Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 15: At the Circulation Gate
"Are we doing the right thing?"
Les walked slowly through the circulation gate, his plaintive question hanging in the air as the unusually-silent newsies crowded around him, their faces heavy with varying degrees of dejection.
"Of course we are!" Davey answered a bit too slowly, putting a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder.
It was as he had feared. No reinforcements had shown up in support of the Manhattan newsies. Davey had tried to keep up an optimistic front, going along with Jack's half-hearted assurances, but in the end, he hadn't really been surprised when Brooklyn and the others had failed to make an appearance and when the resolve of the demoralized Manhattan newsies had begun to crumble shortly after that.
"Hey, you know, maybe we should just put this off for a while," Race suggested, the chuckle accompanying his suggestion sounding a little forced. "Couldn't hurt to regroup a little...maybe wait for Spot an' the rest of his sorry bummers to show up."
Davey turned around to face him. "No," he said firmly. "This is not a joke, Race. We cannot just put this off for…" he broke off suddenly as he saw the look on the other newsie's face. Race's tone had been lighthearted, but Davey could see the fear in his eyes. And if Race, who seemed to be one of the bravest and cockiest of them all, was afraid…
"Jack," Davey demanded, hurrying over to the newsie leader. He lowered his voice. "They're losing hope. You have to step in! Tell them that we can't give up now -"
"Hey! Hey!" Jack shouted, striding quickly to the center of the distribution floor. The scattered newsboys looked over at him half-heartedly. "We can't back down now, alright?" Jack said sternly, looking around at each one of them. "Even if no one else shows, now is when we take a stand!"
"What if we just don't show up to deliver the papes?" Finch suggested nervously. A few of the other newsies murmured their agreement.
"No!" Jack insisted, a bit of desperation beginning to leak into his voice. "Then they's gonna just find someone else to take our jobs - we's a dime a dozen to them!" He shook his head. "They need to see that we ain't backin' down."
There was a beat of silence.
Then newsboys shook their heads, turning away. Davey looked on in dismay, shocked that Jack hadn't been able to rally them to continue. Was the lack of support really so devastating that it could completely unnerve the same boys who had so passionately demonstrated against The World only the day before?
Jack suddenly shot him a beseeching look. "Davey!" His voice was pleading. "Come on - you tell them!"
Davey wasn't prepared.
"I - Jack - "
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
He wasn't ready to be called upon to speak again. He'd expected to come and add his voice to the protest but not to lead it. He didn't think he had any more inspiration left in him; he'd used it all up on the speech that had gotten this whole business started in the first place.
Davey's mind was racing. He could sense the resolve of the newsies slipping away like water through his fingers, and he knew that he had to give them something - something to hold on to, something simple and straightforward. Big words wouldn't do it. Well-reasoned arguments wouldn't do it. He had to speak to them plainly and meet them where they were at. But he also had to figure out a way to inspire them beyond where they were at. And he had to do it quickly. Jack was right - like it or not, ready or not, today was the day they took their stand.
It seemed ironic that it had fallen upon the newest and most inexperienced newsie of the bunch to marshal the others, and Davey felt the weight of his inadequacy pressing down upon him, threatening to stifle the words that were coming...
But he forced back his fear. Jack had called on him to speak, hadn't he? Davey couldn't let him down. And maybe, for the oddest of reasons, he really was the only one who could do this.
He knew what it felt like to stand alone, so the lack of support had dismayed but not derailed him.
He had been given wisdom and encouragement from people he trusted, so the call to inspire had surprised him, but not found him wanting.
And he had his way with words - rambling and occasionally awkward, but maybe just good enough to deliver what the dispirited newsies needed to hear at that moment.
These were his friends (hadn't Jack said so?) and his newfound brothers. Davey had a responsibility to them, an obligation to share the wisdom and truth that had been given to him, because in reality those things weren't meant for him alone, but for all of them.
If he could only find a way to reach past the newsies' fear to touch the courage that he knew was still there...
He had to try.
So Davey began speaking. Slowly and quietly at first, then more boldly as his confidence grew. He drew upon the thoughts that had been running constantly through his head ever since his father's accident. He mined the wisdom from his parents' exhortations the night before. And he employed the simple insight of a girl he'd talked to on the rooftop only that morning who had reminded him that things would fall into place when you took them one minute at a time.
To his surprise, the newsies were actually listening. Not just listening, but slowly beginning to nod in agreement. Soon, some of them were standing alongside him, hope slowly returning to their faces. Davey felt Jack's hand on his shoulder, and he caught a smile from Crutchie as the irrepressible newsie limped over to join them, his crutch bedecked with a ragged banner boldly proclaiming "STRIKE."
Eventually, the entire group of newsies was standing side by side, drawing strength from each other's presence, their resolve renewed in response to a few simple but earnestly-delivered words. Perhaps they weren't as faint-hearted as they had appeared just moments ago. Perhaps they had only needed someone to remind them of what they were fighting for. Drawn together once again, their strength and determination had returned, and by the time the circulation bell sounded, Davey's voice wasn't the only one rising in exhortation.
"We's really doin' this?" Crutchie asked, hesitant but undaunted as the final chime of the bell died away.
"Yeah," Jack answered confidently. The determined gleam was back in his eyes as he clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Right here. Right now."
Looking back on it, there were several things about the whole incident that Davey remembered.
He remembered the tension in his shoulders and the stillness in the air as the newsboys had stood facing off against Wiesel and the Delanceys.
He remembered the feeling of shock as the scabs had brushed past him - one, two, three - striding purposefully over to the circulation window where they'd collected their papers and turned to face the striking newsies in stoic defiance.
He remembered acting on instinct, jumping quickly in front of the crowd of boys, barely managing to hold back the irate newsies from rushing at the scabs, and seeing the Delanceys out of the corner of his eye bracing themselves for a fight.
He remembered the feel of someone's eyes on him and turning to see Oscar staring directly at him, his gaze baleful and unwavering. It had unnerved Davey a bit, but he hadn't had time to think much about it, and eventually the Delancey brother had looked away.
He remembered his heart pounding as Jack addressed the scabs, and his hands clenching into fists involuntarily as the tension had grown.
He remembered rushing to put a protective arm around Les as the first scab charged at Jack, then the unexpected jolt of surprise at the sound of papers being thrown to the ground.
He remembered stepping in quickly to confront the second scab and the exhilaration of having the rest of the newsies at his back as he'd tried to reason with the boy. He remembered the long and searching look the scab had given him before he, too, had thrown down his papers, and the instant feeling of relief that had followed when the third scab was not far behind.
And he remembered the thrill of all the newsies standing united.
He remembered the panic that had filled him upon seeing Les in the grip of the Delancey brothers, and the gratitude that he'd felt when Jack charged at them right away, arriving seconds before Davey could. He remembered the feeling of being invincible when the rest of the newsies had followed suit, falling in as reinforcements and soundly routing the outnumbered Delanceys.
He remembered the celebratory jubilation that had followed and the feeling of the biggest, widest grin spreading across his face as he'd posed with the newsies for the Sun's photographer (Romeo had accidentally stepped on his foot as he tumbled over to the group, but Davey had barely flinched - not even the brief pain could diminish the elation that he'd felt in that moment).
He remembered the sudden sound of the newsies falling silent as they'd found themselves confronted by an army of goons, and the jarring crash of Wiesel beating his truncheon against the metal bars of the circulation gate.
Then everything had degenerated into chaos.
He didn't remember quite as clearly what had happened after that - only flashes and bursts and shouts and screams and vivid images he wished he could forget but knew he probably never would.
There were several things about the whole incident that Davey regretted.
Chief among them was not making Les stay home that morning (what had he been thinking, letting his little brother accompany him to something so dangerous?).
A close second was not making Jack teach him how to properly throw a punch before the whole altercation began (the only thing that he could recall from his reading was that you weren't supposed to tuck your thumb inside of your fist, but that knowledge had only gotten him so far).
His deepest regret, however, was that he hadn't noticed Crutchie before it was too late. And the sight of the other newsie being beaten and dragged away was the one image that Davey knew would stay with him forever, even if he forgot everything else about the strike.
He'd partially shut down at that point, his inherent ability to bottle up his emotions coming into play as he'd firmly steered Les away from the melee, watching the rest of the newsies scatter off in all directions, some of them pursued by Weasel's hired hands (Davey would never think of the man by his real name after what he'd witnessed today).
Once they were several blocks away from the distribution center and clear of any immediate danger, Davey stopped and knelt down to worriedly look his brother over. Les was complaining of pain in his left arm, and while a gentle examination seemed to indicate that there were no broken bones, Davey knew that it would be better if Les kept his arm immobilized. So they headed for home, each step taking them further and further away from the chaos that had erupted at the distribution center.
It wasn't until much later, after Les was home and safe, that Davey realized Jack had disappeared.
A/N: If you're game for doing some supplemental reading, my Interstices short story collection has an installment written from the perspectives of the three scabs that gives a bit of their backstories and hints at the roles two of the three of them will have in this story going forward. It's entitled "Rationale." Please give it a read if that at all piques your interest! :) Thank you!
