we're not on the map but we're on our way

2/3

"Sin City," Brendon smiles.

"Oh. Right," Spencer nods, but doesn't say that's exactly where he is from too. Spencer knows that the Earth is small, but it feels even smaller right then.

Brendon stares at his phone expectantly, but his smile fades when it lies still in his hand. No voice mails, no missed calls, no text messages. There's absolutely nothing.

"Who are you waiting to call you?" Spencer asks.

"No one," Brendon says and puts the phone away. He gets up and marches into the bathroom without another word. He turns on the faucets and lets the water flow down the drain, and he hopes it's loud enough to cover up his tears.

They haven't called him. How can someone do that? How can they switch a button in themselves from "love" to "love no more"? Is that human? It's not, Brendon knows it isn't, and he cries because he doesn't have that switch in him. He loves, he loves so much it hurts. Eventually he turns the water off, but sits next to the tub, his back resting against it.

He has calmed down now, and doesn't like it that he cried. He is doing alright. He is going to Delmont with Spencer and Jon, he has seen the Grand Canyon, the Mississippi, he's been to Texas. He has been doing alright, against all odds.

There's a knock on the door.

"Come on in," Brendon replies because there is no lock.

Spencer opens the door and leans against the doorframe, cocking his hips. He watches Brendon sitting on the floor with red eyes and messed up hair.

"What's your deal?" Spencer asks.

Brendon tries to estimate Spencer, to see if he can tell someone the truth. He knows that no one in Jon's red Ford is very big on truth, but he has been brought up to be honest.

"What, some girl not calling you?" Spencer continues a bit mockingly.

"No, not a girl," Brendon says and almost smiles. He sits up straighter, resting his hands on his raised knees and stares at the wall opposite. "Hoping my parents will call me," Brendon whispers. Spencer says nothing, leaves enough space lingering in the small bathroom for Brendon to say, "They threw me out."

"Pretty harsh," Spencer comments, but behind the short words is a tone that is genuinely sympathetic. "What did you do?"

Brendon doesn't mind Spencer assuming that he did something. He just shakes his head because he thinks he's said enough for one day.

"Did something wrong," is all Brendon says. "And they haven't called me. You think they'd be at least a little worried, you know?"

"They're probably waiting for you to crawl back through the front door any second now."

"Nah," Brendon says. "Dad told me never to come back."

Spencer knows what it's like to not be wanted. He wants to tell Brendon that he gets it, but Spencer knows it's different because he left his Sidekick on his nightstand to make sure no one would be calling after him. He isn't hoping for his parents to call him.

"They're idiots," Spencer says. And the comment makes them both laugh because it is such a bad attempt to lift their moods.

"I'm homeless," Brendon says out loud, shocked by the fact.

"Not permanently," Spencer replies. "Go to New York, start waiting tables. Twenty years down the line, fly to Las Vegas with your gorgeous wife and beautiful kids, visit your parents, flip them off."

Brendon laughs again, weaker this time. "Twenty years? It's only been a few days and I already miss them. I miss my mother already."

"Sometimes parents do the wrong things," Spencer says. "They're not gods, they're just human."