"You coulda died out there, Crutch! What didja think you was doin', throwin' yourself into a snowbank like that?!"
"S-sorry, J—Jack," Crutchie shivered, his teeth chattering. "I—I got p-pushed in by—"
"Try tah be more careful next time," Jack was barely listening. "Katherine would kill me if anything happened to any of you…"
"S-so 'ere I thought you was worried about my own safety," Crutchie mumbled. "Thanks, Jack."
Jack shook his head exasperatingly. "The trouble you get into, Crutchie…maybe it'd be better if you'd never come tah live 'ere."
Crutchie froze, watching Jack stalk by him. "What's got under your skin?" Crutchie asked, attempting to make a joke.
"Come inside, you'll get a cold," Jack banged the door to the Lodging House shut.
Crutchie lifted his hand up in the air, muttering to himself. "Never come 'ere. Huh. Ain't like I sleep on the streets most a the time, too…"
"Maybe Jack meant he wished he'd never met you, period," spoke a voice, and Crutchie nearly jumped out of his skin. "Who're you?!" He exclaimed, looking for the owner of this voice.
"The name's Jenny," a girl about Crutchie's age walked out from the shadows. She was dressed all in white. Crutchie stared at her for a long time, and then remembered his manners by taking off his hat. "Uh—what're you doin' out in the snow, miss?"
Jenny shrugged. "Checking up on people. Making sure they have a wonderful Christmas," she rolled her eyes. "Though, it looks like your friend Jack is being a downer."
"Yeah, that's right," Crutchie answered, looking towards the rooftop. "He said he wished I'd never come here," he said quietly, crushed but not willing to show it. Jenny knew, though.
"I'm sorry, Crutchie. Some friends just say the—oh. Wait. Oh, that is an idea."
Crutchie gave her a strange look. "What're you talkin' about?"
Jenny snapped her fingers. "There. You've never come to the Lodging House, or met the newsies, or Jack."
"What? But I have!" Crutchie stared at the snow, which was falling hard and fast.
"Not anymore. Take my hand."
"What?"
"Come on, just do it! I'm going to show you your new past."
"'Ow is that possible?" Crutchie took her hand, and they disappeared. Crutchie stared in wonderment at what was before him—it was his old house, before the fire. Before his parents sent him away. Crutchie glanced back at Jenny hesitantly, and she smiled.
"Go on in. It's your house, anyways."
Crutchie limped up to the door, knocking on it. To his surprise, the door swung right open, and he walked inside. He could hear music coming from the parlour, and limped over to it. Crutchie poked his head inside the room shyly, seeing his father and mother, and his brother just as he remembered them. Though maybe his parents were a little older now. Crutchie's eyes grew wide as he saw himself as eight years old, holding a small crutch. His younger self was smiling broadly, listening to the piano. Jenny joined him in the archway.
"Your parents never sent you to the orphanage, Crutchie. They took care of you, and raised you themselves. They even sent you to school. Want to see?"
Crutchie nodded. Jenny snapped her fingers, proclaiming, "Let us see another Christmas."