Title: Outrun the Sunset
Author: Poison Ivory (poisonivory@gmail.com)
Fandom: Newsies
Pairing: Jack/David, Jack/Sarah
Rating: PG
Notes: Oh, Jack. Honey. NO. Also, my knowledge of trains in 1899 was pretty much cobbled from my knowledge of subways in 2005 and my repeated viewings of the Thomas the Tank Engine movie (only Alec Baldwin's finest hour!) while babysitting, so take that with a grain of salt. Thanks to TSB for the beta.

The man in the booth glared at the scruffy-looking boy on the other side. His glare deepened when the boy lifted a much-patched sack and upended it on the counter. Nickels, dimes, pennies, and the occasional quarter went sprawling across the scratched wood with a thunderous rattle, some falling to the floor with a dull tink. The boy scooped the fallen ones up and added them to the pile.

"As far as that'll get me," he said, his jaw set as if daring the man to question him.

The man was not intimidated. "What direction?"

"West." The boy scratched his neck, where a Stetson hung by a frayed piece of twine. "I want to go west."

The ticket seller began to count the change, glaring daggers at this overgrown street urchin who'd inconvenienced him so. "Anywhere in particular?"

"Santa Fe."

The change was shoved into the cashbox; a quarter, three dimes, and seven pennies were shoved back across the counter, along with a ticket to Santa Fe. "You're in luck. Train's coming in 15 minutes. You got any luggage?"

The boy nodded his head at the bag slung across his back. "Just this."

"In other words, no. All right, kid, sit over there and don't bother me."

"Jack."

The ticket seller paused, and the look of irritation on his face would have cowed a much older man. "What?"

"My name ain't 'kid,' it's Jack. Jack Kelly."

"Oh, it is, is it?" Jack nodded. "Well, Jack Kelly, sit over there and don't bother me!" And with that, the ticket seller slammed the window shut.

Jack ambled over to the bench the seller had indicated, but he didn't seem to be able to sit still. He bounced, shuffled, drummed his fingers, tapped his toes, put his hat on, whistled, cleared his throat, took the hat off again. Finally he stood up and walked across the station room to study the list of arrivals and departures. Chicago, Boston, Detroit, Atlanta. People surged in and out of the room, some dusty with travel, others looking fresh and eager for a new adventure. Topeka, San Francisco, Baltimore, Houston. Above the ticket counter the clock ticked steadily towards the Santa Fe train's arrival time. Fourteen minutes. Thirteen. Twelve.

Jack Kelly took it all in, his brown eyes bright and curious, his movements a little too sharp and manic to be normal. When there was nothing new to see he read the board again, over and over, until long after he must've committed it to memory. Chicago, Boston, Detroit... Somewhere around the 13th Baltimore his eyes grew distant and then shut tight, as if something pained him.

David, soft and warm and smelling of soap and coffee and slightly burnt toast. The feeling of buttons whispering through their buttonholes, blue cotton worn threadbare from frequent washings slipping from pale freckled shoulders. The creak of the door, Sarah's startled gasp, and the rattle of knitting needles hitting the hardwood floor.

"I...I made it for you." A bright red sweater, made with yarn she must have scrimped and saved for, held in trembling fingers.

And David's looking at him like Jack is supposed to have the answers, and his eyes are so blue...

Then Jack's ears are full of the clang of his feet on the fire escape and he jumps the last five steps and splashes through gray puddles and he just can't leave those eyes behind...

"All aboard!" the conductor yelled. "All aboard for all points west!"

Jack Kelly drew himself up with some sort of inner resolve, and headed for the train. He boarded the first passenger car and set himself facing the engine, face to the west as if he would outrun the sunset. The train rumbled beneath him and started to chug along the tracks, and he sighed softly, a prisoner finally free.

There was a flash of blue on the platform and Jack Kelly's head turned, a quick, darting motion. A boy had run onto the platform, his dark curls and clean threadbare clothes rumpled and his chest heaving with the effort of his madcap dash. He scanned the windows of the slowly moving train, and Jack paled as he watched the blue eyes sweep to the front.

Blue met hazel, and until the train roared out of sight there was nothing in the world but betrayal and regret.

Then the station faded into the distance, and Jack Kelly turned his gaze westward again, his jaw set in that same determined way. New York was growing smaller by the minute, and the train was rattling steadily over the tracks as it picked up speed (and the rattles sounds like knitting needles, falling over and over onto a hardwood floor) and the sunset wasn't so very far away after all.

The boy in the Stetson smiled like a fresh wound, and put a quarter, three dimes, and seven pennies down on the race.

Get yourself free