Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies or any of the characters.

Flashbacks in italics. In this one, Race is seven and Jack is about eight.

Race frowned and rubbed his hand through his hair. It had been about a week since Katherine had approached him on the street, but they hadn't made any real progress. The Brooklyn boys had shown up and no one had crashed the rally. Race was actually surprised. He had half expected the bulls to arrive and take them all. After all, what can go wrong, will go wrong. But since then, nothing had happened. "I wish Jack was here," he mumbled.

"Me too," Davey said, walking up behind Race. Race jumped a bit, but quickly calmed down.

"I don't know what to do without Jack. I mean, he's been to the Refuge before, but everytime it gets worse. Everytime, Snyder tries just a little harder to kill him. I'se scared, Davey. You can't tell the other boys, but I'se so scared." He paused for a second. "What do we do now?"

"I guess we need to speak to Pulitzer. We need to get him to lower the prices and get Crutchie and Jack out of the Refuge."

Race nodded. "Go talk to Katherine and Spot. See if you can figure something out."

"What are you going to do?" Davey asked.

"I'se got someone else to meet." He didn't add any details and just walked out, leaving Davey confused and alone.

Race started walking. He didn't stop until a small back alley. It didn't look like much, more like some place you'd go and get kidnapped or soaked. And it probably was. But to Race, it had so much more value. This was where he had first met Jack.

Race hated the summers in New York. Well, he hated the winters too and spring was always wet and rainy. But summer was hot and humid. Race had spent the last few days trying to find any shelter from the scorching temperatures, but he couldn't stay in one area for too long before people started to get suspicious.

"Those damn newsies," Race muttered. "Lyin' and thievin' and givin' all us orphans a bad name. Everyone takes one look at me and thinks I'm gonna rob 'em blind." Not that he had never stolen before but only when it was necessary.

He walked down the street and turned into a covered alley. Sweat was pouring down his face and neck, and soaked the front of his shirt. He had heard somebody say that this was the hottest summer in the recorded history of New York. Race didn't know if that was scientifically correct, but it certainly seemed like it. Race sat down, trying to conserve his energy. He didn't know how long he sat there, but, before long, he fell asleep.

Race awoke later to loud grunts and groans. He looked up to see two men standing over a body. Well, he said men, but kids was a more apt description. They were whaling on somebody underneath them. Race knew that the boys hadn't noticed him yet, and he tried to stand up as quietly as possible. He almost ran down the alley and left the boy to his fate, but then he heard a loud, pained cry. The cry made him stop and he turned. The boy was making eye contact with him, pleading through the blood and pain. And Race turned again and ran.

Race ran until he forced himself to stop in another alley. His heart felt like it was about to burst through his chest and his breaths came in short and frantic pants. He buried his head in between his legs and sobbed. For as long as he had lived, he had considered himself a good person, but he had left that boy. Sobs continued to rack his body.

Then, Race glanced up. He saw a small, weird box sitting on top of crate by the door. He scrambled over to it with tears still blurring his vision. He recognized what was in the box. He'd seen his mom and dad with them too many times. It was the last thing he had seen his mom with before she passed out and burned to death. He pulled out a cigar. His parents smoked these all the time; maybe they made you feel better. A box of matches was close by and it was obvious someone was planning on coming back for them. But he struck a match and held it to the end of the cigar just like he had seen his folks do. He coughed, but stuck the cigar back into his mouth. Race fell into sort of a routine; he would smoke it for a second then cough and choke and repeat. It didn't make him feel better, but he didn't want to stop.

There were still tears in his eyes and he couldn't keep images of the boy out of his mind. Then all of a sudden, the boy was right in front of him. Race yelped and stumbled back. He had never heard anyone approach.

He got a good look at the boy now. He was probably Race's age or maybe a year older. His eye was black and purple and bruises were evident on all his exposed skin. The boy grabbed Race's shoulders and Race freaked out. He pulled away, crying out. "No, please. Please don't hurt me. I'se sorry."

"Hey, hey, calm down." The boy's voice was calm and Race looked up. "I'se not gonna hurt you, kid."

"Kid?" Race scoffed. "You'se a year older than me at best."

The other boy laughed. "Alright, you got a name then?"

Race stayed silent so the other boy continued. "I promise not to hurt you. I'se fine. I'se not hurt so why should I hurt you? Hell, I probably would've left me too. I mean, who wants to deal with the Delancey brothers?"

"I'se still sorry," Race whispered.

"You got folks?" the other boy asked. Race shook his head and glanced down at the ground. "You got anywhere to live?" Race continued to shake his head. "Would you like somewhere to live? I can't promise that it'll be perfect, but it's a start. You can have a job, make some money. What do you say?"

"What job?" Race asked. "I ain't stealing from no one."

"We ain't stealin' . We'se newsies."

All the thoughts from earlier raced through his brain. Newsies… lyin'... thievin'... bad name. But he still agreed. The other boy smiled and stuck out his hand.

"I'se Jack," he said.

"Racetrack."

Jack put his arm around Racetrack's shoulders. "Let's go, Racer."

Race silently laughed, imagining Jack's arm around him again. He had never told Jack where the name came from though he's sure the older boy figured it out after he kept insisting they visit the racetrack. When he'd arrived at the Lodging House, it was obvious his name didn't stand out amongst all the other weird nicknames. Meeting Jack had been the best thing that had happened in his life, and now he was gone again. It wasn't like he was always around, but now he was gone when Race needed him most.

Race looked up and down the alleyway. The crate was still there, though it had been reduced to a few broken boards. Someone had tossed an old cigar box next to it, but it wasn't the same one that had originally been there. It wasn't the one that had first gotten him hooked. It wasn't like he was addicted or anything. He could stop whenever he wanted (at least, he thought he could), but he liked the comfort they brought. Even if it wasn't lit, he liked to have one in his mouth or hand.

Finally night came and Race slipped out of the alley. He whistled as he walked down the dark, silent streets, but, as he got closer to his destination, he got quiet. The Refuge came into sight, and Race almost ran, just like he had run the first time he had met Jack. But he steeled himself and kept moving. He went around the back and climbed over a tall fence and then up the fire escape. In the middle of the night, most guards were gone and it was relatively safe to come.

Race lightly knocked on the wall, hoping to see Jack. A long time ago, the older boy had promised to always be underneath the window, so Race could easily find him.

A small boy with bright red hair popped up. "Who are you?" the boy asked, skeptically. There were bars on the window put in after one of Jack's many escapes, otherwise Race would've suggested running.

Race ignored his question. "I need to talk to—" Then he paused as Crutchie's head appeared next to the boy's. "Hey, Crutchie."

"Race!" Crutchie said, with a smile on his face.

"How is you doing?"

"I'se fine, but…" Then he motioned to the other boy and the boy disappeared again. "But Jack's not doing great."

"Where is he? What's wrong?" Race quickly said.

"Snyder soaked him real bad. Jack made a deal with him: as long as he's here, Snyder won't touch me or bring any of you to the Refuge."

Race groaned. "Why would he do that? Snyder'll kill him." Then Race heard a loud groan and a cry, and Crutchie disappeared as well.

Race couldn't tell what was happening inside in jail, but after ten minutes, Jack appeared. Race gasped. Jack's face was pale and it made the bruises stand out. He could see gruesome cuts above his eye and on his cheeks. Race knew there was so much more that he didn't know.

"What is you doing here?" Jack asked, his voice cracking. "You'se gonna get caught."

"Nah," Race said, putting on a fake smile. "I'se never gonna get caught."

Jack smiled and reached his arm through the bars. Jack winced and Race tried not to follow suit as he noticed the blood surrounding his wrists and the cuffs. He grabbed Race's hand.

"I'se okay," he said. "How's the strike going?"

Race shook his head. "Not great. We don't know what to do. You'se the leader of this strike. Not me or Davey or Spot or Katherine."

"Well, you'se gonna hafta figure it out. I'se not exactly gonna be much help in here. You hafta lead the strike. The boys will listen to you. You can do it." Jack gave Race a comforting smile, then laid his head down on his outstretched hands. Race could tell that the older boy was getting tired just sitting there.

"Jack, you okay?" Race asked, concerned.

Jack shook his head. "... hurts."

Race stuck his free hand through the bars and rubbed his hand through Jack's hair. Race grabbed his wrists with his free hand then to get a better look. They had obviously been rubbed raw and the cuffs cut into his skin. "It hurts so bad," Jack whispered.

"I know." He continued to rub his head and Jack leaned into his touch. Jack whispered something intelligible and Race tried to get closer. "What?"

"Get Crutchie out of here."

"Get some sleep."

Jack nodded, but didn't move. Race didn't know if he could move even if he wanted to and so he eventually called for Crutchie to help him. Crutchie supported him then reappeared to talk to Race.

"I'se scared, Race," Crutchie said. "I think Jack is dyin'. He's sick and always cold and tired. He goes to sleep almost as soon as Snyder's done with him. He's had barely any food."

"We'se gonna get him out. You, too."

Crutchie nodded. "You promise to get him out first even if it means leaving me behind. Promise?"

Race shook his head. "Jack would kill me if I did that. Both of ya is getting out. Not one or the other."

"Alright," Crutchie agreed. "Now get out of here. You got a strike to win. You hafta win."

"I know." Then Race dropped down from the fire escape and went to find Davey.

A/N: It feels like I'm dragging this out, but next chapter we will be getting back to the strike.