Newsies Oneshots 2.0

Runaway: Part Two-Jack, Medda

He ran to Snyder's house.

He didn't care about lack of breathing, adrenaline was filling his lungs. He could live off of that for a few minutes.

He grabbed five shirts and five pants, his essentials being shoved into his backpack, too. His sketchbooks somehow got with everything else, his pencils making their way into the bag as well. He wasn't leaving anything he'd want to come back for.

He took a huge gulp of air, zipping his backpack closed once everything he needed was in there. He was doing it.

Jack looked around the room, the horrible long-lasting memories filling up his brain. There was no reason for him to stay here. He hated it here.

Jack inches closer to the window, despite being in the second floor. He opens it and placed a leg out, glad he decided to wear jeans today. He looked down, finding the height not drastically high. He threw his bag down and watched it thud as he built up his courage.

Throwing one leg over, Jack found himself winded as he landed in his back. He couldn't breath again.

He swallowed air—and possibly small bugs—as he lay there, trying to breathe. I wonder if I will ever have any good ideas?

Jack sat up, huffing and wheezing. He stood up and grabbed his backpack, leaning on his knees. His lungs burned a bit and his chest hurt, but he would fine. He'd be fine in a second.

Standing up, Jack took one last breath and walked to the front of the condo, and down the street. This would be the last time he'd ever see the house, hopefully. He never looked back.

Jack clutched the straps of his backpack, staring straight ahead. He already came to the realization that he's homeless now, but he sort of was before. The only difference is that he had a legal address. Now, he probably can't even go to school.

He sighed as he turned the volume of his music up, a steady beat filling his ears.

——————

"God, it's late", Jack muttered as he looked at the sky, the moon already high above. He shrugged and kept walking, looking for somewhere to spend the night.

He already flirted his way into getting free food, so there wasn't much for him to worry about there. The worried looks he got from unhelpful adults did stun him a bit, but he got over that. All there is left is where he's going to stay tonight.

The Rec isn't an option; it's too late and no one would be there anyway. He could find Spot, but the boy would ask too many questions. There's always the lovely park benches of New York.

He hated those benches. Hundreds of people sit on the benches everyday, and that wasn't counting tourists and visitors. Any of them could carry some disease—chicken pox, influenza, cholera—Jack didn't want to take his chances, and that's coming from someone who spit shakes.

But beggars can't be choosers, and he was begging to lay down. He walked to Central Park by himself.

The park looked different in the dark. It was less lively, not as loud. The grass seemed greener than usual and the moon shined beautifully on it. Jack smiled.

He looked both ways before walking across the street, running over to the grass. He found a space under a tree and lay down there, his head turning his hands numb and tingly as he lay on them.

His chest felt tight and he could hear himself wheezing but he didn't care, couldn't care less. He was out of the house. He made it out.

This was step one. He finally got out of Snyder's "Refuge for the Hopeless", as he called it, and was on his way to step two: get out of New York entirely.

It was too late to think, to late to say anything. All Jack wanted to do was look at the sky and remember the way the moon shined so he could draw it later. A soft smile lay at his lips as he stared, mind telling him to close but his eyes dating not to.

He did somehow fall asleep, however, whether he knew it or not.