Carrying the Banner || Newsies One-shots

My Dearest Jack...

Charles 'Crutchie' Morris was a quiet boy. When he started selling papers with the Manhattan Newsies, he could hear them whispering about him constantly. He wore his brown hat backwards, his sandy hair a mess underneath it. He limped around on a worn crutch, his right foot always twisted in at an odd angle.

And yet somehow, despite the terrible conditions, and the long days, the cold nights, the rude people, there was always a smile on his face. Sometimes it was in his eyes, when his face was unreadable, but it was mostly an outward smile, seeming to create a soft glow around him.

It was his smile that first caught Jack's attention. Second day, and the kid emerged from the lodging house with a soft grin on his lips, cheeks smudged with dirt and eyes sparkling. The rest of the boys were joshing each other, shoving and laughing. Not Crutchie. He was standing off to the side with that mesmerizing smile, and that was when Jack knew. He wasn't sure exactly what, but he just had a feeling, that Crutchie would need him. That alone somehow gave him courage enough to walk over to the boy.

"So, new kid, huh?"  Jack drawled, his accent practically dripping off of his every word. "And whadda they call ya?"

Crutchie stared at Jack, forming a response. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but had an underlying eagerness to it. "Charles.  My name's Charles."

"Really? And, uh, whats the deal wit' the crutch?" Kelly asked with a lopsided smirk, half gesturing towards it. "Ya got a busted leg or somethin'?" As he said it, he realized it was a stupid icebreaker; Crutchie's foot was at an odd angle, of course his leg was busted.

"Nah, I just lug it around fo' fun," Charles replied with a slight roll of his eyes.

So, Jack thought, he does have a sense of humour. Good. His smirk turned more genuine, until he was smiling as well. "Well, if that's the case, maybe ya need someone to help ya carry it, huh?"

"And what, ya wanna be dat person?" Crutchie shot back with a smirk of his own. "Well, that's pretty forward of ya, Mistah...."

"Jack Kelly at yo' service," Jack said dramatically, with an exaggerated bow and a tip of his newsboy hat.

"Well, Mistah Kelly, that's very forward of ya," the boy with the crutch teased, smirk growing when he saw the faint tinge of red on Jack's dirty cheeks. "But why would you wanna do that?"

"Well, I dunno, maybe I like ya," Jack mumbled, shrugging.

Of course, that was when Race decided to have impeccable timing. "Dis 'ere is da famous Jack Kelly, who once escaped prison on the back of Teddy Roosevelt's carriage. You're bein' offahed the chance o' a lifetime!"

Crutchie turned pink and looked back up at Jack. "I was just kiddin'. Of course you could- I mean...uh..."

Jack chuckled, slinging an arm around the other boy's shoulders and grinned boyishly. "Hey, hey, Crutchie, relax, aight? I'm just messin' wit' ya. But now...you're stuck wit' me, kid."

"Who says that's such a bad thing?" Crutchie hummed, grinning back. "I certainly don't."