"Crutchie?" Jack called, turning around. Crutchie was decently far behind him, and he'd been lagging even further as they started the uphill trek from their selling point. "Kid, what's taking you so long?"
Crutchie's face was glistening with sweat, but he smiled the same as usual. "What, can't a guy enjoy the scenery? Why you in such a rush? Have ya' got somewhere special to be?"
"Nah, but there's a difference between enjoyin' the view and takin' ten years!" Jack walked back to where Crutchie was. "You need help or somethin'?"
"No!" Crutchie shouted, a bit defensively. "No, I'm doing just fine, thank you very much. If you're in such a rush, you can run on ahead. No need to wait for me."
Jack stared at Crutchie for a few more moments. "You comin' back to the penthouse?"
"Yeah, I've just gotta make a couple of stops first. You know me, always gotta couple ladies dyin' for my attention," Crutchie winked.
Jack rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. See you later."
Crutchie seemed different when he got back to the lodging house. A bit grumpier than usual. He played poker with the Race, Jack, and Specs for a little while before excusing himself and disappearing back into where the rest of the Newsies were. When Jack joined them later on that evening, he couldn't help but notice that Crutchie was a lot quieter, not his usual cheerfully outgoing self.
He tried not to worry.
Crutchie had talked to him about his worrying, his 'mothering'. He confronted him about it, actually. Told Jack that he needed to stop because it made him look even weaker in front of the other boys, and not only was he very much not weak, he had an image to maintain.
It wasn't that Jack thought that Crutchie was weak. To the contrary, he had witnessed Crutchie beat up several unsuspecting bullies, and Crutchie had beaten Jack up pretty good the day that they'd first met. He figured Crutchie could've done an even worse number on Jack that day if he hadn't been sick, shivering in an alleyway on a rainy day.
That was the thing-Crutchie got sick really easily.
He didn't know if Crutchie had a naturally weak immune system, or if it was left over from polio, or if he just had really bad luck, but Crutchie seemed to be sick more than anyone else in the lodging house. There were days when he was just more rundown than usual, which Jack could tell because he'd walk slower and sometimes begrudgingly admit that he couldn't climb up the ladder to the penthouse. A few times his leg would seize up and Jack would wake in the morning to the thudding noises of Crutchie literally dragging himself out of bed because he couldn't walk on it at all.
But there were also the days, days that happened too frequently for Jack's liking, where Crutchie would get a fever. Whenever the kid got a fever, it always got impossibly high. Race commented once when Crutchie was sick that he could cook his morning egg on him. Jack hadn't taken the comment lightly, but Crutchie just proceeded to say that no, he wasn't sick, he had just slept under a lot of blankets that night and that was why he felt warm.
Of course, later that same day he was throwing up and delirious.
So, yeah. Jack had a bit of reasoning behind all of his worrying.
Crutchie must've noticed Jack's staring, because he glared at him and shook his head.
Crutchie would tell him if he was really sick. Probably. Jack should just let it go. The last time he'd mothered Crutchie in front of everyone, he hadn't spoken to Jack for a week.
So Jack let out a long breath, and let it go.
Jack was sitting in the penthouse, fighting everything in him that was telling him to help Crutchie climb up the stairwell. He'd offered a few times, but then Crutchie snapped at him and told him he was capable. So Jack was just helplessly listening to the pants and groans as Crutchie struggled up the ladder. He could hear Crutchie swear, something he didn't do very often because it was 'a bad influence on the younger kids' and his resolve broke. "Kid, you sure you don't need-"
"I'm fine," Crutchie insisted, and he heaved himself over the final prong. "And I told ya, I ain't a kid. I'm only a year younger than you."
"Yeah, yeah," Jack waved his hand. "You feelin' alright?"
There goes the glare.
"Hey! We ain't in front of people no more. You just said no motherin' in front of the guys."
"I'm fine, Jack. You worry too much," Crutchie smiled. "Beautiful night, ain't it?"
Jack pretended not to notice Crutchie's obvious change in subject. "Yeah. Stars are beautiful."
"You know what else is beautiful?" Crutchie asked.
Jack felt his ears burn. "What?"
"A good night's sleep," Crutchie giggled a bit, slapping Jack on the arm. "What did you think that I was gonna say?"
Jack flushed. "Nothin'. Go to bed."
"G'night, Jack," Crutchie slowly lowered himself down onto his mattress, which was on the opposite end of the penthouse from Jack's. Sometimes on colder nights, they'd push them together to conserve warmth. Not tonight, sadly. It wasn't that cold, so there was no guise of sharing body warmth to tell the other boys, should someone come up.
Crutchie's voice was sounding strained. But it was probably just from tiredness. He was fine.
"Goodnight. Sleep well."
"Try not to keep me up with your singin', will ya? I need my beauty sleep."
"God, yes you do," joked Jack. "I won' sing tonight."
Jack slowly opened his eyes, blinking the sleep away. It was still dark outside, the stars shining above. It was pretty quiet, meaning it was either super late, or super early. Unsure of what woke him up, he shifted and attempted to fall back asleep again. He was almost there when the sound of retching woke him.
He sat up, peeling off his blanket and giving his bed one last loving look before scanning to see where the noise was coming from. There was a chance it was coming from a lower level and someone, preferably not him, would take care of it. Then his eyes landed on Crutchie, who was bent over at the ladder.
"Hey," Jack said, walking over to Crutchie.
"Oh, sorry I woke you," he whispered, his voice strained. "I'm sorry, I didn't make it to the bathroom."
"Do you think you're going to throw up again?" asked Jack.
Crutchie shook his head, wiping his face with a quivering hand. "No, I'm-I'm fine. You can go back to bed," he then attempted to pull himself standing, but he was shaking so badly that his leg couldn't support him and he couldn't even hold the crutch steady.
"Crutchie-" suddenly the aforementioned boy let out a cry, and fell to the ground clutching his leg. "Damn it," Jack swiftly had his arm underneath of Crutchie, wrapping the younger boy's arm around his shoulders. Being in such a close vicinity to the other made Jack realize just how hot he was. Sure, Crutchie got sick a lot, but this fever was worse than anything he'd had in a long while.
By the time they'd reached the mattress, Crutchie had stopped fighting him in his attempts to walk on his own. "I'm fine," he muttered again, but didn't resist as Jack laid him on the bed.
"Jesus, kid, you're shaking," Jack crossed the penthouse in a few long strides, grabbing his own blanket, and lying it over Crutchie. "How long have you been feeling sick?"
Crutchie's response was muffled in the blanket.
"Speak up."
"A few days?"
Jack groaned. "When you don't feel good, you let someone know. Or you don't sell for a day so you can feel better. You don't let it come to," he waved his hand. "This."
Crutchie mumbled something unintelligible, then shivered despite the multiple blankets.
"What did you say?" Jack leaned closer in an attempt to hear, but Crutchie had already drifted off into a hazy sleep.
Jack watched over Crutchie for a few more minutes, ensuring that he didn't wake up and start vomiting again. Once he was sure Crutchie would stay in his admittedly restless sleep, he glanced around. He'd given his blanket to Crutchie, which was fine and all, but it was a bit chillier than he would've liked. Too warm to sleep together, too cold to sleep without a blanket.
He decided to compromise, and tried to push his mattress near Crutchie's as quietly as possible. Once the mattresses were pressed together, he laid down and rolled over so he was facing Crutchie. The poor boy kept making pained facial expressions, and muttering in his sleep.
Jack resisted the urge to reach out a soothing hand and touch Crutchie's face. Brush some of his hair out of his eyes. He'd have to have Katherine come over and cut it again as soon as Crutchie was feeling up to it. It was really getting out of hand.
Crutchie's breathing quickened suddenly, and Jack could see his eyes moving rapidly through his nearly translucent eyelids. Out of instinct more than anything else, Jack grasped Crutchie's hand, rubbing soothing patterns into his palm.
After a couple of minutes, Crutchie calmed, and Jack let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
And he fell back asleep, still holding the other boy's hand.
Jack awoke to the bell tolling.
Blinking in the morning light, Jack slowly became aware of his surroundings.
More importantly, how close he was to Crutchie.
At some point in the night, they'd moved closer together. Jack's leg was intertwined between Crutchie's, and his arm was tossed carelessly over Crutchie. Their faces were mere inches apart.
He could still feel intense heat radiating off of Crutchie. His face was probably just as red as the other boy's.
Who was starting to wake up.
Jack didn't know if he'd call the state that Crutchie was in conscious or not. His eyes were open, and his breathing had lost the steady pattern it had had before, but his eyes were so glazed over it was almost humorous. "Jack," he murmured, tucking his head even closer for a brief moment before his eyes slipped shut again. Suddenly Jack felt him shaking, and he was coughing violently into the pillow. Jack patted his back, trying not to let the worry show on his face. "I'm sorry," Crutchie muttered as he pulled back again. And then, much more awake: "Jack, did I get you sick?"
"What?" Jack tried to even out his breathing, knowing what Crutchie would say next. "I dunno what you mean, I feel fine."
"But-your face is all red!" commented Crutchie, his expression guilty. "Sorry, you shouldn't have-" and he doubled over again, coughing into his arm.
When Crutchie came up for air, Jack grabbed his shoulders, steadied him, and said: "I am not sick. Don' worry your pretty lil' head about it."
Crutchie, suddenly exhausted, nodded. "You should…" he trailed off, his head drooping for a second. "Get going. All the papes is gonna be gone."
"I ain't goin' nowhere," Jack promised, allowing Crutchie to lay down again and cuddle into him.
"I has gotta get goin'," Crutchie explained suddenly, trying to sit up. "All the papes is gonna be gone!"
Jack put his hand on Crutchie's chest, and it was far too easy to push the smaller boy down. "No, you ain't. You's is gonna stay here and get rest. And I is gonna stay with you."
"I am," mumbled Crutchie.
"What?"
"Ain't you ever listen' to Davey ramble on? It's I am, not I is."
"Oh. But you say I is all the time."
"So?" Crutchie was fading fast, so Jack didn't push it.
"Ah, nevermind. Get your sleep."
He talked to Race about spotting his and Crutchie's rent for the day. That night Crutchie refused to eat anything, only really even waking up to tell Jack that he wasn't hungry and to go on without him.
The next morning, he woke up early, before the bell even went off, in hopes of selling some papers before Crutchie woke up and being back before the other boy even knew he was gone.
Alas, as he tried to stand up, Crutchie hugged tighter to him. When Jack reached the fire escape, he turned to see an incredibly drained Crutchie leaning very heavily on his crutch behind him, and his hat on backwards as usual. Jack barely had time to say his name before his crutch had given way and Crutchie collapsed onto the ground, unable to even sit up. He just curled into a ball and laid there as if intending to stay there all day. Jack lifted him up, ignoring his protests that he could walk, and laid him back on his bed.
He couldn't even support himself. Jack gnawed at his lip, debating. He couldn't ask Race to cover him again, he'd start losing respect if word got around that he wasn't selling, just mooching off of others. And if said word got to Spot Colon, of all people, well he'd be on Jack's ass before he knew what hit him. But then there was Crutchie, who's fever hadn't once flickered or indicated that it was going to go away. Who had literally just collapsed to the ground in front of him. Jack knew that he was overthinking it, that Crutchie was going to be fine, he always was, but he couldn't help fearing...what if this was like last time? Last time, when he'd left him alone and found him on the street weeks later, nearly dead, and never able to properly walk again? Sure, that probably wouldn't happen, but what if it did, and it was Jack's fault, again?
He heard tell tale shaking of the fire escape indicating that someone was coming up, so he took a few steps away from Crutchie and turned to face whoever it was.
Katherine.
"They told me that you'd be up here," in her hands she had a small box. "You should go sell. You can't miss another day."
"Kath-"
"No. This is where you listen to me," she commanded. "If you stop selling, Spot will have this territory before you know it."
Jack hung his head. "I know."
"I'll stay here with Crutchie until you get back," Katherine explained. "I can work on the story I'm writing here."
Jack wanted to argue with her, but the glare in her eyes told him that no amount of arguing would change her mind. "Fine. Whatever."
"Don't be grumpy about it. I'm more than capable of watching over Crutchie. I know that you're," she waved her hand about. "protective of him."
Letting out a steady hiss of air, Jack marched up to Crutchie, who had barely stirred in the entirety of their conversation. "He threw up the first day, but he ain't since. But I's been keeping the bowl nearby just in case. Mostly he just sleeps and coughs. If he wakes up, make 'im eat."
Katherine nodded. "Okay," Jack didn't move. "I can handle this, Jack. Go sell with your boys."
Jack nodded. "Yeah, yeah, okay," he stopped when he reached the fire escape. "Jus'...send someone my way if something changes?"
"Of course, Jack. Now, if you don't go, I'm going to push you off of the fire escape," said Katherine.
It took longer than he would've liked, but he sold all of his papers. Maybe it was because he was trying to sell more than usual today to cover Crutchie, maybe it was because his mind kept blanking when coming up with lies. But by the time that he'd sold all of them, the sun was low in the sky, and a cool breeze had settled along the streets. He tipped his hat to a few of his regulars as he jogged back to the lodging house. The fact that they kept coming back to him in spite of his lies meant they must like him for some reason or another, so he tried to extend common courtesy to them.
Crutchie was a much better liar than Jack was, in all honesty. He seemed to go through the paper every day and find little details to exaggerate so he wasn't technically lying. And he had a different lie for each of his customers, all of which he knew by name. He always knew exactly what would interest every one of them. Jack suspected that if it weren't for his leg and tendency to get sick, Crutchie would've overthrown Jack in his position for leader.
Jack paused, stopping in front of a drug store. He had a few extra coins due to his extra papers. Enough to cover Crutchie and him, and maybe…
A few minutes later he emerged from the store holding a small bottle of cough syrup. It wasn't much, and it smelled disgusting, but hopefully it would help.
Katherine was still up on the rooftop with Crutchie, who was still asleep. She had papers scattered all over, and her fingertips were covered in lead. Her own empty plate lie next to her, and Jack felt his stomach drop when he noticed what could only be Crutchie's plate, untouched.
"Sorry, Jack," said Katherine. "He refused to eat at all. Tried to get up and sell a few times, but he never could make it to the fire escape, anyways."
Jack wanted to scream. To rip everything up and throw it over and just scream. But instead he spoke as calmly as he could manage. "It's okay. Thanks anyways."
"Anytime," Katherine hugged Jack, patting his back, then squeezed Crutchie's hand and disappeared down the ladder.
"Hey, Crutchie," Jack rubbed Crutchie's hand. "How you feelin'?"
Crutchie's eyes opened slowly, but it took a few moments for recognition to kick in. "Jack!" he said, his voice hoarse. "I missed you!"
"Yeah, I missed you too," Jack closed his eyes, then put a hand on Crutchie's forehead. If possible, he was even warmer than before.
Crutchie cried out, clutching his leg with a broken sob. "It hurts, Jack, it hurts so bad. I feels like-like someone's stampin' on it."
Crutchie's tone was delirious. "I know. Shh," he rubbed his hand through the other boy's hair. "You're gonna be fine, you know that?"
Crutchie coughed. "I think 'm sick."
"Yeah, yeah, I think you are," Jack pulled out the medicine. "I need you to drink this, it'll help your throat feel better."
Crutchie pulled away. "No, no, no. I won't."
"C'mon, I bought it, just for you," insisted Jack. "Just a little."
"No," Crutchie had rolled so he was facing away from Jack. "I'm...fine."
"Have you even eaten anything today?" asked Jack, pained.
"I'm not hungry."
"It doesn't matter if you're hungry or not, you still need to eat," Jack said. "At least have some bread."
Crutchie looked like he was going to fight more, but then his shoulders slumped, and he nodded. "Fine."
He ripped off small pieces for himself, wincing everytime he swallowed. After the bread was halfway gone, he handed it back to Jack, shaking his head. "I can't eat anymore, sorry."
"Drink this," Jack handed over the medicine again. "It'll help, promise."
"Yeah, yeah, says you," Crutchie smelled the medicine, and wrinkled his nose. "This smells disgusting."
"I know. You've gotta drink it."
"Do I?"
"Yeah. Drink it," ordered Jack. Crutchie tilted his head back, chugging some of the medicine. "Not that much!"
Crutchie doubled over in a coughing fit. "That's...that's something."
"How do you feel?" Jack asked.
"I don' think it works that fast," Crutchie commented, laying back down. "Will you lay next to me?"
Jack resisted the urge to cheer at Crutchie's wakefulness. He laid besides Crutchie, holding the other's hand. If Crutchie noticed, he didn't say anything. In fact, he tucked his head so it was in the crook of Jack's neck.
"Katherine told me about what she was writing," Crutchie commented. "It's a woman's rights piece. They're letting her publish it under a different alias."
"What's wrong with the one she's got?" asked Jack.
"She thinks people won't take it seriously if they see it was written by a woman," replied Crutchie, tracing a pattern lazily into Jack's hand.
"Huh," that hadn't occurred to Jack, but it made sense.
"Are you…" Crutchie was silent for such a long time Jack wondered if he'd fallen asleep. "Are you and Katherine dating?"
Jack's eyes widened. The breakup had been so mutual, so friendly, it was almost like it had never happened. "I, uh," he cleared his throat. "No. We both decided it wasn't going to work out. She wanted to work more on her writin', anyways."
"Oh," Crutchie was quiet again. Jack felt him shaking slightly, and worried that he was still freezing, despite the multiple blankets and Jack practically hugging him. Then he realized, no, he was crying.
"Crutch? Are you okay? What's wrong?" asked Jack.
Crutchie sniffled a few times. "I ain't...nothin's wrong. Just the...medicine."
"Kid, you can't lie to me," scorned Jack.
"I know, I know," Crutchie said. "It's just...you was gonna leave. You was gonna leave us all for Santa Fe. And then she-Katherine asked you to stay an' it was just enough? Like...we wasn't enough. Your family wasn't enough. You jus'...you jus'...you jus' was gonna throw it all away, like we don' matter to you. But Katherine mattered. Mattered enough to make you stay," Crutchie was breathing heavily, every breath that went in and out making a rattling noise.
"Crutchie…" Jack had an absence of words.
"And just...would you still leave? I mean, I know I ain' the best, I know you's always gettin' in trouble because of me, but what about Davey? And Les? That kid-that kid thinks the world of you, Jack, and you was just gonna leave him behind for a dream? But Katherine...Katherine...Katherine…" Crutchie had descended back into the delirious fevered comments, clutching desperately at Jack's shirt.
"Don't say that. Don't ever think that you're not worth it," Jack said, his voice tight. Did Crutchie really think so low of him? So low that he'd lump him together with all the people who'd abandoned him before? It hurt to think it. "I'd die for you, kid."
Crutchie was crying again, but now it was just a quiet and steady stream of tears as he drifted off to sleep. Jack hummed into his hair, pressing a quick kiss into his forehead, before holding him close as he himself drifted off to sleep.
Jack woke up the next morning.
Crutchie did not.
Jack felt his forehead, and swore when he felt the fever was still there. He tried to shake Crutchie awake enough to give him more medicine, but the other boy just mumbled nonsense and stayed asleep. Katherine showed up again, but Jack waved her away. He wasn't going to leave Crutchie like this. It had been three days, and he wasn't making any improvement. Last night, for a moment, Jack thought that maybe he'd be up and selling by today, but clearly he'd been wrong.
He was wrong about a lot of things.
He got a package around midday from Brooklyn. Delivered by a scrawny girl, maybe fifteen, with her hair tucked into a newsboy cap and her face dirtied beyond recognition. "Spot Colon sends his regards," was all she said before she'd scaled down the fire escape like she'd spent her entire life doing it.
Jack closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. This could very well be Spot's first claim for leadership. He might have to drop everything to defend what was his. Spot was very territorial, he wouldn't fight dirty, but if he believed for a second Jack was too weak to manage Manhattan...
On top of the contents of the package was a letter, written in Spot's messy writing.
We gotta stick together.
This isn't for you, it's for Crutchie. Send the messenger back when he's better. You have a week, don't worry about defending what's yours.
See you at next month's meeting.
Spot Colon
Jack let out a sigh of relief. This was better than anything he'd expected. Not only would Spot stay away and not try to take the Manhattan territory, he'd help Jack defend it so he could stay with Crutchie.
He knew that Spot and Crutchie had a history. He suspected it was during the weeks when Crutchie went missing, that Spot had something to do with Crutchie turning up again, but Crutchie never said, so Jack never asked. Besides, he didn't think that Spot would appreciate him going around and telling people stories about his soft side.
On top of everything in the box was a thick woollen blanket. Before even looking at anything else, Jack unwrapped the blanket and laid it over an always shivering Crutchie. Beneath it was a bottle of some type of medicine, fancier than what Jack could afford, with instructions written on the tag. Finally, at the bottom, there was a sealed letter with Race's name written in hasty handwriting. Curiosity tugged at him, but Jack ignored it. Opening a personal, sealed letter from Spot Colon to anybody that wasn't him was a death sentence.
After giving Crutchie another long look, Jack climbed down the fire escape, letter tucked in his pants. "Race, you still here?" after some grumbling from the younger newsies, Jack found Race tying his shoes at the door.
"What do you want? I can't afford to cover you again," no, Spot had taken care of that, too.
"There's a letter for you. From Spot Colon," Jack held it out, studying Race's expression carefully. He'd played cards with Race a lot, so he recognized the other's perfected poker face. That didn't mean that Jack understood what he was hiding. Only that it was important. Serious. Serious enough that it needed to be hid from Jack.
"Thanks for passin' it along," Race said carefully, taking it from him and examining the seal. "You sellin' today?"
Aha. A subject change. Jack was rather adapt at those. "Nah. Crutchie…" his chest tightened. "Crutchie ain't doin' so hot, I'm gonna stay with him again today."
Race nodded, understanding. "I'll tell the fella's you went ahead early, if they ask," he suggested in a low voice.
Jack nodded, thankful. "I owe you."
"You owe me two. This and me coverin' for you," Race shook his head. "Take it from an old pro, you don't wanna end up in debt."
Jack waved his hand. "Yeah, whatever. See you tonight."
Race nodded, his attention already back on his letter.
"Wake up, Crutchie," Jack shook Crutchie's shoulder violently, but the other boy just mumbled nonsense. "C'mon Crutchie."
Crutchie started to cough again, this time rolling over into his pillow. When he was done, he looked up to Jack. His face was covered in a thin layer of sweat, and he had dark bruising underneath his eyes. As Jack pulled him into a sitting position, he could feel bones pressing into him. "What's...what's 'appening? Why ain' we sellin'?" Crutchie tried to pull himself to a stand. "C'mon, all the papes are gonna be gone!"
"Yeah, yeah," placated Jack. "Just drink this first, alright?"
"But Jack," whined Crutchie. "I drank yesterday."
"This...it's something different. From Brooklyn," paraphrased Jack.
Crutchie's eyes widened in understanding, and another unplaceable emotion flickered behind his eyes. "Spot?"
"Yeah. See, if Spot sent it, you have to drink it," Jack tried to swallow the bitterness that appeared at the thought of Crutchie eating for Spot and not him. Because Jack was going to abandon him, apparently.
But Crutchie's expression crumpled. "I don't really...want to drink it. I'm sure I'll be fine anyways. I'm already fine!"
Jack didn't want to beg. He was the leader of the Manhattan newsies, and the leader of the Manhattan newsies did not beg. He would not beg. But Crutchie was being difficult, and Jack was getting desperate. "What do I have to do to get you to drink this?"
Crutchie shrugged. "I don't want anything you've got to offer."
His chest dropped. "C'mon. I'll…" he thought frantically. "I'll…" Crutchie was looking at him expectantly, his face flushed and lips swollen. Suddenly Jack had surged forward, and they were kissing. He didn't know why he did it, but he knew that Crutchie was there, feeling like he wasn't enough to keep Jack in New York, and he would waste away in front of Jack's eyes if he didn't do something.
Crutchie's lips were hot and chapped. For a moment he didn't move, but then he was kissing back. Jack's arms intertwined around Crutchie's back, until he was quite literally holding the other boy up. Finally he pulled away, and Crutchie fell down so he was leaning on Jack's chest, out of breath. After some silence, he said: "I'm going to get you sick."
Jack let out a nervous laugh. "That's all you have to say?"
Crutchie smiled, shaking his head.
"Why?" he asked.
Jack looked down, to where his hands had found Crutchie's again. "I needed to get you to drink that medicine somehow," he chuckled, but then panicked when he saw Crutchie's expression fall. "Oh-wait, wait, wait, shit, Crutchie-"
"It's okay," Crutchie said, monotone. "I'll take the medicine. Up and selling tomorrow, right?"
"Crutchie-" Jack sighed, exasperated. "I don't just...you ain't a burden, you knows that, right?"
"You keep sayin' that, but if it weren't for my leg-" started Crutchie.
"You's family. That leg of your's don't change nothin'," said Jack, his voice firm.
"Why'd you kiss me?" Crutchie repeated.
"Because...because," here he was again, grasping at straws for a good answer when all he knew was that he wanted to. "It ain't Katherine. It was never Katherine. Katherine...she wanted me to stay, but I never would'a left if you didn' wanna go with me."
Crutchie looked up at him, hope gleaming in his eyes. "Well...that's good. But I's glad Katherine made you stay. New York's...better than whatever they've got there."
"Don't I know it," Jack pressed another kiss to Crutchie's forehead, bringing himself back to the matter at hand. "Now, will you drink the damn medicine?"
Crutchie stared at the medicine as if it had personally offended him, and for a moment Jack thought that he would still say no and they'd both be in real deep trouble. But the Crutchie finally nodded, and he attempted to measure out a capful with shaking hands. After a few seconds of watching some spill over the edges, Jack took the medicine from him and poured it himself. Crutchie then took it back, and downed it like a shot. Again, he burst into a coughing fit, and then leaned onto Jack's chest.
"Now...it says here that you's gonna feel sleepy, and that's how you knows it's
workin'. Do you feel sleepy?" asked Jack.
Crutchie nodded, hugging Jack tightly. "Will you stay with me?"
"Of course. Always. I ain't never goin' nowhere without you."