The two boys rested under the dock until the canvas-like sky was painted with streaks of tangerine, salmon, and indigo.

"Ya think we should go up now?" Spot asked. Hull nodded and swam from beneath the shelter and pulled himself onto the pier. The effort over-exerted his already trembling muscles and left him moaning. A few minutes later Hull felt pressure on his side and realized Spot was poking him.

"Urrghnn…" Hull grunted.

"Help me up!" Spot hissed.

Hull sighed and thrust his hand into the water and pulled Spot up, grunting in pain. Spot flopped onto the dock with him, and for a long time, they lay breathing heavily. Finally, Hull sat up and pulled off his shoes.

"What are ya doin'?" Spot asked.

Hull ignored Spot and closely examined his feet, gingerly prodding each toe. The skin was the texture of raisin, but Hull didn't mind. It was the bleeding blisters he was concerned about.

"Whoa!" Spot gasped when he caught a glimpse of the raw wounds.

"Shit…"

"Ya can't walk to Brooklyn like that, can ya?"

Hull shrugged.

"I dunno, Spot. A few pin-pricks can't get in the way of running for our lives…"

"Our lives? They won't kill us!"

"Well, let's think logically, okay?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's see…We went to Boston and lit someone's house on fire…I dunno Spot, what do ya think?"

Spot flinched at the bitter words of Hull and sighed. They hadn't meant for it to happen, they were just playing around with some embers.

"Whoa, Spot!" Hull shouted at he jumped away from the flame. Spot leapt back with him and watched as the fire consumed the trash they'd ignited.

"Put it out, Hull!"

Hull stomped on the fire, but with no luck. He tore off his jacket and threw it over the flames to smother it, but like the trash, it caught on fire.

"Shit!"

Spot spit into the combusted garbage. Hull tossed a skeptical look at him and raised his eyebrows, forming a "What good will that do?" face. Spot spit into it again while Hull fingered at his zipper.

"And I'm the one with the bad idea!" Spot growled. Hull ignored his comment and shoved his friend's face away as he undid his fly. Spot turned away as Hull peed on the wisps of orange and yellow. A few seconds later, Spot turned around to see that the urine had only fueled the fire.

"Shit, let's bail!"

Spot didn't need to be told twice. The two arsonists jogged away as the flame reached a height of 7 feet. The smell of smoke was thick on their clothes and they received several suspicious looks as they fled. A few moments later the sound of a scream penetrated their ears.

Spot shuddered at the memory and looked at Hull.

"Whatcha starin at, Spot?"

"We really screwed up…"

"Ya think?"

"We was just messin' around and someone died…"

"Will ya shut up? It's bad enough I gotta live with the memory. I don't need a reminder…"

"If they catch us…"

"They won't!"

"We'll be charged with arson…"

"Spot!"

"And manslaughter…"

Unexpectedly, Hull stood up and threw a plank of driftwood into the water. Spot cringed as the dead wood splashed violently into the waves. Although Hull was generally calm, he could still be volatile, and Spot was still not used to that flaw in his personality.

"Shut it, Spot! Just shut it!"

Spot recognized a high pitch in Hull's voice.

"Are you crying!" he asked.

Hull took a sharp breath and plunged into the water.

"This is what I had to deal with when I left Brooklyn…It's not so bad…"

Hull's head appeared at the side of the dock.

"But youse goin' back to Brooklyn. I'm never coming back."

A mournful sob woke Spot in the middle of the night. He shifted uncomfortably on the planks of the dock to face Hull. The moonlight glistened off the boy's irritated red eyes and tears. Spot opened his mouth to say something, but shut it. That's what Hull had wanted; for him to shut it. Hull was unaware that Spot was watching him and cried harder.

"Youse so stupid! Stupid stupid stupid!" he scolded himself. "Youse a worthless rat; a pitiful scavenger! Nobody likes ya! Ya own mom didn't want ya!"

Spot awkwardly listened to him until the self-abuse became too much to bear.

"Stop it!" he hissed. "Stop it, Hull!" Spot leaned over and placed a supportive arm on Hull's shoulder. Hull crumbled into Spot, burying his head in his chest. Although Spot usually would have recoiled and cursed at him, he stayed silent and still.

"I just can't stand it, Spot! I can't leave here…I can't…"

"Yes ya can!"

"No I can't!"

"Hull, ya can, trust me!"

"How do ya know?"

"Because I'm ya best friend and I'll be there for ya. Ya got it?"

Hull sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"I got it."

Aw, I felt all emotional writing this. I tried pretty hard to make this appear non-slashy, but it doesn't look that way, does it? Well, hey, best friends can get away with that, even if they are guys. Meh. I was originally going to make their crime tipping over a big thing of molasses and causing the Great Molasses Spill in Boston, but this didn't happen until 1919 (yes, it really happened, read a book called Joshua's Song for more info, PS: Josh is a paperboy too, if I recall).