Title: Always, Angel
Author: sabor ice
Summary: Following an accident involving damage to the Newsies' Lodging House and injury, Dutchy is ordered confinement in the House of Refuge under the ever-watchful eye of the villainous Warden Snyder. While there, Dutchy meets a sickly boy named Angelus, who teaches Dutchy about life and love through strife.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for this story.
Author's Note: Enjoy. Please R& R!
Chapter One - The Accident and its Consequences
Dutchy followed behind Snitch and Itey as the three of them hastily made their way back to the lodge house. The sun had set long before, and they knew if they didn't make it back soon, coppers would have a reason to arrest them - for skipping curfew. Every minor of New York had the same curfew: home before dark. Considering most kids worked from dawn 'til dusk, it didn't give anyone much leeway. Closing the front door behind him, Dutchy rested his back against it and released a deep sigh. He removed his hat and wiped his forehead off with the back of his hand. He and the other two had been lucky this time.
"C'mon, Dutchy," Snitch said, motioning to him with his hand. "De odders must be upstairs."
"I'm comin'," the older newsie answered.
As he moved away from the door, Dutchy playfully wrapped his arm around Itey's neck. The younger boy was shorter then him, though not by much. The blonde-haired newsie laughed as he watched the other boy fight to get from his grasp. He released the dark, curly-haired boy, before using his forefinger to adjust his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. He tucked his hat under his arm as he followed Itey and Snitch up the stairs to the sleeping quarters. Upon entering, the room was bursting with livelihood. Snitch and Itey left Dutchy's side to go meet with their other friends. The blonde boy took his hat and hung it over the post of a bunk bed near the door. Suddenly, he was met by Specs, who had come over to greet him rather enthusiastically.
"Hey, Dutchy," Specs said, patting his friend's shoulder.
"Hey, Specs," Dutchy answered, then gestured towards the boys who had begun to drag stools and a crate or two over to the middle of the room. "What's dis?"
"Poker," Racetrack chimed in as he walked past them to go find a seat.
"Yous know, we shouldn't tonight. Poker night's on Mondays. 'Sides, yous know Kloppman doesn't like us smokin' in here!" Dutchy noted, then watched as Specs went to join the others.
"C'mon, stop complainin'! He ain't neva gonna know 'bout it," a tall, moderately muscular newsie named Skittery replied.
"But - " Dutchy began.
"Let's get crackin'! C'mon!" another newsie complained anxiously.
Specs adjusted his bowler-styled black hat before glancing back at the blonde newsie.
"You in or not, Dutch?" he wondered.
Dutchy had always tried to follow the rules of the lodge house. Kloppman was a very nice man, and he respected him very much. But, Dutchy decided this once wouldn't hurt anything. He blew out a sigh as he removed his coat and vest and tossed them on the bed he had intended to use later. He pulled up a stool and waited to be dealt into the game. Kid Blink and several others took out the cigarettes and cigars that they had stolen earlier that day. A small round of applaud erupted when Jack Kelly pulled out a bottle of beer he had swiped. Snipeshooter eagerly reached out for it, but was instantly denied because he was younger than the rest and the supply was limited. He started to complain, but was made happy when offered a cigarette instead.
"Boy, am I's gonna enjoy dis," Racetrack said, recieving the bottle after Jack and taking a swig. "Ah. Now, dat's good stuff. You did good, Jacky-boy."
"Well, good thing, too. Who else was gonna get da beer? Yer all so yella all da time," Jack mused.
"Hey, pass it to Dutchy," Mush chimed in.
The blonde newsie put up a hand.
"No, dat's ok," Dutchy replied.
A few protests were heard in reply. Specs took the quarter-empty bottle of beer and took a drink. He slung his free arm over Dutchy's shoulders and then offered him the bottle.
"C'mon. Have a drink. Have a cig. One won't kill ya," Specs said.
Dutchy sighed as he took the bottle as well as a cigarette when Mush offered it to him. He normally didn't drink or smoke. They were both nasty habits. He was one of the only boys who tried never to do either, and of course, he was often criticized for it. He quickly took a swig of beer, a look of digust on his face proceeding his action. Then, he took a hit off the cigarette, his face mimicking the same action as before. Before he could hand off both items, footsteps were heard outside the room. The familiar voice of Kloppman talking to himself could be heard.
"Hey, cheese it, guys!" Racetrack exclaimed.
Dutchy just sat where he was as everyone else around him hurried to clean up. As the others rished to find a bed to jump into, Specs looked over and noticed Dutchy was still holding the bottle of beer and the cigarette. His eyes widened as he heard the door to the room begin to open.
"Dutchy!" Specs whispered loudly. "The stuff!"
The blonde newsie only then noticed the objects in his hands. He immediately ran over to his bed. He dropped the cigarette on the floor and set down the beer. The bottle swirled in place from side-to-side, but Dutchy didn't have enough time to fix it if it fell. He climbed onto the top bunk of the bed and pulled the blankets up over his clothes, before squeezing his eyes shut tight. The door creaked open and in walked Kloppman. He rested his wrinkly, old hands on his frail hips as he glanced around the room. All of the boys appeared to be in a restful state, and a pleased smile adorned the old man's face. After turning out the light, Kloppman left the room and closed the door behind him. A few boys exchanged words briefly, but otherwise, all stayed silent.
"Guess dat was close, huh?" Specs asked quietly from bunk below Dutchy's.
Dutchy turned onto his back and rested his hands under his head as he stared up at the ceiling.
"Guess so," he answered. "And, guess everyone's decided to cool it for da night, too."
"Yeah," Specs said, with a yawn, before turning onto his side to go to sleep.
Dutchy closed his blue eyes and soon was fast asleep as well...
Dutchy was deep inside a dream. It seemed so real, though. It was almost as if he could smell the smoke in the air as he walked along. He coughed aloud a couple of times, bringing his fist up to his mouth and nose as he did so. Suddenly, his blue eyes shot open at the sound of someone screaming. A blaze of orange ran down the strip of floor between two of the bunks. By then, everyone else had awakened, too. They all began screaming as they saw the fire, and scurried to get out of their beds. The door to the room burst open as a half-asleep Kloppman came rushing in. He turned on the lights as immediately saw the small fire that was continuing to grow by the second.
"Fire! Everybody out!" Kloppman shouted.
Dutchy watched as Spec's figure flung himself out of the bunk below. He had been the one screaming the loudest, as his arm was on fire!
"Oh, my!" Kloppman said, grabbing a blanket off a bed and quickly wrapping it around the boy's arm to put out the fire.
"Dutchy!" shouted Kid Blink.
Snapping to attention, the blonde-haired boy realized he, too, was now in danger of getting burned by the flames. He jumped off the bed, his backside very nearly getting singed as he did so. Blink had grabbed onto him so he hadn't lost his balance and fallen backwards. Dutchy glanced around to locate Specs; the dark-haired boy continued to scream in agony as a couple of newsies helped in out of the room. Kloppman and a few others had stayed and were gathering water and blankets to put out the fire. Without a moment to lose, Dutchy grabbed the ends of the blanket Blink had, and the two of them dropped it over the flames. Then, they began vigorously stomping out the fire. Skittery and Mush came back from the washroom with a large bucket of water and dumped it over the two bunks which had caught on fire. Kloppman, Jack, and Racetrack continued to put out the rest of the flames with wet blankets until finally the fire was out. Dutchy placed his hand against his chest as he fought to catch his breath. He coughed as he looked around to make sure the others were ok.
"Everybody all right?" Kloppman asked, in between coughs.
The others were a bit dis-oriented as they were in shock of what had just occured. As they all began to leave the room, Dutchy noticed something on the floor beside one of the scorched beds: a broken bottle and a wet cigarette on top of a burnt up shirt. He felt Kloppman's hand on his shoulder and looked over at the man. The two of them left the lodge house to join the others outside.
Hours later, the group of shaken up newsies and Kloppman found themselves at police headquarters answering questions. Judge E. A. Monahan, who had just been leaving for the night, noticed the wild group of shouting and disgruntled teenagers, and decided to audit. The judge pensively observed the boys. Most of them were filthy and covered in what appeared to be black. (Monahan's eyesight was failing, and color was hard to detect at times).
"Now then, one at a time, someone tell me exactly what happened," the middle-aged officer behind the front counter said.
Everyone began talking all at once, trying to give his own side of the story. The officer couldn't make heads nor tails of what they were saying. Monahan noticed one of the boys, a blonde one, wasn't doing anything but standing quietly in the back. The man's dark moustache twitched slightly as he observed him.
"You, boy!" the judge said loudly enough to get everyone's attention.
Dutchy looked over to see who the man had been speaking to. He gulped hard when he realized it had been him.
"You look like the guilty party. You tell us what happened," Monahan said, in his mildly commanding voice.
Dutchy gulped again. He glanced over at the others, who were all attentively listening. The blonde boy looked back at the judge.
"I..." he began.
"Speak up, boy! I haven't got all night!" Monahan exclaimed.
"It...it was my fault..." Dutchy finally said, as his gaze lowered to the floor.
"Sir," came the voice of the middle-aged officer.
He approached the two and handed a small bag to the judge.
"This was found at the scene. Apparently it's what caused the fire," the officer said.
Reaching into the bag, the judge pulled out a piece of broken bottle. He brought it to his nose to sniff it, immediately recognizing the scent of beer on it. Also in the bag was the cigarette and some burnt cards. Dutchy felt so small in those moments as the gazes and suspicious murmurs of the newsies weighed down on him. He could barely bring himself to look back up at the judge.
"Gambling? Smoking? Drinking?" Monahan said, before dropping each item back in the evidence bag and handing it back to the officer. "You stupid boy."
The gray-haired judged motioned for two of the officers to come forth.
"Place this boy under arrest for destruction of property and underage infidelities," Monahan ordered.
One of the coppers stepped forward.
"Sir? Apparently there was an injury as well. One of the boys has been taken to the parish where a physician is tending to him, courtesy of the church," the black-haired man explained.
Monahan's dark, beady eyes practically bulged from his head as he turned his attention back to the young man in front of him.
"Have you anything to say for yourself, young man?" he asked.
"Please...my friend...is he going to be ok?" Dutchy managed to ask, his eyes pleading with the other men for an answer.
Monahan scoffed, then motioned for the two officers to take the boy away. None of the other newsies could do anything except watch, stunned. No one knew what to think right now, least of all Dutchy, as he was taken into custody.
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