A/N: All the characters in this story belong to Disney. I am making no money off of them, so please do not sue me. This story was written about fifteen years ago, and is one of my few old "Newsies" stories that I consider fit for republishing.
I Never Claimed to Be a Hero
"So, you couldn't stay away?" David asked, trying to get to his feet without Jack's help. Sarah shot him a hushing glare, but he ignored it.
Jack shrugged, looking after the running Delanceys. "Guess I can't be somethin' I ain't."
"A scab?"
Jack wiped his nose on his sleeve and grinned at him. "Naw. Smart."
"Dat did it!" Les walked back to them, his wooden sword swinging smugly at his side. Then he dropped it and cannoned into Jack, taking the older boy by surprise. "I told 'em ya wouldn't run out on us! I told 'em!" he mumbled into Cowboy's jacket.
David looked from his brother to his best friend, who had stiffened, pointedly. Jack evaded his eyes. "Yeah, kid," Jack cleared his throat and extricated himself from Les' grasp.
Dave looked at Sarah to ascertain that she was all right, then turned back, shaking his head. "If you think you're going to get off with that-"
"Wit what?" Jack replied defensively.
"David," Sarah warned at the same time.
"Looks like you're stuck here with the rest of us after all, Mr. Sullivan."
Jack glared. "On'y one person gets away wit callin' me dat, an' you ain't him."
"Snyder would be honored – or is it Pulitzer?"
"Listen-"
"Stop it, both of you!" Sarah pushed between them. "I haven't seen a bigger pair of children, since Les was born. It's over! Now stop acting like babies!" The boys glared at each other, but were silent. Sarah sighed and looked between them. "We can't stay here and wait for the police to arrive," she pointed out. "And I don't think Jack can go back to Pulitzer now." Jack didn't reply, but David's expression promised mayhem if he even considered it. "It wouldn't be a good idea to go to the lodging house, either-"
Jack flushed slightly. "I ain't scared of 'em!" he protested.
"You should be," David muttered under his breath. "But it's the first place Snyder will look," he said louder. "He's already done that once. The best place would be-"
"No." Jack didn't even allow him time to finish. "If he's lookin' fer me, he's gonna find me, an' it ain't-" he said fiercely, "-gonna be at your place."
They stared at one another for a moment. "He isn't going to find you," David said at last.
"Wherever we go, let's go," said Sarah.
They took the back way out of the alley, just to be safe. Where had that come from? David couldn't help but wonder. Jack's desperation held echoes of that night in the alley. What did they do to you?
"Dere ain't no place I can go," Jack was saying quietly.
Sarah frowned at him. "Cowboy Jack Kelly has no place to go?" she teased gently. "You can't tell me Pulitzer knows this city better than you do."
Jack muttered something. "What?" David asked.
His friend glared at him. "I said he don't need ta know it. He knows wheah da lodgin' house is, an' I bet Snyda' can find somet'in on ev'rybody dere."
"What about yer fam'ly? What happens ta dem if you go in jail? You don't know nothin' about jail!"
"Maybe you should let them decide," David thought aloud.
"What's dat supposed ta mean?"
David met his eyes. "You're so worried about keeping the rest of us out of trouble, you never stop to think that we don't want to be kept out of it. You're a newsy. What have we got to lose?"
Jack rolled his eyes. "Fergit about da stupid strike, Dave. It's ovah. Dis is real life."
"How about giving the rest of us the chance to decide for ourselves?" Sarah stepped in.
"If you're so worried about 'looking out for yourself,'" David added, "then you shouldn't have come back. Sell yourself out, but our fight isn't yours to sell."
For the first time since David had known him, Jack seemed at a loss for words. Sarah, on the other hand, looked sidelong at him. "I thought you were so sure it couldn't be done."
He sighed. "I changed my mind."
She smiled. He hated that look she got when he proved her right. It wasn't smug exactly, just conscious of being years older in maturity. "Then I have something you should both read."
They waited for her, in the end, in the cellar of a tenement Jack knew. "Nowhere to go?" David commented, as Les explored the corners of the cellar. "Be careful!" he called.
Jack laughed humorlessly, resting his feet on an old tub. "Yeah, I'se gonna stay heah for da next five yeahs."
"He couldn't do it," David said at last. Jack looked at him in question. "He could put you in jail, but he couldn't keep you there. He couldn't keep any of us there."
Cowboy looked away. "Dat's da power a' da press, Dave, he can do anyt'ing."
Les rejoined them. "He can't beat you!" he said indignantly.
In the meager light that reached them, Jack's face turned several different shades. "Already done, kid." He sat up quickly, lowering his feet. "So what's dis ya got?"
David followed his gaze to the window and saw Sarah climbing inside. "Denton's article on the rally."
"Dere was no article," Jack protested. "Da papes ignored us."
She shook her head and began reading aloud. David had heard part of the article, but he hadn't been paying much attention at the time. "The Dark Truth: Why Our City Fears the Newsies' Strike . . . New York's Police Department, out in force . . . hired thugs employed by those same police, all to subdue a group of children, and why? Perhaps the answer is in the boys' own speeches,'" She paused and looked up at Jack, then back at the paper, "If we don't stick together, then we're nothing. If we don't act together, then we're nothing.
"'But these boys do act together, and together they have brought two of the city's biggest newspaper giants to their knees. Whispers run around dinner parties and business meetings. The newsies are not the only children on whom the city depends. In the factories, on the streets, in sweatshops from Queens to Brooklyn, girls and boys labor to keep clothing clean and mended, food on expensive tables, trolleys running and buildings warm. They have not yet heard the newsies' cry, but 'what if?' murmurs Tammany Hall, 'What if?' whisper the mill owners, what if they do?"
Sarah looked up, at last, eyes sparkling. "We could stop the city." Jack shook his head. She waved, indicating the city above them. "They think so."
"If we could get people to listen..." He shook his head again, but the hope was there, struggling to exist even as he fought with it. "But da papes won't print it."
"Copy it – how many of the boys can write?" she asked.
"About half, slowly an' in real large print." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "But I know wheah we can get a printing press." A grin fought its way out. "Afta' all Joe's done for us, I'm shoa he won't mind us usin' it..."
"The World's press?" David exclaimed. "You are crazy!"
Jack waved his protests aside with growing excitement. "It's an old one. Ain't nobody been down dere, but me an' Weasel fer years. An' if we can get Denton, he'll know how ta run it-"
"Denton's gone by now. The Sun shipped him off to Africa to cover the war there."
"No, he ain't!" Les said quickly. "He was dere, watchin' us strike yesterday!" David laughed without a trace of humor. The 'strike' continued in that the papers remained unsold, but the actual protest had faded into Les' staunch marching up and down before the World's gates. But if he was right...
He met Jack's eyes, then Sarah's. Something shone back at him that he was sure must be reflected in his own eyes. Jack grinned. "Let's ask him, why don't we?"