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leading-manhattan · 7 months ago

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Chapter One | Chapter Two

Actually stepping over the bridge into Brooklyn immediately puts a damper on the jovial atmosphere the boys crafted during their walk over. Nothing changes, not really, but slipping into someone else's territory makes the streets feel much more sinister. His boys were never eager to step foot in Brooklyn on a good day so it doesn't help that any and all alliances Manhattan may have had were certainly on unsettled ground at best. Even Racetrack quiets down, wary eyes flicking this way and that as he tries to keep an eye out for anything that may try to get the drop of them. Jack feels like he's walking to his execution for the third time in the past week and it's a feeling he's really starting to resent. He can't help it, he knows he's not safe here. It would've been nice to feel less like prey. "Keep your heads up, boys," Jack sniffs, eyes scanning every alley they pass. Part of the problem with trying to get to the Brooklyn lodge while it's empty is knowing that in turn all the Brooklyn boys had to still be out on the streets. They could get cornered at any second but Jack would be damned if they came all the way here only to never make it to Spot at all.

"Are you really that scared of Brooklyn?" Davey glances around at each of them curiously. He'd been to Brooklyn, he'd watched Spot Conlon command a room filled with well over a hundred boys with little more than a way of his hands, but Jack understands that he'd never seen a boy beat by Brooklyn before. There was a healthy intimidation that kept Dave subdued as they walked through the streets but he couldn't understand the spark of fear planted in the rest of their chests. Manhattan and Brooklyn had never been on such poor terms before and Jack really hoped to remedy the relationship between the boroughs before any of his boys got jumped just for being associated with a rat like him.

"It ain't a good idea to be on Brooklyn's bad side." Sniper grumbles. The seasoned newsies pointedly leave it at that. Davey looks like he wants to push, his need to know never sated, but luckily he keeps his trap shut.

They make it to the boarding house without any issue and while that should be a relief it only succeeds in feeding the anxiety curdling in Jack's stomach. His chest constricts and it has nothing to do with his healing ribs. It's unusual how empty the streets are. Regular passersby were still bustling about but there wasn't a newsie in sight as they made their way deeper and deeper into enemy territory. That alone puts Jack even more on edge. Spotting just a handful of newsies here and there, sure, but not a single one? It left a bitter taste in Jack's mouth that screamed at him trap. He shoots a quick look back at Racer as they stop a block or so away from the Brooklyn lodging house and the wariness in Racetrack's eyes and the furrow between his brows confirms that he's just as suspicious as Jack is.

"Theys waitin' for us," Sniper breaks the heavy silence, not tearing his eyes away from the boarding house standing tall and mighty in front of them. Sniper rolls his shoulders back and cracks his knuckles as if he'd have any chance at taking a whole building full of Brooklyn boys. The protective fire burning in his eyes is like a soothing balm over Jack's fraying nerves regardless. He realizes in the safety of his own mind that he hadn't been too sure whether or not they'd find him worthy to defend if things went to shit. It's unfair and illogical and a bunch of other things Davey would say if he shared that thought out loud. He knows they forgave him for what he did but he also knew that despite that plenty of his boys were still harboring some bitterness spawned from his intentional sabotage. Just because they forgave him doesn't mean they wouldn't get some satisfaction out of seeing him knocked around a bit. That was only fair if you asked Jack.

"Must've had a lookout." Albert fidgets, his uncertainty plastered clear across his face alongside his determination.

"If they let us get this far they must want to talk though, right?" Dave interjects hopefully, swallowing thickly as the understanding that they could be in serious danger starts to settle into his bones. Davey wasn't a fighter, not really. He'd throw a punch if he had to but he'd throw it wrong and land it worse. Once they finish this damn strike Jack's gonna have to teach the beanpole how to fight if he's gonna keep handing around a trouble magnet like Manhattan.

"Maybe." Racetrack offers distractedly, eyes narrowed as he stares daggers at the boarding house. "Or theys just wanted us to be in too deep to run." Dave's face pales significantly and Jack reaches over to smack Race on the shoulder. Racetrack shrugs helplessly and Jack sighs. It's not like he's wrong, it's a possibility, but it'd do them no good to psych Dave out before they even stepped through the doors.

"You ain't gotta come with us," Jack turns soft eyes to Davey. Davey who's rushed to Jack's side time and time again to pull him out of the dark. Jack didn't want to see him get hurt again because of something Jack dragged him into and he certainly didn't want Dave to think it was expected of him. Jack didn't want anything between them to feel like an obligation.

Davey looks outright offended at the implication and his hand shoots out to tenderly brush against Jack's, "I'm not going anywhere." He swears, steadfast. Jack melts, a small smile pulling at his lips despite the looming sense of doom that lingers over them.

"Alright sweethearts, let's get this movin'," Racetrack teases earning a snicker from Albert and a smirk from Sniper. The mood lightens for a brief moment and they all share a fond laugh even as Jack reaches over again to gently smack Race upside the head. Jack spots the moment Racetrack realizes he's overstepping, eyes widening and mouth popping open to form a small 'o' when he remembers how Jack had shut down Albert earlier. Still, Dave cracks a smile, hesitant but real.

Dread flares through Jack as he turns back to the boarding house and he hates the genuine fear that bleeds into him the longer he stares. His mind flashes involuntarily to the World and then, worse, that horrible cellar. He suddenly feels so trapped, cornered by predators, even surrounded by the open air out on the streets of New York. His breath hitches and he squeezes his eyes shut against the memories clawing for his attention. God, what's wrong with him, he hasn't even gone inside and he's already losing it. Warmth touches his hand and panic floods through him— who was touching him? Don't, please— until nimble fingers intertwine so softly with his own. Jack's head snaps down and he gapes at the hand holding his own so boldly out in the open like this. His eyes trail up the arm attached until he meets Davey's worried gaze and Dave squeezes his hand reassuringly. It's astonishingly grounding and like magic the haunting memories of the cellar are brushed to the back of his mind. They still writhe, desperate to be acknowledged, but it's so much easier to root himself in the present with Davey's hand clasped in his own. Jack nods curtly and sets his jaw. He slips his hand hesitantly from Davey's before dragging himself forward through sheer force of will. His instincts beg him to get out while he still can but he forces one foot after the other.

There's no resistance as they slip in through the front doors but the second they walk in they're surrounded. The lobby of the Brooklyn lodging is different than the one in Manhattan. First and foremost it's bigger. Not by too much but they house a lot more bodies here and the building was built to accommodate the size of the borough. Aside from that it's furnished with ratty, broken couches clearly taken off the streets scattered around and pressed against the walls. There are dozens upon dozens of boys packed tightly onto the cushions and standing around the room, all dressed in splashes of red with arms crossed to display their muscles. It's a clear threat of what's to come if any of them so much as breathe wrong and Jack is frighteningly aware of how little pull he has here. The best he'd be able to do if things went south was tell his boys to run and even then he doesn't think a single damn one of them would listen to him.

"You gotta lot of nerve showin' up 'round here," Spot's familiar voice cuts through the crowd and Jack easily finds him lounging in the back of the room. Spot's sat on the back of one of the couches, raising him up, and he looks down at Jack with a dark expression, feigning disinterest but painted with licks of flame. Jack expected Spot to be pissed, he had every right to be, but he hadn't expected to be greeted with such a show of hostility and strength. Spot tilts his head, obviously sizing Jack up, and for the first time since his quality time with Snyder and the Delanceys Jack wishes his injuries were more visible. "Clear out," Spot commands. For a second no one moves and Jack thinks that maybe the rest of the Brooklyn boys are just as shocked as Jack himself. Who was he kidding, they had probably just been looking forward to getting their shot in. "Did yous not hear me? Out." Spot growls and promptly sends the room into chaos. Jack forces himself not to flinch as some Brooklyn boys slide past them to head out onto the streets while the rest climb the stairs to relax up in the boarding rooms. Two boys don't move from Spot's side but Spot doesn't even acknowledge them as he watches the rest of his boys flood out of the room. Jack's stomach twists and he swallows back a wave of nausea. It seems that whatever was happening Spot had it planned out from the beginning. What could possibly follow up such a show of power?

It doesn't take long for the room to empty out and the further they get into this mess the more antsy Jack gets. He resists the urge to fidget, keeping his shoulders back and his head high, and latches on to the presence of his boys fanning out behind him. He wasn't alone and he needed to remember that. When it came down to it Jack really didn't think Spot actually wanted to hurt them anyway. He hopes, at least, that the camaraderie they shared before the rally wasn't completely destroyed. Jack's gaze locks with Spot's and the tension in the room steadily increases as the two leaders stare at each other in silence. Jack can see a guarded curiosity in Spot's eyes shrouded by a sheen of anger and betrayal and he allows a tentative hope to take root. He clutches to the idea that he has a chance to turn things back around and undo the damage he's done.

Jack knows that there's no good way for him to start this conversation, whether he apologizes first or once again requests Brooklyn's help he's sure it will set Spot off. Jack steels himself and speaks, "We still need you." He says like it matters, like he has any right to expect Spot to care, and just as Jack suspected Spot's face twists into a sneer.

Spot barks a laugh, "You got some audacity, Kelly, I'll give you that," he snaps as he gracefully slides off the back of the couch and onto his feet. "What's it? See your fight's still goin' without you and now you want back in, huh?" Spot stalks across the floor and despite the height advantage Jack knew that he didn't stand a chance. Immediately, without so much as a warning, a hand lands on Jack's shoulder and yanks him back. Jack can't stop the shocked yelp that slips out but he doesn't have much time to be ashamed about it before Sniper is stepping between him and Spot. Racetrack and Albert swiftly slide up to Jack's sides and Jack's almost positive that if he craned his neck to look Dave would be right at his back. They were boxing him in; shielding him. Spot stops his advance, raising a disbelieving eyebrow and giving a condescending snort, "Usin' your boys as a meat shield now? Fittin'." Jack cringes, shrinking slightly into the safety of the bubble his boys hastily made.

Spot isn't interested in being denied, however, and he's already made it clear that he's thought ahead. They were outplayed from the start and Jack never should have let any of them come with him. Spot clicks his tongue and the two other Brooklyn boys surge forward like trained attack dogs. They cross the room in the blink of an eye and Jack barely has time to scream in protest before Race and Albert are torn away from him. Spot reaches out and yanks Sniper to the side like he weighs nothing and Jack instinctively steps forward to try and catch him when he predictably stumbles. Jack doesn't get the chance, watching helplessly as Sniper tumbles to the floor as two sets of arms circle around his arms and hold him firmly in place. It's a painfully familiar sensation and panic bursts in his chest. The arms holding him are stronger and the boys taller but the hold itself is agonizingly similar to how the Delanceys caught him when he tried to flee Pulitzer's office. Frantically Jack jerks against the restraining grip but they don't so much as budge and he's forced to realize that he was trapped. Again. No.

"Stop! What're you doing!" Davey.

"Don't!" Jack snaps and he doesn't know if he's talking to Spot or Dave. The panic grows and wraps painfully around his chest, tightening until Jack wasn't sure he could breathe. He turns terrified eyes to Spot and he's haunted by the cold detachment that he sees there, "Leave 'em alone, they didn't do nothin', alright?" Jack pleads, pulling against the grip that keeps him from running like the coward he was. It hurts, his bruised shoulder and busted ribs whining at the harsh strain. Spot knew he had fast feet and had quickly eliminated the possibility that he'd flee. It was smart and it was calculated and Jack was scared.

"They're your boys, ain't they?" Spot disagrees, closing the gap between them and crossing his arms. Spot is acting like this is just another one of their casual chats and not the threat that it was. Just one more thing on the growing list of things reminding Jack of his time in Pulitzer's office.

"They didn't know," Jack stressed through gritted teeth, gathering his strength and glaring daggers down at Spot. He has half a mind to try and kick the bastard over but then Spot would beat on his boys just to teach Jack a lesson. This wasn't the Brooklyn leader Jack shared a bond stronger than blood with, this was the Brooklyn leader that earned a reputation of unbeatable violence.

"Ain't a good look for Manhattan," Spot tisks, watching Jack try to wrench himself free with practiced disinterest. Jack growls and tries in vain to get his captors to loosen their grip even just a little. With his arms wrenched up and back like this his shoulder has started to throb with sharp pains and the welts on his back are stretching uncomfortably. When he left, if he left, Jack's sure that all the healing he's been able to do will have been undone. "A good man leads by example. Who's to say all of your boys ain't rats?'

No. Jack gives one final tug, jerking with all his strength against the powerhouses holding him, but it's just as pointless as it was before. Jack sags, panting pathetically from the exertion and the hurt bubbling up like blood across his aching body. Jack throws a quick glance to Sniper frozen partially off the floor. Davey is at his side, holding him up, and they both stare at Jack with worried eyes; Davey's blown wide and Sniper's narrowed darkly. A quick look in the other direction reveals Racetrack and Albert looking for all intents and purposes like they're about to do something stupid.

"Just leave 'em alone, Sean," Jack begs, letting his head fall to his chest in defeat. "Do whatever you want to me but leave them outta it, alright?" Jack swallows convulsively, powerless to keep back the fear that coils up his spine and digs sharp thorns into his skin. He's done this dance before and he still bears the wounds from the beating it earned him. But he'd take a knife for his boys without so much as a thought, what's another round of fists? "Just," Jack gasps, his shoulder is screaming, "Just don't give up on everyone else. This strike is more than me, you knows that. Please." He hates how pitiful he sounds and shame rushes through him to blend with the defeat and terror. It's a vile, curdling concoction that only succeeds in making Jack feel less than human. Humiliated and subdued. Broken.

Jack hears shoes scuff the floor and his head snaps up in time to see Racetrack and Albert rush in. Racetrack lands a solid blow to the cheek of one of the boys holding Jack and Albert tackles the other roughly around the middle. Instinctively the Brooklyn boys release Jack and in turn Jack very nearly collapses. He stumbles and barely manages to catch himself last minute on shaking legs. His shoulder burns and Jack snaps a hand up to cradle it with a pained whine that's drowned out by the scuffle behind him. "Don't—" Jack tries to warn. They couldn't afford to be on worse terms with Brooklyn, they couldn't handle a damn war on top of the strike and Pulitzer and Snyder—

Sniper leaps off the floor and socks Spot right in the face.

The room freezes. One of the Brooklyn boys has Racetrack by the collar of his shirt, fist reeled back and ready to throw a punch while the other is still stuck beneath Albert on the floor. Dave, standing awkwardly to the side, looks like he doesn't know whether to be confused or share in the shock that's turned everyone to stone. Sniper just looks smug, flexing his fingers to try and shake the pain that comes from a well-placed hit. They all stare, transfixed on Spot as he stumbles back and stretches his jaw to test whether or not Sniper fucking dislocate it. Dread burrows itself deep into Jack's very soul. Shit.

Spot shoots Sniper an appraising look and Sniper only shrinks back a little under his harsh gaze. It's impressive, actually, and under different circumstances Jack would be proud. Spot turns back to the room, still comically paused, and jerks his chin towards the stairs, "Let 'em go. Get outta here." A blatant command for his boys. They only hesitate for a moment but ultimately follow Spot's orders without question. Race fixes his shirt with a scowl the second he's released and Albert is shoved aside easily so the boy beneath him can get up. The leave without a word and Jack can only stare dumbfounded after them as they're left alone in the lobby with Spot.

"What just happened?" Racetrack murmurs, voice impossibly loud in the sudden silence.

Spot snorts, rolls his eyes, and faces Jack. Jack flinches, tightening his hold on his shoulder, and tries to stand tall. He fails, not necessarily unexpectedly but disappointingly, immediately stumbling on uncoordinated limbs. Thankfully Davey appears to have been watching him carefully and rushes to his side to hold him steady. So much for standing strong. "What happened." Spot presses. It's not a question.

"We couldn't have skipped the scare tactics?" Davey hisses bitterly and Jack can feel his hands shaking where they're braced on Jack's arms. It takes Jack a second to decipher what Davey means. Dave's always been the brain between the two of them and Jack's still reeling from the promise of a beating and the plethora of memories it dug up. Scare tactics, Jack thinks dully, feeling so disconnected from himself.

"Yous tryin' to tell me that was a fuckin' test?" Racetrack snaps, all rage in a way that's so jarring coming from an energetic ball of chaos like him.

Spot shrugs, "Not all of it," He admits without remorse, recrossing his arms. Jack's starting to resent his casual air, regardless of whether or not it's projected or genuine, and if he wasn't still trying to catch up with everything happening right now he thinks he'd be furious. "Jackie-boy just doesn't seem like he's doin' too hot and he's a lil' too desperate to be a traitor. Besides, he clearly won you lot over. Last I heard yous was all pissed with 'im too." Spot reasons and this time when Jack forces himself to meet his eyes there's a blatant concern there that Jack didn't realize he needed to see. Spot frowns but offers a soft nod in quiet reassurance. Things weren't fixed but Spot was willing to give him a chance. Jack melts with relief and nearly sends Davey to the floor as he scrambles to accommodate more of Jack's weight. "Sit down, you moron. You's gonna fall." Spot snaps, reaching out to grab him. Jack flinches, eyes wide as he curls closer to Dave. Sniper takes an aborted step forward, fist clenched. Spot pulls back instantly and instead gestures to the nearest couch.

Jack is grateful that Davey helps him stumble over. He's fine, really, but the pains scattered around his torso combined with the beginning of an adrenaline crash have made him a bit weak in the knees. He was already humiliated enough, he didn't need to go tripping over himself. He collapses into the cushions, wincing when the irritated wounds on his back press against the worn back of the couch. Davey waits until he's settled before carefully lowering himself down next to Jack. He's wary of jostling Jack and if it wasn't such a relief after what just happened Jack would've snapped at him to cut it out. He wasn't some fragile creature but he can admit to himself that he'd like a break from all the hurts. Spot is watching him with calculating eyes, not bothering to hide how he's taking in every detail and tucking them away. Spot wasn't dumb. He was a hard ass and an asshole but he was good at what he did. In the background Racetrack helps Albert off the floor and they both scramble over to Jack's side. Sniper lingers back a little longer before ultimately following their lead so they can all form a protective wall between Jack and Spot. Spot raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment.

"The hell happened to you, Kelly?" Spot huffs, clearly not happy at having to repeat himself. At least it sounds like he's asking this time.

Jack sighs, melting into the couch and fighting off the sudden wave of exhaustion that crashes into him. He really wasn't looking forward to this conversation, he never is, but on the other hand he was so glad that the threat of violence wasn't hanging over his head anymore. He was so tired of hurting. "Spyder," He confesses before Spot starts getting irritated. Spot was pretty good at not treating newsies from other boroughs like they were under his leadership but he was still used to a certain brand of respect that got him answers when he wanted them. Usually Jack would be happy to push those buttons but right now he just feels meek and shaken. He doesn't want trouble and he doesn't think he'd survive it if Spot actually hit him right now, emotionally or physically.

Surprise flashes across Spot's face and it's a testament to how raw the shock was by how unfiltered his expression is. Jack can see that it hadn't ever crossed Spot's mind that Snyder could've been involved and that was the genius of it. Pulitzer was a bastard but he was a bastard who knew what he was doing. Spot was well acquainted with Snyder's affinity for Jack and just what that could mean for the young borough leader. "I'ma need you to give me more than that if yous gonna ask for my help again."

"I know." Jack murmurs bitterly, glaring up at the ceiling. There are water stains and odd dips and he counts them to give himself some more time to compose himself. He hates how often he's felt the need to pick up the pieces recently. He started this strike bright-eyed and self-assured, leading a crowd of boys with the spirit of a fighter. They haven't even won and it feels like the life has been pried forcefully out of him. He's a husk of what he was marching on not for himself but for the people that look to him for guidance. Jack lets his eyes drift closed and he focuses intently on the warmth of Davey's body beside him. He starts the same way he always does, "I was stupid. Got cocky before the rally, guess I was ridin' that high." He scoffs a laugh lacking of any humor. He can only look back on his actions with resentment now. He was so stupid. "Stormed into the World to rub the strike right into Pulitzer's face. I wanted him to feel as trapped as he made us. I wanted the bastard to know we was comin' for 'im and that he couldn't do a damn thing about it." Jack snarls, old fury coming back with a vengeance. He had been so smug in his righteousness and Pulitzer struck him down with the ease of a man truly powerful. Jack was just a poor imitation, nothing in comparison. "I was wrong. Old man had Snyder in his pocket and the Delanceys on his payroll. I couldn't get out and he said if I didn't call off the strike then he'd round up as many newsies as he could and cart 'em off to the Refuge."

Spot wasn't stupid. "And theys beat the shit outta you." It's a statement, not a question.

"And theys beat the shit outta me." Jack agrees miserably. He fucking hurts and Spot's warm welcome made the dull aches turn to angry throbs. He really had been healing up pretty well after being kept up on the roof for a few days and while he knows it's not true it feels like all that progress has been stripped away in the past twenty minutes. "Fuck," He breathes, leaning pitifully into Davey. Dave tenses immediately, his whole body winding up tight, and Jack grunts to make his displeasure known.

"You can relax, Mouth," Spot chuckles and Jack imagines he's smirking.

Davey's still coiled with tension beneath him and Jack reaches over to poke him in the side. "He knows, he's cool." Jack huffs, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. Brooklyn was a rough place but they had no room to judge when it came to boys kissing boys. It was hard to have this many kids under one roof and not have some queers mixed in with the rest of the lot.

Racetrack and Albert are snickering again at Davey's expense and when Jack cracks an eye open to kick out at them he spots a small grin on Sniper's face too. Dave sharply exhales, some of the unease bleeding out of him and ultimately making him a much better pillow, "That would've been nice to know beforehand, you know." He bites but it lacks any real hostility as he raises an arm to curl comfortingly around Jack's shoulders. He avoids putting any pressure on Jack's bruised shoulder with practiced ease, days of forcing Jack to let himself be cared for giving Dave all the experience he needs to avoid pressing on any especially painful injuries.

Jack snorts, tilting his head to shoot Dave a shit-eating grin, "Sorry, didn't really expect it to come up." He really hadn't. Regardless of how this confrontation went Jack fully expected it to be all business. He definitely hadn't been planning for leaning so heavily on Davey out in the open at the Brooklyn lodgings. A part of Jack assumed that after something as big as what he'd done that his connection with Spot would be severed for good. He was immensely grateful that it seemed he was wrong. If nothing else Spot was willing to listen and Jack could work with that.

"Alright, you pests, move." Spot slinks forward and tries to wave Jack's boys away.

"What, Spotty, ain't happy to see me?" Racetrack teases, stepping closer to Sniper and making their human barricade even tighter.

"Can it, Higgins," Spot snaps and Jack can hear the annoyance starting to trickle into his tone.

"Stop. It's fine, we's good." Jack interjects before someone tries to hit Spot again. Spot could respect a good punch but Jack sincerely doubts he'd be willing to just take another blow. Jack would prefer if they all headed back to Manhattan in relatively one piece.

Reluctantly Albert grips Sniper's arm and pulls him to the side and Racetrack retreats to the opposite end of the couch. Jack's touched by their desire to stay close, unwilling to abandon Jack to an unknown fate with someone who had mere moments ago been so willing to tear him apart. Spot doesn't look like he cares that they're still here and instead just erases the distance between them. Slowly Spot reaches out and takes Jack by the chin, tilting his face this way and that, brows furrowed. "You alright?" He asks, tilting Jack's head back like he expects to find something on his throat or hidden just beneath his collar.

Jack grunts, pulling his face away and batting at Spot's probing hands, "Fine." He insists, disgruntled.

"He's full of shit," Race chirps without missing a beat.

"Theys got 'im good," Albert agrees, much more reserved, "Couldn't even get up the fire escape."

"Hey!" Jack cries. He wants to refute that but he'd only gotten down the fire escape just fine. He had been well aware that going up wouldn't go over well for him, even just the ladder up to the roof had been too much for him during those first couple of days. "That was then, this is now. I'm alright, honest. Just sore." He meant it. His definition of alright might not align with theirs but he could breathe easier and had almost a full range of motion back in his shoulder, that was pretty damn good if you asked him.

"He's better," Davey concedes, "Not in top shape yet but we've been taking care of him." It was an honest answer and Dave confidently meets Spot's eyes when Spot turns to look at him. Spot nods, satisfied, and leans back.

"So, what crazy plan you got this time?" Spot hums. Warmth floods through Jack in response and he pushes away from Davey with a low groan. His ribs weren't happy with the roughhousing and the strain there only added to the ever-present agony resonating from his back and shoulder. Christ, what Jack wouldn't give for a hot bath right now.

"Katherine wrote up an article. A call to action, not just for the newsies, but for every workin' kid bein' overworked and underpaid by this damn city. 'Course Pulitzer gots a ban on printin' anything about the strike." Jack leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees to keep himself from falling over. Spot's eyes sharpen and Jack knows that he has his full attention. "Thing is, when Pulitzer had Snyder and them work me over theys brought me down to the basement of the World, right?" Spot's eyes narrow and Jack knows this time that the fury isn't directed towards him but rather the bastards that dared to drag him around like a piece of property and lay their hands on him like they had a right. That's one of the great things about having Spot in your corner. A lot of people would think Jack insane if he dared say it out loud but Spot Conlon cared even if he had a very peculiar way of showing it. A sharp grin cuts across Jack's features and with it a spark of his old mischief comes to life inside of him, "Well, you see, he's got an ol' printin' press down there he ain't using."

"Oh, you got balls, Kelly," Spot barks a laugh but the smile that settles onto his face is deadly. "Usin' Pulitzer's own press to bring 'im down? How could I say no to that?"

"You in?" Jack blinks, hope tentatively spawning beneath his ribs. He needs to confirm. He needs to know for certain before he starts getting excited but the idea that they still had a chance is too intoxicating to just cast aside. Dave's hand slides into his own and Jack latches onto it as tightly as he could. It feels like Jack and his boys are waiting with bated breath. They just might be but Jack doesn't dare check.

Spot's eyes soften and Jack knows the answer before it even leaves his mouth, "I'm in."

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