Adult-FanFiction.org : Movies

Hell is a Sober Crawl	By : Glitter_Ink Category: M through R > Newsies Views: 499 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. Otherwise, names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of my imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
HOUSE OF REFUGE, 1897 - WEEK 3
The next morning brought Jack closer to freedom, despite the time added to his sentence.
There was an unfairness to it all. Those who'd been there the longest still got time added to their original sentences. To Jack, it seemed sadistic to punish them for minor infractions. What they did have were plenty of bottled-up emotions, vice withdrawal, and far too much restlessness.
After Alexei's breakdown, before bedtime, Snyder ordered the older boys' dormitory to file into the hallway. He directed them to form two lines, and to be quick about it. With his cane, he strolled between the rows. The boys shivered, standing in their underclothes, barefoot, covered in grime and dirt.
Alexei looked as emaciated as ever, his eyes bloodshot, his hair shaggy. He looked frail and bruised with a split lip, dried blood caking his mouth and chin. Two black eyes and scarred palms, Jack noted.
In the daylight, Grim noticed, too, the extent of the beating Alexei had taken. He exchanged a look of horror with Tide. Jack knew neither of the older boys were in any position to make waves at this point.
"Open," A stern matron demanded to Crazy Cohen, holding a spoonful of a pungent, colorless liquid.
Crazy looked at the others and back to the spoon. The matron grew impatient.
"Why—" Crazy was interrupted when the spoon was shoved into his mouth. He choked, exhaling through his nose, as the bitter-tasting liquid hung in his mouth.
"Swallow it," the matron hissed, glaring at him in warning.
Crazy swallowed, cringing as it flooded his throat.
She moved to the next boy in line. "Open," she said, pouring out another spoonful.
The boys complied until she got to Jack, who refused to open his mouth. Snyder came over.
"You open your mouth, boy," Snyder fumed, but Jack, again, refused.
Frustrated, Snyder grabbed his jaw. When Jack's mouth opened a little as a result, Snyder pried it open the rest of the way. He held him, and the matron shoved the spoon in.
Jack groaned as the spoon was ripped out and Snyder held his mouth closed, pinching his nose, forcing him to swallow.
The others witnessing this became more distressed as their time came.
"What is this for, sir?" Shakespeare asked when they got to him.
"Never you mind what it is, boy," Snyder told him without elaboration.
"Chloral," Doc whispered to Jack without looking at him. "He's trying to knock us out," he muttered.
Jack looked at Doc who stared after the matron administering the dosage. "What do you mean?"
Doc didn't answer.
Muggs looked spaced out, fidgeting. Jack could tell he wanted cocaine. Before the Refuge, Muggs sniffed cocaine powder so often, he was kicked out of the Brooklyn Lodging House when his habit was discovered by the superintendent.
Spot Conlon didn't mind it, as long as Muggs kept it away from the younger newsies. Muggs started on it around three years ago.
But the superintendent wasn't as blasé. He couldn't afford to have his charges ruin the immaculate image hand-crafted by the Christian society that sponsored the lodging house. So, at 15, Muggs was kicked out. Three years later, he was locked up.
Jack saw what the drug did to Muggs, when the older boy returned to the dormitory after getting a thumbnail from Snyder. Pupils dilated and eyes darting about, Muggs returned in a favorable mood. He was talkative, energetic, and far more receptive. It was surface-level pleasant, but it was better than stark indifference.
The only person in the dormitory he liked was Alexei. But 'like' was a strong word for Muggs, and maybe 'trusted' or 'tolerated' was better suited.
He and Alexei worked together for years before they were arrested. And while Muggs may have been the more obvious example of a degenerate, Alexei was no saint either.
Jack could see how Alexei was more pitiful in the eyes of a reformer or a judge. An immigrant boy who came to America with no one and nothing, taught himself to read and write, showed such promise until he was seduced into those dark cellars by the poppy drug, becoming a slave to his own vice. They could argue he started out as pure as the cocaine Muggs huffed. Even Kloppman, who'd taken Alexei in for a time, couldn't comprehend how he'd lost his way.
The verdict was out. Alexei Morozov was misguided. Muggs Tracey was evil.
Jack could hear Kloppman's voice in the back of his mind, could see the old man shaking his head in disapproval for passing such a judgement on two people he didn't know. But Jack didn't need to know either of them. The stories he'd heard about them were enough.
Muggs burned a lot of bridges and had less people championing his goodness like Alexei. According to Lion, Spot Conlon stayed away from him. Spot wasn't afraid of Muggs. But Muggs was unpredictable and manipulative, and Spot had too much to do than to play that game. In the end, the friendship wasn't a priority, and Spot found a new friend in Jack. Right around that time, Muggs became acquainted with a now opium-addicted Alexei, and from there it was a kind of perfect storm.
If any of the boys in that dormitory deserved to be imprisoned, it was those two, Jack decided. They were by far the worst. Jack could justify the other crimes – even Rails, who was in for attempted murder of his stepfather. He could chalk that up to survival.
But Jack couldn't find any empathy for Muggs. Maybe he could find it for Alexei, deep down. Jack had to admit, it was hard to watch Whalen and Snyder beat and berate the Russian boy. Jack knew Alexei hadn't deserved it – none of them did – but Alexei had done some unforgivable deeds in his day. Those actions didn't warrant such brutal treatment, but an intervention of sort might've been in order.
Muggs on the other hand…Jack believed him to be beyond help. As Doc mentioned once, there was something wrong with Muggs on a fundamental level, and no amount of pain or pleasure could remedy it. Spot Conlon had sensed it, Grim sensed it, Jack sensed it. A lot of people did.
Of course, Jack couldn't deny or confirm anything. He'd heard it all second-hand from Lion, who had a lot to say about the antics of Morozov and Tracey.
"What did they do that was so bad? Why did they get arrested?" Jack asked Lion later that afternoon.
Lion gave him a long look, ducking his head as they ate their dinner. "You mean, what did they do that was so bad, or why did they get arrested? Which do you want?" He whispered.
Jack hadn't considered those two instances to be independent. "Why did they get arrested?"
"Vagrancy."
Jack gave him a sideways look. "You can't be serious. Vagrancy? That was the crime?"
"So they say."
Lion could tell Jack wasn't satisfied with that answer. "Okay, what was the bad thing they did?" Jack asked.
"Madonna, aiuta a me," Lion muttered, wiping his tired eyes.
Jack rolled his eyes, craning his neck. "Okay, fine, I'll ask someone else."
"Alright," Lion grabbed his arm. "They get little girls hooked on opium. Homeless girls with no families. Ones who peddle flowers, matches, hot corn, newspapers – those types. After they get 'em doped up, they sell 'em to brothels, and that's how they make their money."
Jack was stunned. "Jesus."
"He ain't got nothing to do with it," Lion answered through a mouthful of stale bread.
"How did you know about all this?" Jack wondered aloud.
Lion tilted his head. "What lodging house did you live at again?"
"Duane Street Lodging House."
With a slight chuckle, Lion murmured out of the side of his mouth, "That explains a lot."
"Why?"
Shakespeare leaned across the table, rolling his eyes, trying to smile at Jack. "It means compared to the rest of us, you came from luxury."
Perplexed, Lion glanced at Jack, who looked pale and nauseous. "S'matter?"
Jack shook his head. "Nothing. I've…I've got a little sister. Sophie. And to think of that happening to her…" Jack whispered, not wanting to dwell on it, and shoveling a spoonful of watery soup in his mouth.
He watched both Muggs and Alexei at the far end of the table. Alexei picked at his food, as usual – moving it around with his fork, eyes downcast, mumbling to Muggs. He'd cut the grey meat into tiny pieces, pushing bits here and there, like he was sorting them. It was an odd ritual, to be sure. Jack found it strange Alexei barely ate. He was already too thin for his own good, as evident by the dark blue veins that soared through the back of his hands like rivers.
And immaculate veins they were, all the way up both arms. That was something to be proud of, and Jack realized he'd taken his own veins for granted. Compared to someone like Muggs, who'd destroyed most of his veins on both bruised arms, Jack was doing okay. Laudanum required a spoon. Muggs was a master of both jabbing and huffing the vasoconstrictor.
The Brooklyn boy balanced his empty tin cup on the table, trying to find an angle where it would stand on its own. When he succeeded, he removed his hands, sitting back and watching the cup balance on a diagonal.
As if sensing someone watching him, Muggs whipped his eyes up, meeting Jack's gaze with a glare of his own. Alexei was oblivious, as always, poking at his food. Muggs offered Jack a dead-eyed, dimpled smirk and the tin cup toppled over, jolting No Name who'd fallen asleep at the table again.
Jack flinched and looked away in an instant, his blood running cold. It was like Muggs had heard them. Like he'd read Jack's mind.
Jack knew Muggs experienced withdrawal, though he'd been better at concealing it than others. It made Jack wonder why Muggs didn't just visit the warden about it. Give up a meal or two for the stuff. Surely that wasn't too much to ask.
Later that day, Jack saw Muggs gripping the sides of the sink in the washroom, head down, as if in contemplation. He looked drunk, the way Jack's dad got when the room started spinning and anything he could hold onto was a matter of life or death.
Without warning, Muggs slammed his face against the rim of the sink, pulling back to reveal a bloody nose and lip. He spit the blood out, letting out a ferocious yell, before punching the glass mirror, and shattering it.
Had he lost his mind?
At first Jack wasn't sure if anyone else had been alerted by the act of self-inflicted violence. As soon as he thought that, though, he saw Grim approach Muggs with caution, trying to calm him down.
Not even Alexei had done something like that in his worst moments of withdrawal. Curious, but not wanting to investigate for himself, Jack held back.
Muggs shoved Grim, looking frenzied. "I'll kill ya, Grim. I swear to God, I will slit your throat if you touch me!" He slurred, his voice distant and guttural.
Grim held his hands up, shaken by the sudden push. If anyone were going to faze the unflappable Grim, it would be Muggs.
Like Kloppman, Grim believed everyone could be saved, and damned if he wouldn't try.
"Muggs, take it easy. Okay, take it easy. You're bleeding, slow down," Grim said, keeping his voice even. "Come on, let me help you—"
In a flash, Muggs grabbed a glass shard from the ground, using it as a barrier. "You wanna help me, Grim? You wanna help me?" Muggs mocked Grim, stepping toward him with the glass, making Grim take a step back.
"Muggs, please," Grim tried to coax the blade away, but Muggs swiped at him anyway, with Grim dodging at the last second. Grim – and Jack – could see the way Muggs gripped the glass shard in his left hand, blood seeping from between his fingers.
Tide and Doc jumped in, pulling Muggs away from Grim. It was almost too easy. Maybe, Jack thought, Muggs was weakened from the withdrawal. Still, he wouldn't stop screaming. It was as if all this rage that had been pent-up inside him unleashed.
"I'll kill you, Grim! I'll kill you! You ain't my father! Stop acting like it!"
Jack couldn't mask his fear, realizing Muggs wasn't above killing Grim in that moment.
"Okay, Muggs, that's enough!" Tide yelled, trying to wrestle the shard of glass from Muggs' bloodied fist. "That's enough, dammit!"
Jack watched wide-eyed as Doc forced Muggs' left hand open, and Tide grabbed the glass. His hand was cut-up and bloodied, much to Doc's annoyance. With the help of Tide and Grim, Doc dragged a still thrashing Muggs to a clean sink and forced his bad hand under cold water to wash it.
Muggs winced. "Fuck," he uttered.
"Serves you right," Tide spat.
"Don't stand there. Get me some cloth. Tear a piece off from the sheets," Doc called to Jack.
Muggs had settled down a bit, but his eyes reflected hellfire. Jack knew under normal circumstances, a cocaine fueled Muggs Tracey could've taken all three of them in an instant.
Jack ripped off a strip of cloth from his sheets. He hesitated. Why help Muggs? He was a bad person. Given the opportunity, he would've coaxed Sophie into a dark cellar, put a pipe in her hands, and traded her for a meal.
Let him bleed, Jack thought.
"Today, Jack," Doc called in a calm voice from the washroom, but not without urgency.
Grim looked over, giving Jack a nod.
Jack sighed, getting up and bringing over the cloth. Doc gave him a small glare of admonishment for his reluctance but shifted his focus to dressing the large gashes in Muggs' hand.
Muggs clenched his jaw as Doc wrapped the hand, pulling it tight. "Keep it dry," Doc ordered, tucking the loose end into a fold in the cloth. "Change it out after a few days."
"You're weak," Muggs thundered, shaking his head. "You and Krause and McGurk. Thinking you can save everyone," he eyed Jack with a bloodied smirk. "'Cept for this kid. You don't like me much, do ya?"
Jack shifted on his feet, finding it difficult to swallow. He didn't know where agreeing with Muggs made him stand. If he admitted he wanted Muggs to suffer, he'd look as bad as him. But would siding with the others give Muggs a reason to go after him, too?
At Jack's silence, Muggs let out a devilish laugh. He looked down at his hand, still speaking to Jack. "Doc, here, can sleep easy knowing he helped a poor sinner."
Doc smoothed over the cloth, making sure it was secure. "Have some dignity, Muggs," he snapped, immune to Muggs' animosity, as if used to it. "If I weren't wrapping your hand, you'd get gangrene or worse."
Muggs looked into Doc's steely eyes, absolute indifference on his face. It made Jack want to rip the bandage right off his hand – the audacity of Muggs' ingratitude was flooring. "I ain't asked you to."
Tide shook his head, closing his eyes.
Now it was Doc's turn to give an incredulous scoff. "I ain't doing it because you did or didn't ask me to. I'm doing it because I know you won't do it yourself. I'm trying to help you," he replied, wiping the blood off Muggs' nose with a wet rag.
Jack hadn't yet seen Doc lose his cool on anyone. It was a wonder how calm he could stay in the face of such cynicism.
Muggs raised his eyebrows. "You wanna help? Get me cocaine."
Grim and Tide exchanged an exasperated look. "Muggs—" Tide trailed off, pinching the bridge of his own nose in frustration.
"What? He got laudanum for Calico that night he should've died. Sucked Snyder's cock for it," he sneered, his eyes still on Doc. "And you're telling me to have dignity?"
Jack's eyes widened, his mouth going dry, as he looked from Muggs to Doc for confirmation. A sense of dread washed over him.
Doc said nothing, as if he hadn't heard Muggs, continuing to dress the bandage.
"You did that, Doc?" Jack whispered, a pit in his stomach. He couldn't fathom doing something like that for laudanum, let alone to get laudanum for anyone else.
Tide rolled his eyes, ignoring Jack's question, as if that weren't the pertinent thing now. "Shit, Muggs. If that's true, Doc's even more of a saint than I thought."
"I'm not in the habit of disclosing deals between Snyder, but as I recall, Muggs, you did the same thing for cocaine not too long ago," Grim added, crossing his arms.
Jack paused. "Wait, what?" The way they talked about it like it was nothing. Like it was common. Blood pounded in Jack's ears.
"And I understand," Grim stammered, softening his tone, as if he were talking to a younger kid. "We've all done what we had to. None of us should have to. You shouldn't have to. It's okay—"
"It's not okay!" Muggs exploded out of nowhere, yanking his hand out of Doc's loose grasp, the cloth unraveling. He gave Grim a searing glare, wild-eyed like he knew something Grim didn't. "It's not okay!"
The other three, including Jack, stared at him, alarmed. Jack felt his heart drumming in his chest. His hands trembled, and his feet prickled.
"You think because you lost your kid, you can baby us, huh? You gonna tell me I'm wrong?" Muggs roared, catching the others off-guard. "That's why you're a martyr. You feel guilty 'cuz your kid died? Well, he's gone! Your good deeds or whatever you wanna call them, they ain't gonna bring him back. They ain't gonna help us – they've gotten us in more trouble. It's your fault Calico got worse, it's your fault Alexei took a beating, and it's your fault we all got time added! We'd be better off if you minded your own damn business!"
Get Alexei, Tide mouthed to Cards, who stood next to Jack.
Get Alexei.
Jack thought he'd heard that order a thousand times whenever Muggs had these spirals. Grim gave that order a few times himself. In those instances, Alexei was the only one who could reason with Muggs, the only one he'd listen to.
Muggs didn't respect Grim. He didn't think much of Tide. And he wasn't about to listen to sixteen-year-old Doc.
Alexei was the safest buffer.
Grim stepped back, staring at the maniacal boy before him, an unreadable expression on his face. He pursed his lips, his fist clenching and unclenching. "I know you didn't mean that—"
Muggs laughed, blood spilling from between his teeth from the gash on his lip, making him look even more insidious. "You don't know anything!" he yelled, glaring at Grim.
It was odd – Jack's vision distorted, as if he were looking through ripples of water. He had to remove himself from the situation. He couldn't watch anymore.
He felt frozen. Walk away, and he'd stop being invisible. Muggs might turn his attention to him instead. Stay there, and he'd risk getting involved anyway.
Jack took a step back from the yelling. No sudden movements. Don't draw attention. Don't give Muggs a reason to attack. Jack could only focus on slipping away undetected.
He ground his teeth, digging his nails into his palms. He forgot how to walk. How to think. He felt like he was trapped in a nightmare, unsure of what was happened.
From out of nowhere, Jack felt the presence of both Lion and Shakespeare beside him. "What did I miss?" Lion muttered to no one.
The more Muggs ripped into Grim, the more Jack felt like crying. His chest felt constricted as bile rose in his throat.
At the urging of Cards, Alexei pushed his way through the others and got in between Muggs and Grim. "What's going on? What happened?" He asked, looking sicker than ever. His face was gaunt, his cheeks hollow, a yellowish-purple undertone forming beneath his eyes. He looked at Muggs' bloodied face and wrapped hand. A strained smile formed on Alexei's face, followed by a half-hearted chuckle as he noticed the shattered mirror on the floor. "That's bad luck," he noted, looking at Tide. "Ain't that right?"
And that's when Jack realized Alexei had lost it. He was as broken as the mirror.
"Come on, Muggs. That's not healthy," he rambled, his eyes as distant and glazed. He let out a horrible cough, like Calico's, and winced. "What's the problem?"
Muggs looked rabid, wiping the rest of the blood from his nose with the back of his good hand. "I can't take it here no more. They're all weak." He gestured to Doc, Tide, and Grim, his eyes wild. "Look," he slurred, holding up his bandaged hand.
Jack frowned in confusion, his head spinning. Muggs wasn't making any sense. For a guy who was grounded and stoic, he had displayed a 180 in the past fifteen minutes. It frightened Jack.
"He patched up your hand," Alexei squinted at the bandaged wounds, looking from Muggs to Doc. "You want I should murder him for that?" He asked in his stilted accent.
"Come on," Alexei shook his head, moving Muggs away. "You need to sit down."
"I need fucking cocaine, Alexei!" Muggs yelled, his voice breaking as he allowed the Russian to nudge him out of the washroom.
"I know," was all Alexei said. "I know."
Jack bit his lip, watching Muggs disappear into the dark dormitory. Alexei hung back, turning around to face the trio who'd attempted to deescalate the situation. By his expression, Jack couldn't tell if Alexei was all there or not.
Through greasy strands of blonde hair, Alexei nodded to Doc in a quiet thanks and walked away.
Nearby, Grim looked like he'd been struck with a hammer. Those words hung in the air. Because you lost your kid.
Tide clapped a steadying hand on Grim's shoulder. Grim stared at the ground for a moment in silence before slumping against a grimy wash bin and withering into himself. Doc gave one look at Tide, and turned away, ushering the others out with him.
Jack dawdled by the doorway, watching Grim – the one who'd been there to comfort him, to comfort all of them, who took whatever Snyder threw at him with a brave façade – be taken down by those five words.
Tide moved to close the door, pausing as Jack blocked it. "Is he okay?" Jack asked.
Tide turned back to look at Grim, who had lost his power of speech. Gasping with shock and sorrow, Grim ran a hand through his hair, staring at the floor.
Jack paled and asked what he could do to help. Grim cradled his head in his hands, keeping his gaze downward, determined not to show the depth of his pain. His eyes were red and puffy, on the verge of a torrent of tears.
"He's fine," Tide whispered, gripping the door. "He'll be fine."
He gave Jack a forced look of reassurance and closed the door.
Jack hung by the closed door for a second, hearing stifled weeping from the other side. It sounded chilling.
A hand found his arm and pulled him away from the door, shaking him out the stupor, letting himself be moved into the dormitory. Seeing it was Atlas, Jack relaxed.
"I didn't know Grim had a kid," Jack mumbled, staggering for words.
"What?" Atlas asked, either having not heard him or not believing him.
Jack didn't respond. Perhaps it had been a secret only a few people knew about.
Atlas patted him on the back. Acts of comfort were new for him. "I take it things were more peaceful on Duane Street," he mused. Atlas handed Jack a role he'd smuggled out of the dining hall. "Eat it, you look half-starved," he hummed in attempted humor, his eyes weary.
Jack nodded, accepting the bread, and taking a small bite. "I think I need to lay down," he whispered.
None of the newsies under Jack fought like that. He hadn't seen such displays of overwrought pain until he came to this place.
And he hoped he wouldn't again.
- 7
- 8
- 9
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Hell is a Sober Crawl