Hey guys! So I'm in a MAJOR Newsies (and, therefore, Jack) mood, and this story popped out. It's inspired by Lady Lila's MARVELOUS fic "Spot's Story," which I HIGHLY recommend. I'm not a Spot fan, and that story made me like him five thousand times more than I did before. Yeah. It's that good.

A/N: This is going to be a series of one-shots and drabbles about how Jack Kelly got to be where he was when we first met him, and will follow him through the strike and a little after.

Disclaimer: Though I own a red bandanna, the movie soundtrack, the DVD, a Newsies cap, and I like to get the paper for my mom and "improve the truth" on the headlines before giving it to her, I am not Disney nor Kenny Ortega nor Alan Menkin nor Christian Bale nor Kloppmann nor even Sarah Jacobs, who is in lucky and unfair possession of my Jacky's heart.

~Rosey

Go Get 'Em, Cowboy

Birth of a Legend

Jack Kelly wasn't born Jack Kelly.

He wasn't even born in America.

He was born Francis Sullivan. The date? May 10, 1882. The place? Tullamore, Ireland. The parents? Kelly and John Sullivan.

Yes, Jack Kelly had parents. Of course he did. Every child does at one point. Children don't come out of nowhere, boys and girls. Frankie (as Jack was known then) had a mother who loved him more than life itself.

His father did not. His father never wanted a son in the first place, and would have much rather just lived happily and alone with his beloved wife. But even then Francis Sullivan wanted to see the world.

And so, on an early morning on an aforementioned date, Francis Sullivan (who would in the future be one of the best newsies in New York; who would become the Great Jack Kelly; who would lead a strike against the biggest newspaper giant in the world and win) came into the world, opened his mouth wide...

And started bawling. He was a regular baby, this future strike leader. He wasn't born with a burst of fireworks or with any special abilities. He just knew he was hungry and wanted his mama.

So Kelly Sullivan rocked her son back and forth like many mothers do, singing him an old Irish song. "Toor-a-loor-a-loora...Hush now don't you cry..." She looked down at her baby and beamed proudly. "And won't you be the best lad in Ireland?" she smiled after she was done singing, kissing Frankie on the head. "My little precious lad...Gonna grow up and be as handsome as his father and then some." Kelly bit her lip, thinking about her husband who had gone out to a bar hours ago and was yet to return. "Your daddy's a bit narky at times, Frankie. But I swear he won't lay a finger on you while I'm around, me little snapper."

Francis Sullivan had by now fallen asleep, nestled against his mother with his thumb in his mouth. (Oh, how the future newsies would hold it over his head if they knew this was a habit of his until he was six!)

And thus was the birth of what would grow to be a legend. But there were plenty of high times and hard times before Francis Sullivan would write STRIKE on the headline board in New York in 1899.

And these are those stories.

Well there's the prologue/first drabble! Tell me what you think of this idea and what other stories from Jack's life you would like to see in a...REVIEW! They get you hugs from every single Newsie. Yeah. I have that power;)

~Rosey