Let me start with an apology.
Currently, the fandom is filled with Christmas stories, holiday stories. Stories that are light-hearted, romantic, charming.
But not Marcelle.
Nope, not me. In my defense, this is what happens when I watch The Hunger Games with Newsies on the brain. The idea wouldn't leave me alone, so I had to write it to get myself out of a slump. I'm sorry for bringing down the mood.
-Marcelle
Jack woke to his brother's screams.
He jolted out of bed and immediately over to the boy's side, where he was frantically attempting to control the sobs that escaped his lips every so often. His body trembled more than Jack had ever seen, and his sheets were balled up in his fists although they were sheilding him from some unknown force.
Jack could feel his own heartbeat pounding in his chest, almost beyond control, and he forced himself to breathe. Crutchie needed him.
"Hey! Hey, Crutch, wake up!" He shook his friend gently by the shoulders, as not to scare him more than he clearly already was. "C'mon, kid, ya gotta wake up!"
"No! No, please...not me..." Crutchie cried in reply, tears still flowing unceasingly down his face as he continued to thrash almost violently in his sleep. But his pleas had confirmed for Jack the source of his little brother's distress, and it wasn't going to be easy to solve.
"Crutchie, it's not you, it won't be you," Jack assured him, gathering the kid in his arms as he forced himself to uphold his soothing tone. "Your name is only in there four times. It ain't gonna be you. It's impossible."
Impossible. It had to be.
"Jack?"
Crutchie finally opened his eyes, blinking a few times, as though trying to determine if he was still stuck in whatever nightmare had previously consumed him. His breathing slowed as he found himself to be safe, and he returned Jack's embrace with almost a death grip around his torso.
"Yeah, kid, it's just me. You're alright." Jack murmured, ruffling Crutchie's hair with a worried fondness. "Ya wanna tell me what's goin' on?"
The boy in his arms sighed against Jack's shirt, and he slowly shook his head.
"I'm sorry ta wake ya, Jack. I just...I...well, it was me. They pulled my name," he finally admitted, his voice laden with a shame that Jack knew he certainly had no reason to be feeling.
The reaping was a real, tangible fear, one that nestled in the back of Jack's own mind as well. It was the center around which their world revolved, although all of the newsies did their best to ignore it.
The reaping took one girl and one boy each year from the district of Manhattan to participate in the Hunger Games, a sadistic tradition created by the ruling Capital as punishment for a rebellion decades ago. It was a cruel spectacle, and it would be lying to say that the prospect of fighting to the death in an arena full of teens didn't scare each of them to the core.
But in reality, the newsies had been fairly lucky so far. They had only lost one to the Games.
"Crutchie, I swear it won't be you. There ain't no way it can be. You'se only got four slips in that whole bowl. There are hundreds of them in there, maybe thousands," Jack reminded him, trying to work as much affirmation into the words as he could-both for Crutchie and for himself.
After all, the words were true. Crutchie was fifteen, and his name had been entered into the reaping ever since he was twelve, as were the standard rules for all eligible teens in the districts. Each year, one additional slip was added, resulting in the total of four slips Crutchie had accumulated over the years.
In the scheme of things, four was nothing, insignificant to the overall amount of names that were submitted into the reaping. Jack could only hope that insignificant would be enough.
"Romeo had one."
Crutchie's voice became barely more than a whisper as he spoke the words, and Jack felt his heart drop into his stomach at the reminder.
Romeo had once been their youngest newsie, only twelve years old when he was sent to the Games. He had made into the first three days before...no.
Jack couldn't make himself relive Romeo's fate. He still remembered the terror etched into the kid's features when he had been called, still remembered the way it had broken the rest of the boys, especially Race. Jack felt the same pang of guilt every day that none of them had volunteered for him.
They had all been too shocked to register what was happening, and then it had been too late. Romeo was gone.
That would not happen with Crutchie. Jack would not allow it.
"That was a one time thing, Crutchie. It can't happen again, you hear me?" he insisted, forcing the younger boy's chin up to look him in the eyes. His were filled with doubt and worry, still damp with tears, making it almost physically painful for Jack to meet his gaze. But he did not look away, because he could not.
"There's a reason I don't let any of you'se take out tesserae. It's so ya have the lowest chance possible. So don't go thinking all our efforts are for nothin', okay?"
The Capital's system allowed for potential tributues to apply for tesserae, recieving a year's worth of grain and oil for the price of submitting their name into the reaping more times. Jack had refused to permit the newsies to even consider taking this option, but had secretly applied several times each year himself.
It kept the newsies alive, and so it was worth it. His own safety really had no weight in the matter. His own forty-something slips in the reaping bowl meant nothing.
"Okay, Jack," Crutchie replied hesitantly, obviously not fully believing him but attempting to fake it for his sake. He paused before his next words, as if debating whether to say them at all. "But what if it is me? Or one of the guys?"
"It won't be. Now stop thinkin' about it, alright? You can still get another hour of sleep if ya go to bed now," Jack held the younger boy at arm's length, fixing him with a gentle glare that coaxed a tentative smile from Crutchie, if only for a moment.
"Hey...um...Jack?" the crippled boy stammered, looking away from Jack briefly before finding the courage to meet his eyes again.
"Yeah, Crutch?"
"Do you think we could go on the roof? Jus' for tonight?"
Jack smiled at his little brother, ruffling his hair again as he glanced at the ladder that led up to the roof of the lodging house. Usually, the Capital's laws forbade any citizen to be outside of their homes at night, including rooftops. Of course, the newsies had never been inclined to follow standard, Jack especially, and so he often found himself stretched out under the stars on certain nights.
Eventually he had invited Crutchie along on his stolen escapades, to give the kid the feeling of what it was like to actually live a little. The other boy had grown quite fond of it, and both of them were known to go there when things got particularly rough.
Jack almost hadn't come down from the rooftop on the night of Romeo's reaping, and he hadn't been able to make himself go back up since. But who would he be to deny Crutchie his one small desire?
"Sure, kid. Anythin' you want," he gave in, rising to his feet and making his way over to the bottom of the ladder, knowing from the cautious, uneven footsteps that Crutchie was right behind him. They climbed up the ladder, Jack aiding his disabled friend until they were both lying on their backs, their faces freckled by the reflections of stars.
"D'you think it'll be different one day? I think it could be." Crutchie whispered after a few minutes of silence, his voice containing a hope that Jack wished he would never lose. His earlier fear was still present, but it was subdued, and that in itself convinced Jack that Crutchie's optimism had seen him through once more.
He still believed that change was possible, and Jack treasured the fact that someone living where they did could still possess such a trait. He wished he had it himself.
"I don't know, Crutchie," Jack admitted, wishing he could give his friend a different, more assuring answer. But it was all he had. "I guess we just gotta wait and see, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess so," Crutchie replied softly, but the dejection in his voice was clear. He was afraid of the future-and if Jack was honest with himself, so was he.
"Let's just sleep now, alright? We can deal with it in the morning," Jack determined through a yawn that then spread to Crutchie as well. He could feel his eyelids pulling themselves down in an attempt to lull him into sleep, and he welcomed the sensation. The longer he could postpone the day, the better.
"Sounds good ta me," Crutchie agreed, curling himself into Jack's side perhaps subconciously. Either way, Jack welcomed the closeness of his brother, and put his arm around Crutchie's smaller shoulders. After all, who knew how much longer either of them would be in each other's company?
No, Jack would not lead himself down that path. He had to learn from Crutchie's infinite hope. The reaping would be there in the morning, just as it always was, and it was all too possible that it would bring tragedy once more among the Manhattan newsies. But why waste the time they had living on possibilites? Why good could come from dwelling on what he could lose while he still had it?
The Games had claimed so many lives, and Jack knew they would continue to do so until someone, someday, had the guts to stand up and stop it. But until then, he made a promise to himself, to Crutchie, to all of the newsies- a code that he would live up to until the day he died.
Never again would the Capital take Jack Kelly's boys from him. No matter the cost.
Well that was depressing, even just to write. I really hope Jack or Crutchie weren't too out of character, but I just wanted them to have a Katniss-and-Prim type moment that they have in the beginning of The Hunger Games...so...that's where I drew my inspiration. I hope it wasn't too dumb.
Don't forget to review! Prompts and suggestions are always welcome as well! I will be writing happier things in the future, don't worry. XD Thanks for reading!
