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Crutchie felt the breeze hit his face for the first time in two weeks. The city below him was blurred out of view as the boy watched the movement unseeingly. He had been all smiles since he got off that carriage earlier that day, but his heart ached horribly. If they hadn't arrested Snyder when they did Crutchie knew he'd be dead right then with a slit throat. He didn't know if his terrors in that hellhole could even be compare to what Jack went through and Crutchie wasn't sure if he wanted to find out. He knew that his stomach was a dark shade of black from abdomen to the top of his torso, and he could feel the sting from a clearing infection on his left arm that resided inside a long knife slash. Guilt cursed the cripple's dented body as he remembered the kids that saved his life after the worst days of his life after meeting Jack. Where were Frank and Gilly? Were they alright? Franky broke his wrist the day before Crutchie was taken away and freed, and it had been Crutchie's responsibility to watch after him while Gil was locked in the the penalty cell.
"Hey there kid." A hand rested on his shoulder.
Crutchie jumped and slapped off the hand quickly. He spun around and his wild green eyes connected with his best friend's.
Jack froze, "C- Crutchie?..."
A blush began to bloom and the eye contact broke as Crutch turned back around.
"Sorry... I's just been thinkin."
"You wanna talk about it?"
Crutchie shook his head shaking slightly. He could hear Jack begin to walk back towards the ladder. You almost died today, and no one would have known.
"Jack." It came out a slight croak.
The metal behind him stopped clinking, the hand was soon on his shoulder again, "Yeah?"
"Did I did ever tell you about my life before... the alley?"
"Crutch-"
"Did I?"
The silence was uncomfortably heavy.
"... No."
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A small boy sniffled as the bitter wind brushed his nose. It was midwinter, just one week before Christmas, and with his mother so sick Andrew knew he could help her feel better with a present.
He knew he was some where in Manhattan because he'd just gotten off a train at the Grand station (or what ever his father used to call it) and mother always talked about a beautiful broach in one of the window shops. It was crowded and bustling, but the seven year old knew where he was going. A small elegant shop was resting next to his favorite bakery. Though he wasn't sure what broach his mother wanted he had been raising as much money as possible to afford the grapevine in the display window. The milk man in his neighborhood had allowed him help deliver down the nearby houses and he worked at the bakery as a delivery boy. It had been difficult, with his leg acting up and everything, but a few months of hard work was worth it for his kind gentle sick mother.
Puffing his chest a little as he walked into the store for the first time; Andrew waltzed right up to the cashier and pointed at the window, "I'd like that broach please!"
The woman was clearly shocked, "Pardon?"
Andrew smiled pridefully as he withdrew all his dollar bills and coins from his jingling pockets, "I's like the grapevine broach in the window. It's the one with all the pretty purple gems, please."
She took the money and counted each with slightly wide eyes, "Of course little man! Are you buying a present for your girlfriend?"
"No way!" He laughed, "Moma's always talking about broaches!"
The woman smiled warmly in understanding. She wrapped the small trinket in tissue paper and placed a small bow on the top, "You take care of this little man. It isn't cheap, alright?"
His grin grew even bigger, "forty dollars I know!" He walked to the door with a slightly awkward skip (his leg, you know).
He heard the jingle chime behind him as he walked back into the brisk cold. All he had to do now was get back on the train and head home-
"Hey kid!"
Andrew spun around. It was a newsie, he looked slightly older than Andrew himself, "You mind buying a pape off me?"
He had dark brown hair and a wicked, yet not mean, smile. Now that Andrew thought about it he had seen this kid here all the time before calling out the most ridiculous headlines. He messed with his knitted hat carefully, "I's only got a bit of money left. How's about you tell me a good headline to convince me!"
"Oh educated are we? Alright, I'll convince you..." The kid played with his hat as he flipped through the pages carelessly, "Oh how about this! Extra! Extra! Yellow journalism gone insane, kids and adults alike falling for the printing companies scheming!"
Andrew laughed, "You educated as well then!"
The boy flashed his wicked smile and extended a hand. What could Andrew do? Slowly his last coin slipped from his pocket and landed in the older kid's palm with a icy plop.
"Pleasure doing business!"
The lights were off when Andrew opened the door. They had been on when he had left.
"Mother?" The small dark hall was silent. Quietly Andrew snuck into the kitchen to set down the small baguette on the counter that towered over the small boy's head. The stool was in mother's bathroom. Andrew wasn't allowed in the master bathroom... no since father and the twins left. As silently as he could he dragged one of the dinning table's chairs over the threshold. The floor groaned in protest and the silent house let out a slightly inhuman moan in agony. Andrew froze and set the loaf of bread on the chair and headed for mother's room.
The only light emitting in the room was from the part of the window not covered by heavy curtains. It left the room to look slightly gray in the twilight, darkening it's features exponentially to the rooms normally cheerful yellow.
"Andrew?"
The small child's throat seemed to thicken anad dry at the sound of his name. The urging call was brittle like dried chocolate and seemed to break within itself before his name had even finished being spoken.
Andrew limped over to his moma's bed and jumped as high as he could to crawl into her warm lap. He smiled weakly up at her, "Hi moma I just got some bread from that bakery we always go to." Went to* he wasn't stupid. Mother had stopped going to the factory for about a week now and she'd been asking for some of Andrew's money to pay for a sheet of paper father and her always used to argue about. It was like Charlie all over again, but this time only Andrew was here to see it instead of his sisters and parents staying at his side.
Her smile was still warm and bright... it was so so weak, but the comfort he always felt when he saw it on her face still filled Andrew's little heart. It seemed so easy for her, like a knife could cut through warm butter, and he melted slightly when she wrapped her arms around her son's small figure. "Christmas is tomorrow, but lets do gifts tonight shall we? There are two in closet in the hall, alright?"
They had been on the floor in the same wrapping that his birthday presents had been wrapped in last year. One was a tainted silver that had clear black stains that blotched across the finish, the other a plain sky blue what had clear aged crinkles. They were both quaint little things, the silver clearly held a cloth of some kind, but he still buzzed with excitement. As fast as he could carry himself Andrew dashed into the kitchen for his small gift and then headed back to the room at the end of the dark hall.
A candle had been lighten.
The room warmed slightly as the orange tint radiated off the sun yellow walls. The sky was now a deep blue that looked closer to black; it seeped through the bright walls depressingly to darken the corners hidden from the small candle. Andrew limped into the room and let his mother help lift him onto the quaint bed. His pride swelled when Andrew watched the small gift plop into his moma's sickly whitened hands. She had large inquisitive eyes and raised her eyebrows when her little boy grinned up at her with a daring look.
Her gasp was like gold to the boys ears, "Oh my- Oh Angel thankyou!" She planted a kiss on her son's light tangled hair; her eyes glittering like gems, "Oh it's lovely Andrew!"
The small broach was made of green painted metal that was braided together to created leaves and flowing vine. Small glass amethyst were mixed colorfully close to form grapes next to each respective leaf. The green paint was slightly scrapped, and half a bakers dozen gems seemed to be missing; neither noticed such slight deformities, how ever, they only made the small treasure more personal.
They sat quietly for a while before the small boy felt his mother pin the trinket to her night gown and gently prodded her son towards his own gifts. He grinned up at her and shifted over the comforter towards his own presents. The silver tape was gently peeled so not to tear the paper, just like his brother had taught him, and gasped at a bright blanket. It was slightly worn at the edges, but it's near white yellow still shown as brightly as the walls did in the candle light. It was soft as sheep wool and Andrew couldn't help but wrap it around his neck like a cape before jumping on his mother in thrill. He planted a happy kiss on her cheek before grasping the longer stickish box. A small only barely chipped cane with a wooden plank on top for his armpit surprised the tiny boy. Moma had a slight almost pitiful smile when he looked up at her... he own grin sinked slightly in realization.
They didn't say anything with sullen gratitude.
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Christmas morning came with a bird chirping and his mother's stifled cough. Dreamily he headed for the kitchen and blinked in surprise at the chair resting in the center of the hall. Slowly he remembered the baguette and took a chomp from it.
As he moved the chair back towards the table the front door creaked open and Mrs. Millers from the room down the hall called, "I'm coming in! Merry Christmas!"
"Hi Mrs. Millers, Merry Christmas!" He quickly (and loudly) dragged the chair back to its place and scuttled to the entry way to hug her. She was a plumper woman, but that by no means meant she wasn't beautiful. Her eyes were a warm motherly hazel that complimented her full light pink lips perfectly. Mrs. Millers towered over the boy in her old heels and browning frock. Her whitening hair was clipped in a simple elegantly pinned bun.
It was silent in the compressed room, not a comfortable silence, but one of shock and sadness. There were two figures in the room, a graying woman and a small child. The boy was at the door with two steaming rolls of bread
Andrew had been staying home from the few classes he could afford for these last few months to beg in the streets to get his mother medication. She had a terrible disease that his father decided wasn't worth his treatment, he left with Andrew's two healthy sisters for Britain. It had been unfair and both of the two left behind had been heart broken, but they couldn't rebuttal anything that the large man had forced into their heads before he left, so they made do. They used to work as a team, the seven year old would go to school every other day and work on the spaces in between, while his mother would rest on his work days and go to the factory while he was at school... of course that was before she lost feeling in both of her legs and got so sick even the simplest phrases would send her into blood curling hacks that lasted for ages in her son's ears. Neither would admit it, but one day when an officer showed up at their modest apartment to ask why Andrew had neglected coming to school for two months they had to accept that he wouldn't be back soon enough to make his enrollment worth while.
Andrew dropped out of school and began to take any job that a small boy like himself could take. The first was a delivery job in for a bakery in the broncs. He memorized New York head to toe giving away bread and pastries to faceless clients. Then after his mother's fever rose even further he began to assist the milk man in his neighborhood for spare change. It was a right fit to squeeze both jobs at once, with the boy making a daily mad dash across the city just to reach the bakery on time. Normally the city's central was too crowded to go anywhere near, but on days where Andrew finished early with his deliveries, he'd pay a visit to the square just to watch the hustle and bustle of city life. He admired the newsboys running around working like some sort of hive mind, big smiles gleaming and the most outrageous stories flying through the hustle and bustle of city folk. They always seemed to find a way to reel in even the more antsy men and women with problems Andrew would never know into buying the day's paper. After one particularly good day, with two loafs of bread still steaming under his arm Andrew decided he'd join up with them sometime in the next few weeks to pay for his mother's new medication. He never could have known that the dream would die in his mind not even three hours later.
She had no funeral... he just didn't have the money to pay for it, not with his health starting to turn worse for ware. The cremation was quick and she burned piled high with other bodies of lost loved ones. It made Andrew feel so inadequate, for such a kind and sad woman to not even get an individual cremation for her son, but it just wasn't possible! He just couldn't afford it!
His job with the milkman was the first to go as the young eight year old lost everything. Next was the house which he just barely was able to escape with all his mother's medication from. He hadn't even been able to grab a picture of his whole family before the land lord had grabbed the boy like a doll and flung him out the door. Then came the leg... at first he'd thought he'd pulled something, sleeping in the alley next to the bakery and running all the next day for weeks on end made the assumption reasonable, but soon it was apparent to every one at his job that it was more than that. Andrew couldn't deliver anymore and was slowly getting weaker and weaker just like his mother and older brother had before-... Right before being fired his boss payed a doctor to check up on Andrew's weakened figure and the disease suddenly had a name. Polio. That one word sent the world crashing down on him, Andrew could remember his father and mother arguing to the brink of tears over that word. He could remember watching his sisters leave through those doors with their bulky father because of that word. He would never forget how his mother slowly descended to her death just like Charlie had three months before. He didn't know what to do, so instead Andrew asked the doctor to look into his stash of his ma's medication to see if it could save him. There was no way a child could pay thirty dollars every five months to restock on life support while sleeping in a box that had originally housed kittens. It was had been by no means a stroke of luck when Andrew heard that he could survive. It was so slight, and he'd been warned that he'd probably lose a limb in the process, but the boy wasn't ready to die yet and thus agreed on every term that the doctor had set.
The next seven months were hell on earth. His fever pitched higher than his mother's had, and he was moved from hospital to hospital to where ever empty space they could fit the dying nearly nine year old child. They'd used his mother's medication to the best of their ability, but on the final months procedure the corporation owning the hospitals funds crashed. Instead of being moved to a new hospital like the other official patients, Andrew was released back into the streets with a make shift crutch and a promise from his doctor that they'd figure this out before his leg was trapped in it's useless dead state for the rest of Andrew's life.
He was back on the streets, had no money, was ill beyond recognition, owned a crutch that could splinter any hour of any day, and Andrew had to carry a piece of dead weight behind him as he walked down Manhattans roads through the pain, yet he was patient and waited just as promised to be taken back and finish his treatment. After two months and the winter swiftly approaching Andrew knew better than to assume anymore, and began the long treacherous journey of finding a place to live that could keep his fragile body out of winter's ridged fingers.
It was that winter his leg finally gave in for good, there was no chance to even attempt to stand anymore, when he truly believed he was going to die in some random alley with out anyone knowing he had even existed. Andrew hadn't eaten in days, he wasn't even sure how many for sure any more, and he could feel the blood freezing cold hold on to his small body with a vengeance. The only thing the nine year old boy knew was that it was sometime in December, and that his leg had stiffened almost too badly for him to even limp against a wall.
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"Fire at grand central station!Hundreds dead!" Jack loved this part of the day, the gentle snow blowing in the cold crisp wind, the streets bustling with busy adults. It was the best to watch the reactions he'd get from some of the things the eleven year old could concoct with the headlines he was given.
"I'll take one my boy."
Score! He smiled presently at his new Penney, "Here ya' go sir."
He practically skipped his way back home.
There was a weak scream down the alley Jack was walking past... grunts were followed by snickers. He stopped walking and watched at two bulky boys that looked about thirteen walked out from the darkness with devilishly amused grins plastered on their faces. Jack bit his lip as they past and watched the two until they turned the corner. He seemed to have been unconsciously dazed because he started when a weak navel cough echoed behind him.
A small boy, malnourished, leg oddly angled, and a clearly broken nose appeared slowly into the light leaning heavily against the brick alley wall. He had a shiner forming with a few cuts seeping down his cheeks in blood. Jack shivered just thinking about how little the kid had on in the snowy city. They made eye contact. The pain was covered by hot determination in his bright green eyes. Before he could get out a word the boy nodded politely with an impossibly warm smile and continued down the street like it was any other day. Once again Jack was shocked beyond belief. How was he still standing?! It was like a corps had been reanimated, but those eyes... they couldn't be more alive.
He shook him self, "Hey! Kid!"
The short blond kept... walking.
"Hey!" He ran over and placed a hand on kid's shoulder. Jack tried to turn the boy around but squeaked in surprise when the kid gasped and fell to the ground, "I- Sorry! I didn't mean to-"
"It's fine." It sounded like that voice hadn't been used in years.
Jack scratched his head in embarrassment as the kid tried to stand again, "Hey hey, here let me help."
He grabbed the boy's shoulders and lifted him so easily Jack could feel his face contort with concern.
"Thankyou..."
"No problem... hey? you have a place indoors?"
He boy was silent. And it was clear as day to Jack.
No.
Making the decision after one last glance at the beat up kid Jack picked up the boy and started to walk home.
Blond hair shaking feverishly and shock emitting from his eyes the kid tried to shake hisself free from Jack's grip, "H- hey! Whad are you doin?!"
"Taking you home, and quit squirmin, we both knows you're to weak to even crawl away from me." He could see panic flare in those wide green, but the kicking and flailing slowly past.
It was a long quiet walk with two thoughtful boys thinking the same thing, who is this kid?!