Chapter Text
All things considered, he was a hell of a lot better than Jack had expected. Crutchie was the same kid- bruised, maybe, but still smiling- and Jack, the fearless strike leader, found himself unendingly shocked. He, just like all the other boys, expected Crutchie to break in the Refuge- yet, here he stood, whole.
Jack knew what he had been like when he first escaped the Refuge; his skin marred forever and mind worse, seeing ghosts at every corner. He became skittish, refusing to let anyone touch him. He slept very few hours, if any, and took years to recover with the careful love of his friends.
They had seen Race, too, when he first came out. That had been only a handful of years after Jack and infinitely worse. Race’s cigars became more prevalent, going from a habit to addiction, and landing him a bed by a window to open when it was too cold to really go out. He took more risks and placed more bets. No one knew what to do as he refused help- not denying that he needed it, but panicking at the effort. He had been broken but mended himself slowly, with the help of one Spot Conlon.
Knowing what the Refuge had done to Jack, Race, and the countless other boys it had swallowed, the Newsies had expected to meet a shell of Crutchie when he finally emerged (if he emerged at all). Not because they considered him weak, they would argue adamantly, but because they knew Snyder. They knew, some of them in the worst and most personal way, what he did to kids- worse, those who could not fight back. Hell, they saw Crutchie downed with his own mobility aid! They could only assume the worst!
They were right, in all ways except the most important.
///
The day Crutchie returned, they celebrated. They had won- all the hard work of the newsies had resulted in a grand success, and fun as it was, they were exhilarated the return to a somewhat normal life. They drank, cheered, and played games- some cried, and some laughed. The lodging-house burst with noise and joy.
But the next day, they worried.
When they awoke, hungover either literally or metaphorically, Crutchie’s leg was cramping something awful, even if he was pretending it wasn’t, and he was secretly dreading the possibility of encountering the Delancy brothers. The newsies, primarily Jack, hovered and encouraged him to stay home.
“You outta your mind? I got my ass beat to hell; I’m not gonna miss the rewards of what we sewed.”
“Come on, Crutch,” Jack insisted, sounding worried. “It’s just one day to recover, and you’ll be right as rain tomorrow. Whad’ya say?”
“I’se saying no,” he huffed, “you just ain’t listening.”
“Lemme sell with you, at least?”
“Fine, but we’s gonna sell at my spot. I miss it.”
Jack grumbled, and Crutchie shot him a fierce glare.
“Okay, okay, fine.”
///
Davey was by their side almost as soon as they entered the distribution center. Les rushed over even faster than his older brother and launched himself into Crutchie, almost taking the both of them to the ground.
“Woah, woah! Les, calm down!”
Though Davey looked panicked, Crutchie was laughing and readjusting his aid so that he could lift Les a few inches off the ground and plant a messy kiss on his cheek. Crutchie dropped Les with significantly little grace, but Les seemed unbothered.
“What? I missed him!”
“I missed you too, big guy,” Crutchie said as Jack reached down and ruffled Les’ hair. A brief moment of silence followed, and Davey seemed to take it as an invitation.
“It’s good to see ya back, Crutchie.”
“It’s good ta be back,” Crutchie said through a smile, though Davey noticed the corner of his lip twitch subtly.
“Seems like everythin’s back to normal, huh?” Jack placed his hands proudly on his hips as the headline was scratched out in chalk over them. “Almost seems too good to be true.”
Davey watched a look pass Crutchie’s face- one that he couldn’t quite place, but he could tell it was not happy.
“Yeah,” Crutchie mumbled. “Seems like.”
///
The day was long, and, by its end, Crutchie found himself at his wit’s end. His leg was aching from standing all day long, his voice hoarse from overuse. His skin was still sickly with red bruises and scabs, which turned out to make his papers sell faster, pulling a mixed emotion from his gut. He hated the look in the passerby’s eye as they caught sight of his crutch and a twisted frown coated their face as they held out a nickel.
At some point during the day, Jack had taken off to about a block down from Crutchie, much to his displeasure. Crutchie had refused his help, yelling that he just wanted to work, and Jack had blurted a half-assed apology, one born more of anger and frustration than actual guilt. Crutchie grimaced as he thought about all the over-the-shoulder looks Jack had given as he walked away, tail between his legs.
Still, Crutchie tried to shake off his stress and enjoy his day. He smiled as his regulars returned, each of them excited to see him and asking about the strike. He accepted their congratulations, hiding that he had been locked up for the majority of it, and dodged their questions about his bruises. They tipped him grandly, and he could take it as a kindness instead of an act of pity.
When he found his papers were gone and his pocket was full of change, he lowered himself to the curb, extending his twisted leg and massaging it gently to ease his pain before he started walking home. He had missed the view from his spot, anyway- not only that, but the fresh air hitting his cheeks and the sweet scent drifting in from a nearby flower cart were welcome sensations. He missed listening to the chatter of strangers, rather than the quiet shivering of frightened kids, begging for mercy- he missed things feeling good, even if they weren’t all too grand.
As he mused, he spotted two men in suits coming his way on the street, and there was no way he could miss the harsh scoff of the taller man.
“You’d think someone would’ve done something with these beggars by now,” he huffed, his voice low and dripping in disgust. “They should lock them away or something."
“Keep these streets clean,” muttered the other in agreement.
Crutchie didn’t look their way and tried to ignore the lob of spit that landed near his seat on the concrete. His hands tensed around his twisted ankle, tears springing in his eyes. ‘Pick your battles,’ he reminded himself desperately as he willed the tears away.
///
It took Jack a while longer to sell his papers than it had taken Crutchie, so, by the time he was done, Crutchie had been sitting on the curb, face turned up towards the now setting sun, for an hour or so. His eyes were closed, and he seemed completely unaware of Jack as he made his unsubtle approach. Jack felt a pain in his stomach- a nervousness.
He was worried. More- way more- than Crutchie wanted him to be, he knew, but he couldn’t help it! Jack knew what had happened when he was in the Refuge, and exactly how broken he had been when he came out. The idea that Crutchie, someone he cared about (loved) so, so much, had to go through any of that- it was a walking nightmare. He had seen some of the damage marring Crutchie’s skin- his patchwork of bruises and the worsening of his limp, his leaning more heavily on his crutch- and could only imagine how much pain was hiding under the surface. But he couldn’t ask- no, Crutchie was not accepting any help, and Jack, for the life of him, could not understand why.
When Race got out, he didn’t lean much on Jack’s help, but it was understood why. The Manhattan newsboys simply were the people Race needed to lean on; Spot Conlon, all 64 inches of him, was enough to lift Race from the rut. Race and Spot had an understanding, and deeply important one, that allowed Race to be saved.
But Jack was supposed to be that for Crutchie in all the ways Crutchie had been the support for him. Jack knew Crutchie better than anyone; hell, they spent so many freezing nights only on the rooftop together; he thought Crutchie would open up the second they were reunited. That was what Jack had done when he escaped the Refuge- Crutchie had saved him, if not physically, then mentally.
He couldn’t understand why Crutchie wouldn’t let him do the same.
But, then again, sitting on the curb with the sunlight catching his lashes- Crutchie looked happy-- unbothered, even. Jack couldn’t understand that.
How could anyone walk out of the Refuge and be fine?
Swallowed in his own thoughts, Jack failed to realize that Crutchie had opened his eyes and was now staring at Jack until it was too late. He felt his face flush, and Crutchie stood.
“Didn’t your mother teach ya it’s rude to stare?” Crutchie asked, half playfully, and Jack’s heart ached deep in his chest.
“Sorry. Ise just thinkin’.”
“What about?”
“Eh, nothin’ important. Let’s head back to the lodge.”
Crutchie gave him a skeptical look but shrugged lightly. And so, they were on their way.
///
As Jack and Crutchie made their way back to the lodging house, they were stopped by an excited Les and a tired-looking Davey. The duo had sold all of their papers, and they were now heading to Jacobi’s with some of the other boys.
“Of course, your welcome to join us,” Davey said with a crooked grin, looking down at Les and back to Jack with a desperate look to his eyes. Jack laughed, picking up Les and swinging him around until he could tuck the boy under one arm, handling him roughly.
“Sure thing, Davey,” Crutchie giggled as he watched Jack.
Jack continued to roughhouse with Les during the walk, hoping to burn off some of the kid’s steam. When they arrived at Jacobi’s, Les was still pretty wired, but he seemed much more content to settle for dinner than he may have been otherwise. Crutchie watched quietly as Davey and Jack placed their orders, and went with them to a quiet table where they were shortly joined by some other boys.
“Ain’tcha eating, Crutch?” Davey’s head tilted slightly to the side as he asked the question, and he caught Jack wince at the question.
“Nah, the stuff they’s gots here is a little too much for me right now,” Crutchie shrugged. “I ain’t eaten much since I’se locked up. Gotta be careful about reintroducin’ food to the system; I’se just gonna some leftover bread at the lodge later.”
“Oh,” Davey said, frowning. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know-”
“You’se all good, Dave. Don’t worry ’bout it.”
Davey didn’t look convinced but nodded anyway as Jack’s eyebrows furrowed in Crutchie’s direction.
“We can split my sandwich if ya want? You should still eat somethin’.”
Jack tore his ham and cheese sandwich in half, placing half of it in front of Crutchie, who looked down at it with a twisted frown.
“I said I’se gonna eat at the lodge, Jack.”
“Come on, Crutch. For me?”
For a moment, Crutchie opened his mouth like he was going to fight back. Davey watched, concerned, as his fire snuffed out suddenly.
“Fine,” Crutchie huffed, his mind reminding him to pick his battles, though he wound up spending more time dissecting the cheese than he did eating the sandwich. After some twenty minutes, he pushed himself out of his seat tiredly.
“I’se gonna go back to the lodge,” he mumbled, wrapping the sandwich in wax paper before anyone said anything.
“I’ll walk with ya,” Jack said, moving to stand as well.
“Nah, you stay here and hang out with the boys.”
“No, it’s okay, I’ll-”
“Jack. I’ll see you later, okay?”
Crutchie sounded exhausted, and Jack wilted back into his seat, watching sadly as Crutchie left. Davey stilled, then sighed.
“Hey, Les, why don’tcha go check in with Smalls, hm?”
Les hesitated, glancing at Jack and then back to Davey, who nodded gently and left.
“What’s that all about?”
“He’s mad at me,” Jack grumbled, staring down at his sandwich. “Says I keep pushin’.”
“Well, do you?”
“It’s not like-”
“Heya, boys.”
Startled, Jack looked up from his sandwich to see Katherine standing with her hands on her hips, smiling down at them. As she took in the looks on Jack and Davey’s faces, her smile fell, and her hands fell to her sides.
“Am I interrupting something?” She asked, looking embarrassed.
Davey looked to Jack, who shook off his dismay.
“Nah, take a seat,” Jack said, patting the chair next to him.
Katherine did quickly and then spoke, trying to clear the tense air.
“So, how’s the first day back been?”
“It’s good,” Davey told her. “Everyone’s been eating up that headline.”
“Well, it’s by yours truly!” Katherine accented the comment by playfully flipping her hair, earning a laugh from Davey, but Jack remained silent. Katherine looked to him, her smirk disappearing.
“What’s wrong? You’re awfully quiet.”
Jack shrugged his shoulders, insisting he was just tired, but Katherine was having none of it.
“And now you’re lying! Come on, Jack. You just won the biggest war of your life, and I was by your side the whole time. I still am, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah, I do.”
“Good, now tell me what’s wrong.”
Jack sighed, letting his shoulders slump.
“I’m just… worried about Crutchie, is all.”
“Is he not doing well?”
“No, no, he is. That’s the problem.”
Katherine and Davey shared a confused look across the table.
“I’m… not sure I follow,” Davey admitted.
“It just- it ain’t normal for kids to come outta the Refuge like that. Hell, Race didn’t talk for like a week when we’s first got him back. I cried like a baby all the first day I’se back.”
“Well, maybe it wasn’t that bad?” Katherine offered.
Jack scoffed, “You seen him? The kids beat to hell, he’s just pretending he ain’t. I don’t know why he won’t talk to me about it. We’s supposed to be a family.”
“You are a family. Just… give him time,” Katherine insisted, patting Jack’s shoulder. “He’ll talk about it when he’s ready. You can’t force him.”
“I know, I just… I wanna help him.”
Katherine nodded sadly, and Davey reached out to take Jack’s hand.
“We will. I promise.”
///
After saying goodbye to Katherine for the night, the newsboys made their way back to the lodging house. It wasn’t all too late out, so Davey conceded to playing a round of cards with the boys before he and Les headed back home for the night. A large majority of the boys had headed to bed, so the card circle was relatively small; just Davey, Jack, Race, and Specs. Les sat by, not quite adept at playing cards but perfectly content to watch and join the conversation, but he was growing increasingly fidgety.
“Hey,” he blurted, startling the boys. “What’s so bad ’bout the Refuge, anyways? I know Snyder’s a jerk an’ everything, but you-”
“Les!” Davey hushed his brother quickly, clamping a hand over his mouth as a look of shock flashed onto the faces of both Race and Jack.
In a snap, their demeanors had shifted. Jack’s eyes looked haunted and flickered around the room quickly, landing on Race and carefully watching his reaction, clearly thinking the question over and trying to figure out what to say. Race, however, looked terrified. His shoulders tensed, and he was staring into a middle distance with his eyes blown wide. Neither of them had been anticipating the question and were now drowning in a flood of unwanted memories. Race seemed to be taking it worse- his hands clamping down on the cards in his grip, his skin paling. He threw them to the table abruptly, pushing back his chair in the same instant.
“I’m gonna go for a smoke,” he said quickly, reaching to his front pocket and bringing his cigar to his lips shakily. “I’ll be back in a few.”
“Race,” Jack tried, but the boy was already crossing the room. Jack frowned, standing less suddenly but still intently. “I’m gonna go check on ’im.”
It was silent as they watched Jack leave, and Davey looked on with a distant, sad understanding. Specs crossed his arms, looking tired. Les looked more confused than anything.
“They didn’t answer the question,” he mumbled, kicking at the floor absently, his hands fidgety and tight at his sides.
“Snyder’s a bad guy. He hurts kids,” Spec said, setting down his cards. “He’s gone now, but that don’t mean he didn’t hurt ’em still.”
“But I don’t understand-”
“You don’t gotta understand,” Davey explained.
“We’s just gotta be kind and understandin’. It’s a bad place. That’s all you need to know, okay?”
Les pouted, looking unsatisfied, but nodded anyway.
“Good. Now, we should be getting home. Let’s go, Les.”
///
“You’se gonna be alright?”
Race was sitting in the alley to the right of the lodging house, leaning up against the damp brick and struggling to get a spark off his lighter in the cold air, when Jack came out. Race was staring at his hands, which quivered (not from the chill), and he laughed.
“Hell no,” Race said. “But ya knew that. You?”
“Nah.”
Jack grunted as he lowered himself to the ground, his body exhausted from the long day. He closed his eyes, and he leaned back, listing as Race took a long drag off his cigar. The smell of smoke used to bother Jack (used to remind him of his father), but it didn’t anymore. Now, the haze in their air and the soft, barely present, heat brought him a second-hand comfort as he felt Race’s shaking slow.
“Though you’se gonna quit smokin’, Race? That’s what Spot’s been sayin’.”
“Eh,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Old habits die hard, I guess. Spot wants me too, and I’se tryin’. Sometimes… sometimes, I just need it.”
“Yeah, I gets ya.”
A silence fell over them for a moment while Jack thought back on nights he got so drunk Crutchie had to keep him from falling off the rooftop. He tried to drown his nightmare sometimes too, and he was ashamed of it.
“...I know the bastards in jail,” Race said suddenly, sounding frustrated. “My brain knows that. But he's been after us so long- it’s hard not to be ‘fraida him. I keep lookin’ over my shoulder, waitin’ for him to strike, ‘specially after seein’ what he did to Crutch.”
Jack nodded, watching Race’s grip on his cigar tighten; the burning end was growing closer to Race’s fingers in a way that had to hurt at least a little.
“I don’t get it,” Race continued, seemingly unbothered by the fire. “I don’t get a lick of it. I’se in there shorter than him, and he walked out lookin’ ten times worse than either ‘a us. Yet, he’s fine! When the hell’d he get so strong?”
Race’s voice cracked, and Jack stole the cigar from his fingers, putting it out on the stone beneath them. Race frowned, seeming more insecure than Jack had ever seen him.
“W-what’s he doin’ that we ain’t? How’s he not breakin’ apart?”
“I dunno, Race.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“He’s always been stronger than we give ’im credit for, but I can’t imagine he ain’t hurtin’. I know he is. I don’t get why he won’t talk ’bout it.”
“I dunno, either.”
They were quiet after that, looking at the sky and listening to the sounds of the night. Their heads rested on the brick of the lodging-house, and the moon lit their faces, the stench of smoke dying out as it dispersed into the clouds.
///