Happy birthday to kennydoll13! You asked for some sort of JackCrutchie surprise birthday party and hopefully this fulfills that request. It's just probably more, uh, feelzy than expected. But... you know me...
Jack's birthday was coming up and Crutchie was determined to make it the best birthday yet. His first step had been to find the perfect gift and he had. One day out selling, a couple of paint brushes had caught his eye in a store window and he just knew. Jack only owned one paint brush and the object was old, it's bristles no longer in perfect uniform. Jack never complained, but Crutchie knew that the older boy wished he had a better brush. Jack had even stopped painting those gorgeous Santa Fe sunsets he was so proud of, settling to use his small chunk of charcoal. His art remained spectacular, but there was a coldness, a sharpness, to the black and white pictures. The watercolor paints had rested underneath Jack's bed for far too long and Crutchie was eager to provide the tool that would allow Jack to break out those soft oranges and caressing reds.
The only problem was that the brushes were extremely expensive. Crutchie recalled the way his stomach had sunk uncomfortably the first time he had entered the store to check the price of the paint brushes. Since then, he had been working extra hard to earn the money required to purchase the brushes. Crutchie had been getting more papes than usual and spending long hours on the street corners selling. He was always the last boy getting back to the Lodging House at night and a couple of the other newsies had noticed, but Crutchie had waved their concern away.
Jack, however, was not as easy to brush off.
When Crutchie returned to the Lodging House shortly after seven o'clock for the third time that week, the older boy pulled him aside. "Whatcha doin' back so late?" Jack asked, drawing the younger boy out of earshot of the other newsies.
"Sellin' papes," Crutchie reassured him, moving to side step around Jack.
"You usually ain't out so long," Jack countered, stepping to the side to block Crutchie's escape.
"I had more papes to sell."
Jack regarded Crutchie carefully, placing a hand on Crutchie's shoulder. "You doin' okay?"
"I'se fine, Jack, I swear. Just tryin' to make some extra money."
"You owe somebody?" Jack asked. The newsies knew just how often Race got into sticky situations by borrowing money he couldn't pay back. It generally required all the newsies to pool in their extra change to bail the gambler out. Jack dug into his pockets. "I got a bit of money, if you—"
"No!" Crutchie quickly interrupted, the shout startling Jack and drawing the attention of the other newsboys. He couldn't have Jack pay for his own birthday present. "I'se fine. I'se just trying to save up for… Christmas," Crutchie lied.
Jack stared at him suspiciously. "It's March."
"I know and I've got to start early," Crutchie agreed, stepping around Jack. This time the older boy allowed him to do so. "Really, Jack, I'se not in trouble or anything. Just saving up money."
"Okay," Jack relented, his eyes still dark with worry. "But you better be back before seven tomorrow night. I don't want you getting lost out in the dark."
Crutchie rolled his eyes. "Fine, Jack."
Jack hesitated slightly, before lowering his voice and asking, "Are you coming up to the roof tonight?" The roof had become even more of a sanctuary to Jack and Crutchie for the past two weeks, ever since the pair had decided that their feelings towards one another extended past friendship. The only place that they could actually be together, be who they truly were, was on the roof.
As much as Crutchie wanted to join Jack up there, yearned for Jack's warm arms to be wrapped around him, solid and yielding all at the same time, he couldn't. Not tonight. The next morning he had to get out of the Lodging House early to make sure that he could get his papes first, finish selling them just as quickly as possible, then get to that store before it closed to purchase the brushes. With a slight wince, Crutchie gestured to his leg. "I don't think I will tonight. It's been acting up a bit. I'm fine, really, Jack," Crutchie added, when Jack's eyes darted to the gimp leg, trying to determine just how heavily Crutchie was leaning on his crutch. "Tomorrow, though, I promise."
"Okay," Jack agreed, his eyes still lingering on Crutchie's bad leg. "Tomorrow."
Crutchie exited the shop, a grin tugging at his lips. The three brushes were carefully stuck into his back pocket, where he could take reassurance from their slight weight. He had barely managed to scrape up enough money for the brushes, but he had been successful. He had done it. Crutchie glanced up at the darkening sky, before picking up his pace. Jack would kill him if he wasn't back soon and Crutchie hoped to be able to hide the brushes before Jack approached him about going up to the roof. Or being late, which was quickly looking like it would be the topic of choice when Crutchie got to the Lodging House.
He continued on his way back to the Lodging House, when a slight noise to his left pulled him out of his thoughts. Crutchie paused for a moment, peering down the alleyway to his left. Probably just a stray cat. He hoped it was a stray cat. Crutchie continued on his way, but only got a couple steps further.
It was not a stray cat.
Crutchie stumbled backwards as a pair of hands grabbed him and dragged him into the nearby alley. He immediately shouted, trying to draw the attention of someone who could help him, all while elbowing viciously at his assailant. Whoever had grabbed him grunted, but did not release Crutchie until he had been dragged further into the dark alleyway, beyond the view of the street. Crutchie was tossed to the ground and a familiar voice mocked, "And what's a crip doin' by himself at this time of day. It's gettin' dark and we wouldn't want you getting lost out there. All by yourself."
"Yeah," a second voice chimed in. "Who knows what could happen to a crip wandering 'round by himself at night?"
The Delancey brothers.
"Buzz off," Crutchie muttered, pulling himself to his feet. He carefully checked that the brushes had not been broken when he was tossed to the ground and was relieved to discover that all three brushes remained intact.
However, the movement drew Oscar's attention to Crutchie and he grabbed at the brushes. "What are these?" he practically purred.
"Hey, give those back!" Crutchie shouted, trying to reach the brushes which Oscar held above Crutchie's head, out of reach.
"Taking up painting, crip?" Morris asked, catching the brushes when Oscar tossed them over to him.
"Give them back," Crutchie demanded.
Morris studied the brushes for a moment, before gripping both ends of the brushes with his hands and snapping them in two. "Oops," he said, grinning at Crutchie maliciously.
"No!" Crutchie shouted.
"Here," Morris muttered, tossing the brushes to the ground at Crutchie's feet. "You didn't say you wanted them back in good condition.
"How could you?" Crutchie whispered, falling to his knees and gathering up the broken brushes, his fingers trembling. Tomorrow was Jack's birthday, so he didn't have time to get anything else, even if he could've. Crutchie had worked so hard, spent so much money; it was going to be perfect. And, now… All of it, gone. Wasted. "I—" Crutchie began, but was cut off when one of the Delancey brother's feet connected with his ribs.
He wanted to fight back, he did. But it all seemed so hopeless. Nothing had ever worked out in Crutchie's life. Nothing. And this was just one more failure to add to the ever-lengthening list: those scattered, shattered thin rods were the brushes that broke the camel's back. He bit back a cry, rolling into a thin, shivering ball as the Delanceys kicked at him, but he didn't try to push back, to kick out and protect himself. He had screwed up; he deserved this. And, maybe if he never ended up pulling himself back to his feet, maybe he deserved that, too.
The Delancey brothers must've noticed that their victim wasn't reacting as he usually did and grew bored quickly. "Enjoy your paintin'," Oscar hissed, kicking Crutchie one last time in the stomach, before the two brothers stalked off to find some other helpless victim. Normally, Crutchie was anything but helpless, but not today… Not after that crushing defeat.
Crutchie lay there, grasping one of the halves of the brushes, staring at the splintered end of the present. He gasped softly, blinking back tears that flooded his eyes as the pain—just as mental as physical—coursed through his body. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to get up and have to start over, to try again after everything had been ruined. Crutchie didn't want to have to face Jack after he had screwed up the one good thing he could do for the older boy.
Jack. Crutchie sighed, pushing himself up to a sitting position. His boyfriend would be worried sick about him and he needed to get back. Crutchie refused to ruin Jack's birthday even further by worrying the older boy more than necessary. Steeling himself against the sobs that threatened to push past his lips, Crutchie gathered up the broken brushes, stuffing them into his back pocket. He was still gentle with the shards, even though it didn't matter anymore because everything was irreparably ruined.
Crutchie stumbled back to the Lodging House, trying to focus on the way his muscles pulled painfully around his ribs if only to forget the heavy weight of defeat in his back pocket. It was much later than usual when Crutchie finally staggered into the warm, welcoming building. Jack immediately confronted the younger boy. "Where were you?" he demanded, his eyes tight with worry. "Is that a bruise?" he added, gesturing to the skin purpling around Crutchie's chin.
"I'se fine," Crutchie bit out, not really in the mood to talk with Jack. The broken brushes were burning a hole in his pocket, in his conscience, and the longer he talked to Jack, the worse it would get.
"What is going on, Crutch?" Jack asked, grabbing Crutchie's shoulders to keep the smaller boy in place.
"Nothing. I'se fine. I just want to get to bed," Crutchie said, trying to pull out of Jack's gentle grasp.
"Crutchie, if someone is—"
"I'se fine!" Crutchie shouted out, drawing the attention of everyone still in the front room of the Lodging House. Quieter, Crutchie continued, "Please, Jack, I just want to sleep. I'll see ya in the morning, yeah?"
"Yeah," Jack quietly agreed, finally allowing the other boy past him.
Crutchie pretended he did not notice the way that Jack's shoulders drew together or the hurt that flashed across those gentle brown orbs. He edged his way past Jack to his room, collapsing on his bed. The brushes dug painfully into his thigh and he viciously dug them out of his pocket, chucking them across the room. The soft clatter of the brushes against the floor echoed across his mind, deafening and hopeless. In the quietude of the fading clatter, Crutchie broke and he buried his head into the crook of his arm, wishing that just once, something would work out for him.
The sound of the door opening had Crutchie jolting up, gasping as his ribs pulled. "Hey, Crutch. What's up?"
Crutchie curled back up on the bed, turning his back to the door. At least it wasn't Jack. Crutchie didn't think he was quite ready to face the other boy in the face of his failure. "Leave me alone, Race. I'se fine."
"See, that's the problem. I don't think you are."
"I don't really care what you'se thinkin'," Crutchie muttered.
Race was silent for a moment and Crutchie fooled himself into hoping that Race had taken Crutchie's words at face value and had left. The sudden dipping of the bed proved all those hopes wrong. Crutchie screwed his eyes shut in frustration. Great. Something else that refused to work in his favor. "What are these?" Race asked.
Crutchie carefully opened his eyes and glanced at the halves of paint brushes in Race's hands. "Well, they were Jack's present," Crutchie muttered, his voice wet from unshed tears.
"What happened?"
Flipping onto his back, Crutchie stared up at the base of the bunk above him. "The Delanceys."
It was all the answer Race needed. "They beat you 'round a bit?"
"Nothing bad. I just wish they had left the brushes alone." Crutchie turned to look Race in the eye. "I worked so hard. It was going to be perfect and now I don't got nothing for Jack. He deserves more," Crutchie whispered, voicing the thoughts that had niggled at him for the past two weeks that he had been dating Jack. No one knew, so he didn't expect Race to suspect the true meaning behind Crutchie's words. Crutchie knew that Jack deserved more than him. Jack was everything that Crutchie wasn't. He was tall and ruggedly good-looking, charismatic and confident. Crutchie was a shrimp of a kid with a twisted leg. To be completely honest, Crutchie still didn't understand why Jack had decided to date the younger boy. He was constantly trying to prove that he was worth Jack's love and now… Now, he was nothing.
"Jack won't even know the difference," Race pointed out.
"I will."
Race shrugged. "What're ya gonna do with them?" he asked, holding the broken brushes out to Crutchie.
Crutchie shoved Race's hand away. "Toss 'em. They'se ruined."
"Okay," Race said, pocketing the broken brushes. "You okay, kid?"
"Fine," Crutchie lied, turning his back to Race. He would be fine. Eventually. Not tonight. And definitely not tomorrow when his wound would be further dug at when Jack expected a present that he would not be receiving.
Race awkwardly patted Crutchie's back, tacitly ignoring when the smaller boy flinched. He watched Crutchie shudder with half-hidden sobs for a moment, before leaving the room. He needed to speak to a couple people before the night was over.
Crutchie awoke feeling even worse than he had the night before. He didn't even recall falling asleep, could only remember how he had laid there, letting the crushing defeat sweep through him as he recalled the harsh snapping sound as the Delanceys broke the perfect paint brushes. Crutchie pulled himself up and out of bed, knowing that he still had papes to sell and that it would probably be best for him to get out there before Jack, so he wouldn't have to face the other boy. He dreaded the thought of seeing Jack because the older boy would, undoubtedly, expect an explanation from the night before and Crutchie didn't think he could give him one. Though, Crutchie realized, he would have to interact with Jack sometime today; it was his boyfriend's birthday, for heaven's sake, and Jack would be even more hurt if Crutchie didn't talk to him at all.
With a low sigh, Crutchie got dressed and made his way out of the Lodging House. He had almost made it to the distribution center without running into Jack and Crutchie was just beginning to think that something would finally go the way it was supposed to. "Hey, Crutchie! Can I talk with you for a sec?"
No dice.
Crutchie half-turned, pausing to let Jack catch up to the other boy. "Sure," Crutchie muttered, shrugging his shoulders, but wincing when the movement tugged at the bruises that littered his body.
And of course the wince didn't escape Jack's attention. "Do you wanna talk 'bout what happened to you last night?"
"Not really," Crutchie said lightly, continuing his way to the distribution center.
Jack was silent for a moment, walking beside Crutchie. Eventually, he asked, "Is it something I did? Why won't you talk to me?"
"Jack," Crutchie began, exasperated. "It ain't—" He stopped when he noticed the Delancey brothers grinning at him. "I just don't wanna talk 'bout it, okay?"
"Okay," Jack said, his eyebrows drawing together in an emotion that Crutchie wasn't willing to try and interpret. If he studied the look for too long, he knew that it would prove that Jack was getting tired of the younger boy. It was a fling. That was all Crutchie was to Jack. He knew it, he just couldn't bear for it to be completely confirmed by Jack.
Crutchie sighed, purchasing his papes. He was back down to his normal forty, didn't want to try and sell any extra. There was no point for it; he would never be able to afford paint brushes like that for Jack ever again. All of that effort, down the drain. Oscar smirked maliciously as he pushed the papers across the counter to Crutchie, but Crutchie ignored him. He would just sell his papes, go home, tell Jack "happy birthday," and move on from the horrid event. Just a couple more hours. Just a couple more hours.
It was shortly after four o'clock when Crutchie started heading back to the Lodging House. He had almost made it up the steps, when he noticed Jack leaning against the wall outside the building. Waiting for him. "Hey, Crutch," he greeted. "I think we need to talk."
Oh. Crutchie felt his heart constrict nervously. He wished the ground would just open up and swallow him into some cavernous death. Jack didn't want him anymore. He had found some other girl or guy that was kinder, prettier, funnier.
Not crippled.
"Uh, okay. Up on the roof?" Crutchie asked, trying to hide his nervousness. Jack nodded and Crutchie knew it was serious. And it was most definitely about their relationship. "Okay. Can I put my stuff down first?" he asked, jerking his hand in the direction of the Lodging House.
Jack nodded. "Sure. I'll come with."
They both entered the Lodging House, which was suspiciously dark. But, only for a moment. There was a soft shuffling movement and then the lights were flicked on, revealing all the newsboys, a chocolate cake held aloft by Race. "Happy birthday, Jack!" they chorused.
Grinning wildly, Jack stepped forward, forgetting about Crutchie for a moment. "What is this?"
"Surprise birthday party!" Buttons announced. "Surprise!"
Jack laughed, his grin widening. "It certainly is a surprise. Whose idea was this?"
Race smiled. "Guilty party is right next to ya," he said, gesturing to Crutchie.
"What? I—" Crutchie began, quite certain that he had not planned anything of the like.
He was cut off as Jack swept him into a tight hug and Crutchie just wanted to melt into the embrace. He hadn't realized how much he needed Jack's arms around him, how much he craved the contact between them. Much too quickly, Jack was letting go. "Thanks, Crutch. This is…" Jack trailed off as he noticed a small box on the table, wrapped in old newspaper. "You guys aren't s'posed to get me a present. I told all of ya that," Jack said, stepping forward and grabbing the box. Despite his stern words, Jack couldn't keep the wide grin from his face as he lifted the box to his ear, shaking it gently.
Great. Jack could have been grinning because of Crutchie if he hadn't gone and broken those stupid paint brushes. Now someone was going to upstage Crutchie and he'd never be able to retain his position as "boyfriend." Bitterly, Crutchie realized he'd probably also lost the "best friend" title he had always been so proud of. He had never been much, but he had at least been Jack's best friend and now he had lost even that.
Jack ripped the newspaper from the box, gently opening it. For a moment, he stared in the box, speechless, before glancing up and surveying the room. "Who got me these?" he asked, his voice urgent with a distinct undertone of excitement.
Crutchie wanted to sink into the ground and completely disappear, was actually slowly edging away from the joyous party, when Race spoke up. "Once again, Jacky-boy, guilty part is right next to ya."
This time Crutchie didn't even have the opportunity to protest that he hadn't gotten Jack anything before he was pulled into a second crushing hug. "Thank you," Jack whispered, his warm breath tickling Crutchie's ear. Jack held onto Crutchie for a few moments longer, before releasing his boyfriend. "These brushes are so expensive. How could you ever afford—"
Crutchie stopped listening, leaning forward to peer into the box. Inside lay three paint brushes, their broken bodies taped together. Crutchie glanced up at Race in surprise and the older boy merely grinned. "I—" he began, before shutting his mouth. He didn't want to ruin this moment, when he had accidentally been flung back into Jack's good favors.
As Specs dished out cake to all the newsboys, Crutchie couldn't shake the feeling that a surprise party he didn't even plan and three broken brushes were not enough to save their relationship and those dark thoughts about the impending end of their relationship soured the party for Crutchie. He was pretty sure Jack noticed Crutchie's upset mood, but the older boy wasn't able to do anything about it, being dragged into conversations by the hyper, excited newsboys. Eventually, Crutchie couldn't take the stress anymore. The party was just barely dying down when Crutchie finally voiced the words that spun around his mind, dangerously mocking. "Didn't ya want to talk to me?" Crutchie asked Jack.
Jack glanced at Crutchie in surprise. "Uh, yeah, I guess. Now?"
"Now is as good a time as any." If Jack was going to break up with Crutchie, he wanted it over with as soon as possible. He hated this limbo where he was stuck between his imagination and the truth.
"Okay," Jack agreed, scooping up his new brushes and following the younger boy up to the roof. Race glanced at the pair in confusion, before turning back to his cake. He had done what he could and now it was up to Crutchie to make sure everything worked out the way it should.
Crutchie hesitated when they reached the rooftop, finally settling on his mattress. Jack sat across from him, the distance a gaping chasm that Crutchie knew he could never cross. He had screwed up. Too much. Too much to ever be fixed.
"So…" Jack began softly, trailing off.
Unable to take the silence that was suddenly stretching between them again, Crutchie muttered, "Look, if you'se gonna break up with me, could you just do it already?" He ducked his head in shame, clenching his hands together. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't.
"Break up with you?" Jack asked in surprise. "Do you… Do you want me to break up with you?"
"No," Crutchie admitted, "but, I thought that you…" Crutchie trailed off, not sure where he was going with that sentence.
Jack smiled gently. "Crutchie, I would never break up with you. Especially not after that surprise party and the brushes."
"Yeah, well, it wasn't even me," Crutchie snapped, the truth bursting out of him. "I didn't plan the party and I broke the stupid brushes. Race is the one who did everything."
"Crutch—"
"I screw everything up."
"You don't screw everything up," Jack reassured the younger boy gently. "You don't screw this up," he added, smirking slightly as he leaned in to kiss Crutchie.
Crutchie shook his head, avoiding Jack's lips. "I don't get it," he whispered.
"What don't you get?" Jack asked quietly.
"This," Crutchie said, gesturing to the two of them. "Why do you want me when you could have so much more? When you deserve more?"
Jack leaned back slightly and Crutchie watched Jack's eyes flick back and forth across Crutchie's face. Crutchie lowered his eyes, unwilling to watch as Jack realized that Crutchie was correct and that he deserved so much more than a grubby, crippled newsboy. "Hey," Jack said softly, gently lifting Crutchie's chin so he was forced to look Jack in the eye. "Did ya ever consider that maybe I don't want more? All I want is you, Crutchie. And, hey, if anyone deserves more, it's you. I ain't ever been the best boyfriend."
Crutchie smiled softly. "I think you have been."
"Well, that's good, because your opinion is the only one that matters to me."
"You'se a sap," Crutchie muttered, blushing.
"Yeah, but I'se your sap," Jack agreed, leaning forward to kiss Crutchie. This time the younger boy allowed him to do so. After a few moments of Jack trying to prove to Crutchie just how much he loved the younger boy, Jack pulled back. He opened his eyes just in time to see Crutchie's flutter open, long lashes obscuring the dark brown, which brought on a soft smile. "So, you ever gonna tell me what happened last night?" He gently brushed his thumb over the purpling skin on Crutchie's chin.
Crutchie shut his eyes, leaning wearily against Jack, but finding strength in the familiar weight of Jack's arms around him. "The Delancey brothers. Caught me on the way to the Lodging House and beat me 'round a bit." Crutchie was unable to ignore the way that Jack's arms tightened around him, but continued his explanation anyway. "They broke your brushes. I had just bought 'em and they snapped 'em in half," he explained, aware of the defeat that was seeping into his voice. "I'm sorry 'bout that."
"Hey, don't worry 'bout it," Jack said, rubbing Crutchie's shoulder as he held him close. "I like them better now."
"Why? Race had to tape them together. They ain't so good anymore."
"Yeah, but now whenever I use them, I'll be able to think of you and all you've gone through for me," Jack pointed out. "They'se got character."
Crutchie shrugged. "Well, as long as they work, I guess."
"And as long as you'se okay."
"Don't worry, I'm fine. Just a bruise or two."
Jack smiled. "I don't think I'se gonna stop worrying for quite a while."
"Yeah, well…" Crutchie murmured, curling up into Jack's shoulder. "Are ya gonna paint something?"
"Not right now. I've got more pressing matters at hand."
"Such as?" Crutchie prompted.
"Kissing the cutest boy of all the newsies."
"You'se a dork," Crutchie half-complained, allowing Jack to guide him to the mattress where they could lay next to each other and kiss, uninterrupted.
"And you love me for it," Jack whispered, capturing Crutchie's lips between his own.
Crutchie smiled, pulling back a bit. "Happy birthday, Jack."
Jack's only response was to kiss Crutchie again, even harder.
Reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome. Tell me what you guys thought of this!
And, wow, I posted three different stories in one week. This will probably not happen again, unless, everyone ends up having more birthday requests that end up around the same time. So, with other news, I hope to be posting the first chapter of The Hearts of the Palominos next week and then we'll be back into the normal swing of things. Hope you all have a fabulous Friday!