Despite Jack's unexpected kindness, Dutchy's life didn't improve much over the days that followed. It took him two full days after Jack's visit to convince Medda to let him out of bed, much less out the door of the theatre, and though he certainly would never have admitted it, he was always slightly relieved when Medda flat-out told him that he wasn't allowed to go anywhere.

"You've been through a lot, and right now we just want you to get better," she would say. He wouldn't voice his concern, but he wanted desperately to know exactly of whom "we" consisted.

During that time, when he wasn't busy arguing with Medda, he lay in bed, stared at the ceiling, and thought. He didn't always think about anything in particular, but just let random thoughts drift in and out of his head. Any time memories of his family tried to intrude, he hurriedly pushed them away. After everything that had happened, he was scared to even think of them.

No matter how he tried, though, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about Bumlets, from worrying about him. Where would Bumlets have gone after leaving the theatre? Where could he have gone? If Bumlets was right about how the clowns were worse than the mob, they must have spies all over the city. Was there anywhere Bumlets could be that was safe?

At this point, Dutchy would flip over with a despairing groan and punch the pillow, trying desperately to keep his composure.

After all, Bumlets was smart. He'd managed to stay ahead of the clowns for a while – until Dutchy had stuck his big fat nose in, that is. Surely he'd be all right. He was quick, he could fight, he could hide… And he's much better off without you, Dutchy would think darkly to himself. Everyone is.

Despite the hours Dutchy spent convincing himself that Bumlets was fine and in hiding somewhere, and that he would come back when it was all over with, in the end he was left with one thought: that he didn't know for sure. If he's safe, he's probably never coming back to let you know. And if he's not…

He must have had this argument with himself hundreds of times during those lonely hours. It was all he could do.

It was evening when Jack finally came back, though Dutchy couldn't have said for sure how many days had passed. What he did know was that he was desperate to talk to another boy, so when Jack's confident knock sounded on the door, Dutchy didn't hesitate for even a second before calling out, "Come in!"

"Hey, Dutchy," Jack said, slipping quietly through the door. "How're you feelin'?"

Dutchy shrugged. How he was feeling was a very complicated story. "Been better. You, Cowboy?"

"Not bad." Jack paused, then sat down in a nearby chair. "You feel good enough to talk?"

"What're we doin' now, then?"

"I mean, actually talk. About what happened."

Dutchy could actually feel the blood draining from his face, though he hoped it wasn't visible to Jack. "I guess so."

Jack sighed. Apparently Dutchy wasn't so very fair-skinned that it wasn't obvious when he went pale. "I don't want to make you go all crazy again, Dutchy, so if you ain't feelin' up to it, ya gotta let me know."

"No," Dutchy said through stiff lips, "I can do it. Go… go ahead."

Jack lowered his head, his brown hair obscuring his face, apparently trying to figure out where to start. Dutchy waited, only the whiteness of his knuckles where his hands clenched the blankets betraying his dread of what was coming next.

"What I can't figure," Jack finally began, "is why you lied to us. I can get why you lied to the clowns, 'course, but why would you try to make us all think…?"

"I was just tryin' to help—" Dutchy began automatically, but Jack cut him off.

"I know you was tryin' to help Bumlets somehow, but I just don't know how."

Dutchy gestured helplessly. "In order to get the clowns to believe it, it had to be believable."

"You coulda told—"

This time, Dutchy cut Jack off. "No, I couldn't. You really think all of our boys coulda pulled off acting like their friend was dead? Every last one?" He paused. "How about Boots, Jack? Could Boots have done it? Or Les? Or even Mush?" He shook his head. "Jack, in your life, you've lost someone you cared about. I remember them sayin' in the courthouse that your Ma's dead and your Dad's in prison. So tell me, is it something you can fake? That feeling of gettin' all the breath knocked outta you, the shock and – and feelin' like you ain't never gonna be happy again? Can you fake the fear of what's gonna happen to you now, alone in the world? The prayin' that it's all just a nightmare, that it ain't real, that you'se gonna wake up any second, warm in your bed, with your parents there to protect you from the dark? Could – could you, Jack? And more than that, could the others?"

Jack stared at Dutchy in silence for a moment. "Where'd that come from? No," he corrected himself, "where'd you come from? You ain't never said how you wound up a newsie…What happened to you?"

Dutchy stared down at his hands, still gripping the sheets tightly. "Nothing that ain't happened to a hundred 'nother boys," he mumbled. "That ain't the point."

There was another silence, then Jack shrugged. "You'se right, that ain't the point. And – and you'se also right about the other thing. It ain't somethin' you can fake. I… I guess I was wrong."

Dutchy shook his head. "No, I shoulda come to you guys. I mean, maybe you'se guys coulda come up with a better plan than I did. I shoulda. I just didn't know how much time we had." He let out a long, forlorn sigh. "I tried to do the right thing, and ended up hurtin' everyone. And now I don't even know where he is or if he's all right."

"We'se gonna find him. I don't know how, but we will. He's one of us, after all."

"I hope you'se right," Dutchy muttered.

"'Course I am. But," Jack grinned lopsidedly at Dutchy, "how do you expect to get anything done from there?"

Dutchy looked around at the green room that had become his sanctuary. "I dunno, Jack. The rest of the guys, they still hate my guts."

Jack shrugged nonchalantly. "They'se gonna get over it sooner or later. Heck, I did. And if they don't, soak 'em till they get the point."

"I ain't so sure about all t—" Dutchy froze as a new thought occurred to him. "Jack – Cowboy – the clowns!"

"Huh?"

"They threatened, right? They said they was gonna come back for all of us."

"Well, nothing's happened yet. And in any case, I reckon us newsies can take care of ourselves. We took on Pulitzer, remember? How's a couple of clowns gonna do anything?"

Dutchy shook his head. "Jack, just cause they'se clowns doesn't mean they'se harmless. When you and Race came that night, they was about to kill Bumlets."

"Yeah, and we sent 'em packing, didn't we?"

Grabbing Jack's wrist, Dutchy squeezed it hard, willing Jack to listen. "Listen, Jack, you ain't heard the whole story here. You don't know why the clowns is going after Bumlets. But they'se real angry. And they'se got guns. Jack, they want to kill Bumlets. You think they'd care 'bout wasting a bullet or two on any of us?"

Dutchy's desperate words finally seemed to penetrate Jack's confidence. Up until then, he must have thought of it as nothing more than small beans, a little feud, nothing to worry about. Now, however, the look in Dutchy's eyes told Jack that he'd better think again and do it quickly.

"Okay," Jack said slowly, sounding stunned. "Start from the beginning, Dutchy, and tell me the truth. The whole truth."

And so Dutchy was obliged to go through the story yet another time. As with before, though, he left out certain details. He told Jack that he had a nightmare about his family, but didn't elaborate or describe any of it. He told Jack about his desire to tell Bumlets that his family had been found, but he didn't mention why he was so eager that it couldn't have waited till morning. And of course, he told Jack that he ran to the theatre to tell Bumlets everything… but he left out what had transpired there before the clowns showed up.

Jack, at least, was a good listener. He sat quietly during Dutchy's sometimes stumbling explanations and rambling descriptions of unimportant details. If he suspected that there was anything Dutchy wasn't telling him, he certainly didn't mention it. At the end of the story, he leaned back, looking almost as exhausted as Dutchy felt.

"So… the clowns want to kill Bumlets 'cause they think he killed a friend of theirs."

"Right."

"And they tricked you into coming here by telling you that they'd found his family."

"Y—yeah."

After muttering, "Somethin' ain't right here," Jack pursed his lips, deep in thought. Dutchy shifted nervously, unsure as to what exactly Jack could be thinking that required that look on his face. After a moment, he was thinking about coughing or clearing his throat, or something to get Jack's attention again, but before he could, Jack seemed to snap back to attention.

"Dutchy," he said urgently, "do you think Bumlets would've told the clowns 'bout his family?"

"What?"

"I mean, even before the whole thing with the dead clown. Do you think he would've?"

"N—no," Dutchy said firmly. "Bumlets ain't the type to go 'round tellin' his secrets to just anybody."

That seemed to make up Jack's mind. He stood up quickly. "C'mon, Dutchy, we gotta go."

"What?"

"We gotta get back to the Lodging House. Now."

"But – but I –"

Jack motioned for silence in a no-nonsense fashion. "Listen, we got one newsie missin' and that's more than enough. I ain't takin' any chances here. Come on."

He shepherded Dutchy out of bed and pushed him straight out the door, despite Dutchy's protestations.

"But Medda's gonna be worried—"

"Hang Medda."

"Jack!"

"I'll go back an' explain to her later, but right now, this is more important."

Blinking in the reddish light of sunset, the city street rough against his bare feet, Dutchy snapped, "What's more important? Jack, what's goin' on?"

As they hurried along a side street, Jack said in a rough voice, "You said that the clown who came up to you and Race knew about Bumlets' family."

"Yeah…"

"But Bumlets ain't the type to tell just anyone about his family, you also said."

"Right…"

"Dutchy, use your damn head!"

Dutchy blinked, trying to figure out what Jack was talking about.

Jack sighed in frustration. "He told you 'bout his family, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he –" Dutchy gasped, the implications finally becoming clear to him. All those hours spent doing nothing but going over what had happened, and this hadn't even occurred to him. "He told me – that afternoon – in – Jack, are you sayin –"

Jack nodded curtly. "That's exactly what I'm sayin'. That afternoon in the Lodging House, there was someone else there. Besides you. Besides Bumlets. And he heard every word."

"So…" Dutchy gestured worriedly, not wanting to believe the picture Jack was painting. "So… maybe one of the clowns snuck in an' heard us talkin', right? I don't see why we gotta run—"

"Wake up, Dutchy. You know Kloppman. He don't let nobody in who ain't a newsie, and he guards the entrances like a hawk."

"Jack, I—"

"There's only one explanation." Jack shook his head grimly. "Another newsie was in there that day, and he told the clowns everything. One of us is a spy."

Stunned to silence, Dutchy didn't bother to say anything else on the hurried walk back to the Lodging House. One of them, a spy? How could it be? Who could it be? Even though Dutchy counted very few of them as close friends, he was – or had been, at least – friendly with almost everyone, and could no more imagine anyone he knew betraying Bumlets to the clowns for money than he could imagine betraying Bumlets himself. But clearly, somehow, it had happened. Unless Dutchy really didn't know Bumlets at all, and he very much doubted that, someone else had to have told the clowns about Bumlets' missing family.

Had someone else been in the bunk room that day? Dutchy furrowed his brow. Though he could remember every smile Bumlets had shot him that day, he couldn't remember anyone else in there, any huddled shapes on a bunk, any sound of someone else breathing.

But there must have been. Because Dutchy certainly hadn't told the clowns, and if he hadn't, it must have been someone.

"Jack," he piped up, "what are you plannin' to do? You ain't gonna tell them – "

"Of course I can't!" Jack snapped. "If I let on that I know someone is a double-crosser, they'se gonna go runnin' straight to the clowns."

"So, what, then?"

"Just do me a favor, Dutchy? Keep your mouth shut. For once. And trust me."

As they hurried into the Lodging House, Jack turned and gave Dutchy a reassuring smile. For his part, Dutchy was not comforted in the least.

"Cowboy," Kloppman greeted Jack, then stared at Dutchy for a moment. "So you found your way back after all."

Dutchy shrugged nervously. "I – thank you for the glasses." He shot a teeny smile at Kloppman, whose wrinkly face crinkled into a smile.

"Of course. I can't have you boys running around blind, can I?"

"Kloppman," Jack broke in, "sorry to interrupt, but is all the guys upstairs?"

The old man shrugged and nodded. "Far as I know. Are you going to have a singalong?"

Jack smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Something like that. Thanks."

Again he grabbed Dutchy and pulled him all the way upstairs. The bunk room was filled with boys, talking and laughing, but as they saw Jack, and especially who Jack was with, the room slowly began to quiet. Within a minute, the entire room was so quiet that the only sound to be heard was someone cracking his knuckles. Dutchy glanced at Racetrack, who shrugged back at him.

"Hey, guys," Jack said. "Listen, I gotta tell you all somethin'."

"Yeah," Pie Eater sneered from on top of his bunk. "You gotta tell us why you brought him back."

"Shut it, Pie," Race snapped. "You ain't got no idea what you'se talkin' about."

"Hey," Snoddy said from his bunk next to Pie's, "we know all we need to know. He lied to us. He don't belong here no more."

"Well," Mush piped up from somewhere in the back, "I been thinkin', guys, and we don't really why he did it, do we? Shouldn't we—"

"Guys! Be quiet!" Jack yelled, and they immediately complied, though there was still an angry grumble traveling around the room. "He explained it to me, and he was right, okay? Dutchy was right and we was wrong, and if he feels like explainin' it to any of you'se guys, then he'll do that, but I don't wanna hear any of you givin' him a hard time about it. Got it?" He glared at every single person in the room. A few faces still looked hardened and mutinous, but more curious glances were being directed in Dutchy's direction.

For his part, Dutchy didn't dare to look at any of them, but stared directly at the floor. Jack gave him a little push, shoving him into the middle of the room. Still carefully avoiding anyone's gaze, he shoved his hands in his pockets and hurried over to his bunk as quietly as he could. Lumpy it may have been, but he'd never been so happy to see that old mattress. He shot a glance up at the bunk above him, imagining that a dark-haired boy was sitting there, grinning back down at him.

"And I got somethin' else to say, guys," Jack was saying forcefully. "And this is real important. We got a sorta bad situation on our hands, and, I can't really explain it too much, but I want all of you'se guys to travel in groups, okay? Groups of three or more. No being by yourself, no being with just one other person. Three or more. Everyone understand?"

"Come on, Jack," Snitch called out. "You can't say that and not tell us anythin' of the why."

Dutchy glanced at Jack, wondering how he was going to satisfy the guys without telling them the truth.

Jack, apparently, had already thought that through. Without so much as a moment of hesitation to belie his words, he said, "Dutchy reminded me of somethin' I forgot. Those goons who were after Bumlets did threaten to come after all of us too, and they ain't kiddin' around. I don't want anyone 'round here to take any chances. If there's at least three of you, than you got a chance of overpowerin' anyone who tries anything. Guys, just be safe, okay? And watch out for each other. Tell me if you see anythin' suspicious."

Shaking his head in amazement, Dutchy silently conceded that Jack was much smarter than he was. Again he felt a twinge of regret that he hadn't just gone to Jack in the first place when Bumlets had told him about the clowns, but it was too late for that.

"What about Bumlets?" a loud voice said from several bunks down. Dutchy didn't even bother to glance over; Kid Blink had a voice loud enough to stop a rampaging carriage, and it was every bit as distinctive as it was piercing.

"Yeah…" A general murmur ran through the room.

Jack looked over at Dutchy. "We ain't gonna give up. Keep on the lookout and again, let me know the second you find something, but don't go lookin' for trouble." He nodded. "Okay. That's it. Have a fun evenin', guys." He strolled into the room and sat down next to Race, talking quietly.

Slowly, the volume of the room rose again, though the voices seemed much more hesitant and much more excited than before. Dutchy wasn't surprised; now they actually had something to talk about.

"Hey… Dutchy?"

He turned to stare at Mush, who was standing next to the bunk, gazing back earnestly at him.

"Mush…" he said hesitantly.

"Was it like when Jack turned scab?"

Dutchy blinked. "Huh?"

"What you – what you told us all." Mush ran a hand through his curly hair, looking embarrassed. "When Jack turned scab, it was 'cause he didn't have no other choice, right? 'Cause Pulitzer wanted to put Dave in the Refuge. What... Was it like that?"

"It… had nothin' to do with Dave…" Dutchy said hesitantly.

Mush laughed suddenly. "No, I meant, well, was it 'cause you had no choice?"

"Oh!" Dutchy exclaimed, blushing a dull red. "Oh, uh… I – Well, lookin' back, maybe I coulda done somethin' different, but – but at the time…"

Mush smiled, and the effect was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. "Okay, then."

Dutchy blinked in shock. "Huh? Wh – You'se forgivin' me? Just like that?"

"Well, I forgave Jack for turnin' scab, didn't I? It'd be kinda dumb of me to do differently for you." Mush smiled again. "Glad you'se back, Dutchy."

"I – thanks," Dutchy replied, still stunned.

"Oh! And…" Mush glanced around. "Don't worry too much. They'se all gonna come 'round sooner or later."

"Really?"

"People was worried when you was gone." Mush snorted. "They ain't gonna admit it, even to each other, but they was all worried not knowing where you was or even if you was okay." Dutchy was speechless, so Mush continued, "It wasn't till Specs brought back word that you was stayin' at Medda's that – Well, it was like, all the hard work they put into bein' nervous, then they switched over to bein' angry 'cause they'd been so nervous. Just remember that, okay?"

Dutchy nodded, so Mush nodded back and headed over to go talk to Kid Blink, who was still glancing over curiously.

Suddenly, Dutchy stood up and walked purposefully over to Jack and Racetrack, a half-formed impulse seething in his brain. Jack broke off in mid-sentence and looked up at Dutchy inquisitively.

"That – that 'three or more' thing…Does that count for me too?" Dutchy asked.

Jack nodded firmly. "Especially for you."

Dutchy protested, "But I ain't the – the –" He lowered his voice and finished, "—the spy."

"I know you ain't," Jack said calmly, "but the spy knows that you'se mixed up in all this, and so you'se in more danger of getting' in trouble than anyone else. What I told the guys about the clowns comin' after us – it wasn't a lie, it just wasn't the whole truth."

Dutchy sighed, frustrated. "Fine. Then will you two come with me?"

Race removed his cigar from his mouth and blew smoke upwards. "Where're you plannin' on goin'?"

"I – I need to take a walk."

"A walk," Jack repeated. "We'se all this close to getting' blown to bits by clowns, and you want to go for a walk." He sighed unhappily.

"Please," Dutchy said simply. Jack and Racetrack glanced at each other, and Dutchy could sense them wavering, so to press his advantage, he added, "And in any case, you gotta stop by Medda's and tell her that I ain't been dragged off and killed by angry clowns." He had them then. Jack sighed, almost frustratedly.

"Fine," he said. "C'mon, Race. This ain't gonna take long, right, Dutchy?"

"Uh… I don't think so?"

One quick trip to Irving Hall and one incredibly relieved Medda later, Race turned to Dutchy and arched his eyebrow.

"Can we go home yet?"

"Not yet," Dutchy replied quietly. He looked around. It was nearly full night by now. "It's just a short walk from here."

"It better be," Jack grumbled.

In near total silence, Dutchy led his two friends on a walk down small alleyways and across large streets. As he'd said, it was a short walk; barely ten minutes later, he halted in front of an apartment building and looked up at it quietly.

Jack and Racetrack followed his gaze, and then looked at each other questioningly.

"Jack, what's he doin'?"

"Dunno, Race. Building's nothing special, huh?"

"Guys?" Both of them turned to see Dutchy looking at them, his eyes invisible behind his glasses. "Could you give me a couple minutes?"

Both boys shrugged, but obligingly moved backwards until they were on the other side of the street. Oddly comforted by their presence, Dutchy turned back to study the building.

Of course, it wasn't the same building. That building had burned right to the ground with his family inside, and the ashes hadn't smoldered for more than a few days before it was cleaned up and a new building was constructed in its place. Progress cared nothing for the lives that had been lost or for the one small boy who had been left behind.

For the longest time, Dutchy had told himself that he'd never go back to where it had happened, that he didn't even remember where it had happened, but one day, when he had been about twelve, he'd taken the day off and gone hunting. The address ringing a bell in the depths of his subconscious, he'd simply sat there for a while and tried to feel if there were any memories left there for him, any trace of his family. He'd found nothing, of course, but tonight, there was no place else he could go for what he needed to do. This was the only place.

With a deep sigh, he sat down on the curb and looked steadily at the ground in front of him. "Hi, Mama, Papa. Hi, everyone. I ain't – ain't got too much time right now, so I guess I oughta make this quick. It's been a while, huh? But I guess you all wouldn't expect me to come visit a whole lot. After all, you ain't actually here anymore." A pained grin appeared on his face. "Some American Dream we got, huh? You all gone and me, sellin' papers to keep from starvin' in the gutters. It ain't your fault, though, and I ain't never blamed any of you. I… I miss you all." Dredging up the words from deep in his soul, so deep that they had almost been forgotten, he muttered, "Ich vermisse sie allen und liebe sie allen." Dutchy tilted his head back and stared at the sky to keep the tears in his eyes from spilling over. "I guess I oughta get to the point before I start cryin', huh?" He cleared his soggy throat. "For the longest time, I didn't think that I was ever gonna find anyone else to love me again, or anyone I could… love back. And I kept people from lovin' me, 'cause I was scared that the same thing was gonna happen again, that I was gonna be happy and then it was all gonna get taken away. I was never gonna let myself really care about anyone else, other than you all.

"But it happened, didn't it? I let myself care about… love someone else, and he got hurt 'cause of it. And I still don't know where he is. After it happened, I was so scared, so scared that I couldn't even move anymore. Because I thought it was all my fault. That you all were gone 'cause of me, and that he was gone 'cause of me.

"I ain't gonna do that anymore, though. I ain't gonna keep not letting myself care about people because of you. You'se guys wouldn't want that, would you?" He sniffled and, lifting his glasses with one hand, dragged his sleeve across his eyes with the other. "I gotta let go of you. I gotta let go of all of it, otherwise I'se gonna be too scared to do what I gotta. But… But, Mama, Papa… I love him. I love him. In a different way than I love you'se guys, but just as much. And I gotta save him. I can't do it if I'm still scared and if I'se still lettin' you'se guys and my memories hold me back. So I gotta let go of you all. I…" For a moment, his voice broke. "I love you all, but I gotta move on." Slowly, he stood up, still looking at the sky. "I ain't gonna be comin' back. Wish me luck."

Dutchy took a deep breath and walked across the street to Jack and Race. He was aware that his eyes were slightly red and teary, but he didn't care. When he spoke, his voice was calm and steady.

"Okay, guys. I'se ready now. Let's go."

Author's Note: Yeah. So it's been a while since I updated this. Um… whoops, I guess? And seriously, right now I am angry at Jack for pointing out that there's a spy among the newsies. Because now, I'm the one who has to figure out who it is, why he did it, and how the hell I'm ever going to have the others find him out. Stupid Jack. :kicks at him:

Oh! And as long as I'm writing self-indulgent author's notes, please allow me to plug "The Vtones," an awesomely funny and incredibly cute story co-written by myself and studentnumber24601. Don't let the mention of pop music put you off! Do you like Dutchy being pouty, Specs being sarcastic, and Bumlets being just plain awesome? Well, then, check it out!