#Crutchie immediately: Is that a challenge?

[b-rainlet]

Crutchie and Spot are Bitch and Bastard Solidarity

[noxexistant]

For your consideration:

Blink is regularly trying to upstage Jack and prove he can be a good enough leader (he stepped up when Jack was in the Refuge, why did he have to step back down?). He gets angry at times and can't always make rational decisions under pressure. There's a reason he's not usually leader.

But Jack starts asking his thoughts on things, getting his opinion when he's in a headspace when he can think clearly. Letting Blink feel like his thoughts finally matter. And Blink starts to feel like maybe he doesn't need to be leader, because Jack still values him.

oh i loooove this

blink is constantly chasing after the position of leader because he feels like he has to - sometimes because he wholeheartedly believes (when delusional) he deserves it or is meant for it - but when he’s clear-headed he’s not entirely sure he even wants it. he just…wants to have it, wants to be worth that, wants to prove that he’s just as good as jack. he’s not worth anything if he’s stuck behind him, below him. he wants to be worth something.

but he also knows that he’s not a good leader. not a consistent one, at least. he has moments of being good, and he really does try, and he sincerely loves everyone else in the gang, but then he gets stressed or angry or overwhelmed. he starts getting paranoid that the others are talking about him, resenting him, because he’s different - not one of them - when he’s leader. he makes impulsive decisions that put himself and the others at risk, he gets aggressive when any of them challenge him or even just don’t do as he says immediately, he sees anyone - but especially racer and crutchie, jack’s favourites - as competition. he starts hating jack, and he doesn’t like that. he doesn’t want to be like that, feel that way about his friends, be stuck between this overwhelming pressure or absolute worthlessness.

it helps so much when jack starts asking for his input. at first, blink doesn’t really understand it. he thinks maybe jack’s mocking him, maybe trying to use him, but if blink makes a suggestion and jack likes it he’ll announce it to the room just like that - “‘ey, blink’s got a good idea! he says—“

and the others, like they always do, start to follow jack’s lead. blink knows some of them are a little afraid of him, especially since his few stints as leader and the outbursts he’d had during that time, but steadily they start trusting him and coming to him for advice. jack won’t finalise decisions until himself, race, and crutchie (and davey) are all in agreement, and suddenly blink finds himself on that committee too. if he doesn’t like something, the whole thing gets put on hold until jack can work something out with him. suddenly, blink doesn’t feel like he has to overcompensate for not being jack, and that in itself helps him keep a clearer head.

“why’re you askin’ me?” he asks gruffly, on a rougher day, when jack asks him what they should do about something. “you’re here. you’re the leader, jack. you don’ need me.”

jack scoffs. “‘course i need you. i needs all’a youse. ain’t any use tryin’ to be a leader all by myself. i don’t got many good ideas, you guys gotta fill in the gaps.”

blink doesn’t really know what to say to that, doesn’t know how to rationalise jack so openly admitting as their leader that he doesn’t always know what to do - that he relies on them too. jack must notice it, because he steps a little closer and claps a hand on blink’s shoulder - on his far side from his bad eye - and squeezes. “‘ey, we all got each other’s backs, blink. you back me up, i back you up. i trust you.”

blink swallows the urge to tell him that he shouldn’t. that blink’s dangerous at best. instead, he manages a tight, lopsided sort of smile.

“so, if i says we should soak ‘em?”

jack grins back at him, amused. “i’d at least hear you out.”

[piedoesnotequalpi]

Some thoughts/notes from the depths of my bachelorette au planning document:

An early list of contestants had Spot as one of the contestants for some reason? Anyway, I realized pretty quickly that I needed a character to be in a director/producer type role, so I put Spot in that role and the enemies with benefits plotline was born.

Related to that, I knew early on that the host of the show would be Jack’s ex (it’s one of the first notes in my planning document), but I thought about it for a bit before I decided it would be Race.

I originally had it in my notes that Crutchie/Charlie and Albert would admit their feelings for each other in Mystic but when I got to that chapter I realized that they weren't on that fast of a timeline.

Related to timing, the conversation between Katherine and Race post-Romeo elimination about the need to play a part was supposed to take place later, but as I was writing I realized it was the right time for that conversation.

My first draft of Jack and Davey’s post kiss conversation was a little angrier and also ended with Race showing up with the illegal phones, but then I realized that he’d show up on the security cameras if he did that and rewrote the scene.

The reason Davey is good at BS (the card game) is because Sarah taught it to him when they were kids–she decided he should know how to lie, because his teachers sure as heck weren’t prioritizing that.

Miles is based on a friend of mine, including the messy ponytail, dislike of formal clothing, and unreasonably good Connect Four skills. Miles in real life is also probably a bit funnier than his fictional counterpart.

For that matter, most (but not all) of the named one-off characters that show up are based on people I've met–I'm not always great at producing characters from scratch, and some people in my life have specifically asked to make cameos in my writing.

I didn't quite think this through at first, but Crutchie had a challenging schedule for this whole thing–he won his category at paraclimbing nationals, immediately went home to pack for the show, and then spent the next couple months proceeding to not train for the world cup (which he leaves for right after the men tell all films).

There was a scene from the airplane date that I cut because it kind of interrupted the flow of the story where a bunch of the characters gave each other their canon nicknames (for example, Spencer -> Specs).

The idea for Albert deciding to get his ears pierced came from a mistake I made–I was using a picrew to figure out character appearances, forgot to clear the earrings I'd given the last character I'd done, and then realized it would be a good character growth thing for him.

[somedayonbroadway]

Baby Race and Baby Crutchie at Disneyland

😂🤦‍♀️ I remember that.

I’ve never posted it, but hey, why not now, right?

So basically, I was brainstorming a story with @bexlynne forever ago about Jack and his brothers all having superpowers. It’s hard to explain and has nothing to do with this particular scene, but somehow I got to the idea of “what if Medda and Kloppman celebrated Jack adopting Race and Crutchie by taking them to Disneyland”. I think it was because I had just gotten my annual pass back, but anyway, this happened...

Jack hugged little Charlie close to his chest, letting Race grasp tightly onto his hand. “Please fill all of the dead space in the room! If you can still breathe, you’re not trying hard enough,” one of the workers called. Jack vaguely remembered Medda telling him they were called cast members. He couldn’t stop himself from chuckling at the request.

“Stay close, babies... it’s gonna get crowded,” Medda ordered lightly, taking Race’s hand and sandwiching him between herself and Jack, whilst Kloppman stood very close to Jack’s side.

“When hinges creek in doorless chambers, and strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls...” A gasp from caught Jack’s attention immediately.

“It’s okay, baby. I got you...” Jack promised with a smile, glancing down at Race to find a giant grin on his face as he excitedly glanced around the room, trying to find the owner of the disembodied voice that seemed to be coming from the walls.

“Whenever candlelight’s flicker, where the air is deathly still... that is the time when ghosts are present, practicing their terror with ghoulish delight...”

Behind Jack, another door opened. “Bubba...” Charlie whimpered. The teenager shook his head and smiled, pulling Race along with them as they walked back into the other, circular room.

“C’mon Charlie!” Race encouraged his baby brother, letting go of Jack’s hand and letting Kloppman ruffle his hair. “It ain’t real!” he promised, marveling at the paintings in the room. They were all so interesting. One of a woman sitting with a rose in her hand, another of a beautiful dancer, holding and umbrella above her head as she smiled. Jack didn’t miss it when Race’s eyes widened when the voice began to speak again.

“Welcome foolish mortals, to the Haunted Mansion. I am your host. Your ghost host.”

“Ghost?” Charlie whispered out, clinging to his big brother for dear life. “Bubba?”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Medda assured. “Nothin’s gonna hurt you...”

“Kindly step all the way in please, make room for everyone. There’s no turning back now...” the voice laughed. “Our tour begins here in this gallery, where you see paintings of some of our guests as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state.”

Jack didn’t know exactly how to feel. He felt bad for finding this all somewhat amusing. He’d never experienced anything else quite like it. His brothers had been scared so many times before in the past and he’d been scared right along with them. This time though, there was nothing to be scared of. All he could do was grin and hold his baby brother tightly, trying to calm him down as they were moved tighter and tighter together.

“Please drag your bodies away from the walls and into the dead center of the room.” Again, a laugh escaped Jack at the pun and the monotone voice of the cast member. Race was practically bouncing with excitement. That was when the door was closed and Jack came to the realization that there was no other way out. Not only that, but the room seemed to be moving. The pictures were no longer peaceful or calming. They were moments of odd death. The dancer standing above a crocodile jumping up to eat her, a woman sitting atop a man’s grave, three men sinking in quicksand and another standing on a barrel of dynamite.

“Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding, almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis. Is this haunted room actually stretching? Or is it your imagination — hmm?” Charlie refused to look up, instead, choosing to bury his face in Jack’s shoulder. He didn’t like the voice. It was too scary and too deep. “And consider this dismaying observation: this chamber has no windows and no doors… which offers you this chilling challenge: to find a way out!”

The evil laugh somehow brought another wave of excitement through Race who reached up and clutched Kloppman’s hand. “Of course, there’s always my way...”

Thunder clapped from above and the lights went out. The ceiling broke open and high, high over their heads was a man, hung by the neck. A scream echoed around the room and Jack was torn between laughing or being concerned when Charlie shrieked and buried himself deeper in the embrace.

“Aww, is it his first time?” a woman next to their group asked as Jack realized he was being pushed into a different room.

“It’s all our first times!” Race announced proudly, showing off his own yellow button that said just that. “Charlie’s only two. He don’t know it ain’t real...”

A smile melted onto the young woman’s face as another girl grasped onto her hand, pulling her forward into the giant hallway before them. “Aww the poor thing...” she laughed empathetically. “Don’t worry, kiddo... it’s not that scary...” she promised lightly. The baby boy barely lifted his head up to peak at the kind woman before the lightning flashed from a window beside them. Jack chuckled and held the boy close as he walked, trusting that Race was okay with Medda and Kloppman.

“Thank you,” Jack nodded to the girl as her friend pulled her further into the crowd. “See, baby? It ain’t scary. Nothin’ is gonna get you, okay?”

It was clear the child did not believe him in the least as he buried his head further into Jack’s neck and sniffled against him.

Somehow, Jack was able to get on the so called doombuggy without his baby screaming and begging him to stop. Kloppman slid in next to him and Race and Medda were rushing to get on the cart behind them. “C’mon Charlie...” Kloppman encouraged with a laugh. “Where’s our brave little boy, huh?”

Charlie groaned in response, simply letting Jack pat his back as they began their climb up a small hill and the music could be heard even louder where a candle was floating by itself in front of a giant mirror.

The whole ride was incredible. It wasn’t really scary, but Jack couldn’t get his baby to lift his head for even a moment. The boy heard the doors rattling and the floating head talking and he refused to look up. “C’mon bubba, it ain’t scary, I promise.” A firm shake of his head was the only reply, Jack got. He laughed and let the child rest against him, shaking his head as he enjoyed the ride himself, glancing to his right and seeing his other brother’s eyes as wide as plates as he took in every detail of every room. Medda was laughing, shaking her head as the boy found absolutely everything about it so fascinating.

“It’s okay, Charlie! They’re just trying to play!” Race called, trying to cheer up their brother. Charlie only peered up for a moment to look at him before seeing the ghosts messing around in their graveyard.

“Ah, there you are! And just in time… there’s a little matter I forgot to mention — beware of hitchhiking ghosts!” Jack laughed when their doombuggy swung to the left towards a wall of mirrors. In between him and Kloppman was another, cartoon ghost. “They have selected you to fill our quota, and they’ll haunt you until you return! Now I will raise the safety bar, and a ghost will follow you home!”

“No!” Charlie cried, grasping at Jack’s sweatshirt and squeezing his eyes tight.

Jack carefully stepped onto the moving sidewalk, rocking his brother back and forth gently before someone else came and grabbed for his hand.

“Hurry back... hurry back...” a woman called as they were moved to the exit. “Be sure to bring your death certificate...”

It wasn’t until they found the light of day that the toddler on Jack’s chest felt it safe to open his teary eyes up. He lifted his head up so his big brother could see his disapproval in full and the teenager just laughed. “Okay, Charlie... we won’t do that one again,” he promised, seeing Racer pout out of the corner of his eye. But Jack gave him a quick wink before they were off walking again.

Charlie didn’t smile again until he saw Pooh Bear waving at him like mad and begging the poor kid to give him a grin.

In case y’all are wondering, I did write out the whole ghost host monologue from memory. Because I am indeed a freak.

😂 thanks for reminding me about this one, Bex!

[livesincerely]

[Bits & Bobs] it’s so easy (too easy) to love you

Here’s the latest progress report/update from my javid domestic!au, formerly known as The One Where It’s Domestic. It ended up having too much plot for the Tease Series, but I’m still in love with the idea. (And there will probably still be a smutty epilogue, lol)

00000

Davey’s just gotten out of class—literally just walked out the door—when his phone starts ringing.

“Davey,” Racetrack says the moment he answers, not even giving Davey time to say hello, “Can you swing by the apartment real quick?”

Davey sighs. “Are you locked out of the house again?”

There’s a guilty silence. Then, “Or maybe I just wanna see you, huh? You don’t know.”

“Racetrack.”

“Crutchie’s the one that lost the spare,” Racetrack capitulates immediately, there’s an indignant “Hey!” somewhere in the background, “and I left my keys in my locker ‘cause I thought Crutchie had his—”

There’s a scuffle of noise, then Crutchie’s voice breaks in, “—don’t listen to him Davey, I asked him before we even got on the subway if he had his keys and he said he did but he didn’t even check—”

“—well, I thought you had yours, didn’t I?—”

“—and he was twenty minutes late picking me up from band practice because he was too busy flirting with Spot Conlon to come help me carry my oboe—”

“—that was supposed to be a secret you little shit!”

“—you started it!”

Davey pulls the phone away from his ear as the other side of the line descends into a mess of indistinct yelling. He thinks about trying to get their attention, but he decides to just start heading towards the apartment, muting the call while he waits them out—they’ll remember him eventually.

In the meantime, Davey sends a quick text:

Race and Crutchie locked themselves out of the house again

He’s not expecting a response, but Jack must be in-between projects because he gets one almost immediately.

jc again? 

And you’re going to have to get a new spare made

fuck okay i’ll take care of it. are you heading over?

I’m walking there now

ur the light of my life dave

Davey can’t help but smile at this, a soft feeling fluttering in his chest. Before he can write back, Jack sends a second text:

how did the ochem midterm go?

I feel good about it! Def did better than I thought I would!

duh youve been living in the library all week ofc ur gonna do great. ill swing by the grocery on the way home, pick up some ice cream to celebrate. do we need anything else while im there?

Get a bell pepper and some tomato paste, I’m going to make spaghetti for dinner. And we need laundry detergent.

fuck yes im starving. can we do garlic bread too?

Get home on time and we’ll see.

you drive a hard bargain sir. kerian owes me a favor so ill make him stay late. ill be home in a couple hours 

Grinning, Davey goes to respond but is distracted by a tinny, muffled sound emanating from his phone’s speakers. He unmutes the call and lifts his phone back to his ear.

“Davey?” Crutchie says hesitantly, and it sounds like he might’ve been calling Davey’s name for a while. They must’ve put him on speaker because he can still hear Race grumbling nearby. “Are you still there?”

“I’m still here,” Davey confirms, feeling a little guilty for forgetting about them, even though they forgot him first.

“So are ya comin’ or what?” Racetrack asks, ever impatient, “because I’m roasting out here.”

“Well, I was thinking about leaving you to ruminate on your poor life choices,” Davey responds dryly, “but I guess I can come let you in, since you asked so nicely.”

“Thanks, Davey,” Crutchie says.

“Hurry, will ya? Much longer and I’m gonna get heatstroke and die,” Racetrack calls.

Davey rolls his eyes. “Goodbye, Race.”

00000

Davey starts rifling through the bags almost before Jack can finish putting them down. “Did you get the—?”

“I got the tomato paste,” Jack says, pulling out a gallon of ice cream and sticking it in the freezer. “I also got some more of that fancy cheese you like so much, even though it costs half the grocery budget.”

“It balances the dish,” Davey insists around an armful of vegetables, “the salt cuts through the richness of the sauce.” He makes quick work of washing a green pepper and peeling an onion, then starts dicing both into small, neat pieces.

“All I know is, the shredded stuff works just as well and it doesn’t cost a fortune.”

“Watch your mouth, Kelly,” Davey says, wagging his knife at Jack teasingly, “smartasses don’t get dinner.”

“That so?” Jack asks with a grin. “Then why the hell are we still feeding Racetrack?”

“I heard that,” Race grumbles from the kitchen table.

“Yeah, you were supposed to,” Jack says, moving over to Racetrack and slinging an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into a side hug. Race bats at Jack’s hand but makes no real attempt to get away. Then Jack says, “So, I hear you and your brother lost another set of keys.”

Race gives Davey a look of the deepest betrayal. “You told Jack?”

“Of course he did,” Jack says. “Someone’s gonna have to get new ones made, and it sure ain’t gonna be either half of the dynamic duo.”

“Crutchie lost the spare,” Race says, throwing Crutchie under the bus while he’s not in the room to defend himself. “And I didn’t lose my keys, I just left them in my locker.”

“Uh huh, save it for the judge,” Jack responds, ruffling Race’s hair. “Just know if I end up having to change the deadbolt, it’s coming outta your subway money.”

“Jacky, leave Racetrack alone,” Davey comments mildly over Racetrack’s spluttering protests. “He needs to work on that paper and you’re distracting him.”

“Yeah, Jack,” Race repeats, a little smug. “You’re distracting me.”

Davey turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised. Racetrack quickly busies himself with his homework.

Davey goes back to the stove-top, adding the chopped vegetables to the ground beef that’s browning in a pan. He feels more than hears Jack sidle up behind him: the familiar weight of his gaze, the solid presence at his back. He stands there quietly, leaning against the counter-top and just watching Davey cook; unbothered, Davey lets him be for the moment and moves toward the pantry. With a bit of searching he unearths a can of tomatoes, then adds it and the tomato paste to the sauce pan and turns it down to a simmer.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Davey says, “Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me with this?” glancing over his shoulder at Jack, a mock challenge. “You know there’s no loitering in my kitchen.”

“Well, I’m nothin’ if notta law abidin’ citizen,” Jack drawls in answer, the corner of his mouth quirking up. He rolls up his shirt sleeves, exposing the long, muscular line of his forearms, and washes his hands in the kitchen sink. “Where do you want me?”

Davey licks his lips. “Think you can handle boiling the pasta?”

...

“I’ve got to head back out,” Jack says. “Johnson’s got me working a night shoot and I have to be downtown by 9.”

“How long is the session?” Davey asks.

“We’re scheduled for five hours, but we might get to wrap it up early if everything goes well.” Jack’s hand brushes against the small of Davey’s back and they trade spots again, Davey stepping back up to the stovetop and Jack taking his place at the cutting board.

“Are ya spending the night or are ya headin’ back to your place?”

“Depends on how much help Racetrack needs with his history paper,” Davey replies. “We might be at it a while.”

Jack huffs out a laugh. “Well, if you do spend the night, go ahead and take the bed. The extra blankets are in the usual place.”

00000

Davey notices the time and frowns. “Jack,” he calls, “it’s already 7:30. If you don’t leave soon you’re gonna be late for work.”

There’s a clamor of noise from down the hall, then Jack appears, freshly showered and fumbling to put on his socks and button his work shirt at the same time.

“Fuck, Mr. Johnson is gonna kill me,” Jack grumbles. He pats down his pockets, then groans. “Christ, has anyone seen my—”

“Your wallet and keys are on the counter by the microwave,” Davey says. “And take a jacket, it’s supposed to rain later.”

…

“Jack—”

“And Dave cooked, so you shitheads better do the dishes, get me?”

“Jack, you’re gonna be late,” Davey cuts in firmly, holding out Jack’s jacket for him.

“Alright, I’m going,” Jack says, shrugging it on, and he finally starts making moves towards the door.

He gives Crutchie one last pat on the shoulder and cuffs Racetrack on the back of the head in a slightly rougher, but no less affectionate goodbye, which is per usual. Then he turns to Davey, tips his chin up, and kisses him right on the mouth, short and sweet.

“Lock the door behind me and don’t forget to—” Jack stops mid-sentence, then turns bright red.

“Um,” says Crutchie.

“Holy shit,” says Racetrack.

Jack’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly. Finally, he sputters out, “I u-uh — I-I d-didn’t mean—“

Davey doesn’t respond. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to—he’s frozen in place, his mind a sudden wash of static. For a moment, they just look at each other. Then Jack blurts, “gottagoseeyoulaterbye” and bolts out the front door.

Davey’s not sure how long he stands there, staring blankly into space, utterly dumbfounded.

“Davey?” Crutchie asks hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

There’s a horrible, strangled, choking noise. A split second later, Davey realizes it’s coming from him.

[klaineharmony]

Sweet and Right and Merciful

“sweet and right and merciful, i’m all but washed in the tide of her breathing”

Thanks to @rum-on-fire for the Hozier lyric, in one of their posts. :)

This isn’t any of the WIPs I’m supposed to be working on for the 300x3 challenge, but . . . *shrugs*. I was inspired. :) 1295 words.

Jack woke to the rosy light of dawn spilling in the bedroom window. His eyelids were heavy, but he felt warm and content, rested after what had been a long week of late nights and early deadlines.

He rolled over slowly to face his sleeping partner, and he caught his breath as he took in Sarah’s face in the morning light. She was always beautiful, and he never got over feeling awed by her, but there was something sacred about this. Seeing her asleep, knowing that she trusted and loved him enough to share her bed, to be so completely vulnerable with him, made his chest ache with painful happiness.

It wasn’t new. They had been friends since high school, when Jack had impulsively started a strike among the newspaper staff. When the administration and then the school district had tried to censor the paper’s articles on sexual education, HIV and AIDS prevention, and climate change, Sarah (who was the paper’s editor, the first in the history of the high school) and Davey (who was the lead feature writer) had been furious. Jack had heard them talking about it during the lunch period and had boldly walked over to their table and proposed the idea of a student body strike against the administration.   

Sarah had scoffed at him, and David had immediately given him a laundry list of reasons why it was risky, since there was a mandated number of school days, students were minors and didn’t have a union, and parents could theoretically punish their kids for taking part. It would never work if it was just a few of them, he had said, and what were the chances they could get the entire students body on their side?

Jack had smirked at David’s naivete, and he proceeded to call over his entire group of friends and have them sit and listen to Sarah and Davey about the administration's censorship of the paper. Incensed by the unfairness (as he had known they would be), Crutchie, Blink, Mush, Specs, Skittery, Smalls, Boots, Racetrack, and Dutchy had immediately appointed themselves ambassadors to the rest of the student body, and within two days had most of the school on board. Spot and Plumber’s crew had been the hardest to win over (as Jack had known they would be), but he appealed to them himself, and they came in after the rest of the student body staged a day-long sit-in in the halls.

Mr. Denton, the paper’s advisor, had been incredibly skeptical at first, and shared Davey’s worries over the repercussions of a strike, but after the first day of the sit-in, the local media caught wind of what they were doing (thanks to some highly-circulated social media posts from Sarah and Davey) and the coverage brought support flooding in from local free speech groups and even the ACLU. Denton was all in after that, and did everything he could to support the striking students and advocate for them with the administration and the media.

They had won the fight, two weeks and one furious and humiliated school administration later, and Davey and Sarah had become Jack’s best friends from the strike forward. Jack had asked Sarah to junior prom at the end of that year, and they had been together ever since, six years and counting.

Jack had, at first, been floored by Sarah and David’s complete acceptance of him and his friends. He was a foster kid, and his adoptive mom and siblings, Medda and Crutchie and Smalls, were the only family he’d ever really had. The Jacobs were the complete opposite of what he had known as a little kid - stable, with two great parents and their obnoxious but cute younger brother, Les, who was one of the freshman during the strike. But despite their initial doubt, they had embraced Jack as an ally and a friend, and had trusted his friends to do their part when they said they would. Jack had been staggered by their level of trust, when they barely knew him, and staggered even more by his own trust in them, which went against every bit of common sense he had.

And with Sarah, Jack had found himself telling her things - about his parents, about his childhood in foster care, about how he had come to Medda and she had slowly, slowly broken through his defenses - that he had never told anyone. Sarah accepted each little bit of him with kindness, and only seemed to love him more with every new thing she learned. She had given him back that trust, fully, telling him about her own childhood, her fears of not being good enough, of wanting to be more than just a pretty face and a good daughter, and Jack came to understand that she was driven not only by her fierce intellect, but by the need to prove herself, to be more than most people expected her to be. 

She gave him peace, and compassion, and loved him fiercely, and Jack tried - oh, he tried, with everything he was - to give those same things to her, every day. 

He knew in his bones, in the very deepest part of his own heart, that the sweet ache of loving her would never go away.

Jack had been watching Sarah sleep while he thought, and now he reached out and gathered her against him, putting one arm and a leg over her body and pulling her close. She sighed and nestled her head against him, winding her arm around his before her eyes drifted open.

“Morning, Cowboy,” she murmured, smiling, and Jack smiled back, leaning over and kissing her eyelids and the tip of her nose before pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“Mornin’, beautiful,” he said. 

“How long have you been awake?”

“Not long,” Jack said quietly. “Maybe ten minutes. Just enjoying being in our bed with you. Thinkin’ about how much I love you.”

Sarah’s eyes grew brighter and somehow softer, and she reached up and cupped his cheek. “I love you, too. Always, Jack.”

Jack kissed her again, soft and slow, and Sarah responded in kind, her mouth tender against his. When they finally broke apart, needing to breathe, Jack leaned his forehead against hers and spoke what was in his heart.

“Sarah,” he whispered, “will you marry me?”

Sarah went still underneath him, and drew back from him just a little, so that she could see his face. “Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been so serious about anything in my life,” Jack said, caressing her face with his hands. “I love you. I want to be yours forever. I want us forever, Sarah. I want to love you, and learn with you, and grow with you, as long as we’re both breathin’. You make me so happy, and I can’t imagine life without you in it.”

Sarah’s eyes had filled with tears as he talked, and she gave a little sob as he finished and then leaned up and kissed him. 

“Of course I will,” she said, her voice choked. “I love you with all my heart, Jack. All you had to do was ask.” 

Jack kissed her back, deeply, and Sarah put her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, cradling his body against hers. 

“I didn’t mean to ask like this,” he murmured between kisses. “I’ve had a ring for you for weeks - those reservations we have for this weekend? I was going to ask you then. But I just - couldn’t wait anymore.”

Sarah smiled against his lips. “We’ll just make that our newly-engaged dinner,” she said. “This was perfect, Jack. I can’t imagine anything more beautiful, and I love you even more for asking because it felt right. I love you.”

“Nothin’ feels more right than this,” Jack said, kissing her again. “I love you, too.” 

After that, neither of them needed words for a long time.

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@queenofbrooklyn, @icouldwritebooks, @rudeflower, @whatstheproblembaby, @coffeegleek  and anyone else who likes my little bits of writing or Jack and Sarah. :)

[neverplannedonnewsies]

Could You Hug Me?

Well it’s late and it ain’t perfect but I did it! Decided I wanted to give writing Albert a try. Please note that while I enjoy the “being snarky to hide your true feelings trope”, I don’t think that actually translates well to real life – people who are mean to you should just be cut out of your life. Also this was mainly inspired by my need for hugs, constantly, all the time. Ya girl needs many, many hugs. Hope y’all like it!

Warnings: None really, though maybe “slut shaming” could be one?

-------

“Lookin’ a little worn out there, Y/N. Sleep on the street last night?”

“Yeah, your mother said to say hi.”

He let out a mocking laugh and turned back to his conversation with Race. To say Albert DaSilva drove you crazy would be an understatement. He was always making snarky comments like that towards you, teasing you and constantly challenging you. He was sarcastic, careless, a no-good ragamuffin… you didn’t even have the words to describe him, though you did your best. Almost too good as Crutchie pointed out later.

“Almost as if you was sweet on him,” he said with a grin as you headed away from the circulation gate. You scoffed, peeling off to go to your selling spot. Sure you had a bit of a crush on Albert, but it was nothing, just the buzz of having such a good-looking boy pay attention to you. Infatuation, Davey called it. Who would be so foolish as to actually fall for someone who constantly annoyed them?

In fact you would prove just how much you weren’t in love with Albert when you whooped his ass later in your slingshot competition – Albert had bet you a dime you weren’t as good of a shot as he was. You couldn’t wait to wipe the smug look off his ridiculously handsome face.

However that never happened. You were sitting down by the docks, trying not to cry when Albert found you.

“Hey Y/N! Yous smell bad enough without sittin’ next to fish guts.”

No. No this was the last thing you needed right now. You continued staring down at the water, praying he would go away, but no such luck. He jostled your shoulder as he sat down beside you.

“Y/N, what the hell? You never showed up, ya chicken.”

“Whatever, Albert,” you muttered, staring into the murky water.

“’Whatever, Albert’? Well that certainly ain’t your best comeback. Pretty weak, Y/L/N.”

“Al, will you please just leave me alone, I don’t want to talk right now,” you whispered, not able to talk any louder because your voice was likely to crack. You were barely keeping it together and the last person you wanted to lose it in front of was Albert DaSilva.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m just kidding.” His voice shifted from its mocking tone, “Seriously, I didn’t mean any of that. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure doesn’t seem like nothin’.”

A tear slipped down your cheek and you angrily brushed it away. You took a deep breath and turned to tell him in harsher terms to leave you alone, but your nasty words were stopped by the look of genuine concern and worry on his face. And just like that the tears erupted.

You sobbed while telling him everything that had happened – you were out selling papers, and the Delancey brothers had come and started harassing you. It had been the usual stuff at first, nothing you couldn’t handle, but then they started getting personal; they started talking about things you tried never to think about. Like what job your mother had had to do, back when she was alive, to keep the two of you from starving. How you would end up just like her, how you and her were gutter rats, common whores, on and on it went.

You pulled your knees tight to your chest as you talked to try to give yourself some comfort. Albert listened the entire time, completely focused on you, not saying a word. When you finished he was silent for a moment then said, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. That’s awful, I had no idea that… I just… I’m really sorry.”

You nodded, feeling pitiful as you wiped your runny nose on your sleeve and taking a few shuddery breaths.

“It’s O.K. I just… no one has ever really know about my mother before. I get why she did what she did, but I’m so scared of that being my future as well and… I’m not used to feeling so small.”

“Is there anything I can do? Anything at all, just tell me what ya need.”

You tried to think of anything in the world that would possibly make you feel better at that moment, and could only come up with one thing.

“Could you hug me?”

He immediately wrapped his arms around you, practically pulling you into his lap. You buried your face in his neck and let out a few more shuddery sobs as he held you, rocking you slightly and holding you so tight it almost hurt. In spite of everything you couldn’t help but appreciate his warmth, and the security of having someone hold you.

“It’s gonna be alright, Y/N. You’re smart and yous got plenty of friends – we’re not gonna let you end up in that life.”

“What do you care? You always say I’ll end up on the streets,” you sniffled.

He huffed out a laugh, “And you say the same to me. Look I know it’s stupid, but I ain’t so good at expressin’ myself. You’re so smart and pretty I get all nervous and it’s just easier to rag on ya than say something nice.”

“You think I’m smart and pretty?”

“’Course. Plus you’re the only one who can deal out much shit as I do – I like that.”

You chuckled, feeling the last of the dark bitterness that had settled over you drift away.

“Well I like you too, Al. Even if you rag on me like it’s your job.” He threw back his head in laughter as he stood up.

“Come on, lets go home.” He held out his hand to haul you up, but rather than let go as you started to walk back to the Lodgehouse he re-adjusted to have your hand fit snuggly in his. He paused. “Tell me if the Delancey’s bring that up again, cuz I’ll soak ‘em. No one makes fun of you,” he said, deadly serious.

Then a smirk started to spread over his face, “Well, no one but me.”

Tag List! (Kinda)

@newsiesgarbage

[c0ronas-blog]

The newsies go ice skating on the lake in Grand Central Park and Les falls and smashes his face and knocks out like four teeth and gets a nose bleed and everyone panics and starts rushing around trying to get him some ice but “WE ARE SURROUNDED BY SNOW FOR FRICKS SAKE” and like eight kids just wipe out and Davey is on the verge of a panic attack; Crutchie is shrieking from his little ice skating chair; Jack is on the ground; Katherine just looks into the camera like she’s on the office. :)

wow okay that was specific but ya know who cares this is great

warnings: mentions of blood (from a nose bleed); mentions of knocked out/chipped teeth; lots ‘o chaos :))

“HEY, JACK! WATCH THIS!”

Jack spun around, almost falling over thanks to the strange feeling of ice skates - and basically just sliding around in general. It was his and several other newsies’ first time ice skating. They were stationed in Grand Central Park and had been fooling around on the ice for over an hour, now.

Even Crutchie was there; he had his own little chair that he was using expertly to do little loops and spins. Almost all of the newsies had taken turns pushing Crutchie around the ice, and both sides definitely enjoyed every minute of it.

Les, who was the one who had called out to Jack, had taken every chance possible to do creative - but dangerous - tricks on the ice, all of it behind Davey’s back of course.

“Les,” began Davey, hearing his younger brother’s plea for attention. “Don’t even-”

“Just let ‘im!” Jack interrupted. “I can keep an eye on him, Dave. You go have fun.” The look that Davey returned to Jack was more than enough to keep Jack awake late into the night, but nevertheless, off went Davey to his own business.

Les was grinning widely now - not that he hadn’t stopped smiling since they had arrived at the Park. He took a deep bow and announced his name ever-so-loudly, as if he was a competitor in some sort of challenge.

He scooted himself backwards a few paces and then took a deep breath, preparing for his amazing trick, Jack assumed. It amused Jack to watch Les get so excited over something so simple.

Les started to skate forward, going faster with each movement. He looked about to jump into the air when sudden panic overcame his face.

That was when one of his skates flew off of his foot, sliding to a stop in front of Jack’s own feet. It was too late for Jack, who bent down to retrieve the lost skate, to realize what had happened to Les in the aftermath until there was a loud groan - Les.

“Jack,” he mumbled. Jack was doing his best to drag himself over to where Les had fallen. Blood was flowing in a steady stream from Les’ nose, and it looked like he’d cracked - if not lost - several teeth. “Jack, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.”

Jack held back a snort. Leave it to the little one to be cracking jokes on his deathbed. Finally able to get to Les’ position, Jack bent down and hooked his arms around Les’ waist, pulling him up.

“Gotcha,” breathed Jack. With Les leaning on him, Jack was wobbling dangerously on the ice. He definitely didn’t want to fall, not with an already-injured person in his arms. He decided to sit down, and he cradled Les in his lap, patting the boy’s head as Jack called for Davey.

Davey wasn’t the only one who noticed Jack calling out. It wasn’t long before everyone was crowding around the wounded Les, who was, on Jack’s opinion, playing up the injury for sympathy.

“Get some ice,” Davey said over his shoulder. It wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, which naturally made each newsie assume it was someone else that Davey was addressing. This resulted in no one making a move to help out.

It was only after an agonizing five minutes of Davey waiting impatiently that he realized what was happening.

“Someone get the ice!” Davey shouted. His voice trembled, like he was on the verge of panicked tears. All of the newsies realized this; Davey was usually one to remain calm in difficult situations, and his acting this way worried them more than they would admit.

Mike and Ike took action first, followed by an eager Elmer. The three scrambled around, absolutely clueless as to where to go.

Race, who always had his phone with him, ran after the trio, shouting instructions he’d gathered from a webpage he’d found. Albert rushed after him, arguing and attempting to be louder than Race, claiming that his words were more accurate.

All in all, it was absolute chaos; the newsies who stayed behind didn’t know what to do with themselves and most of them ended up going off to try and find something or someone that could help.

Davey was taking deep breaths and his eyes were closed, doing his best to remain calm.

“Jack,” he started. “Get Les off the ice.” Suddenly, Davey’s eyes widened and he looked first from his skates to the falling snow. “The ice,” he repeated, tone dull. “The ice is all around us.”

Jack nodded, confused. “I thought you realized that,” he admitted. “That’s why I didn’t-”

“MIKE! IKE!” Davey shouted. The twins whipped around, staring wide-eyed at Davey. “Get some of the snow, for heck’s sake!”

Les laughed. It was more of a snort, though, as multiple broken teeth and a very bloody nose weren’t helping.

“Davey,” Les chuckled. “You can cuss around me, it’s fine. All of the other guys do it so I don’t see any difference in you doing it.” He snapped his mouth shut immediately after he finished, realizing what he’d revealed.

“The others do what?” Davey growled, turning to glare at Jack. “Are you telling me that Jack- that he- JACK!”

Jack lifted Les higher, trying to hide behind the younger boy. “I did nothing! I’ve never said anything bad in front of him!” he squeaked, wincing. There was a sudden silence as Jack groaned, recalling something from before. “Well, once I did say ‘sh-”

“JAAACK!”

The few newsies who still surrounded Les scrambled, faces contorted as they tried not to laugh. Not one of them wanted to stick around to face the wrath of Davey, and no-one wanted to face a fierce questioning, either.

All of the newsies sprinted across the ice, bumping into one another and random persons as they tried to escape - or, as Mike and Ike were doing, trying to return the chilling handfuls of fresh snow to Davey.

Everyone was tripping and falling and panicking. Davey had tears of anger (or was it hysteria?) streaming down his red face; Jack was loudly professing his innocence while hiding behind a giggling, still-bloody Les; Mike and Ike had dropped their handfuls of snow so many times that they’d given up, and were attempting to scrape it from the ice they’d been skating on; Crutchie was wailing helplessly in confusion from his chair. 

Katherine?

She just turned her head with an annoyed sigh and stared directly into the invisible camera beside her.

“People these days,” she muttered, shaking her head. “These people.”

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tag list: 

@thebroadwayaesthetic @not-your-cigar @awwwwwwdang @percabeth15 @newsies-everlasting @skybert-daherty @have-we-got-news-for-you @kendranullings2187 @insane-tomato

[brooklyn-anon]

Sunrise Kisses

Word Count: 791

Summary: Quick Crutchie Fluff

Warnings: Nope!

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

“What are we doing (Y/N)? It’s 5 o’clock in the morning.”

“Just trust me Crutch. This will be worth it.” You lead Crutchie out a doorway and up onto the roof of your apartment building. This was something you had been wanting to do with him for months. Your crush on the sandy haired boy had done nothing but grow and grow in the part six months that you had known him. The two of you sat on this weird line where you sometimes talked nonstop for days and sent flirty snapchat stories to each other, but other times you would go a week without interacting at all. It was agonizing to sit in limbo. You wanted to know how he felt and if it was possible for you two to be together. This would be the last straw. This would tell you how the two of you would proceed. As friends....... or more.

A couple of beanbag chairs sat by the edge along with a handful of blankets. The two of you collapsed down into the beanbags, squirming and snuggling down into them until you were comfortable. A large fluffy blanket was spread over your laps. A handful of comfortably quiet minutes passed. It was nice to just sit and admire the city skyline. The only visible lights were the ones that lined the streets. Even now, car horns could be heard echoing from down below. A cool summer breeze blew across the roof. The world was a special kind of serene. 

“Thumb wrestle me.” Your friend said softly from beside you. This was not an unusual request. This was how you settled any debate. One of you thought one way, the other thought another, a thumb war ensued to decide what you would do.

“What are we debating now?” You spoke as softly as he did, afraid to break the fragile air around you. 

“Nothin”. I just feel like beating you. As usual.” Even in the dark you knew he was smiling. You accepted his challenge and curled your fingers in his. “Tell me (Y/N). What do you daydream about?”

“Dogs.” You immediately answered. The both of you laughed, even though you were only sort of joking. “But honestly....... I daydream about the stars. Space is so vast and unknown. The stars just sit there and burn for years on end, get they look like nothing more than glitter thrown in the sky. I love the night time. Its mysterious and wonderful. So yeah..... I spend my days thinking about nights. What about you?”

“I think about being able to move like a real human being again. Run properly. Walk up and down stairs without help. Go swimming. All these other things that people can do that I just can’t. I want a normal life.” Uh oh, no no, he almost pinned you.

“You will. I promise that. If you could have any animal as a pet, what would it be?"

“An otter. Easily.”

“That'd be super cute. I think I’d want an owl. Like in Harry Potter.”

This continued for another half an hour. Random questions back and forth. Hushed tones. An endless thumb war. You continued on until the first break of light split over the horizon. Your hand immediately tightened in your friend’s. 

“This is what I brought you up here for.” You told him excitedly. Your hand never left his as you let your head rest on his shoulder. Shades of pink, red, purple, yellow, orange, and blue painted the sky as the sun made it’s first appearance of the day. You wished you could say that you had watched it and enjoyed it. But instead you got caught up in watching Crutchie’s face. The smile he wore was unlike any one he ever had. A sense of wonder and amazement filled his eyes. It instantly made him look a hundred times more attractive. 

Which was somehow possible.

“(Y/N)? What is the one thing about dating that bothers you the most?” Oh crap did he really just ask that?! Well.... It was now or never.

“Playing games. Beating around the bush. It’s annoying to just sit around and play guessing games on how the other person feels. If you like someone, you just.... go for it.” 

What happened next was exactly what you had hoped would happen. Without a word of warning, Crutchie turned your face towards his and pressed his lips to yours. It was honestly everything you ever hoped it would be. He was cautious at first, but gained confidence when you leaned into the kiss.

“I agree with you.” He smiled and cupped your face to bring it back to his as the sunrise continued to bloom beside you.

[daveyjacobss]

seven minutes | albert dasilva

inktober day four

reader x albert dasilva

[newsies modern au]

summary: It’s a love-hate kind of thing.

a/n: “but amber, surely you wouldn’t write something so stereotypical?” lol yes i would buckle up fuckers bc you’re about to read some shitty material i wrote half asleep. this is kinda short but there’s gonna be a part two so it’s fine. hope you enjoy whatever the heck this is.

part one | part two

__________

A few shrieks sounded from the house as the room went dark. A few boys groaned while some laughed at how startled some of the girls and boys were. A clap of thunder shook the ground beneath their feet as someone turned on the flashlight on their phone.

"You alright there, Y/N?" Albert asked, smirking in his baseball player costume. She simply glared at him and crossed her arms with a huff.

"Looks like we're stuck without power," Jack spoke, returning back to the living room with Race behind him, candles and a lighter in his hands. Groans and shouts of protest rang out in the room as the group of boys complained about the lack of electricity. Y/N walked over and started to help Race set up candles around the room. "The good news is, we thought of something fun to do," Jack smirked. Y/N watched him warily, sharing a glance with Davey in his mad scientist costume (picked by Jack) from across the room that showed they were both wondering the same thing. With a wicked grin, Jack brought his hands out in front of him before speaking.

"Seven minutes in heaven." A few guests cheered, while others rolled their eyes or glanced back and forth, a slight fear in their eyes from the idea of being forced into a dark closet with one of their friends. Y/N supposed that the fact that it was a Halloween party didn't change the fact that it was still a high school party, hosted by Jack and Race, nonetheless.

"Alright, c'mon! Who's playing?" Jack brought a bottle over to a cleared spot on the floor, sitting down. Immediately, Race, Spot, and Albert went to go sit with him. Katherine was soon to follow, Tommy right behind her. One by one, their friends began to join. Y/N, Davey, Crutchie, and a couple of other people stayed off to the side, choosing not to play.

"What's the matter Y/N, scared?" Albert smirked up at her, raising an eyebrow. He was challenging her, and everybody knew it. It was no secret that Y/N and Albert didn't get along at all, mostly because Albert liked to antagonize Y/N. It seemed his goal in life was annoying her as much as possible.

"No, I just don't enjoy taking part in childish games," she scoffed. Albert let out a bark that caused her glare to harden. Beside her, Davey was being dragged into the circle by Sarah and Jack. Nobody came to drag Crutchie however, but he ended up going to join the circle on his own.

"You're the only one left, Y/N," Katherine probably sang, slightly slurring her words. Y/N glanced at her and Sarah, who nodded in Albert's direction before wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Y/N's face flushed as she looked away angrily. Only Sarah, a close friend of Y/N's, and Crutchie knew that, though her annoyed her so much she often wanted to murder him, Y/N had a small (practically nonexistent, really) crush on him. A minuscule crush that wasn't worth mentioning at all. Really.

"You're playing, right?" Crutchie smiled sweetly up at Y/N. She sighed, grumbling as she went to sit between Sarah and Crutchie. She cursed the fact that no one could ever say no to Crutchie, including her. Brushing off the skirt of her Little Red Riding Hood costume and settled on the ground, playfully poking Sarah's wolf ears. They'd decided that it would be easier to just dress up together, though Sarah was doubling as the Bug Bad Wolf for both Y/N and Crutchie, who was dressed as one of the three little piglets. There were a few whoops and wolf whistles as she sat down and the first person - Finch - spun the bottle. It landed on a boy Y/N didn't know, but seven minutes later (during which someone played music on their phone and they all talked amongst themselves) Finch came out with the buttons of his shirt for his joker costume weren't done up all the way and the other boy appeared a bit dazed.

It was a while later when someone demanded that Y/N spin the bottle, which ended up in a bunch of people egging her on. She groaned and rolled her eyes, hoping it would land on Sarah or Crutchie so she wouldn't have to deal with anyone else - or maybe even Davey, though he had already spent seven minutes in the closet with Katherine, both of them coming out entirely in tact. She reached out and grabbed the bottle, spinning it lazily. It went around the circle a few times before skidding to a stop, pointing directly at Albert. The crowd erupted in noise as Y/N blushed, an angry look on her face. The boy in question simply smirked as he was clapped on the back a few times. He stood up and walked over to Y/N, offering a hand to help her up.

She declined, standing up on her own and rolling her eyes yet again before heading for the closet with Albert on her tail. The second the door was closed behind them they heard music begin to play from the other side, a steady chatter filling the other room.

"What d'ya say, Y/N?" She could practically hear Albert grinning as he spoke, though she couldn't see him in the small, dark room. "Let loose for just seven minutes?" She back up into the wall as she felt him move forwards. The closet was tiny, and their bodies were touching no matter how they positioned themselves.

"Or we could ignore each in silence for seven minutes, I think I like that option better." She heard him sigh as she did her best to put some distance between them, not succeeding in the slightest.

"Why do you hate me?" He asked, sounding more serious than she'd ever heard him.

"Why do I hate you?" She scoffed. "Are you kidding me? Why is it that you seem to go out of your way to annoy me?"

"I'm just trying to get you to live a little bit, Y/N. You never do anything fun unless someone forces you into it." She was starting to grow used to their close proximity, relaxing somewhat.

"And why do you care if I 'live' or not? It's none of your business what I choose to do with my time. Just because I don't like to do stupid things like you and your friends do doesn't mean I don't have fun." She was getting riled up, her face getting red from frustration.

"I'm talking about real fun! When's the last time you just let yourself go?" She bit her lip, starting to question if he was right. "I mean, have you ever had a wild night, Y/N? Have you ever even been kissed?"

"Yes," she responded indignantly, huffing. She felt him move even closer until they were completely pressed against each other.

"Prove it."

She didn't let herself think before pushing up on her toes and planting her lips on his. He reached out to wrap his arms around her but she pulled away too quickly, pushing him off of her. Her eyes were adjusted to the dark well enough to see that his mouth was hanging open as he stared at her with a red face that matched his hair. A small smile tugged at her lips.

"Wow, doll, didn't think you had it in you," he spoke, a smirk making its way onto his face.

"Don't call me doll," she reprimanded, glaring once again. They were positioned like this when the door opened back up: Y/N with her hands in fists as she glared at Albert, while Albert leaned causally against the wall, smiling at Y/N. Jack sighed when he opened the door, seeing that nothing had changed between the two of them. Y/N stomped out of the closet and dropped herself back down next to her friends.

"Well?" Crutchie asked cautiously, glancing over at Albert.

"He's an annoying pig," Y/N responded.

"An annoyingly cute pig," Sarah added in quietly, making both her companions laugh.

"So?" Jojo asked on the other side of the room when Albert sat back down between him and Race. Albert sighed.

"Yeah, I think she hates me." He watched as she laughed with Sarah, admiring the way her smile lit up her face. He wished he could get her to smile like that.

"Sorry, man," Race empathized, patting him lightly on the back. Albert nodded solemnly, but something inside of him was fluttering, blooming, growing. Because maybe Y/N didn't hate him, not entirely. And, no matter what, he still had the memory of what her lips had felt like on his. He still had the taste of her on his tongue. He could still feel her red velvet cloak slipping away under his fingers as she pushed him off of her.

__________

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[ostrich-on-a-rampage-blog]

can you do 147 from the prompts ask thingy pls!? (for jackcrutchie because they the best lol)

Once again, we find ourselves with a far too long, 6,000+ word fic. I highly recommend listening to Sara Bareilles’ “Manhattan” for the final section, which you’ll recognize by the tense shift. Anyway, it’s been fun to write, and I hope it’s fun to read.

TW: blood, violence (there’s some fighting between the Delanceys and newsboys)

147: “I can take care of myself just fine.”

Rolling, booming thunder practically shook the walls of the newsboy’s Lodging House. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the newsies curled into bed in various positions. Race had fallen asleep, both his legs dangling over the edge of the top bunk. Romeo was curled up, his face pressed into Race’s hip. Specs was spread out, taking up nearly the entire bunk, with Jojo curled into a tight ball at the edge. Mush had an arm slung over Blink, as the latter boy shifted in his sleep, pulling himself closer to the other.

Jack gripped at his pencil with its rubbed-raw eraser, trying to focus on the old newspaper on his lap. He carefully added another line to his sketch, checking the shading, before starting on the next part of his drawing. Carefully round out the chin, make sure the neck isn’t too long, check the curls that bounced down the forehead. The eyes sparkled with a joke. Jack grinned wryly, pleased that the sketch was actually turning out to look like–

A forked lightning bolt split across the darkened Manhattan sky, followed immediately by shaking thunder. Jack’s hand jerked, the lead slashing across his friend’s face. In frustration, he shoved the drawing away, stuffing the pencil behind his ear. He hugged his arms around himself, glaring at the night sky. Jack hated thunderstorms. He didn’t mind the way thunder growled across the sky, or how lightning would shine, bright-white, even in the darkest alley. But, he absolutely loathed the unpredictability of it. Jack could never tell when the lightning would strike, when the thunder would roar. And, each time it managed to startle him, no matter how much he steeled himself for the flash and noise that were sure to come.

The newsboys continued to snore, shifting ever so slightly. Jack watched them with envy. He used to try to sleep through thunderstorms, but the constant noise and flashing lights kept him awake. Jack sighed, before jumping down from his top bunk. Even the slight thud of his feet on the cold, wooden ground did not awake the sleeping newsies. Not that Jack expected it to. If those boys could sleep through ear-cracking thunder, then a small thump wouldn’t interrupt their dreams. He silently padded out of the room, making his way out into the main room. If he couldn’t sleep, Jack figured that he might as well do something productive.

Jack grabbed one of the old, ratty coats that hung on small hooks beside the door, slipping his arms into the sleeves. He had grown, Jack realized with dismay. The coat’s sleeves only extended three inches above his wrist. No matter, it would have to do. There just weren’t enough funds to go around to provide new coats for all the boys, and the nuns hadn’t been able to give them clothing lately. Jack pulled the door open, shutting it quietly behind him as he stepped out onto the small porch of the Lodging House.

Rain pounded down, nearly thick enough to obscure Jack’s view from the end of the street. If he were smart, he’d just turn back into the Lodging House and curl up into his blanket and pretend to sleep until the bell rang. But, a storm such as this would be the perfect cover for Jack. No one in their right mind would be out in this weather.

Ducking his head, Jack started forward. He stuck to the edge of the street, trying to gain at least some cover from the buildings he crept beside. They offered no shelter. Within the first few minutes, he was soaked through, but Jack kept plodding forward. He was nearing the small marketplace, where he could manage to get enough food for his boys. Only a few blocks more.

Once Jack reached the group of stores, he checked his surroundings for any unwanted witnesses. None. He quickly picked the lock for the bakery, and let himself into the empty store. Jack only took a moment to grab a couple day-old loaves of bread, stuffing them into his jacket, where he could protect them from the worst of the rain. Once he was sure the bread wouldn’t be soaked through by the time he got back to the Lodging House, he set off, back home.

Jack had only managed to get about ten feet away from the bakery, when he heard what sounded like muffled crying. Curious, Jack peered into the nearest alley. Nothing immediately caught his attention, so he crept forward, peering around a small stack of boxes that seemed to help block out the worst of the storm.

A small boy was curled into a small edge of space between the wall and the boxes. He jerked backwards at the sight of Jack, wedging his way even tighter into the small gap between the wall and the boxes. “Hey, hey,” Jack soothed, squatting down to be at eye level with the young boy. “Are you okay? I ain’t gonna hurt you, or nothing.”

“I’m fine,” the boy said, his gaze jumping everywhere, but avoiding Jack’s eyes.

Jack studied the gaunt skin that stretched over jutting cheekbones, dull eyes sunken with dark circles shadowing them, thin lips that trembled as he spoke, cheeks red and wet–from rain or tears, Jack couldn’t tell. “Do you have a place to stay? This storm ain’t doing you no good,” Jack told him.

“I got a place,” the boy protested. “I just…” he trailed off, undoubtedly thinking of a suitable lie. “I just like the rain, is all.”

“You’se shivering like a drownded rat,” Jack pointed out dryly.

The boy shrugged. “It ain’t that bad. I’se been in worse.”

Jack reached out a hand, frowning when the boy flinched at the movement. “Sorry,” he apologized. “But, let me help you back to the Lodging House. You could stay there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than an alley. Plus, I’se got some food, too.”

With a frown, the boy shoved Jack’s hand away. “I can take care of myself,” he told Jack. “I ain’t no charity case.”

“No, no,” Jack said, quickly thinking of a way to get this stubborn, prideful boy to accept his help. There was something about him, something about his shaggy blonde hair, something about his brown eyes that struck Jack as important. Familiar, almost. And Jack wasn’t just going to leave him out in the storm, not when he looked only a step away from death. “No, it’s not charity. Think of it as…” Jack paused, before grinning. “An investment!”

“An investment?” the boy asked, suspicion clear in his voice.

“Yeah! How old are ya, kid?”

The boy hesitated, before answering. “Ten.”

Jack wasn’t sure if the hesitation stemmed from his obvious distrust toward Jack, or if the boy wasn’t sure of his own age. Each option dismayed Jack beyond what he would ever admit. “Great!” he said, instead. “I’m practically thirteen, but the younger you are, the better you are at selling papes.”

“Papes?”

“Uh-huh. I’m a newsboy,” Jack told him proudly. “But, I keep getting older. So, since you’re still just a kid, you’d make a good selling partner.”

“I ain’t a kid,” the boy shot back quickly.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Sure you ain’t. Anyway, let’s get you home, okay?” Jack asked, extending his hand once more.

The boy stared at Jack’s hand for a minute, before gripping it. Jack helped him to his feet. The boy stood, before bending down and scooping up a crutch that Jack hadn’t noticed earlier. He stuck it under his armpit before turning back to Jack, his eyes daring him to make a rude comment. Jack only watched the determination flush across the boy’s face, transfixed by the way even the boy’s freckles seemed to bristle with indignation. “Look, if you got something to say, then say it,” the boy challenged, his fingers tightening around the crutch.

“I just got one question.”

“Shoot,” the boy said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Just how many poor, unsuspecting bullies have you taken out before?”

The boy’s eyes widened as he processed Jack’s questions. “W-well,” he started. “I mean, they all had it coming. I’m not mean, you see.”

Jack grinned widely. “Yeah, I get it. I’ve had to take out a few of my own, y’know.” As they started back to the Lodging House, Jack slung his arm over the boy’s shoulders, careful to not throw him off balance. “I think we’se gonna be good friends, kid.”

“I ain’t a kid,” the boy protested.

“Yeah?” Jack asked. “Well, then what am I gonna call you?”

The boy thought for a moment, wiping excess rainwater from his brow. “I ain’t got a good name. And… And–”

“Choose whatever name you’d like. You’re able to completely start over, fresh,” Jack advised.

“How about Crutchie?” he offered.

“Well, Crutchie, let’s hurry and get out of the storm, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jack pulled the boy a little closer as they scurried along the side of buildings, trying to avoid the raging storm. And, he didn’t plan on ever letting go.

The Delancey brothers never quite managed to worm their way into Jack’s good graces. Sure, they had tried, back when he had first been chosen to be Manhattan’s leader, after Spoons stepped down to hop on a train and never return. The Delanceys had smiled greasy smiles, offered Jack their service as hired protection, reminding him just how many newsboy leaders had found their bloody demise at the wrong end of a knife. Jack had never truly liked the Delancey brothers, and refused to fall for their flowery praises. Especially when he knew just how often the brothers would pick on his boys.

It had only taken a firm “no” and a punch to the jaw to convince the Delanceys that Jack was not interested in their proposition. The Delanceys had glowered at Jack’s indignation, their eyebrows drawing together as the other newsboys had begun to cheer. Morris had mimed cutting Jack’s throat, but Jack had ignored them.

Only a couple days had passed since Jack had snubbed the Delancey brothers’ offer, but Oscar and Morris hadn’t dared attack Jack. He was confident that they would continue to scurry away from him, tails between their legs. Far too often, Jack had proved himself more than capable in a fight, even with both of the Delanceys railing on him. And, perhaps, it was this overconfidence that caused Jack’s downfall.

Jack blamed himself.

He should have been paying a bit more attention. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get distracted. There was no way the Delancey brothers, the oafs, should’ve gotten the drop on him. Jack didn’t see it coming and the first hard hit had him stumbling forward, catching himself against the wall of a store. Jack blinked back the pain, recognizing the harsh laughter of the Delanceys. “Guess the great Kelly ain’t that great after all,” Oscar said, chortling.

With a low growl, Jack pushed himself off the wall, whirling around to punch Oscar in his impudent face. Morris must have foreseen this coming because he grabbed Jack’s shoulders and used Jack’s own momentum against him, spinning him around and shoving him into the alley. Jack wasn’t able to counteract the force of the shove, and his back took the brunt of the impact. For a moment, Jack just lay there, winded. That brief moment gave Oscar enough time to land a rough kick against Jack’s ribs. Jack winced, but managed to grab Oscar’s leg, tripping the bully.

While Jack’s attention was focused on Oscar and his success in landing the Delancey brother to the ground, Morris took the opportunity to pick up some discarded plank of wood and swung it, hard, at Jack’s head. The force of the impact ripped the skin above Jack’s ear open. Jack cried out in pain, grabbing at the new wound, dismayed at the blood that spilled over his fingers, staining the beds of his nails. His vision swam and he couldn’t focus on Oscar enough to block the next attack. The punch had him reeling backwards, but Jack doggedly refused to give up.

He struggled to his feet, swiping at the blood that trickled down from his now-split lip, preparing to beat the Delanceys back, or go down kicking. The Delanceys watched him with undisguised amusement, no doubt recognizing that they now had the upper hand in the fight. Jack snarled at them, leaping forward.

Oscar easily batted the attack away, throwing Jack into the grimy brick of the alleyway wall. He grunted, bringing his fists up to try and block whatever attack the Delanceys would throw at him next. It didn’t go exactly as plan, Jack realized, as Morris easily dodged one of his hastily-thrown punches and jabbed him in the cheek. Jack ignored the sudden flare of pain and the growing worry that whispered that he wouldn’t be coming out of this fight on top.

Morris reached past Jack’s defense, grabbing the newsboy’s shoulders and shoving him back to the ground. This time, Jack couldn’t quite stop the fall, couldn’t roll to lessen the impact. His head slammed roughly into the cobblestone, and Jack frantically blinked back encroaching darkness. He had to get up; he had to finish the fight. The Delancey brothers were laughing and Jack wanted nothing more than to sock them both in the jaw.

Jack started to push himself up, his arms trembling with the effort. Oscar planted one boot firmly on Jack’s back, shoving him back to the ground effortlessly. “Not so strong now, Kelly?” Oscar taunted, twisting the sole of his shoe into Jack’s already-bruised back.

Before Jack could come up with a suitable retort, Oscar stumbled forward, grabbing at his stinging back. Jack glanced up, confused. Crutchie stood there, crutch held loosely so that he could swing it at the attackers. “Why don’t we make this fight a bit more fair?” he suggested. “Two on two?”

Morris’ face contorted with fury and he flung himself towards Crutchie, who easily sidestepped the barreling bully. As he moved out of the way, he pushed Morris into the ground. Before Morris could get back up, Crutchie whacked him in the head, putting him out of the fight, at least for a moment.

He turned to Oscar, who approached the younger boy, glaring. Crutchie managed to block the punch Oscar threw, stepping to the side to completely avoid the attack. This, however, put him in the path of Morris, who had recovered from his hit much quicker than Crutchie had intended. Morris’ fist collided with Crutchie’s nose, and the boy grunted as he stumbled backwards. Morris and Oscar continued to encroach on him, harsh smiles splitting their faces. Jack grabbed at Morris’ legs, trying to assist his best friend, but Morris simply kicked him in the head, stunning Jack into submission.

Before Morris or Oscar could recognize what Crutchie was doing, the younger boy shoved his crutch into Oscar’s stomach, causing the Delancey brother to stumble backwards in surprise and pain. Morris surged forward, but Crutchie tripped him and shoved him to the ground. Morris’ head connected loudly and the Delancey brother stilled, unconscious.

Oscar pushed himself to his feet and turned to the younger boy, stepping forward quickly. He grabbed Crutchie’s crutch when the boy tried to hit him with it. Oscar flung the rod of wood away, teasing, “What are you gonna do now, kid?”

Crutchie didn’t bother with a verbal reply. Oscar stumbled backwards, holding his bleeding nose gingerly. Morris stirred, pushing himself to his feet uneasily. The younger Delancey brother swayed until Oscar placed his arm around Morris’ shoulder. “Leave us alone,” Crutchie told them, glaring at the brothers until they started making their way out of the alley. His voice was nasally from his quite-possibly broken nose, but his glare held.

“You better watch your back!” Oscar threatened. “If we can get the jump on Kelly, we can certainly get the jump on some no-good–”

“Yeah, whatever, Oscar,” Crutchie muttered. He wiped some of the blood from his nose, before helping Jack to his feet. “You good?” he asked, eyes flicking to the bruise forming under Jack’s eye.

Jack grinned wryly. “Yeah, didn’t you know? I can take care of myself.” His eyes flicked to Crutchie’s still-bleeding nose, but he didn’t comment.

Crutchie rolled his eyes. “I’m so sure.” He pressed the collar of his shirt to his nose, only wincing slightly at the pressure.

“You know, I think we make a pretty good team,” Jack told Crutchie, carefully slinging his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders.

“Team?” Crutchie teased. “I did all the rescuing there.”

“And what’s a hero without a damsel in distress, eh?”

“You realize that makes you the damsel.”

“My hero,” Jack joked, laughing. He ignored the slight warmth that spread in his chest, chalking it up to the abating adrenaline. Jack pulled Crutchie closer, his grin growing even wider.

After months spent in the Refuge, Jack developed the caution of being an extremely light sleeper. The softest noise, the slightest cry, the smallest shift, each startled Jack awake. Generally, he would lay there, listening to his surroundings until he had pinpointed which newsboy had made the noise. Then, once the sound had been revealed to be something completely harmless–Mush snoring, Race muttering in his sleep, Romeo pulling himself closer to Specs–Jack would slip back into a dreamless slumber.

Jack startled awake, his fingers immediately spreading out to ascertain where he lay. Cold, hard, bits of gravel that stuck beneath his nails: the roof. Jack relaxed, letting out a low sigh as he closed his eyes once more. Countless times, he had awoken on the roof due to a myriad of sounds. Some bird in the distance, police sirens, a cat yowling in the dark of night. Each time, Jack would determine the noise to be harmless, roll over, and resume his sleep.

Tonight, the noise was soft. So soft, that when Jack awoke, he nearly convinced himself that he hadn’t heard anything. He knew he was on the roof–safe, in his penthouse–and that the noise had, undoubtedly, come from something far below him. Jack rolled over, pressing his cheek into the cool concrete of the roof. He had nearly drifted off, back to sleep, when he heard it again.

This time, Jack was aware enough to recognize the half-hidden noise. A small groan, then a sniff.

Jack rolled over, raising himself up partially so that he could catch a glimpse of his best friend, sprawled out on the opposite side of the roof. Crutchie was half-curled into the fetal position, one arm held over his head in an almost protective manner. His other arm cradled his chest tightly. The boy whimpered, pressing his right arm even tighter around his head.

“Crutch,” Jack hissed, trying to awaken the younger boy. He knew just how often Crutchie reacted violently to being awakened by even the softest touch, especially if the boy was in the throes of a nightmare. “Crutchie, wake up.”

The younger boy didn’t respond positively, only letting out a small cry.

“Crutchie,” Jack tried again, crossing the roof to his best friend. “Crutchie, it’s just a nightmare. Wake up, okay?” He watched as Crutchie shifted, his face tightening with pain or fear, Jack wasn’t sure which. Unable to just stand by and watch his friend’s pain, Jack gently gripped Crutchie’s shoulder, shaking him softly. “Crutchie, wake up. Wake up. It’s me, Jack. Crutchie,” he said, repeating the soft litany over and over again.

The only forewarning that Jack received was a sudden stiffening of Crutchie’s entire body, then the boy’s eyes flew open, wide and darting. Crutchie’s fist flew out, nailing Jack in the jaw, but Jack barely noticed the pain. “Crutchie, it’s me. It’s Jack,” he reassured, waiting for the younger boy to calm down.

Crutchie’s breath caught, but he seemed to be calming down. At least, he appeared to be less agitated. “J-Jack?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Jack responded, scooting closer to the younger boy. “Can I touch you?” he asked softly. Ever since Crutchie had been stuck in the Refuge, he had grown less hesitant to show physical affection. Especially, after nightmares. Jack had learned to fight off the long-ingrained instincts to pull the younger boy into a hug, and respect the fear and hesitance that Crutchie had developed in that hellish institution.

“Ye-yes, please,” Crutchie confirmed, nodding his head shakily.

Jack carefully pulled Crutchie closer to him, allowing the younger boy to lay his head against Jack’s chest. “You don’t need to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” Jack said, softly resting his chin on top of Crutchie’s head.

“Thank you,” Crutchie whispered, the words barely audible in the thick silence.

“I just want you to know that you’re safe. That I ever won’t let anyone hurt you ever again,” Jack promised.

“I thought I told ya, Jack. I can take care of myself,” Crutchie said, only the slightest tremble evident in his voice.

“I know, but let me help take care of you,” Jack said, gently placing a kiss against Crutchie’s forehead.

He froze.

Jack felt his heart constrict painfully. No. No, no, no. He wasn’t supposed to have ever done anything like this. Crutchie was never meant to know– If asked, Jack couldn’t pinpoint the exact time when his feelings for Crutchie started. Maybe it had been there all along. It was in the way that Crutchie’s grin would widen whenever Jack came into the room. It was in the way that Jack’s eyes sought out Crutchie first, whenever he came home. It was in the way that they balanced each other’s personalities: Crutchie grounding the dreamer, Jack lifting the realist. It was in the way that Jack could no longer imagine his life without Crutchie by his side.

And, now, Jack had gone and slipped up and revealed it all to Crutchie. His mind raced, struggling to come up with something to say that would return everything to normalcy. He could hear Crutchie’s breathing quicken and Jack immediately released the younger boy, no matter how much he ached to keep Crutchie close.

“I–I’m sorry,” Jack apologized, backing up. “I just… Heh, I guess I just wasn’t thinking,” Jack said, trying to laugh. It sounded forced. He knew that Crutchie would be able to detect the falsity in the laughter.

“You kissed me,” Crutchie said. The statement was cool, collected. Crutchie’s eyes betrayed no emotion, though Jack desperately searched them for even a slimmer of acceptance. “You just kissed me.”

Oh, god, oh, god, this wasn’t what Jack had ever wanted to happen. “I know, I know, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve. I should never have–”

“Why’d you kiss me?”

Jack winced. “Look, Crutchie, I…” he trailed off, unsure of how to explain this, without ruining the one friendship he had learned to depend on. Which had been a foolish mistake, and Jack had known that. Never before, had he had family or friends stick around. He should never have allowed himself to become close to Crutchie, should have realized how it would end: with Crutchie leaving him, just like everybody else in his life. “I like you. Like, romantically. And, I get that you don’t feel that way about me, I get that, okay? And, I don’t want you feeling bad for me or anything, alright? It’s my problem and I can deal with it. I just want us to still be friends. I just… I can’t lose you, Crutchie. It was a mistake and I shouldn’t’ve ever done that. I’m sorry, just… Please forgive me?” Jack asked.

“You like me?” Crutchie asked. His voice was still devoid of emotion, but Jack could almost fool himself into thinking that something akin to hope shown in the younger boy’s eyes.

“Yeah, but it don’t need to mean nothing,” Jack told him. “Just forget all of this ever happened. And then we can go on with our lives and just… stay friends. Only friends.”

Crutchie finally smiled. “Jack, I thought it was obvious.” He ducked his head, picking at a loose thread at the hem of his shirt. “I kinda like you, too,” he admitted. “I just thought… You’ve been with so many girls, and then there was Katherine and you were really broken up about her, so I just never…” Crutchie trailed off, still picking at his shirt.

“You… really?” Jack asked, barely willing to believe Crutchie’s words.

“Um, yeah?” Crutchie replied, shrugging.

Slowly, giving Crutchie enough time to say no, Jack pulled Crutchie in a gentle hug. “Can I… kiss you?” he asked softly.

Crutchie nodded, and Jack tenderly kissed the other boy’s forehead, his cheek, his lips. “Jack, I think… I think I might love you.”

“Yeah?” Jack asked, his lips lightly touching Crutchie’s as he spoke. “Cuz, I think I might love you, too.” He kissed Crutchie softly, his heart soaring that this was reality, that this wasn’t some far-too-real dream that would leave Jack yearning in the morning. Jack pulled back, but kept his forehead touching Crutchie’s. “You think you’re gonna let me help take care of you now?” he gently teased.

“Only if you’re gonna let me help take care of you.”

It was a promise.

A promise that Jack never planned to break.

Jack blames himself.

Some days, he looks out the window of his small, dingy apartment where the stove won’t work and the pipes freeze every winter, and stares at the sky. He remembers a time when he would look up to the sky and just stare, in wonder, in amazement. He remembers when his fingers would itch for paints or charcoal and he would spend all afternoon sketching, smiling, laughing.

Now, the sky seems muted. It is no longer a vibrant blue. The sky is dull, dark, almost devoid of life. Every once in a while, a bird will fly past, its black plumage a dark omen against the heavens. Jack stares at the gray sky, watching leafless trees, as they tremble in the sharp November breeze. December is just around the corner, two days away. Jack watches as small, bundled families, cross the streets, packages carefully held beneath arms.

Christmas approaches, and, though Jack had never cared much for the holiday, he knows that Crutchie did. Crutchie would spend the weeks leading up to the holiday, grinning, laughing. He had always seemed the happiest around that time of year. When it would snow, Crutchie would laugh and stand outside, the fat flakes drifting down onto his upturned face.

Jack smiles softly, at the memory.

But, it will snow. Probably within the next day or two, the skies will rage and thick flurries of ice will be whipped across the streets, making it hellish to get to work. The clouds will thicken, darken, portentous of the cruel ice that will soon follow.

And, Crutchie is not around to warm the frozen scenery.

The smile slips.

Jack stands, slowly getting dressed. No matter how tempting it is to just lay in bed and remember, he knows that he does not have the luxury to miss a day at work. Not when every last cent must be saved, put towards a future where ice and murky skies will just be a faint, bitter memory. He shaves, ignoring the dull eyes in his reflection as he focuses on each slow, precise motion. It’s a mind-numbing action, one that provides a welcome relief from the thoughts and memories that barrage him from side to side.

Crutchie used to tease Jack for how methodically he would shave. He would stand behind him, his smile beaming out of the somewhat distorted reflection. Sometimes, after Jack had finished shaving, Crutchie would reach up and kiss him, their lips lingering together, until Jack would pull away, needing to go to work.

Sometimes, he can still feel Crutchie’s lips on his.

Jack shrugs on his jacket, stuffing his hands into the pockets to protect against the frigid air. A familiar, folded piece of paper catches his attention. A ticket–just one–to Santa Fe. He brushes his finger against its fold, a practiced comfort. The ticket has been in his pocket for the better part of two months. It’s a promise, now. One he can’t break. He’ll get out to Santa Fe, come December 2nd.

He ducks out the door, bracing himself against the sharp wind that seems to slice through his jacket effortlessly. The wind turns his lips blue, his cheeks red. Jack glances up at the sky, disappointed in the thick, monotonous clouds that hide the sun from sight. It’s a ten minute walk to the newspaper office he illustrates for, with roads that seem to stretch forward, unending.

Once, the walk seemed much too short. When Crutchie would stroll beside him, their fingers intertwined when safe, their wrists bumping each other when not. Crutchie would smile, his laughter filling the wide streets, bouncing from building to building. They’d stop in front of the small bookstore that Crutchie worked at, and Jack would bring his finger up to trace Crutchie’s cheek. For a moment, they’d be lost to the world, living in each other’s eyes, sustained on smiles. Then, Crutchie would wish him a good day at work, wave softly, and turn away.

Jack passes the bookstore, its brick muted and colorless in the dreary day. He pointedly refuses to look into the wide window, doesn’t scan the inhabitants of the building for a face that he could never forget. Jack fears what he may find if he stops and stares. He moves forward, moves on.

At work, he is greeted by familiar faces, all smiling. No one can ever compare to Crutchie and his ever-widening grin. Jack nods and tries to smile back. It never feels right. The motions are there, but the intent is wrong. His colleagues don’t seem to notice, as they wish him luck on his future journey. His last day of work, and it all feels so fake, so concerted. Jack smiles at the correct moments, and laughs, and jokes. Jack wishes for the end.

There was a time, when he had dreamed of leaving this job, of hopping a train and travelling to Santa Fe. That dream had hardened, stiffened in stony silence. It is less of a dream and more of a fate, now. He slides his thumb along the edge of the ticket, reminding himself what needs to happen, where he must leave, in only a few short days.

The day slugs onward. Jack edges past the well-wishers, making his way out of an office that he will never return to, and begins the trek back home. The wind has let up, allowing a short reprieve in the blustery weather. Jack starts on his way home, ignoring the passersby that don’t even notice his presence, won’t even realize he’s gone. Though, perhaps, ignoring them hadn’t been the wisest of his choices. Jack stumbles into a man only a couple inches shorter than him.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he apologizes quickly, before realizing.

“Jack.”

“Crutchie.”

There are so many things Jack wishes to say, so many words that crowd and fight and demand to be released, a deluge of I’m sorry’s and I never should have’s and please, please come back’s. Nothing comes. Jack only stares.

“Well, I’ve got to get going,” Crutchie says, his eyes darting to the street behind Jack, looking for an escape. Crutchie starts to step away and Jack instinctively reacts.

“Wait,” he cries out, grabbing Crutchie’s arm. “No, sorry. Sorry,” Jack apologizes when Crutchie flinches away. “You… Are you doing okay?”

Crutchie smiles, the motion bitter. “I’m fine, Jack. Always have been, always will.”

It’s a lie. It’s a lie, and Jack wants to point it out, but fears Crutchie’s reaction. “Yeah?” he asks instead. “That’s good. You know, December is right around the corner. Just…” he pauses, breathing out a cloud of warm air, “Just a few more days.”

This time the smile is more real, natural. “It is.”

Jack doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to keep Crutchie from walking away once more. So, he blurts out the only thing that’s been on his mind for the past couple weeks. “You know, I’m heading out to Santa Fe in a few days. You could… You could come.”

Crutchie’s eyes narrow, but he plays it off. “Ah, you don’t want me out there, riding some palomino. I’ll just stay here.” It wasn’t as if he expected any other answer. Jack knew, all too well, how Crutchie felt about Santa Fe. It had come up, their last night together.

Jack still isn’t sure where it all started, how it all started. He blames himself, knows that it must have been something he did, something he didn’t. There had been a rift, a soft distancing. Crutchie had stopped turning to Jack to talk, and Jack had, bitterly, stopped asking. It wasn’t as if he didn’t care–and, on bad days, he worries that that is what Crutchie had believed–he just… got mad. And retreated.

It got worse. Dinners were spent in silence. Jack began to devote more time to his art, and Crutchie… Crutchie would stay out later and later. Jack suspected that he began to dread coming home, that he no longer trusted Jack. It hurt, but Jack, ever too prideful, refused to be the first to come down.

Then, it got to be too much. Crutchie sat down one night, hands clenched tightly together, like how he used to do when he was nervous. “Jack,” he had said, and his voice had been calm. Too calm. Too collected. “Jack, I don’t think this is working out. I… Let’s take a break, okay?”

Jack hadn’t known what to say, had wondered if it was already too late to say anything. “But, we love each other.”

“Yeah, Jack,” Crutchie agreed, almost wearily. And the weariness had terrified Jack. “Yeah, we did. Maybe we still do. But, maybe it’s best to just… separate. I think I’m gonna spend the night at Specs’ place. So… I’ll see you ‘round.”

He didn’t know what to say, he was scrabbling, trying to keep it all together. “No, wait,” Jack cried out, reaching across the table and grabbing Crutchie’s hand. Crutchie pulled his hand out of reach, but Jack barrelled forward. “Let’s go, Crutch. To Santa Fe! Like we always said we would.”

Crutchie scoffed, “When we were kids? No, Jack. Santa Fe is… not for me. You go out there, though. Planting crops and splitting rails, and all that.”

Jack hadn’t taken “no” as an answer, hadn’t even understood why Crutchie wouldn’t want to go West. He had shown up to Specs’ apartment, only a day later. “I got the tickets,” he told Crutchie breathlessly. “I got the tickets. We leave in December. It’ll give us time to quit our jobs, save some money, and beat the snow. We’re really doing this, Crutch. Just like we always wanted.”

Crutchie had frowned. “Jack, I ain’t goin’ with you. I don’t want to go to Santa Fe. Never really wanted to. It was nice, dreamin’ about it. But… all I wanted was you and then…”

“You can still have me,” Jack told him. “I’m still–”

“It’s different. You’re different. I’m different. We ain’t kids no more,” Crutchie told him. “I’ve got a job, a good one, at that. And I love Manhattan. I ain’t giving this up. So, Jack, you go on ahead without me. You go on ahead to Santa Fe.”

There hadn’t been a huge fight. No yelling, no name-calling, no objects flung across the apartment. Jack almost wishes that there had been shouts and words that could never be taken back. Because, then, it would be so much easier to push the back-breaking blame onto someone, something else. Because, then, the guilt wouldn’t crush Jack each moonless night, each darkened morning. In the end, it had just been a tired smile and a “good-bye, Jack” and nothing more. They had parted ways, Jack still struggling to understand where it had all gone wrong. Eventually, Jack stopped trying to find Crutchie in the crowd. 

(He wondered if Crutchie ever even looked for him.) 

They drifted apart, out of each other’s orbit.

And now, Crutchie stands there, staring at Jack, as Jack tries to explain himself. “Come on, Crutchie. It’ll be an adventure. Just the two of us, blazing trails, finding gold–you know, I heard there was gold out West.”

“Jack,” Crutchie says. It is all that is needed to be said, in the end.

“We-ell,” Jack says, stumbling over the word. “Well, you still got that ticket, right? If you… If you change your mind, you can get on that train, yeah? I’ll save you a seat. Right next to me,” Jack tells him, smiling weakly.

“Good-bye, Jack,” Crutchie says, his voice soft.

He walks away, leaving Jack behind to wonder if he had ever had a hope, a chance, to keep Crutchie in his life. Or, if from the very start, is was fated for failure. He rubs his thumb against the train ticket, clinging to the fact–the hope–that in a few days, he would be on the train, and maybe Crutchie would be there, too.

(And, when that train did pull out of the station, Jack would only stare out the window, ignoring the forever-empty seat beside him. He would wonder if Crutchie had even considered the offer, or if the decision had always been made. 

“That’s okay,” he would say, “I can take care of myself.” But, he wouldn’t know whether the phrase–oft-repeated–was truth or gilded lies, believable after so many years. Jack would watch the gray city fade into the distance. 

And, he would wonder if Crutchie ever needed him, or if he had only ever needed Crutchie.)

[your-brother-crutchie]

Scooters in Summer

It’s the first day that Spot has left the apartment after being sick and isn’t particularly happy about having been dragged outside.

Based on this post and this post.

Spot squinted as soon as he stepped outside, shielding his face from the glaring sun as his feet hit the pavement. He hadn’t left the house in three days, having been sick, and still didn’t particularly want to but Race was dragging him to hang out with their friends at the park. He had to admit that it was probably for the best, it was one of the hottest days of the year and their air conditioning wasn’t exceptionally great but that didn’t mean that Spot enjoyed being outside. He was still coming down from his illness and all he wanted to do was sleep.

Unable to stop himself, Spot grumbled as Race skipped ahead of him, babbling about how much fun they were going to have and tugging on his hand as they made their way to the small park around the corner from their apartment where their friends were waiting for them. He really did love him, regardless of how little he said it, but Race was always too energetic for his own good. Spot just wanted to curl up into a ball with Race in his arms and sleep for days but his hyperactive boyfriend was always too busy dancing around like a child.

When they reached the park, Race finally dropped Spot’s hand, allowing the boy to drop onto a blanket beside Davey, as he ran away to practise flips with Albert, Specs, and Romeo. Spot lay back immediately, taking a pair of sunglasses that he found beside him and placing them over his eyes to try to sleep. As much as he wanted to watch Race turn and jump and generally look really hot, he also wanted to close his eyes and probably burn to a crisp as he fell asleep in the sun.

The air was still, thick, and muggy. It made Spot’s hair gel come less at the sides, allowing the beginnings of small curls to form around his temples. Race always said that they were cute but Spot refused to accept it. His hair didn’t curl. There was no reason for the ends to when he was sweating yet there they were and they pissed him off. So maybe his boyfriend liked them; Spot wasn’t the kind of person to allow his partner’s opinions to control his decisions on how he presented himself and that was perfectly fine.

Davey left him alone for a grand total of three minutes before he was prodding him in the side. Opening his eyes only slightly, Spot looked at Davey through the corners of them, a scowl plastered across his face, “What?”

After clearing his throat for a second, Davey tugged at his collar and spoke up carefully, “Don’t you want to go and play?” Davey gestured towards the other newsies, tossing a rugby ball around on the grass, and smiled when he saw Jack and Crutchie behind them. Jack was helping Crutchie across the grass, cheering him up with smiles and jokes with every step.

Simply rolling his eyes, Spot let his eyelids sink shut and returned to his earlier position, “No. I want to sleep.” He settled further back on the blanket, pushing his hands through his dark hair. Spot was happy to just rest, Race would complain but at least he could sleep through the time he’d been forced to leave the apartment.

“How could you sleep on such a beautiful day?” Although Spot could no longer see Davey, he’d take one of Race’s bets that he had that stupid look on his face; the one he used whenever Jack tried to tell Les that he could do something that he quite obviously couldn’t.

3:1 that Davey’s got ‘the look.’

Spot turned over, lying on his side with his back to Davey as he kept his eyes tightly closed, “It’d be easy if you would just shut up.” He adjusted the sunglasses that he had taken, making them comfortable beneath his ear after taking a moment to realise that they were Albert’s and resting against his hand.

That was the last he heard of Davey for the next thirty minutes as the tall, dark-haired boy finally allowed him to sleep peacefully.

Race was bored.

He had dragged his boyfriend out to the park so that he could spend some time with him. He knew that Spot had been sick and was still tired but he’d expected him to at least watch him flips with the other boys like he usually did. Race didn’t like not feeling Spot’s eyes on him as he turned and twisted, smirking under the gaze of a boy who wanted him. A boy who everyone wanted but who wanted no one but him.

Now that they were there, Spot wasn’t paying any attention to him and Race wasn’t happy. He knew that he was tired but he still wanted to feel those eyes tracing his movements. Instead, Spot was sleeping on a picnic blanket beside where Davey was writing in his usual leather bound book.

Race was bored of showing off his oversplit and had already had his usual competition with Albert of who could kick higher; it always ended in Race kicking so high that he almost knocked himself over as his knee collided with his forehead. Spot would usually be there to tell Race to be careful and to warn Albert about challenging the boy’s flexibility but, this time, he was snoozing peacefully in Race’s competition’s sunglasses (not that Albert ever came close to winning).

Finally pulling away from filming dance videos for Specs’ YouTube channel, Race glanced across to see that Spot was stirring. His face lightened immediately, waiting until Spot was watching to perform a calypso leap. He saw his boyfriend smiling and bridled under the gaze, seeing that the boy looked a lot more cheerful after a bit of rest and deciding to see if he could get him up and smiling. After sidling towards Spot, Race could tell that the boy knew exactly what he was trying to do as he pulled the sunglasses from his face with a sigh, folding them together and resting them beside him to stand to meet Race.

“You’re bored, aren’t you?” Spot took Race’s hand discreetly when he approached him, causing Race’s smile to widen as he felt Spot’s thumb running carefully over the back of his hand.

Nodding quickly, Race took the opportunity to squeeze himself against Spot’s side, knowing that he wasn’t likely to be willing to hold him in public again any time soon. Race knew that Spot loved him, regardless of whether he was happy to show him in public or not, he just liked to savour every moment that Spot was willing to touch him in front of their friends that he got. It made him feel like he was in a normal couple, like Jack and Crutchie, for once.

Spot appeared to take in the situation for a moment, not even stirring as Race pressed his lips innocently against the bare skin on his neck just to let him know that he was there, and sighed before allowing Race to lead him further into the park. They walked for a few minutes, comfortable in the silence that weaved its way through their clothes and into the space between them. Neither of them were very talkative when it was just the two of them, Spot especially so, so it wasn’t at all out of the ordinary for them for them to walk in silence for entire journeys. Spot much preferred to be kissing.

After circling around and rejoining the group, Race’s eyes fell on Les’s scooter, abandoned on the path as Davey pushed him on the swings, with Skittery’s lying beside it. He knew that Davey would shout but Race had an idea that would make Spot smile. Silently, Race nudged Spot and pointed his head towards the two scooters, seeing the his smile settle into a mischievous smirk as they began to walk up to them coyly.

When they were close enough, Race began to count down from three. The breath was barely passing through his lips, making it only audible to Spot sat beside him.

“Three.”

Race could feel Spot inching away from his side, going in an arc so that he could reach Skittery’s scooter easily.

“Two.”

Glancing slyly over his shoulder, Race could see that Davey was eyeing them. He had ‘the look,’ and he knew what was about to happen. Race could see, quite clearly, that he was getting ready to shout.

“One!”

With a sudden cry, Race and Spot leapt onto the scooters, pushing off as quickly as possible as Davey made a grab at the back of Race’s shirt. He knew that it was Les’s new scooter so he should probably be careful but he hadn’t ridden a scooter in twelve years. He wanted a little fun. Beside him, Spot was laughing. Spot never laughed, even though it was pure and sweet and make Race want to kiss every single sound as they hit the air.

“I’m the king of New York!” Race couldn’t hold back the laughter as he rested his foot on the scooter behind him, gliding down the hill and lowering into a crouch with his boyfriend doing the same behind him. Davey had long since given up the chase and was just busy fuming beside Jack and Crutchie, getting more and more angry as they ignored him for each other and Les asked if he could run after Spot and Race, making Race giggle as he turned back to face the path.

Race reached his hand out gingerly, balancing with only one hand on the handlebars and looking to Spot until he got the idea. It was summer and they were racing down a hill on kids’ scooters, holding hands with the wind racing through their hair. Race had never felt more alive.

[thestoryweneededtowrite]

Weekly film nights were a tradition that had started the first month of college. They'd take over the common room of Jack and Crutchie's dorm every Sunday evening and stock up on snacks and soft furnishings. This week it was Race's film choice but no one was paying particular attention to Deadpool, too hungover to focus.

The night before has been the end of semester party and everyone had drank far more than they should have. Spot's memory of the entire evening was pretty hazy, mainly just bright lights and pounding music. And other kinds of pounding, too, as was typical when he and Race were drunk and in the same place at the same time. He turned to look at the sleepy Italian who was probably about five minutes away from using Spot's shoulder as a pillow, even if it was his favourite film they were watching. Beyond Race Spot caught sight of Jack and Davey, sat beside each other on another sofa. That wasn't news, exactly - they tended to gravitate towards each other - but there was an uneasy distance between them that made Spot curious. Jack was a tactile person, the fact that he wasn't physically touching Davey was weird. When their arms brushed against each other and Davey violently jerked away, Spot realised exactly what was going on. An obnoxious grin spreading across his face, he sat up straight. This was going to be too much fun.

"You slept together," he said, loudly enough to be heard over the noise of the film.

Suddenly he had everyone's attention and it was all directed at Davey and Jack who both looked stunned. 

"What?! No! I mean- no!" Davey protested, the knee jerk reaction giving away more than he intended. The fact that he’d known immediately that Spot was talking to him wasn’t helping his denial either.

"Oh come on, it's obvious,” Spot laughed, cocky with confidence. He’d spent his entire life learning to read people and it always came in handy in times like this.

"How is it ob- Shit,” Jack groaned, realising he’d basically just confirmed Spot’s accusation. They’d been very drunk and very stupid and he was trying very hard to pretend it hadn’t meant the world. But they’d talked about it – awkwardly and with ruddy cheeks – that morning and decided it was easiest to just not mention it again, keeping it a secret from their friends. Clearly that hadn’t worked out too well.

Spot just scoffed. Did the pair really think they were subtle?

"Come on, Jack, you touch Davey all the goddamn time. Don't think the rest of us haven't noticed. He's usually fine with it and now he suddenly freezes up for no reason? You had sex. Last night after the party, right?" he guessed. He hadn’t noticed a change in them before that and, come to think of it, he hadn’t seen much of them at the party either.

"It wasn't sex,” Davey mumbled, his entire face red. The attention was enough to embarrass him, but everyone knowing he’d fooled around was certainly an unwelcome addition.

Spot just waved his hand dismissively. "Hand jobs, blow jobs, whatever. Still counts.”

From the way Davey flinched at the mention of the latter, it had gone further than Spot would have assumed.

Davey and Jack spoke at the same time.

"It was just a one-time thing."

"It meant nothing."

They met each other’s eyes with a reserved kind of affection. Maybe deciding to never speak of it again had been a mistake. Either way, it wasn’t a conversation Jack wanted to have in public so he fixed Spot with a stony glare and tried to ignore the way Davey was boring a hole into the floor beside him with the intensity of his stare.

"Shut up, Spot,” Jack growled.

Race sighed. He hadn’t wanted to get involved but they were talking over Deadpool and stopping him from drifting off to sleep – neither of those were circumstances he was enjoying.

"If Spot and I can admit we're fucking then you two definitely can,” he pointed out, shrugging.

Jack moved his glare to Race.

"How about you and Spot admit you're in love and we'll see what happens then,” he challenged.

Race swallowed back his protests and gritted his teeth. They didn’t talk about that; it broke the no feelings rule. He turned and put his back to Jack and Davey, deciding to ignore them rather than argue. Spot didn’t feel much like talking either. Sensing the tension mounting in the room, Specs surreptitiously reached for the remote and turned the volume on the TV up several notches to refocus attention on the film. Everyone mutually but silently agreed to pretend nothing had happened. Had someone risked glancing round they would have found Race and Spot noticeably blanking each other, and seen Davey shyly but surely reach for Jack’s hand.

[somedayonbroadway]

Consider........ ballet school au

YES.

Ok, so-

Medda. She’s one of the teachers. Her adopted kids go to the school too. But not all of them are dancers.

Jack. He plays the piano during rehearsals. He’s one of Medda’s sons. He grew up at the school. Medda tried to get him to dance, but he wasn’t great at it and he didn’t like it. He loved sitting next to the piano during rehearsals and the pianist loved to teach him how to play. When Jack is only fifteen Be becomes a pianist for the school. He grew up there, taking a lot of online classes while also being with his foster mother all of the time.

Crutchie loved to dance growing up. He was good at it too, until the car wreck that destroyed his leg. But, being another one of Medda’s adoptive sons, grows up at the school too, dancing. He ends up helping with choreography and learns piano from Jack.

Smalls is the youngest of the Larkin kids. She’s the only dancer left. She is amazing at it. She does dance on point all the time, just to show off, but she is the youngest person at the school, only twelve years old.

Romeo is the second youngest, but he is the youngest male. He’s thirteen. His family let him go to the school all the way across the country. They’re from Nevada. They knew Romeo loved to dance and he got accepted into this school so they let him go.

Albert loves contemporary ballet. He is from Staten Island. He lives with his dad. He has two brothers who are much older than him who support him so much and love him so much. And while his family is pretty poor, his father promised him he’d make it work after Albert tried to turn down the offer he got from the school.

JoJo is amazing at both contemporary and classical ballet. She also loves jazz. She’s an only child and her mother and her haven’t always had the best relationship, so she couldn’t wait to get out and go to ballet school. She absolutely loves being independent and not having to answer to her mother.

Buttons didn’t really want to go to ballet school. Her father said it was that or boarding school. Her father has a lot of money and doesn’t really have much time for her or her other siblings, so they’re all spread out a lot and don’t have much contact. But she loves dancing. She grew up learning so many different styles, including a lot of cultural styles, tap, jazz and ballet.

No one really knows where Spot Conlon comes from and he doesn’t want anybody to know. While he’s not a dancer, he works at the school. He always gives the dancers little tips and the dancers try them out just to see what he’s talking about, but he’s right a lot of the time. He claims he’s not a dancer, though, and mostly works as a mechanic around the studios, fixing air conditioners, making sure the internet is up around the school. He does a lot of odd jobs, but he’s still only like seventeen.

(TW: MENTIONS OF ABUSE) Race is a star dancer. He loved coming up with choreography. He loves all types of dance. He loves going to classes of dances he’s never done before. His father sent him away. Race didn’t mind. His father was never kind to him. When Race first showed up at the school, he was covered in bruises. In fact, after his first day of dancing, he almost passed out because he was still hurt from the last beating he’d had. He and Jack would hit it off immediately. They are best friends. And eventually brothers when Medda takes Race in after a visit back home when he comes back with bruises and cuts all over him.

At this high school, the kids have sort of dorm rooms. The boys have their own small building and the girls have another. In the morning, they’d all go to the cafeteria for breakfast, then they’d have about three or four hours to get through some online classes. After that, they’d break for lunch and then they’d have their dance session. Four or five hours. And then they’d have dinner and after that they’d have an hour and a half study session.

It would be intense.

Pulitzer would own the school. He’d up the tuition price, which would cause a riot.

Katherine would be a dancer who goes to a different private school and learns there. But she’s come back to visit her father and that’s where Jack would meet her.

I think David and Les would be there because Les wanted to go to this school and David (also not a dancer) would be the only one who was capable of going with him and checking it out. That’s when they’d meet the boys.

Kath and Jack would bind at night when Jack snuck out to play piano and he challenged Kath to show him what she’s got and she just dances and he plays and it’s adorable.

The Delanceys are also dancers. They’re the kind of dancers who think they’re better than everyone else and they constantly make fun of Crutchie because they know how much he misses dancing.

But they’re really just insecure and don’t know how to have much confidence in themselves when their own father handed them off to their uncle and didn’t want anything to do with them.

I love this idea! Any other thoughts? Any other characters you wanna hear about?

[ostrich-on-a-rampage-blog]

Idk if your taking writing requests but like if you are could you do modern jackcrutchie being cute in public but then they deal with some jerk being homophobic or something?

TW: Homophobia, homophobic slurs

The painting may have been nearly a decade old, but its colors remained just as vibrant as the day after Jack had painted it. Russet browns stretched down the canvas, darkening with deep, expansive shadows. Gentle shading had added definition to the stone face, illuminating nooks and crannies, dark with mystery. Faded red slashed across the stone, an eternal reminder of eras past. The base of the Canyon lay black with death, and destiny. Even despite the thick darkness, small outlines of boulders and crevasses dotted the edge of the jutting walls.

At the base of the Canyon, a faded olive river crawled, winding its way deeper and deeper into the ground. Erosion lined the river’s walls, gouges of eons and eras long gone. Gone, but never forgotten, as the century-old sun shone light onto the past. Only the smallest white smudges could distinguish the rapids that seemed impossible in the sluggish river from the height of observance.

The sky above the Canyon was soft with thin, pink clouds. The setting sun, barely visible over the Canyon edge, had turned the sky a brilliant gold, with light orange undertones. White-bright sun rays extended upwards toward the clouds, washing out some of the soft golden light. The top of the sky was already darkening into a deep indigo that bespoke of eternities swirling into the distance. Shadows dipped beyond the Canyon walls, stretching beyond the dwindling sun rays.

It wasn’t a fabulous painting, by any means, and Crutchie knew that Jack’s skill had far improved since that day, many years past, when Jack had brushed frustration and defiance onto a canvas. Crutchie had half expected the painting to be rushed and sloppy, dark colors slashing into each other in a battle of dominance. It wasn’t like that.

Each small stroke, each scratch against the canvas evoked memories of one short vacation. One moment that stood out in a lifetime’s worth. One moment when it all made sense, and nothing else mattered. There, in each crack of the Canyon wall. There, in the fading clouds. There, in the brilliant sun rays that streamed across the plateau of the Canyon. All bespoke of a time where it all mattered.

To Crutchie, it was the most beautiful painting.

“So, what do you think?” Crutchie asked, unable to keep the smile out of his words.

“I think that you are the best boyfriend that has ever walked the planet,” Jack replied. His voice was soft with awe and Crutchie felt himself melt a little bit–which was, surprisingly, not related to the brain-numbing heat that seemed to radiate off of each surface.

“I know it’s no Santa Fe,” Crutchie began, “but I hope it still manages to impress you.” It had been as spur-of-the-moment as Crutchie could manage. For a couple of months, Crutchie had toyed with the idea of just taking a vacation, him and Jack. And, one night, while browsing flights, Crutchie found a sale–shocking for the summer. He had called Jack and asked if he could get half a week off of work, before purchasing the plane tickets. And, now, here they were, standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon, taking in its vast view.

Crutchie wiped away sweat from the back of his neck, annoyed by the completely indefatigable heat. He felt as if he could see physical heat waves floating up from the rough, jagged stone surrounding them. Crutchie had heard rumors that you could cook an egg on the asphalt in Arizona, but had always chalked them up to just that: rumors. Now, he counted himself a believer.

If Jack had heard Crutchie, he gave no indication. Instead, he leaned forward against the guardrail that had been set up, taking in the wide expanse before him. “I had seen pictures, you know. They had looked cool, but I never understood why everyone felt the need to actually see it. I’ve got pictures, y’know; why would I need to see it in person? Guess the pictures just can’t really capture its… its…”

“Grandness?” Crutchie suggested, grinning at Jack. Even despite the oppressive heat, Crutchie found himself overcome with an overwhelming feeling of just absolute joy. He loved Jack, Crutchie knew that. But, it extended past that simple declaration. Crutchie loved the way that Jack would lean forward against the railing. He loved the way Jack would wave his hand around, sweeping across the immense expanse before them. He loved how Jack’s eyes lit up, brighter than the overbearing sun, as he tried to explain how he felt. Crutchie loved how Jack’s tan skin seemed to glisten in the sun, probably the combined efforts of the valiant rays and the sheen of sweat. Really, he loved every single aspect of Jack. And the love translated to such joy.

“Ha. Ha,” Jack said dryly, turning toward Crutchie. “What?” he asked, cognizant of the happiness that seemed to radiate from Crutchie at an even higher frequency than normal.

“Nothing. I’m just glad we came,” Crutchie explained, ducking his head a little as he shuffled forward.

“I’m glad, too,” Jack agreed, pulling Crutchie up to his side and slinging his arm around his boyfriend’s neck. “I mean, look at this! Did you ever imagine… I’m gonna paint a whole line of Grand Canyon paintings and–”

“–and we’ve only been to one view point,” Crutchie quickly pointed out, gently nudging Jack in his ribs.

“So, you can imagine just how many more scenes I’ll be able to come up with after we see the rest of it!”

Crutchie laughed. “Well, come on. Aren’t you going to take a picture? For reference for your painting?”

“Do you doubt my memory?” Jack challenged.

“I’m just not super eager for you to drag me back to Arizona, just because you forgot how that one weird cliff jutted exactly twenty degrees to the left. I may melt if I’m stuck out here for much longer,” Crutchie confessed, frowning at Jack in mock distress.

“Calm down, calm down,” Jack teased him, squeezing Crutchie’s shoulder affectionately. “Let me take a couple pictures and then we can head back to where all those hotels are. The front desk lady said that… Bright Something Lodge has ice cream. We could go there.”

Crutchie broke out of Jack’s arm. “Okay, take your pictures.”

Jack waved for Crutchie to step into the view. “Come on, Crutch. Get in there.”

“And block the Grand Canyon?” Crutchie laughed. “You don’t want that.”

“No, Crutch. How else am I gonna remember that you were here with me at the Grand Canyon when I’m in my eighties?”

“Are you doubting your own memory?” Crutchie joked. “Maybe later, we can get a picture of the two of us, together, in front of the Grand Canyon. We’re here all day today and tomorrow. There’s plenty of time.”

Jack relented, recognizing just how stubborn Crutchie could be when he wanted to. “Okay, fine. Let me get a couple pictures, and then we can head over to that Lodge place and get some ice cream. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Crutchie reassured. He took one last look at the wide viewpoint of the Grand Canyon. Mather Point was supposed to be one of the best views on the South Rim, and Crutchie had to agree with those claims. Or, at least, he did for the moment. He wasn’t sure exactly what the rest of the Rim looked like, but for the moment, Mather was exceeding the expectations he had entered Arizona with. “I’m gonna go wait by the bus stop,” Crutchie explained, jerking his thumb towards the shuttle stop at the edge of the parking lot.

“Okay, I’ll be down there in a moment,” Jack said, fiddling with his camera.

Crutchie started down toward the shuttle stop, smiling at the many different tourists from across the world, all gathered to see one of the Seven Wonders of the World. He leaned against the wall of the shuttle stop, watching strangers interact amongst themselves. One mother was promising her young children McDonalds once they left the park if they would behave. An elderly couple spoke rapid  Japanese between them. Some teenager frowned at her parents as they lofted their selfie stick to take a family picture. Crutchie smiled. He loved this, people-watching. He loved observing the interactions between hundreds of people, each one coming from a different background than the person beside them, and each working toward their own individual goals. And, somehow, all these lives crossed paths at this exact moment. It was thrilling; magical, even.

“What’re you smiling about?” Jack asked, sidling up beside Crutchie.

“Oh, nothing, really. How’d the pictures turn out?”

“Great, I think. We’ll see when I actually try painting them,” Jack joked.

When the shuttle rolled up, already filled with busy tourists, Jack managed to snag a chair for Crutchie, even though he kept telling Jack that he could stand just fine. Jack stood next to Crutchie’s seat as they remained on the crowded bus until it stopped outside of the Bright Angel Lodge.

“–and, then, maybe after we get ice cream, we can go on the red route?” Jack suggested, examining the map they had gotten from the hotel they were staying at. “They said the sunset is the best off of… uh, one of these points. Mohave Point, maybe? Does that sound good?”

“Yeah,” Crutchie agreed.

“Okay,” Jack said, stuffing the map into his back pocket and frowning at the line that extended out of the small ice cream shop. “Okay, I’ll brave that line for some ridiculously overpriced ice cream. You still want strawberry?”

“Always,” Crutchie confirmed, smiling. “I’ll just sit on the wall over there.” Crutchie gestured to a small stone wall that overlooked the Canyon, right behind the Bright Angel Lodge. Crutchie sat down, immediately noticing the warmth from the wall seeping through his shorts. While Crutchie had complained to Jack about the heat only minutes before, a light breeze had started up, rustling his hair and cooling the air enough so that he merely felt content, instead of melted. He shut his eyes and turned his head upwards, basking in the sun. Crutchie knew that his freckles would only stand out even further in the sudden influx of sun, but he didn’t mind. It had taken a long time–and much convincing and reassurances from Jack–before Crutchie had grown to love the small brown dots that speckled his cheeks and his nose. He knew that his skin would turn pink in the bright sun, but he couldn’t bring himself to care because he just felt so happy.

Crutchie couldn’t tell how long he sat there–smiling, thinking, remembering–when Jack’s voice pulled him out of his bliss. “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” Crutchie asked, opening his eyes and smiling at Jack. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“I got you some ice cream,” Jack said, offering a recyclable bowl of strawberry ice cream with a waffle cone sticking out of it like a crumbling birthday hat.

“Thanks,” Crutchie said. He ate a spoonful, before gesturing to Jack’s bowl with his own slightly-pink spoon. “What flavor?” he asked around a mouthful of cold sugar.

Jack quickly swallowed his own bite of ice cream. “Butter pecan. The best flavor out there, of course.”

Crutchie rolled his eyes. “How could I have forgotten?” he muttered sarcastically. He turned sideways on the wall, looking out into the Canyon. “It really is incredible,” he whispered. “Makes me wish I could draw… Or something crazy like that,” Crutchie added, tossing Jack a lopsided smile.

“I mean, you always could,” Jack said, his brows drawing together imperceptibly. “I’ve always said that you have talent and–”

Crutchie cut Jack off, waving his spoon in the direction of the Canyon walls. “We gotta get a picture of this. Together. Like, both of us in the picture.”

“Um, okay. Yeah, let me get my phone out,” Jack said, trying to hold his ice cream while simultaneously digging into his pocket. Eventually, Crutchie took pity on his boyfriend and lofted the ice cream out of his hands, allowing Jack to finally access his phone. Jack leaned close to Crutchie, their cheeks pressed together as they both grinned at the camera. He took a couple pictures, before breaking slightly apart so that they could study the captures.

“Well, I mean, if you squint it sorta looks like we’re at the Grand Canyon,” Crutchie joked, pointing at the small bit of red rock that could be seen behind their heads.

“We could be anywhere,” Jack admitted.

Crutchie laughed. “So, it’s a versatile picture. Let’s just use this picture and tell everyone we’re at Niagra Falls, Cancun. I bet we could even convince everyone that we’re by the Himalayas, if we really tried.”

“Yeah, but I want a picture that clearly shows that we’re at the Grand Canyon.”

“We’ll probably have to ask someone to take our picture.”

Jack nodded, before standing up and trying to see if he could find someone who would be willing to take their picture, and who also wouldn’t steal his camera. A little ways down the path a man who looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties was walking towards them, hand intertwined with a small blonde woman. “Um, excuse me,” Jack said, just as soon as they approached. “Would you mind taking a picture of us?” he asked, gesturing to where Crutchie remained sitting on the wall. Crutchie offered a slight wave, grinning widely to the couple.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” the man said. Jack offered his phone, figuring that they wouldn’t need as high quality a picture as the ones he would be taking of the scenery for his paintings, and also not entirely trusting the man enough to hand over the expensive camera.

Crutchie stood up, and Jack swung his arm over Crutchie’s shoulders, pulling the other man close. Crutchie’s arm slipped around Jack’s waist and they both smiled, waiting for the man to take the picture. They stood there, assuming that the man was taking a couple pictures. “I got a couple pictures,” the man said, lowering the phone and scrolling through the pictures he had just taken. “You guys brothers?” he asked, extending the phone toward Jack.

“Ha, no,” Jack said, laughing. “Thankfully not. We’re dating.”

The man’s face stiffened. “Dating? As in–?”

“As in he’s my boyfriend,” Jack said, edging closer and subconsciously placing his body between the man and Crutchie. The words were low and careful. “Now, can I have my phone back?”

The man’s eyes flicked from Jack’s extended hand, to Crutchie, and then to Jack’s face. “No, you f-gs!” the man shouted, flinging the phone down the sidewalk.

Jack watched the phone bounce along the sidewalk, before turning back to the man, his eyes narrowing. “What did you say?” he asked, trying to keep his temper from flaring. It wasn’t as if Jack was naive about the feelings of some of the more narrow-minded citizens, but he had managed to successfully surround himself around people who accepted him. Normally, Jack would simply brush the hateful words away, but he couldn’t stand the man saying anything like that to Crutchie.

“You heard me,” the man hissed, wiping his hand on his shirt. “And you made me touch your piece of shit phone, too!”

“Look, Jack, let’s just go,” Crutchie said softly, touching Jack’s elbow. He could feel the tension that thrummed through Jack’s body, noticed the way Jack was rising up on the balls of his feet, no doubt preparing for a fight.

“Yeah, why don’t you listen to your f-g friend?” the man spat. He glanced at Crutchie, before turning back to Jack. “Let me guess. Couldn’t find a girl who’d stay with you so you settled for something you knew wouldn’t be able to leave?”

Jack swung at the guy, but he ducked far too easily. The man surged forward, punching Jack, hard, in the jaw. Jack stumbled backwards, shaking away the pain before trying to hit the man again. Once more, the man dodged, before hitting Jack in the stomach. Jack bent forward, clutching at his stomach as he somehow managed to begin choking on air.

Before Jack could catch his breath and continue his attack on the man, Crutchie stepped forward, swinging his crutch. It connected, solidly, with the side of the man’s head. The man gasped in pain, stumbling back. He gently pressed his hand to the side of his head, before removing it and staring at the red that now stained his fingers. “You stupid–” the man started.

“Get out of here,” Crutchie commanded, glaring at the man. “Walk away before you get even more hurt.”

The man glowered at him, his eyes flicking between Crutchie and Jack, who had pulled himself back up to his full height. “You’re not even worth my trouble,” the man spat. He flipped them off, before grabbing his girlfriend and stalking away, one hand pressed petulantly to his bleeding scalp.

“You okay?” Crutchie quickly asked Jack.

“Yeah, I’m fine. He just winded me,” Jack explained. “Are you okay? I’m sorry he was saying–”

Crutchie waved Jack’s concern away. “I’m fine, Jack. We’re both fine,” he added, pulling Jack into a kiss. The tension in Crutchie’s shoulders eased as Jack pulled him closer, his fingers splayed out across the small of Crutchie’s back.

“I love you,” Jack whispered, his lips brushing against Crutchie’s to form the words that Crutchie would never tire of hearing.

“I love you, too,” Crutchie whispered back. He closed his eyes, content to have Jack hold him, arms carefully, tenderly wrapped around each other. The sounds of the many tourists passing in throngs behind them was muted under the steady sound of Jack’s heart beat.

They stepped apart, cognizant of the fact that they were still in a public place and that people were starting to stare a little bit. Jack made sure his fingers remained intertwined with Crutchie’s, not quite willing to break contact with his boyfriend yet. “We are fine,” he agreed with Crutchie’s earlier comment. “Everything’s fine.”

Crutchie snorted. “Not our ice cream,” he observed, pointing to the bowls, now filled with a chilled liquid. “And probably not your phone,” he added, nodding to where Jack’s phone still lay, abandoned further down the sidewalk.

“That’s okay,” Jack said, laughing.

And, it would be.

The painting wasn’t dramatized the way Crutchie had thought it would end up being. There were no proud animals silhouetted against the setting sun, dark with mystery. There was no man-made tension in the piece: the only tension extending from shadows and gauges in stone. If anyone were to look at the painting, they would not understand why Crutchie felt entranced by the painting, by the sloping Canyon walls.

It was, simply, the Grand Canyon.

(It was far more than just the Grand Canyon.)

“What’re you thinking about?”

Crutchie relaxed into the arms that had been wrapped around his waist, leaning back into Jack’s chest with the comfort and ease of habit. Jack’s chin nestled into the small dip of skin between Crutchie’s neck and shoulder, the beginnings of scruff prickling gently against the tender skin. As Jack continued speaking, the movement of his chin against Crutchie’s neck brought even more comfort. He was safe, he was home. “It’s not even that great of a painting,” Jack reminded him. “My newer stuff is better.”

“It’s my favorite,” Crutchie admitted.

“Why?”

Crutchie shut his eyes, content to just stand there with Jack’s arms around him forever. “It’s a good reminder.”

“Of what?” Now Jack sounded confused, and Crutchie knew that he was thinking of what had happened at the edge of those sloping Canyon walls. Jack pulled Crutchie closer to him, his arms wrapping even tighter around his husband.

With a soft sigh, Crutchie broke out of Jack’s arms to turn and face the man he loved more than anything else. “Of how much I love you. And,” Crutchie paused, ducking his head and smiling, “and, of how much you love me.”

“Yeah,” Jack breathed, pulling Crutchie back into a hug. Crutchie rested his head against Jack’s chest, listening to the firm, ever-present heartbeat of his husband. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

[ostrich-on-a-rampage-blog]

20 for jackcrutchie please?

“I promise I won’t let you fall” But, I changed it to, “Don’t worry, I’ll be there to catch you if you fall.”

The first time Jack took Crutchie up to the roof, the younger boy had been silent, his face deceivingly passive. He had only known the blonde boy for just over a month, but the boy had only spoken three times with Jack. In fact, the boy hadn’t spoken much more to any of the other newsboys in the Lodging House. He had just sat in the corner of his room, fiddled with his crutch, and avoided eye contact with anyone. Most of the boys had tried to start a conversation, but Crutchie hadn’t spoken back, and, eventually, they all had given up.

“Well, if he doesn’t like us, then I’m not gonna like him,” Elmer had muttered, after the boy had ignored his offer for a game of marbles.

Jack had gently smacked Elmer in the back of the head. “You don’t gotta be so mean,” he had hissed, before sitting next to the other boy. “It’s Crutchie, right?” he had asked, his voice gentle. That had been the nickname the boys had taken to calling him, when the newcomer hadn’t volunteered a name. The blonde boy had hesitated, before nodding. “Okay, so, Crutchie, do you want to see something cool?”

The boy had continued to fiddle with his crutch, his fingers moving deftly along the smooth wood. Eventually, the boy had nodded. “Where?” he had asked.

Smiling, Jack had helped Crutchie stand up. “I’ll show you,” he had said, grabbing Crutchie’s free hand.

And, now, here they were, standing at the base of the ladder that led up to the roof. “Come on, we’ve got to go onto the roof,” Jack explained. Crutchie shook his head, tugging his hand out of Jack’s. He shuffled backwards, almost out of reach. “What’s wrong?” Jack asked. Crutchie didn’t say anything, his fingers rubbing at the crutch once more. Jack gently reached out and halted the rubbing and tapping. He softly intertwined their fingers. “You don’t need to be scared,” he whispered, “Don’t worry, Crutchie. I promise that I’ll always be there to catch you if you fall.”

Crutchie blinked up at him, chewing at his lip. Finally, he smiled. “Okay. But, we gotta go up on the roof?”

“Yeah, but you’ll be fine,” Jack reassured him. “Don’t you trust me?”

If the words were an attempt at comforting the younger boy, they completely backfired. Crutchie’s face paled and he immediately stepped away from Jack, releasing Jack’s hand. He regarded Jack carefully, before slowly shaking his head. “I–I d-don’t know you,” he whispered, the words halting.

“Crutchie,” Jack said, stepping forward and reaching out to the younger boy.

The blonde boy flinched, backing up quickly.

“I–I wasn’t gonna… hurt ya,” Jack said, confusion tinging his words.

Crutchie ducked his head, backing up once more. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s fine. You don’t got anything to apologize for. If ya want, we can just go back inside. I can always show ya some other time.”

For a moment, Jack thought that Crutchie would just nod and return to the Lodging House, return to his corner, and return to his silence. Instead, the younger boy’s mouth firmed with determination. “No, I wanna see it. Tonight.”

Jack smiled. “Okay, then let’s get up there.” He helped the boy up the ladder, speaking words of encouragement as Crutchie pulled himself up each rung. By the time they reached the top of the ladder, Crutchie’s eyes were sparkling and his grin wider than Jack had ever seen. “Now, close your eyes,” Jack commanded, grabbing Crutchie’s hand once more.

Crutchie hesitated, watching Jack carefully. Jack smiled, hoping that he could express that he wouldn’t hurt the younger boy, that Crutchie could trust him. Eventually, Crutchie gave a tiny nod, shutting his eyes. Jack recognized just how much faith Crutchie was putting in him, and he promised himself that he would never let this boy feel as if he had wasted his trust. He gently grabbed Crutchie’s hand, leading him carefully across the rooftop. “Okay, now open your eyes,” Jack said, squeezing Crutchie’s shoulder as he draped his arm over the younger boy.

“Wow,” Crutchie breathed, as he gaped at the view from the rooftop. The sun was setting, and it shone behind the buildings, an angelic glow that burned at the low-hanging clouds. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Crutchie said, leaning against the railing. Jack kept a hand at Crutchie’s back, careful to make sure the younger boy wouldn’t fall. For a few long moments, Crutchie just watched the sky, the sun, the buildings, before he turned to Jack. “Thanks, Jack. This is… nice. It’s… You’re… Just, thank you.”

“Of course, Crutchie,” Jack said. “What else are friends for?”

“Friends?” Crutchie asked, his shoulders drawing together almost imperceptibly.

“Well, only if ya want to,” Jack offered.

Crutchie nodded softly, returning his eyes to the skyline. “Yeah, I want to.”

Jack grinned. “Then, friends it is.”

Climbing trees had never been Jack’s forte, but when Crutchie ran up to him, grinning widely, and asked to climb trees in Central Park, he couldn’t turn his best friend down. But, that didn’t stop him from complaining the entire way there. “I’m going to break my arm. You’re going to break your arm. We’ll both break our arms and then where will we be?” Jack challenged.

“With broken arms, I imagine,” Crutchie said, rolling his eyes.

“Which, I don’t want,” Jack quickly countered. He laughed as Crutchie grabbed his hand, and began tugging him towards Central Park. Jack started dragging his steps, slowing the younger boy down. “My legs… are… too… heavy,” he said, swinging his free hand up to his brow in mock despair.

Crutchie growled, tugging even harder at Jack’s hand. “C’mon, Jack. I finished selling early so that we could go climb a tree and now you’re ruining it all,” he complained.

“Fine, fine,” Jack said, speaking up. Before Crutchie could protest, Jack grabbed him, swinging him up halfway over his shoulder, and took off running toward the best climbing tree in Central Park. He ignored Crutchie’s laughter and cries of joy. Finally, he reached the tree they meant to climb, and set his best friend on the ground. “Your tree, my majesty,” he said, bowing low in a mocking manner.

“Yes, thank you, peasant,” Crutchie agreed. He reached out, brushing his fingers against the rough bark. The bark was warm with the sunlight that beamed down onto the tree, filtering through leaves and dappling his skin. Before the polio, Crutchie used to climb trees, hoisting himself up until the air until his outstretched fingers could brush at the underbellies of clouds, wisps of dreams and hopes swirling past his fingertips. And then, trees had been lost to him. He remembered staring outside his window, watching the trees that would wave at him in the slight breeze, beckoning him to join them in the brilliant sunlight. Crutchie had had to turn away, to resign himself to a life trapped in-doors, until he had been forced out, too much of a burden for parents who could barely afford to take care of themselves..

But, now… Now, he could climb again. The night before, Crutchie had confessed just how much he wanted to climb a tree, just how much he needed that feeling of freedom once more. Jack had made him promise that if he ever wanted to climb a tree, that Jack needed to be present to catch him if he happened to fall. Crutchie had rolled his eyes, but agreed to the constituents, just so long as he would be able to feel the breeze brush its long, whispering fingers through his hair and feel the sun blush warm against his cheeks.

“Do you need help getting up?” Jack asked.

Crutchie shook his head. He could do this on his own. He needed to do this on his own. “I got this, Jack.” Crutchie reached up for a low-hanging branch and began to pull himself up, until half his chest was hanging against the branch. He squirmed forward a bit, pulling his legs up so that he could sit on the branch. Even just the added height seemed to lift a weight from his chest. Crutchie breathed in the fresh scent of leaves and bark, surveying the bright green park, the grass sparkling iridescent in the sunlight. “I’m going to go higher,” Crutchie told Jack, unable to fight the urge to touch the sky that pressed against his pounding heart.

“O-okay, but be careful,” Jack warned.

“I will,” Crutchie promised his best friend, reaching for the next branch. He knew he had to be more careful because it had been awhile since he had last climbed a tree and, that last time, he had been able to use all four limbs. Now he was limited to three, unable to put any weight on his right leg. But he did have a greater upper body strength, Crutchie discovered, as he pulled himself up higher, using his arms alone, and his left leg for balance.

He was nearing the top of the tree, the branches thinning, their leaves smaller and rounder. Each branch trembled in his presence, and Crutchie gingerly reached out, cupping a small leaf, and studying its dark veins. The sun spread warmth against the back of his neck, cooled by a soft breeze, and Crutchie shut his eyes, relishing the wonder of the top of a tree.

“Are you gonna come down?” Jack’s voice shattered the illusion, and Crutchie glanced down. He could barely make his best friend out between the criss-crossing branches and susurrating leaves.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll come down,” Crutchie said, starting to lower himself from the higher branches. Before he even realized what was happening, his foot slipped, and he was hanging from the tree, his hands keeping him from a sudden plummet. Crutchie could feel the edged bark cutting into his hands, scraping against the tender skin of his palm. He gasped out a sharp, “Help,” as he struggled to pull himself up.

Below him, Crutchie could hear Jack shouting something, but he couldn’t make out the words around the pounding of his heart in his ears. He tried to rearrange his grip on the branch so that he could pull himself back up, where he could be safe again, but the shifting backfired, and Crutchie was left clinging to the branch with his left hand. “Crutchie!” Jack shouted, the cry breaking through the rushing in his ears. “Hold on!”

Crutchie could feel his grip slipping, his nails digging into the wood for purchase, but only gaining splinters. “Sorry,” Crutchie whispered, the words a small breath of air that disappeared into the burning sunlight. He lost his hold, and fell backwards. For a moment, it felt as if he were suspended in the air, small leaves stretching out and rubbing gently at his cheek. Then, time sped forward, and he was falling, falling, slamming into a branch, and flipping back, down to the ground, faster, and faster, wind rushing against his ears, death staring him in the eye, as the ground rushed up to him, bright green flooding his vision.

Before the impending black could overtake the brilliant emerald green, Crutchie felt something collide into him, halting the sudden fall. He tumbled out of the arms of his best friend, as they both hit the ground. They lay there for a moment, both completely winded. “Are–Are you okay?” Jack asked between gasps.

“I’m fine,” Crutchie whispered, his hands carefully curling around the strands of grass, grounding himself in each deep, gasping breath that filled his lungs. Somehow, Jack must’ve managed to catch him. “I… Thanks, Jack,” Crutchie said, knowing full well what would have happened if Jack hadn’t been there. Even if he had managed to survive the fall by some miraculous happenstance, he still would’ve ended up greatly injured.

Jack huffed out a laugh, swinging an arm out to grab at Crutchie’s hand. He squeezed Crutchie’s trembling fingers gently, before explaining, “I told ya I’d catch ya. And I don’t go back on my promises.”

Crutchie didn’t dare go up to the roof. Not tonight. Probably not ever again. He’d stay in the Lodging House with the rest of the boys. He’d smile and laugh and joke and act normal until he was back to normal. He laid down on his bed, turning away from the door. Crutchie figured that if he just pretended to sleep, then everything would be resolved. Well, no, nothing would be resolved, but he would be able to pretend for one night more.

It hadn’t been anything sudden or searing, but a gradual realization. It was the warmth in his smile, the gentle intertwining of fingers after nightmares, the comfort of knowing that he would never have to be alone again. And, now, Crutchie was discovering that whenever he looked at Jack, his heart would flutter and he’d have to look away, or risk Jack discovering the blush that would flame, bright and uncomfortable, at the edges of his cheeks. So, until Crutchie could control himself and those awful, never-to-be-returned feelings, he would have to avoid Jack as well as he could. Starting with tonight.

Crutchie stiffened when he heard the door to the room open. It was probably just one of the other boys, Elmer or Finch, deciding that they wanted to go to bed. He carefully evened out his breathing. In - two - three. Out - two - three. In - two– “Crutchie?”

The soft call across the room had Crutchie’s breath catching in his throat. No. No, no, no. Jack was supposed to just go up to the roof and forget about Crutchie. He wasn’t supposed to come find him. Crutchie quickly focused back on his breathing. If he could fool Jack into thinking that he was asleep, that would solve everything. Jack would go away, and Crutchie would be left alone with the crushing feelings that swept through him, pooling in warm fingertips.

The room was silent again, and Crutchie had nearly convinced himself that Jack had just turned, and left him alone, when the edge of the bed dipped with Jack’s added weight. Crutchie stiffened, hyper-focusing on his breathing. In - two - three. Out - two - three. He had to be careful, ensure that Jack believed him to be sleeping.

Crutchie felt Jack place his hand on his back, each individual finger tip burning against his skin, and Crutchie fought to resist the urge to shift away. And, the urge to turn to Jack and grab him and kiss him until night faded to day. “I… I know you’re not sleeping,” Jack said, his voice soft. “I just don’t understand why you feel as if you need to fake it around me.”

Silence stretched between the pair, as Crutchie bit his lip to keep from blurting unwelcome confessions into the darkness. Jack sighed, the noise loud in the stiff silence. He tapped his fingers against Crutchie’s back once, before withdrawing, and Crutchie shuddered at the withdrawal. Jack hesitated, before saying, “You know, I made a promise to you, all those years ago, and I intend to keep it. I’ll–I’ll always be there for you if you fall.”

The bed creaked as Jack stood up, and Crutchie bit back a gasp as Jack gently ruffled his hair, before stepping away. He could just lay there, turn away from Jack, and never look back. Or he could– “Wait,” Crutchie called out, rolling over to face Jack. “You… promise to always…” Crutchie trailed off, suddenly doubting himself. Why in the world did he think that this was a good idea? He turned away from Jack, half-tempted to just bury his head into his pillow and never emerge ever again.

Jack sat back down, pulling Crutchie into half of a hug. “I promise to always be there for you, no matter what happened. Remember?” he asked, chuckling softly, “Last time you fell out of the tree? I caught you, and I’ll always be there to catch you.”

“Even if–” Crutchie cut himself off, taking a deep breath. He was doing this. He was going to do this. “Even if I fell for you?”

The air was thick with tension, and, eventually, Crutchie could not take it. He tugged out of Jack’s arm, scooting to the edge of the bed. He knew that he shouldn’t have said anything, that he should have just grinned and borne the weight of a crush that would never, could never, be reciprocated. “Crutchie,” Jack started, his voice cracking on the second syllable.

Crutchie shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean… It’s nothing. I just… Will you please leave me alone?”

“I… You like me?” Jack asked.

Crutchie groaned, ignoring the question. He stood up, but did not know where he would go. The rooftop was out of the question. Crutchie didn’t even think that he could stay with the Manhattan newsies for much longer. Maybe he could go to Brooklyn. Or Queens. Just, away. Crutchie snorted humorlessly. Maybe he’d even hop a train for Santa Fe. Before Crutchie could step away, begin his destination-less journey away from it all, Jack reached out and grabbed Crutchie’s arm. “I’m sorry,” Crutchie repeated, his voice small, but he didn’t try to break out of Jack’s grasp.

“No, wait, sit back down,” Jack commanded, standing up and beginning to pace beside the bed. “Just… Let me think about this. I gotta… process it all.” Crutchie’s shoulders drew together as he tried to appear even smaller than he already was, and then, maybe, Jack would just forget about all of this, forget about him, and it would be okay again. “You like me?” Jack asked, turning suddenly to face Crutchie.

Crutchie curled even more into himself. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Jack smiled, sitting down next to Crutchie. “Hey, look at me, will ya?” he asked, waiting until Crutchie slowly raised his eyes. “I made a promise to you, and I ain’t ever breaking it,” Jack told him, reaching out and fitting Crutchie’s hands into his own. “I’m here to catch you, always.”

“What�� What does that mean?” Crutchie asked, the words careful, in order to avoid betraying his pounding heart.

“It means that I may have fallen, too.”

Crutchie squelched down the hope, bright and burning, and lowered his eyes. Jack… Jack couldn’t seriously mean what Crutchie thought he meant. That was impossible. He only looked up when Jack started running his thumb against the back of Crutchie’s hand, the motion distracting and soothing, all at once. “Please don’t lie to me,” Crutchie whispered, for he could not get the awful thought out of his head. What if this was just some terrible joke that Jack was playing on him? It had to be, right? There was no way that Jack–the infamous Jack Kelly, who could have his pick of any girl or guy in lower Manhattan–would ever choose him.

“I would never,” Jack whispered, pulling Crutchie a little closer to him and cupping his cheek with a warm hand. His eyes danced across Crutchie’s face, taking in each freckle, each speck of green that dotted the other boy’s irises. They stared at each other, unable to break the soft stalemate, and then Jack closed the distance, gently kissing the other boy. It was soft and tender, and everything Crutchie had ever dreamed of. When Jack pulled away, Crutchie slowly opened his eyes, watching as Jack smiled at him. “I guess this time we were both able to catch each other.”

And, then there was the time that Crutchie fell, and Jack was too late.

Jack remembers it, all too clearly. It’s almost as if it had just happened, except the grief is sharper now. He is no longer numb with shock, with disbelief. He is well aware of what happened, of the reality of his failure, a reality that gnaws at him those dark nights that he cannot sleep. He stares across the rooftop, watching the stars the glint dully in the black-swathed sky.

There are nights, now, when Jack will wake up, Crutchie’s name on his lips. He’ll reach across his bunk, but his hand is only ever met by empty air, thick with regret and failure. For a moment, Jack will be able to trick himself into thinking that, maybe, Crutchie just went to the bathroom, will be back in a moment. Sometimes, he can just close his eyes and pretend that, any second now, Crutchie will crawl back into their shared bunk and nestle his head against Jack’s chest. Sometimes, he thinks that he can hear the other boy’s soft snores, can feel the slight tickle of his breath against Jack’s neck. Sometimes, he can dream.

But, most times, he can’t.

Because, Jack isn’t an idiot, and he is no stranger to death.

It had been a Thursday. Just a regular Thursday, indistinguishable from all Thursdays in the past. Jack had woken up on the roof, Crutchie curled up against his chest. Jack hadn’t stopped and gazed at his love, watched the light of the sunrise play with the shadows across his cheeks. He hadn’t run a hand through Crutchie’s hair, remembering the many hours they had spent, laying next to each other, fingers lovingly intertwined. He hadn’t kissed Crutchie breathless, hadn’t pulled the younger boy closer and breathed in his familiar scent. He had just shaken Crutchie awake, gently reminding him that they had to sell papes.

Crutchie had smiled sleepily, before pulling himself up into a sitting position. He had had the most adorable bedhead, and Jack wishes that he had just burrowed his face into the hair, pressing tender kisses to Crutchie’s scalp, each infused with as much love as he could possibly express. But, he hadn’t. Instead, he had teasingly hit Crutchie with his cap, saying something about getting his hair under control.

Crutchie had laughed, and if Jack could turn back time, he would bask in that moment. Memorize each aspect of Crutchie’s laugh. He would listen to the way Crutchie’s laugh would start loud and strong, before fading into soft chuckles. He would watch how the skin around Crutchie’s eyes would wrinkle and crinkle with joy, gentle abysses that spoke of a cheerful soul. Jack hadn’t even paid attention to the laughter, and had started pulling his familiar blue shirt on over his vest.

They had headed to the distribution center, their fingers intertwined when they could, their hands brushing against each other when they couldn’t. Jack wishes that he had just held Crutchie’s hand, proud of the love he held for the boy, damn all the consequences. But, he had been careful that day. When anyone unknown approached the pair, Jack had withdrawn his hand. It had been for Crutchie’s safety. Or, at least, that was what he had told himself. And, look how well that had worked.

Jack had separated from Crutchie after they had bought their papes. While they had tried to sell together when they first decided to date, it hadn’t exactly worked out. The boys had continually gotten distracted by each other, and the number of papes they sold had begun to go down. Jack had been the one who suggested they just return to their regular selling spots. Crutchie had agreed, good naturedly, and they hadn’t sold together since. Jack wishes that he had never suggested anything so horrendous, wishes that he had never allowed himself to be separated from Crutchie.

It had just been an average Thursday. Jack had sold his papes, before returning back to the Lodging House. By the time he had reached there, most of the boys had already come home. Jack had gotten distracted with a card game with Race, not even noticing that Crutchie hadn’t shown up. After Race had won three games of poker, Jack had finally called it quits. He had looked around the room, searching for familiar brown eyes that had always sparkled with joy, with laughter. With life.

Jack wonders what would have happened if he had started looking sooner, if he would have found Crutchie in time. He knows he shouldn’t think like that, he shouldn’t dwell on what-might-have-been’s, the endless what-if’s. But, he can’t help it. Jack knows that he deserves the guilt, the pain, because Crutchie went through so much more and he’s still here, breathing, and how is that fair?

When Jack hadn’t found Crutchie within the Lodging House, he headed around the building to the fire escape that led up to the roof. And, there.

Jack still can’t get the image out of his mind, no matter how many times he’s squeezed his eyes shut, allowed his nails to tear into his palm. It remains. If he closes his eyes, now, he can see it. Crutchie is crumpled at the base of the fire escape, his legs twisted amongst each other. The crutch is just a ways off to the side, barely out of reach beyond his half-curled fingers. His lips are parted, pale and motionless. His eyes are closed, and for a moment, Jack can almost fool himself into thinking that he is sleeping.

He is not.

Jack hadn’t known what to do. He had stood there, gaping, blinking, praying that he was seeing it wrong. Then, he had been at Crutchie’s side, one hand grasping at those curled, cold fingers, the other going to press against his cheek. Crutchie hadn’t moved, hadn’t reacted, and Jack had known.

He doesn’t know how long he sat there, Crutchie’s head carefully cradled in his lap, tears blurring Jack’s final memory of the boy he had loved, the boy he still loves. Race had shown up at some point, his hand firm on Jack’s shoulder. Then he and Specs had carefully taken Crutchie’s body away. Jack had thought that he would have fought the boys, fought to hold onto Crutchie for one more time. Instead, he had knelt there, numbly, watching as all his hope was taken away. He had felt empty, defeated.

He still feels empty and defeated.

“I just… I’m sorry, Crutch,” Jack whispers. The words are heavy, dark, and they disappear into the thick night. “I made ya a promise, and I couldn’t keep it.”

Jack shuts his eyes, trying to pretend that Crutchie is beside him, his head leaning on Jack’s shoulder. He twists his fingers, almost imagining Crutchie’s fitting perfectly between his own. He holds his breath, listening for the soft laughter that would bubble out of Crutchie’s mouth, bright and beautiful.

He can’t pretend, anymore.

And Jack isn’t fool enough to think that he will ever forget this broken promise.

Jack stares out at the darkened city and wishes for Crutchie to be brought back to him, if only for one more night. But, if he can’t have that, he wishes for an escape.

Because, without Crutchie, there’s no one left to catch Jack if he falls.