Hello, all! So, I'm back with another birthday one-shot! Except, this time, it's for me. Yeah, I'm the type of person that will give herself a birthday present. What really happened was that I wrote this and then needed a reason to post it and what better reason than me? Anyway, yeah, I really like this one. There aren't enough fics about the Delancey brothers. LeesaCrakon has some fics, but that's not enough. So, without further ado, the Delanceys:
A strike. Oscar Delancey glanced at his younger brother, Morris, who cracked his knuckles in anticipation for the fight that was sure to ensue. That idiotic Jack Kelly had convinced the whole lot of the newsboys to strike against the rise in price for the papers. Oscar ground his teeth at the thought of Jack Kelly. The arrogant boy had been hell to Oscar and his baby brother, constantly antagonizing them and then grinning broadly as Oscar tried to control his temper. It didn't always work; there were countless times when Oscar would step in, fists flying, after Kelly had overstepped his bounds, spitting derogatory comments about Oscar's Irish heritage or Morris's stutter that the younger Delancey constantly strove to hide by speaking slowly and deliberately.
Oscar had never hated anyone as much as he hated Kelly. The kid was arrogant and cocky and refused to see any opinion beyond his own. Kelly lived his own little lies and was charismatic enough to convince his mindless followers to agree that the world was sunny and wonderful and that the newspaper bigwigs would bow down to them, because why in the world would Kelly ever be wrong? Oscar snorted. The brown-haired Manhattan leader breathed delusions of grandeur. But he was wrong.
The world wasn't all sunshine or rainbows.
Oscar knew.
It hadn't been a good start of life, Oscar recognized that, but he had made the best of it. His mother had been some poor prostitute in the slums of Ireland who had, no doubt, died in the squalor of the city, just like Oscar expected he and Morris would. She had become pregnant with Oscar as a teenager and her father had kicked her out of the house as soon as the pregnancy became apparent. After giving birth to Oscar, his mother had become a prostitute, discovering that her body was the only way to secure an income. Oscar had been three when his mother had become pregnant again and still recalled the nights she would curl up against the wall and just cry, sob, wail that life wasn't fair. When it was discovered that she was pregnant, the Madame that ran the brothel kicked her to the street. Oscar had clung to his mother's trembling hand as they traveled across Ireland, searching for somewhere to work, to live.
They had searched and searched and Oscar knew what starvation was. It wasn't what the newsboys would complain about. They could get food from the nuns that smiled upon orphans. There were no kind-hearted nuns that would help his mother. No one would. Cruel words would be whispered behind their backs, as her stomach grew and her face thinned. Oscar remembered how the dark circles under her eyes had deepened and how her skin had begun to sag and yellow. She was always tired.
Eventually, Morris had come along, though there had been complications with the birth. Their mother had whispered that Morris was a miracle-baby and Oscar had clung to those words, mouthing them over and over as he gazed at the small child before him. Morris had been stunted and sickly, but had survived, his wide brown eyes observing everything solemnly. Oscar had promised himself that he would protect this innocent child from everything he could fight off.
And he had.
Oscar had fought countless bullies and had sacrificed innumerable meals so that his brother would not go without. He had ignored the taunts of older boys about his tattered clothing and his grubby face; the insults rolled off his skin like water. However, Oscar was incapable of allowing any comments like that directed at his baby brother and had ended up with many a bloody nose for his impudence. Oscar didn't care. There was nothing he wouldn't do to protect Morris.
Shortly after Oscar had turned ten, Oscar's mother had managed to scrounge up enough money through begging, prostitution, and robbery, to send her boys to America. "Go," she had whispered. "Go and make a life for yourselves."
Little seven-year-old Morris had cried endlessly as Oscar held his hand and bravely led him onto the ship that would take them to a land of opportunity. He had wiped his baby brother's tears away and reassured him that America would be different. That there would be food and a home and that they would finally be happy. It was always just the two of them, against the world and as long as Oscar had Morris, he could face whatever the world threw at him.
It was all a lie.
America was not the birthplace of dreams. They had arrived in New York and all the promises Oscar had made Morris fell flat at their feet. There wasn't food. There wasn't a home. And there definitely wasn't happiness. It had taken countless years of bitterness and taunts and hollowing hunger before Oscar managed to secure a job with Wiesel for him and Morris. Not that the job had been great, by any stretch of the imagination. But, it gave them enough money to keep their stomachs full and provided a roof for cold nights. It marked the distinction between Oscar and Morris and the rest of the newsboys and although Oscar had originally tried to bridge that gap, the punch that threw Morris to the ground had solidified that distinction and inspired the hatred that Oscar nurtured towards Kelly.
And now that distinction, that uncrossable line between the Delancey brothers and the Manhattan newsboys, would be further emphasized. Kelly—insufferable, idiotic Kelly—had convinced the newsboys that they could strike against the newspaper and that, even more ludicrous, they could win. And Oscar wasn't about to lose his job for refusing to fight against the stupid, blind newsies.
"Y-you think the s-strike will b-be exciting?" Morris asked, his stutter making itself heard as he spoke quickly, excitedly. He blushed slightly at the stutter. Oscar had always tried to tell Morris that his stutter didn't matter but the constant teasing and badgering from the newsboys kept his younger brother cripplingly self-conscious of his speech impediment.
"I think it will be stupid," Oscar replied. "I don't know what Kelly is thinking."
Morris laughed. "We never do," he said, the words carefully and slowly enunciated.
Oscar smiled softly. "Ain't that the truth. Half the time, I don't even think he knows what he's thinking."
"Neither do those n-newsboys," Morris joked, frowning at the malformed word.
"Don't worry 'bout the stutter," Oscar urged. "No one cares."
"Y-yeah, right. Y-you've heard what K-kelly and his b-boys say," Morris ground out, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to force the words out. Whenever Morris was worried or stressed, he'd stutter even more, which only gave the damn newsboys something more to tease him about, which only flustered the Delancey brother more, creating a vicious cycle of Morris' stutter worsening.
"And we both know how reliable of an opinion Kelly has. Just ignore 'em."
Morris shrugged. "I'll try, Oscar," he said, each consonant and vowel carefully sounded out.
Oscar nudged his brother gently. "You'se loads better than Kelly and his boys. Try not to let 'em get you down."
Kelly, himself, swaggered up to the Delancey brothers. "Well, boys," he began, grinning cockily at the Delancey brothers, "you about ready for the strike?"
"There doesn't have to be a fight," Oscar growled. "Back down, Kelly."
"Not gonna happen," Kelly shot back. "We deserve our rights."
"You'se gonna get hurt. You and your boys are gonna regret this," Oscar warned, edging closer to the boy before him and placing himself between Kelly and Morris.
"That a threat?" Kelly hissed, stepping closer, so that they were face to face.
"A warning," Oscar clarified.
Kelly rolled his eyes, shoving Oscar slightly. "Thank you, then," he responded, sarcastically.
"Just back off, K-kelly," Morris growled, the anger malforming the other boy's name.
"W-whatever y-you s-say," Kelly mocked, smirking at the shame that flashed across Morris' eyes.
Oscar's face twisted in anger and disgust. "Get out, Kelly," he threatened, "before I beat that smirk right outta your face."
"I'd like to see you try," Kelly replied, grinning cockily. He tipped his hat exaggeratingly in the Delancey brother's direction, before returning to where his newsboys were gathered excitedly for the strike.
"I h-hate that k-kid," Morris growled, turning away from the newsboys.
"Hey, don't let 'im get under your skin. He's just tryin' to shake ya."
Morris shrugged again. "Okay, Oscar." His shoulders deflated and he scuffed his shoe against the cobblestone square.
Oscar glared at Kelly across the square. He would do anything to wipe that self-assured aura of confidence that Kelly seemed to exude. The kid needed to learn that he couldn't continually attack Oscar's brother without expecting some sort of repercussion. Oscar would teach Kelly that Morris was off-limits and yearned to make the cocky kid suffer, somehow.
Across the square, it looked like Kelly and the new, pompous kid that had recently started selling with his younger brother were rallying the newsboys for a fight. The boys were cheering, eyes lit bright with hope and fervor and trust. Could they not see the lies that Kelly spun, the golden thread that twisted and turned and could never ever be fulfilled? Oscar examined the ruddy faces, his eyes skipping from newsboy to newsboy. These were the young kids he sold to. There was the boy with dark black hair that flirted with any girl within a 30 foot radius; the tall, gangly boy with glasses that constantly slid down his nose, forcing him to be continually pushing the metal frames back into place; the dark-skinned boy that chomped gum, loudly smacking and popping it; the short boy who always had a cigar to roll between his fingers, though Oscar had never seen him actually smoke the damn thing.
And, there, planted firmly to Kelly's right was the kid with the crutch. The crip. His eyes shown with undisguised admiration as he gazed at their newly-elected strike-leader. Kelly reached over to grip the kid's shoulder, no doubt reassuring the crip about their assured success. It was all a lie, and no one seemed to realize this, but Oscar. The crip laughed at something Kelly said and the insufferable idiot gently chucked the crip's chin up, grinning as he told the crip something else. There was blind trust shining in the crip's eyes as he shied somewhat away from the gentle touch, laughing in embarrassment. And there it was. Oscar knew, in that instant.
If Kelly was going to attack his brother, then it was only his right to attack Kelly's brother.
Oscar didn't exactly look forward to hurting a defenseless crip and figured he'd mostly just push the kid around a bit to warn Kelly off of Morris. Nothing too bad, but enough to scare Kelly back into line.
Kelly told the crip one last thing, ruffling the kid's hair, before making his way to where Oscar and Morris stood, arms crossed, blocking the stand the newsboys would get their daily papes. "You gonna lower the price?" he challenged.
"It ain't gonna happen," Oscar shot back. "Get your head outta the clouds, Kelly."
Before Oscar even recognized the danger, Kelly's fist connected to his head and the entire square erupted into violence. Some scabbers that had been hired on to take the newsboys' place hadn't joined the strike and fought back against the newsies. Oscar shoved Kelly off of him and turned to the pair of boys that sprung at him. In the melee, Oscar lost track of his brother, was too focused on keeping the hellish newsboys at bay. Oscar quickly scanned the crowd and noticed Morris was across the square kicking the younger posh boy to the ground. His older brother threw himself at Morris, but Oscar was proud to note that his younger brother could hold his own against the upper-cruster.
A fist connecting with his face had Oscar jerking his attention from Morris and back to the present fight. He gripped his assailant's arm, ripping the kid away from him and to the ground. He grinned as the kid grunted, before crawling backwards, away from Oscar. The strike was getting even more violent and Oscar noticed that more newsboys than not had blood dripping down their face, matting their hair and running into their eyes. Oscar growled. When would these kids realize it was time to give up, that there was no possible way for them to win this?
Barely audible above the shouts and cries of pain, a thin voice called out Oscar's name. "Oscar! H-help m-me!"
Oscar whipped around, searching for his younger brother. There, across the square. Kelly had him pinned against the wall, his fist pulled back. Morris' lip was already split, blood trailing down his chin. His eyes were wide and he was struggling to push Kelly away. "Kelly!" Oscar shouted, his voice booming across the distance. Kelly turned to him, grinned cockily, and punched Morris once again in the face. Oscar's stomach turned as the force of the hit slammed Morris' head into the brick wall. Oh, Kelly was going to suffer.
Shoving his way past brawling newsboys, Oscar made his way to Kelly. Nothing was going to stop him from reaching his brother, nothing. Kelly must have recognized the unquenchable rage in Oscar's eyes because he released Morris and started away.
"Kelly!" the shout tore across the square and Oscar turned in surprise, searching for whoever else was calling for the strike-leader. Snyder. A shiver ran down Oscar's spine as he made brief eye contact with the dark beady eyes of the Spider. Oscar recalled how he had struggled to keep himself and Morris out of that man's cruel grasp. The Refuge was a danger for anyone, but especially for two Irish orphans. Oscar still thanked his lucky stars that he and Morris had managed to find jobs working for Wiesel. Oscar didn't think even Kelly deserved the Refuge. No one did.
At the shout, Kelly's eyes widened with fear and the boy immediately darted away from Morris. Oscar started forward, intent on capturing the other boy and pounding some sense into him, before allowing him to scurry away before Snyder could get his hands on the strike-leader. "Stop!" someone shouted, a rod of wood slamming into his thigh. Oscar turned to the damn crip, his eyes wild and his hair mussed from the strike. Oscar was quick to notice a bruise already darkening the boy's jaw and how he was leaning heavily on the crutch.
"This don't bother you," Oscar growled, shoving past the crip. "This is about Kelly."
"Stop!" the crip shouted again, his crutch flying out and catching Oscar in the stomach.
Oscar turned back to the crip, his eyes narrowing. Morris approached him, rubbing blood from his chin, his eyes wide and mournful. "Oscar," Morris whispered. And, Oscar couldn't help himself. He snapped.
With a cry of rage, Oscar shoved the crip to the ground. Oscar would show Kelly what it felt like to have his brother attacked, beat, and be unable to save him. The crip must have realized the danger he was in because he scrambled for his crutch, but Oscar kicked the handicap away. With a grunt of satisfaction, Oscar began to kick the crip, grinning decidedly when the crip tried to curl into a ball. "Jack!" the crip called out and Oscar turned in expectation for the strike-leader to come tearing in to save his crip. However, Kelly was nowhere in sight. Oscar aimed another well-placed, kick, enjoying the way the crip's face twisted in pain. "Jack!" the crip screamed again.
And Kelly still wasn't around. Oscar was confused. Didn't he understand that his brother was in pain?
A soft hand on Oscar's shoulder had him turning in surprise. Snyder was there, the crip's crutch in hand. "Back up," Snyder commanded and Oscar was quick to obey. He searched out Morris' eyes, noticing that his brother was just as confused and frightened as he was. What was Snyder doing here?
The sharp whistle of the crutch flying through the air answered Oscar's question. Apparently, he didn't think Oscar was doing a good enough job at soaking the crip and had taken the job into his own hands. Oscar winced as the crutch connected with the crip's head, before hitting his shoulder, back, thigh, arm. The crip was sobbing, trying desperately to protect himself. This… this wasn't what he had wanted. Oscar hadn't wanted the crip to be hurt this badly. "Jack!" the crip called out once again, his voice breaking on the name. "Jack, help!"
Snyder hit the boy once more in the head with the crutch, silencing the crip. Turning to Oscar, Snyder commanded, "Take him to the Refuge."
No. No, this was definitely not what Oscar had wanted. If Kelly didn't deserve the Refuge, his loyal crip certainly did not. But, what choice did Oscar have? If he didn't obey Snyder's orders, he was risking his neck and, worse, Morris'. With a curt nod, Oscar grabbed the crip by his bad leg and began to drag the boy away.
The crip seemed to blink away the stupor he had been in and struggled against Oscar's grip. "No, please," he begged. Oscar merely grunted in reply. What else could he do for the kid? Realizing that Oscar would not release him, the crip threw his hands out, trying to catch himself on the cobblestones jutting up from the street. "Jack!" the crip screamed, desperation riddling his voice. "Jack, help!" There was no answer, no sign of the cocky strike-leader. The crip must have realized the hopelessness of the situation, because he slumped forward and allowed Oscar to drag him along.
"Crutchie!" Kelly's voice echoed across the square and Oscar caught sight of him. The boy had lost the cocky bravado and his eyes shone with fear and desperation. Kelly took a step forward, toward his crip, before stepping backwards once more. You're too late, Oscar knew. If Kelly had come to the crip's rescue only a couple minutes earlier, when it was just Oscar, the kid would have been fine. Oscar would have let him save his crip because it was just supposed to be a warning, a small lesson to teach Kelly to stay away from Morris. And now Kelly's crip would be taken to the Refuge. The Refuge.
"Shoulda saved 'im when you had the chance," Oscar muttered to himself as Kelly backed up, before turning and running deeper into the maze of alleyways. That was the responsibility of the older brother, Oscar knew all too well. You risked everything you had to rescue your brother. Kelly would know now: brothers came first, bar none.
Oscar just didn't know if Kelly learned that lesson in time to save his crip, or if the Refuge would snap the crip like a bone.
I don't know, I just really like the comparisons between Jack and Crutchie and the Delancey brothers. I mean, you guys know, brother relationships are kinda my thing. Anyway, tell me what you think? Reviews and constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated!