Newsies One Shots

Him - Morris/Crutchie (Part one)

Oscar looked at him for a few seconds before shaking his head and walking off, holding his hand against his side. "I'll be at the wagons,"

Once he was gone Morris sat down against a wall and took a deep breath.

It was his imagination. It had to be. It was dirt or coal or...or...

He pulled his hand out of his pocket and looked and it. His heart sank and he felt sick. On the back of his hand were he had knocked into the crip, was a black mark, stark and impossible to hide.

Not him. Anyone but him. Anyone but one of them.

He leaned back against the wall and let out a trembling breath. His hands were shaking and he felt like yelling or crying. He didn't like sitting still so he quickly pulled himself to his feet again, pacing back and forth, clamping his hands behind his back in an attempt to stop their tremors.

He was supposed to feel happy, excited. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to be scared and angry and upset. Morris ran a hand through his hair, agitated as panic started to build. He couldn't show anyone. He had to hide it somehow. He could...he could...

He didn't know what he could do. The marks were impossible to hide. Makeup or dirt didn't work and he couldn't wear a glove forever. He let out a frustrated, angry noise, turning and punching the wall next to him, letting the pain distract him for the moment. He examined the bruise that started to form, the redness of his knuckles and he did it again, until blood fell onto the ground below him, mixing with the dirt. He watched it drip onto his other hand, onto the mark that made him feel sick to look at.

And then he heard footsteps and his heart dropped. He looked up and took a step back on seeing the crip, Crutchie, he thought he was called. He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Considered running.

Instead he leaned back against the wall, keeping his head down and his eyes on the drops of blood on the ground. He didn't know if the boy had come looking for him or if he had just found him here, but he didn't want to talk to him. Ever.

But apparently Crutchie wanted to talk to him. "Hello," he said. His voice was hesitant and quiet.

Morris looked up at him before directing his focus back on the ground. He shifted uncomfortably a few times and held his bleeding hand awkwardly against his side.

Crutchie stayed quiet for a few seconds. He took a step forward and Morris ignored him. He wanted nothing more than to run away from the conversation, but he stayed where he was.

"Did Jack do that?" The boy asked, indicating Morris's hand.

Morris shook his head. "Did it myself," he muttered, his voice razor edged.

"Why?"

"Why do you care?" Morris snapped, looking up suddenly and taking a step toward him. "Why are you even talking to me? I hurt you. You don't like me," his tone was harsh and ended on a bitter note.

Crutchie looked shocked and a bit upset and Morris slightly regretted lashing out, but he didn't know why. The boy looked down at his own hand, at the mark there.

"Because...I don't know but..." he seemed to be struggling to find the words. He leaned against the wall next to Morris. "I doesn't like you and you doesn't like me but we can't just ignores each other. It don't work like that and you knows it don't,"

Morris frowned again, balling his hands into fists and wincing slightly. It felt like he had broken a knuckle or too. He flexed his fingers a few times, using the pain to distract himself again. Until Crutchie put a hand on his, causing Morris to freeze.

"Stop, youse hurting yourself,"

Morris didn't bother saying that that was the point. He just pulled his hand back and looked away. Tears had sprung to his eyes and he blinked them away.

Why was he crying? He didn't cry.

But he found himself wanting to. He wanted to let out his emotions, his fear and worry and disgust. God, this wasn't fair. Here was this kind, compassionate boy who was going out of his way to be nice to Morris even after he hurt him and all he was doing was ignoring him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"For what's?"

Morris looked up. "Everything? For being an asshole. For getting you stuck with me for a soulmate,"

"What do you mean?" There was worry in Crutchie's voice. Actual worry.

"You're- you're you, kind and sweet and I'm a fucking awful person. I lash out and and hurt everyone around me and-,"

Why was he saying this? He never talked about himself but now he found himself wanting to.

He hated this stupid damn soulmate crap.

But no, he didn't. He didn't hate it. He was scared of it, scared of what others would think. Scared of everyone's reactions but now, standing here, he found himself not against of the idea of having a soulmate. Scared shitless yes. But not against it.

This might not be so bad, he couldn't help thinking as he looked at Crutchie.

But fuck he was scared.