Disclaimer: I do not own the movie Newsies, or the characters that I am toying with in this story…it would be a lot of fun for me if I did though…:: sighs wistfully::

Notes: wow! My first real fanfic! (Collaborative fiction not counted).  I am "widening my horizons"… so to speak. There is torture abound for the main characters of this fic. (One of the perks of writing fanfiction is that you CAN torture fave characters.) I have a feeling I should give warnings ::points:: : rape, slash (Dutchy/Specs; Jack/Spot sorta-ish), language (not censored), non-explicit sex, tons of angst from various characters, death/gore, abuse in the present or referred to in the past, severe bull-headedness, dumbass decisions from most of the main characters and a possibly faulty spellchecker. I'm sure more will come up. I am not counting on this fic being very happy, although it looks like at least some of people will get a happy ending. There may even be some fluff. If I'm lucky. Oh! I almost forgot! Dreams = -blah-, which should be helpful…Now:

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Review! (Give the grateful authoress feedback, even if it is only to say that her writing sucks).   

On with the fic!

Foundations

Chapter One: Take a turn for the worse

Dutchy, almost finished selling his papers, was looking forward to getting out of the awful rain and having a warm drink in the lodging house. Hearing the pattering of feet falling into rhythm behind him, he looked over his shoulder to see a face with sharp eyes staring at him and a grinning mouth that smirked suggestively. His breath hitched in his throat and he sped up silently, weaving through the crowd, trying to shake the man from his trail. The footsteps behind his picked up speed as well, and he could tell they were getting closer. He began to run and turned down the nearest alley, no longer paying attention to where he was going, just trying to get away. The raindrops trickled down the lenses on his glasses, his fair hair pushed in his eyes.

A cold hand clamped around his thin wrist.

He felt the matching hand find its way to the back of his neck and his head being pulled towards his captors. A mouth fastened itself to his lips, bruising them, and fingernails dug into his wrist and neck. He struggled, trying to wriggle his way out of the iron grip that held him. His captor's tongue forced its way past his lips, and into the warm cavern of his mouth. Dutchy's eyes widened, tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. He squeezed them shut as the stubble on the man's jaw scratched his face, surely leaving red welts in their path. He finally stopped struggling as he was pushed roughly to the ground, his glasses jarred off as his head hit the ground. His waist was straddled by the man, and his shirt pushed over his head. He whimpered softly, the tears making their slow way down his cheeks.

***

Specs sat cross legged on his bunk, his chin propped on one hand. It was late in the evening, Dutchy had still not returned to the boarding house, and Specs was worried. Turning to Jack he told him softly "Ehy, Jack. Ise gonna go look fer Dutchy, k?"

Jack replied looking slightly worried, "If youse don't come back inna hour or so, wese all gonna look fer 'im. I'ope nothin' 'appened ta 'im."

Specs nodded and turned to leave, the other newsboys watched him leave but didn't comment. Out on the streets, he began searching logically; going first to the places Dutchy sold his papers. About an hour later Specs came to the end of Dutchy's normal route. He heard a pained groan coming from one of the side alleys close to him. Trotting into it, he looked down the alley and glimpsed the light pink of pale, bare flesh. Warily he walked slowly towards it, but upon seeing blond hair he sped up and ran the rest of the way down the alley.

Dutchy lay naked in a puddle in the alley, his sopping clothes strewn across the width of the small street. Kneeling next to Dutchy's unconscious form he felt for a pulse, found it, and sighed with relief. Blushing, he replaced the other boy's undergarments, and took off his own damp shirt to clothe the boy with. He picked up Dutchy's glasses that had been thrown aside and wiped them off before replacing them. He then gathered the strewn clothes and held them as he picked up the thin boy, putting an arm under his neck, and the other under his knees. He slowly made his way back to the lodging house, ignoring the odd looks he got from the small number of passerby.

***

Specs trudged up the lodging house steps, clutching the precious body to his chest. He ignored the gasps of the other newsies as he made his way to Dutchy's bed and laid him gently down on the mattress, hanging his clothes to dry on a nearby window sill. The newsies gathered around him, Kid Blink and Mush directly to his right, Jack, Skittery and Bumlets to his left. They all clamored to know what had happened, the noise level in the room rising dramatically with every passing moment.

"Ise don' fuckin' know, okay!?" he yelled, startling the rest of the boys into silence; he wasn't known to loose his temper often. "I jus' found 'im lyin' dere in da alley and brought 'im back 'ere." He sighed and collapsed onto his own bed located next to Dutchy's. He ran his fingers through his bangs where the peeked out from under his bowler cap. "Ise don' t'ink he 'as a fever, but ise can' know fer certain. 'E sure's bruised a lot though." It was true, the boy had bruises wringing his wrists and across his cheek, along the back of his neck, and scratches along his legs, thighs and all across the soft planes of his face. Clothed in only his summer undergarments and Specs' shirt, the bruises stood out darkly on his pale skin. The other newsies hung around for a couple more minutes, before retreating to their own beds, Mush, Blink and Skittery throwing worried glances over their shoulders. Jack hung around a little longer, sitting on Specs' bed.

"T'ink 'e'll be all right?" Specs asked Jack, looking over at him. There was no doubt who they were talking about.

"I dunno, Specs. We oughta tawk ta 'im in da mornin', see if 'e's ok. Maybe pay fer 'is lodgin' fer a coupla days. 'E's only gots bruises an' scrapes, e'll be fine. What 'appened ta him dough?

"I tolds ya, I dunno. Something bad." Specs replied lowering his voice even more.

Jack just nodded his head sadly and stood, walking over to his own bunk.

"Get some sleep, Specs."

***

            Dutchy groaned in his sleep, sweat beading on his forehead, his face twisted into an expression of pain. Even now, he looked vulnerable in sleep, his face younger than its seventeen years.

            -he floated in a dark sea of emptiness, words and images drifted across his mind's eye.

"Come and play with me, little boy." Crooned a sly voice softly.

He saw himself several years younger, maybe twelve or thirteen, hair tousled and large glasses sliding down his nose. He was being pulled along by a large, thickly veined hand and led into a rundown shed. The image was black and brown with age, the only white in the picture, his light hair and the sunlight that illuminated the window.

"…said the spider to the fly…" a woman's voice played out, as if reading a children's story.

He was sitting in a well lit room on an old crate, again several years younger, watching intently as an old woman in ragged clothes held out a booklet of paper for him to look at.

            "If you scream or tell, I swear, I will hunt you down and cut your head off you wicked little bastard." An angry voice hissed in a low tone.

            He was in a small room, looking into a slightly warped mirror at a large bruise which covered his shoulder and half of his upper chest. Tears trickled softly down his cheeks and he was biting his lip to keep from sobbing out loud. He turned quickly towards the door, hearing a knock and struggled to pull on his shirt before the adult entered.

"Did you have fun today, little one?" a sickeningly sweet voice asked insincerely.

            His hands were clenching the fabric of his shirt, which his head was pillowed on; he stared at the dirt floor he was lying on. He felt the weight of the man on top of him lift, as the body fell to his side. He squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the sickening laughter, and felt the remnants of ecstasy ripple off the older man's body. He felt, rather than saw the other man stand up, dress himself and walk out, leaving the boy to clean himself up and get himself safely home alone.-

Memories, those he would not tell anyone, not his friends, not the parents he left behind, even those he cherished most would never know, could never know. Dutchy opened his eyes slowly; looking around carefully to make sure none of the boys around him had wakened. He shivered silently, pulling the sheets around him tightly, willing himself not to think. Not about what happened. He stared at the bunk above him, memorizing the knots in the wood, before exhaustion finally overcame him and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.  

***

            Waking early, Dutchy at first forgot about the newly cut wounds on his soul. He stretched and yawned, but feeling the tightness of long neglected muscles, he suddenly remembered. He bit back a groan, and stood up carefully, so as not to wake Specs and the other newsies near him. He was mindful of the creaky floorboards as he crept toward the fire escape that was located outside of one of the windows on the floor. He slid open the well oiled window and climbed out into the open air. Taking a deep breath, he tried to calm himself down. 'He's back! How can he be back?! I thought I got away, how did he find me?' Gulping the cool air, he sat abruptly, trying to fight back the stinging in his eyes. It had been four years since he had last seen the man, why did he have to show up now? He had finally begun to get over the horror that had been his life; his fear had just started to ebb. Why couldn't he have waited until Dutchy was strong enough to fight him? Dutchy rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, wiping the slight moisture there away. It wouldn't do him any good to break down, and would only alert Jack and his other friends of his distress. He didn't want them to find out. Ever.

This piece of his life was his shame. Every time he thought about it, he knew that if someone wanted to fuck him, he would not try to stop them. It had been so ingrained, the philosophy that if you fought it was worse, and it was. He had lost count of the times he had come home with a barely concealed bruise because he had squirmed too much or he had whimpered or begun to cry. He had been slowly conditioned to be some madman's fuck-toy. He didn't know how to fight that kind of assault, memories would flash before his eyes, and he would freeze. He let them have their way.

He had been told over and over that it was his fault that this was happening, that he had angered the older man in some way. He had known deep within himself that this was not true, but being told he was worthless had an effect on how he acted around others. His father had begun to ask if he was feeling ill, or if something had happened during the day. And he would always shake his head no and go back to his small closet of a room and sob silently, his small body shuddering with the grief and uselessness he felt. His shame overwhelmed him, he withdrew into himself loosing the closeness he felt with his family. He didn't want that to happen with the newsies, his almost brothers, but he didn't want or need their pity. Pity didn't get you anywhere. It just made you feel more inadequate.

But still, he was back. The man who had haunted his dreams for the past four years. It was happening again, and he had no way to fight it. Who cared about the filthy poor boys? No one but the filthy poor boys. He stared blandly over alley to the dirty brick across from him. He slid his hands across the cold metal of the safety railing, his hair and open shirt blowing behind him in the soft breeze. He sighed deeply, pushing his glasses up on his nose with his index finger. Hearing the unmistakable rustle of fabric behind him, he turned his head sharply to look into the window behind him.

"G'mornin' Specs." he mumbled quietly.

"Well, look who's finally conscious!" Specs quickly retorted.

"I'se guess youse could say dat." He dreaded the question he knew Specs was going to ask him. It was the one thing he tried to evade at all costs.

"What th' hell 'appened yestaday aftanoon, Dutchy?" Specs' face grew serious.

"If ya don't mind, ise would ratha not say."

"'Ratha not say'?! What th'ell does 'at mean?" Specs looked incredulously at him.

"Don't Ise get th' right ta keeps secrets?"

"Not when it involves bein' unconscious inna puddle, covered wit bruises!" Dutchy shuddered violently, as the memories he had been trying to keep at bay flooded back into his reeling brain. Tears spilled over from his burning eyes, sliding down his pale face. He wiped them away furiously, unable to hold them back. Specs' expression softened, he walked over to Dutchy and put a comforting arm around his shoulders. Specs' eyes widened in surprise as Dutchy turned into his arm and began to sob into his shoulder, wetting the white fabric that covered his arm. Specs looked over his shoulder to make sure none of the others had woken up. Luckily for Dutchy and himself the cloth of his shirt muffled the barrage of tears sufficiently. Specs pulled Dutchy to his chest, hugging him tightly, trying to comfort him as best he could. Eventually the fall of Dutchy's tears began to slow; he sobs becoming quiet and finally turning to sniffles. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, the skin of his eyelids feeling congested and puffy.

"Youse feelin' a little bettah now?" Specs asked sincerely. Dutchy shrugged and nodded slightly.

"I guess. Thanks." Dutchy said, looking uncomfortable.

"You gonna tell me what's wrong?"

"No. Not now. Not ever, as far as Ise sees it." Dutchy stood and began to climb back through the window.

"Youse know if youse ever feels th' need ta vent youse can come ta me, right?" Specs asked solemnly.

"Yeah, sure." was Dutchy's only answer as he slid the rest of the way through the open window. Specs sighed and looked down to the alley that was below the fire escape. For a split second Specs swore he saw a tall, wiry man just leave the narrow street. He shook his head and stood, making his own way to the window, sliding through and already beginning to forget the smile on the man's face.

***

End Chapter One

Wah!!! I finished a chapter! :: Claps for herself:: I'm so proud! :: Knows that it's kinda pathetic:: I hope all of you that made it this far liked it! I HAVE A FUCKIN' PLOT!!!! :: Dances and cheers:: it's like a first. Ok. I'm done now.