Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not, no matter how much I wish I did, own Tom Sawyer. That belongs to my favorite author, Mark Twain. He is the master of literature and I but a slave of the passion.

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"By Lordy, Tom! Ain't there nothin to keep you rooted?" Called Aunt Polly, trying to get Tom to stay seated at the dinner table. Tom couldn't help it though, he had stolen enough sugar to keep him going for days – The excitement of the night out that would soon follow, without Aunt Polly's knowledge, didn't help either.

"He's been eating that sugar like it was mother's milk, he has." Sid tattled, earning a glare from his half-brother. Aunt Polly paused from her eating to calm herself, for she knew if she acted on the emotions that were running through her, she would surely beat the poor child.

"T'aint my fault, ma'am! I have an awful pain in my head and it was the only thing to calm it! The sugar, that is." Tom tried his best to pull the wool over his aunt's eyes, but to no avail.

"Do not lie to me, Thomas Sawyer. My heart cant handle it!" The woman nearly shouted, removing her glasses and grabbing the bridge of her nose. Tom knew he was in trouble – Aunt Polly never called him Thomas without a beating soon succeeding their conversation. Aunt Polly quietly made her way out back, rambling to herself about "Sparing the rod and spoiling the child" which only meant that she was fetching a switch.

"I'll lick you good for this one, Sid." He grumbled as he heard his aunt shuffling back into the house.

Tom's punishment was a somewhat excessive, especially for his aunt. After his whipping, Tom stared at his elder with big, round eyes and could see the woman's soul cry for a hug from, something – anything that would give a sign of forgiveness.

But Tom would not budge.

In stead, he calmly, yet solemnly made his way to his room, without another word to Aunt Polly nor Sid and not giving up any emotion on his face.

"Not right, what she does to me sometimes. Sid always havin to be a good boy and showin off. I learn him right!" The young boy growled to himself. He slid out the box that lay under his bed, pulled out a pinch bug, and placed it in the bed that would soon house Sid's unknowingly fresh skin – Skin that was just waiting to be pinched.

Tom crawled out of his window, not truly caring if Aunt Polly knew he was gone or not. He shoved his hands into his pockets and made his feet shuffle as fast as his unprotected pedal would carry him, all the while smelling the faint scent that could be smelled from the river not to far away.

And better yet, thats where ol' Tom was heading, to met up with his eccentric best friend, Huckleberry Finn.

"What are you doing out here so early, Tom? Didn't think that aunt o' yers would let ya out till dark, less you turn into a pumpkin." Huck joked, ribbing his friend in the side.

"O' Huck, she hit me, beat me! And all for stealin some damn sugar! Sid wouldn't have gotten half the lickens I did!" Tom replied, swing his legs over the edge of the dock to allow them to rest inches above the water, much like Huckleberry's own. "I'll learn her for hitting me! See how she likes it when I don't come home for a fortnight!"

Huck just sat there nodding along to each word that gasped out of the angst ridden boy beside him – One that was complaining that "Aunt Polly had stricken him so", that someone cared enough for Tom that they needed to get their point across – For his own good, of course.

Mr. Huckleberry would have give his entire collection of marbles and the tooth that Tom Sawyer, himself, had traded him earlier in the year for a tick just to have someone care so much as to keep a close eye on him.

But he didn't have that person... Well, unless you were to count Tom. He had had his back since the night they had in the graveyard. Together they had gotten into a mess of trouble but that just made it all the more fun.

"Together for the good times! Together for the bad times!" Tom had once put it. Rarely did Huck hear such things escape through the lips of the boy beside him. Little glimmers of love... or something close to it.

"Sorry Hucky, I'm just runnin my mouth now." Tom uttered under his breath, seeing Huck dazed out. Truth was, Huck never dazed out when Tom spoke, not like he did when others spoke. Huck... loved – For use of a better word – Tom.

"Tell me Tom," (Pause) "Whats it like to be in love?"

Tom seemed stunned by the question but not enough to forget how to speak, "Why ya askin me, Huck?"

"Well you've been in love more then anyone I know, I rightly guess." Huck admitted freely as he removed a rock from his pocket and tossed it across the water.

There was a long pause between the boys. Tom figured that Huck "ain't feeling like his rascally ol' self". Usually Huck was the last to start a conversation and the first to end one – Always making up excuse about playing or wasting their childhood.

"Its like having a heart attack, I reckon. Cept its every time you see a certain person. T'aint nothing special... till ya find the right one. And ya can tell from that there first kiss." Tom replied after putting some thought into his answer. Last thing he wanted was to lead Huck down the wrong road because he didn't choose his wording properly.

"And Becky's that right one, ain't she?" The tone of voice Huck used was bitter, something that sound like it belonged to be whispered straight of Old Scratch's mouth rather then the one of a young boy.

"Nah." This caught Huck off guard, "She's a mighty cute one and everthin but she ain't really for me." The reply was soft, giving no hints that it had heard the icy edge to the question. Huck smiled inwardly, thinking of all different kinds of things as the two just sat on the dock.

The night was as dark as the thread that Tom's aunt had used to sow his play shirt in. And it was quiet, deathly quiet. Even when sitting on the river banks, you could hear the noise of the city – or lack there of. The air smelt of the Mighty Mississippi as it often did this time of year. It was tranquil on that dock. Just Tom and his best friend. Just Huck and his best (if not only true) friend.

Both boys envied each other's lives. Tom wanted to be free to have fun and roam around. Huck just wanted some love – Though he would never admit that to anyone but Tom.

"Come now, Tom. 'S getting late. I found this old house that ain't got no one livin it. Yer welcome to stay the night, if'n you want." Huck stated, standing up from his sitting position. He raised his hands above his head and stretched as much as he body would allow.

"Sounds right fine to me." Tom stated, sourly I might add. Thoughts of the night earlier came back and Tom's peaceful feeling washed away with current of the water.

Tom followed Huck for a good half mile along the river bank until the duo finally reached an old rickety shake. The eldest of the two seem quite pleased at his dwelling, though, the same couldn't be said for Tom Sawyer.

"Well come to my humble abode. 'T'ain't much but she's mine, for the time bein." Huck bragged, and some part of Tom – The part that wasn't running down the worn out home – actually envied this: Huckleberry Finn being able to live on his own, that is.

"She's a ghastly spectacle, ain't she?" Tom mumbled, green with envy.

"Yeah, but like I said – She's mine," (No retort) "Come on then. Least you can do is catch your death here. Lets get some sleep."

Huck pulled out a long, light sheet. It was something that would cover the both of them and, yet, still not smother them in the heat of the night. Huck was lucky enough to have stolen two pillows along with the sheet, so he and Tom each had there own. But, as nice and soft as the pillows were, they didn't quite make up for the mattress, being that there wasn't one. Instead the pair laid down, side by side, on an aged mat that had been left behind with the house.

"Night Hucky."

"'Fore ya rest your soul, I need to trouble you with another question..." Huck responded.

"Whats wrong with ya, to-night, Huck. Ya been more talkative then ya ever been. And its deep and weird things too!" Tom answered honestly, something that always happened between the boys.

"I ain't feel right! O', how I ain't! I have a powerful hurt!" Huck replied, sitting up and burying his head in his hands.

"Whats wrong?! Damn it, don't you go-a dying on me, Huckleberry Finn!" Tom said in a concerned but stern voice. As if he had a choice in whether he died or not. Huck mumbled something into his worn hands. "Yer gonna have to speak better then that..." It was meant to come out as a joke but it had to much of an edge to sound that way.

"I-I... cant say it..." Huck mumbled, staring Tom in the eye. Tom stated back, felling helpless with his friend having an breakdown in front of him. There was nothing he could do for the poor boy.

Huck stared across the short distant at the other boy. His eyes seemed hurt and unknowing. There was nothing more that Huckleberry wanted then to tell his best friend that he... he... loved him.

"And ya can tell from that there first kiss." The words that Tom had spoken only an hour ago began to play over and over. If he could just kiss Tom, he would know what he was feeling.

With a quick lunge of his body, Huck's lips were against Tom's.

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End.

Yup. I'm ending it there. I'm not sure if I'll continue it though. I mean, Tom Sawyer isn't exactly a popular story. I suppose if I was to get more then 3 reviews, I would continue it. But thats the only way! :D