Well, this was a really depressing thing to write. It started as me deciding to try an Instagram challenge and apply it to Newsies one-shots, but this one took a turn I wasn't expecting. The prompt was 10pm, and I know that others have done stories with this scene before, but I want to try my own interpretation of it. Enjoy!
-Marcelle
It's well past dark. The clock tower shows that it is around ten o'clock at night. He should be sleeping, rest. The day has been long and hard and had it's full share of sadness. But he cannot even close his eyes, because Jack Kelly is haunted by memories both old and new.
How could he have let this happen? His best friend, the boy who is practically his own flesh and blood...gone. Jack had done nothing to stop it, and now he curses every bone in his body. Crutchie should be downstairs in the lodging house, disappointed at the failure of the strike but still with them, safe. But instead, he will sleep among the rats and filth of the Refuge tonight, hidden from view of the stars that sit above Jack's head now. Who knows how many nights he'll face there? Too many for Jack to bear the thought of, that much he's certain of.
Crutchie himself is the very embodiment of everything the Refuge is not-innocent, optimistic, hopeful. The place could very well break him like a bone, and Jack knows that would break him, too. It would crush his very soul and render him useless. The thought of that boy wasting away in that place is one that Jack cannot endure. Because if anyone should have been spared from such a fate, it was Crutchie.
This realization ignites an all-consuming rage in Jack, sending him bolting to his feet and down the fire escape of the lodging house before his mind can even comprehend what he's doing. It is as though he fueled on hatred alone. Hatred for Pulitzer, for Snyder, for New York City, and-if only for a fleeting moment-hatred even for Santa Fe. He despises it, for it's constant untouchable nature, for it's unattainable promise. Why does it have to be such an impossible dream, and why can't they all just be in Santa Fe instead of this broken city and why did it have to be Crutchie?
Before Jack has time to answer his own questions, the looming shadow of the Refuge stands before him, moonlight glinting duly off the broken windows. The place reeks of misery even from a distance, or perhaps it's just the sight of the building reawakening Jack's senses to the Refuge once more. He stops in his tracks, suddenly rethinking his actions before tossing aside all concern for himself. Crutchie needs him, and if jack has to brave the prospect of being caught by Snyder the Spider again, then so be it. Jack is not afraid of him anymore. He's not going to run this time.
The memory of the escape route he took all those years ago is crystal clear now that he's back in person, and Jack quickly up the fire escape, glancing into the dark windows in the hopes of spotting his brother's slight form in one of them. He's made it to about the third story when he sees the crutch.
It lies beside it's owner on the floor, where he is curled into himself, as though trying to protect himself from his surroundings. Or perhaps just to merely block them out. One look at him sends a shooting pain through Jack, because Crutchie should not have to face this. Jack has told his surrogate little brother all about the Refuge, described in full detail all of it's horrors (an act that he now sorely regrets), but he's always followed these stories with a promise.
"But don't you worry 'bout it, kid," he'd say with a small sigh, drawing Crutchie in for a one-armed embrace. "You ain't never gonna see that stinkin' place, not so long as I'm livin'."
And here Jack is, breath still in his body, and the boy he has sworn to protect is trapped in the one place Jack had never wanted him to end up.
Panic courses through his veins as he scrambles closer to the window, wide eyes gazing into the darkness as it fully hits him just how bad Crutchie is. Even his silhouette looks weak as Jack sees his chest only barely rising and falling. He is alive at the very least, and Jack supposes that the very least is all he can hope for at this point. As long as Crutchie is alive, there is still time. But for now, Jack has to talk to him. He has to give the kid some form of hope to hold onto. Because that's what Crutchie usually gives him, and now it's Jack's time to return the favor.
He taps on the window, quietly at first, as not to disturb the other boys that he can make out on the few bunk beds scattered around the room. Crutchie does not stir, doesn't even twitch at the sound, so Jack taps again. Louder. Harder. Raps on the glass with more force, and it's on one of his final attempts that he finally sees movement.
Crutchie's head slowly lifts off the floor-cautiously, Jack notices, more than likely trying not to cause himself more pain. He slowly glances around him before his eyes finally rest on Jack, and his smile could have lit up the room. He looks so thrilled to see a familiar face that Jack almost wants to throw open the window and hug him, if only to assure himself that Crutchie is there. But he doesn't, because he knows it will only put the younger boy in even more danger if he draws any attention to them. So instead he motions for Crutchie to come closer, and the kid's response almost breaks his heart in a way that nothing else ever has.
Crutchie shakes his head mournfully, but still tries to move. He pulls himself forwards with his forearms, an army crawl, but barely gets anywhere before a grimace spreads across his features. He shuts his eyes briefly, clearly trying to drive away the pain, and when he opens them again, Jack can faintly see the slight gleam of tears. His fury is only renewed, because it's then that it fully dawns on them what they have done. They've beaten him. They've beaten little Crutchie.
Jack knows they had, he saw them drag this member of his family away, but he had no idea just how severely they have hurt him. Crutchie is strong, much more so than most people give him credit for, but Jack knows that this is too much for him. He can only endure so much, just like anyone else, and the gimp always puts him at a disadvantage, no matter how much he tries to pretend that it doesn't. And this time, he has nearly been pushed to his breaking point. There is still a fight in him, Jack can see it, but he wonders how much longer it can hold.
Crutchie is staring up at him with apologetic eyes, as though it is somehow his fault that he can't move. Jack feels the ever-present anger stirring inside of him again, and it is all he can do to ignore it. Crutchie doesn't need anger right now, he needs hope. And that is what Jack intends to give him.
He grasps the window ledge and pulls, finding it to be locked. But it takes him less than a minute to pick it open, as Jack is quite the expert in the field of escape, and he slowly slides it open, just wide enough to serve it's purpose. The noise startles both of them, but thankfully does not wake any of the others. Jack leans closer to the opening, and almost cannot find the words to say.
"Crutch, I..." His voice catches, and he feels himself on the verge of tears before reminding himself to pull it together. He's Jack Kelly, emotional rock, and that would do Crutchie much more good now. "I'm sorry. I...I am so, so sorry." He's beyond sorry, to be honest, but those are the only words he can manage.
"It's not your fault, Jack. You were a bit...preoccupied at the time," Crutchie weakly attempts to make a joke, but only succeeds in breaking Jack's spirits even more. Crutchie doesn't belong here, this boy who laughs when he's hurting and refuses to blame others even when they really are to blame. Jack has to get him out, but he knows he can't afford to try yet. He needs a plan, and he needs help. That is, if the boys will even face him now, after all he's done.
"I'm gonna get you outta here, kid," Jack swears it to himself as he swears it to Crutchie, and he can feel the weight of the promise on top of him. He has to do this, and he will, because who knows what will happen to his brother otherwise?
"I know, Jack, but I can wait. The strike comes first," Crutchie insists, catching Jack a bit off guard-the strike had been pushed to the recesses of his mind until now. "You guys can soak 'em real good now. You gotta win. We gotta be heard."
Jack can barely make out his words, but they impact him just the same. Crutchie still believes in the strike, even after where it landed him? Jack has almost given up on the entire thing, and he still wants to. There's no way the newsboys can come out on top, what had they been thinking? But he can't tell that to Crutchie, can't expel the last chance at hope he has.
"Sure, Crutchie. 'Course we'se gonna win," Jack agrees, giving a small grim that his young friend doubles in return. "The World won't know what hit 'em."
Crutchie nods as enthusiastically as he can before a shout rings from the hallway.
"Shut up in there, no talkin' after lights out!" it bellows, Snyder's rat voice serving as a reminder of how much they're risking if Crutchie is caught. The boy's eyes grow wide and noticeably frightened at the warning, and he turns back to jack as quickly as possible.
"You gotta go now! I'll be alright, trust me!" he promises, shooing Jack away with one hand, As much as Jack wants to argue, he knows his friend is right. He can see some of the others beginning to stir as a result of Snyder's yelling, and he knows from experience that some of them won't hesitate to rat Crutchie out.
"Okay, kid. Just...hang in there. Alright?" Jack practically begs, but he knows he doesn't need to. Crutchie will try his hardest to stay strong-he always has, and now he has even more of a reason to. "I'll be back soon."
"I know ya will," Crutchie replies with the utmost trust, a grin still lingering on his face. "Good luck, Jack."
"Thanks, Crutch," the Manhattan newsie leader nods, giving his best friend a final glance before quietly shutting the window and heading back down the fire escape.
And then he's back on the streets, these streets of New York that have always forsaken and forgotten him. All of them, really. Each and every newsboy has been wrong in some way by these streets, and there is nothing they can do about it.
Things won't change for them, no matter how badly any of them want it to. There will always be the Pulitzers, the Snyders, the monsters under the beds that eventually they are forced to believe it because they will have seen first hand that they are real. He almost thinks that Crutchie is foolish to put his faith in the strike. As far as Jack is concerned, that's a lost cause. It failed, and it's over.
But still, he's glad that Crutchie has that to believe in, especially right now. He needs something to get him through what lies ahead of him. Of course, Jack knows his brother's time in the Refuge will not extend much further, not if he has anything to do with it. The first chance he gets, he is busting that boy out of there, whether or not the others will help him. He thinks that they will, if only for Crutchie's sake. No matter what feelings the boys are harboring against himself at the moment, Jack knows that they'd do anything for Crutchie.
They all love him, and Jack is confident that they're as angry about his capture as he is. After all, Crutchie is a newsie, and the newsies are a family through thick and thin, strike or no strike. That is the one thing Jack knows with a certainty that will never die out. However, at this moment, it is not enough. It can't be, not while one of their own is still gone. There is still the constant fear of what will happen to the boy in the Refuge, and whether or not they will get to him in time.
It's well past dark, and still Jack Kelly cannot rest. He's worried beyond belief, and he is afraid. For once, he is afraid of the light, and and what it will show once the darkness has passed. He wishes it could be ten o'clock forever.