Chapter Text
Tommy was running.
Again.
Sure he stole, but he was starving. So was every kid in the sprawling, dirty town. No adult paid the even a quarter of enough to live to the couple thousand orphans, even if they worked twice as hard all day as into the night, because what would they do?
Tell their parents?
Tommy laughed bitterly, tucking the bread under his arm tighter, pumping his legs to get to the shifty alleys and winding, dark backstreets, and disappear.
Then he heard a horrible sound. The voice of his employer.
The man that held him and so many other kids captive, as young as four, wrapping them in chains of sweet lies and working them to death at the promise that someday, they would earn enough to get out of the gutter, and actually live.
None of them believed him, he would beat them for not selling every last paper, and Tommy never saw a penny that didn't go straight back to him, payment for lodging in his grimy, dirt-floored basement, where the 56 of them each got about 5 feet of ground to sleep on.
He turned slowly toward the hulking man who could (and would) break his bones like twigs. He dropped the bread, and backed away slowly. He was the baker who was chasing him out of the corner of his eye, sticking around to watch the show.
Four hours later, with a few kids patting him on the shoulder gently, angry tears still running down his cheeks. His face was black and blue, matching the rest of his body. That was a show he never wanted to attend again.
He laid down on his side, wincing. He looked at the dripping ceiling, and wondered if he could still wish on a star.
~~~~~
The next day, he got some of his bounce back. He woke up at four, and figured he could get a few bleeding hearts to buy extra papers out of pity, if he acted like his bruises REALLY hurt. (They did)
It worked well. He just cried quietly when anyone who looked soft walked by, and they would look all sad and buy a few, causing him to finish selling all his papers by only seven at night! He was THREE HOURS early!
He was feeling even more chipper when he found a whole half-penny in the mud by the river, even though he was chased off by the gang of VERY angry river kids after, and was splattered on mud.
For about half a second, he contemplated spending it, then mentally slapped himself across the face.
With this, he could start to build a future, getting out of the basement, away from his abusive employer, and off the streets.
He casually took the half-penny and slipped it in a little hole on the inside of his vest. He never took it off, the basement was cold, and he had nothing to change into anyway.
That night, back in the basement, he took out the coin. It was still there.
It was real.
And it was his.
~~~~~
Tommy's teeth were rattling as his employer shook him like a rag doll, he feet barely skimming the ground, the man's screaming making his ears ring. Why? Why is this happening? Tommy though hopelessly. His face was wet, again, definitely with blood and not tears. His bruises from just days before were flareing up once again, and just like before, he had an audience.
(He tried to choke back his screams so he didn't scare the little ones)
He was carried by the back of his shirt to the second-story window, the man holding both his wrists in a bruising grip as Tommy kicked desperately. The man held him up higher, crushing his hands. Tommy felt a wrist crack, and let out a broken sob. The man leered down at him, looking up at the 10 foot high window.
Surely not.
"Give me the penny"
The hand holding his shirt was suddenly around his neck. Tommy kicked even harder, grabbing the man's large hands with his own thin fingers. He barely managed to choke out his answer.
"It's mine"
The man leered down at him.
"Well Toms, you were always more trouble then you're worth"
Tommy felt the hands around his neck vanish, and air whooshed into his starving lungs.
then he heard a ear-shattering crash, and his head spun, as sharp pieces of broken glass surrounded the air around him.
He didn't even feel the ground.