A/N: This is basically my headcannon of one conversation that could have taken place in that small window of time that is not shown on stage between Jack's perceived betrayal at the rally and his reappearance at the beginning of "Once and For Fall." It's a bit of a stretch, but it's an attempt to fill in some of the narrative gaps that were present in Act 2, probably for brevity's sake. (This story also exists because I've wanted to try writing this character combination for a while after seeing a few things in Newsies Live that made me think).
Aside: While I tend to favor the Newsies musicalverse, my depiction of Race is strongly influenced by Max Casella's portrayal in the 1992 Newsies movie. In particular, I really like the brotherly relationship that was shown between Race and Les. This dynamic is not present in the musical (Jack taking on more of the brotherly role), but I couldn't resist keeping it in my depiction of Race, as I like the dimension it adds to his character. Thus, you'll see movie!Race's influence in this story (and any other time I write him), though the setting is still squarely in the Newsies musicalverse.
Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. All of the characters and dialogue from Newsies referenced in this story belong to Disney and not to me.
For once, Les wasn't bouncing around like a hyperactive flea. Race had steered the younger boy outside of the theater once chaos erupted, not wanting him to get shoved or trampled by angry newsies, and they'd found a quiet spot a few yards away from the theater entrance to wait. Les had dropped down on the steps, exhausted, and was currently staring out into the twilight, playing absently with a pair of marbles Race had given him.
Race paced back and forth on the stairs a short distance away, restless from the unexpected surprise of Jack's betrayal and the rally's premature end. His thoughts clamored for attention, but he ignored them, focused on the task of keeping Les safe. There would be time for thinking later.
"Race?" he heard Les ask in a small voice, "does this mean the strike's over?"
Race shook his head, coming over to sit beside the younger boy. "No, Kid. It ain't over," he said firmly.
Les frowned. "But what about all those things Jack said tonight?"
Race sighed. "Jack didn't know what he was talkin' about. Somewhere along the way, ol' Pulitzer must have gotten into his head or somethin.'" He looked Les in the eye. "But that don't change the fact that we ain't quittin' now."
"But without Jack-"
"We don't need Jack to win this thing," Race said, a little more forcefully than he intended. "We don't need him, ya got that? Besides," he continued in a gentler tone, "we got your brother to lead us. So we ain't licked yet. Not by a long shot."
"David never wants to lead anything," Les said doubtfully.
"Well, that's why we gotta show him we've got his back," Race explained. "Your brother's tougher than he looks, Kid. We just gotta get him to see that, alright?"
Les nodded.
"'Atta boy." Race cuffed him affectionately on the head.
They sat in companionable silence for a while longer, and Les began singing quietly, "When the circulation bell starts ringing, will we hear it?"
"Nah," Race replied. He may have secretly had his doubts about the future of the strike, but the fact that Les still had faith in it made him proud. "What if the Delanceys come out swingin'?" he asked. "Will we hear it?"
"No," Les yawned.
"That's the spirit." Race slung his arm around Les' shoulders, and to his surprise, the younger boy gave a small sigh and snuggled closer, resting his head against Race's shoulder.
Within minutes, he was asleep.
Poor kid, Race thought, realizing that it was probably way past Les' bedtime. Careful not to disturb the younger boy, he craned his neck over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the theater doors. People had been trickling out intermittently, but there was still no sign of Davey. Race wasn't surprised. Davey would be up to his ears in livid newsies from all over New York. Between trying to keep Spot from attacking Jack and regrouping the Manhattan boys (if that was even a possibility at this point), he'd have his hands full.
The least Race could do was keep an eye on his brother.
Davey stumbled down the stairs of Irving Hall in a panic, frantically calling for Les.
"Slow down there, Mouth," a voice came out of the darkness. "Rest easy. I got your brother." Race came out of the shadows, carrying a sleeping Les on his back.
Relief flooded through Davey. "Oh thank goodness...I thought I'd lost him." He gave his brother a sympathetic look, feeling guilty for having kept him out so late. "Thanks, Race. Really, I owe you one," he said, quietly.
Race brushed it off. "You looked like you was a little busy back there." Seeing that Davey was alone, he asked, "Did the boys head back to the lodging house?"
Davey shook his head. "I don't know. I tried to find them, but…" he trailed off, gesturing helplessly. "...by the time I got done trying to calm Spot down, almost everyone was gone."
Race nodded curtly, then jerked his head in the direction of the street. "Better get this kid home, then. Which way?"
Davey protested. "You don't need to do that, Race. I can carry him." He held out his arms for Les, but Race turned away and started towards the street instead.
"You'll wake him up; I got him, Davey. Now, come on." There was nothing for Davey to do but trail behind him. He felt like he should have put up more of a fight, as the walk home wasn't a short one, but he was tired, tired to his very bones, and his mind couldn't seem to formulate coherent thoughts, so he stumbled after Race, trying to keep up with the other newsie's quick strides.
The trip back to the apartment was quiet, Race saying almost nothing, and Davey only breaking the silence to murmur directions. When they arrived, they woke up Les to climb the stairs, and to Davey's surprise, Race didn't take off in the direction of the lodging house, but continued on with them until they reached the door to the apartment, where he stood slightly off to the side as Davey searched his pockets for the key. It was clear that the other boy had something on his mind (Race wasn't the kind to hang around for no reason) but as to what he wanted, Davey had no clue.
He and Race had never gotten along particularly well, Race's abrasive sarcasm and (in Davey's view) undesirable habits often at odds with Davey's more earnest nature. Unlike Jack, whose snarkiness was tempered by his general good humor, Race made no attempt to lessen the sting of his mockery, a trait which Davey found off-putting, having been on the receiving end of said mockery more than once. He couldn't think of a time where Race had said something to him without at least a mild insult attached. Oddly enough, Race had shown a soft spot for Les since day one, and was and careful to limit the aforementioned "undesirable habits" when in the younger boy's company. Davey, instinctively recognizing the mannerisms of an older brother when he saw them, suspected that Race was (or at some point of his life had been) the protector of a younger sibling. But he had no way of proving that, and he knew that Race would balk at any attempts to question him about his family. So he'd kept his observations to himself.
Fishing the key out of his pocket, Davey opened the door to the apartment. Seeing that Race wasn't budging, Davey opened his mouth to say something, but finding he had no energy to pursue any line of questioning, decided against it. It had been a trying night for all of them, and he was too tired to puzzle out the other newsie's odd behavior.
"Would you like to come in, Race?" he asked, instead.
"Nah." Race shook his head. "You're comin' back to the lodging house tonight, though, right?"
Davey bit back a disappointed sigh. In truth, he had been planning on tucking Les in and then collapsing into bed himself, letting sleep give him a much-needed reprieve from the intensity of the last several hours. But he wouldn't disappoint Race or the other newsies. Giving the welcoming glow of the apartment a longing glance, Davey put his hand on Les' shoulder, ushering the sleepy boy inside.
"Les, let Mom know that I'll be out tonight," he instructed. "I'm going back to the lodging house with Race. We need to talk about some things."
Les nodded, too tired to argue, and gave Race a sleepy wave. "Night, Racetrack."
"Goodnight, Kid."
The door closed behind Les, and without speaking, the two boys turned in the direction of the lodging house. Now that the responsibility of caring for Les had been discharged, they both seemed to drop their guard, Race lighting his cigar, and Davey trying to massage the tension out of his neck.
They walked for several blocks before Race broke the silence. "I didn't think Jacky-boy had it in him to pull a stunt like tonight," he muttered, as he blew a smoke ring into the air. "It ain't like him, ya know?"
Davey made a non-committal sound. He didn't know what to think about Jack anymore.
"Somethin's not right about it," Race continued, almost as if trying to convince himself. "All the years I've known him, Jack's never turned on his own boys. Always claimed he would go down fightin' for them, and almost did plenty 'a times." He shook his head. "I don't get it. What woulda made him change his mind?"
This time, a response was clearly desired. It was a bad combination, Davey reflected, his growing weariness and Race's antsy energy, but Race evidently needed to talk, so Davey willed himself to answer.
"I don't know, Race," he sighed. "You've known him longer than I have. Maybe the pressure got to be too much for him. Maybe he thought the money was his only chance of getting out of here, of getting to Santa Fe..."
"It just don't seem right," Race shook his head again, taking a few more puffs from his cigar.
"No," Davey agreed quietly. "It doesn't."
They walked another several blocks in silence, Race lost in his own thoughts, and Davey's tired mind beginning to drift again.
"Well, he's probably long gone by now," Race said, snuffing out his cigar on the wall of a building as they passed. "And it ain't no use tryin' to figure out why Jacky-boy did what he did." He gave Davey a pointed look. "Time to think about how we's gonna get back on track for tomorrow."
That was the last thing Davey really wanted to think about, but he knew Race was right.
"What's your plan?" he asked, hoping that hearing Race out would give him a brief reprieve from having to answer himself.
"First order of business," Race said, punctuating his thoughts with his unlit cigar, "is rallyin' the boys. Ten to one they's back at the lodging house in need of a pep-talk. They ain't gonna take Jack runnin' out on them a second time so easy."
"Nothing about any of this has been easy," Davey mused.
Race scoffed. "What'd ya expect? No one's ever tried anything like this before. 'Course there was gonna be some hang ups. We just didn't know what they was gonna be."
The words were uncannily similar to the ones Davey had spoken to Jack to convince the reluctant newsie leader to come out of hiding. We're doing something that's never been done before! How could that not be dangerous? Would Race come at him with a snake metaphor next? Davey almost laughed hysterically at the thought, shaking his head. He really needed to a good night's sleep.
Race could see that Davey was fading fast. He felt an inward pang of sympathy; the other boy had been through a lot in the past few days. But, Race knew, the fight was far from over. And making sure that Davey stayed in the fight was Race's top priority.
It wasn't because he'd pegged Davey as a quitter. Soft, maybe, a little too cerebral for his own good, and definitely anxiety-prone. But stubborn as heck and braver than they'd given him credit for. He'd had to jump further than any of them in this, and he'd done it willingly, with the stakes being not just his own wellbeing but the wellbeing of his family. He'd also been the only one to go after Jack when he'd disappeared the first time. So, Davey Jacobs was no quitter. But Race wasn't sure he'd be up to being their leader without Jack to hide behind. He'd seen how nervous Davey had been when addressing the newsies gathered at the rally, and how relieved he'd looked when Jack had burst onto the scene to take center stage.
Les was right: Davey never wanted to lead anything. But, like it or not, the future of the strike rested on his reluctant shoulders, and Race would let Albert steal his cigars for a year and a day before he'd sit back and let Davey's hesitation seal their fate.
Deciding that bluntness might be the best approach (it was more suited to his style, anyway), Race put all his cards on the table.
"Look, Davey...I know you's tired and that it's been a heck of a night. But you gotta step in now, and rally the boys before they lose hope. They's gonna be lookin' to you."
"Me?" Davey's voice was incredulous. "I got nothing left, Race."
"Well then find somethin' in that big brain of yours! Don't tell me the Walkin' Mouth is all outta ideas!"
"And what if I am?" Davey shot back. He let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe at one point I was naive enough to believe that something I said could make a difference, but that was before all this happened. Look at where my big words and big ideas got us."
"You's talkin' like we's already licked," Race said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.
"I'm just sayin' maybe it would be better if we started listening to someone else," Davey clarified. "Look, I'm not giving up on the strike," he continued. "I'm with you 'till this thing is over." He shook his head. "But someone else needs to lead it. I can't. I'm not Jack, alright? They're not going to listen to me."
"You think Jack is the only one around here with a good idea?" Race challenged, grabbing the other boy by the arm and stopping a surprised Davey in his tracks. "Wasn't you the one who came up with the rally?"
Davey shook off Race's hand, annoyance beginning to show on his face. "The rally was a failure," he said tersely. "If anything, it proved that I don't have what it takes to lead the newsies."
"What are you talkin' about?" Race exclaimed.
"I'm not sure what you thought you saw tonight," Davey continued, clearly riled up now, "but it certainly wasn't a victory by any stretch of the imagination-even an imagination as ludicrous as yours." He made as if to keep walking, but Race (barely recovering from the fact that mild-mannered Davey Jacobs had just insulted him) quickly blocked his path.
"For someone so smart, you sure is dense sometimes, Davey," he remarked, making a sound halfway between a laugh and a scoff.
Davey bristled. "Yes, I've already been told that on several occasions-by you, actually. Thank you for the much-needed reminder of my obtuseness. Now, will you let me by?"
Race folded his arms. "Not until I getcha to see reason." He didn't think that Davey had the nerve to push past him (he wasn't sure he could actually stop him if he did), but he could see that the other boy's patience-no doubt stretched almost to the breaking point-was wearing thin.
Race changed his tactic slightly, not wanting to push his luck. "Come on, Davey, think about it," he continued, in what he hoped was a reasonable tone. "When Jack came to the rally and said what he said...did the boys give up on the strike and fall in line? Or did they give up on Jack?"
Davey turned away, but Race could see that he was listening.
"They gave up on Jack, didn't they?" Race said softly. "And ya know why? 'Cause they knew he was wrong...about the strike bein' hopeless, about Pulitzer's offer, about everything." He paused to let it sink in. "That might not seem like a lot to ya, Davey, but let me tell ya, it is. It takes a lot for us to shake off family like we did with Jack tonight. Even if he was the one turnin' on us first."
Davey's mind was furiously trying to process Race's admission. Having only been a part of the newsies for a few days, Davey knew he was still largely an outsider when it came to understanding the tight bond that the other boys shared, so Race's disclosure of what the newsies' anger against Jack had meant was staggering.
And then there was the other boy's clear assumption that Davey could somehow step in and fill Jack's place as leader. The fact that this was coming from Race only made this assumption more astonishing. Race wasn't one to flatter (unless he was trying to get Wiesel to spot him his morning papes), and he certainly wasn't one to let down his guard, especially not to someone like Davey. The fact that he had tonight indicated….well, Davey wasn't sure what it indicated, but it was something.
If Race truly believed that, in the aftermath of Jack's betrayal, Davey was the most fit to lead the newsies (more than Spot, or even Race himself!) did that mean he really was? Davey was having a difficult time wrapping his mind around the thought.
"That big brain of yours workin' overtime?" Race asked wryly.
Davey pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to gather his thoughts. "Yeah….sorry," he mumbled. "It's just a lot to think about."
Race waited as patiently as he could before suggesting that they keep moving. Davey agreed, and they walked in silence the rest of the way, both lost in their thoughts, until the newsboy lodging house came into view.
Stopping just outside, Race cast a sidelong glance at Davey. "You know what I told your brother while we was waitin' outside the theater for you?" he asked.
"No," Davey said quietly. "What?"
"I told him that we ain't licked yet, not by a long shot," Race replied. "Not as long as we have his brother to lead us." He gave Davey a level look. "So what's it gonna be, Mouth?" he asked. "You in?"
Davey bit his lip.
"Yeah," he said finally. "I guess I am. If you and Les think I can do this, I can't prove you wrong."
Race grinned. And there's the straw that broke the camel's back. Davey was an older brother through and through. "You know the kid really looks up to you...and those boys do too," Race added, jerking his head towards the lodging house. "They wouldn't have done what they did tonight if that weren't the case." He clapped Davey on the back. "So you go in there, Mouth, and rally the troops for another day of fightin' tomorrow. I'll go talk to Spot. We's gonna need his help if we's gonna win this thing."
Davey gave him an incredulous look. "You're going to go talk to Spot now?"
Race shrugged. "'Seize the day,' right? Ain't no time like the present."
"Wait, wait...hold on. Shouldn't you take someone with you?" Davey asked anxiously. "It's getting late."
Race gave him a cocky grin accompanied by a punch in the arm. "Ah, stop your motherin,' Davey,'" he chided, clearly happy to return to their old bantering dynamic. "I know Brooklyn like the back of my hand. You don't gotta lose no sleep over me." He backed away, giving the other newsie a little shove. "Now am-scray, punk. You got your work to do and I got mine. I'll see ya in the mornin'."
Davey watched as Race turned and took off running for Brooklyn.
The city was finally sleeping, but Race was right: there was still work to do. So Davey took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and (rubbing his arm a bit from the impact of Race's punch), entered the newsboy lodging house.
A/N: I find Davey and Race to be an interesting combination to write. They only have a few small interactions on stage during the musical, but I think they must have interfaced frequently, given their positions of leadership under Jack. I envision their personalities clashing initially, as they have markedly different backgrounds and temperaments. But I also see Race as being one of the few newsies who can keep up with Davey's quick mind, and Davey eventually coming to appreciate Race's sarcastic humor (because it's oddly similar to his own)…so I think that in the end they'd develop a kind of mutual regard for each other (in the "I act like I can't stand you but I actually think you're okay"/"I insult you because I consider you a friend" kind of way). What do you think? Believable low-key BrOTP, or too out of character?