Trouble

Written for my April Fic Challenge 2021, Prompt: Exam. Gen or Pre-Slash. Comments and kudos would be awesome. Enjoy!


In the short time they've been friends, Jack quickly established that, out of the pair of them, he was typically the one good at getting himself into trouble. Be it a scuffle with the Delancey's, a long running feud with Snyder, or an all-out war with the World. He was usually pretty good at getting himself out of it, too, but not always – he had David to rely on for that when all else failed. David was good at avoiding trouble.

So, when Jack arrives at the distribution center one morning to find David bruised and bloodied, he's more than a little bit surprised by this role reversal. Race, Mush and Specs are all huddled around him, joking about what could drive Davey to both start and finish a fight. They don't seem concerned about Dave's injuries, at least, so Jack opts to follows their lead.

He approaches, aloof. "Well, this is different, isn't it?" When he's close enough, he can pick out the bloodied knuckles, the rapidly blackening eye, the busted lip. "What happened here?"

"Jack!" Racetrack declares, eyes lit up like its Christmas. "You shoulda seen it! It was amazing!" He slings an arm over David's shoulder, misses the wince David reacts with, and continues, "Davey here took on those slimy Delancey brothers all by 'imself. Me and Specs showed up at the end, chased 'em off, but it was all him."

And, well, that's not what Jack expected to hear at all. It was clear David had been in a fight, but a fight with the Delancey's was a dangerous game if you didn't know how to play (and, as far as Jack was aware, David did not). That he came out of it with just a few scrapes and bruises was… impressive. Still, he has questions, but this is not the place for them.

"Yeah?" He asks, a quirk of a smile on his face. "What'dya say you and me go patch up those knuckles real quick, huh, Davey? I got some stuff stashed back at the boarding house."

David agrees, follows him.

The walk back is suspiciously quiet.

Any other newsies would be bragging about their win, telling the tale to anyone who would listen and anyone who wouldn't. No doubt it would get more and more outlandish with every repetition. But David isn't any other newsies and David doesn't get in fights.

Kloppman lets them in with only a half-heartened complaint – the old man never truly minds when it's for a good reason, and this certainly is – and he herds David up to the washrooms so he can clean up the dirt and blood.

"So," he starts, grabs up a debatably clean cloth to wash away the grime from David's face. "The Delancey's."

"Yup."

Jack narrows his eyes, "You're gonna have ta give me more than that ta work with here."

"They had it coming," is all the answer he gets.

Jack has no doubts about that, as far as he's concerned the Delancey's always deserve it. But there's only so many buttons they could press to get David fired up enough to make any sort of rash decision. Jack's seen most of those buttons pressed already in the span of their friendship. The Delancey's like to run their mouths, so either they'd targeted Sarah again (unlikely, as David would have no reason to hide it if he were simply defending his family) or they'd targeted Jack (Jack is well aware that he is a favored subject in their vitriolic ramblings given his penchant for besting them in his own fights). In which case…

"You're an idiot."

David doesn't rise to the bait, just watches as Jack slowly and methodically wraps the gauze around his bruised and bloodied knuckles, where the skin has busted open on contact with someone's stupid face. Jack catches him wince when he pulls the wrap tight, securing a bandage firmly in place – it's something he's done many times over the years (newsies were always a scrappy bunch and such injuries were common amongst them). He gives his work a cursory examination and then he releases David's injured hand. But he's not through yet.

"Ya don't need to go picking fights to defend my honor, ya know. For one thing, I don't have any. For another, whatever trash those jerks are spewin' about me isn't worth my time or yours, and it certainly ain't worth your blood, Davey."

"You didn't hear them-" David tries to argue.

Aha, Jack thinks. Called it.

"Ain't nothin' the Delancey's can rub their collective two brain cells together to come up with that's gonna bother me all that much."

David scowls, "They certainly weren't creative with their insults," he begrudgingly agrees. "But I couldn't just stand there and listen to them. If they'd been talking about me and you'd heard them-"

Now, it's Jack's turn to concede the point. It's not even a question - "Oh, I woulda beat the shit out of them, too."

That gets a smile out of David, at least. "Thought so," he says. "And Jack? Thanks."

He's gesturing to his bandaged hand, but Jack has a feeling he means for more than the first aid. "Anytime, Davey," he offers.

"Should we head back? We've still got papers to sell, after all."

"Yeah, let's get goin'," he agrees, and the two of them take their leave of the boarding house. He'll stick close to David today, just in case those morons decide to try for some payback. He'll get the rest of the story - the details of the fight, what exactly was said (though he can imagine, Oscar and Morris don't have a lot of original material to work with), later on, whether that's from David or Race. He'll make sure David gets home safe tonight, make sure no more trouble finds him today.