Newsies oneshots! Headcanons! Imagines! Modern and Original | Broadway or 1992

Crutchie x Reader | A Gift Straight From The Refuge

I'm actually kinda proud of this one

I sit on my bunk next to my pal, Three. It's a funny story, he got his name because he was born on Leap Day, so he's technically only 3 years old, and that's how he got his nickname.

"So Three, any news for tahday?" I ask. Being basically the leader for the kids in The Refuge, I need to know everything that's going on. 

"Not really, but I hoid dat since dem Newsies is goin' on strike dat the bulls is gonna try tah arrest some ah dem kids," Three says. I nod and walk over to the window and look out into the alleyway when suddenly the door opens.

I turn around to see a kid getting tossed into the room by a bull. The bull yells, "That's what ya get, Crip!" before slamming the door. A couple dozen kids surround the injured child, chatter breaking out between the kids on what to do.

I stride over and past the kids and look down at the kid. He appears to be a boy, around the age of 17 and his arm is cut open. He's also out of it, only stirring a bit in pain.

"Someone clear up a bed, I'll take care ah him," I say. Faster than lightning, people begin getting things ready.

The boy is set down on a bed, and I begin examining his body for any more injuries and find a few cuts, but the worst injury is on his bicep. He begins to stir awake slightly, looking up at me with wide eyes and a worried face.

"Who- Who ah you?" The boy asks. I look in his eyes and feel a small spark ignite in my heart, but I push those feelings down.

"They call me Skipper, so you can call me dat," I say with a bored smile. "Three, get me some warm watah!" I yell to my second hand man before turning back to the injured boy. "Now, could ya tell me ya name?"

"Uh, Crutchie," the boy named 'Crutchie' says. Three brings me a small pale filled with lukewarm water. I drip the brim of my shirt in the water and begin patting it on the cut on Crutchie's arm.

"Crutchie, eh? Where's ya crutch?" I ask, ignoring his winces from the boy.

"It's- ah- it got taken by Snyda," Crutchie says. I feel my body flinch up, before I instantly go back to helping him. "Do ya know 'im?"

"Tch, every kid in New York knows da bastard," I say with a laugh, even though nothing I said is funny. There's a minute of silence, well, apart from Crutchie wincing from his pain. "So what'd ya do tah piss him off?"

"You prolly hoid of the newsie strike, so I'se tellin' ya, we was tearin' up papes left 'n right, when da bulls show up. Snyda was wit' 'em, and well, let's just say that not even our leada, Jack, could save me," Crutchie says with a sad laugh. In a moment of pure shock, I let myself smile.

"Jack? As in Jack Kelly?" I ask the boy. He nods, slightly scared of my happiness. "Oh my gosh! Sos he's a newsboy, huh?"

"I wouldn't even say dat, he's the leada of the kids. Man, he was the only one who didn't care 'bout me leg or judged me at foist. How do ya know 'im though?" Crutchie asks.

"Well, he's basically me brudda. Back when he was in da Refuge, he took care ah me. Then we broke out togetha on Roosevelt's carriage, but I stole some food and clothes fah the kids in here, while he took care ah kids out dere. I haven't seen 'im in yeahs," I say, thinking back to the boy who once stole food for me. "He's my hero."

Before Crutchie can speak, the door to our room is flung open, meaning only one thing. Snyder is here.

As the evil man walks through the doorway with a hidden smile, I instinctively cover Crutchie to make sure he doesn't get hurt. Unfortunately, Snyder notices my movements and walks past all the scared boys and up to me.