And here's where it gets interesting…. Oooh, and check out the A/N at the end to hear an announcement and a sneak peak of a new story. I'm wrapping this one and When it gets Dark up and going for a longer one, which I'm pretty excited about.

Thanks for sticking with this, guys, and enjoy!

Oh, and the song Race sings in the beginning is sung to the tune of Carrying the banner, just much slower and sadder, with all the strings and touchy feely works.

As he passed the dark houses, the lamplighter followed closely behind him. Stumbling, he felt his cheeks flush red as he adjusted the crutch under his sore arm.

He began to sing, slowly, softly, as the light grew behind him and he limped home.

"Well it's a fine life…. Carryin' the banner undah arm…. A mighty fine life, fighting for dah right tah have a home! When life beats yah, no one gives a damn… even though dey knows where I am, but still day miss me…. I need somethin' to change soon…. A mighty fine life, still here harkin' headlines to dah moon…"

He paused outside the an alley as he heard rough breathing. A figure hunched over, clutching his wrist, kneeling in the grime of a New York trash pit.

"Hey kid." He limped over, dropping his papes. The stand had closed by now; Weasel wouldn't buy them back if Race hunted him down and begged on his knees. Helping the kid up, he wiped his hand awkwardly on his trousers.

"Erm… Racetrack Higgens….." ugh, formal introductions were lost on him. He chuckled nervously as the kid drew back.

"Go 'way, Crip." The boy mumbled.

Although the words stung like whiskey on a cut, Race could only think about how familiar the voice sounded. It made his heartbeat pick up. He couldn't see the kid; the lamplighter was still lighting the lamp before this nearest one.

"Jus' tryin' tah help. No need tah explode little man."

"I ain't little, Crip, now buzz off. I'se got folks tah get to."

"Well den why ain't yah gettin'?" Race swept his hand out to the street. "Youse a bad liar kid. But I think I knows yah."

"Course you do, idiot. Ole Iron Knuckles and his bruddah. Only ones stuck up undah Snydah's thumb and the other… well he ran off tah hide."

"Morris?" Race drew back as the light came on and the sound of the retreating lamplighter filled the mostly empty back street.

"Yeah, so?"

The fifteen year old clutched a mangled and most likely broken wrist to his chest. His eyes were hard and filled with tears but also with the pride that wouldn't let them fall.

"You dirty son of a-"

"Nah, Race, don' go cursin' my muddah. She wasn't very good at bein' one, but she don' deserve your fast tongue. Listen, I'm sorry about dah soakin'."

"Well sorry fixes dah leg, don' it?" Race turned, but Morris stopped him with his good hand.

"No listen, I am, really. Dat girl… she wasn't my sister, but she's undah Snyder too."

"Oh, well dats nice. But dats also a trap. I'm not gonna kiss up tah you cause youse claimin' you didn't do anything wrong. Ah nah, you 'ave a great mind, Morris. You could'a walked away."

"Race, look at my arm. Snyder and his goons don' have any reason tah wait to ditch us in a river. We ain't dat valuable, just good at soakin', and well, when youse good at somethin', people notice."

"And the knife? Yah had tah knife me sos you could put yah heart into it? I almost died, and dat ain't just a fair soakin'."

"Snyder gave me the knife, and he wanted it back with blood, but not a death record. Listen, Race, I don't know what's in his head. He was lookin' to take you all in, I bet, while you were down, Kelly included. But what's happening to you, it's happening to us too. My bruddah got soaked, and now he's bleeding out at Snyder's place. I've got a feelin' if I hadn't escaped I would be too."

"So whad'a yah want me to do?"

"I didn't ask for your help, Higgins. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Just know that I ain't in this for the fun. Them brass knuckles we got? Birthday gift when we both turned ten. Oscar got his, den a couple years and I got mine. But Snyder's got it in his head he can take in your whole nest, and we're stuck with helping him, unless he does things to them kids in there you wouldn't want to know about."

"But I do." Race snarled bitterly. "Go die in a guttah, Delancy. I can't trust that mouth of yours, not after dah fists, and not aftah dah leg."

"Well Snyder's got Oscar. If you're so into my business, maybe you and Kelly have got something up your sleeves to help me. Or us." Morris' quiet voice made Race stop hobbling away. He sighed, and glanced down at his weak, painful leg. Morris' wrist looked pretty bad, and Race knew personally what Snyder could do to a kid when he was angry, so Oscar couldn't be that much better off.

"Fine. Follow me."

…

Crutchie looked up from a small scrappy looking notebook when Race came hobbling in. He was alone.

"Race!" He hopped to his feet, somehow getting the crutch expertly under arm before he toppled over. Before Race could open his mouth, Crutchie had thrown his arm around the older boy. "We thought for sure dat Snydah musta…. Well, dah guys are out looking for yah now."

Race suppressed a noise of surprise. He didn't figure they cared that much. "I'm fine, Crutchie. But there's somethin' yah should see an' know about."

"What?"

"He's outside."

Crutchie made a perplexed face, but followed wordlessly. The sound of Race's heavy breathing and the two crutches thudding on the stairs filled the silence of the lodging house. When they reached the first floor, Race stopped to reveal his discovery.

"Delancy…" Crutchie snarled. He turned sharply to Race, "What's he doin' here?"

"Foist you gotta promise youse gonna listen to dah end."

Crutchie glanced bitterly at the shaking teenager in the doorway, his wrist still held tightly in anguish. His heart beat a little faster. The kid looked scared. Heck, the kid was as old as he was.

"Fine."

…

Jack swung open the lodging house door in total defeat. He whipped his cap off his head and didn't bother to hang back with the other guys to talk it out. At the top of the stairs he opened the door to the bunkroom.

Crutchie was sleeping in his bunk, his bad leg dangling over the side, foot characteristically turned in.

But then there was still a candle lit. A figure huddled close over another, who was sleeping. Unfamiliar shoes poked out of the end of the blanket.

"Hey, waddah'ya doin'!" he yelled, nevermind that Crutchie was asleep.

Race turned to Jack. "I can explain."

"Racetrack! We was lookin' all ovah for you!" Jack's eyebrows drew together. "Why's Morris Delancey in yer bunk? We thought Snydah had gotcha this time."

"Listen, it's hard to explain, but I'll tell it straight as I can. Dah Delancies is undah Snydah's thumb."

"Sos dats news?"

"Nah, yah not gettin' it. Dey's unwillingly beatin' our guys up, sos Snydah won't do things to dah uddah kids in dah Refuge. He broke Morris' arm, an' dah kid says he's got Oscar soaked real good."

"An' why do you care?"

"I'se a crip, Jeck. I ain't got much goin' for me, and look, besides, it would stop dah soakin' problem."

Jack closed his eyes and exhaled. "Fine. What should we do?"

"Help me set dah wrist and den we'se gonna break Oscar out."

"Youse gonna what?!" Jack's eyes turned fiery. "Look, breakin' Crutchie out was one thing. We had a lotta good guys who had a plan. Youse doin' this on a whim, and besides, can you trust dah wimps who been beatin' up on yah for as long as you've been a Newsie?"

"Jeck, what if it was Crutchie back in dere? Look you don' need a plan. If you was in dah Delancey's spot, you'd want someone tah care 'bout you."

"Let's set the wrist first."

He knelt down next to Morris, who was passed out with his bad arm extended.

"Looks bad." Jack rolled up his sleeves, and set to work.

…

They planned on tomorrow night to break Oscar out. But for tonight, Race lay on his back, his hand massaging the tight muscles in his aching leg. Everyone else was asleep, so Race closed his eyes and listened to the night. Feet slapped the street outside the open window, and a breeze carrying the sound and smell of music and dinner rushed around him.

Someone slammed a door. Mice clicked their tiny feet against stone as they scrambled inside the walls.

And then a sharp thump, followed by a bigger heavier one. This one was inside the room. It repeated itself, and finally Race cracked his eyes open.

Crutchie sat in the window, his crutch leaning against the wall. The tattered cotton curtains shivered around the silhouette. Crutchie's bad leg was hanging inside the window, dragging on the floor, and his good one was set carefully on the windowsill, hugged to his chest.

Race sat up and eased himself off the bed. He left his crutch and limped heavily. The eight steps it took him to get to his friend were painful and exhausting, but he felt pride swelling in his chest. Maybe he wasn't going to be a crip forever.

He eased himself to the floor, facing Crutchie. The younger boy looked off at the faraway glare of the city. Tears glinted on his face.

"Nightmare?" Race reached in his pocket for a cigar.

"Nah." Crutchie laughed quietly, trying to brush away his shame, Race sensed. "Race, I'se sorry about dah leg."

"Whadd'a yah mean?"

"It's my fault youse in dis mess. Shoulda nevah asked you tah sell wi' me."

"Yeah, well den you woulda been a fool. A dead fool. I don't blame yah kid. Sure, crutch don' suit me… mebbe it won't havta. But we's like crutch-bruddahs now." He smiled at the kid. "Although I wish was was jus' straight up bruddahs. I'se takin' youse business. I'se dah new crip!" he pointed to himself, shifting the cigar in his mouth. Crutchie made a gesture for him to knock it off. But the younger boy's face fell a little, after the jesting wore off into the chill of a New York night.

"An' what happens if yah don't need dah crutch?"

The corner of Race's mouth lifted a little. "Hey kid, even den youse always my bruddah."

"Honest?"

"An'tony Higgen's don't lie!"

Crutchie burst out laughing, and Race's eyes widened when he realized his mistake.

"An'tony? Dats yah real name!?"

"Sound's stupid to yah too?"

"Nah. An'tony. I likes it. I'se Andrew Morris."

Race tilted his head away from the light. "But Crutchie for short."

"Youse got it."

The sounds of breathing boys made the silence after bearable. Uncertainty was like a building about to fall in on their heads, and it seemed to build when Race glanced at Morris. He still couldn't trust Morris with his life, or Oscar. But then he glanced at Crutchie. This was the right thing to do. No, the Delancey's weren't for certain on their side. But his brother was. They all were. He didn't have to move back to bed to feel he was safe; and Crutchie climbed out of the window as music began to play from below, just another lonely street musician. They fell asleep leaned against each other, just two kids against the world. But then, they'd face the World before. What could stop them now?

Yay! Curtains close! I hope everyone enjoyed this story, and I apologize again for any inaccuracies and/or spelling stuff and plot holes. As I said, totally unedited. Thank you so much to all of you who reviewed and followed and favorited and gave me so much support, because as my writer pals all know, it feeds the muses.

So, anyway, I've got a tiny sneak peek into MY NEXT STORY! I'm really excited about this one, because I'm hoping to go longer with it. I don't know when I'll post the first chapter because this is a story based on a real event, and I have to do some research, but here is the summary and sneak peek!

(sorry in advance, I suck at summaries) Summary: The Newsboy Strike of 1899 was big news. But they couldn't have done it without Brooklyn, and that's a fact. But Brooklyn wasn't new to strikes. As told by the King of Brooklyn, Spot Conlon, this is the story of the real life Brooklyn Newsboy strike of 1896.

(Spot POV)

As fair warning, I'm gonna tell yah some things dat might make you wanna t'row down yah pape and boin it. But dey's real, and dey's not gonna disappear just cause we want em to. I'se tellin' you because I didn't have a say den, an' now I do. Dis is a warnin, Jack Kelly. Strikes is big. Yah can't go inta dis wid'out givin' up control of all you think you can keep close. Youse gonna lose everything if you wanna do it dat way.

First off, be prepared to lose somethin's. Peoples is so breakable, dat if you try to stand in front of you's guys, youse gonna end up standin' on em. Give em some rein. Deys big boys. Youse gotta learn tah work wit' em, not for em.

Second, an' dis is from experience- dem fools don' undahstand. Don' befriend dah enemy, Kelly. Deys always gonna come in dah end, tah stick a knife in yah back sos dey can forget how good you might have been tah dem. Loin from me, it nevah woiks out.