Newsies One Shots

All Good Things

Prompt - None
Au - None
Triggers - Implications of suicide, death mentions

•••

They're too loud. My footsteps, that is. Too loud and too prominent and too much of a reminder. A reminder of what, I don't know. I don't like that I don't know. I don't like the noise.

Jack Kelly didn't need anyone. He was strong and independent and perfectly capable of taking care of himself, thank you very much. He'd had to be, for the majority of his life. Jack couldn't remember a time when he'd had anyone looking out for him. That was before the newsies of course, but that was what he told people.

Jack Kelly didn't have folks, didn't need them. He was glad to be rid of them, rid of that tether that came along with family. That's what he told them. And it's what he told himself. If it was up to him, he told himself, he wouldn't have folks at all. They weren't worth the effort and in his opinion, overrated.

The wind. It's cold in the streets; they're like wind tunnels and my shirt is thin. That's ok though. I never really minded the cold. Not then and not now.

Of course, Jack did have a family once. Everyone had a family once and Jack was no exception. He'd had a mama and a papa and he'd had an uncle and cousins. He didn't remember his cousins that much; they lived far away, far from New York and he didn't see them to often.

He'd loved seeing them, that he did remember. They were his age and they used to play together in the hallway outside his old apartment, the smell of the musty carpet hanging around them. They'd played pretend mostly, fancying that they were pirates on a mission for buried treasure with a stick as a sword or cowboys tracking bandits, a funny shaped rock as a gun. Jack was the best at games, so he'd been told. He made the best ones. He was the best at pretend.

My face is wet. I don't think it's raining, but it must be. I don't cry. I never cry. So why is my vision blurred? Not tears. Never tears. I don't cry. I don't cry, do I?

He hadn't seen his cousins in years. His papa and his uncle fell out about something; what, Jack was never told. They'd stopped visiting and sometimes Jack wondered if they remembered him, remembered their games like he did. He never said he remembered, not even to his mama and papa when they were still around, but he did and he missed them. Maybe he'd find them one day. Maybe.

Of course, maybe not. He'd never left New York, as much as he wanted to. He doubted he'd be able to find them, or that they'd even want to see him. That was the thing about family; they were supposed to be forever and yet they seemed to drift or fall apart like one of Jack's papes under a raincloud, unable to hold themselves together. Whether from his experience or that of others, it was the same old story.

The metal. It's cool under my hands. It's familiar. I like it, the feel of the railing and the corrugated iron under my feet. A fire escape, that's what it is. A fire escape, like the one at the lodgings.

Jack wished he had known that when he was younger. Even when his cousins and uncle had stopped visiting, his mama and papa were always there and he'd though that would be the way it would be forever. Oh how wrong he was. How very wrong. Thinking back on it now, it was hard to say whether he was hopeful or simply naive. The more he thought, the more likely the latter appeared. Maybe he was being harsh, but then again, maybe he wasn't.

Jack still remembered them vividly. He would deny it but he did. As much as it hurt, he did. He remembered his mama singing to him when he couldn't sleep and his papa teaching him how to tell the time from the sun. He remembered being shown how to read and write in a shaky hand, even if they could never afford to send him to school. He remembered it all and he wished he didn't. It hurt to much, hurt like a punch to the gut that made him want to double over and cry out.