Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It started in the bus yard.

Scott didn’t actually know what it was called. There were school buses, and it seemed vaguely like some kind of yard, so he made it up. He didn’t know why he had immediately gone for the buses. He could have taken a car, either his parents or his neighbors, or maybe hijacked a random one on the street. It wasn’t likely a car would be parked in the middle of the street at midnight on a Tuesday, but one could hope.

Jumping a train would have been his next best thought, if the tracks still ran around here. They had closed years ago, due to the sheer amount of people who would hitch a ride. Now they just went to the nearby villages and skipped over them. No one really cared, the car ride was barely 15 minutes. Made it harder to run away, though.

The school buses were kept in his town. He didn’t know why the district had decided that their town was the best place to keep a lot, but here they were, and here he was, and he thanked the world for its horrible decisions. Horrible decisions were the basis of more horrible decisions, as he often thought (he had never thought that before in his life). There were twelve in total, but they had ridiculously high numbers like seventy-two. They could have just been numbered one through twelve, but no, they had to be unique. Stupid fucking buses.

Scott pried the doors open to number sixty-seven and climbed aboard. It felt empty to be in a place that was usually so full of life, even if life was vaping teens and scared second-graders. The seats were ugly gray, and most had duct tape somewhere on them because of pencil stabs or the occasional knife. He could remember one time the town police had been called because a kid had brought a bread knife to school strictly so he could stab the bus seats. That kid had somehow still graduated. 

He had snagged the keys, so it was just the problem of figuring out how to start the bus and then drive it. Scott had gotten his driver's license a year ago, but he had never been taught to drive a bus. He assumed the lessons came with signing up for the job. Stealing a bus didn’t count as signing up for a job, so he had never gotten lessons. It couldn’t be that hard though, right?

Staring at the empty seats for a moment longer, he settled into the driver's seat and cracked his knuckles. His backpack slid off his back and onto the ground. Slotting the key into what he assumed was the key slot, he turned it and heard the engine flare to life. It took three real tries to get it going, hearing the steady rumble in the background. Scott adjusted the seat forward and the front view mirror so he could see out of the back, then glanced out the window. The headlights had turned on automatically, so the light reflected around the yard and lit up the fluorescent yellow painted onto the other vehicles. The color made him blink a few times and rub his eyes simply because of how bright it was. It was obnoxious, and Scott wondered why they couldn’t have painted buses dark blue. That would look nice. 

The steady rumble of the engine carried him through trying to figure out the button to close the doors, figuring out how to change from park to drive, and almost hitting another bus while backing up. Luckily no one was around, or else they would have heard the infernal beeping sound that it made while backing up. Getting onto the road was harder than backing up the bus, because he had to maneuver around the small check-in office (now with a broken lock and one less set of keys) and the strangely placed mail boxes. Three packages waited below them, all with the bus company logo, and Scott hoped he hadn’t chosen one of the buses that needed a new part. 

The road was smooth. They lived near a highway, or at least the bus yard did, so the road was frequently repaired. The roads in town were less so, crumbling near the sidewalks. There was a place on main street, in front of the book store that was less of a book store and more of a place kids could buy fidget toys. On the road, directly in the middle, was a small bundle of flowers, growing through a crack. They were never run over, never killed, and they grew back every year. He had never found out what kind they were, just called them the teal flowers. They were the reason for his hair color he had begged his mom for at fifteen and then never gotten rid of. 

The jingling of the keys (there were three keychains, one that was a burger from a chain restaurant, one was a school issued bus number, and the last was a shrinky-dink crude drawing of a heart. Scott assumed it was by the driver's kid) was enough to keep him company, until it wasn’t and he took his eyes off the road for a second to turn on the radio. Anxiety spiked in his chest, twisting between his ribs and wrapping itself around his heart. Nothing went wrong, and now he could be content with the mid 2010’s music that was blasting through the speakers. It was annoying and high pitched and about being dumbly in love, but it was a human voice. Sometimes a voice was all he needed. 

Scott didn’t think a lot while he drove. He didn’t really want to think, he just wanted to get away. The highway was mostly empty, save for a few people coming home from night shifts or anyone else going on a night drive. He was sure he was getting weird looks for driving what he was at—he checked the clock—one thirteen in the morning, but no one would do anything about it. Not until the morning when the cops were called and they would be witnesses to a bus robbery. He doubts they would step up even then. 

The wind from the open window rustled his hair, flitting around his head and in front of his eyes. It was mid July, but the nights were still cold every once in a while. His hair had grown out recently, and it was more of a wolf cut than anything else right now. It tickled the nape of his neck, just barely touching the collar of his shirt. He wished it was longer. 

The gas light turned on. Scott cursed into the night air and searched the highway for the green signs telling him there was an exit nearby. Lo and behold, one glared out at him from the darkness, advertising a fast food place, a science museum, and a gas station. Bingo.

Scott flicked on the turn signal and rode silently down the ramp, stopping at the bottom only for a second so a navy jeep could pass him. Turning onto the main road, it took only a minute until he saw the blaring orange and red of a Shell station. Rolling his eyes and carefully turning into the lot, he pulled up to the nearest pump and turned off the bus. He then promptly turned the bus back on, opened the doors, and turned it off again. The cold air makes him shiver, and he regrets not bringing more layers. The parking lot was empty, with only a few plastic bags settling next to the sewer grates. Searching the side of the bus for a gas cap, Scott heard a voice call out to him from the other side of the bus.

“You can’t use gas!”

“What?” He popped his head past the back of the bus, looking towards the source of the words, which was the front of the store. It's one of the twenty four hour gas stations, so lights are cast over the back of the person. They look a little shorter than him, but that's the most he can gather. 

“You can’t use gas. Those buses runificate on diesel. They don’t carry that here.” They start to walk closer to him, and gradually more details come into view. They were shorter than him, by at least three inches. Their hair was blonde and short, not quite buzzed but it had been once. They wore a red shirt covered by a black jacket (scott couldn’t tell if it was leather or cloth) and black jeans that had a few rubbed out stains. “You’re out of luck.”

“How would you know?” Scott wrinkled his nose, looking the boy up and down. He has to be the same age as him, maybe younger.

“I work on cars and buses.” The boy shrugged. “It’s common knowledge.”

“Apparently not common enough for me.” Scott kicked one of the tires half heartedly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The boy looks at him funny, and Scott notices his eyes for the first time. “Hold up, are your eyes red?”

“What? Oh,” he makes an expression like he didn’t know. “They’re contacts.”

“Why…?” Scott askes, then stops himself and pinches his nose. “Do you know where I can get diesel around here?”

“My dad’s shop. Won’t be open ‘til six though.” The boy fiddled with something in his hand, something that glistens in the gas station light. Scott tried to subtly get a look at it, but it moves too fast between his fingers and he can’t figure out what it is.

“Uh-huh…” he said slowly, eyes flicking back up to the boy's face. “Why are you here?”

“Pushy with the questions, huh? Come inside, I’ll show you.” He turned around and started walking back to the gas station, leaving Scott alone, cold, and confused. He doesn’t really have a choice but to follow, because the other two choices are to stand there and be cold or get on the bus and be cold. Strolling across the small parking lot, he tripped twice on cracks and heard the boy snicker both times. With a frown on his face, he walked through the door being held open to him. 

The lighting hit him like a brick. Scott blinked away the pain he felt in the back of his eyes and squinted, peering around the shop. It looked like a normal gas station, just aisles and a check out counter pushed into a corner. No one is at the counter, but there was a half-eaten energy bar. At least that was a sign of human life. All the colors are bright, whether it's the packaging or the products or the advertisements on the wall. It smells like a mix between sugary sweet artificial sweetening and cleaning bleach. All that to say: Scott’s not a fan.

The boy pushes past him and disappears into the back of the store. Scott hesitates before following him, weaving through aisles and displays. He found him next to the freezers, on a counter that held… a slushie machine? He already had two cups in hand and was smiling brightly. Scott raised an eyebrow and glanced around quickly before his eyes landed back on the machine. “This is why you're here? Slushies?”

“Sort of.” He put down one of the cups and started filling the other with the cherry flavor. “Blue raspberry or cherry?”

“Mix them.” He responded automatically. “Are you going to give me a real answer anytime soon?”

“Do you want a real answer?” He pops a top onto the slushie and sticks a straw in, taking a long sip. The other cup is filled half and half, creating a dull purple color, and pushed into Scott’s hands. He squints at it, but takes a sip nonetheless. It tastes good, maybe a little too warm for a slushie though. 

“Uh, yeah I do.”

“I work here.” Scott chokes on his drink, coughing until his throat clears and he can croak out a ‘what?’ “I’m the cashier.”

“You're like, seventeen. It’s two in the morning. Isn’t that illegal?”

“I’m eighteen first of all, and second, yeah it’s illegal. At least it was a few months ago when I was seventeen.” The boy shrugged and took a sip of his slushie. Scott leaned on the counter next to him. “Police turned a blind eye because I needed the money. I fixified most of the machines in here anyway, so I get paid extra.” He gave the slush machine a light slap.

“Why were you outside in the middle of the night then?”

“Not every day that a school bus pulls up to a gas station this early.” He shrugged. “Why are you driving a school bus anyway? No way you're a driver.”

“My parents are.” The lie comes easy. “I took their bus. It’s an old one anyway, and the district was getting a new one, so I was allowed to have it.” The boy eyes him for a second, taking a slow sip while making eye contact. Scott wrinkles his nose. It would be funny if they were talking about anything else. 

“And you're driving it because?”

“I’m going places.”

“What places?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere.”

The boy hums, sucking the last of his drink through the straw. Scott was surprised that he never got a brain freeze with how fast he was drinking it. He had barely made it halfway through his own. Scott took another quick sip of his own while he watched the boy fill up his cup again, this time with blue raspberry. His mouth was stained red already, and Scott could only assume his own was purple. 

“Can I come with you?” Scott raised both his eyebrows, giving the boy a skeptical look.

“I don’t know anything about you. I can’t just pick up some guy at a gas station. What if you're a murderer in disguise?” Scott takes a small step away. He didn’t actually think the guy was a murderer, or anything else bad for that matter, but he couldn’t always be so sure. He had listened to too many true crime podcasts. Besides, he had trusted his parents and look where that got him.

“If I was a murderer, I would have killed you already.” The boy brings out the small thing he was fiddling with earlier, and Scott gets a look at it. It’s a silver lighter, and when it’s flicked on, it makes a larger flame than expected. Scott scoffed, gesturing with his cup. 

“Scary,” he deadpans. The boy narrows his eyes.

“There are six pumps of gasoline out there. It would have been easy to pick up the one you were holding, spill it over you, and throw this at your chest.” He flicks the lighter closed. “Easiest way to kill someone is to leave no tracks. I could have this whole place burnt down.”

“Is that a threat, sparks?” Scott asks, only half teasing. The boy grins, slipping it back into his pocket.

“Only if you want it to be.” He puts the mostly full cup down on the counter and crosses his arms. “So can I?”

“Tell me about yourself first. Who’re you?” Scott asks with uncertainty, shifting to lean away from the boy. He grins further, waving a hand around as he talks.

“My name’s Tango. I’m eighteen, I’ve been illegally working night shifts for three years so I can afford to get out of this place someday. My dad taught me how to fix mechanical dohickeys, and I’ve been fiddling around with them for forever. My favorite color is red.” He lists off the facts as if they were normal things to tell someone you just met. Scott listens carefully, trying to direct anything in his voice that will que he's lying. Nothing is immediately apparent to him. He doesn’t realize he’s been staring until Tango speaks again. “Well? Your turn.”

“What?” Scott blinks a few times.

“Tell me about yourself. Who are you, bus stealer?”

“I told you, it wasn’t stolen.”

“Whatever. Tell me about yourself.”

Scott thinks for a moment, gathering small facts about himself that don’t reveal too much. It would be pointless to lie to Tango, because either he would never see him again or he would see him every day for the foreseeable future. “Scott. I’m also eighteen, I graduated a few months ago. I like gardening, specifically flowers, but I’ve grown the occasional fruit. My favorite color is teal. Is that enough for you?”

“Yep!” Tango rocks back and forth on his feet, and Scott is almost positive it's the influx of sugar. “Got money too, if that’s something we need to travel around with a bus.”

“I have enough. You promise you won’t murder me in my sleep?” Scott asks it like it's a silly question, but he honestly doesn’t think he can one hundred percent trust Tango yet. Still, the blonde rolls his eyes and chuckles.

“Promise.”

Scott hums, and silently worries he’s making the wrong choice. Something tells him he isn’t.

Chapter Text

While they waited for the sun to come up, Scott took a nap on the bus. The seats were not comfy at all, exactly the opposite, but he needed sleep. Eventually his mind drifted off, granting him a dreamless rest. When he woke, he was half surprised to find that Tango hadn’t burned down the entire bus while he was sleeping. Burning a bus would have been hard, he reasoned, but it was still possible.

Tango was waiting for him inside, sitting on the counter and flicking his lighter on and off. The protein bar from earlier was just a crumpled wrapper at his side, and joining it was a magazine opened to a page about some rumors surrounding celebrities. They had nothing better to print these days. When the metallic bell sound rang through the store, Tango’s head jerked up and he flicked the lighter back on, like it would do anything. He looked menacing enough in the early morning light, shadows covering parts of his face and glimmering orange light reflected in his eyes. Scott was almost scared for a moment, until his face broke out into a grin and he hopped off the counter.

“You’re awake! Doya want breakfast?” He was in front of him in an instant, taking his hand and dragging him into one of the few aisles the store had. Scott would have usually resisted, pulled away, but they were only connected for a second before he let go and spread his arms, gesturing to the shelves. “Take your pick!”

“Just anything from the shelves? Isn’t that stealing?” Scott asked, but proceeded to pick out a bag of chips and a ‘healthy’ granola bar (it was covered in chocolate, so really, it couldn’t be that healthy). Tango popped a bag of snack mix off the shelf and basically tore into it, eating a handful before responding.

“What do you think we did last night with the slushies?” Scott shrugged, ripping open the granola bar. “Besides, you stole that bus.”

Scott felt his face heat up in embarrassment. “I did not steal the bus, how many times do I have to tell you?”

“Whatever you say.” Tango gave him a shrug and a smirk, taking another handful of mix and munching on it. Scott scowled and took a—overly violent—bite of his bar. They both wandered around the store, and Scott watched Tango pick out a few packages of food and drinks to carry in his arms, supposedly so they wouldn’t have to spend money on food later. Most notably, a box of six Arizona teas, four packs of peanut butter M&Ms, and a large bag of salt and vinegar chips. Scott frowned at that last pick. 

“Salt and vinegar? Really?” He put as much judgment into his voice as he could. Tango seemed unbothered.

“It's the best flavor.”

“Uh, no.” Scott snatched a package of kettle chips off the shelf. “Do you even have taste buds?”

“ Kettle?” Tango’s mouth dropped open. “And here I thought we could be friends! What is wrong with you?”

Scott tried to keep the smile off his face, instead pressing his free hand against his chest and gasping. “I could say the same thing about you! Maybe I shouldn’t let you on the bus with me!”

Tango faltered for a minute. “Wait seriously?”

“No, Sparks, it was a joke.” Scott chuckled. “Just don’t make me eat those things.”

“Noted.”

Tango picked up a few more packages of food and drinks, but Scott wasn’t really paying attention. Most of it didn’t need to be kept in a cold place, save for the drinks, so Scott led Tango onto the bus and let him drop them on a seat in the back. They had packed it up into plastic bags so none of the food would spill, but Scott had a feeling it would anyway. While Tango called his dad to explain what was going on (he seemed very accepting about Tango leaving) Scott wandered around back of the store.

Behind the gas station was a small parking lot he assumed was for employees, and further than that, was a forest. Most of the station was surrounded by forest. Scott sat on one of the concrete separation bumps that stopped cars from going over the edge and crashing into a tree. He really needed to start learning names of things like these.

The woods were quiet, mostly. Far off he could hear Tango laughing on the phone, and even farther away, the rumble of cars on the highway. Early morning birds chirped, flying among the trees and calling out to their friends. The morning light shone through branches, creating a stippling effect against the forest floor. It would have been beautiful, if not for the several plastic bottles laying in the creak at the bottom of the small hill. As he looked, he saw more imperfections among the leaves and branches, along the forest floor and among the creek water. Hell, his eyes wandered to the side and he saw a shopping cart half buried in leaves and mud. 

He sighed and planted his chin in his hands, eyes memorizing the area before him. He had time to think, maybe, before Tango came to get him. Instead of thinking, though, he took  his phone out of his pocket and checked the lockscreen. 

Three notifications. None from his parents, which he expected, since their numbers were blocked. They had no other way to contact him, thankfully. Two texts from one of his friends who were wondering about some college courses. One email from the school district about a stolen bus. He snorted at the second one and opened his phone, ignoring the texts and going straight for the email. It was written quickly, just a few lines detailing how the check-in office had been broken into and the bus was gone. Nothing about the police, which was good, but a warning to everyone in the area to look out for bus sixty-seven. They would have to get out of the area then, maybe to the next state over. 

He couldn’t tell Tango. That would freak him out, and he was just warming up to the idea of a traveling friend. He didn’t trust him fully yet, it would take a while, but enough at least to be on the same bus as him.

He scrolled on some social media platform while waiting, one with videos. He wasn’t quite sure which one it was, he hadn’t been paying attention when he chose something to occupy his time. Eventually, footsteps sounded on the pavement behind him, and he clicked the power button and turned. Tango stood above him, offering a hand to help him up. “My dad’s on his way over.”

Scott ignored the hand, pushing himself up from the concrete. “Great. He has the diesel?”

Tango nodded, maybe a little too eagerly. “He does. He also said I could go with you, wherever you’re goin’.” They stood in silence for a while, and looked out into the forest. “One time I saw someone shoot a deer back here.”

“Really?” Scott, vaguely interested and caught off guard, turned his attention to his friend. Tango, still looking out into the forest, hummed.

“Yeah, really. It was out of season, middle of summer I think. I was young, ten maybe, or eleven. It doesn’t really matter. I was out here because dad was inside talking to his buddy, the cashier at the time. He’s dead now. Got in a car crash. Anyway,” Tango sighed. Scott was still interested, if not a bit cautious of Tango's openness. There was a lot of information being thrown at him. “I was out here, munching away at a popsicle, when I heard a loud bang. I scream, because of course I do, and then I hear another. Turns out it was this cuckoo crazy old dude, who thought the deer was a teenager trying to play a prank on him. Who grabs a gun for that?”

“Jesus,” Scott breathed, and he could almost hear the gunshots.

“I saw the corpse. It was just, I don’t know, lying there. Blood everywhere. I couldn't form thoughts for a minute. That was when I knew I wanted to get out of here when I was older.” He let out the smallest of sighs, closing his eyes briefly. “And now I can.”

“You want to get out of here because you saw a dead deer when you were ten?” Scott asked, lightly stepping away from the edge of the parking lot. Despite being cold last night, it was warm in the morning, and Scott took off his blue overshirt and tied it around his waist. 

“Yeah. I would never have seen something like that if I lived somewhere else.” He hadn’t moved from his spot, not even to look back. “Here’s fine. Somewhere else could be better.”

Scott stopped for a minute, a frown tugging at his lips. “Somewhere else would have been better.” Tango did turn to look at him then, a genuine smile on his face. Scott couldn’t believe he could still be so happy after that conversation. 

“C’mon, my dad will be here soon.” He walked out of the back, around the building, and was gone. Scott gaped at the corner of the building, mentally gathering himself after the mood switch that had just occurred. He had barely known the other boy for six hours, and he knew more about him than he did about any of his past friends. Maybe that said something about his past friendships. Maybe it said something about Tango himself. Either way, he was intrigued by him in a way he never had been before.

Rounding the corner, Scott saw an old black pick-up truck pulled up next to the bus, and a tall man (at least a foot taller than Tango) with a brown beard. He was laughing while opening the back of the truck, where several metal canisters stood. Tango was beaming up at him, talking fast and energetically while he arms waved everywhere. Scott smiled, watching them for a second before he approached. Somewhere behind his heart, he missed having that connection with someone.

“You must be Scott!” The man (Tango’s dad) yelled when he got close enough to hear. His voice was gruff, but in a way where it felt like he could instantly trust him. Scott waved and mustered up a half hearted smile.

“That’s me, sir.” Tango’s dad clapped him on the shoulder, making him stumble forward a bit. Tango had started to unload the canisters towards the side of the bus, and when he was far enough away, his dad leaned in and spoke softer.

“Thank you for taking him. I love the boy, but he’ll be happier somewhere else. Somewhere bigger maybe. Take him everywhere for me, yeah?”

“I—yeah, I’ll take him everywhere I can, sir.” Tango’s dad smiled (it was half concealed by his beard, but Scott could see the crows feet next to his eyes) and retreated.

“Good. I can tell you’ll be good for him.” Tango hopped back over to both of them, grinning widely. Scott grinned back on instinct, still a little dazed from the promise he had made. Take him everywhere. He wasn’t sure where everywhere was, but he would try.

“I brought a few of the metal-can thingamados to the side of the bus, if you could put ‘em in for us, dad?” He rocked back and forth on his feet, fingers fiddling with the hem of his jacket. Scott took note of the fact he seemed to never stop moving, even if it was in the smallest ways. 

“Sure thing!” He disappeared around the side of the bus, leaving them alone once more. Tango hopped up onto the still-open back of the pickup truck, swinging his legs above the cement. Scott hesitated for a moment, then hopped up as well. They both looked out towards the road, watching a red car, then a silver convertible drive by. 

The sunrise sky was gone, orange and yellow replaced with cool blue. It was barely six-thirty, but the sun rose quick and sank slow in July. Scott found himself tracing the clouds that drifted lazily across the sky with his eyes, spotting shapes in them before they moved to create something completely different. 

He could hear the bus behind filled, the soft glugs from the canisters and grunts as Tango’s dad picked up another to pour the diesel in. At that moment, everything felt like it was changing. It hadn’t felt like this before, not when he was stealing the bus or stopping for gas or following Tango inside for slushies. Now, sitting here while everything around him stayed the same but everything inside him changed drastically, he felt uncertain. His hands tightened on the edge of the truck, and he had to take a breath to steady himself.

“What’s up?” Tango’s voice broke through the fog of anxiety, and helped ground him again. Scott took another breath and opened his eyes (he didn’t remember closing them).

“Just anxious. Nothing you need to worry about, Sparks.”

“Do you have to call me that?” He sounded slightly exasperated, but there was a hint of amusement under it. Scott tilted his head slightly to look at him, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes. One hundred percent, I do.” Tango let out a single laugh. 

“Yeah, okay Stars.”

“And what has prompted that nickname?”

“Are you joking? They’re everywhere on you, dude.” Tango pointed to the embroidered stars on his pants, then the pin on his overshirt, and finally his right middle finger. The dark tattoo stood out against his pale skin, a single four point star.

“Oh yeah, that.” He brought his hand up to his eyes, examining the clean lines. “Sometimes I forget I got that.”

“What does it mean?” Tango sounded genuinely curious. Scott shook his head, answering too quickly.

“Nothing.” Tango looked at him suspiciously, but otherwise didn’t say anything. His dad re-appeared from behind the bus.

“It’s all fixed up, boys! You’re free to get on the road. Tango,” a sad smile crossed his face. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

He nodded. “You go ahead Scott, I’ll be right there.” Scott jumped off the back of the truck and walked around to the head of the bus, where the doors were still open. Slumping into the driver's seat and opening his backpack in one swoop, he took out the one book he brought with him. It was old, a paperback he had picked up at a second hand bookstore. Part of the cover was torn, just a corner, and the pages fanned out from numerous reads. His bookmark was the newest thing about it, a paper one with a stupid slogan about reading.

He traced the title on the side. The Language of Spells. It was meant for middle schoolers, surely, but that didn’t stop him from enjoying the story about a girl and her dragon. His favorite part was when the dragon had become a teapot. This was his third read-though, and still, he would never get bored of it.

He only read for a few minutes before Tango boarded the bus, stepping on with light feet. Scott bookmarked the page he had gotten too and let his head fall back, watching the other boy take a seat. He sat in the front seat, just at the edge so he could look out the front window.

“Are you bringing anything?” Scott asked, a little wary of the lack of possessions Tango had. He silently held up a small tote, and Scott didn’t know where it was from, but he nodded anyway and started the bus. Pop music blasted through the speakers, and Scott turned it down and turned on the air conditioning. Cool air hit him in the face, and he didn’t realize how much he needed until a content sigh passed his lips. “Anywhere specific you want to go?”

“Somewhere big,” Tango decided. Scott nodded and pushed down on the gas pedal, pulling out of the Shell gas station. If he noticed Tango looking back at it with a mix of excitement and sadness, he didn’t say anything about it.

Chapter Text

“So where's your accent from?”

They had been driving for a few hours, wandering highways and backroads. There was no destination in mind, just aimless wandering. It was about noontime, and Scott had pulled over so they could both stop to eat whatever Tango had grabbed that morning. He was eating from a bag of chocolate covered almonds, an unopened can of iced tea laying next to him on the seat. He pulled another few almonds out of the bag and deposited them into his mouth, chewing while he thought. 

Tango was across the aisle, sitting quite frankly outlandishly in his seat, his legs crossed and positioned against the back of the seat in front of him, his back in the place his butt would have been. His neck must have been killing him. He had his opened bag of salt and vinegar chips on his stomach.

“I mean like, you aren’t from around here, because you sound—” he took a second to look him up and down, like that would tell him anything. “—British? Irish?”

“Scottish,” Scott corrected.

“Scott from Scotland?” Tango chuckled, trying to hide the fact he was choking on a chip until he took a chug from his energy drink. Scott grimaced at him, rubbing an almond between his thumb and forefinger. “And now you’re here. In New England?”

“Here in New England,” he grumbled, twirling the almond once more. He thinks back to Scotland, the rolling hills and clunky rock formations jutting from the soil. For a moment, he feels like he’s running, and someone is running with him, and they're happy and laughing and together . It all came crashing down when a car whizzed by, breaking his self-inflicted spell. Now he’s back on the forested road, some run away with a bus and a stranger. “What state are we in now?”

“Massachusetts, I think? I saw the sign a while back.” Tango waved a chip pointlessly through the air, gesturing behind them. His boot tapped against the seat in a pattern, two fasts and three slows. “Did that count as your question or is there another coming?”

“No, there’s another. Gimme a minute.”

Tango had suggested a game of types while they ate, just to get more comfortable with each other. Scott had reluctantly agreed, more out of a need to know who he had let onto his bus rather than the need to share anything personal about himself. Luckily Tango didn’t dig deep. A small poke into his life, just enough to know who he was but not know who he was. Simple questions were asked and answered snappily: What’s your favorite flower to grow? (He had always been a fan of poppies, but the occasional bleeding heart made him sentimental.) What town did you live in? (A shitty place called Pinsburrow, Vermont.) He had been allowed to ask a question back every time, and didn’t jab below anything boring. Why do you wear red contacts? (Well, he wasn’t anymore. Now his eyes were brown. Before, though, he had just thought they looked cool.) Did you sleep last night? (Nope!)

Scott snapped with his free hand, the other slowly working away at the almond to rub the chocolate off of it. He took a lick at his thumb to get the excess off, and then for good measure, popped the whole almond into his mouth and took out a few more. “Why’d you work at that gas station for three years illegally?”

Tango chuckled, tapping his foot against the seat faster. It was a steady beat now, not loud but not soft. “I told you already, I needed the money so I could get out of there. Was planning on catching a plane to, I don’t know, somewhere, when I could afford it. Make something of myself. Get unstuck.”

“Unstuck?”

Tango nodded as well as he could with his head at that angle. “Unstuck. You know the small town feeling of lonely? It’s like, the place deep in your brain that feels like you'll never get out of it once you get in it. The suffocation.” Scott sighed and closed his eyes, all too familiar with the feeling Tango was describing. The feeling that had shrouded his eyes for the past three years. The feeling his right middle finger gave him with any glance. “That's the feeling of stuck to me. Stuck. Stuck-ificated. Stuck-ified. Stuckie.” Tango had mumbled the variations of the word under his breath, but everywhere around them was quiet, so Scott still heard it. He agreed with him. He knew what it was like to be ‘stuckified’.

Scott hummed, opening his eyes and reaching for the iced tea. The tab popped open and a small puff of mist escaped from the can. He took a long swig of it, settling the bright peach and green can against his leg when he finished. 

“That was two questions! I get to ask two now!” Tango cheered in realization. Scott rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep a small smile from spreading across his lips. He could argue the second question wasn’t a question at all, but he still allowed it.

“Fine, fine, go ahead.” He took another sip while Tango thought. When he came up with something, he made a sort of garbled ‘ha!’ noise.

“Where’s the tattoo from?” Scott stopped with the can raised half to his mouth, and slowly put it in his lap, tracing the top with his thumb. He could see said tattoo out of the corner of his eye, and the mention of it made it even more visible to him. A drop of condensation slipped down the side of the metal and pooled on his finger.

“I—I got it back in Scotland,” he started, and it came out quieter than he meant it to. “A friend told me he knew how to tattoo, and—and I challenged him to give me one.” It wasn’t the whole truth. It wasn’t a lie either, just the simplest answer he could give without having to think about it too much. Thinking wasn’t the best sometimes. 

“Why a star?”

“Is that your second question?”

“...Yes.”

“Okay.” The can was warming up, just in the place at the top where the tea was gone. The rest was still cold somehow. “It’s a star because I like stars.” This time it was a straight up lie. Scott didn’t care a thing about stars before he had gotten the tattoo.

“That answer is boring.”

“Never said it would be exciting, Sparks.”

Tango grunted, popping a final chip into his mouth and rolling up the top of the bag. He squirmed to get himself back into a normal sitting position, and slid along the seat to get out. Scott did the same, sealing the bag of almonds and walking to the front of the bus. He almost got back into the driver's seat, but Tango stopped him and sat down instead.

“Nuh-uh, my turn.” 

“No offense, but I don’t know if I trust you with a ten-thousand kilo bus.”

“How much is that in pounds?”

“Twenty-thousand, maybe? Little more?”

“You shouldn’t worry anyway, because I’ve been driving since I was ten!”

“That doesn’t make me worry any less?!”

Tango laughed and turned the key, making the engine rumble deep inside the bus, and Scott sighed, but neither said anything else about the situation. Scott settled in the seat his companion had been in earlier, head against the window and feet dangling off the end into the aisle. He pulled his phone from his pocket as the bus started pulling back into the road, opening it to some stupid mobile word game he had downloaded a week ago. Today’s puzzle was plant themed, and he grinned, listening to the slow roll of the tires against cement.

Tango had turned off the radio, muttering something about how it sucked. Scott didn’t make a comment about it, but he did take note that Tango was not a fan of Taylor Swift. Instead, he put in one of his own airpods and shuffled his largest playlist. Absently, Scott thought that he should make a playlist he could connect to the bus somehow, so he and Tango could listen to songs they actually liked. If the bus had bluetooth, which he doubted.

A banner notification popped up, an email from his hometown news station. He had forgotten to unsubscribe thus far, as well as from the school's emails, since he had graduated. The title was cut off, and he was too focused on the game to care, but he did catch the word ‘missing’. Scott’s blood ran cold, and he closed the tab the game was in and opened his email. There, right above a few from some shopping sites he had subscribed too and the one from the school about the bus he had read earlier that day, was the title ‘Child of Mr. and Mrs. Major Turns 18, Goes Missing A Day Later’.

His first thought was ‘shit, they’re onto me’, and his second was ‘Tango can’t know’. He glanced up to the drivers seat and watched his companion drum his fingers against the steering wheel, singing softly under his breath. Scott almost felt bad for lying to him, about stealing the school bus and running away (though he hadn’t really lied, more never mentioned it). Telling the truth was terrifying, scenarios flashing through his mind. He was scared Tango would leave despite knowing him less than twenty-four hours. It was nice to have someone again.

So Scott stayed quiet. He turned his phone off—the kind of off where if he turned it back on, the company logo would appear before his lock screen—and slipped it into his backpack. People could track his phone if it was on. He had learned that a while ago, when researching running away. He just hoped he had more time before people noticed.

Instead he stared out the window, watching cars fly by on the highway he hadn’t noticed they had gotten on. There was a red one, and then a black truck, and a silver car that had to hold two people at most. Scott almost laughed at it. Maybe he would abandon the bus and he and Tango could buy a car like that, just for the two of them, and it would be less of a hassle. He’d only taken the bus anyway because he thought it would be fun. Like in many situations before, he had been wrong. 

About three hours later, a very familiar view was outside the window. Scott had been there before, multiple times, when his mother would go on business trips and invite him along. He popped his head above the separator in front of the seat, standing to look out the front glass.

“Boston?”

“Yeah!” Tango cheered, doing a little wiggle in his seat. Scott smiled at him for a moment, then looked out the window, taking in the view of tall buildings and glistening glass. He wasn’t sure how Tango had found a way without a map or google, but they were there regardless.

“We might want to park the bus somewhere… inconspicuous? And then walk around,” Scott suggested. Tango nodded, humming along to the song playing on the radio (Scott had insisted they turn it back on when he got bored). They found an abandoned parking lot outside of an empty mall, close enough to the main city that it was maybe a fifteen minute walk. Scott ditched his overshirt, leaving it on the bus to bask in the sun. Tango wrapped his jacket around his waist, keeping it ‘in case he got cold’. Scott laughed at him just a little, and he laughed along, and it was endearing. 

They walked along sidewalks, not talking except for the occasional comment of how great the architecture was or the gorgeous murals or someone who looked cool. Scott laughed at all the jokes Tango made, and Tango nodded along as he talked about the plants in people’s windows. They walked around for maybe an hour, Scott didn’t have a way of keeping time anymore, but he didn’t need to. He was happy.

They found a bookstore at one point, and Scott insisted they go inside because he was going to need more books on the bus. He was almost finished with The Language of Spells once again, and needed something new. Tango wasn’t excited by the store as much as Scott was, but he still browsed the shelves like he cared. Scott appreciated it.

He ended with two books. One was thick, one called Echo following a harmonica, of all things. The other was thinner, maybe two hundred pages, Pumpkins in Paradise. Technically it was a Halloween themed murder mystery, but you can read those in the summer. The atmosphere is created by the story, not the setting outside the page. When Tango asked, he said just that, and then he rolled his eyes. Not meanly, though, more in a teasing way.

Scott payed for the books in cash. He had taken out a few hundred dollars from his bank account before he left, so no one could track his purchases before he had to get out more. Tango squinted at the money in his hand, but didn’t say anything. They left the store with new books and grinning faces, but not without a little curiosity, though it was different on both their parts.

Eventually, Tango dragged him into a restaurant because he insisted they needed dinner. Scott took a glance at the clock on the wall once they got in. It was five-thirty, early for dinner, but they had food on the bus if either got hungry later. The place wasn’t anything fancy, just a family owned sandwich shop. They showed themselves to one of the booths and had their order taken by someone who was a few years older than them, a girl with a voice that was a little too forced. Her energy was palpable with the feeling of boredom.

There were few other people in the store. He could see a brunet guy in one of the booths, eating alone. A girl and someone who looked like her sister were speaking animatedly in the corner, giggling about something. There was a bush of big red hair in the booth next to them, but Scott couldn’t see who it belonged to. 

“You like people watching, huh?” Scott responded by nodding distractedly, watching the two girls across the restaurant share something on their phones. Ripping his eyes away from them, he focused on Tango instead, who had just asked the question. Tango was looking at him curiously, hand against his cheek.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Why?”

Scott thought for a second before responding. “It’s like getting a glimpse into their lives. I can see this second of who they are, what they're doing, what they're going through. It’s interesting.” 

“Are you sure you're a gardener and not a poet?” Tango eyed him with a faux suspicious expression, which Scott found the smallest bit cute. 

“I’m sure. I did a bit of writing in highschool, and a bit of art. Creativity in general.”

“I was never good at art,” Tango grumbled. “Always been a tech person.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your tech stuff?”

“…Are you sure? I don’t want to bore you.”

“Tell me.”

And Tango talked. Scott listened readily while he did, nodding at the correct times and smiling all the while. There was a lot to talk about, from his first ever invention (something to crack eggs perfectly in the morning when one was groggy, called the Egg Breakificator) up to the latest thing he had built (a mini robot that could use voice recognition to give someone the correct tool they wanted, called the Chooseificator). Tango explained how the mini engines he used worked, and how they could help people, and the difference between screwdrivers. By the time he was done, they had both eaten their sandwiches and drunk two glasses of their chosen beverage (root beer for Tango, water for Scott).

Scott took the last sip through his straw as Tango went silent. They stayed quiet for a moment, mostly just to check and make sure Tango wasn’t trying to find the correct word and he was, in fact, finished. Scott put down his glass on the table with a clink and grinned widely.

“Wow, you, like, know a lot,” he said dumbly. Tango nodded sheepishly, tapping his fingers against the table.

“Yeah, sorry if that was boring, I just really like talking about it all.”

Scott shook his head. “Not at all. It was cool to hear about, I could tell you really liked it.” He offered a genuine smile. “And now I know we have someone on board who can fix anything that goes wrong.”

“I’ve never worked on a bus before,” he admitted. “It would be fun, figuring out how it works.”

“I’d help however I can.”

“I appreciate that.” They paid and left, walking back into the direction of the bus. Scott nudged Tango’s shoulder with his own, getting the others' attention. “Hey, we should stay another day. There's a few things I want to show you tomorrow.”

“There’s more to the city?” Tango asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. Scott laughed, answering through his giggles.

“Yes, of course! We can take the T tomorrow.”

“What’s a T?”

“I have more to teach you than I thought,” Scott sighed, with a hint of fondness. “C’mon, let’s get some sleep.”

Chapter Text

Scott woke up earlier than usual. Early enough that the sun was still rising, a sliver of golden peach over the horizon. He sat up in his seat, stretching his arms above his head and feeling a crack in his shoulders. Scott groaned and slid out of the seat, grabbing the backpack he was using as a pillow (somewhere in Boston must sell pillows and blankets, they just hadn’t fit in his bag when he was packing). 

Scott made his way to the front of the bus, found the best morning routine he could on a bus with no water and limited supplies. He brushed his teeth best he could, applied deodorant, and changed clothes for the first time. His jeans were swapped for shorts, and his shirt was swapped for the show shirt he had brought. Almost, Maine was written in large letters across the back, below it a caricature of two people on a bench. The front was bare save for the word Almost across the left of his chest, with a heart replacing the o.

It had been a well chosen play for his highschool junior year, since they had so few people in the program. He remembered he was one of three boys in the theater, and one of twelve people total. It wasn’t a very popular activity in the town, not part of any larger district. Most people had chosen sports anyway, whether it was track or the basketball team. 

Scott didn’t know where Tango was, but he assumed that he had taken one of the seats further back in the bus to sleep. He had slept in the one closest to the front, just because he hadn’t felt like moving once they had gotten back to the bus. It had taken less than a minute to fall asleep, he was exhausted for no reason. He still felt sleep clawing at his eyes, the lips half open and drooping lower. He might have to ask Tango if they could postpone their walking adventure so he could get more beauty rest.

The bus door was opened, and cool air streamed in. It was cold in the summers this year, for whatever reason. Shorts hadn’t been the best idea for early in the morning, but the day would adjust and so would he. Scott stepped down the steps, letting the early morning wash over him. The parking lot was empty, save for a few fast food wrappers and old posters. Scott picked up one that had fallen under the bus, sticking to the tire. It tore as he pulled it out, so all he could read was:

- Zoo!! 

-rida!!

-rd exhibit opening soon!!

There were too many exclamation points, in Scott's opinion. On the bottom was a small caricature of a man in a wheelchair, with a cane pointed at the text. He looked extremely happy. Scott smiled, letting go of the paper and watching it float to the ground.

“You tore it! I wanted to—“ the voice was cut off by a shriek from Scott as he flinched away, putting up his hands, palms facing the person, the universal position of don’t kill me please! Whoever it was laughed at him, and Scott recognized that laugh. He threw down his arms, gaping at Tango who seemed very pleased with himself.

“You don’t scare a man like that!” He yelled. Tango grinned at him, flicking the lighter in his hands a few times. 

“I just did, Stars.” Scott grunted and crossed his arms. Tango looked back to the fire in his hands, putting it out and lighting it again. Scott watching it light up his face, orange light contrasting with the light blue from the sky. It lined his features, faintly highlighting his roman nose and soft jawline. Scott noticed the faint freckles on his face, just barely darker than his skin tone. They ran up his cheeks and down his neck, dotting his shoulders.

Scott tore his eyes away from the flame (he was looking at the flame, definitely) and looked out at the old mall. It was dark inside, signs taken down long ago. Graffiti was sprayed down the sides, pictures of dogs and people and things he really shouldn’t describe decorated the cream walls. The glass doors looked broken into, the remaining shards sparking on the ground. He was sure it was from multiple break-ins, rather than just one. The place was a shell of its former glory, assuming that it had ever had a glory to begin with. 

“Why’re you out here?” Scott asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them. Tango flicked his lighter closed and pursed his lips. Scott kept his gaze settled ahead, tracing one of the most complex pieces of art on the walls. Still, he could see Tango shift out of the corner of his eye, pushing himself off the bus. 

“I don’t know. Woke up early, I guess.”

“How much sleep do you get?” Scott didn’t mean for it to sound accusatory, but it came out that way. He glanced over at his companion, scrutinizing his expression. He looked fine, but there was something guilty underneath it.

“Like, three hours…?”

“Tango!”

“What?” Tango asked innocently, like he didn’t know why Scott was chiding him. Scott rolled his eyes, bringing them back to the mall.

“You need more sleep Tango, three hours isn’t healthy,” Scott insisted. He huffed and pushed more of his weight against the bus, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He was not going to let Tango drive again until he had slept more. “We came back at like, seven, maybe, last night. It’s–” Scott reached for his phone, before remembering it was safely stored away in his backpack. “—I don’t know, like, six? Five? There was more than three hours between then and now.”

“I trainificated myself to go to sleep at three in the morning, for three years. It’s hard to break out of that pattern after two days. I can,” he stuttered for a second, “functionificate, can’t I?”

“Can you?” Scott shot him a look, and Tango shot him one equally as scathing back.

“Yes, I can, now will you drop it ?” He snarled, unfolding his legs and brushing past Scott back onto the bus. Scott stood there for a moment, both because he wanted to give Tango space but also because he was surprised. Throughout their time together, Tango hadn’t been hostile in any way, portraying as an excitable person. He was happy constantly, a contrast to Scott’s general pessimism. He supposed he had only known him for a little while, barely two days, short enough that he hadn’t seen every side of him, but this seemed abrupt. Maybe he was more tired than Scott thought. Maybe Scott was more tired than he thought.

He huffed out a breath, looking up at the sky. The light pollution in the city made it so no celestial bodies could be seen. The sky was a muddle, swirling the colors together into a sky soup. Scott could go for soup.

Good lord, he was tired, wasn’t he?  

Scott took his time getting back on the bus. Tango was sitting in the very back, head barely visible over the gray seats. Scott kept to the front, reading until his eyes couldn’t stay open and then reading more. At some point he woke up again, blearily blinking his eyes after his nap. His head felt like it was made of clouds, shifting so he couldn’t form a solid thought. Sitting up in his seat, he glanced around the bus, observing the sunlight streaming in through the windows. It seemed to be around lunchtime, from the angle of the sun. To solidify his suspicion, his stomach grumbled, making him grimace. Lunch sounded really good right then.

Looking around again, this time at the seats, he spotted Tango sitting horizontally to him, reading the book he had been reading before falling asleep. He looked down at his lap to see that, yes, it was gone. Tango had put his jacket back on, sleeves rolled up as he flipped the page. His brow was furrowed, and by the amount of pages it looked like he had read, he was at a vaguely stressful part. Still, he was calmer than before. When Scott shifted to stand, he put down the book, blinking up at him.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he greeted. Scott grumbled.

“More like afternoon, isn’t it?” He asked, straightening his shirt from where it had gotten caught in his shorts. “Time for lunch.”

“I don’t know, I don’t have a watch.”

“We should get one.” Tango hummed in response. Scott moved to sit next to him, scanning the page he was on. “You’re not very far in, then?”

“Nope. I just started,” Tango mumbled, taking his eyes off of the page. “I’d be willing to stop for lunch, though.”

“Any type of food you want today, or just anything?” Scott asked, reaching once again for his phone and remembering it was safely tucked away. Tango shrugs, closing the book and getting out of the seat. Scott was already halfway off the bus, looking back at him through the handrail.

“Mexican? Something spicy, anyway.”

Scott stuck out his tongue playfully. “I don’t like spice.”

Tango gawked at him. “What do you mean, you don’t like spice?! Spicified food is the best!”

“It makes my mouth feel like it’s on fire.” Scott descended all the way down the steps. Tango followed quickly, boots making stomping noises all the way down.

“Well, you have to build up a tolerance.” Scott was walking fast, trying to hide his grin while Tango speed walked to keep up with him. He was a few paces behind him, and Scott purposefully took long strides out of the parking lot. Tango’s face had turned red while he talked—yelled, more like—about how Scott was missing out and he really should try and build up a tolerance so he could enjoy it. He stomped on his smile and spoke in a drawl when there was a lull in Tango’s words.

“Sounds like a lotta work for some food, Sparks.” Tango had caught up to him and was glaring, but there was no heat behind it. It was much more lighthearted. Scott rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands in his pocket. “I don’t know Tango, maybe we should get sandwiches again.”

“Scott, you cannot be serious,” he chuckles, grinning widely. Their debate took them all the way to the middle of the city, taking the T to a different part this time. Tango got very confused about where to go and went, and kept ranting about how the trains worked. Scott kept them on time and semi-quiet on the trains, because he knew passengers didn’t like to be disrupted. Still, he found himself lost in Tango’s rants every once and a while, nodding along while he explained the intricacies.

He was still talking when the resurfaces, dragging themselves along concrete streets to examine places to eat. Scott kicked a plastic bottle out of their way and realized he was parched, pursing his lips. He would drink anything right then, as long as his mouth wasn’t as hellishly dry as it currently was. He was about to interrupt Tango to suggest whatever place was closest when they heard a shout from down the street.

“They are well-behaved and they will not ruin your restaurant!”

“And I said, beat it, kid!”

A girl in a white shirt with a blue sweatshirt tied around her waist turned furiously, brown and blonde hair spinning around her. Her face was long, fitting perfectly into the bangs she sported. Two dogs in leashes sat at her feet, tongues lolling out happily. They were gray and fluffy, likely from the same litter. One had a red collar, eyes large and steady on their owner. The other had a blue collar, laying down with her tail slightly in the road. In front of them, leaning out a door, was someone Scott assumed to be the owner of the store. He was large, not in a fit way, with a rat-stache and obviously balding head. His nose was redder than a human nose should have been, and his eyebrows were low-set on his forehead, making his eyes look small and piggy.

“I will get food and you can’t stop me!”

“Not with those mutts in my restaurant, you won’t!” The balding man’s voice was gruff, like he had been yelling all his life. The girl pressed a hand against her chest, gasping.

“Mutts!? Mutts?! Tillie and Millie are not mutts, I will have you know. They are purebred Alaskan Malamutes!”

“Does it look like I care, girl? Get lost, you and your mutts.” The door was slammed in her face, and she pushed back her shoulders. The irritated expression never left her face as she turned and stocked towards them, her two dogs trotting after her. She almost brushed past them, until Tango spoke up.

“Are you okay?” He asked, and she stopped. Scott elbowed him in the side and grabbed his hand, trying to drag him away from the obviously angry lady, but he resisted. The girl sighed and rested her back against the brick wall behind her.

“Store owners are just stupid, not letting me into the place with these girls—” she held up the leashes, “—and then refusing to let me take the food I had already ordered outside! I spent money there and got nothing! Just—ugh, it’s annoying.” Tango nodded along the whole time she was talking, eyes darting from her face to her dogs. Scott took a step back, glancing over her once. She was taller than him, but not by much. Still, she loomed over Tango by at least half a foot, looking down on him. Her face was still twisted into a scowl, annoyance clouding her features.

Scott decided this was not some person to mess with, and grabbed Tango’s arms again. Once again, Tango ripped his arm away and kept talking to the girl. She was ranting about how no shops would let her in anymore with her dogs, and all she wanted was to get some food. Scott stayed a few feet away, arms crossed over his stomach, which grumbled at the very mention of food. 

“Why not just leave your dogs at home?” Tango asked. Scotts gaze shot towards him, and he leaned in to whisper to him.

“Tango!” It came out more as a stage whisper, so he knew the girl could hear it. “That’s rude!”

“It is?” He asked back in a much louder voice. “I thought asking questions was nice!”

“It isn’t when it’s bothering someone!” Scott pursed his lips, taking a step back and sighing. “Tango, we really should get lunch, and stop bothering random people on the sidewalk. I’m sorry, we’ll just—”

“We could get you lunch!” Tango suggested, completely ignoring Scott and turning back to the dog lady. She seemed surprised for a second, tilting her head to the side not unlike a dog would. Scott pinched his nose and gave up, letting what would happen happen.

“That… would be very nice of you.” She eyed both of them. “Are you from Boston?”

“Nope!”

“Ah, that explains it.”

Scott paid for three lunches. He didn’t mind, he had enough money to last a few more months at this rate. They sat on the lip of the sidewalk outside, so they wouldn’t be in the way of any passersby. The girl—who had told them her name was Pearl—had wanted pizza, so they all had paper plates and a small cardboard box in between them. Scott was surprised the dogs hadn’t tried to eat any of it yet, but Pearl had said she trained them well. 

Scott chewed slowly while he listened to Tango and Pearl talk. It was strange to him how little apprehension Tango showed when talking to someone new. He told her about his job back home, and the deer incident, and his dad. Pearl shared how she had moved here from Australia to go to college, and had a small apartment just off her campus. Millie and Tillie were the final two dogs in a litter her friend had, and she was trying to sell them. No matter how well trained they seemed in public, or how large they looked, they were still puppies and would destroy her apartment if she was gone for too long. Scott snorted at that.

“Have you been able to sell them yet?” He asked. 

“Kind of,” she decided after a minute. “I have a buyer, but she’s really far away. I don’t know howI’m going to get down there, and I’m not sure if I can find anyone else who can take them.”

Tango leaned in front of Pearl and made eye contact with Scott while taking another bite of his pizza. Two crusts lay abandoned on his plate already. He raised his eyebrow and Scott shook his head. Somehow he knew exactly what Tango was asking, and it was a bad idea. They didn’t know Pearl.

Scott hadn’t known Tango, and he still let him on.

Tango raised his eyebrows higher and let his bottom lip out into a pout. Scott frowned, avoiding his eyes because he felt really inclined to say yes to Tango when he looked at him like that. 

“Wherya goin’, Pearly?” Tango asked, rocking back and forth. Pearl chewed and swallowed, and it could have been taken as either manners or trying to desperately remember where she was going.

“North Carolina.”

“Do you need a ride?”

Scott internally groaned. When he had stolen the bus he had expected just him, and then he had picked up Tango and gotten used to him. Now if they added another person, it would feel off putting once again. Of course, he wouldn’t say that to either of them. Scott didn’t say anything as they kept talking.

“Excuse me?” She half laughed.

“Do you need a ride to North Carolina?” Tango was grinning ear to ear, eyes flitting between the two. Scott took a long sip of his plastic water bottle. It crunched beneath his fingers, creaking as he swallowed and lowered it again.

“I… I wouldn’t mind.” She narrowed her eyes at both of them. “Are you going to kidnap me?”

“Pearl, do we look like we could overpower you in the slightest?” Scott droned, leaning over and taking one of Tango’s crusts. “We don’t want to kidnap two dogs anyway. That sounds like a hassle.”

Just like bringing two dogs twelve hours down the coast would be.

“Pearly?” Apparently ‘Pearly’ was becoming a thing now. She turned to Tango again, humming questioningly. “Are you a murderer?”

“If you want me to be,” she replied without missing a beat. Scott took note of this answer, and his opinion of Pearl went up slightly. Tango sputtered a few words, eventually settling on a confused expression. 

“We don’t want you to be, uh, please don’t kill us.” She flashed a toothy smile. It was unsettling in a good way, like he could trust whatever eldritch monster was in front of him. He wouldn’t be surprised if she turned out to be some beastly keeper of wolves. Keeper of dogs? Tillie and Millie looked like wolves if he squinted hard enough. “So, do you?”

“Tango, can I talk to you?” Scott asked, furrowing his brow. Tango nodded and stood up, separating them from Pearl. She didn’t seem to care, taking another bite of her pizza and cooing at the dog with the blue collar (Scott was unsure which was which). “Do you really think we can trust another person on the bus? With two dogs, no less?”

“Pearl seems fine!” Tango defended, crossing his arms. Scott shook his head.

“It would be a disaster. What if she’s just faking nice for a favor? We could be stuck with someone bitchy for hours.”

“Scott, she’s in need of someone. If we don’t help her out, who will?”

“Someone who’s not us.” Scott swiped some of his hair out of his face. He could see Tango frowning more clearly now. “It's inconvenient.”

“It’s kind!”

“Tango,” Scott looked into his eyes. In the late afternoon sunlight, the brown has gone to a more honey color. It drips through his eyes, swirling around the pupil in patterns. “Whose bus is it?”

“The schools you stole it from?” He said cheekily. Scott caught his cheek between his teeth to hold back a laugh. He’s being serious. Tango, obviously, doesn’t care about the tone of the conversation. Scott didn’t think he would have. He pushed his hair back and bit his lip, chewing on the top layer of skin. When Tango notices he’s not laughing, he wrinkles his nose. “She—she just needs help. We can give it to her.”

Tango looked up at him, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw. Scott breathed out a sigh. He’s not sure why he’s saying this, what has tempted him to do so, but he nods his head slowly. “Fine. Fine. We can drive her to North Carolina.”

Tango’s face broke into a grin. He choked out a few Tango noises, vaguely cheers and mangled words that had strangers glancing at them suspiciously. Scott's face burned and he grabbed Tango’s arm, dragging him back over to Pearl.

“Okay, Pearl, how would you like a ride to North Carolina?”

Chapter Text

Pearl’s apartment was cozy, to put it one way. To put it another way, without sugarcoating, her apartment was small. It couldn’t really have been more than the size of their bus, despite being divided into three rooms. Scott could barely believe that a grown person and two dogs could live there. The only real evidence of their presence was the absolutely insane amount of dog hair clinging to every available surface. Scott was almost certain that he had some clinging to his pants just from walking through the door.

Tango and Scott stood awkwardly in the door for a moment while they watched Pearl pack. She was efficient, knowing exactly what she needed and focusing on it. Tillie and Millie, who had not been let off the leashes that were now dragging behind them, had bolted to the singular armchair in the room. Scott watched them, amused, for a moment as they tried to coordinate both of them into the chair. It might have been black, but it was a dull gray now due to the dog hair. He might have to do a deep clean of the bus after they dropped her off.

“I, uh, Pearly?” Tango asked quietly. When she didn’t hear him, he spoke a little louder. Pearl straightened, looking at both of them like she had just realized they were there. 

“Yeah?” She replied, stuffing something dog-related in her bag. Scott didn’t know what it was. He had never owned a dog, and frankly, he was a cat person anyway.

“Do you have a bathroom?”

“Second door.” Pearl went back to packing, stuffing the sweatshirt she had been wearing earlier into the bag. It looked like it was about to burst when she finally zipped it up, struggling for only a second before the zipper jerked. She let out a small cheer when it closed, and Scott couldn’t resist a smile at her joy, watching Tango disappear into the second door out of the corner of his eye. Millie and Tillie had settled into their chair together, a white puff of limbs that looked strangely comfortable. Scott took a few steps forward, stopping on the other side of the small table separating them. He didn’t sit, but he watched Pearl do so. She did everything with a sort of tugging grace, like she needed to make herself move but once she was in motion, it was fluid. Scott admired it, in a way. Not jealousy, per say, but something adjacent.

“Tango seems to have taken a liking to you,” he said casually. Pearl raised an eyebrow at him, placing her head in her hand.

“He has.” She smiled with all her teeth, and Scott once again got an unnerving impression of her. “Are you jealous?”

Scott furrowed his brow, tapping one of his hands against the table. “What do you mean?” He had some semblance of what she was getting at, but didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Pearl dragged out the chair on the opposite side of the table, slumping down in it.

“I just mean,” she started, the devilish smile still spread across her face. “That you two seem very close for two people who met a few days ago.”

“Uh—” Scott wasn’t sure what to say to that. He and Tango had gotten close, sure, but more in the way two people who were stuck together got close rather than the way Pearl was insinuating it. Tango was just someone who he had picked up at a gas station and would probably leave at a gas station, someday, in a city bigger than the place he had come from. Tango wasn’t anyone special to him, in the same way Scott wasn’t anyone special to Tango. Pearl was wrong, whatever she was thinking about the two of them. Convenience, their relationship was strictly convenient. “It gets lonely on the bus, I guess. We talk.”

“Mhmm.” She dragged the noise out, flattening her mouth into a straight line. Scott could tell Pearl was judging him, and in response, he glared back. He and Pearl were similar, he could tell. He could tell he wouldn’t hate her forever, he just wasn’t sure how long it would take for him to like her. Maybe once she didn’t have dogs and wasn’t asking if he and Tango were… he wasn’t sure what she was asking, not completely, but when she stopped asking about them. “Ell, when that changes, tell me.”

“I don’t think it will change.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Pearl—” he was cut off when Tango opened the bathroom door, shaking water off of his hands. He looked at them, and then the backpack, and then his hands.

“You didn’t have any towels.”

Pearl barked out a laugh, pushing her chair back. It scraped against the wooden floor. She paid no mind, throwing her backpack over her shoulder, and snapping at her dogs. Tillie perked up, nudging Millie with her nose until she sleepily got up as well. Pearl picked up their leashes from the floor, wrapping both around her wrist. Scott could tell she was looking around discreetly, searching for something that she had missed to stuff into her bag. When she found nothing, Pearl headed for the door. Scott and Tango caught up, slipping ahead of her to guide Pearl to their bus.

At some point that day, it had changed from his bus to their bus. Scott didn’t know why. He didn’t mind, exactly.

They all had a dinner of leftover junk food, once Pearl was settled in. She was happy with salt and vinegar, a small victory he relished in. Tango didn’t seem bothered though, instead focusing on the other half of the chocolate almonds Scott had left in the bag. They had melted together, sure, but Tango somehow managed to break them apart. Scott ate one of the breakfast bars they had left, for dinner, ironically.

Pearl’s dogs had settled in the back, staying back there obediently. They each had their own seat, sleeping peacefully. Pearl hadn’t talked much—none of them had—since they had gotten back. Tango looked like he wanted to, but didn’t. Scott had cracked open his book, settling into the seat and slowly making his way through a few chapters. 

Pearl bit them goodnight soon enough, retreating to the back of the bus with the pillow she had brought and her sweatshirt. Tango moved seats, sitting next to Scott. He felt their thighs press together in the seat. Scott put down his book, closing it as softly as he could so as not to disturb their newest passengers. Tango looked wide awake, despite the fact it was getting later. In truth, Scott had been straining his eyes to read for the past half hour.

“Time to sleep?”

“I don’t know if I can.”

Scott remembered their conversation that had happened in the morning, and cringed a little. “Is there anything I can do to help? Anything that you used to help you sleep at home?”

“I mean…” Tango trailed off, avoiding eye contact. He fiddled with his hands, scraping against his nails and his knuckles. Scott watched him do so, flexing his own hands against the book. “I like noise. And I know there’s a lot of noise around us all the time—” a car rushed past the parking lot. “—but I like it when it’s, uh, closer?”

“Closer?"

“Like, in the bus would be good. If you can. It’s fine if no—”

“I could, like,” Scott started, “Drive the bus around? For white noise? Or…” Scott held up the book, the one Tango was reading earlier. “I could read to you?”

Tango perked up, leaning back against the seat. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. What part were you at?”

Tango took the book, rifling through the pages until he landed somewhere in the middle of chapter three. Scott took the book back, starting from the top of the page. Reading out loud was a rhythm, running over the words again and again until he got lost in the story. It was amazing to lose himself in something, just focus and let the world around his lift away. Eventually, Scott felt a weight on his shoulder. Looking down, he saw Tango, eyes closed, breathing softly. His cheek was braced against Scott’s shoulder, which couldn’t have been comfortable. He looked happy. Comfortable. Content, even, to be leaning on Scott like this.

He would look the same against anyone else, Scott reasoned. If he was sleeping against anyone else, on a bus, in Boston, he would have the same small smile on his face. If he was sleeping against anyone else, not on a bus, in Boston, he probably would still be smiling. Probably.

The fact that it was Scott had nothing to do with it.

Probably.

Why was he thinking about it so hard? It didn’t matter, not really. Tango was asleep, that’s what was important. He had passed out before they had even gotten to chapter four, which was a victory in Scott’s book. He did realize, before Tango had fallen asleep, that he wouldn’t be able to get out of the seat. He hadn’t asked to switch, or for Tango to move, or if he could get out the seat. He had just let Tango fall asleep on him.

Pearl was wrong.

Scott watched his friend just sleep for a moment, which would be weird if he wasn’t trapped by said sleeping person. Tango let out a little huff whenever he breathed out, and Scott could feel it float against his skin. He settled back himself, leaning against the seat without disturbing Tango. Comfort was not a luxury he had at that moment, but he would gladly sleep like that because he didn’t want to disturb Tango.

It wasn’t like that. Scott told himself it couldn’t be like that. Then he told himself he was right and promptly refused any more thoughts.