Newsies One Shots

Farewell

Jack slammed his hand on the railing, hot tears running down his face. He tilted his head towards the sky, screaming in rage. "Why?! Why me?!"

He kicked the bricks behind him, ignoring the flare of pain in his foot.

He couldn't go to Katherine, not after he walked in on her snogging some rich tycoon before taking Crutchie to the doctor's.

Crutchie.

Jack let out a strangled sob as he thought of the crippled boy.

They said they could fix his leg.

Said they had done this before.

Said it was no risk, an easy operation.

But Jack would never forget the look on his brother's face as he slowly bled to death.

Or the look on his face when he died.

Jack stepped away from the railing, away from the memories of him and Crutchie watching the sunrise.

He dug in his ratty mattress, searching for the small leather bag that contained his money.

Pulling it out, he dumped it on the ground and quickly counted it.

Perfect.

Jack grabbed his knapsack and ran down the stairs.

Race sat on the couch next to Davey. Les sat on the floor. Davey stood quickly. "Where's Crutchie? How's he doing?"

Jack glared at him, the bloodshot eyes giving Davey his answer. Davey's mouth fell open. Race lowered his head and murmured in Italian.

Les ran to Jack and tugged at his shirt. "Where's Crutchie?"
"He's gone."
"Gone where? When's he comin' back?"

Jack shoved Les away from him, and the nine year old landed on his butt and the ground. "He ain't comin back! He-" Jack's voice caught. "He's dead."

He ran out the door, not stopping until he reached the train station.

***

The train reached Santa Fe the next morning. As Jack entered the hotel, the manager slid a clipboard across the counter to him. "Sign your name there, son."

Jack picked up the pen, thought for a moment, then wrote his name.

Francis Sullivan.