Hey people. So this is my first Newsie fic, so please forgive the bad accent writing. I hope you all like it, and I will consider an update if it's popular. It's completely unedited, so I'm sorry about any mistakes. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I wish.

It came back worse than the first time. The polio resurfaced in the thick of winter, when the snow corroded the insides of hungry newsboy's lungs as they yelled out headlines for mere pennies and dimes. Or so they thought. Crutchie writhed against the pain in his leg, and called out for Jack when he was awake enough to notice his brother's absence. Race held the younger boy's hand uselessly, feeling stupid and helpless. Romeo, who'd been down with a badly sprained arm had been sent out only a few minutes ago to get Jack. Their leader had been hesitant to leave the worsening Crutchie, but they'd convinced him to cover for him unless it became serious. They couldn't afford a doctor, so they had to ride this out, and probably they would lose the fight.

Jack burst in a few minutes later and went directly to his friend's side. Crutchie's hair was almost brown with sweat, and his hands grasped at the fabric covering his stiff right leg.

"'Ey, 'ey, Crutch, I'm 'ere," Jack felt Crutchies forehead with a shaking hand. He was burning up. He slid his coat off and kneeled next to his brother's bed

"Jack… 'strike…. We's 'won?" the boy asked.

The strike had ended months ago, but Crutchie hadn't been the same since he'd been back from the refuge. He'd stopped selling papers two weeks after and laid in bed most days, feeling guilty and trying to think of ways to be useful.

"Yeah, we won, kid. S'okay, lie back."

"...Refuge?" Crutchie's glassy eyes watered. Bloodshot and unseeing, he searched Jack's face.

"No." Whispered the leader, "no, no more Refuges', none o' that, crip."

"What's we gonna do?" Race's eyes darted between the pair. Behind them Romeo watched as he eased his injured arm out of the coat.

"Davey."

"Youse sure? Lookee, Davey's real high-flyin'-"

"He's gonna help, now keep Crutchie cool, I'se gonna be fast about it!" Jack didn't even put on a coat before he darted outside into the tangled snowflakes.

He ran the whole way to Davey's house, tripping across the icey cobblestones as though he'd never gone over them before.

He knocked until his knuckles felt like splitting, and kept knocking even after. Davey cracked the door open.

"Jack? How-"

"Figured you'd be here, you wasn't out 'dere this mornin'. Look, Crutchie's in a bad way. Messed up his leg, an' the polio's back. Maybe somethin' else, but we can't fix it. We need someone, Davey, help him!" He tried to come in, but the door shut to barely a slit.

"Jack, you gotta leave."

"Why?"

"Les has the Scarlett fever. I got it two years ago and I was fifteen, it almost killed me. You probably ain't got it yet, and that means it could kill you an' every one of the Newsies. You have to leave. I'm sorry."

"But I've had da-" the door shut, and Jack spun away, into the fresh wind of the oncoming blizzard. Night was setting in.

"Dammit!"

He walked on numb feet through a broken and nearly empty New York. New York's fine for those who got big doors to shut it out.

"Young man? Are ye-" the Irish in the woman's voice drew him to a stop. "Why Jack Kelly, whatever has gotten to yer coat?" The nun leaned out of the window of a tall stone church, holding a bucket of water. She poured it out.

"Whatever are you doing? Work day is over, is it not?"

"It's over, Sister…."

"Sister Mary. What brings you out to the church? Gotten a taste for God now, have you?"

"No, ma'am. It's my fr- it's Crutchie."

"The poor Cripple?"

"Yes. He's bad, and there ain't no doctor that'll take him without the cash. I only got seventy cents to my name, won't be enough."

The sister put up a finger and disappeared into the dark church. For a long time Jack stood alone in the freezing quiet street. He was about to keep moving back to Crutchie when the Sister appeared on the steps, carrying a basket with a long black shawl thrown over her head. Thick snowflakes nearly disguised her face, and they said no words as they rushed back to their meager shelter.

As they ducked inside, Jack took in the shock of heat, as sparse as it was.

"Over there ma'am. Sister." He pointed to the bed. Race was sleeping slumped against the bed on the floor, his fingers intertwined with Crutchie's. The cripple was breathing heavily. They'd taken off his shirt, and now all the other Newsies just watched as the nun sat herself down next to the adolescent and felt his forehead.

"Good news and bad." She said after a moment. "Isn't Polio, not that I figure. Seems like Pneumonia or possibly Scarlet fever. I hear a round is about. Firstly, you did well to take his shirt off. But he needs to be propped up a bit. As I hear it, Pneumonia is the gathering of fluids in the lungs. Someone help me fix it so." After a bit of rearranging, she motioned for Jack to hand her her basket, which hadn't even realized he was holding. "The trouble with this is that he's weakened. Broken ribs I see- it'll make it hard for him to breathe, to cough. We have to be careful, but we can't bind the ribs. Only set them, if any might need it. Have you done so yet since they were broken?"

Jack bit his lip, "We only had Davey. 'Dey wouldn't heal right. We's made this promise he'll be okay. Does it look too bad?"

"Well, it seems they haven't healed quite at all. Ribs tend to do it my themselves, but he's half starved and very weak. We just need to make sure they're in place... any of those that have may have healed wrong might have to be rebroken if they're restricting his breathing." The nun sighed. "There's no easy way to do this. You ought to hold him still while I check to see if any need to be set at all. His coughing might put them out again, but it'll make him more comfortable for now."

Race and Jack rushed forward to hold the boy's shoulders and pin his left leg. The sooner it was over….

"Steady…" she pressed on his chest along the side and front, and moved her hands down almost to his midsection. He bucked weakly and tried to move away, but the boys held tight.

"Well, this on and this one-" she carefully pushed her hand against his side, using the other as counterpressure against it. They heard a faint snap, and Crutchie groaned, eyes opening to stare at Jack helplessly. "It's better." When she moved her hands, the area was red and angry against his usually pale skin.

"No we must have some hold water. Melt some snow, but only just, please. It must be cold."

The boys moved off the bed as Buttons and a few others went about the task. Jack watched Sister Mary take out some bread from her basket, the same they all got most mornings. It wasn't as stiff. The revelation dawned on him that the nuns made the bread and let it sit overnight. In the convent air it probably stiffened to a stone like texture. But now it was fluffy and perfectly browned. It looked heavenly, and Jack blushed when his stomach rumbled. Mercifully, Sister Mary said nothing, but had them sit Crutchie up.

"You must eat, child." Her thick Irish flickered with desperation and seriousness.

"J'ack?" Crutchie moaned, "m' leg." A tear moved down his face, his jaw, and dropped hotly on Jack's hand. The older boy cradled him against his chest.

"I know it 'urts, Crutch. Hang in there. You hav'ta eat. Take some of 'dis good stuff sister here brought. Lookee."

"Can't eat, Jackie. Can't breath." He started to sputter on his own words. A coughing fit made him double onto himself, and he shook miserably, clutching his fever-pained leg and coughing.

Once he was done, he leaned weakly against his brother's chest, and closed his eyes. His broken chest heaved, black and blue and sweaty. He was crying enough for Jack to remember that this was more than sickness to Crutchie. Last time he was this sick he'd lost the use of his leg. What did he figure on losing now? He was probably terrified.

"Only ways' youse gonna get better is 'ta eat. 'N drink too. Here, Buttons here got us some melted snow crap. Drink up, buddy. Help me here." He got an eye from the sister for his mildly improper language.

Jack took the cup of water and lifted it to Crutchie's cracked lips. The boy held it in his mouth before carefully swallowing. He went back for more, drinking thirstily until the Nun firmly took it from him.

"He's still thirsty!" protested Jack.

"Yes, but should he drink too much too fast after a bit of no drink a'tall, he'd suffer the worst pain in his middle. He should take it in bits. Now here, some bread. See how much you can keep down boy."

Crutchie managed two bites before coughing half of it up again. "Mmmm, S'rry, Jack."

"S'all right, buddy. Take it slow."

The rest of the night progressed like this. Eventually the rest of the Newsies fell asleep, except for Jack. Sister Mary talked softly, smoothing Crutchie's hair down, calming him when he panicked in his feverish state.

After one particularly bad night terror, while Crutchie was leaning his whole weight against Jack, staring ahead, chest heaving to get precious oxygen, the sister began to sing softly, in the same tune she'd used to greet the children every morning on their way to the wagons.

Sle-ep, softly

Do not worry, don't be afraid,

You are safe now

You will soon awake

Silent, child,

Now the city sleeps in the cold

someone listens

God above above you shall hold

Every wonder, every fear

Sleep in silence,

Rest child, here

Crutchie sighed and turned his head restlessly into Jack's shoulder.

"Wha'do we do, sistah?" Jack whispered.

"We can pray, Jack."

Jack, who'd hardly ever uttered a word to God or whatever else was up there, bowed his head, touching his chin to Crutchie's head, and prayed.

Dear God… Crutchie ain't done nuthin' to deserve this. He got it bad, with the leg and all. Don' take 'im now. I can't live 'ere without 'im… I know it's selfish. See I never got folks, not that I can remember 'cept for my old man, who bought it long time ago, so's I needs 'im like a brother. Not that much to ask. I jus' need 'im better. I wan' 'im to run. See Santa Fe, maybe. An' 'deres another thing. I know I promised Kat, I know I did. But Ise feelin' the air choke me. I wanna go worse than evah before. Please God, it ain't much. Ise not familiah wi' you much, but I see you made a good person in Sistah Mary here, sos if you could do da same wi' me. Thanks.

…

Morning found Jack sleeping. Sister Mary had left in the night, with a bottle of honey and herbs from her basket and a quickly scrawled note to force feed Crutchie if they had to, but to get it in him, by gosh. So they did. Race helped get it in his mouth, and Jack massaged Crutchie's adam's apple until he swallowed. Gagging, Crutchie roused.

"J'ck?"

"Here Crutch. Youse gave us the scare of our lives!"

"Not feelin' sah great, 'doh."

"Undastandable!" Jack grinned at the guys gathered around, just as the distant bell rang.

Crutchie coughed as Jack eased out from under him. His back was stiff and pinched, but he smiled and stretched.

"Romeo, wi' dat bum arm, youse better stay with Crutchie."

"Covah for me?" Romeo grinned cunningly.

"Don't bet your life on it," Jack grabbed the jar of honey and herbs and poured some into an empty glass jar. He screwed the top back on and slipped it in his pocket. "Romeo, dis stuff every hour or so's. Got it?"

"Yeah. Who's the rest for?"

"Les got the Scarlet fever."

"What now? Not the little guy!"

"Yeah, its bad, says Davey. Got it when I was a kid, though, sos I'm okay, gonna go spread da' holly-day cheer."

…

Jack laid three quick knocks at David's door. His father, Jack assumed, answered.

"Newsies goin' door tah door now?" He almost shut it, but Jack stopped him.

"No sir. I want to see Les." He extended a hand, which was stared at suspiciously. "I'm Jack Kelly."

The man's face changed.

"Les it okay, kid. It's Davey now."

"What? But he said he'd got it before!"

"S'different, Doc said he can't explain it. One of those medical mysteries no one gets."

"Well, I've gots somethin' for 'im. I've got 'dah fever once too. I don' mind riskin' it again. Just got this remedy honey stuff."

"Fine kid. Risk your own neck."

Les was sleeping on his side, his fever having obviously broken a while ago. Across the room, Davey was weaky and restlessly moving around on his own cheap cot. His mother leaned over him.

"Jack, why, what are you doing here?"

Her accent was smooth and careful. He liked it's sound in spite of himself.

"I 'eard about Davey. Gots somethin' for 'im." Jack handed her the jar.

"What is it?"

"Somethin' a Sistah gave me for mah friend. Got pnemonia or Scarlet fever 'imslef. Can't know which just now."

"Thank you." She sighed, "could you sit with him while I fetch some fresh water? I know you have a job, but…"

"Sure thing, Ma'am. He's my buddy."

Jack crouched down next to the bed and ruffled Davey's hair. The young man's eyes slowly opened. Weakly, he smiled.

"Hey, Jack, you're gonna get sick."

"Nah, no way. I got the fever before."

"The doc said-"

"Hey don' stress it. Got it all figured out. Don' talk, jus' rest."

"Crutchie."

"Bettah."

Davey nodded. His eyes slowly closed. Jack though he was asleep, but his friend slowly whispered to him, "Les was really sick."

"He's Bettah. Youse sick now, Dave. Lookatcha. Got them red lines. Youse burnin' up."

"I've seen what it does. Killed my sister real slowly. Her heart, somethin'... organs…" he moaned softly when Jack touched his arm.

"Can't breathe, Jack."

"U'm sorry 'bout your sistah. I didn't know…."

"S'okay. She was almost a crip too. Hurt her arm real bad… summer before the fever…. Couldn't hardly move it…. Doc said we'd be best an' let her go with the scarlet fever…" he opened his eyes again. Tears glowed on his pale face. "Is that how Crutchie must feel?"

"Mebbe."

"Jack." Davey's broken, pain-saturated voice came again, "I don't think I can… I don't wanna die yet. 'Dey need me still."

"Hey, hey, don't talk like 'dat!" Jack clutched his hand. "Just sleep. S'okay. Youse gonna be out there wi' our big ole banner soon. Sleep for now."