Hello again! I am so sorry this is so late, I've had a lot going on recently. But as a reward for your patience, here is a Crutchie chapter for those who wanted it! And, as promised, contest winners are at the bottom! So don't forget to take a look! And then cry, because Crutchie.
Enjoy!
-Marcelle
"Welcome to the 70th Annual Tribute Parade!"
The cheers from the crowd echoed in Crutchie's mind, a reverberating whine that bore into him as though trying to break him in half. Every inch of him was soaked in dread, the same fear he'd been drenched in since the reaping. It was all he could do to stay on his bunk as the Capital anthem rang through the television speakers. His instincts screamed at him to run, to get out of the room and head to the roof, his escape for anything life threw at him.
But the penthouse offered nothing to him now, no possible form of solitude. All it held were memories of a life Crutchie knew had passed him by - and the only person he trusted to help him through it was gone.
"Have we got a treat for you tonight, folks! All the tributes you've seen from the reapings are right here in the Capital, fresh from training and ready to share their final thoughts before the Games!" The announcer gushed excitedly, drawing yet another series of shouts from the spectators that contrasted loudly with the still silence of the lodging house. The boys were gathered around the screen, the glow of the images casting their grim faces in artificial illumination.
The single station available to them broadcasted only Capital-regulated programs, meaning that anything and everything related to the Hunger Games was top priority. The Tribute Parade was considered almost as exciting as the Games themselves, and it made Crutchie sick to his stomach.
Jack was about to be paraded before the Capital as though he was worth nothing more than his entertainment value, as though he was no more human than the horses that pulled the gaudy carriages. As though his selfless nature, his bravery, his unwavering loyalty, and everything else that made up Jack Kelly was now Capital property, to be used or discarded at their leisure. Jack was no longer a leader, or even a newsie. He was a volunteer. A tribute. And Crutchie knew he was to blame.
Race and the others could say whatever they wanted to on the matter, but their words could not alter reality no matter how much they wanted it to. If Crutchie had not been reaped, Jack would not have volunteered. If Crutchie had not been a cripple, a disabled kid brother Jack must have felt wouldn't have been able to stand a chance in the arena, their leader would still be there.
Guilt wore away at him with each breath he took, and the wailing trumpets that announced the start of the Parade only provided a momentary distraction.
Crutchie's eyes passed over the rest of the tributes as they glided across the screen, each one dressed to the nines and each one as irrelevant in his mind as the one before. Jack was the only one that mattered. He had to make sure Jack was still okay.
"You alright there, Crutch?" Race murmured from beside him, generously keeping his words out of range of the newsies. The acting leader hadn't left Crutchie's side ever since he had voiced his self-blame aloud, and he was secretly very grateful for the older boy's presence.
The rest of the boys did their part, of course, more than willing to help Crutchie in any way they could. But this was something much different than anything else they had ever known, and Crutchie could somehow feel that all he needed was one strong, solid companion beside him now - perhaps someone to remind him that Jack wasn't gone quite yet.
"Y-Yeah, Race. I'm fine," Crutchie stammered a lie in return, momentarily cursing himself upon hearing the tremor caught in his voice before reminding himself that it was allowed to be there. He didn't have to be strong all the time; no one had ever expected him to be, and Crutchie could tell that each boy in the lodging house now was fighting to keep themselves together.
Their remaining strength would be passed around, shared with each other so that they could face whatever they would be hit with in the days to come. But now, Crutchie could allow himself to slip.
He let his eyes dampen as Jack and his tribute partner finally rode across the Capital plaza.
He let Race drape an arm around his shoulders as the announcers praised Jack for his acts of heroism, only acknowledging the girl beside him for her perceived beauty.
He let tear tracks smear down his face as the announcers took bets on how long his brother would last in the Games.
He let himself begin to mourn.
Time seemed to have skipped a beat, and soon the interviews were in full force. Each tribute presented themselves in the most flattering light possible, playing up a different angle in an obvious attempt to win over sponsors. Morris Delancey, the boy from District Flushings, displayed a cocky form of confidence that Crutchie knew would impress no one, while Spot Conlon from District Brooklyn was cold and unfeeling, clearly prepared to go to any lengths to win.
District Queens' tributes, Smalls and Les, pulled on the heartstrings of all who saw them. Smalls' cheerful disposition and Les' childish optimism made them a popular topic of conversation among the announcers, but Crutchie could only wonder how far it would get them in the Games. Les was only twelve, Romeo's age when he had gone into the arena, and that had only ended in tragedy - just as the Games did themselves.
"I've got a better chance at winning 'cause I'm small. I can hide somewhere, or sneak up on someone and scare 'em! They'll never see me coming. I'm not giving up that easily!" Les declared with the confidence of a man twice his age and twice his size. Crutchie cast a glance at Race, who seemed ready to punch a hole through the screen.
"He could make it," Crutchie murmured, and Race only sighed at the words.
"Yeah. Maybe. But then Jack won't."
"At least he'd save a kid," Crutchie argued, employing his optimism for a moment in favor of distracting Race. If there was any way for Jack Kelly to go, it would be in place of someone else, especially someone like Les.
"Sure, Crutch. At least there's that." Race relented, but his face still hadn't found any of it's lost hope.
They fell silent again as the next tribute came up for his interview, a nervous, bookish boy named David who rambled on about statistics and "the most favorable physical attributes" surrounding the Games. Crutchie found it hard to concentrate, knowing that soon Jack would take David's place on the stage. It wouldn't be hard for him to get sponsors, of course - with his looks and charm, he would have the entire Capital falling at his feet. But it was still a slap in the face to know that it would take a fight to the death for anyone to realize just how great Jack Kelly was. The newsies had known it all along.
"And now, from District Manhattan, please welcome Jack Kelly!"
The boys began to murmur at the introduction, watching with anticipation as Jack climbed the stairs that led to the stage as though he'd never done anything more natural in his life. He radiated a sense of calm that almost soothed Crutchie himself, as if they were back on the roof. Jack's penthouse, where the world didn't exist.
"Here we go," Race mumbled as Jack took a seat before the cameras. They watched as the interviewer, a plump man called Teddy Roosenwig, smiled and shook Jack's hand with much more enthusiasm than was appropriate.
"Welcome to the Capital, Mr. Kelly!" He beamed, laughing as Jack returned his grin. "How are you finding our humble city?"
"So far? It ain't too bad. You guys sure know how to throw a party, that's for sure," Jack remarked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He seemed more comfortable in his position as a tribute than any of the others had, but Crutchie could spot the nervous glint in his eyes. He was more than likely afraid he'd say something wrong, something incriminating that would eliminate any chance he had at sponsorship. But Crutchie knew from years of watching him hawk the headlines that Jack was practically a wordsmith, a man skilled at his craft. Anything he said would be pure gold in the Capital's eyes.
"Well, we certainly want you to feel as at home as possible," Teddy assured him jovially, even going as far as to pat him on the back.
"That you do," Jack agreed, backing away from the touch for a fraction of a second before regaining his composure. "I wish my friends at home could see some 'a the stuff you'se got here. They'd do flips!"
"Yes, well, most of our tributes are amazed when they see what we have to offer in the Capital. Isn't that right, folks?" The host gestured to the crowd, who roared in delight at the praise. Crutchie caught the laughter of a few of the boys at the comment, and let a hesitant smile settle on his face. Jack really did know them.
The noise of the crowd died down along with Teddy's laughter before he continued again.
"Now, Jack, we couldn't help but notice that you were standing among a large group of boys at the reaping. Are those the friends you mentioned?" he asked, his tone a few shades more somber, and Jack's smile took on a wistful twist.
"They're more like my brothers, Ted. Each and every one of 'em," Jack admitted bittersweetly, looking directly into the camera as though addressing the newsies directly. "And I'm proud to be their brother, too. I'd do anything for them."
"There's our Jackie," Race whispered, nudging Crutchie lightly on the shoulder as he managed a tiny grin.
"And you've proved it, Jack. Because here you are now," Teddy pointed out, acknowledging Jack's place on the stage. "If I may ask...who was the boy you volunteered for? I think we were all just astounded when you took his place. Can you tell us anything about him?"
Tears sprung in Crutchie's eyes as if on cue, but he made no attempts to dry them. Instead he focused his now blurry vision the screen, ready to imprint each word his brother said into his brain.
"His name is Crutchie. He's my best friend in the world. I wouldn't be who I am today without that kid, Teddy. He's...he's so positive about everything life throws at him, I can't even believe it sometimes. He don't care that he's got a gimp leg, or that he needs a crutch jus' ta walk down the street. He's...happy. An' if he'd come here, I never would've forgiven myself. 'Cause he sure don't deserve it," Jack paused, taking a breath as if to compose himself. Finally, seeming to remember that he was on national television, he lifted his head again.
"So, yeah, here I am. And I'd rather it be me than Crutchie."
The lodging house had morphed back into silence at Jack's words. A few of the boys had turned their heads to look back at the boy in question, and Crutchie made a weak attempt at wiping a few stray tears off his cheeks. He was hit with a sudden sense of longing, even a kind of desperation that made him want nothing more than his brother back. Jack was the only one who had ever understood Crutchie, who had supported his dreams and dreamed right along with him.
He was the one who had saved Crutchie from the nightmare he had been living and showed him what life could be like with friends by your side, with family to guide you. Jack had been everything Crutchie had needed, and he had sacrificed himself, leaving Crutchie to figure out how to get by without him.
"And what you would you tell him now?" Teddy asked, words Crutchie could barely hear. Jack looked straight at the camera again, and Crutchie met his gaze.
"I would tell him that it'll be okay. And I'd tell him to hold on. Just hold on, kid."
I'm sorry, I had to end on that reference. Anyway, here are the winners of the one-shot contest...everyone! That's right, everyone who reviewed the last chapter gets a one-shot of their choosing! Remember, no same-sex or slash, as they're not my strong points, but anything else! It can be as angsty or sweet as you want, just let me know in a PM or review! Don't forget to review! Thanks for reading!