Chapter Text
It had happened. He'd called them. Oscar and Morris sat in front of his office, Oscar still tapping his foot. However, this time, Morris didn't bother to correct him. He knew better than to do that right in front of their boss's office.
"Enter." his cold voice spoke, calling the brothers inside. Oscar and Morris looked down, not daring to make eye contact without permission. "Warden." the two almost spoke in unison, speaking with the utmost respect.
"Boys," Snyder looked up from his book, not even putting out his cigar to talk to them, "I've heard news."
Oscar swallowed, taking the lead, "There's a lotta o' that in New York." The Warden tilts his head, nodding. "That's true, I suppose," he concedes, "It's what's the news is about that's out of the ordinary."
Morris tenses, but Oscar keeps his composure desiring to keep the promise he made to his younger brother. "Oh? Whatcha hear?"
"I've heard that there's a small rebellion stirring. The Lower Manhattan newsies claim to be striking. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, Oscar?"
Fuck. He knew.
"Ah. That news. I've... I've heard, sir." Oscar refused to take the risk of lying to the Warden. He was taught he was trained better than that. Snyder raised an eyebrow, "And you didn't make me aware sooner? What on Earth do I pay you for then?"
'You pay us next to nothing' Oscar wanted to protest, but he bit his tongue. "Apologies, Warden," Morris jumped in, earning a glare from his brother, "But you know how fickle newsies are. There's no guarantee this will go longer than a couple of days. Sir."
Morris nearly forgets to add the 'sir' at the end of his words, tacking it on the end as a second thought. "A couple of days is still plenty enough time for rebellious children to break the law. Especially with Sullivan as their leader."
"Right." Morris broke eye contact with Snyder, swallowing. The Warden narrows his eyes. "You two better get this idiotic strike under control before it reaches past Lower Manhattan. Who knows were it will go after that?"
The brothers nod obediently. "Of course, sir." Oscar states at the same time Morris says "Consider it done." The two look at each other. Synder nods.
"Dismissed."
The Warden goes back to reading his book as Oscar and Morris turn around and exit his office. "So," Morris starts once they've left, "I think that went well!"
Oscar shrugs, "I guess it ain't go as bad as it coulda." Morris smiles, "That's the spirit! Told ya it was gonna be's okay!"
Oscar smiles alongside his brother as the two begin on their way home. "Yeah. I suppose ya did, Morr. I suppose ya did."
By the time they got home, their uncle had clearly been drinking. "Where have ya two brats been!? 'Is been hours!" Wiesel gestures vaguely with his bottle of gin. Oscar sighs, reaching an arm to almost shield his little brother. "The Warden called, Uncle Wease. Ya know we's gotta answer ta him."
Wiesel makes a noise of disappointment, "Whateva'. Get ya asses up to your room 'fore I beat 'em." Morris rushes up the stairs, with Oscar not far behind. Once in their room, Morris flops down onto his rickety bed, sighing.
"Those fuckin' newsies betta' calm this strike shit down before we get our asses beat. Swear ta God." he whines out.
Oscar snorts quietly, sitting over on his own, twirling a switchblade in his hands. "Aye. We's used ta be one o' them, ya should lay off 'em." Morris pulls himself up, glaring at his older brother. "Os. If we tried to go back to them, they'd fuckin' kill us. I'd say that proves we ain't's one o' them no more."
Oscar takes a deep breath. "Yeah," he mutters, "Yeah. You's probably right." Morris flopped back down, pouting, "Yeah. Damn right I am's." The older snorted at his little brother's pouting. Morris was such a baby.
"Aye. What time is it?" Oscar looks at his brother, still fiddling with the switchblade. Morris groans, pulling himself up again off the bed and looking over to the clock on their shared dresser.
"Ya coulda just looked yourself, asshole."
Oscar rolls his eyes, "Shuddup. What time is it, dumbfuck?" Morris drops back on his bed, yet again. "Is' 9:17."
Oscar makes a noise acknowledgement, "We's goin' ta sleep anytime soon?" His little brother shrugs, though it isn't very noticeable against the bed. "Dunno. You can, I ain't ya momma."
The older picks up a pillow and tosses it at Morris with the hand that isn't currently carrying a switchblade, hitting him right in the stomach. "OW! THAT HURT, FUCKHEAD!"
Oscar smiles bitterly, "Then don't be an ass, Morr."
"Fine. Goodnight, asshole." Morris snaps, shimmying under his covers. "G'night, fucker." Oscar flicks the switchblade shut and puts it on the dresser, doing the same. "Aye, wait! Gimme pack my pillow!"
"No. Ya wanna throw shit at me? This is the consequence, Os." Morris taunts, not even looking at his older brother. Oscar makes a growling noise, "Fine. Whateva'. Keep it for all I care."
Oscar tugs on the string in between there bed that controls the electricity, shutting off the lights. "Night. Love you." he mumbles. Morris doesn't respond. Whether that's from him already being asleep or from him not wanting to acknowledge the words, Oscar doesn't know. He honestly hopes it's the former.
Words of affection and affirmation aren't really in either of the Delancey brothers vocabularies. Their father doesn’t say it, their uncle doesn't say it, Snyder doesn't say it so why should they?
They don't see a reason to, so neither Oscar nor Morris say it. Maybe, given a reason, they might say it but in a situation like this, they've never said it. So once again, Oscar is sort of glad his brother didn't respond. Didn't acknowledge it.
If Oscar didn't stop thinking about this soon, he'd never get any sleep. So he turns over, and goes to sleep— bad thoughts be damned.