Trigger warning for child abandonment.
One of the weirdest and most interesting things about the newsies fandom is that we have so many background characters, which means a lot of the time we end up pulling a Rouge One and turning an inconsequential sentence into an entire story.
One more thing: I like to explore different characterizations and backgrounds for characters, but whenever you read a longer story by me, it's safe to assume this is Jack's backstory, unless I say otherwise in the notes. Enjoy!
August, 1890
Jack was alone. It wasn't anything new, being alone; after all, his dad worked a lot, and someone had to watch the apartment when he was gone. Not that Jack always did, of course, because a few hours here and there couldn't hurt.
But today, he wasn't out playing tag with Benjamin and the others. Although he was only two years older than Jack, Ben insisted on doing things his way and not Jack's, which eventually led to a confrontation and sometimes even a fight. Today he'd decided to stay inside and read the dime novels his father bought for him. There were four in total, all westerns that Jack had picked out himself – first because of the exiting-looking cover, and then in search of more of the same kind of thrilling tale that lay within its pages. At first, his dad had read them to him, but now he could almost read them all on his own, even if some of the longer words were still a little too hard. He stumbled through a chapter before the door opened and he hopped up as fast as he could.
There in the doorway was his father, exhausted and weary, but his father all the same. Jack rushed to greet him, flinging his arms around his dad's stomach.
"Woah there, Cowboy," his dad greeted, ruffling Jack's hair. "Good day?"
Jack nodded. "Yeah, I've been waiting for you."
"I know, kiddo, I know. I brought back some dinner for you." Jack took the sandwich he held up and wasted to time starting to eat it. After a few bites, however, he paused.
"Did you get food?" Jack asked, looking up at his dad.
"Don't worry about me, Jackaboy," he said, kneeling down to be at Jack's level, "I'm not hungry. Besides, you need to eat. You're a growing boy and all." There was something in his dad's eyes that didn't seem right, but Jack took another bite of the sandwich, heading over to the table as he did so. He climbed up on one of the wooden stools. There were four of them, which Jack always found odd, as it was just him and his dad, and they didn't have people over to visit. Sometimes, he imagined he had a mother and little brother, and that they would go visit the neighbors, or dress up in their best clothes and go to church, like he saw other families do. But no matter how much he pretended, the seats stayed empty. He swung his feet back and forth.
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Everything was still in the small apartment. Through the wall, he could hear a baby crying, and of course the street outside was never completely empty, but it still felt quiet, somehow. The glass of the lamp on the table glinted in the dark room, and something wasn't right. He got out of bed.
Padding over to where his father slept a few feet away, Jack tentatively asked, "Dad?"
"What's the matter?"
Jack shifted on his feet. "Can I sleep with you?" A pause.
"Sure, Jack." His dad patted the space next to him, and Jack climbed in, pulling the blanket over himself as he got comfortable. The silence and darkness stretched on, their combined presence veiling all sense of time so that it felt like he'd been laying there forever and for hardly a moment all at once. He closed his eyes. His father still wasn't asleep by the time he dropped off.
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Jack woke to a shuffling around the apartment and then the sound of a door shutting; his dad must have just left. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, the blanket falling down to pool at his waist. He tossed it aside and stood up, spreading his arms out as he arched his back, stretching. It didn't look like there would be any breakfast that day, which wasn't rare, because a lot of the income went toward the rent, but they ate well enough, even if Jack sometimes wished three meals a day was a regular occurrence. If he was a real cowboy, he'd always have plenty to eat. He could even grow it on his own farm, if he wanted to. Someday, his and his dad will go to Santa Fe and have all they ever wanted, and Jack will run around in the fields under the bright sun, rather than in the shadows of tall New York buildings.
He grabbed his tattered red handkerchief from under his pillow and tied it around his neck. Until he could be the brave outlaw Jack Kelly, he'd just have to pretend.
"Who was that?" a voice outside in the hall asked their unseen companion. Jack ignored them.
"Frank Kelly," they started, causing Jack to take interest. Anything that involved is family was his business, so he moved up next to the door to listen. "The poor man hasn't been the same since his wife died. She left behind a little boy, too. I worry about them. Frank seems like he's barley there some days, and little Jack doesn't get along well with the other kids."
"Speaking of kids, how's Alice doing?"
"Oh, wonderful. Just the other day…" Jack tuned out of the conversation, stepping away from the door. He wished he could've known his parents before he was born, somehow. Maybe when they got to Santa Fe, his dad would be happier.
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Strangely, his father returned only a few hours later. He ruffled Jack's hair like he always did when he came home and asked, "How'd you like to go on an adventure today?"
An adventure sounded exiting, even if it was just in New York, and not out west, where they could have a real adventure. They set out to wander the streets. Jack's father let him decide where they went, and their first destination was a post office he spotted. While Jack looked at all the different stamps and the fancy postcards, his dad stood behind him and watched. Eventually, they left and kept on walking.
They passed a church. As they walked by, Jack spotted a boy with a bright smile jumping down the front steps one by one.
Jack had a great time, exploring the city. His father decided coney island was too far away, but he bought a cookie for Jack, who munched on it happily as they walked to Central Park.
Jack had been only a handful of times. It almost didn't feel like part of the city, with its winding paths that cut through grass and trees and even a pond or two. Flowers grew along its edges at some places, and once, he saw a little girl with neatly curled reddish hair crouch down to pick one, the hem of her fancy dress brushing the muddy ground. As she examined it, another well-dressed lady who couldn't have been her mother scolded her, exclaiming, "Miss Katherine, you come back here right now!" Even as she was pulled along, the girl pulled petals off the flower one by one and scattered them along the path. Jack turned to his father to point her out to him. Now that he wasn't focused on anything else, he noticed the contrast between his father and everything in the park: the lively girl, the growing flowers, the squirrels that scampered around.
He moved mechanically and slowly, like a puppet controlled by someone who didn't know how; the strings on his arms pulled up and raised them when they needed to, and his legs supported him and carried him forward, but his shoulders drooped, and he never smiled or laughed or frowned, like he'd forgotten how. He was perfectly healthy, but halfway dead.
Jack took in the information and continued on with his day, now keeping an eye on his father. After another half hour or so in the park, they started walking back to their apartment.
They walked in silence for a few moments. Jack took the opportunity to look up at the sky. It was funny how people always said there were too many stars to count, because he could only find four. For a long time, he thought it was because the buildings blocked his view, but one day his father had taken him up to the roof of their building, and he found that he could still count them all on his fingers.
"Papa?" he asked, quiet.
"What is it, Cowboy?"
"Why aren't there more stars?" His father looked up at the sky, and then back at Jack, never changing his neutral expression.
"There are lots more, but you can't see them here. The lights in the city are bright, brighter than the stars, so even when there are no clouds, you can't see them. Maybe, somewhere else, you'd be able to."
"Like Santa Fe?"
Frank Kelly nodded. "Yes, like Santa Fe." He paused then, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to continue, but then started again. "Your mother loved the stars. She saw them all when she was a girl, over across the ocean." There's another pause in which the only sound they make is their footsteps. "Some people say you become a star after you die. Maybe she's up there." Any other time, Jack would have listened to details about his mother with rapt attention, but it felt inappropriate right now, when the air was still and his papa's steps lagged so that Jack was walking a little faster than him, even with his shorter legs. He shifted his hand where it was enclosed in his father's, and watched him look up at the stars once more with something like resolve in his eyes, or maybe peace. Like he'd just made a decision.
They walked in silence, both looking up at the sky.
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A week later, Jack woke up to an empty apartment. After making sure his bandana was still under his pillow, he left to go find the other kids. Most of them were going back to school soon, so Jack figured he'd play with them while he could.
The day passed in frustrating games of tag and stickball, all led by Ben. By the time he went back home, it was nearly dark. Jack stood behind the door, waiting to jump out and scare his father when he got home. It was a long time to wait. Eventually he sat down against the wall and listened for footsteps so that he could be more comfortable, but still have enough time to stand up when his father came.
He fell asleep there.
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When there was no trace of his father the next morning, he went about his business as usual. It wasn't the first time he'd returned while Jack was sleeping and left before he woke up. The third day is when he started to panic.
Something had to have happened. What if someone caught him on his way back from work and dragged him away in the night? What if he was mugged, and then killed so he couldn't tell anybody? What if his clothes had gotten caught in one of the machines in the factory?
What if he left for Santa Fe without Jack?
Jack didn't sleep that night.
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On Friday, he heard a knocking on the door. Jack didn't open it; all his life, Friday had always been rent day. If you missed a meal, it was because the money needed to be saved for Friday.
But it was futile, because the landlord had a key.
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As he stood on the street, Jack couldn't quite believe it. His home was gone, and there was no doubt that his dad was gone, too.
Walking was the only thing to do, now.
He passed the church, the post office, and the bakery. So what if his dad left without him, he didn't need him anyway. Jack had been taking care of himself just fine for as long as he could remember, and he could do it without an apartment, too. He took a trip along the winding path in the park, and when he spotted a bench under a tree, he lay down on it. It was hard to get comfortable, and he found himself just laying there, looking out into the park. It felt surreal. He didn't know what to do, and he blinked rapidly to keep his tears at bay. Suddenly, the events of tomorrow were uncertain, and Jack didn't know what to think about that.
Jack only knew one thing for sure: this was an ending.
Thanks for reading, and please review! I'd love to hear what you think happened to Jack's dad – although I have my own idea, I left it open-ended for a couple of reasons, and it would be interesting to hear your thoughts!