#crutchie being lifted up and being the one to pass out the food from the nuns made me think of this

[noxexistant]

jack and crutchie both unquestionably have doing quick headcounts of their boys down to a fine art

it’s instinct for them, when everyone is together, to stretch tall and run through everyone, make sure everyone’s accounted for. they can do it in seconds, and notice immediately if someone’s out of place.

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

you were shunned and burned your cradle

Newsies Gen PG 4,365 words AO3 Living in New York isn't easy for a boy on his own. It's worse for Crutchie between his leg and the air itself trying to poison him. But things really can only go up.  For @i-got-personality as part of @newsies-secret-santa! You said you like Crutchie, canon era, and any kind of magic and well I hope that you like this!

Being a changeling in New York City hurts. It makes his skin itch and his lungs burn and his eyes water. From the iron that surrounds him, fills the very air along with the smoke. If he’s not careful when he reaches out or brushes against something his skin comes away with a sharp, searing scar.

Being a changeling hurts in a different way too. Knowing that, for whatever reason, his mother gave him up. That a human baby was far preferable to him and so he was left in some other child’s crib. To make matters worse, he was given up twice. That hurt even more.

On his crueler days, the ones filled with self-loathing, he blames himself. That it was some personal failing, his bum leg perhaps, that made his mother exchange him. That the same failing is why the woman who believed herself his mother threw him out onto the street. Logically, he knows this isn’t the case. For one, he remembers what happened to his leg and it involved an iron poker that proved to his mother he wasn’t really hers as fear burned in her eyes.

Being a changeling in New York hurts and it’s hard too. Trying to grow, to thrive, in a city that was made in opposition to your very nature. It’s even harder when you’re just a kid. When you’re living on the streets. His first few nights are the worst. He’s cold and hungry and tired and he hurts. Oh does he hurt.

Being a changeling is no walk in the park, though ironically walks in the park help some. Help a lot. Until he tires. But being a changeling in a city as big as New York means you’re not alone. Well, you’re never alone but there’s others too. If you know how to spot them.

He’s been sleeping in doorways and sneaking food from market stalls – but not begging, whether an innate part of being a one of the Folk or an innate part of himself he did not want or need anyone’s pity – for a few weeks when he sees her. She’s tall, very tall and with the tatters her skirts are in he’s able to see the pale pink of her calves from knee to muddy leather boots. It’s not a normal pink, not like the glimpses of his own cold cheeks in shop windows, but the dusty pink of a rose. Her fingers are the same color as she waves and calls, catching passersby’s eye and gesturing to the basket of flowers on her arm. The violets match her thick, plated hair and the bluebells her bright, solid-colored eyes.

He stops, shocked on the other side of the street, when he sees her. A cart and then trolley pass between them and still he can’t tear his gaze away. She’s smiling at him once the street is clear, wide and kind. The light almost sparks off her pointed teeth. She winks and crooks a long, thin finger to him. He crosses without another thought, barely managing to remember how to even walk before he’s in front of her.

“Hello little one,” she coos, tilting his chin up so he can meet her gaze. Her pink fingers then trail through his hair, straightening it, before running down to brush over his shoulders and tug lightly at his vest. This close he sees that she has small white flowers woven into the braid of her purple hair. They look like stars in a twilight sky and he’s fairly certain they sparkle too.

“Hello, miss,” he manages to reply.

Her grin sharpens. “You’re a polite young man. And that smile! Sweeter than stolen cream.”

At those words he can’t help but preen. “Thank you, miss. I quite like your hair myself. I’ve-” he stumbles, tightening his grip on the crutch under his arm, “I’ve never seen hair that color.”

Eyes widening, she straightens. “My, you’ve not met one of your own before, have you?”

“No, miss,” he shakes his head, hair flopping into his eyes. He reaches up to brush it back but she’s faster. Brushing it away with her rosy fingers again.

“But you know our ways?” She says it like a question but the flash of her eyes makes it a challenge.

He straightens, feeling so proud it borders on smug. “Never give your true name, always be polite, and nothing is a gift.”

Her head tilts and he honestly can’t tell if she’s thrilled or disappointed. Though they both know it’s not all the ways of the Folk, just the important ones. The ones the humans know in order not to err on their bad side. But for a changeling like him, it’s a good start and all true. That’s another thing he knows, the Folk cannot lie.

“Very good little one. You may know, but I doubt you have much practice. Let us strike a bargain, shall we?” Again, her head tilts and more than her long limbs or resemblance to a garden or sunset, this looks the oddest to him. Sets her apart from the humans still buffeting them on the busy street.

“Only be it fair and true,” he replies on instinct. Because, there’s nowhere else it could have possibly sprung from.

Pride and amusement has her spine straightening as she nods. “My proposition is thus; you give me the two buttons from your vest and I shall weave you a crown that will never wilt. That will remind you of who you are.”

He has to think about it, faerie bargains are notoriously tricks meant to cheat the person hapless enough to make one. There are normally catches and clauses. There are twists and double meanings and you always, always lose more than you gain. Yet, this seems simple. Straightforward. And it would be rude to say no.

“A trinket for a trinket,” he says, stalling.

She inclines her head. “A mortal trinket for a faerie trinket. A piece of a life that was and will be again.”

His heart and mind catch on that last bit but to puzzle it out could take all day and he’s getting hungry. He was trying to find food when he saw her in the first place. It’s a risk, but a benign one. “My two buttons for a flower crown woven by you that will never wilt.”

Again, her smile is sharp. But her knife his sharper as she leans forward and cuts the buttons from his vest, hand moving quickly to cup them before they can do more than fall from the fabric. She slips them into the folds of her skirt, her knife disappearing too. Just as quickly she begins to pluck flowers from her basket with her too long, stick thin fingers and begins to weave them into a crown and in a blink it’s on his head.

“May you wear it in good health,” she says and it’s a blessing he didn’t bargain for. His stomach twists and he nods; remembering not to thank her at the last moment. She flashes one last grin as she turns away, her skirts flaring out, and walks down the sidewalk.

He manages to not lose his flower crown as he falls in with a group of satyrs living in Battery Park, though he leaves after a few weeks when he learns the fish they always have for dinner comes straight from the aquarium in the castle. He goes back to sleeping in doorways and on fire escapes after that. He’s hungry all the time but he can never be sure if it’s his nature or his circumstances that cause it.

Eventually, his clothes become too thin and short, showing off his wrists and legs and strips of his stomach. Sleeping on fire escapes has a new bite as the fabric begins to cover less and less and more and more of his skin is exposed to the iron. The worst is how tight his boots have become, pinching and squeezing at his toes. He refuses to go barefoot though, not because of the cold but because it reminds him too much of the others. The women who walk on the breeze and become one with the trees. The men who blink at him before disappearing into shadows and around corners. The beings and creatures who pinch and poke and trick and steal and cackle and dance, dance, dance in between the oblivious crowds.

He finally manages to trade with an immigrant family from the Lower East Side, not feeling sad to hand over the last items his mother gave him in exchange for shoes that are just a hair too big and clothes that keep his skin from the sparking itch of his fire escape beds.

It’s this sleeping arrangement that gets him in trouble. Faeries are meant to be swifter, stronger than humans. But with his crutch he’s not able to outrun the police. A shopkeeper reports him for vagrancy and even his charms aren’t able to keep the police from dragging him to the Refuge.

Another boy, a newsboy, sees this from a little ways down the street. He freezes and his face darkens. His face with its too sharp angles and too bright eyes. The boy is moving before he has the time to process this, making a messy grab for a trinket from a nearby vendor’s cart, dropping his papers in the process. The police notice – everyone on the block notices – and grab him. The boy struggles but it’s a show, he can tell it’s just for show, and soon they’re both being lifted into the wagon.

The trial is short, the other boy cocky, and the warden at the Refuge cruel. At least here he has a bed, a real bed, for the first time in years. The other boy smooth talks his way into getting the one next to him.

“You can call me Jack, Jack Kelly. Though some of the boys call me Cowboy too,” he says with a quicksilver smile.

He raises a skeptical brow, his thoughts catching on the phrasing and the sharp points the boy’s ears come to. Sharp points that match his own.

“You’re like me,” he says instead of giving his name. He knows better than to give anyone his name. He knows Jack certainly isn’t this boy’s.

“Depends on what you mean by that,” Jack says slyly, stretching out on the thin bunk.

“How do you do it?” He asks with genuine curiosity, leaning forward so he can lower his voice and study Jack’s pleasantly bored expression.

Confusion pulls at Jack’s brow. “Do what?”

“Work as a newsboy.” It wasn’t obvious? “They lie all the time to make money.”

The quicksilver is back. “I never lie. I just embellish the truth. Tell a story. The facts are there, just maybe not all the facts. If it weren’t true, I couldn’t say it.” Jack shrugs and it’s an odd motion since he’s laying on his back with his hands propped behind his head. Made odder by the fact that it seems almost graceful. “It’s not so bad. Get to go all over the city and the lodging house means you’ve got a bed if you can afford it.”

He frowns at the non-sequitur. It deepens when he realizes it’s an abrupt topic change. “We’re stuck here and you’re offering me a job?” he can’t keep all the disbelief out of his voice. Even if he hadn’t checked, he could feel that the windows and doors were barred with thick iron rods.

“I’ll be out of here by dawn, question is if you’re coming with me?”

For a solid minute he weighs his options. The Refuge with its coldness and crying children. Jack with his silver tongue and faerie arrogance.

When they manage to sneak out into the courtyard a few hours later they’re met by the boys who helped break the lock and distract the guards. The first causes him to stop, he’s so obviously a sprite that the scowl is the only thing keeping him from laughing. The other is mortal and chomping on an unlit cigar, the scent of which still makes him wrinkle his nose. The four slink out and into an alley before twisting around the block and through another back alley until they’re farther and farther away.

“We’re even now, Kelly,” the sprite finally growls once the sky begins to lighten.

“A deal’s a deal, Spot.” Jack offers his hand, spitting into it first. If he hadn’t already figured the boy was one of the Folk that would have confirmed it. The spit shake marks him as a newsie. Spot turns to him and the mortal, nodding at them both before turning off a side street and disappearing.

“Bell’s gonna ring soon,” the boy says, almost nervous as he bounces on his toes and glances down the street. His eyes dart to where Spot disappeared to, then to him, and finally back to Jack.

“And we’ll be there, right new kid?” Jack raises a brow at him. It’s a taunt.

“Course,” he replies. No bargain was struck, no deal made, but he is in Jack’s debt and they both know it.

Jack nods, smiles, and turns back to the mortal. “Go get in line, Race. Make sure Weasel don’t give us no grief for being late.”

Race, apparently, grins around the cigar and takes off running. Maybe that’s where the nickname comes from.

“You can trust Racetrack,” Jack tells him vaguely as they follow, “he’s good people.”

Or maybe that’s not where the nickname comes from.

In the next few weeks, he learns the ins and outs of selling from Jack. And of “charming folks” though truthfully, it’s just magic. Jack starts calling him “Kid” and the other newsies “Crutchie” and he doesn’t really care because neither are his name and that’s what matters. The night in the Refuge isn’t the first or last Jack spends there, but it is the only one that’s intentional. He works harder to repay Jack who seems less and less inclined to care.

Finally, he feels they’re even when he manages to discover the nook in the corner of the roof of the lodging house. The air is still filled with smoke and iron but not the smell and sounds of mortal boys. He takes careful trips up with bedding and supplies until he feels it’s suitable. Sleeping under the stars just feels right and he can tell Jack agrees by the expression on his face when he sees it.

They grow close. The other newsies learn he can predict the weather with startling accuracy and say it must be thanks to his leg, he never corrects them. They talk as the city chokes them, about going to someplace that’s nothing but stars. The money comes in fits and starts as he grows into his own sharp features. The other Folk avoid him but mortals feel almost compelled to buy his papers. Stories come in across the river of a young newsie rising through the ranks of Brooklyn and ruling with an iron fist. They don’t tell any of the others that the rumors sound an awful lot like the stories of Court drama they hear.

He keeps his own crown in the bag at his hip, as unchanging as the day he received it. Though now, years later and clothes traded and swapped and bought he misses the buttons she took. Misses having something that reminds him of the place he used to believe was home. For even his crutch is different, having long outgrown the original.

They’re teenagers too soon, a blink in their long lifetimes. With it comes something they don’t expect, an odd almost awed respect from the others. Except Race but he never counted. He’s tied up in Brooklyn as a rule and so is exempt. They never sought the power they seemingly have, power different than that which they were born with, and they discover it in the most dramatic way.

It starts with a raise in prices. A raise which isn’t fair, and they of all people would know. Jack is outraged, he is angry too but in a colder way.

The new boy, the one who either didn’t heed the stories of the old world or else his family hadn’t passed them on – and that did happen as people sought to keep the good and leave the monsters behind when they came to America and never would they imagine to find so many pretty ones in the center of the city – and offers his name as though it was on a platter. Even his little brother gives a nickname. But Jack had been kind and called him Davey and the others had too, much to Davey’s unknowing chagrin.

The new boy, Davey, matches Jack in his heat, at least momentarily, offering the spark to Jack’s powder and unknowingly unleashing that power.

When Jack says they should strike, they strike.

He finally understands the appeal of the Courts for the first time.

“Do you think she’s really going to show up tomorrow?” he asks that night on the rooftop, head still spinning from the rush of their decision. The thrill had dampened slightly after Jack told him of Spot’s reluctance to join them. Understandable, why would he want to risk losing the grip he kept on the tight leash he had over Brooklyn? And he didn’t owe Jack anymore. But this was as much for them as for the mortals. Righting a wrong against oneself was practically faerie law. Though the girl reporter was an intriguing thought and a twist even he hadn’t seen coming.

“I think so,” he can hear Jack’s smirk in the dark. “She told me her name was Katherine Plumber.”

“Really?” He’s surprised, the way she’d eyed him he thought she’d know better.

“Least it’s the name she publishes under,” Jack is almost proud.

“Clever,” he says happily.

“Too bad your charm doesn’t work in print,” Jack teases.

“I don’t need glamour to be charming. The smile’s just icing.”

Jack laughs, the sound floating up over the rooftops. “Good thing she’s bringing a camera.”

He grins up at the stars.

Like any war there are casualties. Unfortunately, he is one of them. Being back in the Refuge again is hard. The time stretches and shrinks in ways he never imagined possible and somehow he knows decades, centuries later he will look back on this and still wonder. The scent of iron is so heavy it’s dizzying and the press of bodies so close it makes everything seem small. These mortals with iron in their blood and salt on their skin surrounding him on all sides. He has the crown, somehow he has the crown. His crown. It marks him as other and for a time, some measure of time, he feels even more alone. So different from these humans serving penance without crime with him.

He takes it out one night, straining to see the pale petals in the paler light of the moon when that changes. The crown proves he is not alone. The faerie woman, the flower seller, took what was never his to begin with and gave him his true home. His first taste of community. Of finding others like himself. Of finding Jack with his silver tongue and smile. Of the newsies of Lower Manhattan with their bright spirits and easy laughs in the face of the City. Of righteous Davey and mischievous Les and clever Kath. Even of Spot and his politics and power games. He found his birthright in the world he was forsaken to and that realization rekindles something within, twisting the crown in his hands.

He feels less alone, turning his charm back on as the sun rises. Knowing that he is just one of hundreds here in the Refuge feeling like this. Uses his charm to learn that there are some who can get messages in and out. Others who can get him supplies. And in the night, despite complaints from his fellows for the candlelight, he writes to Jack urging him to not let his own fire go out.

He knows they’ll win, has never been in doubt of it. Jack said they would and Jack can’t lie. But he knows Jack, and knows that not being able to tell a lie does not mean you can’t lie to yourself. So, he writes and hopes that it gets to Jack in time.

The time slips and spins and he sleeps and waits and imagines and remembers and nearly misses a name being called. A name that was never really his but he took before he could talk and he hasn’t heard in so long he’d honestly almost forgotten it. The others part for him as he carefully makes his way to the stairs that will lead him to the ground floor and the door out of this place. He is thankful for his faerie grace as he moves with so many eyes on him, his crutch catching on the uneven floorboards but he walks with his head high. Walks right out the door. He’s not the only one to do so, but he is the first.

Relishing in the ability to breath in the wind again, he rides in the governor’s open topped carriage taking in lungfuls of it. Even when it carries the stale scent of trash and the river. His smile is so wide it almost hurts and he nearly forgets to smooth the points his teeth have grown into with the giddiness humming like magic under his skin. The people on the street stare to see such a grubby looking boy riding alone in such finery and he lets them, waving a bit and laughing to think that all this was done just for him. There’s a strange metaphor all tied up in it somewhere. A riddle he’ll spend the time puzzling out later. Right now he just breathes.

Seeing the crowd turn at the sound of hooves and whistles and the governor’s gesturing sends his heart speeding. He accepts the excitement buzzing throughout it and between his ears as some of the boys rush the carriage, holding out hands in silent offers to help him down. For once, he accepts. Jack’s grinning up on the small stage above the door to The World – another twisted metaphor for another time – but he quirks a brow too. Knowing he only allows this because so much focus has passed on to question about the police wagon that has followed behind him the whole way.

He makes a face at Jack in silent response before letting his own pride takeover. He spins and gestures to the wagon where police officers are herding out a man. Herding out the man who runs the Refuge. Who ran the Refuge. He can almost feel his excitement pricking at his fingers in the same way iron does as the governor agrees to let him do the honors. The feeling overpowers the actual feel of the iron manacles as he clamps them on the man’s wrist, letting his glamor slip and his smile turn cruel for just a blink in the process.

The celebrating ends sooner than expected, though that isn’t entirely true. Despite the newsies lining up and taking their papers, they all still chatter and cheer. Bubbling up and over at their win. Jack is talking with Spot, Davey, and Kath when he comes over after getting his own stack for the morning. Spot gives him a significant nod before spit shaking hands all around and heading off with his lieutenants. Racetrack trailing behind. It’s an odd mirror of their first meeting and he brushes the thought away as another problem for another time.

“I’m so glad you’re ok,” Kath says as she hugs him. He’s come to realize that she’s special in more ways than one. Her possession of the Sight just part of a larger enigma. Her willingness to pull him into her and easy offers of friendship another. He doesn’t argue though, squeezing her right back.

Davey offers a hand to shake once she frees him and a cautious smile. The caution has nothing to do with him though and everything to do with Davey’s own contradiction filled nature. “You were missed,” he says earnestly. Swatting at his little brother who begins babbling exactly how missed he was.

“So, how was the ride?” Jack slings an arm over his shoulders, wide smile as he pulls him in tight to his side.

“You struck a bargain,” he almost hisses through his own smile clenched teeth.

“We came to an agreement.” He feels more than sees Jack’s shrug.

“It was two deals,” Davey corrects with a stern turn to his mouth and a flash in his eyes. “Jack made two deals with Pulitzer.”

He pulls away, brushing off Jack’s hold. He stares hard at the other boy. Dares him to say something and damn himself. Say nothing and damn himself even further.

“The first was a deal only we could make,” Jack says smoothly. He doesn’t blink and his sharp features become sharper with the seriousness that overtakes him. He understands immediately. It was hard. It was cruel. And it doesn’t matter what exactly it was and who gave what because in the end Jack walked away with what mattered most.

“And the second?” he prompts.

Jack shrugs again, shares a glance with the others, and smirks. “We won.”

Truthfully, he should have expected that. He rolls his eyes. Later, under the stars and the smoke, breathing in as little iron as they can he’ll ask again. He’ll find out what he did to convince Spot. What the terms of the bargain were. Of both bargains. And whether Jack was going to tell Davey their true nature, since there was no point in telling Kath. They have all the time in the world to leave the city and see the stars. These people they’ve turned into a home have only a lifetime and he’s already decided that he’s going to make the most of it.

End notes can be found on ao3. Please leave a comment and lmk what you think there as well! :)

[fiction-fun]

A Loving Headline

@braidedchallah @alexanderdamnhethin @creedtheconquer @rthoney @andpeggy21 @pixiepip @little-nymph-claro @haha-gunsgoburrr @hamiltimes

Fandom: Newsies the musical

Pairing: Jack/Oc

Words: 6526

I blinked open my eyes and stood quickly, pulling my vest tight around me and tucking my hair up under my hat. I reached down and shook the kid’s shoulders.

“Come on, little ones. Time to go see Ms. Medda Larkin.” I said softly.

The kids groaned but stood up getting ready for the day. I grabbed my paper bag and made sure I had enough on me for the hundred I’d be getting that day. I took Bea’s hand and lifted Ry into my arms before walking quickly down the fire escape and out of the alley. I took a look around before running across the street and ducking back behind the theatre. I knocked quickly still looking over my shoulder.

“Ley! There you are, I was getting worried.” Medda said opening the door.

I smiled softly and passed her Ry before lifting Bea up into the doorway.

“They didn’t wanna get up today. I gotta go, Jack'll never let me live it down if 'e beats me to the gate! I’ll sees yous two later, behave!” I called before turning and racing away.

I slid around the corner getting to the gate and catching my breath seconds before Jack and Crutchie walked up.

“Ley, how you always beat us here.” Jack said shaking his head and smirking at me.

I laughed sharply.

“Maybe someday you’ll be able to beat me. Not likely, but maybe.” I said a smirk curling my lips.

Jack laughed a bit at that before stopping and turning to the gate, the others coming around us. We stood watching the board.

“Whatcha think it’s gonna be today?” Someone asked behind me.

Jack shrugged and turned his head slightly.

“Doesn’t matter, if I don’t like it, I’ll just change it.” Jack said his solution to most things.

I shook my head and closed my eyes.

“I just hope it’s not the rail strike, again.” I muttered.

Those had been hard papers to sell lately. I heard murmured agreements and even Jack was nodding along. We all groaned as the board lit up.

“Rail strike enters week three! Great.” I heard muttered behind me.

The two goons opened the gate and we entered, forming the line.

“Hey Weasel!” Jack called.

We all laughed.

“It’s Wiesel!” the paper pusher called.

Jack shrugged and took his stack; I slapped my money done and shot him a look.

“Weasel, my man!” I shouted.

I walked over and grabbed my stack, high giving Jack as I did.

“Hey, weasel!” Crutchie continued the call.

I laughed and high fives him too. The kids behind Crutchie were new though.

“You could at least call me Mr.” Wiesel said with a gruff.

The kid behind Crutchie put his coin down.

“20 papers please, Mr. Wiesel.” He said as a younger boy darted over to us and grabbed a paper bag.

I looked at him and closed my eyes, he was barely older than Bea and Ry. I knew Jack saw it as an opportunity.

“Fifty more papes for the new kids!” jack said slapping a coin down.

The kid tried to fight him over it but his younger brother struck up a deal with Jack and I laughed when they shook.

“That’s disgusting.” Davey said pulling a face as Jack helped Les down.

“No, that’s how we do business. Good luck, I’m off.” I called sticking a hand up and walking away.

I went around and sold my papes the best I could, falling three short by the time my area cleared out. I sighed softly as I counted the money in my hands.

'Well, they’ll get to eat. ‘I thought as I headed back towards the theatre, seeing Jack, Davey and Les race in.

I looked and saw Snyder chasing them. I ducked back into the shadows praying they would keep me from being seen. I let out a breath and raced across the street when I was sure he was gone. I yanked open the back door and jumped in.

“Snyder after you again, Jack?” Medda was asking.

I saw Jack nod and look up I gave him a glare.

“Ya almost led him right to me!” I growled walking over to him.

His eyes went wide, and he backed up a step.

“Now, let’s not do nothin' hasty!” Jack said hands up.

I glared at him before turning back to Medda.

“Hey Ms. Medda, where are they?” I asked looking around.

She opened her mouth just as I heard two sets of feet racing towards me. I dropped to my knees and caught them hugging them tightly.

“Thanks for letting them stay here.” I said looking up at her.

“Anything for you Ley, you two know you’re always welcome.” She said smiling.

We ended up staying for a show before heading back out, Jack had tried to convince us to stay but I still had to get the kids food. I got them food quickly before we ducked back into the small hole we had found. The next morning, we repeated the morning. I got to the gate and waited, Jack and Crutchie joining me minutes later.

“Let’s hope.” I muttered.

The others nodded, and muttered agreements. All noise stopped when we saw the board.

“Prices raised for paperboys! Sixty cents a hundred?” someone read out.

We all turned to Jack; he was our leader.

“They can’t do that can they Jack?” was a common question I heard.

Jack laughed and shook his head.

“Nah! They’re just yanking us!” Jack said and that seemed to reassure everyone.

We formed a line and Jack slapped his coins down.

“Hundred papes!” he called.

Wiesel laughed meanly.

“It’s 60¢ for the hundred, Jack.” He called a cold cruel grin on his face.

Jack backed up and our line broke. He sat heavily on a crate and the others crowded him, until Les made them back up.

“Jack, you still thinkin'?” Les asked a few seconds later.

Jack nodded and then waved us in.

“We just ain’t gonna sell them, and we ain’t gonna let nobody else sell them either!” Jack declared.

Jack and Davey got into an argument about what a Union needs and how to go on strike. I swallowed feeling the ice slide down my back.

“Jack.” I called; he had just declared the strike.

He looked up at me, his eyes widening a bit, he waved me over to the truck.

“Go ahead, we won’t blame you. You gots responsibilities.” He said.

The others all started to throw a fit as I slowly walked over to the truck setting the sixty cents down to take my hundred. I kept my head down as I walked back passed the boys.

“Ley!” I paused at Jack’s voice.

I turned and looked at him.

“Don’t worry none.” He said and I gave a small smile before moving out into the city to sell my papers.

Each one I sold felt wrong, but I had to. I sold out and still had barely enough to get us all food.

‘I’ll go without tonight, so we have a little buffer in case I don’t sell enough tomorrow.’ I thought as I trudged back to the theatre.

I got the kids and we got food, then I got them back to the safe spot and got them laid down. I heard it then.

“Ry, buddy did ya just snuffle?” I asked crouching down to look at him.

I had already taken my hat and vest off, letting my hair fall down my back. The little boy nodded and snuffled again, I reached out and felt his forehead, flinching at the warmth I found. I sighed and leaned back, quickly tugging my vest on, and tucking my hair back into my hat.

“Stay here and don’t make a sound, don’t come out until I get back got me?” I asked softly.

Both kids nodded and I ducked out of the hole, running to the corner pharmacy looking through the medicine there.

'So much for a buffer.” I bit my lip as I tried to decide.

If I got the one, I knew would work it would wipe out the money I had left and make it so I couldn’t get a hundred papes tomorrow. I turned and looked trying to see if there were any other options. I reached my hand up and then hesitated.

“Are you buying something?” the counter person asked.

I looked at them for a second before looking down.

“Let me go get more money, the prices are different than what I remember.” I muttered as I turned and ran from the shop.

But I didn’t go back to the kids, I don’t know why, but I headed towards where Jack stayed. I stopped seeing him talking with that reporter lady from the other day.

“We’re counting on you, Katherine!” Jack called as she walked away.

I almost walked away; I knew Jack understood why I had to sell….but I still felt bad.

“Ley?” Jack asked turning and seeing me.

I looked up at him and waved slightly. He gave me a concerned look; he could always read me. He walked over and took my arm, leading me to the stairs, he was the only one who knew the truth.

“What’s wrong, Kaley?” he asked his voice dropped low enough no one else would hear.

I closed my eyes and bit my lip again.

‘Besides you flirting with the reporter girl?’ I thought before shaking it off.

“Ry is…is sick. And I didn’t make enough today to feed us and get his medicine. I already went without, so we’d have some incase somethin' else happened but the medicine, Jack it’s so much.” I said my voice cracking.

Jack watched me for a second before hugging me gently, that’s what was nice about Jack. He was all rough and tumble during the day but if you needed him, he was there for you.

“How much?” he asked voice soft.

I took a breath.

“25¢, I…I got most of it but it’ll wipe out any kind of buffer we had. But I have to get it! I swore I’d protect those kids.” I said my voice shaking slightly.

Jack patted my shoulder and stood up; I closed my eyes.

'He's mad, he won’t help. Why would he? I still sold; I broke us up during something so important!’ I thought.

My thoughts were cut off when I felt Jack take my hand and press a coin into it.

“Jack…I…” I said my voice wavering.

He shook his head and waved off my words.

“No, you get that medicine, and you pay me back later. If anyone knows what it takes to survive out here it’s you and me. Now, I know you’re all up in your head but, I ain’t mad atcha. I know what you gotta do, the others ain’t so happy with you, but they stopped bitchin' when I told ‘em to. Now go.” Jack said.

I stood up and hugged him quickly.

“Thank you.” I whispered before racing back off to the Pharmacy.

I ran inside and grabbed the bottle of medicine before going to the counter.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come back.” The person made no attempt to hide his disdain for me.

“Just this thanks.” I said a fake smile on my face.

He sighed and rung up the medicine, I paid quickly taking the brown bag and running from the shop. I took a long winding way back, just in case he watching me to try and send Snyder the Spider after me. I got back to the safe spot and ducked inside.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok guys. It’s just me.” I said crouching in front of them.

I tugged my cap off and pulled the medicine from the bag, I had read it in the shop and poured just the right amount into a cup for Ry. I gave it to him and he made a face.

“Now get some sleep buddy.” I whispered before settling down next to them.

I tugged off my vest and spread it over top of them, giving them a little more warmth. The next morning, I woke up early and let them sleep in for a minute with a sigh, looking at the sky as it slowly went from dark inky black to a lighter grey.

“Kay?” I heard a soft voice and turned my head seeing Ry sitting up, Bea behind him.

I smiled gently.

“Hey buddy, how are you feeling?” I asked as I grabbed the bottle and poured another dose for him.

Ry sniffled again and shrugged. I frowned softly and felt his forehead again before giving him the medicine.

'Maybe Ms. Medda will let us stay in the theatre for a few nights.’ I thought.

“You seem upset.” Bea said looking at me.

I smiled softly and ruffled her hair.

“I always worry boutcha when you’re sick!” I said smiling softly.

Bea batted my hands away and flattened her hair or tried to.

“But you look sad, like when momma and daddy didn’t come home!” Ry said looking at me.

I sighed and nodded.

“I let my boys down yesterday and I have to again today.” I said softly.

I didn’t like letting them into my problems, I was older I was meant to take care of them. Bea and Ry looked at each other before scooting to me, hugging me.

“So, don’t.” Bea said softly.

I laughed and kissed her forehead.

“If I don’t, we don’t eat.” I said softly.

They looked at each other and shrugged.

“We get can get food lots of other ways!” Ry said, with a smile.

I swallowed, the way he was talking about is when I used to steal for us.

“I can’t do that anymore.” I whispered.

It was true, Jack had been my partner and he had gotten caught, for me. They didn’t know that. They hugged me again.

“It’s ok, they’ll forgive you.” Bea said and I hoped she was right.

We got ready and headed to the theatre.

“Thanks again Ms. Medda. For everything.” I said as it turned to trudge off to the gate.

“Ley!” Ms. Medda called.

I turned to look at her and she stepped out of the theatre and over to me.

“Help your family.” She said softly.

I nodded towards the theatre.

“That’s what I’m doing.” I said trying to stay strong in my resolve.

She shook her head and pressed something into my hand, tilting my head up when I went to look at it.

“Your chosen family.” She said before gently turning me and giving me a shove towards the gate.

I walked a few feet and turned the corner, before pausing and opening my hand. Ms. Medda had pressed a roll of coins into my hand and sent me on my way, I looked back towards the theatre before nodding tugging my bag off I took off running.

“Ley! I beat you!” Jack called a smirk on his face.

I gave him a look, having tucked the coins into my pocket.

“Jack, shut up.” I said before throwing my bag on the ground at his feet.

His head followed the movement before his head snapped back up and he looked at me.

“What about?” He asked trailing off.

Only Davey, Les and him knew about the kids. I smiled and tilted my head back towards the theatre.

“Let’s just say Ms. Medda helped me make up my mind. And they also said I should help.” I said vaguely.

“Aw yeah! Ley’s with us!” Crutchie called waving his crutch with the strike flag on it.

I let out a sharp laugh and ruffled his hair.

“I was always with ya, ya damn fool!” I called.

After that, the day went downhill and before I knew it, I was running for my life from Snyder and the cops.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I yelled as I spun around a corner and up a flight of stairs.

‘I hope everyone managed to get away.’ I thought as I finally stopped to breath, I was hidden behind an outcrop on a roof.

I waited a while before making my way over to Jack's, hoping to find him. I ran up the fire escape and looked over the railing giving a small sigh of relief.

“Jack!” I called relief in my voice.

He spun and in seconds we were wrapped up together.

“Thank everything anyone believes in! I thought they got you too.” Jack said looking down slightly at me.

I swallowed at what that meant.

“Too? Who else did they get?” I asked fearing the answer.

Jack moved away from me leaning on the rail and shaking his head, I walked up to him and laid my hand on his shoulder.

“Jack?” I asked, concern in my voice.

“They got Crutchie alright! I was right there but I couldn’t get him! They beat him with his own crutch!” Jack exclaimed.

I took a shaky breath and hugged jack.

“We’ll figure out how to get him back. It’ll be ok.” I said trying to reassure him.

Jack shook his head looking up at the sky, he blamed himself any time anything happened to any of us, but he took things that happened to Crutchie particularly bad.

“He was real hurt, what if he doesn’t make it?” Jack asked softly.

I shook my head.

“You can’t think like that. He’s stronger than anyone knows. If anyone can survive that hell hole, he can.” I said firmly.

Jack didn’t look convinced, but I knew nothing I said would actually help him. We stood there for a while in silence, before Jack turned to look at me.

“Shouldn’t you be getting the kids?” he asked me.

I saw a moment of worry in his eyes, I smiled softly and shook my head.

“Ms. Medda said they could stay at the theatre for a few days while Ry gets better. I'll head over in a few minutes, unless you want me to go now.” I said voice gentle.

He shook his head.

“No, you don’t gotta go yet.” He said quietly.

I nodded and we stood there for a while longer, letting the sun set. I took a breath and turned to Jack hugging him again before moving towards the steps.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Jack.” I said softly.

He nodded and did his best to give me a smile, I knew he felt our injuries were his fault, and sadly I knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t be out there tomorrow. I walked quickly down the steps and stuck to the shadows, popping into the shops and getting something quick to eat for the kids, I ran to the theatre and inside. I quickly fed them, ignoring the questions about my cuts and bruises before giving Ry another dose of medicine and getting them ready for bed. The next morning, I woke up and got ready quickly letting the kids sleep in. I turned seeing Ms. Medda standing there, I had already tucked my hair up so I wasn’t worried.

“Thank you.” I said sincerely.

She shook her head and smiled softly.

“Of course, dear!” she said with a smile.

I ran out of the theatre and head towards Jacobs Deli hoping no one else had been caught. I slid to a stop in front of the door and pulled it open, seeing Katherine standing there with the guys I did a quick count and saw that besides Crutchie only Jack was missing. I quickly fell into a chair beside Les and Davey. Everyone looked to happy this morning, that’s when I saw the paper.

“We made the front page?” I asked softly.

Davey nodded bouncing slightly.

“Above the fold!” He exclaimed happily.

I let out a soft laugh, they couldn’t ignore us if we were in the papes!

“Ley, where’s Jack?” one of the boys asked and I looked up, seeing them all looking at me.

I looked away and everyone started talking.

“Shuddup wouldya!” I yelled standing up on my chair.

That go their attention.

“Jacks fine, Snyder missed him. But I ain’t gotta tell yous all how he is.” I said quickly.

The others nodded, except Les, Davey, and Katherine, who looked at me. I sat down in my chair.

“How is he?” Les the more outgoing brother asked.

I sighed and shook my head.

“I forget, yous two…. three sorry reporter girl…are new.” I said softly.

“It’s Katherine.” She said hands on her hips.

I waved my hand, waving off her words.

“Yeah, yeah. Jack takes all the bad stuffs that happens to us and blames himself. I saw 'em yesterday and he was bustin’ himself up over what happened to Crutchie. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was hiding out in Ms. Medda Larkin’s theatre.” I said sipping the water that had been put in front of me.

That’s all it took and the four of us were up, I paused at the door letting the others run ahead of me, I turned to the others.

“Get word to Spot Conlon! His cousins callin' in the favor 'e owes!” I shouted and darted from the building before they could question me.

The four of us ran into the theatre, and down the steps into the basement.

“There you are! How about letting a pal know you’re alive!” Davey called running down the steps to him.

Jack shook his head and kept working in the background. Katherine Les and I stayed back.

“Look! We made the paper! Front page, Above the fold! That’s right! Above the fold!” Davey said enthusiastically.

“Yeah that’s great.” Jack said.

“Is that Santa Fe? I have to say Jack this go west young man thing is getting old. You should paint something you know.” Katherine said and I slapped my forehead.

Jack froze for a second a dark look over taking him.

“You wanna see somethin I know?” Jack asked and his voice was low.

I didn’t want to see what he was going to do. He spun the background around and in almost photo realistic paint was the fight that had happened yesterday. I swallowed looking away.

“That’s what I know! That’s Newsie square, all of the kids gettin’ beat down for standin' up for themselves! I ain’t puttin’ them through that again!” He yelled, face contorted in a mix of anger and upset.

Davey tried to convince him to have hope.

“You know why a rattle snake rattles?” Davey asked walking up behind him.

“No, why?” Jack asked sarcasm clear.

“Cause he’s scared!” Davey said.

Jacked huffed and shook his head.

“Look it up! Why else would he have sent the goons!” Davey continued.

Jack started to slowly nod.

“Maybe your right!” Jack said finally.

“Thank the god!” Davey said.

I huffed a laugh at that, and we all started to plan a bit. Katherine had to leave and so Davey, Les and I stayed with Jack for a bit. Davey and Les started up the stairs a while later and I kept an eye on Jack knowing he was planning something.

“I'm fine.” He said as he kept working on the painting.

I nodded and pursed my lips.

“Ok, but bullshit.” I said letting my opinion be clear.

He let his head drop back and he laughed, turning to face me.

“I hate that you know me so well.” He said finally.

I crossed my arms and smirked.

“No, you don’t.” I said firmly.

He nodded and laughed, his own smirk on his face. We stood there staring at each other for a while. He finally set down his paint brush and refused to meet my eyes.

“I’m going to go invite Pulitzer to this rally maybe let 'em see who he’s messing with.” Jack said finally, still not looking at me.

I sucked in a breath and looked at him, his mind was made up. I nodded slowly, my arms dropping to my sides.

“Ok but what if it’s just us? Spot hasn’t said one way or another that he’s in this, and without him, without Brooklyn, you know damn well the others won’t come!” I exclaimed frustrated.

He nodded and looked up at me.

“I know, that’s why if they don’t come, I want you the kids Les and Davey outta here. Cause if the others don’t come, you know Snyder's going to find a way to get in here.” He said firmly.

I bit my lip and nodded.

“I don’t like it, Jacky.” I said quietly.

Jack sighed and dropped the cloth in his hand, walking over he wrapped his arms around me, we had always been close. I wrapped my own arms around his chest and tucked my head under his chin, we were alone I could do this without worry.

“I know, I don’t like it none too much neither, but if it’s the only chance we all got.” Jack said pulling back to look down at me.

I nodded and closed my eyes, letting my arms fall from him and he stepped back.

“Just be careful, Jacky. You got all of us here waiting for you, and reporter girl to impress.” I said softly with no lack of scorn buried in my tone when I said that.

Jack had picked up his brush to finish the backdrop but he paused at my words and tone. He turned back to face me, a smirk on his face.

“What, are you jealous?” Jack asked a teasing turn to his voice.

I felt my face flush and turned away a bit.

“Kaley?” Jack asked softly.

I bit my lip before looking up at him.

“Yes ok! Is that what you want to hear? I've liked you for a while now, can’t help it. Seein you pine after that reporter girl makes me realize…” I broke off and shook my head.

Jack was just watching me now, his eyes wide.

“Doesn’t matter, I gotta go get food for the kids.” I said turning and running up the steps.

I didn’t stop running until I was out of the theatre, ignoring Jack’s voice as he shouted my name. I ran to the shops and got food, paying quickly and walking back to the theatre. I paused at the corner seeing Jack just leaving, I waited until he was gone before I walked back into the theatre. I fed the kids and cuddled up with them giving Ry his medicine. When they were asleep, I sat up and crossed my arms over my legs.

‘Jack still hadn’t come back; I hope Snyder didn’t get him.’ I thought with a worried frown on my face.

I laid back and tugged my cap over my face to try and get some sleep. Early the next morning I woke up to chanting voices in the street. I stood up, tugging my cap on and looked out of the door, before yanking it open and rushing out.

“Spot!” I yelled.

He turned and grabbed me, his arms around me as he spun.

“Brooklyn’s here. We’ll win this thing yet!” He shouted.

That got mass acceptance and that’s when I realized, all of the paper boys from the entire city were here including our group. Davey walked up to me then.

“Where’s Jack?’ he asked quietly.

I swallowed and shrugged.

“I don’t know, we got into a fight after you guys left and I haven’t seen him since I went to get food.” I said softly.

Davey gave me a worried look and I knew my face mirrored it. Within a few hours all of the boys where gathered into the Theatre. I had given Ry his medicine and moved the kids into another part of the theatre incase anything happened. I stood by Les and Davey. I smiled as Spot took the stage and rallied the boys. And I actually breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Jack appear.

“He raised the price and we strike, so he lowers the price. And in a few weeks, he Jack’s them right back up, because let’s be honest, he will.” Jack said and I froze.

Everyone in the theatre erupted in anger at the same time, except me, I was still to shocked at what Jack had said. The others had already started to clear out about an hour later when I saw Jack and one of Pulitzers men. I saw the money the guy handed him and I shook my head.

“I thought they were worth more to you then a wad of cash, Jack.” I said disbelief and anger coating my tone.

He jumped at my voice and turned to me guiltily.

“Ley, I can explain.” He said looking at me worriedly.

I closed my eyes and turned to walk away, but something told me to hear him out.

“You have two minutes.” I said still not turning to face him.

I heard Jack let out a breath, in a sigh.

“He said I had to talk against the strike or he’d throw me back in.” Jack said quickly.

I didn’t have to ask, 'in where?’, we all knew where.

“The money, Jack.” I said firmly.

I heard a soft thump as if Jack had thrown the money down.

“It was part of his deal. He cleared my arrest record, including the warrants and gave me enough money to go wherever I wanted. I just didn’t want to go back in.” Jack said and I turned slightly.

I took a breath.

“Well you’re lucky it was me who saw that. But you have to fix this Jack, those boys don’t think you care.” I said my voice stronger than I thought was possible.

He watched me for a few seconds, taking a small step closer.

“What about you?” He asked.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, moving to the stairs.

“That balls in your court, Jack. Your decision and your move.” I said before disappearing to go take care of the kids.

I didn’t see Jack at all for the rest of the evening and laid down after giving Ry his medicine. I was shaken awake hours later, I sat up rubbing my eyes.

“W-wha?” I asked before my eyes cleared enough to see who was standing before me.

There I saw Les and a bit away I saw Davey, his eyes wide.

“Woah! You’re a girl!” Les exclaimed, and I shushed him.

I quickly pulled my vest on, making sure the kids didn’t wake up, before I tucked my hair up into my cap and stood shooing them into another area of the theatre.

“You’re a girl?” Davey, this time, asked shock coating his tone.

I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, I am. You gots a problem with that, skinny boy?” I asked him quickly.

Davey put his hands up and stepped back.

“Jack needs us! Katherine and him planned somethin’! Come on!” Les said grabbing me and tugging me along.

I bit my lip and looked back towards where the kids were, before finally nodding

“Alright, let’s go.” I said and the boys led me outside and we ran through the streets before busting into Pulitzers basement.

“Woah.” I said quietly.

“You got enough people coverin' us?” Jack asked looking up at Davey.

Davey tilted his head and gave Jack a slightly unimpressed look.

“We could have a hoedown down here and no-one would know.” Davey said.

Jack smirked and nodded.

“Good let’s do this.” He said.

I walked down the steps and looked Jack in the eyes.

“What is this?” I asked looking at him, a smirk playing across my face.

He smirked back and looked towards the room; I turned my eyes widening at the printing press.

“You told me to fix it, this is how we’re fixing it.” Jack said softly.

I turned and nodded.

“We got work to do. I’ll get Spot on the line and get his group rallied, they’ll spread the word.” I said nodding already racing up the steps.

“Let’s do this!” Jack shouted again.

I ran out of the door and to the nearest payphone, using a trick I had learned a while ago I entered Spot’s number.

“Spot, rally the gang. We are going to make first light news.” I said quickly when he answered.

“You got it! Let’s go boys!” Spot called from the other side of the line.

I hung up and ran back down into the building, quickly helping bundle and stack the pages. Before long we had enough to blanket the city, and that’s exactly what we did. Hours later, saw everyone with one of our papes and Jack looked at me smirking.

“Time for Davey and me to make the final blow.” He said with a bright sparkle in his eyes.

He knew we won. I laughed and shook my head.

“Go, we’ll be there with you! RIGHT BOYS!” I yelled the last bit to a resounding agreement from everyone in the area.

Jack smiled at me before taking off, Davey right behind him. The next thing anyone knew we were all outside Pulitzers building looking up and blocking all of the streets, we saw Jack and Davey and Les managed to get away from us and ended up with them in Pulitzers office. The thing that did surprise us, with Governor Roosevelt was stood with them. Twenty minutes later and Davey Les and Jack came racing from the building.

“WE WON!” Jack shouted in such a manner I hadn’t seen on him in a while.

A bright cheer went up, it got louder when Governor Roosevelt announced that the Refuge was closed, Crutchie joining us again. All of us surging over to him, the best news was when Snyder the Spider was put in chains, Crutchie took great joy in whacking him with his crutch.

“Could be used for a weekly political comic, what do you say Theodore? Let Jack behind your back door?” Pulitzer was saying.

I looked over and saw Jack debating between staying and leaving for Santa Fe.

“What’s Santa Fe got that New York doesn’t? Tarantulas?” Davey asked walking over to Jack.

Katherine walked up to Jack then.

“Better yet, what does Santa Fe have, that New York doesn’t?” She asked him with a smile.

I turned and gave a smile to the guys walking through the crowd. We won today and tomorrow, I’d be back out selling papes to help my family, I felt a hand grab me and turn me.

“Ya know, you walk really fast when you wanna get away from somethin’.” Jack huffed out, still holding my hand.

I smiled weakly at him.

“We won, congrats.” I said softly.

He tilted his head for a second and sighed shaking his head.

“For a smart girl, who can hide in plain sight. You can be kinda dumb.” Jack said.

I huffed out a breath and closed my eyes.

“If you’re just going to insult me you can just …” I started before Jack interrupted me.

I would have smacked him if he hadn’t had his lips attached to mine. I froze for a second before my eyes fluttered shut and my arms wrapped around his neck. I lifted one hand placing it on the back of his hat, giving absolutely no fucks when I heard it and a similar thing hit the ground. I didn’t care when I felt my hair down my back. The only thing I cared about was Jacks one arm wrapped around my waist and the other around my shoulders as he tilted me.

“Jack where did you…. Oh!” We heard a voice from behind us and stood up slowly.

Jack pressed his forehead to mine, and didn’t look up.

“What is it Crutchie? Can’t ya see you’re interruptin’ somethin’?” Jack asked looking into my eyes.

I smiled softly at him, running my fingers through his hair.

“S-sorry!” Crutchie said and I heard him move away.

I smiled again, closing my eyes.

“So, what’s this about?” I asked still a bit breathless.

He laughed and held me closer, if that was possible.

“Well you did say that this particular ball was in my court right?” He asked turning it back to me.

I took a breath and stepped back, breaking his hold on me. I turned my back and crossed my arms in front of me.

“I…I just…I saw how she looked at you and I thought…” I said softly.

Jack laughed and I felt him wrap his arms around my waist, placing his head on my shoulder.

“Nah, she’s just a girl. A friend yes, but just a girl. You’re so much more than that.” He said gently swaying us.

He turned me around and looked down at me tilting my head up.

“My best friend. My partner. The only person I’d willingly get arrested for again. Beautiful. Witty. Wise. Bright as a whip. Caring. Loving. Kind. Do I need to keep going?” He said pressing a soft kiss to my lips each time he paused, before turning the ending into a question.

I was bright red as my arms wrapped around him.

“The kissing, yes please. The compliments…. only if you want to.” I said softly burying my head in his chest.

He laughed and I felt him kiss the top of my head.

“Oh finally!” we heard and turned again, seeing a small group of boys at the mouth of the alley we were stood in.

I raised an eyebrow.

“What?” I asked.

Most of them groaned and rolled their eyes.

“One, we’ve known yous was a girl for a while. We just didn’t care. And two, yous two dancin' around each other for years got old real quick.” Romeo said stepping forward.

Jack and I laughed and spun a bit, just then the paper alarm sounded. Together jack and I leaned down grabbing our hats and quickly got them back on our heads, my hair tucked back under it.

“Well, what are we waitin' for? We got papes to sell!” Jack shouted.

With that we headed back out and into the streets selling the papers. Jack did eventually accept Pulitzers offer of the cartoonist job and we eventually were able to afford a small apartment. It took a little bit but, everything worked out in the end. Including Jack and I.

“EXTRA, EXTRA OUR BOY JACKS OFF THE MARKET STEP ON UP YOU HEARD ABOUT IT HERE! READ ALL ABOUT IT!” if I had figured out who yelled that I probably would have cuffed him with the paper.

Instead I shook my head, holding Ry in my arms as he held up a paper, Jack doing the same with Bea.

“Get yer paper!” Ry called.

I smiled and patted his head gently; Bea made an echoing call and I saw Jack nod at her sales tactics. That’s how the next while went, until we saved enough to send them to school, then Jack took the cartooning job and I sold Papes. Taking over the pack for Jack. And that’s just how it went.

[starship-squidlet]

The Green Fields of France: Chapter Two

Summary: We meet our speaker. He begins his quest.

Word count: 2,218

Disclaimer: The Green Fields of France Preface

Tag list: @the-cowbi @aggressive-bucky-barnes-stan (ask to be added/removed!)

A/N: Whoo, actual scenes in this one, not just Charlie monologuing 😅

Previous chapter: Chapter One

Next chapter: Chapter Three

I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Charlie O’Dell. I was one of only two children who lived in that tiny house in Harlem who could say they were related to Grandma Ellie—since that’s what almost everyone called her—by actual blood.

My mother, Robin Nickola, was born in late 1917. She and Grandma Ellie did not have a good relationship. She felt closer to the person she always referred to as her surrogate father.

Charlie Morris moved into the tiny house, which was often just called Starling Mission, in 1917, after Mush and Finch left. He was exempt from the draft due to lingering effects of a bout with polio when he was a child. Grandma Ellie, along with literally everyone else who ever knew him (whether they called him Charlie or Crutchie, the latter being more common due to the crutch he needed to move around for most of his life, not that he ever let it slow him down) described him as one of the kindest, gentlest people they’d ever known, and also as an impossibly strong person who would fight tooth and nail for the people he loved or who couldn’t fight for themselves. My mother was often one of them.

She spent most of her life—beginning when she was a teenager—fighting with her mother, rejecting any aid offered to her by Grandma Ellie, full of anger and impetuousness. While I know my grandmother loved my mother with all her heart, there were also times when she found Robin difficult to handle. When my mother left Starling Mission, entire years would pass where they never spoke. With Charlie, it was different. The only father that my mother ever knew, she loved Charlie dearly. There are few people in the world who I would rather have met than him, but he died before I was born, much to my mother’s sorrow. His death sent her into the spiral that would eventually take her life, when I was a little over two years old.

I know my mother loved me, but I wish that I could remember her. Her face is little more than a hazy image in my mind, preserved and occasionally refreshed by the handful of photographs Grandma Ellie has of her. I hardly remember JoJo either; he died when I was small—around six, I think—and was buried in the graveyard behind the cathedral he was raised and worked in, along with many of his friends who had passed at that point, including Charlie.

I was eighteen before I finally got the full story about what happened in 1917 particularly. Once again, it didn’t come so much from my grandmother but from her friends, Uncle Tony and Uncle Al, who had come to help her with Starling Mission after Charlie’s death, until it closed. For the next three years, until I graduated high school and left for college, it was just the four of us, even after Uncle Tony and Uncle Al moved out. They had raised me on stories of the newsies that they had known and grown up with themselves, including Finch, Mush, Charlie, and JoJo, as well as themselves. I idolized them all, and would have given anything to meet any one of them. The story of 1917 waited until I was eighteen because, during my first semester of college, I had a class assignment that drove me to ask questions I had never pressed for answers to before…

.*.*.*.*.*.

“Hello? Grandma, Tony, Al!” Charlie called, smiling as he pushed open the worn wooden door of the tiny Harlem house he had always called home. He heard a loud bark and a giant ball of fur came barrelling through the hall to slam into him, effectively knocking him onto his back. The dog weighed easily as much as the teenager, half of that in hair alone, and, despite being over a decade old, still had the same boundless energy he’d had when he was a puppy. Charlie laughed and tried to wiggle out from under the dog as it licked his face vigorously. “Bear, that’s enough—stop it!” he squealed.

“Bear, down!” Elaine scolded, hot on the dog’s heels. Her grey hair was swept back into a long French braid, and she shuffled along the battered wooden floor in a pair of handmade house slippers. When the dog finally climbed off of Charlie and he stood up and brushed the loose fur off of himself, Elaine stepped forward and wrapped the boy in a tight hug. He smiled into the top of her head. Charlie had outgrown his grandmother when he was eleven years old, and was nearly ten inches taller than her now. He had never looked much like her anyways; where Elaine had been all dark hair and pale skin and dark eyes, while Charlie was red-tinted blond curls and soft brown eyes, although he had the same smear of freckles across his pale cheeks. Elaine reached up and cupped his cheeks in her hands, giving them a pinch as she smiled up at him. “Welcome home, Charlie. We missed you.”

“I missed you too, Grandma. Are Uncle Tony and Uncle Al here?”

“They’ll be here a little later,” Elaine said over her shoulder. “Come have something to eat; you must be hungry after that train ride.”

The kitchen was warm and familiar, whitewashed cabinets and counters, worn appliances, a table full of dents and scratches and other marks, every one of which had a story behind it that Elaine would happily tell. Charlie sat down and ran his thumb over one of the deeper scratches, remembering what had caused it. “How have you been, Grandma?” he asked as Elaine joined him, carrying two plates of food.

“I’ve been fine, sweetheart,” she smiled. “How is school? Have you been getting enough to eat?”

“Yes, don’t worry,” Charlie laughed. “Although it’s not as good as Al’s cooking.”

“Not much is as good as Al’s cooking, my own food included,” Elaine laughed.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been calling much; we have final papers and projects due starting right when we get back from Thanksgiving break,” said Charlie. “I’ve been spending most of my time working on them.”

“I figured as much,” Elaine nodded.

“There’s one I haven’t started yet, though,” said Charlie. “I wanted to ask you for some help on it while I was home.”

“Of course,” Elaine perked up. “What can I do to help?”

“I was wondering… Would you mind telling me more about what happened to Mush and Finch? We’re doing a family history project, so I have to make a family tree and write a paper about a major event in my family’s history. I think I have the family tree pretty much sorted out; we only have to do immediate family, not go into extended, so I just did what I could with that, but I wanted to write the paper on what happened to them in World War One. I know you don’t like to talk about it, and I understand that, but I also think it’s time I know what happened. I’m eighteen now. It’s a part of my history, too. I just want to know.”

Elaine was uncharacteristically still and silent for a long moment. Finally, she forced a smile and looked at him, although her eyes were distant and full of sorrow. “Maybe… maybe another time, Charlie. Ask me again tomorrow.” She stood up, scraped the rest of her food into the trash can, set her dish in the sink, and wandered off, leaving Charlie alone in the kitchen.

.*.*.*.*.*.

A few hours later, Charlie answered the door—struggling to hold Bear back from leaping out of it—and let his adoptive uncles into the house. “Hi,” he laughed, dragging the dog away from the door as Albert closed it.

“Hey, kid!” Race beamed. As soon as Charlie released Bear and stood up, Race scooped him up in a massive hug. Despite the fact that he was nearing eighty, Race was still as strong as he had ever been, and easily lifted Charlie several inches off the floor in a back-cracking, bone-grinding, lung-crushing hug. Once-blond curls had faded to white streaked with sand, and had thinned over his temples, but blue eyes still sparkled with mischief above wrinkled cheeks. Albert, on the other hand, still had a full head of deep red hair, cut shorter than it had been when he was young, and hardly had any wrinkles—a few worry lines on his forehead, and deep laugh lines around his mouth and crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes—nor had he paled with age like Race had, cheeks still flushed red to match his hair. He waited until Race had set Charlie down and stepped away to lean in and wrap an arm around the boy’s shoulders in an informal hug, turning him towards the kitchen and starting down the hall.

“You’re going to tell us everything about school, right?” Albert teased.

“All the juicy details!” Race piped up from behind him.

“Met any cute girls?” Albert teased.

“Or boys!” Race added.

“No, nothing like that,” Charlie laughed. “I’ve been too busy with work and homework.”

“Good,” Albert nodded. “Focus on your studies.” He winked and leaned in to whisper: “But there’s no harm in having some fun every now and then.”

Charlie laughed. “Thanks for the advice, Uncle Al. Hey, I have a question for you two.”

“What’s that?” Race asked.

“Well… I asked my grandma for help with a school project; I have to write a paper about a major event in the history of my family, and I wanted to write about what happened to Mush and Finch, but when I asked her about it, she just sort of… left. She’s never talked about it. Do you two know why that is?”

Albert and Race traded glances. Race leaned against the kitchen counter and shrugged. “Probably has something to do with the fact that she doesn’t know what happened.”

“Anthony!”

“What? It’s the truth,” Race shrugged again and turned towards Charlie. “Elaine got a pair of notices informing her that they’d been killed in action, but was never able to find out any details. Not even where they were buried.”

Albert had taken a seat at the table and folded his hands, staring down at them with a grim look on his face. “We didn’t find out until we came back. Didn’t find out about them, or about any of the others who didn’t make it. And a lot of us didn’t make it… We tried to help where we could, looking for more information through contacts we had, but we could never find anything about Mush or Finch. All we were able to find out is that they deployed to France—we know that for sure—but not even where in France they went, except that it wasn’t where we were, or where Tommy and Spot were.”

“Eventually, we had to just give up,” Race’s voice was low. “There was nothing more to be done. It was like after they left New York they just disappeared. It broke our hearts to stop looking, but it was even harder on Elaine. Not that she ever said anything like that to us—she would never. But you could see it in her eyes after that. Something was gone. Some sort of light. It never really came back. It started to, a little, when you came to live here, but… Never fully.”

Charlie sat quietly. Bear came over and rested his head on Charlie’s leg, drooling a little onto his knee. Charlie petted his head absently, mind whirling. It had never really occurred to him that the reason Elaine had never told him anything was because she didn’t know herself. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, and bit his lip. He didn’t know what to say.

“Thank you,” he croaked out finally. “For explaining. I’m sorry… I’m sorry to bring up those memories.”

Race walked over and rested a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “It’s alright, kiddo. You’re right; you deserve to know. They’re your family.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Grandma Elaine and I never spoke about Mush and Finch again—at least, not in that way; she still told me her stories of when they were young, but they always tapered off as they got closer to 1917. I didn’t press. It was clear how much the topic hurt her, and I didn’t want to cause her more pain. What I did, however, and without saying a word to her, was begin my own investigation into what had happened to Patrick Cortez and Nickolas Meyers.

For three years, my search bore no fruit. I wrote letters, sent requests for records, and did everything else I could think of. I even put ads in papers asking for information from anyone who was in France at that time, and reached out to anyone in France who would listen to me—in my broken French—to beg for their help in my search.

It wasn’t until 1968 that I began to have hope. I returned home from the day’s classes to a letter, stamped with several postmarks, from a young woman in France who thought that her grandfather’s journals and stories from the war may have the information I was searching for…

[turtle-steverogers]

Step Up (1/6)

hey guys so this is gonna be a fun little six part story while Light the Fire Bright gets planned! The AU was loosely inspired by SomedayonBroadway's stories about deployed!jack on ao3 so go check those out

warnings: none in this chapter

ships: all the bois are cute brothers! sprace later on

editing: no

word count: 2215

“Enough about me, though, kid.  How are you doing?”

Race huffed out a humorless laugh, leaning forward on his elbows as he scrubbed a hand down his face.  That was a loaded question that he wasn’t entirely equipped to answer.  Of course, he’d been expecting it, but giving it any thought beforehand had been entirely daunting.

All things considered, he was okay.  Honestly, he was.  Things had been...harder since Jack had left to go overseas three months ago, but that was to be expected.  He’d kept his grades halfway decent, though that had been an adjustment.  Jack was usually the one who kept him on track while doing schoolwork, so when he first left, Race’s grades tanked.  Davey had tried to help, but his patience was a lot thinner than Jack’s, especially when he lacked an extensive understanding for Race’s way of thinking.  After about a month of nightly arguments over themes present in Othello, many of which ended in frustrated tears from one or both parties, Katherine had taken initiative and stepped in to help.  

She was a lot more tolerant of Race’s impaired focus and had been present for enough of Jack and his study sessions to have an idea of how to keep him on task.  Race was beyond grateful for her help and more than relieved to see his grades raise back to his average, but it still wasn’t the same.

Nothing was really the same.  Race had taken on Jack’s role in the Lodging House since his departure, stepping up to care for their younger brothers and sisters.  He thought he was equipped for it, and he mostly was, but he could feel himself slowly wilting under the pressure.  Katherine and Davey tried to help out as often as they could and Kloppman, the technical owner of the foster home, still pulled his weight regarding finances.  But neither of those factors took away from the fact that Race was drowning in his new responsibilities.  On top of that, guilt had started to weigh him down.  If this is how Jack had felt for the past ten or so years- juggling everyone else’s shit as well as trying to wade through his own, the need for a shoulder to lean on or someone to unload to, the constant stress of getting enough food on the table for everyone while, even if it meant that he didn’t eat- then Race really should have stepped up sooner.  

Other than those minor setbacks, though, Race was fine.  He was great even!  Absolutely thriving.

“I’m good, Jackie,” Race said, though his tone was tired, “I miss you,” he added in a small moment of vulnerability.

Jack’s expression softened and Race’s stomach clenched.  He missed those kind eyes staring into his own as he worked through his homework.  He missed Jack’s easy demeanor, bleeding safety into Race’s own soul as he ruffled his hair, praising him for a job well done.  He missed him.  His smell, his hugs, even his cooking!  Which, as awful as it was, had become an ironic source of comfort.

“I miss you too, Tony,” Jack sighed, “Only nine more months!” He tried to sound cheerful, but both of them sagged slightly, the air gaining even more weight.  Nine months seemed like a millenium given how long three months had felt.

“Only nine,” Race echoed, propping his chin on his palm, “Wish you didn’t hafta go at all.”

Jack grimaced, “It was bound-”

“To happen, I know,” Race finished for him, “It just sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” Jack mumbled.  It was tense for a moment, neither one of them meeting the other’s gaze.  Then Jack cleared his throat, attempting to shift the conversation, “How’re Kath and Davey doing?  Anything new with Crutch and them?”

“Oh, uh,” Race shook his head, willing his own disposition to brighten, “They’re all good.  Uh, Kath’s been making sure I don’t fail outta senior year.  Davey and Les hang around sometimes, but not as much as they use to.  Think it’s something to do with Davey’s new job.  Uhhh, let’s see..”

As he rattled off updates about their siblings, Race felt his mood lift.  It all felt familiar- calming.  He found joy in making Jack laugh with his various stories about the antics that plagued their home.  

“And then,” Race wheezed, trying to get words out around his laughter, “And then Albert fucking closed his eyes and Davey started screaming at him and holding the, uh, the ‘oh shit handle’ like some kind of mom!  It was fucking golden, I don’t even know who allowed this kid to get his permit.”

Jack had his head in his arms, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.  After a moment, he sat up, wiping tears from underneath his eyes, “God, I wish I coulda seen that.  Albert driving?  Who’da thought.”

“Wouldn’t really call it driving,” Race reasoned, “More like, swerving and cursing and narrowly avoiding death.”

“Sounds about right,” Jack said, leaning onto the wall behind his cot.

They fell into a comfortable silence, lost in separate fond memories.  But the calm was quickly demolished when shouts sounded directly outside the door to Race’s bedroom.  Well, technically it was Jack’s, but Race had taken advantage of his temporary absence to gain his own, private space.

Race groaned, dropping his head forward onto the keyboard.  Maybe, if he ignored them, his brothers would sort out their shit themselves.  

“RAAAAAAACE!”

Or not.

Race lifted his head slowly, whining as he stretched his back.

“Gotta go take care of that?” Jack asked, raising his eyebrows understandingly, “Who is that- Romeo?  It sounded like Romeo.”

“Think so,” Race said as his name was called again, except louder, “I should go, yeah.”

“Okay,” Jack said, “I’ll talk to you soon, Racer.  I love you.”

“Love you, too.  Talk to you later,” He gave Jack one last little wave, then ended the video call.

He stared at the now blank screen, bracing himself for whatever stupid situation he’d find his brothers in.  With another groan, he shut the laptop.  Reluctantly, he pushed himself away from Jack’s desk and crossed the room.  

He opened the door to find Romeo and Elmer on the ground, face’s red as they wrestled.  Elmer had Romeo’s head trapped between his knees.  His own arms were being twisted at odd angles by Romeo, who despite his position, had surprising leverage.  Race’s gaze traveled from their jumbled form to Romeo’s DS, which lay haphazardly on the ground several feet away, still open and displaying some Pokemon game.

“Okay, knock it off you two,” Race demanded, bending down and grasping each of his brother’s biceps, effectively pulling their upper halves apart.  Both boys continued to struggle, Elmer refusing to release Romeo from between his legs, “Elmer, let him go.”

“Yeah, lemme go!” Romeo shouted, his words muffled.

Finally, Elmer let up his grip on Romeo, allowing Race to wrangle him away from the other boy and set him on the floor opposite of him.  

“No more touching each other,” Race scolded, crossing his arms, “Now, what happened.”

Immediately, both boys began bickering again, words drowning out one another’s as they tried to get their side of the story heard.

“He took my-”

“I did not-”

“Race, I promise I-”

“He’s lying, he’s just being a dick-”

“Hey, that’s enough!” Race bellowed, silencing his brothers instantaneously.  He rarely raised his voice in the house, well aware of how that could be perceived or what kind of memories shouting could resurface, but sometimes, desperate measures were required, “Now one at a time, tell me what happened.” He looked down at Romeo, whose arms were crossed at his chest, an impressive pout on his face.

“Elmer took my DS after I told him he couldn’t have it and he messed up all my progress on Pokemon Sun!  I was about to beat the Professor, too!”

Race raised his eyebrows, looking down at Elmer, who, despite the anger radiating off of him, looked fairly guilty, “Elmer, did you really take his DS without his permission?”

Elmer huffed, “He was being unfair, I-”

“Elmer,” Race warned.

Elmer hung his head, deflating, “Yeah, I did, okay? Happy?”

“Attitude isn’t getting you anywhere, dude,” Race said, “If Romeo toldya you couldn’t play with his DS, you shoulda respected that,” he bent down so he was level with Elmer, “Apologize to your brother.”

Elmer glared at Race for a long moment before peering around him at Romeo, “I’m sorry I messed up your game, Rome,” he grumbled, “I can help ya get back to where you were.”

“I don’t want your help, stupidhead” Romeo snapped, “All ya do is mess things up.”

“Hey,” Race chided, turning to look at Romeo instead, “I know you’re mad at him, but that doesn’t give you a pass to say ugly things.  Say you’re sorry.”

Romeo defiantly mimed zipping his mouth shut and Race resisted the urge to throw both of them out the nearest window.

“Right now.” Race said, firmly.

“Fiiiiine,” Romeo groused, “I’m sorry, El.”

“Thank you,” Race said, “Now, go cool off.  Both of you.  Elmer, you can go to y’alls room and Romeo you can stick in the guest room for a moment until you’re ready to be around each other again, okay?”

Elmer and Romeo nodded, dragging their feet in opposite directions.  A moment later, Race heard two door slams.

He ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment to rub his eyes before strolling out to the living room.  Crutchie was seated on the couch, crutch propped bluntly on the armrest next to him.  He was reading a book, diligently annotating it using sticky notes as he progressed.

“Heya, Crutch,” Race greeted, leaning back against the couch.  

Crutchie bent his head back to smile up at him, “Hi.”

“Doing your homework?” Race asked, gesturing to Crutchie’s copy of The Outsiders.

“Yeah,” Crutchie scrunched his nose, looking back down at his book, “S’not too bad.”

“I’m glad,” Race said, ruffling his hair, “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Crutchie said, distractedly, already absorbed in his work once more.

Race watched him fondly for another moment.  He’d always admired Crutchie’s work ethic.  He wasn’t the strongest in any one subject, but he worked hard and always managed to get good grades.  It was refreshing to see.

“Race?”

A meek voice pulled Race from his thoughts and he turned to see Elmer standing in the doorway.  His face was streaked with tears and he was twisting his fingers nervously in front of him.

Race frowned, hurrying to kneel in front of him, “Hey, hey, hey buddy, what’s wrong?”

Elmer shook his head, choking on a sob as he buried his face in the crook of Race’s neck.  Race wrapped his arms around his younger brother’s trembling form, a lump forming in his own throat as he shushed him.  He hated seeing his siblings so torn up.

When Elmer’s sobs didn’t slow, Race pulled back slightly, tapping his chin, “Wanna go to my room?”

Elmer sniffed, nodding weakly.

“Alright, dude,” Race said, carefully picking him up and carrying him down the hall.  He shut Jack’s door quietly behind them and set Elmer on the bed, squatting next to him.  Elmer tugged on his sleeve, coaxing him onto the bed, where he once more curled into his side.

“What’s gotcha hurting?” Race pushed gently, running a hand through Elmer’s hair.

“D-do I,” Elmer hiccuped, struggling to get words out around his cries, “Do I really mess everything up?”

Race’s heart broke and he silently cursed Romeo for saying that.  There were a few unspoken boundaries in the Lodging House that everyone knew not to cross and it was always stressed to choose your words wisely.  No matter how mad you are, there were some things you just don’t say.

“Of course you don’t, buddy,” Race soothed, “Romeo was just very upset and he wanted you to be upset, too. You don’t mess anything up, you hear?”

“I-I didn’t mean to mess up his progress,” Elmer whimpered, looking up at Race with large, teary eyes, “I just wanted to play his game.” “I know,” Race said, “And I think he knows that, too.  He just wasn’t thinking very clearly.” “I’m sorry,” Elmer gripped Race’s shirt tightly, curling further into him.

“It’s okay, bud,” Race rubbed his back, “And I’m sure Romeo will appreciate another apology once you both are ready, but I swear to you that you don’t mess anything up.”

“Promise promise?” Elmer asked, sobs ebbing away slowly.

“Promise promise,” Race said, confidently, “Now why dontcha rest in here a bit.  I’ll let you play on my phone.” Elmer’s eyes lit up, “Really?”

“Sure thing,” Race said, easily, fishing his phone out of his back pocket and unlocking it, “Just make sure to come get me if Jack texts, okay?”

“Okay,” Elmer said, eagerly taking Race’s phone from him and clicking into his app folder.  He didn’t look up at Race as he crawled away from him, sinking into the pillows on Jack’s bed.  

Race pat his leg, squeezing reassuringly before standing and slipping out of the room.  He was still getting used to being the rock in the family, but if you asked him, he was doing pretty damn decent.

-

race is tryin his best

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[smile-dat-spreads-like-buttah-a]

The speed at which rumors traveled in the Refuge was always unexpected. One would think with how tightly Snyder held the whole place and operation that he must surely have control over the spread of information, and of all things especially information like this.

This information, even if it were only just a rumor and nothing more, could easily cause a whole bunch of trouble for the warden... especially if it got to the kids who have been locked up long enough to remember.

Jack Kelly’s sister was brought in after having been caught at the strike and she was on Snyder's watchlist just as much as her brother had ever been.

Snyder was scared.

Well, not scared necessarily but definitely nervous.

He didn't want a repeat of the Breakfast Revolt. Sure, he’d had broken it up and the leaders (namely Kelly) painfully and publicly punished, but overall, the events reminded the children that they really did have at least some power some ability to stand up and fight back.

And this girl she reminded them of that power.

She hadn't even really met any of the other prisoners as Snyder dragged her out of the girls dorm only the first or second night she was there because rumors were already flying and the other kids were getting antsy.

The way the girls were mostly separated from the boys made it harder for the truth of the matter to get around, but eventually at a meal, one of the more “dangerous” boy prisoners managed to pull one of the girls off to the side and ask, and the answer pleased him. It was all true.

Or not entirely. She wasn't here to follow in Jack's footsteps. She had heard horror stories nightmares about this place, and found them all to be true and was utterly terrified and honestly, she was closer to to her breaking point then she able to admit without shame,  and every visit from Snyder to her cold little cell in the solitary wing brought her even closer to giving in.

She didn't know anything about the tension eating through the prison because of her presence. Everything she knew came from Snyder himself or one of the girls rebelling and dropping a morsel of a listed food through the slot in her cell door.

So when she was roughly and violently dragged from her cell in shackles she had no idea what was going on.

And as she was brought towards the room where everyone would gather to eat their maggot written food in an in an amount that was never even near enough she became almost impossibly more confused and her stomach betrayed her as it growled at the smell of the rancid food. Oh, right… She hadn’t eaten since the day of the strike.

As she was brought into the room, the quiet chaos became somehow quieter as all eyes turned to stare at her, whispers breaking out across the room to be almost immediately silenced by shouts and threats from the ever-present guards. But there was still the air of chaos, of disbelief... of disappointment…

“That's it? That's her?”

The hearts of all the children in the room collectively dropped. This is no Jack Kelly.

Snyder stepped into the room from a side door with a smile. He had promised his charges their new dream hero, and he had promised them that they would be disappointed because she wasn't who they were thinking... hoping... wanting to believe she was. He felt the disappointment fill the room and felt victory well up inside him. The girl blushed, embarrassed by all the attention; the warden gave a half of laughter. A secondary victory. Two birds with one stone.

The guards let go of her dropping her at Snyder's feet, looking up at him with tired but terrified eyes.

“Stand up.” The order was quiet enough that only the girl could hear it, and somehow, it made her face go a shade or two paler than it had been when she was brought it.

“I can’t…” She whispered back, still not sure what was going on, but having a feeling that it was not going to end happily.

“I said, stand up!” This time, the order came as a roar, punctuated by loud, tearful sounding wail of pain from the girl as the warden reached down and dragged her to her feet, her bad leg twisting horribly under her weight. For a moment, it looked like the pain might do her in, make her pass out, but Snyder didn’t care. He held her there, as she dry sobbed.

She tried to look away, to not look at the other kids, who all seemed to fall somewhere between horror and disappointment and almost morbid curiosity, but Snyder barked another order, for her to look up at the others, accompanied by a quick sharp dip that put more pressure on her leg, causing her again to cry out loudly in pain. Snyder revelled in the sound, and watching as some of the children in his “audience” flinched before him.

“For some reason, you all let this girl bring you hope, hope that you could recreate her brother’s chaos and rebellion, and that she could lead you to freedom, or if she could not lead you, that you could fight in her name like some of you once fought in Francis Sullivan’s name… but this is no leader, this is nothing to rally behind… So what would be the point?” The warden’s attention was focused on his audience, not the girl he was purposefully humiliating. There were some whispers through the crowd of children, but they were quickly silenced. “I know you all believed in the boy once, but so did she… and look where it got her.”

Crutchie muffled a sob, and tried to look away again, but quickly turned her head back forward as she somehow finally managed to find tears to cry. They slid down her cheeks, turning rusty brown as they washed dried blood and dirt away, but made no real dent in the condition of the girl’s face.

“And I suppose that you have all heard about the doomed newsboy strike…” Snyder paused for a moment, listening for whispers of agreement from the others. When none came, however, he simply continued. “That is how our new friend came to be here, and I think there's a lesson to be learned from this… a lesson for everyone…. Or perhaps just a lesson for our new little rebel, and a reminder to the rest of you of what happens to people who fight back here.”

Whispers went through the crowd of kids, and Charlie looked around, thoroughly not understanding. But in a moment, Snyder turned from the crowd of kids, pulling her along, and for the first time, she noticed the handcuffs attached to the wall. “Wh-what?” She struggled, trying to get away, but Snyder's grip on her was firm. “Hey, wait a second, I didn’ do nothin’!”

Snyder didn't look down at her, instead taking her straight to the wall and snapping the cuffs around her wrists. When he backed away, she collapsed, hanging from her wrists as her bad leg dropped out from beneath her. She whimpered at the pressure on her wrists and tried to get her good leg underneath her to give her some manner of support, but lost her footing as the first lash landed on her back, cutting through her shirt and deep into her skin. She didn't want to give Snyder the satisfaction, but a scream tore itself from her throat before she could stop it. God, it hurt… She whimpered, almost begging him to stop, but he didn't… He wouldn’t. She screamed and cried out until her throat felt raw, and even in the raw sharpness of the moment, she couldn't hear a sound coming from the kids behind her. She'd heard enough about the Breakfast Revolt to know about how the kids had sang with Jack, getting back at Snyder in their own way… but nobody sang with her. Everyone was silent, except for a little kid's occasional whimper. She was all by herself, sobbing breathlessly, hanging from her wrists, and being beaten until she could no longer even keep her head up, instead dazedly resting her head against the wall. Blood soaked the back of her now torn undershirt, and her back felt like it had been ripped to shreds. When Snyder finished, he had the guards free her wrists, leaving her to collapse into a puddle of her own blood. She was too dazed to know who came and lifted her up into their arms and carried her to the infirmary.

She was no Jack Kelly. Jack Kelly, she thought, could make it on his own... But she weren't no Jack Kelly, and she was very much on her own.

----

Based on @jackcowboyhero 's Breakfast Revolt

[achaoticeternal]

From Past to Present

Request: Hi there! May I have a Jack Kelly (Jeremy Jordan) x reader where he's 17 and she's 15 and she's a mother to everyone at the refuge. Jack fell in love with her when he was at the refuge and still talks to her when he brings the refuge food and water and stuff like that. He thinks the reader grew up too fast, and tried to get her to be happy again? At the end he tells her the refuge was shut down and they kiss? I'm sorry this was so long 😣😣

A/n: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! I loved writing this yesyesyesyesyesyes

Warnings: one curse word? this is like 1500 words :)

Tags: @last-an-eon @helplessfor-fictionalcharacters

(Y/N) has had the pleasure of knowing the infamous newsie, Jack Kelly, since the moment he first entered the refuge. His mother had just passed and his father was thrown into jail and he was 12 years old, 2 years older than her; that’s the extent of what she knew when he came into the refuge. She was 10 and an orphan, but in the refuge because Synder found her walking aimlessly one night and threw her in there for loitering. 

So even what little time (Y/N) spent in the refuge before Jack came, she had already made a name for herself, like a mother to the boys, even who were older than her. But when Jack came in and would steal food and clothes for the boys, he became the father figure to the boys.

It took a couple of months for the pair to become the mother and father duo that was so well-known entering and leaving the refuge. She didn’t fully trust him at first since his father was a convict and Jack, technically, was a criminal. But soon, both saw eye to eye. 

Fast forward five years later and now neither of them are held captive by Synder in the refuge. Jack, now 17 years old, had made a swift escaped and had been doing his best to avoid Synder ever since. Yet, he would still bring stolen food and clothes to the boys at the refuge.

As for (Y/N), she now worked at the refuge after serving her time. She couldn’t let the poor boys stuck in the refuge deal with the unruly Synder for a great deal of time. So she assumed motherly duties of feeding, waking up, and nurturing all the boys, even though she was only fifteen. 

Jack would often visit the refuge, just to see his girl, (Y/N). Well, she wasn’t his girl, not yet at least.

“(Y/N), you’ve grown up too fast” Jack said to her one night on the rooftop of the refuge.

“What do you mean, Jack?” she raised a brow, turning her gaze to him.

“I mean you should be livin’ life, having fun! Acting like a girl, wearin’ a pretty dress,” he exclaimed then sighed, “we- you should be enjoy your youth and not concerning yourself with playing mother for these boys in the refuge. You deserve happiness that this stinkin’ city can’t give you.”

“But I am happy, Jack. I’m happy that I’ve been able to help all the boys who have come and gone through this refuge. I’m glad that I can save them from Synder’s wrath most of the time. I’m happy that I met you all those years ago and I’m happy that you still care for these boys,” (Y/N) tried to assure Jack, “we have a decent life here for now.”

“One day, I’m gonna leave New York, (Y/N), and I want you to come with me. Just so you can see how much better fresh air will be for us- you in Santa Fe,” Jack softly rubbed circles onto (Y/N)’s back. Both of them basked in this moment of stillness.

Barely a week had passed and the whole world had taken such a turn. Every newspaper in town had raised the price of papes from $.50 to $.60 per hundred and if you don’t think it infuriated Jack, well you’re wrong. He made sure to visit the refuge that night and brought a long his new friend, Davey, with him. (the poor guy looked like he was dragged into it)

“Pulitzer has done it now, (Y/N)! All the boys are lookin’ to Dave and I’se for guidance. A-and we got this stupid strike and union thing goin’ on. Ya know, I want to Brooklyn today and asked Spot Conlon to join in on the strike and he said... he said-” Jack was cut of from a hug from (Y/N) in an attempt to calm him so he wouldn’t get to loud. She didn’t want Synder to catch him and from what he said earlier, they had a little run in the day before. 

“Deep breathes, Jack,” she pulled away but held onto his large hands while he took in a lung-full of air and slowly breathed it out, “What did Conlon say?”

“He told us he didn’t want to join in if we were going to run at the first sign of trouble. So now we have to prove that we are taking a stand until Pulitzer and Hearst respect our rights as a union,” Davey had finally spoken up. 

“Well then, tomorrow give ‘em hell in Newsie Square,” (Y/N) commanded and all three laughed together.

The next day held no laughter. In the span of 24 hours, too much had happened to the poor newsboys during the next day’s strike. A fight had broken out and the bulls really soaked the newsies. (Y/N) knew all this because Synder went to the strike and brought back Jack’s oldest friend, Crutchie, who told her everything.

Crutchie told (Y/N) about how they had scarred of the Delancy’s brothers but they came back with reinforcements. And then the police showed up. And that they had caught Crutchie and dragged him to the refuge by his gimp leg. After receiving many blows from his crutch and the Delancy’s fist, (Y/N) did her best to patch up Crutchie.

Soon after, she left the refuge to pick up more food for the starving boys and to find Jack to make sure he was okay.

That night, (Y/N) found Jack in his penthouse, clothes and body tattered from the fight that day. 

“I messed up, (Y/N). Those boys got hurt because of me!”

:it isn’t your fault! They chose to be part of the strike! This is what happens when you stand up for what you believe in, Jack! It can suck ass but the reward will be so sweet, trust me.”

There was a break of silence between them.

“I want to go to Santa Fe. I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t deal with a constant reminder of failure! So c’mon, (Y/N), let’s go, far away. Somewhere they won’t ever find us and tomorrow won’t remind me of today.”

“Jack, things will get better, I promise,” i took his hand and he just shook his head

“And I’m gone, And I’m done. No more running, no more lying.” He faced away from her and looked out at the city and continued his little speech. She carefully approached him and softly lay a hand on his shoulder. He swiftly turned around, which frightened the poor girl.

“Where’s it say you gotta live and die here? Where’s it say a guy can’t catch a break? Why should you only take what you’re given? Why should you spend your whole life livin’-” Jack had (Y/N) pushed up against the railing of his penthouse. She could see the frustration and sadness in his eyes”- trapped where there ain’t no future? Even at seventeen.” He walked away from her, focusing on his little rant.

(Y/N) took this as her opportunity to escape, seeing that the best way she could help Jack was to leave him alone for now.

By now, news had spread about the rally, how all of the New York City newsies were all on strike, and the plan to surround the gates at the World with every working child in New York. However, (Y/N) was stuck in the refuge because Synder decided to lock everyone in while he ran off to catch Jack. Silently, she prayed everything would turn out okay.

And it seems her prayers came true, because someone unlocked the door of the refuge. Two police men walked in and asked for a Crutchie Morris and a (Y/N) (Y/L/N) to  accompany them. Of course, both children followed the police into a new coach which took them to Newsie Square. 

Both of them looked out the coach and saw Newsies from every borough hugging and acting like fools. Some chanted “we won, we won, we won!” But (Y/N) couldn’t spot Jack in the sea of boys. 

Finally the coach came to a stop, to which (Y/N) closed the blinds of the coach so that the officers didn’t get the wrong impression. She first helped Crutchie out and he waddled off to join his friends he missed so badly while being stuck at the refuge.

(Y/N) had only taken 5 steps away from the coach when Jack Kelly lifted her up and twirled, then pulled her in close for a hug.

“We dids it, (Y/N),we dids it.”

“No, Jack, you did it.” He pulled away from her and beamed down at her.

“No, we dids it! The refuge is closing, (Y/N), those boys won’t be abused anymore! I gave the governor and the police your letters you gave me where you wrote about the terrible place! We dids it!” Jack pulled her into another tight hug, spinning her around again before once again, pulling away, “and (Y/N), I’se love ya so much.”

“I love you too, Jack Kelly,” and with that, (Y/N) and Jack shared their first kiss. The first of many.

[1misstherooftop-blog]

The past that divides us

Read on ao3

Summary: Your soulmate’s name is tattooed onto your wrist

Relationships: Jack Kelly/Crutchie

Warnings: Mentions of abuse

Word Count: 3490

Jack couldn’t clearly remember a time without his tattoo. For all he knew it had been there since the day he was born. That happened sometimes, with strong pairs of soulmates. Of course people said the age that the tattoo appeared didn’t matter. A soulmate at four years old is the same as one at 27. Jack was just always secretly happy his had appeared so young.

He wasn’t a huge fan of the name it spelled out, though. The day his mother had read it to him stuck with him. He knew she had to have seen it before, but she still smiled sadly at him when she read it.

Andrew. A simple enough name. Common enough for Jack to meet a few in his life. But it was a boy’s name. His mother knew Jack would have trouble because of it, so she taught him to cover it up. At night he would uncover it and she would read it to him again, teaching Jack to write it like his own name. She taught him to hide it, but she didn’t teach him to be ashamed.

She died without ever telling Jack whose name was tattooed onto her wrist. Sometimes Jack thought she didn’t have one. He didn’t like to think about it. At least she had been happy for him.

After his mother died Jack was left with no family and shoved into the Refuge. It was harder to keep his wrist covered there. Snyder didn’t trust boys like that. Jack had fought at first, wrenching his wrist back when Snyder grabbed for it. He learned the hard way to just show him.

The first time Snyder saw it, he had sneered at Jack. The way he’d practically spit the name, Andrew, like it hurt his mouth to even shape the words. Nothing like the soft way his mother used to say it, like it was a gift. Jack wished he could take the word back for himself, keep it wrapped against his wrist with a scrap of fabric where no one could chew the word up and spit it out like it was disgusting.

Snyder had tried to burn the tattoo off. Jack knew of people who tried to do that. He knew how the tattoo reappeared, just as clear and starkly black as before. He wished it wasn’t something he knew personally. The press of the hot iron against his skin, the sizzling and popping sound, the horrific smell of burned flesh that had lingered in Jack’s nose for weeks afterwards. Snyder hadn’t let him cover it up. It had stayed exposed, stinging and burning with the slightest touch.

Jack escaped just a few days later. Pulling himself into the carriage had been agonizing, the burn on his arm screaming in protest. He made it out anyways, curled in the back, cradling his arm. He slept on the street the next three nights, barely resting out of fear of what could happen, the pain from his burn still horrible.

He stumbled upon the Newsboy Lodging House by accident. One of the boys had spotted him as he stumbled by, dizzy with hunger, exhausted and in pain. He’d coaxed Jack inside, helped patch him up. Jack learned his name was Specs, “Because of the glasses”, he’d explained.

Jack lied when Specs asked his name. He didn’t want to go back to the Refuge. Specs didn’t doubt him when Jack told him his name was Jack Kelly. It was who he was going to be now.

Jack’s arm stopped stinging as Specs tended to the burn. He didn’t ask Jack what had happened. They both knew it had to do with Jack’s soulmate. Jack was grateful Specs didn’t force him to have an awkward conversation.

“What is this place for?” Jack asked instead, his eyes wide as he took in the room they were sitting in. It was almost like an office with a rickety looking staircase leading upstairs.

“This here is the Manhattan Lodging House. We stay here at night, eat meals, take showers. It’s better than the streets.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Jack’s stomach ached at the thought of food.

“The newsies. We sell papes to all the rich folks, and anyone else who can afford one really. Tell ya what, Jack. Hows about you join us?”

Jack grinned at him. “I think I’d like that.”

Jack went out selling with him the next day. He was a natural, making up headlines, guilting mothers, interrupting a kissing couple, any tactic the other newsies used to sell. He made enough to pay for himself, something he was immensely proud of.

He took the bandages off his arm that night. His skin was still tender, warped where it had been burned, but his tattoo was back. Jack touched it lightly, ignoring the pain. He hoped Andrew was doing better than he was. He rewrapped his arm and went to bed, deciding then to keep it covered.

Being a newsboy was good for Jack. In the next few months he learned every newsie’s name and they learned his. Everyone liked Jack. He was talkative, always eager to be included in conversations. They all laughed when he started talking about Santa Fe, how the moon was bigger there, how he was gonna go out there and become a cowboy. Some of the younger kids humored him and played cowboy with him, though they just bullied Jack into chasing them around the room until someone got too tired.

Jack liked it. He liked being Jack Kelly. He liked that no one asked about his tattoo. Quite a few of the other boys had their tattoos covered as well. Jack didn’t think it mattered much anyways. Everyone had a nickname, their real names didn’t matter here.

It was during his fifth month as a newsboy that Jack jerked awake in the middle of the night. He figured it was nothing. After the Refuge he was used to waking up, his throat dry with fear, the nightmares still chasing him into his waking hours. He wasn’t afraid, though. He lay silently, listening. He could hear the other boys, someone (probably Race) snoring loud enough that Jack was surprised anyone was still asleep. Between snores Jack could hear a faint noise. It took him a minute to realize it was knocking.

He dropped down from his bunk, tiptoeing to the stairs. They creaked as he crept down them. He reached the bottom without waking anyone up by some miracle. Jack opened the door despite Specs’ warnings not to open the door for strangers.

It took Jack a few seconds to realize what he was looking at. There was a boy sprawled on the stairs. Jack thought he might be dead, the way his leg was twisted behind him. He really hoped he wasn't.

He turned and yelled up the stairs. “Specs!” He called. “Race! Henry! Anyone, come here!”

There was a great clamor as his shouts woke the newsies. Specs came running down the sta irs first, barely making it down before a cluster of boys came crashing down the stairs.

“What is it, Jack?” Specs asked, his eyes wide. He didn’t have his glasses on.

“There’s a boy on the stairs,” Jack explained. He felt oddly detached from the whole situation. He didn’t want the boy to be dead. He didn’t want to be afraid. Specs darted to the stairs to look. He knelt down, his fingers pressed to the boy’s throat. “He ain’t dead, I feel a pulse.” Specs said.

Jack could hear a few audible exhales. He wasn’t the only one who’d been afraid then.

“Help me pick him up." Specs said. "He needs to get in a bed."

Jack lunged forward to help along with Race and Albert. They eac h lifted the boy as gently as possible, Jack holding onto the boys arm. He was small and extremely light, unhealthily so.

Jack heard him groan as they lifted him, quietly enough to not catch the attention of the others. Specs held the boy, bridal style, easy now that he wasn't on the floor. Jack held onto his arm, his fingers curled just above where the tattoo would be. It was bleeding.

"Specs," Jack's voice was shaky. "His arm, he's bleeding."

Specs held the boy tighter. "It will be okay, Jack. Let's get him laying down and we can take care of it."

The other newsies stumbled back upstairs, clearing a path for Specs. Jack followed him closely, his eyes on the boy.

Specs laid him on the nearest bed. "Move back," he said, shooing the newsies away.

Jack stayed. He crouched next to the bed, his hand on the boy's arm.

"Here, Jack, let me look at it." Specs took the arm gently, turning it to look. The place where his tattoo would be was bloody, haphazardly gouged at.

Specs winced. He produced bandages out of nowhere, carefully applying gauze then wrapping it.

Jack watched him, his hand placed protectively over his own tattoo. He didn't like the idea of someone ruining this boy's tattoo.

"Are you gonna stay up with him?" Specs asked. He looked tired.

Jack nodded. "I'll stay up."

Specs dragged himself to his feet, yawning. "Tell me if he wakes up. He needs rest, and probably food. But I'm sure he's okay."

Jack nodded again. He didn't really know what to say. Specs ruffled his hair and went to bed.

Jack pulled a chair next to the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees to regard the boy.

He was pretty. Delicate cheekbones and long lashes. His hair was messy, probably soft if it was washed. He was pretty filthy though. Jack wished he was awake. Time crawled. It took a while for everyone to fall back asleep and once they did Jack was left in the silence, broken only by an occasional shuffle of sheets or someone's snore. Jack's eyelids drooped, but he didn't want to leave the boy.

He could pass the time. He'd picked up a few pieces of charcoal with extra money a month ago, keeping them tucked in his pillowcase till he used them.

He retrieved them quickly, holding them as gently as possible to avoid breaking them. He used a stray newspaper to sketch on. It took him a few tries to get used to the feeling of charcoal. It glided over the paper and blended easily, the strokes more fluid than he was used to with graphite.

He started with the basic outline of the boy, focusing on the positive-negative space. Drawing calmed him down. He didn't focus on details, instead using values to fill in the outline. It was less of a drawing, more of a suggestion. The only solid line he used was to define the long lashes. He glanced up to check on the boy. His eyes were open. Jack's breath caught for a moment, they were so pretty.

They regarded each other for a moment. The boy looked a little bit afraid, but he didn't move.

"You're okay." Jack said on reflex.

The boy blinked at him. "Is this the lodging house?" He asked. His voice was smooth.

Jack nodded. "Yeah, it is. You're safe now."

He didn't think to ask for the boy's name. He wanted to make sure he was okay. "I'm gonna get Specs, he'll make sure you're okay."

Jack didn't wait to see his answer, he just went and shook Specs awake. Specs was up quickly, joining Jack back by the bed in an instant.

"Hey, kid, how are you feeling?" Specs asked, his voice soft.

The boy blinked again. He seemed to do that a lot. "I'm tired."

"Okay, we'll let you rest. Can you tell me your name?"

"Where's my crutch?" The boy asked, avoiding the question. "For my leg. I need it to stand."

Specs cussed softly. "Jack, can you go grab it? It must be outside."

Jack leapt to his feet, hurrying down the stairs. He pushed the door open. The crutch was sitting on the ground. Jack didn't know how they'd managed to miss it before. He grabbed it, running back up the stairs.

Specs was sitting in Jack's chair, checking on the boy's arm. He was smiling.

"Here's the crutch."

"Thanks, Jack. This is Crutchie."

Crutchie smiled at Jack. His mouth was just a little bit too wide. Jack thought his face looked even prettier. He wanted him to smile again. "Specs thought of a nickname for me. Guess I really am ready to be one of you."

Jack didn't know where Crutchie had come from, but he clearly knew what he wanted. He knew he was going to be a newsie. Jack wanted to know why.

"Is it okay if I go back to sleep?" Crutchie asked.

Specs nodded. "We'll get you fed at breakfast. Your arm will be fine in a few days. Don't touch it till then. Just try and rest now."

Crutchie glanced at his arm. He shifted it, turning his tattoo towards his chest. He looked uncomfortable.

"Specs, we should go to bed. Rest while we can." Jack said. He didn't want Crutchie to deal with them anymore.

Specs picked up on what Jack was hinting at. He stood, pulling Jack with him. "Sleep well," he said to Crutchie. Jack almost expected him to kiss Crutchie's forehead. Jack crawled into his bunk, curling up so he could still see Crutchie. He wanted to talk to him more . Maybe tomorrow they could. He fell asleep, forgetting about his drawings completely.

Crutchie let out a long breath after the two boys left. He turned on his side, the pressure on his leg lessening. He could see papers on the floor. He squinted, trying to see it in the dim light of the room. It looked like sketches. He reached, grabbing them, and tucking them neatly under his pillow. He was exhausted now. He closed his eyes, safe to sleep at last.

Jack realized quickly the next morning that Crutchie blended in seamlessly with the newsies. He perked up after breakfast, chattering excitedly with anyone who listened. Jack sat next to him the whole time.

He was interesting. Jack expected Crutchie to slink to the background, aware of his leg and keeping people from seeing him as the weak one. He didn't even try to blend in. He made it clear right away that his leg didn't mean anything. He got around fine and didn't need anyone's pity.

Jack sort of thought people needed to protect themselves from Crutchie. He didn't doubt Crutchie would fight anyone to defend himself, but he also thought Crutchie was a fiercely loyal friend.

Maybe he was thinking about it too much.

They spent the day selling together. Jack's techniques and Crutchie's bum leg made the ultimate duo. They split their money that night, laughing and cheering about their success. Jack wanted to make sure Crutchie sold with him forever.

He took him to the rooftop. It took some work to get Crutchie up the ladder, but he wasn't going to give up. Jack never wanted to forget the look on Crutchie's face as he looked out over New York City. The awe and wonder made Jack's heart sing.

"Welcome to my penthouse," he said, his voice too loud in the still air.

Crutchie turned to him, trying to hide a smile. "Thank you for showing me this, Jack. It's beautiful."

Jack bumped Crutchie with his shoulder. "Of course. This is where I hang out. This is where we can get away, away from the crowd and noise." "I'd like that." Crutchie's voice was quiet.

Jack felt warm. He wanted to stay up here with Crutchie. He fiddled with the fabric tied over his tattoo. It was a painful reminder that this wouldn't last forever. They slept on the rooftop that night, just to try it out.

It's where they slept all summer for the next few years. Jack loved it. The cool breeze, the open air, the view of the city. It was something to look forward to. Waking up to the sun painting the tall buildings gold, going to bed under the stars. All with Crutchie by his side.

They didn't talk about their tattoos. Crutchie kept his covered too. It wasn't a huge topic with the newsies. Some were lucky enough to find each other in the lodging house. Jack still laughed sometimes about the day Romeo realized Specs' real name was Adam. Being around them was practically unbearable since then, they were always together. Jack supposed it was because they felt save in the lodging house. He hoped he could find a safe place eventually. Even though he knew the newsies wouldn't care about his name he left it covered. He didn't need the constant reminder that whatever he had with Crutchie wasn't enough.

He didn't let that stop him. It happened on a whim, one of their summer nights up on the rooftop. The sky had been unusually clear. Crutchie had been telling Jack stories of the constellations, laying so closely next to Jack.

Jack had turned on his side to see Crutchie, and in the dark he could see Crutchie's wide eyes. The space between them had closed, their bodies moving closer until their lips touched. Jack had pulled back, panicked at what he'd done. Crutchie had just dragged him in for another kiss, an unspoken promise that they could do this, regardless of whatever their wrists said.

The nights on the rooftop were full of soft touches, warm kisses, falling asleep too closely for summer but not even caring. Jack loved it. He didn't even think about his tattoo anymore. He didn't need Andrew if he had Crutchie.

It didn't mean Jack wasn't curious. He wanted to know whose name was lucky enough to be on Crutchie's wrist, whose name traced over scars and claimed Crutchie as their own.

Jack asked, but Crutchie refused. It wasn't a very good topic between them. Who really has you? Who do you really love? It was easier to ignore it, to not ask questions.

It was easier to do this. Crutchie's lips were soft against Jack's, a warm reminder of that they had. Crutchie held Jack's face in his hands, his thumbs tracing his cheekbones.

Jack reached for Crutchie's arm, his fingers brushing the fabric tied there. He ached to undo it, to finally look at the name there.

Crutchie pulled away from the kiss, taking his arm with him. "Don't bother," he said, reading Jack's mind. He sounded so sad. "It's not-" he cleared his throat. "It's not you."

Jack cringed. "I just want to see. Please, Crutchie."

Crutchie closed his eyes. He held his arm out to Jack, turning it so he could untie the fabric.

Jack did so carefully, his other hand holding Crutchie's arm steady. He could feel him trembling. It came undone easily, slipping between Jack's fingers to the ground. He kept his thumb pressed over Crutchie's tattoo, hesitant to look. He could feel the slight scarring there, a sudden and vivid remember of the first time Jack had seen him. He'd been so frail, quiet and demure. Just the beginning of the snarky spitfire Jack knew today.  

Crutchie was acting sort of like that boy now. He looked scared. "Just look," he whispered.

Jack moved his thumb finally. He inhaled sharply. "Crutchie," he said, his voice incredibly soft. "What's your real name?"

"What? Jack, I'm not telling you that." They both preferred to forget their pasts.

Jack gripped tight to Crutchie's wrist. "Please. What is it?"

"I didn't want to tell people. I didn't want to go back home." Crutchie turned his face away. "My name's Andrew."

Jack let out a noise that was almost a sob. "You know, my name isn't Jack Kelly."

Crutchie looked up at Jack. His eyes were intense. "What do you mean?"

"It's Sullivan." Jack moved his thumb across Crutchie's tattoo again, looking him in his eyes. "Francis Sullivan."

Crutchie inhaled sharply. He pulled his arm out of Jack's grasp. "Give me your arm."

Jack did quickly. Crutchie practically tore the fabric off. He laughed. "Andrew. It says Andrew." His fingers pressed lightly to the skin there, tracing the letters across the burn.

Jack grabbed his hand, smiling. "It does. That's your name."

"And yours is Francis." Crutchie laughed. "That's a horrible name. My ma used to laugh about it with me. She said she felt bad for that boy."

Jack squeezed Crutchie's hand. "My mom loved your name."

Crutchie grabbed Jack's other hand. "We're idiots aren't we?"

Jack laughed, leaning closer. "Just a little bit."

Crutchie closed the distance between him, kissing him again. Everything was better now. Jack felt the kiss like electricity down his spine. He held tighter Crutchie, their wrists pressed together.

Crutchie was his and he was Crutchie's.

Jack didn't put the fabric back over his tattoo.

[jackscrutchie]

Maybe a JackCrutchie where Crutchie is super SUPER sick and Jack's all protective and won't leave even though Race and Davey (etc) says they'll take over

Yo fam I DID get home early enough to finish omg. But may I just say that this is the sweetest more wonderful fandom that I’ve ever written for?? I got so many messages from people telling me not to rush and to not worry about it and I didn’t think I could appreciate you guys MORE but I do and I love every single one of you so much I can’t even handle it. Have some angst!

Jack just can’t leave him.

It was really bad this time. Of course, it was bad every time Crutchie was sick but this time – It even felt different. Almost as if there was something off in the air. It had been five days since he started showing symptoms and five days since the sun had last shown itself. When it did manage to peek out from behind the gloom, it didn’t shine nearly as bright. At night, it rained. Even the moon was hiding from them.  The boys kept reassuring Jack that things would be alright and dammit, he wanted to believe it so much. But he was terrified.

Jack would sit next to Crutchie’s sleeping form, un-moving for hours at a time. He ignored his back when it started to ache. He ignored the morning bells and meal calls. If Race hadn’t brought him food each day, he probably wouldn’t eat. There were times he tried to sketch. He tried to draw Santa Fe. He tried to draw flowers, a dog, the train he wished they could be on together, he tried drawing his own hands. He tried to draw Crutchie. Beautiful, feisty, and full of life. He threw his papers to the side, his charcoal snapping in half as it hit the ground.

This wasn’t fair. What had Crutchie done in his life to be dealt this hand? He was nothing but kind to everyone he met. He always had a smile on his face. He was always ready to make some sort of witty comeback when the opportunity presented itself. He made people laugh and made people smile. He lifted people up, encouraged them. He was the light in the darkest nights. Jack leaned forward, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. His fingers gripped his dark hair as he rubbed, trying to fight the oncoming tears. He shouldn’t be the one dying in this disgusting place. Dying… Crutchie. He felt sick.

“Come on, Crutchie…” His voice was barely a whisper. Crutchie hadn’t opened his eyes in almost twenty - four hours. More than once a nun had come to visit, saying a prayer or two. The last of those times, Jack had lashed out. ‘Get outta here! That ain’t helpin’ no one!’ The sister looked at him with so much sorrow in her eyes, he almost fell over. She understood how afraid he was and he saw that. He had apologized, lowering his head ashamed of himself. On any other day, in any other situation, he’d have his knuckles smacked with a ruler. But she reached her hand out to gently touch his cheek, and was gone. Jack sat back in the old, rickety chair and cleared his burning throat. He wasn’t going to let himself cry.

“Jack?” A voice came from behind him, but his mind didn’t register it. “Hey. You alright?” A hand rested on his shoulder, snapping him out of his mind.

“I’m fine.” Jack clipped his words, not wanting to listen to anyone right now. Not when Crutchie was still out, pale and motionless. “I wish you’d all stop badgerin’ me.”

“We’re just trying to help you Jack.” Davey knelt down next to Crutchie’s bed, looking at his thinned hollowed out face. “Everyone is worried.” He reached forward to touch the boys forehead but was quickly pulled back.

“Don’t touch him, Dave.” He almost spat the words.

Davey sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Alright – But Jack, you’ve got to take a breath.”

“Just don’t.” Jack wouldn’t, couldn’t pull his eyes off of Crutchie. He watched the slow labored breath making his chest rise and fall. “He’s the one you need ta be worryin’ about. Not me.” He clenched his jaw, doing his best to keep his composure.

Davey sighed, looking from Jack to Crutchie. “Listen… Me and the others, we’ve been talking. We all agree that,” he paused trying to figure out the best way to continue. “We think you need to take a break. Let someone else sit with him for a while. We can handle this.”

Jack recoiled shaking his head, but before he could interject, Davey continued. “Just for one night. You need to get away - Clear your head and get a good night of sleep. You’ve got to eat something, get some fresh air!” He gestured to their surroundings, bunk beds lining the walls. “Miss Medda is worried about you. The boys are worried. I’m worried. Katherine is worried.” He held out his hand to stop Jack’s protest. “We’re all just as worried about Crutchie as you are, Jack. But we’re allowed to worry about you too.”

Jack knew he was being too hard on everyone. He knew that they were just looking out for him, as he always did for them. Still – This was Crutchie. His Crutchie. He wasn’t going to let anyone tear them apart. “So while he’s here, fading away in this God forsaken place, you expect me to go out and pretend like this ain’t happenin’?” He scoffed. “I’m stayin’ here. I wont leave until he wakes up and gets better. Ain’t no one that can tell me otherwise.”

“I didn’t say anything about –” A sigh. Davey looked at the ground and stood, a bit frustrated with Jack’s stubbornness but – Heartbroken for the boy. “What good are you going to be to Crutchie when he wakes up, but you’ve passed out from exhaustion?” He fixed his gaze on the small boy’s closed, sunken in eyes. He was trying to press his words hard, trying to convince Jack to take a break. In the end, he knew it was useless.

“I ain’t leavin’ him Dave.” Jack bit his lip, hard. “I can’t. I couldn’t live with myself if I left and he –” He stopped, unable to finish his thought. He reached out to hold onto Crutchie’s thin hand, his own rough hand shook. Crutchie’s hand was still warm and his fingers twitched just lightly at Jack’s touch. “I promised him a long time ago I wouldn’t let him go alone.” He didn’t fight the tears falling from his eyes.

“He’s not going anywhere.” Davey said, his voice hushed and gentle. “You know him better than anyone. He’s just about as stubborn as you are, if not more so.” He set his hand on Jack’s trembling shoulder and squeezed. “He’ll wake up as long as he has you to hold on to.”

Jack’s head tipped forward, a single quiet sob escaping past his lips. “And I wont let go.”