"Didja see that kid's face when I pushed him down, huh?!" Mace kept snickering to Peter, who was shooting him disgusted looks. "He didn't stand a chance."

"Do ya remember what he said?" Peter demanded, punching his brother in the shoulder. Peter rolled his eyes when his brother didn't respond. "Thought so."

"I think he said the docks," Mace supplied. Peter sighed. "You're only sayin' that 'cause we was there earlier!"

"We might as well check," Mace pointed out, but Peter shook his head. "It can wait 'till tomorrow. We gotta find a place tah sleep."

"What about that place?" In front of them rose a big brick home, all lined with windows on the two stories. Laundry was hanging out on the uppermost floor, while boys of all sizes leaned out the windows to put up their clothes. The wrought iron sign above the door read Newsboys Lodging House. Peter grabbed Mace and drew him back into a doorway as he heard a clickity clack of feet coming up their way, along with a whistle of a simple tune. The clickity clack turned into a soft tap and the drag of a foot as a crippled boy appeared, making his way to the doorstep. He didn't notice the twins as he shoved open the dark wooden door, and disappeared inside the building. Peter didn't like how happy the kid had seemed, it was too...unnatural, for someone like him. Mace elbowed him in the gut, trying to get his attention. "Was that Jack Kelly?" he asked, and Peter frowned. "Maybe." He had lost the newspaper clipping that morning.

"I don't think we're gonna be able tah handle 'im," Mace said, and Peter looked at him oddly. Then he noticed the smirk on his brother's face, and forced a smile. Mace chuckled. "This is gonna be a laugh."

"Fer you, not Jack Kelly," Peter muttered.

"So whaddabout a place to sleep?" Mace urged. "If we go in there-"

"The other boys will stop us," Peter countered. "If we attack 'im there, there's no way we'll get rid o' 'im. C'mon, let's go to some alleyway or somethin'." With that, he grabbed his brother's sweaty hand and pulled him away from the Lodging House. They would just get caught too easily in there, was Peter's reasoning. Mace muttered something behind him, and Peter gave him a glance. "You're afraid," Mace told him. "You don't wanna sleep in there 'cause you don't wanna beat 'im up."

"You're sayin' I don't wanna do what Uncle says?" Peter asked half-heartedly, shoving him against the wall. "Yeah, I is," Mace challenged him. "Yous soft. You didn't even want to go on this in the first place."

Peter slowly let him go, and watched as his brother trundled away down the alleyway. Peter rolled his eyes, mainly to distract from the fact that his brother was right. He never wanted to beat anyone up, really. He was only out here because he didn't want to sleep on the streets. Peter almost envied Jack Kelly; he had all those newsies as friends. Peter only had Mace, who was his brother, anyways. A crash and clatter started him out of his reverie, and he jerked his head up to see Mace stumble over a noisy trash can.

"C'mon, I found a place tah sleep," Mace told Peter, kneeling down to sit up against the wall. Mace had already closed his eyes by the time his brother joined him.

"Pete?"

"Yeah, Mace?"

"You awake?"

"You think I'd be talkin' if I wasn't?"

"Oh. Right."

"So whaddaya want?"

"Don't get any funny ideas 'bout not beatin' up Jack Kelly tomorrow. We got a booty."

Peter frowned. "A what?"

"A booty. Ya know, a job."

"Mace. Mace, that's called a 'duty'."

"Oh. Right."

"A duty, Mace. Not a booty."

"I got it, Pete."

"Don't call me that!"

"Booty Pete."

"Shut it."

"Jack. Pssst, Jack!"

"Whataya want? I'm busy."

"Yeah, yous busy," Crutchie chuckled, making his way up the remaining bars of the ladder. "Busy drawin' Katherine again, huh? Ain't ya already done that 100 times?"

"Don't hurt to practice."

"Fer what, The World?" Crutchie rested his arms on the roof, looking up at Jack with a raised eyebrow. "Yous their best artist. Don't waste yer time practicin'. We don't practice sellin' papes, do we?"

"Sure we do," Jack muttered, extending his hand to his little friend, and pulling him up by the elbow. Crutchie pulled his legs into a cross-legged position and set his crutch down on the roof, putting a cautious hand on the polished wood to make sure it didn't stray. He quickly turned his eyes to the incoming night, where the stars began peeping out like holes letting sun stream in through the Lodging House window curtains. He started as a thought occurred to him, and glanced to Jack. Jack kept his face slightly hidden by shadow, fully focused on his charcoal drawing.

"Ya know, these fellas was lookin' for you earlier."

Jack grunted, pausing as he made swift strokes with the pencil. "What kinda fellas?"

"Romeo told me they'se the same ones who beat me up a few years ago."

Jack grunted again. "Delanceys?"

"No. The othah ones, the...ehhhhhhhhh," Crutchie looked away, thinking. He brightened as he remembered. "Peter an' Mace, those ones!"

Jack eyed him balefully. "Well don't sound so 'appy about that!"

Crutchie chuckled. "C'mon, Jack. Lighten up. All ya gotta do is soak 'em, an' they'll go away."

"Ain't they from Brooklyn? Why would I wanna mess with two Brooklyn kids?"

"Sure, they'se from Brooklyn," Crutchie countered, recalling what Race had told him. "But the Brooklyn fellas don't like 'em. They ain't under Spot Conlon's control. Besides, he would never send anyone after you."

Jack scoffed, holding up his drawing for Crutchie to see. Crutchie peered at it, and frowned slightly. "Hey, that ain't Katharine! That's us!"

Jack stood up, yawning. "Thought I'd change it up a bit."

Crutchie stared up at him. "Those fellas mean business, Jack."

Jack slipped his blue cap over his brown hair, taking a glance into the starry night sky. He gestured to Crutchie, inviting him to come see. Crutchie joined his friend, leaning one arm on the railing.

"Remember what I told ya 'bout the stars?"

"Yeah," Crutchie smiled faintly. "An' Santa Fe, an' New York, an' your drawin's, an' everythin' else you've said up 'ere."

Jack gave him a gentle shove in the shoulder. "Glad tah know my words stick."

"HEY!" came a shout from a window beneath them, followed by Spec's head of frazzled hair sticking out. "Some o' us are tryin' to sleep here!"

"Sorry!" Crutchie and Jack both whispered, leaning over to answer him. Specs humphed, and drew his head back inside. The window shut with a bang, and Jack and Crutchie stood up to look at each other. They started laughing.

"That's the angriest I've seen Specs been since the strike!"

"Nah, that's the angriest he's been since Race put his glasses in the soup bowl!"

"If you're gonna argue 'bout how angry I am, why don't ya do it outside?!" yelled Specs again.

"We is outside," Jack and Crutchie answered in a chorus. Jack sighed, going to stow away his drawings again. "Looks like it's gonna rain tonight," Crutchie was looking up at the sky again.

"Figured that out from your leg, huh?" Jack hung by the ladder, waiting.

"Yeah, an' those clouds," Crutchie pointed out to him, turning. "Better go back inside 'fore Specs yells at us again," he smiled, and Jack gestured to the ladder. "You go first. I'm gonna stay out 'ere for a bit."

Crutchie nodded, hopping down slightly as he put his good leg on a rung. "G'night, Jack."

"Night, Crutchie."

Jack leaned his weight on the roof railing, eyeing the massing dark clouds hovering over the distant buildings. He heaved a great sigh, watching as pinpricks of lighted candles went out one by one. His mind turned to Katharine, and he subconsciously turned in the direction of her apartment. Tomorrow he was moving in with her. The boys had known for a while now, but Jack had neglected to tell them a specific day. He knew he wouldn't just be able to sneak off and disappear tomorrow; he would get too many questions. His newsies always found him. Jack yawned, taking off his hat with a sleepy hand. Jack walked over to the ladder, jumping back a bit and gripping the railing in surprise as he noticed Crutchie was still there.

"Ya almost gave me a heart attack!" Jack said, letting go of the railing.

"Keep an eye out fer Peter an' Mace, will ya?" Crutchie asked him, dead serious. Jack sighed again, and nodded. "If ya think they'se really a big deal. I toldja, Crutch, I can handle 'em myself."

"I'll 'andle 'em for ya," Crutchie half-joked, and Jack pretended to kick him down the ladder. "Get some sleep. Early start tomorrow."

"When ain't there?" was Crutchie's retreating answer. There was the drag and clack of his boots and crutch until the back door closed shut with a creak. Jack chuckled to himself, and climbed down to the fire escape. By the time he got inside, everyone was asleep, or at least pretending to be. Race's snore wasn't all that convincing. Jack quickly unlaced his boots and hung his hat on the bedpost, climbing under the sheets. He closed his eyes, breathing in the musky air. Tonight was his last night here. He was determined to spend it by getting as much sleep as he could.