Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

Title: Violence Recovery

Author: Buttons14

Genre: Drama

Rating: M (subject to change)

Trials give you strength, sorrows give understanding and wisdom.—Chuck T. Falcon

Chapter 11—Crutchy

It is strange leaving. Lyra pulls us each in and hugs us. Aurora hugs her back. Hard. Lyra looks surprised, but happily so.

"Keep in touch, OK Medda?" she calls as we pile bags into trunks. There is a tear growing in the corner of her eye but she blinks it away, looking brave.

Ethan stands beside the lodge, looking demure and calm. The breeze ruffles through his hair, getting it mixed with the fluttering of the first real snow of the season. Ethan's cheeks are pale despite to cold. Everyone else is rosy-cheeked. It is as if he is a ghost.

I find myself sandwiched between Crutchy—who is grinning and chatting away to someone, who I later realize is me—and Andra—who is glaring moodily out the window at the lake. Medda climbs into the driver's seat after prying herself away from Lyra, who is now fully-teary-eyed.

Medda turns on the van and Lyra waves as we pull away. Ethan watches with an eerie calm. Then he walks out and stands beside Lyra. We turn a corner and they are out of sight.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Crutchy has been talking all the way so far. He never stops, it's like he's charged on a battery. He just keeps going, and going, and going.

We pull over at the same rest station that we stopped at on the way to Sunshine Falls. Crutchy orders a large Coke from the Wendy's and I talk myself into a Twix bar from the vending machine. We stand outside by the gas pumps, waiting for everyone to come back out so we can go. Crutchy sucks on his Coke straw, making a slurping sound as he realizes that there's only ice left.

There is something comforting about the smell of gas and the sound of ice in a paper cup. It's so temporary, but so constant at the same time. It's hard to describe.

Crutchy sighs and pulls the lid off of the cup. He pours some of the ice into his mouth, crunching it between his teeth and wincing at the coldness of it. But still, he is smiling.

Crutchy never stops smiling. It's like his grin is ever-plastered on his face.

We are stuck for conversation, so he feels it in his duty to coax it on. "I've been here for three years," he tells me. "Since I was fourteen."

Fourteen. It seems so young. "Why? What could have happened when you were only fourteen?" I ask, amazed that he could have left home when he was so young. Then again, he may not have had a home.

"I was orphaned when I was really little," he says, his eyes flickering around as if in hyper-drive, as opposed to glazing over as most people's do while reminiscing. "I lived on the streets and in shelters and stuff. I didn't have much to get by on, but I made due. When I was thirteen I lived in a bad neighborhood of the Bronx. There were gangs everywhere. They usually wouldn't bother me, because I was so young and all, but one day some of them got drunk and they beat me in the street. I covered my head as best I could. One guy picked up a huge piece of asphalt and slammed it on my leg. Then they took what money I had and left me in pain.

"Spot, I had never seen so much blood and it was all mine. It came out of my head, my legs, my arm and my mouth. Medda found me and brought me to a hospital." He pulls up his pant leg and shows me something plastic and wooden. "But they couldn't save it."

The grin is faltering, but still ever-present. It looks pained.

"On my fourteenth birthday I got out of the hospital and Medda brought me to VRCT. They aren't luxurious or outstanding, but these have been the best years of my life."

I am taken aback. We had no real family and very little money, but I guess we have something else. Support, warmth and maybe even love.

0o0o0o0o0

It feels good to lie down in my bed again. There is something about the room that makes me feel comfortable. It may be the close and predictable placement of everything, or maybe the familiarity and smell: like wood, pine, gasoline and vanilla.

Blink seems glad to be home too. He groans as he lies down in his bed, over the covers. He stretches his hands over his head and stares at the ceiling. I get up and sit on the window sill. Outside, in the yard, I can see Racetrack and Sapphy. The snow is falling and Sapphy's cheeks are bright, as is the tip of her nose. Racetrack pulls a leaf out of her hair. She grins and buries her head in his shoulder. Even from here I can see her very blue eyes.

Racetrack is smiling slowly, not a booming grin, but a conservative, shy smile. Like he doesn't want anyone to know. And no one does. Except for me.

0o0o0o0o0

Ele and I are playing a feisty game of cribbage. Denton has coaxed the shaft of the fireplace in the rec room open and there is a fire cracking away. We are scattered around the room, Charley, Andra, Jack, David, Coin, Ele and I. The TV is on, an old rerun of Friends playing loudly, coaxing out canned laughter every few seconds. Ele is seven pegs ahead of me. And what a hand I have: a Jack, a three, a seven, a two, a five and a ten face card. I take my six spaces and let her count her points.

Aurora trips up from the basement, her camera hanging around her neck. She strolls into the rec room and sits, cross-legged, on the floor beside the beat-up coffee table. She spreads out her newly developed pictures on the tabletop. Pictures of the sky. All of them.

I hear her talking to Charley about her pictures. "I want to be free!" she says. "I want to live in the sky, with no limits and no one to stop me."

Charley smiles sadly and ruffles her hands over Aurora's photos. She pauses over a night shot, the moon orange and phosphorescent.

Maybe we all want to be free, but Aurora is the only one brave enough to admit that we want to know that we can survive. That we can get by on our own. We're too busy relying on the only good thing that has happened to us.

What's wrong with that?

Something tugs at the back of my mind. You have to leave sometime, it says. I push it away.

End Chapter

(Wowza! I'm so, so sorry this took soooo long, but I'm sure you're all tired of hearing me say this. So, read the Shoutouts!))

Shoutouts:

Erin Go Bragh—Spring Break is loooonnnggggg over now. So is my birthday! I am officially (mumbles)

Charlie!Muse: what was that?
Buttons: Nothing.
Charlie!Muse: How old are you?
Buttons: How old are you?
Charlie!Muse: (exasperated): Ten, you know that. How old are you?
Buttons: Fifteen
Spitzer/Michael!Muse: (singing) for she's a jolly good fellow, for she's a jolly good fellow, for she's a jolly good fel-elo! And nobody can deny!
Buttons: Aw, shaddap you two

Yes, I frustrate my teacher. But I'm getting better. I got Oasis's Wonderwall down in one half-hour session.

C.M. Higgins—(keeps it going by dancing madly and very idiotically)

Coin—WOOT! Go with the thankful! Does your family actually say what they're thankful for at Thanksgiving or do they just eat?

Dreamer110—Time for 'Confessions with Buttons'

Buttons: (clears throat professionally) I cannot climb trees.
Peter!Muse: (gasps and falls over in a dead faint)
Tom!Muse: (rushes in to revive the fallen Peter)
Buttons: It seems to be some complicated acquired trait. I just can't do it. I fall over and get grass stains. Now, I like grass stains, but not when they're on my chin.

Nakaia Aidan-Sun—No! You can't leave for a full year! I wouldn't be angry, but I would be sad! COME BAAACCCKKKK!

Margie Driscoll—Man, I'm fifteen. I'm so friggin' young. This sucks. And I'm not updating The Newsie Soccer Team. I have run out of hilarious hi-jinxes for the boys to get into.

Shooter O'Brien(who I love for catching up in such as professional fashion)—(for chapter 6) I thought some people would be thrown off by the change of rating! Sorry!

(Chapter 7) Yup. I'm just killing off all the brothers. I don't even have a brother.

(Chapter 8) The Esther thing confused me at first. But then I got it! (is proud) I don't like bullies either. They make fun of me. But it's OK, because someday I will be their boss and order them around (grins cheesily)

(Chapter 9) I like ping pong too, I have a ping pong table. I'm just not very good. And I have a secret about Aurora! Lean in! (yanks your collar closer) She's not getting another chapter named after her…but Jules might…

(Chapter 10) You'd better keep that promise. Hehe. And I hope that shower made you less smelly then you were before. Not that I'm saying you're smelly or anything.