So, I'm back with a new story. As if classes and work didn't keep me busy enough, I decided to write this alongside Riding Palominos. That will continue to be updated on Wednesdays and this one will be updated on Fridays. So, it's still only one chapter a week, just two different chapters. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!
Oh, and I did use some direct lines from the actual musical. I do not own that (just in case you were under the impression I did). I don't make any money off of Newsies. In fact, Newsies has made a good amount of money off of me.
Crows are members of the Corvidae family, which also includes ravens, magpies, and blue jays. Loud, rambunctious, and very intelligent, crows are most often associated with a long history of fear and loathing. Many people fear them simply because of their black feathers, which are often associated with death. Crows are predators and scavengers, which means that they will eat practically anything… even eggs and nestlings of other birds. Many view the appearance of crows as an omen of death because ravens and crows are scavengers and are generally associated with dead bodies, battlefields, and cemeteries, and they're thought to circle in large numbers above sites where animals or people are expected to soon die.
- "A Murder of Crows" published by PBS
The boys had all gathered at Jacobi's Deli for celebratory glasses of water after declaring that they would officially be striking the following day. As each boy sipped his water, Davey announced that they would need to spread the word of the strike. "Let the rest of the city's newsies know about the strike," he advised.
Jack nodded eagerly, turning to the boys. "You heard the man; let's go out and spread the word!"
Mush quickly spoke up, claiming his job. "I'll take Harlem."
"I got Midtown," Race called out.
Jojo claimed the Bronx at the same time as Buttons called the Bowery. Jack assigned Specs and Sniper to Queens and East Side, before asking, "And who wants Brooklyn?" The boys all grew suspiciously interested in their surroundings. Finch scrubbed at an invisible stain on the table, reluctantly looking up when Jack continued, "C'mon, Brooklyn, Spot Conlon's turf. Hey, Finch, you tellin' me you're scared of Brooklyn?"
Finch shook his head, glaring at Jack defensively. "I ain't scared of no turf. Just… y'know, Spot Conlon makes me a little jittery," he finished off sheepishly.
Jack scanned the rest of the boys at the tables, trying to find someone who would take up the task of informing Brooklyn of the strike. From the far corner, a quiet voice offered, "I'll go to Brooklyn if ya want."
All heads immediately swiveled to the new voice. The speaker was a small boy with shaggy black hair that shone in the artificial light of the deli, long and sleek. He had pale white skin that was exaggerated by the dark smudges of dirt that colored his cheeks and grubby hands. His eyes were dark and intelligent, flicking from newsie to newsie. The boy was thin and his clothes hung from his gangly limbs, giving him the appearance of a scarecrow that had taken stock of its unfortunate situation scaring off the scavenging birds and decided that enough was enough and got up off his post and trekked down to the city. "I sell over in Brooklyn. I don't mind tellin' them 'bout the strike," the boy elaborated.
"You're a Brooklyn boy?" Jack asked, narrowing his eyes. "What're you doing all the way over in Manhattan, then?"
The boy shrugged. "I sold all my papes and was just exploring. Turf's all the same, wherever you go and I weren't comin' to harm you all or nothing."
"Well, let's have ya name," Jack demanded.
"They call me Crow," the boy said, gesturing up at his hair. "Because of my hair, I think."
"Whaddya think about the strike, Crow?" Race asked suspiciously.
"I think it's a grand idea, standing up to the World and all. We'se got our rights, too, y'know, and I wouldn't mind rubbing some of that in Pulitzer's face. I'm sure Spot and da other boys would be on board, just as much as I is."
Jack grinned, motioning Crow to come sit by the Manhattan boys. Crow sat down beside Jack, edging Crutchie and Mush out of their seats to make room for the Brooklyn newsie. "Great. Tomorrow, when we'se supposed to get the papes, we'll show 'em what's really going on. Will you be there with us?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Crow promised excitedly. "We'll kick their rear for sure!" he exclaimed, much to the excitement of the other newsies, who began repeating Crow's words and pantomiming exactly how they'd kick Pulitzer and Hearst.
"That's what I said," Crutchie muttered, frowning.
Mush shrugged. "What does it matter? We'se all in this together."
"Hm," Crutchie murmured, watching Crow as he chattered with the Jack and Davey, deciding just what would be taking place the following morning. The boy seemed just as enamored about the strike as the other boys, but Crutchie couldn't shake a feeling that there was more to the black-haired boy than met the eye.
At that moment, Katherine Plumber, the reporter they had met earlier, entered the deli. She started questioning about how they planned to defeat a wealthy corporation such as the World and it wasn't long before Jacobi was shooing the boys outdoors in favor of actual customers. Once they were outside, Crow promised once more he'd be at the strike the following morning with just as many Brooklyn newsies as he could gather up. With a parting slap on the back from Jack, Crow took off, dashing down the streets to where the Brooklyn bridge was located.
Crutchie followed Jack as he walked with Katherine, lingering slightly behind the pair as they discussed Jack's artistic abilities. Crutchie found himself siding with Katherine; Jack did have real talent and he probably could make it as an illustrator. But, that would mean he would leave the newsies and as much as Crutchie wanted Jack to be successful and fulfil all of those crazy, wild dreams of his, he didn't know how much he wanted Jack to actually up and leave them.
Jack turned to Crutchie after Katherine had taken her leave. "You excited?" he asked the younger boy, slinging his arm around Crutchie's shoulder as they made their way back to the Lodging House.
"For the strike?" Crutchie asked, before nodding. "Yeah, I is. We'se gonna show Pulitzer he can't just walk all over us like we'se nothing, for sure."
"And with all the other newsies joined togetha, there just ain't no way we can lose," Jack said, the idea of winning glinting in his brown eyes, a fervent light that spoke of the surety of success.
Crutchie lightly brought up. "What did you think of Crow?"
"The kid's a miracle. Spot might actually listen to one of his own boys than join a strike on even my word. It was mighty lucky he happened to be there in the deli."
"It was a mighty coincidence."
Jack shot a quick, questioning glance in Crutchie's direction. "You don't like him?"
Crutchie shrugged, unsure of what to make of the slight boy. "I don't know, Jack. I just… It feels like something's a little off 'bout him. Or something like that."
It was common knowledge among the Manhattan newsies that Crutchie was an excellent judge of character, one of the many attributes that made him so excellent at selling papes: he could read a man a mile away, as Race would proudly claim. Jack knew that if Crutchie was hesitant about Crow, then perhaps he should be more cautious about the young boy. But, this time, Jack had to disagree and Jack was pretty sure there was a reason why Crutchie distrusted Crow.
"Is this because he stole your seat when I motioned him over?" Jack asked, fighting back a grin. "Could it be because Crutchie's jealous?"
"I ain't jealous!" Crutchie protested, shaking his head vigorously. "I just—"
Jack cut him off. "You ain't got anything to be jealous of. You'se still my best friend," Jack promised, before reaching over and giving Crutchie a quick noogie. "We'se family and some kid from Brooklyn ain't gonna stop that."
Crutchie grinned, pulling his head away from Jack's offending knuckles. "Hey, hey! That ain't how you treat a brother!"
"What would you know?" Jack challenged, trying to catch Crutchie in a headlock.
"What would you know?" Crutchie shot back, hopping out of Jack's reach. Much to everyone's constant surprise, his crutch didn't slow him down as much as bystanders expected and Crutchie was quick enough to dodge Jack's grabs.
"Come on, Crutch," Jack said, trying to look stern, but having difficulty hiding the smile that fought to shine. "You need to stop playing around so that we can get back to the Lodging House. You'se like a child."
Crutchie frowned petulantly. "Whatever," he muttered, attempting an offended look. Just as he stepped into reach of Jack, Jack sprung at him, successfully capturing him in a headlock and giving him a second noogie. "Hey!" Crutchie shouted, trying to pull his head away in vain.
Jack pulled the younger boy into a one-armed hug. "We'se gonna show them tomorrow. Just you wait and see." They'd be successful. Everything would work out the way it was supposed to and around this time tomorrow night, all the boys would be toasting to the win of the strike. Maybe they'd even splurge on seltzer.
The newsboys gathered by the gates, waiting for the first official strike to begin. Jack paced around the gates, Davey tracking the other boy. "Sit down and don't be so anxious," Davey suggested.
"Nah, he's got reason to be anxious," Race muttered, chewing on the end of a cigar. "If it's just the couple of us, we're gonna be beat back before you can say ol' George Washington."
"Well, is anyone else coming?" Davey asked, glancing between Jack and Race. Les stood near Davey, kicking and punching at the thin air, practicing his "battle moves" as he had informed the older boys with the utmost seriousness.
Jack shrugged, his hand brushing through his hair. "I don't know," he admitted, glancing down the street in the hopes of seeing a group of boys coming forward to
At that moment, Crow came up, sitting on the ground near Davey. "You talked to Spot Conlon?" Race asked the black haired boy.
Crow nodded. "I talked to him. Explained the strike and everything. He was impressed."
"So, he and his gang are with us?" Race asked.
"Well, that's where it gets a bit more complicated," Crow said softly. "Spot thinks it's a nice idea and all, but he's worried ya going to just turn tail if it gets hard."
Jack shook his head, determinedly. "We ain't gonna turn tail, not for nothing. Especially, since we'se got us and Harlem—"
Mush quickly interrupted. "Not so fast, boss. Harlem's wants to know what Brooklyn's doing."
Jack turned to Specs. "What about Queens?"
Specs shrugged awkwardly. "Queens'll be right here backing us up, as soon as they get the nod from Brooklyn."
Oscar approached the group of boys, examining the ragtag group. "Guess it was bum information we got about a strike happening today." He flexed, causing most of the other boys to roll their eyes. "Not that I'm complainin'; my skull-busting arm could use a day of rest."
"Are we doing the right thing?" Les brought up, glancing between his older brother and Jack.
"Sure we are," Davey reassured his brother.
Race rolled an invisible piece of lint between his fingers, examining the nonexistent speck. "Maybe we should just put this off for a couple of days." A couple of the other boys nodded, murmuring about the wisdom of Race's suggestion.
"No, we can't just put this off," Davey told the boys, but no one was paying attention to him. No one, except Crow. Crow glanced between Davey and the other boys, who were growing more restless as the strike seemed to be even more impossible without the backup they had been hoping for. Oscar was even glancing back, as if he were weighing his options to leave. Realizing that he wouldn't be the one to be able to get through to the other boys, Davey turned to Jack. "Say something," he hissed. "Tell them if we back off now, they'll never listen to us again."
"We can't back down now," Jack said, addressing the boys. "We gotta take a stand."
"What if we just don't show up to work?" Finch suggested. "That could send the message."
Jack shook his head. "You know it won't. They'd just replace us. We gotta stand our ground…" Jack stared at the boys, unsure of what to say next, so he handed the speech off to Davey. "You tell 'em, Davey."
Davey glanced at Jack in surprise. "I don't have anything to say," he hissed in Jack's direction, but Jack merely shrugged, motioning for him to say something. With a slight, awkward shrug, Davey began to softly sing, "Now is the time to seize the day." The words were soft and hesitant, but the message was clear: despite the odds the newsies were facing, they would not give up or turn away. They would overcome; they would win.
Crutchie hefted up his crutch, a strip of cloth with the word STRIKE emblazoned across it fluttered in the movement. "Look at this, Jack!"
"That's great," Race muttered, before belying his own words with, "That's just pitiful."
Crow watched the way Crutchie's face fell ever so slightly, before shifting back into a grin. It was a false grin and Crow wondered why none of the other boys seemed to notice.
Les quickly interjected, "Maybe Pulitzer will see it from his window."
Recognizing that the boys were beginning to need more encouragement, Davey started up again, this time louder and more confident, "Courage cannot erase our fear; courage is when we face our fear."
It wasn't long until both Jack and Crutchie had joined Davey, "Now is the time to seize the day. Stare down the odds and seize the day."
Specs and Race glanced at each other, before the rest of the newsies joined in, declaring that they would start the strike and wouldn't stop until their rights were won. Crow sat off to the side, observing the antics of the boys as they cheered and pounded each other on the back, their comradery thick and painful to watch. He did not join in the excited exclamations of "seize the day," content to wait out the strike.
When the scabs showed up, Mush wanted to soak them for trying to take the newsies' jobs and Crow knew that the strike was about to devolve into a chaos that would, most certainly, ruin the newsies' chance of dropping the prices. But, Davey muttered something to Jack and the older boy quickly began talking to the scabs, encouraging them to join the strike. Crow watched in growing wonder as the scabs threw their newspapers to the ground and joined in the cheers. That had been unexpected.
The Delanceys immediately tore into the crowd, pushing Romeo to the ground. "Hold it now, boys," Morris said, tauntingly. "We wouldn't want to make no mistakes or nothing."
Jack didn't respond back. Instead, he settled for punching Oscar in the nose. The square immediately devolved into chaos. Bulls came streaming in and began shoving and pushing around the young newsie boys. Crow swung at the nearest one, grinning slightly when the man stumbled backwards, hand pressed to his bleeding nose. Maybe a strike could be fun.
The cops were railing on all the boys, pushing and shoving and pulling out their clubs. Crutchie managed to trip one of the bulls, deftly sticking out his crutch as the muscled man ran past. The bull tumbled forward, before quickly turning on Crutchie. The man sprung back up, his hands immediately going for Crutchie's throat. "You'll die. I'll kill ya, kid," the man threatened, pulling a fist back. Before the bull could punch Crutchie, a blur of black had toppled the man backwards. Crow shoved the man to the ground, kicking him in a particularly painful place. "You okay?" Crow asked, glancing back at Crutchie.
"Yeah, fine," Crutchie said, his hand rubbing at his throat as he backed away from the man.
Crow nodded once, before disappearing back into the fray. Crutchie watched the small boy start railing on a different bull, shaking his head slightly. Maybe he had misjudged the kid. Before Crutchie could contemplate that any further, he noticed some of the bulls going after Les and Crutchie quickly stepped in, beating at a two of them with his crutch and deftly dodging the blows the bulls were throwing back at him.
The entire scuffle wasn't going nearly as well as Crutchie had figured it would, after all of Jack's positive encouragement regarding the strike. The bulls weren't going easy on the boys and Crutchie could see different bruises already forming on the jaws of some of the newsies. There was blood on Romeo's shirt and the young newsie face was pale, but determined. The boys weren't going to back down, but the bulls were not making it easy on them, at any rate.
Suddenly, a loud whistle shattered the fight and everyone seemed to stop mid-motion, turning to the new figure. Snyder stood at the edge of the crowd, clad in a dark gray suit with a matching bowler hat seated pretentiously on his head. His hands were planted at his sides, fisted against his hips, and his legs were spread apart in an authoritative stance. Romeo was nearest Snyder and he stepped closer to the older man, gesturing at the small army of bulls that were railing on the newsies. "It's about time you got here; they're slaughtering us!" Romeo got a rough cuff to his ear and the boy skipped sideways, his hand to the side of his head.
With that movement, everything sprung back into motion. The bulls started pushing back even harder and Crutchie got a strong fist in the jaw, the impact pushing him backwards. He pulled himself back forward, shoving the bull back into a metal trashcan with all his strength. Crutchie couldn't help grinning when the man stayed down, rubbing his head petulantly. He cast a quick glance around. Race and Romeo were back to back, keeping the bulls at bay. Jack was off to the side, fighting back two of the cops at the same time. Specs was using a trash can lid as a shield, before randomly swinging the metal disc towards some of the bulls that were approaching him. Davey was keeping one of the more persistent cops from his younger brother, his eye already blackened.
It seemed like the boys really had a chance at winning this. They were holding their ground and they weren't going to back down for nothing. Before Crutchie could celebrate the win, more bulls came around a corner, entering the square. Now the newsies were truly and hopelessly outnumbered. There were glances around and a silent mutual understanding was reached: the newsies began to retreat. Crutchie was making his way out of the square, avoiding the bulls, when he noticed Crow taking on both the Delancey brothers by himself. Morris swung once and his fist connected, Crow's head snapping to the side. "Hey!" Crutchie shouted, turning back to the smaller Brooklyn boy. Just because he didn't really like the kid didn't mean he was going to leave him to the mercy of the Delancey brothers. "Hey, stop!"
Oscar turned to Crutchie. "This don't bother you, crip."
Crow was still on the ground, Morris leering over him, but the black-haired boy managed to make eye contact with Crutchie. His eyes were wide and he started to shake his head, but was cut off when Morris kicked him in the ribs. "Hey!" Crutchie shouted again, starting forward.
"Look, if you aren't going to back off on your own accord, I'll just have to teach you a lesson myself," Oscar threatened. Crutchie wasn't going to back down and he actually managed to hit Oscar in the ribs with his crutch. But, Oscar moved faster than Crutchie had expected and the older boy ripped the wooden rod from Crutchie's hand, the momentum sending Crutchie sprawling onto the ground. Before Crutchie could scramble back up or grab his crutch which was only a foot or two away, Oscar had kicked him in his side. Crutchie immediately collapsed back in on himself, crutching his stinging ribs. "Was that necessary?" he grunted, the pain sparking unchecked sarcasm.
Oscar must have taken that as some strange form of a challenge and set on the crippled boy, kicks aimed at all visible parts of Crutchie's body. The boy tried to curl into a fetal position, arms wrapped around his head, but the stiff kicks still managed to cause damage. To his right, Crutchie risked a glance to see that Crow was at much the same mercy to Morris.
Just when Crutchie was pretty sure that he wouldn't be able to take much more, the raining blows stopped. Crutchie glanced up, noticing that Snyder had approached the four boys. He stopped and scooped up Crutchie's crutch, examining the rod of wood. His light, dangerous fingers ran along the edge of the crutch, flicking off an imaginary speck of dust. Snyder glanced at Crow, before motioning to Morris. "Take him to the Refuge."
"Hey, that ain't fair!" Crutchie shouted, uncurling from the ball he had rolled into. Crow was watching him, wide-eyed. In fact, Crutchie had managed to garner the attention of everyone left in the square.
"Oh, I'll show you unfair," Snyder threatened and before Crutchie could even figure out what the older man meant by that, the crutch had connected with Crutchie's right shoulder.
The impact elicited a sharp cry of pain from Crutchie. But that didn't stop Snyder. If anything, it encouraged the man to attack Crutchie with renewed fervor. Crutchie could not keep in the cries of pain, jerking with each impact. Crutchie had no doubt in his mind that Snyder meant to murder him with his own crutch and there was nothing he could do to stop the torment. But, maybe someone else could help. "Jack!" Crutchie called out, his voice riddled with desperation and fear. For, if Jack didn't show, Crutchie would die. "Jack!"
"Shut up, crip," Snyder growled, swinging the crutch against Crutchie's unprotected head.
For a long moment, everything was black. Crutchie was still, unfortunately, conscious, his entire body still tingling with pain that erupted fiery-hot with even the smallest of movements. As his vision returned, Crutchie noticed that Snyder had finally stopped. "Jack…" Crutchie whispered weakly, knowing that Jack wasn't going to come to his rescue. Not this time.
Snyder stood there, observing the crippled boy, before motioning to Oscar. "Take him to the Refuge too. I'm sure we can put him to use."
Crutchie didn't even try to fight off Oscar as the older boy grabbed his crippled leg, jerking the small fifteen-year-old out of the square. He winced in pain, shutting his eyes. He was being taken to the Refuge and there was nothing for him to do but try to weather the pain and, maybe, escape like Jack had all those years ago.
"Crutchie!" The shout caught Crutchie by surprise and his eyes whipped open, searching out the source of that familiar voice.
"Jack!" Crutchie shouted back, noticing his friend at the opposite end of the square. He immediately threw out his hands, trying to catch his fingertips against some of the jutting cobblestones and pull out of Oscar's grasp. But the Delancey brother was much stronger and there was nothing Crutchie could do to escape. "Jack, help!"
"Crutchie!" Jack shouted again and Crutchie noticed he took a step forward, before backing up again. The older boy mouthed something, but Crutchie couldn't make out what he was saying. Instead, he let his head fall down in defeat. He was being taken to the Refuge and even though he had heard the story of Jack's miraculous escape countless times, for some reason, Crutchie didn't think it would be that easy or simple for him.
So, I hope you've enjoyed this first chapter. Generally, I'm not a huge fan of a story about an OC, but here I am, writing one. What did you think about Crow? Love him? Hate him? Literally only reading this for Crutchie and couldn't care less about Crow? If you have any advice about writing Crow or whatnot, I'd love to hear it. Please review!