Disclaimer: If you haven’t figured it out by now, I don’t own Newsies. Disney owns Newsies. I just own the plots. Or lack thereof.

Not Always As Tough

As He Seemed

Everything was dark, save for the snow swirling in front of his face so thickly that it was hard to make out where he was headed. He thought he knew the general direction; hoped he did. The temperature with the wind chill was well below freezing. Jack could have told you that just by glancing towards Spot, who in his frenzied rush to leave Cavendish and its inhabitants behind had neglected to bring himself a coat. Conlon staggered along at his elbow, seeming almost drunk from the cold the wind, and his sheer exhaustion, pain of betrayal, and anger. It had been Spot who wanted to get away, Spot who had come to Jack, desperate to go to Brooklyn, Santa Fe, anywhere but here. And Jack had let Spot lead him away. But now he seemed to be doing the leading. Spot wasn't paying attention in the slightest to where they were going.

Jack didn’t blame him. No matter how tough you are, betrayal of that kind hurt. It had taken Spot months to get up enough trust in Paul and Boston to allow them to adopt him. And how do they repay that trust? By also adopting that girl. Jesse. Jack hated even her name. More disrespectful and deceitful a newsgirl he had never known. A tough little bitch. Jack had warned his boys to keep closer to her, she’d give them nothing but trouble. Naturally, Spot had been drawn to her like a magnet. She had been a challenge, one of very few the Brooklyn leader hadn’t been able to fully get control of. She was rebellious, she had loved him and then hated him. She had broken his heart, insulted his authority, abused him emotionally in more ways than Jack could count. Spot had grown to hate her. And then to loathe her, lashing out at her every opportunity he had, whenever Boston and Paul’s backs were turned. They must had known how tense it was between the two. And still they adopt her. Her of all people.

Not wanting to watch him anymore, Jack lifts his eyes to try and find out how far it was to the track from here. Couldn't be more than a mile off now. Almost there, but with the storm, still a long way to go.

"Aww fuck it, Jacky-boy. I ain't doin' dis no moah." he heard from the ground beside him. Spot had suddenly sat down in the snow, shivering against the bitter cold wind shifting through his hair and refusing to go any further.

"We're almost there." he heard himself say.

"I don't care."

"Yes ya do." He tried pulling on Spot's arm to get him back on his feet.

Spot jerked his arm away, out of Kelly's hold, his reply stubborn. "No, I tell ya I don't." Gray eyes moved away from Jack‘s, his gaze thrown out across the frozen land.

Jack watched him for a moment, saw the wistfulness in Conlon's stare. Spot wanted to go on, all right. He just couldn't. And it was Jack's fault he had come; he had told Conlon he should do something to get back at them; he had let Spot lead them away into the storm with no purpose or idea where they were going... and no coat for Spot. For a while Jack is still and silent, making up his mind, the snow falling on his hat and shoulders. Then he reaches down and pulls Spot out of the snow, carrying the younger boy in his arms. He had gotten Spot into this, and he would get him out.

"Cowboy, don't-!" Spot warned, struggling slightly to free himself, beating his fists against Kelly‘s chest. Jack was amazed at how light Spot really was, and his struggle being half-hearted, it was easy to keep a hold on him. Finally, Spot just huddled against him, curling up and pressing his face into Jack's coat, away from the wind, and finished his protest with a quiet, "Don't drop me."

"I won't." And he didn't. He carried Spot on through the storm, towards the dark shapes of the abandoned boxcars looming ahead...