Disclaimer: Spot and the other newsies mentioned in this story belong to Disney. The others are MINE.

Before reading: Go to the URLs on my profile to see pictures of Hull, Massachusetts (yes, Hull is named after Hull.)

Hull's lungs felt like an inferno, combusting and igniting each time he took a breath. One of his hands clutched his aching chest as he ran, the other grasped Spot's.

"Don't let go of me!" Spot screamed. Hull's lungs hurt too much for him to respond, and his throat was dry from breathing so fast anyways. His feet were starting to go into a strange numb feeling from slapping on the brick street.

"Hull! Slow down!"

Hull whirled his head around to glance at Spot, who was practically being dragged. Hull wanted to slow down more than anything and take a break, but they couldn't. He turned right, out of the alley, and sprinted towards the pier. The smell of fish invaded his nostrils and churned the bile in his stomach. Apparently, the odor was effected Spot as well, for he gagged slightly.

"The water!" he said between retches. Hull nodded and jogged to the edge of the dock. He was about to dive in when Spot tripped and fell on top of him. Normally, Hull's stubbornness would have coaxed him to get up, but he was in too much pain for internal encouragement. Spot struggled to move, but managed to roll over so only his leg was on Hull. The two lay sprawled over splintered wood, panting like the netted fish beside them. The sound of hooves thundered behind them, but they were too weak to attempt to jump into the water.

"Spot…Push me…"

"W-what?"

"Ya push…me…I'll p-p-pull ya in…"

Spot winced as he placed his hand on Hull's ribs. His muscles felt like elastic that was stretched too far.

"It hurts…"

"Damn right…Now push…"

Spot obeyed and shoved Hull into the water, grabbing his calf as he submerged. The water refreshed their sore bodies as they splashed into it, alleviating some of the pain from running. Both of them sunk to the bottom shallow water and became tangled in seaweed. Hull, being the stronger swimmer, pulled himself out of the grappling fingers of the plant. Spot panicked when he realized he was caught and pumped his stinging legs rapidly.

"Hull!"

His call for help drowned in a mass of bubbles, but his urgency could be sensed by Hull. After surfacing, Hull dove down again to free his friend, despite his yearning to stay above the small waves. They resurfaced, sputtering and choking, and groaned. They still had to hide under the docks. Grabbing Spot's hand once again, Hull treaded under the wooden shelter. Spot grabbed onto a wooden column and coughed. Hull lifted a finger to his lips and looked at the "roof" of the pier. Spot flinched as he heard the hoof beats on the planks.

"Dammit! Send someone into the water to get them!"

"That won't be necessary. After all that running, those kids must be exhausted."

"Meaning?"

"They'll drown."

Spot let out of cough of relief when the police officers left. Hull smiled and sunk into the water, then bobbed up again.

"What are ya doin'?" Spot asked.

"Floating away our troubles…"

"That don't work…"

Hull stained his neck to look at Spot.

"I know, but it feels pretty nice. Try it, Spot."

Spot leaned back in the water and was consumed by it briefly, then carried back up. The soothing little waves felt good, even though his clothes were chaffing against his skin.

"Ya think they'll get someone back out here to look for us?"

"I doubt it. Not until morning, anyways…"

"Then we're safe?"

"We're never safe in Massachusetts, Spot."

Spot stopped floating and grabbed onto the pier post.

"Whatdaya mean, Hull?"

"Ya gotta go back to Brooklyn…And I'm goin' with ya…"

Since a bunch of people were all: "Why does Spot hate Hull so much?" and "Why is Spot so mean to Hull?" after chapter 3 of The Working Boys of New York, I decided to make a short story about why Spot and Hull hate each other. At the moment, they're good friends (NOT gay, the hand holding is kinda natural when you're about to get thrown in jail or killed.)