I don't own it.

Crutchie lay on the ground, not moving, barely breathing, trying to force himself to keep awake.

It had been a long time since he'd gotten hurt this badly. The newsies took care of each other. Older boys who thought Crutchie was an easy target would walk away with broken noses, courtesy of one of the other boys, usually Cowboy or Racetrack.

Right now, Crutchie seriously doubted whether he could move. His good leg, his right leg, now felt the same as his left, which was eternally paralyzed. He suspected the cause was one of the Delancy's heavy boots, which had stomped on his back, leaving deep bruises and injuring his spine.

But Crutchie had no intention of moving. He felt light-headed and kept seeing waves of light that squirmed at the edges of his vision. He knew enough to not give into the welcoming nothingness which threatened to engulf him. Instead he busied himself by thinking of his friends.

Racetrack. He'd been right after all. He had gotten hurt. But was Racetrack alright? Suddenly, a vision of Racetrack, his small, light body broken and bleeding, burst into his mind. Crutchie pushed it away, feeling the sting of tears prick at the corner of his eyes.

Mush had gotten hurt in the fight. Crutchie had seen a large man take a swing at his chest, knocking Mush off his feet and probably breaking a few ribs. He hoped that it was nothing more serious.

Jack….the Cowboy could take care of himself, of course, but to what extent? It was obvious that the crowd had surged around him and David, the new boys, as the leaders of their fight.

More faces, of Blink and Skittery and Itey and Boots and Specs, all of them broken, bleeding, helpless against the many faceless men carrying chains and bats and guns.

And suddenly, Crutchie knew they were going to lose.

He had always been optimistic, even on the coldest, dreariest days when he didn't have enough money for even a piece of bread and ended up starving that night. Hope was something he'd been born with. But there in the dark room, Crutchie felt the tears dribble down his cheeks.

The door opened. Crutchie scrambled for his crutch, trying to flip over to protect his bruised head. He knew it was Oscar and Morris. They weren't done yet. Instead, a small boy walked in, talking to somebody just out of sight. "Do you know why Old Snyder sent us down here --." he cut off when the lantern's light fell on Crutchie, who was still groping for his stick.

"Hey Binky get in here!" the boy yelled to his invisible friend, kneeling next to Crutchie. "What happened?" he asked quickly, eyeing Crutchie's torn clothing and bruises. His hand skimmed over Crutchie's shoulder, which had mysteriously stopped working after he was thrown to the ground. "I can fix this if you want." the boy offered, his voice low and kind. Crutchie nodded, waondering what his arm looked like. He couldn't turn his head that way. The boy pressed hard on his shoulder, then moved it upwards in a fumbling motion that left Crutchie gasping for breath in an effort not to scream.

The other boy, Binky, had gotten there. Crutchie tried flexing his fingers as the muscualar boy pulled him to his feet, only to have Crutchie sink back down again. The boy pointed at Crutchie's left leg. His pants were torn and the skin was scraped away. You could see the shape and angle of the bone which obviously couldn't support him. Never could. "That new?" Binky asked, his voice hard.

Crutchie shook his head, still fumbling for the old crutch. The smaller boy had it and was holding it carefully. "No, I was born with it. But the other one usually works." He looked down, tried to move his right leg, and found he couldn't. Surprise and fear burst through him, making him gulp. He reached towards the boy with his crutch. "Please, let me have that."

The boy shook his head. "It won't do you no good. Let me and Bink carry you out."

Crutchie shook his head and, in one smooth move, grabbed the long stick from the short boy. "I don't want nobody carrying me!" his voice was tense as he tried to lift himself up with his newly mended arm and unmoving right leg. He shook under the strain.

The short boy slipped to Crutchie's left side, keeping him upright. "Let me just help you, okay? My name's Ten Pin." he flashed a toothy white smile at Crutchie as he handed the lantern to the bigger boy. Crutchie nodded, allowing himself to be taken from the cold dark room, painfully aware that he was dripping blood all over this little boy.

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