A/N: Hey, Tif S. here. This is a fic I started after finally getting to see the movie Oliver Twist. I read the book over a year ago, and just saw the movie this weekend. This is completely experimental, and just for fun, and I hope you enjoy. R&R

Summary: Kurtis Twist is a poor boy born in a parish workhouse. After being forced into an awful job, because of bad circumstances, Kurtis finds himself somehow on the London streets as part of a group of pickpockets. Equal parts terror and adventure await. Pairings are undecided. Maybe some Klaine.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee. Ryan Murphy does. I do not own Oliver Twist; the great Charles Dickens does. All I own is the interpretation in my head.

Warnings: Spoilers for Oliver Twist. Rated T for language and violence in later chapters.

Now without further ado, I hand things over to the narrator.

Chapter One: Circumstances

All was quiet on the street, for it was midnight, and not many folks were out at this time on the English streets, well except for the occasional street rat, and a stray copper or two looking for trouble. And at this time, a woman was screaming her bloody mug off, for she had begun the arduous process of labor. A woman poked her head out.

"Come on now! Hurry up! Or are ya too ashamed to speak?" The woman opened the gate of the workhouse, her slight fingers making easy work of the locks. "Just like all the others. Come on girl!"

The young woman at the gate, stood shakily, screaming in protest as the baby kicked and pushed out. Her name was Elizabeth.

"Ahh!" Elizabeth screamed as the baby pushed its way out.

"Harder!" The elder woman commanded. Elizabeth pushed and pushed until finally a small cry could be heard. The woman rolled her eyes as she grabbed the screaming lad. "It's a boy. He'll live."

The boy wriggled, as though already knowing that this woman was not to be trusted. It is so strange how young children, even ones as young as this little brat, are such good judges of character and morality.

"Let me see him." Elizabeth said. The child was handed off brusquely. The new mother looked at her son, already feeling the sickness taking hold of her life. "You are beautiful my sweet boy. If only I had something to give you." She took the locket off her neck putting it on top of the bundle that held her sleeping son with the utmost care. "Keep this locket with you always. Perhaps it will help you find your family." Death gripped the young woman in his hands, taking her away. The older woman, Sue Sylvester, as she shall now be known, grabbed the locket.

"Oh, gold." Sue's eyes grew wide as saucers as she admired the locket. "The lad's too young to have this yet. I'll save it for when he's older." She turned to the man behind her.

"The child needs a name." He pulled a small notebook out scrolling through. "The last name… Swizzle… hmm… Twist. Kurtis Twist."

And so the lad was known as Kurtis Twist. He worked in the Parish Workhouse, as did all the poor boys whose mothers' wandered into Ms. Sylvester's sights. Now a picture hmm? Yes we must paint a picture of our young Kurtis. At this point Kurtis Twist was six years old. He was a mousy boy, overly polite with upper class manners. His hair was a light brown with lighter shades sprinkled throughout. He had eyes that went from blue to green to gray depending on the clothing he wore or the angle which someone viewed him. He preferred to be called Kurt, as Kurtis sounded stuffy, and he simply detested the sound of it.

"Twist!" An older boy in the workhouse pushed him.

"Yes?" Kurt asked.

"Ms. Sylvester wants to see ya."

Kurt simply nodded, stood and dusted himself off. I hate this place. Perhaps Ms. Sylvester would let him see the locket. With that thought in mind, the young boy quickened his pace until he reached the huge office.

Sue Sylvester's office was tremendously out of place in the workhouse. Unlike the rest of the workhouse it was immaculate, not a stain or speck of dust resided within. But that was how Sue liked it. She turned when she heard a small knock on the door.

"Excuse me Ma'am?" The diminutive lad stood outside the threshold.

"Come in Porcelain." The woman huffed.

"Ma'am, I want to see the locket."

"No. What did I tell you Kurtis?"

"I can have it when I'm twelve." Kurt recited.

"And?"

"Only if I'm a good boy. Please Ma'am, may I see inside?"

"You've seen it before."

"Please."

The woman relented with an eye roll. She read the address inside.

"Was she my Mother?"

" No. Your mother was a troll who popped off as soon as you were squeezed out. Now, get out of my sight. You're happy little face is making me want to barf."

The boy nodded, and left, but not completely. Unbeknownst to the woman, he remained behind, cleverly hidden from view. He saw Sue Sylvester put the key in a lock box, and place the key back around her neck. She put the box on a shelf that Kurt estimated he could reach with the aid of a single chair. As she turned back around to sit at her desk, Kurtis scooted away, and ran back to his work.

_Six Years Later

Six years had passed and still Kurtis Twist remained the ideal child, even when it came to meal times. Mealtimes at the workhouse were structured. Two lines were formed as each child came up as their name was called. One portion of gruel (or mush as Kurtis called it) was served to each child, and only one.

The group of lads at Kurtis' table enjoyed playing a game of sorts.

"Ok, lads, draw. Smallest straw goes up and asks for more." The oldest boy, Noah, demanded.

Every boy drew, sighing with relief as they knew their straw could not possibly be the smallest, until it came to Kurtis.

"No. I have to be good, so I can get something my mother left me."

"Well isn't that sweet?" Noah mocked. "Now draw Twist!"

"C'mon Kurtis!"

"Don't be a bloody coward!"

The slight boy stuck his hand out, not daring to look at the straw until the last second. Cripes! It was the smallest straw. "No."

"Well, would ya look at that chaps; Seems our young Kurtis here 'as won the prize." Noah grabbed Kurt's bowl and spoon, shoving it into the boy's hands, nearly knocking him over.

Kurt walked, each step weighing heavily on him. Please Ma'am may I have some more? That's not too hard. He was confident, that is until he actually reached the table. His legs started shaking, and he swallowed his throat suddenly dry.

Ms. Sylvester peeked over. "Yes?"

"Please, Ma'am, may I have some more?"

"More?" The woman asked. "You want more?"

"Please Ma'am."

"I'll give you more; you little brat!" She gripped the boy's arm roughly, leading him to the door. She marched him out, unlocked the gate, and shoved him out.

"Please! I need the locket! It's mine!"

"You ain't twelve yet." The woman growled.

"I'll be twelve tomorrow! Please Ms. Sylvester!"

Sue closed the gate, locking it. That gate jingled with finality so absolute that the boy simply fell to his knees against a wall.

Poor Kurtis Twist cried and cried, feeling lost and confused as all boys do. But we need not feel sorry for him, for he was a clever lad, despite his naivety. He remembered a box, a key, and a shelf to be reached with the aid of a lone chair. He stood, wiped his nose, and waited for nightfall.