Someone needs to stop me from writing such depressing things. It can't be good for my fangirl heart.

I got at least two requests to write a brotherly Crutchie/Jack sickfic, so I was morally obligated to do so, seeing how I love requests! So here it is, once again sad because I seem to know nothing else. Although, this is from the first person POV of Jack, and he can be pretty melodramatic, so I suppose this was bound to happen. I hope this meets any standards!

Enjoy!

-Marcelle

I hear Crutchie coughing, and immediately know something is wrong.

It isn't an ordianary, everyday cough. It's the kind that sounds like it hurts, and Crutchie is starting to turn red in the face from working his lungs so hard. I start to feel my heartbeat getting faster, because I'm getting scared. What's wrong with him?

"Hey...Crutchie?" I asked tentatively, approching my best friend and putting an arm around his shoulders. He doesn't answer me, only continues to cough, almost doubling over in effort. "A-are you alright?"

Crutchie finally manages to shake his head in response, and my eyes get wider when I start to hear what sound like sobs. Is he crying? Does it hurt that bad?

I pick him up in my arms, wincing each time Crutchie coughs again as I push open the door to the lodging house. His coughs eventually die down into wheezes, like he's trying to catch his breath. I just feel lucky that we don't have far to go.

We've just sold our last pape; Crutchie is only seven so I sell with him to make sure he's alright. He's just started out, and he's only been here for a month. I just turned ten, and I've been selling for almost a year, so I've been showing Crutchie the ropes. It's a good thing I am, too, because if I hadn't been with Crutchie today then he would've been all by himself now. And then who knows what would've happened to him?

I don't like that Crutchie is so light. It barely takes any effort to lift him, and I know that isn't good for a kid his age. He grew up on the streets, I guess, just like I did. 'Course, I don't think he's ever been in the Refuge like I have. And I won't ask, because Crutchie hasn't told me anything about his life so far, except that he can't use his right leg because he was sick with polio.

Wait. Polio.

Is that what this is? Is Crutchie's polio acting up or something? How can I make it stop?

I carefully sit Crutchie down on his bunk bed, holding him up around his shoulders and his waist as he forces out a few more coughs. It hurts me to see him like this. Crutchie is a real great kid, and I don't want anything to happen to him.

"Is it over, Jack?" he finally catches his breath enough to speak, but I barely his whisper. My heart hurts to hear him sound so scared, so I hold him tighter. But I can't answer his question.

"I don't know, Crutch. You tell me. Are you okay now?"

"I...I think so..." His breath is still coming in short, little bursts, and I can feel him shaking under my arm. He lifts his head up to look at me, and I see the leftover fear on his face. "I almost thought I was gonna die, Jack."

"No, Crutchie, that ain't gonna happen. You'se just sick, that's all." I try to sound as comforting as I can, but even I don't know if I'm lying. Because now I'm starting to remember some of the other kids, the ones at the Refuge who used to cough like Crutchie was. The one nurse they let see us called it whooping cough.

There was a real little kid who had it, once. The nurse took him away after a while, and he didn't come back. But I'd never tell that to Crutchie.

"Yeah. You're right, I guess. I cough like that all the time in the winter," he admits eventually, looking right at me with those wide eyes of his. I can see that he's finally starting to trust me, so I let him keep talking. I think talking might be what he needs.

"My ma used ta sing to me when I coughed like that, back when she was still livin'. It made me feel better," he tells me, and I can see tiny tears starting to form in his eyes at the memory. I shuffle slightly, wishing I knew how to help him. I've seen my fair share of crying kids in the Refuge, but it was usually 'cause Synder hit them or one of the other kids was mean to them. But this is a different kind of hurt, and I don't have the first clue on what to do to heal it. Luckily, Crutchie says it for me.

"Do you know any songs, Jack?"

Songs? He wants me to sing to him? I guess it makes sense. Crutchie is probably hurting real bad right now, and he'll want something familiar to help him. If his mom used to sing to him, then I will, too. Heck, I'd do anything for this kid. He deserves it.

"Yeah, I, uh...I think I know one," I tell him, because I do remember one song. I remember, from a long time ago, something my own mother would sing to me. At least, I think it was my mother. I don't have the best memory of her, but I'm pretty sure my father wasn't exactly the singing type. And I remember the voice-it was soft, and it was sweet.

It was lullaby, I think. I hear it in my head sometimes, late at night, when the day's work has been hard and I don't think I can take this business of being a newsie. But the song helps me, just like I want to help Crutchie. The song reminds me that life doesn't have to be so bad all the time, and that's what I need Crutchie to know, too. So I start to sing.

My child, my very own...

My voice sounds awful rusty, since I haven't sung anything for as long as I can remember. But the melody comes as easy to me as if I've sung it everyday, and I don't stop.

Don't be afraid, you're not alone.

I used to think that I was all alone in the world after my folks died, and then after I escaped from the Refuge. I used to think that no one out there cared if I'm dead or alive. But things are different now, because now I have all the boys-Racetrack, and Finch, and Specs, and Albert. Now, I have Crutchie, and he has me. Now, he doesn't have to be alone, either. We can be brothers. We can be family.

Sleep until the dawn...

I glance towards my new little brother, and I see that his eyelids have begun to flutter shut. I haven't been singing for long, but then, he must be exhausted. His head slumps against my arm, and his breathing finally starts to even out. His hands are clutching my arm like a blanket.

For all is well.

Crutchie yawns in his sleep, and I carefully move my arm from his grip. I gently lay him down on the bed, wishing I don't notice that his face is flushed and his forehead is hot and sweaty. I don't think he's out of the woods just yet, but I know he'll be okay.

I haven't known Crutchie for long, but I can tell that he's much stronger than his crutch would let him be. He's a tough kid, and I know he'll pull through. He'll have me right by his side, and I'm not gonna let him down.

No way.

The song was "Distant Melody" from Peter Pan, because I have a personal connection to it at the moment, and because I feel as though there are a lot of connections between Peter and the Lost Boys versus Jack and the newsies. Peter actually sings this song (which is actually longer, I only used a section) n as a lullaby for the Lost Boys, and it is my personal belief that Jack would sing it to the younger boys when they're sick, or upset. It's just a cute little headcannon of mine, and I wanted to incorporate it into a fic. Anyway, don't forget to review! Prompts and suggestions are (clearly) accepted! I'll try to be updating Midnight soon as well, if it continues to do as well as it has. Thanks for reading!