I found it! YAY! This was originally chapter fourteen, but it doesn't really matter anymore.

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Like the Delanceys, I'm not going to tell you straight out who I am. But I'll be pretty easy to guess.

We start off in my personal niche of hell. My home state. New Jersey.

My dad was good enough to me - he just drank. And when he drank, he got depressed. And so he drank more. When he was sober, though, he was pretty nice. Took me to the racetrack, taught me how to play cards, taught me about pride. He told me that I was born for great things.

In Jersey I was like what Spot is to New York. I was infamous. Six feet tall at thirteen, and a street fighter to the core. No one could beat me. No one. Whether it was speed, wits, or strength, I was the undisputed best. Then, when I finally jumped a train to get out of the hellish city I lived in, I spent a night or two happy, just coasting on that train. But some engineer or conductor or something found me where I had stowed away, in the baggage compartment. So I jumped off without looking where I was going.

That one jump, not looking that one time, that ruined the rest of my life. From then on I was cautious. I still packed a punch if my hands were free, but they never were. I had to carry newspapers with a leg shattered into a million pieces. When I dragged myself to the hospital, the doctor swore I'd never walk again - not even with crutches. But slowly, day-by-day I pull closer to recovery. Maybe I'll never be the fastest runner again. Maybe I won't be able to take you out with one kick. But at least I won't be hobbling around on this goddamn CRUTCH forever.

I hate it. It's a weakness, one the Delanceys like to exploit. They beat me into a pulp, kicking that leg again and again. It's their fault I'm not already running. But today's the day. I finally got enough money, from saving five cents a day for over two years, to get back home. I enter the train station. Buy my ticket with a pile of pennies and nickels and the occasional dime. And I get on that train. Homeward bound. Finally.

"Good God, Knuckles?! What happened?" my former second-in-command asked. His name was Ace.

"I jumped off a moving train. My leg's been like this for two years. But I wasn't supposed to live, and I'm living, I wasn't supposed to hobble and I'm hobbling . . . who knows? I'm not supposed to walk. Maybe I'll end up running."

"Where've you been?"

"New York. As a newsboy. The strike, you heard about it? I was there. Spent most of it in jail, but still. Is my dad . . . ?"

"He's worse than ever, but he's still alive. We had ta stop him from killin' himself a lot, y'know, Knuckles?"

"Yeah. Oh, and Ace?"

"Yeah?"

"It's Crutchy now."

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*dances* I have fifty reviews for this fic!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *celebrates more*