Brass Knuckles: A Tribute To The Antihero entry (NEWSIES LIVE FANFIC)

[A Tribute To The Antihero ENTRY]

Oscar and Morris Delancey weren't always brutes or heartless humans, in fact, they used to be kids at some point. Now at the age of 17, they have been pulling in more cash than ever from beating up other Newsies on the street in which Uncle Wiesel pays them handsomely for. When it comes down to it, will fun get in the way of what's right?


1. Evening Pape

“You’se betta hand over that pape, kid.” Oscar growled as he stared down one of the younger Newsies on the streets of Manhattan, he couldn’t be any more than 7 with the perfectly smooth and unmarred skin he was sporting. This was the Delancey’s turf, and therefore, Oscar’s, shame the kid had to pull the short stick on this one.

The younger boy, not quite knowing exactly who the brown-haired boy was, stared back bravely. That’s what Jack always said right? ‘Don’t give in for nothin’- Unless it’s da Delancey Bruddas.’ He was perfectly fine. His borough leader Jack would save him. Well, that’s what he thought at least.

Oscar really hoped his brother would get here soon. He had no intention of saving this kid’s hide but… he didn’t want to beat him up alone. It was their thing, you see. No Delancey brother would beat up on other kids unless the other was there, or there’d be no proof of it when they told their Uncle Wiesel of their treacherous adventures and get payed for the night. It was their way of life, and they’d finally settled into it, as if Oscar was going to give it all up in one afternoon.

Oscar noticed how the kid trembled ever so slightly, like the tick of a jaw, as his shadow stretched over him as if to squeeze his airways shut. Boy, wouldn’t telepathy be useful. You could do whatever you want without moving a muscle, but in the eighteen-hundreds such thoughts would be frowned upon, so Oscar kept them to himself for now. “Do Ise need ta spell it out fo’ ya?” He twisted, hearing a satisfying pop! come from his back. “I said, hand over the-”

“Oscar, where’s ya manners gone? I woulda beat the skimp already!” A loud thwack! followed, and the young newsie’s face turned red in the shape of a handprint, his last newspaper for the day being ripped from his hands. “Betta run kid, ya got ten minutes.”

A small smile crept onto Oscar’s face as he watched the frightened kid turn and sprint off in the direction of the lodging, his work being done for now.

“It’s about damn time, Morris!” He crowed, slinging his arm around the oldest of the brothers. “I was gonna do it withoutcha!”

Morris ruffled his brother’s hair affectionately, his own face splitting into a grin. “He’s got nine minutes, then we soak ‘im.”


The two brothers laughed, each counting the amount of money they’d made from stolen papes. Turns out, Oscar had earned a whopping 20 cents and Morris just behind at half. Not a bad day considering they get a dollar each from Uncle Wiesel. You’d wonder where exactly a cruel man like Wiesel would get such money to just hand it away, then again, you’d rather keep your hide than get rid of a little curiosity.

Oscar glanced over at Morris’s hand which held the shining coins. It was just on sunset and the coins glittered beautifully. “Can we bet ‘em.” Oscar didn’t anticipate the hat being thrown his way or the laughter that followed. “What?” He shoved his brother. “Don’ laugh!” Morris only continued to laugh, causing the teen to go into a sulking fit. “I’ll soak you in five minutes ‘stead of that kid.”

“You wouldn’,” His brother chuckled, calming down a bit. “Youse a wimp!” And the laughter started again. If Oscar had that telepathy, Morris would be six feet under. He glared at the taller boy huffing, and slipping on his brass knuckles which he always kept in his pocket since the day he got them.

The younger Delancey pulled his hat down on his head, making his way towards the Newsboy’s Lodging House. He wasn’t a wimp, he could beat up a couple dozen kids on his own and then take on Morris, especially with his brass knuckles. Well, at least somewhere deep down in his dumb brain he thought he could.

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