I'm excited :)

This is gonna be a long one I think, and take place over multiple times, not just one day. 

Get ready for some OC's :)

Enjoy! :)

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May, 1990

The first thing Jack did when he woke up in this strange new New York was try to find the trainyards--whatever it looks like now.

Try to take the first train to Santa Fe.

Because there really is nothing for him here, is there?

Unfortunately, his head hurts, and he's a little dizzy.

Luckily, he's made it to this New York's trainyards, and is trying to find a ticket to Santa Fe.

Back in the summer, he kept Pulitzer's bribe money. Of course, he doesn't have all of it on him right now, but he figures he should have enough to be able to board the train.

Of course, he will just sneak on the train if he can't buy his way on.

No luck with money.

Sneak his way on it is.

What he doesn't realize is that the family he is following have tickets for a city that does start with an S, but is not Santa Fe.

His head is hurting too much for him to notice.

As soon as he boards the train, he finds a seat, and dozes off immediately.

He dreams of being back in 1899, of taking the train with David to Santa Fe. For some reason, in Santa Fe, there is no one who is after them for being two boys in love. No one is after him for being a boy who was not born a boy. He is allowed to be who he is, and no one is trying to make him think or act like anyone else.

It feels nice.

He feels free.

And David's fond smile makes him feel warm inside.

A smile creeps on his face in the real world.

Such a pleasant dream.

He is woken up by a voice calling: "we have arrived in Seattle, Washington. The local time is 12:34 pm. Thank you for riding, and enjoy the rest of your day."

Jack jumps up with a jolt. "SEATTLE?!"

His heart is racing.

No, there must be some mistake. I must have heard it wrong.

Everyone is staring at him. He bites his lip.

He looks outside.

Instead of a desert, he sees trees and rain.

Not Santa Fe.

He is somewhere else entirely.

Luckily his headache is gone, so at least he can think clearly now.

There's just something about this city that he can't put his finger on. It feels...

...it feels like he'll find what he was looking for here.

Maybe he can go to Santa Fe another day.

Whether by mistake or fate, he's here now, in Seattle, in 1990, so he might as well figure out why.

He walks through a neighborhood.

That's when he hears the sound of a guitar, a piano, and a voice singing.

It intrigues him.

He sees three teenagers in a room without a fourth wall--could this be a garage? Jack muses. He remembers hawking headlines about the first "garage" in Chicago in 1898, he doesn't see why they can't belong to everyone now--one with a guitar, one at a keyboard, one with a microphone. There's an extra guitar on the floor, and a drum set in the back.

Jack can honestly say he has never seen anyone like these three before.

On one hand, one has blue hair. Another has spiky bleach blond hair. The last one has long black hair covering their eyes. They aren't dressed like anyone else Jack has seen on the streets either. They look like they stole picnic blankets and made them into light jackets. He also cannot guess any of their genders.

He doesn't know why, but everything about them...it just calls to him.

So he bites his lip, gathers up his courage, and approaches them.

"Hey."

They all stop, turn to look at him curiously.

He bites his lip harder. All words have escaped him. Absolutely no thoughts in his brain right now. None at all.

"You like music?" the one at the mic, the one with blue hair, asks him, not unkindly.

"I-uhh, yeah," Jack stammers. "It's just...your music was interestin' to me, I guess."

"Interestin' in a good or bad way?" the one at the keyboard, the one with black bangs covering their eyes, challenges him, daring him to mock them.

"In a good way, a good way," he answers quickly. Then his tongue flicks out-then-in, something he picked up from watching Race for years. "I...I don't know. Haven't heard much like it before. I..." he trails off. Then he says something that surprises everyone, including himself. "Can I join?"

He immediately reprimands himself internally.

Fortunately, the blue haired one smiles. "Sure!"

"Have you ever played before?" the spikey hair one, the one with the guitar, asks Jack--not in a challenging way; just trying to gauge Jack's skill level.

"Not really," Jack admits. But then he squares his shoulders. "I'm a fast learner, though."

Spikey Hair motions to the guitar cast off to the side. "Do you wanna try it? I can show you how to hold it."

"Sure!" Before Jack knows what he's doing, he's walking over there, picking up the guitar, and is following Spikey Hair's instructions on how to hold it.

He strums a cord like Spikey Hair showed him how to.

It...sounds nice. It resonates. He smiles. He likes it.

Spikey Hair smiles encouragingly. "That's it."

Jack returns the smile shyly.

He looks at the guitar in the hands, then looks to the drums at the back.

Blue Hair follows his gaze. "Would you like to try the drums too?"

"I don't wanna hear a newbie try the drums," Longs Bangs interjects, grumbling.

Blue Hair makes a swatting motion and smiles at Jack. "Don't mind Rats. Tey hates new people and social interactions in general."

Jack stops. "Rats?"

"Got a problem with my name?" Long Bangs--Rats--challenges.

"No, it just...caught me by surprise," Jack responds. He's used to all kinds of nicknames for newsies. He just didn't expect there to be nicknames like that in this strange new century. Well, from what he's seen, these strange people may be the only ones he fits in with.

Blue Hair facepalms. "We totally forgot to introduce ourselves!" Smiles and looks up. "Hi. I'm Ghost. You can refer to me by they/them." They motion to Rats. "This is Rats. Tey uses tey/tem pronouns."

"I'm Pyro," the one with Spike Hair adds. 

"Don't worry, e's not a pyromaniac," Ghost loud whispers to Jack and winks. "We told em that 'Pyro' is better than calling yourself 'Arson'."

"I still think 'Arson' would have been sick," Pyro insists.

Rats' lip curls. "You wouldn't make it two feet after introducing yourself as 'Arson'. Someone would've reported you to the police before you made a single step. At least with 'Pyro' you could hopefully make it around the block."

Pyro huffs. "Look, I almost got in trouble just that one time."

Ghost and Rats laugh, and Jack finds himself joining in.

They all turn to him. 

"So now we've introduced ourselves," Ghost says, "so why don't you tell us about yourself?"

"Bet you have a normal name," Rats taunts.

Jack swallows. He could say his name is Jack. But...he does in fact have another name he can use.

"Cowboy," he says slowly, looking at the ground. He looks up. "You can call me Cowboy."

Ghost smiles. "Welcome to the band, Cowboy."

"So what's your group name?" Jack asks.

"Well, we did call ourselves the DSM 3," Ghost answers. "But if you decide to join us, I guess we'll become the DSM-4."

Jack is sure that that's a reference to something he wouldn't get due to him not growing up in this era, but he can figure that out later.

A smile tugs at his lips. He has never felt something call as much to him as this does. "DSM 4 it is."

Ghost, Pyro, and even Rats smile along with him.

----------------------------------------------------

They've been noodling for about an hour now, and Jack has learned more about the century in this hour than he has the past few days he's been here.

He found out that they have an extra guitar and a drum set because they were hoping to find someone who was willing to join them and play one.

Jack likes the guitar. It feels...almost intimate, plucking the strings, playing soft tunes.

But the drums. The drums attracted him too.

And so, after getting Rats' approval, he sits down at the drum set. He tries hitting a couple things, trying to figure out what makes what sound. There's also the pedal to consider.

But he likes this. He really likes this.

And so he joins their band, learns all about them.

Ghost is seventeen, will be eighteen in about a month. They come from a Māori family. They're the oldest of three. They tried to be the good kid as long as they could, but then high school happened and they started slipping. Fortunately, their family supports them. This is their families' garage. They have been singing for as long as they can remember, and cannot imagine doing anything else. Well, they also dream about going to space, but that's a dream they can complete when they are older.

Pyro is sixteen. E's pale, due to eir Scandinavian ancestry, although e is a quarter native American. E's adopted, so there are some specifics about his ancestry and eir family that e'll never know. E spends many nights with Ghost, since e gets into fights with eir foster parents. E wants to play the guitar as long as e can. E has considered going into civil engineering, so at least e can have a job that makes money, but e will never completely give up music ever.

Rats is fifteen and a half. The youngest of six of a Japanese family. Tey has always been over looked, and cannot get anyone's attention. The keys call to tem. It's like a love language. Tey knows how to make improv sound good, knows how hard to press each key, knows when to press them softly, understands which cords sound the best. Teir family wants them to join the family business of tea making, but tey would rather go into the field of geology, study all kinds of rocks.

The DSM is apparently a book of diagnoses. So that's why they called themselves that: because Ghost has BPD, Pyro has ADHD, and Rats has autism and OCD. After spending time with them, they diagnosed Jack with autism and ADHD. So their band really is the DSM book.

And so he tells them about himself. He leaves out the part of being from 1899. He tells them about being a boy who was not born a boy. He tells them about David. He tells them that he is really far from home.

They understand him, and give him a new home.

And, as time goes on, they become a family to him.

He gets really good at the drums.

And he performs with them, live. They cover some songs, some songs they write, some songs they make up as they go along. Sure, they mainly just perform in the park, only making a rare tip here and there, but they're having fun.

Until one day they get to perform on a real stage in front of an audience.

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January 6, 1991

Jack feel adrenaline rushing through him.

There are so many people here.

And since he is on the drums, he will be the first thing the audience hears of their songs.

Yes, it's Ghost who introduces the band, but Jack is the one who will set the rhythm for their songs.

Jack's blood is roaring in his ears. He can't remember the last time he felt this alive. Maybe it was when he was running through the streets of New York in 1899, being chased by Snyder or the Delanceys. The difference between that and this is that back in 1899, it was driven by fear and the instinct of survival. Here, it's not survival. It's living.

Ghost finishes the introduction, the audience cheers and claps, Ghost looks at Jack and nods.

Jack smiles.

One, two. One two three four.

He dives right in and gives it his all, just like the other three.

And the audience loves them.

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April 10, 1992

Jack isn't aware as he is finishing up their last song that there is someone in the audience who has been watching him closely, who wants to talk to him after the show is done.

The audience cheers. Jack grins.

He never could have imagined anything like this three years ago. He didn't even know what "grunge" was three years ago. Now it's his life.

Playing the drums is the only way to distract him from thoughts about David.

How he would love it if David were here.

But he's not, so Jack hits the drums as hard as he can to drown out those thoughts.

Now that this show is over, the audience is shuffling out, and the band is packing up all their stuff.

The man who was watching Jack closely comes up to the stage.

"Excuse me."

They all turn around warily.

The man motions for Jack with his finger. Warily, Jack comes closer.

"I am one of the scouts who have been searching across the country for people to join a new show my company is trying to produce, called Roundhouse," the man tells him. "I couldn't help but be impressed by your drumming. I have listened to hundreds of bands here in Seattle, and I strongly believe that you are the best person we can ask to play our drummer."

Jack swallows, thinking about all that. He has a chance to work for television, playing the drums extra professionally. It's probably something that would pay well.

He glances back at his friends, who have sort of become his family in the past couple years. Could he really just leave them?

Rats and Pyro stare at him, waiting for him to make a choice. Ghost's face is unreadable.

Jack swallows. He can't just abandon them, can he?

Ghost steps forward first. "You want this, don't you?" Not disappointed, not bitter. Softly, asking a genuine question.

Jack bites his lip, unsure of how to give an answer. He takes a few minutes. Then he finally gets out, "I...think I might."

The man hands Jack a card. "You don't have to give me an answer right now. Here's my card. If you agree to join, the address of where you'll need to be in three weeks when we start production is on the card. I hope to see you there."

He leaves.

Jack glances at the card. Then his eyes widen when he sees the state listed in the address: Florida.

"Florida?!" he exclaims out loud. He glances at his friends. "I-I can't. That's too far. And I don't wanna abandon you guys-"

"Hey, you wouldn't be abandoning us," Ghost cuts in. "You'd just...be moving on to something different. The next direction in your life. We can't stop you from that."

"It's a good opportunity dude," Pyro adds. 

"You'd be betraying us," Rats interjects, tone full of barbed wire.

Jack smiles. "You're just saying that because you'd miss me."

Over the past two years, he has learned that Rats' thorny tone can be a sign of affection too--not that tey'd ever let you call it that and live.

Rats scoffs. Jack scoffs back, smile on his face. 

"Okay," he says after consideration. "I...think I'll try it."

"Just remember us when you're famous, okay?" Ghosts asks.

"If you're ever on camera don't forget to mention our band," Pyro cuts in.

"Whatever you do, just don't do something incredibly dumb," Rats gives in teir advice.

Jack smiles. Sure, they aren't the newsies. But they have become just as important to him in this century as the newsies were to him in the last century.

So he'll go to Florida. See what Roundhouse is all about. Who knows? Maybe it'll be his big break.

If he's not impressed, he will come back to Seattle.

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May 1, 1992

Jack's in Florida, and this is worse than New York in the summer.

It's hot.

He had gotten so used to Washington, raining almost all the time, then a couple months of no rain in the not too hot summers. This is different.

I think this is just hell on Earth.

Of course, if he went to Santa Fe, New Mexico, he would have run into the same problem there. So maybe it's best that he ended up in Seattle.

He walks into the building, ready to be out of the heat.

It's a room full of people of all ages, all talking.

And there are four faces that Jack would recognize anywhere, even if they are in different clothes.

One of them sees him, eyes going wide. "JACK!" 

That gets the other three's attention. Their eyes widen too. "Jack!!"

They all run towards each other and hug when they close the difference.

"I don't believe it!" Jack exclaims. "I never thought I'd see you all again!"

"Me neither!" Specs exclaims.

When they break apart from the hug, they look at each other.

"What are you guys doing here?" Jack asks.

"We could ask you the same thing!" Bumlets responds.

"We're here to be actors for this show," Dutchy explains.

"I also got to be in a pie-eating contest," Pie-Eater adds, which isn't much of an explanation, but it makes too much sense for Jack to argue.

"So what are you doing here?" Specs asks Jack.

So Jack describes how he got here two years ago, and tells them all about his band. In return, they tell him that they have been here for nearly a month, went to a pie-eating contest, and got roped into this show.

And now here they are, all together.

Jack has never been more grateful to seem them all.

The director calls for everyone's attention. It gets silent.

And so the production finally begins.

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August 15, 1992

They're finally filming.

In front of a live audience, no less.

As they act, the audience reacts, laughs, claps.

The band is live, too.

This music is different from the grunge he's used to playing. It's fine, but it doesn't have the same feel.

He buries the thought down as he gets hyped up to play in front of a live audience.

And so the filming begins.

And he hits the drums.

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May, 1995

"Cut!" the director calls.

Jack puts his drum sticks down.

They have just finished up their last episode.

There's a lot of cheering.

Has it really been three years?

I've been here longer than I was in Seattle.

After he thinks that thought, he is as certain as he ever could be: he wants to go back.

Specs, Dutchy, Bumlets, Pie-Eater, and Jack gather around.

"So what's next?" Dutchy asks.

"Find a new show?" Bumlets suggests.

"Find a career more stable than acting?" Specs offers.

"I can finally be a pie-eating champion!" Pie-Eater exclaims. They all laugh.

Specs turns to Jack. "What are you thinking, Jack?"

He hesitates. "Look, it was nice bein' with you and all, but...I think I need to go back to Seattle."

They let that sink in. He's leaving them.

"Are you sure?" Specs asks gently.

"Look, it's been really fun doin' this with you all," Jack says, "but I left some really great people back in Seattle. I need to get back to them."

They all nod, understanding.

Jack smiles. They're letting him go.

"Here." Specs writes the name of their landline on a slip of paper. "So you can stay in contact with us."

Jack smiles. "Thanks."

They hug him.

"Good luck, on your journey, Jack."

He smiles. "Thanks. Really."

And so they go their separate ways.

And he boards the first flight back to Seattle.

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May 3, 1995

He really, really hopes they haven't moved.

He almost cries with relief as he hears the familiar sound of the band he loves coming from the same neighborhood it did when he was dropped here five years ago.

He runs as fast as he can. His chest constricts, his bandages are tight, but he doesn't care. He's going back to his second family.

"I'M BACK!" he yells.

And there they are, just as he remembered them: Ghost, Rats, and Pyro.

"Cowboy!" they all exclaim. They drop everything and run towards him. They hug him tightly.

Jack wants to cry. He missed this. He really missed them.

"Why are you back?" Pyro asks curiously.

"The show ended," Jack explains. "I knew that I had to come back here." He glances at the drum kit in the back. "I would've thought you'd have gotten a new drummer."

"We tried, but Rats wouldn't let us," Ghost tells him, smiling.

"I just gotten used to Cowboy playing it, that's all," Rats grumbles defensively. "No one else could play it like he did."

Jack grins from ear to ear.

Ghost and Pyro motion for him to go back there.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Rats snaps without menace.

Slowly, he walks over to the drum set, sits down.

And so they begin to play.

From the first beat of the drum, Jack knows he's back home.

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Aaaaaa I liked that!

Ghost, Rats, and Pyro are my OCs, and I've had them for less than twenty four hours but I love them asfjkashf.

I don't know why, but I really wanted Jack to get into grunge. When I found out that the drummer for Roundhouse was Jack Kelly, I saw an opportunity that couldn't be passed up, so I took it.

Still, Jack returns to Seattle for his band, and plays grunge until grunge ebbs away.

So uhh this is definitely very long, 3000+ words, which I do like, however it's gonna take forever to proofread.

So I called their band the DSM-4 based on an inside joke. This one time a friend and I were on the phone, and they started listing all my mental disorders. Then they said, "Wyvern, you're basically just the DSM-5." I recounted this story to the GSA, and our teacher commented "That sounds like a cool name for a band." The DSM-3 came out in 1980, so it would make sense that the three of them would call themselves the DSM-3. But then Jack joined, making it four, so they became the DSM-4. The DSM-4 was published in 1994, so they were only a smidge ahead of their time haha.

Also bleach hair has apparently been a thing since BCE with the ancient Greeks. There's also a 1st century BCE Greek historian who describe how the Celtic people bleached their hair with lime, and says "their aspect is terrifying" which I find kinda funny. And guess what! A Renaissance trend was to bleach hair blond/red! The point of this is that Jack would know of bleach blond hair, even if it wasn't popular in America till the 1930s.

I'm not gonna go into the history of how long they/them have been used as a singular pronoun.

E/em was first invented in 1841 by Francis Augusts Brewster.

The first use of tey/tem was coined by Casey Miller and Kate Swift in 1971.

So what did you all think?!

Please, no homophobia or transphobia, profanities directed at other wattpad users, hate etc in the comments at all times.

Best,

~Your Beloved Author (who saw the Northern Lights last night and it was ABSOLUTELY AMAZING)