Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of Disney and are only used for fan related purposes.

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The Pigeon

He thought it was all about his sister, but he was wrong.
When an uprising in Brooklyn begins, and his new friendship is tinged with betrayal,
David realizes that there has always been more at stake.

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It wasn't the reaction I'd hoped to get but, well, it was probably just what I deserved.

The Sparrow laughed, a melodic sort of chuckle that didn't belong to someone capable of doing everything he'd done so far. I admit it: the sound sent shivers down my spine and brought a frown to my face. He was laughing at me and I thought I'd been angry before. No, this was anger. I'd done what he wanted me to, against my better judgment I'd brought Teller back with me to Midtown, and he was laughing! Why was he laughing?

And then it hit me, a terrible thought that made me go cold; I barely remembered to breathe for a second. The Sparrow didn't start his mad laughter until I told him I brought him the Pigeon.

What if Teller wasn't really the Pigeon after all?

What if, after all this, I still hadn't done enough?

The laughter didn't last long but the sound of it echoed in my ears after it ended. I tried to find Teller in the gloom behind me but the candles weren't enough to show more than just her silhouette; the light in front of us was so strong that it showed that much more. I blinked a couple of times, keeping my back to the Sparrow, hoping my eyes would adjust enough to get a look at her reaction. Straining a bit, I could just make out the way she was hugging herself, her arms folded across her chest.

I guess she didn't like the laughter much, either.

There was another click then and the light in his lamp flared even higher. I turned around just in time to see that same calculating expression hidden behind the meaningless smile that the Sparrow wore so well. His dark eyes were large and bright but unblinking; not even the glare of the flame against the glass lamp fazed him. Silent but still grinning, the Sparrow lifted his hand up and, using the lamp, looked at each of us in turn: first me, then Teller, and Georgie last.

That's when the Sparrow surprised me again. When his eyes looked past me, landing to my right where Georgie was lurking, his entire attitude seemed to change; at the very least he finally lost that mocking smile.

"You, Boy," he said and I had no doubts about who he was talking to now, "what are you doing here?"

Georgie hesitated before answering. "Ya told me to bring her down."

"I don't remember telling you to come down yourself."

There was a strange scratching noise that, after a moment, I realized was the sound of Georgie shuffling his shoes against the floor. "Sorry, Alfie," he said guiltily.

The name hung in the air in a way that made me more nervous than I cared to admit. It was odd. It was what he introduced himself to me at first, back when we met and I had no idea who he really was, but from the moment he changed it over to the Sparrow this morning, it was as if Alfie never existed. For Georgie to use it so simply, so innocently like the way he called Teller Mary, it struck me as very queer; the way the Sparrow straightened up and kept his attention focused only on Georgie was even stranger.

He didn't say anything else. From the glow of his lamp I could see that he'd even gone so far as to frown. It was an unsettling frown. I recognized it, too. It was how the Delancey brothers used to look when one of Race's jokes hit home or whenever they realized they could never keep up with Jack. It was a frown that had a hint of a threat in it. If it wasn't for how much I felt for poor Georgie just then, I might've marveled at how quickly he could change his mood like that.

It was that, I decided later, that helped make the Sparrow such a dangerous character…

"Boy," he said at last, his voice stern and commanding and very different from the high-pitched laughter from only a moment ago, "you're going to go back upstairs. Now."

Georgie nodded and, though I'm pretty sure I heard him mumble something, he obediently started back up the stairs. The next sound we heard was the reluctant but dutiful steps of Georgie's boots slapping against the wooden boards. A creak of the cellar door followed and then he was gone.

Teller waited until he had disappeared all the way up before muttering, "His name ain't Boy, ya know, it's Georgie."

The Sparrow whirled on her and Teller did something I never thought anyone could get her to do: she flinched, then took one step back before raising her hand instinctively to her cheek. Her fingers laid lightly on the slight bruise I knew was hidden under all that powder and, suddenly, I understood.

Not much, granted, but enough.

"Oh, Pidge," the Sparrow said sweetly, "you never change. Insolent and obstinate as ever." He turned to look at me again, his heavy-lidded stare eerie in the dancing candlelight. The laughing, joking Sparrow was back; I wasn't sure which of his personalities I disliked more. "And David… you must forgive me. This really is quite the surprise. I never thought I'd see you again."

I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach; not even his confirming that Teller was the Pigeon was enough for me to ignore the meaning of his careful words. "I'm here for my sister!" I shot back. "You said!"

He pursed his lips and, with a quick flick of his pointer finger, knocked his hat even further back. I could see his whole face now. Wearing a smirk that was oddly familiar, I had to resist the urge to reach out and smack him. "Yes… well, that's the thing, isn't it. I lied. Sorry."

"What?" This time I hoped that I really had heard someone wrong, no matter how nutty it made me. I knew I hadn't, I knew I heard the words exactly how the Sparrow said them, but, well, there's always hope. That and, as much as he deserved it, I knew Mac and the Sparrow's other birdies were still lurking around here somewhere near. I could smack him but it might just be the last thing I did.

"Alf—I mean, Boss," Teller said quickly when the Sparrow's heavy gaze landed back on her, "what do ya mean? What do ya mean ya lied?"

The Sparrow turned to look apologetically at Teller. I didn't buy it and, from the look on her face, I could tell that she didn't either. "I never thought he'd get you to come back, Pidge, and, you see, I've grown quite attached to my lark here."

On the far side of the dark cellar Sarah slumped back against the floor, the light that came alive when she saw me dimming suddenly when her freedom was snatched away again. His words had the power to break her, a power even stronger than a slap or a punch. What happened in the few hours since I was gone? She wasn't broken then—but she was different now. And it wasn't only that she wrapped herself in the blanket she had refused earlier…

I'd had enough. "You can't do this!"

"Of course I can," he said with a small, knowing smile, and though his voice was still quiet, still controlled, there was a touch of nastiness to it, "I'm the Sparrow."

There was a tense pause that followed and I tried my hardest to think of something else to say. Some way to argue and make the Sparrow hold true to his word. But I couldn't, I was stumped and I had no one to blame but myself. My mouth was failing me. I was never good at accepting betrayal, and liars made me so angry and disgusted that I could never think clearly and fight back. Maybe Teller was right. Maybe I was more trouble than I was worth—maybe I should've just left this all to Jack and Spot.

And then, so quiet it was almost a whisper, but loud enough for even Sarah to hear from her corner, Teller said softly, "No, you're not."

For just a moment I wondered if she was talking to me before realizing that she couldn't possibly have heard my thoughts. She was talking to the Sparrow, but I took her words like she meant them for me, too. I was here because Sarah needed me. Because I was her brother and that was what brothers do.

The Sparrow was struck by Teller's whisper. Cocking his head so far to the side that his hat nearly fell off, he asked in that slow, deliberate way of his: "What was that?"

I recognized the look on Teller's face—and it was nothing like that strange, almost fearful expression she'd worn only seconds before. It was as if something had switched inside of her. Suddenly she was herself again. She was the girl I'd come to know over these last few days.

She was Teller again.

"You weren't always the Sparrow," she told him, a defiant lilt in her quiet voice. "Grampa gave ya the title when he left, he picked ya to follow him! But he always thought you'd go too far, Alfie, that's why he never really was gone. He's still there, watchin', and I don't blame him. He made you who ya are and this is how ya thank him? Takin' his name in vain, turnin' that old respect into fear?" Teller snorted. "Ya don't deserve to be the Sparrow."

And then, more than before, I thought I really did understand.

The Sparrow… a legend on the street, I'd been told, someone everyone—everyone but me, it seemed—knew about but no one actually knew. But legends don't last forever, and hadn't I been surprised to see that the Sparrow was a kid barely older than me? What was he? Seventeen? Eighteen? Kids like Jack and Spot spoke of him in revere, in awe, as if he'd always kept his birdies out on the streets and his eyes and ears open. Maybe the Sparrow did… but that didn't mean Alfie had.

It made sense if Grampa, too old to play anymore, just passed it on. Instead of leaving him a pocket watch or some money, he left Alfie a name. A name and everything—the power, the reputation—that went along with it. That way there was always the Sparrow, always someone who played the part, and it didn't matter really who. You can't be afraid of a boy called Alfie but the Sparrow kept my knees knocking as I faced him in the gloom of the cellar.

He didn't yell. I thought he might, but he didn't. Instead, he said simply, "But I am the Sparrow."

"You always go too far! Meggie almost died!"

The Sparrow scoffed. "I saved her, then I avenged her."

"And then she left, too…" Teller shook her head sadly. She wasn't so angry anymore. "Ya can't just go and take another girl in her place. Ya gotta let Meggie go, and ya gotta let Sarah go home. I'm here. I came. Let 'em go."

"Oh. I see. Dare I say it? Well played, David. I'm impressed." With his free hand he flipped his hat in my direction. He was grinning again and somehow that was worse than his frown. "I think its fair, don't you? I took your sister, so it's only right that you took mine."

"I never took anything!" I argued heatedly.

And the Sparrow just widened his grin. "No need to get all worked up, David. Like I said, it's fair."

My brain caught up with my ears a moment later and I whirled on Teller. "Sister?" I said again, aware of how much like a parrot I was beginning to sound. Maybe that would be my nickname from the Sparrow. The Parrot… it had a nice ring to it. "You're his sister too? And Georgie?"

Any defiance she had left fled as Teller refused to meet my gaze. She kept her eyes on the dirt floor. I felt my stomach drop down to my aching feet.

The Sparrow straightened, seemingly interested. "You didn't tell him?"

When Teller finally glanced up, directing her stare at him, there was absolute murder in her eyes. "Tell him?" she snapped, "Tell him my brother is the Sparrow? The bastard who came along and nabbed his sister all because he got lonely and wanted to show up a couple of hotshot newsies? Him bein' blood of mine?"

"You should be proud."

"It's all I can do to pretend you don't exist!"

"But you can't," the Sparrow crowed victoriously before sneering. "You're the Pigeon like she's my lark. All mine, Pidge, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"You're right. I am the Pigeon. I'm the best bird you got, I can go anywhere and get everywhere and learn anything. And I tell you because you're the Sparrow now, you're the boss. But that's the thing with bein' the best bird—I know a lot, and I'm your sister, too, as much as I hate that. I know about you," she said, the threat plain and clear, "and who knows who I could tell." She paused and, in that instant, the roles were reversed. He was the one bowing under the weight of her words, he was the one who looked taken aback. And then she had one last remark: "I'm Teller, after all. It's what I do."

I have to say, he recovered nicely. Unfortunately.

He laughed again, a forced laugh that sounded harsher than before. "You're Teller because I let you be. You're the Pigeon because I wanted you to be. Make your empty threats if they make you feel important, it won't worry me. Because, my sister, I know all there is about you." The Sparrow paused and, bowing his head in my direction, he said, "And there's quite a bit I could tell certain others, too."

"Let her go, Alfie."

"No, Pidge, I don't think I will."

"I've told ya time and time before," she said hotly, making sure to step back and out of his reach. It was odd to see her so wary, so careful but, then again, the Sparrow was not only her leader but her brother too. Her words had dazzled him but the spell was broken. Alfie was livid; that much was obvious even if he was trying to act as if he was nothing less than calm. And, if there was anyone who knew what the Sparrow was really capable, it was her. But, still, she didn't stop. With a royal shake of her head, she said, "It's Teller."

He puffed out his chest. "And I'm the Sparrow."

"No, you're not. You're Alfie Wilkins—"

At the sound of his name, his real name, the Sparrow drew his breath in sharply. There was warning written in every line of his face as he stared Teller down. Folding his hand into a fist, he pointed one finger at her. She barely flinched this time. "You shut your mouth, Pidge," he hissed.

I was wrong before when I thought that I understood just why everyone—including Teller—was afraid of him. At that moment, the way his jaw clenched angrily, the way he advanced so predatorily on her… I've never seen anything so intimidating in my life—and I saw Spot Conlon stare down a gang, a copper and a crooked judge. Here was a young man who didn't care what he had to do or who he had to hurt to get his way. And there was Teller, standing between him and his way. I could feel my heart as it thudded wildly against my chest, sounding like the beat out of one of Medda's shows. What was he going to do now?

Why wasn't I doing anything to stop him?

But then I glanced at Teller and realized that, though her hands were also folded, folded so tightly in her skirt that her knuckles were stark white, and she was visibly shaking under the weight of the Sparrow's untapped fury, she wasn't backing down. She wasn't listening to his threats. She was just as stubborn as he was.

Gritting her teeth, she kept on talking.

"—from Midtown—"

"Pidge…"

"—the no good first son of a seamstress and—"

"Goddamn it, Mary! Shut up!"

Teller stopped at the sound of the Sparrow's venomous shout. Like the use of his name had done to him, being called Mary brought Teller down. But she wasn't out. Shaking her head sadly, her long braid swaying like a pendulum down her back, she eyed her brother. "Mama would be rollin' over in her grave to hear all you've done."

For the first time since I met him, the Sparrow actually looked rattled. Really rattled, not like he was just pretending. His eyes widened in surprise, his mouth dropped enough to reveal the points of his teeth. It was as if Teller had reached out and slapped him. He blinked once, and pursed his lips together. Teller had finally hit home with her words. The Sparrow nodded, a short jerky motion, but a nod nevertheless.

He exhaled. "Fine. You win. I'll let her go."

I found my voice at last. "What?" I was acting the part of a parrot again but I couldn't be bothered to say anything else. That was the last thing I expected to hear him say.

The Sparrow's eyes were trained absolutely on Teller but, surprising me again, he actually answered me. In that same calm, deliberate way, he said, "I'm letting my lark fly free. Take your sister, David, and just go. Leave. I won't stop you, and neither will my birdies. But," he added, a small, smirking sort of smile coming to his face as if he'd been waiting for this, "my sister will stay here with me. What do you say, Teller? Do we have a deal?"

Teller snorted. "You haven't cared a lick about me in a long while, Alfie. Why the change of heart?"

"You're trying to be brave," the Sparrow noted, almost lazily, and definitely nowhere near incensed as he had been, "but I know you better than that. Besides, you have nothing to fear from me if you stay. The death card doesn't influence me."

I didn't understand what the Sparrow meant by that but by the short, stifled gasp that came from Teller, it was obvious that she did. A touch suspiciously, she asked, "How did—"

The newfound glee in the Sparrow's voice was just as obvious as he interrupted her. "Let's just say a little birdie told me."

"If it wasn't me, who was it?"

"What does it matter? My Pidge was missing. I was worried, I had to get you back."

Teller nodded knowingly. "And that's why you sent David?"

I'd been wondering when I would be dragged into his by name again. I listened intently but, no surprise, the Sparrow decided not to answer her question. Which was okay, really, because I didn't know what to say myself.

And then Teller chimed in again. "Do you know," she said, after a moment's silence had passed, "I was afraid to come back again."

"I do know that, so far, you haven't answered my question."

"I was," Teller continued, as if he hadn't spoken up at all, "I even told Meggie I was too frightened to return. I kept my secrets longer than was fair 'cause I was a scared of ya, Alfie. Can ya imagine? Me, bein' frightened of my brother. But I don't think it was you, Alfie, I think it was really the Sparrow that got me worried. And I shouldn't be so scared of somethin' that don't really exist. So, yeah, ya got yourself a deal. I'll stay, so long as ya let David and his sister go. I'll stay."

"Then it's done," announced the Sparrow. He waved one hand royally at the place where Sarah still sat silently on the floor. "You can go, my pet, but remember your promises if you want me to remember mine."

"No."

The Sparrow turned back to look at Teller. "What was that?"

"No promises. No more games, Alfie. I told ya I'd stay. I'll go back to bein' your damn Pigeon, but she goes. You leave Sarah alone, hell, you leave Meggie alone, and I'll stay. I've flown before, I can do it again."

He thought about her threat for a moment and then nodded. Then he said just one word, "Go", before his gas lamp clicked and his flame died. Even though my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, the loss of his bright light was too much. The Sparrow simply slipped back into the shadows.

And, too late, I finally understood all that had happened. "Teller, no—"

She cut me off with a shake of her head and a quick, "No, it's fine. Really. Hey, I never should've tried to leave the roost in the first place." Laughing lowly under her breath, it was a mocking echo of the Sparrow's earlier joyous laughter. "It's okay," she said again, louder this time, like she was trying to convince herself as well as me. "The Pigeon for Sarah, you knew that's what he wanted."

"Yes, but—"

"No buts," Teller cut in firmly. "It's okay. He's my brother."

Because there wasn't anything else I could do, I looked from Teller's resigned stance to Sarah, huddled against the corner wall as if leery that the Sparrow would snatch her freedom away from her again, to the way a man called Alfie seemed to lord over the two girls. Even though I couldn't see him I knew he was still there, probably wearing that same smarmy grin under his heavy-lidded stare.

I really did get it. Rachel Harpen was right, wasn't she? She'd been right since we met in that alleyway just out of Tibby's but me, educated by books and lessons and really nothing at all, I was too foolish to notice what had been under my nose.

In the end, everything came down to family—and it wasn't only just mine.

Author's Note: Two years in the making, and David's four day quest is all but over. Epilogue coming up soon!

-- stress, 04.21.10