”

“Go and look it up- the poor guy’s head is spinning!” Davey crowed, uncharacteristically excited. “Or it will be four days from now.” He sobered at the thought. “Oh. Four days.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. “The kids and Crutchie will be at the Refuge for four whole days? Jack, let’s visit them tonight, please!”

He shook his head. “Believe me, I wanna talk to ‘em too… but Snyder keeps close tabs on new kids. We’ll hafta wait a couple days.”

“So, you’ll do it?” Katherine asked hopefully.

The crowd held their breath.

“Well… oh, okay, fine. I’ll do it. For Crutchie.”

“And Chip and Les!”

“For Crutchie an’ Chip an’ Les,” he amended. 

Mr. Jacobi sauntered over, avoiding Sarah’s gaze. “Alright, pack it up, boys. I’ve got a dinner party in an hour. Let’s go, let’s go!”

The newsies filed out of the diner, blinking at the abrupt change from orange diner lights to silver moonshine. Night had set in early.

Sarah made her way to the leader. “Hey, Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you mind if I stay with you for the night? I just… wouldn’t like to head back to my parents right now.”

He nodded wisely. “Ah. Let’s see. Hey boys, do we have enough room for the lady?”

“Ladies,” Katherine corrected. “I’ll stay too. My father won’t mind.”

“I’d better stick with Sarah,” Davey chimed in. “That’s three of us, four if Jack’s staying in the lodging house tonight.”

The boys erupted into chatter again, and Sarah approached her brother with an elbow to the side. “ ‘Jackie’?”

“What?”

“ ‘C’mon Jackie, think about it’,” she quoted from the diner with a cheeky grin.

Davey turned furiously red. “I- shut up.”

“We’re visiting our folks tonight,” Ike called, gesturing to his twin brother. “That leaves two beds.”

“Three if Race is gone again,” cracked Albert.

Race punched him in the shoulder. “Yeah, nitwit, I am, actually.”

Jack gave him a look. “Where have ya been going’, though?”

“Helpin’ out at the wash house for a couple extra pennies,” he replied smoothly. It was a believable tale, but something was off about his tone.

“The wash house?” Mike scoffed. “Ain’t that a girl’s job?”

Katherine fixed him with a withering glare. “Right now, your job is to shut your mouth before I take a couple teeth out of it.” 

“Better do as she says,” Sarah chuckled softly, brushing her hand with the reporter’s. “I bet she’s got a fist to back it.”

Davey cleared his throat awkwardly. “Hold on. Three beds? Won’t someone have to… share?”

“I suppose you and I should, seeing as we’re siblings and such,” his sister suggested. 

“Yeah. That makes sense,” he agreed.

“Aw, Davey,” crowed Race, snatching the boy’s cap. “You sound disappointed. Hopin’ to share a bed with Kath, eh?”

“What? No, I-”

The newsies erupted into whistles and hoots as Davey frantically apologised to Katherine, who remained stoic despite her face colouring.

“Oh, knock it off, boys,” Jack scoffed. “You have better things to do. Some o’ ya, at least.” 

Elmer opened the lodging house door, only to be met with a grey-haired woman with an unpleasant expression. “Rent, boys?”

“Yes, Miss Halls,” the newsies chorused, each pressing a penny into her hand as they filed past.

“I haven’t got a penny,” Sarah whispered to Katherine. “It’s these blasted dresses, they haven’t pockets. What’ll I do?”

Without answering, the redhead handed Miss Halls a pair of copper coins. “For both of us,” she explained.

“Oh, Kath, thank you. I’ll pay you back tomorrow, promise-”

“Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s just a penny.”

Mush whistled as they entered the lodging house. “ ‘Just a penny’? What kind o’ job your pa works?”

“How do you know it isn’t my pay? Or my mother’s?”

He turned red, spluttering an apology as he ducked his head, ashamed.

Jack gestured at the bed farthest away from the door. “That’s Race’s. Sarah an’ Davey, you’s gonna have that one. Me an’ Kath'll take the twins’ places.”

“G’night, boys,” Race called from outside as Miss Halls closed the doors. “Don’t swallow too many spiders.”

“Thinks he’s a wise guy, that one,” she scoffed, heading off to her own quarters. “Lights out in a few minutes, alright? Get your act together and in bed before I come back over.”

The newsies settled themselves into the creaky bed frames, poking fun at each other good-naturedly. One by one, the lamps flickered out, the quiet drone of snoring slowly filling the lodging house.

Sarah set the pillow between her and her brother, an ache weakening her heart as she thought of how Les would crawl into her bed in the early hours of the morning, hoarse-voiced from a nightmare. She imagined he was there, tucked into her arms like an infant as she rocked him to sleep.

Soon, Les, she thought, releasing her message out into the darkness like an arrow, headed for the Refuge.

We’ll come for you. Soon.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18: Crutchie

Days Remaining: 3

In the early hours of the morning, few Refugees stirred from their beds. Moonlight filtered across their sleeping forms from the barred windows, just barely illuminating the room enough for the newest addition to the Refuge to write a letter.

Crutchie licked his lips, pressing the pen to the paper. The bunk they’d forced him up didn’t provide an excellent writing surface, but it would do. He could feel Chip and Les’s eyes on his back from the bunk opposite him.

Dear Jack,

What to say? The Refuge was a miserable place, devoid of any last shred of happiness. The kids he’d met so far seemed like zombies, their childhood wrung out of them far too early. Crutchie didn’t want to write about that, of course, he didn’t want to worry Jack too much.

Greetings from the Refuge? How are you? I’m okay.

And he was, honestly. Snyder’s goons had been awful rough getting him and the kids to their bunks, but nothing lasted but a few faint bruises.

Guess I wasn’t much help protecting the kids. I saw them sneaking out yesterday night, and I had to follow them, Jack! I didn’t want them hurt.

“We can protect ourselves just fine,” Chip protested, leaning over her bunk’s railing as far as she could to read the letter over Crutchie’s shoulder.

Les swatted her, making a shushing motion. “Let him write.”

Chip and Les are okay too. There’s an awful lot of kids here, but we ended up right next to each other! Good luck, I guess. I’m on the top bunk of mine. Don’t think I can get down without help. Snyder took away my crutch, so even if I did, I wouldn’t get far. 

Oh, yeah! Jack, this is Crutchie by the way.

“Tell him about the guards,” Les urged quietly, wary of waking up the other kids.

Crutchie chuckled. “Okay, okay.”

These here guards? They is rude. They say “Jump, boy, you jump or you’re screwed.” 

But the food ain’t so bad. Least so far, because they ain’t brung us no food!

He paused. Would that worry Jack? He set the pen to the paper, adding two more words.

Ha, ha.

He smiled.

I miss the rooftop. Sleeping right out in the open, in your penthouse in the sky! There’s a cool breeze blowing, even in July.

“Can I write some?” Chip asked hopefully.

“Sure. Don’t get too much ink on the sheets, though.” He passed the pen and paper over.

Les cleared his throat, reading as his friend scrawled her message across the letter. “ ‘Hey Jack, guess what? There’s this secret escape plan that I’ve got: tie a sheet to the bed, toss the end out the window, climb down and take off like a shot. Love, Chip!' ”

“You want to write some?” the older newsie suggested.

He shook his head. “I’m not too good at writing. The letters get all mixed up. Tell him I said hi, though?”
“Of course.” Crutchie took the letter back.

We won’t make it out tonight. We ain’t slept, and my leg don’t feel right. But hey, Pulitzer! He’s going down! Then, Jack, I was thinking we might just go, like you were saying.

“Santa Fe,” Chip whispered reverently.

Where it’s clean and green and pretty.

“And no buildings in your way!” she added. Crutchie chuckled.

And you’re riding Palominos every day.

Wouldn’t that be nice.

I’ll be fine. Good as new. But there’s one thing I need you to do. On the rooftop you said that a family looks out for each other… so tell all the fellas from me to protect one another.

How do you finish a letter? Crutchie racked his mind for the few years of school he’d managed before becoming a newsie. The same as a story, he supposed.

The end.

There.

Your friend

Your best friend

Your brother, Crutchie

“Don’t forget us!” Les protested.

P.S. Chip and Les say hi.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19: Katherine

Days Remaining: 3

Today. It was today.

Katherine clutched her manuscript tightly, knuckles turning white. Four thousand and eighteen signatures, Robson couldn’t possibly refuse her article. Not an option.

Today, she would submit her article. With a petition of that size, it might make front page news. Above the fold, even! Katherine could almost imagine the mayor lowering his reading glasses as he bought his news the next morning, impressed by the young reporter’s boldness. He’d immediately call his secretary, asking for every high-ranking official in New York.

It was time for women to vote. And Katherine was going to single-handedly bring it to her hometown. 

She eased open the door to room 207, knocking as she slipped in. She placed the paper on his desk.

Robson sighed. “By God, I hope this is for the women’s column.”

“No,” Katherine beamed proudly. “It’s for the front page.”

He pulled out a pair of reading glasses, quickly skimming the article. The reporter tapped her foot impatiently, counting the papers piled on his table to keep herself busy. 

Finally, Robson sighed, dropping the manuscript. “Look, Katherine.” He raised an eyebrow at the grinning girl. “We had this conversation. Stick to the women’s column. I won’t print this.”

Katherine slapped her hand on the figures written above the petition. “I’ve got more than four thousand names, actually, so you’re obligated to print this by The World’s rules.”

“Well, then. I think you’ll want to take this to the boss,” he grinned. “See what he says.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 20: Davey

Days Remaining: 3

“So, what’d Pulitzer say?”

“I don’t remember. Something, something, insert something demeaning, bad metaphor, shouldn’t you be at the ballet, et cetera, et cetera. He expects me to have an article on the women’s column done today. Something ‘proper’, like How To Please Your Husband 101.”

Davey raised an eyebrow. “Four thousand signatures and he just ignored the article?”

“Well, there’s ‘bout a million ladies in all o’ New York. When you think, four thou’ ain’t that much, really,” Jack commented, flaunting a newspaper at a nearby streetgoer. “Extra! Extra!”

“What are you gonna do now?”

“I don’t know,” Katherine told him. It was half true, all she had was a fraction of an idea brewing in her mind.

Jack gave her a look, setting down the paper. “Dont’cha dare. I know that tone: The great Katherine Plumber has got a plan.”

“Well, maybe…”

“C’mon. Tell us.”

“Okay, okay," she relented, eyes sparkling with excitement. "You know the strike we’re planning?”

“What d’you think?”

“Right. Stupid question. So, what if… we made it a joint strike? I mean, have all the kids and the women sit out?”

Davey grinned. “Only the men would be left at work… if we got everyone to do it, all of New York would shut down!”

“Exactly.”

“Pretty good, Kath,” Jack admitted. “How’s you gonna spread the word, though? We ain’t gonna have enough newsies to spread the news to everyone the night we print it.”

“I’ll sneak it into the women’s column. I’ll have a meeting in the town square tomorrow evening... but I can’t exactly call it the ‘Women’s Vote Meeting’. It’s gotta be something inconspicuous, something a man would never be caught dead in…” She snapped her fingers. “ ‘Women’s Health Committee Meeting.’ “

Jack made a gagging noise, and Davey elbowed him affectionately.

“Oh, real mature, Jack. That’s exactly the point, though! It’ll guarantee we’ll only have women. And you boys, make sure to tell the ladies it’s important when you’re selling the paper tomorrow, okay?”

“Will do, Kath,” Davey affirmed. “Best of luck.”

“Thanks, Dave. Gotta go now, I have an article to write!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: Les

Days Remaining: 3

When Les heard about breakfast, he’d been thrilled. Food, finally. He hadn’t eaten at all since he’d arrived!

However, whatever the grey slop the cook was handing out to the kids in front of him was not what he expected.

Les held up his mug to the hulk of a man. “May I have some, please?” Better be polite. He looked like he could crush a newsie’s skull between his fingertips.

“Oh, Snyder gave me the scoop on you. You’re a little one, eh? No sense wastin’ food. Dinner is all you get. For you too,” he added, pointing at Chip with the ladle, a colour-bleached oat making a small plop on the ground.

“But-”

“That’s final, boy. Move it or you’re going in the pot with the food.”

Fuming, Les sat down in the dining room corner with his empty mug. Chip and Crutchie joined him, the older newsie immediately dividing his ration equally between their two cups.

Chip gazed up at him with wide eyes. “You don’t hafta-”

“Don’t worry about it, okay? You need the fuel. I’ll be fine.”

Les mumbled a thank-you, hesitantly taking a sip of his breakfast and resisting the urge to immediately spit it right back in the cup. 

Crutchie gave a wry smile. “Disgusting, huh? It’s called gruel. You need your strength, though, so make sure you get it all down.”

All around them, the other Refugees slurped down their gruel without so much as a sour face, some already getting up for the day’s chores. Les supposed they’d been here long enough that they were used to the food.

He dared another mouthful, visibly wincing. The slop was nearly tasteless, save for the sour tang of spoiled milk.

Les closed his eyes, imagining it was his sister's oatmeal.

Bits of fruit are tucked into the bowl, he convinced himself. Sarah had scraped together enough money to allow a drizzle of honey. He could almost hear Davey's praise, his mam's voice gently reminding him not to wolf it down, his pa's deep belly laugh and Sarah's voice shining with joy and pride at her culinary creation- almost- but a dark shadow passing over him shattered his fantasy as easily as soap bubbles in winter.

A dark-haired girl, couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve, sat down next to them, back against the wall. Her curls were noticeably ragged near her shoulders, giving the impression that someone had hacked it off with a knife.

“Good morning,” she greeted softly, a soft lisp lying under her speech. “I’m Anna. I figured you’re new here, and maybe a friend would help you three get accommodated?”

Crutchie nodded gratefully. “Yes, thank you. This is Les, Chip, and I’m Crutchie.”

Anna’s eyes widened, glancing at the crutch that Snyder had thankfully returned for the day’s activities.

“Yeah, I know. It sounds cruel, huh? It’s alright, though. It’s more of my name than anything else ever was.”

Chip poked the other girl. “Hey, Anna?”

“Yes?”

“What’re we doin’ today?”

“Today’s wash day. We'll head down to the cellar and do the laundry for everyone.”

“What happened to your hair?” Les blurted. Crutchie elbowed him with a stern glare.

Anna chuckled quietly. “It’s alright. No harm in being curious… see, I’ve been at the Refuge as long as I can remember, and the others cut their hair quite often, but I always liked to keep it long. About…” She paused, counting up on her fingers. “About a week ago, Snyder came in for the work check while I was on dish duty. He said my hair was too long, that it would get everywhere, grabbed the back of my head and a kitchen knife and hacked it off then and there.”

Les’s jaw dropped open. “He can do that? And no one stops him?”

“Trust me, much worse happens, but he’s smart enough to keep it behind closed doors.”

The two younger kids picked at their food for a moment, new nightmare fuel bouncing off their thoughts.

Chip pushed her mug towards Crutchie. “Look, I don’t wanna eat this.”

Anna’s eyes widened. “Is this because of the story? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare-”

“Naw, I ain’t scared of no story. Snyder, spider. But if I hafta eat another bite of this…”

“Chip-”

“I will throw up,” she threatened. “It won’t be pretty.”

“I know it’s gross, but- you’ll starve- please, Chip-”

“ You’ll starve if you don’t eat anything. If I ain’t gonna drink this, you might as well. Can’t waste it.”

Crutchie reluctantly took the cup. “What if you’re too hungry to work?”

“Trust me,” she grinned. “I got plenty of energy. I don’t need to eat.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 22: Chip

Days Remaining: 3

“I need to eat,” wailed Chip, leaning on the baseball bat-like stick she was using to stir the massive vat of soapy clothes. 

“You should’ve eaten your food!”

“It tasted like bugs!”

“You taste like bugs!”

Chip glared at him, unable to come up with an adequately biting response as she wiped the sweat off her reddened brow. 

The cellar was a mass of steam and heat, illuminated by an abundance of orange lamps that tended to flicker at the slightest breath of air. Refugees weaved through the drying sheets, moving from tub to tub. The atmosphere was at least less tense than the dining room, the steady babble of chatter rising with the heat.

Chip pulled along the clothes with the baton, grunting with the effort. The stick slipped into the cloudy water again, and she nearly broke down in tears right then and there. She was hot, she was sweaty, and she was hungry, and her stick was swirling away in the water for what had to be the third time in the past minute. 

Les handed her the dripping tool as it swam by him, too tired to hold a grudge.

She began to stir again, mind wandering. It was quite funny, she thought, how reporters called the newsies “child labourers” and not the Refugees. Sure, selling papers didn’t garner much pay. It was a tough job, but at least there was a cool breeze to catch even during summer. At least you could move. Jump. Run. 

But this… at least a hundred children working hours on end in sweltering heat without so much as a sip of water? Chip was surprised no one had died here. Or perhaps they had. Perhaps Snyder had hidden the news.

Her stomach ached again, bringing her back to the ground. It had been nearly two days since she’d had a bite to eat, and she was feeling every second of it. “Pangs” wasn’t a strong enough word, Chip decided. This feeling was more like a stab to the gut, twisting the knife and seasoning the cut with salt. Salt. She was pretty sure salt wasn’t exactly healthy to eat all by itself, but if she’d had a pile in front of her right now… 

“Hey, Chip.” Les had come around to her side of the barrel. “The guard went to the outhouse. Do you think we have time to grab something from the kitchen?”

Chip's eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. C’mon, he’ll be back any moment!”

The kids abandoned their laundry, half-running, half-crawling up the rickety wooden stairs that led straight into the kitchen. No chef in sight.

Carefully, ever so carefully, Chip snuck a pair of bread slices out of a woven basket on the counter directly to the left of the cellar door, considering whether or not to grab the margarine when the sound of footsteps jolted her to reality. She eased the door shut as quickly as she could, grabbing Les by the wrist and pulling him downstairs behind her. 

The two were greeted by a glowering guard at the base of the stairs, face red with fury. “I leave for one minute- one minute-”

“If you please, Mister Guard, sir,” Les simpered, donning his paper-selling puppy-eyes. “We really, really needed some fresh air. I’m so, so, sorry, I know this job must be super-duper hard for you without us messing it up!”

He raised an eyebrow, but his demeanour seemed to have softened. “Okay, okay. Don’t worry, kid. Just make sure I don’t catch you two slacking again.”

“Thanks,” Chip whispered, slipping her friend a slice of bread as the pair returned to their barrel.

Chapter Text

Chapter 23: Katherine

Days Remaining: 3

“He fell for it, hook, line, and sinker,” Katherine gloated, much to Sarah’s amusement. “All he saw was the article on cleaning and the words Women’s Health. Robson doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“Well, aren’t you a clever one?” she laughed, dipping her head in that adorable way that let loose a few stray locks of hair from behind her ears. 

“You’ll be at the meeting tonight?”

“Of course. How could I miss seeing the great Katherine Plumber in action?”

“Psh, ‘great’.”

“You’ll be more than that: you’ll be famous if this double strike really makes it. Pulitzer won’t be able to deny your work, not if every newspaper in the city is clamouring for your writing!”

She turned pink, giving her a shove. “Oh, please. I’m not-”

“I’ve read your column,” Sarah interrupted, gently cupping the reporter’s cheek. “Every time I open it to your name, I know there’s something worth reading.”

Katherine was going to die right then and there. Sarah’s palm was fitted perfectly to her face, warm and soft and she could not breathe and her mind was spinning and the world was spinning and she could catch the scent of raspberries and rain and-

Sarah drew her hand away, and a sudden draft chilled where she’d been.

“I’m just saying- don’t you dare think you’re not incredible. You’re beautiful, Kath.”

Katherine attempted to respond with a witty remark, but somewhere up her throat it got tangled into a cough. “Uh. So. Do you wanna make a speech or something at the meeting tomorrow with me?”

“Oh, heavens no,” she laughed. “I’m not much of a public speaker. That’s your domain. I’ll be there, though, don’t you doubt it. Cheering you on every moment.” 

Katherine nodded, cheeks surely still red. All she could see were Sarah’s perfect lips, dropping three crystalline words like precious jewels, over and over and over again.

You’re beautiful, Kath. You’re beautiful, Kath. Beautiful.

“Kath?”

“Beautiful!”

Sarah’s face took on a bemused look. “Sorry?”

“Just thinking,” Katherine laughed awkwardly, resisting the urge to barrel through the wall, fly away to the moon and never return.

“Well. You really think this strike will work?”

“I hope,” she admitted grimly.

“That’s all we can do for now, isn’t it? Hope.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 24: Chip

Days Remaining: 3

Apparently, at the Refuge, breakfast and dinner consisted of the same grey slop. Lunch was non-existent, so the evening was the only time Chip and Les got to eat. Except for the bread they’d stolen earlier, of course. 

As usual, the dining room was quiet, clusters of Refugees murmuring amongst themselves in clumps along the wall and across the ground. Chip had found herself in the corner with Les, Crutchie and Anna again, choking down her gruel as best as she could.

Without warning, the door slammed open, and in waltzed Snyder.

Immediately, the room went absolutely silent. Mugs froze halfway to lips, conversation died mid-sentence, and each pair of horror-stricken eyes found its way to the newcomer.

His cane clacked repeatedly over the ground as he made his way across the floor, sounding out a haunting drum to back the music of his polished shoes on the cheap tile. 

Clack-click. Clack-click.

Snyder turned to face the fearful children, offering a grin that was far too wide to be true. “Evening, Refugees.”

No response.

“Now. I assume you’re all wondering why I’ve taken time out of my schedule to come visit you. See, earlier today, I received some terribly upsetting news from George here.” He pointed a thumb at the chef. “Someone’s been stealing.”

Les met Chip’s eyes, absolute terror glimmering in both. 

They’d been found.

“That’s right. Stealing!” His sedate voice suddenly raised, and he struggled to control it, though his face’s flush revealed his emotion. “I give you food. I give you beds to sleep in, a roof over your heads, and I don’t ask for so much as a penny. This… this is how you repay me? By robbing the chef of the food he uses to make your meals?” Snyder whirled around, searching the Refugees for a guilty face. “Who did it?”

Nothing.

“I said, who did it?”

Chip kept her mouth clamped shut, blood draining from her face. Crutchie glanced between her and the other culprit, quickly connecting the dots.

“We’ve got a liar in here, I see. I don’t like liars. Do you know what I do with them?” He gave a wicked grin. “I punish them. Since the criminal here won’t reveal themself, looks like all of you are in for a… punishment. Starting with-” Snyder pointed his cane at Les, swinging it between him and Chip- “-you. Up, now. Here we go.”

Shakily, the pair rose to their feet, only for Les to be locked into the crook of Snyder’s elbow. Quick as a flash, the man slid a pinky-sized kitchen knife from his pocket, pressing it flush against his captive’s cheek. “Maybe if I show you all, the real villain here will confess to stop it. You don’t want me to hurt a child, do you? Do you?” He tilted the blade, drawing a thin red slit of blood. Les screwed up his face, cowering away from the pain, only for Snyder to dig it in even deeper.

“Don’t!”

The desperate shout shocked the crowd into a ripple of whispers, Crutchie rising from its wake. 

Snyder slowly tipped his head to the crutch-carrying boy, a bemused expression lifting his face. “Is there something you’d like to share?”

“I said, don’t. Let him go. Let them both go.”

“And why should I do that?”

“Because… because…” Crutchie closed his eyes. “It was me. I stole the food.”

Chip’s mouth dropped open. “But-”

“No, Chip.” He fixed her with pleading eyes.“Stay quiet. Don’t get hurt for something you didn’t do.”

Her eyes welled up with tears, guilt turning her to ash at the extremities even as she stumbled back to a shocked Anna. Snyder pushed Les after her, grabbing Crutchie’s arm instead.

“Come with me, boy. Let’s have a talk.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 25: Jack

Days Remaining: 3

Jack slashed the canvas with a streak of maroon paint, thickening the shadows of the mountains. He tucked the handle of the paintbrush into his mouth, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Evening, artist.”

He whipped around, coming face-to-face with a cheekily smiling Davey. “Evenin’, paperboy.”

“You’re a paperboy too, Jack.”

“Oh. Right.” He turned back to the painting, blotting out the trees with such intensity the material nearly caved in under his brush.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Jus’ great.”

“Really? Because you don’t sound fine.”

“I’m fine, okay?” Jack spat, wincing as the water in his paint cup peppered his jaw with miniscule droplets from the splash.

Davey held his hands up, backing away. “Right. Okay. I’ll just…” He turned away, heading for the stairs out of Medda’s basement.

“Wait.”

He poked his head back out, hopeful.

“I’m sorry, Dave. Didn’t mean to snap at ya’. Kinda uptight a little, y’know?”

Davey took a seat on an upturned paint can, fixing Jack with those hazel-green eyes. “About the Refuge.” A statement, not a question.

“Yeah. I’m… look, I’ve been there before, an’ escapin’ that place is near impossible. The only thing that got me out was knowin’ I’d have to stay if I didn’t,” Jack explained, fidgeting with the corner of the easel. “Snyder don’t treat the kids right. The bulls turn the other cheek, ‘cause he knows to hide… but the things he done to them behind those doors… the worst of it never happened to me, but I had friends in the Refuge who weren’t right for months after his ‘punishments’. Some don’t even survive, he soaks ‘em so bad.”

Davey glanced away. “It should’ve been us,” he whispered. “Crutchie’s only fifteen, and the little ones… Les doesn’t even know how to make a salad. If he never gets the chance to learn?”

“Hey. Hey.” Jack placed a hand on the newsie’s shoulder, locking eyes with him. “We’re gonna get him out, okay? We’re gonna get all three of ‘em out o’ that hellhole and back to the papes. Three more days. Just three more.”

“Just three more,” Davey repeated softly. “Okay. Three more days.”

Jack smiled, turning back to his painting. His touch was gentler this time, each leaf on the trees appearing with delicate, meticulous brushstrokes. The scene was truly coming together- a beautiful mess of orange mountains and cornflower sky. He could practically feel the tireless sun kiss his skin, leaving a burning stamp of crimson.

“Where is that?”

“Santa Fe.”

“You ever been there?”

“Psh. I wish.”

“One day, maybe.”

“Maybe. Once I become rich by marrying Pulitzer,” he joked, graced by Davey’s effortless laugh, almost music in its shape and sound.

“Baby steps, Jack. Baby steps.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 26: Katherine

Days Remaining: 3

“Good evening, ladies,” Katherine announced, resisting the urge to tear at her gloves. Horribly itchy things, they were, but she’d figured it would be a good look for the leader of the women’s strike. “I’m sure you’re all aware of our… lack of voting rights?”

Dead silence. Katherine wasn’t quite sure she didn’t see a tumbleweed rolling across the square in the wind.

She cleared her throat. “Well. I am. I’m tired of having no rights. I want to have a say in the mayoral elections, and I’m sure you do too. So, I propose we hold a sit-in, three days from now. No work, no cooking, nothing. Not even at home. Let the fathers deal with your children for once. If half of the city all but vanishes for a day, the officials can’t ignore it.”

A rather frilly-looking woman in a pompous yellow dress raised a bedazzled hand.

“Yes, Elmara?”

“Why do we need to vote? I don’t mean to be rude, of course, but it just seems… unnecessary. It doesn’t happen quite often, and some of us agree with our husband’s votes.”
Katherine cursed under her breath. “It’s more like… the idea? Showing New York officials that we should have a say. We start there, and soon we’ll have equal pay!”

The promise was bold, yet sounded empty, even as the words left her lips.

“I’ve got children to feed,” a stern-looking woman with a hard face informed her, a hearty scoff hidden just underneath her speech. “No time left for ‘ideas’ and the like.”

“Yes, but-”

“You kids,” grumbled an elderly man, shaking his head. “Always off about your big dreams and crazy ideas.”

“Wha- who even are you?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“This is stupid,” called a big-haired girl near the back of the crowd.

“It’s never gonna work.” All at once, the women in the square pressed closer to the makeshift stage of hay bales, clamouring their own thoughts and doubts.

“We don’t need to vote-”

“A sit-in is dangerous-”

“My husband thinks-”

“This reminds me of my time in the war-”

“Sir, I’m going to need you to back away-”

“It’s not going to work!” At least four girls shouted it at once, and the effect was absolutely deflating to Katherine. She’d thought they wanted votes… but apparently, that was unnecessary. Frivolous. Fuming with anger, yet also crushed, she attempted to escape the square- but was stopped by a pair of sure hands. Sarah.

“All is not lost,” she whispered, taking Katherine’s place centre stage. “Can everyone hear me?”

The mangled mess of shouted complaints and worries drowned her out, ten-to-one.

Katherine put her index and thumb in her mouth and released a shrill, completely deafening whistle, immediately quieting the rioting women.

Sarah gave a grateful smile, tipping her head as if to clear water from her ears. “Listen up, ladies. My name is Sarah Jacobs. I am seventeen years old, and yet, in many ways my seven-year-old brother has more rights than I do. If he’s alone outside, he’s ‘having fun’. He’s ‘playing’. However, if I am… I’m ‘asking for it’. I’m ‘lonely’, a widow, ‘forever single’, because what do men think? With or without a man, my brother is a boy. Without a man, I am nothing.” She met the audience’s rapt gaze with cool eyes. “Is this true?”

While no one answered, at least half of them shook their heads fervently.

“It’s not. In fact, it’s the furthest it could possibly be. Right now, I have no husband. I am free. Once I’m married off- and this will be soon, mind you- I will be a housewife. A mother. Neither of these are independent words… a housewife has a husband, a mother has children, but Sarah Jacobs? She has nothing. She must be nothing. I ask again: is this true?”

This time, nearly the entire crowd shouted in unison. “No!”

“It ain’t,” added the elderly man in the corner.

“I have many dreams, big and small. And yet, because God flipped a coin and it landed pink-up, I have no choice to follow them. The closest I will get is to help my husband follow his dreams. None of which will be altered in the slightest by my appearance, in fact. When a man gets married, nothing changes. He’s still a man, but now he’s got a wife. When a woman gets married, her life flips. Changes meaning completely. She hasn’t ‘got’ a husband, the man’s got a wife. Priests say that, did you know? ‘I now pronounce you man and wife’. Not ‘woman and husband’. Because a man is a man either way, but if a woman is a wife, she is nothing else besides.”
Sarah’s dark eyes brightened, burning with a soft but intense flame.
“I ask you ladies, one final time: is this fair?”

The entire audience was up on their toes to see her, faces coloured with fury and bright with determination. Their answer nearly shook the cobblestone under their feet.

Sarah reached out a hand to Katherine, giving a gentle smile. “How’d I do?”

“Don’t stop” was her only answer.

“Now is the time to seize the day. Minute by minute… that’s how you win it.” Black eyes met brown, the crowd no longer there.

“We will find a way,” Sarah whispered.

“We will not obey,” Katherine shouted.

“So, what do you say, girls? Are you with me?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 27: Les

Days Remaining: 3

As a principle, Les didn’t hear the screams. He didn’t hear the thuds, the bangs, the choked sobs coming from Snyder’s office. He didn’t let himself imagine Crutchie, because if he did, the pictures in his mind would consume him with guilt.

So, he didn’t hear the screams.

Les wouldn’t- couldn’t cry. He was empty, dry, drained of emotion, living a thousand years in a day. 

He pulled the stiff sheet of his slab-like bed over himself, turning over onto his side and refusing to dream. 

Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine. Everything-

And suddenly, whiplash-quick, the day’s events cascaded down on the boy like an avalanche of emotion, a physical feeling like a brick driven into his stomach by a well-placed sledgehammer.

Les began to sob, a choked, broken noise he muffled into his pillow, scrubbing away at tears that were immediately replenished over and over again. He could barely breathe, convulsing so violently the bunk was surely trembling.

A gentle hand tapped his shoulder. “It’s Anna.” She rubbed circles into his back, loosening the knots in his chest. “Breathe, Les, breathe.”

And he did. Slowly but surely, the sobs subsided into quiet hiccups, and Les turned to face his saviour. “Thank you,” he croaked, throat rough with tears.

Anna took a seat on the bed, knocking quietly on the bunk above to beckon Chip. To Les’s surprise, the red-headed girl was crying as well, though admittedly a lot more subtly. Anna took her hand.

“Hey. Hey. Don’t you two worry. He’s gonna be okay.” 

It was a blatant lie, and all three of them knew it.

“Can we-” Chip sniffled. “Can we see him?”

“You could, I suppose. Just make sure Snyder isn’t there. He’s over there, in the office. You two go, okay? I’m not too good with… injuries.” She seemed to change the word last second.

Chip and Les nodded, wiping the last of their tears away as they stood. 

“Be careful.”

The pair carefully made their way across the room, Anna’s motherly eyes on them the whole while. Eventually, they arrived at the door, its polished wood mismatching with the rest of the rotting room.

Chip pushed her way in.

The first thing they saw was the window, set high up on the wall, away from the Refugees’ reaching hands. Moonlight spilled through the unbarred glass pane, illuminating the room with an ethereal silver gleam. A crutch lay on the ground by the childrens’ feet, snapped cleanly in half.

An unmoving lump lay curled in the middle of the floor, an indiscernible silhouette with its back to the light.

Les fell to Crutchie’s side, examining the full extent of his injuries. His face was badly beaten, a bold black eye blooming across its left side. His nose was oddly crooked, and he sported a split lip, a dark trickle of blood seeping out of the corner. 

“Les… look at his leg,” Chip whispered.

Crutchie’s clothes were dishevelled, bunched up above the knee as if someone else had torn them off and quickly thrown them back on. A dark bruise the about two-thirds the size of a newsboy cap marred the entirety of Crutchie’s left calf, something white peeking out of the centre. 

With a jolt, Les realised it was bone.

Blood pooled around his legs, an ebony river in the dim light dripping slowly from the wound to the tile floor. Chip’s eyes were wide with horror as the shining circle slowly widened.

“Chip, check his pulse.”

“His what?”

“His pulse!”

“Sayin’ it louder ain’t gonna make me understand!”

“His heartbeat, then.”

“How?”

Les sighed, pressing his fingers to the gentle pattern of ribs on Crutchie’s left side. For a jarring moment, he felt nothing, and then a soft but sure drumbeat pulsed under his hand. He drew away.

“He’s alive. For now.”

Almost on cue, Crutchie’s good eye opened, eyelashes fluttering weakly. He licked his cracked lips. “Jack?”

“No, Crutchie, it’s Les. Chip’s here, too. You’re in the Refuge, remember?”

“Snyder soaked you real good,” Chip added in a trembling voice.

“You… you hurt?”

“We’re okay.”

“Mm,” he sighed. “Hard to… talk.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“Leg. Head. Chest. And…” he paused, glancing at the kids. “That's all."

Chip eyed him suspiciously. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Crutchie winced, shifting on his leg. The bone was badly broken, Les judged, and he was surprised the boy was still conscious. He was hiding the pain well.

“I gotta get you something for that leg.”

“You’re seven. Shouldn’t have to-”

“Almost eight, and it doesn’t matter what age I am, you’re going to die if we don’t get you fixed up!” Les protested hoarsely, voice rising with every word.

Crutchie gave a weak smile, split lip cracking even further. “I’m going to die either way.”

“What?”

He sighed. “Look… look at me, Les. I’m lying in a pool of my own blood. There’s nothing you can do.”

“But-”

“No. Don’t want to give… to give you false hope, okay?”

“Crutchie-”

“It’s okay,” he rasped. “It’s okay. I’m okay with this. Just… tell Jack to bring you to Santa Fe. And tell… tell Davey I’m sorry I couldn’t stick around longer to protect you.”

“It was our fault,” Chip blurted out, glossy pearl-sized tears pooling in her vision. “We stole the bread.”

“I know.”

“Then why’d you take the blame?”

“You’re just kids. I don’t mean that as… as an insult,” he added, with a glance at Les. “It’s just… not fair. You deserve to get back out, and if I have to die to do it, then… then that’s what I’ll do.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Chip whispered, a fat tear falling to form a round, damp circle on her ragged pants.

“He’s not going to,” Les answered stubbornly, pain pricking at the corner of his own eyes. “Chip, toss me that apron.”

“Wh-”

“Just do it.”

As he commanded, Chip whisked the cloth off its hook on the wall and tossed it to him. Les grabbed the simple stick end of the crutch, and laid it beside Crutchie’s injured leg.

It was his good leg, he realised. Snyder had taken out Crutchie’s good leg.

He shook the thought away, focusing on the moment. Les’s mam worked as a doctor when she wasn’t at the wash house, applying ointments and treating sprains. He’d only ever seen her set a broken bone once, when he was four. The memory was difficult to recall, but he grasped at the shreds until he got a clear enough picture. “Crutchie, I’m gonna do something, and it’s gonna hurt. A lot.”

If possible, the boy turned even paler, and he nodded grimly. “Can’t be much… much worse than what’s already been done.”

Carefully, Les placed his hand on the lower half of his calf, the submerged part of the broken bone. He took a firm grip on the intact part above it, pulled it up and the broken one down, and fit it together gently as he could.

Crutchie’s face was ivory white, eyes clamped shut and nails digging tiny half-moons into his palms. Sweat beaded down his forehead as he struggled to keep from screaming.

More blood was pouring down from the cut, now, jet black in the moon’s beams and shining, but the injury looked considerably less painful.

Les placed the broken bit of crutch parallel to the leg, swiftly wrapping the apron around and tying it with a double knot. He found Chip’s shocked gaze on him.

“Where’d you learn to do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is he gonna be okay now?”

Les didn’t answer, only tapping the curled up boy on the shoulder.

“Hurts,” Crutchie choked out.

“I’m sorry.”

Chip and Les waited in silence for a moment, exchanging nervous glances as he fought his pain. Eventually, the trembling grew still, and he let out an exhausted sigh.

“Thanks. Don’t know if… if it will help, though.”

“My mam has a rule for injuries like this- if you survive the first three nights, you’ll heal.”

“Three more nights,” Crutchie rasped weakly, managing a tiny smile.

A soft knock sounded on the door. “Hey. Everyone okay?” came Anna’s quiet lisp.

“Yeah. Maybe we should go back now,” suggested Chip.

“Wait!”

She turned around to meet Crutchie’s pleading eyes.

“Just… can you stay? Please? If I’m gonna… die, I don’t wanna be alone.”

Les’s heart absolutely shattered, splintering into shards of crimson glass. Crutchie had held so fast, had acted so strong that Les almost forgot that he was a kid, too. “Of course.”

He and Chip curled against his back, mindful of injuries. 

With warmth on both his sides, dim moonlight caressing his face, the adrenaline slowly drained out of his veins. The restless, purposeful energy was gone, replaced by an incredible tiredness. Les yawned, stretching best he could without disturbing the other kids. He closed his eyes, and Davey and Sarah were lying beside him in a twin bed, whispering stories into his ear as a storm beat down on the roof. The gentle, grey sound of rain filled his mind, washing away the very last shreds of his consciousness.

Chapter Text

Chapter 28: Jack

Days Remaining: 3

Your friend

Your best friend

Your brother, Crutchie

P.S Chip and Les say hi.

Tears pricked at Jack’s eyes as he folded up the letter, working with utmost care not to crumple it. 

Crutchie. Sweet, sunshine, grinning Crutchie, who stood up for himself and anyone and everyone around him. He was family. Not by blood, but by heart. And now…

“Jack?”

He quickly wiped at his eyes, stashing the paper in his pocket. “Yeah?” he called, ignoring the way his voice wavered ever so slightly.

Davey climbed the barred stairs beside the lodging house, heading towards Jack at the very top level. “What was that?”

“What?”

“That paper.”

“What paper?”

“Jack.”

“Yes, mom?”

“Jack.”

“Fine.” He fished out the paper, handing it to Davey. “It’s a letter. From the Refuge.”

Davey’s eyes quickly scanned the scrawled writing, rapidly jumping from line to line. Before the setting sun could sink another inch under the horizon, he’d read the last word. He put a trembling hand to his mouth. “We’ve got to get them out. Tonight.”

“The guards’ll catch us.”

“Jack-”

“I want to see ‘em just as much as you do,” Jack fired, raising his voice. “But I ain’t gonna get you caught in Snyder’s web too. Three more nights. The fourth day, we’ll get ‘em back. We got a plan, ‘member?”

“I don’t know, Jack. We’re putting them in danger if we leave them there.”

“An’ put ourselves in danger too by goin’ tonight? We’s gonna get them out, soon, don’t you worry. Just not today. Tomorrow night, we’ll visit.”

Davey’s hazel-green eyes were suddenly huge, each eyelash in crisp definition, just barely wet with stifled tears. Jack wanted to do something to reassure him. Maybe hug him, pat his shoulder, kiss him-

What.

Jack almost did a double take at his own thoughts. Kiss him? Kiss Davey?

His mind was spiralling out of control, all alarms blaring sirens and red lights. What was that supposed to mean? Where did that thought come from? Surely it wasn’t his…

His heart, however, did a giddy backflip at the idea.

What. The. Hell.

Jack shook his head, attempting to put himself back together. “Uh, yeah. You was sayin’?”

“I didn’t… say anything?”

“Right.”

“It’s beautiful up here,” Davey remarked suddenly, eyes on the horizon as the sinking sun stained the darkening sky orange. 

“Yeah. Beautiful,” Jack agreed dazedly, his eyes on Davey.

Okay. Jack needed to stop. He needed to stop now.

“If I were you, I’d never leave. Do you see the stars up here?”

“Lots of ‘em.”

“That must be a sight.”

You’re a sight.

Jack smacked himself mentally, furiously reprimanding the tiny lovestruck worm eating at his brain . Shut your goddamn mouth or so help me God- “It is. Up here, on this level, it’s me an’ Crutchie. Chip’s on the one below us. All three o’ us, we loves seein’ the stars. Downright gorgeous, they are.”

Just like-

Okay. Okay. Time to ‘accidentally’ go flying over the railing into the dirt below.

Davey chuckled. “I bet. I just wish we had less lanterns in the city. We’d see the stars a whole lot better.”

“An’ on cloudy nights, all o’ Manhattan would be pitch black.”

“Well, look at you, thinking practical.”

Jack stuck out his tongue, plucking the letter back from him.

“Real mature.”

“You’re real mature.”

“That’s… not an insult.”

“You’re not an insult.”

“Whatever you say,” smiled Davey, trying and failing to look annoyed. “Anyway. I should probably head back now. See you tomorrow?”

“More like I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Jack. That’s the same thing.”

“Can’t hear you!”

Davey rolled his eyes, starting his way back down the flights of iron stairs. “Okay. Bye, now.”

Jack watched him go, footsteps on metal bars releasing almost musical notes as they were pressed. His mind was still reeling at the strange, powerful feeling that had so suddenly been thrust upon him. Where did it come from? What did it mean? “Hey, Davey?”

The newsie turned his head upwards, peering at Jack vertically through the slats. “Yeah?”

“I… thanks.”

“For what?”

“For bein’ here. For comin’ to see me.”

An amused smile crossed Davey’s face. “Anytime, Jack. Anytime.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 29: Chip

Days Remaining: 2

Surprisingly, Chip’s sleep had been surprisingly sound, despite the previous night’s events. She blinked herself awake to a watery sunrise, faint white light slowly filling the room. A little disoriented, she rubbed her eyes, propping herself up to a sitting position. 

Suddenly, it hit her.

Heart thumping rapidly, Chip carefully reached over and pressed her palm to the side of Crutchie’s chest.

Nothing.

She pushed Les with her other hand, every last trace of sleep chased away with wide-eyed horror. The boy yawned, lazily swatting at her arm. “I was sleeping, did you have to-”

“Crutchie,” Chip whispered, tears already forming in her eyes. “His heartbeat is gone-”

In a flash, Les was up and beside him, fingers gently laid on his ribcage. After a tense second, he gave a sigh of relief. “Almost panicked there. He’s still alive. Feel for yourself.”

Chip glared at him, face flushed with embarrassment. “I felt the wrong side before.”

“Heart’s on the left,” he reminded her.

“Why do you keep talkin’ like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re an adult. You’re not.”

“I know that!”

“Then why’re you actin’ like you know everythin’ in the world?”

“Maybe I went to school. Maybe I’m smarter than you ‘cause of it.”

“School’s for boring people.”

“School’s hard, Chip!”

“You’ve never had a hard day of your life,” she accused, voice rising in volume.

“Yes, I have-”

“Have you ever fished bread out of trash because you haven’t eaten in days? Have you ever slept in a farmer’s toolshed to keep out of the rain?”

“No, but-”

“Then you don’t get to compare your hard days to mine.”

“Don’t,” Crutchie rasped weakly, reaching out a hand for Chip’s. “It doesn’t matter. Please don’t fight.”

The pair glared at each other, but ultimately took his advice.

“Are you still hurtin’?” asked Chip.

“Yeah. Can’t tell if I’m getting better or worse.”

“Better. You’re gettin’ better. You have to.”

“Okay,” he smiled gently. “I’m getting better.”

The doorknob turned, and years of newsie instincts pulled Chip to her feet, already scanning the room for escape routes and hiding places. Les darted behind the desk, casting an apologetic glance at Crutchie.

It was Anna, though, who entered. “Chip, Les, I can hear Snyder coming. You have to go,” she whispered.

“We can’t just leave Crutchie,” Les protested, abandoning his shelter.

“Go,” Crutchie told him. At the mention of Snyder’s name, his skin had taken on a greyish tone, eyes wide and filled with absolute terror.

Anna grabbed Les’s arm, pulling him through the door as the sound of footsteps approached, but Chip stayed behind, unable to tear her eyes away from the fear on his face. 

“What is he doing to you?” she whispered, horrified.

“Go!”

A hand yanked her away right before the door slammed shut, splitting the group in two. Crutchie on one side, Chip, Les, and Anna on the other. Danger on one side, safety on the other.

“Good morning, Charlie,” came Snyder’s oily voice, low and silky. “I’ve missed you.”

“My name is Crutchie.”

“We don’t like nicknames here at the Refuge, Charlie.”

“My name is Crutchie!”

A muffled thud sounded, followed by a cry of pain. “You’ll listen to me, Charlie. You’re giving me attitude, huh? Looks like it’s time for some… punishment.”

“Leave me alone!” he cried out, voice trembling.

Anna quickly pulled the two children away from the door, uncharacteristic anger evident on her face. “Come on, you two,” she forced, her tone clipped. “It’ll be breakfast soon.”

“I want to know what’s happening to him,” Les complained, attempting to pry his wrist from her grip to no avail.

“I promise you, you don’t.”

“What’s Snyder doing to him?”

Anna’s eyes filled with tears. She wouldn’t meet his anxious gaze, only pulling the two along to the dining room with a stronger grip. “Horrible things, Les. Horrible.”

“I want to know-”

“Snyder’s hurting him, okay?” Anna spat, releasing their arms.

Chip and Les shared a look. They’d never seen her angry before, and it was admittedly a little frightening.

She sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It’s just… maybe it’s better if we don’t talk about it. You can visit him again tonight. Think about it then.”

Chip nodded.

“Okay. You two wait here, I’ll grab breakfast and we’ll split it between us.”

“That's-”

Anna cut him off. “The night before… well, Snyder, Crutchie made me promise I’d protect you two with my life if something happened to him, and that’s what I intend to do.”

“An’ what if something happens to you?” Chip blurted out.

Anna opened and closed her mouth, mind working furiously in the beat of silence. “Let’s… let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”

“We can protect ourselves, anyway,” Les clarified.

“I know you can.” She gave a smile that wasn’t quite as joyful as a smile should be, before heading off towards the line of kids beginning to accumulate behind the massive chef and his equally giant pot of grey slop.

“Will Crutchie get worse?” Chip asked as soon as her back was turned.

Les bit his lip. “He was losing a whole lot of blood. If Snyder breaks that leg again, he’s dead.”

“I hate Snyder.”

“Snyder, spider.”

“Spider-head.”

Chip nodded with approval, impressed by the boy’s eloquence in speech. “That’s what we’ll call him when we don’t want no one to know we’s talkin’ ‘bout him. Spider-head.”

“Can’t let him hear us, though, or he’ll kill us!” Les quieted for a moment. “Oh. He could actually kill us.”

“Are we gonna die here?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“I don’t wanna die,” Chip whispered.

“Then don’t. Don’t let him take you.”

“We’ll get out of here soon. I’ll make a good escape plan.”

“What about Crutchie?”

“I’ll… I’ll roll him on a blanket, take one end an’ you take the other, an’ we’ll pull him along behind us like he’s on a sled! Oh, that’s genius!”

“We’re taking Anna too, right?”

“Yeah. She’s an honour-y newsie.”

“Honorary?”

“Same thing.”

“I bet if Jack knew her, he’d give her a nickname.”

“If we- when we make it out,” Chip corrected herself, “we’ll go back to the lodging house an’ I bet they’ll have a party for her an’ us an’ Crutchie. With cake.”

“Lots and lots of cake,” Les grinned.

“An’ you know what? I bet Jack’ll give you a nickname too. Survivin’ this whole Refuge thing is brave enough to win ya’ that.”

Les gave her a sceptic look. That was by far the nicest thing she’d said to him for days. “You think so?”

“Yep.”

Anna set the mugs down, pouring her portion into the other two. “Did I miss anything?”

Chip made a face. “Gruel? Again?”

“It didn’t use to be like this.”

“What did it use to be like, then?”

“We still had gruel for breakfast,” she chuckled, “but on Sundays, they’d give each of us a little honey to put in it. Lunch was yesterday’s leftovers, and dinner was half a slice of bread with a little meat on it.”

“Why’d it change?”

“Snyder. Before him, it was this sweet couple who ran it- Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. They called it the Haven, not the Refuge. Mrs. Thompson was the breadwinner, and she didn’t make much, but every spare penny went to us. It really was a haven, back then. Everyone was allowed to leave whenever they pleased. No barred windows, no guards, no locked doors. Lots of kids who lived on the street worked during the day and came back for a place to rest at night.”

“Like you?”

“Oh, no. I don’t remember much before I came here, but I know I was orphaned young. My sister brought us to the Haven, and we got ourselves food and beds. We helped out in the wash room downstairs for an extra penny or so, and there was no reason to leave until Snyder came… and by then it was too late.”

“You used to get paid for doing the laundry?” Les asked, incredulous.

“Yeah. A cent a day. There was rent- half a dime every month, but the Thompsons made it clear that if you didn’t have the money, pay what you can.”

“Why’d they leave?”

Anna’s face fell. “Mrs. Thompson died. The whole Haven was really her dream, and her husband couldn’t go on living it without her. He said it felt wrong.”

“Oh.”

“And Snyder came, upped the rent to twelve cents a month, cut back on food and keeping the house in shape, and renamed this place the ‘Refuge’.”

“Spider-head,” Chip whispered to Les’s amusement. He swatted her wrist before turning back to Anna. “How long have you been here?”

“Since I was one or two, I suppose.”

Chip’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve never lived anywhere else?”

“Not that I remember.”

“How do you survive being cooped up all day for years on end? I’ve been here all o’ three days an’ I’m going monkey’s-arse crazy.”

Les stifled a laugh.

“I haven’t been outside in four months,” Anna whispered, eyes fixed on the barred dining room window. “Four months, two weeks, and six days.”

Instantly serious, the children gave her a pitying glance. “What happened four months ago?”

“The laundry room. It was winter by then, and I’d caught the flu and was running a high fever. Snyder didn’t care. He put me to work anyway. You know all that heat and steam, though? I nearly fainted. I thought I was gonna die if I stayed in there much longer, honest.”

“How’d you survive?”

“Just as the guards were changing shifts, I slipped out the back door for a breath of fresh air. Didn’t… didn’t consider there’d be guards outside too, though. They caught me, easily. I think that’s why they don’t let us run around- to keep us slow and simple to catch, see? Anyways. The guard took me to Snyder. He took me to his office, pulled a knife out of his desk drawer, and…” Anna pulled up the sleeve of her ragged cotton dress, revealing an absolute mess of thin scars that ended at her collarbone. Each was layered so thickly above the others, her coffee-dark skin looked baby pink and raw on her arm. “Took me a while to recover from that.” She attempted to smile, a slight quiver on her lip.

“Oh, that’s awful,” breathed Chip. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Not your fault.” She cleared her throat, pulling the material back down over the scars. “And it’s not just me. All those kids- all of them, I believe- have the same kind of marks. And the Graveyard Angels.”

“What?”

“The kids who don’t survive. Snyder dug a massive pit out back and he just… just dumps their bodies into it. ‘Graveyard Angels’, we call them. ‘A nuisance’, he calls them.” Her voice cracked on ‘angels’.

Les rested his hand on her arm, unsure of how to comfort her. “Did you know any of them?”

“Emma-Rose. Myla. Jackson. Eddie. Amelie. My sister. I should’ve known more. There must be thirty or forty children in that pit, and each of their names are forgotten.”

Chip’s jaw dropped. “Your sister?”

“Melody. Snyder caught her sneaking food from the kitchen to the little ones… and that was the end of it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Been six years now, I can’t remember it that much,” Anna told them, the lie quite obvious in her broken tone.

“I don’t want Crutchie to be a Graveyard Angel.”

“He won’t be. We’ll get out of here, okay?”

The chef clanged a massive handheld gong, glaring at the remaining children clustered on the floor. “Breakfast’s over. Group One to dishes, Group Two to garbage, Group Three to sewing. Move it, Refugees!”

“Just you wait,” she whispered, pulling the kids to their feet. “Just you wait.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 30: Davey

Days Remaining: 2

The day had passed by in a complete blur, Davey selling paper after paper while his mind was on one thing: rescue. Sarah couldn’t come, their parents would get worried if both of their kids went missing and Davey, as the older sibling, got first dibs. Sarah had whispered something into Katherine’s ear, and the reporter, glancing between him and Jack with a mischievous grin, had made some claim that she’d be busy drafting the news article for tomorrow. “...so it’ll be just you two,” she’d said, shooting Jack a wink and a subtle head tilt in Davey’s direction.

Which probably didn’t mean anything.

So here they were, Jack and Davey, the latter lagging behind while the former charged forward, scanning the remote edge of Manhattan for a certain building.

“I can’t see a thing, Jack.” And it was true. The brilliant moon from last night had hidden its face, cowering behind a thick blanket of clouds that released a slight mist of rain.

“Here.” Jack grabbed his hand, twining their fingers together as he pulled them along towards the horizon.

Davey nearly swallowed his tongue at the calloused palm in his, throat suddenly dry. This…. this little thing he had for Jack was getting out of hand. He couldn’t help but feel a strange pull to the reckless idiot, and it was going to be the death of him. 

Davey was, simply put, horrible at relationships. 

His first almost-kiss had only happened because it was night, it was dark, and the cute boy had thought he was a girl before the fireworks illuminated his face. Humiliated, he’d ran the whole way home and collapsed into bed, sobbing the night away as Sarah enjoyed the celebration with some pretty girl she’d easily picked up. It wasn’t really fair. Perhaps Sarah had stolen all of the charisma while both were still in the womb, she seemed to woo her lovers so easily. None of them had lasted, though, and Davey highly suspected she had her eye on Katherine now. The two would make an admittedly good couple. All that romance and chemistry and whatever. Cupid’s arrows had hit their mark well.

“...Davey?”

“Sorry?”

“I said, that’s the Refuge.” Jack pointed at a large, one-story building just beyond the gentle swell of a grassy hill. “They’ll be in there.”

“How do we know which part?

“We’ll knock on that window- there. Guards are outside patrolling at moon high, so there’ll be none inside to hear us but other kids.” True to his word, when the pair reached the iron bars of the window, the only noise was of restful children and a faraway owl’s melancholy song. Jack rapped gently on the inside of the frame.

For a second, nothing happened, and then a curly-haired girl of only eleven or twelve popped up in front of them. “Who are you?” she lisped softly, barely visible in the pitch-dark night.

“I’m Jack, he’s Davey-”

“David,” he corrected.

“Davey. Do ya’ happen to know a Crutchie?”

“Or a Chip or Les?”

“Well, I know all three of them,” the girl answered. “I’m Anna. Chip and Les are visiting Crutchie right now.”

Jack and Davey exchanged a look. “Visiting?”

“Snyder… he got Crutchie yesterday. Beat him up real bad. He’s unconscious in the office.”

Jack nodded tersely. “Did Snyder…”

Anna dipped her head, not meeting his eyes.

He swore under his breath. “Can we talk to the kids?”

“Yeah. Let me get them for you.” She was gone with a passing shadow.

Davey cocked his head curiously. “Do you know her from your time in the Refuge?”

“Don’t remember. If she had a sister, though… she looks real close to one of my old friends about six or seven years ago.”

“What happened?”

“I dunno. I got out around that time, and when they caught me again, ‘bout a month later… she was gone. No one would tell me nothin’, so I hope she got out. Bet the guards were keeping the escaped kids under wraps. Didn’t wanna give the rest o’ us hope, I guess.”

“Jack? Davey?” Chip’s incredulous face appeared behind the bars. “Is that you?”

Les came up beside her. “Davey!”

“Hey, Les,” Davey laughed, reaching between the pillars to ruffle his hair. “We miss you.”

“Are you gonna rescue us?”

“Not tonight, kids,” Jack answered regretfully. “But hey, y’know what? In two more days, we’ll be comin’ to get you two. Actually, we’ll get all the kids outta here!”

Chip’s eyes widened. “Whoa.”

“That’s right. How’s Crutchie?”

Chip and Les shared a look. “He’s… alive.”

Davey’s look of motherly worry increased tenfold. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Snyder soaked him real good,” admitted Chip. “His face ain’t too pretty, but the worst is his leg. Pokin’ right through the skin it was, the bone. But Les sorta fit it back together, close to puzzle pieces an’ the like. He tied an apron ‘round it an’ everythin’!”

“It was nothing,” Les grinned bashfully, face all but shining with pride.

“Well, look at you,” Davey chuckled. “Mam’ll be so impressed when you get home.”

“Is he any better now?” Jack asked hurriedly.

Les’s smile vanished. “Snyder was soaking him again today. His leg’s okay, but I think his head got hit or something. He’s still unconscious.”

“But alive.”

“Yeah.”

Jack inhaled sharply with a realisation. “Hold on: right or left?”

“What?”

“His leg, which leg got hurt-”

“Left,” Les muttered. “I know. His good leg.”

Silence suddenly filled the gap between them, the air cool. Without warning, Jack smashed his fist into the wall beside the window with a few choice curses, nearly startling Les into falling over. 

Davey grabbed his hand, cradling the newly bruised fingers with utmost care. “What was that for?”

“He’s never been able to walk right his whole life,” Jack rasped. “I told him that leg’d heal up someday. He’d stand. Walk. Run. I- I told him he’d run.” In the darkness, something that almost looked like a tear glimmered in the corner of his eye. “An’ now- he might never even stand again, with or without a crutch. This is my fault. I shoulda’ been up on that fire escape, I coulda’ stopped the kids. He’d be safe if it weren’t for-”

Davey smacked his cheek, eliciting a not very leader-like yelp. “Wha’ was that for?”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t your fault. If you fall down that rabbit hole, get trapped in the guilt, you’re not coming back. Crutchie being hurt is nobody’s fault except the man who dealt those blows. And on strike day, when he and his guards are up against the newsies…”

“Soak ‘em,” Chip whispered. “Soak ‘em for Crutchie.”

Davey smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

Someone rapped on a door inside. “What’s the noise?”

“We gotta go,” Les hissed. “C’mon. We’ll see you guys in two days, okay?”

“You’s got my word,” Jack promised, ruffling the kids’ hair as they vanished below. “Say hi to Crutchie for us. Tell him we’re coming. We’re coming for him.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 31: Jack

Days Remaining: 1

It had to be past midnight by now, Jack gauged. The air was cool and crisp, the clouds thinning into wispy layers of purple gauze just barely stifling the moon’s light. His hand still hurt. The knuckles were skinned, he discovered, but not bleeding. They’d felt better when Davey was holding them.

Speaking of, he was sure he had a brand new pink handprint marked across his face from a certain newsie. “Hey, Dave, what was that smack for anyways?”

“To get you to listen.”

“I could hear you just fine without a slap to the cheek!”

“Hearing is different from listening.”

He made a face. “Don’t you get all philosophy on me.”

“Philosophical,” Davey corrected

“Bless you,” Jack quipped.

“Aren’t you the leader of all of Manhattan’s newsies?”

“Sure am.”

“You’re acting really mature for it.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m being sarcas-”

“I know you’re bein’ sarcastic,” Jack interrupted. “I’m jes’ playin’ with you. An’ for that slap… well, Davey, I’m impressed. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I’m considering a sequel.”

“Come on, I dare you.”

“Jack-”

“What? Are you scared? Come on, Davey,” he taunted, “can’t you hit-”

Smack.

“Ow!”

“You deserved it.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Jack admitted, cradling his cheek.

The pair walked in silence for a while, silver-violet light rippling over them like liquid sky. The stars were just barely visible, still blanketed by those thin, sheet clouds. Jack figured there was a name for them. He figured Davey would know.

Davey.

The butterflies from the previous night had only worsened, more like some kind of hellish window-sized pigeon stabbing at his innards every time that stupid-cute boy dared to smile. God, Jack was completely and absolutely wrecked for him. He’d lay under a stampede of horses in a New Mexico sun if that would buy him Davey’s love. Hell, he’d do it for one of those smiles.

“We’re not far now,” the boy himself remarked, gesturing at the lodging house rising in the distance.

“Thanks, Sherlock.” Jack elbowed him in the side.

Davey rolled his eyes, but not without a smile. Soon enough, the two of them had reached the end of the road, no way forward. Jack’s home on the left, Davey’s on the right. 

“So,” Davey spoke breathlessly.

“So.”

“I’ll… see you tomorrow, I guess?”

“Yeah. Yeah, See you tomorrow.” Also, haha, I’m in love with you. No homo or anything. 

Davey’s lips parted just slightly, as if he was going to say something, but the moment had passed. He closed his mouth, shaking his head. “Goodnight, Jack.”

“Night, Dave. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 32: Katherine

Days Remaining: 1

Katherine pulled open yet another drawer, rifling through it with increasing panic as the manuscript didn’t appear. She’d placed it on the desk last night, she was sure- and yet, the leaflet was nowhere to be found.

Papers didn’t just hop on pigeons and fly away. Someone had taken them.

And so, she was back in Robson’s office, glaring at the man himself through a tight smile. “Good morning, Mr. Robson. You wouldn’t happen to know about a certain article that’s gone missing.”

He gave an oily smile. “Why, Miss Katherine, I thought you knew. Your father- as a well respected figure around here-” he chuckled. “-informed me of that draft. A strike? Honestly, sweetheart-”

“I’m not your sweetheart.”

“Oh. Touchy today, are we?”

“What did my father do?”

“Took those papers.” He gave a wicked grin. “And burned them. One by one.”

Katherine nearly drove her fist into that smug face, the only thing holding her back was the promise of joblessness if she did.

Almost on cue, Robson added: “And also, your job is on an indefinite hiatus. I told him of your past attempts to counter my simple, clear, instructions. A fourth transgression is enough. You won’t be writing for a while.”

Furious tears welled up in her eyes. “But-”

“Go on, then. Don’t you have a sandwich to make?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 33: Sarah

Days Remaining: 1

“I just… I don’t know what to do, Sarah. I can’t write what might be the most important article of the century in a day!”

“I think you could.”

Katherine stuck out her tongue.

The girls were lying on the floor of Sarah’s bedroom, shoulder to shoulder as the rain pounded away at the roof. It was a familiar, serene sound, but did little to calm Katherine’s fears.

“What if I mess up this strike? What if it’s my fault the newsies starve because of the new price? All the pressure’s on me to write a convincing enough article to bring every working child in New York City on strike, each one in Manhattan to Bennett Square. My manuscript’s gone, so I’ll have to rewrite the whole thing from what I can remember-”

“Hey. Katherine. Take a breath, okay?” Sarah’s hand found hers, fingers intertwining. “It’s going to be okay.”

“But-”

“It will. I promise. We'll print the papers, the newsies will deliver them, we’ll have our strike and we’ll have Les and Chip and Crutchie back in no time.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we will.” Suddenly, Katherine turned over to face her, a wide grin splitting her face. “How ‘bout you, huh? At the meeting yesterday? That was pretty damn impressive.”

“Oh, please.”

“Come on. You could hear the crickets when I talked. You, though? The crowd was hanging on every word.”

Sarah allowed herself a soft smile, finally rolling over to her side. “You know how to make a girl’s day, Katherine Plumber.”

“You sap.”

She tapped Katherine’s nose. “Guilty.”

“Are you ready for tonight?”

“Well, we won’t be the ones spreading the papers. I should feel bad for the newsies, they’ll be running all over the city.”

“Those poor boys,” Sarah grinned. “Davey’s never run more than half a mile without pause. It’ll be quite an entertainment to see how he does today.”

The girls fell silent for a moment, rain filling their ears with soft purple notes.

“This strike is gonna work, right?” Katherine asked, more to herself than anyone else.

Sarah turned to her, something warm flickering deep inside her eyes. “Absolutely. If Miss Plumber here’s writing the article, I’d be surprised if everyone in the city didn’t strike.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 34: Anna

Days Remaining: 1

Anna passed yet another soapy mug to Chip, who dunked it in the cloudy water with a little too much force for a sink that shallow.

“Gentle, now. Don’t want to break any dishes.”

Chip snorted at that, raising her voice to speak over the pounding of rain on the roof. “You know full well I’d break each one o’ these if it wouldn’t get the thoughts beat outta’ my brain by Snyder.”

Anna risked a glance at the towering guard in the kitchen corner. Fortunately, he was chomping away at a bagel, blissfully unaware of the little newsie’s words.

“How long do we have to do this for?” Les complained.

“Until the dishes are gone.”

Which, in fact, would be quite a while. The mountain of mugs piled up in the sink farthest to the left was quite an eyesore.

Swiping her dish through the sink, Chip leaned into Anna. “We gotta spread the word for the rescue tomorrow, so’s people will be ready, y’know?”

“I’ll leave that to you and Les. Be careful, though- Snyder hears one word too much and he’ll have the guards stationed at every exit.”

No doubt spurred by the thought of rescue, the three managed to dwindle the work down to a mere third of an hour. 

“Sewing,” the guard instructed. “Get going.”

Bounding ahead, Chip made her way through the dining room, down the stairs, into the sewing room. Half of the space was filled with wires stretched six feet off the ground, draped with bedsheets and clothes drying from the previous two days’ laundry. While there wasn’t a breeze to be found, the cloth gave an occasional ripple as someone passed, creating the illusion of a virtually breathing maze of grey drapes.

Chip found a chair on the far side of the room, while Les took the seat beside a slight boy of fifteen or so. He grabbed a pair of pants from the basket beside his desk, assessing the damage. Fist-sized holes in the knees, barely held together by a few tense strands of thread. This one would need patches. He reached into the desk, hoping for an extra circle of cloth to no avail. Les rummaged through the basket yet again, pulling up a dress that was really more sewing thread than material. He’d use this for making patches, but first…

“Hey.” He tapped the boy beside him on the shoulder. “Someone’s breaking us out tomorrow. Get ready. Spread the word. I’m Les.”

“Fl-” His eyes widened as he clapped a hand over his mouth. “I mean, Wyatt. Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Nearly said a nickname.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Snyder… doesn’t like nicknames.” Obviously, there was a story behind this boy’s fear, but it would be quite rude to pry.

“Got it. So, you ready to get out of here?”

Wyatt glanced away. “I’ve been here for four years and an outbreak has been promised twice that many times already. No one’s made it out. Twelve died trying to escape, seven got beat so bad they couldn’t walk for days. And…” He pointed at two children, not more than nine, cowered in the corner as they worked at their clothes. “The Elliott twins. Told everyone to break out two years ago. It nearly worked, but the guards caught them all. Snyder chopped the twins’ tongues off. Cauterised them so they wouldn’t die. He wanted them to suffer. ”

Les nearly turned green. “Took their tongues off?”

Wyatt nodded grimly. “They talk with their hands now. A couple of us can understand, but no one can speak back to them. They’re alone.”

Overhearing from the seat over, Anna recalled that particular escapade. Seventeen children, the twins being the youngest and Helena the oldest, despite being only sixteen. They’d been caught. Easily. Snyder took them all to his office, one at a time. Eight had never made it out of that room, six had come out shaken beyond words, the twins had never spoken again, and Helena… bold, headstrong Helena… she’d become less than Snyder’s servant, barely daring to raise her voice above a whisper, dashing to and fro to meet his demands.

No one had dared to breathe a murmur of rebellion for months after that.

“I’m not gonna let that happen to me. I’m sorry, I really am… but it’s better if you drop this whole ‘escape’ thing. Whoever’s coming, they’ll be no match against the guards.”

Anna’s heart dropped. She hadn’t heard Jack say anything about the guards. Did he even know they were there? Was he going to get himself killed?

Les turned to her, eyes big and pleading. “Anna?”

“Look, Wyatt. I know it's a big risk, and I know we could die, but… are we even living here? Day after day of unpaid labour, the same grey slop for every dinner, a breath of fresh air every once in a blue moon. This isn’t right. If I’m going to die, I’d rather fall running out that door than stirring the laundry. You don’t have to come. No one has to, but do you really want to keep living like this?”

Wyatt shook his head. “No, but the risk-”

“I know what the risk is. Don’t you remember Melody?”

He quieted at that.

“She gave her life for a few scrawny kids she barely knew,” Anna forged on. “Melody died, yes, but she died the death of a hero. She’d want me to get these kids out of here and into the sunshine. If I survive, I’m free. If I die, I’ll see her again. Isn’t that worth it?”

“It is,” Wyatt whispered. “It is. Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll spread the word, too.”

Les’s face split in a wide grin. “Welcome to team Escape the Refuge.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 35: Jack

Days Remaining: 1

“Listen up, Manhattan,” Jack shouted. Gathered out back behind the lodging house, every newsie in their borough his boys could find were milling about in a crowd, curious but obedient to their leader. Rain was falling in sheets, drenching everyone outside, but the newsies had faced much worse. A little splashing was something they’d survive. “We strike tomorrow!”

“Strike?”

“Why’s we striking?”

“ ‘Cause o’ the pay, numbskull.”

“I don’t wanna strike.”

“What’s a strike?”

“Hey, Cowboy, what’s all this about?”

“Take a breather, why don’t ya’. I’s talkin’ ‘bout the new price. Sixty cents a hundred. This ain’t fair to us. We’s gonna die on the streets without that extra dime- let’s show Pulitzer what we’re made of!”

The group cheered, loud whoops breaking through the rain. The noise subsided, replaced by general confusion.

“But how’s the strike-”

“I’m gettin’ there, I’m gettin’ there. Tonight, we’s gonna spread a very special pape to every door in the city, tellin’ the workin’ kids not to go to work tomorrow. The ladies is organisin’ a strike tomorrow too, for their votes or somethin’. Y’know what that means, Manhattan? Means seventy-five o’ New York is gonna be out o’ work. Pulitzer can’t ignore this!”

“Seventy-five people?”

“Percent. Three-quarters. One-and-a-half halves. I ain’t no math teacher.”

A small boy in an oversized coat raised his hand. “Is this article gonna be good enough to get th’ strike goin’?”

“You bet your boots it is. Written by the very best writer we knows: Miss Katherine Pulitzer!”

A hulking man-child of a newsie gave a scoff. “A girl?”

“Shut your trap, Boulder,” snarled a petite girl in a blonde braid.

“Cool it, Fishtail. Are we in or out, newsies?”

Jack’s boys gave a raucous shout, quickly followed by the rest of the group. 

“That’s right! So, here’s how it goes: Tonight, come back to this lodging house. Me an’ my boys will deliver the papes to you from the press, an’ your job is to grab you a stack, choose a place, an’ start deliverin’. Go on, now! Earn you some pennies!”

The crowd dispersed quickly, but far from quietly. Somewhere amidst the flood, Jack found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with a worried Davey, fiddling with his fingers.

“Jack… we don’t have a printing press.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 36: Katherine

Days Remaining: 1

Newsies Stop The World

Sixty cents per every hundred papers sold- this is the new price for the World newsies of New York. A mere ten cents, yet it’s the difference between life and death for some of its sellers.

No, no. That wasn’t right. Katherine squinted at her work. Surely she’d phrased it differently the first time?

Ten cents might not seem like a lot-

Was it? Perhaps ten cents was quite a bit to those working children. She couldn’t be insensitive, of course.

Ten cents-

A dime-

A tenth of a dollar-

Awful. She’d never make headlines writing in riddles and fractions. Perhaps this part could be glossed over for now.

Newsies will be-

It wasn’t just newsies, though. This paper was to be addressed to every working child in New York City. Katherine dropped her head into her hands, rubbing at her eyes. She’d be letting down everyone if she didn’t write it well.

Medda’s changing room, vacant for the night and so graciously lent to her, was intruded upon by a panting Davey and a red-faced Jack.

“Kath- we don’t got a printin’ press- how’s we gonna print the papes?”

She swore under her breath. “No one considered this earlier?”

Davey shook his head apologetically, half keeled over as he fought to catch his breath. “We… we ran to find you as soon as we remembered.”

“Okay. Okay, this is fine. We’ll…” Katherine stopped in her tracks, lit by an idea. “My father has an old press in the basement. He’ll be out for the night,” she lied.

“And he won’t mind?”

“Of course not.” The lie was glazed with just the right amount of false confidence.

Jack exhaled a sigh of relief. “Right. That’s all settled, then. You busy, Kath?”

“Just writing. The, uh, manuscript for the article kind of… got lost, so I’m re-writing it from memory.”

“The manu- what?”

“Manuscript.”

“I know what it means,” Jack scoffed. “I just can’t believe you lost it. How’s you gonna write this pape in a day? Less than that, actually. You’ve got a good… let’s say, six hours until nightfall, ‘bout two after that before the newsies start deliverin’.”

“I know,” gritted out Katherine. “I can do it, y’know. I just… can’t really recall what I’ve written.”

“Start over,” suggested Davey, standing upright once again.

She gave him a look. “Start over?”

“A half-hearted remake of an article made days ago wouldn’t be half as good as a fresh, brand-new story hot off your typewriter. You’ve got more experiences, more exposure to the struggle. You have the cards, and now you know how to play them.”

Jack gave him an uncharacteristically soft smile, eyes glittering. “Poetic, Davey.”

“I tried my best.”

“Davey, you don’t understand! This is the difference for the future for every working kid in New York City. Their lives could be endangered if my writing isn’t compelling enough to bring them to strike! That article I had before- that was quality. I had time for it, time for research, interviews, thoughts. Eight hours is hardly enough to come up with a quality paragraph!”

“Please, Kath,” begged Jack. “C’mon. We trust you. We believe in you.”

“Just- just get someone else to write it. Someone better than me.”

“You’re our best shot,” Davey wheedled. “Please?”

Katherine rolled a tube of blush between her fingers, thinking. 

It wasn’t factory-made, she noted suddenly. Perhaps Medda had made it herself. Maybe it was a gift. Unlike the carmine shimmer of store-bought cosmetics, like the one Katherine herself used, this colour was darker. Violet, not orange. A pretty colour, though not one that would suit her own pale complexion. Some kind of purple flower…

A memory struck Katherine’s mind. Her mother, crushing dried morning glories in a wooden bowl with a polished stick. It had been her job before she married, and it had become her hobby after- gifts to her friends, to the neighbours, to the priest’s wife. Each flower was grown in her sprawling garden, plucked and left to dry before she crushed it into a fine, pigmented powder ladies would brush on their eyelids before a night out.

That particular day, it had been just past dawn. Buttery, golden light spilled through wispy cream curtains, a gentle summer breeze ruffling its folds. Katherine had just woken up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as her mother worked away at those vibrant petals.

G’morning, ma.

Good morning, Kat.

What’cha doing?

Working.

What kind of work?

I’m making make-up. 

Katherine had laughed at that, at the silly way the words had been placed right beside each other. Can’t you get a maid to do it?

I could.

Why not?

Her mother had cupped Katherine’s face with a powdery violet palm. Don’t take your life for granted. We are so lucky your father has money, that we can afford all the necessities and a whole lot more. You need to remember, though: it might not always be like this.

What do you mean?

Things happen, Kat. Luck runs out. Cities fall, countries collapse, entire worlds flip. Money falls from wallets like stars out of the morning sky. We live so high up on the ladder, but that means we’ll fall twice as hard when the earth shakes. 

I don’t want that to happen.

We have to be ready if it does, though. You can’t always snap your fingers and have four servants obey your command. 

I know that!

Would you like to do the laundry today?

What?

You know you can’t have people do everything for you. Start with the laundry.

Ma-

Kat. I love you. You can change the world, but no one will change it for you. You’ll have to do it yourself.

She died four months after those words.

“Kath?” Jack and Davey were eyeing her with an apprehensive expression shared on their faces. “You alright?”

“Yeah. I…”

“Will you write it?”

“I will. I’ll do it.”

Jack gave a whoop, throwing his hands up in the air. “We got her!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 37: Jack

Days Remaining: 1

Something was wrong when Jack cracked the door of the lodging house open to check on the newsies. The boys fluttered around, speaking in hushed tones. Only a single lamp was lit, perched on the bedside table of a sleeping boy, blanket tangled around his legs as he half-breathed, half-rasped air into his lungs. 

Jack’s blood froze. 

He kept his voice nonchalant, hoping to keep the air casual. “Hey. What’s going on?”

Mike rushed to his side, wringing his hands. “Buttons. He ain’t feelin’ right, he’s come down with somethin’.” 

“Specs says it’s scarlet fever,” Romeo added. No further dispute was needed. With his endless supply of medical books, Specs was the closest thing to a doctor the newsies could get.

Jack hissed under his breath. “Have you two had th’ fever before?”

To his relief, both nodded.

“Good. Clear out anyone who hasn’t.”

Mike’s eyes widened.  “They won’t have a place to sleep-”

“Yeah? Well, they’ll have a place not to die. Go!”

A quick tally was made. Elmer, Boots, and Mush found themselves rounded up by the door, wide-eyed and terrified. 

“I ain’t got a family,” Mush protested. “There’s nowhere for me to sleep.”

“Boys, go up on the fire escape, okay? It’ll be cramped, but it’s something.”

Boots lagged behind as the other two left. He leaned towards Jack. “Will he be okay?”

At thirteen years old, Boots was the youngest newsie barring Chip and Les, one year and seven months Buttons’ junior. Jack ruffled his hair, choosing his words carefully. “We’s gonna… gonna do what we can, Boots. You just hang tight.”

Boots gave a weak smile, easing himself out. “Tell him I said hi, ‘kay? Tell him I hope he gets better.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack saluted. “Go on, now.”

The door closed, and he whirled back to face the other newsies. “How bad?”

Specs opened and closed his mouth. “He’s… well,  the good news is he’s a kid, so he’s tough.”

“He’s skin an’ bones. Hasn’t eaten in two days,” Albert deadpanned, his trademark smirk noticeably absent. “None of us have had more than a bite since the prices went up.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jack accused, guilt flooding his lungs. “I woulda’ shared my money.”

“Ain’t right,” Mike protested.

“You earned it fair an’ square,” his twin agreed.

“The lot o’ you so stubborn you’d rather starve than ask for a penny or two?”

No one answered, averting their eyes. 

“An’ you, Race. Don’t think I ain’t noticed your cigar gone. You been chewing on your fingernails for the past three days!”

“I need something to chew. Cigars done and gone, too expensive.”

“I told you those things would only bring trouble when th’ going gets tough. And Buttons- one o’ you couldn’t give me a word that he’s starving?”

Again, silence.

Jack swore out loud. “For God’s sake, boys, he’s fourteen!”

Buttons rolled over just then, mumbling to himself. All at once, at least four newsies rushed to his side, Jack feeling his forehead in an almost motherly way.

Scalding. He’d never felt heat like that save for a roadstone in the summer sun.

Buttons blinked his eyes open. “Hello?”

“Hey, Buttons. How you doin’?”

“Yes, please.”

“He’s gone mad,” Albert whispered, eyes wide.

“Hallucinations and half-asleep dreams are normal in kids with the fever,” Specs explained.

“How do we know it’s th’ fever?” Jack asked. “It could be the flu.”

“Well, he has the symptoms.”

“You know what?” Race jumped in, shooting a smirk at the Charlesly brothers. “D’you think it could be… the grave virus?”

Immediately, the twins scrambled back from Buttons, plastering themselves against the wall with almost comical matching expressions of terror. Mike and Ike, who’d pooled their money over nearly two years to buy the Undead Risen trilogy to read, had scared themselves half to death of the mythical disease that killed the living and brought them back as grotesque imitations of human life which haunted their enemies. 

“Oh, please,” Jack scoffed. “It ain’t real, boys. He’s playin’ with you.”

“You think it’s the plague?” Romeo asked timidly, eyeing the rapidly blinking boy with a heavy dose of apprehension.

“Hey, Specs?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you check those books o’ yours for things that the fever has that the plague ain’t?”

“Symptoms?”

“Yeah, those.”

“Here, I got one.” He licked his thumb, leafing through the yellowed pages until he reached a black-and-white diagram of a swollen tongue, strangely pale, complete with labels and a handwritten paragraph in the upper corner. “The White Strawberry Tongue: A common symptom of scarlet fever, or scarlatina, in which the patient’s tongue becomes swollen and develops a white coating. A few enlarged taste buds poke through the outer layer near the sides and tip, giving the tongue its reverse strawberry-like appearance.”

“Well, let’s see if he’s got it, then,” Finch urged, peering at Buttons’s mouth as if he could see inside it already.

“Hey, Buttons,” Jack coaxed gently. “Can you open your mouth for me?”

Buttons turned his head away.

“He don’t understand what you’re sayin’,” Mike called unhelpfully from halfway across the room.

“I’ll get ‘im to cough on you,” Jack replied. “How’ll you feel when you’re undead?” Rewarded with a high-pitched squeal, he turned back to the bed, satisfied. “Okay. Ideas, boys, let’s get some ideas.”

Albert snapped his fingers. “I got it. This game we used to play when he was a kid.” He blew a raspberry at the red-cheeked boy, crossing his eyes.

Buttons giggled, actually giggled, and stuck his tongue out in return as if he were a child. Which, at fourteen, he more or less was.

Romeo winced. “Well, his tongue sure don’t look healthy .”

Ike rolled his eyes. “If everyone here is going to go on an’ point out the obvious, get on with it.”

“So, he’s got the fever,” Jack clarified, earning a nod from Specs. “We should probably get him to eat somethin’.”

“Thank you,” Buttons declared at that moment, eyes feverishly bright, cheeks an unhealthy red.

“No problem, kid-”

“For the soup,” he finished, and promptly passed out back on the pillows.

Jack eyed the room sceptically. “Any of you give ‘im soup?”

The newsies shook their heads collectively.

“Then, he’s just gone bad in the head,” he sighed.

Finch leaned over to peer at the sleeping boy. “We’s gotta get him a doctor.”

“No. No doctors,” Jack answered stubbornly.

“He’d get a check-up, and-”

“And what, get his five-foot-nothin’ arse shipped off to the Refuge in a squirrel crate? I don’t think so.”

Mike edged himself closer. “Anyone know doctors that wouldn’t send him off to the Refuge?”

Buttons’s ragged breathing seemed to intensify in the moment of silence that passed, forcing Jack’s heart to skip an anxious beat.

“Les,” Romeo announced. “He’s always followin’ me around, chatterin’ up a storm ‘bout how he’s gonna be a doctor someday.”

Race levelled him with a well-raised eyebrow. “You really suggestin’-”

“No, not him, idiot. His ma. Says she taught him everythin’ he knows. Do one o’ you know where the Jacobs’ house is?”

“I do,” Jack answered. “The second Buttons wakes up, we’ll walk him over there. Mrs. Jacobs is a good woman, a kind one. She’ll fix him right up.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 38: Jack

Days Remaining: 1

One arm around Buttons’s shoulders, the other knocking on the Jacobs’ door, not even a hand protected Jack from the deluge of rain drenching him in cold sheets of water. He hopped from one foot to the other, fruitlessly attempting to dodge the drops while simultaneously holding Buttons up. 

This, he thought, is not a very good situation.

To say the least.

Thankfully, Mrs. Jacobs eased the door open soon after the first tap, jaw half-dropping at the sight of two soaking wet boys on her threshold, one barely conscious as his chin dipped down to rest on his chest.

Jack attempted a charming smile. “Evenin’, Mrs-”

“Oh, get inside, get inside!” She pulled him in by the arm, all but slamming the door shut behind them, muffling the crashing of the storm and the low rumble of thunder in the distance. “This boy-”

“Buttons-”

“Yes, Buttons, he doesn’t look well at all. Do you know what he’s come down with?”

“Scarlet fever.”

“Ah. You just step right into this room, here, I’ve got to clear Davey out.”

Jack brought his hand to his mouth. “Mrs. Jacobs, I really am sorry. Didn’t think about your family-”

Mrs. Jacobs rested a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t apologise for nothin’, boy. You did the right thing.”

He and Buttons limped into the room, closing the door behind them. This must be where she treated her patients.
The area was fairly empty, only holding two pieces of furniture; a table laid with flat, stiff-looking cushions and an armchair in the corner, currently sunk under the weight of a slight man, who laid his book down on his lap to offer Jack a curious glance. “Good evening.”

Jack tipped his cap with his free hand. “Evenin’, sir. Is there anywhere I can-”

“You could lay him right down on the table, if you please.”

Buttons, with very little persuasion, climbed onto the table, falling into an even deeper sleep.

“Thank you, uh-”

“Mayer. Mayer Jacobs. Esther’s husband.”

“Jack Kelly. Newsie.” He resisted the urge to spit in his hand and offer a shake, somehow perceiving it would be quite rude in this household.

“Is that your brother?”

“Naw. Friend. Close enough, though.”

“Well, Jack Kelly. My son will be leaving soon. If you’d like, you can say goodbye to him before Esther gets him out.”

Jack tipped his hat again, already halfway out the door. “Thank you, Mr. Jacobs.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 39: Davey

Days Remaining: 1

The pounding in Davey’s head subsided to a gentle pulse when Jack made his way out of the healing room. “Oh, thank the Lord. Jack, what’s going on?”

“Buttons. He’s sick. Din’t want no doctors lookin’ after him, they’d send him off to the Refuge in a heartbeat. Romeo thought o’ your ma, so here we came.”

“How sick is he?”

“Scarlet fever.”

“Ah. That explains why I’m being evicted.”

His mother came up behind him, pressing a pair of silver dimes into his hand. “Be safe, David. This should cover anything extra you need for the next few days. Sweetheart, I am really sorry, okay? I love you.”

Davey stooped down to wrap her in a tight hug. “I love you too, Mam. Tell Sarah and Pa too. Can I talk to Jack for a second?”

“Of course.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with her knuckle, dusting off her hands and setting away while she muttered something about antibiotics.

Jack fixed Davey with an almost comically wretched expression. “Aw, Dave, I’m real sorry. I swear I din’t mean to kick you out o’ your own house-”

“Don’t worry about it. If it keeps Buttons alive, it’s worth it.”

Without warning, he lunged forward and locked Davey in a slightly damp bear hug, strong arms wrapping tightly around his chest. “Thank you,” Jack murmured into his shoulder.

Davey froze, mind overwhelmed with the smell of old paper and charcoal clinging to his clothes. Those everyday scents felt twice as good coming from the boy you loved.

And that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Love.

Gingerly, carefully, Davey eased his arms around Jack, pulling him closer, resting his chin over his back. He really should be going, now, but it was too warm, too comfortable for even the thought of leaving to worm into his mind.

It was Jack who pulled away first. He cleared his throat, adjusting his cap over a slightly pink face. “So. I… I'm gonna see you again?”

Davey opened the door, turning back one last time to take in Jack, soggy clothes, blue eyes and all. “Count on it.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 40: Sarah

Days Remaining: 1

Sarah skipped down the stairs two at a time, Katherine trailing behind her. “What’s going on?”

Her mother shuffled her way across the hall, heading towards the healing room. “We’ve got a patient. One of Jack’s newsies. Scarlet fever.”

“Davey-”

“I know, I cleared him out. Your pa’s had it, I have too, and you remember yourself. Katherine, have you had the fever before?”

“Yes, Mrs. Jacobs.”

“Esther will do just fine. Here, why don’t you girls come in and keep dear Jack company while I check over Buttons?”

The pair nodded, following her in through the door. On the doctor’s table, or the replica of it that Sarah’s mother had made, laid a slight boy with unusually flushed cheeks and a heavy rasp of a breath. That must be Buttons.

Mr. Jacobs, Sarah’s father, sat quietly in his armchair, book forgotten in his lap as he alternated between watching Buttons and Jack, who was pacing along the wall, fidgeting. “Kath?”

“Hey, Jack. How’s he doing?”

“He’s burnin’ up like metal in July. You tell me.”

Sarah dared a glance at the boy on the table. Flushed cheeks, ragged breathing, constant twitching… he sure didn’t look healthy.

Her mother banged in through the door, two spool-sized bottles clutched in one hand, a bucket of water and a towel in the other. “If you want, you three can step out in the hallway for a bit, this next part won’t change much. Mayer, are you alright there?”

“Of course. Tell me if you need anything, won’t you?”

“Don’t trouble yourself. Just rest up on that leg, darling.” She set to work, dipping the tea towel into the water and wringing out most of the moisture. 

“Come on,” Katherine urged. “Let’s go.”

Jack lagged behind, eyes on Buttons. “I gotta make sure he’s okay-”

“We have some things to discuss, right, Jack?”

He nodded, understanding. “Right. Yeah.”

The three closed the door behind them, immediately jumping into the night’s plans.

“We’ll meet at my dad’s place. Quietly, see, so we don’t wake up any of the staff. Start out printing, and Jack, you’ll deliver the papers to the newsies, and they’ll give them to all of New York,” Katherine recounted rapidly. “Correct?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You are done your article?”

“Yeah. Cranked it out in an hour, came over to see Sarah.”

“What about the printing press?” Sarah asked pensively. “Do either of you know how to work it?”

“Not… exactly. I got a few friends that do, though.”

“And they’ll be there?”

“I mean, probably.”

“What about the day of the strike? Tomorrow? What happens then?”

“If all the papes is given out right, then all the kids in Manhattan, at least, they’ll show up and we’ll have ourselves a lovely little riot,” grinned Jack. “Me an’ Davey’ll be off rescuing the kids at the Refuge. Pulitzer can’t ignore it. He’ll give us our right an’ proper pay, an’ I’m sure the officials will give you girls a vote in the election.” 

Katherine clapped her hands. “Well. It’s all set, then. I’ll get the last bits in order, and… I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 41: Jack

Days Remaining: 1

Jack wedged his fingers around the frame of the window, pulling it back with all his might. Night had fallen long ago, and yet cold sheets of rain thundered down on his back. He yanked once, twice, and the window popped open.

Carefully, ever so carefully, he crawled in through the hole, finding purchase on a table on the other side that Katherine had certainly set up for him. He surveyed the area, finding the red-headed reporter herself, along with an unfamiliar pair, Davey and Sarah, all five milling around the mouldy-looking printing press stationed in the middle of the room.

“Pop that window back in, would you?” called Katherine, not even bothering to keep her voice down despite her earlier warnings. “The storm’s making quite a noise. Oh, right. Jack, this is Bill, and this is Darcy. Been my best friends since I was four.”

“Good to meet you, Darcy, Bill. You folks know how to operate the machine?”

Darcy dipped her hat. “Sure do. My father taught me everything he knows.”

“What is he, a printmaker?”

“He runs the Tribune.”

Jack’s jaw dropped into a neat oval. He pointed at Darcy. “Your father is Whitelaw Reid?”

“Yep.”

He whirled towards Bill. “Let me guess, your dad is the mayor.”

“William Hearst, actually.”

Katherine grinned, punching Jack’s slack shoulder. “I got cool friends, huh?”

“It’s fine, really,” interrupted Darcy. ”We know this price for the newsies isn’t right, so we’ll fight for it. Even if we go against our own family.”

“I only came along because she made me,” Bill added unhelpfully.

Katherine stuck out her tongue. Darcy sighed. “Okay. Back to business.” She examined the printer. “You’ve got your manuscript?”

“Right here.”

Darcy took the paper, placing it on a wooden frame protruding out of the machine. “Looks good. Let’s get started.”

She and Bill retreated behind it, adjusting some kind of knob and placing a fresh sheet of paper in a slot. In no time at all, the first paper had been stamped. Jack pulled it out before anyone could protest, scrutinising each character.

“The ink’s still wet, Jack,” Davey informed him, amusement lacing his voice.

As he’d warned, Jack’s fingertips were now smudged black, the edges of the paper blurred. He dropped it as if it had stung him. “Ah. Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Darcy comforted, placing another sheet into the machine. “We’ve got plenty more to come.”

Quick as a flash, two whole stacks of papers had been printed out, piled up neatly and ready for delivery. Jack clapped Davey’s back heartily, nearly sending the skinny boy sprawling. “We ready, Dave?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” he answered grimly.

The boys grabbed a stack each, half-hopping up onto the table. A well-placed hand popped the window out, filling the basement with the heavy sound of a full-blown storm. The sky was pitch dark, save for an occasional fork of white lightning, accompanied by the deep rumble of thunder.

Davey turned back. “Hey, would any of you happen to have a spare umbrella?”

Katherine only grinned and waved, lounging against the printing press unworriedly.

Jack gave her the finger, tucking the papers against his stomach and hunching over to shield them from the onslaught of rain. He crawled out of the window, Davey behind him, and nearly crumpled under the sheer weight of the cold downpour as it soaked through his vest in mere seconds. One hand clutching the stack desperately against his body, the other searching through the muck of the ground for the windowpane. Jack ran his fingers through the mud, eyes squinted to fight the pebble-like droplets pouring down over his face. He felt a hard edge and pulled, but the glass stayed put, far too slippery to be grasped. He tried to dry an edge with his sleeve, but that wouldn’t help, his clothes were soaked through… ah, screw it. 

Jack reached for Davey’s hand, pushing through the storm and scouting out the faint edges of buildings in the moving darkness, taking one step, and another, and another. He fought his way through the storm, feeling the rough edges of houses to guide him. The edges of the papers were getting soaked, he could feel it- but they’d dry by morning. A muffled noise sounded behind him, followed by a tug on his hand.

“What?”

“I said, it’s right there!” Davey shouted.

Jack turned back, and sure enough, the lodging house loomed above them, a crowd of newsies huddled under the thin strip of roof shielding the doorstep. He pushed his way under it, relishing the relief of constant downpour. “Okay, listen up, newsies. We got some papes here for you’s to sell. These two is about good for four people, ‘kay? Bring them all over New York. Put them on doorsteps, slide them through windows, whatever it takes for them to find it in the morning.”

A dark-haired newsie scoffed, cap perched backwards on her twin pigtails. “There ain’t enough of us for all o’ New York. We can cover Manhattan, maybe the Bronx, tops.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do. Who’s gonna go first?”

No one answered.

“Oh, please,” Jack scoffed. He pulled the top half off of his stack, tossing it to one of his own boys. “Racer, you’re goin’.”

“C’mon-”

“Nope. Not an option. Romeo, you too.”

Davey split his papers evenly into two, handing the first to Finch and the second to Mush.

“Hey, Jack, Davey,” Race called over the rain. “How’s our boy doin’?”

“Buttons is doin’ just fine. Dont’cha worry. Go on, now!”

Four boys set off into the rain, shielding the precious papers with their bodies.

“We’ll go back for more,” Davey announced, faking confidence. “Just… sit tight. We have enough for everyone.”

And so the night continued. Davey and Jack battled their way back and forth, from the printing press to the lodging house, until every newsie had gotten their first round. 

“It’s no use, Cowboy,” Race panted when he returned, wiping the sweat and rainwater off of his brow. “Ain’t enough of us. This strike is doomed.”

“Looks like you’ll need reinforcements,” called a cool voice behind them. Jack turned to face a dark-skinned girl, almond-shaped black eyes piercing through him as a slight smirk lifted her mouth. Rain sloughed off her nose, but either she didn’t notice, or she didn’t care.

Medusa. The famously tricky leader of Queens's troop of all-girl newsies, so-called for the intricate weave of snake-like dark braids crowning her face. “Evenin’, Cowboy. How’s the farm?”

Jack tipped his cap stiffly, ignoring the playful dig at his animalistic newsies. “Well, hello to you too, Medusa. You hear to laugh at us, or you got a reason to be on Manhattan territory?”

“Easy, now. We ain’t here to cause trouble.” She stalked closer, unblinking. “I’s been hearin’ things, Cowboy. They says you’s startin’ a strike.”

“Right you are.”

“Brooklyn don’t trust you, an’ the rest o’ the boroughs do what Brooklyn says. Me, I don’t follow no one’s command. I wanna see for myself. You real about this?”

“I am.”

“I’m gonna need more than that.” 

“I’m real ‘bout this. All the way through.”

Medusa gave him a wicked smile. “An’ if I did this?” Quick as a flash, she grabbed Mush, who’d just returned for a fresh stack of papers, forcing his chin into the inner corner of her elbow for a tight headlock. “How ‘bout now, Cowboy?” she spat. “If Snyder gets his hand on one o’ your boys like I do right now? You takin’ the strike further, or you savin’ him?”

Mush made some kind of noise, clawing hopelessly against Medusa’s lean arm as his face grew pinker. Davey, who’d been largely ignored up to that point, held up his hand in protest, taking an instinctive step towards him.

Jack opened his mouth, his hand twitching for the newsie almost on a reflex. He couldn’t lie, those piercing eyes would see through him in an instant. “Okay, okay! I’d save him.”

Medusa released Mush, who hunched over, hacking his lungs out. Her eyes remained on the Manhattan leader.

Jack cursed his own words. He’d never get Queens on his side with soft words like that-

“Right choice, Cowboy. Don’t lose yourself to ambition. Your troop comes first, strike second, yourself last. Don’t you forget it,” Medusa instructed him, easy smirk returning to her lips. “You’ve got Queens. We’ll help you spread the papes tonight. An’, Cowboy?”

“Yeah?”

The rain quieted to allow her words to ring clear. She leaned into his ear. “Your boys lay a finger on one o’ my girls- so much as a pinky- you’ll have every newsie in Queens out for Manhattan blood. Hear me?”

“Got’cha,” Jack answered, as nonchalantly as he could manage.

“Good.” Medusa placed two fingers between her lips, letting out a clear two-tone whistle that rang throughout the square. “Go time, girls!”

Immediately, a crowd of newsies seemed to melt out of the shadows, girls of every shape and colour flooding the lodging house steps, milling about as they reached for paper. Medusa took command easily, splitting the newsies into groups and sending them off to each of the boroughs in turn. A freckled girl of diminutive stature, who couldn't be more than fourteen, bounded up beside her, cap perched precariously on her twin buns, nodding furiously along with every word she spoke. The second-in-command of Queens- Cub, whom Medusa was bringing up to be the next leader. In no time at all, everyone was off, leaving just Jack and Davey in the bubble of air under the lodging house roof.

“Suppose we get some more papers?” Davey suggested. 

Per his words, the two boys made their way back to the house, rain still pouring down relentlessly. Jack pulled out the windowpane and swung himself inside, and helped Davey down behind him. “

“What a gentleman,” grinned Darcy, piling up a few more papers. 

Katherine scoffed. “He’s just sweet on Davey.”

“Aw, shut up,” Jack muttered, ears turning red. “Okay, okay. We don’t need much more papes, we’ve got Manhattan and most o’ the other boroughs covered. Hey, Sarah, pass me that stack, would ya’?”

And without any warning, Joseph Pulitzer walked into the room.

Chapter Text

Chapter 42: Sarah

Days Remaining: 0

Silence. Absolute silence. It was almost as if everyone in the room had lost the ability to breathe.

“Good evening,” Pulitzer greeted courteously, not seeming a bit fazed.

“What’re you doing here?” Jack spat back.

“Well, young man, I live here.”

Jack, Davey and Sarah whirled towards Katherine, mutinous.

“You said this was your father’s house, Katherine,” Davey accused quietly, voice small and sad.

Katherine’s face had lit up in a soft blush. She refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

“Oh, but it is,” Pulitzer spoke, voice morbidly gleeful. “I see you’ve met my daughter, Katherine Pulitzer.”

“Plumber?” Sarah managed weakly, numb.

“Oh, that’s her pen name. She refuses to work for me, you know, so she took her business over to the Sun. Changed her last name, so no one would know who she’s affiliated with. Good to see you, Darcy, Bill. Your fathers will be quite disappointed to know you’ve been playing about with newsies, of all things.” He scooped up a paper. “A strike, I see. Too bad every officer in town will be at the square, ready to apprehend your poor children. All I need to make is one phone call.”

Jack whipped his head to face Darcy and Bill. “You knew?”

Both nodded meekly.

“You lied to us,” Sarah whispered. “Do you know how much work and time we’ve put into this? Do you know how much I’ve been worried about Les and Chip and Crutchie, but I trusted you, because you had a plan? Have you been betraying us the whole time, Katherine?” She spat out the full name like it was a curse. “Have you been chirping in Pulitzer’s ear, telling him of our plans? Oh, well I can’t just say ‘Pulitzer’ now, can I? Because there’s two Pulitzers in the room.”

Davey reached for her hand.

“I trusted you, Kath! I let myself believe everything would be okay! I thought you were on our side. I thought you were more than a rich girl on daddy’s leash.”

Katherine turned to her, glossy eyes threatening to spill over. “Sarah-”

“Don’t. Keep my name out of your lying mouth, Pulitzer. I don’t want to see you again.” Tears stinging her eyes, Sarah pushed her way through the window, climbing out into the rain. The downpour of warm rain washed away her sorrows, anguish reflecting in the brightening grey sky. Sarah took a step forward, unable to stand still any longer, she walked, and then she ran. She ran past the lodging house, past her own home, past anywhere she knew, and still the rain followed her. She collapsed against the wall of some kind of brick building and suddenly, the buildup of tears set her face awash with saltwater.

Sarah scrubbed away at her eyes, because Katherine Pulitzer did not deserve her tears.

Chapter Text

Chapter 43: Katherine

Days Remaining: 0

Katherine had made a mistake. A huge, massive, elephant-sized mistake. And she couldn’t fix it.

“I- I gotta go,” she blurted out. Her hands felt numb as she heaved herself out the window, even as her father called for her return. The rain was still going strong, the sky a pale grey. Somewhere, beyond the thick blanket of clouds, the sun had risen, shining with a warmth Katherine could not feel.

Sarah’s footsteps- those must be Sarah’s footsteps in the mud, who else would be up so early in the morning- her footsteps left a trail in the soggy dirt road, pointing towards her direction. Katherine followed the track, finding her way to a curled up girl sitting against the wall. 

Sarah stood up, rain plastering her hair to her face. An uncharacteristic stormcloud set her face ablaze, and she turned and began walking away with quick, decisive steps.

“Sarah, wait-”

“Don’t.”

“Please!”

“Leave me alone,” Sarah answered childishly, words almost lost in the rain.

“I-”

“One reason,” she scoffed, whirling to face Katherine. “Give me one good reason I should trust you.”

“Because- because-” she struggled to manage her words.

The anger drained out of Sarah’s voice, replaced with lost hope as she set off again, off into the storm-blurred distance. “I thought so.”

“Because I love you!” Katherine blurted out, the shout mingling with the steady pour of raindrops splashing down all around her.

The Jacobs girl stopped, still facing away.

“I love you, Sarah,” she repeated, softer. “I have since I met you, though I didn’t know it then. I know you. I know you’re loving, and kind, and sweet, and loyal, and more than I’ll ever deserve.”

Sarah turned just barely, the outline of her cheek visible behind her drenched hair.

“I know you love your family more than anything else. I know the way you cover your mouth when you yawn, the way your eyes tilt up at the edges when you smile, the way you dip your head when you laugh, the way that drives me insane.” Katherine was crying now, warm tears mixing with the rain on her face. “I was never on Pulitzer’s side. I never lied to you, save for fibbing my last name. I didn’t want you to judge me before you knew me. I really believed in the strike, I really believed I could make a difference. I wanted the difference for you. For all of us. I promise, I didn’t mean for him to find out, I should have been quieter, I should’ve told the truth.”

Sarah was fully facing her now, edging closer, step by step.

“There’s so much I should’ve done. I regret it all, because I wasn’t thinking- I fell hard for you. I don’t want a life without you, and now… I’ve screwed it up, haven’t I?”

“Katherine-”

“You don’t have to forgive me. I don’t expect you to. Just know, that this whole time, I did it for you-”

“Katherine-”

“I drew the wrong straw, okay? I made some bad choices- but please, please stay. Just as friends? Even-”

Sarah grabbed Katherine’s chin and leaned in, pressing their lips together. Rain and tears were streaming down both of their faces, and there it was, that tantalisingly beautiful scent of raspberries and rain wreathing around them both. Katherine shouldn’t let her, Sarah deserved better, but, oh… her head was spinning, her heart was thumping, and when her pinky brushed the other’s, she felt as if she could float. This was love, true, strong young love, the kind that warmed you from the inside out, the kind that made the birds sing and the rain fall and the earth shatter into broken glass. Every possible thought left in her mind narrowed to that soft point of contact at her mouth, and finally, Sarah gently pulled away, brushing a raindrop off Katherine’s face with a gentle thumb.

There was a break in the sky, and the brilliant sun set their faces awash in new light. The rain faded to a trickle and each droplet seemed to gleam like soap bubbles, glowing with an opalescent white sheen. Sarah’s face was flushed and pink, still panting, hair a soggy mess, clothes drenched, heart-shaped mouth kiss-swollen. She looked wild, untamed, able to spread her wings and take flight at any moment.

Katherine never believed someone could take your breath away, but here she was, air choked up in her throat, lips still tingling from where they’d been touched. “I… does that mean you forgive me?”

Sarah dipped her head, laughing in that beautiful, familiar way, strands of chestnut hair catching the sun in golden threads of light. 

I could watch her forever, Katherine realised, and I’d never get bored.

“What’re you thinking, Kath?”

“I’d fight an army of heaven’s soldiers into the depths of hell for you,” she blurted out.

Sarah cupped her cheek, rain still misting her warm palm. “Poetic. What else should I expect from a writer?”

Unable to resist, Katherine hooked her fingers in the lace collar of her blouse and pulled her in for another kiss, the taunt of summer berries still sweet on her tongue.

Chapter Text

Chapter 44: Jack

Days Remaining: 0

After a thorough interrogation, through which Sarah stayed right by Katherine’s side, Jack declared the reporter forgiven. “We can’t control who our folks are, after all. Where’d you run off to just now, anyways?”

The two girls shared a look and giggled.

“Oh, sure. Be like that,” Jack scoffed, but Davey rested a hand on his wrist and gave him a gently stern look, something only he could pull off.

He had a soft hand. Hadn’t been a newsie long enough to gain the familiar pattern of callous skin he’d seen on his own.

Bill and Darcy both gave Katherine a hug in turn, while she attempted to pose a query. “Where’s Pulitzer?”

“He’s gone back up. Confident, I guess, that he’ll have us cornered tomorrow.”

“I’ll be at the square,” Sarah spoke in answer. “Ready to fight with all the newsies.”

“Any last chance Brooklyn will be in?” Katherine asked hopefully.

Jack shook his head. “Think we got Queens, though.”

“I mean, that should be enough. Working kids are tough, anyhow, they’ll probably be able to fight off the bulls.”

“An’ what about the ladies’ strike?”

“See, their instructions are to stay at home. If all of them have spread the word, half of New York will call in sick.”

“Even more if you subtract the working kids.”

“Add them,” Davey corrected. “Add the kids. That’s three quarters of the city- well, a little less if only Manhattan’s kids are striking.”

“It’s strike day, ladies and gents. Let’s get to the Square.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 45: Davey

Days Remaining: 0

Times Square was massive. Absolutely enormous, just as big as the crowd of children gathered in the very middle, a few fooling about, pretending to wave papers at the gawking passerby, others with an expression so serious, it was almost comical. There had to be at least two hundred, three, even, between both the Queens and Manhattan newsies.

“Mornin’, kids,” Jack called, tipping his cap to his newsies. “We’re gonna hold a good soaking when the bulls come, eh?”

A raucous cheer shook his boys, Albert even going as far as to chuck his hat in the air, where it hung, spinning for a second, before coming down on Finch’s head.

“Hey, Jack?” 

“Yeah, Dave?” he responded as he found them both a seat on a bench by the edge of the crowd.

“When are we going to the Refuge?

“Real soon, don’t you worry. Just gonna make sure the bulls get here an’ raise the alarm to draw the guards away. Speaking of-” He pointed at a group of brown-uniformed men approaching, steps hard and quick. “There’s our first group.”

“C’mon, boys, what do we think of these lovely little birds?” crowed Race, climbing atop a milk crate.

A resounding chorus of wet raspberries and “boos” shook the square. Race blew the bulls a kiss.

“Soak ‘em good,” Jack instructed with a good-natured grin. “We'd better get goin’.”

Davey followed him through the crowd, resisting the urge to reach for his hand. The pair made it to the outskirts of the melee, and Jack led him through the first line of buildings, sure-footed.

“Do you really think this will work?”

“I know it will, Davey. Count on me.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 46: Jack

Days Remaining: 0

The cement walls of the Refuge were a lot rougher than Jack remembered. He let his fingers trail along its gritty surface as he made his way to the kitchen door.

Melody. James. Ander.

How many children had lost their lives in these solid, unbreakable, walls?

Charles. Myla. Helen.

How many bodies had Snyder dumped into that pit? How many of those were friends? Sisters, brothers? Daughters, sons, nieces, nephews, cousins, lovers? 

Emma-Rose. Henry. Ruth.

How many spirits had he doused? How many lives had he stolen and kept for himself?

Eddie. Lillian. Everett.

“Jack?”

He startled, pulling his hand off the wall. “Yeah?”

Davey fixed him with a look. “Are you okay?”

“I am, Dave. Just plottin’ away at our plan.”

“I called your name twice.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault. Just making sure you’re okay.”

“Well,” Jack grinned, “thank you for worryin’.” The words were said teasingly, but something about Davey’s meticulous attention and concern struck a chord right beside his heart, tucked under his ribcage.

“Is this it?”

A solid-looking wooden door was planted in the wall. Jack nodded, and Davey tried his luck at the knob. “No use. It’s locked.”

“He’s got a spare skeleton key hidden around here,” Jack recalled. ‘It’s just…” He fell to his knees, feeling around in the sparse grass. A tiny lump of dirt poked out of the ground under his fingers, and he clawed it away, finding the rusty gleam of old brass. “Here we are. Used this beauty to escape, once or twice. Didn’t risk a third, they’d figure it out by then.”

Davey gave a low whistle, plucking the key from his hands and trying it in the hole. A perfect fit, and when turned, a click sounded, and the door opened.

The lamps were lit in the kitchen, casting a dim yellow gleam over the terrified faces in the windowless room. A tiny girl, choppy pigtails swaying, peeked out from behind a soapy dish, dripping watery suds on the chipped tile floor. “Are we going to die?”

Jack’s heart broke, leaving a crack for anger to fill it to the brim. Not for this poor child, he only felt pity for her, but the next time Snyder saw him, he’d be ready to have blood on his hands.

Davey stepped forwards, taking control. He bent down to the girl’s level, giving a sweet, reassuring smile. “Of course not. My name’s Davey, and this is Jack. What’s your name?”

“Della.”

“Well, Della. Would you like to go back home?”

“I don’t have a home,” she replied quietly, though her words rang true in the petrified silence. “The cops got my ma, and my pa’s been gone for a while. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“How about an aunt? An uncle?”

“Maybe,” Della muttered pensively. “If Uncle Lu is still alive. Do you mean-” Suddenly, tears filled her eyes. “No more Refuge?”

“That’s right.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Can I go home too?” piped up a slight boy near the edge of the counter, wet dishrag in hand.

“Of course.”

“And me?” called another.

Just like that, the ice broke. A cascade of squawking children flooded around Davey, clutching at his hands, asking questions in tumbling rollabouts of sentences. One gave him a hug, and Jack felt that chord ring again, true in his heart.

“Okay, guys,” he called, animating his voice. “We’ll get you right home. Head on outside, okay? Get going if you know your way.”

With a lot of effort and a few promises of treats, the twittering flock funnelled their way through the kitchen door. 

Davey gave a shocked laugh once everyone was out. “Well. That was easy.”

“Oh, that’s not all. We’s gotta get everyone. There’s gonna be a couple in the dining room, a whole load in the cellar, and a few in the sleeping quarters.”

“Okay. I’ll take the dining and sleeping rooms, you’re in the cellar.” He stepped towards the open door on his right.

“Wait!”

Davey turned, a questioning smile turning up on his lips.

“How about we stick together?”

The smile grew into a real grin, and those hazel-green eyes crinkled up at the corners. 

“Okay, Jack. Okay.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 47: Katherine

Days Remaining: 0

The bulls couldn’t be more than forty yards away. Even Race’s cockiness had diminished as the officers approached, uniforms rippling with every solid step.

The children gathered were quiet. Silent. Not a word was spoken. Faces were set, fists were balled, thunderclouds descended on every expression.

This was it. This was the endgame. This fight determined the life and death of its soldiers. 

Another wave of brown-clothed bulls came up on the horizon, its predecessors approaching at twenty yards.

“Get ready,” shouted Mike, taking a defensive stance. Finch loaded his slingshot, peering over the band to aim at the impending war. 

The bulls began to run.

At once, the mere ten seconds seemed to have simultaneously sped up and slowed down. Katherine barely had time to shift her hands before the final moment of silence was shattered, as Boots took a flying dive, knocking a younger officer down. The children of the strike followed his lead, setting Times Square wild with a gleeful roar. Complete chaos had abruptly encompassed the once-serene air, dust kicked up, loose bits of cobblestone being passed back and forth between friend and enemy. Frozen, Katherine watched a tiny boy being clubbed in the back with a hefty bat before a sharp tug to her head pulled her to the ground. She screamed, clawing at the hands in her hair, and she saw the meaty fists raised above her head. Katherine curled up, tucking her head into her arms in a vain attempt to protect herself for the blow that would never come.

Gingerly, she raised her eyes, finding a pink-faced Sarah grappling with the bull that could have been her killer. Shockingly, the slight girl seemed to be winning, thanks in part to the loaf-sized rock clutched in her hand. She slammed it twice against the man’s head, hard, and he scampered away, whimpering like a kicked puppy.

Sarah shook her hair out, face catching the golden sun like some kind of warrior goddess. She reached out her hand to Katherine, helping her to her feet.

“Well, soldier. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

She shrugged, allowing herself a disbelieving grin. ”Just the adrenaline, I guess.”

“I don’t believe it. I’d never peg you as a fighter.”

“Cut me some slack, Kath, I just saved your skull from a beating.” 

Katherine punched her in the shoulder. “Okay, okay. Thank you, wonderful, fabulous, guardian angel for swooping in to save the day.”

“You’re ever so welcome.”

To her left, a wretched scream rose out of the deafening din. Sarah yanked Katherine behind her, pushing through the dust-clouds of battle, catching the occasional loose kick or punch. There- it was a Queens girl, a tall one, with short red hair that was pressed flat against the scrubby dirt road as she fought fruitlessly at the hands a bull had locked around her throat, pinning her to the ground. Sarah raised her rock over the officer’s head, but before she could bring it down, a flying force knocked the bull to his side. Medusa, crown of braids come loose into swinging snakes, rained blows against the side of the man’s face, expression burning with vicious contempt. She delivered a particularly wicked punch to the jaw, and he was out, nose running a crimson river down his ear. 

Medusa stood, dusting off her hands. “Mornin’, girls. Mornin’, Fox. You alright?”

The girl nodded, giving a quick, grateful smile before she scampered back into the battle.

“Good. Have you two gotten in a soaking yet?”

“Sarah gave a good one,” Katherine grinned. “Clubbed a bull right over the head. He crawled away whining like a kicked hound.”

She snorted. “You take the weapons out of their hands, an’ half o’ the bulls act like they’s puppies. Don’t let them fool you.” With a slight dip of her head, she wound her braids up into a bun and forged her way into the fight, lost in a flurry of dust.

Katherine ducked a flying blow, skirting the edges of the battle for the bigger picture. She pulled Sarah up with her onto an old bench on the sidewalk, the heels of her boots sinking into the rotting wood. The sun was vicious, a blinding white star shredding through the cornflower sky with searing heat, licking at the soldiers’ sweaty faces. Katherine sifted through the warring crowd, hope dissipating into the heat waves rising from the cracked street. A fair share of bulls had fallen, yes, but hundreds of children lay curled up on the fringes of the fight, blood staining the street, their clothes, their skin. A few lay motionless, clawed fingers reaching out to scrape into the packed dirt, eyes cloudy and unmoving. The bulls were ruthless, swinging their clubs without abandon, sprays of crimson erupting from where they contacted. Wave after wave bore down on the workers, a relentless tide felling their toughest warriors. 

Dying, Katherine realised quite suddenly. These children are dying.

A final flicker of hope died in her chest as yet another squadron of officers made their way into the battle. There was no chance remaining, and once all of the children had fallen, they’d be sent to the Refuge. Beaten. Bloodied. Killed.

“If they’re going down,” Katherine snapped, poised to leap, “I’m going down with them.” She relinquished her grip on Sarah’s hand, taking the stone with her. She slid off the bench, advancing on a bull who had cornered a battered little boy, vest half-torn and a deep gash visible on his calf. Katherine raised her rock, clubbing the officer over the head with a solid blow, sending an audible knock through his skull. The man whipped to face her, grabbing her wrist, but slumped to the ground before any damage could be done.

The frost holding Sarah’s limbs in place seemed to melt, and she, too, leapt into the fight, back-to-back with Katherine without a word said. A trio of uniformed soldiers, alerted by the fall of their comrade, had approached the girls, circling them like a pack of oversized wolves.

Both turned, deliberately matching the spin of the pack. Doing her best to keep eye contact, Katherine slowly lowered herself to the ground, scraping the ground blindly for a club, or perhaps another stone she could pass off to Sarah. Nothing met her fingers but dry, packed, dirt, collecting jn the space under her fingernails. A smooth pebble brushed by her hands, something sharp, a slightly damp bit of cloth, and after the circle of predators grew smaller, she rose to her feet again. Carelessly, Katherine dusted her hands off on her skirt, keeping her expression nonchalant. A little bored, even. Control is key, came a voice in her head. Not her own, but her father’s, long ago.

Even so, the bulls were growing restless, the largest of the three tapping his club against his hip. The dull, light, thuds formed a deliberate pattern, and Katherine recognised the beat a second too late. Before she could warn her, one shoved Sarah to the ground in one fluid motion, raising his bat over her head for a fatal blow. Katherine reached out, a scream bubbling up her throat, but a hand was clamped over her mouth and another around her waist, leaving her helpless. She writhed frantically, but the solid lock of fingers kept her in place as the club began its way down. 

Out of nowhere, a pair of small hands wrapped around its head, holding it up inches away from Sarah’s glassy-eyed face. Mush, struggling fiercely with the bat. He tugged at the weapon fruitlessly, weakened by the days he’d gone without so much as half a bite of bread. With a grunt, the bull tossed the slight boy aside like a ragdoll, neck snapping forward as he hit the wall. 

Mush slid down its length, body thudding against the ground and lying still in the dirt.

Chapter Text

Chapter 48: Jack

Days Remaining: 0

“I promise. It’s okay.” Anna coaxed the whimpering children out into the hall, Jack and Davey herding them up from behind. “We’re almost there. Just through the kitchen.”

“Food?” an older boy asked hopefully.

“Sure. Yes, we’ll get some food.”

“Cook wouldn’t like it,” protested another weakly. “Don’t want to be in trouble.”

“No more trouble. Cook’s gone away. We’ll get some food and go home.”

Della, who’d insisted on accompanying the rest of the Refugees out, stopped in her tracks, grabbing ahold of Anna’s hand with both of her own. She pressed her finger to her lips. “You hear that?”

“Hey, let’s be quiet for a second, please,” Jack called. The footfalls ceased, the low mumble of chatter faded. He scanned the hall, pricking up his ears for noise.

Birdcall. The old building, settling. Wind teasing at the glass of the few windows.

And there it was. A shout, in the distance. Rhythmic stomping, growing closer.

Davey turned to him. “Snyder and the bulls,” he whispered. “They’re back.”

“We need them out,” Jack answered. “Anna. We need them out, now.”

“Let’s go a little faster, okay? There’s some people coming. Don’t want them to catch us!” Her voice was cheery, and the children seemed a bit more at ease as they paced through the hall at a jog.

“Over here,” came Snyder’s voice, uncomfortably close.

Jack pushed the stragglers a little further into the herd. “Come on, now, let’s be quick.” A few had turned back, stumbling over their feet as they craned their necks for a look.

A door slammed open, and footsteps drowned the house in a pounding drumbeat.

Jack was shoving now, but the Refugees needed little convincing. A stampede of short, bobbing heads flooded into the kitchen, and he slammed the door to the hall shut. No lock.

“Get them out, Dave!” Jack shouted, pressing all of his weight against the doorframe as the bulls shook the ground beneath him.

“The door out,” Davey yelled back. “It’s locked!”

And the key’s outside, he realised.

“I can pick a lock.” Jack’s voice jolted as the first bull slammed against him through the flimsy wood. “I just need-”

Anna appeared by his side, pressing a cold hairpin into his hand. “You go get them out, I’ll hold them off.”

Losing no time, Jack forced his way through the milling crowd, screeching to a halt at Davey’s side.

The horde of Refugees had sunken into panic, wailing children clinging to petrified teens as they pushed against the walls, as if they might swell the room enough to break it. A few of the older ones attempted to soothe the pack, but it was no use. Animals, they were. Prey, fleeing from predator.

Jack forced the hairpin into the lock, slamming it through as he searched for the little metal tab he needed. There was something in the keyhole, blocking his reach. He tucked the pin into his teeth, digging into the gap with his fingernail.

“Faster,” Davey urged. “I don’t think Anna can hold the door much longer.”

Anna, plastered against the wall on the opposite side of the room, had tucked a fire poker into a metal loop on the doorframe, keeping one side of the stick on the bending door and the other in her slipping grasp. She had her back to the rest, feet braced against the bottom of the wall as she desperately pulled against her makeshift lock. A few children offered to help, but she barely spared a second to dismiss them, ordering them to gather around the exit, ready to flee as soon as the opportunity presented itself. A pounding shook her entire frame as it sounded on the door.

Sweat breaking on his brow, Jack managed to pull out the bit of rubber meant to deter lock-pickers and resumed his frantic attempts at the keyhole. A push here, a twist there- a sharp click sounded and the door popped open, revealing bright white sunlight that flooded the room.

A flood of children poured out onto the grass, and Jack slumped against the wall, defeated. He’d barely sitten for a second before Davey grabbed his sleeve. “Crutchie. We need Crutchie!”

He jolted, immediately on his feet. “Where-”

“He must be in Snyder’s office. Chip and Les would be there too, they wouldn’t leave him. C’mon!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 49: Davey

Days Remaining: 0

Davey had sent off the children as quickly as they could, ordering the ones without a home to wait for them by the back of the lodging house, away from the bulls. 

“Hold them off just a bit longer,” he begged Anna, who had nodded stiffly, face setting as she slid another poker through her makeshift lock. It seemed quite solid, though not solid enough to start Snyder looking for another entrance.

“Here,” Jack beckoned, holding open a door by the corner of the room. “It’s to the cellar. No one uses this stairway but the kids and the chef.”

Carefully, as so not to alert the bulls of their movements, the boys scampered down into the basement. Caution was soon forgotten, though, as their pace grew quicker.

“Snyder’s office,” muttered Jack.

Through a steamy room filled with massive vats of laundry, a smaller one filled with ironing boards, and another staircase met their eyes. Jack led him up, pressing his finger to his lips. “We’re just behind the bulls, now.”

They’d entered what seemed to be a large bedroom, stacked with bunk beds from one wall to the next. This must be where Chip and Les were sleeping, Davey realised. A door on his left, slightly ajar, revealed a crowd of bulls gathered by the other door at the end of the hallway, ramming into it with a roll of wooden boards. Thankfully, it seemed to be holding.

Jack swung yet another door open, this one just ahead. 

Immediately, Chip jumped up to position herself in front of Crutchie, stretching out her short arms to protect his torso. Les pointed a pair of scissors at them, but the fight quickly drained out of both of the children as they recognised the newcomers.

“Crutchie,” Chip spoke hoarsely, not sparing a second for happy reunion. “We need to get ‘im out.”

She and Les had managed to roll him onto a blanket, but the two slight kids would have no chance of carrying him all that way by themselves. 

Crutchie. 

A faded bruise showed over his eye, and numerous cuts and scrapes littered his arms and face. A fresh gash was visible, cutting across his lip, but it was far from fatal. It was the blood-soaked apron wound around the bottom of his left leg that would be the thing slowing them down.

“Hey, Jack,” Crutchie managed weakly. “Davey.”

“You grab the end by his legs, I’ve got his head,” Jack instructed. He had no time to cry. Not yet.

Davey gingerly lifted his side of the blanket, grasping the edges, but at the slightest movement, a low, keening wail slipped through Crutchie’s mouth. A fresh wave of sweat broke out on his forehead and he was panting, eyes pressed shut, a tear trickling down his cheek. “Don’t. Please.”

As quick as a flash, Jack flew to the cabinet beside the door, rifling through the drawers for that secret pocket. He drew out a syringe, and handed it delicately to Davey.

“Is this…”

“Yeah. It won’t hurt him, but he’ll be out like a light. For the next couple minutes, anyway. Snyder sedates the badly hurtin’ ones ‘fore he kills ‘em. It’s quieter.”

Davey nodded tersely, kneeling by Crutchie’s side. “This won’t hurt much. When you’re awake, we’ll be out of this place and on our way home.” Hopefully.

“Can I have some, too?” Les asked sheepishly.

Oh, how Davey longed to slip his little brother a dose, to send him off to dreamland until they were either safe or dead. It would be so much easier for his poor, battered young soul. “We can’t carry the both of you. Just hang on for a second, now.” He carefully pressed the tip of the needle into the crook of Crutchie’s arm, slowly pushing the drug into his blood. A sigh escaped the boy’s lips, and his eyes closed.

“Part two,” Chip announced grimly, peering over the rim of the blanket bowl Crutchie was cupped in as he lifted off the ground.

Chapter Text

Chapter 50: Sarah

Days Remaining: 0

Sarah stumbled over her own feet as she fell to Mush’s side, cradling his head onto her lap. Blood stained the lap of her skirt, warm and thick, but she could care less.

His eyes flickered up to her face, and his lips parted just slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out but a dark trickle of blood, carving a crimson streak down his chin. Pink bubbles gathered at the edges of Mush’s mouth, and his eyes fixed on a point far above his head, eyelashes fluttering delicately until they stilled, half-closed.

A tear streaked down Sarah’s face. She pushed his eyelids down with a gentle finger.

Katherine crouched by her side, pulling her in for a soft embrace.

“Look at them lovebirds. Too bad they’re in a cage,” cooed the largest of the bulls.

Another two men pushed a few more stragglers against the wall beside them. Medusa. Race. A handful of Queens girls. Two Manhattan boys.

Sarah drank in the deserted battleground. Battered children were leaning against the walls, hunched beside lamp posts, lying on the streets, still. A few bulls had fallen as well, but the plenty remaining didn’t seem too much worse for wear as they closed in on the kids.

The fight was over. They had lost.

Medusa placed herself in front of their group, fists raised in warning as the men advanced on them. “Don’t touch them,” she hissed. “Back off.”

“She’s a feisty one!” crowed red-bearded officer, to much laughter from his comrades. “Don’t get too close, George, she’ll bite off your fingers.”

“I'se about to bite off your whole arm,” Race muttered sullenly, scraping dried blood off of his lip as he readied to fight behind her.

It was no use. Sarah had a rock, as did one of the Queens girls, and Race had managed to get his hands on a club, but… against a gang of full-grown men, each armed with a heavy bat, they’d be of little use.

“Surrender,” Sarah murmured. “It’ll hurt less. We’re going to the Refuge anyway.”

“I’m not going down without a fight,” Katherine answered, brushing the dust off her skirt as she got to her feet, pulling Sarah’s rock from her hand and wielding it threateningly in her own.

‘Alright, then,” the redhead grunted, cracking his neck. “We’ll do this the hard way. Let’s have a little more blood on our hands today, boys.”

Before the bulls could advance a step forward, a rush of newsies poured into the square, releasing once again filling the air with gleeful hoots and cheers. There must have been hundreds of them, half a thousand- far more than any one borough would hold. A pair of quick-footed girls pulled the men into the fray, leaving the cornered children free, on the outskirts of the reviving battle.

“Reinforcements,” Katherine muttered, still shaking.

“Obviously,” Medusa added. “Harlem’s here, so’s Woodside, for sure. And-” she squinted. “Who’s that?”

A stocky boy in a red-striped shirt had made his way onto the roof of the florist’s shop, hands on hips. 

Race gave a disbelieving scoff. “I don’t believe it.”

“Never fear,” Spot Conlon shouted over the din. “Brooklyn’s here!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 51: Jack

Days Remaining: 0

Just one more step, Jack urged himself, carefully lifting Crutchie’s limp body over the stairs. The boy was far too underweight- he’d always been a skinny little runt, but the Refuge had reduced him to skin and bones- yet he was still testing Jack and Davey’s combined strength, which turned out to be less than what they’d thought.

Just one more step.

Chip and Les were pressed to the side of the narrow staircase, beside Crutchie, directly in the middle of the pack for fear of what was behind and what might be ahead. Despite being at the head of the group, at the highest point on the stairs, Jack could barely make out their figures in the willowy darkness. Nothing but hushed, strained breaths broke the eerie silence.

Just one more step.

Jack’s arms ached. He lifted his foot back again, finding the next step. His boot squeaked softly against the old wood. His arms ached.

Just one more step. And another. And another.

Somehow, Jack found the top. He readied himself, quickly tightened his grip on the blanket with one hand, and shoved open the door with the other.

Immediately, searing white light poured into the room. The escape was still open, inviting the sun to spread its rays into the kitchen. Anna was somehow still at the door, face greying, veins tightening in her neck as she fought for lives that weren’t even hers. The ceaseless pounding had grown rhythmic, each heavy strike stretching the barely holding door as far as it went.

“Get-” A particularly heavy blow left tears in her eyes. Still, she held onto the bouquet of poker sticks slid through the loop beside the doorway. “Get out,” she managed weakly. “Now!”

Jack stumbled over his own feet, attempting to run, but he discovered he could barely carry Crutchie anymore. “Lower him,” he shouted.

Davey nodded, carefully easing the blanketed package onto the ground. Together, the pair shuffled him across the ground, painfully slow.

“What’re you doing?” Jack screamed at the children lingering around the edges of their little group. “Go, go!”

“Run as far as you can,” Davey instructed, pushing Crutchie forward a bit more. “I’ll see you at home!”

Hesitantly, Chip and Les made for freedom. 

“You’ll be okay?” Les asked quietly, barely heard over the shouting and bangs from the hall.

“They’ll be okay,” Chip decided, pulling him along. “We hafta’ get out!”

The room fell silent. Strangely, the noise ceased, leaving behind the sort of hollow sound that comes in the break between thunder.

A click sounded, quiet as a mouse.

“Handbomb,” Davey whispered. “Handbomb! Anna-”

“Run!” she screamed, fiercely clutching onto the lock. “Save him!”

Strength doubled, Jack dragged Crutchie across the floor, ignoring the protests. “I’ll go back for her once he’s safe, she won’t leave any other way!”

True to his word, he dumped the blanket out on the grass, shoved Davey as far away from the building as possible, and dashed back inside.

Anna met his eyes. A tear trickled down her cheek.

And the world turned red.

Chapter Text

Chapter 52: Sarah

Days Remaining: 0

Just like that, the battle rose back into full swing. The bulls were outnumbered four-to-one, and the kids had plenty of soldiers to spare. River, the first-in-command of Woodside, split her newsies off to pull their injured comrades away from the battle.

Spot sauntered over to Sarah’s group. “Lovely weather, ain’t it?”

Race grinned. “Changed your mind, Conlon?”

“So it may seem.”

Unconvinced, Medusa glared at him. “Why’re you here? We could’ve needed you a good couple hours earlier.”

“It’s that Jack Kelly’s fault. Always playin’ the hero.” Spot sighed. “We was plannin’ on stayin’ in Brooklyn, but a couple dozen of our kids showed up ‘bout half an hour ago. Refuge kids. We thought they was… they was dead. ‘Parently, Jack went and rescued them.”

Katherine grinned. “It worked, then. He got them out, Sarah!”

Les. Les was safe. 

She clutched Katherine’s hands. “He’s safe! They all are!”

“Anyways,” Spot continued, giving the girls a strange look, “I don’t like owin’ favours. Figured this would make up for it. We even stopped by the other boroughs along the way, so if anythin’, Jack should owe us.”

“Let’s get goin’, Conlon,” Race urged, grinning. “Can’t let the other kids have all the fun, can we?” He pulled Spot behind him despite his furious protests, dragging him through the battle.

Medusa tossed a couple stray braids behind her shoulders. “I should be helpin’ out too. Gotta be checkin’ on my girls. Makin’ sure they’s not too beat up. You two can rest, now. You’ve done enough.” In a strange moment of déja vu, the Queens girl skittered off into the battle.

“What do you say, Sarah? Are we resting?” Katherine grinned.

“Not in a thousand years. I’ve lost my appetite for battle, though- say, how about we help out the hurt kids? With the Woodside newsies?”

“Deal. Let’s go!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 53: Jack

Days Remaining: 0

A bee flew by Jack’s ears. He couldn’t quite see it in the darkness, but what else could that hum be? 

He flexed his fingers. The dead silence felt almost tangible, except for that thin hum.

As he listened, though, the noise grew higher. It wound around his mind, stinging his head. It grew sharper, somehow, louder.

Uncomfortable now, Jack swatted at his ears. Pain shot through his arms, and he opened his eyes.

Searing white light stabbed across his corneas, quickly accompanied by a crushing pain sitting on his legs. Jack opened his mouth, felt the scream rip through his throat, but all he could hear was that damned hum ringing through the  silence. He blinked away his tears, propping himself up to see the damage himself. 

The entire wall on the hallway side of the kitchen was obliterated. The sea of dust and chunks of concrete rose to knee height, transforming the room into a barren wasteland.

A huge, jagged piece of the wall lay on Jack’s legs. He pushed at the block, but all that did was send another stab of pain through his body.

Jack put his knuckles in his mouth, stifling the shout he couldn’t hear. Again, he squeezed his eyes shut. 

A soft thumb brushed his cheek. Hesitantly, he squinted up at a slightly blurry Davey hanging above his face, panic sparking in his gaze. His mouth rapidly ran through what appeared to be an entire speech. 

Vaguely, the words came to him, muffled as if he was underwater.

Something warm and wet landed gently on Jack’s nose, and he realised Davey was crying.

Blindly, Jack reached for him. “It’s okay,” he attempted, barely able to distinguish his own voice. “I’m okay.” His lips were cracked and stiff with dust, and his throat felt oddly grainy. 

A sob rippled through Davey’s body as he hunched over his fallen friend. 

Suddenly, the persistent ringing faded. It was as if someone had pulled the cotton out of his ears- the noise felt sharper, somehow. Clearer. He could make out Davey’s quiet, choked gasp, the colourful chirp of a songbird. Wind. 

Jack frowned. He remembered hearing wind. Right before he’d gone to sleep… or whatever he’d woken up from. Was he dead? Perhaps this was an afterlife of some kind- but oh, Davey shouldn’t be dead. What had he done to deserve such a young-

Jack grabbed Davey’s wrist, forcing himself upright even as his trapped legs wailed in protest. “Crutchie? Th’ kids?”

“They’re okay,” Davey managed, turning away from him to wipe his eyes. “Safe. I-”

Jack’s grip tightened. “Anna?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t turn around.

“Davey. No.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“She ain’t- she ain’t-”

Davey shook his head.

“Help me up, Dave.”

He hesitated, a thousand expressions flitting across a face that was too young to bear them.

“Please. I gotta check. She ain’t-” Jack shook his head, unable to find the words. “Help me up.”

Biting his lip, cheeks flushed with tears, Davey pressed himself against the boulder on Jack’s legs, feet finding purchase on what might have been a counter so he could push the block away.

Wincing, Jack twisted himself from under its iron grip, a sweat breaking out on his forehead. He slid one foot out, pushed on the block and his other soon followed.

Gingerly, he wobbled himself upright, feeling along the length of his legs for the damage. He’d been left with an impressive collection of throbbing bruises, but he’d survive. Nausea hit him like a horse-sized brick and he stumbled backwards, arms flailing- into a pair of steady arms. Davey.

“Jack, just rest. Please.”

“Can’t,” he grunted. “Have to- have to-” 

Davey lowered him to the ground, propping his head up on his own shoulder. “Rest.”

Jack leaned forward, pushing himself up, but a firm hand gripped his wrist. 

“Jack, please-” a hint of desperation crept into Davey’s voice- “she’s not-”

“She is,” Jack spat fiercely, forcing his hand free. “She’s gotta be here-”

“All you do is push!”

“The hell do you mean?”

“You never take a second to rest, Jack! You always have to keep pushing and pushing and pushing, finding something else to do, finding someone else to help. You’ll run yourself to the ground!”

Jack whirled to him. “An’ so what if I do? Least I’ll have done some good.” He stepped closer. “What do you care?”

“Please, I-”

“It don’t matter. I don’t matter. All I do is put people in danger, and if I hafta spend my whole life payin’ it back, then- then so be it!”

Davey’s voice softened. “Jack.”

“They have to come first. Anna. Crutchie. Les. Chip.” A pause. “You.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I’se gonna run myself to the ground, and maybe then I’ll be even.” A tear stung in his eye, but he blinked it away. Can’t cry. Not now. “Maybe then someone will miss me. Maybe then someone will need me.”

“I need you.” 

Jack opened and closed his mouth. His well of words had run dry. Somehow, all in one breath, Davey had obliterated his entire rant. “You do?” he managed.

“And so do the newsies. So does Race. And Crutchie. And Chip- but you know, they don’t need you to kill yourself working for them.”

“Davey.”

“Rest. Please. If it’s only for a minute.”

Slowly, Jack eased his way to the ground, back against the concrete, shoulder pressed to Davey’s. 

A plum-sized bird, bronze wings shimmering in the sun, alighted on a jagged hunk of concrete. Proudly, the sweet thing puffed out its chest, ruffled its feathers and began to sing. A clear, high melody that rang through the dust-stiff air with promises of sunlight sifting through leaves of jade and tumbling brooks of ice-cold water. 

Jack closed his eyes, opening his mouth just a sliver to taste the sweet song on his tongue. 

Davey’s hand found his, and their fingers wound together, cupping each other perfectly.

“She’s gone, isn’t she?” Jack asked softly, once the melody had faded and the bird flown away.

“She was a hero. Is a hero.”

“We’s gonna have a funeral. Like they do for the rich ones in the city. Won’t be too grand, but we’ll bring what we can.”

“Katherine will write her story. She’ll put it in the memory column.”

“But, right now?” Jack asked quietly. “What do we do?”

“Stay. Stay in the moment.” Davey gave a sweet smile. “Do you think you can do that, Cowboy?”

Jack leaned forward, and he kissed his own smile right onto those lips.

Chapter Text

Chapter 54: Chip

Days Remaining: 0

“Is it just me,” began Les, “or are you getting a sense of deja boo?’

“It ain’t called deja boo.”

“What is it then, Professor?”

Chip rolled her eyes. “Not deja boo.”

“Well, I’m feeling it right now. Lost in Manhattan again, just the two of us.” He leaned in closer. “Just the two of us…”

Chip shoved him. “Aw, shut up, you little brat.”

He gave a gap-toothed grin. “Worth a try!”

“How’s ‘bout we focus on gettin’ home?”

“I say we find a spot here for the night. Break into one of these old homes, stay in the attic- like cowboys!”

Chip scoffed. “It ain’t but afternoon, we don’t gotta worry about no nighttime. Yet,” she added thoughtfully.

“Is you two Jack’s kids?”

The pair whirled around, coming face-to-face with a well-built, albeit short, tough-looking boy in a red-striped shirt and black suspenders.

Chip crossed her arms, lowering her voice a few octaves. “Who’s askin’?” she demanded, as tough as she could manage.

Les snorted. She stepped on his foot.

The boy’s stoic face nearly cracked into a smile. “Spot. Leader o’ the Brooklyn newsies.”

“Spot Conlon?”

“The one and only.”

Les’s jaw dropped. “Whoa.”

“Ain’t you two sweet?”

“Is you here to take us somewhere?” Chip asked, face sparkling with childish glee.

“One of youse’s sisters, a Sarah Jacobs, sent me out to look for you. Said Jack woulda sent you off first.”

“She’s my sister,” Les announced proudly. “I’m Les Jacobs.”

“My brother is Race,” butted in Chip, feeling rather excluded. “Racetrack Higgins.” She turned hopeful eyes on Spot. “D’you know him?”

A smile, a real smile this time, split his face. “You could say that.”

“Oh,” was all she could manage. Spot was practically newsie royalty, and her brother knew him, and now she knew him, and he was standing right there in front of
her- “My name’s Chip.”

“Are we going, now?” Les complained. “Where are we going, anyways?”

“Somewhere with food, I hope. I could eat a horse.”

“I could eat a house!”

“You could not-”

“We’re goin’ to a… well, a fight- and put that grin away, Chip. Neither of youse is gonna go anywhere near the real blows. You’ll stay off to the side. Hide in one of the shops ‘til the worst of it is over, and your siblings and such is safe.”

“Are we winning?”

“With all the help from the other boroughs? We’s stompin’ them.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 55: Les

Days Remaining: 0

It was a battle. A real, live, battle, sprung right from the pages of stories Les had always been drawn to, with noble warriors fighting for the greater good.

A horde of kids in ragged clothes kicked up dust as they fiercely held their own against the bulls, who seemed to be… losing. A few of them ran off as the children turned on them. Cowards.

Chip’s eyes sparkled. “I wanna be out there.”

“Not today,” Spot answered simply. “Today, you stay here until it’s over. I’ll send a Brooklyn kid to stay with you. Just in case one o’ those pigs come after you.” He ushered them into a rather abandoned-looking flower shop. 

The battle waged on behind the strangely green-tinted windows, blurred by the frosted glass. A tiny brass bell tinkled above the mouldy door as Spot passed through it, promising someone would be there for them soon.

Les ran his finger along the chipped wood of the largest shelf. Dust flurried upwards at his touch. “It’s like no one’s been here in years.”

Chip pressed her nose up against the window. “Wish I was out there. Instead of in this ugly old flower shop.” She turned to him. “I’m a newsie, too! Who cares if I’m young? If I’se old enough to sell my life away out on the streets, I’se old enough to spend it fighting for my family. I’m going.”

“Chip-”

“Don’t you wanna fight?”

“But-”

“C’mon, Les. I won’t let them lock us up while they battle out there!”

Les kicked the shelf. “If I die, Chip, you better know Sarah will beat you up good.”

Chip grinned. She grabbed him by the hand, pushing out into the sunlight.