A/N: and yet another Crutchie fic. Sorry, I promise I'll wrote some of the other boys too. Who do you guys want to see? I'll be glad to write any of them, because you know, they're newsies. Okay so this fic is from Jack's point of view. I hope you like it!
Disclaimer: if I owned them, Jack and Davey would be desperately in love.
Crutchie was in his shorts when Jack came up to the penthouse that day. It was one of those rare days that they got clean water to wash themselves, and Crutchie was sitting by the sink with a wet rag, washing his limp leg of all the dirt and sweat that it so constantly wore. This wasn't the first time that Jack had seen so much of Cructhie, in fact he had been there a few months back when something happened to Cructhie's back and he had go to the hospital, and they striped him stark naked. They were so comfortable with each other and the other boys that it hardly mattered how much skin was showing. As Jack removed his hat, vest and shirt, he took note, just like every time that he saw Crutchie's bare limbs, how very disproportionate he was.
Crutchie looked so very slim under his clothes witch were hand-me-downs from the older boys and didn't fit him right, and yes, there wasn't a bit of fat on him, but he was unbelievably strong. His upper body was so used to carrying half the weight that it had become extremely muscular. The muscles around his right hip were exaggerated and buff as they were the ones that dragged the dead limb along all of the time. His left leg was something to envy, even for Jack, who didn't have as much strength in his entire body as Crutchie had in his left leg. He could break ribs with that leg. He actually broke three of Morris Delancy's once. That was a good day.
And then there was his right leg, hanging limply, skin and bones, neither muscle nor fat on an inch of the pathetic limb. It was so strange, as the rest of the body was that of the strong man in the circus, but his right leg, was that of the starving orphan.
That leg reminded Jack of something. It reminded him of exactly who Crutchie was. Crutchie was strong. Crutchie was powerful and tough. Crutchie didn't need help from anyone to survive. He was strong and independent and capable, but that leg was the reminder that he was human. The dangerous thing about their relationship was that either Jack was over protective and worried, or he overlooked completely that his friend was struggling. Of course Crutchie could take care of himself, and got very irritated when he was babied and pampered, but, at the same time, there were things that he couldn't do by himself. The leg seemed so out of place, that it utterly shocked him every time he saw it, because the idea that Crutchie, the strong one, could be hindered by anything was terrifying to the bone. But that leg was there to remind him that, no matter how strong, or capable Crutchie seemed, he had faults, that even though he seemed happy and cheerful, he had dark days. He cursed and he drank and lied, even stole once. But what made Crutchie special was that he didn't lie for curse or steal for his own sake. He did it for them, the boys, his family. He was so very human, but dispite his shortcomings, faults, and dirty little secrets, he was good. He was flat out good. He knew his limitations and his abilities and he used that knowledge to help people. And even though he was so utterly humam, Crutchie was the only example Jack had for an angel.
"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout, Jack?" Crutchie asked from his place at the sink. Jack blinked and woke from his daze, walking over and running the cool water over his face and hair.
"Nothin' much, just rememberin' someone who I tink is really great, but sometimes Ise forget it." Jack said, and he took the cloth that Crutchie offered.
"What made youse tink of 'em?" Crutchie asked, pulling on a pair on trousers with a bit of difficulty. Jack thought for a moment, gazing blankly at the leg.
"Disproportion." Jack offered. Crutchie looked confused for a second before chuckling, shaking his head, pulling a shirt on, and walking down stairs with the other guys. The leg dragged behind him on the stairs, little thuds floating up the staircase as it came to each step.
Disproportion is often considered a bad thing. People, especially artist find it hard to coupe with any kind of disproportion in their lives. But Jack wasn't like that. Jack could see it. Jack knew just how important disproportion really was.
A/N: so yeah, there you go. So you guys tell me what you want to see next, and I'll make it happen. Thanks!