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


Chapter 99: In a Bind

Davey paced back and forth the length of his family's apartment, his hands alternately shoved into his pockets or laced together behind his neck, his breathing short and shallow, his mind going a mile a minute.

In his parents' room, he could hear the dull murmur of voices, occasionally punctuated by a sharp outburst. He wasn't sure whether he wished that he could hear the words or if he was glad that he couldn't make them out.

It was as if his heart hadn't stopped racing since Les had found him (halfway through selling his afternoon stock of The World), and had gasped out the terrible news that their father had fallen trying to make his way out of the apartment and down to the street. Davey had almost panicked at that point, but he'd somehow managed to maintain enough composure to find the closest newsie in the vicinity (it turned out to be Jojo) to ask him to peddle or to sell back the remainder of his allotment in return for a cut of the profits. Jojo had declined to take any of the money, but he promised he'd either move the papers or sell them back and would give Davey any potential windfall the following day. That logistic taken care of, Davey had hurried back to the tenement with Les, arriving just as Philip Becker was on his way out of the apartment.

The landlord had been pressed into service to help the injured Mayer back up the stairs and into the Jacobses' abode on the second floor, something that had been accomplished only through patience and persistence, for Mayer wasn't a small man, and it had taken both his wife and landlord to move him back to the apartment. Esther had been standing at the door bidding Philip farewell and thanking him for his assistance when Davey and Les had returned, and almost as soon as they'd set foot inside and the door had been shut, she'd held up her hand, asking them to wait before asking any questions and saying that she needed to go have a talk with their father before any further discussion took place.

Her voice was calm, but they'd both been able to see that she was angry.

Once she'd disappeared into the bedroom, Davey and Les had exchanged a troubled look before Les had abruptly launched himself into Davey's arms, hugging him tightly and asking in a voice that was small and scared if everything was going to be okay. It had felt like a surreal reenactment of that awful night months ago when they'd found out about their father's first accident and layoff, only this time, Davey hadn't been able to find it in himself to reassure his brother that everything was, in fact, going to turn out fine.

So he'd answered honestly instead, admitting that he hoped so, but that he didn't know for sure, and simply letting the statement be as he'd hugged his brother back. Les had begun to sniffle a little at this point, and Davey had felt a bit guilty, but the same part of him that recoiled at the thought of fabricating a headline had balked at resorting to platitudes when he himself was having a difficult time coming to terms with what this terrible setback would mean for his family.

Les had eventually pulled away, swiping at his nose and walking over to the kitchen table where he'd gotten out his schoolbooks and slate to start on his assignment for class. After watching him soberly for a moment, Davey had begun pacing back and forth as he waited, unable to entertain the thought of sitting still. Several minutes had passed by in this manner, the only sounds being those of the voices in the other room and of his footsteps falling across the floor.

After what seemed like hours, Esther finally emerged from the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

"Your father is resting now," she said, her voice distant despite the tears in her eyes. "He's in a lot of pain. While I was gone visiting a neighbor, he left and tried to get down to the street to go look for work, but his leg gave out, and that's what caused his fall."

"Mom, we have to get him to a doctor this time," Davey interjected. "His leg's only going to get worse if it doesn't heal properly."

"David," his mother answered wearily, "you know we can't afford that."

"I'll make the money!" he exclaimed, his barely-contained panic causing his voice to come out louder than he'd intended it to. "I'll sell extra papers, I'll ask Mr. Becker for more jobs, I'll work at night if I have to - anything so that we can make sure Dad's leg heals right this time!"

"Your father's leg didn't heal correctly because he refused to rest."

"But there was something off about it, too!" Davey insisted. "It just never looked right - I can't explain it - but I really think he needs to go to a doctor to get it properly examined."

His mother gave him a tired look. "Even if we knew a physician who could help, how would your father make it all the way to the doctor's office in this condition?"

"He wouldn't have to," Davey said quickly. "We'd find a doctor who made house calls."

"House calls are expensive, David."

"Which is why I'll make the extra money! Please, Mom - we have to make sure that Dad's leg heals correctly so that he can go back to work. We can't afford to do this all over again! I can't - I can't keep - "

His voice hitched abruptly and he fell silent, embarrassed to realize that he'd come within a word or two of admitting how truly overwhelmed he felt. On the night of his father's first accident, he'd bottled up his emotions, dutifully supporting his parents, reassuring Les, and maintaining a facade of calm acceptance until he could retreat to the privacy of the rooftop and let himself fall apart without disappointing anyone. But this second time, he found himself unable to keep up the charade.

"David…" his mother said softly, "I understand where you're coming from. You've done a wonderful job of stepping up to provide for our family over these last five months, and we were all hopeful that you'd soon be relieved of that burden, no one more than your father."

Davey nodded, acknowledging the statement but unable to say anything in reply, his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.

"This isn't a situation any of us wanted," Esther continued, walking over to place her hands on his shoulders, "and you have a right to feel frustrated and angry. You're absolutely correct - it would be better if your father could see a doctor...but I just don't want you to get your hopes up."

She sighed, letting him go and then walking a few steps away. After a moment of silence, she looked over her shoulder at him for a moment, then quietly spoke.

"You know our financial situation, David. If you can find a doctor whose rates are affordable, we'll figure out a way to come up with the money."

Davey looked up. "Really?"

His mother nodded. "But I don't want you overworking yourself," she said firmly. "You're father's going to be laid up for some time; we can't afford to let anything happen to you, too. Besides, you've got to prepare for your exams coming up at school."

"Those will have to be put aside for now. If I don't pass, I don't pass." The words came out dispassionately, but it hurt to say them.

Better not to dwell on it, though - there were more productive ways he could channel his anxious energy.

"I'm going over to Mr. Becker's office," Davey said, knowing that he needed to apply himself to something quickly before his emotions got the better of him. "I'll see if he has any projects I can start working on this afternoon."

His mother looked concerned, but before she could say anything, Davey turned and left, forcing himself to stop and take a deep breath as soon as he'd shut the apartment door behind him. His heart was still racing and he felt panic pressing in from all sides, but he made himself move, hurrying towards the stairs and taking them two at a time all the way up to the third floor.

He knocked at the door of the landlord's office, and it opened almost immediately, but to his surprise, it was Sadie and not Philip who answered.

"Davey, are you all right?" she exclaimed. "I just heard about your father's accident!"

He was about to answer that his father was resting when it suddenly registered that she'd asked about him.

He opened his mouth to say that he was fine, to brush off her question and quickly cover his distress with a smile...but when he looked into her eyes, so familiar and so full of concern, he found himself unable to lie to her, even for the sake of being polite, and so instead he said nothing, falling silent as anxiety and trepidation continued to course through him.

"Do you...want to come in?" Sadie asked softly when he failed to answer her question. Davey nodded, and she opened the door wide, ushering him inside.

"Papa just stepped out to assist a tenant and will be back in a moment," she said, motioning for him to take his usual seat at the desk. "But let me get you something warm to drink while you wait. I just brought over some tea, but if you'd like coffee or hot chocolate instead, I can go back to the apartment and have some ready in just a few minutes."

"Tea's fine, thanks," Davey answered, surprising himself by quickly accepting her offer rather than protesting that he didn't want to inconvenience her. He sank into his seat, resting his elbows on the desk and almost immediately dropping his head into his hands, unable to fend off his emotions any longer.

What am I going to do? I have to come up with the money...have to find Dad a doctor...have to figure out a way to pass my exams...it's too much, I can't -

"Davey."

He felt the slightest brush of Sadie's fingers on his arm and looked up to see her setting a cup of tea beside him.

He took in a deep, shuddering breath.

Calm down...calm down...breathe. You have to breathe.

"If you'd like to give your tea a try, you can tell me if you'd like it sweeter or not," Sadie said gently, gesturing to the cup as she took a seat across from him. The suggestion was accompanied by an imploring look, as though she could sense his inner turmoil and was trying to loosen its hold by getting him out of his head and back to the present.

His fingers shook a little as he raised the cup to his lips.

The tea was sweet and spicy and just the right temperature, and he found himself taking one slow sip after another, the warm liquid soothing his nerves and taking the edge off of the anxiety that continued to hum in the back of his mind. It didn't offset his distress completely, but it did anchor him in the moment, and by the time he finished the contents of the cup, he was beginning to feel a little more like himself...and a little more ready to talk.

"Thanks, Chare," he said, setting the empty cup down in its saucer. "I needed that."

"Of course," Sadie answered. She regarded him gravely for a moment, then asked again, "Are you really all right, Davey? You must have a lot on your mind right now..."

"Yeah, I…" Davey sighed. "I do. I need to find a doctor for my dad, a doctor who will come to us, and I need to earn the money to pay for the visit. I'm not sure how it's going to work, or what I'm going to do, and I'm worried about our competency exams, too. I don't know if I'll have much time to study while I'm trying to pick up extra work, and it just feels like being back at the beginning again, exactly where my family was in July, and I don't know if I can keep doing this - I mean, I will - I have to - but I'm frustrated and disappointed, and I don't know where I'm going to get the money, or how I'm going to even - "

He broke off suddenly, realizing that he was unloading all of his emotions and fears and that he ought to be a little more circumspect. His nerves occasionally got to him, but he'd always managed to keep them under control or to reserve his moments of breaking down for when he was alone and wouldn't trouble anyone.

"Sorry," he apologized quickly. "I didn't mean to go on like that. I'm just a little worried right now, that's all - but I'm fine."

He attempted to muster up a smile, but abandoned the endeavor when he saw the look on Sadie's face.

"You're a terrible liar, Davey Jacobs," she said softly, and the compassion in her voice made him want to melt into tears right then despite the fact that he knew it wasn't dignified or proper, because she was right - he wasn't fine. He was anxious and afraid, and the weight of the monumental challenges ahead felt overwhelming. He was supposed to be the oldest son, the responsible, strong, industrious one who didn't falter and who could step in to hold the family together - but he wasn't feeling strong at all in the moment, and it only added to his despair to realize that the fortitude he'd been running on for the past five months was depleted, and that what was left was only his exhausted, emptied self that didn't even have the strength to hold himself together, let alone carry his family. He'd already judged himself for that, instinctively condemning his inability to snap out of it and to do what needed to be done...

...but something in Sadie's words just now made him feel like he didn't need to be ashamed, that she wasn't going to think less of him because he couldn't push past his feelings and soldier on at the moment, even though it was what he expected himself to do.

"We don't have to talk about it more if you don't want to," the landlord's daughter said slowly, breaking into his thoughts. "But I want you to know that you don't need to apologize for your feelings. They're completely legitimate. And important. You've worked so hard and you've been so strong for your family, and this is a difficult setback. I don't know how I'd manage to hold it all together if I was in your shoes." She gave him a tiny smile. "You're doing an admirable job, Davey."

Tears did spring to his eyes then, but he quickly blinked them back. "Thank you," he said, trying not to let his voice shake. "I...appreciate that. More than you know, Chare."

Before she could say anything in reply, the door to the office opened, and Philip Becker entered the room, looking not at all surprised to see Davey seated at his desk.

"Papa, does Dr. Wright make house calls?" Sadie asked, turning towards her father. "I know he comes here to see Lilly, but I wasn't sure if that was an exception to his normal practice or not."

"He does make house calls," the landlord affirmed, "and he'll be coming by tomorrow at noon for an appointment with Mr. Jacobs." He turned to address Davey. "I stopped by your family's apartment on my way up here, and we've arranged to have the physician who oversees Lilly's care take a look at your father's leg."

Davey was dumbstruck.

Wait...it couldn't be resolved that easily...could it?

"Thank you, sir!" he exclaimed, forcing himself to speak. "It's a relief not to have to find a doctor ourselves, and if he comes on your family's recommendation, I'm sure that my father will benefit from his visit."

"You're quite welcome, David," the landlord smiled. "Your mother was actually the one who broached the subject. I'd dropped by your family's apartment again to see if there was any way I could further offer my assistance now that your father's had a chance to settle, and your mother asked if we knew of a reputable doctor in the area. It took all of five minutes to make the arrangements for a visit once we'd discussed the matter and made a few phone calls."

"And Dr. Wright is wonderful, Davey," Sadie added. "He's so knowledgeable and kind, and he always puts Lilly at ease when he comes for appointments. I know your father and mother will like him."

"Speaking of which," Philip spoke up again, "your mother mentioned that you might be over here to inquire about some extra jobs."

"Yes, sir," Davey answered. "If there's anything I could work on that wouldn't be an inconvenience to you, I'd greatly appreciate it. I'm not sure how badly my dad's leg is hurt, and we'll need the extra money to pay the doctor's bills."

"There's always plenty to be done around here," the landlord reassured him. "And, thanks to the windy weather we've had lately, several projects have come up that I'd be happy to have your assistance with. In fact, I was about to go downstairs to replace some of the window screens that blew off or got damaged. If you're ready now, you're welcome to join me."

It was another unexpected boon, and Davey eagerly accepted Philip's offer and rose from the table, a tiny flicker of hope beginning to grow inside of him as he did so.

A doctor was engaged for the following day, a job was lined up that would give Davey a head start in offsetting the unexpected expenses, and if he managed to earn a good amount of money that afternoon, he could maybe even find some time to review his school material that night before he went to bed...

Gratitude for the Beckers' kindness flooded through Davey, and he belatedly remembered Sadie just as he was about to follow Philip out of the office and into the hallway. Turning back, he saw that she was already beginning to clear away his cup and saucer, and before he could apologize for almost rudely departing without so much as a word, she caught his eye and smiled, whispering "Go," and quickly waving him towards the door.

Davey gave her a grateful look then did as he was bidden, ducking out of the apartment and shutting the door behind him to follow the landlord down the stairs.

The situation facing his family was still rather grim, but it didn't feel completely bleak anymore. Now all he had to do was make sure that he worked hard enough to come up with the money.


The cold was biting the next morning at the circulation gate.

Davey wrapped his arms around himself, shivering in his threadbare coat as he tried to brace himself against the gusty wind that had picked up overnight and was now blowing forcefully through the streets of Lower Manhattan, sending debris skittering down the sidewalks and forcing the newsboys to tug down their caps down low over their faces so that the brims didn't get caught by the breeze.

"We's gonna have to work a little harder today, fellas," Jack hollered, the wind robbing his voice of its usual booming quality. "Remember, you's gonna have to talk louder to make sure you get folks' attention. They's gonna be even more distracted today on account of the wind, so you gotta step it up. I don't want see a bunch of you sellin' back your papes at the end of the day just 'cause you was too quiet and no one heard you, all right?"

The newsies chorused their agreement, and Jack nodded in satisfaction before sidling over to give Davey a good-natured poke in the ribs.

"You's shakin' like a leaf, Dave," he joked. "What's a matter? Afraid of a little wind?"

"N-no," Davey answered, unable to keep his teeth from chattering and unwilling to respond to Jack's humor in kind. "Just c-cold. "

"Well, don't sweat it," Jack assured him. "You's gonna warm up real quick once you start walkin' around with a bag of papes. It's when you stop that the cold really gets ya." He slapped Davey on the back, then continued making his way down the line of newsies, bantering with them as he usually did, clearly not bothered in the slightest by the elements.

Davey managed to pay for his papers in a somewhat dignified fashion despite the fact that he really just wanted to curl up into a ball to preserve his body heat, and he found as he hefted the heavy stack of the morning edition onto his shoulder that Jack was right - he was already beginning to feel a bit warmer.

He'd purchased sixty-five papers that morning.

Selling the entire allotment would be a long shot - it was a good day when he managed to move even fifty, and that was under normal conditions when he didn't have the wind to contend with - but the anxiousness inside of Davey (which had diminished but not completely abated since the afternoon before) compelled him to do it. He was determined to make good on his promise to earn the money necessary for his father's doctor's visit, and having the actual papers in his bag would motivate him to keep selling, so he'd pushed aside his misgivings and had put the money down, ignoring Weasel's slightly-surprised look at the larger-than-normal order.

The manager of the distribution center wasn't the only one who'd noticed, either. As soon as Davey had begun tucking his papers into his newsboy bag, he'd found Race at his elbow, the gambler giving him a little shove in the arm and leaning in closer so that he could be heard over the wind.

"Hey, I know Jacky just gave his speech about goin' all out today, and he ain't wrong," he said, sounding uncharacteristically serious, "but pace yourself, all right? It's already gonna be a tough day for sellin', and on top of that you's takin' more papes than usual."

"Thanks, Race," Davey said shortly, shoving the last of the papers into his bag, "but I'll be fine."

He was about to walk off when the other newsie caught his arm.

"Really, Dave. You ain't lookin' like yourself. Try an' settle down, all right?" Race dropped his hand. "You ain't gonna be any good to your family if you work yourself into the ground. The flu's goin' around right now, and with the cold weather, you gotta be careful. It's the kinda thing that'll put a fella out of commission real quick if he ain't watchin' himself."

"I'll be fine," Davey repeated, trying unsuccessfully to hide his impatience. He knew that Race meant well, but he really didn't want to have this conversation at the moment. "Thanks for your concern." He couldn't muster up a smile, so he gave Race a little nod instead, then walked off quickly before the other newsie could say anything more.

It was all well and good for Race to caution against working too hard, but Davey knew that he couldn't afford to slow down or to pace himself, not today. He had to make the money - there was no other option, and right now, the daunting task of selling sixty-five papers was enough to worry about without second guessing whether or not that had been a well-advised decision.

Pushing aside his misgivings, he began calling out the headlines as he walked, raising his voice to be heard above the wind. He headed north, bypassing his usual selling spot in an effort to be proactive about increasing the number of potential buyers who would cross his path. Today he couldn't simply wait to let the customers come to him.

Surprisingly, his papers moved fairly quickly for the first few hours of the day. The headlines weren't particularly riveting, but they weren't snoozers either, and Davey managed to drum up the emotion and the volume to hawk his wares more enthusiastically than usual, careful not to improve the truth, but not above emphasizing certain parts of the stories that he normally wouldn't have highlighted. The success of the early morning lifted his spirits somewhat, and he kept walking, ignoring his fatigue and the slight strain in his throat and continuing to sell as he covered block after block.

By lunchtime, he'd moved all but his last eight papers, and found himself deciding to push through and sell them instead of taking a break to eat. If he could be first in line for the afternoon edition, he'd be able to get a jump on selling since he'd be the first one out of the gate with a fresh set of stories, and if he could sell a larger stock of papers on top of that - maybe repeat his success from that morning - he'd be in good shape heading home.

His determination renewed, he pressed onward, raising his voice above the wind and doing his best to keep up a more aggressive approach to selling. Soon, he'd sold his last copy of the morning edition and was heading back to the distribution center to wait in line for the next batch of papers to be unloaded.

No one else was there when he arrived.

Davey took up a spot in front of the shuttered circulation window, feeling the fatigue catch up with him the moment he stopped moving. He'd stayed up late the night before to study, and that on top of his impromptu work project with Mr. Becker had tired him out, so he found himself suddenly weary and wishing that he could simply drop down right where he was and take a nap.

His stomach growled, empty and disgruntled, and he wondered if he ought to risk leaving the distribution center for a moment to buy himself some food, but almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it. He couldn't afford to lose his spot, and he'd gone without lunch before. It would be better if he could just save the money, and once he got walking again, he'd probably forget about his hunger.

He waited, pacing to keep himself warm and impatiently waiting for the sound of the circulation bell. Eventually, a few other newsies sidled onto the scene, and Elmer, who was behind Davey in line, cheerfully struck up a conversation. Davey reluctantly forced himself to engage, even though his voice was tired and he really would have rather kept to himself. There was something about the younger newsies that always brought out the obliging older brother in him, and, weary or not, he wasn't going to brush Elmer off.

Several minutes later, the chime of the circulation bell rang through the air, and the shutters of the window slid open to reveal Weasel.

"Step right up and get your papes!" he bellowed.

Bidding Elmer a quick goodbye, Davey stepped up to the window, requesting another sixty-five papers. This time, Weasel didn't bat an eye, but Oscar Delancey, who was bundling the afternoon edition, kept his hand firmly on the stack of papers when Davey tried to collect it.

"What're you buying so many papes for, Jacobs?" he sneered. "You're not the kind of guy who can move sixty-five, especially not on a day like this."

If Davey had been less overwhelmed by everything else going on, he probably would have been taken aback and would have stammered out a slightly-disconcerted reply, but he was too tired and too anxious and too hungry at the moment to deal with snide remarks.

"Whatever the case, that's my business and not yours, Oscar," he said flatly, irritated at the hold up. "I'd like my papers, please."

The older Delancey brother's eyes narrowed in anger, but before he could say anything, the newsies began heckling him from their places in line.

"Hey, what's the deal, huh? Give him his papes, Oscar!"

"Too hard to count to sixty-five or somethin'?"

Scowling, Oscar shoved Davey's stack of papers forward, then turned away, and Davey (almost as indignantly) swept the papers off of the counter and began tucking them into his bag, already making his way out of the distribution center as he did so. As soon as he hit the streets, he began shouting the headlines, scanning them as he walked and calling out the most interesting tidbits to catch his eye.

The early part of the afternoon started off well enough, the papers moving as quickly as they had in the morning, but by the late afternoon, the wind started picking up, and Davey began feeling the beginnings of tightness in his throat from all of the shouting he'd done over the course of the last few hours.

Water - he should have at least stopped to drink some water, even if he'd determined not to break for lunch. In his preoccupation, he hadn't realized how thirsty he was, so he grudgingly stopped at a food cart and purchased a pretzel and a cup of water, downing the latter in almost one gulp before he continued on, and munching on the pretzel as he went. It wasn't nearly enough to quell his hunger, but it took the edge off of the ache in his stomach.

He assumed that the food would give him a much-needed burst of energy, but instead, a feeling of weariness began to creep in, and as he continued to trudge on, raising his papers in the air and his voice against the wind, he began to realize how truly tired he was, not just from the events of the last few hours, but from the challenges of the last several months. The cumulative effect of days upon days of physically demanding labor had taxed his body to its limit, and the heavy burden of financially providing for his family (in tandem with the constant fear that he wouldn't be able to come through) had worn on him more than he'd been willing to admit.

Nothing for it, Davey told himself. No matter how tired he was, moving forward and putting one foot in front of the other was his only option.

"Extra, extra! Escaped convict leads police on wild goose chase!"

The strained feeling in his throat flared up in protest, and Davey swallowed a few times, trying to mitigate the sensation. He'd never particularly liked the wind, but he was even less fond of it on a day like this when it was making his job much harder than it needed to be.

Fortunately, he happened upon a group of businessmen only a few moments later and made several sales without having to raise his voice. It was the encouragement that he needed, and he pressed on, continuing to shout the headlines over the sound of the gusting breeze.

A few hours and a number of sales later, the sun was beginning to set and people were starting to head home. Davey realized that it was either time to turn back towards the distribution center and return his papers or else fully commit to selling the entire stock, no matter how late into the evening it took. A part of him desperately wanted to call it a day - his feet ached, and the tickling in his throat had progressed to a rawness that hurt every time he spoke - but he stubbornly dismissed the thought of quitting.

Twenty papers. He only had twenty papers left to sell. Twenty measly papers standing between him and his goal...

But twenty papers seemed like so many.

Handle it, Davey, he told himself sternly.

He pressed on.

"Extra, extra! Escaped convict leads police on wild goose chase!"

Another sale, another step closer to his goal.

"Flu outbreak feared as sickness spreads through Midtown neighborhood!"

Two more sales - down to seventeen papes.

"Daring rescue from burning train saves life of New York politician!"

His throat throbbed angrily in protest and his voice cracked as he called out, but he wasn't about to give up, not now.

The minutes passed.

Another headline shouted. Another sale. Sixteen papers left.

"Practical joke in schoolyard leaves ten injured! Parents call for schoolmaster's resignation!"

"David, you don't sound like yourself today."

Davey turned around in surprise to see Lorina standing behind him. "Are you ill?" the elderly lady inquired, looking concerned. "Your voice…"

"It's the wind," Davey croaked. "Just the wind." He would have said more, but it hurt too much to speak at the moment.

"You need to take care of yourself," the woman warned. "This weather is the kind that will give you a chill if you're not careful." She reached into her handbag and took out a coin purse, fishing through it.

"Keep the change," she said as Davey handed over her newspaper, "and please, David, for your own sake, don't stay out in this wind much longer. I'm sure your mother would want you to go home."

He was sure that his mother actually would agree with that, but it wasn't going to stop him from selling the rest of his papers. He wouldn't tell Lorina that, though.

"Thank you," he said instead. "I appreciate it, Lorina."

The woman nodded, then bid him goodbye, pulling her coat tighter around herself as hurried off, her shoulders tense against the wind.

It was only after she'd left that Davey realized she'd paid him with a quarter and not the usual dime.

Thank you, Lorina, he thought gratefully, tucking the coin into his pocket. It suddenly occurred to him that she'd essentially paid for the rest of his papers. He could just call it a day now and head home having accomplished his goal…

...or he could push himself just a little more, peddle the papers, and come out ahead.

In hindsight, Davey would ask himself it was desperation or pride or maybe a combination of both that compelled him to keep selling, but in any case, that was what he did, pulling another paper from his bag and shouting another headline, telling himself that he wasn't going to turn back towards the tenement until he'd moved the very last edition.

He was slightly concerned about the feeling in his throat, but it seemed silly to quit because of a little temporary discomfort, and he figured that once he had something warm to drink and a good night's sleep at home, he'd be fine the following morning. He hadn't been meeting Sadie for tutoring the last several days since no new material was being covered in class with the focus being on reviewing for the upcoming competency exams, so that wasn't an issue, and he could have a quiet evening at home to rest and to study once he'd finished selling his papers.

He pressed on, the next hour turning into a race between his slowly-diminishing stack of papers and his steadily-failing voice, which quickly turned from a faltering croak into a low and husky rasp. Soon, he couldn't shout anymore, but he continued to approach any passersby who made eye contact with him, gesturing animatedly at the headlines and forcing the words out as loudly as he could, even when they could barely be heard unless the person was standing right in front of him.

He was down to six papers when his voice died out to a whisper, far too feeble to be heard above the sound of the wind.

It was too late at this point to sell back the remaining stock, as the distribution center would be closed already. Davey let out a breath of frustration. What was he going to do now? There was no way he was going to toss his papers and give up...but how could he sell if he couldn't speak?

Before he had time to think further about his predicament, he heard a familiar voice call out through the twilight.

"Hey, Davey!" Race and several other newsies were hailing him from across the street, and as Davey walked over to join them, he saw that the group was comprised of the newsies he regularly met with for reading: Tucker, Jojo, and Elmer.

"How many have you got left to sell?" Race queried.

Davey opened his mouth to answer, but predictably couldn't speak a single word.

"Yeah, that charade's real cute, but I ain't fluent in 'gaspin' fish'," Race grinned after a moment of letting him flounder. "What's a matter, Dave? You do somethin' stupid like not listen to your old pal Racetrack when he warned you not to overdo it?"

It was a well-deserved jab, and Davey knew it, but that didn't stop him from frowning in return. It might have been a joke to Race, but it was no laughing matter to Davey, who already suspected that more good-natured ridicule was coming.

Sure enough, the taunting was relentless.

"Ain't that a sight: the Walkin' Mouth clean outta words!"

"For cryin' out loud, Davey, when we told'ja to shut up the other day, we didn't mean it that way!"

Even the normally-taciturn Tucker couldn't resist a mild jab: "Who's treatin' next at Jacobi's, huh? Last fella who calls 'out' pays for the rest of us!"

After subjecting him to what they deemed a satisfactory amount of mild humiliation, Race called off the teasing.

"All right, all right you coots, enough of that," he chortled. "We've had our fun." He held out his hands. "Let's have your papes, Dave," he said, beckoning for the remaining copies in Davey's newsbag. "You ain't gonna be sellin' any more today, so you might as well let me and the fellas have at it. I figured you might lose your voice at the rate you was goin' - you was already soundin' a little hoarse this afternoon when we was in line for the afternoon edition, and you took a lot of papes on top of that. Thought I'd round up the boys after we finished sellin' so we could help you finish up."

Davey hesitated.

"Ah, come on you bummer," Race chided gently. "It ain't the end of the world lettin' your friends help you every once in a while. You ain't the first newsie who's lost his voice 'cause he weren't bein' careful - it's just another rite of passage, ya know?" He beckoned for the papers again. "So hand 'em over. Let us get on with it so we can all get outta this wind."

Reluctantly, Davey surrendered his papers, watching with chagrin as the newsies split up the remaining stock and went off in different directions to sell it. Within ten minutes, all of them had returned, and coins were being dropped into Davey's hands, despite his inaudible remonstrations that he didn't feel right about taking money that he hadn't worked for.

"Go home now and have your ma give you somethin' warm to drink," Race instructed. "Try to down as much water as you can, and no talkin', no whisperin', no nothin' the rest of the night, got it? You haf'ta rest up, or you ain't gonna be able to carry the banner tomorrow, or maybe even the day after that. You hear me, Dave?"

There was nothing for Davey to do but nod in response.

"All right, let's get goin', fellas," Race commanded. "We'll see you tomorrow at the circulation gate if you's better, Davey. Rest up!"

The other newsies called out their goodbyes and get-well wishes, then the whole group hurried off in the direction of the lodging house, their voices quickly lost to the wind as they disappeared into the darkness.

Davey turned around and headed home.

When he arrived, he was greeted by his family, all of whom were gathered around the dinner table about to begin their evening meal. The first thing he did after hanging his cap by the door was procure his slate and pencil, and after doing so, he quickly scribbled down an explanation of what had happened to him, knowing that, while Les would have been able to understand his silent communication, his parents would be more or less at a loss. Upon reading his account, his father's face took on an expression of wry sympathy, and his mother immediately went to start some water boiling on the stove, while Les gave him a half-concerned, half-amused smirk. Davey sank into his chair, remembering the change in his pocket as he did so, and as he silently set it down on the table, he immediately felt a little better at the murmurs of approval his parents gave upon seeing the extra money.

"You did well, David," his father said. "This will help cover the cost of the doctor's visit today."

"The appointment was very informative," his mother added. "Dr. Wright was wonderful and answered all of our questions. It turns out that you were right; your father's leg did heal improperly, which is why it's continued to pain him. The doctor said that he should be able to set it correctly, but it will require a procedure in his office and more recovery time. He's busy now with more pressing cases and with the flu season in full swing, but he said that his schedule should clear a bit by the end of January, and he'll be able to perform your father's surgery then."

Davey nodded, thankful for the news. The end of January felt like a long way off, but at least it was a clear marker, and it was gratifying to know that there was a plan in place now for his dad's healing and recovery to progress.

His mother set a plate of food in front of him, giving him a smile that was both proud and a little sad, but she didn't say anything more, and Davey felt the weariness that had been slowly descending fall over him in full force as he gave her a nod of thanks before beginning to tuck into his meal. He was so very tired and wished that he could forgo dinner and simply collapse into bed, but he knew that he needed the nourishment. Tomorrow would bring about a new set of challenges to overcome, but for now, the end of a long day was finally drawing near, and he was thankful for the people who had helped him make it this far: Sadie, who had listened to his fears and anxieties and had helped to soften the worst of their effects the day before, Race, for taking the time to warn him about being careful that morning at the circulation gate, Lorina for paying above and beyond what she normally did in an effort to get him to head home, the boys from his reading group who had pitched in to sell the rest of his papers…

He so often felt alone with the burdens that he was carrying, but the truth was that he really wasn't shouldering them alone. Though it was second nature to handle things without asking others for assistance (for it seemed like a failing to importune them like that), the fact was that there were times when he needed the help, and what's more, there were people around him who wanted to help, too.

It was both a heartening and a humbling thought.

And the reminder of it made the weight on his shoulders feel just a little bit lighter.


A/N: You can file this installment under "sometimes even smart people do not-so-smart things when they're stressed out and have to learn the hard way to slow down." Get Well Soon cards, stern-but-well-meant lectures, and voice recovery remedies may be sent to David Jacobs ℅ the Plot Bunnies at the address listed on the label. Alternatively, reviews will also be received with gratitude! ;) Sorry that was such a long chapter - the next one will be significantly shorter!