A/N: It's...Les, yay:P Please let me know what you think.

They were his heroes.

Other boys admired firefighters, or doctors, or policemen. And sure, firefighters and doctors were alright, but they had nothing on his heroes. As for policemen, they were the dreaded "bulls", out for newsie blood and working for whoever ran the Refuge at the moment.

His heroes swore and spit. They could fight and run. They drank and smoke. His heroes were the exact opposite of everyone he'd ever known, including his dad, uncles, and cousins.

At first it had started out as awed fascination. He'd watched Cowboy beat the Delanceys and climb that huge gate in complete admiration, wishing he could be like that. They replaced his fairytales. No need for noble knights when you could have a noble newsie, and in his dreams they played the parts of everything from pirates to Arabian knights, to soldiers.

After the initial awe started to wear off it was the thought of an act of rebellion that kept him coming. He was young, and he was small. He couldn't do much. He didn't really have his own life – his parents made his decisions, which most of the time he didn't mind. But after seeing that some people had their own, independent lives, he wanted to have one act of rebellion, no matter how small. Talking and selling with the newsies was an act of rebellion on the simple grounds that his father wouldn't approve of either the language or the "attitude" of these boys.

Not that Papa didn't like the boys as a general rule. But the entire atmosphere of the lodging house would have had a frown of imminent disapproval firmly on his face within seconds.

So for a while, they were Les' heroes because they were helping him break the spirit of his father's law, though he obeyed the letter.

Then, he realized he was good at it.

He could move tons of papes a day, with nothing but a little cough and a shy smile. People ruffled his hair and cooed over him, sometimes buying more than one paper. He glowed with the praise he received from the others. He had always been the smallest in his class, awful at sports and while he was not stupid he had never been the brightest in his class. Overshadowed by David's brilliance and his friends' athletic prowess, here was something he was finally good at. Here was something he knew back to front, something his classmates sat in complete ignorance of, something David only did because he had to (at least at first). Here was something he, Les Jacobs, was really good at.

For a long, long time, that was what kept him coming back, that was why they were his heroes. They accepted him, they gave him the chance to do the thing he was good at. Les Jacobs was not a scrawny nobody with them, he was someone who'd found a talent.

Then for a time they were his heroes because he became one of them. They were his comrades, he joined their ranks as a fellow newsie, the elite of the New York's streets. They were the best of the best, dependable. He felt a fierce pride as Cowboy pointed out that they held the city together. They brought the news. Without them, how would the citizens of New York stay informed? They were as crucial as any fireman, or doctor. And he was one of them, a crucial member of a workforce.

But eventually, they were his heroes because he saw what they did every day.

At the end of the day, comrade or no, he went back to a home. It was small, but it was a home. It was two parents and two older siblings. It was food on the table and a warm bed. It was safety and security, it was reliability. They had none of that. They were his heroes because he understood what they did. He understood that firemen and doctors had it easy compared to a simple newsie, struggling to eke an existence out of paper and the sympathy of a hopefully news hungry populace.

He adopted a swagger, and he spit occasionally. His language became what could be considered perhaps more flavorful. He learned to throw punches. Of course, his mother and father knew almost nothing of this. Sarah, he always knew, suspected, and David faithfully kept his secret because he felt slightly guilty, as though he was to blame for this change in Les.

If only he could understand that there was no blame, no guilt. Les did not swagger and spit and swear because he admired those traits in the newsies, not exactly. Of course, he did admire those traits. But the point was not the coarseness of their lifestyles, the point was how they pulled through it, and kept on pulling.

In that particular respect they were just as admirable as any doctor, or any fireman. And he was proud to name them, all through his childhood and well into his teens, as his heroes.

Even as a grown man he would see a newsie on the street and smile. He would buy a paper, and he would look back on the boy, usually at least ten years younger and a foot shorter than him, and admire him, because he was a hero.

A/N: Alright, so what did you guys think? To sentimental? It did occur to me, so constructive crit. much appreciated. Also, if anyone's got another newsie they'd like me to do/want to suggest? if it's one of those minor characters that all seem to have names, maybe you could tell me which one it is, because i'm no good with those. anyway, thanks for reading and reviews are much appreciated. :)