I have returned! And we finally have the sequel to Riding Palominos! So, for this story, you're really going to want to have read Riding Palominos; it depends a lot on character relationships that were established in the first one. Also, if you thought Riding Palominos was unbearably long, I've got some bad news for you. This will most likely be longer. It has roughly the same amount of plot points, but in this story, you get Jack, Crutchie, Jessie, and JT's POVs, rather than just limiting it to Jack and Crutchie.

So, a little about the story as a heads up, I suppose. It takes place four years after Riding Palominos. Jack is 21. Crutchie is 20. Jessie is 22. JT is 19. Other characters ages don't matter as much. This is a romance (or an attempt at one, because I really am not the best at writing mushy scenes and whatnot) but it will be a fun romance. Arson, abduction, gun fights, all the good stuff. Also, this story will feature your favorite Manhattan (and Brooklyn!) newsies, in later chapters. What's a Newsies fic without the rest of the newsboys?

That's probably about all you need to know, so go ahead, start reading, my ostriches.

November 4, 1903

Crutchie sat astride his chestnut stallion that Claude had purchased for him the prior year for his birthday. As he surveyed the green, wide valley before him, he could not keep the pride and joy that swelled in his chest down. Crutchie had never been happier than he was in this moment, with a cool breeze ruffling the strands of golden-brown hair that protruded from the Stetson hat that had been his since he first came out to Santa Fe, four long years ago. The sun shone gently down on him as he noticed a rider across the fields, making their way in his direction. Crutchie's horse shifted as the rider neared and Crutchie calmingly placed his hand on the horse's neck. "Shh, it's okay, Dustin."

"Don't you know what time it is?" the rider accused, as she drew her painted horse to a stop. The rider had long strawberry-blonde hair that had been pulled into a loose braid slung over her shoulder. She had a round face with piercing green eyes that caught every movement, every micro-expression and had it all tagged and catalogued before Crutchie could even open his mouth. And currently, those green eyes were glaring at him, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Can't a guy get some time to himself?" Crutchie asked, grinning at Jessie. Ever since the kidnapping—and eloping, though no one else knew the full extent of what had happened—Jessie and Crutchie had grown to be best friends, trusting each other with just about everything. As Crutchie used to explain, "You learn a lot about someone when you're trying to escape a possibly homicidal kidnapper together."

Jessie rolled her eyes. "Not today. You should know that. Anyway, Syd, Clark, and company just showed up and ma was wondering where you were."

"And what did you tell her?"

"Well, I didn't think she would appreciate the term 'running off to be free,' so I said you were probably out thinking."

"I'm not running off to be free."

"And you're definitely not thinking, but I thought it was the lesser of the lies."

Crutchie grinned. "You're an idiot."

"As are you. Come on, ma can't hold the crowd off forever. And you know how JT gets around Tres Leches."

"Don't I know it. Race you?" Crutchie challenged, shifting in the saddle to prepare himself.

Jessie's response was to simply urge her mare, Paint, into a gallop. "Catch up, crip!" she shouted. Crutchie rolled his eyes, before spurring Dustin into a ground-eating gallop, easily catching up to the older girl. She glanced back at him, grinning wildly as her horse sped up, clouds of dust pounded up under Paint's flashing hooves.

It wasn't long until the pair reached the ranch house and Crutchie reigned Dustin in, patting the stallion's neck. "Good job," he murmured to the horse as it nickered softly.

"Good job?" Jessie mocked. "I beat you."

"Maybe I let you win," Crutchie suggested, grabbing his crutch from its designated spot. Once he had realized that riding horses was not nearly as difficult as he had initially thought, Crutchie had quickly discovered that there was no good place to keep a crutch. He had tried tucking it under an arm, but dropped it more often than not. Crutchie had also tried straddling it across his knees, but it only jolted up and down with the movement of the horse and left twin bruises on his legs. It had been Clark that had figured out what to do about the troublesome rod of wood. Clark had been watching Crutchie ride and drop the crutch mid-race with Jack. He had approached Crutchie with a new saddle the next week, this one equipped with two extra loops of leather behind the cantle that could hold the crutch horizontally in place on the back of the saddle while he rode. It did require Crutchie to be more aware of the area around him and he had bumped the edge of the crutch into countless trees and people, but it was the best solution thus far.

Crutchie swiftly dismounted, using the crutch to help balance himself. He had come a long way since his first time dismounting, which had left him with a broken wrist. Though, honestly, that hadn't been a dismount; that had been a fall. And the first time he really tried to get off the horse and had managed to reinjure his re-broken wrist even further. Now, getting on and off Dustin was just as simple as hopping in and out of bed.

He grabbed the reins, gently tugging Dustin into the stable. With practiced movements, Crutchie brushed the chestnut stallion down, leaving some extra oats in his feed. He glanced up at Jessie, who was watching him brush the horse down. "What?" Crutchie asked. "Don't have a comeback?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't need a comeback. Come on, idiot."

Crutchie followed Jessie out of the stable, removing the familiar Stetson to run a hand through his sweaty blonde hair. Crutchie had allowed it to grow out and it now extended just past the nape of his neck. He brushed some of the sweat from his brow, wiping his hand on his shirt, before returning the cowboy hat to its rightful place. Crutchie had barely made it inside the house when he was assaulted by a blur of red plaid that propelled itself into his knees, nearly knocking Crutchie off of his balance. "Uncle Crutchie!" the blur shouted, hugging his knees tightly.

"Hey, there, squirt. What're you doin' here?" Crutchie asked, reaching down to ruffle the dark brown hair of the small child clutching his legs. Wesley Holloway was the eldest child of Clark and Mae-Anne and would be turning four in the upcoming August. He was a short, pudgy sort of thing, with wide gray eyes and a smile that could not be contained.

"Cake!" Wesley exclaimed looking up at Crutchie, before re-burying his face in Crutchie's legs.

"Ah, and that is where the little troublemaker got to," Clark announced, before patting Crutchie on the shoulder. Clark had decided to grow a beard, much to the dismay of his younger brothers, the only distinction from how he had looked four years previous. The brown eyes and brown hair, firm jaw and wide shoulders remained intact; the beard was the sole new addition. Now, Clark, when hugging a family member, would rub the scruffy beard against the victim's cheek until they squirmed and screamed. "And, look, Wesley is here, too."

"Oh, shut up, Clark," Crutchie muttered, carefully extricating his legs from Wesley's hold. "Where's your little brother?" he asked the three-year-old.

"Dunno," Wesley responded, shrugging his shoulders in a comically exaggerated manner. He grabbed at Crutchie's left hand. "I want to show you something."

"Okay, just one moment," Crutchie promised. "Where's Jed?"

Clark grinned, before imitating his son. "Dunno."

At that moment, Mae-Anne entered the room, the child in question on her hip. Jedson Holloway was only a year old and had his mother's blonde hair and big brown eyes that took everything in solemnly. "Found 'im!" Wesley shouted, pointing a grubby finger in Jed's direction.

"Good job, Wesley," Crutchie congratulated as Mae-Anne came over and hugged him. "Hi, Mae-Anne. How's it going?" Mae-Anne had more wrinkles around her eyes, which Crutchie attributed to the responsibility of raising a family. Her blonde hair had been pulled into a hasty ponytail after Jed had immediately grabbed for the strands within reach. Her gray eyes, though perhaps more tired, shone with laughter and vitality.

"Oh, you know, just as well as it can be going when one has three babies to take care of."

"I take offense to that!" Clark exclaimed as Crutchie laughed.

Crutchie was going to add a comment, but Wesley started tugging even harder at his hand. "Come on, Uncle Crutchie. I gotta show you."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he promised, before glancing apologetically at Clark and Mae-Anne. "I'll talk to you later?" he proposed.

"Go," Mae-Anne said, kindly shooing him after her son. "Wesley has been wanting to see you all week."

"What do you want to show me?" Crutchie asked as Wesley led him through the house to the front room.

"It's a surprise," Wesley explained, tugging Crutchie along. "I can't tell you."

"Clearly," Crutchie agreed.

Wesley continued to pull Crutchie until they finally reached the front room. He darted away from Crutchie to the corner of the room, out of Crutchie's eyesight. "I see Wesley finally found you," a voice that Crutchie had known for as long as he could remember remarked. Crutchie turned, smiling as Jack hugged him. The older boy was now twenty-one and had shot up a couple inches, further securing the height difference between the pair. Crutchie had grown taller, he had. But Jack's five inches outshone Crutchie's three. Jack had put on more muscle, with the constant strains of ranch work, and enjoyed comparing his biceps with JT and Crutchie, who Crutchie was proud to admit, had also filled out a bit more. "I swear, Clark and Mae-Anne got here and Wesley came up to me and I was thinking, 'Finally! Maybe I'll actually be the favorite uncle,' but, no. He just wanted to ask me where you were." Jack punctuated his sentence by poking Crutchie in his chest.

"Well, Wesley does have a good taste in people," Crutchie pointed out.

"That's not true," Jack argued, his dark brown eyes narrowing.

Crutchie shrugged. "If the shoe fits…"

Jack rolled his eyes. "What do you think, Syd?" he asked the older man lounging on the couch across the room, one arm around his new wife, a young woman by the name of Deborah.

"I think Wesley is three. And you both are idiots," Syd muttered. The older Holloway brother had decided, in retaliation, Crutchie suspected, to grow a goatee. He had spent an entire meal, one night when the entire family had gathered together, explaining the intricacy of shaving a goatee and why he had the more impressive facial hair because "any idiot could grow a beard." Clark had then accidentally, of course, spilled his water in Syd's lap and remarked that any idiot could wet his pants.

"What stunning conclusions you've arrived at. How do you do that?" Deborah asked sarcastically. When Syd had first brought Deborah home to meet the family, the Holloway brothers had immediately declared her way outside Syd's league. She had soft blonde hair that bounced into curls naturally and a petite face that was as fair as china. Deborah had soft blue eyes that lit up whenever Syd was nearby and a mouth that was always poised to, either, smile and flirt with Syd or tease him mercilessly.

"Come on, Debby. You're supposed to mock my family, not me."

"I'm pretty sure that was not what I agreed to when I married you last month."

"It was in the fine print," Syd explained.

Debby rolled her eyes, before cuddling closer to Syd. They had started dating a couple months after Crutchie and Jessie had returned from their near-kidnapping and had been practically inseparable since. Syd had worked nearly three years to prove to Debby's father, a stern man with a thick gray moustache that always seemed to curl up when Syd entered the room, that he could take care of the man's only daughter. Now, Syd and Debby were living in the same ranch house as Clark and Mae-Anne and their children. Syd and Clark worked the small ranch, meaning that only Jack, Jessie, and Crutchie worked Claude's ranch.

JT had been offered a place on the ranch, but had turned it down in favor of— "Hey, Crutch! Where've you been?" Crutchie's thoughts were interrupted when he was grabbed into a crushing hug by the devil himself. JT had grown quite a bit in the past four years, surpassing Jack by half an inch, to which JT was immensely pleased. He now towered over Crutchie, who had never really had that growth spurt he had hoped for as a child. His bright red hair hung foppishly over his forehead, a style that Crutchie knew took JT much too long in the bathroom to concoct.

Crutchie smiled. "Just out on the ranch."

"I swear, we get you one horse and you never want to leave it alone," JT muttered, shaking his head, but grinning.

"But, what about you?" Crutchie asked. "Take down any hardened criminals today?"

JT frowned, collapsing into an arm chair and swinging his muddy boots onto the nearby coffee table. After Sheriff Palmer had come to the Holloway homestead to help in the search for Jessie and Crutchie, JT had been enraptured with the older man and his position in society. As soon as he had finished his schooling, JT had immediately approached the sheriff to see if any deputies were needed. It took weeks of asking and pleading and convincing, but JT had now been officially one of Sheriff Palmer's three deputies for the past two years. "Just a bunch of drunkards," he muttered. "Nothing exciting."

"John-Thomas! Get your feet off of my coffee table!"

The shout had JT instantly pulling his feet off of the furniture, his ears burning red. Sheepishly, JT turned to his mother, chagrined. "Sorry, ma. I—I forgot."

Sue rolled her eyes, her hands fisted into the light blue apron that was tied around her waist. Crutchie would never say it in front of her—or behind her back, even—but he couldn't shake the thought that Sue had shrunk a bit in the past couple years. Either that, or he had truly grown more than he had thought. Crutchie smirked at that: it was bad enough to shrink, but then to start graying? In the past four years, Sue's hair had begun to be streaked with silver, which she constantly attributed to the whole lot of the Holloway children, including Jack and Crutchie. "Really," she had complained a couple weeks earlier, "my hair wouldn't look like this if my children would stop being kidnapped," she accused, thrusting a fork in Crutchie and Jessie's direction, "getting married and having children," she added, the fork turning to jab at Clark and Syd, "and getting sick," she concluded, turning to Jack and JT who had just been getting over a quick bout with the flu. She hadn't truly been mad until JT added, "Come on, ma, you're not old; you're antique!"

"Look, just like new," JT added to appease his mother as he brushed the specks of dirt off of the coffee table.

"It's time for dinner," she muttered, shaking her head as she left the room, probably to gather the rest of her ever-growing family.

"Come on, Wesley," Crutchie called out. "We're going to start eating soon."

"I know," Wesley muttered petulantly. "I heard grandma. Look!" he said, shoving a box in Crutchie's direction. "We got you a present." His grin widened. "Ma even let me pick it out."

Crutchie raised his eyebrows in Wesley's direction. "She did? Well, I bet it's gonna be something real good in that case."

Wesley nodded, grabbing at Crutchie's hand and allowing the older man to guide him to the dining room where the rest of the family was gathered. "But you can't open it 'til after dinner," Wesley instructed seriously. "That's what ma said."

"Your mother's right," Crutchie agreed, helping Wesley sit down at the table between Clark and Mae-Anne.

"There you are, Wesley," Mae-Anne said, helping situate the squirming three year old. "Did you bother Uncle Crutchie?"

Wesley shook his head exaggeratingly. "No, ma, I am a delight."

Crutchie grinned as he took his place at the dinner table across from Clark. Ever since Jack had sarcastically remarked that an excessively hyper Wesley was a "delight," Wesley had taken to using the word constantly, proudly attributing the term to himself. "He was fine, Mae-Anne," Crutchie explained, placing his crutch under the bench for the meal. Because of his gimp leg, Crutchie always got the edge of the bench, meaning that he didn't ever have to squish between two people, knock elbows with any of the Holloways, during any of the large family dinners.

Jack wedged himself between Crutchie and Jessie, who had just barely taken the seat next to Crutchie. "Coming through," Jack muttered. "'Scuse me, 'scuse me. Trying to sit here."

"Jack," Jessie complained as she scooted over to allow Jack her spot at the table. "Why do you have to take my seat? There are plenty of other places at the table."

"Hey, you know that on Crutchie's birthday, I get to sit by the birthday boy. That's just the rule," Jack explained, elbowing the redhead in her ribs, before turning to Crutchie. "How's the day been? I see you finally managed to extricate yourself out of Wesley's grip."

"You're just jealous that Wesley likes me better. It's been fine. I just went out riding earlier, after finishing up the North-eastern fence."

Jack clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "It's a pity someone managed to steal some of the sheep. We should've had Callie out there." Callie was one of the many ranch dogs that hung around the property, tongues lolling as they panted in the shade of the buildings and sparse trees. Two days earlier, it had been discovered that a group of sheep had been stolen, ten in total. It wasn't a crushing number, but the loss would definitely be reflected in the numbers that Claude always compiled at the end of the year to track the success and growth of the ranch.

"Yeah, but it's weird because the fence—" Crutchie began, but was cut off when Claude tapped a butter knife against his glass, drawing the attention of the family. Sue looked as if she hadn't aged a day, compared to Claude. The older man's hair had nearly finished graying in the past four years. His face was weather-beaten and wrinkles were deepening each week, but the intelligence that shown from his eyes belied any accusation of elderliness. Crutchie didn't think he knew anyone happier than Claude Holloway, who may not be constantly smiling, but merely exuded good thoughts and feelings, raising the spirits of all around him. Crutchie glanced down at his plate, hoping that, one day, he could be just as happy, just as content as Claude was in his position of life.

"Okay, quiet down, now," Claude said, scanning the occupants of the table. He smiled softly at the sight of his posterity and the two boys that had been taken in four years earlier. The past four years had been good to the Holloway family and Claude wouldn't trade those memories for the world. "The food will be getting cold if we don't start eating soon. Okay, so… JT? Do you mind saying grace?" Claude asked.

"No, me!" Wesley shouted, his hand shooting up in the air. "Me, grandpa, me!"

The majority of the Holloway family giggled at the child's antics and JT gestured to the boy. "He feels rather strongly about it, pa," he pointed out. "Maybe Wesley should say the prayer."

"Okay, Wesley, you can say grace," Claude said judiciously.

Wesley closed one eye, glanced around the table, and then closed the other eye. "Once upon a time," he began and JT nearly lost it, snorting loudly into his closed fist. At the outburst, Wesley opened his eyes and glared at the older redhead. "Shh," he hissed. "I'm trying to pray." JT quickly apologized to the three year old and Wesley started over again, "Once upon a time… uh, thank you for grandma and grandpa… and thank you for Uncle Crutchie and that he is not dead and has a birthday today. Please bless that I have a birthday soon and maybe Jed, too, but he is still little and doesn't care as much. Thank you for all the food and… Uh, the end."

With wide grins, the Holloway family responded to Wesley's prayer with a chorus of joyous "the ends." Wesley smiled, shyly ducking into his mother's shoulder, while she patted his dark brown hair and congratulated him on praying.

"So, Crutchie," Clark began as he tried to scoop green beans onto Wesley's plate while the three year old successfully blocked the spoon with his hand. He eventually gave up and added green beans to his and his wife's plates. Mae-Anne glared at him and he rolled his eyes before adding some green beans to Wesley's plate. Wesley protested the insubordination, but calmed down when Mae-Anne promised him cake if he ate the vegetables. "You got any plans now that you're the big two-oh?"

"Yeah," Syd agreed. "Twenty's a milestone. Now there's only one teenager left in the house."

"Adult," JT corrected grumpily. "And only for four more months."

With a shrug, Crutchie accepted the dish of roast beef that Jack passed to him. "I don't know. Keep working on the ranch. Is there something specific I should be planning to do?"

Clark sipped at his cup of milk before grinning across the table. "Well, I don't mean to rush you or anything, but Mae-Anne was married when she was twenty."

Crutchie choked on his glass of milk, coughing loudly into his elbow. Jack pounded him rather unhelpfully on his back and Crutchie finally shoved Jack's arm out of the way. He turned, red-faced, back to Clark. "W-what? Married?"

"I'm just stating the facts," Clark remarked, smug as he observed the tips of Crutchie's ears remained red, even though his face had regained its normal color.

"But what about Jack or Jessie? Both of them are older than twenty and I don't see you pressuring either of them," Crutchie quickly pointed out.

Clark rolled his eyes. "Jack's more in love with the land than anything else and Jessie hasn't trusted a guy within a hundred feet of her after the last one turned out to be a homicidal maniac."

"That ain't true!" Jack protested.

At the same time, Jessie quickly reminded, "And Gabriel didn't actually kill anyone."

"But you," Clark continued, "you have prospects. You're the only normal one left."

"Hey!" JT interrupted. "I'm normal."

"You don't even work on the ranch anymore," Clark quickly countered. "So, Crutch, you got a girl that we should know about? You start dating some pretty lady?"

Crutchie shook his head, rolling his eyes. "No, but if I find one, you'll be the first to know, Clark."

Clark nodded. "Good, because you're getting to the age that you might start wanting to settle down and I'm here to make sure you pick the right person." If Clark noticed the way Crutchie's eyes widened or his ears brightened, he made no remark on it.

"I—I…" Crutchie started, before glancing down at his plate. He shook his head once more, before uncomfortably stuttering, "T-thanks, Clark." Crutchie pulled his hands under the table, trying to control the brief tremors that wracked the appendages.

Jack noticed how Crutchie's shoulders had been drawn together in a tense line and quickly changed the subject. He didn't know what exactly Clark had said had bothered Crutchie so much, but he figured his younger friend would appreciate a new topic of conversation. "So, are we ready for presents?" he asked, grabbing a box he had stuffed under the bench and passing it to Crutchie. "I got you something."

Crutchie smiled softly at Jack, a silent "thank you" that Jack had learned to interpret long ago. "You didn't hafta, Jack," Crutchie said, his smile widening when Jack nudged him softly.

"Of course, I did, kid," Jack said, ignoring how Crutchie rolled his eyes at the moniker. "This ain't no Stetson, but hopefully you'll still like it." Carefully, Crutchie opened the box, revealing a new leather saddle bag. "I noticed Claude's old one that you use was starting to tear through at the bottom and I thought you could use a new one. Do you like it?" Jack asked somewhat nervously.

Crutchie pulled the bag from the box, running his hand down the smooth leather. The initials "C.M." were etched into the leather and he brushed his fingers over the dips and edges of the leather. "I love it. Thanks, Jack."

"It was nothing. I just wanted to get ya something you would actually use."

"We have a present, too!" Wesley shouted, scrambling out of his father's lap that he had moved to once he had finished his food. The child grabbed the box he had shown Crutchie earlier and made his way around the table to hand it to the older man. "Happy birthday!" he exclaimed happily, handing the gift over.

Crutchie pulled the box's flaps open, revealing a carefully folded red plaid shirt. He pulled the shirt out of the box, holding it to his chest and grinning. "Thank you," he said, ruffling Wesley's hair and nodding to Mae-Anne and Clark across the table.

"I picked it out," Wesley reminded Crutchie, pushing himself into Crutchie's lap and nearly elbowing Jack's glass of milk over in the process. Luckily, Jack had fast enough reflexes to right the glass before it completely toppled. "Do you like it? Does it fit? And look!" Wesley added, stretching his shirt out to hold it near Crutchie's new shirt. "We match!"

"I love it," Crutchie reassured the three year old. "And I'm sure the shirt will fit just fine. Thanks, Wesley, it looks great. We'll have to wear them the same night sometime." Crutchie glanced around the table, before adding, "And thanks to all of you. It's been a fantastic birthday, really."

"Well, that's not all," Claude said, standing up from the table and leaving the room.

"What do you mean?" Crutchie asked, glancing at Jack, who merely shrugged his shoulders.

"See, you're twenty now," Claude explained as he reentered the room with one his hands held behind his back. "And that means that it's about time for you to have one of your own." Once he reached Crutchie, Claude pulled his hand out from behind his back, revealing a gleaming Colt pistol.

Crutchie's jaw dropped, the sight of the pistol rendering him speechless. "Y-you wouldn't've. You couldn't've." He finally looked back up at Claude, who was still smiling, still holding out the pistol. "Claude, I can't—"

"Come on, Crutchie," Sue said, "It's from all of us."

"It's about time you stopped using my old ones; you're a better shot than me," Claude pointed out. "Now you have a pistol of your own."

"Thanks," Crutchie breathed, staring in awe at the firearm that Claude lightly deposited in his hands. It was new, Crutchie could tell. The silver gleamed in the light, bright and beautiful. Crutchie wanted nothing more than to head out and go shooting with it. "B-but," he added, the thought suddenly striking him, "Jack never got anything like this when he turned twenty, or even twenty-one."

"Jack couldn't hit the sky if he even tried," Jessie muttered dryly. "You at least can shoot the damn thing."

Elbowing her lightly in the side, Jack was quick to protest, "I've been practicing. I'm loads better now. Just yesterday—"

"That is completely beside the point, Jack."

"What is the point?"

Jessie rolled her eyes. "That Crutchie deserves the gun."

"Well, yeah, he does. Why are we arguing then?" Jack asked.

"You're arguing because Jessie reminded you that you're an awful shot," Clark spoke up helpfully, a mischievous grin splitting the beard.

"Oh. But, I've been practicing. I'm loads better—"

Jessie cut Jack off. "Anyway, happy birthday, Crutch. Enjoy the pistol."

Crutchie smiled. "Okay, thank you. All of you. I couldn't ask for anything better." And it was true. He had a family. A family. As Sue set down a pan with the Tres Leches cake in front of Crutchie, motioning for him to blow out the candles, Crutchie recalled all the previous birthday wishes before he and Jack had made their way out West when he had wished for a family of his own. And now he had one. Sure, Claude and Sue weren't legally his parents or anything like that, but they had treated him and Jack like their own sons and Crutchie was never left wanting.

"Make a wish," Jack reminded as Crutchie stared at the flickering candles.

A wish. Crutchie couldn't think of anything he wanted beyond what he already had. He had a place to live, a ranch to work on, plenty of food, and a group of people who loved him for who he was. Crutchie watched the flames as they danced with a life of their own, unaware of their imminent extinguishment. He really didn't have anything to say beyond a vague hope for improvement. I wish… I wish that this year will be… different. Better. Somehow, exciting. Crutchie's lips quirked at the lame wish, quirked at the fact that his life was so perfect that he didn't have anything exact to request. He blew at the flickering candles.

Darkness.

Aren't they all so happy? Wouldn't it be a shame if all that happiness disappeared...

Well, what do you guys think about the first chapter? Excited? Not? I know, I know. Character introductions aren't the most exciting thing, but the plot will pick up. And when it does, you'll just want to hold on. Whatever you're thinking, I'd love to hear it. And constructive criticism is always welcome. So, please review!

I'm excited for this story. Updates will be on Fridays, so keep an eye out for the next chapter next week!