Hey, everyone! This is for Emma, one of my wonderful guests! I'm sorry I couldn't do this for January. Emma, this was the hardest prompt so far. My roommate and I discussed this plot over and over again until it finally worked out the way I envisioned. So, happy late birthday! And, hopefully this fulfills your expectations!

May 1896

Crutchie pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on his left knee and staring despondently out at the New York night sky. He was alone. So very alone. And Crutchie hated it. He had spent a good portion of his life alone, so the sensation wasn't foreign. But, this time, he had finally found someone that counted as family; Crutchie had just gotten used to having someone around, had finally allowed himself to trust someone and now it was all over. Because of him. Crutchie brusquely swiped his hand across his cheek, annoyed at the moisture there. He wouldn't cry. No, he wouldn't allow himself to ever get attached again because it just hurt him, and, worse, hurt the ones he cared about.

"Hey, kid, there's food, if you want some."

"I'm not hungry," Crutchie bit out, turning away from Race.

"Come on, Crutchie," Race tried, hauling himself up onto the roof to sit next to the younger boy. "You've gotta eat something. It won't do no one any good if you starve yourself to death. He'll be fine. You'll see."

Crutchie shook his head. "You don't know that. I-I heard that, sometimes, kids die. Die, Race."

"That can't be true," Race countered. "I think that woulda made the papes, dontcha think?"

"Look, Race, I just want to be alone, 'kay?"

There was a moment of silence, before Race stood up. "He won't be very pleased when he gets back to find you haven't eaten anything. He'll be back, just you wait."

"Race, it's been over two weeks. I don't even know if—if…" Crutchie couldn't even utter his name. It was too painful. All of it was just too painful.

"Well, Crutch, I'm sure that—"

The sudden clang of the fire escape startled Race and Crutchie. Both of them instantly turned to where the sound had come from, anxiously awaiting the intruder. No one else was expected to come up to the roof. After… it was Crutchie's roof now. Race was given leave to come up solely because his was the only company Crutchie could stand at the moment. So, really, there shouldn't be anyone else climbing up the fire escape. Crutchie's breath caught at the sight of a bruised and battered boy that pulled himself up to the roof, his haunted eyes immediately alighting on the two other boys up there. Despite the shadows on his brow and the darkness that swept across his jaw, Crutchie would know him anywhere. "Jack…" he whispered.

Jack's eyes were dark when they found Crutchie's. He didn't say anything, just stalked past where Race and Crutchie were sitting and sat on his mattress, his back to the two other newsboys. "Jack," Crutchie repeated, standing up and making his way to his best friend, his brother. Just as he neared the older boy, he tried again, somewhat worried that Jack hadn't responded to him. "Jack, I really missed ya. I—I thought-"

Jack pushed Crutchie back, startling the younger boy, who barely caught himself before falling. "Just give me some space. I need some space," he growled.

Crutchie stared at Jack for a moment, the silence stretching uncomfortably between the friends. Finally, his eyes brightened with understanding. "Of course, Jack. Take the time ya need. I'll be here, though, if ya ever need someone to talk to."

With a snort, Jack turned away. "Sure, kid."

"Hey, come on," Race said softly, gently reaching for Crutchie's shoulder and guiding him away from the older boy. "Let's just go." He helped Crutchie down the fire escape, ensuring that the younger, smaller boy didn't trip or fall. Once they had reached the base of the Lodging House and Crutchie still had not spoken, Race turned to him. "He's gonna be fine, y'know." When Crutchie glanced at him in confusion, Race continued, "Jack. He'll be fine. He just needs some time. Anybody would, after the Refuge."

"Yeah," Crutchie softly agreed. "I know."

"Just give him a couple days and he'll come 'round," Race reassured.

"Yeah, just a couple days."

It had been nearly a week and Crutchie was itching to talk to Jack, but hadn't had the opportunity yet. The older boy spent all his free time up on the roof and had forbidden anyone access to his "penthouse." Including Crutchie. Jack only came down to sell papes, but, even then, he didn't really associate with the other boys as much. He purchased his papers and moved on, ignoring the playful jostling and teasing amongst the other newsies. While the horrific bruising and scratches had begun to fade away, Crutchie had noticed that Jack still had yet to smile. The older boy merely stared off into the distance, thinking, remembering. Reliving.

And Crutchie hated it.

He wanted, more than anything, to be able to snap Jack out of the slump he had fallen into. Except, Crutchie had no idea how to go about doing it. Every time Crutchie tried to talk to the older boy, Jack would shrug him off and walk away. If he couldn't talk to him, what could he do? Crutchie was careful to make sure he was constantly available, in case Jack decided he needed someone to listen to him. It hadn't happened yet, but Crutchie continued to hope.

However, as the days dragged on and Jack made no move to break the stony silence, the hope began to dwindle. Crutchie stopped hanging around the Lodging House at the end of the day for Jack to return from selling papes. He stopped waiting patiently at the base of the fire escape to the roof. He stopped glancing at Jack, trying to read if the older boy was approachable. Instead, Crutchie began to fall into a slump of his own.

All the other newsboys noticed the despondency of the two friends, but it was Race who finally broke the silence. "Ay, Crutch, what's up?"

Crutchie looked up from where he was dragging his crutch through the dirt outside the Lodging House, meaningless swirls and designs slashing through earth. "Oh. Hey, Race. Nothing much, I suppose."

"You've seemed sorta down recently," Race observed.

With a shrug, Crutchie turned back to the dirt. "I'se fine."

"He's not gonna just come to you like you expect him to," Race said, smirking when Crutchie glanced up in surprise.

"W-what? I'm not—"

"Sure, ya are. You'se waiting for Jack to just open up to you, but he ain't gonna do it."

"Yeah?" Crutchie challenged. "Then what am I supposed to do? Just let him shut himself out from everyone? You know I can't just let that happen; he's my brother, Race."

Race rolled his eyes. "Course not, kid. You'se gotta go force him to talk to you. If he ain't gonna come to you, then you better go to him. The two of ya are both hurting 'bout this, so you'se gotta do what you can to fix it."

"What if he doesn't want to talk to me 'bout it," Crutchie muttered. "I mean… I don't think I'd want to talk to me 'bout it if I was him."

"Why?" Crutchie shrugged stiffly, but Race refused to let that pass. "Why, 'cuz you think it's your fault he was caught?" Race pressed.

"Doesn't exactly take a genius to connect the dots," Crutchie responded. He had tried to make his voice sound light and carefree, as if he wasn't truly bothered, but the effect fell flat when he was unable to hide the tremor that shook the words.

"Oh, come on, Crutch," Race began, waving the other boy's guilt away. "It ain't your fault. Hell, if anything—"

Crutchie interrupted Race, with a quick shout, "You weren't there; you don't get it!" His eyes blazed with fury and pain and regret. Crutchie softened somewhat. "I'm sorry, Race. I didn't mean to yell. It's just…"

"What did happen?"

"We was just out, trying to get something good to eat. Jack had turned fourteen a couple 'a days earlier and so we wanted to find something sweet. There's that bakery, just off of Fulton, y'know? So, we went there and we got two muffins. Two of 'em. And they were expensive, but it was okay because Jack only turns fourteen once, of course. Anyway, Jack was finishing purchasing his muffin, but I told him I was going to wait outside because all the people in the bakery kept staring at my leg. And, as luck would have it, the Delancey brothers happened to be coming by and they started buggin' me and harassin' me and wouldn't leave me alone for nothing. I tried to walk away, but Oscar pushed me hard and I twisted my gimp leg something awful. It hurt real bad. Then, Jack was there and he started attacking the Delancey brothers and then…" Crutchie trailed off, but Race waited patiently for the younger boy to finish his tale. "...and then Snyder was there. He nabbed Jack, arrested him for fightin' in the street, or something like that. And the Delancey brothers didn't get punished for nothin'." Crutchie sniffed, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. "It just ain't fair that Jack shoulda been caught on account of me."

Race nodded, somewhat sympathetically. "Okay, so maybe it was partly your fault. But, mostly, it's really the Delanceys fault. Didja think of that?" When Crutchie didn't respond, Race continued. "No. Of course, you didn't. You'se too busy moping that something bad happened to your friend instead of trying to help him. I mean, you was trying to help him, but you'se stopped now and that just ain't right." Crutchie stared at Race, his face caught between rejection and acceptance of the words. "Now, come on, Crutch, go talk to the kid. Beat some sense into him. He's your best friend; if anyone's gonna be able to do it, it's gonna be you."

There was a moment of silence between the two friends, before Crutchie nodded. "Yeah… yeah, I think you'se right."

"Course, I is," Race agreed. "Now, go get 'im. Tell him what's what."

Crutchie pushed himself up off of the ground, nearly over-balancing, but managing to catch himself. "Okay. I will. And I won't come back 'til it's all settled." Crutchie left Race, heading around the side of the Lodging House to where the fire escape up to the roof was located. He expected Jack to be up there, couldn't think of anywhere else the older boy would be. However, knowing where Jack was located was one thing; knowing what to say to his best friend was something entirely different. Crutchie had already tried talking to Jack about what had happened, or, rather, dancing around the subject, attempting to get Jack to open up to him. And that had been decidedly unsuccessful. Which only meant that Crutchie would have to find a new tactic.

When he reached the top of the roof, Crutchie was not disappointed. Jack sat on the far mattress, sketching something with dark, obtrusive charcoal. "Jack," Crutchie began, somewhat hesitantly. The older boy either didn't hear him, or chose to ignore the call and Crutchie realized that he would need to be completely blunt and straightforward; there was just no other way to talk to Jack at the moment. "Jack," he repeated, approaching the mattress. "We've got to talk." When Jack remained silent, Crutchie continued. "About what happened to you in the Refuge. Something has got to be said."

"Look, can't you see I'm busy?" Jack queried, his voice gruff and unfamiliar.

"This can't wait. You'se hurting, I get that, but it will only help ya if you talk."

Jack snorted. "You don't get nothing."

"C'mon, Jack, what is this about? You've always been able to turn to me. Is this… is this because you got caught 'cuz of me?" Crutchie asked, his voice softening with shame.

"It was your fault," Jack agreed, his voice sharp as flint.

Crutchie winced. He had hoped that, maybe, Jack would deny what Crutchie knew to be true. But, he hadn't. Jack agreed; Jack blamed Crutchie. And as much as Crutchie hated to admit it, he knew that he deserved that blame. "I'm sorry," Crutchie whispered. "I'm so sorry, okay? I—I'll never forgive myself. I'm just so sorry."

After staying silent for a long moment, Jack muttered, "I don't really care whether you'se sorry or not. I just want you to go away."

"Jack, you don't mean that," Crutchie cried out desperately. Jack couldn't— He wouldn't— All Crutchie had in this world was Jack, and if he didn't have even that… "You can't mean that."

"Just leave me alone."

"Look, Jack, I'm so very sorry. I am. Just let me help you. Talk to me. Let me help you work through the Refuge," Crutchie begged. He couldn't lose his only friend. He couldn't.

"You don't understand," Jack bit out.

"Well, then, help me understand!"

"You'll never understand; you'se just a stupid crip!" Jack shouted, his voice tearing across the suddenly motionless air.

Crutchie swallowed, his eyes narrowing. Jack knew how he felt when people only noticed him for his infirmity. Jack knew that was off limits. "Oh. And because I'm crippled I'm not as intelligent as you?" Crutchie challenged, his voice hardening, defenses he hadn't needed for a couple years rebuilding.

"I'm just calling it how it is," Jack muttered.

With a scoff, Crutchie shook his head. "You— I— My leg has got nothing to do with this!"

"Really?" Jack asked, finally turning to look at the younger boy. His eyes were burning, glassy with anger and dark with rage. "Because I seem to recall me tryin' to help you after your stupid leg got you in trouble. Sure seems like your goddamn leg has everything to do with it."

"Jack, that ain't—"

"Yes, Crutchie, it is the issue."

"I know you'se hurtin'—" Crutchie began, but Jack immediately cut him off.

"You never knew me," Jack hissed, perversely enjoying the pain and shock that flitted across Crutchie's face. "I'm just so sick of having some crippled boy tagging along, gettin' me into all the trouble. I don't want you around no more. I don't need you."

Crutchie stiffened, his face hardening. "Yeah? Well, I don't need you anymore either."

"That's a lie if I ever heard one," Jack spat. "You'se the most helpless crip to gimp across the streets. You'se just gonna end up bruised and broken by the end of the day and, guess what! I. Don't. Care."

He couldn't help himself. Crutchie needed to stop Jack from saying those cruel things that he couldn't possibly mean. He needed to end the hurt spewing from his friend's lips. So, Crutchie did the only thing he could think to do.

Jack reared back, his hand flying to his face in surprise. Crutchie had punched him. Crutchie had punched him, hard. "What the hell," he hissed, his hand still pressed to his flaming cheek. Jack didn't wait for Crutchie to explain anything, his fist flying out even harder. There was satisfaction in punching Crutchie, in watching how the younger boy's eyes widened in shock and pain, before shuttering all emotion away. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Jack was revulsed that he would ever feel any sort of joy or superiority about hurting Crutchie, but he pushed that aside. The younger boy deserved it. After everything, Crutchie deserved to be hurt, to maybe glimpse the overwhelming pain and grief and loneliness that Jack couldn't seem to escape.

Crutchie's eyes were completely emotionless, unreadable, as he backed away. His jaw was red and would probably start purpling within the next couple hours, but Jack didn't care, couldn't bring himself to care. "Stay away from me, crip," he growled.

"Don't worry. I got the message," Crutchie muttered, his voice low. He turned away from Jack, ignoring the burning of his jaw and his eyes. Race had been wrong. Jack was changed for good; the Refuge had broken him and Crutchie would never be able to fix it. Or, worse, Jack didn't want to be fixed. Perhaps he liked himself the way he was now: cruel, harsh, biting. He limped down the fire escape, steeling himself against the pain of losing his closest friend. This is why you can't trust people, his mind whispered, the words icy, but solid with a truth he could not bring himself to deny.

At the base of the fire escape, Crutchie was surprised to find Race. The older boy glanced meaningfully up at the roof. "Well?" he asked expectantly.

"Oh, it's all settled, for sure," Crutchie muttered, shoving past Race.

Jack stared at the dark sketch of the Refuge he had penned shortly after returning from that hell. The shadows stretching across the page had haunted him for weeks, but he was finally beginning to feel distanced from that horrid experience. Weeks had passed and Jack hadn't had a run-in with Snyder or anything else that sparked those god-awful memories. His life was slowly starting to look up. With his mouth pressed into a decisive line, Jack tore the sketch in half. Then quarters, eighths, sixteenths, smaller and smaller until only thin shreds remained. He tossed the particles over the edge of the roof, watching them drift down to the ground. "That's that. I'm fine," he whispered. No, he wasn't fine. Not by a long shot, but for the first time in the past three weeks, Jack felt like it was a future possibility.

Still, Jack didn't quite feel as if he could ever banish the emptiness that hollowed within him. It had grown in the past couple weeks, an ever-widening gap that edged at his heart, pushed at his rib cage. It was something dark and damp that Jack just couldn't seem to shove away and he couldn't understand it for the life of him. Jack shook his head; the hollowness was just an after-effect of the Refuge. That's it. A shadowed fear that he'd never be able to shake off.

With a sigh, Jack climbed down the fire escape. Although he would never admit it, Jack was starting to miss the camaraderie of the rest of the newsboys. At the beginning, he couldn't stand being around the other boys; it just reminded him of the unfairness of it all. But, now, he craved the company of the newsies. When he actually entered the Lodging House, all the newsies inside stopped, falling silent as they stared at Jack. "Heya, guys," Jack said quietly.

Romeo was the first to smile and break the silence. "Jack's back!" he announced cheerfully. He scrambled to his feet and threw his arms around the older boy. Jack awkwardly patted the younger boy's head, smiling softly at the hug.

The motion seemed to break the silence and the rest of the boys began telling Jack stories that he had missed due to his self-imposed banishment. "—and then Specs grabbed my hat and—there was this girl I saw—I sold fifty—we found this giant—"

"Woah, calm down, everyone," Jack said, smiling. He had missed this. And it was nice to know that he was wanted. Needed, even. Yet, all the attention was ineffective towards that hollowness that, Jack noticed, remained.

"You feelin' better?" Specs asked carefully, his large blues eyes wide and nervous behind his glasses.

"Yeah, I is. Just took me a bit 'a time."

Specs nodded. "That's good. We all missed ya. I mean, you was here, but you wasn't here."

Jack chuckled slightly. "Yeah, I know. Sorry 'bout that."

"Nah, it's fine," Specs responded, lightly. "We all… understood, y'know?"

"Thanks." Jack turned from Specs, scanning the familiar faces of all the newsboys. In the far corner of the room, Race scowled at him, before turning away. That was strange. Everyone else was greeting Jack with open arms, but Race seemed personally offended by Jack's re-appearance in good spirits. Quickly, Jack crossed the room to where Race was occupying himself by flipping a coin. "Hey, Race, what's got you bothered?" Jack demanded. "Shouldn't you be happy that I'se feelin' better, that I'se back?"

"No, I should not," Race responded evenly. "I'se not exactly a fan of people like you."

"People that were tossed to the Refuge?" Jack asked incredulously. "Because, let me tell you, if I had the choice, I'd'a never—"

Race chuckled sarcastically. "This ain't about you, Jack. Not everything in this world is, y'know. This is about Crutchie."

The sound of his best friend's name had Jack immediately whipping around the room to ascertain where the younger boy was. He wasn't in the room, wasn't with the rest of the boys. In fact, as Jack thought back through those weeks he had struggled, Jack couldn't recall seeing the younger crippled boy around. The last time he had seen him… Jack remembered the way Crutchie's eyes had shuttered all emotion away, how he had punched the younger boy. Suddenly, Jack needed to speak with his best friend, ensure that he hadn't destroyed the one friendship he had learned to rely on. "Where is the kid?" Jack asked, annoyed at the small hint of desperation that colored his words.

"Probably in his room. That's where he's been staying since you scared him away."

"I didn't mean—" Jack began to explain, but Race waved away the excuse.

"It's not me you'se gotta talk to. It's him."

Jack nodded curtly, before hurrying to the room Crutchie shared with a couple of the boys. He had to get Crutchie to understand that he hadn't meant those cruel words he had spat at the younger boy. Not that Jack was very worried about convincing Crutchie; the younger boy had a kind disposition and Jack had no doubt that Crutchie would be quick to forgive him. The pair of boys had been very close for as long as Jack could remember and he simply could not imagine life without Crutchie. Jack knew that Crutchie, undoubtedly, felt the same way about him.

Gently, Jack pushed open the door to the room, quickly noticing that Crutchie was seated on his bed, scribbling something furious in the journal he had kept for as long as Jack had known the younger boy. Jack used to give Crutchie a hard time about keeping a journal, teasing the younger boy that no one would ever want to read what a newsboy had to say. Crutchie glanced up when Jack entered the room, his eyes hard and emotionless. "Hey, Crutch," Jack began, "I think we'se gotta talk a bit."

"About what?" Crutchie demanded, his words clipped and edged.

That took Jack back a bit. He hadn't imagined the younger boy to be so angry. It had been a couple weeks since the fight and Jack had expected that Crutchie would've cooled off by this time. "A-about when you came to talk to me," Jack explained. "You know? When I sorta yelled at you and punched you. I'm sorry 'bout that."

Crutchie shrugged, but made no move to respond.

"Did you hear me?" Jack asked. "I said I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything I said. Nothing. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Crutchie finally replied and Jack's chest deflated with relief. Crutchie continued, "You just reinforced the most important lesson I learned as a kid: you can't trust no one but yourself."

Jack felt as if all the air had been knocked out of his body. "No, Crutch—" he began, but Crutchie cut him off.

"You was right. You don't need me and I don't need you. It's not like I ever needed you anyway," Crutchie bit out, jerkily stuffing his journal under his pillow and shoving past Jack as he left the room.

"No, wait!" Jack called out, but there was no response, just the fading thuds of Crutchie's crutch against the wooden flooring. He had screwed up. He had screwed up so, so very badly. One short moment of anger and blindness had completely destroyed their friendship. "I was wrong, Crutch," Jack whispered. "I was wrong." But it was too late. The revelation had come much too late for Jack to fix everything.

With a thick sigh, Jack sat on Crutchie's bed, his hands tearing into his hair. How could he possibly fix this? How could he ever know what he needed to say and do to prove to Crutchie that the younger boy could trust him, that Crutchie was his best friend? Jack collapsed onto the bed, his head hitting the hard back of the journal. With a quick smile, Jack sat up. That was the answer. He could read what Crutchie had written and, then, he would be able to fix it all. Everything would be back to normal and Jack wouldn't stop at nothing until their friendship was repaired.

Quickly flipping to the most recent entry, Jack's eyes scanned the words that had been penned only minutes before and, as he read, his heart sunk lower and lower. It would be harder than he had imagined, but, with his mouth thinning into a decisive line, Jack was determined that he would fix the friendship he had so thoughtlessly shattered. He would convince Crutchie to take back those heavy words that scrawled across the page.

I don't need nobody. I don't need nobody. I don't need nobody.

I hope you liked it, Emma! And, everyone else. So, since we've started February, I'm going to close that month, but I'm still taking birthday one-shots for March on, if anyone is still interested in that!

Please review! Telling me your favorite lines or constructive criticism really helps me to keep writing. Plus, I just really love to hear what ya'll think about this. I know how I feel about the ending, but what about you guys?