jabbathehutt | Mist under the East River

Mist under the East River

No one even noticed what happened to the kids on Delancey. Or never talked about it, which amounted to the same thing.

The papers covered the accident that took the life of three construction workers on the Manhattan side of what will eventually become the second East River Bridge. They said digging hit an underground cave they didn't know was there, and the families were compensated widely.

No one talked about the handful of street kids who had taken to using the site as shelter at night. Who had, due to dares and a morbid curiosity, snuck into the site to find - not an underground cave but a secret basement. And this is because no one survived to talk about it afterwards.

Except Ezra Bridger. Who never does talk about it.

In fact, most people have probably forgotten he was even friends with those kids.

Now he sells papes and lives by his wits on the Lower East Side, tries to avoid making any more friends, and keeps himself to himself.

Well, as much as that's possible among the ragged army of New York City newsboys.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Yea, I know the one." Spot nods evenly. He doesn't get where this is going, but he can tell that whatever Ezra's about to say, it's clearly taking him some effort, which means it's important, so he waits patiently for him to explain.

"You remember the accident?" he says, grateful for the time and space being given for him to work through the words. "With the construction workers who died?"

About a year ago, now.

"Wasn't just construction workers," he says without thinking - they didn't know for sure that the kids who'd disappeared had died, but everybody suspected.

It's not until the words are out of his mouth that something clicks, and he looks up at Ezra in surprise.

"...What happened?"

Well, at least Ezra doesn't have to explain that, just work his way through. He assumes he doesn't need to explain why they were there - construction sites are often good places to sleep if you can get in.

"There was this - basement," he says slowly. "Where the construction guys must have broken through. It had these - metal boxes, a weird shape, on shelves. We were being stupid, trying to figure out what had happened, and Zeb opened one.

"It was like," he pauses, hesitantly, aware he's describing something impossible but it actually happened, and Spot already knows he can do impossible things, "these rocks, crystals, with this weird smoke coming off them. When it touched Zeb, it covered him, turned him black like a statue. We tired to help him, but..."

He holds up his hand, remembering the way the black stuff had covered him, made it impossible to move.

"I thought I was dying, then it just... fell off me. I was the only one that survived."

It sounds unlike anything Spot could even imagine, but after what he's seen Ezra do, with the seriousness in his tone, he doesn't want any time not believing him.

"And you don't know how you survived and.. they didn't?" he asks quietly - he already knows the answer is yes, he assumes Ezra would have said if there was any kind of indication why he'd been spared.

"Is that when it started?"

Ezra shakes his head no to the first question, rhetorical as it was.

"Yeah," he continues. "After that. The city was suddenly noisy on a whole new level. Spent ages trying to get it to quiet down."

"That must have been a lot to deal with." Spot says after a moment, he's not sure what else to say, but he can't even imagine what that must have been like - to lose his friends in mysterious circumstances and then to suddenly be able to do things nobody else could do? It's a wonder Ezra didn't lose his mind completely.

"Yeah, no kidding."

Ezra surprises himself by actually smiling, albeit ironically.

"Feels good to finally tell someone though."

"Yea... kind of a relief, when somebody knows your secrets..."

He doesn't think Ezra will miss he's talking about both of them. As dangerous as it is to have someone who knows, it's something of a relief, too, knowing that there's at least one person he doesn't have to pretend around.

Ezra doesn't miss that for a second, and he nods in agreement. Of course, he still doesn't understand why Spot does what he does, but he can accept it.

"Is it weird I never tried to figure out if there was anyone else? Never even went back there when work started again."

"I don't think it's weird... I don't think you'd have any reason to think there is, whatever happened.. who knows if it happened anywhere else, or if it happened again there, and if you were the only survivor..."

It's possible it did happen elsewhere, buried somewhere in a gas main explosion or building collapse or one of those other tragic occurrences that pepper the papes, but how would you even figure out something like that?

"I can understand why you wouldn't want to go back there."

"Yeah," says Ezra again. Because it's obvious, said out like that.

"But I do wonder, I guess. Course, I do. But I don't know how I'd find out."

And he could put off those questions until some rich kid posing as a Brooklyn newsie actually started asking them for him.

"There must be a way..." Spot muses, half to himself. The thing is, if there is a way, he can't think of it - there's three million people in this city, and the only way to tell if somebody has Ezra's power would be to catch them at it, and there's no way to watch everybody at once.

"We'd need to figure out if it happened anywhere else." he says eventually "Look through old newspaper stories, find similar accidents and talk to survivors."

It wouldn't be easy.

"If we can get old papes," says Ezra. But his tone changes through the sentence. It starts off as incredulous - who keeps old papers, they're for fishes. But then his voice slows as he realises who he's talking to, and he looks at Spot sideways.

"Can you get old papes?"

"Uh, yea," Spot nods, rubbing the back of his neck a little awkwardly "old Journals, definitely, but I think even some competitors' old issues too... There's this huge records room at the offices... "

He thinks he might have to be the one to go looking, though, and he's trying to work out how to pass that off to his father. Showing an interest in the business was probably enough, but he'd need a good cover story to keep him from getting suspicious.

"I might be able to sneak you in..."

"Yeah?"

It's a surprise, and not a bad one at all, that Spot would be able to go out on a limb for him. It's a risk, and one he's taking for a kid he's only just met.

"You could?"

So he focuses on the how, and not on the why for now. "Wouldn't that be hard?"

"I don't think so..." Spot says thoughtfully "I'm pretty sure there's windows to the records room, I could probably open one and let you in... I'd have to see, it would depend on the windows and if there's any staff in there, but it might be possible."

He'd rather let Ezra in to help than have to go through it all himself, but he could do that if he needed to.

"I can get in through a window," Ezra says. He hasn't always been just a newsie, after all.

It's hard not to get too exicted, suddenly - he's been trying not to think about this for a year now, and suddenly this kid - and not just any kid, Spot Conlon, who Ezra still thinks of as head of Brooklyn before he really processes the other way he's not just any kid - offers to help him.

"Just let me know when and where."

"I'll see what I can do and let you know." Spot nods - it'll take some careful planning so neither of them get into any trouble, but he's sure he can figure it out.

"...this is what you want, right?" he adds after a second "We don't have to do this if you don't want to know."

"I want to know," Ezra confirms. "It'd be better to know. I just never thought I could find out before.

He's kind of pleased Spot even bothers to check that it's okay with him. "If you're sure you want to take the risk."

"What's life without a little risk?" Spot grins at him. His whole life is kind of a risk, in a way, a rebellion against his father, and this is probably no different.

But he also feels like he owes Ezra, and he gets on with him, he wants to help.

Despite himself Ezra grins back. Its contagious, that expression on Spot's face, and there's a buoyancy from having someone offer to help him. Even if it seems he's only really after it for the fun.

After a moment's thought he spits on his hand and holds it out.

"Thanks."

Spot nods, spitting in his own palm and shaking Ezra's hand firmly.

"I should probably get back..." he doesn't want to stay out so late there's any concern, he can't risk anything they might mention to his father "but I'll let you know as soon as I have a plan."

"Sure," says Ezra, trying not to show any sign that he's aware of the fact that Spot will go back to a hot bath and a soft bed, and he, Ezra, will probably sleep on this bench if no one bothers him.

"You know where to find me."

Spot nods, shoving himself to his feet. He's acutely aware of the kind of luxury he goes back to every night and one day he wants nothing more than to find a way to share it with the boys who have been a better family to him than his father ever was, but right now he doesn't have that option, so he just feels vaguely guilty and tries not to think about it too much.

"See you around, Ezra." he says, tucking his hands in his pockets as he turns to walk back to the Hearst mansion.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject