Hey guys! I couldn't resist doing a Jack/sick fic. Disclaimer: don't own. Thanks and I hope y'all enjoy!

Jack was rarely sick, but when he managed a cold, it was always a bad one. No one had known how terrible it would turn out to be; if they had, they would have done something about it sooner. As it was, Jack himself was unconcerned (but he was always the last to admit that he was sick to everyone, especially himself) and had insisted that it was just a small cough, and that he was well enough to continue selling his papes.

Stupidly, they had believed him.

And once again, David sent his friend a worried glance after he doubled over, coughing violently into the crook of his arm. Jack gasped, rubbing his palm firmly against his chest, and David rests his hands against Jack's shoulders, trying to offer a little support. The December wind was howling maliciously, providing no respite from the biting cold, making Jack shudder and the last of his newspapers flutter in his grip.

"Come on, Jack," David said desperately, "we need to get you out of this cold. Please." Jack stubbornly shook his head, but David continued insistently, "Jack, we can sell back the papes we don't manage, remember?"

Jack seemed to have forgotten that, because he paused and blinked owlishly at his friend before acquiescing, straightening and clearing his throat weakly. David allowed himself a sigh of relief, taking Jack gently by the upper arm and guiding him as quickly and efficiently as he could back to the Newsboy Lodging House without running or pushing Jack too hard.

They arrived in record time, Jack stopping for a moment to hack into his sleeve before sniffing, then following David inside to the warmth and familiar coziness of the living room. Jack plopped himself in an armchair, coughing harshly into his arm again, gulping and spitting as he shivered.

"Here y'are, Jack," Crutchie said from behind, wrapping a blanket around Jack's shoulders before he could stand to greet them. It was testament to how ill Jack was feeling that he didn't shrug it off, just pulled it closer and clenched his teeth. David realized that they were chattering.

"You alright, Jack?" David asked, furrowing his brows, and Jack gave another feeble cough before drawing a wheezy breath, glancing up at him. There was a sheen of something in Jack's eyes that made them shine strangely- maybe it was annoyance.

"Fine, Davey," he rasped, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. Jack's face was too pale for the other boy's liking, though, but before he got to say this, Jack continued, "I think I'm gonna turn in for da night. I'll see ya tomorrow, alrigh' Davey?"

David found himself automatically nodding, smiling as Jack made his shaky way up the stairs to the sleeping quarters. He turned and ran a hand through his hair, finding Racetrack, Dusty, Mush and Elmer all looking at him.

"We'll take good care 'a him, Davey," Race promised quietly, and Elmer offered a reassuring nod as Mush's lips curled into a small smile.

And David was overwhelmed in that moment by the sheer trust he had in these boys, so he only gave a curt nod, a tight lipped smile, and said, "I better get home. Les went home ages ago, and my mother's probably worrying. Take care of yourselves, fellas."

And then he was gone into the freezing winds of New York, leaving the boys at the lodging house- but not his concern- behind.

When Race and the other Newsies made their way upstairs, Jack was already twisted about in his covers, facing away from them. He was so still that Race found himself a little alarmed, but a quick glance over Jack's shoulder told him that the older boy was just sleeping. He climbed into his own bunk, staring at the ceiling for a while before he managed to get to sleep.

…

"Wakes up, Racetrack! Wakes up! you's gotta wakes up!"

Startling awake and throwing himself into a sitting position, the Newsie took great gasps of air, his chest heaving as he brought his panic under control. Turning and squinting in the darkness, his eyes found Ten Pin's frantic face and frightened eyes.

"Pin? Whassa matter?" He said, all drowsiness forgotten. Ten Pin grabbed his hand and tugged him out from under the warm safety of his covers, dragging him over and somehow avoiding all the obstacles on the floor undoubtedly in their way, pulling him up beside Jack's bed.

"He ain't waking ups, Race," Ten Pin said and sounded so earnest that it tugged on the older boy's heartstrings, "and he's been mutterin' and tossin' an-"

Racetrack could see it, though- Jack was restlessly turning and tossing, his legs tangled in the sheets, his hair slicked to his forehead. His face shone in the light of the December moon filtering in through the windows, and Race felt his stomach drop in dread as he reached out trembling fingers to feel Jack's rosy cheeks, the only part of his face that wasn't completely alabaster.

Burning.

Cursing and grabbing the nearest thing he could find- a shoe from the floor- he chucked it in the general direction of another bed, and by the muffled curse and the thump, Romeo'd fallen from his mattress. "What the hell all? Can'tcha see a guy's tryin'a' sleep 'ere?"

"Get ova' here, Rome, and wake some o' da others," he called as loudly as he could, hearing groans from the bunks around him, "Jackie's gotta fever real bad."

This roused almost everyone from their beds immediately, if the thumps and mild curses springing from all around him were any indication. Then there was the sound of a match striking and instant light filled the small room, illuminating the scene before them.

Race hadn't been wrong about Jack's face- it was pale as the snow that fell outside. His eyes were rolling under his lashes, and his chest moved up and down erratically in short bursts, his breathing wheezy as it entered and exited his lungs.

Romeo, from where he'd lit a cigar and placed it between his lips, removed it and stamped it out.

Mush grabbed Jack's waving arm and held it still, calling sternly, "Jackie boy. Wakey wakey." There was no response, just a murmur and more thrashing. "Jack," Mush shouted, "Jackie!"

Jack bolted upright, eyes wide and incredibly glassy, peering around at his friends unseeingly as he fought against Mush's hold. "Jackie, Jackie, Jackie, Jackie," Mush said soothingly, placing his hands on both of Jack's shoulders, tightening his grip and trying to ground him, "alrigh' Jackie, s'okay. S'all okay, Jack."

Jack's struggling slowly calmed, and he blinked around heavily, like he wasn't seeing them all completely. "D-Davey?" He asked, sounding very, very small.

"No, Jack," Mush said, "it's me; it's Mush. Mush an' da Newsies. You remember?"

"I- I-" Jack's eyes flickered back and forth, too bright in the dim lighting. "I-"

"Okay Jackie," Dutchy said, patting him gently on the back (and his shirt was soaked through with sweat), "okay, Jack-o. No worries. S'alrigh'."

Jack's face contorted as he doubled over as best he could sitting on a bed, hacking into his sleeve until he was breathless, then hacking some more until he was turning blue from lack of air. Racetrack rubbed Jack's back between his shoulder blades, the younger boys watching on with frightened, pale faces, Elmer coming around to murmur soothing things in Jack's ear.

"Tha's it, Jackie, get it out- that stuff's muck anyway. Tha's it- almost done, Jackie, you's doin' great."

Jack's frame was wracked with chills, making his whole body tremble. He gasped, rubbing at his chest so hard it looked painful, glazed eyes darting around to focus on things that weren't exactly there. "Does your chest hurt, Jack?" Crutchie asked softly, and Jack gave a dazed nod, swallowing down the mucus obviously in the back of his throat.

The Newsies winced, taking deep breaths. "Elm, go get someone who'll know what ta do 'ere, will ya?" Race asked.

Elmer spluttered, "I would, Race, you knows I would- but issa middle 'a da night, and no one's gonna wanna come out of dere houses for dis in da cold."

"So bring one a' the little uns," Mush said dismissively, "maybe it'll soften someone up a bit."

Elmer, sighing but ever obedient, did as told, and he and Skittery made their way down the stairs, their footsteps echoing in the hallway.

Mush ran a hand over his face and Jack gave a moan, coughing harder into his arm. "Alrigh', Jack," Mush said, almost desperately, "almost ova' now, you'll sees…"

Jack didn't reply, and when he was done he flopped back to his mattress, laying there motionlessly. There was only the uneven rise and fall of his chest and the pants that escaped his lips.

Racetrack let out a muffled curse as he turned to the younger boys, barking at Dusty, "go get a wet washcloth an' a pale a' water. Jackie's gonna need it."

Terrified and wanting so badly to help, Dusty scrambled to do as told. He turned to Laces and said, "and Lace, you go get a bucket a' some sort. Jackie might need ta throw up some time tonight."

Nodding, Laces left for the supply closet in the living room downstairs.

For a while, there was silence amongst the Newsies, some of which the younger had been sent back to their mattresses for more sleep that the older ones were confident their younger brothers wouldn't get, no matter how hard they tried. They bathed Jack's brow with cold water, making him flinch and whine, and comforted him when he cried out for people who weren't there.

And finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they heard Elmer's, Skittery's, and one other person's footsteps clunking up the stairs, and they turned towards the doorway to find an elderly man holding a medical bag pushing glasses further up his nose, looking decidedly bedraggled.

"What's all this fuss about, boys?" The man asked, and Racetrack recognized him as the old physician from the Upper East Side. No longer it took them so long, he thought, if they had to go to the Upper Side.

Then, the old man spotting his patient on the bed, he hurried over and dropped his bag at his feet, annoyance forgotten. He pulled out a rusty but trusty looking stethoscope, placing it gently on Jack's bare chest (as they'd removed his shirt after it had done nothing for the skinny teen) and Jack flinched, his teeth chattering again.

Humming and moving on to peer in Jack's mouth and take his temperature, the old man frowned at what he found on the thermometer. "Hundred and three," he murmured, and Racetrack didn't know much of anything about medicine but he knew that a hundred and three wasn't good, "and red throat. Mucus...Has he been coughing?"

Mush nodded. "Since yesterday, sir," he said, and the physician's frown deepened.

"Has he had a cold in the last few months?"

Shaking heads. "Not dat we knew of, anyways," Racetrack muttered, and the physician nodded.

"Well, there's not much we can do at this point," he admitted, taking his glasses off and cleaning the lenses with the corner of his nightshirt, "but we can give him antibiotics. He's got pneumonia, which is mucus and water in the lungs, and it's a nasty business, I assure you. I don't think his is contagious, or else you'd all be coughing already. Have any of you been?"

Mush stood up and raised his voice so even the younger Newsies lying down could here. "Listen up, fellas," he called. "Has anyone been coughing lately? No lies, boys, or I'll soak every last one 'a yous."

Frantic head shaking again, and Mush shrugged and sat back down. "Not that we know of, Doc," he answered dutifully.

The doctor sighed. "The antibiotics will cost quite a bit, considering it's December and these things happen a lot during the season," he cautioned. "I can't give them to you without the money. I'm sorry."

"He's hurt!" Elmer protested, Ten Pin, Skittery, and Dutchy hot on his heels.

The old man shook his head. "I'm sorry," he repeated, "but the only way for me to get more shipments and keep myself from getting sick is if I get the money I need. It's thirty dollars. I'm sorry."

Then, seemingly done with the Newsboys and his diagnosis, he showed himself out.

Crutchie shook his head in disbelief and Mush cursed again under his breath. "Not even somethin' ta lower da fever," he murmured, wiping Jack's face with the washcloth again. After a moment, he sighed, and it sounded weary. "Alrigh' boys. Get some sleep. We can all take watches. I'll wake ya when it's your time."

"We wanna stay up with Jack!" Ten Pin announced in his high pitched, child voice, but Race shook his head.

"Nah, Pin. If we wants to get dem antibiotics, we's gotta sell more papes, don't we?" At the frantic nods from his younger brothers, Race ran a hand through his hair, not even bothering to think about how impossible it would be to get thirty dollars in less than a month, even with their combined wages.

"You sure you got this?" He asked Mush quietly as he watched the young Newsboys settle back in their beds. "I can take first watch it ya like."

Mush pursed his lips. "I'm fine," he said stubbornly, and Race gave him an all too insightful look.

"Wake me," he said sternly before retreating back to his own bed.

Mush wet the cloth again and pressed it to Jack's forehead, making the oldest Newsie whimper. "Sorry, Jackie," he said softly. "You do manage ta get yourself in da worst possible situations, huh?"

Jack didn't answer.

...

Racetrack volunteered the next morning to watch over Jack while the other Newsies went to sell their papes, and he spent all his time at Jack's bedside, trying to calm the feverish Newsie. He muttered and turned, and called out names sometimes, most of which threatened to make Race's heart break.

It was around noon when David and Les came to check up on Jack, as the Newsies had been doing all day, and David sat bedside while Les watched on with tears in his eyes. "He's gonna be okay, right, Race?" He asked, and Race chuckled emptily.

"'Course, Smalls," he said fondly. "He's Jackie boy. He'll be right as rain in no time."
David was talking quietly to Jack, leaned close to Jack's ear. He roused from his restless sleep just enough to ask a drowsy and disoriented, "Davey?"

To which David replied, "Yeh Jack, I'm here."

Jack's eyes widened and he threw back his covers in a sloppy attempt to rise, David pressing on Jack's shoulders after he'd recovered his surprise. "Dave!" Jack yelled, fighting David's hands, "we- the- Crutchie- he's in there- the- Ref-"

"No, Jackie," David assured, kindly but loudly over Jack's frantic movements, "he's not. We got him out, remember? We won. He's alright, Jack. Sh…"

Jack was still struggling faintly, but the spasming of his limbs died down enough so David could pin Jack's arms to the mattress. "D-Dave," he said weakly, his eyes unfocusing again as he began to cough like he was bringing up a lung, his eyes screwed shut.

David sighed, rubbing his thumbs over Jack's arms. "Oh, Jack," he muttered mostly to himself. "What are we going to do with you?"

Racetrack snapped out of his reverie and said with a little hope, "hey Davey, since Jack's reactin' better ta you than he is ta me, would you mind tryin' a' feed him a little? He ain't eatin' the soup Is tryin' ta give him."

David nodded, and Racetrack bound down the stairs to the kitchens and the stove, where the lukewarm soup sat from when Mush had brought it back an hour ago. Heated it a little again just so it was a bit warmer, he bound up the steps, the soup in a mug. Les was sitting on Jack's other side now, looking down at his older friend with an odd air of melancholy surrounding him.

"Here," Race said, handing the mug to David, "I's just heated it ups a bit."

"Thanks," David said quietly, cupping the back of Jack's neck to bring his head up a bit. "Hey Jackie? Open your eyes for me." It took a few minutes and several patient coaxes, but Jack's fever bright blue eyes opened blearily, gazing about the room without really seeing any of it. David smiled nonetheless. "There y'are, Jackie. Hey. I need you to drink this for me, okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, David set the tip of the mug against Jack's lips, tilting it up gently to let some soup trickle into Jack's mouth. Jack swallowed reflexively, his eyes distant, but David praised, "There you go, Jack. Great job."

Race marveled at the ease with which they spoke, the trust that Jack had with his strike friend. Something welled up in his chest, and it wasn't jealousy, per se, more of a...disappointment. Why did Jack trust his new friends more than he trusted his family?

Shaking his head and moving his mind away from these traitorous thoughts, he watched as David let Jack's head slip back to the pillow, and Jack's eyes slowly closed in a more peaceful sleep. It wasn't perfect; Jack was still muttering and twitching a bit, but it was better than the tossing and turning that had gone on since last night.

David's lips curled into the barest hint of a smile. "There. I think he'll sleep for a while now that he's got a full belly, but if not…" He trailed off. "I don't know. I'm not a doctor. What did the physician say, anyway?"

Race scowled at the thought of the old man and his excuses, spitting, "the doc says that we've gotta get Jackie some antibiotics, but dat they're expensive and he needs the payment up front."

David frowned. "How much?"

Race sighed, running hands over his face. "Thirty bucks, cheapest."

David's hoarse shout was enough answer for Race, who nodded grimly. "Yeah. But we'll figure somethin' out, don't worry."

David shook his head. "I'm not worried. Just...has anyone told Katherine he's sick yet?"

This made Race pause and, after a moment he decided that no, Katherine Plumber didn't know at all.

"Nope," Racetrack answered honestly. "I can send one of da boys ta do it later, though."

David shrugged, roping Les to his side. "I'm headed towards the Sun anyway; I'll see if I can catch her. If not, I'll give you a knock."

Race nodded, standing and clapping David on the shoulder. "See you, Mouth," he said, using the Newsie nickname for him, "and call in a little, yeah? Jackie needs ta eat at least sometimes. And I'll see yous, Smalls," he added, ruffling Les's hair and making him giggle.

He watched them go and turned back to Jack, who mumbled a little and shifted.

"I know what you mean," he agreed.

…

Jack woke again around two hours later with a grunt and a gasp, Racetrack jumping up and into Jack's line of sight. "Jack? Ya wit me?"

Jack cleared his throat and coughed, sniffing. "Yegh," he said, and sounded terribly congested, "I'm here."

Race couldn't help the grin that spread across his lips. "Well hey dere, Jack-o. How ya feelin'?"

Jack coughed. "F-fine," he said, and Race could tell it was a lie. "How long I been out?"

"Since last night, 'round eight o'clock," Race said, and poured Jack a glass of water, holding it out and waiting for Jack's shaky grip to tighten enough to lift it unsteadily to his lips, "and you's sick, lemme tell ya."

Jack hummed into his cup. "I think…" he trailed off, frowning. "Did Davey and Les come by?"

Race grinned wider. "Sure did. Dey was worried 'bout yous."

Jack's brows furrowed as he rubbed his eyes. "Had strange dreams…"

Race laughed a little breathlessly. "I'm sure. Why don't yous lie down again, Jackie. I'm holdin' da fort here jus' fine for now."

"I'm fine," Jack insisted, but his eyes were already shutting and it took the barest effort to guide him back to the pillows. "I- I…"

"Da Newsies are out on their shifts at the moment," he started, making conversation and watching as Jack began to drop off, "and David went by Plums to tell her that you's sick. Don't'cha worry none, Jack. We've got it all taken care of."

Pausing and listening, Race heard Jack's breathing even out as he fell back into slumber, his eyes rolling under his lids.

Race allowed himself to think for a split second that things might just turn out okay first for once.

…

Race had been impossibly wrong when he'd told Mush he thought Jack might be getting better. Mush hadn't really gotten the chance to hope- he'd come back from his shift fifty cents richer, then was so hungry he couldn't stand it so he'd gotten a sandwich, returning with thirty seven cents. All together with the other boys' wages and what they'd already had saved, it made four dollars and six cents.

Not enough. Never enough.

But Mush had forced himself to keep his chin up, especially when Race told him that Jack was lucid for a while today and managed to have a conversation. When Mush's watching duty came around, though, Jack was restless again and twisting in his blankets, sweating buckets and muttering under his breath.

His forehead was fiery.

Mush had been dabbing at Jack's face with a wet cloth for about an hour before Katherine came in, cheeks rosy and emerald eyes wide with alarm. Mush gave her a half hearted greeting from where she stood in the doorway, staring in silent horror, lost for words.

"Hey, Plums," he offered wearily, shushing Jack as he tossed again and threw his arm out to grab for something that wasn't there. "How ya doin'?"

The bag slung over one shoulder was abandoned as she hurriedly sat on the side of the bed, taking Jack's hand and brushing back his dark locks, slicked once again to his forehead. She gasped quietly at the heat she found there, squeezing his hand, and his eyes cracked open until they were just slits of color as he mumbled, "A-Ace…?"

Katherine nodded, smiling faintly. "I'm here, Jack. Shh. You're alright."

"A-Ace, Ace-"

"Sh, Jack. Sh…"

He settled slightly, and when she looked up, her eyes shone with determination, inquisition and above all worry. "What does he have?"

"Pneumonia. The not- contagious sort."

"Antibiotics?"

"Thirty bucks, cheapest."

"Doctor says…?"

"That we need 'em."

She slumped slightly where she sat, and Mush knew that she, too, realized that they had too little time. "How much do you boys have so far?"

Immediately knowing what she was silently offering, Mush shook his head. "No, Plums. We can't take whatever leftover you have. We can't. It ain't right."

Her face morphed, and Mush found himself cringing slightly at her expression. "How. Much?"

He swallowed. "Four dollars, six cents."

She sighed again. "I don't have much," she said, "but I need some of that for food, and my rent...I can offer you guys about two dollars?"

Mush wanted to shake his head, but she looked so determined to help and so hopeful that she could that he found himself nodding enthusiastically. "Every little bit helps, Miss Plums."

She grinned, then sobered and glanced back at Jack, once again brushing her fingers over his face in an attempt to calm him. He settled once again, his head shaking back and forth as he denied something in a dream-space only he could see.

"N-n-no," Jack moaned, "n-n- I- I can't I-"

"Shh, Jack," Katherine tried to soothe, rubbing his chest with the heel of her palm, "it's okay. Sh…"

"A-Ace-"

"I'm here, Jack," she said, her voice cracking. "I'm here."

His face was anguished. "I- I-"

"Shhh, Jackie," Mush said, laying a hand across Jack's blazing forehead. "Sh…"

Jack quieted and Katherine rubbed at her eyes, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

"We'll get that medicine, Plums," Mush muttered. "We gotta."

…

Two days passed like this, the Newsboys together managing to raise seven dollars and ten cents with some help from Katherine.

It still wasn't enough. They simply didn't have enough time to raise thirty dollars.

They could commission Brooklyn and the other Newsboys of the Boroughs, but they weren't sure how kindly they'd take to being asked to give up their hard earned money, and the Newsies of the Lower East Side were reluctant- nearly unwilling- to ask for such charity. It was bad enough they were accepting Katherine's money, as much as she could give, but they were still grudgingly in agreement that Jack needed it.

His condition had worsened in the past two days, and Katherine was becoming desperate. Jack's moments of lucidity were few and far between now, when she saw him, and his fever was high again. He thrashed terribly, shouting out names and dates and things that made no sense and were in Jack's past. Sometimes he called for his mother in tones that made Katherine's heart break.

She didn't want to do it, but she was frightened and desperate and Jack's fever had been high for the last four hours without diminishing. They needed help.

And she knew someone with the money to do so.

Fidgeting and summoning up her courage, she gave the familiar, ornate doors a few knocks, pulling her scarf tighter around her and rubbing her hands together.

A butler opened the door- someone she'd never met before, but then, her father rotated staff like other people went through pairs of socks- and the butler did not question who she was or what she was doing there, merely led her through the familiar, decorative halls to her father's study.

He paused outside it, gesturing for her to enter. "Miss Pulitzer."

She swallowed down her annoyance at being called by her true title, instead giving the butler a curt nod and reaching for the doorknob. She opened it hesitantly, telling herself to be brave for Jack. At the thought of him, sick and dying and tossing and turning in bed, a new strength rose in her and she persisted.

Her father was sitting at his desk, reading a document, his glasses sitting low on his nose. She cleared her throat, jutting out her chin and straightening slightly to make herself look taller. She wasn't sure if she was shooting for confident or regal, but she supposed neither would hurt.

"Katherine," he greeted without looking up, his eyes darting across the paper as he read, "what can I do for you?"

She took a deep breath, resisting the urge to wring her hands. "It's-" she paused, collecting herself, "I need a favor."

His eyes froze on the page, slowly rising to meet her own emerald gaze. She did her best to contain her shutter- this was her father, after all, and he wouldn't hurt her- but he unsettled her nonetheless. "A favor?" He repeated, and she nodded.

"It's...Jack. Jack Kelly. I need to borrow some money." His face remained unreadable and passive, so she continued. "Jack's sick- very sick. He's bedridden. The Newsboys and I have been trying to raise enough money for the antibiotics, but we...there isn't enough time. We're- we're in the Newsboy Lodging House, and all taking shifts, but... "

Her father removed his glasses from his nose and stared at her, slowly laying his paper flat. "Why should I help you?"

She sighed, exasperated, and threw up her hands. "You know, I don't know why I came to you in the first place," she glared at him. "I thought that maybe just this once you'd be- you'd- God, I don't know what I'd thought. Maybe for once that-" She cut herself off, taking a deep breath. "I'll leave now."

She turned away and began to walk towards the door, when her father's voice stopped her. "Katherine," he said. "What does Mr. Kelly have?"

She didn't turn back, standing very still where she'd paused. "Pneumonia."

She didn't wait for his response, slamming the door behind her.

…

Jack chattered on about this and that in his delirium, the Newsies trying desperately to get his fever down and him at least slightly coherent. He laughed sometimes, or cried, or called for people they didn't know. He'd call for Crutchie and whimper sometimes, clawing at the air like he was trying to get somewhere, and constantly coughed up blood or phlegm.

They Newsboys were run exhausted with worry and exertion, working double shifts and selling more papes than they ever had to get Jack the medicine he needed, and they'd managed fifteen dollars so far.

Not enough.

Katherine, Mush and David were all gathered around Jack's bed while the other Newsies were quietly watching on when there was a knock on the door downstairs. David rose silently, offering them grim looks as he ducked his head and went down the stairs to answer it, the murmur of voices floating through the floor. Steps on the stairs again- three pairs- and then the door creaking as it opened again.

Katherine looked up, and her breath was stolen.

Her father stood in the doorway, a heavy coat buttoned all the way up and gloves on his hands, a hat sitting on his head. Behind him there was a young man shifting uncomfortably in the doorway, a bag at his side, properly but modestly dressed for the cold weather they'd endured to come.

Mush, at the sight of Mr. Pulitzer, stood and opened his mouth angrily, his eyes flashing, but David said quickly, "Mush, Mr. Pulitzer brought a physician and is payin' for the antibiotics. He's here to help."

David sounded assuaging but wary, cautious enough for Mush to hear on his own, and Mush eyed Pulitzer for a few more moments before sitting back down, glaring at him but silently allowing his presence.

Mr. Pulitzer remained silent, drinking in the sight of the strike leader weak and thrashing on the bed, caught in the throes of another night terror. His face was twisted in such unmitigated fear; his lips were parted in a soundless scream, his eyebrows creased. His face was pale as the sheets he lay on, his cheeks an unhealthy cherry red, and the buds of his fingernails were blue from lack of oxygen.

He coughed, his eyes opening but not focusing as he threw himself up and away from whatever it was he was seeing. David and Mush both gave hoarse exclamations, trying to calm the frantic young man as he ran his hands up and down his sides and chest, gasping for air, his eyes alight in horror.

"Get'm'ff getm'ff g't 'em 'ff!" He thrashed more violently, twisting away from whatever he was imagining, hands flying about until they found David's shirt and fisted in his waistcoat. In a fit of terrified strength that he hadn't had in a week, Jack pulled himself mostly into David's lap, burying his face in David's midsection. His knuckles turned white with the force of his hold.

Mr. Pulitzer's lips were parted and his eyes were wide but David seemed unperturbed, cradling Jack close and whispering soothing things in his ear. Katherine felt her eyes watering as she turned towards her father and the doctor, desperate for them to do something, anything to help him, because this was scaring her now- oh, Jack-

The physician seemed to unfreeze from where he'd been stuck, striding through the door and planting himself beside Jack, pulling out countless jars and bottles and pills and syrups and laying them all out, replacing a few and taking a few pills from his bag. He grimaced apologetically, his eyes soft, and Katherine decided that he was a good person under his nervous countenance.

"He'll have to swallow this without biting," he said, and Mush ran his hands over his face because maybe a few days ago Jack may have been aware enough to do that, but not now. Katherine clenched her jaw and pursed her lips, nodding resolutely. If that was what they had to do, that was what they had to do.

"Dave," she whispered, because it seemed, for the last few days, like it was a crime to raise your voice above that (Jack had whined and writhed when they shouted, and Crutchie confided they did a lot of shouting at the Refuge when they beat you), "we have to get him to swallow these." She gestured to the pills.

Dread dawned in his eyes as he muttered into Jack's sweat slicked curls, "Jackie, I need you to do something for me. Can you do that? This one thing, then I'll leave you be."

"Don'….I...they- dey're- we gotta-" Once again frantic and pulling away from David, Jack made to get up, but it took very little effort on David's part to prevent him from doing so, "th'y- they've got Cr-Crutchie they- they'll'urt 'im an'-"

"Shh, Jackie," David soothed, brushing at Jack's arms with his thumbs, "they don't have Crutchie. Crutchie's out, remember? We won. We won. Shh...We won, Jack. No one has Crutch but us- he's with his family. You kept him safe. You remember, Jack?"

"I- I-" Jack sounded anguished and terribly frightened and very, very young, "I- don'-"

"Alright Jack," David said softly, "it's alright, Jack."

Jack's teeth clacked together, and he shivered again, coughing harshly and choking on air. Mush gently rubbed at the spot between Jack's shoulder blades, and Katherine took his hand (he gripped it tightly, tight enough to bruise, but Katherine wasn't complaining).

He slumped back against the pillows and his eyes found Mush's, still too bright blue to be anything but fevered, and he croaked, "M-Mush...I don' feel good."

Mush gave a small, strangled little sound in the back of his throat. "I know, Jackie. I know. You's with us?"

Jack didn't even try to stifle his whimper. "Don't feel good."

Mush sighed and brushed Jack's hair away from his face tenderly. "I know. Can you do somethin' for us, though? It'll make ya feel better, Jackie, I promise."

Jack gave a barely perceptible nod, and Mush grinned so widely that Katherine wondered if it hurt his face. "'Atta boy, Jack-o. I jus' need ya ta' eat this, akay? Just this one little thing, Jackie, and you'll be right as rain in no time."

Jack's mouth opened just enough for Race to drop the pills in, one after the other, and for them to make it down Jack's throat. He swallowed convulsively, his eyes half lidded, and they slid closed again after a few seconds.

The doctor didn't seem to mind this as he gently placed a thermometer under the Newsie's tongue, watching the temperature rise with furrowed brows. He pursed his lips, picking up one of the jars he'd laid out and scooping some from the jar, flicking it to Jack's bare chest.

"Wha's dat?" Kid Blink asked worriedly.

The doctor seemed to be more patient than the last, because he answered calmly, "Vicks. It'll help him breathe better."

The Newsies settled, watching on from their bunks with wide eyes as the doctor pulled out another vial labeled "Ipecac" and pour some in a spoon he pulled from his pack.

"What's that?" Boots asked from his top bunk, and several of the Newsies shifted in their beds to get a better look.

"It'll help him spit up the mucus in his lungs," the doctor explained, placing his thumb softly against Jack's chin and pulling so his lips parted, "and you'll have to give it to him until nothing spits up."

"We understand," David said, and the doctor nodded as he dribbled it into Jack's mouth until he started to cough a few minutes later; the physician tilted Jack's head to the side and slimy looking near-liquid dripped down the side of his mouth. Gently, the doctor took a handkerchief and wiped it away.

"Do that a few times everyday. His fever should come down on it's own; if it doesn't, find me and I'll return. If his condition worsens, call on me again."

The boys gave several nods, earnesty shining in their eyes. Then, with a smile to Mr. Pulitzer- who had stood there quietly throughout the whole thing- and a last glance at his patient, the doctor was gone.

Everything was silent. No one dared move.

Clearing his throat, Mr. Pulitzer straightened and flipped the collar up on his coat. "Katherine," he said stiffly, and she was trying so hard not to let her grin show and she was positive she was failing- "boys," he said, his voice pitching.

Then, with an elegant twist and a sniff, he too was gone.

Jack gave a small mumble, and everyone exhaled.

…

It took a few more hours for Jack's fever to finally break, and when it did, the Newsboys all slumped in relief, the younger soon dropping off to sleep with the weight of the stress that had been lifted from their minds. David, Racetrack, Romeo, Mush and Katherine stayed up and watched over Jack, though, who was still breathing heavy and coughing, but there was distinct rattle in his chest now.

"R-R-Romeo?" He stuttered weakly, his voice cracking from hours of screams and blind chatter. Romeo sat up from where he'd been lounging and stubbed his cigar, leaning towards Jack, whose eyes were open and clear for the first time in a week.

"Hey, Jackie," he said, smiling. "Welcome back."

…

Three weeks later found a hesitant and reluctant Jack Kelly standing on one Mr. Joseph Pulitzer's doorstep, poised to knock at the door. Summoning up his courage and swallowing, he rapped thrice, considering a fourth before the door finally opened to reveal an unfriendly looking butler who said nothing but left the door wide, so Jack took it as a sign for him to follow.

Led through the maze of fancy and expensive looking hallways, Jack tried his best to quell the nervousness forcing its way up his throat. What would he say? What could he say?

The butler paused at an official looking door, standing aside and gesturing for Jack to enter. Jack, with trembling fingers he clenched his hands to hide, did so, twisting the knob and finding himself gazing upon the desk of a successful man.

Said man was sitting in it, reading a paper in front of him, glasses perched on his nose. "Jack Kelly," he droned without glancing up. "What brings you here?"

Jack cleared his throat and gave a small cough. His chest was still bothering him, but nearly as much as it had been. "Hey, Mr. Pulitzer," he said, and the man looked up at the polite title and tone in which Jack spoke, "I just- uh- wanted ta thank you, Sir, for...payin' for those antibiotics. They...I'd be dead without 'em, Sir, an' I appreciate dat."

Mr. Pulitzer stared at Jack for an uncomfortable amount of time, making Jack fidget and wonder if that had been his cue to leave. He nodded and turned to make his way out, freezing when he heard Mr. Pulitzer say, "you truly are a challenging puzzle, Mr. Kelly."

He turned back and responded, "well, Mr. Pulitzer, I certainly enjoy giving you a run for your money, dat's for sure."

And he denied hearing next the muffled chuckle and the reply of, "that you do, my boy. That you do."

How was the characterization and dialogue? Okay? The Newsboys' characters?

Thanks for reading, please give me a comment on your thoughts, and I hope you enjoyed!