Whoops, broke my "one update a month" streak.
I been busy!
I've got about a million reviews to respond to, which I'll try to make brief, but will fail miserably. Feel free to scroll past them.
Review Responses:
queenadabronx: NEW CHAPTER WOO! The Albert and Race convo... My heart. Don't worry, someone will keep Hotshot in check. HECK YEAAAAH THEY WOOOON! I'm glad you're so excited; here's the very belated next chapter! :D
Jonna Hufflepuff: (Chapter 77) I may have said this already, but I'll do it again: I appreciate and love ALL of your reviews, no matter if they're a couple weeks, a month, or a year late. Even though your interest in Newsies in waning, the fact that you're still enjoying yourself as you power through to the end of this story means a lot. So thank you! (And catch up whenever you feel like it; no pressure :)) Davey did it without a panic attack! I'm truly loving your mix of emotions throughout this whole chapter; makes my day. :) HUZZAH FOR RACE AND SMALLS AND SPECS AND EVERYONE! I hope you're feeling less burnt out now than you were two months ago. Regardless, please accept this: *virtual hug*
Dylan Quagmir: (Chapter 77) Yep, that Yahtzee game just could not provide us with happiness... Dammit Dylan I forgot how sad this review was; why did you make a tragic chapter even worse than it was? Aaaaaaah so much remains unanswered for Crutchie! (Now I'm sad.) You did read 78, and then we had a whole pacing conversation... Surprising no one, I never completed my rewrite of the chapter. Maybe some day.
Vil N. Melling: (Chapter 62) *shakes head at Jack* Is Albert high? Is he just very excited due to a sideplot that resides only in my head? Who's to say? *buckles down for your screaming during the mental breakdowns* (Chapter 63) Nope, no cursed mind for you... (My mind: Newsies but as a fairytale and Pulitzer's office is that witch's house from Hansel and Gretel.) Eeek thank you for the reference appreciation! That kiss was not really meant to be a "YASSSS" moment, but to each their own. (Chapter 64) Tomarah. We love. We stan. (And the twins are interesting fellas.) That's all. (Chapter 65) Yes eyebrows, yes Buttons, yes Ike. HECK YES TO BROOKLYN ELMER AND THE BRONX! (Chapter 66) TO BE FAIR HE DID NOT MEAN TO HIT LES, IT JUST- happened. Reflexes. Ah, the Race argument. Jack's mental health is pretty brutal... Stay tuned. (Chapter 67) I don't kid about newsie breakdowns. *manifests sending them all to therapy* (Chapter 68) Thank you thank you THANK YOU for every word of this review; your enjoyment makes me happy! SMALLSPER YAY! (Chapter 69) Great minds think alike... And have been corrupted by the same Vines. No overpriced chicken nuggets, unfortunately, but it was glorious nonetheless. :) (Chapter 70) Yeah, the first Sprace kiss was kinda... Meh. But they get their second wind later on. Spot is the best at advice, clearly. ONLY I GET TO KNOW THE PLAN AND I'M NOT TELLING! (Chapter 71) Oh yeah, the Johnsons... I despise their inclusion a little less now. :) *all the snaps for Les giving love advice* I adore my boy. (Chapter 72) *squealing* Thank you a million times over for all the compliments on this chapter; it made my week and then some. (Chapter 73) So sorry to put you in pain, but I'm loving your reactions, and thank you for the italics compliment! (Chapter 74) Not crazy, I was stuck writing that scene so I used inspiration from one of your incorrect quotes; thank you very much for that. Smallsper is greater than everything. (Chapter 75) I'm glad you loved the speech; it was so satisfying to write! (Chapter 76) For the record, it is a moment of character development for Davey (he's gained confidence), he's just also taking after Jack while being confident. I only say this because my characterization of Dave is something I wish I could have done a bit better. The Jacobs family as a whole, honestly... *sighs* (Chapter 77) Not gonna lie, the Race and Al conversation was a purely therapeutic addition for yours truly. Glad it resonated with you too! Race and Smalls are making... A choice, for sure. (Chapter 78) Hehehe short people fight... All the hugs for Smalls and Race! Thank you once again for your compliments and praise (my heart melted seeing that last bit of your review 3) and for devoting so much time to catching up on this. Well done!
Oh gods. Pardon that wall of text, please.
Quick warning: There is many a swear word in this chapter. I believe most of you are used to that by now, but in case you aren't, now you know.
Alright, guys. It's time. The penultimate chapter. I'll get sappy later.
Chapter 79- Jack
Wednesday, September 22, 1999, 8:00 a.m.
Tap. Step. Tap. Step.
Uneven footsteps against stone. A quiet voice saying, "Wake up." Someone gently nudging his shoulder.
Groggily, Jack raised his head from the back of his chair. "Crutchie, whadda you..." He trailed off, rubbing his eyes. The person who had woken him came into focus: an older woman in a stewardess uniform. She walked with a cane.
None of this had been a dream.
"I don't mean to disturb you, son, but you've been sleeping here several hours. If your flight is delayed, we can get you someplace more comfortable-"
Suddenly awake due to a jolt of clenching dread, Jack's legs shot sharply to the floor. "Wha' time's it?" His mouth hadn't yet caught up with the rest of his brain, and he had to repeat himself twice before the woman understood.
"Just hit eight o'clock."
"Ya sure?"
After saying his goodbye to Crutchie, Jack had gone to the airport and bought himself a ticket on the earliest possible flight to New Mexico. He remembered finding his gate, sitting in the waiting area, calculating how long he'd have before take-off, and deciding to close his eyes for just a second...
In his world, a second was apparently six hours. His ticket out of the city had been gone for two.
"Is something wrong?" The stewardess leaned forward on her walking stick, studying him.
Jack brushed his hair away from his eyes, trying to take a breath. So he'd blown his chance to escape. He could fix it easily, right? Buy another ticket. He reached for his bag. Couldn't find it with his hand, looked down, and-
Idiot. The bag was on the plane. He'd checked it earlier, not because they'd deemed it too large to carry on, but out of desperation to rid himself of every cent of Pulitzer's money.
"Is there someone I can call for you?" Jack's heart thudded rapidly in his ears, nearly drowning out the woman's voice.
He stood without responding and looked past her to the gate that should have been open. That he could have walked through hours ago. Closed now. The seats around him slowly filled with passengers for the next flight. People milled about everywhere else, making plans on their way to great things.
The simplest task. One chance. He couldn't do one thing.
Failure.
No other alternative. This had been his last card, his very last plan.
Worthless.
What was he supposed to do now?
Jack ran.
Away from the waiting area and the elderly stewardess, past tanned families and people shedding winter coats. He dodged suitcases, weaved through security guards, then dashed by the check-in desk. Throwing open the door to the outside terminal, he didn't stop, jumping without caution in front of a slowing taxi. The driver laid on the horn, rolling down their window to spew curses at him. Still, Jack didn't look back.
Coward. Quitter. Useless.
His soles slapped the ground and his lungs cried out for air, but he didn't acknowledge any of it. Even when he'd left the airport he kept running, unsure where he was headed. Just away. As far as he could. If it freed him from the voice in his head, he was fine with anywhere.
You've got nowhere to go.
Nobody wants you.
You'll never amount to anything.
By the time he re-entered the city streets, most of his initial fear was gone and had been replaced by sensations far worse. Something like a knife being repeatedly pushed into his stomach; he wasn't sure if that was from hunger or nausea, or both. His head filled with flatline buzz and little sparks of darkness, growing warm and heavy as every ounce of blood rushed upwards. With this, his hands were left clammy, beads of perspiration bursting upon them and along his forehead.
Lack of oxygen from running, Jack concluded, ducking into an alleyway and bracing himself against the wall. That's what this had to be. A short break would set him right.
You should feel sick. After what you did.
Asshole.
No time to rest. Passing out in a dark corner of New York was not going to be the end of him.
Ignoring the pain and the dark spots creeping into his vision, Jack cut through the alley, hit sidewalk on the other side, then kept moving forward. Forward would give him more than standing still ever could. Forward meant he could put everything else behind him. He would get past this. Somehow.
You've been through worse. Parents. System. Refuge.
Why is everything so hard now?
You're stronger than this.
Come on. Get over it.
He would run all the way to Santa Fe. It was as simple as that. And once there, he'd manage by himself. Nothing, no one tying him down. Alone was the only way he'd start to thrive.
You'll never make it.
Don't you know you can't grow without roots?
So maybe he'd have to stay. But then what? Where could he go?
Get it through your head.
There's no place for you. Not here, not there, not anywhere.
Might as well give up.
A couple of police cars sped down the street, their red and blue lights reflecting off the windows around him. Jack increased his pace and tried to stay ahead of them; he shoved through a group of tourists, all of whom yelled for him to watch where he was going. Like he was going to listen.
The bulls were gaining now, driving ever closer to Jack's stretch of sidewalk. Unable to run any faster, he backed into the nearest building, gulping air despite the sharp jolts in his middle. Perhaps he could blend into the wall, and they wouldn't catch him. Some passersby gave him odd looks, but kept on their way. The sirens gradually faded, and it slowly occurred to his mildly asphyxiated brain that they had been searching for someone who wasn't him.
Even they know you're not worth dealing with.
He didn't thank the universe for that, almost wishing he was the person they were after. Being taken into custody, put on trial, or sent to the Refuge- any of that would be preferable to staying alone with his own thoughts.
There's not going to be a manhunt, you know.
No one's desperate to find you.
They're done waiting up or wondering where you are.
You're the only person holding you back now.
Should've left when you had the chance.
Keeping his back pressed against scratchy bricks, Jack shut his eyes, then dug the heels of his hands hard into them in an attempt to control another wave of dizziness. He managed to quell it for the most part, and blinked away the last of the spots as he looked right, then left-
It had to be a hallucination.
He'd officially lost his mind.
A few paces away, No. 9, Duane Street loomed, barely casting a shadow as it stood gray and bright against the buildings on either side. All this running, and all he had done was go in a circle. Jack was truly hopeless.
Laughing or crying seemed the only ways to proceed, neither of which would do much to lighten his situation. Those wouldn't change where he'd brought himself to.
Although…
You think a single person there is gonna take you back?
Don't bother trying.
Waste of time.
Still, if he just begged- if he got down on his knees and pleaded for their forgiveness- someone had to have a shred of sympathy. Even though they all despised him, even though he'd let them all down, maybe...
You haven't got a single friend left.
Don't even have an enemy.
Nobody gives a damn anymore.
Stop kidding yourself.
His stomach was killing him again. Jack sank to the sidewalk, pulled his knees to his chest, and dropped his head down. Squeezing himself into a ball, he anticipated the shaking before it started, and tried to hold it back. Tried to keep everything together, to get himself to feel as small and insignificant as possible. If he gave himself enough pressure, maybe he'd disappear for good. From then on he'd only be in other people's stories, just "That Jack Kelly, whatever happened to him?"
Because aside from making a great cautionary tale, what use was he?
Just get out.
Stay out of the way.
No reason to keep you around.
After all that had happened in these two weeks- some of the most intense weeks he would ever live through- nothing had changed. He was still running.
The same young, dumb, broke cowboy. Fated to always be this stupid, stupid dreamer.
You failed everyone you know.
You'll never bounce back. They'll never forgive you.
You're not strong. You're not smart. You're not rich.
No matter how hard you try, you'll never be enough for anyone.
His breath, already uneven, caught in his chest and stuck tight. Trapped.
On his own. Truth closing in.
Admit it.
You're nothing.
Nothing.
He'd just have to stay here on the ground until his thoughts ran their course. When they passed, he would get up and make his next move. Same as every other time.
You know the worst of it, don't you?
No one will ever know you feel like this.
You played the villain.
That's all they'll ever see.
The fuck-up. The mistake.
Somebody who screwed over everyone who would have listened.
"Francis."
Horrified at the sound of that name, Jack snapped out of his thoughts, all too aware that when he glanced up he'd face Snyder, and be unable to move.
"Excuse me. Jack."
The shadows that had conquered his brain lessened slightly and allowed the figure of Kloppmann to take shape, wearing a hint of casual concern on his white bearded face.
"I'll take it from here, James." A different voice. Authoritative, but kind. She stepped forward from behind Kloppmann, and the floral orange of her dress was too bright to ignore.
"Medda?" Jack's throat was so constricted, he wasn't certain he'd actually made a sound. "What're ya doin' 'ere?"
She fixed him with a firm expression. "I think you need to answer that first."
He affirmed this, used the wall to help himself up rather than the hand she offered, and stood with his shoulders back, facing Medda head on. He was prepared to answer anything she threw at him.
"Figured you'd be enjoyin' the sun in New Mexico right about now."
He wasn't prepared. Not at all. "I, uh... I-" he looked behind Medda, looked at the ground, looked anywhere that wasn't into her eyes.
What's the lie gonna be this time?
Not like you can tell the truth.
She'll be so disappointed.
She wanted you gone.
"I missed the flight." Truth prevailed, coming out gravelly and half-stuck in his esophagus, which made him sound like a frog that had swallowed a ton of asphalt. "Not on purpose. I didn't mean to, I just- I couldn't-"
The more he tried to talk, the closer everything came to bubbling up. Boiling over, about to overflow.
Control yourself.
Don't you dare let her see anything's wrong.
Jack shook his head, shrugged, and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't- I can't- I-" Shuddering gasps overtook his words. He did his best to rein them in, but it was too late.
Crybaby.
In an instant, he was in pieces; shattered across the sidewalk for Medda to balk at, reject, and walk away from. Just like everyone else had.
His collapse grew more intense as he waited for the pattern to play out- the more for her to judge- but suddenly, he felt her arms wrap around him.
She hadn't deserted him. Wasn't scolding him, either. Quite the opposite. For once, someone was trying to help contain things- broken as they were- and it was so unusual to get this reaction, especially from someone he had wronged. Though he wanted to express his gratitude, all he could say in between sobs was "I'm sorry."
Medda kept holding him and rubbing his back, just letting him cry and apologize over and over, until "I'm sorry" turned to "I'm so sorry" turned to "I'm sorry for wrecking everything."
"Not everything," she assured, keeping one arm on his shoulders as she led him to sit on the Duane Street steps. "Not so much it can't be repaired."
"I shouldn't a' walked out," he told her, "I threw everythin' away, an' I don' even know- I jus' started runnin' and I couldn't-"
Medda grabbed his hands and held them tight, grounding him. "You don't need to explain."
"Thought tha's what you wanted."
After a moment's hesitation, she agreed, "Yes, I did. But I shouldn't have. In fact, I believe I owe you an apology."
He blinked, disbelieving.
"I never should have placed so much pressure on you to open up. Pushing you like that... that's no way for someone my age to behave, least of all a teacher."
"Miss Medda-"
"I realize I expected a lot of you. Too much, even. I truly am sorry."
"It's okay…" Jack said, mildly frightened at her being the one apologizing to him.
She continued, "All I really expect- or hope, more like- is that you feel comfortable enough to be honest with me. I'm not asking for perfect, and I'm not looking for something to fix. I just want you to be yourself. Whatever you've got, I'll take it, and I'll do my best to help with anything you're going through. That is, if you want me to."
He wanted to tell her that he did, desperately, but instead he protested, "You got yer own life, I don't wanna- I'll get in the way."
"You might. But I think I can carve out some time for you, outside all the teaching I'm doing." This came with a good natured smirk.
Though he understood the joke, guilt stung him. "What're you gonna do now?"
"Well, I've been thinkin'... teaching never was my passion. With no need for me at Roosevelt anymore, I figure it might be worthwhile to spend time getting back to performing. And eventually, I'd like to start my own theater, use that as a place to nurture young artists. That way. I won't have to answer to any superintendent."
"Whoa, you got it all planned." He tried to smile, but the returning urge to cry created much difficulty.
"I have an idea. Not the same as a plan."
"At least you got it togetha'."
She dropped one of his hands, nudging him closer with her free arm. "So Santa Fe didn't work out."
Giving in, Jack laid his head on her shoulder and frowned at the buildings opposite. "I wanted ta go." Anguish choked the words. "So bad. But I missed my chance."
Although he gave no further explanation, Medda understood. "Maybe you weren't ready to leave yet."
"But I was. 'Least, I thought-"
"You aren't always right." She said it with no snap, no sharp edge to her tone. "Someday though, you will be. And when that time comes, you'll go to Santa Fe, and college and wherever else you choose, and you'll be ready. Someday. No one's askin' you ta do it all today." Medda sighed deeply. "And they're certainly not asking you to throw away your whole life for it, not now, not ever."
"That was s'posed ta be the easy part."
"An' how'd that work out for ya?"
Jack swallowed. "I'm a disaster."
She squeezed his hand. "You talk like you're the only one."
"Sure seems like everyone else's got their crap togetha'."
"Just because it seems that way don't mean they do."
"Nobody else I know eva' shut out da world 'cause all they could see was some pipe dream," he grumbled.
"Oh, I can think of one person."
"An' who would that be?"
"Me."
Jack thought back to Medda's story. Its details were fuzzy within all the chaos of earlier, but he remembered the gist. While she had a point, he wasn't convinced. "You still worked things out."
"Not everything. For instance, when I tried takin' care of you and unintentionally kicked you from my penthouse."
"But I would a' run eitha' way, that's not your-"
"I don't think the way I phrased things helped much, did it?"
He considered. "Guess not."
She gave a slight smile. "What I meant to say back there was... the last thing I need is ta lose more sleep over you, bein' halfway across the country an' all."
If she hadn't mentioned it, Jack never would have given a thought to the shadowy semicircles under Medda's eyes. They hadn't always been there, surely. Or maybe he just hadn't noticed. Uneasiness settled over him, and he shifted away from her. "I'm sorry I worried you."
"Honey..." He figured she was going to pull him close again, but she didn't. "It's nothin' you need to apologize for."
"I'm not your responsibility."
"You don't seem ta be anyone else's."
That was it. The reason. All the clothes and art supplies she'd given him, the way she'd let him overstay his welcome… it all came back to this.
"Everyone needs help sometimes. It's okay to admit that."
She had him. Her door was open. Why was the prospect of walking through so difficult for him to wrap his head around?
"What if I need too much help?" Jack mumbled, "I don't wanna be a-"
He couldn't get the last word out, but she finished for him. "You're not a burden. No matter how hard the story gets, I'm going to listen."
How can I believe you will, when no one else has?
"Sure, you can listen, but you- you won't understand. Everythin' I been through, nobody's been able to- I ain't able ta-" Merely trying to explain it was choking him, further proving his point. "I don't wanna saddle you wit all that."
Crinkles formed at the corners of Medda's eyes, and she paused for a long moment, pondering her next words. "Maybe it's beyond my level of expertise."
He nodded.
"However… You've spent so long worryin' about what other people can handle, doin' all the work keeping yourself together. I think it's about time somebody else took the weight off a' you." When Jack parted his lips to counter again, she shushed him. "I can find you someone besides me to talk to, if you like. A professional. All you gotta do is ask."
"I 'preciate the offer." The words came automatically. "Really. I just can't-"
"Ain't a hassle on my end, I promise."
"Sure, but what if-"
There you go again.
You're afraid. She's offering now, she could just as easily take it away. Because what if you disappoint her? What if she realizes she doesn't want you enough to keep her promises?
Or worse, what if you thinking like this wrecks your life again?
Jack took a deep breath, then exhaled. "If I letcha do this fer me an' I- if I run away-"
"And what if you stay?" Fondness peeked out behind her tired expression, expelling all his other concerns. "Isn't there a penthouse on Long Island with a couple spare rooms?"
"What- Ya mean, me live with you?"
"You've been living with me."
"Oh. Right." He chuckled, feeling slightly lighter at the prospect of having a room of his own; a place he could really stay, without having to worry about being sent away. Though his subconscious was prodding, trying to convince him that he couldn't accept- that she was lying, that she'd turn her back on him or throw him out next time he screwed up- he stood fast, finally refusing to let any of that through. Not now. Not with Medda right beside him.
"So?" She asked, "Whaddaya say?"
"I say..."
This isn't a mistake. It can't be. I need this.
A grin spread over his face, natural and unchecked. "I think I'd like that."
"Good." She was beaming too, beckoning with her arms. "C'mere and give me a hug."
So he did, diving back into Medda's embrace. The air around him still lay thick with the brokenness of minutes before, reminding him that he wasn't fixed. Not yet. Even as he tried holding himself in the present, the gnawing fear crept back in. Anything might change in the briefest of seconds and make things worse.
But for now, he needed to shrink that mental anvil- though it hung by a thread- and condense it down to a chip on his shoulder. He'd sort it out later. And he would have help.
Jack had Medda, one last lucky ace up his sleeve. At last, he felt whole, more than he had for an awfully long time.
If only that could have lasted longer.
Hours later, he found himself in a hospital lobby.
Because Jack and Medda had been busy in conversation, Mr. Kloppmann was forced to keep quiet about some rather pressing news until they finished. Of course, when he finally heard it, Jack was quick to say he wished he'd known earlier. Had he got his way he would have raced to the hospital at once, but both adults forced him to slow down and eat a little something. Not that he could stomach much, but he tried.
Most of the other newsies were leaving when Jack finally arrived. A few threw him dirty looks on their way out, but the majority brushed past him, pretending he didn't exist.
Serves you right.
The period of waiting that followed was the worst by far. First, there had already been a visitor in the room, then next in line was Race- Jack couldn't argue with that- then Smalls, and after her turn the nurse declared the patient needed a break.
So Jack waited, not getting so much as a "good morning" or "see you later" from the others as they came and went. He knew he deserved the silent treatment. They had reason to hate him. It wasn't as if they could pal around over cups of bad hospital coffee.
Still, it was awkward in their brief moments together, sitting mere chairs away from one another. Race kept glancing at him, curiosity on his face, only to pretend to tie his shoe or something when Jack noticed. Smalls, ever the opposite, avoided looking at him the entire time they shared the waiting room, gaze fixed blankly on the silent television in an upper wall corner. And Spot, who had been the first visitor, just glared, his eyes following Jack wherever he moved.
You don't belong here.
Specs, with half of Duane Street in tow, had lined up to visit next, but finally, after Jack stepped aside for each of them, he was allowed in.
He followed behind a nurse, the anxiety reclaiming him with every step. The moment he crossed the room's threshold and caught sight of the younger boy- propped against pillows, bruised and unsmiling- he felt himself shattering all over again. He wanted to be sick. More than that, he wanted to leap onto the bed, pull the kid into his arms, and never let go. Naturally, he did no such thing, waiting instead for Crutchie to make the first move.
"Jack?"
And suddenly, his nerves subsided. Everything was going to be okay. Crutchie wanted him here. Crutchie was happy to see him. "Crutchie."
"I thought you left."
Jack was too preoccupied with basking in relief to answer.
"You did. You left."
All the happiness was seized from him and thrown out the window in a gust of cold uncertainty. "I-"
"How could you?"
"Believe me, I feel like shit about it."
"You feel like shit?" Anger ripped at Crutchie's voice. "I was trapped with Snyder- Snyder! -and you left me!"
"Crutch, I-" Jack needed the words to apologize, but they weren't coming fast enough. "I was panickin', I wasn't myself, an' I- I know I let you down. I'm so sorry. I'll make it up, I promise."
"Save yer promises for someone who cares."
Disbelieving the stubbornness he was seeing, Jack forced a laugh. This wasn't the Crutchie he knew. "Kid, c'mon."
"You told me goodbye. I watched you walk away. I thought- no, I was convinced I'd never see you again. And yet, you're still here." With slight difficulty, Crutchie pushed his back higher on his pillows. "What're you doin' 'ere anyway?"
"Um-" Jack looked around helplessly, searching for assistance. As expected, he got none. "I came ta see you."
"Why? Just ta say goodbye again?"
"Nah-"
"Y'know what, just leave. Go away. I ain't sittin' through another goodbye, jus' go ta Santa Fe."
"Charlie-"
"I SAID GO!"
"But-"
"NO! I don't care what you've gotta say! You got no idea how it feels ta see your entire reason for livin' gone, ta put yerself in danger 'cause you dunno what ta do with yourself anymore!"
"I know," he struggled to keep his voice steady. "I'm sorry."
"You know nothin' about what Snyder did ta me! You weren't there! The minute I needed you most, you were gone, an' honestly, I'm not sure I wish you'd stayed!"
Jack blinked back the flood threatening to spill over his eyelids. The last thing he needs is to see you cry. "You- you got out, at least. Like I said ya would."
"Oh, yeah." Crutchie's voice quieted for a moment. "That's right, I survived! I'm still alive to remember everythin' he did ta me! So I should be jus' fine now, shouldn't I?"
"I didn't-"
"Except Snyder's still at large. Cops are still lookin' for 'im. Who knows what'll happen if they can't arrest him."
"Nothing's gonna- nothin' else is gonna happen." Even as he said this, Jack wasn't sure he believed it. "You're safe now. I swear I won't let nobody touch you."
"You gonna protect me? Ya expect me ta trust you? You don' even know half a' what you caused."
"I'm sorry."
That, it seemed, was one apology too many.
"QUIT TELLIN' ME YOU'RE SORRY! I ALMOST DIED BECAUSE A' YOU! EVERYTHIN'S RUINED NOW, BECAUSE A' YOU! I don't get ta go back ta Duane Street; somebody decided before I was even awake that a wonderful place for me ta live would be-" he didn't finish, just kept barreling through- "They're sendin' me away and I don't get any say at all! Nobody asks if I'm scared, or confused, or if I don't wanna do this! Nobody cares! They're just happy we won the strike! An' you, you stand there apologizin', as if that'll make me forget it's all your fault any a' this is happenin'! You ain't foolin' anyone pretendin' ta stick around! I know you wanna leave, that's all you eva' wanted, so do it! Just go!"
"Charlie, I-"
"GET OUTTA HERE! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
The nurse who had brought Jack to the room poked his head in. "Is everything alright in here?"
"No," answered Crutchie, "no it isn't."
"It is," replied Jack, hoping once his friend cooled off he'd get a chance to explain. "Everything's fine."
The nurse didn't take his word for it. "Is this young man bothering you?"
"Yes." Crutchie's pink, flushed face, the way his body shook- radiating anger- were much more convincing. "This young man is indeed bothering me."
"I believe the patient wants you to leave," said the nurse.
If you turn your back now, you'll lose him.
Jack, on impulse, replied with a simple "No."
"Excuse me?"
"I ain't goin' anywhere. Not yet. You can't make me."
"If you're out to cause problems, son, I'm not above calling security."
"Look, I don't mean any trouble, honest." Jack cleared his throat, gesturing to the bed. "That kid there's my best friend, see? Ain't no way I'm 'bout ta abandon 'im. Not again. Never again."
The nurse, still skeptical, looked to the boy for his ruling, but Crutchie didn't respond. He glanced warily towards Jack, his mouth barely open and his body still. His trembling had diminished with his anger. Whether he was more touched, disbelieving, fearful, or a mixture of the three, it was impossible to be certain.
"Jus' gimme five minutes an' I'll be outta your hair, alright? Won't bother anyone, promise."
"Is that okay with you?"
"Yes," said Crutchie, sounding calmer now and more like his old self. "He can stay."
"Five minutes," the nurse conceded, and left it at that.
Jack listened to the fading footsteps, trying to slow his breathing to a more rhythmic pace.
"I don't accept your apology," Crutchie told him as they made eye contact again. "If you think I'm gonna-"
"That's fine," he said quickly. "I know I screwed up. An' you shouldn't... I don't expect you ta forgive me anytime soon. Or ever. I just want ya to know that if I could go back, not turn away, I'd-"
"You can't wave yer hands and magically redo everything."
"I know."
Crutchie paused for a long, agonizing second, then: "But that doesn't mean you can't fix it."
"Whadda you want me ta do?"
"Stay away from me."
Jack backed up. "Right. I'll just-"
"No- crap- I didn't mean-" He settled back on his pillows, fingering the pink hospital blanket with enough interest for it to be some rare embroidered cloth. "I want some space, tha's all. For a while. Just until I've forgiven you. But don't- don't you dare run off in the meantime, okay? Please."
"Promise I won't."
"No. No more promises. Just stay."
"I will. I couldn't possibly go now." He tried his best to smile. "All the cities in the world don't mean nothin' if I ain't seein' 'em with you."
Crutchie rolled his eyes in disinterest, but Jack could've sworn he saw a hint of sunshine break through the cloudy bruises. "Okay, Cowboy."
"I'll see ya 'round." He left the room, pace quickening as the need to escape grew. Jack tried to keep his head clear, tried to talk himself back into feeling fine, tried to stay within the facade of being whole.
Of course, he failed.
Five doors down the hall was as far as he made it before the floodgates opened and pessimism swallowed him again.
So naïve. Believing he'll ever really forgive you.
You ruined his life. Now he's broken. Like you.
And he's not about to come to you for help.
You're gonna lose him. Just wait.
Before you know it you'll have killed this friendship too.
You keep making the same mistake, over and over and over and over until you sink right back to rock bottom.
If you hadn't screwed up-
"Gimme a break!" Jack shouted, pounding his fists against the wall, then setting his forehead on top of them, not bothering with the tears rolling down his cheeks. "Don't you ever shut up!" he went on yelling, as if someone was listening, when in reality it was only himself.
Or so he thought. "Geez, Jackie, relax. I was only gonna tell ya we won."
"Dave." He swiped a hand along his face and turned, taking in the other guy, who stood clutching a paper coffee cup like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His rumpled clothes and matted hair added to the look of pure stress Jack had previously thought only himself capable of embodying. "Hey."
Davey gave him a curt nod. "Sorry I disturbed ya. Figured you were distracted, you looked right past me on yer way outta the room, but thought I'd try… stupid idea."
"You said we won? For real?"
"That's right. Strike's all settled." While Jack blinked in shock, Davey sipped his coffee. "S'pose you'll be hittin' the road now."
"Well-" for the second time, the words to answer properly escaped him. Saying outright that he'd missed the chance still stung, too difficult to admit.
"You neva' get tired a' that old tune, do ya?"
"Uh-"
"God. I don't get you. What's Santa Fe got that New York ain't? Tarantulas?"
More than a bit peeved at both himself and Davey, Jack shot back, "What's New York got that Santa Fe ain't?"
"Go on an' leave, then, if you hate it so much!"
He was so indescribably tired of trying to fight back. Lying, hiding. He'd had enough of all that. "Tha's gonna be hard ta do, with no money."
"What about your bribe?"
"Oh," Jack laughed off a jolt of nausea. "It's all in New Mexico."
"Then how come you're-"
"I'm stayin'. Tha's all you need ta know. An' it ain't 'cause I'm heroic or nothin', an' it's got nothin' ta do wit you."
"Thanks, I was worried." Davey deadpanned.
"I'm jus' sayin' that I'm not- I won't bother you, alright? And ya don't hafta be my friend."
"Hold on."
"Congrats on the win." He tried to stalk off, but Davey blocked his path.
"Jackie-"
"I know yer pissed."
"Yeah, I was."
Jack raised both eyebrows. "You were at that rally where I betrayed the hell outta everyone, right?"
"Oh, I was livid about that, don't get me wrong. Thing is, I couldn't help overhearing..." Davey stared at his shoes, scuffing one back and forth across the linoleum, then remet the other boy's gaze. "Crutchie let you have it enough for all of us."
"I deserved that."
"Somewhat. But the kid was harsh. Not without reason, of course. There's more goin' on with him than you know. As part a' our deal with Pulitzer he has to- ah, forget it, I'm sure he told you. Point is, it's not all your fault. You just happened ta be a convenient scapegoat. Plus, he's been in a coma, comin' off mountains of painkillers, so he probably doesn't know or mean half a' what he-"
"Everythin' he said was true. I walked away when he needed me. I'm the reason he's here."
Davey swore under his breath.
"Thought I was betta' than that, huh?"
"I figured..." He dropped off. "Neva' mind. It doesn't matter."
"Don't it?"
"Look. When we first met, I saw the real Jack Kelly. Cocky, likeable fella, kinda stupid, but with loads a' friends? Remember him?"
"Sure."
"That guy would neva' hurt the people he cares about. At least, he wouldn't an' mean it. Not truly."
"You don't know me as well as ya think. Guy you're talkin' about, he- I'm not sure he's around anymore."
"Well, he must be somewhere. And I can wait till 'e comes back." Davey spat in his hand and offered it to Jack. "We're good, as far as I'm concerned. You're stayin', strike's ova'. We won, and Crutchie's alive. That's what matters. No hard feelings."
He hesitated. "Why're you bein' so nice ta me?"
Davey made a semi-confused, 'who gives a damn' face. "'Cause no one else will?"
Jack went through with the shake. "Thanks."
"No problem." Davey held his hand a few seconds longer than necessary, focus slowly shifting from Jack's eyes to his watch. Then he pulled away abruptly. "Shoot, I really gotta get home." He used an edge of his shirt to aggressively scrub saliva from his palm. "If my parents don't completely kill me, I'll give you a call. Medda's place, right?"
"I'll be there."
Davey departed, and Jack stood alone watching him go, waiting for all the doubt, hatred, and internal angst to come pouring back in.
Except this time, it didn't. For the first time in what felt like forever, his mind was silent.
He supposed it was the prospect of having a few people back on his side- those who knew he was worth standing by- hopefully to be followed by the rest. Or maybe it was the fact that the strike he'd been so passionate about was over, and successful. Or the hope that, with time, Crutchie would be alright.
And, Jack admitted to himself, he would be too.
It wouldn't be immediate. Certainly not. Those voices in his head would still crop up. They might never fully leave him. But no matter how much they yelled or put him through hell, if he found the right people to drown them out, he would be fine.
And sure, he wasn't going to have a clean-cut, ribbon-trimmed happy ending. At least, not for a good number of years. Someone was always going to be a little pissed at him.
But so what? A truly happy ending wasn't something that existed in the real world. Not for him, or anyone else. No one could be happy without being a little sad, or mad, or scared sometimes as well. And that was okay.
As long as he tried to get through it. If he worked things out right instead of hiding or running away. No more keeping stuff bottled up. He'd do his best, and if that wasn't great, at least it wasn't bad.
Jack would be enough.
For Manhattan, New York City, center of his universe.
A city where everybody knew his name, where he was called son. And brother. And captain. And a million other things. He could resist as much as he liked, but in this place he'd tried running from for so long, people loved him wholeheartedly.
Maybe Santa Fe hadn't been so far away after all.
And there you have it. Almost everything.
I told you things would be alright for our Jackie-boy in the end.
I'll be doing more official thank-yous and such after the real end of the story, but for this one I just want to say that if you've made it this far, if you've seen Jack and the rest of the newsies through hell and back with me, I appreciate and love you so much.
And to anyone who has ever felt like Jack- even if you don't share his life experiences- you're not alone. I've been there, I know people who have been there and got through it, and I promise, there will be something good ahead. As they say, if you're going through hell, keep going. Find your ace(s). They'll help you along the way.
I would be honored to receive a review featuring your thoughts on this chapter, so please consider doing that! (Heads-up: review responses for the epilogue will by done via PM, as will any on this chapter or others after the last is posted.)
Thank you (an inordinate amount) for reading, and I'll be back in less than week!