#| crutch |

[leading-manhattan]

David is absolutely swamped with all the work he's piled on top of himself which leads to him blowing Jack off time and time again. David doesn't realize just how out of control it's all gotten until a few chance conversations with Katherine and Crutchie lead him to the horrifying conclusion that Jack might not be as okay as he's always assumed. Modern AU.

This is ridiculous. The dumbest fight David thinks he's ever had in a relationship. That was because he'd never been in a relationship with Jack Kelly before. Jack, who was apparently determined to start arguments over the most rudimentary things. David is busy and Jack's made it into this whole thing that it never had to be. David sighs, harsh and aggravated, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Even when he was trying to get his work done somehow Jack writhed his way to the front of David's mind.

"Trouble in paradise?" Katherine teases from the other end of the table they've commandeered at the library. Between classwork, his internship, and his job David doesn't have time for anything outside of work so he's grateful to have friends who consider studying together quality time. David heaves another sigh, glaring up at her through his bangs. She gazes back sympathetically, resting her elbows on the table and tucking her face into her hands. She waits patiently, knowing damn well that he was a talker and he was bound to spill if she just gave him enough opportunities to. Katherine was sweet but she was nothing if not nosey, a journalist through and through.

"Jack and I are fighting." David murmurs, turning his glare down to the textbook laid open before him. He's not really looking at the words but it feels rude to point his ire at Katherine. Katherine hums inquisitively and David groans, raking a hand through his hair, "It's just he won't leave me alone. I love him, so much, but I'm completely swamped right now with everything and he keeps trying to get me to go out or make plans and no matter how many times I tell him I can't he just won't take no for an answer and I just- It came to a head and things were said and now we aren't talking." David sags, hunching over the table and resting his forehead pitifully on the pages of his notebook. It sounds even more ridiculous out loud but it's driven David up the wall these past few weeks and now they've gone and made a mountain out of a molehill.

"Oh, pfft," David glances up to see Katherine waving a dismissive hand. "That's just Jack. He's dramatic sometimes."

David grunts, pulling himself back up, "That doesn't mean he gets to pester me when I'm trying to do something important. I have a lot to do, Kath. And now that he's finally leaving me alone he's still somehow managing to distract me." After weeks of nonstop texts and calls and showing up at David's door he finally has some peace and he can't even enjoy it because he's so frustrated with— and worried about— his relationship.

"Yeah, that's why we broke up." Katherine shrugs, a soft smile on her face that David can only read as pitying. "He's like a puppy, David. He needs a lot of attention."

David groans again and lets his head fall back to the table with a jarring thud.

At least the rest of the day passed with a modicum of productivity. He didn't get a lot of schoolwork done but he got pretty much all the housework around the apartment wrapped up before the night's end. Hopefully that would make getting his actual work done this weekend more manageable.

It's when he wakes up that morning and checks his phone to see no texts from Jack that he remembers the shit show he was currently in the middle of. He's half-tempted to text Jack himself but the last time he tried to address this whole thing it nearly ended in a screaming match. He was too worn down to have the conversation he needs to have so instead he just puts his phone back down and resigns himself to talk to Jack tomorrow after they both had a little more time to cool down and sort themselves out. There goes his plans for a productive weekend. He can't help the resentment that bubbles up in him. Jack's not even talking to him and somehow he's still throwing a wrench into David's plans. It's not Jack's fault that David can't stop thinking about their stupid fight, he knows that, but he can't help but be mad at him for it anyway. He's hoping that maybe he can get himself to calm down and regulate a bit before he gathers himself up to go talk to Jack later but as he goes through the morning he only grows increasingly irritated with the whole situation.

By the time noon comes around David is practically fuming. He's heading towards one of his favorite cafés near campus in hopes that maybe the soothing environment of the quaint little place with help soothe his anger. David likes to think that he's a fairly self-aware person and he knows that the burnout from his workload is contributing more to his fury than the actual argument itself. Being aware, unfortunately, does nothing to remedy anything.

When he spots the cafè just a little further down the street David picks up the pace, nearly knocking into someone as he rips open the door. Almost immediately after he enters a sense of peace blankets and he knows that he made the right choice. It's just a little coffeehouse, only about four tables to sit at crowded off to the side, with a bunch of little plants scattered around the counters. It's a homey place filled with the warm glow of the sun. David takes a deep breath and lets the tension bleed out of him as he exhales.

"Heya Dave," A familiar voice calls from behind the register. David glances over and offers a tired smile. "Long time no see." Crutchie's face is warm and welcoming but David can see some curiosity there that tells him that Jack got to him first. Damn it.

"Hey Crutchie. Sorry it's been a while, I've been so slammed." David runs a hand down his face as he steps up to the counter. He doesn't even need to look at the menu before Crutchie punches in his order and David is handing over his card. "You been okay?"

"Oh, yeah, fine! It's been a little busy here recently but I got it handled." Crutchie beams, grabbing one of his crutches as he goes about putting together David's usual. There's a long pause while Crutchie makes his coffee and he is painfully conscious of the the steady tension growing between them.

"You can ask." David sighs.

Crutchie's shoulders slump and he shoots David an unsure look, "You sure?" Which definitely makes it sound like it won't be a conversation in David's favor. He nods. Crutchie bites his lip and turns back to the coffee, "You and Jack haven't been spendin' a lotta time together lately, huh?" He presses tentatively.

David groans, his anger spiking, but he reels it back in quickly. He's not mad at Crutchie. He's not even as mad at Jack as he feels. "I don't have the time, Charlie."

Crutchie is silent for a few telling moments. "You have the time to come here." He says it softly. There's no bitterness in his tone but it still feels so accusatory.

"I'm here to get work done." David argues. He is. It's nice to see Crutchie but he's here to try and catch up on the studying he couldn't focus on yesterday. He thought the familiar environment and the welcome company would help keep him focused and accountable.

"You had time to study with Katherine yesterday." Crutchie says and, okay, how many people did Crutchie talk to before he finally got around to David? This was starting to feel like a very small intervention.

"I was working then, too, I have a lot I need to do, Crutch." David hates how pleading he sounds. His anger is flickering, struggling for air where it burns hot beneath his ribs. That's one of Crutchie's many superpowers. It's so hard to stay angry when Crutchie is there with a kind smile, a sunny disposition, and a kindness that rivaled any person David's ever known.

"So you can't work with Jack?" Crutchie pushes lightly, curiously, setting David's finished coffee to the side like the hostage it was.

"That's not what he wants. He keeps asking to go out, to get dinner, to do things. I just- I can't." He wants to. God, he wants to. He misses Jack, it's been so long since they've really seen each other outside of passing glances and they haven't had a full conversation outside of a screen in weeks if you don't count their recent fight.

Crutchie hums empathetically. David's always buried himself in his workload no matter how many times people tried to convince him to give himself a little more wiggle room. It's a prison made from his own ambition and restlessness he hasn't been able to escape from since High School. "Did you ever..." Crutchie pauses, gaze flitting away as he clearly deliberates with himself. "Did you ever offer an alternative?"

David blinks.

Crutchie looks at him suddenly, eyes shining with understanding, "You know. Like havin' dinner at your place so you can keep workin' after or let him tag along when you come out here to study." He explains and the anger snuffs out so suddenly it leaves David feeling almost hollow without it. Something cold and sad rushes in to take its place.

"I didn't even think about that." David admits sheepishly, cringing. Crutchie's advice is shifting his perspective and David isn't really happy with the picture that it's painting.

"Jack can be..." Crutchie trails off and David immediately fills in dramatic. That's what everyone says. Jack's just being dramatic, they'd laugh. "Overbearing. He's been through a lot, I just-" Crutchie sighs, frowning, the first sign of real turmoil shining through. David doesn't know much about Jack's childhood but he knows that it wasn't good. He knows that Crutchie, Racetrack, and Jack are adopted but he's never pushed. "He needs reassurance. And people. He won't admit it but he does. You don't gotta forgive 'im but he loves you a lot and I know you love him too. You don't need to go out and do things to spend time together, right?" Crutchie's right. He knows Crutchie's right. David will have to set some boundaries about inviting him out when he's so busy but he'd been so lost in himself that he hadn't even tried to consider why Jack has been so desperate to spend time together.

"Yeah. God, yeah, I haven't even thought about it like that." David frowns, glancing over at the table he was going to settle into for the foreseeable future. "Can I get that coffee to go?" When he looks back Crutchie is already holding out his cup with a lid snapped on top.

Walking up to Jack's door has never felt more daunting. His irrational fury spurred on by the pit of exhaustion he dug himself into is completely extinguished and now all he has to pull him forward is the guilt at having blown off Jack completely for three weeks straight. How Jack hasn't snapped at him is a mystery of its own but David sure feels absolutely dreadful for having snapped at Jack. He clutches his coffee like a lifeline and hopes the muffin Crutchie gifted him to offer as an olive branch is a decent way to start an apology. He sucks in a long, bracing breath and raises his fist to knock before he chickens out. He'd dig out his phone if his hands were free but part of him is worried that if Jack knew it was him he wouldn't even come to the door.

"Comin'!" David hears Jack's muffled voice and he's immediately blindsided by a wave of longing. He really has missed Jack these past few weeks and he wishes he was coming over under better circumstances. The door swings open and for a fleeting moment David catches a glimpse of Jack's smile, a flash of teeth and bright eyes, but the second they make eye contact Jack's face falls. Jack's eyes flick from David's face to the café bag held in David's hand and something like defeat settles heavy on his shoulders. "Ah, shit. Okay." He mutters, stepping back and holding the door open in silent invitation.

David slips easily into the familiar apartment but he's never felt so unwelcome. "Hey," David greets quietly, setting his coffee down on the table and holding out the muffin bag to Jack, "I brought a peace offering. It's blueberry." He tries to keep his tone lighthearted but the joke falls flat. Still, Jack accepts the gift and David forces himself to take that as a good sign. "We really need to talk, Jackie."

Jack flinches, the bag crinkling in his hands as his grip instinctively tightens. A breathy laugh tumbles from Jack's lips but it lacks any mirth, "Ha, yeah. I was waitin' for this." He sounds so utterly devastated and it stabs David right through the heart. Jack can't look at him, head ducked and wild strands of dark hair blocking his eyes from view. "I'm kind of a lot to handle, right? I know I'm pretty needy." Jack chuckles and it sounds strained and David doesn't understand.

"Jack," David swallows. Jack looks up and David is surprised to see the wetness in his eyes. He's trying to put up a front, laughing despite how obviously hurt he is. "What do you think is happening?"

Jack blinks and scoffs, all false humor falling away. "I mean, it sure sounds like you're breakin' up with me. No one really wants to hear the words we need to talk, you know."

Realization slams into David hard and he immediately backtracks, "No!" He shouts, quieting when Jack flinches, "No, Jack, no. That's not it at all. I meant that we actually, really need to talk. Crutchie kind of helped me realize a few things and I just… I missed you." He confesses, holding his hands out and allowing himself a moment of relief when Jack steps forward. He gently cups Jack's face in his hands and wipes his thumbs carefully over Jack's eyes to clear away the tears clinging to his lashes.

"You did?" Jack looks at him with so much uncertainty it nearly makes David sick. Did he really give off the impression that he hadn't wanted to see Jack at all during his workaholic frenzy?

"Of course I did, Jackie, I always miss you." David pleads for him to understand. The long nights yearning for the feeling of Jack's arms around him. The afternoons trapped at his job almost praying for Jack to appear at the door just to make him smile. David hadn't wanted to be apart but he hadn't realized how many opportunities they'd actually had to be together.

"Alright, alright," Jack huffs a laugh and bats David's hands away playfully. "You're so mushy, Jacobs." He rolls his eyes but a content smile is spreading across his face so David basks in the small victory.

"You're so much worse, don't even start." David throws back, grabbing his drink and taking a long sip for the first time since he got it. He has a feeling that he's going to want to be caffeinated for what's to come.

"Oh, shuddup," Jack huffs, peeling open the bag and reaching in to tear a piece of the muffin free. "So you talked to Charlie?" It's not so much a question as it is a confirmation. They both know that Crutchie worked today and the café's logo is printed on David's cup and the bag. Not to mention David's confession that it was Crutchie who knocked some sense into him. Jack's not asking if he saw Crutchie, he's asking about what Crutchie spilled while Jack wasn't around to swear him to silence. David doesn't really know where to start. Everything has been such a whirlwind for the past month and even now, while he's here with Jack, he's worried about falling behind somewhere. Despite that, he knows that this is the most important thing he could be doing right now and the last thing he wants to do is mess it up.

"I'm sorry," He starts because that feels like the right thing to say. He wants Jack to know first and foremost that he was so sorry for brushing him to the side. "I was so caught up in myself I totally dismissed you and that was horrible of me." He cradles his drink in his hands, holding it tightly and trying to steal its warmth like it could chase away the internal chill of regret.

Jack shrugs, nibbling distractedly on the chunk of muffin in his hand, "You were busy. 'M sorry I kept buggin' you, I just figured eventually you'd be free."

"I could've offered an alternative." David mournfully echos Crutchie's advice. Jack shrugs again and David wants to shake him. He yearns to know why Jack is so dismissive of his own feelings, why he's so forgiving, why it's so easy for him to accept being brushed aside. David wants to know but he won't push because he knows Jack will just close up if he tries to seek out the answers he so desperately craves. "I should've offered an alternative and I am so sorry that I didn't even think to until Crutchie had to shove the idea in my face."

Jack rolls his eyes, shoving the rest of the chunk into his mouth in a clear attempt to give himself more time to think before he speaks. Jack looks away, leaning back against the counter, and he would've succeeded in projecting this uncaring aura if David didn't know him so well. Jack's uncomfortable and David can see it clear as day.

"Don't listen to Crutch, alright?" Jack finally settles on, tearing off another piece of muffin, and David realizes that he's keeping his hands busy. Jack rolls his shoulders and looks over to meet David's eyes, his gaze is hard and his face is set in a firm mask to keep the more vulnerable emotions under wraps, "He's just tryin' to help but he don't know what he's talkin' about. I was just bein' dramatic is all."

There it is. That word. He needs reassurance. And people. That's what Crutchie said. Nausea churns in David's gut when he thinks back to his conversation with Katherine. How easily she'd waved David off when she heard about their argument. She'd been so quick to dismiss Jack as dramatic, ignoring the fact that both Jack and David were in genuine distress. To her, Jack was just like that. How many times has Jack sought comfort only to be met with rejection? Was it just Katherine who looked at Jack in need of reassurance and company and turned him away or have others disregarded him just because they didn't understand? How many times has Jack laughed away his own needs because others thought they were a joke? Sifting through group interactions in his mind David isn't liking the answers he's coming up with.

"Who told you that?" David implores despite knowing full well that at least two important people in Jack's life have said that very thing to Jack's face. A pit opens up in his stomach when Jack just stares at him in shock.

Jack is quick to shake himself out of his stupor, staring at David with suspicion. "What'd'ya mean? No one told me that, that's just how it is." Jack shakes his head like it's David who's the weird one and like he isn't breaking David's heart.

"You aren't being dramatic because you need something." David insists. He's desperate for Jack to understand. He hates this new side of Jack he's accidentally uncovered, it's small and resigned and nothing like the bright man that Jack's always been. David's chest constricts painfully knowing that people have taken Jack's innate desire to be around the people he loves and turned it into something to be ashamed of. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to forgive himself for ever being a part of it even if he never intended to be.

"I don't just need somethin' Dave. I'm needy and demandin' and I get all whiny instead of takin' no for an answer like an adult. It's dramatic and stupid and I'm tryin' to break the habit." Jack disagrees curtly, nearly biting his fingers when he shoves another piece of muffin into his mouth. The resentment that's rolling off of Jack in waves is horrendous. Jack's so convinced that his need to be acknowledged is such a toxic trait that for a moment David swears he can feel bile crawling up his throat.   

David's never found Jack whiny or demanding. Needy on occasions but he's always been more than happy to oblige when Jack was in need of a little more attention than usual. To watch Jack stand there and say so confidently that he was certain he was all sorts of things he's never been is gut-wrenching. To hear that he was trying to break the habit of reaching out was the final straw.

David makes a choked noise and frantically tries to blink away the tears that suddenly flood his vision as he hastily puts his drink down before it could tumble from shaking hands. Jack startles, worry suddenly replacing the self-loathing, and practically throws the muffin aside to free his hands. "Hey, woah, Davey," Jack coos, reaching out slowly to make sure David has time to back away if he wants and the easy care and devotion only makes the tears come faster. "What'd I say? I'm sorry, love."

"No," David sniffs, wiping his tears away and trying to compose himself. "Please don't apologize, it's not you." He promises, allowing Jack's hands to come up and rest comfortingly on his biceps.

Jack smiles, amused, "Also not somethin' a guy wants to hear from his distressed boyfriend." He teases. His eyes are still shining with worry, concern dripping off him, and David is overwhelmed with affection. David came here to apologize to Jack, to make sure that Jack felt loved, and to communicate his boundaries to avoid this all spiraling out of control again. Yet here Jack was, dropping everything because David is upset. It was cruel how terribly the world has treated Jack Kelly and just how long it's taken David to really notice.

"Don't make me laugh right now," David huffs, squashing the chuckle building in his chest. He gently smacks Jack's arm, "I'm serious. I just wish you believed me. I don't think you're being dramatic, Jack. I don't think you ever have been, not about stuff like this. I'm sorry people made you believe that but please, please listen to me when I tell you that if you need me I'll make the time. I can always make the time for you, I've just been so stressed I forgot that for a little bit."

Jack shifts and reaches up to try to smooth out the sorrowful crease in David's brow with the pad of his thumb. David can't help but giggle and waves Jack's arm away. Jack's smug little expression is enough to send warmth flooding through David's veins and he swears he's never been so in love. "It's alright—" Jack promises.

"It's not. It's not, but I want you to know that I never wanted to hurt you like that." David interrupted. The last thing he wants right now is for Jack to push aside his feelings to appease David.

"I already forgave you." Jack replies swiftly with such confidence and conviction that it feels like a blow to the sternum. David just laughs and finally gives in to the need to pull Jack close, wrapping his arms around Jack's shoulders and tugging him in for a clumsy embrace. Jack submits easily, arms slipping around David's waist before he nuzzles soothingly at David's shoulder. "I really am sorry too. I shouldn't have kept pushin'." He mutters into David's chest.

"It's alright." David echos fondly.

"Thank you." Jack whispers after a few beats of silence. David doesn't respond, not verbally, instead tightening his hold and pressing a firm kiss to the side of Jack's head. He doesn't need to ask for what, he knows what Jack meant, and while it hurts his heart to know that Jack thought it was something he needed to thank David for he's still so glad that Jack acknowledged it at all. They'd be okay.

[pinkdovess]

this meme is so niche

[eptck]

anyway

[sushisusii]

Not all disabilities are visable. Even I need help sometimes

[justabunny]

unpopular opinion but mobility aids shouldn't cost so much !!

[rainbowgang]

psa for cane, crutch, and wheelchair users getting top surgery:

you will not be able to exert much effort with your arms. self supporting with a cane or crutch or self propelling in your wheelchair is inadvisable.

make sure you have a support person to help you, or be prepared to be using your legs more if you are able.

[nondivisable]

small reminder that being disabled is exhausting

and you cannot tell from someone's online activity how they're actually doing in their real life

yesterday, I posted about finding joy through the grief of being disabled

today I screamed and shouted in therapy because I wish I could be able bodied and traverse the world like they do

not all disabled people want to be abled. I do not hate being disabled, I'm proud of it and I'll always speak up.

it's still exhausting. be kind

(this post is about physical disability, you can talk about neurodivergence in the tags but please no text reblogs, I know that's a weird boundary, pls respect it)

[cr-pplepunx]

if youre considering using a mobility aid, youre probably thinking about getting a cane. even if it seems like youre issues arent bad enough, you should probably still consider other mobility aids. please look into the pros and cons of several different mobility aids, especially in conjunction with your specific disability/diagnosis/needs.

i got a cane at first because i thought my issues were "mild" and therefore i needed a "mild" mobility aid. but canes are moreso for stability than support. i damaged my wrist and worsened my scoliosis by deciding to use a cane without an educated opinion.

i now use forearm crutches primarily, a rollator for longer outings, and a wheelchair for worse days and longer events. dont make the same mistake as 16-year-old me. dont choose your mobility aid based on palatability, consider your needs and address your internalized ableism if need be.

[yellowyarn]

I need a badge that says "Nothing happened, I'm just disabled" to wear when I use my braces or other disability aids. Maybe abled people would stop asking me about it then.

[silly-centipede]

As a trans cane user I've noticed a distinct difference in how people treat me when they think I'm a girl vs when they think I'm a guy.

When people think I'm a girl they're more willing to help me, almost to an excessive extent. To the point of one guy in my class pulls my chair out for me.

On the contrary when people think I'm a boy (which I more or less am) I get very little help with anything. Sometimes I get straight up ignored.

It's so strange.

[hate-kill-repeat]

revamped design with all of my disabled keith haring style dancin' guys all together, updated to include the yellow power chair user ~

ID in alt text

[leading-manhattan]

The weather has really put a dent in selling this week and after another day of meager profits Jack and Crutchie decide to call it quits and head back to the lodging house early to get out of the rain. Shame they never make it that far. It turns out that ever since the strike the Delanceys have had a bone to pick with Jack and they're more than happy to take the opportunity to air out their grievances. Crutchie, despite his best efforts, is helpless to do anything but watch.

"It's lookin' worse," Jack tisks, head tilted up to look at the sky with a stiff frown, hands braced on his hips, and a line of tension visible in his shoulders. The weather hasn't been great the past week or so, overcast and drizzling throughout the whole day, and the oppressively dreary atmosphere has made the sparse passersby increasingly unwilling to buy a paper. Crutchie hums a little, carefully making sure his crutch doesn't slip on the wet stones as he hobbles over to Jack. He joins his friend— brother— in looking up at the sky. It looks the same as it has the past many days, a large expanse of gray devoid of even a sliver of the sun trapped behind the thick wall of clouds. Admittedly, it appears that the sky is darkening ominously. It's barely even ten in the morning so Crutchie can agree that it's not exactly a point in their favor.

"Ain't nothin' we can't handle." Crutchie grins, playfully knocking his shoulder against Jack's. Jack shoots him a small smile but it drops swiftly the moment he turns back to the sky. There's a deep furrow between his brows and Crutchie watches as his eyes shutter with something dark and heavy. It's like he has front row seats to Jack heaving the weight of the world up onto his shoulders. "At least we's can still sell back what's left, huh?" Crutchie stares at Jack with a soft, proud smile on his face, fully aware that the older boy could see him in his periphery.

Jack sighs, deflating, and finally turns to fully face Crutchie. His expression melts when he meets Crutchie's eyes, lips twitching upwards when faced with Crutchie's unwavering support. "Yeah, yeah, alright." Jack nods, digging what he's made out of his pocket. Crutchie can't help but wince at the pocket change, it has to be one of Jack's worst turnouts, and Crutchie's pathetic earnings weren't any better. Jack sighs again and shoves the pennies back into his trousers, eyes hardening with a very familiar determination, "Let's head back before yous get sick or somethin' alright?" He sniffs as he slings an arm around Crutchie's shoulders and merrily steers them back in the direction of the circulation gates.

Money's been especially tight recently, what with the weather and all. At first people had been happy to buy all the papers the newsboys had as they sympathetically watched the poor kids get soaked from beneath the safety of their parasols and umbrellas. Those days quickly came to a stop as the freezing rain persisted, inevitably turning the kind customers into snappy strangers who just wanted to get home and out of the wet. Crutchie couldn't blame them, being out in this cold and soaked to the bone again and again he felt like he'll never be able to escape the chill nestled into his very bones. Still, it wasn't great for business. The Jacobs, sweet as they were, had come by with a few big ol' pots of soup just the day before and the newsies of Manhattan have been slowly working their way through the hefty broth to keep themselves fed while they try to make the most of what little they're bringing in. When they got their meager earnings together they could even afford some good bread to go along with it.

Jack's been stressed. More so than usual, even. People who didn't know Jack never thought to look past the confidence he projected so flawlessly but Crutchie knew better than anyone just how much Jack worried. Leading Manhattan isn't something Jack would trade for anything, especially after he truly found his place during the strike, but he had a bad habit of blaming anything and everything that went wrong on himself like it was a result of a personal shortcoming and not something entirely out of his control. Like the weather. Jack's been running himself a bit ragged trying to make sure that everyone was doing okay during this lull in sales. That's the only reason Crutchie was selling with him to begin with, tagging along to keep an eye on their leader before he had the chance to actually run himself into the ground.

Crutchie has to give his crutch extra attention as they shuffle through the streets, avoiding any mud or especially slick stones so he doesn't slip. Jack doesn't even comment on their snail's pace, more than content to drag his feet if it meant sticking at Crutchie's side regardless of how it kept him out under the dull sky just that much longer. Annoyingly Crutchie's bum leg is absolutely soaked, seeing as he couldn't exactly pick it up to avoid puddles, and he was sure the cold would send some gnarly cramps through the paralyzed limb later that night. It wasn't something he looked forward to but it was something he's long since gotten used to dealing with. Honestly, he's been ready to head back to the lodging house for the last hour but he knew if he left Jack to sell by himself the guy wouldn't come back until he sold out and who knows how long that would've taken under the current conditions. Crutchie didn't mind the extra hour out in the constant drizzle if it meant he got to do a little something to keep Jack safe too.

It's not too long before the circulation gates come into view and Crutchie can't help the relief that blooms in his chest. Now that they were heading home his discomfort was really starting to make itself known. His clothes aren't exactly soaked just yet but they're wet enough that every layer is clinging uncomfortably to clammy skin and his limbs are stiff and uncoordinated from the cold burrowed deep within them. He can't wait to get inside and find some of that soup to warm himself up. Jack looks just as eager to get back as Crutchie feels and his heart pangs empathetically. It was a sign that Jack was truly at the end of his rope when he started to get visibly tired.

They shuffled through the gates together, Jack's arm still wrapped securely around Crutchie's shoulders, and behind the counter the Delancey brothers scowl back at them. Jack grunts, slowing to a stop a good few yards away from the counter. He draws his arm back slowly, movements sluggish from his own cold-induced stiffness, and holds out a hand, "Give me your bag. I'll sell the whole lot back and we can get the hell back to the lodging, alright?" Crutchie nods and ducks his head under the strap of his paper bag so he can hold it out to Jack. Easy enough, the sooner they sold everything back the better.

Jack takes the bag and digs out both sets of papers as he walks over to the desk, wearing a shit-eating grin as he hands back the damp papes. Crutchie tries not to laugh, biting his lip to keep his amusement buried as Morris holds the wet papers with open disgust. Oscar grumbles under his breath the whole time he's counting out their money, face twisted into an ugly snarl when he slams the coins into Jack's waiting palm. Jack doesn't so much as flinch, pocketing the cash with a carefree grin, "Pleasure as always boys!" he practically sings as he turns on his heel and makes his way back to Crutchie. "Ready?"

"Definitely." Crutchie nods, allowing himself to be openly miserable now that they're on the last stretch home. "I swear, I ain't ever gonna be warm again," He bemoans. He'd wring out his cap if he could, just to be dramatic, but that would mean having to stop and he had no interest in doing that.

Jack chuckles and Crutchie basks in the warm sound, "Yeah, well, we'll get you under a whole lotta blankets when we get back then. It'd be a real shame if the cold was what did you in." He jokes and Crutchie smiles brightly right alongside him. This was what made life so wonderful. A lot of people didn't understand how the newsies could remain so upbeat. Crutchie's seen it time and time again, confused and pitying glances shot their way when they barreled down the streets without a care in the world. Hell, even Davey had looked at them in their ratty clothes with dirty faces and been flabbergasted by just how happy they seemed. It was easy, if you asked Crutchie, to be so content when you were surrounded by people you loved. Life could be hard, and most of the boys under their roof had suffered greatly, but they found family and joy in each other.

A deep, long rumble tore through the air and suddenly the drizzle turned to rain. Jack cursed under his breath as they quickly went from damp to wet and Crutchie was sure the rain would turn to a downpour sooner rather than later. Jack is still cursing, anger rearing its head at the sheer audacity of the universe, and Crutchie is fine to let that run its course as he continues to trudge forward. Jack is right on his heels, of course, but the bitterness is obvious still even though Crutchie can't see him where he's lagging behind. It's only fair, Crutchie thinks, that Jack be allowed to curse out the weather. He keeps enough under lock and key, emotions and fears and anything else potentially vulnerable wrapped up and kept hidden. He's allowed to curse out the weather.

The rain does, unfortunately, make it that much harder for Crutchie to move at a decent pace. His crutch got worn down and scuffed up at the Refuge and he'd put off any sort of maintenance on the thing for weeks. It had zero grip on the bottom, no cloth or wax or anything of the sort to give it any traction, and with slick cobblestone and mud covering the majority of New York Crutchie was slower now than he's ever been before. "You can go on without me." He tells Jack softly, knowing full well that Jack will decline but feeling better for having offered.

Jack scoffs and jogs up to Crutchie's side, rolling his eyes and laying a comforting hand atop Crutchie's head. They both pointedly ignore the way Crutchie's hat squelches under the pressure. "Like hell. We ain't too far now, we'll be there sooner than you think." He was right, of course, the lodging was just a street over now but it might as well have been in Brooklyn with the speed that Crutchie was moving. Still, Crutchie doesn't push it. He really hadn't wanted to walk alone anyway. Jack ruffles Crutchie's hair through the hat and laughs fondly when Crutchie tries half-heartedly to bat his hand away. He fixes Crutchie's cap before he pulls away and the mood is lightened briefly by their antics. Jack was good at that, cheering people up with smiles, jokes, and warm touches. It was one of the many reasons Crutchie admired him so much. Jack just had a way with people that was unmatched in Crutchie's experience. He connected with everyone, from people with high standing like Katherine Pulitzer to people with hard eyes and scuffed boots like Spot Conlon. Jack saw people with a good heart and he nestled his way in with such sly ease that Crutchie was certain he didn't even do it on purpose; it was just who he was.

Jack freezes abruptly and his eyes widen a fraction. Crutchie knows that face, he's seen it often enough, and his stomach drops. Jack twists to turn around but he doesn't even make it halfway before a fist is flying into his face. Crutchie cries out, startled, and turns around as quickly as he dared to without toppling over. He only catches a glance of Morris Delancey before Oscar is swooping in and pushing Jack forcefully into the nearest alleyway. "What're you doing!" Crutchie yells not because he thinks it'll get the bastards to stop but because he prays there might be some bystander to overhear somewhere nearby. With the way the rain is crashing down Crutchie doubts it but he isn't able to do much else and he refuses to just stand there and do nothing.

"Ah, shut it, crip," Morris sneers, grabbing Crutchie by the arm and pulling him easily along despite how Crutchie slips and stumbles against the quick pace.

Oscar shoves Jack again before he can regain his footing and Crutchie pulls roughly against Morris' unrelenting grip. "We didn't do nothin' to you!" Crutchie snaps, pulling again and only getting jostled in warning for his efforts. Oscar scoffs, slipping neatly behind Jack just as he finally gets his feet steady under him. He hooks his arms expertly under Jack's and pulls, yanking Jack flush against his chest and restraining him in one swift move. Jack's eyes widen, panic flashing so clearly across his face, and he thrashes uselessly in Oscar's grip.

Morris smiles and it's a smile like a shark, evil and sharp and bloodthirsty. "Bringin' back memories, Kelly?" The Delanceys share a cruel laugh and Crutchie can't help but feel like he's missing an important piece of the joke. Jack, for his part, doesn't even look like he caught a single word of the biting remark, still struggling against Oscar's hold like his life depended on it. Crutchie grinds his teeth together and steels himself. He adjusts his grip on his crutch, lifting it off the ground before slamming the bottom down on Morris' foot with all the strength he can muster. Thing is, Crutch is crippled, not weak. Hauling himself around the way he does he actually has quite a bit of upper body strength and he uses all of it to smash Morris' toes. Morris shouts, instinctively shoving Crutchie away and Crutchie, unable to move his crutch back into place in time, is entirely helpless to keep himself from falling roughly against the brick wall of the alley. He manages to catch himself against the wall to avoid hitting the floor but he had to drop his crutch to do so. He can do nothing but watch as Morris kicks his only means of walking out of reach. "You damn cripple." Morris snarls, eyes shining with ruthless anger.

"Don't fuckin' touch him," Jack snaps, panting in Oscar's grip. It's clear he's put a lot of energy into trying to get away. Crutchie feels a bitter satisfaction seeing Oscar trying to catch his breath too, knowing that Jack, while trapped, was still a force to be reckoned with.

Morris hums, licking his lips as he turns away from Crutchie and looks at Jack. "You think you're better than us now, huh, Kelly?" Oscar's lips pull back in a sneer and Crutchie can only imagine the disgusting sensation of his hot breath on the back of Jack's neck. The rain only seems to come down harder as Morris bends down and sweeps Crutchie's crutch up from the floor. Crutchie's stomach drops, squirming uncomfortably, and he stares with bated breath as Morris makes a show of inspecting the old wood held in a tauntingly delicate grip.  

"I am," Jack quips but his sharp eyes are locked only on the crutch. There's something guarded and resigned in his expression and Crutchie is surprised that it's something he can't place. He likes to think that he knows Jack better than anyone but whatever's going through his head right now is something that Crutchie can't even begin to decipher. Somehow that's more terrifying than the situation they've found themselves in.

Crutchie can see how Oscar's grip tightens even through the heavy sheet of rain soaking them all to the bone. He sees how Jack winces as his shoulders are forced back and how he shifts to try and relieve some of the pressure. Morris is still twisting the crutch against his hand, tapping the wood experimentally against his palm. He doesn't look up when he speaks but he raises his voice to make sure he's heard over the cacophony around them, "I guess we didn't beat it into well enough last time, huh? You may have won the strike, Kelly," Morris grips the bottom of the crutch like a baseball bat, winding it back as he widens his stance. "But you're still nothin' more than the dirt beneath our feet." He growls and Crutchie realizes what he's doing just a beat too late.

Morris swings and the heavy top of the crutch slams full force into Jack's stomach. Jack tries to keel over, the air rushing out of him, but Oscar's hold doesn't allow him the luxury. Jack coughs, wheezes, and chokes out a stiff, "Fuck you." Morris repositions himself and swings again.

"Stop!" Crutchie shouts, his hands slipping against the wall and sending him roughly to the ground. He glares daggers despite how the Delanceys ignore him, wincing sympathetically when another blow lands against Jack's chest followed by another and another and another until a choked cry is drawn from Jack's lips. Crutchie looks frantically on either side of him, hoping that maybe he'd find something he could potentially throw to maybe distract the brothers for even a second. A frustrated shout slips out when he comes up empty-handed. "Leave 'im alone!" Crutchie demands uselessly, fists clenched tightly against the gritty alley floor.

The Delanceys don't care for his protests, if anything Crutchie's shouting seems to spur them on. He can't do anything but watch as Morris keeps swinging, a satisfied smile spread across his face as he slams the crutch repeatedly into Jack's torso. He only narrowly avoids smacking into Oscar's arms but Oscar looks more than happy to be in the danger zone, a similar grin plastered across his own ugly mug. Crutchie doesn't know what to do, his desperate yelling hadn't attracted any passersby and Crutchie would be surprised if anyone was even out and about in this downpour. Jack's jaw is clenched defiantly and Crutchie's breath catches in his throat when Jack pointedly meets his eyes. Jack's gaze is hard, determined, but it softens significantly when he looks at Crutchie. This one is a look that Crutchie knows like the back of his hand, this is Jack's hey, look at me, everything's gonna be okay, kid look. It was a very familiar sight with all the trouble Manhattan managed to get themselves into and all the trouble that Jack had to get them out of.

Things change when Morris adjusts his grip and rolls his shoulders, sharing a terrifying glance with Oscar. The brothers share a nod, something dark and excited in their eyes. "What was it you said back then?" Oscar ducks his head and Charlie swears that his lips almost graze the shell of Jack's ear he's so close. He has to strain his ears to catch the words as they crawl slimy and vile out of Oscar's mouth."One unfortunate day you might find you got a bum gam of your own." He mocks in some poor imitation of Jack's thicker accent. Morris' smile is twisted on his face through the heavy rain and the shadowy alleyway barely lit by the light of the overcast day only makes him look even more demented. He reels back the crutch and swings so hard Crutch can actually see the wood cut through the falling rain. The hit lands sharp and heavy to the side of Jack's leg and the howl that escapes him is a sound that Crutchie doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget. Jack screams and Crutchie sees the leg give out but Oscar still keeps Jack unwillingly up on his feet.

"Shame you didn't heed your own warnin', huh, Jackie-boy." Morris coos mockingly, chest heaving with the inherent exertion that came with beating someone.

"Let 'im go!" Crutchie tries again, desperation sparking anew at the sheer violence. This wasn't the first time he'd seen the Delanceys beat on someone, and he remembers starkly how it feels to be beat down by his crutch, but this was a new level that planted something deeply terrified in Crutchie's chest. This was something that he was afraid would kill someone if it didn't come to an end soon. The Delanceys have never ruthlessly and intentionally broken something so sadistically before and Crutchie finds himself genuinely horrified by how things could escalate if they kept going. "Please, just let 'im go!" He begs, all thoughts of maintaining some fragile dignity gone. He couldn't care less if the Delanceys somehow managed to think even lower of him as long as they just let Jack go. 

Morris and Oscar snicker, "You heard the kid, Oscar." Morris chortles. Oscar shrugs, unhooking his arms in one quick movement and watching with obvious amusement as Jack crumpled bonelessly to the ground. Jack groans and Crutchie looks on with worried eyes as Jack's face screws up in distress. Morris leans over Jack and digs his toes roughly into Jack's side. He waits until Jack blinks his eyes open to glare up at him before he speaks, "Learn your place, Jack." Morris snips, smile falling abruptly from his face. "Don't go thinkin' you're somebody just because you got a few extra pennies in your pocket. You and your boys? You're still nothin'." He pulls his foot back just to kick Jack in the side and Jack groans again, arms snapping down to wrap protectively around his middle. Oscar huffs, staring down his nose at Jack like he was some weed growing unwanted in his yard and not a real person they were trying to cruelly tear apart. Something flashes in Oscar's eyes and Crutchie yells wordlessly as he pulls his own foot back and slams his heel angrily into the side of Jack's head.

"Jack!" Crutchie calls, eyes wide as he watches Jack's head snap to the side. Even from a few feet away he can see how Jack's eyes seem to glaze over, growing more hazy by the second. Morris scoffs, pulling himself back up to his full height. The brothers share a smug look over the beaten man laying broken between them. Morris looks again at the crutch in his hands and grins, gripping the base once more, and Crutchie's blood runs cold thinking that the beating still hadn't come to an end. He's wrong, thankfully, and instead he cringes as Morris swings the crutch into the wall above his head with all his strength. The wood splinters and nearly breaks clean in half before Morris tosses it carelessly aside. It lands with a soft clatter barely audible over the roaring storm. Crutchie swallows thickly, forcing his glare to stay in place as he watches the Delanceys saunter off with a sickening sense of pride rolling off of them in waves. He waits a beat and then another before turning back to Jack. "Jack," he calls quietly, concern so strong it nearly chokes him. Jack is staring listlessly at the wall, blinking sluggishly, and nausea churns fiercely in Crutchie's gut. "Jack!" he tries again, breathing a relieved breath when Jack startles and meets his eyes.

"Mm, 'ey, Crutch," Jack mumbles, wincing as he shifts. Crutchie winces right along with him, scanning Jack over as best he can from the short distance. There's a smear of blood at Jack's temple, his cap lost somewhere in the scuffle, and Crutchie hopes that it was just something superficial from the heel of Oscar's boot and not anything serious. Jack grunts, breath hitching, and Crutchie can only watch as he forces himself to just breathe through the pain.

"Hey, Jackie. C'mere, will you?" Crutchie does his best to keep his tone light, trying not to sound too hopeless despite how dreadful this whole situation was. Jack grunts noncommittally. "C'mon, Jack. I need to look you over, okay? Make sure you ain't gonna die on me." He says it with a teasing lilt to his voice but his heart hammers a frightened beat beneath his ribs the whole time he speaks. Jack swallows, eyes screwed shut, and Crutchie sees his throat bob. Jack nods, head lulling against the hard ground. He doesn't move immediately and Crutchie wonders if he's going to have to ask again. "Jack?" he presses tentatively.

"Yeah, 'm comin' alright. Just—" Jack swallows again, lips parting as he gasps weakly for breath, "Give me a second, okay?" It doesn't take long for Crutchie to realize that Jack's trying not to throw up. He knows that isn't a good sign, especially not after a blow to the head like that. He doesn't dare push Jack any further though. He doesn't want to contribute at all to the agony that Jack must be going through and he can handle the extra dash of worry added on top of the mountain already crushing his chest. It only takes a few more minutes before Jack heaves himself up onto his elbows but those few minutes feel like an eternity to Crutchie. He forces himself to focus on muttering soft encouragements to Jack as the older boy drags himself closer on unsteady arms, whining when his knee drags against the uneven alley floor. "Fuck," Jack hisses under his breath, nearly lost beneath the falling rain.

"Almost there, Jackie," Crutchie assures warmly, reaching out when Jack is close enough to grab the collar of his shirt. Crutchie hauls Jack the rest of the way as carefully as he can, frantically mumbling apologies when Jack cries out. It's awkward and ridiculous and Jack squirms a bit more than would've been convenient but they make do because they can't exactly do anything else. "That's it, alright, you're alright." Crutchie knows he's assuring himself more than he is Jack at this point and there's no doubt in his mind that Jack knows that too. Still, Jack lets Crutchie spew meaningless words without even a token protest, a tired smile on his face while he listens to Crutchie ramble.

He gets Jack settled halfway onto his lap, back pressed into Crutchie's knees in a way that had to be uncomfortable but Jack doesn't say anything. It only takes a glance at Jack's leg and a passing thought of oh, knees don't bend that way for Crutchie to avert his gaze. Not good. He has to battle with the nausea in his stomach but he forces the rising bile down with relative ease. He doesn't report his findings to Jack, he's sure that Jack is painfully aware of just how useless his leg's suddenly become. Crutchie knows they can't afford a doctor, especially not with the way business has been this week, but he wills himself not to linger on the implications of that. Instead, he starts prodding at Jack's torso with inexperienced fingers, poking at his ribs and hissing sorrowful apologies every time Jack flinches away from his touch. Nothing gives under his shaking hands and while that doesn't necessarily mean that Jack's okay it certainly means that no more bones are broken so Crutchie tentatively takes the win.

His hands hover hesitantly over the blood dribbling down the side of Jack's face. He knows that head wounds bleed a lot and the excess of rain water is only making it look worse than it is but it still makes his anxiety spike all the same. Jack grins lazily up at him, awkwardly laid across Crutchie's legs the way he is, "It's fine, Charlie," He assures despite how the way his words catch and slur say otherwise. He twists himself around with a series of grunts and winces until he's laying on his stomach and lowers himself down fully on top of Crutchie, completely uncaring of how Crutchie is sat up against the wall in a continuously growing puddle. He crosses his arms neatly atop Crutchie's lap before pillowing his head on them. "It'll be alright." He promises, sucking in as deep a breath as he dared as he made himself comfortable.

Crutchie barks a disbelieving laugh and allows himself the selfish comfort of running his hands carefully through Jack's hair, fingers glancing over the bloodied area as he searches for the wound hidden beneath the dark strands. Jack hums, tilting his head up into the touch, and Crutchie huffs an amused breath despite himself. He feels the warm blood beneath his fingers but fails to find the wound regardless of how long he searches. He found that oddly reassuring. If the wound wasn't even big enough to find then he didn't feel the need to worry too much. Slowly but surely the tension begins to bleed out of Crutchie and with it the adrenaline starts to fall away. Without the rush of worry and panic pounding through his veins Crutchie realizes just how freezing he is. The rain is icy and each droplet feels like a small knife piercing through his already frozen skin. He shudders, shivering starting up and wracking through his slight frame.

"Someone'll find us," Crutchie says, fingers still tangled in Jack's hair. It was already getting later into the morning by the time they were on their way back to the lodging house and Crutchie was sure that a decent chuck of time has passed since then. With weather like this the boys will be out on the streets searching for them soon if they weren't already. Someone would stumble across them sooner rather than later considering the fact that they were only a mere couple blocks away from the lodgings. Regardless, Crutchie knows that the wait will stretch on.

"Mhm," Jack agrees and Crutchie can feel the way he tenses as a wave of pain rolls through him. It doesn't help that Jack is shivering too. He's sure that each shudder is just another stab of agony through his beaten body. Crutchie wants to know what the Delanceys meant when they talked about beating Jack into submission before. He wants to know what horrible memories Oscar had dredged up by restraining Jack the way he did. He wants to know the pieces of the puzzle he was missing. He keeps his mouth shut, knowing this isn't the time, but the curiosity still mixes in with the fear and worry.

Crutchie's eyes fall to his crutch not too far away, splintered and bent and completely useless now. Had his crutch still been in one piece maybe he would've been able to hobble over to the lodging house himself and get help but now he was trapped just the same as Jack. He feels so utterly useless, untouched by the Delanceys but still unable to do anything but watch as they'd taken an extension of himself and used it as a weapon to beat his closest friend. He wasn't used to this kind of helplessness, even with his leg he's never been made to feel so utterly defenseless before. Usually he had a pack of newsies at his sides ready to come to his aid and not a single one of them ever made him feel less than for having a bum leg. He wonders, vaguely, if this is what Jack had felt like when Crutchie was taken to the Refuge. That's another question he wisely keeps to himself.

Crutchie doesn't know how long he sits there, fingers pressed idly to Jack's scalp while they wait. The rain dies down a bit at some point, easing back up into a heavy drizzle. Crutchie pokes at Jack here and there, asking him simple questions or drawing him into a halfhearted conversation just to make sure that he's still awake. Crutchie doesn't know how bad this head wound of Jack's is but he doesn't want to know what'll happen if he falls asleep. Crutchie himself is getting impossibly tired when he hears multiple sets of footsteps rushing down the sidewalks. He jerks to attention, eyes wide, and before he can even consider his next move he's yelling. "Hey!" He cries, cringing when Jack flinches in his lap, "Over here!"

"Crutchie?" Racetrack's familiar voice calls back. Relief slams into Crutchie so hard that tears immediately spring to his eyes.

A wide grin splits his face. "In here!" He shouts as the footsteps rush closer. "Jack's hurt bad!" He warns, a desperate tinge bleeding into his voice. Within seconds a handful of boys come barreling around the corner into the alley, each and every one of them drenched. Crutchie wonders how long they've all been searching.

"Christ," Romeo murmurs when he spots them, wide eyes flicking from Crutchie, to Jack, and then finally to Crutchie's crutch laying broken off to the side.

"Aw, man," Racetrack combs a hand through his hair, wet curls falling into his face. He winces at the sight of Jack, calculating eyes looking them both up and down as he silently tries to assess the damage. Jojo, for his part, doesn't say a word and he swoops in and starts gently gathering Jack up into his arms. It's not an easy feat and Jack makes an absolutely gut-wrenching keening noise when Jojo finally manages to get him settled into a careful bridal carry. "What happened?" Race asks as he comes up to get a closer look at Jack.

"The Delanceys," Crutchie answers with no small amount of bitterness. He happily takes the hand that Albert offers him and only stumbles slightly as he's hauled to his feet. He braces a hand on Albert's shoulder to keep himself upright and Albert slides an arm around his back to hold his steady. "Theys just followed after us. Came outta nowhere. They was gunnin' for Jack, barely laid a hand on me." It wasn't exactly shocking, Crutchie's never been the kind of instigator that Jack is. Jack got a kick out of making fun of the Delanceys and those boys had a shorter fuse than Spot Conlon some days.

"Your crutch," Romeo says mournfully, scooping the poor thing out of a puddle.

"We'll fix it up," Crutchie wasn't really worried about the crutch, all things considered. He was much more worried about Jack.

"Yeah, we will." Racetrack agrees with a curt nod, expression hardening. He carefully lays a hand on Jack's shoulder, looking fiercely into Jack's dazed eyes. "We got you, Jackie. Let's get you boys home, okay?" It was moments like these that made it so easy to see why Race was Jack's right hand. Racetrack was a wild card, full of boundless energy with a mouth that could compete with Jack's, but he was more than capable of getting serious when it was called for. He carried with him a sort of demand for attention that came in handy when his anger flared and he threw himself into a call for action with reckless abandon.

Jack huffs a soft laugh and groans immediately after, head rolling to press hard into Jojo's shoulder. "Sounds good to me." He grinds out through gritted teeth. It's enough of a go-ahead to get them all moving. Albert turns to Crutchie with questioning eyes and Crutchie only nods before Albert scoops him up into his arms. Crutchie would be able to walk fine with Albert's help but it'd be best if they could all get back to the lodging house as quickly as possible. Crutchie certainly didn't want to spend another second outside.

With how close they are the trip back is swift and painless for everyone but Jack. The whole way to the lodging house Jack is trying to muffle the sounds of pain that claw their way out of him with every step that Jojo takes. Crutchie doesn't tear his eyes away from Jack the whole time and Albert, the sweet guy that he is, makes sure that Jack stays in Crutchie's line of sight without so much as a word.

They burst through the doors to the lodging house and immediately rush over to where the rest of the boys are crowded around the lobby. By the looks of it they've all been huddled up down here already, every ratty old blanket they had brought in here so they could bundle up to chase away the cold. The boys all scramble apart once they catch sight of Crutchie and Jack, making a clear path to the center of their circle where Jojo and Albert waste no time in lowering them onto the floor. Albert is already helping Crutchie unbutton his shirt before Crutchie can even attempt to try with his numb fingers, pulling the wet fabric away and tossing it to the side to be dealt with later. Crutchie's undershirt is still damp but they didn't have much when it came to extra clothes so he'd have to make do. His hands are, thankfully, coordinated enough that he can at least take off his own boots and slide out of his trousers without much struggle. The second that he's free from all of his sopping clothes blankets are piled on top of him from all directions. They're already warm from the body heat of whoever was using them before him and he huddles into the warmth without a second thought.

When he looks back in Jack's direction he can see that he's nearly undressed similarly to how Crutchie himself was, down to just his undershirt while Jojo tried to carefully slide his trousers over Jack's busted knee. The thing is already bruised horribly, bright purples and searing reds snaking up his thigh. Jack is trembling violently, eyes squeezed shut, and he's panting where he's propped up against Spec's chest. It's a slow and agonizing process but Jojo does eventually succeed in wiggling Jack's pants off and, just as quickly as Crutchie had been covered, blankets descend upon Jack.

The bodies around them shuffle in, pressing against them and offering their warmth as conversations slowly start to pick up again. It's not as lively as it had been when they'd been interrupted and worried glances are shot in both Crutchie and Jack's direction frequently but the warm and homey atmosphere is quick to soothe Crutchie's nerves. He watches as Jack starts to relax, melting further and further back against Specs as he soaks in the comfort of their friends and family. After the morning they just had Crutchie absolutely basks in finally making it home. He knows that they'll have to get Jack to a doctor if that knee was going to heal right, none of them knew what to do about broken bones like like, and they'd have to worry about the cost of it all. He also knows that without his crutch he won't be able to do anything or go anywhere. Nothing's fixed despite the fact that they're home now but Crutchie has to hold on to the idea that things will be okay. He's never been one to back down in the face of a terrible situation and he's always been an optimist at his core. They'd be able to make it through this the same way they've made it through everything that's come before.

The bodies around him shift and suddenly a bowl of something warm and heavenly is being shoved in his face. He looks up to see Racetrack smiling softly and he reaches up to take the bowl in shaking hands. The heat feels almost like fire against Crutchie's cold hands but he doesn't dare put the food down. Instead he watches as Racetrack offers another bowl to Jack and Jack takes it with hands that tremble similarly to Crutchie's own. Specs watches Jack carefully, prepared to reach forward if he needed to should Jack's grip falter.

Jack raises the bowl to his lips. He meets Crutchie's eyes over the rim as he sips at the warm broth inside and Crutchie quickly follows his lead. The soup is just as amazing as it was the first day Davey brought it over and Crutchie lets the heat from the food flow through him. Jack smiles, leaning comfortably back against Specs, and Crutchie lets the worry bleed out of him for the moment. Right now he was surrounded by the people he loved, chatting happily, and he couldn't ask for more.

[bigfatbreak]

What does Tom think of Emilie after meeting her?

the only Agreste he's not massively disappointed with is Adrien himself. It's a good thing that's the only one he plans on sparing.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

BOO hey girlypops, I'm back

[athanmis]

ITS ETHO DAY YIPPEE!!!! etho day!!!!! (redstone break)

[justabunny]

it shouldn't be a controversial take but:

disabled people are allowed to hate being disabled