Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jack was pretty sure he wasn’t at the right address. He must’ve gotten turned around somewhere, because this just…wasn’t right. He frowned down at the crumpled piece of paper that held a scribbled address. Medda had handed it to him with a wink and a blown kiss after he’d complained to her about his current job for the hundredth time. 

“You need a new job,” she said, dancers bustling behind her as she checked her lipstick. Pre-show conversations were always more hectic than post-show ones, but Jack was expected to be at the bar by seven pm sharp until two-thirty am, so pre-show talks were all he got. 

“No one else’ll take me, Medda,” Jack said with a shrug. “I’m too young. No education.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Medda said and then was interrupted by someone shouting that there were ten minutes to opening. “Here, take this.” She reached down and scribbled something on a scrap of paper she had laying around. 

“What?”

“I’ve been meaning to let you know about this place anyway, but I might as well give this to you now. They’ll take good care of you here, Jackie Boy,” she’d said with a little laugh and a smile. “You need a better place to work than that dingy old bar they have you trapped in.”

“If I recall,” Jack had said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at Medda, “You were the one who got me the job at that ‘dingy old bar’.”

“Surely not,” Medda had said with a fake gasp, flipping her fan out and giving it a flutter in front of her face to hide her smirk. “I’d never let my favorite boy get a job  someplace like that.” She’d snapped the fan closed and turned away from him before pausing. “Oh, and do try to clean up a little. It’s good to make a nice first impression.”

“I’m not dirty!” Jack had yelled after her, but she’d purposefully tuned him out because she just waved a hand and walked away, headed towards the crowd of girls chatting to each other and the man shouting that there were only two minutes to opening, so everyone better be in their spots “or so help me god!”

Now here he stood, looking at a respectable coffee shop with a sign that proudly proclaimed “BROOKLYN BEANS” on the top. Jack made a face at the sign but quickly wiped it off before anyone could see it. If his new boss was from Brooklyn, it’d be bad form to insult the borough before he was even hired. He’d give it a few weeks first.

That is if he could get hired. 

He looked down at his shirt—it was his nicest one, he’d made sure of it. But even this one had a few stains at the hem. He tried to tuck it in, but suddenly there was a voice behind him.

“Hey! You gonna go in or just gonna stand out here admiring forever?” It was a boy who looked around his age, but he had a cigar in his hand and a newsboy cap placed jauntily on his head. “Some of us have places to be, pretty boy.”

“I’m moving, I’m moving,” Jack said, abandoning his efforts to tuck his shirt in. “Aren’t you a little young for lung cancer?”

“Aren’t you a little stupid to be asking me questions?” The kid fired back, and Jack rolled his eyes. 

“Touché,” he muttered and pulled the door open. “After you, oh wise one.”

His mouth was gonna get him in trouble one of these days. But not today, because the kid walked through without any issues. The kid was also about four inches shorter than him, so he wasn’t too terribly pressed about the stranger actually being able to lay him out. Unless he was weirdly stronger than he looked, but the cigar in his hand didn’t seem to point toward that. 

“Oh Spo-ot,” the stranger said, voice sing-songy as he walked towards the counter, “It’s your favorite customer.”

“Piss off, ya bastard,” came a voice from the back. Another boy started to emerge from the back, but Jack could only see the straps of an apron and the flash of a side profile. “I’m waiting on someone comin’ in for a job interview. You’ll have to get served by one of the others.”

“But you’re the only one who makes my drink right,” the first boy started. His sentence was doomed from the beginning to never be finished because as soon as this “Spot” got to the front and looked at the two of them, he furrowed his brow at Jack. 

“I don’t know you,” he said. “I know everyone who comes in this early.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, “I think I’m your interview for the morning.”

“Jack Kelly?”

“In the flesh.”

Spot surveyed him up and down. His eyes caught on the stains on the hem of Jack’s shirt, and he cursed internally. He knew he should’ve tucked it in. Or worn his slightly less nice but vaguely more clean shirt. Curse the idea that button-ups were required for professionalism.

“Alright,” Spot finally said and nodded toward the back. “Come on back, I’ll deal with you there.”

“But what about me?"

“Racetrack, if you don’t shut your trap, I’ll shut it for you. ” Spot said, but he did toss Racetrack a wink as he let Jack behind the counter. “Crutchie’ll deal with you.”

“Fine,” Racetrack said, but Jack was in the back before he could see just who this Crutchie was. (And what was with all the weird names in a respectable-looking joint like this anyway?) He followed Spot to a nicely lit area with chairs and a table. Clearly, this was the coffee shop’s backroom, and possibly the “office” as well, with the amount of papers that were strewn about on various surfaces. 

“So, Jack,” Spot said after they’d both settled into their chairs, “why do you want to work here?”

“I need money,” Jack said honestly. He wasn’t a great liar, and it tended to weigh on his mind to the point where he’d snap at innocent people. He’d been doing pretty good at keeping his anger in check lately, and he’d like to keep that going, so lying was off the table. But this Spot, with his piercing blue eyes, seemed like the kind of guy to appreciate honesty. “And my old job was a dump.”

“Why are you qualified for this position?”

“I’m good under high-stress situations,” Jack started, his mind flashing to the way he’d had to handle scores of drunks during the busy nights at the bar, “and I know how to work both with a team and independently.” He’d been the only guy manning the drinks on the slower nights, and he’d done a good job of it too. On busy nights it was him and whatever new temp hire they’d forced to work with him, so Jack had been forced to adapt to all kinds of new people, very quickly.

“You ever made coffee before?”

“Every morning,” Jack said, and it was true. But he omitted the fact that most of the time it was the instant stuff because it was cheaper than paying for a fancy machine and the beans. Though it was a lie, he figured that one lie by omission wasn’t too awful. 

“Alright then,” Spot said and leaned back in his chair. “You’re hired.”

“That easy?” Jack raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking.”

“I don’t joke about serious things,” Spot said and kicked one leg over the other, the very picture of relaxation. “Medda recommended you, anyway, so I was gonna give you the job either way. I trust Medda.” 

Jack once again thanked his lucky stars that he knew Medda and had somehow gotten on her good side.

“Wonderful,” he said, and he really meant it. He didn’t think he could go back to the bar with his tail between his legs. “When can I start?”

Spot paused for a minute, then uncrossed his legs and stood up lazily, straightening his apron as he did. “You good to start today?”

Jack had been working at Brooklyn Beans (he grimaced at the name every time he put on the apron, but he ignored it in favor of the hourly wage he got) for a month when Davy started coming in. Or, well, David, as he’d introduced himself.

He was a stuck-up kid with slicked-back hair and a propensity for carrying around an entire backpack full of various books and his laptop to take advantage of the coffee shop’s free wifi. He’d come in at open and stay for hours, letting his coffee grow cold as he frantically turned pages or typed quickly, the sound of the keys echoing faintly between the laughs and the voices of the other patrons. 

Jack wasn’t sure how to feel about David, because David was very posh and Jack was… not. Jack was an orphan who’d grown up on the streets until Medda had picked him up and saved his life (and he thanked Medda for that every day), while David’s dad had a pretty decent-paying job and his mom was able to be a stay-at-home mom. Jack had coffee stains on all his t-shirts and David looked like he’d ironed his clothes while they were on his body, they were so stiff-straight.

The first time the boy had ordered a coffee, he asked for a straight black coffee. After Jack had made it, David had gone to sit down at his table and sip his bitter drink. Jack actually didn’t mind black coffee too much, but he figured that it wasn’t most people’s go-to. Sure enough, only a few minutes later, David had come back to the front to ask if they had any creamer in the little cups. They didn’t, but Jack felt bad for the kid and offered to put some in his drink on the house. 

Specifically, he’d said “Too bitter, huh? I’ll put some creamer in there on the house, no worries.”

He’d meant it genuinely, not trying to be mean or anything, but apparently David had seen it as an insult because he scoffed and said that he could “deal with it himself”. Then he’d stormed back to his table and sipped on the bitter coffee, trying his best to hide the faces he was pulling. 

He’d come back the next day and ordered the same thing. Jack had to give him props for his stubbornness, even if he did think that it was a stupid thing to be stubborn over. If you’re paying four dollars for a drink, it might as well be something you actually enjoy, in his opinion. Apparently, David didn’t agree, because once Jack had handed his drink over, he bravely took a big sip of the black coffee directly in front of Jack, acting unafraid of what might come. 

He didn’t pull a face, instead peering into his cup confusedly. “Huh. This tastes…good?”

“Why do you sound so insecure? Doubting my brewing abilities?”

David looked up at Jack, slightly alarmed. “Did you put something in it?”

Yes, yes he had.

“No,” Jack said, lying and deciding he’d atone some other day. “Just the normal. Anything else I can do you ya for?”

“No,” David said, “thank you.” And he carefully made his way back to the table where all his stuff sat. Jack watched him go, and once he was gone he turned to the back and screwed the cap back on the bottle of creamer that he’d used to make the coffee somewhat more palatable. It was the little things, right?

David was a little less outright angry with him after that, but he was still noticeably cold to Jack. He was nicer to Crutchie, which was good because Crutchie was a nice kid.

(“You gotta stop calling me a kid, Jack,” Crutchie had told him a week into the job. “I’m older than you.”

“Yeah, but you’re still shorter than me,” Jack said, and put an elbow on Crutchie’s head, leaning into it to emphasize the height difference. Crutchie had knocked his arm off quickly, which nearly sent Jack to the floor. He’d regained his balance just in time for Crutchie to pound his cane onto Jack’s foot, which hurt like the devil. 

“Shorter than you,” Crutchie had said under his breath while walking away. "I'll show you short." He left Jack hopping up and down on one foot to try and get his mind off the pain of his other foot, vaguely afraid of Crutchie's vengance.)

But everything changed the day that David brought Les to the shop. Because Les was a menace, and Jack loved him.

“Hi hi!” The kid said brightly as he skipped into the coffeeshop, David following behind him, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Nice to meetcha! I’m Les, Davy’s brother. He says this place is the coolest ever. Well, he doesn’t really say that, but he spends enough time here that it’s gotta be the coolest ever, right?”

“Les,” Davy (because Jack liked that better than the stiffy, formal “David”), said “do you remember those talks that Mom and Dad gave you about stranger danger?”

“No,” Les said, and bounced to the glass, where he quickly stuck his grubby kid fingers out and pointed. “Ooh, those muffins look good! Can I get one, Davy?”

“I am not getting you anything,” Davy said, clearly exhausted, even though it was only eight in the morning. “You can go sit down at the table and be quiet. I brought stuff for you to color with.”

“I don’t wanna color though,” the kid said, and Jack had to hide a smile at Davy’s exasperated groan. “Please please please please can I get a muffin? I’ll be good, I promise!”

“You know what? Fine.” Davy said and looked to Jack, who was smiling behind the register. “Can I get a black coffee and one of your chocolate chip muffins?” He paused, looked down at his vibrating younger brother, and then looked back to Jack. “The bigger the better. Because it’ll keep him quiet for longer.”

“Gotcha,” Jack said, and put the order into the cash register. He then pulled on gloves and went to grab the biggest muffin around. “You got stuck with babysitting duty today, huh?”

Davy looked at him askance. They’d never really done much more than order and move on, because David was weird and Jack didn’t know how to approach him without possibly accidentally insulting him more. Davy though? He was much more approachable, just because he had the virtue of having a small child hanging out by his side. 

“Yeah,” Davy finally said, “It’s a bit of a pain, but he should be quiet. Right, Les?”

“Huh?” Les said, from his new position across the room. “Davy, did you see how cool this window display is?”

“What happened to staying right next to me?” Davy hissed.

Les was not quiet. The kid squirmed and fidgeted and ate his muffin in record time, which was bad news because the sugar rush only made him more antsy. The shop was fairly slow, so Jack watched as Davy worked through some sort of paper on his laptop, writing furiously, as Les scribbled on a paper. Then scribbled on his arm. Then eyed Davy’s arm before deciding that it’d be better to leave that alone. After that, the kid came up to Jack.

“Can I work with you?” Les asked. Jack took a look at Davy, who was not paying attention to anything, completely in the zone. “I promise I’ll be good!”

Jack looked at the mostly empty shop, and then down at the kid. “Sure,” he finally said, and the kid grinned. 

He had to make some more muffins anyway. How much of a disaster could it be?

When David was done with his work, he looked up from his laptop, stretched, took a sip from his now-cold coffee cup, and sighed. Another successful day. Honestly, this coffee shop was so much better for his productivity than being at home or in the library. He’d never gotten more work done than he had here. Especially because it had a distinct lack of one bother—

Speaking of bothers. Where was his brother?

David Jacobs hopped up from his seat in a panic, sending it skidding back. The only other inhabitants of the shop, who he thought were possibly named Racetrack and Spot (two very strange names), looked up at the noise. “Sorry, have you guys seen my brother?”

The one that David thought was probably Spot had at least three piles of various paperwork strewn about him. The other one, Racetrack, was holding a powdered donut in one hand, a cigar in the other. David was pretty sure he’d seen the guy go for a bite of the cigar instead of the donut on accident at one point, but he wasn’t going to point that out.

“Yeah, Jack took him to the back,” Spot said, poking a thumb back. “You can go back if you want. Tell Jack to get back out here, the rush is coming soon.”

David nodded quickly and awkwardly, then sprinted to the back. 

Jack. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the guy. He made a good black coffee (aside from that first time), but he also stared a lot. And David held a bit of a grudge for the fact that Jack seemed to think he couldn’t handle bitter things. Well, he’d shown him now, hadn’t he? Black coffee every day since then. But if he’d stolen his brother, then David was going to…well. He’d say punch the guy, but Jack was built like an athlete, and David had the build of someone who sat around in a library all day. 

“Les!” David shouted as he speed-walked to the back. “You back here?”

“Davy!” came the voice of his younger brother. “I’m back here! Jack has been showing me some stuff!”

“What has he been showing you?” David asked, rounding the corner, only to see what looked like a mess of a backroom, and his brother sitting in front of a table, pencil in hand, Jack sitting beside him. Les looked fine, except for the traces of white powder in his hair that instantly had David on edge.

“He’s teaching me how to draw!” Les said and held up a surprisingly good drawing of a horse. “Look at this!”

“Sorry about stealin’ him away without warning,” Jack said, standing up. “I didn’t want to disturb you, and this guy looked like he was going to explode without something to do.”

“Jack is so cool,” Les said and gave David a grin. “We made muffins.”

“That would explain the flour in his hair,” Jack quickly cut in. “Had a bit of an accident with the mixer.” 

“Oh,” David said, and he relaxed a little before running his hands through his younger brother’s hair. “Thank you, then. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Jack said with a shrug, sticking his hands in his pocket. “He’s a good kid.”

“Well, Les,” David said, turning to his brother after giving Jack an awkward smile. He felt a little bad for being cold to the guy now, especially after he’d helped out with Les, and apparently helped the kid feel more at home and less jittery. “Let’s clean up your mess and head out. I’m finished with my stuff.”

“I didn’t make a mess!” Les protested, and Davy gave him a look before gesturing to the papers strewn about the room.

“Explain this then,” he pointed to a pile of papers.

“Nah, kid is right,” Jack said, stepping in again. “Spot, the owner, is really bad at organizing his stuff. All these papers are for the coffee shop. Bills and stuff, I think.”

“This…is his idea of an organization system?” David said, and he grimaced. “It’s so…ineffective.”

“If you’ve got a better system, be my guest,” Jack said. “We’ve all tried telling him about it, but he won’t change. Said that’s for someone else to do.”

“He needs a secretary or something,” David muttered, and started straightening papers and organizing them somewhat. “This doesn’t look like it’d be too hard to fix, either.”

He sorted a few papers into individual stacks absentmindedly, brain whirring as he tried to figure out just how he’d organize this more effectively if it were up to him.

“Hey, Davy,” Jack said after a moment, and David looked up from his work, where apparently he’d already started cleaning up after Spot. “You by chance lookin’ for a job?”

And that was how David Jacobs got hired at Brooklyn Beans.

“So,” Race said one day, while he was lingering at the counter, waiting for something or other. Probably Spot, if Jack knew the other guy at all. And he liked to think he did. It’d been five months here after all, and he talked to Race at least once per shift, usually more. “What do you think I’d have to do to get a job here too?”

Jack looked at him. “Race, you wouldn’t last a day in customer service.”

“Not true! I can be charmin’.”

“Maybe in your dreams,” Crutchie said as he passed by with a tray of something to put in the display cabinet. “I think Les is more charming than you.”

Race pointed his cigar at the cane-wielding boy. “Now that is just downright offensive.”

Crutchie didn’t respond, just walked away with a roll of his eyes. He had a bad habit of getting the last word, Jack thought.

“Fact is,” he started, “you can’t have your cigar while you’re working. And since I’ve never seen ya without one,”

“I can change!” Race said, throwing his hands in the air. “I can go clean!”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to convince Spot about that one,” Jack said, rolling his eyes as well. “Cause I’ve never seen you without one in all the months I’ve been here.”

“Not true,” Race said, “There was, uh, let's see. I came in during the rain—no, I had one in my pocket…then there was the time I forgot—no, it was in my hat. Uh..." he paused and looked at Jack again. "There was..that…one…time?”

“Doesn’t exist,” Jack said. “Til you got smoking under control I doubt Spot’ll let you back here.”

Race swore, but leaned back pensively. “I’ll get it under control, and then I’ll be the new manager of this place.”

“Sure,” Jack said, and walked away to help someone who had just walked in.

“Even if Race did quit smokin’, I’m not hiring him.” Spot said when Jack brought it up to him. “He’s got no manners. Downright unrespectable, that one.”

It was a few months later when Jack went back to visit Medda. He’d come over before that, but this was the first time he intended to stay for her whole show. He’d had plans with the others from the coffee shop every time before that, so they’d been quick visits.

And wasn’t it crazy that he had real friends now? This job had been great for more reasons than one.

“Hey, Jackie-boy!” Medda cheered after the show was over. “Long time no see!”

“Hey, Medda,” Jack said, and gave her a big hug. “Missed ya.”

“Missed you too. Now, come sit down and tell me all about your new job. You liking it?”

“Yeah,” Jack said without hesitation, a big grin spreading across his face slowly. “I am. The people are great, and the work is good. Don’t have to worry about any thugs like I did at the bar.”

“Good,” Medda said, giving him a sincere smile. “That’s all I could want for you, kid.”

The two sat in fond silence for a minute before Jack spoke.

“Though I do have one complaint. The name. I hate the name. Why Brooklyn ?”

Medda burst into laughter.