Rise of The Delanceys

(A.k.a. Whom shall I torture now? Oh! How about I give Race more trauma! That seems like a totally good idea.)

(A / N: I wrote this late at night when I was in an emotional funk, so I apologize if it's not that good. Or it might be even better than when I'm sane. You're the judge)

TWs: Bullying, blood, knives, kidnapping, mentioned death and murder

Nine year old Racetrack Higgins had been a newsie for just over a year, and knew the streets of Manhattan pretty well for a kid his age. He knew which streets had venders that wouldn't notice when you stole something, he knew which streets Snyder usually patrolled, he knew the best streets for selling papes, and he knew which ones had the gangs you didn't want to mess with. He normally didn't have to worry about Delancey Street at this time of day because the gangs there usually didn't come out until dusk. But today on his way back to the lodging house, he saw two mean looking boys. Race didn't think were much older than him, but they had an air about them that felt like they were much older on the inside than on the outside.

Race didn't think too much of them at first, and started selling his last few papers as he walked back, but after a few minutes, he noticed that they were following him at a distance. Race started walking a bit faster, and the boys did too. He started jogging, and so did the boys, who were slowly gaining on him when they realized that Race knew they were following him.

He looked back one more time before he was going to start running, but saw that there was only one boy behind him now. He slowed down in confusion. Where did the other one go? And, better question, where was he? Race looked around, and didn't recognize anything around him. And then he saw it.

Delancey St. , the sign read.

Race felt his stomach sink to the ground. He had went in one big circle without realizing it.

He turned around to go back, but saw one of the boys was very close, and getting closer by the second. He turned back to face the street sign, and was met with the face of the other boy. Race backed up slowly, but bumped into the first boy, who had now caught up with him. He looked back and forth between the two boys, who were now grinning evilly.

"Well, well, well, Oscar," sneered the shorter one who had snuck up on him by the sign. "Looks like we'se caught ourselves a newsie. You'se a newsie, right?" he asked Race, who didn't say a word.

"'Course he's a newsie, Morris. Can you not see 'is bag?" asked the taller one.

"'Course I saw. I'se jus' seein' if he'll answer me."

So their names are Oscar and Morris, Race thought.

"Well, what should we do with you, ya little murderer?" Morris asked Race with a scowl.

"Murderer?" Race squeaked.

"Ha! He has no idea what yer tawkin' 'bout," Oscar laughed. "But he'll find out soon enough what happens ta little scoundrels like hisself."

Oscar and Morris made eye contact, and Oscar pulled something out of his pocket. Race immediately knew what it was.

Brass knuckles.

He tried to run away, but Morris grabbed on to him. The last thing Race knew was Oscar's fist coming towards his face, sharp pain on the left side of his head, and then...

Nothing.

(time skip)

When Race woke up, he didn't know where he was. The room he was in looked like a basement, but he didn't know how he got there.

Then it all came back to him. The two boys (Race assumed they were brothers), being knocked out by the older one, and now the sharp pain in the side of his head. Race reached up to where he got hit the brass knuckles, and found that it was all sticky with blood.

Wow, he managed to get me hard enough to knock me out, but not hard enough to cause really bad damage. He's good for someone his age, Race thought. Wait, I shouldn't be impressed with him. They knocked me out and put me in here! And, where is here?

Race looked around the basement room, and saw there was a door across the room from him. He got up and walked over to it, thankful that the brothers didn't bother to tie him up. He tried the doorknob, wondering if they would be dumb enough to leave it unlocked. To his dismay, it was, in fact, locked.

Not knowing what would happen, but not really caring, Race started pounding on the door. "Hey! Let me out!" he shouted. No answer. "I don't know what you think I did, but I didn't do it!" he tried again. This time he heard soft shuffling outside. He pressed his ear against the door.

Big mistake.

The door burst open, making Race fall flat on his face. He rolled over and saw the brothers bend down to pick him up. They carried him back over to the side of the room, laughing at him as they went. They handcuffed him to a pole in the wall with cuffs that seemed to come out of no where. Or maybe it just seemed that way due to Race's head injuries.

Once he had been secured to the pole, the brothers stared him up and down. Race didn't say anything, he was so afraid.

After a few minutes, the older one, Oscar, Race remembered, spoke up. "We'se gonna ask ya some questions, and you'se gonna answer 'em or you'se gonna get it worse than b'fore. Ya got that?" he said in a low, quiet voice.

Race nodded slowly.

"Good. Now, what do you know about the turf war last year?" Oscar said.

"I barely know anythin'," Race said quietly. "I'se not allowed ta know much about that stuff."

"Now why don't I believe that," the other one, Morris, said. "You'se betta give us real answers or you'se gonna meet a worse fate than just brass knuckles," And he pulled out a pocket knife.

Race gulped as he stared at the blade.

"Are ya ready ta answer questions now?"

Race nodded his head quickly.

"Alright. Now, do you know anything about the girl that died during a fight in that turf war?" Oscar asked.

Race thought hard. "I-I-I remember hawkin' a headline somethin' like that," he said slowly, eyes still on the blade Morris held.

"Tell us what ya remember 'bout it," Morris growled.

Just then, there was a loud banging at the door, causing Morris to drop the knife. It grazed Race's arm as it fell to the floor.

"Hey! Who's in here!" a voice yelled through the door. "Whoeva's in here betta git out right now, or you'se gonna be in big trouble!"

"Shoot!" Oscar whispered. "Now you listen carefully ta me," he said to Race. "I'se gonna take you off of this pole, and you'se gonna pretend you'se playin' wit' us, ya got that?"

Race was confused, but nodded anyway. The door burst open just as Morris put the handcuffs away, and a man came in.

"What are you youngsters doin' in 'ere?" he asked when he saw it was some kids.

"We'se was jus' playin'," Oscar said innocently, with puppy eyes.

"Well go take yer game somewhere else. This is my property, and if I see ya around 'ere again, I'se gonna call Snyder."

At the mention of Snyder's name, Race tensed up. The brothers noticed this, and grins crept onto their faces.

"We'll stay out of yer basement," Oscar said, and the three of them climbed out onto street level.

When the man was out of sight, Morris grabbed Race and held him tight. Oscar leaned in and whispered in Race's ear, "Now you remember what we did to you, and next time you decide to kill a girl, The Delancey Brothers will come after you."

Oscar left him with one last strike with the brass knuckles, and Morris let him go. Race dropped to the ground, exhausted after the experience. It was night now, and he didn't feel like walking all the way back to the lodging house. So he just laid there on the sidewalk where a worried Jack found him the next morning.