Another one-shot! One of these days, you're going to get sick of all these stories... Hopeful that's not today, because that would be awkward. Anyway, this story is for HPNewsie because I have been feeling guilty that all my stories are about Crutchie and I haven't had anything focused on Davey. So. here's something focused on Davey. And, I do have an important announcement at the end of this fic, so be sure to stick around for that!
David Jacobs kept his right hand on his younger brother's back, guiding him through the throng of passersby that paid the two Jacobs brothers no notice. He anxiously drummed his left fingers on the side of his leg, the hurried tattoo speaking of the nerves that thrummed in his mind. Their father had suffered an accident at the factory, his leg getting crushed between two large cogs that powered the machines. The injury had been frightening and David still couldn't shake the image of his father's pale, pain-pressed face as the doctor cut off the pant leg, crusted in dried, scabbing blood. There had been so much blood to David's untrained, fearful eye, but his father hadn't died. That didn't mean that the injury wasn't a problem anymore. Now that his dad was bedridden, at least for a couple of months, there was no source of income for the Jacobs family.
Which meant that David and Les had to find some way to earn money.
So, here they were, pushing their way through the crowd and making their way to the distribution center for newsboys. David stumbled backwards after he was shoved in the shoulder by some faceless New Yorker that glared disapprovingly at the boy, before continuing on his way. David shook his head, but continued trudging forward. He wasn't excited to be out on the streets, trying to get disinterested New Yorkers to buy a paper that the majority of them probably wouldn't even read. David understood why he must do this, however, and accepted the yoke with a firm resolution and the expectation that he would do his best and, hopefully, hopefully, everything would work out in the end.
"I think it will be fun!" Les exclaimed, breaking David's uneasy silence.
"Yeah, maybe," David said, his voice doubtful. David just really wanted to be going back to school where he didn't have to worry beyond classwork; he was terrified of the responsibility of ensuring that his family remained financially stable. What would happen if he couldn't sell papers, or if he got sick or injured and wasn't able to provide even this meager amount of money? David didn't even want to think about it, those fears roiling uncomfortably within the pit of his stomach.
"It's an adventure!" Les shouted, grabbing onto a light post and spinning around it. He leaped off of it, the momentum hurtling him into the road where he was nearly trampled by a horse drawing a fancy carriage.
"Les!" David shouted, grabbing Les' shirt and jerking him backwards out of danger of the flashing hooves. "You have to be more careful," David admonished, his heart pounding. He couldn't lose his brother, not after everything that had just happened.
Les didn't catch onto David's fear and pulled out of his brother's hold, before skipping off. "Come on, David! We're going to be late!"
David rolled his eyes, trying to assuage the fears that had reared up at Les' near-hit. His brother was fine. They were both fine. He just needed to stop worrying. David grinned wryly. If only it was as easy to believe as it was to say; he had constantly found himself repeating the mantra that everything was okay, but David couldn't completely shake away the fears that clung to him like a glistening cobweb, obscuring his outlook and chilling him to the core. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he said, following Les through the crowd toward the distribution center.
As they neared their destination, David could make out a large crowd of boys standing around, waiting for the gates to open so that they could get the papers they would be selling. The boys were chatting amongst each other, grinning, shoving, joking. Camaraderie was thick in the warm June air. As David and Les approached the boys, a couple of them stared at the brothers mistrustingly. David immediately realized that he would be unable to fit in with these boys, would probably be ostracized for the simple sin of being an outsider. Squaring his shoulders, David stepped forward to the line of boys waiting to buy their papers. He ignored the loud whispers that were flung in his direction like heat-seeking missiles that, despite his efforts to ignore, still did their prescribed damage.
"...damn new kid…"
"...our jobs…"
"...teach him a lesson…"
David ignored the comments, glad that Les didn't seem to hear them. David could handle the rude remarks directed at him, but he knew he would not be able to stand anyone ripping on his baby brother. He stepped forward in line as the gates opened and newsboys were able to step up and pay for the papers they planned to sell for the day. Once David reached the start of the line, he carefully counted out the money he had. "Twenty papers, please," he said.
The boy behind the counter that appeared to sport a perpetual grimace slammed a pile of newspapers down. David gingerly scooped them up, quickly counting through the papers he had bought. 17...18...19… "Hey, wait!" David called out. "You only gave me nineteen papers! I paid for twenty."
The boy scowled. "Move along, kid," he growled.
"No, I paid for twenty papers," David reasserted, unsure if, maybe, the boy didn't understand what David was saying. Surely, the boy wouldn't cheat him out of his rightfully paid paper.
Another boy that looked to be about David's age pushed himself forward, grabbing the papers from David's hands. He had dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes. In the boy's back pocket, David noticed a faded brown cap, folded, rather than stuffed into the small space. Before David could protest, the boy had flipped through the papers and turned to the boy at the counter. "Sorry, Morris, the kid's right. You only gave him nineteen."
The boy, Morris, grumbled before begrudgingly handing David another paper. "Thank you," David said to the boy that had swept in and convinced Morris to give the fair amount of papers.
"Nah, it's no problem. Gotta teach these idiots that they can't just cheat people outta their hard-earned money," the boy said. "Fifty papes," he informed Morris, slamming his coins down on the counter with a loud thunk. Once Morris had counted out the papers for the boy, he turned back to David. "The name's Jack, by the way. What's yours?"
"David."
"Is this your kid brother, Davey?" Jack asked, gesturing to Les who was grinning up at Jack.
"Yes, that's Les," David said, allowing the nickname to slide. "Thank you once again, but Les and I have to go get started."
"No, you'se with me," Jack said, grabbing David's arm and tugging him away from the distribution center. "See, I'se the best goddamn newsie to ever walk the streets and I'se decided to take you under my wing and teach you the tricks of the trade."
"That's—that's kind of you," David said, pulling his arm free. "But, I think we'll do fine on our own."
"Uh-uh," Jack said, grabbing David's arm once more. "I've trained all the greatest newsies: Race, Specs, Crutchie. All of them blossomed under my guidance."
"As nice as it sounds to be blossoming," David began sarcastically, "I really can do this on my own."
Jack's crossed his arms against his chest. "Yeah? What's the headline?"
"The headline?"
"The headline. How're ya gonna sell papes if ya don't even got a headline."
David quickly glanced down at the paper, scanning the front page. "Trolley Strike Enters Third Week."
Jack shook his head. "Nope."
"What do you mean, 'nope?' That's what it says right here!"
"I mean, that I ain't buyin' a pape with a headline like that. Not the way you just said it." Jack grabbed one of his papers and approaches a man walking past them. "Extra!" he shouted. "Extra! Terrified flight from burning inferno! You heard it right here!" The man immediately handed Jack his payment and Jack turned to David triumphantly. "That how you sell a pape, Davey."
"That's lying. There's nothing in here about a fire, or—" David said, quickly flipping through the paper to see if the fire that Jack had just shouted about was on any of the pages. Not too surprising, there were no articles detailing a "burning inferno," as Jack had coined it.
"You say what you gotta say or you starve. That's life, kid. Now, come on. Let's see what you and your brother can do."
Throughout the day, Jack continued to encourage Les to lie and fake illness, all in an effort to sell the papers. David didn't like it, didn't think they should be lying; it felt too much as if they were cheating these honest citizens out of their hard-earned money. At the same time, he couldn't deny that they were getting the money that his family needed: with his father injured, was there anything David wasn't willing to do in order to ensure that there was food enough for his mother, father, sister, brother? David had been raised in a family that lived by the Bible and he knew, he knew, that lying wasn't good. But, maybe God would let this slide since it was all just an effort to protect his family.
As the day drew to a close, David was proud to note that all the papers had been sold. Les had been invaluable, selling papers quicker than David could think of a new, creative headline. And, he had to admit that Jack had been very helpful, more kind than David had thought the newsboy would be. "Hey, ya guys can come back to the Lodging House," Jack suggested, "and I'll introduce ya to all the boys. You'se guys are naturals and I'm sure that they'd all love to meet ya."
David glanced up at the darkening sky. His mother would be putting dinner on the table shortly and he had to get the money they had earned back to her, the coins weighing heavily in David's pocket. "We've got to get back home. Our mother will be worried if we're out much later."
"Oh. You'se got folks," Jack muttered, his voice soft.
"Doesn't everyone have folks?" Les asked and David cringed at the question, watching as the smile on Jack's face froze in memories, half-forgotten.
"Nah, but not everyone needs folks," Jack said, his bravado a shiny mask that was pulled up so quickly that, if David hadn't been watching closely, he would not have seen the change that stiffened Jack's face. But, David could see the cracks in the facade and wondered just how much life had battered the newsboy around.
"Well, if you want," David quickly suggested, "you can come over to our place and have dinner with us."
Jack waved the suggestion away, shaking his head. "Not tonight. It's Crutchie's birthday. Promised the night to him. He's probably already waiting for me on the roof."
"Um, okay," David said, uncomfortable. "But, hey, we'll see you tomorrow, right?"
Jack saluted at the other boy, his grin turning up a couple notches. "Sure will, Davey."
David watched the other boy stuff his hands in his pockets and make his way down the New York streets in the opposite direction of the boys. There was a weight pressing on the other boy's shoulders and David wanted to run up and grab his shoulder and force him to come get a home-cooked meal with his family. But, he didn't. He couldn't.
The next morning David and Les joined the rest of the Manhattan newsies at the distribution center. "Heya, Davey!" Jack said, sidling up to the Jacobs brothers.
"Oh, hey, Jack," David replied back, good-naturedly. "How was, uh, Crutchie—I think that's what you said his name was—uh, his birthday?"
"I mean, it was fine. Fifteen years, now," Jack smiled, the action distant and thoughtful. With a slight shake of his head, Jack added, "Hey, if we finish early enough, you'se guys can come back and meet the boys. They're all idiots, the entire lot of them, but you'se gonna love them all the same."
David smiled. "Yeah, that sounds great. And you're still invited to dinner."
"Oh, I couldn't—" Jack began, shaking his head.
"Crutchie can come, too," David offered.
Jack shook his head. "I don't think so. Thanks, though. But, come on. The line's moving and there's papes to sell, people to fool, all sorts of things to do!" Jack exclaimed, ushering the Jacobs boys forward.
"What a time to be alive, eh, Jack?" David remarked, unable to keep the grin off of his face. Jack either didn't hear David, or chose to ignore the other boy, merely slamming his coins on the counter and grinning sarcastically at the Delancey brothers. Once David and Jack had purchased their papers, Jack led them through the streets, showing out a collection of the best selling spots.
"And here's where all the older ladies come by after their luncheons in that fancy restaurant over there. Les'll make a killin' here. Show us the shtick, kid," Jack instructed.
Les immediately pursed his lips out and blinked his eyes rapidly until they started tearing up. "Pape, ma'am?" Les asked, before coughing pitifully into his sleeve. "Low price of two pennies," he said, coughing once more.
"That's real good, kid," Jack said, congratulating the younger boy. "I almost wanted to buy one from you, almost pulled out my last penny for ya."
"Really, Jack?" Les asked.
"Really," Jack confirmed.
The remainder of the day passed in that way, with Jack and Les doing the majority of the selling, with David standing farther away, trying his best to come up with the lies and exaggerations that rolled off of Jack's tongue like drops of golden honey. He did sell a fair amount of papes, just nothing compared to what Jack and Les were able to crank out to the customers. It didn't bother David, not too much, at least. He did his part in supporting their family and that was enough for David.
They finished up the day much quicker than the previous one, which David attributed to the fact that Les was really getting a hang of the newsies business. After the last pape had been sold to an older woman who had pinched Les' cheeks and given a nickel for the paper and wished the child a better lot in life, Jack led the pair of brothers to the Lodging House. "You'se just gotta meet all the other boys, now that you'se real, honest-to-God newsies."
The first boy they came across was loitering outside of the Lodging House, an unlit cigar planted between his teeth. "Oi, Jack! What's up with the newbies?"
"This here is Davey and Les," Jack said, introducing the Jacobs brothers. "They'se the newest of the lot of us. And this," Jack added, gesturing to the tall blonde boy, "is Racetrack Higgins. We all call him Race. Word of advice to the pair of ya: don't make a bet with the kid. Not unless you want to give up your life savings."
"Hey, I gotta make a living, too," Race objected. "And just because none of ya guys have a poker face don't make it my problem."
Jack pulled David and Les past Race, taking them into the Lodging House. He started pointing around the room. "Specs. Jojo. Buttons. Elmer. Mush. Finch." As each boy's name was called out, they lifted a hand, waving at the newcomers. "They'se all friendly," Jack explained, "once you get over the stench. Don't think a single one of them bathes."
"Hey!" Finch, a short black-haired boy, protested. "I bathe when I got the day off. So, on holidays, mostly."
"We work holidays," Mush pointed out.
Finch shrugged. "Guess, I just don't got the time to bathe."
David scanned the room, taking in the appearance of all the newsies, trying to match the faces with the names. He had a good memory, it was true, but he wanted to make sure that he knew who everyone was. David hoped that the newsies would accept him into their group, that, maybe, he'd even be friends with the boys.
"Yeah, well, this is Davey and Les," Jack concluded, pointing to the Jacobs brothers. "They'se pretty good for beginners," Jack bragged, "Of course, that may just be because I was the one who showed them the ropes."
"Ah, can it, Jack," Specs complained. "A kid with a face like Les could outsell you on his worst day. They didn't need your help." Jack sputtered something indignant, but was ignored as the other boys laughed at Specs' comment. "So," Specs continued, "what brings you to be a newsie? Got a sob story?"
David frowned, unsure if he wanted to tell these boys about what had driven him and Les to working on the streets. "Everyone's got a sob story," Finch pointed out. "Buttons 'ere, he ain't got a family. Just an uncle with a temper like the devil hisself. And Mush was skin an' bones when he stumbled up the stairs. A light breeze coulda blown him over. I'se got a ma but she went and threw herself off da Brooklyn Bridge and here I am now. And Jack's just bitter that he ain't in Santa Fe. So, what's up with you?"
"My father hurt his leg in a factory, so Les and I have to be out working just until he's back on his feet," David explained.
"You got a pa?" Elmer asked, suspiciously. He rubbed at his arm self-consciously as he spoke, before lowering his eyes.
"And a mother!" Les proclaimed proudly, before David could silence the younger, excited boy.
Elmer's face twisted in displeasure. "Well, ain't you a lucky pair."
"Hey, leave them alone," Jack quickly intercepted. "It ain't their fault. And if they need a job, they get a job. They'se newsies, just like the lot of us."
"Not exactly like the lot of us," Elmer muttered.
Jack shrugged, before giving David and Les a tour of the Lodging House, pointing out all the rooms and the beds of the boys. He only hesitated once in one of the rooms, stuttering out a quick explanation of who slept in that room, before moving on to the next one. David tried to catch Jack's eye, figure out what was keeping the older boy close-mouthed, but Jack refused to look his way. If Les had noticed the tension, he didn't act like it. Instead, the younger boy simply asked, "You gonna show us the roof?"
"Probably not tonight, kid," Jack said, his voice almost imperceptibly stiff. He reached across and ruffled Les' hair. "Maybe a different time." Les nodded, bounding off to go play marbles with Finch. David shot Jack a quick, questioning glance, but if Jack noticed, he didn't respond, a false smile masking whatever emotions whirled across the newsboy's mind. Jack kicked the smile up a notch. "Come on, Davey, let's go join the rest of the newsies."
It had been almost a week before David approached Race with the question that had been buzzing around the back of his head, leaping to the tip of his tongue every time he spoke with Jack. They had grown closer and David was prepared to call Jack his best friend; he hadn't been close to many boys at school and it was a strange feeling to suddenly be able to trust someone else, to know that, no matter what was going on, David could turn to Jack and the other boy would help him. Except… David wasn't sure that Jack felt the same way about him. He'd go tight-lipped and certain subjects and David was worried that it was something he had said or done. So, with a soft voice, David began, "Hey, Race, does Jack not trust me?"
Race glanced up from the marbles he was rolling around his palm, testing their dexterity. He was leaning leisurely against the outside wall of the Lodging House. "I would say he does trust you. Why're ya asking all of the sudden?" he asked.
David shrugged. "I don't know," he muttered.
"Sure ya do. What's bugging you?" Race pressed.
He wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to tell Race what was bugging him, but before he could really stop himself, David blurted, "Why won't Jack introduce me to Crutchie?" When Race simply gaped at David, he quickly stuttered out an explanation. "I—I understand that they're best friends and everything, but I just figured that, maybe, Jack would trust me enough to let his friends meet me. I wouldn't be mean or anything. I—"
Race cut David off with a hoarse, "Stop. You—you don't get it."
"What don't I get?" David demanded. "I understand that he's probably crippled or something and maybe Jack's embarrassed, but I would never—"
"You. Don't. Get. It," Race growled. "It's not that he's—" Race shook his head. "D'ya really want to know what's tying up Jacky-boy's tongue?" The words were harsh and flinted, biting in the silence that hovered between the two boys.
"Y-yes," David stuttered, suddenly hesitant if this was something he really wanted to know. It wasn't as if Jack were doing anything bad by not letting him meet Crutchie; it was Jack's choice. But, David couldn't hold the curiosity down. He did want to know what was going on, what secrets shrouded this mysterious boy called Crutchie.
Race's face twisted as he shoved himself off the wall, motioning for David to follow him. "Well, come along, then."
David followed Race as the other boy led him around the building, but David didn't recognize where they were going and quickly voiced his confusion. "Where are we going?"
"The roof," Race bit out.
"Oh." David followed him a few steps further, before asking, "Will Jack be mad?"
"Jack's talking to the boys in the Lodging House. He won't know."
"If you think so," David muttered doubtfully. He wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to know what was going on since it involved going directly behind Jack's back.
Race whipped around, facing David. "Look, Davey, you'se the one that wants to know. Do ya?"
It was now or never. David recognized this. If he backed down now, he would never understand why Jack wouldn't let him meet the boy. "Yes. I do," he said, his voice firm.
"Okay," Race said, nodding. "Okay, then stop doubtin' me."
David followed Race up the fire escape, gripping the cold edges to keep from toppling backwards to the hard, unrelenting ground. If he fell now—David wasn't sure that he would survive it. He'd, at the very least, be injured enough that he would no longer be able to sell papers and bring even that meager income home to his family. It didn't take long until David hefted himself up onto the roof. He stood there, for a moment, examining the view of the city. Everything looked so different, kinder, even, from the added height. A breeze rustled his hair and David felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, as if everything would turn out okay. He turned from the view, gazing at the roof. Two mattresses had been dragged up, but David wasn't entirely sure how someone had managed to get them up the fire escape. "Jack and Crutchie's?" David asked.
Race nodded bitterly, sitting down on the farther mattress. "They was always up here, just about every night. None of the rest of us were allowed up here. It was their 'penthouse'..." Race trailed off, before gesturing for David to sit down on the other mattress. "That one's Crutchie's." He fell silent for a moment, before clarifying, "Was Crutchie's."
"Oh." Instantly, the pieces began to fall into place. No wonder Jack had never introduced David to Crutchie. No wonder the older boy had been so uncomfortable when David had tried to bring up any topic revolving around Crutchie. No wonder Race had been so upset when David had approached him earlier that day. "What—what happened?"
Race remained quiet for a moment, his eyes clouding with memory and grief. "Last winter," he began, his voice hoarse, "lots of the boys got sick. Some flu was running the gamut through our ranks. Just 'bout everyone got sick, some worse than others, though. Crutchie got real sick." Race paused, glancing up at David, before looking back down at his hands and continuing. "When one of the boys gets sick, we try to have someone stay back from work and sit with them. That way if they need something, there's always someone there to help. And… And, if they end up… passing on, they wouldn't be alone. But, there was one day when five of the boys were sick and we couldn't afford to have someone stay behind; we still needed to be able to pay rent. Jack wanted to stay with Crutchie—god, they were practically brothers—and he didn't want to leave the kid behind. I—I convinced him to leave, that we needed him out of the streets. I told him he'd be helpin' Crutchie more by selling than he could sittin' with the kid."
Swallowing hard, Race paused and David wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to hear how it ended. He knew. He knew what would happen and he didn't think he wanted to hear those guilty, sorrowful, regretful, grieving words tumble from Race's lips. David interrupted, "I get it, Race. You don't have to—"
"I gotta!" Race burst out. "You gotta understand why Jack is—why we all are…" He trailed off, before taking a steeling breath and continuing his tale. "When we got back from selling, Jack immediately went to Crutchie's room. I followed him, just to make sure the kid was okay. When I looked in with Jack, he was asleep. 'See,' I told him, 'See, he's just fine. Probably slept the whole day and didn't even notice you was gone.' I told him that. I told him that Crutchie probably didn't even notice he had left. I. Said. That. To. Jack." Race paused once more, digging his fingernails into the tender flesh of his palm. "I shoulda just kept my big mouth shut. But, when do I ever do that?" Race grinned wryly, the twisted humor some shoddy defense against the grief that beat against the newsboy. "I left 'im. Left 'im to sit there and clutch Crutchie's hand, just like he did every day. I got only two, no, four—yeah, I remember now, four—steps from the room, when I heard him scream and I knew. I knew.
"You ever just feel something so strongly in your chest that you know it's truth? You just know it and there is no explainable way to prove that you know it, but it's truth all the same? Well, that's what I felt. My chest was just so heavy and I couldn't breathe—felt like I was drowning—and I just knew that Jack had found his best friend, his brother, lifeless." Race shut his eyes, falling silent once more.
"Okay," David said softly. "I get it. I get it."
Race shook his head. "You don't. You don't get the half of it. It was bad. Jack was—it was bad. He wouldn't leave the body—god, he wouldn't leave Crutchie—kept saying that he'd wake up, that it would all be okay and he got real mad if we tried to get him outta the room. He punched Buttons so hard, he knocked the kid unconscious. That's what finally jerked him outta it. Seeing Buttons on the ground, unconscious, but looking so much like Crutchie. He just broke. Jack went up to the roof and wouldn't come down for nothing, not food, or even when it started snowing. Finally, I ventured up there to tell him that we was holding a funeral for Crutchie. He came down and he went to the funeral and he just stood there and stared as they lowered the coffin into the ground. We had kept Crutchie's crutch and cap and I gave those to Jack, but he didn't react to that either. I—we—all of us, we thought he was getting better, accepting what had happened. It all fell apart, though. So fast. It fell apart so damn fast."
With a slight shake of his head and a sardonic grin, Race continued, "We kept all the sick boys in the same room, so they wouldn't spread the sickness to the rest of the healthy boys and Finch had been there when Crutchie died. We all thought he had been unconscious, but after Crutchie's funeral, he pulled me aside, into one of the bedrooms. He told me that Crutchie's last words… The kid had been calling Jack's name. I told Finch that we couldn't tell Jack, but when we looked up, Jack was in the doorway, his face… Oh, god, his face. I'll never be able to get that image outta my mind 'til the day I die. It looked like someone had just stabbed him, just shoved the knife into his heart over and over again. I tried to stop him, but he ran up to the roof. Wouldn't come down to anything I said.
"I don't know what happened up on that roof that night, but when he came down, Jack was different. I don't think he'll ever be the same again. That kid's death ruined him. It ruined the whole lot of us, but Jack… Jack just don't seem able to forgive himself for it. Won't let himself forget 'bout it neither. He carries Crutchie's cap around in his back pocket, doesn't go anywhere without it. And I know he still has the kid's crutch, just don't know where at." With a deep sigh, Race muttered. "So… now you know."
"So, now I know," David repeated, the words hollow. He had never imagined… He hadn't realized.
Race shrugged, standing up. "I don't think he's ever gonna move on. There's nothing anyone can do to help him through this. Nothing I can do. Nothing you can do. Nothing anyone in this whole damn city can do. Maybe Crutchie could've helped 'im, but…" Race trailed off, before finally looking into David's eyes. "There's nothing we can do. And that's the hard truth of it."
So, what did you guys think about this one? I usually don't center fics around Davey, so tell me how I did with that. Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated!
Anyway, here's the announcement. I decided that it would be really fun to write you guys one-shots for your birthdays next year. So, your part of this is to review one of my stories or PM me with a prompt for your one-shot-which can be just as vague or as specific as your heart desires-and your birthday, or the day you'd like me to post the story for you. If you are a guest, it would be fantastic if you also posted a username or something that I can call you, so I'm not just saying it's a gift for Guest #3. I did put this announcement on Riding Palominos, so you may have already seen it there, but I know that not everyone reads that fic since it's hella long and about Santa Fe and that's not everyone's cup of tea, which is fine with me. All it means is that I'm putting this announcement here, also, so that the most people can see it. So, yeah. Leave a review on any of my stories (I'll see them all) or PM me with the prompt. Feel free to tell your newsie friends about this, because I'd like to crank out just as many birthday one-shots as I can. That being said, I would appreciate it if the prompts are in before January, so I can organize my game plan of which fics need to be written first. If, for some reason, you don't get your prompt in before January, I'll still take it, so long as it's at least a month before your birthday. So, that's what I'm planning on doing for this upcoming year!