Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney. Original characters, narrative, and plot points are mine.


Summary: David Jacobs, perpetual new kid and outsider, just wants his life to return to normal...but instead, he finds his life turned upside down by an accident, a strike, and an unexpected friendship. Going up against The World is only the beginning for David and his fellow newsboys Jack and Race as they learn to navigate the challenges of life after the strike while remaining true to their convictions and chasing their dreams.

This story is my attempt to give Davey the appreciation and protagonist role that he didn't get in Newsies by virtue of it being Jack's story (though Jack, Race, and Katherine still feature prominently in the narrative and have their own robust subplots). It is rated a conservative "T" for some moments of emotional intensity and a few mild swear words, but the majority of it falls well within the "K plus"-appropriate range. The first chapter is OC-centric for the sake of setting up the plot, but rest assured, this story is very much focused on the canon characters and their respective arcs.

A quick shout-out to Nycnewsgirl for nudging me to give this a try - always thankful for your kind words!

And now, without further ado, let's get to our story!


SOMETHING WORTH WINNING

By pjean19

Prologue

The sea is a deep, deep blue melting into a brilliant orange sky flecked with clouds, and though David's feet are anchored firmly on shore, he can't help but feel the draw of the sea and the sky as they enfold one another at the close of the day. Their union is seamless - eager and complete - yet even joined together, they remain distinct, reflecting each other's depth in a wildly beautiful way.

Below his feet, the waves come in and out, rhythmic and calm, and he watches as the sun slips into the sea, offering its gentle glow to the deep which receives the light the way one welcomes home a longed-for cherished friend.

There's something so familiar about the sight…and yet he can't get over the feeling that he's never seen it before in his life.

He's not even sure why he's here on the shore, standing in the salt-spray as the sun dips low in the sky. But regardless of the reason, he's completely mesmerized in the moment, so utterly enthralled that he's sure nothing could possibly pull him away from –

"David!"

A familiar voice breaks through, calling from behind. He doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want to turn around and lose sight of the sun settling into the sea, but –

"David, wake up! It's moving day, remember? The wagon will be here soon, and Dad says that anything not on it is getting left behind, including you!"

The warning was accompanied by a rough shake of his shoulder, and David groaned, rolling over in bed and trying to clear his head from the disorienting effects of his quickly-fading dream.

"One more minute," he implored in a voice groggy with sleep.

"You said that a minute ago!" came the merciless response. "Get up, David! I need your help moving my trunk!"

"All right, all right, I'm coming!" David groused, pushing himself into a sitting position and untangling himself from the bedsheets. His little brother Les gave him an impatient look, and he could hear the sounds of his parents already beginning to carry their luggage downstairs in preparation for the aforementioned wagon's arrival.

Mornings are bad enough, he thought sourly, but moving day mornings are the worst.

There was nothing to do, however, but get up.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the last vestiges of the dream from his mind so that reality could set in. What had he even been dreaming about? There had been color and light and warmth, but what else? A union, a joining together…and a poignant sense of coming home.

Ironic, given that today his family was heading for a new neighborhood where they would have to start over once again as strangers.

David rubbed his face, letting the last of the dream slip away, then got to his feet, pulling off his nightshirt and running a hand through his hair. The little mirror that usually hung on the wall by his parents' room was gone, no doubt already packed away, so he made do, combing his cowlick down with his fingers and then putting on the clothes that he'd laid out the night before. His favorite shirt was getting threadbare, but its familiar fabric - well-worn and soft - was comforting against his skin, and he felt a little better as he buttoned it up, then pulled on his trousers, suspenders, and socks.

There was a bowl of porridge and a cup of coffee waiting for him on the kitchen table, and he sat down to eat, thankful that he'd packed nearly all of his belongings the night before, but knowing that he couldn't linger over his food, regardless, for he ought to be helping his parents move their things downstairs.

"Good morning, David," his mother greeted him, coming through the door of the apartment. "How did you sleep last night?"

"Like the dead," Les cut in from the other side of the room where he was shoving a pair of wooden swords into his trunk. "It's a miracle he's not still flat on his back, snoozing away!"

"At least your school in Manhattan will be closer to home," their mother said consolingly. "You won't have to get up quite so early to make it there on time, which means more sleeping in for you…" she patted David on the arm, "...and more free time in the morning for you," she repeated the gesture with Les.

Her tone was lighthearted, but David could see the strain of the morning already beginning to show in her eyes.

"When your trunks are ready, please take them downstairs," Esther Jacobs continued briskly. "The wagon has arrived, and your father is impatient to get going so that we can settle into our new apartment."

David acknowledged the request with a nod and quickly finished the rest of his breakfast.

"I'll take your trunk downstairs whenever it's ready, Les," he said, more inclined to be agreeable now that the effects of the coffee had begun to kick in.

It was a familiar routine, this busy, unceremonious decampment, and by now he'd mastered the necessary skill of appearing calm so that he could focus on the task at hand, but inside he felt a prickle of nervousness rise in his chest at the anticipation of having to start all over again in a new place.

Pushing his uneasiness aside, David cleaned and packed away his breakfast dishes in the box with the rest of the kitchen accouterments, then carried the container downstairs at his mother's request. Several more trips back and forth kept him busy for the next half an hour, and all too soon the little apartment was nearly empty, all evidence of the Jacobs family's recent occupancy now packed up and parceled away.

"Les and I can handle the last hamper, David," his mother said as she fastened her bonnet on her head. "I want to stop by the Dillards' to give them the groceries that we can't take with us, and Les is going to say goodbye to Simon. Will you make sure that we haven't left anything behind, then close up the apartment and drop off the key?"

"Yes, Mom," he answered.

His mother and brother departed with the last of their belongings, and he took a moment to look around the now-quiet apartment. There wasn't much to inspect, and a quick search confirmed that nothing had been forgotten…but it felt necessary to linger for some reason, if only for a moment.

Truth be told, there was really nothing that he'd miss about this place, just one of the many temporary abodes that his family had occupied over the years, but every time they'd moved, he'd felt an odd, poignant sense of loss, and this time it was no different.

The memories of this apartment and this season of life, though, were tinged with a sharper kind of sadness, and David found his sentimentality quickly dissipating as he took one last look around, then turned to walk out the door.

He locked the apartment and made his way down the hallway, depositing the key in the designated slot of the proprietor's office. Only one task remained, now, and this he accomplished quickly, kneeling down to place a small package at the door of the apartment nearest the stairs before heading down the flight to join his family below.

Les and his mother had already arrived and were situating themselves for the ride ahead while his father checked the last of the boxes to make sure that they were secure.

"We're right on schedule," he declared. "You've returned the key?"

David nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Then let's be on our way."

David climbed into the wagon, taking a seat next to Les who was looking a little deflated having just said goodbye to his friend.

"Chin up, boys," their father exhorted as he joined his wife on the wagon seat beside the driver. "There's a new chapter of our lives just waiting to be opened in Manhattan."

And with those words, he gave a nod, and the wagon lurched forward and trundled off.


Chapter 1: An Unfortunate Accident

Their friendship began in a most inauspicious manner.

It was a lazy afternoon, the kind of afternoon just made for luxuriating, and Sadie Becker was finishing up her lunch, pausing to savor the last few bites of leftover meat pie before she tucked into dessert, a custard pudding that her mother had whipped up just that morning.

There aren't many pleasures in life as simple yet gratifying as polishing off a custard pudding, she thought as ate the last bite, setting her spoon down with a little sigh.

No sooner had she done this, when there was the sound of someone arriving at the front door of the apartment, and her father walked in, carrying a small can of paint and a paintbrush.

"Ah, Sadie! Just whom I was looking for."

Sadie cast a wary eye on the painting implements, sensing where the conversation was going. "Papa, I can't today," she protested. "Megs and I are going shopping. We've been planning this all week!"

"Now, Sadie," her father cajoled, "The job that I have in mind shouldn't take very long, and you don't have to meet Margaret for a while yet. Why not make the most of your time and earn a little money while you wait? Haven't you been asking me for extra work lately so that you can buy that hat you've been eyeing at Halston's?"

"Yes, Papa." Sadie admitted, somewhat grudgingly. It was true. She only needed a bit more money to purchase the smart-looking boater that she'd seen in the millinery shop several weeks ago.

"I just need you to touch up the door to my office," her father continued. "The paint's gotten a little chipped, and I'd like to have it looking sharp before the inspector from the tenement office comes by this afternoon. I know that you're quick with a paintbrush, so you'll be done in no time, and then you can be on your way to enjoy your afternoon. Your plans won't be derailed in the slightest if you hop to it now."

He gave her an agreeable smile, and Sadie huffed, knowing that it was a rather childish response, but still feeling put out by the last-minute request.

Her father, the landlord of a modestly-sized tenement, had his hands full with the work of maintaining the property, and as he had no sons to assist him with the task, a good many odd jobs fell to Sadie (much to her mother's chagrin). She usually didn't mind - her father was generous enough to compensate her for her work, and she enjoyed having the extra spending money - but it was a lazy afternoon, she had already changed into her second-best dress, and being saddled with an unexpected and tedious chore from her well-meaning but ill-timed father had not been a part of her plan.

If she did manage to complete the task in time, however, she could probably afford to buy the hat at Halston's today, which meant that she could wear it to the picnic next week, and…

"All right, Papa, I'll do it," she said, holding out her hands for the paintbrush and paint.

He gave her a grateful smile. "The office is already unlocked, and there's a canvas apron hanging in the supply closet if you'd like to use it to cover your dress. I'll be downstairs mending the Hellermans' window screen if you need me."

Sadie nodded her thanks, and her father took his leave.

Quickly, she cleaned up her dishes and put them away, then hurried out of her family's apartment to the landlord's office, which was just next door. Despite her father's assertion that she'd have plenty of time to complete the requested chore, she knew that she would be cutting it close, and didn't want to be late for her meeting with Margaret.

She found the canvas apron that her father had described and threw it over her dress, then propped open the office door so that she could easily access both sides for painting. A search for the ladder that usually sat in the supply closet proved futile before she remembered that her father had taken it downstairs earlier that day. The thought of having to locate it and haul it back did not appeal to her, so she improvised, dragging several large books from her father's office into the hallway and stacking them haphazardly atop one another in front of the door. It wasn't the sturdiest solution, but it would get the job done.

Perched atop her makeshift step-stool, Sadie began to paint, doing her best to brush an even coat across the office door and trying hard not to let the ticking of the clock on her father's desk remind her of exactly how late she would be if she didn't speed the process along. Engrossed in her task, she didn't notice the steady beat of footsteps coming up the stairs behind her, or hear the telltale creak of someone stopping in their tracks as they arrived on the landing.

"That doesn't look very safe," a voice remarked.

Sadie started in surprise, nearly losing her hold on the can of paint but managing to grab it before it evaded her grasp.

Heart pounding, she slowly turned to face the unexpected visitor, careful not to lose her balance.

A boy stood there, tall and dark-haired, with a doubtful look on his face.

"Don't you have a ladder or something that you could stand on?" he queried, gesturing at the stack of books with the small envelope that he held in his hand.

"Yes, well - " Sadie huffed, blowing a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes,"- it just so happens that the ladder is downstairs so that our new tenants can use it when they move in today."

"'Our' new tenants?" he repeated, giving her a curious look. "Does that mean you're..."

"The landlord's daughter, yes," Sadie finished when he failed to complete his sentence, "which is also the only reason why I'm here painting this office door instead of being outside where most of us belong on a lovely day like this."

It was slightly curt of her, and normally she wouldn't have minded striking up a conversation with a new acquaintance, but today she was in a hurry, so she gave the boy a quick nod, then began to turn back to the door, intent upon finishing the task at hand.

Unfortunately, in her haste, she lost her balance.

The boy lurched forward and managed to steady her in time, but not before the momentum of Sadie's fall jarred the can of paint in her hand, sending the dove gray pigment splashing down the front of his shirt.

For a moment they were both speechless, the boy frozen in shock and Sadie dismayed but struggling not to laugh at the astonished look on his face.

"...I told you standing up there was a bad idea," he muttered finally, breaking the silence and surveying his ruined shirt with a grimace.

Before Sadie could reply, he held out the envelope that he'd been carrying, which thankfully had escaped the small deluge of paint. "Look, you said you're Mr. Becker's daughter? Could you give this to him for me? I'd rather not make a bad first impression by dripping all over his floor."

Sadie took the envelope. "I'm so sorry," she murmured, sincerely chagrined but still struggling to hide her amusement.

He shrugged. "It's just a shirt."

He was about to turn away and start down the stairs when Sadie called out, "Wait!"

He turned, and she motioned to the envelope. "Whom should I say this is from?"

The boy gave her an unreadable look before replying, "Tell him it's the first month's rent from the Jacobs family." He started down the steps, adding over his shoulder, "We're the new tenants."


Sadie finished her task without further incident, then went to find her father, who was downstairs mending the aforementioned window screen.

"Papa," she called out, "I'm all done, and I have the rent from our new tenants!"

Philip Becker straightened up and took the envelope from her hand. "Excellent! So, you've met them?"

"Well, one of them." Sadie brushed her hands off on her apron. "A boy. He looked about my age."

"I've met Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs, but neither of their sons," her father said, putting the envelope into his pocket. "How did this one seem?"

Sadie gave a careless shrug. "Uptight and overly concerned with safety."

She related the paint incident to her father, this time allowing herself a small laugh as she described the flustered reaction of the dark-haired boy who had looked so very like a fish out of water upon finding himself unexpectedly doused with paint. Concluding her story, Sadie was surprised, however, to find that her father looked vaguely troubled rather than amused as she had hoped.

"Is there something wrong, Papa?" she asked, concerned.

Her father regarded her for a moment, then put a hand on her shoulder.

"Sadie," he said gently, "I didn't expect you to know this, but our new tenants are very poor. They're a family of four moving into one of our smallest apartments, and, quite frankly, I only accepted them as renters because they seem like honest folk and the boys are the same ages as you and Abigail. But I know that they're struggling to make ends meet. The shirt that you ruined might be one of the few that this boy owns."

He paused, then added, "I know you never mean things maliciously, Sadie, and I'm not saying this to make you feel bad…I just want you to be aware for the next time. Not everyone has the good fortune that we have enjoyed."

Chastened, Sadie bit her lip. "Yes, Papa," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. I'll try my best to remember."

Her father nodded. "That's my girl."

Patting her on the back, he reached into his pocket. "Before I forget, here's the money for painting the door, plus the rest that I owe you for last week's projects." He smiled at her fondly. "You go along now and enjoy your time with Margaret. I'll see you at dinner."

Sadie took the money with a word of thanks, then turned away, her mind still on her father's admonishment as she returned to her family's apartment. Once she'd tidied up and had procured her handbag, she exited the tenement, then hurried across the street to where her best friend, Margaret Ellis, was waiting at the corner.

"Megs!" Sadie called out, "I'm so sorry I kept you waiting! I was finishing a project for my father, and it took a little longer than I'd expected."

"You're forever toiling away to keep that tenement ship-shape, aren't you?" Margaret asked, looping her arm through Sadie's. "But I must admit, it does show - there's a reason why your father's got a long list of tenants waiting to get into the swanky Becker apartments."

Sadie smiled, half amused, half proud. Her family's tenement wasn't grand or high-class by any means - it was modest and simple, and, like the other tenements in the area, it housed not the wealthy and opulent, but the underprivileged and poor. Her father was a good landlord, though, maintaining the property with care that was unusual for someone of his station, and doing his best to keep the rent reasonable while still turning a small profit. He had come from an impoverished background himself, and was often telling Sadie that people had been kind enough to help him and his family through the worst of things, so it was his duty to do the same for others in whatever way he could. That conviction was probably what had made him gently chide Sadie for her flippant reaction to the afternoon's earlier mishap.

"Shall we stop at Halston's first?" Margaret asked, breaking into Sadie's thoughts. "I know that you're dying to see if that cunning little hat is still there."

Sadie agreed, but an uneasy feeling pooled in her stomach, and she found herself not as excited by the prospect as she should have been.

The girls made their way to the millinery shop, and, sure enough, there in the window sat the smart-looking straw boater hat that Sadie had been eying, trimmed with wide titian ribbon and adorned with a sweet little bow hanging down the back.

Margaret gave it an admiring look. "It's perfect for you, Sadie," she gushed. "Please tell me that you're finally going to buy it!"

It was perfect. And Sadie knew that with the money she'd earned that afternoon, she had more than enough now to cover the cost.

She reached into her handbag, pulling out the little coin purse where she kept her money...

But her father's words came back to her. And, try as she might, Sadie couldn't get them out of her head.

She sighed in frustration, not sure whom she was more put out by: the unnamed dark-haired Jacobs boy whose mere existence had caused this dilemma in the first place, her father, for reminding her of her privileged station in life, or her conscience, for deciding to show up at the most inopportune moment. But show up it had, and it was now clamoring at her with a voice that would not be silenced.

"Sorry, Megs," Sadie said, regretfully tucking the coin purse back into her bag. "This money's for something else."


Later that evening after dinner, Sadie climbed up to the rooftop of the tenement. A gentle breeze blew through her hair and through the many garments hanging on the clotheslines, making the rows of shirts and sheets billow playfully.

A small smile tugged at her lips. She and her sisters used to play up here often, running to and fro between the always-moving clothes that could be imagined into anything: the sails of a ship about to embark, a congregation of friendly ghosts, the canvas walls of a tent in the wilderness...it had been a wonderful playground of sorts for them.

She missed those days.

Shading her eyes from the glow of the setting sun, Sadie scanned the rows of drying garments one by one until her eyes fell upon what they were looking for: a familiar, paint-stained shirt, flapping away on the clothesline. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, she carefully unpinned the shirt and folded it up, tucking it under her arm.

If she was quick, no one would even notice that it was missing.


A/N: Thanks for giving this a chance; it's a slow starter, but it rewards persistence, and next chapter we'll have a backstory for something I'm pretty sure no one's written a backstory for yet, so I hope you'll stick around for that.

If you have a moment, please let me know what you think of this so far by leaving a review! I'd truly appreciate your feedback. :)