Chapter Text
In one universe, Oscar and Morris fight against the strike, against the newsies in another, they do not. They fight alongside their family, their people. This is that universe. Let me hold your hand as I walk you through the newsboy strike of 1899.
" JACK!" Racetrack waves him over, someone has to tell Wiesel that they're on strike, after all. Jack jogs over to his brother his friend."'Kay, help us up, Race. C'mon we's gotta hurry " he rambled off quickly. "GUYS! JACK AN' THE NEW KID NEEDS TA GET UP. GET YOUR ASSES OVA' HERE!"
The rest of the Lower Manhattan newsies crowd around the headline poster, the ladder removed for some reason, probably so this exact thing couldn't happen with it lot of good that did them. With half of the newsies pushing him up and the other half lifting him up, Jack got to the floor pretty quick, with David not far behind.
"Aye, Wiesel! Me an' Davey gots news ta tell ya!" Jack yells out mispronouncing the man's name again, getting not only Wiesel's attention, but also Morris and Oscar's. "Kelly! How in the hell did ya get up here!?" Wiesel throws down his cigar, getting up real close to the two newsies.
"We's on strike, 'Wiesel'!"Jack raises his arms, finally pronouncing Wiesel's name correctly, though, in a taunting way. Oscar and Morris glance at each other and, ever the attack dogs, rush forward grabbing onto the brunette's ratty vest.
"Fuck ya mean you's on strike!?" Oscar spits out in Jack's face, exploding in anger. His street accent slipping out more in rage, both he and his brother always tried to hide the accents, but at this point, they were too angry to care.
Without any newsies to keep in line, their boss might decide they no longer served a purpose and with no purpose, they had no money, and with no money? They might get sent back there. It didn't matter what they had to do to keep out of there, they could not go back.
"I means we's on strike, Oscar. We ain't selling no papes no more. Not 'til Pulitzer re-lowers that price!" Jack snickers, making no move to push the Delancey off of him. Morris glares at the seventeen year old, "Did that fuckin' new kid put you's up ta this, Cowboy? 'Cause I swear ta God "
Jack cut the younger off, becoming immediately defensive of David, any newsie was family to him, and you didn't fuck with family. "So what if 'e did, Mor'? Rest o' us agree with him." He shrugged Oscar off of him, jerking his head almost aggressively daring the other boy to continue.
"Well, then all of you's are fuckin' stupid! " Jack gaze darkens, rushing at the younger Delancey. David held him back, "Jack Jack! We can't attack them! Jack " Jack eventually gave in, stepping back. "Don't fuckin' call 'em that. I fuckin' swear, Morris."
Morris glares but bites his tongue, he can't fight Jack without permission. He would have his head, maybe literally. Morris wouldn't put it past him. "Get outta 'ere. Before we's beat ya off." he snaps. It's an empty threat, but Jack doesn't need to know that. The other boy shrugged, "Sure. We's just had ta lets you know 'bout the strike. Don't matter whatcha thinkin'."
Jack grabs onto David's clothed arms, "C'mon, Davey. We ain't's wanted here," he pushes David off the fire escape much to the former schoolboy's alarm before jumping off after him. The two land in the crowd of newsies' arms, which provides a safe landing.
Morris hears his brother breathe out sharply behind him before whispering a curse.
"What the fuck."
The air was tense after the newsies cleared out, not desiring to stay any longer than necessary. "Would'ya stop doin' that!?" Oscar exclaimed, exasperated. "Doin' what?" Morris turned to his older brother. Oscar growled as he responded, "Tappin' ya foot like you's tryna get it ta fall off. It ain't helping nothin'."
"Oh, like you's is doin' anything to help!" Morris rolled his eyes. It was a childish gesture, sure, but sue him he liked acting like the little brother he was. "Whatcha want me to do, Mor'? Storm down ta the lodging house and demand they's don't go on strike so we's don't get punished? That'd be fuckin' pathetic."
Oscar swallowed, finishing his small rant. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, Oscar hated feeling this helpless. "Maybe, 'e'll go easy on us." Morris tried to be optimistic, though it wasn't really working.
Oscar gave his little brother a look, "Please. Do ya really think that'll happen? When 'as he ever gone easy on us? When will he ever?" Morris sighs. "Maybe he won't find out."
"I repeat: do ya really think that'll happen?" Oscar gestures outward, annoyed by the younger, "Uncle Wease'll go ta him and tell 'im and 'e'll call us into his office. You gots to know that, Morris. Tell me you knows that."
Morris sighs, looking off. He doesn't want to accept it, but there's no way they'd get off the hook that easy. "I... I knows it. Believe me, I do. I's just... don't wanna go back there, Os. I don't wanna go back."
Morris chokes back a sob, he shouldn't cry. It's his job to keep the newsies in line. What kind of enforcer cries in front of their fellow enforcer? Oscar takes a good look at the other, his barely fifteen year old baby brother, on the verge of tears. Terrified. It was times like this that it was made clear how young the two, especially Morris, were.
"Ah, Mor'. C'mere." Oscar spread his arms, the younger rushing into them almost immediately. "It's gonna be okay, kid. I's ain't gonna let 'im hurt ya again, neva' again, ya hear?"
Morris nods into his brother's chest, they barely ever had brotherly moments like this instead opting to fight out their emotions. Since these moments were few and far between that made them appreciate it all the more.
The Delancey Brothers were just that. Brothers.