A/N: I do not own Newsies, but you all know that. Disney owns it, and they don't like to share original characters NOT in Newsies, however, I DO own. And you can't have them. Well, maybe you can. But only if you ask nicely. :) Anyhow. Please R&R, I'd love to know what you think. -Layne

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Twilight fell over Manhattan, cooling the cobblestones as the sun seemed to evaporate. Sweaty, dirty teenagers and children trudged home after a long day's work selling newspapers in the heat and the hustle and the bustle of New York City, exhausted and surprisingly quiet. Some, the younger boys, had their sights set on the goal of a cool glass of water and a bed to lay down on, while the older residents of the Duane Street Newsboys Lodging House smiled to themselves as they thought of a poker game and maybe some whiskey that someone, without a doubt, had to be hiding somewhere.

A tall, tanned boy walked alongside his friend, silent and smirking as the crippled young man chattered excitedly about the rather mundane events of the day. This was Crutchy for ya; every little thing was something to be enthusiastic about. The boy was like a walking billboard that said, "ALWAYS LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE OF LIFE."

Skittery patted his friend on the shoulder in appreciation of his cheerfulness, then focused on unbuttoning the top of his longjohns to let the cool evening air hit his chest. He heaved a sigh of gratitude, grinning as he took in the beauty of a night like this. It was perfect, clear, cool, the kind of night that made him love living in New York, even during the summer.

Running a hand through his messy dark hair, he listened to the sounds of the city he called home. Shops closing, people hurrying home to their families, conversations over dinner floating out windows, a rustle in an alleyway followed by labored breathing and the distinct whimper of someone in serious pain.

Skittery stopped dead in his tracks.

"...and while this guy is yellin' at me for makin' up the headline, this dog just comes outta nowhere and just bites him in the... Skittery? Skittery, what are ya doin'?" Crutchy hobbled the few steps back to where his friend was standing, and peered into the darkening alley.

Two pairs of legs lay limp, skirts pulled high over them; two bodies lay helpless, battered and bleeding, one shaking in fear and pain, the other lying frighteningly still...