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.

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Ezra nods. "Okay," he says, and walks with Spot to the mouth of the allyway where he picks up his stone (it's a good one).

He turns quickly back to Spot, burning with curiosity, but of course he's not going to ask. Not least because Spot probably has more questions and harder ones to answer, because Ezra has no answer.

"Watch your back, okay?"

Well, his front. Just - stay safe.

Spot can see the curiosity there, and maybe if he asked he might be willing to answer, if only because this was a secret he'd kept for years and nobody ever had asked... but he was just as likely to tell him to get lost, even Spot didn't really know exactly what he'd do if those questions spilled out.

But they don't, and Spot nods.

"You too."

Ezra shrugs, in a way that suggests I can look after myself because he can, in a way, and turns back towards his stoop. He'll go try and get some food shortly and find somewhere to sleep.

He doesn't think about how Spot Conlon apparently has a bed, because he's used to making the decision not to sleep in the lodging houses, and doesn't really wonder that Spot's bed is any different from that.

But he is going to worry just how risky that was. Not that he doesn't trust Spot, but he's got to face up to what he just did, and what it means.

Spot watches him for a moment and then heads off.

He drops by Brooklyn just to check on his boys and then it's back home, swapping into his fancy clothes and walking in like he's just back from school. He's wary, though, trying to simultaneously act normal and figure out what his father recalls.

The evening goes remarkably well, it's almost as though his father's completely forgotten what happened, and eventually Spot starts to relax.

Mr Hearst hasn't forgotten though. He doesn't remember Sean being there, but he remembers enough to know that there was a boy who did something, said something, and made him go home, when he hadn't been heading that way in the first place. On its own he might, eventually, have dismissed it, but he's heard rumours about people with strange abilities, and now it's just a loose thread that he can't help but want to pull - and it begins with the little punk who'd messed with his mind.

That punk is trying to get on with his life, selling papes, keeping his head down, not even trying to do anything other than getting cats to let him pet them and trying to make sense of all the emotions in the city. When no one comes looking for a kid who can control people in the Lower East Side, he starts to relax again and to hang out with the other newsies some more.

Which includes when the summer starts to heat up and they get together to have a dip in the river. And on one particularly social day, a handful of Manhattan newsies cross over the Brooklyn bridge to share in the fun there.

Ezra, out of curiosity, tags along with them.

His father is out of town on business - it's a rare occurrence and Spot has learned to take advantage of those times, especially when they fall on such a warm summer's day.

So he doesn't have any need to rush off once the day's selling is done, he can lounge on the docks with the others and enjoy the sunshine. He's not swimming himself - there'll be too many questions if he comes home with wet hair, even with his father away - but plenty of his boys are.

When the Manhattan boys come to join them, they're met with cheerful shouts and already the first challenges for diving or races are being called out, but Spot's eyes are on Ezra. He wondered how long it would be before he saw him - though it's clear he's not here for his favour. Still, Spot gives him a nod of greeting.

Ezra was looking forward to swimming - it's a hot day and he's been selling hard and he's growing more experimental with his powers again and wants to try fish - but he's more interested in talking to Spot, so lifts his head in greeting and makes his way over.

"Hey, Spot, how's it going?"

He's here, which means he hasn't been prevented from coming down, and Ezra would have heard if he had gone missing, but he's still curious - did it work?

The greeting earns him a couple of looks - most of the Manhattan boys know how Ezra usually keeps to himself, so the fact he's apparently on friendly terms with Spot is a surprise, and a lot of the Brooklyn boys are interested because they don't know who he is. There's definitely some speculation that maybe he's just stupid - until Spot gives him an easy nod.

"Ezra," he greets casually "Going good. You?"

Translation: It worked, and did you need something.

He hadn't anticipated the looks, and meets the first few with a confused glare until the boys turn back. It's none of their business who he talks to, is it.

But now he's standing awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, hoping the rest will get on with their swimming.

"Good."

He doesn't need anything, thanks for asking.

"Not swimming? Water looks good."

Do you have to be home?

Most of them lose interest, the water is good and Spot and Ezra's conversation isn't exactly thrilling, but there's still one or two boys listening in.

"Not interested in sitting around waiting to dry, would rather just enjoy the weather."

They'd notice if I came home damp, but I don't need to rush off.

Okay, he guess that makes sense. Ezra shrugs, not having anything else he wants to ask that he can ask in code. He figures he might as well swim, and drops his shirt on the dockside by Spot and dives in.

Trying to get fish to respond to him proves futile, so when he's had a good soak, and avoids getting into swimming races, he pulls himself out again and flops wetly down near Spot, basking in the sunlight.

Spot's content to lounge on the pier and just watch the fun - mostly. He does wish he could just forget everything and join, but there's too much at stake.

He glances over when Ezra drops next to him - the rest of the boys have lost interest by now, off having their own fun, so it's a little safer to talk as long as they keep it quiet.

"Good swim?"

"Bit crowded." Not that Spot knows that he was looking for fish, but it just as easily refers to his reluctance to make friends.

"Water's nice though. Shame you're missing out."

Maybe Spot will have a nice bath later though. In a porcelain tub.

Spot just shrugs.

"Maybe another day." it's his usual reply, but he almost never does - there's a rumour among some of the boys that Spot can't swim, but none of them dare say it where he can hear.

"Maybe." Ezra agrees. He stretches out, looking up at the sky for a while, trying to work out if he can ask what he wants to ask.

He closes his eyes, listens to the noise of the kids around them, and tries to figure out if he can tell if anyone's listening.

He can't. Or no one's listening, but he doesn't know which.

"It worked, then? Er, no harm done?"

He'd probably feel bad if the asshole had lost his mind. Probably.

Spot shifts position, ostensibly to get more comfortable but using it as an excuse to glance around and make sure nobody was too close before he answers.

"Seems that way," he agreed "He didn't mention it at all when I got home."

He'd gotten in trouble later that week for some other infraction, but there'd been no mention of him running around dressed as a newsie, and no indication of a closer eye on him or anything else he might have expected in way of consequences from his father.

"Good," Ezra says.

"I mean, I figure he'd deserve it, but I ain't never done that before. Don't want to hurt people I don't intend to."

You have no idea

But he doesn't say it out loud. He's not about to air his private life to someone he only just met, however much Ezra saved him. Besides, he's probably got a good enough idea, he saw what his father was like in the alley.

"He seems fine. His usual self."

Sorry he couldn't fix that, but Ezra would have no idea where to go with that.

He nods, and continues to sit quietly, basking in the feeling of the kids around them. It's nice to be surrounded by this much fun - feels good.

"How long you been able to do it?" Spot asks after a moment of comfortable silence, not quite looking at Ezra - his tone is quiet enough not to be overheard, but he's still careful not to say anything too obvious.

He doesn't mind if Ezra doesn't want to answer, but he's curious.

Fourteen months, two weeks and a day.

"About a year," Ezra says. "Took me a while to figure out how to work it though."

So it's not something he was born with, it was something that happened to him... that's interesting.

"What happened?" he asks, though he knows he's far less likely to get an answer this time.

"No."

Ezra shakes his head, still looking upwards and not any less relaxed.

"That ain't your business. Sorry."

Translation: it was traumatic as fuck and he doesn't want to relive it right now and ruin the mood.

Spot shrugs easily, accepting his answer.

"Fair enough." he's not going to push Ezra to talk if he doesn't want to - and yea, okay, it's at least partially because he knows that if he pushes too hard, Ezra could very well push him to talk about other things, in front of people, and Spot wouldn't really be able to say no. He doesn't think Ezra would, he just knows he could.

"You like being a newsie?" he asks, changing the subject.

Ezra shrugs. "It's better than being a thief."

Which is what he used to be, before he learned to sell. Still is, if he doesn't make enough to eat in a day, but that doesn't happen as much.

He lifts his head to look directly at Spot.

"Do you?"

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