Disclaimer: Don't own the newsies and don't own the song 'Concrete Angel'. Newsies belongs to Disney and Concrete Angel belongs to Martina McBride. I also just discovered it belongs to my friend Tori as well… pushes away tori's shotgun Happy! I edited the song for story purposes. This is, I guess, an AU story. Snitch and Skittery are children, but it's still set in the nineteenth century. Newsie Death, Domestic Abuse. Read, Review, Enjoy

Concrete Angel

Don't own the newsies and don't own the song 'Concrete Angel'. Newsies belongs to Disney and Concrete Angel belongs to Martina McBride. I also just discovered it belongs to my friend Tori as well… pushes away tori's shotgun Happy! I edited the song for story purposes. This is, I guess, an AU story. Snitch and Skittery are children, but it's still set in the nineteenth century. Newsie Death, Domestic Abuse. Read, Review, Enjoy

Danny Riccio walked slowly down the street, one boot-clad foot on the walk, the other in the cobbled road. It hurt to walk, and it hurt to carry his book-bag, but he had to. No one was allowed to know about the things his daddy did to him. He was only eight years-old, but he understood when his mother told him urgently that they could not let anyone know that Daddy beat them. No one could know.

"Youse okay?"

Danny looked up. A brown-eyed boy in tattered clothes peered at him.

"Youse looked like youse was hoitin', 'cause, y'know, youse carryin' yerself funny."

Danny pouted. "It's not any of your business." He said, shifting his book-bag with a wince. It was sitting on a bruise. Actually, anywhere he put it, it probably would have been sitting on a bruise, but a less-painful bruise was better than a more-painful one.

The brown-eyed boy grinned. "'Ow old are youse?"

"Eight." Danny responded. "You?"

"Nine." The boy said proudly. "Me name's Skittery. What's yers?"

"Danny. But my mother sometimes calls me Snitch."

"Why?"

Danny flushed. "'Cause sometimes I steal things from her jewelry boxes."

Skittery grinned. "But why's ya walkin' like youse hoit?"

Danny paused. He could tell this boy, couldn't he? It's not like a street-boy could do anything that would hurt anyone. "My father beats me when I'm bad."

Skittery blinked. "Beats ya?"

"Yes. He takes a stick to my back and my arms and my chest. Sometimes, he'll use a knife."

Skittery nodded. "I's been dere. Me brudda used ta beat me too." A grin spread over his face. "Youse wanna be pals? I nevah met nobody else dat got beat befoah."

Danny beamed. "Yeah! I'd really like that!"

They shook hands, and Danny felt a spark on his fingers that made him gasp.

"What was that? Did you feel that?" he asked.

Skittery just grinned. "Dat was love, Snitch. Love from Heaven. Love from God. Love from me."

---

Danny's teacher, Ms. Thornton, was a pretty young thing, fresh from teaching school, with curly black hair and deep brown doe-eyes that could see into your soul. Danny could always feel those eyes on him specifically while he was in class; he could feel them wondering, probing, dying to ask if he was okay, but eventually deciding it was none of her business.

Which it wasn't, really.

Danny nodded slightly to himself as he left the classroom, keeping the pain to himself as his bookbag rested on the bruises he had acquired last night. Painful things. Too painful. He wanted to cry, but didn't. That would be even more painful and embarrassing to boot.

He slipped into a darkened alleyway to rest, sitting with his dark-violet back lightly against the wall.

Danny looked up at the graying sky, feeling the ominous power of it, but not quite understanding. When the cold rain started to pound against his head, making his soft brown hair into a wet mess, he simply stared at the opposite wall, and wished for a lightning bolt to strike him dead.

It would be better than going home to his father, even though he'd done no wrong.

---

"Heya! Snitch? Dat youse?"

Danny looked up. "What? Who's there?"

A pair of bright brown eyes stared at him. "Snitch? Youse okay?"

"Oh! Skittery!" Danny said with a start. "What's going on?"

"Whattaya doin' heah in da rain? Shouldntcha be at 'ome?"

Danny shrugged. "Not if Daddy's going to beat me." He shuddered softly. "Daddy always beats me when it rains."

Skittery's fingers were soft on Danny's cheek. "Doan worry. Aftah tonight, youse woan hafta worry 'bout yer daddy anymoah."

Danny looked at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"

Skittery's smile was sad and his touch was cold, but both these things were comforting to the eight year-old. "Trus' me. Now go 'ome. I'll see youse latah. And we woan hafta worry 'bout nuthin' then."

Danny stared at Skittery for a moment more, then smiled as well. "I trust you, Skittery."

"And doan forget youse loved, Snitch. Jesus loves ya. God loves ya. And so do I."

Danny nodded. "Yes. Yes. And I love them. And you."

---

By the time someone came to check on the screams, it was too late. Danny Riccio was dead, five slits on his stomach, bruises all over his back, blood all over his clothes. A crowd gathers outside as the young boy is dragged from the house with a sheet over his head, and his father right behind him with metal on his wrists. His mother is maniacal in the loss of her son, and has to be sedated.

Among the crowd stood a nine year-old boy in tattered clothing, unnoticed by anyone. His dark brown eyes were sad, but there's a smile on his face as Danny's empty body passed him to the Emergency Carriage that would take him to the morgue.

"Youse safe now, Danny." he said. "Safe like me."

---

They buried Danny in a pretty spot, a shady area of the local cemetery. His mother, once she regained her sanity at least partly, paid all expenses. Nothing was too expensive for her little boy.

She bought him a beautiful stature of a young angel, his face turned up to heaven. When she looked at it, a light smile spread over her face, and through tears, she said it looked like Danny.

The funeral isn't a large event; only a few people come. Danny's mother's sisters and brothers and their families, mostly.

But among them was Skittery, smiling softly to himself. "Dey doan un'nahstand." he said. "'Ee's bettah off dis way."

He turned and walked through the crowd, his shoulders passing like fog through the sobbing family members. They don't notice him or feel him.

When he emerged outside the gathering, he smiled and held his hand out.

Danny 'Snitch' Riccio, now glowing and perfect without the scars of his life in his eyes, smiled back and took the hand offered to him.

Skittery threw an arm around Snitch's shoulders, and at the touch, wings, softly glowing, spread from their shoulderblades. They ran up the hill, laughing and playing with each other, happy to have finally found pure love, even if they found it in death.

END

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Aww!

I love this song. It's so gorgeous.

And… that's all. Wow, I wrote Skitts/Snitch non-slash. See, 'cause that wasn't really slash. Ahah. I wanted it to be, but it turned out not to be. It's cute though.

Yeah, um, that's all, bye!