Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.


Chapter 38: Time to Speak Up

Davey followed the sound of Les' sniffling as he made his way quickly through the maze of backdrops and props littering Irving Hall's backstage area. His thoughts were clamoring for attention and his emotions were fighting for control, but he'd been an older brother far longer than he'd been a newsie or a strike leader, and he'd immediately pushed aside his own feelings and had defaulted to familial instinct when he'd seen Les flinch away from Jack's upraised hand and bolt into the darkness backstage. The rally was in chaos and the strike might be done for, but Davey would deal with the fallout of that reality later.

His little brother needed him.

It didn't take long to locate Les, who was huddled behind a large trunk almost completely hidden from view. Upon catching sight of Davey, he sniffled loudly and swiped a hand across his eyes, attempting to dash away the tears. Davey eased himself down into a sitting position and put his arm around the younger boy. He'd done this fairly often in the past (though it had been years since Les had been willing to accept his comfort), and memories of scraped knees and lost toys and sad goodbyes suddenly came rushing back as he heard Les sniffling loudly into his shoulder and felt the warmth of the younger boy's tears begin to soak through the fabric of his shirt.

"D-David," Les whimpered, "did I d-do something wrong to make Jack angry?"

"No, Les," Davey said as soothingly as he could. "You didn't do anything wrong. I don't think Jack meant to react like that."

"But he looked so upset," Les protested.

Davey hesitated for a moment before answering. His brother (thank God) had rarely been on the receiving end of uncontrolled displays of ire - both of their parents were generally level-headed, and Davey himself hardly ever lost his temper - so it made sense that Jack's reaction would have shocked and hurt him. But Davey also instinctively sensed that Jack, in his right mind, would never have raised a hand to Les or to any of the younger newsies. It wasn't like him; it didn't make sense.

None of it made sense.

"I think Jack probably was upset," Davey said gently, wanting to validate Les' statement, "...but I know that he wasn't upset at you."

"How do you know that?" Les demanded, looking up.

"I just do. You're going to have to trust your older brother on this one."

Les sniffled in reply, but he didn't seem to be crying anymore. For a moment, they sat in silence, and the dull roar of the chaos unfolding in the theater was the only sound filling the void.

"Does this mean that the strike's over?" Les asked quietly. "Since we've lost Jack, won't Brooklyn and the rest of the city's newsies bail, too?"

"Brooklyn and the rest ain't goin' anywhere," came a voice.

Davey looked up to see Race walking over to them with a determined look on his face. "Just because some plain-spoken know-nothin' cocky little son of a -"

Davey cleared his throat loudly, directing a meaningful glance in Les' direction, and the gambler caught himself just in time.

" - we ain't licked yet, is all I'm sayin'," he finished, coming to a stop in front of the Jacobs brothers. "But," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "there's a theater full of newsies out there waitin' for the rallyin' speech that never happened, so like it or not, you's up, Davey."

"Wait - what? Me?" Davey sprang to his feet as a jolt of anxious energy surged through him.

Race rolled his eyes. "Last I checked, you was the only one named 'Davey' around here," he answered. "Yes, nitwit - you."

"Race, I - I can't," Davey protested, beginning to panic. "I haven't prepared anything, and after what just happened with Jack, it's going to be even harder to convince the other newsies to join the strike, impossible maybe! I can't be the one to take on that responsibility - I'm not any good at speaking in front of crowds, and the rest of the newsies don't even know me! I shouldn't be the one doing this."

"You got someone else better in mind?" Race asked sarcastically.

"Anyone else would be better than me!" Davey exclaimed. "You - or...or Spot - "

"That bummer don't know half as much about the strike as you do," Race interrupted, "and I ain't a motivational kind of guy, remember? You want me to get 'em to forget about their troubles and start a song and dance, I'll do that..." he gave Davey a sober look. "But if you's lookin' to save this rally and the strike, then you's gonna have to be the one to do the job."

"I don't want that kind of responsibility!" Davey snapped, his alarm making him uncharacteristically sharp.

"And I never wanted to lead this thing in the first place!" Race retorted. "But like it or not, we's here, and we gotta step up! The fellas have put everything on the line for this strike, Davey - we haf'ta be willin' to do the same!"

Davey exhaled in frustration but didn't answer, needing a moment to process his racing thoughts. This wasn't part of the plan; he'd never actually considered the possibility of something like this happening, and though he could see the sense in what Race was saying, the suggestion was daunting to say the least.

Could the rally really be saved? Could the rest of the city's newsies be won over, despite Jack's betrayal?

And was Davey really the one for the job?

The memory of what he'd said to Spot only the day before came back to him unbidden: Whatever happens at the rally, I'm going to see the strike through to the end. I didn't come this far to lose.

He'd said those words with absolute sincerity. But this wasn't how he'd expected things to go.

Race's voice broke into his thoughts. "Come on, you bummer," he said with uncharacteristic mildness. "I ain't gonna believe for a second that you ain't got a single thing to say to that crowd out there. Jack was the face of the strike, sure...but you's always been the voice."

He put his hand on Davey's shoulder. "We ain't got time for second-guessin'. You got the words inside of you, Dave. It's time for you to speak up."

Davey's last feeble attempt at protest died in his throat.

"I know you can do it," Les said softly as he rose to join them.

"And how do you know that?" Davey asked, suddenly weary but touched at the show of support from these two who rarely verbalized their affirmation.

"I just do," Les grinned, echoing Davey's earlier statement. "You're going to have to trust me on this one."

"There, ya see?" Race declared, slinging his arm around Les' shoulder. "This kid's got it right. If you ain't gonna take it from me, you gotta at least take it from him." He grinned. "You ain't gonna win this one, Davey: we got you surrounded."

"All right, all right," Davey grumbled, shaking his head in resignation. He had no idea how he was going to pull this off, but what did they have to lose? Race was right - they needed to be willing to put everything on the line. And if that meant somehow pushing through his anxiety concerning public speaking, so be it. Even if he failed spectacularly, at least he could go to sleep that night knowing he'd given it everything that he could.

Adjusting his cap on his head, Davey turned to his brother. "Are you going to be okay, Les?" he asked.

The younger boy nodded.

"I'll stay here with ya, kid," Race offered amiably. "We's gonna have the best seats in the house back here while we watch your brother work his magic."

"Don't say that," Davey muttered tersely. "I can't promise you anything."

Race gave him a dismissive wave. "Am-scray, punk," he ordered. "Time's wastin', and this rally ain't gonna save itself."

Davey nodded soberly, appreciating the confidence but unable to return it, then turned to walk back towards the wings. The crowd was much quieter now; he could hear the murmuring of faint conversation, but it was no longer the commotion that had broken out after Jack's betrayal.

Jack… he thought. Why did you do it?

He forcefully pushed the question aside. Not the time or the place. Deal with it later. He had reached his destination and was now standing just off-stage.

He could see Spot positioned in front of the first row of seats, his arms crossed, looking as imposing as ever, and Calico sitting next to him, perched on a stool. They must have successfully kept the theater from emptying; Davey could hardly tell that anyone had left. He had an almost-full house waiting for him.

His heart began to pound.

You've done this before, he reminded himself. At the distribution center. At the lodging house. At home with your parents. At Irving Hall with Jack. You've been advocating for the strike relentlessly for the past week and a half. You can do it again.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

He forced his feet to move and strode purposefully onto center-stage, making himself raise his arms in an attention-getting gesture when all he wanted to do was turn around and head for the safety of the wings.

"Newsies of New York!" he cried.

The quiet chatter stopped immediately. Davey felt every eye in the theater trained on him, and he saw Spot and Calico glance at him sharply before they quietly found their seats in the audience.

It was up to him now.

Help, he prayed silently. Please.

He lowered his arms. "Newsies of New York," he repeated, "you saw what just happened right in front of your eyes."

His voice shook a little. Taking a steadying breath, he continued. "You saw how Pulitzer will stop at nothing to win this battle, how he is not above bribery, not above encouraging betrayal from one of our very own."

It hurt to say the words; he was still reeling from the impact of Jack's unexpected disloyalty, and the pain was there, and the anger hovering just beneath a fragile barrier of self-control. But he wouldn't let those emotions surface now. He couldn't speak from them - they could be treacherous. And while Davey knew that he needed to acknowledge Jack's double-dealing for what it was, he was not going to tear down the newsie who had been their leader.

Pulitzer's greed is the enemy, not Jack.

"We've seen tonight that we are up against a ruthless opponent who is trying to strike at the very thing that gives us our power, the very thing that he cannot take away from us," Davey continued. "...and that's our unity."

He paused, looking around the slightly-darkened auditorium until his eyes found the Manhattan newsies and the sight of them gave him the courage to go on.

"We may not have thousands of dollars or a newspaper empire at our backs," he continued, feeling his confidence begin to grow, "but we have each other, and when we stand as one, Pulitzer knows that we're unstoppable. He's tried to stop us with threats from the outside, with attacks from his goons and from the bulls, but he hasn't succeeded, so now he's trying to make us crumble from the inside out. Newsies! Do you know what this means?" He paused to let the question sink in before declaring emphatically, "He knows we're winning! This is Pulitzer's last-ditch effort to make us falter. These are the actions of a desperate man, a man so pressed for options that he'd stoop to bribing one of our own to turn against us!" Davey caught Spot's eye. "Pulitzer wouldn't be doing this if he wasn't afraid that we were gaining the upper hand."

As the words left his mouth, he felt an excitement begin to grow inside of him, intertwining with his anxious energy, and he paced to the other end of the stage as the words kept tumbling out.

"We may not look like much on the outside. We're young and we're poor and we're dependent on the papes to make a living. But we are not nobodies. We have lives and families and dreams of our own, and we have to act as though those things matter...because they do!"

A memory of the newsies spouting off their wishes in the dining room of Jacobi's Deli came to him, along with the conviction that those kinds of dreams - no matter how absurd or far-fetched they might seem - were worth fighting for.

"That is why we cannot let the newspaper owners tell us that we don't deserve fair wages in return for our work!" Davey continued. "We cannot let them tell us that our survival isn't important, or that our voices don't count! That's what they might want us to believe, but we know that it is not true. And the only way to prove that is to show them that we are not backing down until we are acknowledged and heard!"

The words were coming rapidly now, swift and strong and weighted like they had that day at the distribution center, and Davey had to stop himself for a moment to catch his breath.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

He looked around the auditorium again, catching the eyes of several familiar faces - Buttons, Albert, Finch, Mush...until he came to Artie and Tucker, who were sitting at the edge of the group.

"There are some of you here tonight who started out on the other side, scabbing for Pulitzer," Davey acknowledged. "But something made you change your mind. Maybe you realized that there was more at stake than the money, or that a little extra change wasn't worth the cost of aligning yourself with a man who didn't have your best interests at heart." He gave Artie and Tucker a meaningful look. "I can't pretend to know why you made that choice…but you did, because somehow you knew that joining the strike was the right thing to do."

Davey turned his gaze to the rest of the audience. "We're all being faced with that same decision tonight: who will we let have the final say? If we give up now, things may go back to normal for a while. But if Pulitzer knows that he can get us to back down, there is nothing to stop him from raising the price of papes again. It's all about money for him, and if we make it about money, we'll just be playing his game - a game we can't win! But if we hold fast to this effort, we have a chance to change the rules of the entire game. And that's what we're after. Because we're not just fighting for ourselves - we're fighting for everyone else who's been denied fair compensation for their work, everyone who hasn't been given a voice or a vote, everyone who has lost hope that wrongs can be righted and that things can get better."

The thought of the trolley workers and their families came to him.

"Others have fought - and are fighting - this same battle," he said soberly. "It's our turn to join them now."

He could almost feel the tension in the crowd, and he knew that he had thrown out every point of persuasion that he had. Whatever happened next was up to them.

It was time for the final push.

"Newsies," Davey pleaded, pouring every ounce of exhortation that he had left into his last appeal, "we have to see this through! I know that it comes at a cost - and that the cost is high, higher than you might think you're willing to pay. If we had no hope of a successful outcome, there would be no point in paying that price. But I truly believe that we are on the edge of a breakthrough, which is why Pulitzer is trying so hard to crush us, to get us to lose hope. And despite his efforts, I have more hope now than ever that if we stand together we can win this thing."

Davey locked eyes with Spot, Calico, and the rest of the newsie leaders. "Manhattan got the strike started," he said simply. "But we need your help. We can't do this alone." He held out his hands. "Will you join us?"

For a moment, the entire auditorium was silent. No one spoke or moved.

Breathe, Davey reminded himself.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Then Spot slowly rose to his feet, calm and deliberate, and all of his boys followed suit.

"We're with you," the Brooklyn leader declared in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

The rest of the newsie contingents weren't far behind. Soon the entire theater was on its feet, audibly pledging its support to Manhattan and to the strike effort.

The sound of it was exhilarating.

And the sight of it was overwhelming.

Davey lowered his hands slowly, and noticed as he did that they were shaking.

"Hey, not too bad for a newsie who 'ain't any good at speakin' in front of crowds,'" Race remarked, coming out from the wings to stand beside Davey and giving him a good-natured shove in the arm. "Guess you did all right, Dave."

Davey's laugh was weak with relief. "Yeah," he responded, sending up a silent prayer of thanks as he put an arm around Les who had appeared at his side, grinning from ear to ear. "I guess that wasn't so bad after all."


A/N: My reasoning for this interpretation of the rally comes from the observation that at the end of the musical, all of the newsies (not just those from Manhattan) are shown as being part of the strike effort and are addressed as "Newsies of New York City" by Jack when he announces that the strike has been won. (Spot is also conspicuously present during the "Once and For All" number). This means that Jack's perceived betrayal at the end of the rally scene wasn't enough to derail the strike (even though the rally appears to end in chaos) - there was something that happened behind the scenes to keep the rest of the city's newsies on board. That "something" - in this story's interpretation - was Davey's follow-up speech, incited by a little well-timed peer pressure from Race and Les and the quick work of Spot and Calico to keep the theater from emptying.

Anyway, just another "missing scene" from your author who probably thinks a little too much about these things. :) I'd love to hear what you thought of my attempt!