Chapter Text
Jack climbed up the rickety fire escape up onto the roof of the lodging house. The all-too-familiar cold breeze nipped his face immediately as he climbed over the short wall and jumped onto the hard concrete. He stumbled over to the corner, where his brother’s- no, best friend’s- blankets were tangled and messy from the morning before. Jack sorted them out for him quickly before unbuttoning his vest, throwing it across the small area to nowhere in particular.
Jack flopped down onto the thin mattress he had dragged up from a bunk in the loging house and reached over to grab his… well, wreck of a sketchbook and a worn-down pencil.
As he began to draw, he overheard below him the jeering shouts of the rest of the newsboys, seemingly going up against Racetrack for cheating. He could only make out Kid Blink’s furious screaming. “Ya still owe me five bucks, ya dirty, rotten…” he chuckled to himself and shook his head. They did this almost every night, he was used to it by now.
Finally, he heard the familiar sounds of his brothe- friend making his way up as well. The clank of the metal fire escape under Crutchie’s foot, then the short scrape of his crutch right after. Soon enough, after a few more clanks and scrapes, Crutchie climbed- albeit slightly unsteadily- over the wall and onto the roof.
“Heya, Crutch,” Jack mumbled half-heartedly, too focused on the drawing in front of him.
“Hi, Jack.” Crutchie sat down carefully on his own mattress pressed up against Jack’s. Jack instinctively tilted his sketchbook slightly to the left so that it wasn’t in plain sight. He instantly regretted it when Crutchie shot him a suspicious glance and leaned closer.
“I know that look. Whatcha drawin’?” Crutchie spoke as if he already knew. “No, wait- let me guess. Santa Fe?”
Jack tore his focus from his sketchbook, looking up at Crutchie, then back to the paper, before finally settling his slightly alarmed gaze on the boy next to him. “What made ya think that?”
Crutchie shrugged and hummed in triumph, obviously convinced he’d been right. “Ya get this kinda far-off look in ya eyes, seem a bit more reserved than usual, y’know?” Crutchie nodded, smiling and leaning closer to get a better look at the page. “Thinkin’ about ya dreams, ah, Cowboy?”
“You could say that,” Jack responded after a moment, turning so that his back was against the wall, facing his friend, his sketchbook turned completely around so that the younger boy couldn’t see the drawing.
Crutchie seemed a little hurt by the sudden hostile movement, but he shrugged and waved Jack off, leaning back and turning around. “I guess I’ll leave ya to it,” he said bleakly, reaching for his crutch. “Racer challenged me to a game a’ poker earlier an’ I don’t plan on losing.” He stood up slowly, balancing on his crutch precariously, and Jack relaxed slightly, making the mistake of letting his sketchbook fall down across his knees.
Crutchie’s eyes widened, and Jack pushed his knees back up to his collarbone, successfully hiding the drawing once again. but Crutchie had already gotten a good enough look to know that it definitely wasn’t Santa Fe.
“That’s- that’s a person !” Crutchie managed.
“No way, really? Ya think I didn’t know that?” Jack hissed back.
“Who is that? Do I know ‘em?” Crutchie was back on his matress as quickly as he had stood up, trying desperately to unhook Jack’s tightly curled fingers from where they were wrapped around his sketchbook possessively.
Jack scowled and pulled his hand away. “I draw people all the time. What’s so special about this one?”
“Why’re you bein’ so secretive about it, then?” Crutchie retorted, smiling. “An’ i’ve never seen ya look at a drawin’ like that unless it’s Santa Fe.”
“What’s that supposed ta me-“ Jack began, but he was cut off by an exited gasp from his friend.
“Ya met a girl, didn’t you!” Crutchie squealed, but then stopped in his tracks and nodded slowly, starting to count on his fingers and mrmur under his breath. “Well- I mean- another girl , I guess,” he said finally, his exitement slightly dampened. “but still!”
Jack once again glanced between his drawing and the younger boy a few times before shrugging and getting back to work. How am I supposed to answer this? “Sure. I mean, I did.” That much wasn’t completely false, at least.
Crutchie squealed again, somehow even higher pitched this time. “What’s her name?”
Jack’s pencil stilled on the paper and he thought for a moment. the reporter he’d met at Medda’s had never told him her name. He sighed and shook his head, continuing on his drawing. “Don’ got a name to the face yet,” he mumbled. “We’s just layin’ out the ground work right now.”
“C’mon, jus’ let me see the drawin’!” Crutchie whined.
“You can see it when I’s done,” Jack lied back. He knew Crutchie would forget about it within the hour.
“Ugh, fine. You better keep that promise.”
“I didn’t promise anythin’, Crutch.”
“Jack, be seriou-“ Crutchie was cut off by a shout from below them, inside the lodging house.
“Charlie motherfuckin’ Morris!” Race screamed, more than a little frustrated. “Get your dishonest, ungrateful ass down here! Unless you’s too scared ta lose?”
“Shut up, Racer!” Crutchie shouted back. “I’ll be down there soon enough! Be patient for God’s sake!” He turned back to Jack and stuck a finger into his chest. “Promise I can see it later?”
Jack crossed his fingers behind his back. “Promise,” he mumbled, not looking up.
Crutchie nodded in satisfaction and once again started making his way across the roof to the fire escape.
“CRUTCHIE!” Race screeched.
“Coming!” Crutchie groaned back, the sounds of his walking across the metal speeding up and then fading away.
It took a lot of work, plus Jack’s chronic perfectionism getting the better of him again and again, but he eventually finished the drawing.
He admired his handiwork for a moment before signing it on the bottom right.
He thought for a moment, feeling like it was missing something, and then moved his pencil to the left of the drawing and wrote.
David Jacobs ♡.