Happy birthday, thepopcornpup! I hope it's a fabulous year! So, birthday one-shots are supposed to be about 3,000 words. And this one just wouldn't stop... I hope you like it!

"Happy Fourth of July!" Jack shouted, yanking the blanket away from Crutchie. He smirked as the younger boy weakly grasped for where the blanket had been, shifting as he awoke. A couple boys in the bunks throughout the room shifted at the sudden noise, but no one fully awoke.

Crutchie groaned, turning over on his side and burying his face in the pillow. "Go 'way," he muttered, his words slurred with sleep. Crutchie waved his hand half-heartedly in Jack's direction, some poor attempt at shooing the older boy away. "'m try'n ta sleep."

"I know and I'se trying to wake ya up, idiot," Jack shot back, shaking Crutchie's shoulder. The boy moaned, but pulled himself up into a sitting position. He rubbed at his eyes, yawning. "Finally," Jack muttered. "Ain't ya excited?"

"How early is it?" Crutchie asked, blinking blearily and ignoring Jack's question. "It feels early."

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. It's before dawn. I couldn't sleep any longer."

"Well, I could," Crutchie murmured, collapsing back onto his bed and scrunching the pillow around his ears to block out Jack's voice.

"You're up now, might as well stay up," Jack advised.

"Just five more minutes," Crutchie whined.

Jack tugged the pillow away. "No, Crutch. Keep me company."

Crutchie rolled onto his back, staring up at Jack. The older boy was short, for a ten year old. Which only irked Crutchie further, since he was even shorter than Jack. The other boy's dark brown hair was starting to hang down to his shoulders and Crutchie knew that it wouldn't be long before Tommy, the leader of the Manhattan newsies, was going after Jack with a pair of scissors. Jack's eyes sparkled with excitement and Crutchie couldn't help but to give in. He grinned. "I guess I am up," he admitted, letting Jack pull him to his feet. Jack ruffled his hair, before grabbing his hand and tugging him towards the door. "Where are we going?"

"I want to show you something," Jack whispered.

"Oh, now you're whispering." Crutchie rolled his eyes. "The other boys may not have appreciated the shouting earlier."

"You wouldn't have gotten up otherwise." Jack pulled Crutchie out the Lodging House, leading the younger boy around the building. He stopped at the base of the fire escape, before turning to Crutchie and grinning. "You ever been up to the roof?"

Crutchie shook his head, his eyes widening. "No, but, Jack? I don't think we'se allowed up there. I mean, isn't it dangerous? What if we were to fall? What if Tommy found out and—"

"C'mon, Crutch," Jack said, shaking Crutchie's shoulders. "You gotta live a little, right? We won't fall. And Tommy definitely won't find out. Everyone's sleeping."

Crutchie still wasn't convinced. "Okay, but there's another problem."

"You afraid of heights?" Jack teased.

"No, but, Jack. My leg," Crutchie explained, lamely gesturing to his right leg. The limb was twisted and couldn't hold his weight, which was why he currently leaned against a wooden crutch.

"What about your leg?" Jack asked.

That was the thing about Jack. He refused to recognize that Crutchie's leg could hold him back. He expected Crutchie to be able to keep up and Crutchie loved that about Jack. He didn't want to be pitied or treated differently just because he only had one good leg. But, it was times like these that Crutchie worried. "I don't know if I can climb up there with my leg."

"Sure you can," Jack reassured him. "It ain't that high. And I'll be there to make sure you don't fall." Jack smiled. "I promise."

"Okay," Crutchie agreed, banishing whatever hesitance he felt from his voice. Jack took his crutch, making sure that the younger boy could balance properly, before helping him up the first rung of the ladder. Crutchie slowly, carefully, pulled himself up the ladder, clambering onto the roof. Jack followed close behind, watching to ensure that Crutchie didn't slip. After Jack had handed Crutchie his crutch back, he turned, gazing out at the city. The sun was just beginning to peek behind the edges of shadow-darkened buildings. The whole sky seemed to glow with the muted orange light. "Wow," Crutchie breathed.

"I know," Jack agreed. "Sunrises are the best. And up here?" He sighed. "Makes me wish I had my paints."

"Guess there is something good about this city, huh?" Crutchie asked, nudging Jack's shoulder. The older boy had spun tales of Santa Fe to Crutchie, always concluding his stories with fervent words: "And, someday, Crutch, we'll be out there. You and me. And we won't stop, 'til we make it."

Jack snorted. "Not compared to Santa Fe. Sunrises there are breathtaking. Reds and oranges and purples streaked across the sky." His fingers brushed the sky, trailing orange-tinted clouds, as if he were finger-painting some golden masterpiece. "Just imagine it, Crutchie. Can you see it?"

"Yeah," Crutchie replied, his voice soft with the magic of it all. He paused for a moment, before shaking his head. "Yeah, but, Jack, Santa Fe's far. How're we ever gonna make our way there?"

"We just gotta save our money up," Jack said. "We'll get two train tickets. First class!"

Crutchie laughed. "Just imagine us, sitting with the hoity-toity first class people."

"Sipping tea with Gov'nor Roosevelt himself!"

"I'd spread my napkin cross my knees," Crutchie said, pretending to drape a napkin across his legs, "and make sure I use all the right forks."

"There'd be a giant roast pig. Bigger than a table!" Jack exclaimed, his arms stretching wide. "It'd be brown and dripping and the best thing we've ever eaten."

"Waiters would serve us ice cold lemonade and there'd be straws!"

"Mr. Morris, would you like a slice of chocolate cake?" Jack asked, bowing low and pantomiming what he expected a waiter to act like.

"Thank you, kind sir, but I don't want a slice of cake." Crutchie grinned mischievously. "I want the entire thing!"

Jack smiled. "Of course, sir. One entire chocolate cake for the boy in Car Nine!" Jack called out.

"And another for his best friend!"

"And then they'd serve us—" The bell ringing cut Jack off. Crutchie's face fell as the dream shattered and Jack noticed, as he always did. He slung his arm around the younger boy. "We'll get there, I promise. And we'll have all the cake you could dream of."

"I know," Crutchie whispered. He knew, just not what Jack expected him to know. He knew that Jack depended on him to believe in the older boy. So, really, it didn't matter whether they'd ever make it to Santa Fe. That perfect world that Jack dreamed of probably didn't exist. But Crutchie wouldn't let that bring Jack down.

Jack grinned. "Come on, kid. We gotta sell our papes quick-like today. Tommy said we was going over to Brooklyn later this afternoon to celebrate. I think Brooklyn's got access to some roman candles and it'll be all sorts of fun."

"What did they do, steal 'em?" Crutchie asked.

"Probably," Jack agreed, laughing. "I mean, it is Brooklyn."

Crutchie glanced down the fire escape. Making his way up the ladder was one thing, but going down was a whole new monster. "Jack, I don't know if I can make it down," he admitted. They were so far up. A fall from this height would certainly kill him. Or, at the very least, screw up his one good leg.

"Sure you can," Jack reassured. "You'se just gotta be careful. I'll be here the entire time."

With a determined nod, Crutchie started down the fire escape ladder. One foot, then the next, his crutch tucked under his arm. He had made it nearly half of the way down, before his bad foot missed the rung and Crutchie slipped. Only his white-knuckled grip to the rung above him kept Crutchie from falling to the ground. His crutch slipped from beneath his armpit, clattering loudly on the ground beneath him. "Jack," Crutchie grunted.

From above him, Jack glanced down, his eyes widening. "Hold on, Crutch, I got you," Jack promised. The older boy stretched down until he was able to grab Crutchie's hand and hoist him up enough to regain his footing. "You good?" Jack asked as they slowly made their way down the ladder together.

"Yeah, fine," Crutchie breathed, grateful to have firm ground beneath his feet once more. He scooped up his crutch, resituating it under his armpit. "Just don't think I should be up on the roof."

"You fell once," Jack pointed out. "Don't give up already."

Crutchie smiled, if only to hide the way his heart pounded painfully against his ribs. "Okay, Jack. I won't."

"Now, come on. We'se got papes to sell."

"I'se only been over to Brooklyn once before," Crutchie said softly. "They'se big, over there."

Jack nudged Crutchie's shoulder. "Hey, don't worry 'bout them. They ain't that scary. Mostly, they just look intimidating. Besides," Jack added, smirking, "I bet we could take 'em any day."

Crutchie nodded. "Yeah, Manhattan does have a lotta—"

"No, not Manhattan," Jack interrupted. "You and me, kid. We could take 'em."

"Yeah, right," Crutchie laughed. "The scrawny ten year old and the kid with the crutch. I'm sure we'd do some real damage," he muttered sarcastically.

"I ain't scrawny," Jack shot back. "But, yeah, sure we could! You'd just swing your crutch and I'd hit them real quick. Pow-pow!" Jack shouted, acting out exactly how he'd punch the Brooklyn boys. "They wouldn't see it coming."

"They wouldn't see it coming 'cuz it'd never happen," Crutchie pointed out.

"Stop selling yourself short," Jack urged. "You can do anything ya put your mind to."

Crutchie nodded happily, pushing away whatever self-doubts crowded his mouth. He could feel them bumping against his teeth, edging at the pockets of his cheeks. If he weren't careful, they would tumble out of dry, half-parted lips, piling onto the cold ground. No, it was best to just play along. "I know, Jack. I just like to give you a hard time."

Jack ruffled the younger boy's hair. "Well, stop it," he advised. "It ain't nice." He fell silent as the Manhattan newsies stopped and started shuffling amongst each other.

The group of Manhattan boys crowded at the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge, no one willing to cross into the new territory. The Brooklyn Bridge had just been finished a couple months before and the large bridge loomed before them, impressive and intimidating. "What? Ya scared?" Tommy crowed. "Didn't think I was workin' with a buncha cowards!"

"I ain't scared," Jack asserted, stepping forward onto the Brooklyn Bridge. He hesitated a moment as he stood there, unconsciously scuffing his shoe against the bridge. Crutchie pressed past a couple newsies to stand next to his friend and Jack grinned. With Crutchie by his side, he started forward. "I ain't scared of no Brooklyn newsies."

Tommy grinned. "I knew you wasn't. The rest of you guys better get moving. A pair of children are showing you up. Besides," Tommy continued, "we gotta get going if we don't want Brooklyn to use all of the fireworks before we get there!"

A couple of the boys gave wild whoops before dashing across the Brooklyn Bridge. They stopped running when they got to the edge of the bridge, noticing the figure standing guard. A large boy with bulging muscles stood, arms crossed against his chest. This imposing figure was the leader of Brooklyn, a stony-eyed boy that went by the name of Harold, though everyone knew that wasn't his true name. Not that anyone would admit to that knowledge around him. "Manhattan," he said, nodding at Tommy.

"Brooklyn," Tommy responded, equally cool.

Harold's eyes skipped from Tommy to the crowd of Manhattan newsies. Eventually, he grinned, his lips twitching up. "Happy Fourth of July." He welcomed the newsies into Brooklyn's territory, before crossing over to speak with Tommy softly.

"Are they gonna get out the fireworks yet, d'ya think?" Crutchie asked excitedly.

Jack shook his head. "It ain't even dark yet. 'Course not. We've still got about an hour or so."

Crutchie shrugged. "Well, I didn't know," he replied petulantly. "Maybe you've played with fireworks before, but I haven't."

"We do loads of fun things before we get the roman candles out," Jack explained. "They'se usually got some games set up on the dock, but most of the boys go swimming. You ever been swimming?" Jack asked.

"I mean, kinda," Crutchie muttered, rubbing the back of his head. "I used to, before… Well, before… you know. I haven't been swimming since."

"Why not?" Jack asked.

"What if I can't anymore?"

Jack scoffed. "You already know how to swim, yeah? What's a bum leg gonna do to stop that?"

"I don't know, but I just never wanted to risk it."

"You don't have to risk it," Jack reassured. "I'll make sure you don't sink or nothing, yeah?"

Crutchie still wasn't convinced. "It doesn't matter all that much. I don't mind just sitting on the deck and waiting for the fireworks." He shrugged weakly. "It ain't even like I miss swimming all that much." It was what he continuously told himself, if only because he could not afford to think anything else. There was no use mourning the activities he had lost when the polio had struck. He had accepted the hand life had dealt him long ago and no amount of wishful thinking and soft remembering could bring back what was lost.

"Come on, Crutch," Jack tried. "I'll be right there. I promise."

"I guess I could try again," Crutchie whispered. He wouldn't go in very deep and if Jack was there the entire time… Besides, maybe with the water, Crutchie would be able to move his leg around easier. Maybe it would even help heal the twisted limb. The many possibilities of good outcomes spun before Crutchie's eyes and maybe, just maybe he should try swimming. Just on the off chance that it helped.

Jack pounded Crutchie on the back. "That's what I'm talking about! You'll be just fine, you'll see," he reassured.

The water at the edge of the dock lapped quietly at the base of the high wooden pillars. Crutchie stared down at the dark, endless waves. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly, watching as some of the Brooklyn boys swam amongst each other, splashing wildly.

"Yeah, we'll just stay next to the land, where it's still pretty shallow. Then, if you feel comfortable, we can move in deeper." Jack caught Crutchie's eye. "You're going to be fine, kid."

Crutchie nodded. "Okay, Jack. I trust you."

Jack led Crutchie down the side of the dock and to the edge of the water. Tiny waves lapped at Crutchie's feet and he quickly took his boots off before they would get soaked. Jack pulled Crutchie to his feet once the shoes and socks had been removed. "You ready?" he asked, gently tugging Crutchie into the water. He supported Crutchie's weight, as the crutch was left safely at the edge of the water. Jack led Crutchie until they were both waist deep in the water. "Are you okay?"

"My pants feel weird," Crutchie murmured. The cloth had quickly gotten heavy with water, but, as he discovered, he was able to move more easily. The water resistance limited how quickly he could move his legs, but it also allowed him to not have to put any weight on his bad leg.

Jack laughed. "Yeah, you'll get used to it. Unless you're up for skinny-dipping."

Crutchie shook his head quickly. "Not around all the Brooklyn boys." He grinned as he scooted away from Jack, using both legs and his arms to propel himself forward in the water. "Look, Jack! I'm swimming!"

"Yeah, you are, kid," Jack congratulated, his grin stretching across his face. He watched Crutchie move forward and backward in the water, doggy-paddling, mostly. The younger boy's eyes shone with joy and his dimples deepened as his smile widened. "I told ya a bum leg made no difference. You want to try going deeper?" Jack suggested.

"No, not yet," Crutchie replied, content with the shallows. As much as his confidence in his swimming abilities had improved, he wasn't exactly eager to move to where it was deeper. Crutchie was still afraid that, for some reason, he might suddenly be unable to swim and then he'd sink, never able to resurface again.

"That's fine. We can stay here."

"No, Jack, you can go deeper. I don't mind staying here alone," Crutchie quickly countered. "It's no fun for you to just stand here with me."

"Ah, I don't mind," Jack replied. "I'se gone swimming plenty 'a times. Today ain't anything special."

"Cannonball!" The shout split the air as Race leapt off the dock and into the water, his legs curled up into his chest. The water splashed high into the air, soaking whatever boys happened to be nearby. When Race's grinning face popped out of the water, he was immediately dunked by a couple Brooklyn and Manhattan boys.

With a whoop, a Brooklyn boy leaped into the air, his arms and legs pinwheeling, before he disappeared into the water. The rest of the newsboys seemed to catch onto the game at the same time and immediately began crowding to clamber up the ladder at the side of the dock. The boys began leaping into the water, each trying to make a bigger splash than the boy before him.

Crutchie glanced at Jack, noticing that the older boy's eyes were gleaming. "You want to go jump off the dock?" he asked.

"Nah," Jack replied. "It doesn't matter that much. It looks stupid, anyway."

"Get up there," Crutchie urged. "Go show 'em what's what."

"No, we're swimming here. I ain't leavin' ya."

"Okay." Crutchie started paddling over to the ladder and began to pull himself up, onto the dock. "In that case," he called back to Jack, "I'll just go up there with ya."

"Crutchie," Jack tried, but the younger boy continued to climb the ladder. Rolling his eyes, Jack swam quickly over, his arms breaking easily through the water. He followed his young friend up to the top of the dock, where Crutchie was balancing against Race. "Okay, fine, kid," Jack muttered, shaking water droplets from his hair. "I'll jump from the dock. You happy?"

"Very," Crutchie shot back.

Race made sure that Crutchie was able to balance on his own, before stepping away from the kid. "Let's have a competition!" he suggested. "See who can make the biggest splash!"

"It ain't gonna be you, pipsqueak!" a young Brooklyn boy shouted.

"You ain't any bigger!" Race shot back. The young Brooklyn boy stuck his tongue out at Race and the Manhattan newsie leapt towards the kid, intent on knocking some sense into him.

"Hold on, hold on," Harold said, breaking up the fight before it could truly begin. "Manhattan, control yourself. And Spot, don't start any turf fights." The Brooklyn kid, Spot, grumbled something unintelligible before moving away from Race. Once everyone had calmed down a bit, Harold continued, "And I think a competition is a fine idea. Who'll go first?"

"Jack will!" Crutchie quickly volunteered from the edge of the dock.

Harold glanced at Crutchie. "And who is Jack?"

Crutchie pointed across the dock to Jack as Jack introduced himself.

Harold nodded. "Let's see what ya got, kid," he challenged.

With a cocky grin, Jack jumped into the water, creating a huge splash. "Go Jack!" Crutchie shouted, raising his fist in the air. He backed up, accidentally bumping into the small Brooklyn boy, Spot.

"Hey, watch where you're going," Spot growled, pushing Crutchie to the side.

Crutchie would have fallen to the ground had Race not caught him. "Why don't you just shut up," Race shot back, steadying Crutchie, before taking a step closer to Spot.

"Yeah? Why don't you make me?" Spot challenged.

Race was quick to oblige, leaping across the distance and tackling Spot. Spot threw himself at Race and it wasn't long before the two boys were wrestling on the dock ground. Harold and Tommy tried to stop the fight, but the rest of the newsboys were incensed and started going at each other. A couple boys fell into the water, shouting obscenities the whole way down.

Crutchie started to back up, hoping to escape unnoticed. He wasn't a strong fighter to begin with, but without his crutch, he would be especially at a disadvantage. One of the Brooklyn boys backed up to avoid a Manhattan's fists, bumping into Crutchie. He stumbled backwards, trying to maintain his balance. Crutchie hopped, somewhat, starting to catch himself, when his heel missed the edge of the dock and he fell backwards with a splash.

The initial impact of the water startled Crutchie so much that whatever air had remained in his lungs bubbled out. He gasped, water rushing into his mouth. Crutchie tried to spit the water out, but everything he did allowed even more water to fill his mouth. Soon, he knew, it would begin to edge its way down his esophagus, then into his stomach, weighing him down like lead. He immediately pushed his arms out, trying to make his way back to the surface. Crutchie kicked violently, but the thrashing motion hurt his bad leg; he could feel familiar sparks of pain running up and down the limb. Crutchie struggled up to where he could see the blue sky, distorted by the water above him, but no matter how much he kicked his good leg, he could not break the surface. His clothes clung to him like rocks, heavier than he could have ever imagined.

Crutchie knew a good many things in life. He knew how to read and sound out all the letters correctly. He knew Jack's real name. He knew how to count out change for a newspaper. He knew where the best bakery in all of Manhattan was located.

And he knew that he wasn't going to be able to make it to the surface ever again.

"And who is Jack?" the leader of Brooklyn asked.

"I'm Jack," Jack introduced himself, sticking his chest out. "I'll go first."

"Let's see what ya got, kid," Harold replied, gesturing to the water.

Jack was quick to oblige. He leapt into the air, grabbing his feet and rolling into a ball. He hit the water with a loud smack, immediately sinking further beneath the waves. For a moment, he stayed underwater, trying to make out any shapes in the murky water. As his lungs began to grow tight, Jack scissor-kicked up out of the waves, taking a deep breath of fresh air when he broke into the surface.

Shouts and screams rent the air and Jack looked up at the dock in surprise. He could make out Race locked in a fight with… it looked like the small Brooklyn kid. Newsboys were taking sides and shoving each other around. A couple boys fell off the dock, splashing into the water. Jack grinned. He had been underwater for not even a minute and already the dock had turned into a battlefield. Trust Race to start a fight.

Quickly, Jack cut through the water to the ladder and began to pull himself up. He had barely reached the top, when Tommy tackled Race to the ground, effectively distancing him from Spot. "Stop it!" Tommy shouted, Harold right beside him, breathing hard. "Just stop it, all of you!" Tommy shouted again. He punched the nearest kid in the face, when that tussle didn't end immediately. "I said stop!"

"He started it!" Race shouted, jabbing his finger at Spot.

"Did not," Spot shouted back. "If you hadn't shoved that stupid kid into me, everything would've been fine."

"I didn't shove Crutchie into you. He barely touched you and you tried to throw him to the ground," Race argued.

"Let's just ask Crutchie what happened," Tommy suggested.

Jack scanned the group of Manhattan and Brooklyn newsboys, but didn't immediately see his younger friend. "Where is Crutchie?" he asked, his stomach sinking uncomfortably as he remembered how he had grinned at the sound of boys falling into the water. Had that been Crutchie?

"He was right here just a moment ago," Race muttered, glancing around the dock.

"Did you push him off?" Jack demanded, stepping past Race to observe the water beneath the dock. He couldn't see Crutchie; he couldn't see anything.

"I—I didn't think so," Race responded, his voice guiltily quiet. "I—I was distracted. I don't know, Jack," he admitted, lowering his eyes.

"Crap," Jack muttered, glancing back around the faces behind him. Not Crutchie. None of them were Crutchie. Without a second thought, Jack dove into the water, hoping that, by some stroke of luck, he would manage to find the younger kid.

Jack searched the murky water, praying that he could find his best friend. Crutchie could swim, Jack tried to tell himself. He had been swimming just a couple of minutes ago. But, no, that had been mostly doggy-paddling and Jack wasn't sure how strong Crutchie would be if he were completely submerged. Water was heavy, Jack knew, and if the kid couldn't manage to pull himself to the surface... How long had Crutchie been underwater already? Jack had gotten out of the water after jumping from the dock relatively quickly, so Crutchie couldn't have possibly been underwater for too long. Right?

He tried to kick himself further down in the water, searching for any sign of his friend, but it was getting harder. Jack's lungs began to burn and his mind screamed that he needed oxygen. If he needed oxygen already, how much more did Crutchie? Jack spun around in the water, searching for even a glimpse of his best friend. Nothing.

Hating himself, Jack kicked back up to the surface, taking a gulp of air, before diving back under. He had to find Crutchie. He couldn't stop until the younger boy was back, safe, with his two feet firmly on land. But, there was no sign of him under the water. Jack felt as if he had searched everywhere, but still, nothing. Crutchie was gone. And it was Jack's fault. He was the one who had convinced Crutchie to even try swimming. If it hadn't been for him, Crutchie wouldn't have even been by the edge of the deck. Or, if he hadn't agreed on that stupid splash competition, he could have been up there and caught Crutchie before he fell into the water.

Jack broke the surface again, gasping in a breath of air. Before he could dive back underwater to continue his increasingly hopeless search, Tommy called his name, "Jack! Jack, come back!" Jack turned, shaking his head. He couldn't come back, not until he had found Crutchie. Tommy continued, "We found Crutchie! Come back!"

Barely believing the Manhattan leader's words, Jack swam over to the dock. He pulled himself up the ladder, surprised to see Crutchie lying, prostrate, on the wooden dock. A dripping Harold was bent over him, pounding on the kid's chest. That was when Jack realized, he wasn't breathing. Crutchie wasn't breathing. "Please," Jack whispered, peripherally recognizing that Tommy had slung an arm around his shoulder. "Please, let him be okay."

"We're trying," Tommy promised. "Harold found him while you were searching. He got him up here, and we're doing all that we can."

All the newsboys stood, quietly, staring at the leader of Brooklyn as he struggled to pound life back into the small Manhattan boy. The only sound was the drip-drip of water on the planks of the dock. Just as everyone seemed to be giving up hope, Crutchie's body curled in on itself and he began hacking and coughing up water. "Crutchie," Jack whispered, starting forward, but Tommy held him back. "Wait," Tommy advised. "Let Harold help him, yeah?"

Jack didn't want to wait. Every fiber of his being ached to be by Crutchie's side, making sure that the kid would be just fine. He shook his head. "I gotta be by him," he pleaded. "He's my best friend."

Tommy nodded sympathetically. "I know, Jack. But what can you possibly do that Harold can't?" It was the truth, and Jack knew it, though he hated it. All he could do for Crutchie was get him hurt, apparently.

He anxiously watched as Harold bent further over Crutchie, patting him on the back and whispering comforting nothings as Crutchie breathed in shuddering gasps. "It's okay, it's okay," Harold whispered, one hand rubbing Crutchie's back. "You're going to be okay." The Manhattan newsboy shivered, chills wracking his thin back. "Just breathe, okay? Just keep breathing. You're doing great," Harold comforted. After what felt like a lifetime, Crutchie finally lay back on his back, his breathing evening out. "You good?" Harold asked. The kid nodded shakily, his eyes falling shut.

Jack started forward once again and, this time, Tommy didn't stop him. "Crutchie," Jack whispered, dropping to his knees at Crutchie's side. He grabbed at Crutchie's hand, repeating his best friend's name again. "Crutchie, please be okay."

"I'm fine," Crutchie croaked out, a tired grin breaking out across his face. "Guess I was right 'bout not being able to swim."

"I'm so sorry," Jack explained. "I'm so very sorry. I didn't mean— I didn't think—"

Crutchie coughed, his face reddening as he struggled to breath properly. Once the tickle had passed, he smiled. "It's okay, Jack. I'm fine, yeah? Just, maybe, I won't be swimming any more. I'll just wait for the fireworks."

Jack allowed himself to smile, the motion small and worried. "Okay, Crutch," Jack agreed softly. "You just take it easy." He glanced up, noticing the small Brooklyn boy. "And you," he addressed, standing up and crossing the dock, "you better watch your step around me and my boys."

The small Brooklyn boy puffed his chest out. "Yeah, well you better watch your step around me and my boys," he challenged.

"Whose boys?" Harold asked, his voice hard.

"Yeah," Tommy agreed. "Whose boys are you talking about?"

Jack didn't break eye contact with the small Brooklyn boy. "Just you wait."

"Oh, I'll be waiting."

The tension between Jack and the small Brooklyn boy extended until one of the older Manhattan newsboys pointed out, "Hey, the sun's starting to go down. Let's go get the roman candles, yeah?"

"Yeah," Tommy agreed, motioning his boys to follow him. Harold cuffed the small Brooklyn boy in the ear, before following after.

The small Brooklyn boy glared at the leader of Brooklyn before turning back to Jack, who was helping Crutchie to his feet. "What's your name?" he asked.

Jack glanced up in surprise. "Jack," he admitted.

"The name's Spot," the small Brooklyn boy returned. He spat in his hand, sticking it out. With a huff of surprise, Jack shook it. "For a Manhattan boy, you don't seem so bad," Spot observed.

"And you're not half bad, when you ain't pushing my friends into the water."

"I'm Crutchie!" Crutchie introduced himself, sticking his hand out.

Spot's lips twisted into a smile. "Good to meet ya, kid. Try to stay out of the water, yeah?" Crutchie nodded and Spot turned back to Jack. "Well, like I said before, you stay away from my boys, I'll stay clear of yours."

"You really think you'll be the leader of Brooklyn?" Jack asked, studying the short stature of the kid before him.

"You're one to talk," Spot shot back. "Anyway, I outta head over there and make sure that one Manhattan kid from earlier ain't lighting himself on fire or something."

Jack snorted as Spot made his way down the dock towards land. "That kid is something, ain't he?"

Crutchie nodded. "Yeah, well, I think you'll be the leader of Manhattan before he ever gets Brooklyn," he said, nudging Jack.

"Thanks, kid. How about we grab your crutch and our shoes and then we can go get some of those roman candles?"

Crutchie just smiled. "Happy Fourth of July, Jack!"

So, it was supposed to be all cute and fluffy and then it just... wasn't? But, like, I couldn't kill them before the strike. I mean, there's that, at least.

Anyway, reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated! And, if you'd like a birthday one-shot, just send me a message, or a review with username, date, and prompt! April is now closed, however, but May on is game.