Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 17: The Aftermath
A/N: Shoutout (and a virtual pair of new shoes with matchin' laces) to mgsglacier and 9mouse9 who found the "Dyin' to Get There" Easter egg in the last chapter. (If anyone else is curious what it was...in that story, which takes place in a modern AU, multiple mentions are made of a prank Race played on Jack and Davey during their college days involving a skunk and shaving cream. Though it's never explicitly stated what that prank was, it was memorable enough for both Race and Davey to bring it up, and the plot bunnies, apparently, thought it needed a little nod here, so there you have it. This might not be the last we hear of those two particular items...but I'll just leave it at that for now ;)). Oh, and a BIG thank you to everyone who left a review! Y'all are the best! :) And now, on to the next chapter!
At the New York Sun, Katherine bent over her desk, intensely focused as she made the final changes to her article. She barely heard her coworkers farewells as they bid her good afternoon and left for the day, so wrapped up was she in making sure each word on the page before her was perfect, exactly as she wanted it to be.
Outwardly, she was a picture of concentration, but inwardly she was anxious, anxious and angry and a number of other feelings that, despite her role as a reporter, she couldn't put to words. The brawl at the distribution center had left her unsettled, and the sight of the newsies being assailed by the police and the employees of the distribution center had frightened and incensed her.
But she had channeled those emotions into her writing, returning immediately to her office, stationing herself at her desk, and aggressively revising the article that she'd written the night before (she'd had to deal with the ire of a few angry editors for the chance to make changes so close to printing, but that was only a minor and temporary setback. In the end, they'd given her an hour, and she could make do with that).
So she had written as she had never written before, her concentration razor-sharp, her prose impassioned, and her hands not stopping to rest until she'd poured all of her fervid energy into her article and had returned it to her editors for any final revisions before it went to print.
On the way back to her desk, she was stopped by Thom, the photographer who had taken the newsies' picture.
"I thought you might want to see how your boys will look tomorrow morning on the front page," he said, holding out a paper sheet to her with a smile.
Katherine took the print in her hands.
A surge of emotion welled up in her as she took in the sight of the newsies posing proudly for the camera. Thom's shot had captured the moment perfectly: the boys were beaming with elation and hopeful expectancy, and they looked like they could leap right off of the page. Glancing at the picture now under the bright lights of the newsroom, it was difficult to imagine a darker reality: that chaos was crouching just outside of the frame, waiting to engulf the newsies only moments later.
Katherine's eyes landed on the newsboy with the crutch ("Crutchie," Jack had called him), the one who'd spoken up the day before about having a nickel. His fist was raised high in the air like the rest of the boys around him, and Katherine could just make out the word "STRIKE" on a ragged bit of cloth that he'd tied to his crutch - the very same crutch that would be used to beat him before he was arrested and dragged away.
She saw the newsie with glasses who had been caught mid-cheer in the photo but would soon be doubled over in pain from having the wind knocked out of him by one of the hired thugs' blows.
She saw Romeo, of the few whose names she'd learned, the flirtatious, cheerful youth who would be slapped across the face by that brute of a policeman.
And there was the dark-haired newsboy, too, the one who had warily challenged her at the deli. He was smiling brightly for the camera with no trace of worry or suspicion on his face, but moments later he would be frantically trying to dodge the forceful swings of a truncheon while simultaneously trying to keep the littlest newsboy safe.
And standing at the very center of the photo was Jack.
He was looking straight ahead, the only one in the photo not smiling, his expression one of proud defiance. There was something both protective and vulnerable in his posture, and Katherine felt herself staring at him longer than she had any of the others.
Was he safe? Had he managed to escape the attack and avoid arrest?
Katherine let out a sigh of regret. She wished that she could have done more. Once the attack on the newsboys had started, she'd quickly taken cover behind one of the wagons and had stayed out of sight.
But she had seen everything.
It had been an appalling incident to witness, and Katherine had found herself growing angrier and angrier by the minute. Her first thought, when the distribution center employees had attacked, was that she should run to find a police officer, but when one showed up on the scene and promptly struck the entreating Romeo across the face, Katherine knew that there was little that could help the newsies at that point. But as she saw them fighting and falling - couldn't the brutes understand that these were just kids? - she was already fiercely revising her article in her mind.
She couldn't prevent the blows that rained down or help the newsboys avoid arrest, but she could capture the minds of the people with her words. She could turn the city's sympathies towards the newsies and their cause, exposing her readers to just a bit of the pain and the suffering that she hadn't been able to prevent, so that they too would join the outcry against the wrongs being inflicted by the newspaper owners.
By Katherine's very own father.
She grimaced. Her relationship with Joseph Pulitzer was a delicate one, and she knew that, once her article ran, repercussions would inevitably follow. Her father was a businessman above all else, calculating and shrewd, and while he would never physically raise a hand to harm her, in this professional world where they functioned not as family but as competitors, he would not let her stand in his way.
But she would strike first and catch him off guard, and by the time he recovered enough to take action (and she had no doubt that retribution would be swift), it would be too late. The article would be out and the truth would be in plain sight. If it managed to get her the recognition and respect that she hoped for as a reporter, so much the better, but if it was a career-ending move on her part, well, at least she would know that she'd gone down fighting for something worthwhile - for the big story that she'd been waiting her whole career for.
At this point, it didn't matter if she got a promotion or accolades or a desk in the editors' office. What mattered was the newsies' cause. And Katherine vowed that she would not rest until they had gotten the justice that they deserved.
The rooftop, normally a haven of retreat, seemed comfortless and dismal without Crutchie.
Jack pulled himself up from the fire escape, then glanced around uneasily, suddenly feeling like a trespasser. After making sure that he was alone, he crept slowly over to the corner where his brother usually slept, falling unsteadily to his knees in front of Crutchie's ragged blanket.
He didn't know what he was doing here. He didn't know why he'd come back. It must have been his instinct, his need to be near his boys, as close to them as he could, even if he couldn't bear to face them.
He couldn't bear to face them.
Jack buried his hands in the worn-out fabric of Crutchie's blanket, clenching it in his fists and clinging to it as tightly as he was clinging to his last thread of self-possession.
He'd taken off running before Crutchie's pleas for help had fully died away, because the moment Snyder had emerged from the shadows, loyalty and courage were nowhere to be found. There was only fear, fear and the desperate need for self-preservation. It had ambushed Jack, relentless and overwhelming in its urgency, and then it was as if all he could do was run.
It was only when he was too tired to run anymore that the shame and guilt caught up with him.
The thread of Jack's composure suddenly snapped, and a flood of tears came. He curled in on himself, burying his face in Crutchie's blanket and trying to stifle the sobs that shook his shoulders.
He was done. He was so completely done.
When he closed his eyes, he couldn't see Santa Fe anymore - only the dark and dirty streets of New York, haunted by the sound of Crutchie's screams. He wanted so desperately to run - to run and to never look back - but he knew somewhere inside that even the wide open space and clean air of Santa Fe couldn't give him the freedom that he longed for. He was trapped, fated to live and die here, and his dream was slipping away. Whether he stayed or ran, the guilt would always find him.
But Jack wasn't the kind to concede defeat - not even to himself - so he forced himself to stand, swiping away the tears with the back of his hand and dropping Crutchie's blanket where he'd found it before stalking over to the edge of the roof.
It was late, and the city was nearly asleep. The full moon had risen high in the sky, and Jack found himself staring up at it, wondering if the view was any different in Santa Fe.
He felt old. Old and tired beyond his seventeen years. He was tired of the early mornings and the long days and the sleepless nights. He was tired of scraping by, fighting tooth and nail for every penny. He was tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of trying - and most of all, of failing. He didn't want to see another headline ever again.
But he did want to see his boys.
He needed to see them, to assure himself that they were all right despite his miserable failure to keep them safe.
Jack knew that the door to the lodging house would be locked at this time of night, but the newsies generally left the window of the washroom open, and he found himself making his way down the fire escape at the back of the building, knowing that he was taking a foolish risk, but unable to rest until he'd seen for himself that his boys were safe.
As expected, the window was open, and Jack slid carefully through the space, stealthy as a cat from years of experience, then quietly made his way over to the bunk room.
The sight of the newsies asleep in their beds brought a palpable sense of relief, and Jack crept carefully down the rows of beds, mentally tallying up the sleeping boys. When he saw that they were all accounted for, he let out a breath that he didn't know he'd been holding. Save for Crutchie, not one of them was missing. They'd even added two more newsies to their number - probably two of the former scabs - so the lodging house bunk room was full.
He should have turned and left at that point. But something held him there, and Jack couldn't help but linger in the middle of the lodging house, taking in the familiar sights and sounds of the sleeping boys and pretending, for just a moment, that everything was all right.
He could see, even in the dark, the faint outline of Henry, who always slept curled up on his side, and noted with amusement that Romeo in the bunk above him had managed to actually keep all three of his pillows from falling out of bed on this particular night.
He heard Mush's slow and even breathing and the soft scratching sound of Buttons clawing away at his flea bites even in sleep.
He saw that Elmer, as usual, was sprawled out, his arm extending over the side of the bed at an awkward angle. If this had been any other night, Jack would have walked quietly over and repositioned the younger newsie so that he'd be more comfortable, but he couldn't risk Elmer waking up tonight, so he reluctantly resisted the urge to do so.
He heard the heavy sound of Albert's intermittent snores and the softer wheeze of Specs, whose allergies always seemed to act up at night.
And he saw that Racetrack had fallen asleep with his vest on and his cap still atop his head, which meant that the gambler had either been plagued with insomnia that night or hadn't intended to sleep at all in the first place. Neither one would have been out of character.
Jack felt another stab of guilt; this was all his fault. He should have come back to the lodging house right away, should have been there to help Race patch up the newsies and to rally the boys with some bold and blustering words and, if needed, a few well-placed cuffs on the head.
But instead, he'd snuck in under the cover of darkness, too ashamed to face them and to admit that he'd failed. And now he was preparing to leave again - maybe forever.
He should have left a long time ago.
Jack turned, ready to retreat, but in his haste, he stumbled over a pair of shoes that had carelessly been tossed in the middle of the walkway.
Race jerked awake at the sound, scrambling into a sitting position as Jack quickly ducked down behind one of the bunks. He could feel the gambler's eyes searching the room, suspicious and wary, and he willed himself not to move or to breathe.
After several moments, Race seemed to relax. He walked over to one of the bunk beds - Elmer's, Jack thought - and leaned over to check on the younger boy before moving over to Henry's bed to do the same. Having apparently satisfied himself that all was well, Race returned to his own bed and laid down again.
Jack waited - it must have been at least half an hour - until he heard the tell-tale sound of Race's breathing slow and deepen in sleep.
Then he silently got to his feet and crept out of the bunk room, through the wash room, and over to the window. Before hosting himself through the opening, he paused one more time to look over his shoulder at the sleeping newsies.
Then, he turned away.
Soon, he was out the window, down the fire escape, and making his way through the dark and deserted streets, his head down and his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he left the lodging house behind.
He didn't look back again.
The newsies were better off without him, anyway.
A/N: A slightly different take on "Santa Fe" and Jack's emotional state, but hopefully not an out-of-character one. Please let me know what you thought!
