Note: This is the first chapter of what we will come to be known as the 'awesomiest' fic ever. However, if you want to continue on the journey of awesome-dom, I highly recommend you favorite it or something. The next chapter starts all the M-rated goodness and the rating will be changed accordingly. Yay. And, yes, the beginning is a blatant rip-off of the film – we are setting up what will later come so don't think we're, you know, nuts or anything. Okay? Good. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The movie characters highlighted in this awesome piece of work, unfortunately, do not belong to us. They are owned by Disney (© 1992-) and appear here because we made them. But we're not making any money off of them, so it's all good. The original characters included were donated generously because their creator's had no idea what they were in for.

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These Brutal Streets

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PART ONE

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It was all starting to fall apart and there was nothing that David could do about it. The strike, under Jack's leadership, had seemed like a great idea, once he had given it a real thought. And, of course, the unexpected help of the Sun reporter, Bryan Denton, was worth a lot. But now…

In a span of twenty-four hours, everything that the newsboys had worked for, suffered for – sacrificed for – had gone to naught. The rally had been infiltrated by the Police, and nearly all of their numbers had been hauled before the Judge. Denton, in his last act as hero, had paid every exorbitant fine, but even his money wasn't enough to save Jack.

David snorted, lying awake in his bed as he went over the events. His name isn't even Jack. I was right in the beginning – he's a boy called Sullivan… and he never told me…

Jack was sentenced to the Refuge – a four year stint until he turned twenty-one. Though he felt just a tad betrayed at hearing the truth fall from Snyder's lips rather than that of one he thought friend, David knew he would try his best to break Jack out; he had already tried to break Crutchy out once before – he was nearly a pro at it.

But then there was the second blow that hit their group. Denton, one of their strongest allies during the strike, was leaving them. He had accepted a position as an Ace War Correspondent – it was a position to take him as far away from the boys' strike as possible.

They don't always fire you… This is the story I wrote about the rally. I want you to read it at least…

David's stomach turned as he thought about Denton's words. They had fallen on deaf ears. As soon as David learned that Denton was turning against them, he wanted nothing more to do with the man. After all, did they really need him? They had been doing just fine on their own – no doubt they would continue to fight without his aid (though his money would surely be missed by those who had grown accustomed to his frequent treats of lunch).

He didn't read the article; rather, he crumpled up the sheaf of paper and tossed it aside, wordlessly telling Denton how he no longer cared to have him around. And that's when David had made his proclamation: "We get Jack out of the Refuge tonight. From now on, we trust no one but the newsies." Without Jack there, someone had to take control; that someone was David.

After all their planning, David never thought that, after the risk of trying to get him out, Jack would turn him away – refuse his help.

"Come on! Keep running!" David, after hitching a ride on a back of a carriage – the irony of that was not lost on the boy – had followed Jack to a great, fancy home. He had waited until he saw the familiar profile of his pal exiting the house and called for him. Jack heard him and, the second Snyder faltered on his hold, he slid down the banister, joined David and took off.

However, not too far away, Jack stopped running. "You shouldn't have done this, Dave. They could put you in jail."

"I don't care," David said defiantly.

Jack looked pained, as if he was remembering something that hurt him. "Come here. What about your family? What happens to them if you go in jail? You don't know nothing about jail. Now, thanks for what you done, but you get outta here."

"I don't understand."

"I don't understand either, but just get outta here!"

David was confused. He thought that Jack would have jumped at the opportunity to be free. "No!"

"Go!"

Almost as if in a daze, David turned and walked away. After a few steps, he paused and looked over his shoulder. Jack had not even moved.

He met the other boys in the Square. They were all looking at him quizzically when he arrived alone but David just thanked Racetrack for keeping an eye on Les. He couldn't find the words to express his confusion at Jack's refusal to escape with him. But, at least, the boy was free – even if he did not want to accept David's help.

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He couldn't believe. Not when Weasel led him out, not when he saw the fancy new suit and the stack of papers in a strangely clean hand. He heard the buzzing going on just in front of him – he was sure Racetrack had muttered something, and who could ignore Spot asking for someone to tell him that he was seeing things – but his own eyes were having a hard time processing what he saw before him.

There was Jack… but it wasn't the Jack that he knew. This Jack… was a scabber.

More and more of the boys surrounding him were realizing what just had happened. Mush was damn near pleading with Jack, trying to remind him of the boys he had been fighting for – the boys he was now betraying. Kid Blink just kept repeating that this couldn't be happening.

It was good old Spot Conlon who said it the best.

"He sold us out!"

Jack Kelly – hell, Francis Sullivan, wasn't it? – had sold them out. All of them. Including him.

First Denton, now Jack… he didn't stay free, last night. He returned to them. He chose to return to them…

David didn't know what to say. He was sure he was ogling the other boy now, staring at him without really seeing the faux Jack standing before him. There was no sign of the familiar, ratty bandana… no cowboy hat hanging lithely down his back. Just a grey suit that cemented the truth. Jack really had sold him out – he had turned scab for Pulitzer. He lowered his gaze. He couldn't look at Jack just then.

Vaguely, he was aware of some of the others dragging Spot away. In the back of his mind, he thought he knew why Boots had been afraid of going to Brooklyn alone; Spot really could be intimidating when he got going. But David Jacobs wasn't really focusing on that – he was focusing on the boy before him who was trying his damndest to look as if the hollers from his once-allies were not bothering him; but he broke any eye contact, mimicking David almost, as he looked to the dirt.

Weasel caught him glaring at Jack – it was impossible not to notice; if there was fire behind that betrayed expression, Jack would have been ablaze – and beckoned David forward.

David tried to keep his emotions in check as he walked forward. He was angry – so very angry at this sudden betrayal – but he did not want to give Jack the satisfaction of knowing the extent of that anger.

Their eyes met briefly before Jack turned away. David kept his head up as he took a few steps away from Weasel – the fat man was smiling, his hands stuck into pockets as he wordlessly taunted the other boys. Jack followed him. He was waiting for it.

David didn't surprise him. The first thing he did was grab at Jack's fancy new suit jacket with his left hand. "So, this is why you didn't escape last night," he began, quite conversationally, though the tone of his voice revealed his true feelings. Jack lifted his head and mumbled a quick "Yeah" under his breath; he was meeting David's gaze now, staring accusingly back. As if this was all the other boy's fault.

How dare he look at me like? "You're a liar! You lied about everything. You lied about your father being out west, 'cause he's not out west! You didn't even tell me your real name!" He knew he sounded hurt – and he didn't care.

Neither, it seemed, did Jack. He shrugged. "So? What you wanna do about it Dave?" There was a quick, almost unnoticeable, toss of his head and a mocking pout.

"I don't understand you."

Jack was quick with a response – but, when he spoke, it sounded like he was trying to justify his own actions rather than explain them to David. "Oh, so let me spell it out for ya. You see, I ain't got nobody tucking me in at night, like you. It's just me, I gotta look out for myself."

The jab at David's family was too much. It hit him hard and he took a second to recover… a second to come up with some kind of retort.

"You had the newsies."

Jack had an answer for that, too. "Oh, what'd being a newsies ever give me but a dime a day and a few black eyes? You know, I can't afford to be a kid no more, Dave. For the first time in my life, I got money in my pockets," he said, jingling the coins in his pockets for effect. "Real money. Money, you understand? I got more on the way and as soon as I collect, I'm gone, I'm away. Alright?"

"Well, that's good. That's good 'cause we don't need you!" David shot back. Whether he meant the words or not did not matter; what mattered is that they were said. "We don't need you! All those words you said, those were mine."

It was a low blow, admittedly. Jack, throughout the entire strike, had prided himself on being the leader, being the kid that got it done. It wasn't a secret that David was the brains behind the whole thing but Jack didn't go about giving him as much credit as he deserved – and it was time that David told him that he realized that all along.

However, Jack was not about to let him get the last words. "Yeah, but you never had the guts to put them across yourself, didja?"

"I do now."

David got the last words in, anyway. And with that, he turned away from this new Jack – or had he been this selfish all along? – and started to head back to the others. But, when he looked into the crowd, he saw the effects of Jack's betrayal splayed out across their faces. Mush looked hurt, Race angry, Spot livid. And there was Les… he looked like he was about to cry.

Slowly, he spun back around. His heart was pumping and he couldn't explain the anger that he felt coursing through his veins. But, when he met Jack's face that second time, and he had the nerve to mock him, he snapped.

"What'sa matta? Got a problem?"

Before he knew it, he had rushed forward. And he would have hit Jack, too – would have made him hurt – if Weasel hadn't stopped him.

The man's breath felt like hot air oozing down David's neck as he inserted his large body between the two boys. "Maybe you'd like a new suit of your own, huh?"

"Never!" David hollered, wanting nothing more than to strike out at Jack – and then Weasel. "Never!"

Weasel smirked and handed him off to a crew of policeman that were standing by. "Get outta here! Off with him!"

David tried to twist around so that he could get at Jack. It was impossible, though, with countless bodies intervening. He did, after all that, get the final words. He just hoped they caused as much damage to Jack as his did.

"I'm not like you!"

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It hurt to watch Jack be protected by ones he had fought so hard against. His betrayal was a great blow to their strike efforts and, after seeing him be led away to go sell his papers, none of the newsies felt up to fighting against the authorities. At least, that's how David felt. Fighting his way through the crowd, Les tagging along behind him, he went home.

Les wanted to talk, wanted to ask his big brother just what Jack's plan was – because, to the boy's mind, Jack had to be spying for their side; he could not accept that Jack had sold them out – but David could not be bothered with him right now. All he wanted to do was sit down and think.

Which was exactly what he did. He sat at the kitchen table, brooding to himself. Les, never one for dwelling on the past, found something else to occupy him. By the time that Sarah came home from making her morning deliveries, he had forgotten all about Jack.

David had not, though. In fact, it must be said, he had done nothing but stew on what had happened down at the distribution center. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Jack, mocking him in that grey scabber suit. Even though he heard Les droning on endlessly, talking about who knows what in the background, David heard Jack's voice.

So? What you wanna do about it Dave?

David snorted to himself. There was plenty of things that he wanted to do… but he wouldn't. After all, that's why he was sitting in his kitchen, alone.

He heard Sarah as she started to shuffle through one of the dresser drawers, putting away her piecework. There was a crinkle of paper followed by her voice. "Les. What is this?"

"Savin' it." A typical Les-type answer. Though he wasn't really paying attention to what was going on in that part of the apartment, he couldn't help wondering what Les was saving in Sarah's lace drawer.

The crinkly of paper intensified and there was silence for a moment. Then… "David." Sarah was calling to him. Despite his better intention, he stood up from the table and poked his head in the room. When Sarah saw that he was listening, she continued to speak. "It's Denton's article. 'The Dark Truth; Why Our City Really Fears The Newsies Strike' by Bryan Denton. 'Last night I saw naked force excised against mere boys, the newsies, who were…'"

He didn't listen to much of Sarah said. As soon as she even uttered the name Denton – the paper in her hand was obviously the copy of Denton's article that he had refused to read – David stormed past her. Wasn't it just like Sarah to mention another betrayal when he was so obviously smarting from Jack's turn against him.

David escaped her by slipping out the window and slamming the glass pane down behind him. The bit of force exerted made him feel a tad better but he was still seething. Before he knew what he was doing, he had started to descend the fire escape, stomping his feet with every step.