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

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The Sparrow

When Sarah disappears, it's up to David to go looking for her.
With only a simple clue to where she could have gone, and the understanding that he's in over his head,
it won't take him too long to discover that his sister wasn't the only one with a secret.

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We found a small booth in the back of a dank, dark joint that Teller insisted had the best bratwurst this side of the Brooklyn Bridge. It was empty inside, despite her claims, but it seemed to take forever before someone came along and asked us what we'd like. Perhaps it was because she looked dirty and I looked like I definitely didn't belong, but the waiter who eventually helped us acted as if he doubted we could pay. It took Teller flashing her two quarters before anything even halfway resembling a smile crossed his craggy, worn face.

She ordered bratwurst and, trying to hide my disgusted face, I mumbled that I would like to try their old fashion navy bean soup. It would be nourishing, and hopefully cure some of my aches and pains. Not to mention, it wouldn't be too heavy and I could eat it pretty quickly. I didn't want to linger in this place any longer than we had to.

It looked a bit iffy when he finally brought it out to us. With a sniff, I glanced down at the thick, brown liquid and prayed that no one spit in it. I didn't have much hope for the hygiene of this place; if someone decided they wanted to hock a loogie in my soup, I'd never know.

The dirty looking spoon I'd been handed hovered over the bowl and I wondered just how hungry I was. It smelled good but… maybe I'd be better off waiting until we'd found Spot. I'm sure he knew where to find some good food in his own city.

I could feel Teller's questioning stare as I debated. In between taking rather large—and definitely unladylike—bites off of her sandwich, she nodded at me. "What? Too hot for ya, Dave?"

Reluctant to admit that I was hesitant to eat at one of her favorite restaurants, I nodded in return. That was as good excuse as any since I was suddenly very wary of the differences in our way of lives; as poor as my family was when Papa was out of work, and as thin as the soup got, I'd never wondered what exactly I was eating. I had the feeling that I couldn't say the same for Teller.

"Well, blow on it or something. We don't got all day, do we?" she said, almost scolding, her mouth full of food. Half of her bratwurst was gone already. She must have been really hungry.

Funny, but I'd been under the impression that, of the two of us, maybe it was Teller who was dragging her heels a bit. She claimed to know exactly where we needed to go but, somehow, we weren't there yet. Then again, maybe she didn't know. I couldn't tell with her.

So I didn't say anything to her about that, though. Instead, with a steely look at the seemingly innocent bowl of soup, I dipped my spoon in and, only waiting another second before I'd gathered enough courage to put the spoon to my mouth and dip the broth inside, I swallowed.

Okay. It was pretty darn good. But, with Teller's knowing gaze on my expression, I kept my face neutral. After letting her see me act so cowardly towards a simple bowl of soup I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of realizing that I actually liked it.

She smirked but didn't say anything. She just finished chomping on her sandwich.

We finished our meal as it started: in silence. Nobody bothered us as we ate, not even our waiter, and that kind of surprised me. I would have thought, despite Teller's showing that we could pay, that someone would've kept an eye on us. I knew how bad we looked; if there was ever a chance of a couple of kids running out on a bill, it'd be us.

Surprisingly, I don't think the idea of stiffing our waiter ever occurred to Teller, maybe because she'd already do so yesterday. Or, if it did, she didn't say it out loud. When she finished her bratwurst, and then waited for me to finish slurping up the rest of my soup, she sat calmly, waiting for our surly waiter to bring us our bill.

It wasn't a long wait. Maybe I was wrong about assuming no one was watching us because, not too long after I put my spoon down and pushed my bowl back, the man appeared in the back corner, a wrinkled bit of paper in his hand. It looked smaller, and more worn, than it should and it made me curious.

Craning my neck, I tried to see what it said before he'd handed it over but I think that annoyed him. With a scowl and a snort, he bypassed me and handed it straight to Teller. She looked surprised as she accepted it. Being nosy, I still tried to see what was on there because, as he passed it over to her, I could have sworn I saw something doodled on the bottom of the sheet.

Teller, on the other hand, agreed with the waiter—she didn't want me to see our bill, either. Narrowing her eyes against the darkness, she glanced at it before folding it in half and nodding to herself.

She turned to look at me. "Dave," she said, her voice suddenly higher than it had been before when she was teasing me, "how 'bout I take care of the bill? You go wait for me outside, alright? I'll pay and meet you out front."

Her request confused me. I hadn't seen any prices on the place's limited menu but I'm pretty sure my soup and her bratwurst hadn't cost anymore than what she had. Why, then, did she have to pay the waiter in private?

I didn't know and, with the waiter standing there, I couldn't ask. Instead, I nodded. "Sure."

The waiter still hadn't left; trying not to look interested at our conversation, he scowled and tapped his foot against the floor. He didn't move from his post as I slid out of my seat. Mumbling an apology under my breath, I bumped past him. Sticking my hands in my pockets, feeling a bit like I'd been dismissed, I made my away across the small restaurant.

When I made it outside, the sun very nearly blinded me. I'd forgotten how bright it could get and, after some time in the darkness, my eyes were unused to the light. It had been cloudy when we went inside but, while we ate, the sun seemed to have melted off most of the earlier threatening storm clouds.

I took that as a good omen as I shielded my eyes and moved so that I was standing out front, my back to the restaurant's dingy storefront.

I'd expected Teller to hand over her money and hightail it right out of the place. When, after five minutes or so, I was still standing out front, waiting for her, I began to wonder what was going on in there. I couldn't figure it out myself; instead, I started to think about what I was doing here again.

Sarah was… somewhere, and I was in Brooklyn. Looking for Jack, looking for Spot who… I don't know, must have some sort of information on this whole Sparrow thing.

Now, I just had to find them. Wherever—

—hold on. Wait a second… all this time, following Teller through Midtown and now all the way into Brooklyn, I'd wondered where I was going to find the two newsies. I'd been concerned, considering I didn't know anything about Brooklyn at all. But I knew Jack, and I knew Spot and I knew where Teller expected them both to be.

I was an idiot. I knew where she was taking us and, yet, I'd let her prolong the trip as long as she could. But why wait now?

I couldn't believe that I'd forgotten what Teller had told me just outside of Midtown. In that self-assured way she had, she'd said that she figured Jack and Spot would probably be out on the docks by the time we got to Brooklyn. Why, then, was she making a big production of not knowing exactly how to get to them?

Heck, if they were on the docks, I didn't need her to find them. I could find them.

Glancing over my shoulder to see if she was coming, I decided that I'd be better off going off on my own. I was appreciative of everything she'd done for me but there was no reason why she needed to do anything more. After all, this was my problem—my sister—and it should be up to me to solve it by myself.

Besides, a little voice in the back of my head said, I didn't really want to find Jack with Teller leading the way. I still wasn't quite sure what kind of bond the two of them had—or, admittedly, what sort of bond I had with Teller—and it might just be too much for the two of us to confront Jack.

She still wasn't coming and, though I felt a touch of guilt, I started right down the street. I'd only been to Brooklyn once before and I wasn't familiar with the street I was on right now, but I figured I could find the docks on my own if I really tried. At the very least, I might get lucky and stumble upon someone to help me find my way, like I had with Alfie and Madison Ave.

You never know. I mean, my luck had to pick up sometime, right?

It did.

After haphazardly choosing my directions, keeping my eye (and ear) out for signs that I was approaching the river, I stumbled across the docks within no time. I almost couldn't believe it. It was pretty darn amazing.

The last time I'd been to Brooklyn, it had been during the dog days of summer and the docks and the river below had been crowded with half naked newsies all desperate for a cooling swim. Not today, though; in fact, I began to second guess my brilliant idea—Teller's idea—of finding my way all the way here. It didn't seem like anyone was on the docks at all.

"David Jacobs? Hey, Mouth? That you?"

My heart just about jumped out of my throat. I didn't see anyone at all but, obviously, someone had seen me. Whirling around, I tried to find the source of that demanding voice.

Spot Conlon had appeared out of nowhere, I swear. One second no one was there, and, the next, there he was. Sticking his sturdy can underneath the straps of his pale red suspenders, a suspicious smirk splitting his tanned face, he was there, stalking towards me. His shoes tapped gently against the wooden docks.

Clearing my throat, I nodded. "Hello, Spot. It's good to see you again."

"Cut the chitchat, Mouth," Spot ordered, though his cyan eyes were bright and humorous, "and tell me what you're doin' here."

Suddenly I wondered if looking for Spot all alone was the best thing I could have done. When I said before that he wasn't as intimidating as all the other boys made him out to be, I'd been fooling myself. Spot Conlon was a little scary—but that didn't mean I was going to let him push me around. I never had before.

My voice was shaking a little but I stood firm as I said, "Looking for Jack, actually. Someone told me that he was on his way here and—"

"Lookin' for me, Davey?"

I almost swallowed my tongue when I heard Jack Kelly's voice. At least I knew he was here, too. Somewhere, at least.

And there he was. Just like Spot, he seemed to appear out of nowhere. He was frowning, thick strands of his greasy brown hair slicked down to his forehead. There were bags under his eyes to rival Teller's and I had the hunch that Jack hadn't got much sleep, either.

What the heck is going on here?

I waited until Jack had taken his place beside Spot before I nodded. I glanced at him seriously, my legs quivering like jelly out of exhaustion and relief. I'd finally done what I'd been meaning to do for two days now—I've finally found Jack.

"Yeah, Jack, I've been looking you since I met you at Tibby's yesterday. It has something to do with Sarah's letter," I confessed, looking at him earnestly. Jack, I saw, lowered his gaze when I mentioned Sarah; Spot, on the other hand, made a noise as if he were about to speak but, before he had, I cut him off. "It's been some time, and I don't think Sarah's okay. I think… I think something's happened to her."

"You're sister's fine, Dave," Jack said, his eyes still on the wood of the docks, "just like I told you yesterday. You've no reason to hunt me down in Brooklyn if that's all that's on your mind."

He was lying, there was no denying that, and I couldn't believe it. My face went hot with anger just then, my eyes wide and staring. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to keep telling me stories now that I've found him.

I shook my head. "I don't believe you. You say she's fine, but she's not. The Sparrow's got her and I'm not leaving here until you tell me why he does. And," I added, pointing my finger at him as he glanced up, his brown eyes wide in surprise, "you tell me what you did to get my sister in trouble."

There. I did it. The two questions left that I needed answers to, I'd finally gotten the chance to ask them. I just hoped Jack Kelly found it in him to be honest for once.

"The Sparrow?" Jack's voice was slow and careful. "I don't know what you're talking about, Davey."

Before I huffed and accused him of lying again, Spot took a step forward. After reaching out and slapping Jack lightly in the belly, he shrugged his shoulders. "No use, Jacky Boy. The Walking Mouth knows a bit more than I'd ever give him credit for. Jigs up, you know?"

As if he were a balloon, the great Cowboy deflated at Spot's words. Hanging his head, his shoulders hunched, he just cursed under his breath.

Spot looked at me, a half-smile on his lips, his eyes calculating now. "You know about the Sparrow?"

"A little," I admitted.

"And he's definitely got Sarah?"

There was something strange about the way Spot said her name. As far as I knew, Spot and Sarah had only met briefly but he said her name like he knew her very well. It was strange but, before I was able to comment on that, something else caught my attention entirely.

"David! Thank God I found you! I thought you went and got yourself lost!"

For the third time, I heard a familiar voice call out my name. It was coming from behind me and, unable to hide it, I grinned a little when I recognized the voice. Ignoring Jack and Spot, I turned around and spied Teller running down the lengths of the docks, waving at me.

I waved back. I was a little offended that she thought I'd gotten lost, and too proud to think that I needed her to keep watch over me but, still, it was nice to see that she'd been concerned. She'd been worried about me and went looking for me… just like I was doing for Sarah. It made me feel a little… well, nice. Even if I was a tad embarrassed at the way she was carrying on in front of the fellas.

Trying to act as if I could handle myself, I took a few confident strides toward her. She was a quick runner—after keeping pace with her yesterday and all morning, I knew that firsthand—and she was in front of me in no time.

She was slightly out of breath when she stopped, her skirt wrapped around her legs and a big frown on her face. She looked upset and I tried not to feel too guilty. I grinned over at her, instead. "Hi, Teller. I see you found us, too."

Her frown turned into a scowl in two seconds flat. "That wasn't fair, Dave, leavin' me like that. What if you woulda went and got yourself killed? How would I have explained that?"

I didn't really understand that remark. I'm sure I looked puzzled but I waved the vague feeling away. There was too much at stake here and, in a way, I was glad that Teller was back. I could use all the help in the world to get my sister back. It didn't really seem like Spot and Jack were going to be all that helpful.

Remembering the two of them, I gestured behind me and said with a touch of pride, "I found them."

Teller stopped herself mid-rant. For the first time since she arrived at the docks, she seemed to realize that there was more than just the two of us here. Her eyes looked past my face, narrowing when she spied Jack and Spot just behind me. The expression she wore was almost a fearful one and, in that moment, my stomach dropped. Without really knowing it, I knew something was dreadfully wrong.

Spot was the first one to speak. He took one look at Teller and nearly growled. "What is she doing here?"

That wasn't a very nice way to greet a lady, even if she was a street girl like Teller. I bristled a bit, looking down at the short Brooklyn leader. "Teller has been so kind as to help me find my sister, Spot."

"Ha!" he snorted. "Are you really that stupid, Mouth?"

I felt Teller's arm on my shoulder and, though it felt kinda nice, it made me a little nervous. "C'mon, Dave. It probably wasn't the best idea to bother them. We'll go lookin' for your Sarah somewhere else." Unless I was imagining it, she sounded a little nervous herself.

"Don't go sayin' her name!"

Spot's outburst took me by surprise. "What's the matter? Why are you so upset, Spot?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder at Teller before turning back to see the fire in his eyes.

Jack decided it was time to step in. Sighing, he followed Teller's lead and placed a calming hand on Spot's shoulder. "What's the matter, Davey?" he asked, his voice tired. He sounded closer to seventy than seventeen just then. "You want to know why he's so upset? 'Cause she's one of the Sparrow's, that's why."

I was confused. "Who is?"

There was a rush of warm air that sent shivers up my spine as Teller exhaled before dropping her hand to her side. "I am, David."

Author's Note: I wonder how many of you guys were expecting that cliffhanger, hm? And there's more to come -- and there's only one chapter left to this part!

-- stress, 09.28.08