Crutchie

He hadn't heard many horror stories about the Refuge from the boys at the boarding house (it just didn't make for happy conversation, you know), but Crutchie had watched them return with scars, nightmares, and an aversion to being touched without warning. He wasn't sure he would have noticed the last thing if it hadn't been for Jack, who he'd watch return from the Refuge at least three times now. Specs had told Crutchie that Jack had been in and out at least another two times before Crutchie had even shown up at the boarding house, so Crutchie can't even be one hundred percent sure that it's the Refuge that has caused it. He's pretty darn sure it's been the Refuge though, on account that all the other boys that have returned more or less have the same aversion.

The last time Jack had escaped, he'd returned in the middle of the night while they were all sleeping and had passed out in his penthouse. Crutchie's still not sure how he managed to get up that rickety fire escape without waking anyone; the sound of the metal hitting the side of the brick building as it shifts with weight isn't exactly quiet. When Crutchie had gone up to look in the penthouse that morning, something he did every day Jack was gone just in case he suddenly reappeared, Jack had been passed out on the bed roll he'd dragged up there years ago. Crutchie had brushed his fingers across Jack's arm – just to make sure he wasn't imagining his friend's presence- and Jack had nearly jumped all the way across the roof. The look on his friend's face and the way he'd crossed his arms protectively over his head had broken his heart. It had taken Crutchie at least an hour to get Jack to uncurl from his position and even look at him and a full three days before Jack would even pretend to be okay with Crutchie's attempts at comfort.

See, that was the thing about Jack. He was the leader, and as far as he was concerned, that meant all his personal problems came last. So as soon as he could, Jack was back out on the streets hawking papes as if nothing had happened. Though if you knew what you were looking for, like Crutchie did, you could see the cracks. Like how Jack would freeze when one of the littler newsies would suddenly come up and hug him from behind, before pasting on a smile and turning to hug the little one back.

Sitting in the Refuge now and looking around at all the other kids in the room, Crutchie sees in them the parts of Jack that he so desperately tried to hide from the other newsies. They all just hang their heads low and shift away from him if he gets too close, usually with a pained look upon their face, if they allow him to see it. It takes everything in him to not just reach out and force a hug on some of these kids – especially the younger ones who don't look more than six or seven years old.

He's been here maybe two days so far, though he isn't that sure. He must've been unconscious at some point because there is a big gap in his memory between being dragged away by the Delanceys and waking up in here. 'Here' being a large room, about the size of the main boarding house room, filled with dozens of bunk beds. There were three windows along the one wall, with thick bars every six inches or so, probably added after one of Jack's previous escapes. On the wall opposite the windows was the single door for the room, which looked heavy and was no doubt locked shut from the outside. The bed Crutchie was currently situated on was pushed up against one of the side walls, for which he was thankful because it meant he could sit on the bed and lean against the wall while simultaneously being able to watch the door.

Surveying the rest of the boys in the room, Crutchie doesn't see any of the other newsies, which means they must have been able to escape. He holds on to the hope that all will go well and the strike will be won. The thought of a win brings a small smile to his face and bolsters his desire to not succumb to the horrors of the place that haunts his brothers' dreams. He'll get out eventually. No one stayed at the Refuge forever. He just has to keep telling himself that.