Title: Always, Angel
Author: sabor ice
Summary: Following an accident involving damage to the Newsies' Lodging House, Dutchy is ordered three weeks of 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 Two - Welcome to Hell
Dutchy hadn't slept all night. His cell had been cold and lonely. This had only been the second time in his life he had been in jail. The first time had been some months back when the newsies had been at one of Medda's shows at Irving Hall. Some of them had spent the night in jail after being caught and arrested when coppers decided they had become too rowdy. Even then, though, Dutchy hadn't been alone. He wasn't afraid of isolation, per se, but it wasn't exactly something he enjoyed either. His thoughts flooded with the events that past evening, even as he was being brought to the judge for sentencing.
As Dutchy was escorted into the court room by two officers, who held onto his arms as if they were afraid he'd try to escape, he didn't bother to raise his gaze to meet that of the others in the room. He knew the other newsies were there, stuck behind the steel divider that seperated the prisoners' walk from the rest of the court.
"Dutchy. Hey, Dutchy," whispered Jack Kelly. "Don't worry. We'll get yous outta dis."
The blonde-haired newsie just shook his head to himself and turned away as he was brought to stand before Judge E. A. Monahan himself. Dutchy lifted his head and squinted to look up at the man. The officer on his right nudged the young man, before handing him the spectacles that had been revoked from his possession the previous day. The newsie hadn't understood the lucidness of their demeanor. Perhaps they had thought he would attempt to escape. Therefore, rendering Dutchy mostly blind prevented any such notion from even entering the boy's mind. Not that he had even considered escaping anyway. He felt guilty. He was guilty.
"I assume you're not represented by a counsel," Monahan noted, as he looked crossly at Dutchy from where he sat behind the judge's stand.
"With all due respect, sir, I don't even know what one is," Dutchy replied in all honesty.
"I wouldn't except you to, now would I? You're not the first street rat to be brought into this courtroom, and you certainly won't be the last," the judge answered, coldly. "Now then, things will move along considerably now that we've established your lone position in this court."
"Hey, your Honor, I's object!" came the voice of Jack from the back of the room.
Monahan's head snapped up, and his piercing, dark eyes locked onto the young man.
"Well, you won't forgive me if I say you're overruled, I'm afraid, Mr. Kelly," Monahan said, dryly.
Jack placed his thumbs in the creases of his jacket and smirked.
"Oh, so yous remember me," the dark-haired boy replied. "I'm flattered, your Honor."
The other newsies around him chuckled, and Racetrack pat his shoulder as if congratulating him. Monahan's jaw visibly tensed. He picked up his gavel and banged it down loudly.
"One more outburst from you, and I'll hold you in contempt!" the gray-haired man exclaimed.
"Your Honor, I hold myself in contempt!" Jack mocked in reply.
The other boys around him jeered at his response.
"Bailiff!" cried Monahan, but by then, Jack and the others had begun to slip through the crowd of onlookers.
Monahan dismissed the bailiff and grumbled incoherently. Dutchy shook his head to himself, before locking gazes with the judge again.
"As for you...what's your name again, boy?" the judge wondered.
"Danielsen. Isaac Danielsen, your Honor," came a chillingly familiar voice.
Dutchy glanced over to see the one and only James Snyder - Warden Snyder to all who knew him. The boy gulped as he watched the warden approach the bench. The man's lips curled into a wicked smile as he verily looked over at the newsie.
"His real name is Isaac Danielsen, Edward," Snyder sneered.
That was right - Snyder and Monahan knew each other; they were friends, one might say. This was terrible; it could only end badly. Dutchy shook nervously, but desperately tried not to let it show. The warden rested a hand on Dutchy's shoulder. The boy glanced down at it, and looked up at the judge with an expression that could bore into a man's soul.
"He's just a poor, mis-guided boy," Snyder continued. "Allow me to take him back to the House of Refuge with me. There, I will be sure he is well-taken care of."
The judge looked from Dutchy and back to Snyder. He finally raised and dropped down his gavel again.
"Agreed. Confinement in the House of Refuge until his debt is paid off," Monahan ordered. "Next case."
Dutchy felt a tightening in his chest. That was it. His sentence was given. He looked up at Warden Snyder, watching as a devlish smirk played across the middle-aged man's lips. The hand on Dutchy's shoulder gripped more tightly, and again the boy gulped...
The ride to the Refuge was long and dreary. Dutchy couldn't believe this happening to him of all people. It was true that he could have ratted out his friends, but he hadn't. He wasn't that kind of person. Besides, it had been his fault that he didn't put out the cigarette properly. And, now he was paying the price he deserved. The warden pulled his shackled arms along as the two ascended the stairs of the dark, anguished-looking building. Dutchy glanced over his shoulder and looked around for a moment. Something deep inside told him this was the last time he'd see freedom for a long time.
Upon entering the building, Snyder handed the end of the chain of the shackles off to another. The man was short and stout. He had faded black hair with a bald spot on his forehead. His dark eyes were almost black as he looked over the boy. Snyder handed off his bowler-style hat, coat, and cane to a red-headed maid, before whispering something into the second man's ear. Dutchy strained to hear what he was saying, but failed miserably. Snyder left in the direction of his office, and Dutchy looked back at the stout man.
"What's happening?" the newsie asked.
"Shut up!" the over-sized man exclaimed, pulling the chain of the shackles so harshly that Dutchy actually winced at the pain that had been inflicted upon his wrists.
The two moved deeper into the building. Dutchy kept lagging behind as his blue eyes tried to inspect ever corner of the house. As a result, he was practically dragged forward by his shackles every time. His wrists were beginning to turn red and raw from the cold iron rubbing against them. Finally, the dark-haired man stopped once they climbed some stairs, causing the blonde-haired newsie to practically run into his backside. The man whipped around and growled slightly, making Dutchy freeze where he stood. Reaching into his pocket, the man retrieved a key and removed the shackles. Dutchy idly caressed the skin of his wrists, but subtly, so not to be noticed.
"The name's Watson. Mr. Watson to you. You may also address me as 'sir' and nothing else. I am the head of the staff here, as well as the disciplinary officer," the stout man explained as Dutchy listened attentively. "Breakfast is at five. Dinner is at eight. Chores will be assigned to you."
Watson moved over near a wall and slammed his hand on it. The blonde newsie noticed the piece of paper there.
"These are the rules of the house. Read them. Know them. Live them," Watson continued. "The washroom is down the hall. The sleeping quarters are in the next room. If there are no empty beds...well then, I suppose you'll be bunking on the floor, now won't you? Any questions? No? Good. Dismissed!"
Dutchy didn't move, causing the man to whip him over the arm once with the shackles he had just removed. The newsie gripped his arm with his free hand and lurched forward in pain.
"That will teach you to obey me next time I tell you to go!" Watson exclaimed, small drops of spit leaving his rotten mouth as he did so.
"I'm sorry...I'm sorry! I didn't know what you meant!" Dutchy cried.
"You didn't know what I meant, what?!" Watson said, raising the shackles again.
"Sir! I didn't know what you meant sir! I know now. I'll remember!" the newsie added.
Watson snorted as he lowered his arm and straightened out his black jacket.
"Good. Now. You've missed breakfast, but I'm sure you're not hungry anyway. Dinner's tonight. There will be a list of chores for you within the next hour," Watson replied, before finally departing.
Dutchy pushed his fingers back through his blond hair as he slowly sank to the floor by the wall. He brought his knees up to his chest and quietly sobbed. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. His head snapped up to see a young boy standing there. He couldn't have been more than ten.
"Ye just get in?" the boy asked, in a thick Irish accent.
The blonde boy wiped his nose with the back of his hand and nodded.
"Welcome to Hell," the Irish boy replied, before walking back into the other room.
Dutchy blew out a deep sigh and consoled himself. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. It looked like a figure...a boy watching him from afar. But, when the newsie looked, the figure had disappeared around the corner again. Thinking it had just been his imagination, Dutchy shook it off and made his way to the room he had seen the younger boy go into.
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Special thanks to those who reviewed Chapter 1.
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