Just felt like writing a little one shot. Standard disclaimers apply.
They called him the Bread Angel.
Never to his face, of course. When he came, there was no time for fancy greetings. As soon as they heard the telltale rapping at the window, anyone who was strong enough ran as fast as they could to help him in. Sometimes he had a whole basket full, sometimes it was just a morsel. Anything was treasured.
And of course, even if they'd had time to ask him, he wouldn't have liked the name.
They would take the bread and hand it out. No child was overlooked, no matter how sickly. While the bread was torn apart and passed around, the Bread Angel would stand with his hands on his hips, gazing around the room, taking in the horrible state of the Refuge and the children in it. Sometimes he'd help, especially when he brought a particularly large load of bread. To be woken by the Bread Angel, to be handed a fresh loaf and given a thump on the back and a whisper—"Hang in there"—was like a dream.
In the morning, they wondered if he was only a dream. But in the absence of the usual rumbling in their stomachs, they came up with a new word—miracle. The Bread Angel was nothing short of a miracle.
It was what got some of them through the work, through the beatings. The Bread Angel, when he came, would see their battle wounds and grin, maybe whispering "Keep fighting!" or "Way to go!" before handing them a fresh loaf of that wonderful bread.
These words became their monotones. They drank up every word that passed through his lips. After tumbling through the window, he always grinned and said, "Hey." So that's how they greeted each other. "Hey."
They would listen carefully as they divided up the rations. If he said, "How's it going?" it would be echoed around the room in whispers. "How's it going?" a girl would whisper as she handed a crippled boy his bread. "How's it going?" he would whisper back, and they would exchange knowing looks. If he said "It's a tough life, ain't it?" they would use it in any situation in which it was deemed appropriate throughout the coming days. They'd whisper it to a kid who took a rough beating, a kid who got sick, or to a kid who was crying because he was hungry. "It's a tough life, ain't it? Ain't it?" The kid would nod and repeat "It's a tough life." An answer was not needed. The words were enough.
Once, having crawled through the window and landed hard on his elbow, he whispered "Damn."
They really liked that one. They used it for a long time.
The soup was too cold? Damn.
Snyder was going to beat someone? Damn.
"How's it going?" "Damn."
It got so bad that Snyder ordered anyone who said the word to get his or her mouth washed out with soap. The kids were proud to do so; they looked at it as something to suffer for Bread Angel.
One time he brought them blankets. His face was missing its usual grin; instead he was frowning. "Mighta been seen," he muttered casually. The kids weren't worried; this was Bread Angel they were talking about, after all. The remark became nothing more than another addition to their vocabulary.
The next morning they hid the blankets under their beds and quoted "Mighta been seen" to each other all day while anticipating nighttime when they could take the treasured blankets out again.
The Bread Angel was a living legend among the children of the Refuge. He was mysterious, undefeatable, and heroic. They missed him in his absence and delighted in his return.
Then one day, he joined them.
Their hero came to them in chains. His wrists were tied behind his back with metal cuffs and he was being dragged by Snyder the Spider himself. The children noted that their beloved Bread Angel put up a brilliant fight. The muscles in his arms rippled as he struggled to break the chains. Snyder watched him fall to his knees in the struggle, not saying a word when the kids tentatively crept closer. Finally the Bread Angel stopped and hung his head in defeat. Snyder chuckled. With a click, the metal fell away. He left the room.
The Bread Angel jumped to his feet. They noticed him wince but didn't acknowledge it. He was still their hero. He may have been conquered this time, but he wouldn't be down for long. They stepped back and gave him some space, waiting for some words of wisdom from the Bread Angel.
"Got caught," he said, shrugging.
It was enough. The words were passed around the room. The Bread Angel looked slightly amused, but he swaggered to a bunk and sat down. "Well," he said, and the whole room went silent, "Now that I'm here, guess we can get to know each other better, huh?"
A boy nearby suddenly grinned and leaned to the boy next to him. "See that bed he's sittin' on? See it? The Bread Angel's on my bed!"
"Whaddja call me?"
The boy looked startled. He stared nervously at the Bread Angel and stuttered, "I..it's only…"
"Bread Angel?" he asked, a grin creeping over his face. "You'se all don't even know my name?" He stood and went to the younger boy.
"Naw. Never needed to," the boy returned.
"Name's Jack Kelly," he said, spitting in his hand and holding it out for the boy to shake, which he quickly did so, "and don't you forget it."
The other boy nodded firmly, then turned around and said to the room at large, "That's Captain Jack Kelly to you!"
"And I'm gonna bust outta here sometime," Jack said. "Now how's about we go down and get some chow? You ain't gonna have this Bread Angel to feed you'se for awhile."
From then on, meals were referred to as 'chow', a favorite catch phrase among the children was 'got caught', and the Bread Angel was lovingly renamed 'Captain Jack Kelly'—or simply Jack, once you got to know him.