Firstly, I would like to apologize because I haven't updated for over a month, and I really hate that I left you guys like that, life got in the way of writing for a little while with some family/friend issues, graduation, speeches, and finals just throwing one curveball after the other, but I'm back now!

So this chapter is much longer than my others, which you guys definitely deserve after that wait, and I'm testing out another character's point of view, don't know if that'll stick around, please let me know what you think! Oh and another side note, neither of the Delanceys' parents are in the picture in this story, just Weisel. Also I should probably do some form of disclaimer… the only thing I own is the character of Elisabeth Kelly, though I really wish that wasn't the case.

After jogging for about six blocks, I decide to slip into an all too familiar alleyway. After a handful of encounters with Snyder and some of his goons that had resulted in me getting stuck between a beating and a wall I had decided to strategically select my selling spots. Currently, my spot was situated directly in front of the opening of the alleyway allowing me to turn and run to the next street over or climb one of the lower hanging fire escapes to get away from any less than desirable encounters.

It was still early, so there weren't too many people outside yet, giving me a few minutes to catch my breath. It's times like this that I don't mind being a newsie. The city is a quiet as it ever gets this early in the morning, if it wasn't for the occasional shouting matches coming from disgruntled families waking up everyone in their apartments, it could almost be called peaceful.

Spotting a stack of milk crates against the wall of the alley, I moved through the shifting shadows created by the early morning light filtering into the limited space and climbed to the top of the stack to sit down. Lifting the strap of my paper bag over my head I set down the extra weight that was fifty papers. It was never a fun thing hauling around papes, but some days, like today, it didn't feel quite as heavy as I knew it was.

Suddenly there was a deafening bang as a door slammed shut and a man shouted, "Fine! Don' t wait up for me tonight!" I jumped up off the crate, the first person out on the street being my cue that it was time for work. I turned towards the entrance of the alley to see if there was anyone else up and moving yet before I turned back around to grab my papers off the top of the stack of crates where I had left them.

I had shoved them against the wall to keep them from falling off the crate earlier so I was reduced to reaching for them from my tiptoes, all of my concentration focused on trying to grab my bag without all of my papers falling out.

Damn this swollen ankle, just something to add to the long list of reasons I want to throw Jack Kelly off the Brooklyn Bridge. It's not even like I've got that far to walk, Bet's selling spot is only a few blocks, but I already had to stop once. Hopefully she got caught up talking to those new kids so she won't be waiting on me.

There's another thing to think about, I have no idea who those guys were, though I'm sure I'll find out eventually, especially with how much they pissed off Weisel. I can't imagine he's gonna let them get away with that, especially in front of the other newsies. Hopefully he'll just let Snyder deal with it, I know he's been talking to that creep a lot more than usual.

Oh no, I forgot about what Oscar told me last night. I guess it just makes Snyder even more of a creep though. I know I'm not the most discrete person, but just because I "randomly disappear" don't mean Weisel needs to tell Snyder to keep an eye on me.

Actually I guess that might make some sense with mine and Oscar's track records for sneaking around behind Weisel's back. You'd think he would be worried about us getting into trouble, but no, his concern is the fact that we aren't busting heads when we aren't under his thumb.

One more block, you're nearly there Morris, just keep walking, it's no good thinking about things you can't change, at least it's somewhat quiet so getting a headache isn't a worry yet.

Just then a door slam and a man yelling about one thing or another broke my brief reverie and I immediately drop the idea of avoiding a headache.

Thank you sir, thank you for dashing my hopes. Well, at least I'm at the alley and about time too, much longer and I don't know what I would do with this ankle.

The buildings and fire escapes that make up this alley really do serve to make it dismal, but, if Bets thinks it's the safest place for her to sell, who am I to argue. Studying said buildings, the odd lighting of the place catches my eye, and, following one of the patches of light, I spot the very person I'm looking for.

Oh no, I can't laugh, she will kill me for sure. Tiptoes and all, she isn't quite long enough to reach her papers which, for some unknown reason, she has decided to throw on top of old milk crates. Maybe I could use this opportunity to get revenge for the last prank she played on me, I'll have to be dead quiet though.

I suppose it's worth a shot.

Struggling with my own papers, great. This is not something that anyone needs to know about. Wait, it feels like someone's behind me. What do I do? I can scream, run, kick, I could just be imagining things, no.

No there's definitely someone behind me, I can feel his breath on my neck, or at least I assume it's a he. Surely anyone in their right mind knows a newsie doesn't have enough cash to be worth robbing. Damn, is this guy gonna move or am I really imagining things and going insane.

Just as I decide to turn and face my would be assailant an arm reaches over my outstretched hand, still pointed towards my bag, and grabs the strap of my bag. I would recognize that particular hand anywhere though.

Spinning I land a punch square in his chest. He stumbles back about a foot, and tries to hide the grin on his face, but he can't quite manage it. "Morris what is wrong with you?!"

"It's payback Bets," Ah he's referring to the little incident with the crickets, I guess that's valid but that doesn't mean he gets to know that. "Now," his expression turns playful as he looks down at me, "I think you may need this bag squirt." I try to snatch the bag from him, but he lifts his arm so it's just out of reach, oh the joys of being short.

I stick my tongue out and watch as he feigns disappointment, "I really thought you had matured past that sort of thing Bets."

"So stealing a helpless newsie's papers isn't immature at all?"

Oh no, he's grinning again, "Depends on how you look at it." As he spoke I had moved steadily closer to him, and as soon as he finished his sentence, I jumped up and grabbed his arm, I knew I couldn't reach my bag so I figured my best bet was to move it further down. My jump had unexpected results.

There was no brief struggle, laughing, or shouting. My foot apparently drove itself into Morris's ankle shortly after leaving the ground. He gave a yelp and instinctively pulled up the leg that had been kicked, unfortunately, trying to balance on one foot with me pulling down on his arm did not go very well. He could not pull against me and so, instead, ended up falling towards me and we both toppled to the ground.

I tried to twist around so I could catch myself with my hands and not crack my skull open on the grimy cement, but couldn't manage a full turn and landing on my side, one arm pinned underneath my body and my right cheek scrapped against the ground.

Thankfully Morris fared slightly better seeing as how he was about to fall directly on top of me. He had dropped my bag and was able to catch himself in a push-up position, saving me from additional pain caused by being smushed further into the grimy cement.

I close my eyes as pain shoots from my cheek to a point just above my temple. Goaning, I turn my head to face upwards, with the hope that the throbbing would stop, to no avail. Then I realize there's something touching my face, and immediately open my eyes to find that Morris is still leaning over me, his brow scrunched up, his whole face just showing worry as his fingers brushed my hair away from my temple.

"Damn," he murmured, his eyes glued to the side of my head. His eyes widen as he realizes I am watching him and he seems to finally notice our current position for the first time. "Sorry, Sorry!" He rushes out his words as he rolls over and sits up, allowing me to sit up beside him, "I'm so sorry, I think your head is bleeding!"

He didn't give me a chance to speak as he moved so that he was kneeling beside my head, apologizing profusely, something that was slightly out of character for his soaker persona. I guess my head must actually look pretty bad, it didn't feel any worse than a headache though.

I could feel his eyes on me as he examined me, and when I tried to look at him, he pushed my chin to where it was facing forward once again.

"Mo?" No response, "Mike?" I swear this boy is half deaf. "Morris Delancey if you do not stop ignoring me I will set my brother on you."

"Huh?" Geez this is like a bad joke, all I get from threatening him is a huh? "Morris you've gotta at least let me know how my head looks."

"I'm not sure what to tell you yet." He continued to stay uncharacteristically silent as he pulled out a pocket knife. "What exactly are you doing?" I couldn't help but have a tone of apprehension in my voice and he apparently heard it because his head immediately popped up, "Really?"

"Well it's not like it's a stupid question." He just rolled his eyes and turned the blade towards himself as he pulled out the hem of his shirt and promptly cut off the bottom of it. "Morris what are you doing!?"

"I'm making sure you're alright," came his response, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"By tearing up your shirt?'

"Oh will you just trust me for one minute?" He ignored my protests as he finished twisting the fabric into a ball and used it to wipe away the blood on the side of my head.

"You know Weasel is going to pissed you tore up your clothes." He grimaced as he replied, "He'd also be pissed if he heard you calling him Weasel; he doesn't have to know. As a matter a fact, I think I'll keep this whole incident to myself. By the way, your head isn't as bad as I thought, just bleeding a lot."

He then flipped the rag over so that the cleaner side was against my temple and proceeded to use the shirt piece as a makeshift bandage. "You know you didn't have to do all that," I stated as he stood up and grabbed my hat from where it had fallen. Reaching his hand down to pull me up, he chuckled and said, "No, but I figured I better, or I might wake up to a few, more than angry, newsies at my door. Plus," he looked at his feet as he continues, "It kinda was my fault."

"Oh shut it, I'm the one that kicked your ankle-" he cuts me off, finishing my sentence, "-Which wouldn't have been an issue if I hadn't pissed off your brother this morning."

"Oh," I had pleasantly let that little problem slip from my mind even though I had told Al and Specs I'd ask about it. I walked back over to the stack of crates and climbed back to my perch from earlier.

"So that's why your bag was up here," Morris commented as he pulled himself up to sit beside me, both of us leaning back on the wall of the alley. He sets his hat beside himself and hands me mine as he says, "Well, go ahead and ask, I know you're thinking about it."

"I just- well," I look at his blank expression, "Why Crutchie? I mean some of the other guys can take it, I mean, look, I know Weisel wouldn't be happy if you didn't mess someone up, but literally anyone else is a better idea." His continued stare into space is actually starting to piss me off now. Completely exasperated, my voice rises in pitch as I say, "I mean, even me would be a better option than Crutchie and I-"

"No!" I resisted the urge to jump off of the crates as he turned to me with an incredulous look, "No way in hell would I ever do that! You must be insane if you think-"

"- I'd rather it be me than Crutchie or one of the younger boys any day!" Repeating his own words I continue, "And you must be insane if you think your uncle isn't going to notice that I'm the only newsie over twelve years old that either you or Oscar haven't kicked around yet!"

"I don't care! I don't give a damn what Weisel thinks or threatens I would never do that!"

"So then what are you going to do when he asks you about it?"

"I'll cross that bridge when I get to it."

I refuse to look at him while we sit in silence. We rarely fight since we don't get to spend much time together to begin with, so we try to make most of it count, but, when we do fight, it's never good.

After a few minutes I decide to break the silence, "You never did answer my question." Morris sighs and asks, "Which was?"

"Why Crutchie?"

"There really isn't a good answer, and I don't really think there ever will be. The Weasel-"

"-The Weasel?" I interject. Rolling his eyes Morris continues, "Yes, the Weasel has somehow gotten the idea that Oscar and I are too easy on all of you. He also has come up with a new plan to, and I quote, keep the newsies in check under the guidance of the one and only Snyder the Spider."

"I'm not gonna like the new plan am I?"

"Nope."

"Well, might as well get it over with."

"Keep the lions in check by preying on the cubs. He wants us to focus our efforts on beating on the younger and weaker boys, and if things still aren't how he wants them Snyder will start hauling off the younger boys to the refuge."

"Don't they realize that'll just add fuel to the fire?"

"Either that or it'll break the older boys, which is what Snyder and Weisel are hoping for."

"But you can't-"

"I know," he cuts me off with a sigh, "but I don't know what to do. If Oscar and I refuse, we get kicked out with no money and nowhere to live, or worse, get turned over to Snyder or one of the other goons he hangs around with. I swear, half of em wants me and Oscar beaten to a pulp and the other half just want us with bullets in our brains. Apparently, we talk too much, and they don't like it when we try to dissuade them from beating up some kid not even half their size."

As usual, the issue was the fact that if they didn't do what Weasel wanted both brothers would get beaten senseless. I had always hoped that once they were older they would be able to stand up for themselves, but Weasel had thought of that himself. Now it wasn't just him being abusive, it was the threat of multiple grown men "handling" them. Since they were about twelve and fourteen, neither of the brothers had tried directly disobeying anything Weisel said, the consequences were never worth it.

None of us ever talked about it, but the last time the brothers didn't listen to Weisel was the first time he called Snyder down on them. Oscar had showed up outside the lodging house at two in the morning with two black eyes, a bloody nose, and bruises everywhere. Thankfully Specs had been awake, reading some book by candlelight, and just woke up me and Albert. When we made it over to the boys house everything was quiet. We snuck in through an upstairs window on the hall of the small place, and into the brothers' room.

I remember the whole thing vividly; I almost threw up when we walked in. Someone had carried Morris upstairs and thrown him on the floor of the room. He looked like an old ragdoll and was unconscious. I thought there was way too much blood on his face and the floor for him to even be alive. Oscar was about to collapse too, so Albert and Specs moved him onto the bed while Oscar sat down next to him. I think that was the only time I've seen any of the boys sobbing. He was hysterical, and I'm surprised I wasn't, because Morris was half dead.

We all helped to patch both of them up as best we could with what we had, which wasn't much. Oscar had passed out on the other bed in the room before Specs, Al, and I left. Oscar was working at the stand the next morning, but none of us saw Morris until three days later. Oscar told us he couldn't even get out of bed for the first two days.

Since then they hadn't done much to go against Weisel's will, and with good reason. That's also the singular reason Specs and Al haven't ever really threatened to tell Jack about us being on friendly terms, because they know why they do what they do. Problem is that doesn't make it justified.

If things were different the Delanceys and the newsies might actually get along. Hell, if Weisel had kicked the boys out instead of making them bend to their will they might have actually made pretty good newsies. I can't help but chuckle at that image, and Morris turns to me, eyebrow cocked.

"I'm sorry, it's just I had the thought that, well,"

"Do I actually want to know?" he asks as he looks upward.

"If you guys didn't have anything else to do, I thought well, maybe you two could be newsies."

We both sat there looking at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. "The day your brother lets me be a Manhattan newsie will be the day Weisel turns into a kind-hearted old man."

"Well, then you wouldn't have to worry about being a newsie," I manage to squeeze in between giggles. "I guess you're right," he replies. We sit like that, joking around for a few minutes until its about time to hit the street.

"We should probably get going, I've got a lot of papers to sell, and we've been sitting here so long that, even with you helping, I may not sell them all."

"Alright, but before we go, I've been to ask you-"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence as a loud crash comes from the other end of the alley. We both whip our heads in the direction of the sound and Morris jumps down in front of me, hands on the brass knuckles he keeps in his pocket, as we look to try and see who or what is in the shadows of the alleyway.

We both heave a sigh of relief as Oscar comes barreling down the alley full speed towards us. Actually, that relief may not have been warranted judging by the look on his face.

"Osc," Morris uses a childhood nickname for his brother, "what wrong?"

Oscar talks in between heaving breaths, "We all need to go, now!" I look at him puzzled, "Why?" He glances between the two of us before replying, "Someone told Snyder you two were down here, I don't know who, where, or how, but he came to the house, wanted to see Weisel, and now they're both on their way here. Thankfully, they didn't know I was home, so I climbed out a window before they could leave to beat them here. If we get caught here though, I don't want to know what happens."

"Yeah, ok, we definitely need to get moving." Morris grabs my bag as I jump down from the crates and we all walk out onto the street. I stay between the brothers as they glance to either side, checking to see if Snyder or Weisel are nearby.

"Guys?" Morris taps me on the shoulder as Oscar and I turn to look at him. "I think I found them."

Sure enough, on the other end of the street were two men walking our direction at an alarming pace with a determined stride. I grab the sleeve of both boys' shirts and pull them backwards as I shout, "Back into the alley!"

In an instant we're all turned and running, through the alley to the other street. As I get out onto the street, Oscar, who had been just ahead of me, grabs my arm and pulls me back into the alley I look at him quizzically, but he just jerks his head to the corner where Morris peaking around to scout out the street. I then move beside him to get my own look.

Coming from the same direction as Snyder and Weisel were two more men, but these two I didn't know. "Their names are Charles and Edgar," Morris seemed to read my mind, "and they're nothing but trouble. Oscar and I have been unfortunate to work with them before, but usually they just get sent out to take care of any thorns in Snyder's side."

"Well that's just absolutely fantastic, what do you propose we do?"

"I think I may have an idea," Oscar interjects, "if we can reach one of the fire escapes we can get onto the roof, from there we move past those goons and they're never the wiser."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Morris asks. He had a point, the fire escapes were designed to be unreachable from the ground, to keep out burglars, but if we had something to stand on. I scan the alley and my eyes fall on my makeshift milk crate tower, dangling just above and slightly to the side is a metal ladder.

"I think I can answer your question Morris," I grin as I jog over to the crates, of course you'll have to get the ladder down for the rest of us."

"I think I can manage that," Morris returns my grin and climbs to the top of the crates. The ladder is still higher than he is and off to the side so he'll have to at least get on the tips of his toes before he can manage to get a hold on it. Oscar sighs as he sees Morris fully extended, leaning further and further away from the center of the crates, which were now threatening to fall over, "How about at least try not to break your neck Mo."

"I've got this Osc, I don't know why you're so concerned." Just as he finished talking, the crates gave way, and he made a last ditch grab for the ladder, he managed to pull it down, but he landed in the haphazard pile of wooden crates. "Morris!" Oscar jumps forward and starts to try and move the boxes out of the way, but Morris just pops right up laughing like there's no tomorrow. "That would be why I'm concerned Mo," Oscar states as he throws his hat at his brother.

"I hate to break up this lovely conversation, but we are going to have company soon if we don't move it!" At my words, both of the brothers grew serious once again. Oscar started giving instructions, Morris, you and I are going to help Bets get up first," the ladder was still slightly out of reach for me, "then you go and I'll follow, once we get far enough up I'll pull the ladder up and we'll be home free."

"How come you're going last?" Oscar responded to Morris question by simply stating, because I said so."

"That's no good, I'm taller than you, I'll have less trouble pulling the ladder up, I'll go last." Oscar moved to stand right in front of him, giving him the same look Jack had given me a thousand times, "No, I'm going last because you're my little brother and it's your hide that's in trouble."

Morris was taller than Oscar, so Oscar's glare was slightly hilarious, but Morris backed down, if arguing with Morris was frustrating, trying to argue with Oscar when he had made up his mind was nearly impossible. "Alright," Morris turned to me as he spoke, "You're up first."

The boys made steps with their hands and braced themselves while I climb up their hands, and with one last boost I grab onto the third rung and pull myself up. Morris was right behind me, he didn't have any problems reaching the ladder.

I focus my attention on the task at hand and am on the roof of the three story apartment building in a few moments. Morris pulls himself up as I look over the edge of the building at Oscar, he finishes locking the ladder back in place and starts the last leg of the climb up.

As Oscar pulls himself over the edge, voices start to float up towards us. I first look to Morris, then Oscar, and, simultaneously, we lay down on the roof with just our eyes over the edge to peer down into the alley.

"I thought you said this was the place Snyder." Weisel did not sound happy. "This is the Kelly brat's selling spot, and you said yourself that you saw your nephews headed this way."

"What would those two even want with the Kelly boy?" one of the goons, Charles I think, asked. So, Kelly boy, I guess Snyder hasn't told anyone about my identity. He must have the most inflated ego in the world if he won't even admit that a girl escaped his refuge, even it meant it might be easier to catch me.

"Nothing good," Edgar commented, "When are you going to let us deal with those two Weisel?"

"Once I know for sure how certain affairs are lined up, it'll be soon, just have some patience."

What the hell is he talking about? I look at Morris and Oscar only to find that their faces are contorted into an expression of confusion that must be similar to my own. After a few more moments, the men move on down the street and I heave a sigh of relief. "Can we not cut anything that close again please?"

"Oscar," Morris speaks up, "What was all that about?" He asked the question that was on all of our minds. "I don't know, but I intend to find out. Until that point however, you two steer clear of the lot of them, except for Weisel, unfortunately, he's unavoidable."

We sit in silence for a few moments, each person mulling over their own thoughts and Oscar's instructions. Morris is the first to stand up and, offering both Oscar and I a hand, he pulls us to our feet. "We can't do much now," he looks at me, "but you've got papers to sell Bets. I'll stick with you today."

"I'm going back to the house," Oscar says, "maybe I can dig something up while Weisel is out."

With that comment we go our separate ways, Morris and I out onto the street, Oscar back towards the distribution center.

It doesn't take long for the mood to lighten up as Morris attempts to 'embellish' the headlines and we joke about every other passerby. No matter how hard I try though, I can't get the sound of Weisel's voice out of my head.

End note: I do apologize, but I didn't proofread/check over this chapter as much as the others so mistakes are inevitable, but I really wanted to get this chapter posted because yall have waited long enough.