So, I'm totally not dead and back with another chapter! Family vacation was a blast. I mean, yeah, I was stuck in a car with my siblings for at least ten hours every day, but there was a lot of singing along to musicals, so it wasn't too bad. (I think I've had Suddenly Seymour stuck in my head for the past three days...) Anyway, we're back to the regular once a week updates. Wednesdays will be my update day unless something crazy happens like I get sucked into Middle Earth or run into Andrew Keenan-Bolger on the street. Enough rambling...


Crutchie slowly blinked away the remnants of sleep. He turned over on the bed, coming eye to eye with JT. "Hey," the redhead said. "You doing okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Crutchie asked, stretching his arms above his head.

"Um, well," JT began awkwardly. "With what happened yesterday at school, I thought…"

Crutchie swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "JT, I'm fine. Trust me, okay? What happened yesterday at school, that's not even that bad. I've had worse. It really isn't anything I can't handle."

"What could be worse?" JT asked. Crutchie shot him a guarded look, but JT wasn't asking to be malicious; the boy was simply curious.

Crutchie sighed. "Back in New York City, there was this, uh, it was a home to shape troublesome boys into upstanding citizens called the—the Refuge. Snyder ran the Refuge, but he didn't care about the boys, just the money the city provided him. During the strike, I, uh, wasn't able to get away when the cops came and started beating everyone and I was taken to the Refuge." Crutchie paused, before clearing his throat. "It was—well, it was absolutely the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I expected it, though. I mean, Jack had told me about what had happened when he was in the Refuge, years earlier, but you're never really ready. Not for—that. So, uh, with Ms. Briarwood, it—it isn't that bad."

"Did…" JT trailed off, unsure of whether he should ask Crutchie this, but he wasn't willing to back down now. "Did they beat you?"

Crutchie laughed bitterly. "Crips can't run away or fight back. I was an easy target."

"Oh."

Shrugging, Crutchie reached for his crutch, which was leaning against the edge of the bed. "Yeah, well, it happens."

"It shouldn't," JT pointed out.

"Lots of things shouldn't happen, but still do. It's part of life."

"Yeah, well, all that crap ends now," JT said, helping Crutchie stand up. "You've got a family now, so you can always turn to us for anything. You don't have to suffer alone."

"I'm not suffering," Crutchie said, gasping as he straightened his leg out. JT shot him a nervous look, but Crutchie waved it away. "It's fine. I just slept funny."

JT still looked worried. "Are you sure?"

"Yep," Crutchie said, limping forward. "I've been working with this gimp for years now; I'm pretty sure I know what's going on."

"If you say so," JT said, still watching Crutchie carefully. "Ma's going to have breakfast ready soon. You're probably starving after not having dinner last night."

Crutchie didn't have the heart to tell JT that he knew what it meant to be starving and missing one meal wasn't even remotely close to that crippling hunger that drove you to do anything for even the smallest of morsels. Crutchie quickly pulled on a fresh shirt, before following JT out of their shared room. He ignored the way his leg had completely stiffened up the night before. It would just take some extra movement to bring it back to normalcy. Or, as normal as the gimp ever got. As soon as he got into the kitchen, he was accosted by Jack. "What happened to your face?"

"Good morning to you, too," Crutchie said cheerfully.

Jack hesitantly reached out and touched the bruise that blackened Crutchie's jaw. He jerked his hand back immediately when Crutchie flinched at the gentle touch. "Did someone do this to you?" he asked, his voice low.

Crutchie's grin faded slightly as he recalled the switch falling against the back of his bad leg. His leg throbbed with the ghost of the injury. And then his legs had given out and he had pitched forward, his jaw taking the brunt of the impact. "Nah, I just tripped out in the schoolyard. I was racing with some of the boys," Crutchie explained, sticking to the story he had told Sue, just in case she and Jack compared notes.

"You would tell me if someone were—" Jack cut himself off in JT's presence, but he held Crutchie's gaze, making sure the younger boy understood what Jack was trying to express.

"Of course, Jack, but it's no big deal. I tripped. My own crutch betrayed me, can ya imagine that? It was my downfall, yesterday. Get it? Downfall? It's a pun," Crutchie explained, when Jack didn't even smile at the poor attempt at a joke.

"And how's the leg?" Jack asked, his eyes immediately training on the way that Crutchie was leaning heavily on his crutch.

"It's fine," Crutchie said, grinning at his older friend.

Jack gestured at Crutchie's leg. "That's fine?"

"Okay, so my leg's bothering me a bit. It's no big deal."

"What, it's gonna rain?" Jack teased.

"I don't think that's what it's telling me."

Jack shot Crutchie a nervous look. "You aren't getting sick, are you?"

"No, I just slept funny last night. I'm really fine." Crutchie smiled. "Anyway, how was ranching yesterday? You, uh, chase some cows or whatever it is that ranchers do?"

"I mended fences."

Crutchie barely hid the snort of laughter, trying to hide his humor by rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. "I don't remember that in your flowery descriptions of the wonders of Santa Fe."

"Well, I learned to ride, too. Sorta. I'm not as good as Syd or the others."

"We've all been riding since we were toddlers," JT pointed out. "You're just starting out, so you won't be as good."

Jack glanced at him. "That's your piece of wisdom?"

"Outta the mouths of babes," Crutchie said, grinning.

"You're probably younger than me," JT shot back.

"Nuh-uh," Crutchie said, shaking his head and grinning widely. "My birthday's in November. Yours is in February. I remember you telling me. You probably thought I wasn't even listening."

"Damn it," JT swore.

"Hey, kids shouldn't be using that type of language," Crutchie said, frowning exaggeratedly at JT.

Jack was glad to see that Crutchie and JT were good enough friends to not mind poking fun at each other. Jack had been a little perturbed when Claude had first announced that he and Crutchie would be split up, but perhaps it was for the best. Crutchie was spending his days with JT and Jack with Syd, so they might as well room with them.

"Well, in maturity—" JT began.

"I've still got you beat," Crutchie finished.

The pair laughed, JT trying to frown at Crutchie, but not quite succeeding. Jack watched as they resumed making their way to the dining room for breakfast and noted how when Crutchie stumbled slightly—his leg really was not nearly as "fine" as Crutchie claimed it to be—JT was by his side, making sure he kept his balance. Jack felt something akin to jealousy seize at his chest, but he shook the dark feeling away. Crutchie needed friends and it wasn't as if Jack was going to be around him at all times anyway. It was good that he and JT were already growing so close.

"Okay, but I can ride a horse better than you," JT was saying.

"That ain't fair!" Crutchie cried out indignantly. "I'se only been out here for a couple days!"

"Tough beans."

Jack grinned. He knew that he had found his place in the Holloway house and he was glad to see that Crutchie had also. Jack followed the pair into the dining room where a giant frying pan filled with scrambled eggs was steaming in the center table.

Sue looked up at their entrance and was instantly over to Crutchie's side. "Crutchie, what happened?"

"I told ya, Sue, I tripped yesterday."

"You didn't say you had a bruise," she gently accused.

"Didn't know I had one 'til I got up this morning." That was a lie, but Crutchie figured it wasn't an absolutely awful one. He hadn't wanted to upset her, so didn't that excuse lies like that? Crutchie lived according to his own personal philosophy that a lie was acceptable so long as it was keeping someone from getting hurt.

"Does it hurt?" Sue asked.

"Nah, I've had worse."

Jack noticed that JT flinched at those words and wondered why that would be. Unless… It seemed completely unbelievable, but Jack could only figure that JT would be flinching if he had inflicted worse pain on Crutchie. But, they had just been laughing like the best of buds. Was it all a charade? Jack decided that he'd confront JT about it after breakfast.

"You know what will make it better? A warm breakfast," Sue declared, sitting Crutchie down at the table. JT took the seat on Crutchie's left and Jack was forced to sit on the opposite side of the table beside Jessie. Fan-freakin-tastic. Jessie shot him a cold look, before turning away. Jack couldn't understand why she hated him so much; he hadn't done anything to her. Okay, so maybe he had taken Gabriel Valdez's job, but that was Claude's choice, not his.

The family was soon digging into the scrambled eggs, salt and pepper passed around the table in a dizzying choreography that reminded Jack of one of those carnival games where you had to guess in which cup the ball was in; the shakers moved faster between plates than even the quickest eyes could follow.

Jack watched Crutchie from across the table and noted how he maintained an animated conversation, but barely touched the eggs that he had scooped onto his plate. JT and Claude—with whom Crutchie was regaling a story about the time he had gotten lost out in a snowstorm and had been forced to find shelter at Medda's theater, which had accidentally led to him being part of the show, much to Jack's amusement—did not seem to notice how little food was actually making its way into Crutchie's mouth, but Jack did. He planned to ask Crutchie about it after breakfast. After he had talked to JT.

As breakfast drew to a close, Syd nodded to Jack. "You ready for another day in the saddle?"

"I say yes, but my legs say no," Jack said honestly.

Syd laughed. "It'll get better. Come along, then."

"I'm gonna go tell Crutchie something quickly," Jack said, jerking his thumb to where JT and Crutchie were packing their lunches. "I'll be out in a moment."

Jack went over to where Crutchie and JT were standing and Crutchie looked up at him in surprise. "Whatcha doing over here? Giving up the ranch life?"

"I wanted to talk to JT," Jack said, fixing JT with a stare.

JT pulled out of Jack's gaze, glancing at Crutchie in confusion. Crutchie could only shrug. He had no idea what Jack wanted with the young redhead. "Um, okay."

Jack led JT over into the hallway, before demanding, "Did you hurt Crutchie?"

"What? No! I wouldn't—"

"Did he really trip? Is that how he ended up with the bruise?"

"Yes, he fell down and landed on his face," JT said, figuring that was as close to the truth he could get to without Crutchie getting mad at him. "Look, it happens to all of us. And he's fine. He said so himself."

"And you believe him?"

JT gaped at Jack. "Why wouldn't I? It's Crutchie; he can handle himself. He's had worse, you know," JT added, crossing his arms.

"What do you mean by 'worse'?" Jack asked.

"Well, you know," JT said quietly, "The Refuge."

"He told you about the Refuge?" Jack was surprised how quickly Crutchie had grown to trust JT, even to the point of discussing his time in the Refuge.

"Not really what happened, but I know the basics."

"In that case, just keep an eye out for him. I don't want him getting hurt."

JT sighed. "Yeah, neither do I. Now, if you're done interrogating me, I've got to go pack my lunch and Crutchie and I have to leave for school."

Jack followed JT back to the kitchen, where Crutchie handed the Holloway boy his lunch. Jack nodded at Crutchie, before heading out to the stables to get Blackie ready for what he expected to be another day of mending fences. "What was that about?" Crutchie asked.

"He wanted to know if I was the one who bruised your face."

"What did you say?"

"I stuck to your story. But, Crutchie, maybe you should just tell him the truth."

Crutchie shook his head. "No, he would freak out. Besides—"

"You can handle it," JT said, finishing Crutchie's sentence. "I know, but sometimes I worry."

The two boys grabbed their bags and set out toward the school house. It took longer, this time, as Crutchie's leg kept seizing up while they walked. JT pretended not to notice and told Crutchie stories about how their family ran the ranch and when JT had gotten his first horse. Crutchie was grateful the redhead ignored the grimace of pain Crutchie tried to hide as he limped resolutely to the schoolhouse.

Upon their arrival, Phillip sneered at Crutchie, the rude glance being lost by JT, who excitedly started talking to members of Phillip's posse. Crutchie limped past Philip and his buddies, making his way into the schoolhouse; he didn't want to be out in the yard with them for any longer than he had to be. However, inside wasn't much better. Ms. Briarwood fixed him with a cold stare, pointing to the front bench. Crutchie took his seat, unwilling to argue back. His leg still hurt from the day earlier and he would do whatever it took to avoid another punishment like that, even if it meant bowing to the tyrannical teacher's will without a second thought.

The first half of the day dragged on with Crutchie bored out of his mind. The primer book that he and the three six year olds—named Susie, Grant, and David—were instructed to work on was insanely easy for Crutchie to read. After skimming its entire contents, he turned to helping the three young kids sound out the more difficult words, teaching them tricks to remember the spelling and pronunciation of the harder words.

Eventually, the mid-day recess came along. Crutchie followed JT—thank goodness he wasn't banished to his desk once more; Crutchie wasn't sure he could take another round of Phillip's bullying—outside. JT immediately joined in on a game of kickball with the older kids. Crutchie was pleased to note that Philip was playing the game also. Which meant that Crutchie would get time to himself, without having to worry about the other kids bugging him.

He pulled out his lunch: some biscuits that had had honey slathered into the inside. Crutchie took the first bite, enjoying the crunch the crystalized honey created in contrast to the soft, flaky nature of the bread. He had just taken his second bite, when one of Phillip's lackeys stepped into Crutchie's line of vision. "Whatcha eating?" he asked.

Crutchie resisted rolling his eyes. "Lunch," he said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He wasn't trying to antagonize the boy, but the lackey must have picked up on the tone of voice Crutchie was attempting to hide.

"Yeah?" the boy challenged. "I bet it'd taste better with some dirt in it."

Crutchie was in awe how poor this kid's threats were. He hadn't thought the Delanceys were geniuses, by any measurement, but compared to this boy, they were on the fast track to becoming renowned mathematicians; they at least understood the art of threatening someone. The kid knocked the remaining biscuits into the ground, kicking at the bread until they were coated in dirt. He snickered before walking away.

Crutchie glanced at the dirtied food, before shrugging sadly. It wasn't as if he were hungry anyway.

The rest of the day crawled by painfully. Crutchie ignored the rude gestures and the hateful notes that were "accidentally" left on his desk, pretended that he didn't hear the vicious whispers behind his back, and carefully avoided Phillip's gang after one lackey successfully managed to knock Crutchie's crutch from his grasp and send him sprawling onto the ground. By the time JT and Crutchie had returned to the house, Crutchie's leg felt as if he had set it on fire and then forgotten about it and had just barely remembered the hungry flames licking up and down his limb. Crutchie knew that it would be difficult to hide the soreness of his leg from Jack's ever-watchful eye. That didn't mean he couldn't try.

Dinner was nearly impossible, what with Jack constantly trying to make eye contact with Crutchie and every time he did, glancing meaningfully at Crutchie's leg. So, Crutchie was trying to avoid eye contact, all while paying attention to JT's story about the rabbit he had once hidden in his room and commenting at all the right parts. Not to mention, that he had to make it look like he was eating plenty of food, even though the smell of the chicken Sue had cooked was making him feel nauseous.

The stress of juggling everything he was expected to do was leaving him exhausted and Crutchie was beyond grateful when Claude pushed his chair back, signaling the end of the meal. "Does anyone want to play dominoes?" Syd suggested.

Jessie rolled her eyes, clearing her dishes and leaving for her room, which Crutchie took as a sign that he, too, could just head to bed.

JT grabbed Crutchie's arm. "You want to play? I'll teach you."

"Uh, not today. I'm pretty tired. I think I'm just going to go to bed," Crutchie said.

Jack shot Crutchie a significant look, but Crutchie waved it off. He was fine. Just tired. And if he laid down, he could take his weight off his leg and then that would be fine, too. Jack watched Crutchie limp to the room he shared with JT, but didn't follow the younger boy. Jack knew Crutchie well enough to know when he needed to be left alone and this was one of those times.

Crutchie lay down on the bed, knowing that JT would be fine with sleeping on the floor until the weekend came and Claude could get the extra beds. He pulled the covers up to his chin, his eyes drooping instantly. Crutchie was asleep before he even had the chance to recount the events of the day, exhaustion sweeping him away from the grasp of consciousness.


Crutchie's eyes shot open and he wasn't sure what had woken him, a sound or the remnants of a nightmare. He lay, curled in a ball on the bed, his eyes raking across the dark room, trying to remember where he was. The room was dark and stank of fear and sweat. With a sudden clutching of his heart, Crutchie remembered where he was. The Refuge.

It had all been a dream: winning the strike, Katherine and Jack's fight, the train to Santa Fe, the Holloways. All figments of his imagination, woven into a cruel wish that only served to crush whatever hope had taken refuge in his heart.

He sat up, examining the room he had become far too familiar with. The dark, enclosing walls were exactly as he remembered them: foreboding, shadowy, and unrelenting. Huddled on the bed beside him was a boy about his age with red hair that was matted with sweat and dirt. The boy looked slightly like how JT had looked from his dream and Crutchie figured that this boy had been the inspiration for the Holloway boy's appearance in his dream. On the bed across from theirs was a boy whose face reminded Crutchie of Phillip Beaurocrav, only months of little to no food had left the aristocratic mien, which Phillip had been so haughtily proud of, gaunt and sickly.

Crutchie sighed, leaning back into the uncomfortable bed. Whether it had been a dream or not, the boys would still win the strike and then he'd be out of this dreaded hellhole. Steps pounding up the stairs toward the room tore Crutchie from his thoughts and he turned on his side, staring at the door in anticipation. It was flung open, the door slamming against the wall of the room and Jack was tossed into the room, his face bruised and bloody. But the worst, most frightening part, was that Jack's eyes seemed completely dead; those eyes that shone with hope and endless dreams were devoid of all emotion except defeat.

Snyder entered the room behind Jack, his sneer proud. He had won and Crutchie knew it. And Snyder knew that Crutchie knew it. "Well, boy, look what we found trying to sneak in. Planning a rescue, eh?" Snyder asked Jack. Jack merely looked away and he looked so damn broken that Crutchie felt his hopes shatter beyond repair.

"Jack, I'm sorry," Crutchie said, hoping that maybe his words would be some sort of balm for Jack. "I'm so sorry." The older boy shouldn't have had to even try to rescue Crutchie. If he hadn't been so slow or useless, Jack wouldn't have been outside the Refuge, Jack wouldn't have gotten caught. "I'm sorry," Crutchie repeated again, but the words rang hollow.

Jack didn't react and Snyder laughed. Behind him, a woman stepped forward. Crutchie recognized her to be Ms. Briarwood, his schoolteacher—but, wait, no. Not schoolteacher. Because that wasn't real. That was all just a dream—and in her thin hands was a switch. Snyder pulled Crutchie out of his bed and Ms. Briarwood—but not Ms. Briarwood, just a nameless worker at the Refuge—swung the switch against his bad leg. "Don't lie, Christopher. You know what we do to liars," she told him. The pain was awful, but it wasn't unbearable. Not yet, Crutchie realized darkly.

Crutchie tried to meet Jack's eyes, but the older boy still wouldn't look at him. "I'm not lying. I am sorry. Jack, I'm sor—," Crutchie tried again, but his words were cut off as the switch landed extra hard on his right leg. He fell forward, catching himself on his hands and knees, his entire body shuddering with the pain. And still Jack wouldn't look at him, wouldn't say anything.

"Don't lie, Christopher," the not-Ms. Briarwood, hissed, swinging the switch against the side of his head. Crutchie felt as if his ear had been torn open by the motion.

"It's not Christopher. My name is Crutchie," Crutchie said weakly, gasping against the stinging pain that seemed to sweep up and down his body.

Snyder gripped Crutchie by his shoulders and began shaking the boy like a rag doll, slamming Crutchie's head into the wood flooring over and over again. "Crutchie," Snyder said, cruelly the name being disfigured with mocking, biting sarcasm. "Crutchie. Crutchie." Snyder repeated the name again and again with that same twisted tone until Crutchie began to hate his name and felt as if he would vomit if Snyder continued to speak. "Crutchie! Crutchie!" Snyder was yelling now and his sneer seemed to be growing until the point that it would take over his entire face.

Crutchie couldn't take it anymore, couldn't listen to the poison or bear the way that Jack just ignored him in his time of need, and he sat up, vomit spewing from his mouth, dirtying the clean sheets that were tangled around his legs.

"Oh, crap. Crutch, are you okay?" And this time it wasn't Snyder talking, but Jack. Crutchie would recognize his voice anywhere, but Crutchie refused to open his eyes and find himself still trapped in the nightmarish Refuge. "Crutchie, you gotta open your eyes. Are you okay?" Jack's voice sounded more worried and Crutchie could feel the familiar weight of his oldest friend's hand on his shoulder. Not Snyder's hand. Jack's.

With more effort than Crutchie would care to admit, he opened his eyes. He was in the Holloway house, JT's room, to be exact. It hadn't been a dream. He and Jack had come to Santa Fe and were living with the Holloways now. So… So, the whole Refuge thing had been a dream. Crutchie sighed in relief.

"You okay?" Jack asked and Crutchie realized he hadn't answered Jack yet.

"Just a bad dream," Crutchie said, cracking half a grin. His mouth tasted sour and then Crutchie recalled that he had just thrown up. He glanced down at the sheets, noting the brown mess that coated the white sheets. "I'll clean this up," he said sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it," JT said, helping Crutchie untangle the sheets and grabbing them into a pile, while being careful to avoid touching the vomit. "I've got it."

After JT had left with the dirtied bedding, Jack sat down next to Crutchie. "So, what was it about?"

"Does it matter?" Crutchie asked, shrugging. "It was just a bad dream. It happens to everyone."

"JT had to come wake me up. He said you were calling my name. He said you kept saying you were sorry."

Crutchie shrugged again. "It was about the Refuge, okay?"

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "The Refuge?"

"Well, it's not that surprising. Everyone gets nightmares after staying there."

"Yeah, but, you—" Jack cut himself off, gesturing at Crutchie. It was a vague gesture, but Crutchie understood what he was implying. Crutchie hadn't had nightmares about the Refuge for months now. His sleep had only been wracked with those awful memories for the first week and a half after his return, but he had gotten over it remarkably quickly. Bounced back in true Crutchie style. And he had been fine, had put everything behind him, but somehow it had all come back full force this night.

"I don't know, Jack. It just happened."

"Did something bring up those memories?"

Yeah. Ms. Briarwood with the switch. Phillip and the boys and their cruelty. The aching in his leg. What wasn't reminding him of the Refuge out here in Santa Fe? "Not that I can think of," Crutchie lied.

"You can talk to me if anything…"

"I know," Crutchie said, even though he couldn't help remembering how dream-Jack had turned away when he called for help, when he tried to right his wrong. Crutchie quickly banished that thought away, before it took hold and gnawed at his confidence. "I'm really okay, Jack. It was just a bad dream. You need to get some rest if you plan to be out there roping cattle or whatever tomorrow. Unless Syd has you still mending fences," Crutchie said with a smirk.

Jack still looked hesitant, as if he wanted to remain in the room and ensure that Crutchie really was okay, but Crutchie smiled, sarcastically shooing Jack out the door. "Okay. I'll see ya in the morning," Jack said, his voice soft with worry.

"See ya then."

JT returned to the room shortly after Jack left. "Where's Jack?" he asked, glancing at Crutchie with a small amount of trepidation.

"Went to bed," Crutchie explained. "And, JT?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time, don't wake Jack. I'll be fine."

JT remained silent for a few long moments before acquiescing. "Okay, Crutchie. If that's what you want."

Crutchie turned away from the door, shutting his eyes. He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.


So, what did y'all think about the dream/nightmare sequence? I'm not very experienced with writing those situations, so any advice and pointers are more than welcome. Reviews are always appreciated!

Also, check out my new one-shot One for Vaudeville. It's an expansion on the story Crutchie tells Claude and JT, complete with iambic pentameter!