JackCrutchie Oneshots

Aging Anxieties

A/N: Hi. A lot of time has passed since I've been on here. I am very different from the person that started these little one-shots. I am older with a lot of new worldviews and experiences. So, I'm going to write about them here every once in a while, using these characters that once meant a lot to me. Again, I am a lot different now and so is my writing style. I hope it's still likable, but this is really all in good fun. If there's anything you'd like to see me write about, let me know :) I'm really only an ao3 user now, but I am looking forward to starting this again whenever I need a pick-me-up. Enjoy!

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It's late June of the year 1900 when Crutchie Morris realizes that this Summer in New York is much different than the ones he's experienced before. All Summer usually means to him and the other newsboys is sweltering heat to sell newspapers in, which they struggle through with sweat dripping off their brows and their bags hanging seemingly heavier off their shoulders.

For Crutchie it also means late nights staying up with newsboy leader Jack Kelly. They sleep on the rooftop of the Newsboy Lodge and eat fast-melting ice cream cones when they can afford to buy them. But, again, this Summer is different. It's different from the Summer of 1899, 1898, and all their years spent together before that.

This Summer is the last one before Jack Kelly turns eighteen years old. When the month is finished and turns into July, it'll happen. Which means that, by government standards, Jack will be an official adult. By law, he'll no longer be allowed to work and stay at the lodge. With Crutchie.

With every newspaper sold, time moves faster. Crutchie grows more and more desperate for ways to ensure this day will never come. He wakes up before the bell rings in the morning and he only falls asleep at night when he's too tired to remember doing so. He clings onto these dwindling days with anguish. The final seconds before every midnight can be found inside his bloodied cheek, made that way by his clamped teeth.

What makes things worse is that no one else seems to be bothered by Jack's upcoming age. Whenever his birthday is mentioned, it's followed by cheers and Racetrack reminding everyone that he's been put in charge of the birthday party. He calls it a surprise party, even though Jack knows about it. That doesn't cease the excitement of the boys, though. It makes it much more funny and much more exciting. Even Davey Jacobs is looking forward to it. He walks into work every day and asks Jack what he'd like for his birthday before buying his papers for the day. Every day for weeks, without fail, he asks

"Racer's already throwin' a party, I don't need you buyin' me stuff." Jack always answers. "If you're gonna spend your money, get some new blankets for the younger kids."

And Davey always responds that he'll do exactly that. When he believes Jack is out of ear-shot, he'll whisper to Crutchie that he'll hide some expensive paints and brushes within the fabric. Crutchie is completely sure Jack hears him, but he doesn't ask him. Instead, uncharacteristically ornery, Crutchie forces himself to grin.

"He'll like that." He says.

This grin works on Davey for much too long. It isn't naivety, it's only that Crutchie has never been known to give out false grins. After a particularly taxing afternoon selling, however, Davey catches it. He, Crutchie, Jack, and Racetrack are on the rooftop of the lodge. Jack offers up his space from time to time to enjoy each other's company without the crowd downstairs. Crutchie and Racetrack sit on a blanket on the floor, while Jack and Davey stand above them.

After a few hours of this, Davey says that he's stayed much too late and needs to get home. As his foot touches the first rung of the ladder, he gives Crutchie one last look. When he does, he sees how Crutchie's lips are stretched impossibly, uncomfortably thin. He notices that the way Crutchie waves goodbye to him is stiff, like he's forcing his arm not to shake. Davey's stomach falls at the discovery that Crutchie is doing a very poor job at keeping the depressing croak out of his voice. It spills out like a badly sewn button popping off of a new shirt when he says "Buh-bye!"