#davey reaching out for jack and jack wrenching his arm away

[wassupmygays]

post-king of new york scene w jack and katherine and davey and les. my beloved <3

[klaineharmony]

300x3

523 words today, for “Over the Wall” (the WW1 story, for any of you trying to keep track). This is just - bits; I’m starting to get a feel for what this plot will look like, and I keep gradually connecting the dots. So this is a piece from Jack’s homecoming, when he and Sarah and David (and Kath, too!) are all finally back together. (Yes, Jack is the last to make it home, along with Race and Spot. Don’t ask. It wrenches my heart to write this story, it really does.) 

There’s 661 words here - I had written a bit before that fits into the rest.

“David, go,” Katherine said softly, smiling. “I’m fine here with the children. Go and bring Jack home. You and Sarah deserve this, to have this moment with him.”

David looked toward his sister, who was standing by the door and pulling her gloves on, and even from several feet away he could see her hands shaking. He knew her emotions must be strung to their highest pitch; she hadn’t seen her husband in nearly three years. Even after just nine months, Jack’s absence felt like a yawning chasm in his heart; he didn’t know how Sarah had endured it.

He looked back at Kath. “Thank you, tei-yerinkeh,” he said, drawing her into his arms and holding her tightly. “I love you.”

“I know,” Kath smiled, teasing him gently. “I love you, too.” Her face became more serious as she rested a hand on his cheek, and she kissed him softly. “I love you, ziseh neshomeh. I’ll be here.”

David nodded and kissed her in return, gratefully. They would need her, he had a feeling; Sarah was already barely holding herself together, and they really had very little idea of the state Jack was in; they knew he was “recovered” from the typhoid that had almost killed him, but whether or not he was truly healthy was another question. David had seen the men they had sent back out from the hospitals, those who had “recovered” from their injuries, and often to call them recovered at all was nothing short of laughable. Physically recovered they might have been, at least from a bullet wound and the danger of imminent death, but many still had other illnesses, malnutrition, and mental wounds that might never go away. He carried his own scars and mental injuries that he was still working to understand, months after he had come home.

****

The train station, as always, was crowded and noisy, but Sarah hardly seemed to notice. She was shaking so badly as they waited for the train to slow to a stop that David wasn’t sure how she was staying upright. He put an arm around her waist, and she slid an arm around him in return, shooting him a grateful look. 

“It will be all right, meyn shvester,” David reassured her. “Don’t worry.”

Sarah made an incredulous sound that was not quite a laugh. “I’ve done nothing but worry for the past three years, Davey. I don’t know how to stop.” 

David tightened his hold around her. He didn’t have a good response to that; he knew it was true, and that the mental and physical strain she had been under, while very different from what he and Kath and Jack had experienced, had been incredibly painful and had nearly destroyed her emotionally. They all had to recover, in so many ways.

The train finally came to a complete stop, and the porters appeared, opening the doors and placing steps down to the platform. As passengers began to trickle out of the cars, David kept his eyes moving, searching for Jack.

“Sarah! David!” called a voice, and while it wasn’t Jack’s, David knew it instantly. Racetrack.

He and Sarah both turned, and David saw them: two cars down, Race and Spot were flanking Jack, helping him down the stairs. Even from this distance, he could see that Jack was not entirely steady on his feet.

He realized that he and Sarah had begun moving simply on instinct; they had let go of each other but were still holding hands, weaving as quickly as they could manage through the crowd. It was only the work of moments to reach Jack, but it felt like a small age.

Then they were in front of him, reaching out for him, and Jack fell into their arms with one quiet cry that pierced David’s heart.

The three of them stood together for a long time, tears streaming down all of their faces, while Race and Spot guarded them like silent sentinels. 

[thefactsofthematter]

we’ve all lost our way before

a bittersweet, jack-and-medda-centred prequel to this fic i wrote last year. no one requested this, i just felt like pouring out some emotions, so if you’d like to Feel Things with me, be my guest! this can be read as a standalone fic as well, if you haven’t read the original.

read this on ao3 if you want!

javid (sort of); 2.3k; modern au; warning for drug abuse, addiction, and overdose. 

- 

Jack is nineteen when he overdoses for the first time.

The saddest part is that he sees it as a strange sort of victory. He's been playing with fire for four or five years now, but only just OD'd. No one— at least not anyone important to him— will know that he was hooked on drugs as a literal child... they'll think of this as a recent problem, that art school was the catalyst in turning him into a junkie. He thinks it might be less shameful this way.

Medda is there when he wakes up in the hospital. He knows exactly what's going on as soon as he comes to consciousness— the familiar ache in his joints tells him that a withdrawal is starting to hit, and the rhythmic beeping, in sync with his heartbeat, is enough to fill in the story of just what happened. He overdid it.

"Mama..." he groans, hardly able to open his eyes. He reaches weakly towards where he can see her sitting in a chair and typing on her phone, with a nervous scrunch to her eyebrows.

She looks up, and then she's there in an instant, right beside him to take his hand.

"Oh Jack..." she whispers, wrapping both her hands around one of his and squeezing. Her voice is wet, like she's been crying. "What've you done to yourself, baby?"

There's a lot he wants to say— that he's ruined his own life, and he's sorry, and he can't believe he's done this to her, and he probably should've just died from the overdose so she wouldn't have to deal with him anymore, and he's so so so sorry for everything. None of those words leave his mouth, though.

"I did something bad, didn't I?" he mumbles, feeling his fingers twitch between her hands, but not quite in control of the movement. The doctors must be medicating him somehow, because this isn't a normal comedown. Why is he so tired?

"You sure did," she sighs. She pauses and swallows, as if she's trying to figure out what to say. She finally shakes her head and continues. "You overdosed on heroin, Jack— I found you on the bathroom floor, and your lips and fingers were blue. I thought you were dead."

Jack feels a horrible, horrible little ball of shame start to twist in his gut. It's not regret, necessarily, but he feels bad that she had to see that. He feels bad that he scared her, and that he's making her deal with all this now. He's a horrible son.

"I'm sorry," he says, and his words shake and his fingers twitch again, the nervous jitter that comes with the drugs leaving his system. "I didn't mean to."

She closes her eyes for a second and then nods. He can tell she's trying to be empathetic, and that she's angry with him but she doesn't want to show him that.

"I know you didn't," she says. "I know, darling." She rubs her thumb in little circles on the back of his hand. "But did you even think for a second, when you decided to shoot up in there, that one of the boys could've found you?"

This is a point that she likes to drive home whenever he's in trouble. Jack is the oldest of four, and he needs to be responsible because his brothers look up to him. He was a teenager when she adopted him, and he knew that by joining the family, he was stepping up to be a role model for Crutchie, Race, and Albert. He'd been so honoured, and he really thought he could do it, at the time.

"No," he finally croaks, because of course he didn't consider it— he wasn't planning on overdosing. "I'm sorry."

The youngest, Albert, is only twelve— and even at that, he's awfully naive for his age. He probably doesn't even know what heroin is or what it can do, and now Medda's going to have to tell him that his brother almost died from it. Of course the boys are going to ask questions, and Jack knows Medda will answer them honestly. She's not a fan of keeping secrets.

"How long have you been doing this?" she asks, after a moment. She sounds so hurt, like the thought of Jack's addiction physically pains her. It makes him want to vomit. "The doctor said some of the needle marks on your arms look like they've been there for years. When did it start?"

Jack can't bring himself to answer. It's too embarrassing.

He was such a stupid, gullible fourteen year-old that he let the older boys in his last foster home before Medda's place do this to him— it was a group home where they were horribly abused in every way you can possibly think of, and everyone was searching for a way to cope. They told him drugs would make everything better, and they held his arm still while they injected him with the tiniest amount of heroin, and suddenly he wasn't scared or in pain anymore. He couldn't feel anything. It was the best he's ever felt, and he knew right then that this was going to become a problem. His parents had been addicts, he knew it ran in his blood, but he let himself fall into the trap anyways. It's horrible.

"I want to go to sleep now," is all he says, purposefully avoiding the question. His eyes feel droopy and heavy, and the ache of the withdrawal is growing stronger, and he knows that if he doesn't sleep now it'll only get worse.

"Please, Jack," Medda whispers, not giving it up. She's squeezing his hand almost desperately. "How long?"

He lets his eyes fall shut and weakly attempts to wrench his hand away from hers.

"I'm tired, Mama."

A heavy sigh.

"Okay."

She lets go of his hand and moves instead to pet his hair, even as he turns his face away from her and tries to roll onto his side in a pitiful attempt to show that he wants to be left alone. She hums softly as she does so, and it makes Jack's chest feel tight like he's going to cry. He finally has a mother who loves him, after all these years of wishing for one, and all he can do is disappoint her.

-

Medda is on the phone the next time he's awake.

"Did you know he was abusing drugs, David?" she asks, and her tone is almost accusatory, like she thinks Davey had something to do with this. "He overdosed on heroin last night."

Davey must panic on the other end of the call, because her tone suddenly goes much softer.

"No, no, he's okay. He's in the hospital, but he'll be alright." She pauses and sighs. "The doctor said it looks like he's been using for a couple years, at least. You didn't know?"

Jack decides not to open his eyes just yet— he's nauseous and his stomach aches. He's sure that if he were to force himself to vomit it might alleviate it somewhat, but he wants to hear what Medda and Davey might talk about, so he just doesn't move.

"Okay," Medda sighs. "I understand. I had no idea either— it's scary how well he hid it. He overdosed in the bathroom at home; he must've been using drugs in the house this whole time, and I never caught on."

Jack's awfully ashamed of that bit. He didn't used to do it at home— he only did it on occasion when he was younger, and he'd save it for when he was with friends, or if he had a really bad day. It's just the past few months that have gotten so bad... he can't go a day without it anymore. He gets dope sick, craves his next dose until he can finally shoot up, and it doesn't even really get him high. He needs heroin to feel normal these days. He's been at home, around his little brothers, with that god-awful drug coursing through his body. He hates himself so, so deeply for that.

He needs help. He knows he needs help. But he somehow doesn't want it— he knows it won't work. He'll end up checking himself out of rehab, or wherever Medda tries to send him, and he'll go right back to the drugs. Being sober is hard, and being high is easy. He likes that easy, relaxed feeling, and he knows that any amount of time he spends sober will just make the next high feel even better.

"I'm going to try to get him straight from the hospital into rehab," Medda says on the phone, which makes Jack feel horrible that he's already planning on refusing that idea. "You've got school, sweetheart, this isn't your responsibility. Come by for a visit if you'd like, but don't get to thinking you have to look after him or anything... oh, I know you love him. I know, dear. But you have to put yourself first, alright?"

Jack doesn't like listening to this anymore. Medda's going to convince Davey to break up with him, isn't she? She doesn't think Jack deserves to have a boyfriend as lovely as Davey, since he's such a disappointment— she's right, but it makes his chest ache anyways.

"Mama," he groans, finally letting her know he's awake. He feels like a helpless little kid as he reaches out for her yet again. "I feel sick. I'm gonna puke."

The light hurts his eyes as he opens them, and he barely registers Medda pressing a little paper bowl into his hands for him to vomit into. He leans forward and gags into it, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the sunlight while she rubs a hand gently up and down his back.

"I'll let you go, Davey," she sighs into the phone. "Text me when you get here, alright?"

Jack tries to ask if that means Davey is coming to see him, but it comes out a little garbled when he realizes he's not done throwing up. He interrupts himself to shove his face back in the little bowl and heave yet again. It takes until he's finished puking to realize that he began to cry somewhere in the middle of it, hot tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Mama, I'm so sorry," he finally says, once he's sure it's over. He leans his head back against the pillows and finally says the words he's been dreading. "I... If you don't want me anymore, I understand. It's okay."

This must catch Medda off-guard, because it takes her a second to process it. She's perfectly calm as she takes the little bowl from him and sets it somewhere for a nurse to take away, but then she turns back around to him with a confused frown.

"Hang on, what?" she asks. "Jack, baby, what are you talking about? Where did you get that idea from?"

Truthfully, the thought hasn't fully left his mind since the day they signed the adoption papers, a little over two years ago. He's always figured that she'd get sick of him at some point— he's even looked into how an adoption can be annulled, so that he's prepared for when the day eventually comes. She'll realize he's not worth all the trouble he causes, she'll see how messed up he is, and she'll get rid of him for good.

"I ruined everything," he mumbles, not quite able to look her in the eyes. He wipes pitifully at the tears on his cheeks and forces himself to keep talking. "If you want to, like, cancel out the adoption... that's alright. It's not fair that you have to deal with me when I'm so awful."

She's silent for a second, and Jack is sure that this is it. She'll undo the adoption, kick him out of the family, and he'll be all on his own again. He doesn't want that, of course, but he understands why she would do it.

"John Francis Kelly," she finally says, and she comes over to the bed to cup his cheeks and hold onto his face. "Look at me. Nothing you could ever say or do could make me even consider that. Not in a million years. Do you hear me? Nothing could ever, ever make me stop loving you."

This is where Jack finally breaks. She's too good to him— he can't understand what he's done in his fucked-up life to deserve to meet someone like her. He's done nothing to earn her love, but she gives it to him unconditionally anyways, and he simply can't comprehend it. He sobs, leaning forward into her arms; she hugs him tight and just holds him there.

"You're my son, Jack," she whispers, as his head rests in the crook of her neck and she rocks him back and forth. "Okay? It doesn't matter that I've only had you for a few years... that doesn't make it any less real. No matter how many mistakes you make— no matter what you do or where you are, I'll always be your mother. You're not getting rid of me." She gently combs her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. "You got yourself into a tough spot, but we'll get you out, baby. You're gonna be okay."

"I'm sorry," Jack sobs, as if he hasn't said it enough today. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I know," Medda replies. "I know, baby. You made some mistakes, but it's not the end of the world. We're gonna fix it together, alright?"

Jack can do nothing more than cry at this point, so Medda just rubs his back and pets his hair. She shushes him softly, as if she's soothing an infant, and he simply clings onto her for dear life. He doesn't deserve how wonderful she is.

[timetogoslumming]

The Trip

The big, exciting, romantic dates stopped a few months into Davey’s relationship with Jack. When they first got together, it was all trips to the beach, concerts, art galleries, ice skating, and movies. They went well out of their ways to plan extravagant outings, and they were fun. But they were seated, at least from Davey’s view, in a deep insecurity. At least early on, it felt like if he wasn’t making every date the most exciting date of their relationship, Jack would wake up and realize how boring and unextraordinary he was and leave.

Things changed the day before they were supposed to go on an overnight trip to the lake. Davey woke up with a terrible stomach bug and had to cancel. Jack came over anyway and stayed with Davey all weekend. (He even ended up catching the bug so they were both miserable together.) They watched a marathon of Teen Mom without really feeling well enough to pay attention. It was background noise. Somehow, Jack managed to absorb all of it– years later, he could still list off the names of all of the teen moms, their babies’ names, and the names of the fathers.

Now, they had been together for several years. They were living together, but that was a recent development. It just made sense. Jack hadn’t gotten along with his last roommate and was constantly coming over to Davey’s studio apartment with no warning. Sometimes before Jack moved in, Davey would come home from class or work to find Jack sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table with newspaper spread across the table, painting.

Just after their third anniversary, Jack started acting differently. He spent long periods of time out of the apartment. He started making excuses when Davey asked where he had been. There was a part of Davey that was scared– not just scared. Terrified. But surprising even himself, he found that he trusted Jack enough not to let that part of himself take over.

Then Jack started to act weirder. He took Davey out to a field in the middle of nowhere one cloudy night. He took Davey to the zoo one night after they were already closed and they were turned away. He tried to take Davey on a ziplining canopy tour, until remembering how afraid Davey was of heights.

Davey came home on a Thursday afternoon and Jack was already home, even though he wasn’t supposed to get home for several hours. “What are you doing home?” Davey asked.

Jack glanced toward the corner, where several suitcases were stacked by the door. “We’re going on a trip,” he said. “Surprise.” He bounced anxiously on the balls of his feet.

“Where?”

“I, uh… rented a place in the mountains. I figured it’d be like a pre-graduation present.”

And so, they drove into the mountains. The cabin was small and rustic, but it was nice. There was a log fireplace in the living room, which was full of soft furniture covered in quilts and afghans. A hot tub waited out on the back deck and a small basket with muffins and wine sat on the kitchen counter. “Jack,” Davey said softly as he knelt down to examine the fireplace. “This is great.” Jack stared critically at a painting of a bear on the wall and didn’t answer. Davey didn’t have the eye for art that Jack did– to him, it was a perfectly good painting. But he could already hear Jack’s critique without him even having to say it. “Let’s go check out that hot tub.” That was enough to tear Jack away from the bear painting and he grinned.

“I’ll go get it ready!” He jumped over an ottoman and wrenched the sliding glass door open. Davey shook him head with a fond smile and went up to the upstairs loft to put their things away and get ready for the hot tub.

A few minutes later, he came out, carrying the bottle of wine and two glasses. Jack was kneeling by the control panel, using his phone as a flashlight. “I can’t get it to work,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Let me try,” Davey offered. He moved in next to Jack and studied the control panel before pressing a few buttons. There was no sign of life from the hot tub. They spent another ten minutes fighting with the hot tub before declaring it a bust. Jack looked deeply disappointed. “Come on,” Davey said. “They’ve got a bunch of movies in there.”

The next morning, they woke up to a torrential downpour. There was a skylight over the bed and Davey watched the rain hitting it heavily while he waited for Jack to wake up. Finally, Jack stirred and as soon as he realized that it was raining, his smile fell. “What?” Davey asked.

“It’s raining.”

“You like rain.”

“Yeah, but…” Jack grabbed his phone and angled it away so that Davey couldn’t see the screen. “I just sort of… had plans.”

“What kind of plans?”

Jack paused. “Uh, we had reservations. For a tour at this… bird thing? What’s it called? Like a zoo but just birds?”

“An aviary?”

“Yeah, that.”

Davey passed Jack his glasses from the shelf by the bed. “What’s going on with you?” he asked.

“What?”

“You’re acting weird.”

Jack’s face fell. “Are you not having fun?”

“No, I mean– no, I am having fun, hang on a minute. I just mean that you’ve been acting weird for a while. All these plans and reservations.”

Jack shrugged. “Just trying to be nice.”

Davey took out his laptop and started Googling activities in the area. There was a large brewery nearby that did tours, a cavern, a lot of hiking that was no longer an option, and even more ziplining. “Brewery tour?” Davey suggested. “And maybe that cavern if they’re open?”

They dressed and ran through the rain to the car, where Davey automatically took a spot in the driver’s seat. He was just starting the car when Jack jolted upright. “I forgot my phone!” he said before darting out of the car. As Davey watched his retreating form, he could see the outline of Jack’s phone in his back pocket.

Jack came back, slightly out of breath, and slid back into his seat. “Find your phone?” Davey asked.

“Oh, yeah.”

The brewery was situated on a river, which was rushing along the banks at an almost frightening speed and force. The parking lot was large, but theirs was the only car. “Uh, are they closed?” Jack asked.

Davey checked his phone. He sighed and rested his head against the steering wheel. “Closed Fridays,” he said.

With that, they drove around town trying to find a place to eat. They settled on a small Mom and Pop restaurant, where an ancient couple served them at a glacial pace. There was a stack of coloring pages and a Campbell’s soup can full of crayons, which Jack used to color the pages. Davey watched him work, blending colors and shading the picture of a family of ducks.

The food was mediocre but passable. They checked the hours of the cavern and confirmed that yes, they were open, and they would stay open, and they had space for two on a tour after lunch. Jack excused himself to go to the bathroom after the bill was paid and Davey picked up his jacket, which Jack had left behind. He decided to go wait in the car and reached into the pocket of Jack’s jacket for the keys. His hand brushed against something in the left pocket, and Davey pulled it from the pocket. In his hand, there was a small wooden box with a hinge. His heart flipped and he shoved the box hastily back into the pocket, immediately feeling a nervous sweat beginning to surface.

Of course, Jack took that moment to come out of the bathroom. He looked from Davey’s face to the jacket on his arm to Davey’s hand in the jacket pocket and turned bright red. Neither of them said anything. Jack stood by the bathroom door, frozen, while Davey slowly took his hand away from the pocket. “You left your jacket,” he stammered.

“Thanks,” Jack finally said, taking a few halting steps toward Davey. He took the jacket back and pulled the car keys from the other pocket.

They walked silently to the car. Inside, the radio played softly while they both sat in stunned silence. “I–” Jack started.

“Don’t worry about it,” Davey interrupted in a high, anxious voice. “Let’s go check out that cavern.” Jack nodded and stared at his lap.

The ride was awkward and long. Davey knew what was happening here. Worse, he knew that Jack knew that he knew. Jack’s leg shook nervously and he tapped his fingernails against the car door. The silence in the car was heavy, somehow managing to cover the radio playing in the background.

At the cavern, they joined a tour group and trailed along behind the group, neither of them listening very intently. It was a large cavern with occasional plaques attached to the stone walls. Stalagmites rose up like columns while stalagmites dripped mineral-rich water onto the path.

They were led into a large open area with a small, deep pond surrounded with bars. The tour guide announced that they would have a bit of free time to explore before heading back. Davey accompanied Jack to the pond, where they both leaned against the fence. Jack stared down into the dark water, biting the inside of his cheek. “You okay?” Davey asked. Jack shrugged. “Do you want to… uh… talk about it?”

“I just want it to be the right time,” Jack said quietly. “Things keep getting messed up.”

“What do you mean?”

“The aviary,” he replied. “And that ziplining… that was a bad idea. And that one night in the field, there was supposed to be a meteor shower but it was too cloudy. And someone was supposed to let us into the zoo after hours but they didn’t show up…”

“You’ve been planning for that long?” Jack nodded. “Jack, come on. It doesn’t need to be some huge thing.” Neither of them had said out loud what they both knew was happening. Saying it out loud would make things too solid.

The tour guide called them to order and the conversation was cut off. Jack’s shoulders slumped as they walked. Periodically, Davey would try to strike up a whispered conversation but Jack always shook his head.

When they made it out, the tour guide directed the group toward the gift shop, but Davey took Jack’s hand and pulled him back outside into the rain. There was a gazebo near the parking lot, which he led Jack to. As soon as they were out of the rain, Davey rounded on Jack. “Don’t be stupid,” he said. Jack was obviously embarrassed. He trailed his toe along the lines of the wood floor, staring down at the ground. Davey was hyper aware of the outline of the box in the pocket of Jack’s rain jacket. “Just ask.”

“Not here,” Jack said. “It’s raining, and we’re practically in a parking lot…”

Frustrated, Davey grabbed his shoulders and turned Jack around so that he was facing the mountains. “There. Now you can’t see it. Just ask me.”

“You don’t want–”

“Yes, I do.”

Hope flickered through Jack’s eyes. “You want to?” he asked. “Really?”

“You have to ask.” Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out the box. He flipped the lid open, revealing a shining gold ring with Elvish script circling the band. “You got me the One Ring?” Jack shrugged sheepishly. “Are you going to ask, or what?”

“Fine,” Jack groaned. “God. Will you ma– oh, wait.” He dropped down to one knee, a little too quickly, and winced when his knee hit the floor.

“Are you okay?” Davey asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Anyway, uh. Will you marry me?” Davey stayed quiet for a minute. He took out his phone and pointed it at Jack. “What are you doing?”

“Sending Sarah and Spot a picture,” Davey replied.

Jack scowled. “Can you not right now?”

“Yeah, I’ll marry you.” Davey reached for Jack’s hand and pulled him to his feet. As soon as he was straightened up, Jack threw the hand holding the ring box around Davey, pulling him in for a crushing kiss. As he swung his arm, they heard something hit the ground and roll.

“Wait, shit,” Jack cursed. He pulled away and chased after the ring, which had fallen from the box and was rolling in a wide arc across the floor of the gazebo. He caught it and held it out. “Want this?” Davey took the ring and put it on. It was slightly too large, but that was easily fixed. “Looks good.”

Davey admired it for a moment, tracing the Elvish lettering with his thumb. His head snapped up, looking at Jack. “You were going to propose while ziplining?”

“Yeah,” Jack replied with a laugh. “I was going to sort of yell it while we were going.”

“I would have said no. And you would have dropped the ring into a gorge or something.”

“Probably.”

[voiceofmany-a]

❣️ for race from Davey !

Kissing Meme Part Two - ACCEPTING!

Send ❣️ for a kiss that conveys an emotion

@asortofsensation

It starts as an itch when Jack steps away from the newsies to transition into his job illustrating for Pulitzer. Right behind Davey’s eyes. He’s trying to be good - trying to stay away from Race - but the careful moves Jack makes from being just like them to a far higher echelon are difficult to look away from.

Suddenly Jack’s dressing a little nicer - clothes that Katherine guided him into. He has less time to see everybody. And every time Davey sees one of the familiar cartoons in a pape, the itch grows into a scratch. Then a tear. Then a wrenching dagger.

The last straw is seeing Jack with his arm around Katherine’s waist, walking with her, looking so similar to Hearst or Reid that Davey has to do a double take. Has to remember how precisely improper he is, how no matter how hard he worked to smooth out the edges his family gave him, he made them jagged again the second he dropped all of his dreams.

Jack and Katherine? They were one of those dreams. And now they’re gone too.

It’s a long ten miles to Brooklyn - shorter only because the trolleys are running again. A long walk to the racetrack. Steps slowing when he catches sight of Race pocketing a few coins with a grin and a hat tip toward the woman who just paid him, then coming to a stop when the knife twists in his mind.

Then the weapon freezes when they lock eyes. Stays lodged, but...

Race wrinkles his brow, heading over. Davey in Brooklyn is odd any day of the week - Davey looking for Race in Brooklyn must feel odder still. But when he gets close, Davey flicks a tongue out, wets his lips, then darts his eyes around. “You have a second?”

Race seems to get it. He leads the way, and Davey follows, just like he never gets to do these days. There’s a shop that closed early, one that Race jimmies the lock on while Davey watches his hands with utmost concentration. But the second they’re inside with the door shut, Davey practically throws himself at Race, digging fingers into his hair, his mouth bruising.

Only then does the knife withdraw.

Davey’s the hungry one now, flying down the track toward a finish line he desperately wants to reach, to forget, to feel wanted for once instead of something inadequate, a piece of trash on the ground. He bucks his hips against Race’s, holds them close, and pulls back to gasp.

“I need you to ruin me.” He doesn’t meet his eyes, just runs his hands to shove the vest off Race’s body, then slides his fingers under his suspenders. “Yes or no?”

[1misstherooftop-blog]

Bruised Knuckles

Read on ao3

Summary: Jack finds Davey after a fight with the Delanceys and patches him up.

Relationships: Jack Kelly/David Jacobs

Warnings: Descriptions of violence

Word Count: 2268

Oscar shoved David hard, his body hitting the wall with a loud thud. The air left Davey's body in a painful whoosh. His back ached from slamming against the brick. He groaned, gasping for air. A fist connected with the side of his face, sending his world spinning.

One of the Delanceys, Oscar if he was thinking clearly, grabbed Davey's tie. He pulled Davey towards him, his ugly face two times closer than Davey ever wanted it to be. The world stopped spinning and focused on the tie slowly cutting off his breath. Davey opened his mouth to say something and was rudely cut off by Oscar's fist.

Hot blood pulsed down his face from his nose, the taste heavy on his tongue. He thought maybe one of his teeth was loose. His face felt like fire.

"Don't try to speak," Oscar said. "You've gotta learn to keep your mouth shut."

Davey spit, splattering Oscar with the blood from his nose. Oscar wrenched back, wiping at his shirt. Davey heaved in breath, his tie loose again. He hadn't realized how hard it was to breathe. He pulled himself away from the wall. Oscar was still fussing over the blood on his shirt, his knuckles shiny with brass. Davey watched him, moving towards the end of the alley to run.

Morris grabbed him. He wrenched Davey's arm back. Davey could only manage to let out a pained gasp. He knew if Morris kept pulling, his arm would break. He couldn't afford that. He struggled against him, kicking uselessly. Morris laughed, turning Davey to face his brother. Oscar was grinning at him, his brass knuckled fist up for Davey to see. Davey braced himself before Oscar's fist made contact. It hurt, an explosion of pain beneath his ribs. He struggled to breathe through the pain, gasping for air as Oscar hit him again, and again. His chest felt like it was on fire, black spots danced across his vision.

Oscar seemed to notice this and paused. "Let him go."

Davey dropped to the ground the second Morris stopped holding him up. He managed a groan, his mouth still full of blood. Oscar laughed. Davey could see his leg pulling back. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the kick. It wasn't enough. He let out something like a sob, his ribs screaming in pain. He knew they weren't going to stop. Chances were Davey would bleed out in this alley when they were done with him. He just hoped Les wouldn't be the one to find him.

Davey curled in on himself, trying to protect his chest from Oscar's next kick. It didn't come. Instead he heard the sound of a fist connecting with someone's face. He was quite familiar with the sound now. He didn't open his eyes, just lay there until he heard the heavy footsteps of Oscar and Morris take off down the alley. He didn't want to know what happened. He curled tighter in on himself, the silence of the alley pressing in.

 Jack found Davey too late. He had been there that morning when Davey had said something snarky to the Delancys. There was something about the glint in Oscar's eye that had Jack worried all day. He'd tried to walk Davey home, but he'd lost him in the crowd. He’d checked everywhere, and was heading him before the dark set in fully when he heard the fight in an alley.

The sight of Davey on the ground, Oscar kicking him, Morris laughing- it was too much. Jack's vision had gone red. He hadn't hesitated, yanking Oscar towards him by the back of his shirt and smashing a fist into his face.

Sure Morris had managed to land a hit on Jack before they'd fled, but the dull pain wasn't too bad.

Jack crouched next to Davey, his hands shaking as he reached for him. Davey was turned away from him, his arms wrapped around himself.

"Davey?" He started.

"Leave, Jack. I'm fine." He said. His voice almost sounded normal, but it was strained. Jack guessed it was from pain.

"Please, Dave, let me help you." His hands were frozen, almost touching David. Davey tensed, let out an audible breath, and finally turned to face Jack.

Jack's heart skipped a beat. He didn't want to register what he was seeing. Davey looked... bad. Really really bad. Jack's fists clenched involuntarily, the ache it sent across his knuckles nothing compared to the ache he felt in his chest.

He forced himself to focus on Davey, taking an inventory of his injuries. His hands were scratched, knuckles bruised like he'd managed to land a few punches on the brothers. His neck was bruised as well, Jack was pretty sure it was the result of them pulling on Davey's tie. Jack kept staring at David's throat, preparing himself to look at his face. God- his face. One of his eyes was almost swollen shut. Blood oozed out of his nose, the dried blood caked to his lips and chin. There was a nasty gash on his head that Jack hoped wouldn't need stitches. He really wasn't sure he would have recognized Davey if it weren't for the blue of his eyes.

"Oh, Jack," Davey let go of his side, reaching for Jack's face. He touched just above his eye, a tiny twinge of pain reminding Jack about Morris' cheap blow to his face. "You're hurt."

Jack grabbed Davey's hand, holding it lightly in his own. "I'm not the one hurt here, Davey. Come on, we gotta get you cleaned up."

Davey nodded. He wasn't resisting Jack at all, but Jack didn't think that was a good thing. It was like he'd just...given up.

"Can you stand up?" He asked. Davey nodded again. Jack stood, still holding onto Davey's hand. Davey started to stand, then grabbed his side and winced.

"Jesus, Dave, what is it?"

Davey's voice was very strained. "It's nothing. It's fine, Jack."

Jack touched Davey's side where his hand was. Davey hissed, recoiling in pain. "They could've busted your damn ribs, Dave."

Davey tried to smile at Jack, but it looked more like a grimace. "I'll be fine, Jack. Just help me home."

Jack barked out a laugh. "Like I wanna drop you off at home looking like this! Your ma will kill me. Come on, let's get you patched up first."

Jack wrapped Davey's arm around his shoulder, half carrying him. Davey's breath kept hitching, his hand tight on Jack's arm. Jack tried to ignore Davey's obvious pain. All the time with the newsies had him well versed in holding onto pride.

"Just a little further, Dave." Jack said.

David didn't say anything. Jack stopped trying to talk to him, focusing on getting him to the lodging house. He knew they had first aid supplies there, and he was betting he could get Race to keep the others away long enough to patch Davey up and send him back home.

"We're here," Jack pointed out the obvious to Davey. Davey let out a soft sigh of relief when they finally stepped inside. Jack lead David to a chair and sat him down. "I'll be right back, I've gotta find the kit."

Jack darted up the stairs, crashing into the rooming area loudly.

"Jack! Where have you been?" Race asked him immediately.

Jack waved him off. "Quiet down, will you? I need the first aid, where is it."

Race looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "You don't look hurt."

"It's not for me, Race! Can you just keep anyone from coming downstairs for a bit?"

Race nodded, knowing better than to ask more questions. He rummaged around under one of the bunks and handing the white box to Jack.

Jack thanked him and went back to Davey. Davey looked ghoulish in the dimly lit room, the blood smeared across his chin making him look a bit like a vampire.

Jack went for the alcohol wipes right away, handing one to Davey and taking one for himself.

"Wipe the blood off around your nose, okay? I don't want to hurt you."

Davey listened to him, gingerly wiping at his nose. Jack used a hand to steady Davey's face while he carefully wiped at Davey's chin. It was perfectly silent except for the sound of Davey's still ragged breaths. Jack was trying to be patient, but he was worried what he might find under the blood.

Davey handed him his wipe when he was done so Jack could throw it away. Jack let out a breath, touching Davey's nose carefully.

"Think it's broken?" He asked.

Davey shook his head. "It just hurts. Please, Jack, it’s fine."

“Calm down I’m keeping you healthy.” Jack moved on to touch the gash on Davey's forehead. Davey winced. "This is gonna hurt to clean, Dave."

"Just do it, Jack." Davey ground out, already bracing himself. Jack worked as quickly as he thought was safe, his fingers slipping each time David made a noise of pain.

"All done. Just gotta wrap it up." Jack found a gauze and roll of bandages. He placed the gauze carefully over Davey's cut and wrapped the bandages around his head to keep it in place. His fingers grazed Davey’s hair, softer than Jack expected.

Davey was scrubbing at his knuckles with a wipe, pulling up dirt and blood to reveal the bruises across them.

Jack could tell they were both stalling.

"Alright, Davey. I gotta look at your ribs now."

Davey fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, his hands shaky. Jack helped him push the shirt down over his shoulders. Jack checked Davey's ribs for any signs of bruising. He was pale, the sickly green and purple standing out starkly against his skin. Jack prodded them very carefully. Davey hissed.

"Calm down, they ain't broken. They're gonna be sore though."

Jack kept checking Davey’s ribs. He already told Davey they weren’t broken, but he didn’t want to stop now. Everything about Davey was pristine and orderly. Jack’s fingers itched to further explore his skin.

"Jack, can I ask you something." Davey asked, his voice quiet. Jack froze, his fingers pressed just below Davey’s collarbone.

"Sure, but I'll tell you right now they won't feel better for a few-"

"Why did you help me?"

Jack blinked. He removed his hands. "What do you mean? I'm your friend, Davey. Of course I'm gonna help you."

"That's not what I mean, Jack. Why did you do all of this? You could have just sent me home."

"I told ya, Dave, your ma would have killed me-"

"I know, Jack! But you don't ever care this much, why do you care now?"

“You’re my friend, David. I can’t afford to lose you.”

“You wouldn’t lose Les, he’s the one you sell with-”

“But I like you!” Jack was nearly yelling.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Jack stopped thinking and acted entirely on impulse. He leaned forward and kissed Davey. Davey stiffened and pulled back, his hand on his lip.

"Ow," he said. He was looking at Jack like he hadn't seen him before. Jack felt his heart sink.

"Hell, Davey, I'm sorry." Jack started. He could feel his breathing picking up, panic setting in quickly.

"It's okay, it doesn't hurt anymore."

Jack stared at Davey. "I mean about kissing you. I'm sorry about that, I shouldn't have."

"What? Jack, that didn’t bother me-”

Jack cut Davey off. “You don’t have to lie to me to make me feel better, I know it’s wrong, I’m sorry. Here, I’ll ask Race to walk you home-”

Davey grabbed Jack by his shirt and pulled him in. The kiss was rough and messy. Jack could taste the residual blood on Davey’s mouth.

Davey pulled back again, wincing. “It just hurt my lip, Jack. I've been waiting on you to do that. Kiss me, I mean."

Davey was smiling at him tentatively.

Jack could feel himself grinning. He kissed Davey again, much gentler this time. He let Davey respond, his hand touching Jack's side lightly. Jack cupped the edge of Davey’s jaw, the skin hot under his hand. David pulled back too soon, barely leaning away from Jack.

"Uh, Jack. I gotta get home eventually tonight." His face was red under the bruises and bandages.

Jack laughed. "Yeah, right. I'll walk you home."

Jack helped Davey back home, laughing and teasing each other. Davey's shirt was still only half buttoned. Jack could tell Davey's side still hurt, but he wasn't complaining at all. They reached Davey's house in record time, Esther slamming the door open the moment they knocked.

"Where have you been! Lord, David, what happened?"

Davey waved his mother off. "I'm fine, Mom. Jack patched me up."

Esther pulled her son inside, fretting over his bloody shirt and bandaged head.

"Jack Kelly, I can't thank you enough." Esther grabbed Jack, pulling him into a hug. "Thank you for helping my son."

Jack awkwardly patted her shoulder. "Just watching after my newsies ma'am."

Jack declined Esther's offer for him to stay with them and walked back to the lodging house alone. He opened the door as quietly as he could, but that still didn't stop Race from hearing him.

"All done with the Walking Mouth?" He asked, his voice teasing.

"Shut your mouth, Race." Jack half-heartedly shoved him away.

Race continued teasing him all the way upstairs. Jack climbed up onto a bunk, shoving Race down when he followed. Race hit the ground with a groan.

Jack rolled over, grinning to himself about Davey. He couldn’t wait to sell papes tomorrow.

[thestoryweneededtowrite]

Javid Titanic AU - Part 3

Part 3! David’s parents are going to be pretty OOC or the story doesn’t work so please suspend your disbelief on that basis.

Also, should I name this thing? ‘Javid Titanic AU’ isn’t all that catchy...

Part 1 Part 2

It was the closest Davey had ever felt to death and he realised very quickly that he wasn’t ready to give up on life yet. He yelled out and struggled, his first instinct to panic until Jack looked him straight in the eye to keep him calm.

“It’s okay, pull yourself up,” he ordered, and for once it was an order Davey was happy to follow.

Clambering up, he got over the railings and fell against Jack, breathing heavily and trying not to cry. Suddenly there was a hand stroking over his back and just before he was about say something about how worryingly intimate that felt, the quiet of the night was shattered by hard shoe soles on the wooden deck. Davey wrenched himself away from Jack and stood shaking in the cold air, hugging his arms around himself.

"Mr Jacobs, I heard shouting. Is everything alright."

Davey hated that voice and to his constant annoyance, he knew it all too well. Mr Snyder, one of his father’s friends, had been around constantly ever since… what had happened; he was like a constant pair of eyes watching his every move like a hawk. So if he was close enough to hear Davey’s shouts, he’d probably been watching from the shadows. Which meant he’d seen everything. From hanging off the back to the boat to standing in Jack’s arms, and Davey wasn’t sure which was worse. Had Snyder wanted him to jump?

Brushing his hands down his shirt to try and straighten up, Davey tried to shake everything that had happened from his mind and force a smile.

"Yes. Perfectly alright,” he said, not meeting Jack’s eyes. Still, from Snyder’s look he needed to think of a semi-believable excuse for why he was at the back off the boat, on the third-class deck.  "I just... I was leaning over the railings to see the..."

His mind had gone blank of the word he needed and trying to mime with his hands was just getting him stared at by both Jack and Snyder.

"Propellers?” Jack suggested helpfully, sensing that whatever story Davey told was one he was going to have to commit to, so he might as well help make it at least partially believable.

Davey nodded and continued pulling together a quilt of an excuse from nonsense scraps.

"Yes! Exactly. And I slipped. And Mr..."

He realised with a start that he didn’t even know the name of the man who had been willing to jump off the back of a boat for him, and he turned to give him an apologetic shrug.

"Kelly. Jack Kelly,” the man offered, sticking out a hand for Snyder to shake that just got him a derisive scowl in return.

Davey couldn’t help a small smile. This man seemed more genuine than anyone he’d known in the longest time and Davey couldn’t remember the last time he’d met someone he actually wanted to have a conversation with.

"Mr Kelly here helped pull me back,” he explained. That much was definitely true, physically and mentally, and he was thankful.

The cocky grin Jack gave him was worth it all – Davey wished he had that kind of confidence. He wondered what it would be like to look Snyder in the eye and not be afraid, not that Jack knew that Snyder was probably carrying a gun. That might affect his courage a little.

Snyder looked Jack up and down critically before fixing him with a cold stare.

"Convenient he had time to remove his boots and jacket,” he said, pointedly glancing at the little pile of clothing Jack had neatly placed on the floor.

Davey met Jack’s eyes and was pretty sure the horrified look he found there was reflected on his own face. Jack guiltily reached for his jacket and pulled his shoes back on, thankfully keeping silent as Davey grasped for some way to explain that was going on that didn’t make either of them seem culpable for something. Even if Snyder knew the truth, he was going to have to come up with a believable lie to tell his parents and based on past experience Snyder would be happy to poke holes in it. Just as Davey opened his mouth to spin a tale, Snyder cut him off with a smirk.

"Your parents are looking for you, Mr Jacobs. I don't think they'd want to hear about this, do you?" he said, far too sinister to mean good.

His eyes widening, Davey realised exactly what Snyder was trying to suggest and became convinced he was the most evil person to walk the earth. There was no reason for Snyder to dislike him, it was just coldblooded hatred. He knew full well that Esther and Mayer didn’t approve of Davey talking to people like Jack, and especially not alone.

"We weren't-" he protested, and they really hadn’t been but before he could finish the sentence another pair of shoes clicked across the deck. This time it was clearly heels.

"David! Heaven's sake, where have you been?" came his mother’s shrill voice.

Esther Jacobs was usually as painfully refined as society dictated but now she looked a little flustered. Clearly having her eldest son run out of dinner was stressful, and finding him on the third-class deck with someone like Jack Kelly didn’t make that any better.

"Nowhere Mamma,” Davey replied quickly, risking a look at Snyder and praying he wasn’t going to say anything. “I just went for a walk. There was a little accident but I'm fine now,” he promised.

His mother inevitably focused on the presence of a stranger instead of on the fact there’d been an accident and Davey wanted to roll his eyes - she meant well but she never seemed to go about it in the right way. Her glare was fixed on Jack and Davey wasn’t so convinced no one was going to die before the night ended anymore.

"Who's this?" Esther asked, stoic and cold.

Clearly Jack had a death wish since he just stuck out his hand again and grinned.

"Jack Kelly, ma'am. Pleased to meet you,” he said, far too cheerfully.

Esther gave him no more than a cursory derisive glance before refocusing her attention back on her son and appraising him so intently that he felt like she could see every thought he’d ever had, which was a terrifying prospect.

"David?" Esther prompted, sternly.

"No one!” Davey insisted. “I just met him. He saved my life."

Nothing he was saying was a lie and he was really hoping that that was going to work in his favour. And for once luck was on his side.

Esther nodded curtly. "I see.”

As much as Davey sometimes disagreed with his mother’s opinions, he knew her well and that was definitely an “I see’ that meant backing down and not one that meant he was in even more trouble. So for once in his life he was going to push things because he hadn’t met anyone else on the ship that was worth talking to and he wasn’t about to let Jack disappear back into the woodwork without so much as a conversation.

"I think it would be cordial to invite him to dine with us tomorrow, don't you agree? As a thank you,” he suggested, crossing his fingers behind his back and thanking every god he’d ever read about that Jack was keeping quiet.

It wasn’t quite an invitation in itself but Esther still couldn’t quite bring herself to rescind it. She forced a polite smile and turned to Jack.

"Quite,” she said. “Mr Kelly, I do hope you can make it."

Either Jack could feel the hatred behind the words and didn’t care, or he was gleefully ignorant. He just smiled and gave Davey a wink.

"Wouldn't miss it."

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14