So, somehow I have garnered the reputation that I kill off characters often. I honestly have no idea where this came from. I mean, sometimes they almost die, but, so far, there have only been two stories where characters have actually died. TWO. That isn't a lot. Anyway, this new reputation leaves me with two options. I can work really hard to disprove the concept that I kill characters off with the flick of a wrist. Or, I can live up to this newfound expectation. So, with that preface in mind, read on, my ostriches.
It all started so innocently. It was just one of those nights, late October, where it wasn't quite cold enough to call it quits and sleep in the shelter of the Lodging House, but the air was still brisk enough to contemplate the benefits of leaving the roof. Jack had decided that this would be his last night up there until he moved back into his room in the Lodging House for the season. It really had not come as a surprise when Crutchie followed the older boy up to the roof. It was a habit of theirs.
Jack recalled the first time Crutchie had joined him up on the rooftop. Up until that point in time, the roof had been Jack's safe harbor; it was the only place that he had felt truly comfortable and Jack would spend countless hours sketching faraway lands and dreams yet-to-be sprawled out on an old mattress he had dragged up one day. When Crutchie had joined the newsies, he had immediately latched on to Jack as a guide, a leader, a friend. Jack had accepted this new responsibility and had taken the small blonde boy under his wing. They had grown close, quickly, but Jack refused to take him up to the roof. It may have been selfish, but it was Jack's penthouse and he wasn't particularly keen on sharing it with anybody. But Crutchie had followed Jack up to the roof. Jack hadn't noticed his smaller, crippled shadow until Crutchie had alerted him of his presence by nearly falling from the fire escape. Jack had hefted the smaller boy up, chastising him for being an idiot, but Crutchie had been too awestruck by the view to be chagrined. And, in that moment, Jack had wondered why he hadn't wanted to share his penthouse in the first place. Since then, they had shared the rooftop together. A refuge against all that the City had thrown at them.
A small noise from Crutchie's mattress brought Jack out of his reminiscence. Jack half-turned on his side, facing Crutchie. The smaller boy had his blanket pulled up to his chin, but even the obscuring fabric couldn't disguise the thin shivering. "You okay, Crutchie?" Jack queried.
"F-fine," Crutchie said, frowning when his chattering teeth malformed the word into a stutter.
"Maybe you should head down. The cold can't be good for your—"
"No, I'm fine," Crutchie said, tugging the blanket tighter around his small frame. "I like the roof."
Jack observed his smaller friend, before sighing and shifting to the edge of his mattress. Crutchie shot him a confused look and Jack patted the side of the mattress beside him. "Well, come on," he offered. "It'll be warmer for both of us if we share blankets and body warmth." Crutchie still seemed skeptical, so Jack continued, "I'm cold, too. You aren't going to let me freeze, are ya, Crutch?"
"I wouldn't want you to freeze," Crutchie began and Jack could tell that his friend was beginning to relent.
"Then, get over here. It'll be good for both of us."
"If you say so," Crutchie said, hesitantly. Jack nodded and Crutchie got off of his mattress and crossed over to Jack's. After laying his blanket atop Jack's, he gingerly scooted under the blanket beside his oldest friend. And Jack was right. It was warmer, being pressed up against Jack's side. Crutchie shifted, feeling more at ease, and his hand accidentally brushed against Jack's arm.
"Jeez, Crutch!" Jack exclaimed, causing the younger boy to jolt away. "Your hand is frozen!" he exclaimed, grabbing at the offending extremity and quickly capturing its partner between his own hands.
Crutchie rolled his eyes, thankful Jack wasn't shouting about anything else. "Well, it ain't July."
"That ain't no excuse," Jack shot back, but he didn't move to release Crutchie's hands and Crutchie didn't try to pull them away.
"I don't know," Crutchie said, shrugging. "My hands just get cold sometimes. It ain't my fault."
"You need gloves," Jack advised.
"I need sleep," Crutchie muttered, his head rolling back comfortably so that it rested against Jack's shoulder. This was nice, he decided. Crutchie allowed his whole body to relax, relishing in the warmth and welcoming sleep with open arms. He laid there for a few long moments, his eyes drifting closed—Crutchie wasn't sure he had felt this warm and comfortable for ages—when he realized that his hands were still encased within Jack's warm ones. "Why're you still holdin' my hands?" Crutchie asked, the words slightly slurred with sleepiness.
"I'm just trying to warm them," Jack reassured his best friend.
"Mm," Crutchie responded, shifting unconsciously closer to Jack's body heat.
"Just go to sleep," Jack whispered. He stayed awake, watching as sleep overcame Crutchie's features. He watched as the familiar smile relaxed and listened as Crutchie's breaths grew slower, deeper.
Once he was certain his younger friend was asleep, Jack allowed himself to settle more comfortably against the mattress. He tilted his head to the left ever so slightly, so that it rested next to Crutchie's, crinkling his nose when some of Crutchie's hair, spurred into motion by a soft breeze, brushed up against Jack's nose. Jack grinned, finally allowing his eyes to close. He laid there for a while, waiting for sleep to take him, just listening to the easy cadence of his best friend's soft breaths. Nothing was more comforting than having his closest friend by his side and Jack allowed his muscles to truly and completely relax. He could lay here for forever, Jack decided, with Crutchie on his left, softly snoring and shifting ever so slightly into Jack's chest.
Jack finally did fall asleep.
But he never let go of Crutchie's hands.
When Jack woke up, he wasn't sure what had woken him at first. It hadn't been a nightmare. Not this time. He would have remembered, would have felt the sweat against his brow, chilled by the cold air. Jack quickly took stock of where he was, breathing a little easier at the familiar sight of the bunk bed above him and the dirt-scuffed walls of his room in the Lodging House. Jack closed his eyes once more, pulling his blanket more firmly around him to ward off the chill November air. Even though he and Crutchie had long since given up trying to sleep on the roof in favor of the warm shelter of the Lodging House, the building would still get cold at night. Not nearly as cold as outside, but plenty cold for Jack to burrow deeper into the folds of fabric and drift back to—
There it was again. A soft whimper from the bed beside Jack's. Jack laid there, his body frozen, trying to figure out what to do. Crutchie hadn't had nightmares of the Refuge for months; in fact, Jack could only remember one night when his best friend had jerked awake, a muffled scream breaking the silence. But, since then, Crutchie had been fine, hadn't seemed bothered by the Refuge at all. Now Jack had to wonder if Crutchie had ever stopped having nightmares, or if the younger boy had just been hiding it all from Jack.
Which still left him with the decision of what to do now. Jack ached to remind his best friend that it was all okay, that he would never let anything like that happen ever again, but he hesitated. It sure didn't seem like Crutchie wanted that, especially if he had been hiding his nightmares from Jack this entire time.
One more half-hidden sob and Jack didn't care whether Crutchie wanted to work through his nightmare alone or not. Jack quickly tossed the blankets off, ignoring the chill that swept through his body when he stepped, barefooted, on the icy wood flooring. He crept up to Crutchie's bed, gently placing his hand on the crippled boy's shoulder.
Crutchie jerked away at the soft touch, before realizing that it was Jack by his side, not Snyder or one of the Delancey brothers. "S-sorry, Jack," Crutchie whispered, his voice wet with tears. "I didn't mean to wake ya."
"Don't worry 'bout it," Jack said, sitting on the edge of Crutchie's bed and rubbing Crutchie's back. "You wanna talk about it?" Jack asked, once Crutchie had calmed down some more, relaxing against Jack's soothing touch.
"No, I'm fine," Crutchie said, after a shuddering breath.
Jack gently nudged Crutchie further to the side of the bed, slipping under Crutchie's blankets and pulling the younger boy closer to him. He wrapped his arms around Crutchie's thin, scarred back, shutting his eyes when Crutchie sighed shakily against Jack's chest. "You don't hafta be fine all the time, yeah? No one is gonna think less of you for havin' nightmares."
"Jack, I—" Crutchie began, his voice muffled against Jack's shirt.
Patiently, Jack waited for Crutchie to continue, but the blonde didn't seem inclined to do so. "Do you wanna talk about it now?" Jack asked, his voice quiet and gentle.
Crutchie shook his head, the motion rubbing against Jack's bicep. "No, I—I… No." Crutchie remained silent for a few moments longer, before softly asking, "W-will you stay, though? I—I don't mean to be a bother, but would you mind, just for tonight—I mean, you don't hafta and I would understand—but, just maybe—"
Jack cut Crutchie's stumbling query off with a short, kind-hearted laugh. "Of course, Crutch. That's what friends are for."
Crutchie laughed, the sound more akin to a drawn out sob than true laughter. "G-good." The blonde boy remained quiet for a long time and Jack was just about to drift back to sleep, when Crutchie's voice brought him back to awareness. "You was dead," he said, his voice muted with fear and shame. "You was dead and it was my fault because I hadn't done nothin' to stop it. There were these five, faceless guys, and I just l-let them… I—I found you and there was all these papes, b-but, they was all covered with blood. A-and your arms and legs were all twisted and when I got closer, y-you weren't breathing. I—I tried, b-but, you was dead." Crutchie sniffed wetly, the sound preluding what could quite easily be categorized as a broken sob.
"Hey," Jack whispered, pulling the younger boy tighter against him. "Hey, it's okay. I'm not hurt or nothing. We'se both gonna be okay, yeah? The two of us, together against the world. Remember?"
Back when Crutchie and Jack's friendship was just starting out, Crutchie had compared the two of them to a crime-fighting duo. He had declared that they could fight back against the harsh realities of the world, just so long as they worked together. Jack had laughed back then and struck some silly, pseudo-heroic pose, and brushed the comment off as the joke it was meant to be. However, as Jack and Crutchie's friendship progressed, the comment had grown to be more of a reality, than a joke. They were in it together. Always had been and always would be.
"Yeah," Crutchie murmured into Jack's chest, leaning a little closer to the older boy. "I remember."
"Good, 'cuz that's how it's going to be. We'se both gonna be fine, so long as we have each other."
Crutchie remained silent for a long enough time that Jack began to think the blonde boy had fallen asleep, but soft words shattered that assumption. "Thank you, Jack."
"For what?"
"I dunno. Everything, maybe," Crutchie said, the words quirking a smile at his lips.
Jack smiled back. "Well, thank you, too."
Crutchie—who had been leaning comfortably against Jack's chest, eyes closed and breathing evening out—jerked backwards, partially breaking out of Jack's arms and fixing Jack with a confused look. "Why are ya thanking me? All I did was wake you up," Crutchie muttered.
"I guess I'm just thanking you for everything, too."
With a soft snort, Crutchie settled back into Jack's arms. "That's stupid," he murmured, his eyes slipping closed once more.
"Yeah, well…" Jack said softly, leaning his head back and allowing his eyes to close, also. He listened as Crutchie's breath slowed, pulling the sleeping boy closer to him. This was good, comfortable, right. Jack had always been prone to physical expressions of care, constantly slinging his arm around the other newsboys. But, this was different, this was physically closer than he had ever gotten with any of the boys. It was a line Jack doubted he would ever cross for any of the other boys. Crutchie was different, though. He had always been closer to the crippled boy and this new way of holding the boy… It was different, but Jack could not deny that it felt right.
Gently, Jack leaned forward, brushing his lips against Crutchie's cool forehead, before laying back and trying to sort through the strange feeling in his stomach. With a contented sigh, Jack decided he could figure out that new emotion later and drifted back to sleep.
Jack breathed in the brisk January air as he leaned against the railing of the roof. He scanned the New York City skyline, watching as the sun set behind the buildings, giving the grey structures an angelic glow. It was a little cold, out on the roof, but Jack just felt like he needed to be alone.
The past couple of months had been strange, to say the least. Jack had been sticking close to Crutchie, been more open with pulling the younger boy into a one-armed hug. He had kept telling himself that it was because Crutchie was still having nightmares about the Refuge and he was just trying to reassure the younger boy that he was safe. However, Jack didn't think he could lie to himself for much longer. It was more than just an attempt at comforting his best friend. Jack knew that and the knowledge scared him. He didn't just pull Crutchie close while they were talking because he felt that the boy would benefit from the physical confirmation of safety; he pulled Crutchie close because he wanted to be closer, enjoyed the warmth of Crutchie's body against his.
And Jack didn't know what to do about any of this.
For his whole life, he had been attracted to girls. It had just been how it was. He liked the feel of a girl pressed up against him and he enjoyed running his hands through long, wavy hair. Hell, he had dated Katherine for a full three months—the longest time he had been with a girl his whole life. Jack would generally fool around with a girl for a month or so, before he'd get bored with them and move on to the next one. But, it had always been girls.
And, now…
Now, he found that his eyes were following Crutchie around the room. Jack had always kept a careful watch on Crutchie, but, previously, that had been because he was worried the younger boy might possibly impale himself with his crutch if he turned away for a moment too long. Now, though, he watched Crutchie because he liked the way Crutchie's blonde hair jutted out from beneath his cap and the way Crutchie's brown eyes were always smiling and the way his grin was always lopsided, the left side always raised higher than the right.
It was supposed to be wrong. He wasn't supposed to have feelings about his best friend, not like this. Especially, if his best friend was a guy. Everyone said that this was wrong.
Yet, it felt so right.
"Ugh," Jack groaned, pressing the heel of his hand between his eyes. He needed to figure this out. Jack just had no idea how to go about doing that…
"You okay?" a familiar voice called out.
Speak of the devil… Jack wiped the frustration from his face, turning to Crutchie, who was currently struggling up the fire escape. "What are ya doin', kid? You shouldn't be trying to climb up here when there's snow all over that place," Jack admonished, making his way to Crutchie.
Just as he neared the younger boy, one of Crutchie's hands slipped off the icy railing and he tilted backwards, out into the open air. Jack's heart lept to his throat and he sprung forward, catching the younger boy before he could topple backwards. "You gotta be careful," Jack whispered harshly, his heart still pounding as he pulled Crutchie up onto the roof.
"I was trying to be careful," Crutchie muttered petulantly. "Guess it's a good thing you was up here," Crutchie added, his tone now cheerful. "So," Crutchie began, wiping snow off of his hands. "Like I was tryin' to say earlier, are you doin' okay? You've seemed sorta sad recently."
"I'm fine, Crutchie," Jack said. He didn't want to go over this with the crippled boy, was afraid of what Crutchie might say, might think, if Jack were to tell him the truth. Jack didn't think he could bear if the younger boy broke off the friendship in revulsion. He'd rather suffer in silence than risk losing Crutchie.
Crutchie watched Jack, before quietly asking, "Is it about Katherine? Do ya miss her?"
"No!" Jack exclaimed, probably louder than necessary. The suggestion was so far from the truth that it seemed almost ridiculous. "No," Jack repeated, quieter this time. "It really doesn't matter, Crutch. I'm fine, okay?"
"You don't hafta be fine all the time," Crutchie said, parroting Jack's words from all those months ago with a small grin.
Jack knew that the words were meant to be a comfort, but they only caused his stomach to twist uncomfortably as he recalled that night, when Crutchie had fallen asleep in his arms. He ached to tell Crutchie how much he cared for the younger boy, how this emotion ran deeper than friendship, but he couldn't bring himself to form the words. Jack could, all too clearly, picture Crutchie push him away in disgust, call him all sorts of cruel names, and keep his distance for the rest of their lives. He didn't dare say anything to Crutchie. Never. "I know, but this time, it's really okay," Jack said, sitting down on his mattress and staring out at the darkening sky.
Crutchie sat down besides him. "We don't hafta talk about it. Not if you don't want to," he said. "We can talk about anything else. Like… did you hear that Romeo found that kitten a couple days ago? It was small and orange and it was the softest thing I've ever held. Race said we had to give it to Davey and Les, though, since they actually could afford to keep a kitten around. If ya want, maybe we could go visit it. Romeo named it Tabbs and I'm sure a kitten would take your mind off of things."
"Thanks, Crutch, but that's okay," Jack said, smiling softly.
"Well, I'm sure I can come up with some way to make you happy," Crutchie began, laying down on the mattress with his arms pillowing his head. Jack followed suit, laying down beside the blonde boy. He was hyper conscious of how their hips were touching, the contact warm and tingly. "Do you remember the time you decided that everyone needed to try a caramel apple? It was right after Katherine had bought you one and so we all pooled our money for apples and caramel, but we didn't really calculate how much caramel we'd really need, so we had that giant bowl full and then Les stuck his whole hand in and got the caramel all over Button's face, which started that caramel war." Crutchie paused his story and laughed. "My hair was sticky for probably a month afterwards," he muttered, reaching up and running a hand through his hair.
Jack couldn't help but smile. It had been a good day at the Lodging House, albeit a very messy one. Mr. Kloppmann had nearly had an aneurism when he entered the room and a glob of brown caramel dripped off the roof and landed on his balding head.
"Or, or," Crutchie continued excitedly, "there was that time that we decided to play that trick on Specs and we kept slipping papes into his bag when he wasn't looking! We was trying to see who'd get caught, remember? And Specs couldn't figure out why he still had papes to sell even though he'd gone through his normal fifty. He wouldn't have caught me putting that pape in his bag if my crutch hadn't gotten stuck in that crack. Remember how I just completely biffed it? I landed on top of him and then we just had to explain everything."
"Yeah, I remember," Jack replied.
"Well, that's a good memory."
"It is," Jack agreed.
Crutchie turned on his side, facing Jack. "Well? Now it's your turn. I've told three stories to make you happy. I think it's high time for you to tell me something."
Jack shifted so that he was laying on his right side, looking Crutchie in the eyes. The crippled kid was grinning, all lopsided and perfect and just the way Jack loved it. "Uh," Jack began, his mind going completely blank.
"Surely, you can think of something happy," Crutchie said, starting to frown.
And Jack wasn't just going to let that smile go away. His mind was frozen for those few eternal moments and all he could think about was the way Crutchie's lips shouldn't be turning downward, how he would do anything to keep them perked up. Jack had always joked that he was an idiot—he had plenty of examples to prove that the title was deserved. So, his stupidity should really have just stopped surprising him. Still, he was probably just about as surprised as Crutchie when he pulled back from the spontaneous kiss.
Crutchie simply gaped at Jack, his mouth slack. He started to stutter something, but stopped. Instead, the younger boy just stared at Jack, no doubt, waiting for an explanation.
"Uh," Jack began, nervously. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just—Crutchie, I think, maybe, I might love you. And not just like friends neither."
Jack lowered his eyes, unwilling to watch the confusion in Crutchie's eyes harden into ire. He nervously fingered the hem of his shirt, waiting for Crutchie to shove him away, to shout at him, to leave Jack forever. But, nothing happened. Jack risked a glance upwards and noticed that Crutchie was smiling softly at him. "Well, I guess that's mighty convenient, because I think, maybe, I might love you, too." Crutchie's smile widened. "And not just like friends neither."
Jack's birthday was in June and he loved to remind everyone that his special day was coming up. He loved dropping comments to remind the other boys. "Hey, Race," he'd begin, "D'you know what the 21st is?" The other boy would roll his eyes and make some snide comment about it being a Thursday and Jack would grin and expound that it was more than a regular Thursday and Race would walk away, shaking his head, but still smiling. The scene was repeated with every newsie, a couple times over, depending on the day.
He'd be eighteen, this year, and was thrilled to officially reach adulthood. He didn't expect much for his actual birthday. Jack knew from past experiences, that birthday celebrations could quickly devolve into ill-contained chaos. Generally, money would be pooled and a cake purchased. The higher the sugar count, the better. The cake would be divided up between the boys and consumed just as quickly as possible. It was almost down to a science, by now. Precisely 25 minutes after the cake had been finished, one of the younger boys would break the unsteady stand-still by tackling a different boy. That was when the chaos would begin.
So, it was no surprise to Jack when, at 6:37 exactly, Les threw himself at Mush and the scuffle began. A collection of burnt-out, blackened matches-because apparently Race had forgotten to get candles and was forced to give up his match-box-were bumped off the table and scattered across the floor when Buttons was pushed backwards by Specs. Jack side-stepped out of the way when Finch whooped loudly, throwing himself into the fray.
"I tried to tell them not to get chocolate cake," a soft voice observed from Jack's left, "but, no one would listen to me."
"Well, of course they wouldn't," Jack quickly responded, turning to Crutchie. "Chocolate's the best flavor out there!"
Crutchie rolled his eyes. "If you say so," he muttered. His face shifted and he shot Jack a genuine grin. "Happy birthday, Jack."
"Thanks, Crutch," Jack said, pulling Crutchie against him for a brief hug.
They had now been dating for nearly six months, which was longer than Jack had ever been with any of his past girlfriends. It didn't feel like an achievement, however. It just felt natural, as if Jack had never been complete until he had Crutchie with him. However, neither boy was willing to tell anyone else about their relationship; Jack wasn't sure how any of the other boys would react to what society had blasphemed.
"I got you something," Crutchie said, pulling out of Jack's grasp.
"You didn't have to," Jack informed his best friend. His boyfriend. The title had Jack's lips quirking at all the memories that were associated with those two words: the mornings they had awakened, legs tangled together; soft kisses in the watery moonlight; the muffin Jack and Crutchie would split every other Saturday morning; quiet nights on the rooftop where they had just sat there, leaning tiredly against each other, and talked or didn't, depending on the current mood. It had been a wonderful five months and Jack looked forward to whatever else their love for each other would lead to.
Crutchie's grin widened. "Oh, don't be so modest. I know you better than that. If I hadn't gotten you something, I'd never have lived that mistake down. You'd bug me about it 'til the day I died. 'Hey, Crutch, remember that time you didn't get me a birthday present?'" Crutchie mimicked Jack's voice. "I may lo-" Crutchie cut himself off, remembering that they weren't alone. "I may be your best friend," he amended, "but there is no way I'd be able to survive all the grief you'd give me about that."
"Are you saying you don't trust me?" Jack teased.
"Oh, I trust you with plenty of things. Just not that," Crutchie said. Jack rolled his eyes, but Crutchie continued, "So, do you want to see it?"
"If you know me so well, then I'm pretty sure you can figure out the answer to that one."
Crutchie smirked. "Fine, smart-aleck. It's in our room."
Jack followed Crutchie out of the common area and to the room the boys shared. Crutchie stopped at his bed, tugging a brown object from underneath his pillow. "You cannot believe how worried I was you would find it on accident," Crutchie said, as he turned back to Jack. "But, you didn't, so I guess that worked out. So, uh, here. Happy birthday."
Jack accepted the gift, gently running his fingers down the spine of the leather-bound notebook. "Crutch, this is—I can't believe you'd—" Jack laughed, somewhat breathlessly, as he flipped through the empty pages of the notebook. All of his other notebooks were cheap objects that had been purchased with a few odd coins; some were even simply stacks of paper bound together with a single, worn string. "This is amazing, it… It had to have been crazy expensive," Jack suddenly said, his eyes meeting Crutchie's. "You shouldn't have gotten something so-"
"Don't worry about it," Crutchie said, waving the thought away. "I'd been saving up for a while. Besides, I wanted you to have something to, well, remember me by."
"Remember you?" Jack asked, the confusion adding a hint of fear to his words. "Why would I need to remember you?"
Crutchie shrugged, somewhat nervously. "Well, I mean, you're eighteen now."
"So? That don't change a thing. We'se still got each other, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course. We'se still got each other. But, Jack, you'se gotta move out soon."
"Oh," Jack said, sitting down hard on his bed. He hadn't thought about that. Once any of the newsboys hit eighteen, Kloppmann would shoo them out of the Lodging House and they'd find work in one of the factories or wherever they could around the city. Jack wasn't very worried about finding a job; he had been selling cartoons to the World for nearly a year now and that job would pay enough for him to survive on his own. But, moving out would mean that he wouldn't be living with Crutchie anymore.
"And, so I was just worried," Crutchie continued, nervously, "that when you actually moved out, you'd also, I don't know, move on, so that notebook is so that you can always look at it and maybe smile and remember that we had some fun, yeah?"
"Come here," Jack said, gesturing for Crutchie to sit on the bed next to him. Crutchie complied, although Jack noticed that he left more space between the pair than usual. Jack quickly rectified that fault, pulling Crutchie into a one armed hug. "Just because I'm moving out does not mean I'm ever going to leave you, 'kay? You'se stuck with me forever." Crutchie grinned shyly at Jack's words and Jack continued, "Besides, maybe you could move out with me."
Crutchie slowly shook his head. "No, I couldn't, Jack. Could you imagine what the boys would think? I'se gotta stay here, at least 'til I'm eighteen, too. Would—would that be okay?" Crutchie hesitantly asked.
"Fine, but you'll have to visit me," Jack informed the younger boy, nudging him in the ribs.
"And you'll have to visit, too. That roof's gonna be mine now."
"Oh, hell no," Jack quickly said. "You aren't allowed up there unless I'm there to make sure you don't slip and snap your neck."
"Spoilsport," Crutchie groused.
Jack and Crutchie fell into a comfortable silence and Crutchie gently leaned his head against Jack's shoulder. Jack stroked the cover of his new notebook and reflected that this was probably his best birthday in a long time. And it was all because of the crippled boy beside him. Jack knew that he had never previously loved anyone as much as he loved Crutchie and he doubted that there was a way he would ever love anyone else even a quarter as much. "Thank you," Jack said, turning to the blonde boy.
"It's just a notebook," Crutchie said, grinning.
"This isn't about the notebook," Jack whispered, as he pulled Crutchie into a kiss. The younger boy's mouth still tasted of the remnants of the chocolate cake and Jack allowed the kiss to extend, longer and softer.
The loud bang of the door being slammed open had Crutchie and Jack whipping apart, both turning guiltily to face the newcomers. Jack noticed the tips of Crutchie's ears had turned a bright pink and he could feel the tell-tale heat creeping across his own face. Davey and Race had barged into the room, but both had stopped and were currently staring at Jack and Crutchie. Time seemed frozen for a frighteningly long time and Jack had no idea what to expect from two of his greatest friends. Would they accept Jack and Crutchie as a couple, or would they be shunned? The latter didn't matter as much to Jack—though he knew the sting of the loss of a friendship with either Davey or Race would hurt him more than he'd ever show—because he'd be moving out soon. But, if they didn't accept Crutchie and did anything to make him uncomfortable or, God forbid, hurt him, Jack would—
Jack's thoughts were cut off as Race broke the uneasy silence. "Well," he said, smirking slightly. "That explains a whole slew of things, don't it."
Davey, too, shook off his shocked silence. "W-what?" was all he could get out, however, before he returned to staring at the two lovers with unconcealed surprise.
Crutchie's ears were growing a bright red and Jack figured he'd have to say something. "Look," he began, not knowing where he was going with this. "Crutchie and I, we… Uh, how do I say this, we…"
"We love each other," Crutchie said, his voice quiet, but firm. He nodded somewhat nervously. "We do and—and—"
"And you can't hate us for this. We'se still the same Jack and Crutchie," Jack said, finishing Crutchie's thought. "We just decided that we cared 'bout each other more than friends and that we'se good for each other. So, there you have it."
"For how long?" Davey asked.
"January," Jack said.
Race grinned. "Yeah. Yeah, this explains everything."
"Oh, shut up," Jack complained. "And don't look so pleased."
"I freakin' knew it," Race continued, his grin widening.
"B-but," Davey said, "the Church says—"
Jack interrupted Davey. "Look, Davey, I know what the Church says. I know what everyone says, but, I don't know, Davey, nothing has ever felt more right before in my whole life. Please don't—I don't know—hate us. Tell me we're still good about everything."
"I don't know," Davey said, his words slow. He, at least, had the decency to look away when Jack's face began to fall. "I—I think I just need some time to—to process all of this. It's just a lot to take in all at once. You two are—I just need some time," Davey concluded, finally glancing back up at Jack.
"I understand," Jack said, nodding. Davey nodded back and quickly began to exit the room. "I'll see you around?" Jack called out as one of his best friends walked out of the room. Davey didn't bother to reply.
(And, a couple months later, when it became clear that Davey wasn't going to return the efforts Jack made in retaining their friendship, Crutchie would carefully ask if Jack regretted losing one of his best friends because of him. And Jack would softly reply that Crutchie was worth a thousand Daveys and that he wouldn't change a thing.)
Race watched Davey leave the room, before quietly shutting the door behind the brunette boy. "So, I'm okay with… this," Race said, gesturing at Jack and Crutchie. "But, there are going to be lots of people who aren't as accepting as I am. Either because they don't actually know the pair of you, or they just refuse to see past their personal blinders. My advice to you is to not go around telling anyone else about this, yeah? It's just asking for trouble." Race paused, the familiar smirk returning. "I so called this," he muttered, finally leaving the room with a final comment about giving the boys their privacy, to which Jack had chucked his shoe at Race's head.
After Race had left, Jack turned back to Crutchie. "See," he said. "Everything will be okay so long as we'se got each other."
By the time December rolled back around, word of Jack and Crutchie's relationship had spread. No one knew exactly who had started the rumors—that were, coincidentally, true—but the existence of those rumors was probably assisted by the fact that Crutchie would spend most nights over at Jack's apartment.
Once again, everything had begun so innocently. After selling his papes, Crutchie would generally stop by Jack's place so the two of them could talk and enjoy each other's company, which ranged from passionate kisses, to laying curled up on the floor, neither boy speaking, but just needing to be next to each other, to struggling to cook something edible in the small kitchen. As the year drew to a close and the snow began to rage, Jack refused to allow Crutchie to walk home in the snow by himself. So, of course, Jack would walk him home. However, that only meant that Jack would have to walk home alone in the snow and, of course, Crutchie didn't want that. In the end, they decided it was best for both parties if Crutchie just spent the night when it was snowing. It was what was safest.
Jack lay sprawled out on his mattress, watching the snow drift slowly down past the window and trying to sort out the events from the day. He'd pick out an individual flake and follow its sluggish movement, whirling first to the right, then to the left, subject to each passing whim of the wind. Then the flake would be lost in the collection of its brethren and he'd be unable to make out the original one, its individuality vanished. Jack distracted himself this way, waiting for Crutchie to arrive.
The door snicked open, announcing Crutchie's arrival to Jack, who pulled himself up. "I got some food!" Crutchie announced, lofting up his bag that generally held papes.
"What'd you get?" Jack asked, moving to where the younger boy was emptying his bag on the table.
Crutchie shrugged. "Nothing much. Didn't have a ton of extra money today, but I got some bread and, look!" Crutchie pulled out a small bag, shoving it towards Jack. "I managed to get some raspberries! They were the last ones and they're old, so they are all mushy and everything, but I thought they'd be really good."
"I'm sure they'll be delicious," Jack said, dumping the bag of raspberries into a small dish. He turned to Crutchie, grinning. "The floor or the table, sir?"
Jack's apartment was severely lacking in furniture. He and Crutchie had dragged a mattress to the apartment to serve as Jack's bed. The apartment had come with a table, which Jack had been extra excited about, until he realized he didn't have any chairs to go with the table. So, the table was often used for preparing meals or holding Crutchie's things while he stayed over, but very rarely was it actually used for a meal.
"Floor?" Crutchie suggested. "My leg's not up to standing for much longer."
Crutchie grabbed Jack's one cup from the sink, filling it with water. "You need to get more cups," Crutchie said, as he hobbled over to where Jack had laid out the bread and the small bowl of raspberries. Crutchie hissed as he sat down, stretching out his right leg.
"It's that bad?" Jack asked.
"It's snowing," Crutchie pointed out. "I'm fine, really, Jack. Don't worry about it. Once it's warmed up, it'll be fine." Crutchie reached for the bread, breaking off a sizable chunk before passing it to Jack, who also tore off a piece of the bread. "I'm sorry it's so dry. It's a couple days old," Crutchie admitted around his mouthful of bread.
"Don't worry about it. It's my turn to get food tomorrow, yeah?"
"Yeah," Crutchie agreed, reaching for the cup of water. He took a sip of that, before also passing it to Jack.
After Jack had drunk some of the water, he commented, "Oh, yeah, that helps the bread a lot."
"Shut up, it isn't that bad," Crutchie complained.
Jack leaned in closer to Crutchie, whispering, "You know what would make it better?"
For a few long seconds, Crutchie stared at Jack, allowing their faces to draw closer. He then said, "Yeah, raspberries," and broke eye contact, reaching for the small bowl of fruit.
"Hey! Share!" Jack said, digging his fingers into the bowl and trying to bump Crutchie's fingers out.
The pair of them grabbed at the raspberries, trying to block their partner. The squabble really only managed to crush a good portion of the berries and Jack pulled his hand from the bowl, frowning at his reddened fingers. Crutchie preempted any complaint Jack was tempted to voice. "Don't you dare pretend to be all offended about your fingers. I've seen what your hands look like after you've spent an afternoon painting and if you're perfectly fine with that, then you're perfectly fine with a couple of squished raspberries."
"I guess I'll live," Jack muttered, leaning back against the wall and dragging Crutchie against him, so that the younger boy's head was against his chest. He licked the red juice off of his fingers, his mind drifting back to the cruel words from—
There was a few beats of silence before Crutchie softly asked, "What's on your mind, Jack?"
"What do you mean?" Jack asked, his words careful.
"Oh, come on. You know I know you better than that. Something's bothering you; I noticed when I got here."
Jack sighed, wondering how to tell Crutchie this and even if the younger boy needed to know. "It's not that big of a deal," Jack began. "It's just… I was walking home after work and there was this group of guys—real idiots, I could tell—and they followed me a little bit and…" Jack trailed off, pulling Crutchie a little closer to him and wrapping his arm around the younger boy's shoulders. He didn't want to tell Crutchie this, wanted to protect his boyfriend from the knowledge of how cruel and blind the world was toward their love. Jack knew that Crutchie would want to know, that the blonde boy would be offended and upset if Jack didn't tell him. But that didn't mean that Jack had to give a word for word rundown of what had happened. "They weren't saying very nice things to me."
"What sort of things?" Crutchie asked softly. "A-about us? About you...with me?"
"Yeah," Jack admitted. He huffed out a laugh. "They threatened to kill me. 'Slice my stupid gay throat' I think were their exact words."
"What did you do?"
"I called them cowards for only shouting insults from a safe distance."
Crutchie jerked out of Jack's arms. "Jack, you shouldn't have! What if they, I don't know, attack you? I—I… Jack, I can't lose you, not to—"
Jack pulled Crutchie back against him, kissing his forehead gently. "You won't, okay? I could probably take all of them, anyway. They were pretty scrawny and didn't look as if they'd actually fought someone. Not very streetwise, if ya catch my drift. Don't worry about it, Crutchie. You won't ever lose me, yeah?"
"Yeah, just please don't bother them anymore. For me?" Crutchie asked.
"I won't," Jack promised, resting his chin against Crutchie's head and relishing the fact that those boys hadn't attacked him. He hadn't completely lied to Crutchie. He could take them, one at a time. But, all five at once might be a bit too much. For now, he was safe and he'd hold onto Crutchie to remind the other boy of that fact.
When the next morning dawned, Jack gently shook Crutchie awake. "Hey, Crutch, it's morning. We'se gotta get to work."
Crutchie half-rolled away from Jack, pulling his arm over his eyes. "How about we just call it quits for the day and sleep?" Crutchie suggested, his words slurred with sleep. "The world won't stop spinnin'."
"Who's to say it won't? I mean, you're the best newsies outta the whole bunch and I've got the best cartoons in the entire state," Jack pointed out. "The world without us would be a bleak place."
"Fine, fine," Crutchie said, sitting up and running his hand through his atrocious bedhead. "But there had better be a good headline today."
Jack helped Crutchie up, passing the boy the rest of the bread from the night before. "I'll walk you today," Jack said, as he pulled a fresh shirt on.
"You sure?" Crutchie queried, gnawing on the hardened crust of the bread. "It's snowing and it's out of your way."
"Don't worry about it," Jack instructed, quickly kissing his boyfriend. "It's fine."
The pair made their way to the distribution center where the majority of the Manhattan newsies had already gathered. "Thanks for walking me," Crutchie said. "I'll see ya later." Jack pulled Crutchie back against him, leaning down for a kiss, but Crutchie pulled out of his grip. "There's all the newsies 'round," Crutchie admonished. "Later, okay?"
Jack relented. "Okay. You dropping by tonight?"
"I'll be there," Crutchie promised.
Jack watched his boyfriend amble off toward where Race greeted him amicably. He didn't fail to notice a few of the newsies give Crutchie a wide berth, glancing at Jack suspiciously. Jack came to the conclusion that he'd have to check with Crutchie and make sure all the newsies at the Manhattan Lodging House weren't treating him badly because of their relationship.
By the time the sun was beginning to set, Jack was starting to get worried. Crutchie usually had sold all of his papes by mid-afternoon and would have arrived at Jack's place by four or five. Granted, it had been snowing earlier that day, which meant it might take longer to sell the papes, but Crutchie still should have been done by this time. Which meant that something had kept Crutchie from getting to Jack's apartment. That, of course, could be a number of things. Crutchie could have stopped to get dinner with Race or some of the other boys. Or he could have dropped by the Lodging House instead. Or he could have fallen and couldn't get up and was left to slowly freeze to death in the snow.
Either way, Jack wasn't going to waste another second pacing across his apartment; he was going to find Crutchie, bring him home, and warn him to never scare him like this ever again.
First, Jack elected to look in the Manhattan Lodging House. It was quite possible that Crutchie had simply forgotten he had promised to go to Jack's place for the night. Maybe he had been talking with one of the boys and accidentally followed him all the way to the Lodging House and then his leg hurt too badly to make his way through the snow to Jack. Or maybe Crutchie had gone home early because his leg was causing issues and he knew that Jack wouldn't be back from work, so he had just elected to make the trek to the Lodging House. All of these were perfectly plausible and perfectly acceptable reasons for Crutchie to have not stopped by Jack's apartment.
He just hoped that one of these was the actual reason.
Once he reached the Lodging House, Jack quickly banged on the door, not quite sure that he was welcome to just walk in like he had, back when he lived and worked with these newsies. Romeo answered the door. "Oh, hey, Jack. You don't gotta knock, you know. Come on in," Romeo said, waving the older boy in. "What brings you 'round here?" he asked, shutting the door behind Jack.
"I'se looking for Crutchie. You seen him round here?" Jack asked, scanning the faces of the boys in the common room. A couple of the newsies that Jack wasn't particularly close to scowled and looked away. He made a mental note of their names, planning to ask Crutchie about them just as soon as Crutchie showed up.
"He ain't out with you?" Race asked. He had approached the pair as soon as he heard what Jack was asking.
"No, he didn't show up, so I thought he might have headed here," Jack said, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.
Race shook his head. "Well, we ain't seen him 'round here. I thought he was at your place or else I would've had the boys out looking for him earlier."
"Damn," Jack muttered, not bothering to hide his fear anymore. "Where has he been sellin' lately?"
"Should just be off of Fulton," Race quickly supplied.
"Thanks. I'm gonna go find that stupid kid."
"You want me to send out a couple of the boys with you, spread out, find him faster?" Race suggested.
"I don't—" Jack began, not really wanting anyone else out there. He wanted to be the one to find Crutchie, to rescue him from whatever snowbank the kid had accidentally gotten himself stuck in. But, Jack also realized that the longer Crutchie was out there, the colder his boyfriend would get and it would probably be best to find him quicker, than reserve the heroic rescue for himself. "Maybe, yeah," Jack amended.
Race nodded. "Let me round up a couple boys and we'll get out there."
Once Race had gathered a couple of Jack and Crutchie's closest friends—Romeo, Buttons, Mush, Specs, and Finch—the boys set off, making their way to where Crutchie had last been selling his papes. They split off into groups of two, for the most part. Race and Romeo. Buttons and Specs. Finch and Mush. Which, left Jack by himself, but he didn't mind. He just wanted to find Crutchie, and if he was the one to find the boy, he didn't think an audience would be appreciated.
Jack scanned the edges of the street, glancing down each and every alleyway, though he hated to think what he might find if he happened to see Crutchie down there. Maybe the crippled boy had just gotten lost and was trying to find a familiar street. Or, maybe he had just gotten too cold and was waiting for Jack in some warm, well-lit store. Or, maybe he had gotten hungry and had stopped to pick up something cheap from a bakery. Perhaps Crutchie was on his way to Jack's apartment at this very moment. Maybe he—
All of his thoughts stopped at that moment because at the edge of the at suspiciously dark alley, Jack could make out a couple scattered newspapers, their corners wrinkling loudly in the soft wind. With trepidation, Jack began to make his way to the alley. A pit of worry and half-imagined fears gnawed at Jack's stomach, growing ever larger and uncontrolled as he stepped further into the alley. It was dead silent and Jack could hear his heart hammering obscenely loudly in his ear.
"Crutchie?" Jack called out, hesitation making his voice soft. "Crutch?"
There was still no answer and Jack was starting to dread what he would find at the end of the alley. It wouldn't be good. He prayed everything was fine, but Jack was unable to shake the persistent feeling that nothing was good.
And then he saw.
Crumpled against the wall of the alley, Crutchie lay, his limbs at strange, wrong angles. Jack noticed that his bag of papes had been tossed to the side and the abandoned newspapers were scattered across the alleyway; nearly a full day's worth of papes, Jack noticed, his heart clenching. Cruel words and phrases about Crutchie's sexuality were scrawled across the walls, dark and dripping. The two halves of the Crutchie's broken crutch had been tossed to the opposite side of the alley. But, Jack only briefly noticed these surroundings, quickly focusing on his best friend, the love of his life.
Crutchie's eyes were closed and his face was dusky with grime and fresh bruises. He didn't look comfortable, Jack realized and he wanted to grab the younger boy and cradle him until he was better. Jack, however, was afraid that moving him would only hurt Crutchie even more and he knelt by Crutchie's side, his hands shaking as he fought the impulse to pull Crutchie into his arms.
Then, Jack noticed the blood. Crutchie's shirt was stained that ugly, dark color and the offending liquid had spilled onto the surrounding snow, giving it a pink tinge that made Jack want to vomit. In fact, he was kneeling in the blood, in Crutchie's blood. Jack heaved once, but kept the sick down. He didn't have time for this. Crutchie didn't have time for this. Jack had to keep it all together for Crutchie. Crutchie may not have much time and Jack had to make sure—
That was when Jack really focused on Crutchie's chest, trying to ascertain how labored his breathing was. That was when Jack realized that the younger boy wasn't breathing at all. A strangled cry was all that managed to break past Jack's lips as he pulled Crutchie into his arms. He no longer cared if he was hurting the crippled boy—but, if he wasn't breathing, then he couldn't be hurt any further, a cruel voice reminded him—and just needed to hold him. Crutchie's body was cold and Jack's mind flashed back to the first time he had invited Crutchie to share a mattress with him. This was a different type of cold, though. This was a bad type of cold, a dangerously heart-breaking type of cold. "Please," Jack was murmuring. "Please, please, please, don't be—Crutchie, I couldn't—you can't do this to me, I-I need you—oh, god, please, please, please don't—"
With a cry that could easily be construed as a sob, Jack hugged his lover's body against his own, shaking when Crutchie's head flopped lifelessly against Jack's chest. "Y-you can't, Crutchie. You, oh, god, you can't do this. Please don't—oh, please, please don't do this to me. I need you. I need you with me. I won't ever be okay."
Jack's words from over a year ago came back to Jack's mind: you don't hafta be fine all the time. And, no, he didn't need to be fine all the time. All he asked for was Crutchie and now even that—
Jack leaned closer to the boy, brushing his lips against the other boy's cold, bloody lips. He remembered the first time he had pressed his lips against Crutchie's, how the younger boy had smiled and it had all been okay. Jack needed that to happen once more, he needed to see Crutchie's smile one more time. If this were some fairytale, Crutchie would awake and everything would be fine and Jack would never never never let Crutchie out of his sight, but it would all be okay.
Crutchie didn't wake up.
"Crutch," Jack whispered, his voice cracking over the syllable. "Crutchie. I love you. I do. I do and I need you here right now and I love you." He hadn't said anything to Crutchie that morning, he had let the love of his life walk away to be brutally murdered. Jack hadn't told Crutchie that he loved him, had allowed Crutchie to dissuade him from kissing him. Jack couldn't even remember the last time he had told Crutchie that he loved him and feared that Crutchie didn't know, didn't remember, maybe thought that Jack didn't love him anymore. But he did. He did, oh, god, he did. "Crutchie, I love you and I really, really need you. I l-love you." There were so many things he wished he had done that morning, so many words left unsaid because he had foolishly thought that there would be time, that they'd have plenty of time and, oh, god, there wasn't enough time. He had run out of time and it was too late. All of it was too late.
Jack had no idea how long he sat there, clutching Crutchie's body to his chest as he murmured nonsenses to his love and ignored the tears that fought for release. He sat there, rocking, whispering, wishing for a wonderful lifetime that had been ended so soon, too soon. Jack didn't notice Race's gentle hand on his shoulder, didn't see Race's worry-clouded eyes. He remembered the time that Race and Davey had first discovered Crutchie and Jack's relationship. It seemed like it was so long ago, but they had only gotten a few short months past then. (Their one year anniversary was in two weeks and Jack had been planning—but, that was all over now. All over. Forever.)
As Jack sat there, holding the one person he had ever truly loved in his arms, he felt his heart constrict painfully. Jack knew, in that moment, that his heart had frozen. And he doubted it would ever return to normalcy. Not after this. Not after Crutchie.
Not after
'
Crutchie.
So. Yeah. Um, the concept for this story came from the music video for Hozier's "Take Me To Church," if that explains the ending. In all honesty, I'm not really much of a romance writer. Ever. So, any and all advice or suggestions are appreciated because I still don't know how I feel about this one.
Oh, and Davey fans. I am so sorry. I tried to have him be more accepting, but he was the one who had known Jack and Crutchie for the least amount of time and had grown up in a nuclear family with all sorts of different experiences than the other newsies. So, I'm sorry.
Anyway, reviews are always appreciated!