He’s Gone- Specs

He’s Gone- Specs

Summary- Specs goes to deliver some bad news to Crutchie.

Specs shielded his face against the rain as he stumbled along the narrow road, nearly blinded by the drops of water but still able to see a single speck of light from a street lamp, guiding him through the alleyways. His arms and legs hurt- everything hurt- but he merely gritted his teeth and walked on, not stopping until he saw the place of his nightmares in the distance.

The Refuge. Specs was one of few newsies who’d never been caught within its walls; he was one of the lucky ones. He’d always considered it some sort of mythical creature, looking to ensnare anyone who got too close to its gaping jaws, searching for the weakest of a bunch and trapping them. Jack had been there, Race had been there- god, nearly everyone he knew except himself had served a month or two- and they only had one word to describe it.

Hell.

Swallowing the nervousness that piled up in his throat, choking his voice, Specs began to climb the rickety fire escape on the side of the building. The window was locked, of course it was, and as he reached into his pocket to pull out a makeshift lock pick, he heard a sound coming from inside.

Sucking in a quick breath, ducking down, Specs prayed he wasn’t visible to anyone passing by. He stayed there, not daring to move or breathe, until he heard a voice whisper above him.

“Psst! Specs!”

Glancing up, he met the bruised and broken face of Crutchie, whose eyes had lit up as soon as their gazes made contact. Forcing a smile that felt like more of a grimace, Specs stood and gathered the boy in a hug.

“Crutchie,” he said, taking in Crutchie’s battered form. “It’s nice to see you, bud.”

“You too.” Crutchie picked at a loose splinter on the windowsill. “So, any news of the strike?”

Specs’s heart went cold as he remembered why he was there. “Since I was last here, there’s been… changes.” He watched Crutchie’s face fall as he relayed the news of Jack’s scabbing, of the rally that had failed so badly and dashed any hope of winning for the newsies.

“So, Davey’s taken over?” Crutchie asked, his voice low and wobbling. Specs nodded, unable to meet his eye.

“I’m sorry, Crutch,” he muttered. “Jack’s run off with the money now- he’s gone.”

Crutchie just stood for a second, breathing shallow, the look of disbelief almost too much to bear. “Leave,” he commanded, almost too softly to hear.

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, leave.” Crutchie’s voice was low, full of tears yet boiling over with anger. “Ain’t no use for you bein’ here if the strike’s finished.”

“I can’t leave you,” Specs argued. “What if… what if he hurts you worse now that there ain’t no one to save you?”

Crutchie laughed, cruel and sharp. “Ha! If he wants to hurt me, let ‘im. What’s one kid in the grand scheme of things? We lost, Specs. We’re done.”

Fighting back the urge to yell at him, to beg him to stay, Specs lifted his head, tears stinging the back of his eyes. “Don’t lose hope, Crutchie,” he said, trying to imitate the confidence Jack had always shown. “We’ll get ya out of here.”

“Sure you will.” Crutchie glared down at him. “But don’t be surprised if you can’t.” He slammed down the window, barely missing Specs’ fingers, and the bespectacled newsie barely heard the cry of fear and anger that followed.

Turning on his heels, Specs walked quickly away, his hopes dashed and his mind running wild.

Maybe Crutchie’s right, he thought to himself, staring out at the barely-visible moon, rain soaking him to his skin. Maybe we can’t do this.

Not without Jack, anyway.