A/N: Just wanted to say a big thank you for the reviews, follows, and faves! I love y'all!
Without further ado, here's the next chapter! Enjoy!
"Jack!" A frantic voice pulled the sixteen-year-old from his dreams.
"Mm…wha'samatter, Race?" Concern crept into Jack's tone, even in half-asleep state. He sat up, squinting through the dark.
The younger boy's face appeared just inches from his own. "It's Crutchie, Jack. He's burnin' up."
All thoughts of sleep fled as Jack leapt from his bunk. "What?"
Race set the candle he held down onto the tiny bedside table. "I dunno, Jackie. I couldn't sleep. I's heard him tossin', so's I went check on 'im and he was like this."
Jack's gaze followed Race's out-flung arm pointing to where Crutchie slept.
A sheen of sweat coated the crippled boy's young face. His breaths were shallow, his limbs tangled in his blanket.
Jack reached out, placing a hand on the younger newsie's forehead. He nearly recoiled at the heat radiating off the kid. "Race, go get some water and a rag," he instructed, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the others. "Quick."
Race nodded and bolted, and Jack settled himself on the edge of Crutchie's bunk. "It's okay, kid," he murmured softly, readjusting the blanket over the boy's body.
Crutchie moaned and shifted, reaching toward the older newsie. "Jack..."
Jack caught the searching hand and squeezed it. He took a deep breath to calm himself, trying to keep his worry at bay. He'll be fine, he reassured himself. Crutchie came down with something every year. But never so bad so's quick.
Race reappeared, the requested objects clutched in his hands.
With a quick nod of thanks and a reassuring smile, Jack took the items, setting the bowl of water next to the flickering candle and dunking the rag in it.
Race hovered over Jack's shoulder as the older boy pressed the wet cloth to Crutchie's face.
The sick boy moaned, leaning into the cool touch. His eyes fluttered open. "Don't...feel so good, Jack." His voice was barely more than a whisper.
"I knows. But you'll be fine," Jack promised. A few minutes passed in silence before he glanced toward Race. "Gets back t' bed, Racer. I've got 'im."
The curly-haired kid hesitated, lingering near the bedside.
"It ain't gonna do nobody no good iffin' you and I is both dead on our feet t'morrow." Jack lifted an eyebrow. "Go on. Crutchie'll be okay."
With one last uncertain glance at the tiny blond tossing in the bunk, Race conceded. "G'night, Jack."
"'Night, Race."
The boy retreated, and Jack sighed, refocusing on Crutchie.
Crutchie'll be okay.
He could only hope the words were true.
When the circulation bell began to ring just before dawn, Jack was still sitting by Crutchie's side, eyes drooping, one hand resting on the sick boy's cheek.
The kid had fallen into a fitful sleep just about an hour ago. His fever hadn't gone down at all—in fact, it'd gone up—and it was worrying Jack more than he cared to admit.
The other newsies started stirring, moaning and groaning as they pulled themselves from their beds. Race joined Jack in seconds, bursting with questions.
Jack shook his head. "Can't leave him 'ere alone all day."
Race titled his head in a nod. "You want me to stay?"
Jack hesitated. He was the Manhattan leader, but he didn't want to leave Crutchie, even though Race was more than capable of staying behind.
Coming to a decision, he shook his head again. "You go on with the fellas. Keep 'em in line."
Race nodded slowly, buttoning his shirt up.
"Atta' boy." Jack offered a tired smile, giving the younger newsie a light punch to the arm.
Race repeated the nod and turned to shoo away the crowd that had gathered to check on Crutchie.
"C'mon fellas, let's get movin'!" he called, trying to keep his voice down.
Jack watched as the newsboys finished readying themselves. He tore himself away from Crutchie long enough to check on the rest of his boys.
Albert was still coughing more than Jack would've liked, but the kid swore he would be fine to sell, and two bunks down, Mush was none too happy about the fact that Elmer had no plans to spend the day resting at the lodging house.
The curly-haired kid's voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper, and he could barely breathe through his nose. "I ain't no kid," Elmer muttered, stifling a cough as he glared at Mush. "I'll be fine."
Mush glared right back. "And if you's catch pneumonia and die, what good's that gonna do anybody?"
Elmer rolled his eyes, earning a playful slap to the arm from the older boy.
Jack shook his head, told Elmer to be careful and Mush to look out for him.
"Always do, Jackie." One corner of the dark-haired newsie's mouth turned upward in a smile.
Elmer rolled his eyes again.
"You's just watch out for Crutchie, huh?" Mush craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the boy.
Jack nodded. "Yeah. That's what brothas do, ain't it?"
Mush smirked and nodded, giving Jack one last farewell punch to the shoulder.
Once the boys filed out the door—letting as little frigid winter air blow in as possible—Jack returned to Crutchie. He was surprised to find the younger boy awake, fever-bright eyes squinting up at him.
"Hey, how's you feel?" Jack lowered himself onto the edge of Crutchie's bunk.
The boy's moan turned into a coughing fit, leaving him gasping for breath. "Worse," he croaked.
Coming from the ever-optimistic Crutchie, the words only escalated the level of Jack's concern. "Yeah? Don't worry, you'll be feelin' better in no time." He helped the sick kid drink a few sips of water.
Crutchie fell back onto the mattress. "Didn't wanna...get sick," he murmured, sticking his bottom lip out.
"I know." Jack sighed, reapplying the cold cloth to his brother's forehead. I'm sorry. "How's the leg?" Jack reached toward the foot of the bed to massage the younger boy's bum leg.
"Stiff," Crutchie answered softly, eyes falling shut. "But it ain't botherin' me much."
The rest of the day passed with little to no change in Crutchie's condition. The boy dozed on and off between coughing fits and fever and chills. Jack felt helpless. He didn't even know what was wrong with Crutchie. How was he supposed to help him get better?
The newsies arrived back after the evening papes were sold, keeping their usual chatter and horseplay down as they settled in for the night.
Crutchie didn't seem to be doing any worse, so Jack allowed himself to lean against the foot of the kid's bunk and close his eyes. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to sleep, given the current situation, but he was gonna try.
Unfortunately, the night did not go as planned.
A/N: Yikes, poor Crutchie! Sorry for the somewhat-cliffhanger. ;P Again, I'd love to hear any and all of your thoughts on this chapter!
(Please also note that I am no doctor, so I apologize in advance for any vagueness. There's not any particular diagnosis for Crutchie, but if anything seems too unrealistic, let me know! I'm always looking for ways to improve.) ;)
Until next time,
~Ollie