Newsies Imagines

Imagine Comforting Crutchie

All is quiet up in Jack's penthouse. The stars above you shine brightly, and all of New York is asleep. Jack is spending the night at Medda's, not wanting to leave the backdrop he's working on for even a second, so you and Crutchie have the roof all to yourselves tonight.

Suddenly, the silence is broken. What seems to be a sob cuts through the night. Startled, you sit up and look for the source of the sound. Another sob. Your (e/c) eyes land on Crutchie, who is shaking with the effort of trying to keep his cries smothered.

Concerned, you move over to him. You touch his arm lightly and ask, "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothin'," he sniffles. "Sorry for wakin' ya." He sits up.

"Crutchie," you say as you wrap your arms around him. "You can tell me."

He sighs, and you release your hug, keeping a hand on his arm.

"It's... it's just... my motha' died on this day. I was so little, I hardly rememba anything, just the date," Crutchie said and began sobbing again.

You wrap your arms around him once more, drawing his head onto your shoulder. You run your hand through his hair. After a few minutes, he takes a shaky breath and continues. "It was right before I got sick and... and my fatha' left."

"I'm so sorry," you whisper. For a long while, you just sit, holding each other. Your heart aches for him, even though you've had your fair share of trouble.

Somewhere, a clock chimes twelve. A new day. Crutchie's sobs die down, and soon he's quiet.

Still embracing him, you whisper, "Do you know what today is?" You don't wait for an answer. "A year ago today, I saw a certain newsie with a crutch help a little boy up from the pavement after he tripped. And on this day, I bought a newspaper for the first time from that same newsie. But that newsie didn't just take my coin that day. He also took my heart."

"I love you, (y/n)," Crutchie whispers into your shoulder.

"I love you, too, Crutchie."