"Tha fuck happened to youse?" Soap asked incredulously as Spot, Mitts and Vin crossed the threshold of the warehouse, looking like some sort of four-legged, three-headed monster.

"Shaddap, Soap, go get us some ice."

Soap gave Spot an exasperated look. It was clear he wanted to hear the story, but he took another look at Mitts' face and bolted out the warehouse door.

"Jesus Mitts, ya face looks like a piece a meat." Vito said inspecting him closely as they sat him down in a chair.

"Oh thanks, Vito, dat makes me feel betta 'bout tha whole thing. Fuckin' asshole."

Spot laughed and Vito gave Mitts an apologetic grin.

"Well, youse in rare form today, Mitts." He said matter-of-factly. "So what happened?"

"They tickled me wit' a feather duster. What it look like?" Mitts roared.

Vito glanced up at Spot with raised eyebrows.

"Well, I guess he's gonna be alrigh'."

Vin couldn't help but laugh with them.

"Goddammit, I hate youse guys sometimes." Mitts sighed.

"Yea, yea, youse ain't a picnic either, sweetheart." Vito laughed at him, clapping him on the shoulder.

Mitts winced and Vito quickly removed his hand.

"Ooh, sorry." He said and meant it as Mitts stared up at him with narrowed, watery eyes.

Soap was back, carrying ice in the front of his shirt. He looked around for something to put it in, then instead, merely took off his shirt, whacked the whole bundle against a nearby crate a couple of times and handed it to Mitts.

"So, what happened? Ya face looks like a piece a meat." He said as Mitts took the ice from him and glared at him for his choice of words.

Spot chuckled and preempted Mitts' outburst.

"It was Marcus and a bunch of Finch's boys. Seven of dem." He explained while divesting himself of his bloodied shirt.

"God Mitts, it's a wonder youse survived."

Mitts nodded glumly in appreciation of fact, tenderly pressing the ice pack to the left side of his already blackening face.

"I got dat bastard, Marcus, for youse though." Spot said off-handedly, buttoning a cleaner shirt. "Mighta killed him."

"Jesus, Spot!" Vito exclaimed. "What d'ya mean youse 'mighta killed him'?"

His eyes flicked to Vin who had been watching the whole exchange with amusement. His eyes seemed to ask for confirmation, so Vin nodded and twitched Spot's cane in his hands, which was still red in places instead of black. Vito's eyes flew back to Spot's blood spattered face as he wiped a dirty, wet rag across it.

"Youse is crazy. I mean, bat-shit insane." He said pointing a finger at him in accusation.

Vin was glad someone else was voicing his thoughts; glad someone else thought Spot's reaction had been a little severe. He laughed, but he was the only one. The rest of them were staring at Spot. Their expressions were not surprised or amused. It was almost as if they had seen it happen before. That thought unnerved him even more.

"Thanks, Spot." Mitts said, finally breaking the silence.

"Anytime, Mitts." Spot said, as if he were being thanked for passing the salt.

"Yea, yea, what are friends for, if not to kill people for youse?" Vito asked incredulously, scratching at the back of his head. "Youse is both crazy."

Spot shrugged, handing Mitts the wet towel he had used on his own face. Then he moved around to help Mitts with his shirt. Vin thought it was an odd thing to watch. The same skinny kid he had seen brutally cane a boy on the street was now kneeling next to his friend, tenderly sliding the shirt from his bruised shoulders, pausing as he winced, adjusting so he wouldn't have to move as much. Yes, that was what friends were for and in that moment, Vin made a mental note to himself never to become an enemy of Spot Conlon.

"So how do youse figure inta all dis?" Soap asked after a moment, nodding his head at Vin, his voice breaking into his thoughts.

"I was jus' passin'. Shouldn't have gotten involved in the first place. If Spot hadn't shown up, I'd prolly look like Mitts right now too." Vin shrugged.

Soap sank into a nearby chair, looking a little dazed.

"Man, dis is all my fault. I'm sorry, Mitts."

"Shaddap, Soap, ya know it ain't."

Mitts lowered his ice pack from his face. Vin thought he probably ought to have left it there if he was trying to make Soap feel better instead of worse. Indeed, Soap took one look at Mitts' face and sunk his head into his hands.

"Wait, I'm lost. How's it ya fault?" Vin piped up at once.

"See, Soap hea had an argument wit' Finch 'bout a week ago." Vito explained. "He called him a- what was it, Soap?"

"A lousy leader and a failed human being." Came Soap's answer through his fingers.

Vin tried not to laugh and had to cover his reaction with a cough. Spot and Vito grinned at him. It was no secret that Finch was not much of a leader, but generally, you took care who you voiced such an opinion around.

"See, Queens is invading Brooklyn territory, takin' our sellin' spots and soakin' our boys and Finch ain't doin' nothin' ta stop it."

"Don't seem right." Vin said.

"Dat's what I said." Soap intoned.

"Anyways, we all took Soap's back. Youse know, what are friends for?" Vito continued.

"Other than almost killing people for youse?" Vin put in with a smirk.

Spot's blue eyes glanced up appraisingly at him. There was something close to a smile on his face.

"Dere were a bunch a other newsies dat seemed ta be on our side at tha time." Soap said with a sigh.

"Yea, but when it came right down to it. Well, youse see what Finch's boys are like. Can't really blame nobody for not wanting ta end up looking like meat-face hea." Vito finished pointing at Mitts.

"I swear to God, Vito, one more time and I'll-"

"What? You'll have Spot soak me?"

"Maybe."

Vito glanced from Mitts to Spot. Spot's eyebrows raised slightly, but he did not comment.

"Alrigh', I'm sorry." Vito sighed.

"Fuck all dis." Soap said suddenly, getting to his feet. "I need a drink. Mitts, how 'bout youse?"

"Could kill for one." Mitts agreed immediately, getting to his feet a little unsteadily.

"Youse mean have Spot kill-" Vito stopped short at the look on Mitts' face.