Author's Note: Hey there! I'd like to start off by apologizing because I don't know how good this story will be, since it's very late where I am, but the idea struck me and I just had to write it, so I hope it's not too awful. Fair warning, there are lots of weird time jumps.

This story was inspired by the fact that Jack wears a bandana in the movie (weird inspiration, I know. Don't judge me.) And it somehow turned into a musical-verse Jack Kelly backstory. (Seriously, the bandana is the only movie-ish thing about it. I don't even mention Francis Sullivan in this backstory!) But, I enjoyed writing this backstory-ish thing, and would like to write another. For Crutchie, maybe? Or Race? Tell me in a review who I should write one for next! (Or if I even should, haha!)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! Please leave a review! Thanks for reading!

"Hey, Jack?"

Jack tore his gaze away from the star-filled sky above to meet the eyes of the young, crippled boy who'd arrived at the Lodging House just a few weeks before. Crutchie had formed quite the bond with Jack in those few weeks, and they were now what most would call roommates on the roof of the Lodging House. He now sat on Jack's make-shift bed (which was really a stack of pillows and sheets taken from empty bunks in the Lodge) holding something Jack couldn't see from where he sat. "What is it, Crutch?"

Crutchie held up a piece of red cloth in his hand. "I found this under your pillow. What is it?"

Jack walked over and took a closer look at the fabric. In Crutchie's hands rested a red, faded, torn bandana.

"Jack?"

Jack stared at the bandana, unresponsive.

"You alright?"

Jack shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, buddy. 'M fine. Just...forgot I still had that."

"What is it?" Crutchie asked. "A baby blanket or somethin'?"

Jack smiled slightly and shook his head again. "Nah, Crutch. Nah, better than that. It's a bandana. You know, like cowboys wear?"

Crutchie chuckled. "Of course, it's got somethin' to do with cowboys. Why dontcha get a new one, though? This one's all beat up."

Jack had unknowingly taken hold of the end of the bandana that wasn't in Crutchie's grasp. He rubbed the fabric, which had been softened from years of wear and tear, between his fingers as he responded, "Uh...kinda hard to explain, bud."

Crutchie took a moment to find his words before quietly asking, "It's got somethin' to do with your folks, don't it?"

Jack glanced at Crutchie. He was almost angry at this. It was bad enough he'd brought the actual bandana out, now he had to bring out the memories that came with it. But, he knew Crutchie didn't do it to provoke him as the younger boy stared at him with bright, curious eyes. Jack grinned a bit and replied,"You'se a real smart kid, you know that?"

Crutchie smirked. "Gee, Jack, don't say that. I was just guessin'."

"Well, you'se a real good guesser," Jack said with a sigh.

"How'd ya get it?" Crutchie asked.

Jack sighed again and responded tightly, "My ma. But, that's a long story, Crutchie. We'se got better things to talk about."

"Like what?" Crutchie questioned.

"You wanna hear my sob story 'bout my parents," Jack replied. "Or do ya wanna hear about Santa Fe?"

"Whichever story you wanna tell, Jack," Crutchie answered.

Jack sighed once more and swung an arm around Crutchie. "Close your eyes. We'se goin' to Santa Fe."

"What's that place?"

Five-year-old Jack Kelly jabbed his finger at the next place his globe landed on after spinning it for at least the tenth time that day. His mom chuckled gently, her laugh sounding like tinkling bells. "That looks to me like...Mexico."

"Mexico is big," Jack stated. "Where in Mexico?"

"Well, let's see," His mother squinted at the globe. "It's right by the Rio Grande...it could be part of America, in Texas...nope, wrong side of the river. That has to be...oh, what's it called? I believe it's... Santa Fe."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "I never heard of it."

"I don't know much about it either," His mother responded. "You want to learn more?"

Jack nodded vigorously, prompting his mother to scoop him up in her arms and head to the front door. "Well, then, let's go to the library and read about it."

The rest of that day was spent at the library, as Jack pulled out book after book about Santa Fe. He began with an atlas, then moved on to a book about the history of Mexico, then finally settled himself in the cowboy adventure books, specifically the ones set in Santa Fe. He became immersed in all that his mother read to him, each word coloring another cactus, another Palamino, another cowboy. Jack closed his eyes and grinned, taking in every story until the stories faded into dreams. When his head dropped onto the table in front of him, his mother smiled and scooped up her child again.

As they walked home, Jack stirred slightly and murmured, his speech thick with sleep, "Mama, I'm a cowboy."

She patted her son's back and whispered, "You can be whatever you want to be, Jacky."

Jack's father came home from work the same way every day. Though he was exhausted, he always walked in with a bounce in step, and a grin on his face. He'd stride up to his wife and greet her, "Hello angel."

She would always turn around and roll her eyes at him. "You're such a romantic, you know that?"

He would kiss her cheek and call out to Jack, "You'll find your own angel someday, Jack. She'll swoop right in and save you, I promise."

That day was no different, but Jack had decided that there would be one difference. That day, he ran up to them, holding a piece of paper in his hands, on which he'd drawn a desert landscape. He pointed to it and announced, "Mama, Pop, we'se gonna go to Santa Fe."

"We are?" His mother subtly corrected.

Jack nodded, beaming at them. "All three of us. And, I'se gonna be a cowboy!"

"You are?" She smiled. "Well, how are we gonna do that?"

"I know," His father replied. He walked into the kitchen and emerged with a glass jar. With a grand gesture, he set it on the table and dropped a nickel into it. "Meet the official Kelly Santa Fe fund. One day, we'll move there and Jack can be a cowboy, just like he wants."

Jack lit up. "Really?!"

His mother smiled. "Of course. But, until then, I have a little something for you." With a grin, she pulled a bandana out of her pocket and knelt down at Jack's level. "For my cowboy."

Jack sat in the back of the chapel, clutching the bandana so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He heard the empty words of strangers echo around him, and they made him angry. They spoke as if they actually knew her. As if she'd wiped their tears and rocked them to sleep. As if she'd dropped a nickel in their Santa Fe fund every day. As if she'd given them piggy back rides through Central Park. As if she'd snuck them into Vaudeville shows, even though she knew they were too young, because she knew they'd love the colors and the costumes and the backdrops. As if they knew her.

But, no. No, they didn't. Jack could tell by everything they had to say. They didn't talk about tears, or nickles, or piggy back rides, or even Vaudeville shows. Instead, they spoke of a lovely young woman, and a tragic accident at the lace factory, and how there was no one to blame.

But, Jack knew where the blame was. He knew that if she could bandage his scraped-up knees after he fell off that tree in the park, the man who owned that factory could have taken care of her. So, why didn't he?

That night, Jack asked his father that very question. His father sighed as he topped off his glass with a drink Jack wasn't allowed to have. "I dunno, kid."

"But, it's no fair!" Jack exclaimed. "She didn't do nothing-" He paused when he heard his mother's voice gently say anything in his mind. "She didn't do anything bad. She didn't do anything but good, so the factory man shoulda been good to her. So, why, Pop? When can she come back so we can got to Santa-"

"Shut up, kid!" His father cut him off harshly, shocking Jack.

Jack took a step back, biting back tears desperately. One step led another, and before he could think it through, he was suddenly running to the fire escape, as his dad called after him, "Wait, Jack, I didn't meant to yell! I just...ugh."

Jack sat on the fire escape and tied the bandana around his neck with shaking hands, shutting his eyes so that the tears sting in his eyes.

Jack heard a few footsteps behind him and he turned around to see his father standing behind him through eyes blurred by tears. His father sighed and sat next to him.

"I'se sorry, Pop," Jack whispered shakily. "I just don't understand."

"I know, Jack," He sighed. "I know. I'm not sure I do, either."

Jack glanced at his dad. "But, I thought adults understood everything."

His father laughed bitterly. "Nah, we don't, kid. Trust me. If we did, we wouldn't drink gross stuff and yell at our kids."

Jack sighed, and before he could stop it, he was crying into his father's shoulder, who rubbed circles on his back.

"Shhhhhh," He said soothingly. "Close your eyes, Jack. Come with me."

Jack opened one eye. "Where are we goin'?"

"Close that eye, buddy," His father chuckled, and he obliged. "We're goin' where it's clean and green and pretty."

With eyes closed, Jack grinned. "Santa Fe?"

"You bet," His father smiled. "Yeah, we'se gonna make it there someday. Just like your Ma would want."

As time went on, the Santa Fe fund got smaller and smaller. There were bills to pay, and sicknesses to remedy. But, still, it wasn't enough.

"Where are we goin', Pop?" Jack asked, running as fast as he could to keep up with his father, who was also running.

"Shush," His father hissed. "Quick, kid, get in that alley."

Jack did as he was told and ran into an alley, where he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. In between pants, he asked, "What're we doin'? Pop? When are we goin' back home?"

His father shook his head, staring straight ahead. "I-I dunno, Jack. We, uh, couldn't pay for it."

"What?" Jack asked.

His father sighed. "Homes cost money, Jack. I ran outta money."

"So, now what?" Jack questioned.

"I dunno, alright?!" His father exclaimed.

Jack had learned not to cry when his father yelled. He'd come to learn that it didn't mean he'd done something wrong; New York had done something wrong.

"Well, what are havin' for dinner?" Jack asked. "All our food's at home."

His father scoffed. "As if we had any. We'se gonna have to steal it."

Jack's eyes widened. "But, Mama said stealing is wrong."

"Well, we don't got any other option!" His father snapped back. "Your Mama's gone, and we ain't got any food, so what do ya expect me to do?"

Jack swallowed hard. "Alright. Sorry, Pop."

His father sighed. "We're gonna go at night. It's harder to notice us then."

Jack nodded and sat down on a box. He then pulled out a piece of crumbled up paper and a pencil that was barely a stub and began sketching a city with buildings made of clay.

"Quit it with that doodling, will ya?" His father grumbled.

This was the last straw for Jack. "No. I'se lost Ma, I'se lost my home, and I'se lost my pop. This city ain't gonna take away my art."

His father was about to argue, but he paused as his son's words sunk in. "Wait, what was that last thing you lost?"

Jack shook his head. "Never mind. It don't matter."

For the next few months, they stole bread from the bakery every night. It became routine, it became easy for Jack. But,one night, the routine was interrupted.

It was a night that Jack would never forget, though he'd never remember the details. It was all a blur, really. He and his father snuck into the bakery and slipped all of the day old bread out of the display case. But, as they were stuffing the bread in their coat pockets, the Bulls arrived, and before Jack had time to think, he was being pulled away from his dad, who didn't notice his son's absence. Jack looked around desperately before frantically calling, "P-Pop!"

His father looked up, and when he met eyes with Jack, the color drained from his face. "N-no. Jack." He ran forward and shouted, "Give me back my son! Give me my son!"

Jack struggled and managed to kick the cop's ankle. The cop dropped him, and Jack had only one moment for the fight or flight instinct to take over. That was the first time Jack flew, and the first time he regretted it the moment he ran.

But, he ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. He ran until those little legs grew weak, and then, he stumbled into a nearby theatre.

He tripped his way into the theatre, and recognized it in an instant. It was Irving Hall, the place his mother has taken him to see all sorts of Vaudeville shows.

Before he could fully comprehend what had just happened, a woman in a brightly colored costume approached him, her mouth falling open in shock. "My goodness," She gasped. "You're Rose Kelly's son."

Jack looked up at the woman, trying to hide the fact that he was trembling all over. "I-I have to go, I gotta get back to my pop, I g-gotta save 'im." He stammered, though his legs wouldn't move.

But, the way the woman came up to him, so gently, gave Jack the tiniest ounce of comfort. For a moment, just a moment, his heart stopped racing, and he felt the far-away yet familiar feeling that he'd had when his mother was around.

The woman knelt down in front of him and shook her head. But, she buried her shock and planted a smile on her face, albeit a small one. "I remember Rose told me you're a cowboy. Is that right?"

Jack nodded shakily.

"I see you've even got a fancy cowboy bandana, huh?" The woman grinned. "That's pretty neat. Listen, my name's Medda. You're Jack, right?"

He nodded again, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion sweep over him.

Medda frowned, taking in the fact that Jack looked weak, sick almost. "You look awfully tired, Jack. Why don't I get you some place to sleep, huh?"

Jack shook his head, trying desperately to ignore how faint he felt. "No, no, I gotta get back," He mumbled, though he felt his knees start to give out underneath him. "I gotta save Pop. 'E's all I got left."

Medda carefully scooped up Jack before he could pass out. "Jack, how long has it been since you've had a good meal?" She asked softly.

Jack shook his head. "Don't matter. I gotta...gotta get back."

Medda sighed. "Listen, we're gonna go to my dressing room, okay? And, I'm gonna give you some food and water, then you're gonna rest, sweetheart."

"But-but, Pop and me, we'se gotta go to Santa Fe," Jack murmured, leaning his head against Medda's warmth.

But, Medda brought him up to her room and set him in his chair. As he quickly fell asleep, she gently untied the bandana from his neck and muttered, "Rose, I don't know what happened to you and your husband, but don't worry. I'll make sure your cowboy's safe."

She was about to walk out when Jack quietly called her name. She turned back around and walked up to him. "What is it, honey?"

Half-asleep, he answered, "I need my...my bandana."

Medda smiled sadly and pressed it into his hand. "There you go, Cowboy."

Jack spun stories about Santa Fe until the younger boy drifted off to sleep. He smiled and was about to go to sleep himself when he noticed the bandana clutched tightly in Crutchie's hand. Hesitantly, Jack reached for it, brushing hands with Crutchie's.

Suddenly, Crutchie stirred and woke up. He blinked drowsily and glanced down at the bandana. Tiredly, he said, "Sorry about that, Jack. You can take it."

Jack paused, and slowly drew his hand back. "No, you know what? Keep it."

Crutchie rubbed his eyes. "What? But I thought it was from your folks."

Jack nodded. "Yeah, it is. My ma gave it to me and now, your brother's givin' it to you."

Crutchie smiled sleepily and said,"You don't have to do that."

"I know," Jack replied. "But, I'm gonna."

Crutchie closed his eyes again and leaned on Jack's shoulder. "Thanks, Jack."

Jack grinned and rubbed circles on Crutchie's back. "Of course. Ma and Pop'd like you, Crutchie." He looked and the bandana in Crutchie's hand and whispered, "You hear that, Ma? Pop? We'se got a brother in our family now, so I don't gotta go to Santa Fe alone."