#jackcrutchie fanfic

[ill-say-anything-i-hafta]

I wrote a Jack & Crutchie story for @loiteringandlurking re: his post about Jack who is an amputee.

One-Handed

In the circulation yard, Crutchie watches the new kid with the knotted-up shirt sleeve, watches how he holds the top of his bag open with his stump and then shoves the papes in one-handed. Crutchie knows that dance; he's got two good arms himself, but one of 'em's always occupied. It ain't as easy as it looks.

Kid says his name is Jack. He's straight from a factory job -- by way of the charity hospital on Hudson Street -- and can't hawk a headline for shit, but he can tie a bootlace real tight, a hard-won skill he's clearly proud of. First, he does up the dangling lace on Crutchie's bad foot. Then he tackles the other side for good measure. Double knots on both scuffed boots. And Crutchie lets him. For once, he don't care who sees him getting help because it makes the guy so happy.

Crutchie lets Jack follow him around, too. Teaches him the ropes. Why not?

::::

August in the crowded dormitory bedroom, hot and airless. Most of the boys have stripped to their undershirts, including Jack, sprawled out on his bottom bunk. Crutchie glances quickly away from the place where his right forearm abruptly ends, the scar still red and angry, and looks down at the sketch slowly developing. A nighttime scene in a desolate place, a wolf howling next to twin pine trees, mountains in the background, a crescent moon riding overhead. Jack scratches his pencil along the wolf's back. His neck flushes with frustration. He still ain't used to drawing with his left hand.

"Looks real good," Crutchie says quietly.

Jack spits out the rubber eraser he's been holding in his teeth. It lands on his pillow and Crutchie waits for him to say something mean. But he only uses the eraser to rub at some of the smudges. "Not every day you gets to see talent like this up close, huh?"

::::

Someone sends word that Jack's old man is doing poorly, so he stops by with a carton of cigarettes he bought. The place is a tenement on Mulberry, prostitutes coming and going. Jack insists that Crutchie wait on the stoop to protect their pile of newly bought evening Worlds. He's back in less than ten minutes, looking slightly out of breath.

"If he lives so close, how come you don't stay with him?"

"Well, I used to," Jack says, though that don't answer the question at all.

"He hit ya?"

"Nah, never." Jack seems to realize he's walking too fast and slows his pace. "Sorry. I think maybe ... I think seein' me makes him feel bad. So I just don't go by there too much."

Crutchie knows exactly what Jack means, and it makes him mad. He stops in the middle of the street to call the headline to an old woman in a kerchief. Jack waits, lighting a cigarette one-handed, while Crutchie juggles his crutch to make change. "You's still a kid," he says. "Your pops should be helpin' you out. If he ain't gonna do that, the least he could do is be proud of how good you is doin'."

"He don't need to be proud. I's just livin my life," Jack says. "Not everybody's gonna understand." He slings his good arm around Crutchie's shoulders. "But I got you."

::::

Ladies like Crutchie. They always have. They want to help him; they buy his papes and sometimes they gives him food and things. But it's girls that like Jack Kelly -- girls their same age.

And Jack seems to like them back, too. He'll pick someone out special to pass the time with, take her to the music halls -- he can sell a hundred twenty papes on a good day and always burns through his money -- draw pictures for her, tell her all about the Wild West. When the boys at Duane Street tease him, Jack tells them to shut up: this is the one.

Somehow, none of them girls ever is. But when it ends, Jack don't seem too heartbroken. Nothing bothers Jack, nothing Crutchie has ever seen.

Maybe he is the wolf in the picture. Maybe he is the moon.

Seems awfully lonesome.

::::

When Jack talks about New Mexico, Crutchie can't help but worry. He's been working to support himself ever since he was eight, but he's only ever done the kind of jobs people think a cripple can do. Who says anybody would hire guys like them them for farm labor?

Jack hooks his right arm over the top rung of the fire escape ladder and reaches his hand down to take the crutch. He says, "We'll just hafta show 'em, pal. We can find a way to do most anything we wants to. Can't we?" And he pulls Crutchie up behind him.

They stand together on top of the world. No mountains, no majestic pines. Just them and the buildings that crowd all around them, the landscape of the city where he was born. Life ain't fair; he's always knowed that. But in this moment, Crutchie thinks what Jack says might be true.

Because he ain't never felt sorry for Jack, not for a minute. Why would he? Maybe there is folks out there who won't feel sorry for him neither, who will see him for all that he is.

FIN.

[str4wb3rry-fire]

hey...i am once again asking for sprace fic recommendations...please...

[thelaststrikeyouorganized]

Masterlist

Updated: May 8, 2019

If any of the links don’t work, please let me know!!

The one’s with numbers are requests that had multiple prompts.

Javid:

5/6/10

“I hate work Christmas parties.”

“Merry Christmas, bitch.”

Painting

Camping

Alleyway

Sledding

“I don’t wanna get up- you’re comfy.”

“I waxed the floor, grab your fluffy socks.”

Davey is Stressed™

Sprace:

90/76/66/64/61/41/31

2/25

“For God’s sake, guys. We’re NOT dating!”

“Oh my God, Spot, I haven’t got you a present.”

“You look like an elf!”

“Who hurt you?”

I Just Walked in on You Singing and Holy Crap it’s Amazing

In Sickness

Hurt Race, Protective Spot, and Mother Hen Jack

Last Call Casualty

Embarassed

Spot and Race with Kids

Spork

Lambcuddles:

93/49

Hiking

Jackcrutchie:

“Just breathe, okay?”

Newsbians:

Letters

Misc:

Please Sleep. (lodging house shenanigans)

The Boys Go to Church (church shenanigans)

“No chance that I’m leaving here without you.” (brotp jack and crutchie)

Learning How to Read (Davey teaching Spot how to read)

Treaty (Jack needs an IEP)

[broooklynshere-blog]

11 “Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!” with Jackcrutchie!! I feel like this could be funny

11. “Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!”

Jack was a train wreck.

He was supposed to pickup Crutchie in twenty minutes and he was nowhere near ready. Their date hadn’teven started and Jack was already a nervous wreck. He hadn’t exactly askedCrutchie out in the smoothest way. It had just kind of happened, at the end ofa movie night. The rest of their friends had gone and Jack was alone withCrutchie in his apartment. Crutchie was curled up against his side, watchingsome TV show. Jack had just blurted it out, asked Crutchie to go out with himthe next weekend. Crutchie had accepted, for whatever reason.

Jack tossed aside anothershirt, adding it to the growing pile on his bedroom floor. It was hopeless. Hehad nothing that was good enough to wear on a date with Crutchie. He sat on thefloor, staring around at the piles of clothes around him. His roommate poppedhis head in the door, staring at Jack with a sympathetic expression.

“Still can’t findanything?” Race walked in and sat beside Jack.

Jack shook his head. “I’mdoomed, Race. He’s going to hate me.”

“Dude, it’s Crutchie.”Race rolled his eyes. “I don’t think it’s possible for him to hate you.” He gotto his feet, picking through the clothing and pulling out a few items. “Putthis on. Fix your hair, it’s a mess. Then get going, you don’t want to be lateto pick him up.”

Jack got to his feet andtugged on the clothes Race handed to him. Jeans and a grey sweater. “Are yousure? Maybe I should wear something nicer, I-“

“Stop. Wear that.” Racetossed Jack his jacket and a pair of gloves. “You guys are just going todinner, right?”

“Yeah. Dinner.” Jacktugged his jacket on.

“You don’t have to doanything special to get him to like you. It’s Crutchie. Act how you’d normallyact. Hold the door open for him. Maybe hold his hand. Just relax, alright?” Racehanded him a beanie. “And wear this. It’s cold.”

Jack nodded and checkedthe time. “Shit, I’ve got to go.” He tucked the beanie onto his head andgrabbed his wallet. “Thanks, Race.”

Race shrugged. “Noproblem. Just get going. Spot is going to be here soon and I’m assuming youdon’t want to see our…activities.”

Jack made a face as hethought of just what ‘activities’ Race and his boyfriend might get up to. He madehis way outside, shivering slightly as the cold air hit his face. He stuffedhis hands in his pockets and began the short walk to Crutchie’s. He took a deepbreath after he knocked on the door, trying not to appear nervous. His heartsped up as Crutchie answered. “Hi.”

Crutchie smiled widely athim, locking the door behind him. “Hi, Jack.” He said brightly, turning to facethe other boy. “Ready to go?”

Jack nodded quickly.“Yeah.” The walk to the restaurant was silent, not to mention incrediblyawkward. Jack didn’t know what to say. He glanced over at Crutchie a few times,quickly looking away so he wouldn’t be caught.

The restaurant Jack chosefor their date was small. Nothing fancy, just a little diner off campus thatJack knew Crutchie enjoyed. He opened the door for Crutchie, letting the otherboy walk through first. The two of them sat down at their usual table. Jacktried desperately to calm his nerves. They had done the same thing a thousandtimes before. It just felt so different. Jack was keenly aware of everymovement he made, every time he accidentally brushed Crutchie’s foot under thetable or caught Crutchie’s eye. He was pulled out of his thoughts by a hand onhis arm.

“Relax. It’s just me,Jack.” Crutchie smiled slightly.

Jack blushed slightly. “Sorry.”He looked down. “I’m just nervous.”

“Race may have textedme.” Crutchie laughed. “It’s okay, Jack. I’m nervous too.”

“Race…I’m going to killhim.” Jack shook his head. He very much enjoyed the way Crutchie’s thumb wasrubbing little circles on his arm. “I just don’t want to mess this up, Crutch.”

“You won’t.” Crutchie squeezedhis arm gently then released it as the waitress came over to take their order. Hereturned his attention to Jack once she was gone. “Did I tell you about whatSpecs did to Albert?”

“No.” Jack felt slightlymore relaxed, the knots in his stomach unclenching as he stared at Crutchie.

“Alright, so we’resitting in my apartment. Specs is cooking something and Albert walks in…”

The conversation flowedeasily after that, the two of them talking about anything and everything. Jackhardly even tasted his food, he was so wrapped up in their conversation. Oncethey were done, Jack insisted on paying the bill and the two of them made theirway back onto the street. It had started snowing, the world already covered ina light layer of snow.

Jack placed a hand on thesmall of Crutchie’s back as they began to walk. He was slightly worried aboutCrutchie slipping and falling, though he tried not to let it show. Crutchiedidn’t seem to mind the contact. He stopped about halfway to his apartment andleaned down.

“Crutchie?” Jack was confused,he didn’t know what Crutchie was doing. Until his friend stood up, a largesnowball in his hand. “Shit.”

Crutchie grinned and drewhis arm back. “Better run, Kelly.”

“Don’t you dare throwthat snowba- goddammit!” The snowball hit him in the side of the head, Jackturning at the last second to avoid getting hit in the face. “Crutchie!”

Crutchie was laughing,staring at Jack with a large grin on his face. “I told you to run!”

“You’ll pay for that.”Jack formed his own snowball and stepped toward Crutchie, the other boylaughing as he lobbed another snowball at Jack. Jack threw his own and itmissed Crutchie. The two of them threw snowballs back and forth, Jack missingand Crutchie hitting his mark every time. Jack finally got close enough andgrabbed Crutchie, preventing him from throwing his last snowball.

“Jack, no, I- ahh!”Crutchie screamed as Jack pressed the snow into his hair, cold water tricklingdown his neck and face. Jack wrapped his arms around Crutchie to prevent theshorter boy from getting him back. He felt Crutchie press his face into Jack’sneck and Jack gulped, bringing a hand up to stroke Crutchie’s hair.

“Truce?” Jack whispered,gently brushing his lips across the top of Crutchie’s head.

Crutchie nodded andlooked up at Jack. “Yeah.” He smiled and wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck,fingers finding their way into Jack’s hair. “Don’t want to see you beg formercy, that’d be embarrassing.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Thanksso much.”

Crutchie nuzzled his noseagainst Jack’s neck. “You’re welcome.”

Jack couldn’t breathe. Heleaned slightly closer. “Crutch?”

“Yeah, Jackie?”

“Can I kiss you?” Thewords left Jack’s mouth before he could even really think them through.

Crutchie smiled andlooked up at him. “Yeah. You can.” His voice was soft and gentle.

Jack’s heart pounded. Hehesitated for a moment more, before finally leaning in and pressing their lipstogether.

Jack wrapped his armstighter around Crutchie, pulling the boy closer to him. He vaguely heardCrutchie’s crutches clatter to the ground and he held Crutchie tighter then,supporting him. Kissing Crutchie was heaven. His lips were soft against Jack’sand he practically melted into Jack’s touch, the two of them pressed againsteach other as close as possible. He wasn’t sure how long the two of them stoodthere. Crutchie was the one who pulled away, ignoring a whine from Jack.

“Let’s keep walking. It’skind of cold.” Crutchie smiled and pecked Jack’s lips.

Jack nodded, a smile onhis face. He leaned down and grabbed the other boy’s crutches. “Yeah. Don’twant you to get sick.”

The two of them continuedwalking. They were silent again, but it wasn’t awkward. It was a comfortablesilence. They arrived at Crutchie’s door much too quickly for Jack’s liking andhe turned to say goodbye, only for Crutchie to cut him off with a kiss. Theother boy pulled away after a few seconds and unlocked his door, steppinginside. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jack.”

“Wait…” Jack reached ahand out and gently grabbed Crutchie’s wrist. “I…Can we go on another date?” Hecursed to himself, there were so many ways he could have phrased that better.

“What do you think we’redoing tomorrow?” Crutchie laughed and linked their fingers together. “It’s myturn to take you out. I’ll pick you up at noon.”

Jack’s cheeks reddened. “Oh.Alright.” He brought Crutchie’s hand up and kissed his knuckles gently, thenreluctantly pulled away. “Goodnight, Crutchie.” He walked backwards, keepingCrutchie in his sight until he got to the stairs. Then he turned and walkeddown them. He waited about ten steps until he got his phone out to send a textto Crutchie, realizing that the other boy had already texted him.

You’rebetter at kissing than throwing snowballs.

Jack laughed and shookhis head. He tucked his phone back into his pocket and continued on his way,unable to wipe the smile off his face.

[lovesick-feelin]

yes, i am now That Person.

but chapter seven is up!! check it out!!

[heauxkyu]

Idk if you're still doing prompts but maybe "You’re safe now. I’ve got you." for jackcrutchie, if you want?

Hi! I finally had a chance to write this! I actually have never read or written a JackCrutchie fic, but the ship is lovely and tbh idk why i haven’t gotten into it yet? I’m excited to give it a shot! I basically took the concept from the musical (when Jack mentions that he visited Crutchie, but he was too injured to even come to the window) and I changed it up a little to fit what I wanted. Feedback is appreciated!

79. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Jack! Jack, HELP!”

Crutchie’s pained cries echoed in Jack’s ears as he quietly made his way to the Refuge, hidden in the dark shadows cast by the nearby buildings. He tried to move as quickly and as efficiently as possible, though he was afraid his own heartbeat pounding could possibly wake the guards with how loud it seemed inside his own head. He stopped for a moment, holding his shaking hand against his chest, attempting to calm himself so he could actually come up with a plan.

Taking a large breath, Jack continued on, pressing his back up against the occasional alley wall when he heard voices or saw lights heading in his direction. There was no way he was gonna let his best friend suffer in the Refuge alone while he got to wander free, though guilt stricken as he may be. He simply had to break him out. This whole situation was his fault anyway.

Sighing once more, Jack tried to push away the thoughts of the previous days. The police knocking Romeo off of his feet, Les staring in to his eyes, panicked and scared, Race attempting to take on Oscar and Morris Delancey by himself, Crutchie being hit with his own system of support, the strike falling apart right before Jack’s eyes.

Jack tried to drown out the ringing of the word failure repeating itself over and over again in his head.

“So much for good ol’ Cap’n Jack.” He muttered, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the refuge, a run down brick building with several dark windows scattered around the walls. There was absolutely no light coming from the structure, making Jack curse quietly as he hopped over a knocked over trash can and ran up to the side of the building, immediately backing up against a windowless section of the wall, taking a moment to come up with some sort of idea on how to reach Crutchie.

Glancing upward, Jack caught sight of the fire escape winding its way up toward to top of the Refuge. He pursed his lips. No kid caught in there would attempt to escape down the rickety old thing for fear of being heard, seen, or tattled on, but Jack had escaped Snyder once and he wasn’t afraid to do it again. He just had to have Crutchie with him this time.

God, Crutchie.

Jack couldn’t even imagine what the poor boy had been through the first night. He remembered his own first night in the Refuge vividly, how he had to fight off some older boys who tried to steal his stained blankets and stale food from him. Even without a bad leg, Jack had struggled to get rid of them. Crutchie, as tough as he was, didn’t stand a chance, and Jack couldn’t deal with the guilt he would feel simply leaving the boy there alone. He meant too much to Jack, with his kind demeanor and stupid, charming smile, and the way he made Jack feel all warm inside, like there was still some good left in New York and it was standing right in front of him.

“Damnit, Crutchie.” Jack murmured, slinking over to the staircase of the fire escape. He gripped the metal until his knuckles turned white, desperately racking his brain for some way to contact the other boy and find out what window he was near without waking the whole damn building. A few moments passed where Jack grew increasingly frustrated, but eventually he, being the impulsive and slightly ridiculous boy he was, decided to simply start climbing and go from there.

As quietly as he could, Jack made his way up the fire escape, wincing at every creak and groan of the metal, begging it to somehow stay quiet under his weight. He paused once he had reached the middle of the building, moving out of the way of the windows, seeing as some of them were cracked open due to the summer heat. Letting himself relax against the cool bricks, Jack looked down at the windows near his knees, hoping the breeze outside was making its way through the cracks, providing some relief to the poor kids inside.

Wait… some of the windows were cracked! Of course!

Jack grinned, locating the nearest window that was propped open and kneeling next to it so he was out of sight yet able to let out a low whistle followed by two higher notes, a tone that was recognized by nearly every Manhattan newsie. Jack had started the trademark whistle as soon as he became the makeshift leader of the boys, using it whenever he needed to find one of them in a hurry, and soon the whistle became a common form of communication between them. He hoped that, should Crutchie be close, he would recognize the whistle and somehow be able to make it to the window.

It seemed that, tonight, every one of Jack’s prayers was being answered because as soon as he was considering repeating the whistle sound, he heard a weak voice call, “Jack?” into the night. His head snapped up. The voice had come from above, from a window one more level up on the fire escape.

“Jack, is that you?”

Crutchie’s voice was unmistakeable (his unique accent when he said Jack’s name was a dead giveaway), but it quivered slightly, nerves clearly present. Nevertheless, Jack beamed at the sound and responded hurriedly. “Yes! Yeah, Crutchie, it’s me! Listen, don’t move. I’m comin’ up there.”

“Jack ain’t that kinda dangerous?” The hushed voice called again. “You’s lucky that I was even awake. You can’t get caught again!”

“I ain’t gonna get caught!” Jack hissed, starting to tiptoe up the last staircase. “Which window are you at?”

“Third from the left.” Crutchie’s voice whispered. “Be careful.”

As soon as Jack made his way onto the proper level, he was sliding over to the window Crutchie described and crouching down in front of it. Sure enough, as soon as Jack peered inside, he saw Crutchie sitting at the edge of his lofted bed, illuminated by the pale moonlight, his his hands clutching the windowsill.

“Oh god, Crutchie.” Jack whispered, taking in the multiple bruises and cuts scattering the younger boy’s face and collar bone. He was dressed in nothing but an oversized, torn shirt and thin pants that were in a similar state. The blankets on his bed were strewn everywhere, and a recently blown out candle stood dripping wax onto the floor near his pillow. Jack moved closer to the window so he was able to crane his head and look around the rest of the room. It was small, only three or four bunks fit inside it, almost every bed full, but every figure seemingly asleep.

“It’s not as bad as you think.” Crutchie finally said, pulling himself closer to the edge of the window and adjusting himself so he was leaning on his good knee.

“Not as bad as I THINK?” Jack repeated, his voice going up in volume against his will. “Crutchie, they could’a killed ya! Look at you! You’s bruised n’ bleedin’ and you ain’t even been here two days!”

“SHHHH!!” Crutchie hissed, reaching out a hand to shove Jack’s shoulder. “Are you stupid or what? You wanna get us all in trouble?”

Jack scowled, clutching the hand that Crutchie had reached out to him. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, glancing around the room to check that everyone else was asleep, or at least feigning it. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he looked back to the injured boy sitting in front of him.

Without thinking, he reached the hand that wasn’t holding Crutchie’s and moved some of his messy hair out of his eyes. “I just… I hate seein’ you like this.” He tried to ignore the way his stomach churned when Crutchie leaned into his hand and shut his eyes. Attempting to even his breathing, Jack continued, “You’re safe now. I got you. I’m gettin’ you out of here.”  

To his surprise, Crutchie jerked his head away from Jack’s hand and leaned back from the window, falling back onto his butt, causing his bed to creak and him to wince. “What?” He asked, looking at Jack angrily. “No you ain’t.”

Jack looked stunned. It was his turn to ask “What?”

“You ain’t puttin’ the strike in danger to get me out.” Crutchie said, the quiver in his voice gone and the nervous look on his face replaced with a determined frown.

Jack sputtered for a second before managing to get out a “Wha- Crutchie! I came all the way here to rescue you. You’s just gonna turn me down?”

“Jack, you ain’t savin’ me now!” Crutchie responded fiercely. “I ain’t been walkin’ so good as it is and I’s already been soaked somethin’ fierce in here. They’s gotta let me out on they own or the whole strike’s gonna be messed up ‘cause of me.”

“How do I know they gonna let you out? I ain’t just leavin’ you here, kid.” Jack’s tone was turning desperate. “I ain’t leavin’ you here to get beat.”

“If you go back an’ win the strike, I’ll be let out. If you’s over here stuck in the refuge ‘cause of me… strike’s over, Jack. You needta go. Them newsies, they need you.” Crutchie replied, his voice calm yet driving Jack insane. How could he ignore his one opportunity to escape?

“I’m not leaving you.”

Crutchie sighed, running a hand through his hair and staring adamantly away from Jack, blush rising on his cheeks. “Why do you care so much anyway?” He mumbled, reaching down and fiddling with the sheets of his bed.

“Why do I care?” Jack replied, huffing out a laugh and leaning even more forward so that his elbows were resting on the window sill and his face was close to Crutchie’s. “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to. You’s been there for me and now I’m here for you.” He moved a finger under Crutchie’s chin and tilted the other’s face toward him.

Crutchie allowed himself to be turned and looked back at Jack with glistening eyes, his face softening at the older boy’s words. After a slight pause, he smiled sadly.

“I know that you don’t wanna hear me say this, Jack.” He said softly, moving closer to Jack so that they were much closer than they had been before. Jack tried to keep his breathing even as he stared at Crutchie, wishing he could just drag him out of there and get him back on the street selling papes where he’d at least have some of his dignity back.

“I can’t go with you.”

Jack closed his eyes, disappointment filling his chest. He knew Crutchie was right, and he hated that he hand’t thought of it earlier. Of course the strike would be put in danger with Snyder on their tails, but he wanted Crutchie with him. It was selfish, but he didn’t care.

“I want you to.” He finally whispered, not sure why he was even saying it when Crutchie couldn’t be convinced. “I want to know you’re safe.”

“Hey,” Crutchie chuckled, nudging Jack’s shoulder. “I may be a dumb crip, but I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, tell that to the bruises on your ugly mug.” Jack grinned, grabbing Crutchie’s chin again and tilting his head from side to side, inspecting the damage.

“It was a one time thing.” Crutchie replied. “I was the new guy… the easiest target. I got it under control, Jack.” At Jack’s doubtful glance, Crutchie huffed and repeated himself. “I got it under control.”

Jack stared at him for a minute more, doubt still clear in his expression, but he didn’t want to patronize the boy in front of him, and somewhere deep inside him, he knew that Crutchie was one of the toughest people he had ever met, and he would be okay. He just hated that he couldn’t be there to ensure it. Crutchie seemed to sense his inner turmoil because he rolled his eyes and with a slight wince of pain, he propped himself up on his good knee and leaned up so his nose bumped Jack’s, bringing the other boy reeling back into reality.

He jerked back, unprepared for the sudden closeness between them. “What-“ He began to say, but Crutchie only rolled his eyes again, bringing a hand to the back of Jack’s head and pulling him forward.

His lips brushed against Jack’s, his touch feather light yet still sending shivers down the older boy’s spine. Jack was anything but prepared for the kiss, and Crutchie pulled away before he could reciprocate. He blindly followed the other’s movement before catching himself on the windowsill. His eyes shot open and he looked at a sheepish Crutchie, shock overtaking his whole body.

In a moment of great eloquence, Jack said, “Um.”

Crutchie barked out a laugh, clapping his hand over his mouth so he didn’t wake the other kids in the room. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic, Jack Kelly.” He said, his voice hushed.

Jack stared at him incredulously, shaking his head slightly and laughing himself. “You just…” He started, “God, Crutchie, you never stop surprisin’ me. I come here to rescue you and now you’s makin’ moves on me.”

Crutchie only snorted, shifting so he was sitting comfortably on his bed again, allowing more space between him and Jack. The older boy pouted, sticking his bottom lip out dramatically.

“Where ya goin’? I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” He whined, attempting to lean in the window again, only to be pushed back out by Crutchie.

“You’re insane.” Crutchie laughed. “I ain’t kissin’ you again.” He paused. “Well, not here at least.”

Jack grinned. “But you’s sayin’ you’ll do it again?”

Crutchie blushed ferociously, quickly glancing around the room to make sure everyone was still sleeping, noticing a few kids stirring, before whispering. “Maybe. If you get outta here an’ go win me a strike.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but Crutchie held a finger up to his lips and shushed him.

“They’s gonna wake up, Jack. Go. I’ll be fine.”

Nodding silently, Jack retreated from the window, his heart still beating wildly and his brain still trying to wrap itself around the events that just occurred. Standing up and brushing his pants off, he gave Crutchie one last glance and smiled.

“I ain’t gonna let you down.”

Crutchie smiled back at him.

“I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~

PROMPTS CLOSED (bc i have like 10 more to write oops)

[thetomorrowshow]

i will make the sky collapse ch. 3

First - Previous - Read on AO3!

Ok this post is queued bc y’all will not believe how busy I am, so it’ll be on ao3 a little late

CW: referenced violence, food, brief allusion to suicide, spiraling thoughts (from mr. jack kelly himself)

~

Jack had been here all day. When he ran from the rooftop after the disastrous strike, he’d snuck in through the backdoor of the theater and curled up in a corner, shaking and gasping and barely holding back tears. He’d been so close to just throwing himself off the rooftop, close enough that he knew he couldn’t stay there.

Now he hid behind the various set pieces, trying to not disturb anyone who still might be working around here this late. Not that there should be anyone, now. He’d even completely avoided Miss Medda. The woman liked to believe that she knew everything that went on around the theater, and Jack was content enough to let her. He couldn’t be found right now, though. Not when his nose burned and eyes smarted and knees wouldn’t stop shaking.

He would talk to Medda in the morning. It was late now, and all the lights were out, so it wasn’t like he had much of an option otherwise. Talk to her, maybe paint a background or two . . . maybe she would pay him like she offered . . . then he would be out of here, as soon as he could get Crutchie.

Crutchie. His heart practically split in half, and a tear finally slipped down his nose. They got Crutchie. They took him to the one place Jack had tried to save him from his entire life.

He had plans to head there near dawn tomorrow--after he’d spent another day planning things out. It shouldn’t be too hard to get him--or it wouldn’t, had it been anyone other than Crutchie. Any other boy would figure out how to climb down the wall, but it would be impossible without all working limbs. Crutchie’s bad leg wouldn’t be able to support him at all, especially not after the beating he’d taken in the Square (and definitely not after whatever Snyder and his goons had done so far during his stay, but Jack didn’t like to think about that). Jack could go in the front, the only door . . . but there was no way someone wouldn’t see him. There was always a guard or three hanging around, if not the Spider himself. And how would he get Crutchie down the stairs all by his lonesome?

A tiny voice spoke up in the back of his head, one that he’d been pushing down all evening. You coulds just go, it said. Forget about him, forget about all of them. Just go.

I can’t do that, Jack wanted to cry. He’s my brother, I can’ts just abandon him to Snyder!

People don’t stay in our lives forever, Jack, it reminded him. He’d never make it to Santa Fe, anyhow.

Jack couldn’t deny that. Maybe on a better day, in a better month. Maybe when Crutchie was grown, and his leg had calmed down a bit. Not now though, certainly not tomorrow. If Jack was going to leave soon, he was going to do it on his own. He didn’t want none of the others to come with him, anyhow. Only Crutchie.

Jack drew a hand across his tear-stained face, wincing as he brushed one of his bruises. Maybe in the morning he’d have a clearer head, a better understanding of what on earth he was meant to do. It wasn’t like the strike could continue, after all. They’d all end up in the Refuge for sure, or even worse. He’d seen Romeo get socked by that cop, had no idea how he was doing. If they kept on striking, more police would come, better armed and with no qualms about a bunch of stupid street rats.

None of them, save maybe Les, had escaped with zero injuries. Everyone was bleeding and bruised and crying and Crutchie was in the Refuge, and it was all Jack’s fault for getting the riled up about this in the first place. They were just kids! None of them knew what a union was supposed to be, even if Davey knew a bit about them! They were just children playacting at being adults, thinking that the trolley workers were probably having a good old time with no work while they got arrangements for better conditions, not even caring that there were full grown men dying in that strike. People died in strikes, and Jack couldn’t let it happen to any one of his boys, not before they properly got to be a person yet.

So he would leave--no, sleep on it, but he was fairly certain of his choice. Leaving, having to trust that the others would quit the strike and just deal with the raise in prices. That Crutchie would be out in a few months and be good enough to get right back to business, and maybe smiling that face-splitting smile of his eventually. Jack had to believe that he’d--that they’d all--be okay.

He couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in his stomach as he balled his shirt up into a pillow, nor could he stop a few more tears from wetting his cheeks. This was going to be by far the hardest and worst thing he’d ever done. He just had to hold on to Santa Fe. Everything was going to be fine when he got there.

-

Medda had given him one of those disapproving looks of hers, which Jack tried to ignore as his face burned. It had turned to blatant concern when he didn’t refuse her offer of payment. She had let it go, thankfully, and now he was waiting for the base white layer of paint to dry so he could start with the reds and oranges of a sunset. He’d already been waiting for what felt like way too long, so he stuck his thumb to the corner of it. It left a print and came back white, so Jack sighed and wiped it on his shirt--his undershirt, he’d taken his blue button-up off as soon as he’d gotten the paint out.

He couldn’t just not do anything--he could feel his feet itching to go, his head clamoring for his conscious attention. He absently flapped a brush back and forth against his palm, wondering if he could start on another while he waited, get the base coat of that one done and drying while he started on the actual painting of the first one. First he ought to sign this one, though, before he forgot.

Jack always signed his work, usually just on the back of the piece. A quickly scrawled ‘Jack K--’ in black paint, something to set it aside from all the other set pieces. He also knew that the boards would get reused countless times, painted over and cut up and redesigned. It was nice to know that under all that change, his name was there.

He spun it around and cracked open the can of black paint, dipping his brush in lightly and placing it on the blank back of the slab of wood. He could do his name big, more noticeable but with a better chance of getting scraped off. Or tiny, in the corner, somewhere it’d probably stay forever. Then he realized that while he’d been considering, he’d begun painting.

A boy, small, but very clearly a newsie, by his bag. An anguished face. A crutch.

Jack nearly dropped the brush. Was his guilt getting that bad, that he was painting Crutchie out of nowhere? Well, he couldn’t leave him there all alone on the canvas, with such a terrible look on his face. So Jack dipped his brush back in the paint and began another boy, not himself--not now that he was leaving--but Davey, as he liked to think that as Crutchie and Davey would become good friends in time. But Davey needed Les, and Les needed other boys, but of course they couldn’t be painted into this. They were too busy being suffocated by Pulitzer--and with that thought, Jack knew what he was painting.

-

The landscape had started out as any random place, just like all of them did. Mountains, a valley maybe, warm colors and some purple thrown in to capture the magic of a stained-glass sunset, and suddenly it was Santa Fe, exactly as Jack pictured it in his head. This happened with every single backdrop, from meadows to beaches to forests. All of them were Santa Fe, even if they weren’t.

“You ever gonna paint somewhere else, Jack?” a voice asked behind him, as he surveyed his work so far. He chuckled, not turning around, holding his thumb out in front of him the way he’d seen real painters do. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he thought it looked professional-like.

“How could you tell, Miss Medda?”

“Boy, I can tell everything.”

Jack dropped his arm and set his brush down on the floor, wiping his hands on his shirt as he turned around. Medda frowned.

“You are wearing an apron, use it!”

Oh yeah, he was. He moved his hands to it belatedly, smiling a little when Medda laughed at him. She was dressed to leave, not in a costume like Jack had assumed she would be. Were the shows over already?

“I’m heading out for a quick supper,” Medda said, and Jack nodded. One of the shows was over then, the other would be starting soon. He hadn’t lost track of as much time as he thought. “Do you want me to get you somethin’?”

“Aw, don’t worry ya’self over me,” Jack waved off. Sure, he hadn’t had anything to eat all day, but he could grab himself something later. By the look on Medda’s face, she was going to worry herself over him.

“I’ll bring you a sandwich, free of charge,” she said, reaching forward to pat his shoulder. He winced; he hadn’t realized he had a bruise there. Medda gave him another look, then turned to leave. Over her shoulder, she called, “By the way, Jack, there’s someone here to see you. I told him to wait in box five.”

Jack froze. They’d found him. It had to be Davey, didn’t it? The other boys knew that he stopped by the theater every so often, but didn’t know about his paintings. They just thought he knew one of the actors, or was getting food from the back or something. Only Davey and Les knew he worked here on occasion.

Jack put off visiting the box until after Miss Medda returned and told him to get up there before she sent the kid off herself. It was time to confess, he supposed. Let them know he wanted the strike to stop, and was leaving anyhow. At least someone would be able to tell Crutchie where he’d gone. And Katherine, if she cared.

This time he remembered to wipe his hands on his apron, then bundled it up and threw it into a corner. The painting wasn’t done, but he wanted to let it all dry before adding his finishing details. Every time he’d painted before, he hadn’t waited at all and it always came out looking more smudged than he wanted, so he’d decided to experiment a bit. Maybe it would look okay.

He couldn’t put it off any longer, it was time to face the music--or, Davey, rather. Jack knew his way around the theater, so it wasn’t hard to avoid the milling patrons in the lobby completely and skip straight up to box five, ready to talk to--

Specs?

“Specs?”

Specs.

“Specs.”

Specs leaped up from where he’d been perching on the edge of one of the fancy theater chairs, looking guilty as anything. When he saw Jack, though, his face brightened. “You’re all right!”

“Yeah, better than ever,” Jack griped, his eyes caught on the nasty hand-shaped bruise wrapped around Specs’s forearm. “Whaddya need?”

“We’s thought you mighta gotten grabbed by Snyder,” Specs said, looking him up and down, no doubt taking in his relatively few injuries. “The Delanceys been sayin’ you ran. I think some o’ the fellas mighta believed it, but Race thought ya’d be here so I cames by as soon as I could!”

Jack hadn’t counted on telling anyone other than Davey where he was going, but maybe this was for the best. Davey was so new to this, there was no way he could be in charge. Race was the first to come to mind for his replacement, but Race was so stupidly impulsive that Jack wasn’t sure he would be able to keep the boys in line. Specs would do well, though, at least until a better choice came forward. Used to the life, but always a little separate from the others, focusing more on the job than the social aspect. Still, he could have fun, and he was quietly loyal. Yeah, Specs would make a pretty good replacement. Jack opened his mouth to say something along those lines when a dirty scrap of paper was shoved in his face.

“What’s this?” he said instead.

Specs looked nervous and abashed at the same time. “Letter from Crutchie,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I went ta visit last night and he askeds me to give it to ya.”

Jack stared at the paper, taking in none of its details, then shifted his gaze to Specs. His eyes looked honest, if a bit anxious, mouth curved hopefully at the corner. The scrape on his cheek was ugly, but didn’t look infected. Davey must’ve made them all clean up with soap. That was another thing he’d have to tell Specs to remember. If he was going to be in charge, he had to know that Elmer hated the texture of the soap so bad he wouldn’t use it and had to be threatened, that Race sometimes liked to impulsively smear dirt on his wounds to try and get sympathy when it got infected.

Crutchie had written to him.

Jack grabbed the letter so quickly it almost tore, sending Specs stumbling back. Now that he was focused on it, that was definitely Crutchie’s handwriting, starting out relatively neat and just devolving into larger loops and tinier scribbles as it carried on. The paper was dirty, the pencil smudged here and there, and a rusty stain in the middle of the paper that made Jack’s stomach turn as he imagined how it had gotten there.

“I’ll just be headin’ back,” he heard Specs say distantly, but Jack couldn’t look away from the letter. Crutchie had held this, just last night, and he had been alive. Well enough to write a whole letter. Well enough to still have his sense of humor (Jack snorted at his joke about the food, then remembered the sentence preceding it and immediately sobered). Maybe even well enough to escape?

His letter read that he was already coming up with escape plans of his own, which was a good sign for his morale. It also said, though, that he was exhausted and his leg was doing bad.

Well, there was no way Jack couldn’t visit him now. Early in the morning was best--probably when the moon was about halfway done setting--and from there he would see whether or not Crutchie would be coming with him. Then back to the theater to lay low for a bit and finish the backdrop (there was no way Jack would be able to even think about finishing it tonight), then catch a train to Santa Fe and be out of here forever. If Crutchie did come, though, he’d have to do at least two more sets, get enough money for the both of them to make the trip. And of course, he still had to speak to Specs about taking over. Davey would come for him eventually, so he had to come up with something to placate him.

Why did nobody tell him that running away would take so much effort and planning?

The show was starting soon, and that sandwich was still waiting for him in the back room, so Jack ducked out of the box, tucking the letter into his pocket. He had to get ready for a break-in tonight, there was no time to waste.

[all-is-unwell]

my brain: okay, so, you have 3 projects, 2 essays, and 8 overdue assignments to do before tomorrow

me: fuck it im gonna read fanfiction

[crutchie-with-a-y]

Late Night Newsies

Hello, this is a new idea for a series I could do. Please let me know if you like it and who I should do next <3

Jack Kelly

The coffee sitting on the table with a broken leg had gone cold, but the whiskey in the old glass that Jack was sipping warmed him slightly. He was freezing, his fingers burning around his paint brush and goosebumps littering his arms. It was thirty five degrees outside and raining, but he’d left his window wide open, liking the fresh air and how alert the cold kept him. He clicked his teeth against the glass and spun a brush between his thumb and forefinger, not minding the flecks of paint that spattered across his already stained white t-shirt and blue jean as he observed the canvas before him. It was way to late to be moving, but when he was lost in a painting, Jack could be awake for days.

[deafclintb]

Alright, everyone. A note before this:

You may have seen this before. That’s okay! It was likely on my old blog, the one that got deleted when I decided to redo everything. So this is 100% a repost on this new blog!

Put the Gun Down and Step Away

Summary: Jack wasn't supposed to make it home from the war. He didn't deserve to, not more than Crutchie.

TW: TW: Suicidal thoughts/almost an attempt, PTSD, gun use, war violence, MIA/missing person

Characters: Jack Kelly, Davey Jacobs, Crutchie Morris

Ships: Jackcrutchie

A/N: This takes place mid and post-WWII

AO3

Jack wasn’t supposed to make it home alone.

His best friend he’d made was from New York, too. They were going to get back and share an apartment.

It had been five months since he’d made it back from the war and his best friend didn’t. Five months exactly.

Fighting was hell. Crutchie was the only thing that made it genuinely bearable.

The first time they’d met, Jack made a joke about the 18-year-old needing crutches permanently after the war, since the kid refused to recognize any injury he got unless it was major. Jack and the few buddies he’d gotten slightly close with remember being like that when they first enlisted (literally one year earlier), eager to die doing their duty or something like that. They wouldn’t let a stupid sprained ankle take them out or having them rest for a few hours.

The group just laughed it off with the kid, watching him limp along and constantly re-injuring himself.

Jack cared about everyone he was around, obviously. Some didn’t get along with him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care. They could bump heads all day, he’d still push them out of the way of a bullet in a heartbeat.

C was different, though. He was nicknamed before Jack even knew the guy’s real name (which was Charlie, by the way. Jack found that out a few weeks later). He couldn’t explain why or how… he just was.

The first few weeks of Crutchie being there was relaxed. He was obviously willing to do whatever, whenever, as long as it benefited everyone. He always seemed to be injured, Jack even wrapped up a pair of crutches in some newspapers as a gift for the younger’s nineteenth birthday. Crutchie pretended to be annoyed, but those crutches laid near his bed until he was gone.

It was then that there was an unspoken rule that, no matter what, they’d stay best friends. Even if they ended up living their own lives on separate sides of the city after the war, they’d keep in touch. They had to.

The two had gone through however many change of locations, battles, arguments, covering up the other’s dumb mistakes…

Among other things they’d managed to sneak in the few moments of privacy they got.

Comforting touches, talking through nightmares, shedding a few tears, small kisses, and...other things they’d managed to do in their precious alone time.

Jack informed Crutchie early on that they didn’t have the worst spot. Sure, there were better, calmer places to be, but there sure as hell were a lot worse, too.

Well, until they get sent in as reinforcements somewhere else in the Pacific. That also guaranteed that they were likely going to be plopped down in the middle of some shit.

Everyone who had been through this before was uneasy. People like Crutchie who still had a somewhat romanticised view of war were almost excited. They had this idea that they’d become a hero after their first big battle rather than a statistical probability that they’d die or get seriously injured.

C didn’t even make it to the end of whatever battle they were dropped into. It ended up lasting ten days or so before they could ease up.

Everyone had been split into different groups so they could try to corner everyone and it would be an easy victory. Obviously, like usual, their plans fell apart.

The constantly humid June heat was exhausting, everyone was beyond exhausted, and those who were supposed to be the reinforcements were being spread thin. This meant they fell into traps far more than at the start, no one had any extra water on them, and sleep was usually out of the question.

Crutchie and Jack were in different groups, which stressed them out, but there wasn’t time to try and switch things up (plus, the consequences for that weren’t quite worth it). Jack wouldn’t have been as worried if the stupid boy he’d developed feelings for wasn’t going into this with some injured muscle in his arm that no one but Jack knew about.

God knows what else he’d hurt in this.

Regrouping and figuring out casualties after battles was always hard. Confirming deaths, having to declare someone missing even though you knew they were gone, and not knowing whether someone was actually missing or if they were dead was hard.

When someone confirmed that Charlie Morris was definitely missing, likely alive…

Jack spent the rest of that night as alone as he could possibly be.

Maybe he’d be able to get back within the next week.

When a week went by, Jack changed that goal post to be a month.

By the time Jack got home, he knew that there was almost no chance he would ever see C again. All he wanted changed from knowing Crutchie was coming home to just hoping he wasn’t fucked up too bad before…

God, he hoped C wasn’t waiting, thinking they’d forgotten about him. He’d rather have Crutchie dead and not hurting over thinking he got abandoned.

Upon arriving home, he met up with an old friend that had joined the Navy anda had just gotten home. Davey understood Jack and Jack understood Davey. They got an apartment together in the city and things were… okay. Sure, neither of them slept through the night and it was difficult to adjust to being home, but they made it work. Jack sure as hell was glad he wasn’t alone.

One of the things he and Davey agreed on was that they’d both feel better with a gun in the apartment. Nothing huge, just a pistol. It was like a safety blanket that they kept hidden in case of an emergency.

Jack guessed this wasn’t an emergency, but then he found himself sitting at the kitchen counter with the pistol in front of him.

It was loaded, he knew that. He’d been the one to load it once he got it out tonight. That was about an hour ago, he thought.

The clock that said it was 2:30 AM implied he’d been there much longer than that.

He just wanted to have let C come back and not himself. If he could’ve gone missing and never been found…

Crutchie had deserved to come back more, in Jack’s opinion. Crutchie hadn’t even gotten to really experience what he enlisted to do before he was just gone. Not even dead, but probably captured and--Jack didn’t even want to think about what his last memories would have been. How long was he even being held by whoever had him? Days? Weeks? Months?

The idea of it being a year or more made Jack want to vomit.

The idea of going to a place where Jack would be with Crutchie and not be here at all was uncomfortably tempting.

“Jack?”

Jack hadn’t realized he’d picked up the gun and that Davey had heard a sob come out of his mouth.

That wasn’t how this was supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to worry his friend like that.

If he was going to do it, he’d at least have the decency to not do it with his roommate home.

“Go back to bed. I’m fine,” Jack whispered and dragged the back of one of his hands across his eyes.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Davey sighed and took a few steps closer. He put his hands up in surrender when he noticed Jack’s knuckles turn white around the gun. “I’m not coming any closer, I promise.”

“I just…” Jack trailed off and refused to raise his  voice any higher than the whisper. “It shouldn’t’ve been me. I don’t deserve…”

Davey understood, and he listened. But he also tracked every movement that his friend made with the gun.

“I know it feels that way,” he agreed gently, taking a step closer while Jack looked away to wipe his eyes again. “I understand, I do. But from what you’ve told me, it sounds like he’d be saying the exact same thing if he was here and you weren’t. So can you just… put the gun down and step away? Talk to me?”

It was a long few moments before Jack shakily set it down so the barrel wasn’t facing either of them. It was only another moment before Davey was behind him, wrapping him in a hug with one arm and pushing the firearm out of Jack’s reach with the other.

Jack didn’t care. The second he’d made physical contact with Davey, he broke down. He let everything out into his friend’s tight embrace.

[str4wb3rry-fire]

i need jackcrutchie and/or sprace fic recs ... please ... im itching for them ...

[crunchie-morris]

Woohoo, I updated my fanfic! Give it a read, if you want!

[dont-sneeze]

When things take a turn for worse after the strike, Jack has to make choice between digging up his past that he’s hidden so well, and to keep hidden, risking Crutchie’s life. Really though, there wasn’t even a choice. Was there?

—

I’ve put this on tumblr before but now it’s on AO3! Please give it a read and tell me what you think!! I'm writing the next chapter now.

[broooklynshere-blog]

Only Love Can Save The World (A Wonder Woman AU)

[So. This is a beginning to my first multichapter fic. It is an AU where Jack is Diana Prince and Crutchie is Steve Trevor. Hope you all enjoy! You can also read it on ao3. ~Eva]

Long ago, when time was new and all of history was still a dream, the gods ruled the earth. Zeus king among them. He created beings over which the Gods would rule. Beings born in his image fair and good, strong and passionate. He called his creation "Man". And mankind was good. But Zeus' son grew envious of mankind and sought to corrupt his father's creation. This was Ares, the God of War. Ares poisoned men's hearts with jealousy and suspicion. He turned them against one another and war ravaged the Earth. So, the gods created us, the Amazons, to influence men's hearts with love and restore peace to the Earth. And for a brief time, there was peace. But it did not last. Your mother, The Amazon Queen, led a revolt that freed us all from enslavement. When Zeus led the gods to our defense, Ares killed them one by one until only Zeus himself remained. Zeus used the last of his power to stop Ares, striking such a blow, the god of war was forced to retreat. But Zeus knew, that one day Ares might return to finish his mission. An endless war, where mankind would finally destroy themselves and us with them. So Zeus left us a weapon, one powerful enough to kill a god. Only the fiercest among us could ever wield it…

Jack knew he was special.

It wasn’t just being the only child and only boy on an island full of grown women. It was more than that. His mother sculpted him out of clay and prayed for Zeus to bring him to life, she wanted him so much. He knew that was special. He could tell in the way that Antiope trained him, harder than any of the others. He could see the way the women adored him, how they loved him. But he could also see the difference in how they treated him, careful with him always. Jack, Prince of the Amazons, knew that it was these things and more that made him special. He could feel it in the tingle that went through him when his mother spoke of the God Killer, the weapon gifted to them from Zeus to defend against Ares. He didn’t understand that it was his being special that would drag him away from the island, his mother, and the rest of his family.

Jack was on a break from training, taking a little walk along the cliffs that overlooked the sea. He enjoyed the ocean. It was calm, serene and blue and stretching on as far as he could see. His mother would tell him stories about the ocean, the great sea god Poseidon who was also slaughtered in the war against Ares. He loved his home. Themyscira was an absolute paradise, his mother was correct. He silently thanked the gods for providing them with such a place, a home where they could be safe.

He was broken out of his thoughts by a whirring sound. His eyes shot up and he stared over the sea, searching for the source of the sound. There was a ripple in the air and suddenly, a giant…thing appeared in the sky. It looked like some type of giant bird, with smoke coming out of it and bits of debris flying off into the air. It crashed into the sea, sending ripples around it as it slowly sank into the water.

Jack hesitated a moment, battling between curiosity and his sense of self preservation. In the end, curiosity won out. He dove into the sea, swimming steadily towards the strange object. It was no bird. It was completely foreign, some type of flying machine. He swam quicker and his heart sped up as he saw there was someone inside it. Not just someone, it was another man. The first one Jack had ever seen. He was unconscious, eyes shut and arms drifting through the sea as he sank towards the bottom. Jack swam faster and tugged him free, swimming towards the surface quickly. Their heads broke the surface and Jack inhaled deeply, making sure the other man’s face and head were above the water. He swam towards shore, tugging his passenger along. He dragged the man onto the sandy beach and laid him down, examining his face eagerly. The man was beautiful. Sandy blonde hair, much like Jack’s mothers, was plastered against his forehead where it stuck out from beneath his cap. It was short, unlike any hair Jack had ever seen. He reached back and touched his own long braid, which trailed halfway down his back. Did other men have short hair? He gently touched his fingers against the man’s cheek, feeling a hint of stubble. He jumped back slightly as the man coughed up some water and opened his eyes, looking around frantically before focusing on Jack’s face.

“You’re a man.” The wonder was obvious in Jack’s face as he stared, awestruck.

“Uh…yeah. I mean, don’t I look like one?” The man sat up slightly and looked around. “Where are we?”

“Themyscira.” Jack replied confidently, not taking his eyes from the man’s face. “Who are you?”

There was a shout behind them and the man jumped to his feet. “I’m one of the good guys. Those are the bad guys, the Germans. We need to move.”

“The Germans?” Jack had never heard of such a thing, in all his reading. Giant ships sailed towards them, along with smaller boats containing more men.

“Jack!” Jack’s mother appeared on horseback, joined by the rest of the Amazons. “Step away from him!” It was then that she noticed the boats, the men sailing towards the shore. “Ready your bows!”

“Come on!” The man grabbed Jack’s hand and tugged him behind the rocks, watching as the Amazons fired arrows at the boats. “They have guns, don’t they?”

Jack assumed that guns were what the men were firing back at the Amazons, weapons that shot tiny metal arrows at a great speed. He watched in horror as one Amazon was shot down as they jumped from the cliffs. Horses rode in, led by Antiope. The battle raged on but seemed to turn in the Amazons’ favor. Antiope and her warriors were a force to be reckoned, each one taking out multiple Germans in a single stroke. The man raced out and wrestled a gun from one of the German troops, shooting at them and joining the ranks of the Amazons. Jack edged out from the shelter of the rock and grabbed a bow, firing at one of the Germans. The arrow connected and the soldier was brought down. It was the first time Jack had killed. He grabbed the sword of a fallen warrior and fought another one off, killing him with a swipe across the chest. It was simple, the same as training. He focused on the task at hand, sending a few more soldiers down. The battle was slowing down. Only a few Germans remained, their bodies littered across the beach along with the fallen Amazons. Jack took out one last solider and took a moment to breathe, staring at the carnage.

“NO!” He heard a scream and whipped around in time to see Antiope leap in front of a bullet that was clearly meant for him.

“No!” Jack sprinted and slid to his knees in front of Antiope. Shots rang out around them but he vaguely heard them, focused on the blood that coated Antiope’s side. “No, no, Antiope…”

“Jack…” Antiope grabbed his hand, clinging to it. “The…The time has come. You…You must…”

“What, Antiope?” Jack cupped her face with his free hand, tears filling his eyes. She was dying and there was nothing he could do about it.

“The God Killer. Jack, go. Go…” The light drained from Antiope’s eyes and her grip on Jack’s hand slackened.

“Go where? Antiope, go where?” Jack clung to her body. “No…no….no!” He looked up, desperately searching for help. There was none. Antiope, the fiercest warrior the Amazons had ever seen and Jack’s beloved aunt, was dead.

Jack was furious. He ran from his mother, away from the women refusing to take action and ignoring their mission. His mother’s words rang in his ears.

Men are easily corrupted.

There is much you do not understand.

You are not an Amazon like the rest of us. You will do nothing. As your Queen I forbid it.

The interrogation of the man that Jack pulled to shore went well, in Jack’s opinion. He learned a lot. His name was Charlie Morris and he was a captain in the American army, wherever America was. He was a spy sent to collect information on the Germans, who were building great and terrible weapons. He was chased down after stealing the plans for a terrible gas that would kill thousands if it was unleashed. There was a war going on, a world war. The war to end all wars. Millions dead, women and children slaughtered. Home destroyed and villages decimated. Jack was absolutely convinced that it was Ares behind the war. His mother and the others refused to see sense. He slowed as he approached the cave where the man was being kept. It wasn’t his intention to go there, but his feet had carried him. He longed to talk to the man- Charlie- again. He glanced behind him, then made his way into the cave.

Charlie was just climbing out of the pools of water when Jack walked into the cave. He spluttered and quickly moved to cover himself. “Don’t you people knock?”

Jack ignored him and examined his body with great interest. He was built much like Jack, but a bit…softer. His wooden leg was off to the side, revealing a stump that ended just above the knee. “Do all men look like you?”

Charlie seemed surprised by the question. He carefully inched down and dried himself, fastening his leg back on. “Not all men, no. I mean, some do. We all look different.”

Jack nodded. “So all men do not have one leg?”

Charlie laughed slightly. “No. No, most have two legs. I lost mine when I was a kid to polio.”

“Polio?” Jack tilted his head to the side questioningly.

“It’s a disease. Killed a lot of people. I was lucky.” Charlie shrugged. “I uh….I didn’t get a chance to thank you before. For dragging me out of the water.”

“Thank you for what you did on the beach. It was…brave.” Jack’s eyes focused on the object in Crutchie’s hands. “What is that? Is it a helmet? Doesn’t look very sturdy.”

Charlie looked down. “This? Oh, this is a hat. My dad gave it to me, before he died. I used to sell newspapers and it was kind of part of the uniform.” He smiled slightly. “So, am I allowed to leave here?”

Jack sighed. “I tried. I tried to convince them, I even asked to go with you.” He blushed. “I mean, all of us. Amazons. The Amazons.” He looked down. “My mother thinks it’s too dangerous.”

“Can’t say I blame her.” Charlie got to his feet and pulled on his shirt, buttoning it. “The way this is going, I wouldn’t want anyone I care about near it.”

Jack tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Then why do you want to go back?”

Charlie huffed a laugh. “I don’t think want is the right word. My father once said that if you something wrong happening in the world, you can either do nothing or you can do something.” He shrugged. “I already tried nothing.”

Jack stared at him for a few moments, then turned and ran out of the cave. He knew what he had to do. Charlie Morris was right. There was a choice, between doing something and nothing. Jack had to do something. An hour later, on a boat sailing away from the only world Jack had ever known and with the God Killer pressed against his side, Jack knew he made the right choice. If he would not fight for the defenseless, who would?

[lovesick-feelin]

HI EVERYONE SHAMELESS SELF PROMO BUT CHAPTER FOUR OF MY JACKCRUTCHIE FIC IS UP (featuring eventual bonus sprace!! wow!! aren’t you lucky!!!)

go read it plssssssss thanks

[somanyspoons]

Jackcrutchie angst? Pls?

Waste of Time - Newsies

Prompt: "jackcrutchie angst?"

Words: 547

Ships: jackcrutchie, or as i like to call it, crack

Warnings: none

Genre: Angst, fluff at the end

Summary: Jack worries about the strike.

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Crutchie opened his eyes, not even sure why he was awake. He looked up at the sky; it was still dark. Stars twinkled gently from a million lightyears away. He looked to his left and sighed heavily as he found Jack’s side of the bed empty.

He managed to get down the ladder without stumbling, and walked down the hall, stopping when he heard soft humming coming from an open doorway. Peeking inside the room, Crutchie found him standing at a wall, brush in hand, and colors all over the wall.

“Hey Jack,” Jack turned around, startled, before realizing it was only Crutchie. Crutchie made a note of the dark circles hanging under Jack’s eyes.

“Hey Crutchie.” Paint was splattered everywhere, on his hands, on his shoes, even a smear of green paint in his hair.

“What’re you paintin’?”

“Not sure, yet. Jus’ painting. Calms me down.” Crutchie nodded, understandingly.

“When did you sleep last, Jack?”

Jack let out a short laugh. “This city never sleeps, why should I?” Resuming painting, he dabbed a bit of yellow paint onto the wall.

Crutchie stood, watching him paint for a while, before addressing the elephant in the room. “You scared for tomorrow?”

Jack sniffed. “Be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t.” He paused. “I shouldn’t be, though. I’m the leader of this strike, n’they need a leader who exudes confidence, not terror.”

Crutchie hobbled his way over to Jack, putting his free hand on his shoulder. “No one is expecting you to be fearless, Jackie. You’ve never done this before; n’fact none of us has any clue what we’re doin’.”

Jack turned to face Crutchie, clutching his paintbrush like a ragdoll in his hands. “That’s exactly it, Crutchie, nobody knows what they’re doin’! Brooklyn’s not joining us ‘till they see we can hold our own, and what if we can’t? What’ll happen then?” His voice rose. “We’s’ll go back to the way things were, that’s what’ll happen, ‘cept with bruises on our faces and holes in our pockets.” Jack realized it was the middle of the night and lowered his voice. Crutchie tried to interrupt, but Jack was on a tangent now. “What if one of ‘em get’s hurt?” He looked at Crutchie, and the boy could see tears in his eyes. “I’d never forgive myself in anything happened.”

Crutchie leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Jack’s paint-splattered cheek. “It’ll be okay, Jackie.”

“What if something happens to you, Crutchie? What if it turns violent and you can’t get away in time?”

Crutchie couldn’t help but laugh. “Jack Kelly, you’re something else.”

“What?” He protested.

“Sometimes things happen. Things that we can’t prepare for. No matter how much you worry, there will always be something you haven’t prepared for. You have to take life as it comes, instead of tryin’ta stay one step ahead.” Jack turned back to his mural, and Crutchie kept on.

“No matter what happens, tomorrow, Jack, the newsies will still be behind you.”

Crutchie smiled as he saw Jack’s resolve crumbling. He reached down and took Jack’s hand.

“Come back to bed, baby.” Crutchie crooned, leaning his head on Jack’s shoulder. “I can think of much better things we could be doing instead of worrying.”

That was an offer Jack couldn't refuse.

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Sorry it was so short, apparently I can only write during the Ungodly Hours of the Night because it's 4:28 AM ;)

Hope you enjoyed!! Requests are still open :)