A/N:
This chapter has a fight-scene in it. There's not gratuitous violence, and it's short lived so I'm maintaining a PG rating, but just wanted to give everyone a heads up before the chapter started. Enjoy the story!
"How many papes do you got left?" Les asked Davey as they walked along the streets of Manhattan. The sun was setting and the cold November breeze bit through their thin coats.
Davey slung his bag off his shoulder to look in and re-count though he had been ticking down the numbers in his mind all day. The bag wasn't that heavy but his back needed a rest – he'd taken 60 papes today because he wanted to save up for Hanukkah and Christmas presents for his younger siblings and his shoulders ached. "Six. How about you."
"Only one."
"We should go back to the circulation floor before it gets too late and return these. Ma will be getting worried."
"We've got a little more time!" Les protested. "We can sell them!"
"Your teeth are chattering," Davey pointed out as he rubbed his own hands together, trying to shake the numbness from his fingers. "We're going to sell these, but we're selling them back to Weasel. There's no one out on the streets in this weather. Then we're going to go home and put you under some blankets. Maybe Ma has some soup for us."
Les pouted as Davey led him back home. He could make just one or two more sales. Then they could go straight home and get warm even faster! A sliver of light caught his eye. A man staggered from the door of a nearby restaurant. This was his chance. He snatched his last pape from his bag and ran up to the man as Davey tried and failed to pull him back.
"Care to buy a pape from a poor freezing orphan?" Les said. "Great headline today! Trolley careens off its tracks and kills three nearby workers!" He coughed into his arm for dramatic effect. The irony of his improvised headline didn't escape him. The trolley workers had much better working conditions ever since their strike and Davey talked endlessly about how safe they were.
The man distractedly grabbed the paper from Les and tossed him a penny. Les gave a short thanks as he started to walk back to Davey with an I told ya so grin on his face. The man spun back on him.
"That aint the headline ya little liar!"
Les dropped the grin from his face and started walking faster towards Davey. He rushed over to his little brother. He knew all this "Improving the truth" nonsense would lead to trouble one day. Why did it have to involve him? Davey resisted the urge to strangle Les as he wrapped an arm around him protectively and approached the angry man who was now waving the rolled up pape at them.
"I'm sorry about my brother, sir. He was talking about a different trolley out of state," Davey lied easily. His mothers "Mom-tras" echoed in his head: Two wrongs don't make a right. Let your "Yes" mean yes, and your "no" mean no. How else was he supposed to get Les out of this situation? Admit, "Yep, my brother is an absolute idiot and lied to your face because he thought you were stupid enough to believe that line. Have at him."? That wouldn't work, and so he plunged on with his own story.
"We were swapping headlines with a different paper earlier today, and he's gotten them mixed up." Davey snatched the penny from his brother's hand and offered it back to the man. "Our apologies."
The man took the penny back, grumbled something incomprehensible, and turned away. Les pulled his brother off of him and they started walking way quickly.
"He was mean," Les remarked. Davey glared at him, but it was too late. The man had already spun around.
"What did you say to me?" He roared. He grabbed Les by the shoulder and tried to rip him from Davey. He pulled his little brother behind him. Before he could reply, the man grabbed his lapel and dragged Davey forward until his face hovered only an inch from his own.
"I'll teacha ta disrespect me," He said. His voice slurred and his breath stank of alcohol. Davey tried to squirm out of the man's grip. He twisted around to look for Les. His younger brother was standing in shock.
"Run."
Les shook his head. He wasn't going to leave Davey behind. He wasn't.
The man cocked his arm back to punch Davey and he realized that he had to fight back. He hated to fight. But if it kept Les safe-
He threw his own arm forward. Davey's punch sank into the man's soft stomach. He keeled back and let go of Davey's lapel.
"Run! Now!" Davey shouted. He didn't have time for more instruction. The man recovered and threw his next punch. Davey clenched his teeth just in time as the man's fist collided with his jaw. Pain shot through his head and the world started spinning. The next punch came. He ducked and tried to make a shot for the man's chin as he straightened back up. The man stepped back and his hand came short. Another step forward. The mans' fist hit his diaphragm and Davey dropped to a knee, gasping for breath that wouldn't come. He staggered back to his feet as his lungs painfully gasped in another breath of cold air.
Just stay standing. If he was on the ground, he was done for.
The drunk grabbed Davey's shirt again. Davey tried for another punch to the man's stomach. He only succeeded in weakly smacking his shoulders. The man shook him, undeterred, and lifted his arm again. Tears sprung to Davey's eyes as the next punch hit his nose. He couldn't fight what he couldn't see. Blood dripped down his lip. The man cuffed his ears and eyes. He could only shelter his head with his arms but they provided little defense from the attacks.
Finally satisfied that Davey couldn't fight back anymore, the drunk threw him to the ground. Davey curled into a ball, trying to cover his head and protect his stomach from any more attacks. The man spat towards him. "That oughta teachya," he muttered. And finally. Finally. He stalked off.
Davey struggled to pull himself up. His head pounded and his stomach hurt as his breathing started to slow. Where was Les? He squinted through the falling snow but couldn't find any trace of his little brother. He was away from the fight, but alone in New York City. Davey never let him go anywhere without him or Jack, and even though he knew that Les could get back home alright, Davey still wanted to find him. Davey tried to stand, but the dizziness returned as soon as he rose from the ground and he slumped back in defeat. Exhaustion seemed to set deep in his bones and his head was too foggy to go anywhere. Maybe Les had gone to get help. He could stay here. He could rest a little bit, and then go find Les. He'd be ok.
Right?
Davey looked around for his bag. He had to do something about his bloody nose. It lay several feet on the ground away from him, and Davey crawled over to it, then propped himself up against the wall of the building. He pulled out the clean cloth and dabbed at his lip before snatching his hand away. It hurt too much to touch. Hopefully, his nose wasn't broken. Davey gave a long sigh and leaned back to wait.
Les sprinted through the streets, tears streaming down his face. Davey was in trouble. Davey was hurt. He'd left him behind. Davey told him to run. Where to? He shouldn't have listened. He could have stayed and helped. Where was Davey? Would he be able to get back?
Where was he running? Home? He skidded to a stop to catch his bearings. He wasn't anywhere near home. He needed help. Where?
He could go to the lodging house. It wasn't far from here. Jack and Race and Crutchie would know what to do. They would be able to find Davey. They could bring him back to the house to rest and then everything would be ok. Les took a few deep breaths and started running again. It was dark out now, but the streets seemed much less scary now that he had a plan. They're coming, Davey. Help is coming.
The doors to the Lodging house were locked. Of course, they were locked. Now what? Les paced in front of the building. The Newsies slept on the top floor. He just had to find a way to get up there. Up. Up.
The fire escape! Les took the steps two at a time. When he reached the top landing, he knocked wildly on the window. Jack jumped up at the noise and flung open the window, pulling the younger boy through.
"What in the world-" Jack started to ask but Les cut him off.
"Davey's in trouble! Help!"
"What kind of trouble?" Race asked.
"A fight," Les gasped. "Come on!"
"Crutchie, keep everyone else calm and put the little ones to bed. We'll be right back." Jack nodded once and grabbed his hat. Race snatched his jacket off the bedframe and followed Jack and Les down the stairs and out onto the street. They only managed to pull a few more details from Les as they went, and by the time they reached Davey, Jack and Race were expecting him to be lying battered, beaten, and bruised, motionless in the snow.
They found him already up and making his way back towards the familiar streets of Manhattan. The shortness of breath from being punched in the gut had all but subsided after a long rest. The other boys rushed up to him and Les tackled his older brother in a hug. Davey winced and pulled Les off of him.
"You alright there?" Jack asked as he inspected Davey for further injury. "Your lip's bleedin'."
"Fine," Davey smiled. "Sore, but fine. That'll clot in a minute."
"What happened? We got nothin' outta 'im." Race jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Les, who was still clinging to Davey's side.
"He-" Davey paused as he gave his younger brother a glare, "Needs to know how to keep his mouth shut. He tried selling a pape to the wrong person at the wrong time and ended up picking a fight with a drunk guy. I told him to run while I diffused the situation and it… didn't go quite as planned." He slung his bag onto his other shoulder with a shrug and started walking. The others followed after him. None of them wanted to be in the cold any longer than necessary.
"A drunk? You let a drunk give you a bloody nose?" Race asked incredulously.
"I didn't try! And we wouldn't have gotten into it in the first place if it weren't for motormouth over here!" Davey thought it wasn't the best time to bring up lying about the headline. The others all knew his opinion on the matter already and he didn't need another argument tonight.
"That ain't the point," Race said. "Drunks are slow, Dave. I should know. I spent years running from one." He shook his head as if this were hopeless. "You coulda gotten out of that fine."
Davey sighed, unwilling to take a lecture on top of the night he'd had. "I'm not a fighter, Race. I'm tired and this is water under the bridge. I'm going home."
"You sure you're ok, Dave?" Jack asked. "Looks like you're gettin' a nasty bruise on your cheek."
Davey's hand drifted up to touch his black eye. "I'll be fine in a day or two. Don't worry about me. Les, let's go." He started to walk off, then turned back round. "Thanks for looking out for me though."
"For sure," Jack said. They waved and parted ways. Davey and Les walked on for a little while in silence.
A dozen different thoughts all raced through Davey's mind as he tried to analyze and make sense of what just happened. He understood the appeal of fabricating the headline, but after all the old lessons and lectures and scriptures that shaped his thinking, he couldn't help but find it disgusting. Jack and Race and the rest didn't really know any better, but Les? He'd grown up the same way as Davey, but he seemed to hold no such qualms. If Ma heard the stuff he said- And then he continued to insult the drunk man while he was still in earshot. What kind of thick-headedness did that take? Davey took a deep breath with his next step and reminded himself that Les was only 9. He was safe now. That was what mattered.
Les knew Davey was mad at him. He never said it, not even when Les had been annoying him all day. He never yelled or acted cross whenever Les messed something up, instead always reassuring Les that it would be ok, just to be careful next time, alright? But there was something in the way he pulled his hat down over his forehead and quickened his pace just a step so that Les struggled to keep up with his long gait that always told him that Davey was mad. Les started to open his mouth to apologize, but he'd barely taken a breath when Davey cut him short.
"Are you alright Les?"
"Um." Les gulped, "Yeah I'm ok."
Another moment of quiet. "I was worried about you."
"Me too… I'm sorry."
"It's ok. You need to be more careful next time, alright?"
Les stared at the ground and kicked a loose cobblestone down the road. Would there be a next time? No more apologies would change what happened tonight. Les kicked the cobblestone again. "Alright."
Ms. Jacobs was pre-occupied with the twins the next morning as her two sons left the house for work, and they escaped any interrogation about the events of the night before. Davey was sore and his cheek was black and blue, but overall none the worse for wear as they make the trek to the circulation floor. Les got their papers and Race came to sit by Davey to practice that day's headline. It had become a habit over the past few months, and they wasted no time on pleasantries."
"Evee- eveline"
"Evelyn."
"Evelyn Adams, you-ung – young, pretty, starves to death in New York truy-ng"
"Trying," Davey corrected, "See. The 'y' makes an 'I' sound when there's the -ing following it."
"I remember now. Evelyn Adams, young, pretty, starves to death in New York trying to wuh-r- no that's not right. Write! Starves to death trying to write love novels."
"That's it!" Davey smiled.
"That's a good one. We sure they ain't talkin' bout Jack here?" Race gave his friend a mischeiveous smirk.
"Yeah – he's got the starving artist act goin!" Albert agreed.
"Though maybe not the young and pretty part," Elmer countered.
Jack smiled winningly and waved at them like a Bowery Beauty. "Hey, my father taught me not to starve. That's why I'm out here with you lugs instead of at the pageants."
"Oh sure, you could be in the pageants. They let anyone in if they pay!" Albert said as he elbowed Race. They started laughing and Jack waved a tired hand at the two goofballs.
"Save it for Weasel."
Davey watched the unfolding events with amusement and rested his head on his hand before pulling it away. He'd forgotten about his bruise. Race noticed the motion, and after Albert had moved on to continue heckling Jack, he fell back to Davey's side.
"Hey, I've been thinkin'-"
"Always a dangerous past-time," Davey joked. Race hesitated for a second. Davey wasn't usually quippy this early. He must be in a good mood.
"You're a danger, Davey," he plowed on. "I'm glad you're alright from your little scrape last night but ya got real lucky. You might not be so lucky next time."
"There's not going to be a next time," Davey asserted. "I've talked to Les-"
"That ain't what I mean. You've learned your lesson 'bout drunks, but what if it's the bulls next time? Or the Delancy's? Or one of the others is in trouble and you throw yourself in front of little Antonio with no regard for yourself?"
Davey stammered for a second. Race poked a finger at his chest.
"Exactly. You gotta learn how to fight."
"Race! I told you I'm not a fighter."
"And I wasn't a reader."
"That's different!"
"You taught me something. Now it's my turn."
Davey dropped Les off at home that night after selling with strict instructions to stay at home and help their Ma get the little ones ready for bed before returning to the lodging house to meet Race. He dragged his feet on his way there. Davey didn't like conflict. He'd been the only one to protest the idea of standing up to Pulitzer when he'd first raised the prices of the papes and was more than happy to let Jack take the lead whenever possible. He stayed out of the scuffles between the Newsies and the Delancey brothers. He was the peacemaker between his siblings.
He wasn't a fighter.
But somehow, he found himself making his way along the streets of Manhattan, hands clenched in fists in his pockets, and Race's words ringing in his ears. What if the others are in trouble and you throw yourself in front of them?
He wouldn't fight for himself. But he'd lay down and die before he let anything happen to Les or Antonio or his sisters. So, he raised his fist and knocked on the front door of the Lodging house.
Race flung the door open, a massive smile spreading over his face as he saw Davey. "Let's go out in the alley! We'll have more room to work out there."
"The alley?"
Race nodded and shut the door behind him as they made their way back down the front steps. He stopped and squared his shoulders at Davey.
"Alright. First things first – make a fist."
Davey rolled his eyes and held up his hand. "I know how to make a fist, Race."
"Then why is your thumb sticking out like that?" Race grabbed Davey's hand and forced his thumb to bend down over his curled fingers. "You leave your thumb out like that and it'll catch on some clothes and break."
Davey resisted the urge to snap back and fixed his form. Race continued instructing, "Now get your hands up to cover your head."
Davey obliged, holding his fists near his temples like he'd seen the others do before. Before he could ask what to do next, Race snapped his fist out and tapped him in the gut. Davey recoiled back. "What was that for?!"
"You're not covering your stomach now! You can't leave your elbows up like a chicken and not expect a guy to take that easy strike."
"You didn't have to hit me to make your point," Davey grumbled, adjusting his arms again.
"Stop whining, I just tapped ya," Race said. "Fix your feet."
"What's wrong with my feet?"
Race reached out and shoved Davey's shoulder. He teetered back another step. "If you stand around normal, you don't have any balance. Get into a fighting stance."
"What's that supposed to look like?"
"Do I have to write it out for ya?" Race asked incredulously. How could someone possibly be this clueless in the self-preservation department?
"That might not be a bad idea!" Davey dropped his hands now with a frustrated groan.
Race snapped into the stance and took a light shot at Davey's head. He raised his hands back up just in time. "Now you're learning. Feet apart. One back. Bend your knees."
Davey obeyed and squared off against Race. He was wildly out of his element and felt extremely uncomfortable and distinctly aware of his awkwardness. "Is that good?"
"Fantastic. Now go ahead."
"What?"
"Attack me. Take a swing. Lop my head off!" Race said cheerfully.
Davey stood still, unsure of what Race's trick was supposed to be. "Are you sure that's safe?"
Race sighed in frustration. "I do know what I'm doing, Dave. Can ya trust me on this?"
Davey nodded once, took a breath, and stepped forward with a straight punch. Race stepped to the side and swiped the punch out of the way with an open hand. It flew just past his ear. "See how I blocked that? You slap it just out of the way so that it don't hit ya, then you can counter with something else."
He gave Davey a slight tap to the midsection to demonstrate his point. Davey backed up again, face flushed in equal parts annoyance and embarrassment.
"Race, I swear if you smack me one more time I'm gonna end you."
"That's the spirit!" Race clapped him on his back now with a friendly pat and Davey whirled around, elbows up. He nearly nailed Race in the temple if the other boy hadn't ducked. "Good!"
They continued with different exchanges. Block, punch. Strike, punch, block. Strike, kick, spin, block. Combination after combination. Race kept dancing around Davey, forcing him to react to each new attack but keeping his moves slow enough as not to overwhelm his friend. Davey fell into the pattern. A twitch of the shoulder meant a head punch was coming. Step out, redirect, counter. A long step with a knee up, maybe a kick or a lunge. Move out of the way. Block Low. Race dropped his hands.
Davey's hand shot out and Race staggered back as the punch met his jaw. Davey snatched his hand back and clutched it to his chest. "Sorry! Are you alright?"
Race rubbed his chin and smiled. "I think you're getting it," he panted.
"You're sure you're fine?"
"I'm ok," Race said. He glanced up at the sky. It was getting dark. "Do you want to try again tomorrow night?" He asked. "I won't push you if you don't want to, but I really think I know how to teach you."
Davey nodded, recalling the words he'd said to Race months ago. "If you of all people are willing to stay up late to spend the time on me, then I suppose trying is the least I can do." He spit into his hand and held it out for a shake.
Race did the same. "Deal."
A/N:
Hello! I hope you enjoyed this chapter – I had a lot of fun writing it! It's definitely my longest chapter yet. Just as a heads-up, updates in July are going to be sporadic at best because I'm doing Camp NaNoWriMo to work on my original fiction WIP. I'll try to get some fanfic writing in between the fantasy writing sprints, but I can't make any promises about timing.
Thank you again to everyone who's read and reviewed! I try to answer all of the comments and it makes my day to connect with other fans. :)
