#I’ve also been saying ‘well hello again’ like Jack Kelly in the Newsies recording

[sailforvalinor]

You ever have that thing happen where a bit of character dialogue or the way a specific character says a phrase gets so integrated into your psyche that you start using it in everyday conversation but you don’t even realize you’re doing it

I just realized I’ve been saying “IT’S OVER!” like Strong Bad from Homestar runner for possibly like seven years

[all-hail-the-witcher]

hello, this is your fbi agent

okay so i have no explanation for this im sorry

____

ship: ralbert

genre: crack with memes

warnings: first person (????), memes, more memes, this is not related to spies, the worst crack and even worse writing, idk fam

editing: ha

words: 1099

____

*record scratch*

*freeze frame*

Yes, that’s me, Albert Dasilva, sitting behind a desk, spying on someone through their phone camera for the FBI. You’re probably wondering how i ended up in this situation. Well, frankly, I am too. I always knew that I was a walking meme, but I never thought that I would actually become one.

See, I had just finished college and, like most college graduates, was looking for a job. One of my friends who asked to remain nameless *ahem* jAcK keLLy, told me to apply to work at the FBI because apparently you only need a college degree to do that. And me, being the dumbass that I am, decided to do it as a joke cause fuck it, why would they ever hire someone who had been arrested for stealing oats and cream cheese from Target when they were 14? (Alright fine, I technically wasn't arrested, the cop was clearly caffeine deprived and let us off with a warning. Although they didn't catch us the one time Jack and I stole one of the Target balls in broad fucking daylight. Wait. Forget I said that. I’m a good wholesome Christian child and have never stolen anything, anything I may or may not have told you was a blatant lie.)

Plot twist, they fucking hired me.

(Jack got a real kick out of that, believe me.)

And, as part of my intern training, I had to do only the most memey job on the whole internet:

Watch people through their phone cameras.

Yes! We actually exist! This is not just some dumb meme that the internet made up! And I would know, because the idiot I’m assigned to watch doesn’t sleep so therefore I don't sleep and I have the dark undereye circles to prove it!

God, I want a fucking nap.

But no, instead I’m watching an idiot look up fucking lazytown quotes at two in the fucking morning.

*muffled shouting* Oh, and he’s hot. Thanks for reminding me, Jack. Not like that's WHY IM WRITING THIS YOU ASSHOLE!

*deep breath* Okay, anyway. Back to the story.

Why am I doing this?

Right. Cause I hate myself, that’s why.

Anyway. The kid that I have to watch through his phone camera. His name is Race. And no, before you ask, I do not know why he goes by Race. It’s not my business. I only watch his every move on the Internet, I don't know his whole life story! What kind of organization do you think the FBI is, huh?

Just kidding, we definitely know your whole life story and its definitely recorded in three different places, one of which is a vault hidden under Argentina. But you didn't hear that from me.

*more muffled shouting*

Jack is telling me that I’m “beating around the bush too much and need to get to the point.” Fine. I know that’s what you came here for anyway.

In short, it was a stormy night and the power had gone out, but I, a dedicated FBI intern who did not want to lose my only source of income, was using my rapidly dying iPhone to watch my assigned civilian through his phone camera. That night, the man had looked especially enchanting, the light from his phone illuminating his luscious blonde curls and accentuating his deep blue eyes, making it seem as though I could drown in their-

Okay this just sounds like shitty Wattpad fanfic. Is tHAT WHAT YOU WANTED JACK?! Also I don't know what Wattpad fanfic is like because I’ve personally read any. I spy on people through their phone cameras alright, I’ve seen a whole lot of weird shit.

Essentially, what happened was I caught some feelings. And, my supervisor figured this out by reading my weekly reports and told me essentially to “tell him you like him so you can go on a date and I can reassign you so that I don't have to keep reading these lovey dovey reports because they make my brain turn to mush.”

Thanks for that Katherine. Love you too.

And now, here I am, having this fan tas tic  monologue while trying to figure out how to compose a text message.

(Before you ask how I have Race’s phone number, I work for the FBI. There’s a lot of information I have that any normal citizen would want. Like what is actually kept in Area 51 (baby iPhones), if mothman is real (he is and secretly is the president of the United States), and if Canada is real (its not). But you shouldn’t trust any of this information because I work for the FBI and I could be lying to you.)

Here’s what I have so far:

Hi Race. My name is Albert and you might not believe this but I am actually the FBI agent in your phone...yes, we exist. I’ve spent the last 5 months watching you and I think you're kinda cool and pretty cute and was wondering if you would like to meet up some time. (Also stop looking up lazy town quotes at 2 am, I now have the whole show memorized because of you.)

Overall, it’s not bad, but there’s some things that I think could be improved and- wait, Jack, nO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING STOP GIVE THAT BACK I’M NOT FINISHED!!

*10 minutes later*

He sent it. Jack sent my fucking message before it was fuking finished and now Race isn’t going to fucking respond and I’m going to be alone forever and Katherine is going to reassign me and I’m never going to see Race’s angelic face ever again and-

Oh.

He responded?

What the hell?

Honestly, I guess I should have seen that coming. Race has no common sense.

What? I’m allowed to say that! I spend my days looking at what he googles, alright!

Anyway, I’m sure you're dying to know what he said, so here it is:

Hi Albert! You better not be trolling me because this has been the biggest and I oop moment I’ve ever had. Please tell me that you haven’t exposed my two am lazy town search sessions to the public. No one is supposed to know about that. And yes, I would love to meet up with you. Mostly to apologize for my google search history and for the memes (hehe) but also because anyone who can spy on me for 5 months without going to therapy than maybe you can actually put up with my craziness! Xx Race.

Huh.

Maybe this job isn’t so bad after all...

____

im so sorry please dont unfollow me

feedback is always appreciated, hmu to be on the taglist

tag list

@fairly-awkward-trashcan​

@well-the-kids-do-too​

@racetrackcook​

@ughwaitwhat​

@aw-jus-let-em-try​

@voice-foundshoe-lost​

@stopthe-presses​

@ridin-in-style​

@pinecovewoods​

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing​

@getchapapes

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen​

@stellar-alpaca​

@saxoph-ella​

@smolcanadiankid​

@disney-princess-sized​

@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog​

@insane-tomato​

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@have-we-got-news-for-you​

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@myidkwhatmynameisblog​

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@writing-makes-me-antsy

[poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow]

Time For Heroes, part 2

Well, here it is. This one killed me to write, y’all, I am emotionally drained. Please enjoy.

(notes: one of the scenes is pretty much the Bottom Line Reprise scene, but there’s a twist at the end)

Jack dabbed paint onto the canvas perhaps a little harder than necessary, unintentionally smearing it. He swore under his breath and rubbed at the spot with his paintbrush, but that only made it worse. Shit. He would just have to wait until it dried and try again. Maybe if he-

“There he is, just like I said!” Les was about as quiet as a hammer hitting a metal wall; his voice echoed through the empty theatre and Jack groaned.

He turned toward the rafters, where Les, Katherine, and Crutchie stood. “What’s a fella gotta do to get away from you people?”

“Jack, you can’t just hide in here forever,” Crutchie called, and then Jack heard the telltale thumps of a crutch hitting the wooden stairs. A few moments later, Crutchie was standing beside him, his hand hovering hesitantly over Jack’s shoulder, as if afraid to touch him. “We need you.”

Jack sighed. “What good would I be, Crutch? I ran and you almost got arrested. Hell, the only reason you didn’t was ‘cause of Davey. And now he’s in the Refuge.”

“That’s not your fault,” Crutchie said. Now he let his hand rest on Jack’s shoulder and was glad when he didn’t pull away. “He knew what he was doin’. Davey’s more of a fighter than we give ‘im credit for. He’s gonna be okay.”

“But what if he isn’t?” Jack sat heavily on the crate that held his paints and put his head in his hands. “You didn’t see ‘im, Crutchie. I don’t know what the Spider did to ‘im, but...he couldn’t even come to the window.”

Jack heard a sniff, but when he looked up he saw that it wasn’t Crutchie. Katherine and Les had come down from the rafters at some point, and now Les was quietly crying into Katherine’s skirt. She patted his head comfortingly and glared at Jack.

“Is Davey gonna be okay?” Les whispered.

“Your brother’s a fighter,” Crutchie said with a sideways glance at Jack. “He’s strong. And yeah, they might’a busted ‘im up a little, but that doesn’t mean he won’t be okay.”

“Did you see ‘im, Jack?” Les asked, finally letting go of Katherine and turning towards the older newsie. “Was he hurt bad?”

“I…” Jack stood up and put his hands on Les’ shoulders. “I couldn’t get close enough to ‘im. But there’s another kid in there--looks kinda like you, actually--that goes by the name Sticks...he said Davey’s hurt, but he’s on the mend. Crutchie’s right.” Jack knelt down beside Les and wiped the tears from the kid’s face. “Davey’s a fighter.”

“Yeah.” Les’ face was still red from crying, but he smiled. “Did’ja know that one time, these older kids were pickin’ on me after school? And Davey told ‘em off! They gave ‘im a black eye, but then they didn’t bother me anymore.”

“See? He’s strong,” Katherine said. “And look, Jack, this is why we came.” She reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a newspaper. “This is the last piece of strike news we managed to print before Pulitzer shut it all down, but it could be enough!”

“Yeah.” Crutchie was grinning. “And we heard back from Brooklyn. Spot says he’s in. So now all we gotta do is tell all the newsies in New York. Get ‘em excited. Get ‘em ready to strike. Maybe a speech or somethin’.”

Jack shook his head. “I’m no good at speech makin’, you know that. Davey’s the talker. How’re we gonna do it without ‘im?”

“I can write you a speech,” Katherine said. “We gather all the newsies...maybe here! Would Medda let us use the theatre?”

“I can ask.” Jack could feel a small smile on his face. “This could really work. We could win.”

Les tugged on Jack’s sleeve. “If we win, does that mean Davey’ll get out of the Refuge?”

“If we win,” Jack said, ruffling Les’ hair, “we’ll make sure that every last kid gets outta that rotten place, including your brother. Now,” he turned to Crutchie and Katherine. “You guys go spread the word. Take Les wit’ ya. I’ll talk to Medda. We hold the rally here. Tomorrow night. And if we’re lucky, we’ll have a real special guest speaker.” He grinned. “I just gotta go convince old man Pulitzer to show.”

---

When Jack walked into Pulitzer’s office that evening like he owned the place, he honestly didn’t know what to expect, especially considering he hadn’t even made it that far the first time. But now, a lady with red hair and glasses actually let him through the doors and led him up the stairs. He followed her through an ornate door and suddenly he was in the fanciest room he had ever seen. But Jack didn’t have time to marvel at the gold-plated grandfather clock that ticked in a corner, or the enormous windows that overlooked the city, because standing behind the desk was just the man he had come to see. Jack took a deep breath and stepped forward, plastering a grin on his face.

“Afternoon, boys!” Jack threw a mock salute in the direction of the other men in the room. They looked uncomfortable.

“And which Jack Kelly is this?” Pulitzer asked with a sneer. “The charismatic union organizer...or the petty thief and escaped convict?”

“Which gives us more in common?” Jack laughed to cover up his nervousness.

“Impudence is in bad taste when crawling for mercy.”

“Crawlin’?” Jack said. “That’s a laugh. I just stopped by with an invite. Seems a few hundred of your employees are rallyin’ to discuss recent disagreements. I thought it only fair to invite you to state your case straight to the fellas. So, what’d’ya say, Joe? Want I should save ya a spot on the bill?”

“You are as shameless and disrespectful a creature as I was told,” Pulitzer said. He glared at Jack. “Do you know what I was doing when I was your age, boy? I was fighting in a war.”

“Yeah? And how’d that turn out for ya?”

“It taught me a lesson that shaped my life. You don’t win a war on the battlefield. It’s the headline that crowns the victor.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when New York wakes up to front page photos of our rally.”

“Rally ‘till the cows come home!” Pulitzer was smiling now. “Not a paper in town will publish a word. And if it’s not in the papers, it never happened.”

Jack was getting angrier, but he tried to stay calm. “You may run this city, but there are some of us who can’t be bullied. Even some reporters.”

“Such as that young woman who made you yesterday’s news? Talented girl. And beautiful as well, don’t you think?”

Jack scoffed. What was Pulitzer getting at? “Yeah, I’ll tell ‘er you said so.”

“No need. She can hear for herself. Can’t you, darling?” Pulitzer gestured to a chair that sat next to his desk, and Jack could practically feel his blood boiling when Katherine stood up, tears in her eyes. “I trust you know my daughter, Katherine.”

Jack barely heard what Pulitzer said next; he was still too shocked. Sure, now that he thought about it, Katherine being Pulitzer’s daughter made a little sense. But if she was related to this money-grubbing scum, why would she care so much about the newsies’ plight? Was she doing it for her father? What did she have to gain?

“Jack, I-” Katherine started to protest, but Jack just cut her off with a glare.

Pulitzer chuckled. “Don’t trouble the boy with your problems, dearest. Mister Kelly has a plateful of his own.” He gestured to a darker corner of the office. “Wouldn’t you say so, Mister Snyder?”

And when the man who had tormented him for years, who had never given up hunting him, no matter how many times he managed to escape, stepped out of the shadows and into view, Jack thought he would pass out from fear. As it was, he turned and tried to run from the office, only to be stopped by the Delancey brothers, who held his arms iron-like grips. And Jack could do was try (and fail) to control his breathing as Snyder stepped closer, an evil grin on his face.

“Hello, Jack,” he said. Jack couldn’t speak past the lump forming in his throat.

“Does anyone else feel a noose tightening?” Pulitzer asked. He paused. “But allow me to offer an alternate scenario: you attend the rally and speak against this hopeless strike, and I’ll see your criminal record expunged and your pockets filled with enough cash to carry you, in a first-class train compartment, from New York to New Mexico and beyond.” He turned to Katherine, who just shook her head. “You did say he wanted to travel west, didn’t you?”

“There ain’t a person in this room who don’t know you stink.” And as he forced the words out, Jack glanced around the office, and he noticed that not only was Katherine close to crying, but the redheaded lady who had met him at the front door was frowning deeply. She looked like she wanted to say something, but stared at the floor instead.

“And if they know me, they know I don’t care,” Pulitzer said in a disinterested tone. “Mark my words, boy. Defy me, and I will have you and every one of your friends locked up in the Refuge. Besides,” he looked at Snyder, “isn’t there already one in there? Davey, isn’t it? Smart child, from what I’ve heard. But I’ve also heard that he isn’t doing too well at the moment.” He turned back to Jack. “Do you really want your arrogance and disobedience to be the reason your friend doesn’t make it out of there alive?”

Jack opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Pulitzer just cut him off. He wasn’t interested in what Jack had to say because he knew he had already won. “Gentlemen,” Pulitzer gestured to the Delanceys, “escort our guest to the cellar so he might reflect in solitude.”

The two brothers nodded, and despite Jack struggling for all it was worth, he couldn’t break free. They muscled him down a set of stairs into a dark, dusty cellar. There were boxes and other things scattered around the dirty space, but the most incredible was the massive, old printing press that sat in the middle. Morris threw Jack against it and laughed when he gasped in pain.

“We been given discretion to handle you as we see fit,” the Delancey snarled. “So behave.”

“Oh, but just in case,” Oscar said. He pulled some metal from his pocket and slipped it onto his hand. “I’ve been polishin’ my favorite brass knuckles.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re real scary, Oscar,” Jack said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He knew he probably shouldn’t be antagonizing them, but he couldn’t help it. “You and Morris practice your lines together? Make sure they’re coordinated?”

Morris shoved him against the printing press again, and Jack just managed to stifle his gasp when the sharp edges dug into his side. “Shut it, Kelly.”

“What? I’m just sayin’ that maybe you should get some new material.”

And then Jack found out that as tough as he was, he couldn’t hold his own forever against two angry brothers with brass knuckles on their hands and murder on their minds. Fuck, this was going to hurt.

---

Jack guessed Pulitzer probably hadn’t counted on the fact that the small window in the cellar was just big enough for a teenage boy to squeeze through if he didn’t eat daily and his job involved walking miles around the city every day. Once the Delanceys had finally left him alone, Jack had managed to stay awake long enough to take note of the window. Then he had passed out.

When he came to, his head was pounding and his ribs ached, but he slowly stood. There was no time to waste. With more than a few grunts of pain and quiet curses, Jack got the window open and slid through it, ignoring the pressure it put on his chest. Then he was moving as fast as he could toward the lodging house.

“Specs!” He called, barreling through the front door. The other newsie hurried down the stairs from the bunkroom and stopped in his tracks when he saw Jack.

“Where did’ja go?” Specs asked. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks. Specs, I need your help. I need everyone’s help. We gotta call off the rally.”

“What?” Specs’ confusion was clear. “But Jack-”

“No.” Jack cut him off. “It’s Pulitzer. He threatened everyone. Me, Davey, all of us. He’s plannin’ on gettin’ everyone arrested at the rally. We gotta call it off.”

“Shit.” Specs nodded. “Okay. I’ll send everyone out. We’ll make sure no one shows up. But, Jack...what should we tell ‘em?”

“...the truth. That way...they’ll know we’re not backin’ down. But we can’t risk anyone else gettin’ taken away.”

“Alright. What about Davey?” Specs asked. “You said Pulitzer threatened him, too? What’s gonna happen?”

“I’m gonna...I’m gonna get ‘im out.” Jack sighed. “I gotta get ‘im out.”

“Let me tell everybody what’s goin’ on, and I’ll come with you,” Specs said. “We’ll get ‘im out together.”

Jack just nodded.

A little under an hour later, Jack and Specs (with Race and Blink close behind) were heading for the Refuge. As the four of them approached the grounds, Jack could feel his heart sink.

“Fuck,” Blink whispered, echoing what they were probably all thinking. “There are so many bulls.”

It looked like Snyder had upgraded his security. Cops roamed all around the Refuge. It would be impossible to get to the window without being seen. Specs put a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“We can’t help ‘im, Jackie,” he said. “Not without them takin’ us all.”

“But-”

“Jack, please.” That was Race. “We can’t get ‘im now, but if we follow through? We’ll get ‘im out soon.”

“Besides,” Blink said. “Would the Spider wanna give up his leverage so quickly?”

“Yeah…” Jack tried to mentally reassure himself. “Alright, we’ll head back to the lodgin’ house. He’ll...Davey’ll be fine.”

God, he hoped they were right.

---

When they got back to the lodging house, the last person Jack expected to be standing in the main room was Katherine.

“Hiya, Kath,” Race said, giving her a small wave. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

“I need to, um...I need to talk to Jack,” she said.

“I don’t wanna talk to you,” Jack said. He ignored the confused looks his friends were giving him.

“Jack, please.” Her voice was quiet, pleading. “Everything that’s happened...I promise I can explain.”

“Hey, uh…” Specs corralled Race and Blink toward the stairs. “Let’s give them some privacy.”

Then the three were gone, and Jack and Katherine were alone.

“You got five minutes,” Jack said. “Startin’ with why you didn’t tell us Pulitzer was your father.”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“What? You didn’t think it was important to tell us that you’re related to the guy who’s tryin’ to put us all outta work?”

“I don’t let who my family is define me!” Katherine’s voice wavered. “It wasn’t important because I’ve made this career without my father’s help. I don’t work for him because I don’t want that shadow hanging over me my entire life.”

“Why did you decide to cover a story that defied your father? How was that gonna help you?”

“Haven’t you been listening, Jack?” Katherine asked. She sniffed, but now her voice was stronger, firmer. “I want to help all of you, I really do. I want all the people like us--the kids who have to work hard to have a voice--to be heard by people who would never listen otherwise. I want things to change. I want things to get better.”

“I…” Jack was at a loss for words, and frankly, he felt stupid. In his anger, he had never considered any of this. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Katherine said. “I’m sorry any of this happened.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“We can still win. We just...need to figure out how.”

“Well, we can’t have a rally,” Jack said. “The bulls’ll arrest all the second we go public.”

“What if there was another way to spread the word?” Katherine looked thoughtful. “I have that speech I wrote for you for the rally. If we could find some way to print it, then maybe…”

“We could send it out to everyone!” Jack finished. “I know a printin’ press we could use that your father would never expect. And then we might win this thing and get Davey out.”

“The only problem is...winning the strike won’t get anyone out of the Refuge, will it?” Katherine asked. “We need a way to prove that that place is awful. Evil. That no one should ever be sent there again.”

Jack thought of the rooftop, of the countless nights he had spent drawing by moonlight when the nightmares kept him awake. “I think I have just the thing.”

---

If it wasn’t for Sticks, Jamie, and Dodger, Davey was sure he would have lost all his sanity in the Refuge the moment he arrived. Snyder hadn’t come for him again since that first night, something Davey was grateful for, but it also filled him with such apprehension that he could barely stand it. Was Snyder planning something? Had something happened to the other newsies? How was the strike going? There was no way to know, and that was what worried Davey so much.

He couldn’t do much on a broken ankle, but he didn’t let that stop him, no matter how much Jamie protested.

“If you don’t keep off of it, it might not be the same again,” he said every time Davey tried to stand up. “Did that knock to the head make you stupid?”

Davey just waved him off. He hated to admit it, but every time he lay down in the bunk, he felt useless. If he couldn’t walk, how was he supposed to help the others once he got out of this hellhole?

Now Jamie just grumbled every time Davey asked Sticks to help him up, and Dodger rolled his eyes every time Jamie grumbled. The two of them had some sort of unspoken language made up of looks, eyerolls, and completely random hand gestures, and Jamie most often employed it when he thought Davey was doing something stupid and Dodger had to calm him down.

Sticks, however, was more than happy to help Davey, because then he could ask for more stories while they were slowly pacing back and forth across the room together. Davey didn’t have a lot of stories about the newsies, considering he had only known them a few days, but Sticks didn’t seem to mind.

“Tell me more about Les,” he said one evening. They were sitting on the bed with Jamie and Dodger. Davey’s foot was propped up on the one pillow, at Jamie’s insistence. “He sounds real fun. I hope I get to meet him someday.”

“Yeah.��� Davey leaned forward and ruffled Sticks’ hair. “I hope so, too. There was this one time…”

As Davey told the story, one involving Les’ less-than-successful attempt to hide a frog he had found at the docks from their parents a few months back, he noticed that Jamie and Dodger leaned forward to listen, which made him smile. He was glad that, even in the Refuge, they could find something to smile about.

“So then my mom found the box under our bed-” Davey cut off when the door suddenly opened. He heard Sticks’ quiet whimper at the sight of the Spider standing in the doorway, scanning the room with an evil glint in his eye. He finally settled on their bunk and smiled.

“Guards,” he said, and two goons appeared from where they had apparently been standing out in the hallway. “It’s time for some...rehabilitation. Get that one, there.” He pointed to Sticks, and Davey felt his blood run cold.

Sticks pushed himself into Davey’s side, but it did nothing. One of the guards grabbed him by his skinny arm and pulled him away from the bunk. Davey couldn’t help it; he stood up shakily, holding onto the bed for support.

“Davey, no,” Jamie whispered, but Davey wasn’t listening. He could only focus on Sticks, the kid who looked so much like his little brother. The kid who had tears streaming down his face and panic in his eyes as he struggled against the grip of a man who did his heinous job unfeelingly.

“Stop,” Davey said. “Don’t take him.”

“And what, pray tell, are you going to do about it?” Snyder asked. He approached Sticks and grabbed him by the hair. Sticks cried out, and all Davey knew was that he had to protect him.

He didn’t get farther than a few steps before the other guard shoved him to the floor. Stepped on his broken ankle. Davey screamed.

“Davey!” Sticks cried. He struggled harder, but the man holding him was so much stronger.

There were black spots in Davey’s vision, but he still tried to get to Sticks. He had to protect him. He had to-

The guard pulled a knife from nowhere and stabbed Davey in the gut.

Davey could hear cursing. It sounded kind of like Jamie, but his voice was far away. Davey’s vision was fading fast, but so was the pain from his side. Actually, all his pain was almost gone, already only a dull ache. That was strange. Someone knelt next to him. They were crying. A small hand grabbed his own. Oh, it was Sticks. Davey was glad he was there. Shit he was tired.

The last thing Davey heard before he closed his eyes was Snyder’s laughter.

“You have your friend Jack Kelly to thank for this, little rat,” Snyder said. But Davey was too exhausted to even wonder what that meant.

He closed his eyes.

---

They had really done it. Jack could barely believe it, and he knew that everyone else was still in shock. They had won the strike, and now the working kids of New York City finally had a voice. Jack looked across the square to where Katherine stood with Medda and Teddy Roosevelt himself, and he couldn’t recall ever feeling so full of hope. The fliers had been a success. “The Children’s Crusade”, Katherine had called the speech. Jack had paired with it one of his sketches of the Refuge, and they had spent all night using the printing press in Pulitzer’s cellar. The newsies had distributed the fliers the next morning.

And now, here they all were. Victorious.

Roosevelt proclaimed his decision to close down the Refuge, and Jack could barely contain his joy. He swept Katherine into a hug, and then he felt another impact to his side. He looked down, and Les was grinning up at him.

“This means we’re gonna see Davey again,” Les said with a happy squeak.

“Yeah, kid,” Jack said. “We are.”

The doors of the Refuge were just opening when they all arrived, and the crowd of newsies and other onlookers watched as a pair of policemen escorted Snyder down the steps and into a waiting cart. Everyone cheered.

Then, kids started streaming out of the place. Jack saw so many he remembered from his last stay. Some greeted him, some just nodded. A few younger ones ran right up and hugged him. This was a good day. A day of freedom and happiness, the first in a long while.

Soon, the stream of kids petered out. Jack could hear worried murmurs from his friends. He knew they were all wondering the same thing. Where was Davey?

Three kids, two older than the third, appeared in the entrance of the Refuge and walked slowly down the stairs. Jack recognized the youngest from his last visit. The kid who met him at the window with an enthusiastic grin and a message. The kid who looked just a little like Les.

“Sticks?” Jack made his way to the base of the steps, where the trio had stopped. Sticks looked up at him, and Jack noticed that his eyes were puffy. Actually, all three of them looked like they had been crying, though the two older kids hid it well. “What’s wrong? Where’s Davey?”

Sticks said nothing, only started sobbing and threw himself at Jack. The two older kids glanced at each other.

“Davey…” One of them said with a slight British accent. “Davey isn’t coming out.”

“What do you mean?” Jack heard Les ask. The kid had approached the group at some point with Katherine in tow. “Where’s my brother?”

The British kid just shook his head and looked at Jack for help, and suddenly the realization hit Jack like a train. He had been wrong. He couldn’t get Davey out.

“Jack,” Les said. “I want Davey. Where’s Davey?”

He couldn’t save Davey.

“Where’s my brother?”

Davey wasn’t getting out of the Refuge.

Tag list under the cut:

@disney-princess-sized

@crazymecjc

@whovininja567

@rhodochrositelesbian

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@p00rguysheadisspinning

@soldmysoultofandomshelp

@scollace

@losers-yurio

@purplelittlepup

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