A/N: A Skittery piece that I made for my friend for a Secret Santa gift exchange. I just found the fic again, and decided to post it.

Disclaimer: Don't own Newsies. Will never own Newsies.

Jacob Trainor was an unusual boy. Not in the sense where he never fit in, but in the sense where everyone— no matter who he was with, knew that there was something different about him. But he kept it hidden, kept it under cloak and key, never to come out in the light of day.

For you see, what Jacob liked to do was not considered 'normal' among his group of friends. In fact, everyone would probably soak him if they found out. And, more than anything, he wanted a family more than he wanted his secret.

Then one day, Brian Denton found out. And, as secrets were wont to do, it started to spill out. Jacob Trainor— Skittery to his friends, was a writer. And not just any kind of writer, but a good one. He was, after all, going to get published.

It started like this:

Jacob was four-years-old when he started reading. His father was a professor at a university and wanted to give his son an early education. Jacob loved books more than anything else. More than the toys his mama brought home from her days out, more than the kids he got set up on play dates with, even more than his blankie— which his nana gave to him before she died. He just loved reading.

So he started writing when he was five; 'very early for a child of his age' as his father would state proudly. And he wasn't any good, because what child that young ever was? But he wasn't as bad as all the other children in his class, which made him irrationally pleased. Because, you see, Jacob wasn't very good at anything else except reading and writing. He knew his numbers, but had a hard time understanding why one needed to add and subtract them. He understood places, but didn't understand why you needed to know where you were at in comparison with the rest of the world.

And so he wrote, and read, and his father was still proud of him, because more than anything, he just wanted to let his son do what would make him happy.

Jacob Trainor was nine when his parents were arrested for the kidnapping of an infant. The police said that it was he who was kidnapped, but Jacob didn't understand how. They were his parents, how could hey have kidnapped him? Unfortunately, the last of Jacob's biological family had died, and so he was placed in an orphanage. That was the day he stopped trusting people that worked 'for your benefit, sir.'

He ran away when he was 11, having seen the way that even the damn newsboys— as his father always put it, lived better than he currently did. And he didn't like to brag or anything, but he was a natural. He would read the papers for any miniscule detail that he could use to hock his headlines, and use it to his advantage, knowing that the only way to sell a headline is if he made it a good headline.

His training of 'don't lie' flew out the window faster than the amount of time it took the police to stick him in the orphanage— meaning, less than a day.

Unfortunately, he was still hardwired to look down upon the 'street urchins' that disrupted the 'good city of New York' with their 'vile and filthy ways.' And so, as it would seem, he still was skittish around his fellow newsboys for awhile.

Had he known that doing so would give him his nickname, one that still haunted him even to this day, he most probably would have forced himself not to be as 'skittery' around them. As it stood, though, he did not have knowledge of the future, and thus continued to act like a frightened rabbit.

It took Skittery almost four years to lose the entirety of his 'upper class' accent, but most of the newsboys at this point just thought he was doing it to sell more— because all of the ones he told about his home life were long gone and in other accommodations by now.

However, through all of this, he never lost his passion for writing. It became more of a secret, sure; something to hide and be ashamed of, most definitely. But it never diminished.

It was a pure accident that Brian Denton found his journal and started reading it— at least that's what he told himself. (He would never admit to leaving it out where Denton could find it, knowing that, as a journalist, he would be interested in a journal that a newsie kept so closely guarded.)

He had told Skittery that he was a phenomenal writer 'in spite of his circumstances'— and Skittery smiled wryly at that, because he was absolutely certain that he grew up more wealthy than Brian Denton ever dreamed he could be.

But, nonetheless, somehow he got Skittery published. It wasn't big or anything, just a little book sold locally, but it was going to be something.

The real issues started when the publishing company wanted to know his name. They said that Skittery wouldn't work, and he would have to use a real name, but he couldn't use that either, because people still talked about 'those awful Trainor's and that poor little boy.' He had begged them to let them use Skittery, to no avail, unfortunately. And so, despite his misgivings about the situation, he told them the name he hadn't said in over four years, 'Jacob Trainor.'

At that Denton had blinked, gave a look to Skittery, and commented that he had reported on that story. And of course he had, because that was Skittery's life now, apparently. Skittery had just hummed noncommittally and ignored all of Denton's other attempts to bring the subject up.

Thankfully, none of his friends knew about his real name. So, hopefully, they wouldn't realize that it was Skittery who the papers kept mentioning— 'Trainor boy returns to the world by way of novel.' 'Kidnapped child to release book' so on and so forth. At least it made good headlines, even though whenever he sold, he felt like everyone was watching him, noticing the resemblance.

But everything was okay. He kept selling, stayed friends with everyone— even if they all did think he had a girl he was sneaking off to go see, and was able to keep his two lives completely separate.

Until Denton had to go and spill the beans.

"You're published?" David demanded, storming into the lodging house and whirling up to Skittery.

"What?" Skittery asked, completely baffled, "no."

"Published what?" Race asked, shuffling their deck and smirking at Skittery's 'unfair!'

"Published nothing," Skittery said, at the same time David shouted 'published a novel!'

"I don't have a novel published, who have you been talking to?" Skittery asked, hoping that it was just rumors.

"Denton! He asked me how proud all the newsboys were, now that 'Skittery has a novel coming out next week.' I told him he must have been mistaken, because Skittery would have said something like that to his friends, but he was very insistent upon the fact that it was you."

Race (and Blink and Mush and Snitch and Itey and Snoddy and Pie Eater and even Tumbler) stared at Skittery, wondering if what David said was true or not. For a second Skittery just stared at everyone, mouth gaping the slightest bit.

"I—" he stuttered, rubbing his hand against his mouth and shaking his head the slightest bit, "I, um."

He looked around, noticing the others' slightly incredulous expressions. Debating the long-term consequences of lying, he finally shook his head at himself and took a deep breath. The situation could go two ways at this point: they could be cool with it and he would continue to have a family— more likely to be arrested but also more likely to come back after, or (the option Skittery didn't like to think about much) he could be lying on the streets tomorrow, bruised and bleeding— no family whatsoever anymore, ever.

"Yeah, that's me," he finally ground out, voice harsh and gaze tilting downwards.

"You're that orphan kid, aren't you?" Race asked, and of course Race figured out the whole story, as if Skittery's situation couldn't get any worse.

"Yeah," he muttered, still looking down.

"Why didn't you tell us, Skittery?" came a small voice— Tumbler.

"Honestly?" Skittery asked rhetorically, knowing that if there was one person he couldn't lie to, it would be the little newsie that he knew admired him.

"I was scared. Because I thought that I had left that part of my life bnhind me. I thought that I was just going to be Skittery for the rest of my life— and I was happy with that. But I couldn't stop writing. I didn't want to stop writing. It had been wired into me at such a young age that just stopping would be like, well, would be like Race quitting gambling. Neigh to impossible. And then it convalesced from there, I suppose."

He shrugged and bit into his lip, barely stopping himself from giving pleading looks to the other boys. He would not beg, no matter how much he wanted to. Skittery was not a beggar, ever, and he would never, ever become one. Ever.

David was the only one that nodded, and Skittery mostly thought that it was just because he was new and didn't have as much as an emotional investment that everyone else did. And, as Skittery's luck would have it, that's when he took his leave— with a vague excuse that Skittery knew to be fake, nonetheless. So Skittery was left there, alone, with only the blank stares of his brothers filling his vision.

"So…" he hesitantly started, shutting his mouth as everyone turned away from him.

At least they weren't soaking him, that was nice.

Sighing, he lay in his bunk, wishing— for the first time in over five years, for something. He wished, he wished, he wished, that they wouldn't hate him forever.

News traveled fast, of course, as it always did with the newsies (and Skittery was sure there was a joke in there somewhere, but he didn't much care to find it.) By the next morning at the circulation desk, everyone was icy to him— and by icy he meant 'not speaking unless absolutely forced to,' but he thought icy sounded nicer. Every now and again it looked like a little one would try and talk to him, swiftly being pulled away whenever they tried to do so.

He tried not to let it effect him because, yeah, he deserved it. But it did. Of course it did, and anyone who tried to tell you that everyone that knew ignored them and they didn't' care, were obviously crazy or one of the worst people and you wouldn't even be talking to them anyways— and that's when Skittery's thoughts always derailed, so he never tried to go any further than that in that line of thinking.

It went on like that for the next week, the boys spitefully hocking the headline about 'Jacob Trainor— Instant Classic' that permeated the newspapers a day after his novel came out. He was still selling, of course, because despite the headlines, the payment he received from his novel wasn't all that much.

He hadn't talked to anyone for the past week and a half. It was terrible, were he honest with himself. And if only the boys could talk to him now, they would definitely understand why the 'glum and dumb' nickname never before pertained to him before this very moment in time. And even this situation made 'glum and dumb' look like a cakewalk.

Tumbler had been giving him pleading looks for the past six days and, in all honesty, Skittery just wanted to go over and hug him— regardless of the unspoken barrier he was bound to cross whilst doing so. He refrained, however, because he respected the newsies' decision to totally block him out of their lives in any way possible.

But respecting and hating were two completely different things and he hated what his friends were doing, with every ounce of emotion he had in him. And so he turned down the offer to publish another book. He didn't want to be even more of a pariah than he already was, and his family was much more important to him than a stupid novel. He was glad that both of his parents were in jail, because if they hadn't been, he would have been disowned for ever thinking of something like that.

All the boys were huddled and whispering around David when Skittery next came into the lodging house. Stopping in his tracks, he turned around and started walking back out— he didn't want to interrupt them.

"Skittery!"

It was Racetrack. Hesitantly, Skittery turned around once more, warily glancing the other boys over. He crossed his arms against his chest protectively and pursed his lips.

"You turned down publishing another book?" David asked, looking shocked at Skittery's decisive nod.

"Why?" Race demanded, pushing his chest out the slightest bit, as if offended.

" Because I don't want to give you all another reason to hate me," Skittery stiffly stated, gaze never wavering the faces of the other boys'.

"Take the deal," Race finally replied, after an agonizing few seconds.

"What?"

"Take the deal," he repeated, nodding at Skittery and giving him a wry grin.

"I mean, I figured it might be helpful to have an actually famous friend— one that's famous for more than 15 minutes anyways."

Skittery nodded weakly, shocked at the sudden change of heart from the other boys. It was startling, definitely, and something he quite honestly wasn't expecting.

"Come on, we couldn't have ignored you forever," Snitch said, grinning at Skittery.

And if fate wanted to confuse him even more, Tumbler leaped onto his legs, hugging them tightly.

"I missed you!" he exclaimed, grinning when Skittery picked him up to hug him properly.

"Missed you too, kid," he murmured, quirking his lips up at the other boys.

"Thanks," he said, clapping Race's shoulder.

"No problem, Glum 'n' Dumb," Race stated happily, shuffling his deck of cards.

"Now," he continued, setting up a game of poker, "I do believe that it's time for me to kick your ass."

Skittery rolled his eyes and sat down, face set in stone and ready to play poker.

Two weeks later cane the headline, 'Trainor Couple Out on Parole.' Skittery hocked it gleefully, knowing that it would be a good selling day. Because while he bore the name Jacob Trainor, it was more of a pseudonym than anything else.