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saveugoodmadam · 5 months

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A Wolf in Newsie's Clothing

A/N: Just to warn you all, there will be descriptions of werewolf transformations scattered throughout the fic. There is one in this chapter. Content warning for body horror- if you wish to skip it, scroll from 'It gave no answer' to 'Jack, having walked home from the theatre, began to climb the fire escape'.

Word count: 1,953

Awoosies masterpost

It was a balmy mid-September, 1899. Two months had past since the momentous strike, and newsies in all boroughs were still- well, not drunk with the victory, but certainly tipsy with it. Unfortunately, this also meant that the opposing side to the strike were still saddled with the bitter aftertaste of defeat.

In Manhattan, in a place known by all as the Tombs, a sharp-eyed man in a prison uniform ran his fingernails down the walls of his cell. Tonight was the night. All he had to do was wait for the night, and then they would be out of here and the plan would be put into action. Everyone that had landed him in here would be dealt with, one by one.

He vowed it on the rising moon.

"Notice anything today?" Specs giggled into Romeo's ear.

"I sure do." Romeo replied with a knowing smirk.

The 'anything' in question was one Morris DeLancey. Usually the strong and silent type, seen standing behind his brother and tossing bundles of papers to him, he seemed more evasive and even a little... scared? Oscar eyed them all with the same cold, hostile expression as usual. As the newsies went up to collect their papers, they threw a few light-hearted remarks Morris' way.

"Scared of your own shadow, Morris?"

"Hey, earth to DeLancey!"

"Aww, are you scared of little old me? Don't worry, Morris, I ain't gonna touch you."

Crutchie was next to get his papers.

"Don't worry, Morris." he quipped. "We ain't gonna bite."

His words seemed to snap something deep inside Morris. Suddenly, he was dropping his papers and falling backwards as the younger DeLancey leapt forwards and sank his teeth into his arm, drawing blood. He seemed almost savage, staring at Crutchie with wild eyes until his uncle and brother dragged him off.

"What the heck was that?" Jack asked, running over to Crutchie and standing in front of him protectively.

"Hey, if your pals hadn't been winding him up, Kelly-" Oscar began, then was cut off by Morris, who was sitting on the ground by the newspaper cart, his head in his hands.

"I's sorry." he muttered, panicked. "I's sorry. I dunno what happened. I's sorry..."

Crutchie grabbed onto his crutch from where it had fallen and stood up. He retrieved his papers from the ground and gave an uneasy laugh.

" 's alright. Sorry, Morris. I shouldn't'a pushed you."

He joined the other newsies where they stood, ready to leave for selling. Buttons approached him, pulling his own neckerchief off and wrapping it around the wound.

"It don't look infected." he mumbled as he worked. "But be careful with it. And don't go spreading it that Morris DeLancey bit a man like a rabid dog. Oscar'll probably break your good leg if it gets out.

"Finch squeezed his shoulder gently.

"You okay, Crutchie? That was a pretty bad tumble. Is your leg alright?"

"Hurts a little. My arm hurts a lot, though. It's all tingly and achy."

"You'll be alright, I'm sure. You're hardier than most, Crutchie." Henry reassured him.

Crutchie smiled, and tried his best not to think about the look that Morris was giving him. It wasn't resentment, or bitterness. It was horror, guilt, and worst of all, pity. Refusing to catch his attacker's eye, he slipped his papers into his bag.

Mush was last to get his papers, and then they all spilled out onto the streets of New York, their wares held high above their heads. Trying to put aside the oddness of the morning, Crutchie took a deep breath in and started calling out.

"Extra! Extra! Six convicts escape from the Tombs!" he paused, then lied, "All convinced'a homicide! Real dangerous folks! Read all about it for only two cents!"

Jack was usually away in the evenings. Either he was at the theatre, working on a backdrop or a cartoon for Pulitzer, or he was at the Jacobs family home to see Davey. Crutchie didn't mind, it wasn't as if Jack was neglecting him and his friend always made sure to take a few evenings a month to be at the lodging house. This evening, however, wasn't one, so Crutchie was downstairs playing cards with Race and the twins.

"Snap!" Mike exclaimed triumphantly, throwing his hand down on top of a pile of cards.

"Mike, we's playin' poker." Race sighed.

"I thought this was whist?" Ike asked.

Crutchie laughed. "We agreed we was playin' blackjack!"

All four threw their remaining cards to the middle of the table, landing in a scattered mess of red and black across the wooden surface.

"Fifteen minutes 'til bedtime!" Specs called from where he and Romeo were sat with one of the few books in the lodging house.

"Yeah, we know. We ain't ten-year-olds any more, Specs." Race retorted, huffing. "Looks like we's got just enough time for another proper game before we's gotta sleep, fellas."

Crutchie yawned slightly. "I'm probably going to head up early, actually. Today's taken a lot outta me." He scratched at the neckerchief around his arm.

"Don't scratch at it!" Buttons called from across the room. "It doesn't help it heal."

He beckoned Crutchie over so he could look at the bite wound. With deft fingers, he undid the strip of fabric and let it fall away to expose...

"It's... healed." Buttons said, a small gasp in his voice.

Crutchie peered at the unbroken skin. "...huh. Funny."

"Funny 'ha ha' or funny 'peculiar'?" Tommy Boy asked with a grin.

"Funny 'medically impossible'." Buttons shot back.

Crutchie yawned again, and scratched at the skin. The itch from the morning felt like it was back with a vengeance. "Look, fellas, I'm going to go to bed. I'm really tired. See you in the morning, okay?"

For a second, Buttons looked like he was about to stop him and say something. But he let it go, and waved goodnight as Crutchie left to climb the fire escape up to the penthouse. He flopped down onto his mattress at the top, discarding his crutch against the railings with the familiar thud of wood on iron. The sun had almost set and he watched the pretty colours bleed into one another. He fully expected to fall asleep to this.

Here's the thing- he didn't. No matter how hard he tried, he'd suddenly been provided with a burst of new energy and adrenaline. He scratched at his arm nonchalantly, wondering when Jack would be back. Maybe they could stay up all night talking, like they used to. He'd like that. With a sigh, he gave in on trying to sleep and sat up. Inside, in the lodging house, he could hear Specs and Race supervising the others as they prepared for bed.

...wait, he could hear them? He paused in his itching to frown slightly. Odd, he'd never heard them before. It was possible (though unlikely) that they were being louder tonight. He was distracted by a faint cramping sensation in his stomach as the moon started its ascent into the sky. He groaned faintly, rolling onto his side. The itching on his arm got worse, and it started to spread until it felt like there were pins and needles lying just beneath his skin. As the itching worsened, so did the cramps. He made faint wheezing noises as they wracked through his body.

"What's ha- happening..." he whispered to the moon.

It gave no answer.

Crutchie wanted to scream as he felt his bones rearrange themselves under his skin. Whining softly, he bit his lip with sharpening teeth to avoid waking up the others.

"J- Jack? Help me, please, help me. Why aren't you here... what's happening to m- meeee..." he croaked out as his mouth twisted outwards.

His quiet cries and mumblings turned to whimpering and soft, pained snarls. Another set of cries Jack wasn't answering. His fingernails lengthened to claws on his paws that scrabbled all over his body, desperately trying to ease the itching as golden brown hair swept across it. A tail pushed out from his spine, caught and restricted by the seat of his dungarees. He panted and wept with exhaustion as all the details slotted themselves into place, then curled up on the mattress, swamped by his own clothes.

Jack, having walked home from the theatre, began to climb the fire escape. He'd gotten halfway through Medda's newest backdrop- this one of Central Park- and finished his next cartoon for Pulitzer. On his way up, he passed windows through which he could see rooms of his sleeping friends. Softly, so that nobody but him would ever know it, he smiled to himself. Since the success of the strike, he'd found that Santa Fe wasn't really what he'd needed. It was just a better life in New York- and his friends were one of the things making it better. He reached the top step and hopped up onto the roof.

"Crutchie? Are you still awake?" he asked, scanning his 'penthouse' for any sign of his friend. "Are you sleeping downstairs tonight?"

A soft barking noise caught his attention, and his breath caught in his throat as he turned with wide eyes towards the source of it.

"Hey, big guy..." he whispered, backing away from the animal. It regarded him with intelligent, hazel eyes.

"What are you, a coyote? You'd be a long way from home. They gots coyotes in Santa Fe. You from Santa Fe, big guy?"

It chuffed softly, making no effort to attack. Jack smiled nervously and held his hand out for the canine to sniff. Its tail waved happily behind it as it rubbed its face against his outstretched palm and fingers. He couldn't help but chuckle softly.

"You're pretty friendly, ain't ya? I'll show you to Crutchie in the morning. He'll like you, I can tell."

His hand moved to scratch behind its ear, then a little further back until he drew it back like something had burnt him. For all this time, he'd been so focused on the animal's face that he didn't notice it was wearing fabric. No, not just fabric. An entire outfit.

"What the- what the... WHAT?" he exclaimed, scrambling backwards. The coyote- no, wolf, that was a wolf, coyotes didn't have ears that round and were probably friendlier when faced with a panicking human. But it probably wasn't even a wolf. He didn't even know, and that's what scared him. It is easier to deal with something that is clearly an animal than something that looks like an animal but does human things.

"I- clothes? You're... you- clothes?"

The wolf stood and tried to get closer to him, and stumbled backwards as he screamed. It tried to shake off the clothes that hung loosely around its canine frame, as if it thought that would make him less scared. He saw the battered dungarees now, heard the click of rosary beads against one another, gasped as he saw the wolf's right back leg drag slightly across the mattress while the other three legs moved easily.

No. No. It couldn't be.

Tears streamed down his face at the thought of it, but he couldn't deny the evidence of his own eyes.

"C- Crutchie?" he breathed, reaching out a shaking hand.

#newsies #uksies #newsies fanfic #awoosies #if you liked this then please consider reblogging it <3 it encourages me to post more stuff and puts an extra smile in my day #crutchie morris #jack kelly #cw body horror #hitch writes what he knows

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saveugoodmadam · 4 months

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A Most Unfortunate Condition

Word count: c. 1,889

Awoosies masterpost

"RACETRACK HIGGINS!"

The boy in question stirred groggily in his sleep, then awoke with a start as he saw Jack's face at the window next to his bunk. Around him, other newsies told the pair to be quiet and put held their pillows over their ears.

"What is it?" he hissed, indignant at being distributed.

"Penthouse, now." Jack whispered back.

Grumbling, Race allowed Jack to pull him through the window and they made their way up to the fire escape. He took one look at what appeared to be a wolf on a mattress, swore loudly, and turned around to go back down the fire escape. Jack's hand clamped down on his shoulder to stop him.

"Not so fast."

Race raised an eyebrow . "Why's there a wolf on the roof?"

Jack's face was set in steel. "That's Crutchie, and I want to know why."

Race followed Jack's finger to where it was pointing at the wolf. Now he thought about it, the canine did look an awful lot like the boy. He swore again in surprise, pulling his cigar out from his shirt pocket and chewing on it with wide eyes. Then his eyes narrowed and he looked at Jack.

"Why's you assuming I'm gonna know?"

"Well, if you knows how to hide a body I'm more likely to assume you knows how a newsie can be a wolf."

"Doesn't mean I knows everything, Kelly! Finch knows animals. Buttons knows medical stuff. Go ask them." he grumbled. "G'night, Jack. G'night, Crutchie."

"Tell Finch and Buttons to get themselves up here."

"Yes boss." he replied, leaving Jack up top, looking bewilderedly at an equally bewildered Crutchie.

"What'd he mean by 'and it's Crutchie, by the way'?" Finch mused to Buttons as they climbed the fire escape together, yawning slightly. Race had just shaken them both awake and told them to go up top without explaining anything.

"I dunn- oh, Holy Mary!" Buttons exclaimed, clinging to him as they reached the top. "I think he meant that- uh- uh- uh- " Button's eyes went wide at the sight of a wolf laying casually on a mattress. "I think that uh, that's Crutchie..."

"Oh, hey, Crutchie." Finch said softly, gently prising Buttons off him and sitting cross-legged in front of the mattress.

"I wanna know why he's like this." Jack demanded, standing behind Finch. "Cause he ain't never done something like this before."

"I think we'd have noticed if he'd done this before, Jack." Buttons said, raising an eyebrow. He came to join Finch in front of the mattress. "Crutchie, can I see your arm- or, uh, leg, I guess?"

Crutchie nodded and let Buttons gently examine the spot where he had been bitten earlier that day.

"No, nothing. Uh, I'm sorry Jack, that's all I could've gone on."

"He's, uh, a little bigger than a normal wolf, but that's all I can tell. Oh, and I guess normal wolves ain't blond. And don't have hazel eyes."

"So, a wolf that's kinda not normal..." Jack mused.

"We got nuthin'. Sorry, Jack." Finch apologised.

"Any idea who'd know?"

They shook their heads. Jack looked defeated, and sat down next to Crutchie on the mattress, head in hands. "Someone's done something to somebody I care about. We's getting to the bottom of this. I'll ask Davey in the morning, or Katherine, or Medda. They might know." His voice sounded so horribly small and vulnerable. For a moment, Finch could see the boy behind the tough façade.

"What's going on?" drifted a voice from the fire escape. The group turned to see Romeo looking at the scene in confusion.

"Something's happened to Crutchie." Finch explained. "We can't figure out wh-"

"Werewolf." Romeo deadpanned.

"What?" Jack asked, incredulous.

"He's a werewolf." Romeo repeated. "Believe me, I've read enough trashy novels to know." He held up a hand and pointed to each finger, listing things off as he went. "Full moon. He got bitten. The bite healed quickly. His arm went itchy. Now he's a wolf. It's the plot of every dime horror story from here to the Sahara."

All that could be heard on the penthouse was stunned silence before Jack piped up. "Thanks, Romeo. That's... that's unexpectedly helpful."

"I's not just a pretty face, huh?" Romeo winked and then went back down the fire escape to bed.

Crutchie woke up feeling like his body was on fire. It wasn't just his bad leg- every muscle was sore. He opened his eyes and groaned, unable to do anything but look up at the sky for a good ten minutes before the pain started to ease.

"You's awake, then. Finally." Jack chuckled, crouching down next to him. He had a smile on his face that straddled the border between brotherly and parental. Crutchie knew that smile. He knew it from when he was eleven and broke his arm climbing a tree in Central Park. He knew it from when he'd caught chickenpox at thirteen. He knew it from when he'd been brought back home from the Refuge, beaten black and blue, and Jack had to slowly nurse him back to health. That smile meant something had gone wrong.

"Yeah, I's awake. What gives?"

"You don't... um... remember? Last night? Y'know, uh..." Jack bared his teeth and raised his hands in a pantomime of a predator animal. Crutchie raised an eyebrow, then his eyes widened as everything came flooding back to him.

"That wasn't- no, that didn't- couldn't have..." he whispered, clutching desperately at his friend. "Jack, I..."

"Crutchie... I's known you since you was eight years old with gappy teeth. You're my best friend, okay? You ain't dangerous, or a threat, and don't you dare say you's a monster because you ain't, you don't deserve all this happenin' outta nowhere!"

Crutchie watched as Jack started to cry, then made a soft 'oof' noise as he was engulfed in a hug through his blanket.

"Alright, ya goof." Crutchie said softly. He paused, letting Jack calm down a little. "But I was actually eight and a half when we met."

He smiled when Jack spluttered out a laugh.

"You got me there." Then the other boy's face became stern. "You's not sellin' today, though. Neither am I. We's going to the theatre. Medda'll give you a few bucks for doing some odd jobs backstage, more than you'd earn if you was selling papes."

"Why the theatre?"

"You'll see."

"And when I got back, he was a wolf."

Medda looked to where Crutchie was sat on a chair, sewing up holes in a few of the costumes.

"A werewolf, huh?"

Jack nodded. "I was wondering if anyone here knows anything about it."

Medda smiled to herself. It certainly was helpful, running a theatre. One could learn a lot from the people at the stage door, from whispers overheard from the audience, from the workers themselves. She wracked her brains, remembering a whispered conversation in the wings from a while back, when spring had just started to thaw out winter's freeze.

"Mireia!" she called in the direction of the dressing rooms. A dancer poked her head out of the door.

"Yes, Ms Medda?"

"Your beau, from mid-March. Are you still with him?"

Mireia walked out fully into the corridor.

"No, ma'am. He moved to Maine in June."

"He was a werewolf, wasn't he?"

"Yes, ma'am. Why, is someone asking after him?"

"I have a couple of newsies here to talk to you about lycanthropy. Do you have the time to spare?"

Mireia nodded.

"Alright. I'll be in my office if any of you need me. I think I must have some books on the supernatural somewhere."

"Thank you, Medda." Jack said, bowing slightly.

"It's no problem, Jack Kelly." she replied, patting his cheek.

She made her way to her office, knowing not for the first or last time that her trade and memory had once again saved the day.

"Basic stuff first, if you don't mind." Crutchie said, his gaze flickering between the dancer and the costume he was mending.

"Okay. Well, Peter said that his kind aren't naturally aggressive. Only violent people make for violent wolves."

"That explains Morris." Jack sneered.

"I dunno, Jack. He's a dick, sure, but he seemed more scared than anything."

Mireia nodded. "Trauma can lead to wolves lashing out, as with any animal under the sun."

"Well, it's at least good to know I ain't gonna go all murderous on you, Jack. Uh, any more specifics though?"

The dancer looked pensive. "Transformations aren't only on full moons, I remember that. The first transformation happens the night the werewolf is bitten, then it's voluntary on any night other than full moons. That's the night all lycanthropes are forced to change. And it gets less painful as time goes on."

Crutchie couldn't hide his smile at that. It was good to know that the agony of last night wasn't going to continue for the rest of his life.

"What about alphas and stuff?" Jack asked, looking concerned.

"I don't know how much trashy romance you've read, but most of it isn't true in the least. Alpha is just the role given to the leader and co-ordinator of the pack."

"Oh, yeah, packs. Uh, are there any I should join? Do they gotta be all wolves?" He held his breath as he asked, the needle paused mid-stitch.

"The newsies as a community function very well as a pack, and no they don't all have to be wolves."

"So I'm alpha?" Jack's brow was furrowed, as if this was something he really wanted to make sure.

"I think you are." Crutchie told him. "You're leader of us 'Hattan newsies, so why not?"

"Just one more thing, then, and we'll leave you be. Is there any other wolves in New York? Apart from Crutchie. And Morris, I guess." Jack twirled a paintbrush between his fingers to alleviate the stress.

There was silence for a minute or so. Crutchie and Jack held their breath as they leant in, enraptured, awaiting Mireia's answer.

"Not that I know of. Not since Peter left for Maine."

Hidden in an alleyway, a large grey shadow watched two newsies walk past on their way to sell their papers. The slightly taller one identified the birds they saw as they passed, the smaller one captivated by his friend's face. It had to suppress a growl. The plan had failed, ever so slightly. One had been turned before the plan called for it. It would make sure that mistake was paid for, when the time came. For now, both of its targets were in plain sight. It flew out of the alley, paws pounding against the ground, towards the unsuspecting victims.

#newsies #uksies #newsies fanfic #awoosies #if you liked this then plz consider reblogging it <3 it encourages me to create more stuff and puts a smile on my face! :)#crutchie morris #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #finch cortez #buttons davenport #medda larkin #hitch writes what he knows

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