Crutchie interlude

The refuge was a horrid place. It should've been so incredibly obvious to the public from the outside, but no one cared about children like them.

No one cares about children like Crutchie.

The boy was sitting in his bed, the one he shared with five other boys. Three on the bottom, two on the top. And where did they put the crippled boy? On the top bunk. And the other boys definitely weren't happy to have to help him up and down the bed...

'Dear Jack,'

Crutchie moves closer to the candle he was using for light so he could write his letter.

'How are you? I'm okay. Guess I wasn't much help yesterday. Snyder soaked me real good with my crutch. Oh yeah, Jack! This is Crutchie by the way.'

His leg was aching, and his back and his face and his body and just everywhere hurt so bad, he felt like he would pass out at any moment. He couldn't really get out of bed, as he'd been placed in a top bunk with no Jack, no big brother, to help him and no crutch. And the guards.

"These here guards, they is rude!" Crutchie winced as he thought of the day prior, when he'd first arrived, when the guards nearly dragged him because he couldn't walk. They had screamed at him over the fact he had disobeyed them.

"They say 'jump boy, jump or you're screwed!'," And tears slipped down his cheeks before he could wipe them away.

'But the food isn't badly so far,' Crutchie continued because he needed some form of assurance to Jack. He didn't want to worry him. Not when Jack already knew how horrible the refuge already was...  he wanted to let him know he was alive and, for the most part, okay.

Not great, but okay.

'Cause so far they ain't brought us no food.'

He thought for a second before scribbling down 'Haha.'

He put it down a little bigger than the rest of the words, so Jack knew could still laugh, though not out loud.

Crutchie wiped his eyes on his sleeve as he looked up, waiting for his eyes to adjust so he could take in the surroundings. When Jack had told him what it was like, he hadn't really believed it. When Jack showed him the drawings, he wrote it off as exaggeration. Now, sitting in the cold and dark, he finally understood.

It was worse.

The descriptions had been kind, the drawings a watered down version. This had been a small Jack's reality, and now it was Crutchie's. 'I miss the rooftop, sleeping right out in the open.' Hell, this made the streets of the Bronx seem like a fancy hotel.

'In your penthouse in the sky... there's a cool breeze blowin' even in July.'

He hasn't been in the refuge for over twenty four hours yet, and he already missed home more than anything. Because Jack's penthouse in the sky was the closest thing Crutchie could have to a home, and he loved it. It was more welcoming to him than any other place... if only...

Oh!

'Anyway! So guess what! There's this secret escape plan I've got!'

Even on paper Crutchie knew it sounded daring, but he wanted Jack to be proud!

'Tie a sheet to bed, toss the end out the window. Climb down and take off like a shot!'

He smiled brilliantly, until he realized two things. He was a cripple. He could walk without his crutch. He couldn't get out of Jack's penthouse without nearly fallin' to his death. He also hadn't slept or eaten in two days, and he was weak. He felt sore and tired and sick. And his leg hurt more now. Stupid bulls!

Crutchie still didn't want to worry Jack, but he also didn't want Jack to have any false hope that he'd be seeing Crutchie again any time soon. He knew Jack had to be worried sick about him. Probably blaming himself if he really had to guess.

'Maybe though not tonight. I haven't slept and leg still ain't right.'

Yeah... it had never been right. And it never would be...

Not even in Santa Fe. And now he may never get to to Santa Fe because of that stupid, greedy, good for nothing Pulitzer. And he swore up and down, if he got outta here, he would bring that bastard down.

'But hey, Pulitzer! He's goin' down!' And once Jack was done, maybe then they could go back to dreaming. Back to prayin and wishin on stars. Back to the clean, pretty green of Santa Fe. 'Then Jack, I was thinking we might just go, like you was sayin.' Even if his leg was a bust, he could work, he could ride. He could predict the weather with his bum leg, at least, according to the other boys.

'Where it's green and clean and pretty, with no buildings in your way, and you're riding palomino's every day once that train makes-'

His writing was interrupted when he was hit, sort of gently and sort of not, from behind by the boy laying down. He assumed the light from the candle woke him up.

"Ay, go to sleep would ya?!"

And he felt the kids below him kick the bottom of his bunk, heard the creaking and cracking of the wood and metal of the decades old furniture. He shuddered.

"...damn this place," he mumbled out.

He bit his lip and tried to stop writing. But he needed to let Jack know he was ok, needed to connect in someway to the world outside of is rats nest. He knew he would be ok, knew he would heal. He'd beaten Polio, his leg was proof of that.

'I'll be fine, good as new!'

But he also understood that after the beating the boys took the day before, they would need some reminding to stay together, to stay loyal. He couldn't let himself being arrested be in vain.

'But there's one thing I need ya to do.'

'On the rooftop you said family looks out for each other'

Jack had told Crutchie they were a family while he was fantasizing, explaining Santa Fe, and Crutchie was so grateful for that. Because these boys meant so much more to him than just kids he worked with. He knew what they were going through. And they banded together because no one else would care for them. They had to care for each other.

'So tell all the fellas from me, to protect one another!'

He didn't think there was anything else to add. He skimmed over the letter a final time before deciding it sounded good, and he had to finish it off.

'The end. Your friend'

He glared at the paper. No, not good enough. Scratch out.

'Your best friend'

Still not good enough for Jack. Scratch out.

'Your brother,

Perfect.

Crutchie'