#spotcrutchie

Part of him thought that it would be silly to come back and talk to nothing but the thin air. It wasn’t like she could hear him- those days were long gone. So what was the point in coming to visit when there was no one really there. But another part of him wanted nothing than to come every day, to hope that wherever she was, she could hear him. That she was somehow looking out for her soon that she never got to see really grow up.

Taking a deep breath, he reached out a tentative hand, pressing the tips of his warm fingers against the marble- which he had expected to be cold but had been warmed by the sun. Her warmth- that was one of the few things Crutchie remembered most about his mother. How she was always warm- in her smile, in her voice, in her caring and loving attitude. How she would pull him into her arms at night and everything would feel instantly better. How that night, when everything had happened, she promised that they would be okay. That the two of them would get away, make their own lives together, somewhere that would be pain free, and they could be truly happy.

But life wasn’t a fairytale and that, of course, wasn’t how that night happened.

Crutchie swallowed deeply, trying to push those memories down. They were the most vivid ones he had of her and they were the ones he wanted to forget the most.

His fingers slowly moved down the marble, ignoring the slight twinge in his bad leg, as fingers brushed along her name. Martha Morris- Her name had always sounded to him like it belonged in a story book. Martha Melody Morris. A queen of a distant land- where the sun would always shine and there were no rain clouds or fathers....

He felt a tightening in his chest and dropped his hand, letting it fall to the grass, and his fingers tangled in the soft blades. For as long as he could remember, Crutchie had fought as hard as he could against the nightmares, against remembering the night that changed his life forever. But now as he sat here in what was all he had left of his mother, the memories came crashing back.

His mother and father had always fought- for as long as he could remember, that’s what the house was constantly filled with. Whether it was because of him and his leg or because his father had found himself in a drunken rampage, that was all he had known growing up. Except for the moments his father wasn’t there, when his mother and him could be their own proper family. With smiles and laughter and love- Trips to the zoo and aquarium, moments of brief peacefulness and happiness. But it lasted only a short time and would come to a very abrupt end.

Like most nights, his father had came home drunk, yelling and cussing- throwing things, breaking what he could get his hands on. His eyes turning on Crutchie, who had been sat at the coffee table coloring- And the moment Martha had noticed where her husband’s attention had landed, she handed the small boy his crutch and ushered him up to his room. Telling him to be a good boy, to be quiet, to call the neighbor if he needed something, and that soon- so soon they would be far away from this place.

Crutchie had believed her, held onto his mother’s words through the storm that crashed downstairs. Her shouts, his father shouts, the threatening, the pleas, the crying- He curled up, fingers dug into the soft fur of the new teddy bear his mother had bought him the day before. And as the shouts grew, as things became worse, he reached for the phone that his mother hidden in his room- For emergencies, she had told him. He had been through enough of these fights to know that most would blow over, that it would be okay, and his mom would be upstairs soon to hold him rest of the night. Besides, she had promised him that they would get away this time and he had to hold on hope to that.

But this one wore one and he knew that it was bad. Really bad. Then out of nowhere there was a silence, one that was much too strange for how bad things had been seconds ago. Without hesitation he crawled into his closet and punched in the number his mother had him remember before his own.

The police showed up. Things were explained to him the best that they could be to a six year old. His father handcuffed and taken away- and his mother, his mother that he would never see again.

Crutchie didn’t even realize that tears had started to roll down his cheeks, not until he felt a warm hand press against his shoulder, and he turned quickly to see who was there. Spot’s face was gentle, soft- not shadowed with the hard and tough look he wore most of the days. Wordlessly he reached out, his thumb brushing away the tears from Crutchie’s freckled cheeks as he knelt down next to the other boy.

Spot’s hand dropped, finding its way around Crutchie’s waist and pulled him close. And for the first time in years, Crutchie cried. He turned his head and pressed it against Spot’s shoulder, weeping for his mother that had been taken away from him- Crying for the childhood he never really had. Tears fell for each foster home he was bounced around to, the nightmares that was being a part of the system, and not having a proper family to love and care about him. The sobs racked his body for how the only ones he had were his friends- ones he made from various foster homes, the others from school, and how they were all he had left. How lucky he was to have them, to have Spot but the ache to know he would never be able to recall a mother’s love or know what it felt like to have a proud father.

After a while he was able to regain himself and Spot moved his hands, reaching for the crutch, and helping Crutchie to his feet. Crutchie gave the other boy a watery smile, all that he could manage at the moment but when Spot’s hand slipped into his own- He knew that Spot understood, that it would be okay despite all the heartache and pain that would live within him for the rest of his life.

Spot was always used to being the tough one. The one who didn’t flinch at anything and who never shed any sort of emotion. Instead keeping a straight face around most of his friends, never letting them inside of his head to see what was really going on. And while a part of him did want to scream and kick and hit something- the negative emotions he was used to displaying when he did show any. But all he could do now was sit in the too hard chair, cradling the bundle of floral print blankets close to his chest. Knowing that if he were to let go of his grip on his baby, no- their baby, that he could completely lost it right there.

He had to be strong for her. Had to be strong for the boy in the bed who hadn’t opened his eyes in nearly three days. It was up to him to hold their little family together and Spot knew that he was failing miserably at it. He tried to focus on the sound of their light breathing, anything to keep him distracted from the awful thoughts that threatened to fill his mind. But the soft hum of machines in the background was a constant reminder of the pain he was trying so hard to fight against. Spot clenched his eyes shut even more as little fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt.

Hell, had it only really been months since they walked through the front doors of the hospital for a happier reason? To meet their daughter Brooklyn- Spot could remember the look on Crutchie’s face- how his smile was so radiant as they walked down the hall with the bundle of pink in Spot’s arms. The way he looked on so proud as Spot introduced their daughter to the rest of their little makeshift family. How Crutchie was the first to move from bed at night when she began to cry. Telling Spot that it was no problem, that he would feed her or rock her or do whatever it was that Brooklyn decided that she so desperately needed at ungodly hours of the morning.

It was Crutchie’s laughter that constantly filled their little apartment. His happy humming in the mornings while he was cooking breakfast or washing the dishes. It was Crutchie that Spot always came home to. His arms that Spot would crawl into late at night, pressing his face in against the other boy when the day had been rough and he needed somewhere safe and comforting to hide away in. But now- Now none of that might happen again.

The lump in the back of his throat threatened to rise once more and he brought Brooklyn even closer to his chest. Pressing his face gently in against her, ignoring the way that she had a lingering smell of Crutchie on her blankets. When the soft sound of the door opening broke the silence in the room, Spot didn’t even look up. It was just probably another doctor coming in either to check vitals or to bring more ambiguous news that did nothing to calm him. But the footsteps were much too gentle this time, more worried about waking the sleeping boy in the hospital bed. And when they moved a chair across the cold floor, they did it with such a gentleness that finally Spot looked up. He blinked several times against the light, watching as Katherine came into view.

She offered him a soft smile and Spot wished for everything in the world that he could have returned it to her but he couldn’t. And he knew that she would understand. For a while they sat their in silence, Spot still holding the sleeping baby against his chest, and Katherine resting her elbows on her knees- Slightly hunched over as her eyes swept along the room, coming to rest on Crutchie every few minutes.

Though when Brooklyn began to squirm slightly in Spot’s arms, she reached over.

“Do you mind?” She asked and another smile graced her lips as Spot passed over the slowly waking baby. Her own little green eyes which reminded him so much of Crutchie’s blinking back at the two of them.

He swallowed against the lump once more and quickly turned his head away from Katherine. Spot had been fighting off the urge to cry for days now but he wasn’t quite for sure how much longer he could keep that up. The last thing he wanted to do in front of Kath was cry but the stinging in his eyes had other plans.

“What if he doesn’t make it?” Spot finally asked, his voice cracking some as he voiced his biggest fear out loud.

“Spot…” Came Katherine’s soft voice, a tiny hand pressed against his knee reassuringly. “He’ll make it. Crutchie’s a fighter. He always pulls through.”

But that wasn’t enough for Spot. He brought a hand to his eyes, pressing his palm hard against them. “He hasn’t been awake in three days Katherine. He usually is… No matter how much pain medicine they have him on. Fuck- He’s usually smiling and laughing. Trying to make sure I’m the one who is okay even though he’s fighting off this fucking infection.”

“Spot, sweetie-”

“I can’t do it without him. I can’t. It’s not fair. I can’t raise her without him, Kath. Brooklyn needs both her dads- She needs him…. Hell, I need him.”

And that was all it took for the tears to flow openly down his cheeks. Spot brought his other hand up, pressing even harder against his eyes but no matter what he did, the tears kept falling. His shoulders began to shake and he heard Kath moving around next to him and before Spot knew it, she was pulling him in against her chest. Instantly he tensed but as her hands rubbed soothing circles along his back, Spot let himself melt in against her.

“I need him Kath- I love him. I can’t… Without him…. This… Fucking shit.” He mumbled, knowing that he was making no sense but at this point he didn’t care. All he needed was Crutchie to open his eyes, for him to wake up, and tell Spot that he was fine. That he had just been playing some awful kind of trick on him for almost the last week.

“They won’t stop blinking!” He exclaimed, wiggling the lights that had indeed been blinking, that was until he had shaken them and the entire string out. A slew of profanities fell from Spot’s lips and Crutchie had to duck his head to hide the grin that was tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Stop laughing!” Spot sputtered out which only made Crutchie laugh even harder and Spot was no longer to keep his own smile from his face.

“This is such a mess.” Crutchie said finally with a shake of his head, looking around their small living room apartment which seemed to have exploded with Christmas decorations. Even their poor little tree in the corner wasn’t faring very well. After several attempts it was still leaning to one side and a giant bare spot of branches was quite obvious.

“We should have taken your mom and Katherine up on their offer of decorating for us.” Spot said, dropping the string of lights onto the floor, which caused them to blink back on, and he narrowed his eyes at them. He gave the lights a disgusted look before he sunk down to the floor next to Crutchie.

“Yeah but you said that we needed to do the decorating ourselves since it’s our first Christmas in our apartment.” Crutchie pointed out as Spot plucked the few strands of tinsel from his hair.

“I have no recollection of ever saying that.” Spot laughed, leaning over and pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Crutchie’s mouth. Which earned him a very happy hum from his boyfriend who leaned in against his side for a moment.

A few seconds passed and the two of them sat there on the floor, leaning against one another and looking around at the mess they had made. Without even having to say anything, both boys knew that they would be quite happy with giving up on decorating the tree, and spending rest of the night curled up on the couch watching movies. But Christmas was fast approaching and even though it was turning in to be more work than either expected, Spot had been right. It was their first Christmas in their apartment and the decorating needed to be done.

“Let’s just finish the tree then call it a night?” Crutchie suggested finally, untangling his crutch from the tinsel, and hoisting himself up onto his feet. With a dramatic sigh, Spot climbed to his feet as well before retrieving the lights, which unsurprisingly went out again.

Nearly two hours since they had started, the two of them took a step back, both tilting their heads to the side slightly as they looked at the tree. It was no means the best Christmas tree that there was and no matter how many ornaments they had put onto it, the bald spot was still quite obvious. Not to mention that one string of lights had already went out and the poor tree was still leaning to the side. But it was their tree and to them it was perfect, well, almost.

“I feel like it’s missing something…” Crutchie muttered and he made his way over to the last box, digging through it, unsure of what he was looking for until he pulled a star topped out of the box. Instantly his face lit up. He could remember being little and watching his mother put this very star on the top of the tree at home and had forgotten that she had gave it to him and Spot. “We could put this on the top of it….” Crutchie said slowly as he turned around to Spot, holding the star out in front of him.

“Yes!” Spot exclaimed with a grin which quickly turned into a look that Crutchie couldn’t quite place. “You should put it on top of the tree.”

Once more Crutchie tilted his head to the side, “I can’t reach the top of the tree and there is no way I can climb onto the step stool.” But even that didn’t seen to wipe the look off of Spot’s face, instead he wrapped an arm around Crutchie’s waist, carefully easing the crutch out from under him.

“That’s true but you can climb onto my back and I can lift you high enough to get it up there.”

Which only earned him a look from Crutchie and Spot continued. “Remember how we were talking a few weeks ago and you said you never got to put the star on top of the tree when you were little?” And Crutchie couldn’t help the gentle smile that worked its way onto his face, impressed that Spot had remembered that. A warmth spread along his body that Spot was willing to lift him up so he could put the star on the tree. And as much as he hated being carried or lifted in any sense of the sort, he knew that this was entirely different.

“Are you sure you can lift me?” Crutchie asked, leaning into Spot some who still had an arm around his waist.

“I’ve lifted you before- Besides I’d probably just mess it up if I put the star onto the tree.”

Without anything else needing to be said between the two of them, Spot slid his arm out from under Crutchie, and turned around. Crouching down some and leaning forward so the other boy would be able to climb onto his back.

“Lean against me some, I’ll grab your bad leg first and pull it up, then you can hop onto my back rest of the way with your good one.”

Keeping himself as balanced as he could, Crutchie let his bad leg be pulled up, holding the star in one of his hands, and once he knew Spot had a good grip on him, Crutchie pushed himself up onto Spot’s back. For a brief second he panicked that the other boy would topple over or didn’t have a grip on him but Spot’s arm hooked around his other leg and he hoisted him up on his back some more.

“Good?” Spot asked and Crutchie didn’t even have to see his face to know that the other boy was sporting a grin as wide as Crutchie’s.

“Good.” He replied and very carefully Spot made his way to the tree, getting as close as he could to it.

The pine needles poked at their arms but Crutchie was determined as ever to get the star on top of their tree. Making sure that they were both steady, he used one hand to push himself up slightly against Spot’s shoulder, the other arm stretching as far as he could to try and reach the top of the tree. For a moment he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to reach it, that after all of these years, he still wouldn’t get to put the star on top of the Christmas tree. It was almost as if Spot understood his silent frustration of being so close to getting it up there but not being able to and took another small step close to the tree.

That was exactly what he needed and with leaning forward a bit more, Crutchie got the star on the top of the tree and Spot let out a loud whoop from down below. Careful not to overbalance with Crutchie still on his back, he leaned down so that the other boy could slid down, and back onto the floor. Crutchie made it down no problem and instead of reaching for his crutch, he wrapped his arms around Spot’s waist, eyes looking at their small and messy but somehow perfect Christmas tree.

“It looks great!” Crutchie beamed and unable to contain the excitement that was so contagious from him, Spot pulled him in for a long and deep kiss. When the two of them finally broke free from it, Crutchie looked around the apartment and then back at Spot.

“What?” He asked with a slight raise of his eyebrow.

“Are you sure about this, Kath?” Crutchie ask, wringing his hands together as he looked between her and Spot.

“Of course I am. If anyone deserves to have a family, it’s the two of you.” She replied with a smile, looking fondly at the two boys in front of her.

“I mean-” He stammered once more, Spot reaching out to lace his fingers with Crutchie’s. “It’s a lot to ask of someone and-”

“If I didn’t want to carry a baby for the two of you, do you think I would have offered?” Katherine asked with a smile, leaning forward across the table and putting her hand on top of Spot’s and Crutchie’s. “Do you two know whose sperm you’re going to use?”

“Spot’s.”

“Crutchie’s.”

The two boys answered in unison, which caused Katherine to raise her eyebrow at the two of them.

“I thought-”

“But yours-”

With a shake of her head, Katherine cut both of them off. “Look, I want to do this for you two, and I will but I think that you both need to sit down and talk more about this.” She advised and even though they remained silent, both of the boys knew that Katherine was right.

-

Later that night, Crutchie was curled up on the couch, the quilt his mother had made him and Spot as a wedding present wrapped up around his shoulders. He was focused on the television, a rerun on HGTV playing when came the words he had been dreading to hear.

“We need to talk.”

Crutchie craned his neck around, watching as Spot stomped the snow off of his boots in the small entrance way of their apartment. Even though they had been dating since they were teenagers, talking about something serious was a struggle for them. They tended to avoid most of those conversations, somehow managing to work their way around them without a word being uttered. But he was pretty sure what Spot wanted to talk about and Crutchie knew this wasn’t something they could avoid at all costs. So with a soft sigh he turned off the tv, letting his head fall back against the couch as Spot came around to sit down next to him.

“I thought we were going to use yours…” Spot said right away and Crutchie could feel the other boy’s eyes on him. He kept his head against the back of the couch though, eyes looking up at the ceiling and suddenly wondering if that water spot had always been there.

“Crutchie…”

And from the tone of Spot’s voice, Crutchie knew that he couldn’t keep ignoring him. It was worth a try at least. So he pushed himself up some, turning slightly so that he was facing Spot.

“We never said that we were going to use mine.” He pointed out quietly and it felt like the silence between them stretched on for years.

“But we never said that we were going to use mine either.” Spot finally countered after a few seconds, his brow raising slightly as he looked at him.

“I don’t want to use mine.” And without really thinking about it, he moved his hand under the quilt to rest on the top of his bad leg. Spot must have noticed the movement because his eyes followed Crutchie’s hand and stayed there before looking back up at him.

“Crutchie…” He said softer this time, scooting closer and placing his hand on top of Crutchie’s that was still under the blanket.

“We don’t know if it’s hereditary, if I can pass it on.” Crutchie whispered so quietly that even with how close they now were, Spot had to strain to hear him. “I don’t… I can’t pass this on to our baby. They don’t deserve to go through this. Through the pain, through life with a bad leg or whatever the disease might attack on them.”

Crutchie sought out Spot’s eyes, holding his gaze for as long as he could. He knew what it was like to grow up being in and out of the hospitals. Of not knowing if he would make it or not. There were too many nights spent in complete agony from his leg, wishing that there was something he could do to make it go away. He remembered the laughs and jeers from his school mates, how people would push and shove him in the hallway. And the fact that he could potentially pass this onto their child was something he was not willing to risk.

Sure, it would have been amazing to see a possible mini him running around. Perhaps the baby would have his eyes or his freckles or some aspect of his personality but the risk wasn’t worth it and all he could do was hope that Spot would understand that.

Half of Crutchie was expecting Spot to say something back. To counter that they had no idea if what was wrong with Crutchie’s leg could be passed on to their child. That he didn’t want to use his own and have the baby inherit his anger or whatever insecurities that Spot had but didn’t speak about. Instead he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Crutchie, quilt and all, and pulled him tight to his chest.

Silence stretched on even longer and Crutchie pressed his face in against Spot’s chest, causing him to tightened his grip on the boy even more. Though a wave of safeness flooded Crutchie’s body as Spot laid his head on top of his, their bodies quickly tangling together to become one.

“We can use mine.” Spot finally breathed out and Crutchie pulled back some, eyes searching the other boy’s face.

“You sure?” He asked quietly and a small smile worked it’s way onto Spot’s face.

“I’m sure.” Came his reply as he settled back against the couch, pulling Crutchie along with him and positioning him in against his side. “We can tell Kath in the morning. But right now I’m pretty sure there’s a House Hunters marathon on that we need to finish watching.”

It had been a really rough day at work. They were right in the middle of one of the worst snow storms of the century, but Crutchie had to eat.

He sat in the subway that evening as the train crept underneath the snowy streets toward Brooklyn. The pain that was normally concentrated in his shin expanded up to his hip and down to his heel. The deep ache stretching down the entire length of his leg prevented him from dozing off on the subway as he usually did. All he could do was finger the few dimes he had earned and wonder how he and Spot were going get through this winter. He quietly massaged his leg.

The train slowed to a stop and the overhead speakers blurted something unintelligible. But Crutchie knew exactly where he was. He knew exactly how many minutes it took him to get from his weekday home in Manhattan to his weekend residence with Spot in Brooklyn. He knew exactly how to navigate the busy Friday night streets. What he didn’t know was that Spot had received a letter from his conservative grandfather “uninviting” him to Christmas dinner, gotten into a fight with one of the Bronx boys, and gotten pick pocketed on the way home from work. To say the least, Spot was not in a very loving mood when Crutchie walked through the door.

“Spot?” Crutchie called, closing the door behind him. He could hear the television blaring in the other room. “We have electricity?” Crutchie inquired when he found Spot sulking on the couch in front of the TV.

Right on cue, everything shut off with an empty click. “Sorry,” Crutchie whispered, gingerly limping toward the couch and easing down next to Spot. They sat quietly in darkness for a few painful seconds. “How was work?” Crutchie asked hesitantly.

“I’ll go get candles,” Spot snapped, standing up.

Crutchie began to lift himself off the couch. “I’ll get blankets.”

“No you won’t. Stay there,” Spot retaliated. He meant well, but it came out with cutting tone that hurt Crutchie. The boy shoved his hands into his pockets and felt the ice cold dimes sitting uselessly. He felt embarrassed heat seeping into his otherwise frozen cheeks. He felt as though he shouldn’t have come. He should have just stayed with Jack and Katherine. At least they had power.

From somewhere in the apartment Spot shouted out in frustration as something clattered to the floor. Crutchie hated feeling useless. He hated it more than anything in the world. He hated when people gave him money. He hated being carried. He hated the condescending looks he received daily from the upper-class citizens on the street. He wanted to go help Spot, but he also didn’t want Spot to get upset with him. So he remained on the couch and continued to massage his achy leg.

After a few more minutes of shouted profanities and objects falling to the floor, Spot returned with a handful of candles, a box of matches, and a pile of blankets. He proceeded to neglect Crutchie’s offers of help and lit the candles by himself. He tossed Crutchie the thickest blanket and wrapped himself in an old quilt. Finally, he sat down next to Crutchie on the couch.

“How’s your leg?” Spot asked, his voice absent of emotion.

“It’s fine,” Crutchie lied. Spot knew he was lying, but he didn’t say anything.

“How was work?” Crutchie asked after a minute of harsh silence.

“Fine,” Spot lied. Crutchie knew he was lying, but he didn’t say anything.

In the dim candlelight Crutchie noticed Spot’s swollen eye.

Immediately, he demanded urgently, “What happened to your eye?”

Spot turned away. “Nothing.”

Crutchie reached out to Spot’s face. “That’s not nothing, Spot. Who did this?”

Spot pushed Crutchie’s hands away with severity. They both sat silently in their own shame for a few seconds, until Spot stood. “I’m going to bed.”

Crutchie stared at his feet and listened to Spot’s angry footsteps up the stairs. He couldn’t even bring himself to look him in the eye. Despite the brittle cold slowly penetrating his blanket, the boy decided to sleep on the couch that night. He couldn’t bear to disappoint Spot any longer.

Both boys’ attempts at sleep were useless, but neither had the guts to confront the other. Every time Crutchie closed his eyes he saw pompous couples giving him pitiful looks; he heard Jack and Spot whispering to each other that he had no place among the other boys; he felt himself being violently carried and tossed into the refuge.

“I’m not useless,” Crutchie muttered into the darkness in the middle of the night. There was a tremble in his voice, as if he didn’t believe it himself. “I’m not useless,” he repeated, the tremble turning into a crack as the fear of rejection began to intrude his thoughts. He fumbled in the dark for his crutch, then hobbled to the kitchen. Trying desperately to prove to Spot, to himself, to anyone, that he could make it on his own, he pulled open the refrigerator, which appeared to still have power, and grabbed a loaf of bread and a jar of jelly, two of the few food items they had in the apartment. He searched the barren cabinets for peanut butter, but found nothing but a half empty box of stale crackers. Hands shaking hard, he dug through the dirty dishes and found a butter knife. He hastily pulled out a slice of bread and began to pry the lid off the jelly, while simultaneously trying to balance himself on his elbow with his crutch. Suddenly, his arm slipped, and with a loud crash both the boy and the jar fell to the ground. Shards of glass scattered across the floor and strawberry jelly splattered up the walls.

Tears began to gush down his face. “I’m useless,” he sobbed. “I’m a stupid worthless cripple who can’t do anything!” he yelled at the floor.

He didn’t move when he heard Spot scrambling down the stairs. Armed with a baseball bat, he shouted as he tripped on the last step, “WHO ARE YOU AND WHERE IS MY BOYFRIEND.” Crutchie’s stomach turned.

He stumbled into the kitchen where the fridge was giving out a orange glow. As his eyes adjusted, he began to assess the situation. “Crutchie what the hell-” He started, then he understood.

Still groggy, Spot kneeled to Crutchie’s eye level. “Listen, I’m sorry,” Spot said, the light from the fridge illuminating his swollen, now darkened, eye. “I just had a real crappy day, and I took it out on you, and I shouldn’t’ve. I care about you more than anything in the world-”

“That’s not what this is about Spot. I know you do. I know you care, okay? The problem is that you care so much that you don’t want anything bad to happen to me, so you don’t let me contribute. You think that I’m worthless.”

“Are you kidding? Worthless? You’re anything but! Who in this relationship brings in more dough?”

Crutchie was quiet.

“Who does the cooking?”

“Well-”

“Who stays in school? Who does the taxes?” Spot gently lifted Crutchie’s chin and wiped the jelly from his cheek. “Who taught me how to love others?”

Crutchie smiled a little.

“Who taught me that it’s okay to tell people how I feel?”

Crutchie reached for Spot’s free hand.

“Who taught me the importance of forgiveness?”

Crutchie’s eyes welled up again, but not because of sadness this time.

“I love you Spot,” Crutchie whispered, pulling his body to his and squeezing him tight. Spot squeezed back, then pulled away.

“You are so full of worth, Crutchie. I mean it,” he said firmly, then kissed the boy hard. Crutchie kissed him back and they stayed like that for over a minute.