They walked back into the building side by side, and Tony took in his surroundings. When Mike had carried him in yesterday he'd been unconscious, and so had not had a look at the place.
It was nowhere to yell about. It was old and not all that well kept, with dirt and grime gathering in the corners of the lobby and cracks in the off-white floor tiles. The light fittings were in desperate need of dusting and the windows could have done with a scrub down.
At the mail slots was a short man who looked to be in his forties. He looked up as he heard the steady, determined thump of the pair's feet across the tiles. His eyes passed straight over Mike and found Tony, and something instinctively made Tony fidget uncomfortably beneath his gaze. But the man smiled as he sorted through his mail, and Tony smiled back. He seemed vaguely non-threatening; stout and with a permanently sad face and a head of thinning hair. Tony reasoned his unease was down to his shattered nerves from the previous day, and disregarded the experience.
The elevator up to the third floor, which is where Mike's apartment was, was not much of an improvement on the lobby - it seemed to be a little short on maintenance, jarring slightly on elevation, and the doors didn't open particularly smoothly. The rails inside the elevator were dusty and the mirror on the back was covered in a thin layer of spotted mould.
"I know it isn't much," Mike said sheepishly as the elevator opened on the third floor and they stepped out onto the hallway, "but it's enough for what we do. We basically live here for free, because my nana illegally sublets the apartment. And since we spend the majority of the time hopping back and forth across the country, we spend most of the money we have on food and gas, so everything we can save...we have to. It's not like I'd choose to live outside the law, but we don't have that many options."
"It's not so bad," Tony shrugged. "At least it's your own."
Tony looked around as Mike turned the key in the slot of the third door down the corridor. The hallway had a singular window at the end, allowing in a miserable slot of light to spill across the scuffed and cigarette-burned carpet. The hallway itself was nothing special - but the view out of the window was something to look at. Tony saw the tall spires of San Diego city, saw the traffic zooming between buildings, saw the sun shining down on the world. He didn't often go places where he saw a view like this, so it was a pleasant experience while it lasted.
Mike allowed him to go into the apartment first before shutting the door behind him. Inside, Jaime was laying out supplies on the table in neat columns and piles, covering up the map beneath, whilst Vic scribbled messily in a notepad and put a long strikethrough through a bullet point on what appeared to be a long list.
"The car needs gas," Mike said, not sitting down and instead taking his jacket from the peg, shrugging it on and checking his wallet was in it. "I'll fill her up to get her to the first gas station but no more. I'm waiting on a bank transfer tomorrow and I can't afford any more than necessary."
"No problem," Jaime nodded. "Could you get me a Malteasers bar?"
Tony stifled an involuntary laugh as he looked between the other two. Jaime's face was plain and sincere, and Mike looked baffled. "Dude, what?"
"You know. A Malteasers bar. It's like Malteasers, but in a chocolate bar. It's cool."
"I can't get you a Malteasers bar."
Jaime sagged and stopped taking items out of a canvas shopping bag. "I'll share."
"Dude!" Mike repeated, half laughing. "When I say I can't afford it I mean I can't afford it. You can get a Malteasers bar when we stop for gas next time."
Mike left without saying another word, shaking his head, and Jaime half smiled to himself in consolation before assuming his unpacking duties. "I might not want one next time."
Vic, seemingly engrossed in his task, didn't respond to his boyfriend's antics, but Tony couldn't help but laugh. Jaime's kind, dark, wide-set eyes found Tony's and smiled back. He struck Tony as such an instantly likeable person, free of worries and in love with life. His boyfriend almost seemed like his polar opposite - although undoubtedly kind, he was far more serious, smacked across the face by reality's stresses.
"I'm a big chocolate fan," Jaime explained.
"You're an idiot," Vic corrected. Jaime scoffed.
"Shut up, you bitch. You love me, and you know it."
"Hm," Vic huffed, and Jaime folded his arms, waiting to evoke a response, but Vic was not paying attention. Desperate to ilicit emotion, Jaime moved over to the couch Vic sat on and shoved his shoulder with his hip, hands clasped behind his back, and Vic only swatted at him slightly. Dejected, Jaime sighed.
"You should take a break."
"I need to get this done," Vic said strongly, determined.
"You need to be ready to move tomorrow without me having to drag your ass there because you worked yourself to death all day and night."
Vic looked up and almost relented, pen twiddling between his fingers, but then shook his head and turned back to the notepad.
Undefeated, Jaime glowered and thought for a moment before forcibly sweeping Vic up without notice, causing Vic to squeal and Tony to laugh again. "Put me down, you asshat!"
"I will not," Jaime insisted, spinning in place, carrying Vic like a bride.
"You're going to make me throw up."
"Because I'm spinning or because I'm just so sweet it makes you sick?"
Finally given in and overtaken by Jaime's bright, dazzling smile, Vic let out a long, happy giggle and stopped struggling against him, instead leaning into him and holding one arm out as they span. Eventually, struggling beneath his weight, Jaime was forced to set Vic down. But he didn't let go. Instead, he pulled him in and kissed him softly. "Now take," he murmured against his lips, "a break."
"O-kay," Vic said, feigning exasperation but clearly not caring too much, before stepping away and heading into the kitchen.
"How long have you guys been together?" Tony asked as Jaime took a seat in the armchair and finished unpacking the canvas bag.
"We...well," Jaime started, and then reigned himself in, smiling at himself. "Together as in dating, only a few years. But we were friends while we were growing up, and then we were best friends all through high school."
"Wait, you guys went to high school?" Tony asked, startled. "As in...you went to school? And yet you're doing this?"
Jaime shrugged. "Things...things didn't quite work out the way we planned, I guess."
Tony sat back, astonished. His heart ached for these people - what kind of tragedies happened to force them into this way of life? They had the chance to go to high school, a luxury Tony was never offered - what on earth were they doing risking life and limb to make people disappear from the authorities? Why weren't they all in college, pursuing their dreams?
Tony sensed maybe he shouldn't ask.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Vic reappeared from the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand, and frowned. "Mike shouldn't be back so soon."
"And he had a key," Tony piped up quickly. Vic studied Tony for a moment before nodding and setting his glass down, and there was another knock at the door.
"That's right," he mumbled. He approached the door quietly and slipped his pistol from its holster on his hip. Careful not to make a fuss or appear suspicious, he tucked the gun-wielding hand behind the door and opened it a crack. "Hi. Can I help you?"
"Perhaps," a voice said. It was a male voice, slightly choked and strained. "I'm looking for someone. My nephew. He went missing yesterday, and I heard he might be around here."
Tony felt his heartbeat pick up, and he glanced anxiously at Jaime, who held up one hand in reassurance, telling him not to move. Where he sat currently, he was out of sight of the man at the door - but he didn't trust his luck, especially not the way it had been recently. He didn't move. He barely breathed.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Vic said calmly. Tony noticed he had his thumb on the safety catch of the gun, almost hammering it back. "But I haven't seen anyone I don't know around here. Sorry."
"You're sure you haven't seen him? He's quite tall for his age, just nineteen. Looks a bit nerdy. He was probably wearing black jeans."
Tony was sure if his heart beat any faster it would burst from his chest, and he glanced back at Jaime, who was no longer looking at him but at the door, and had one hand at his hip, ready to get a grip on the gun.
"Haven't seen anyone like that," Vic said solemnly, his acting skills untouchable. "But I'll be sure to let the police know if I do. Do you live in this building, sir?"
"I do, yes," the man chuckled. "But, I digress, I've been rather silly today and locked myself out of my apartment."
Vic laughed lightly, fingers tightening around the gun. "Oh dear! I'm so sorry. I hope you can get back in soon."
"Me too, son. Say, I don't suppose I could just step in for a few minutes? I'm really quite thirsty, and my wallet is inside my apartment..."
"Ah," Vic said, feigning dejection. "The place is a bit of a mess at the moment, unfortunately. But I have some bottles of water, which I'll be happy to get you."
"Oh, I don't mind a little mess. It's not like my place is exactly spick and span."
"Honestly, I can't bear to have guests. Give me two seconds and I'll get you a drink."
There was a long hesitation in the conversation, and Vic hammered back the gun gently. And then; "wrong answer."
Before he could pull the trigger the door had been kicked open, knocking the gun from Vic's hand and sending him stumbling backwards and away from the door, which had swung quickly. Tony only had a few seconds to throw himself out of the way of the gun pointed at him and the bullets that flew quickly, but in those few seconds he recognised the balding man from the lobby.
Tony and Jaime both flung themselves behind the coffee table, Tony squashing his injured arm beneath him and crying out a little, waiting for another bullet to find him and finish him; but before any more shots were fired, he saw Vic swing an elbow sharply into the man's face and grab the arm that was holding the gun before twisting it, not knocking the gun away but doing a good enough job to stop him firing. Meanwhile, Jaime rolled up beside him from his defensive position and aimed with his own pistol. "Vic!"
Letting go of the man, Vic twisted and ducked out of the way and before the man could re-aim, Jaime had pulled the trigger.
The man from the lobby crumpled, legs losing all strength and body hitting the for gracelessly with a shrivelled thump. Tony's eyes widened as he straightened slightly from behind the coffee table, and he saw a little pool of blood gathering beside the man's head. His eyes were still open.
Slowly, Tony and Jaime both straightened up and got to their feet as Vic searched the man's jacket pockets, pulling a card out of one of them and reading the details.
"Collective?" Jaime asked. Vic nodded and got up too, tearing up the card.
"Yeah."
"How the hell did they find him here?"
Tony found his voice, and it was tight and scared. "That guy was in the lobby," he said. "he must have recognised me."
Jaime raised his eyebrows as he regarded the body of the man. "Well, you have to hand it to your parents. They're dedicated, if nothing else."
"Dude," Vic said, unimpressed, and Jaime shrugged.
"Just saying. They really do have eyes everywhere."
There were footsteps outside the corridor and everybody tightened instantly, both Vic and Jaime raising their guns only to lower them again when Mike walked in through the door, pulling up short at the sight of the body and jaw dropping open. "What the fuck happened?!" He exclaimed. Vic shook himself into action and put his gun back in his holster.
"Got jumped," he explained. "Which means we need to move. Now. God knows if this guy has backup coming. You filled up the car?"
"Yes," Mike said, stepping in and shutting the door behind him, stepping over the body. "But we're nowhere near ready to go. We can't just jump in at the deep end."
"And we can't stay here like sitting ducks with targets on our backs. Look, right now, all they know is that Tony is here, but they don't know about us. As long as we pack up quickly and get moving and pretend we didn't even exist here, we'll still be a step ahead of them and Tony will be safe. Come on. Chop chop."
"No time for doing this properly, then," Jaime said, irritated, looking at his meticulously laid out supplies. Reluctant, he pulled out the two canvas bags and began throwing the items back in. "Tony, give us a hand."
Tony didn't move - he was distracted by the fact he'd just watched a man shot without a second thought, and that said man was currently lying on the floor of the apartment with a puddle of blood by his head. "Uh..." he managed eventually, and Mike trotted over to him and took him by the shoulders, turning him away from the sight.
"Sorry, bud," he said urgently, "you have time for going into shock later. Not now. Ignore the body, just get moving. Now, Vic, what do you propose we do with this guy? We can't just leave him here. It's basically leaving a paper trail for them to follow."
"Yeah," Vic said awkwardly, putting his hands on his hips and looking down at the dead man. Tony drew his eyes away and helped Jaime throw food, medical supplies and other assorted items into the canvas bags. "We can't...but there is somewhere we can take him."
Tony saw Mike freeze, and his confidence cripple. "No," he said immediately. "We can't. We promised."
"Can you think of a better idea?" Vic tried, picking up his notepad, pocketing the pen and rolling up the map. "We don't have a choice."
Mike seemed to want to say something more, but he clearly couldn't think of a suitable counter. Instead, he just shook his head and moved down the tiny hallway to the two bedrooms, ready to clear them out. As Tony helped Jaime pack up items, he realised his hands were shaking.
"Hey," Jaime said softly, noticing. "Don't worry about it. It's just a guy. It's just a bad guy."
"Sh-shoot a lot of people these days?" Tony stuttered. Jaime shrugged.
"More than the average person."
It took a few minutes for everything to be packed away, and things seemed to run like a well oiled machine, as if everything was designed to be ready to remove in case of emergency. It was like they were invisible people, and they only existed in the exact moments that they were, and there was nothing behind or ahead of them to trace them. Mike remained beside the window, one finger pulling back the drawn curtain, looking outside.
"I think we're ready to move," Vic said, shrugging on a backpack. Mike started, and sighed.
"Good timing. We have company."
There was a moment of silence.
And then everybody was moving quickly, Jaime patting Tony's shoulder, holding his gun by his hip and leading him out the front door and past the elevator towards the fire exit. Behind them, Tony heard the two brothers struggling with the hefty body of Tony's attacker, and he almost turned around to help.
"Not worth it, kid," Jaime said quickly, seeing his movement and grabbing his arm, tugging him forwards. "Nothing you can do to help."
Jaime burst through the fire exit door and then they were running down a flight of twisting, concrete stairs, and the bag of supplies was bouncing against Tony's bruised hip but he ignored it, and he also ignored the persistent ache in his arm, propelled by adrenaline and fear. Up above them, he saw Mike and Vic moving with a peculiar kind of rhythm down the stairs, the body stretched between them.
The stairs opened out at the opposite end of the garage, and Jaime stopped Tony behind him, poking his head out of the door and looking around, gun held tightly by his hip. He ascertained that the coast was clear and beckoned with his head, stepping out into the garage on delicate, agile feet, moving at a pace between a jog and a walk. Tony kept close to him, looking over both shoulders frequently. The car was in sight, and he began to relax.
And then they heard the door at the other end of the garage open. Jaime grabbed Tony's arm and yanked him down to his knees behind the nearest car, putting a finger to his lips. He looked over his shoulder, at Vic and Mike just arriving in the foot of the fire exit, and held up a hand. Tony saw them both freeze in their tracks. Silently and still holding his pistol in one hand, Jaime got down on all fours and looked beneath the car, and Tony copied his actions.
Two men, both with guns in their hip holsters, looked around the garage dubiously. They were quiet and sinister, and it didn't take an expert to know that they were both hunting Tony. Jaime slouched and shook his head before rolling his eyes, and then both of them sat back up, staying crouched beneath the car. Tony looked over at Vic and Mike, shuffling slowly out of sight, shielding themselves in the corner of the foot of the stairwell.
He turned back when Jaime tapped his shoulder, and with silent fingers he slipped the handles of the bag down his arm and held them in his left hand so had a grip on both bags. "Stay here," he mouthed, and Tony's heart leapt.
"What are you doing?"
"Improvising," Jaime finished. And then he holstered the gun, tucking it beneath his t-shirt, pivoted on the spot and stood up straight, grunting loudly, exaggerating the weight of the bags. Tony's heart almost skipped a beat, and he bent back down, watching the reactions of the two men.
Jaime stopped moving forwards and grunted again, dragging both bags and breathing heavily, making a show of the weight. He looked purposefully and fully at the two men and smiled brightly as if he was greeting an old friend. "Afternoon, gentlemen," he said kindly. The two men nodded curtly, and Jaime continued to pretend to struggle with the bags and went over to the trunk of the car parked next to Mike's. Tony frowned as he watched, trying to figure out his game. Jaime put down the bags just next to the trunk, and then reached into his left hand pocket. He froze, and then, more rushed, fumbled in the right hand pocket. "Oh, dear," he muttered to himself, but loudly enough that both men heard.
"You okay, pal?" One of the men asked, his voice deep and southern. He sounded like a Texan, if Tony was correct. Jaime sighed loudly.
"I appear," he said slowly, "to have left my car keys in my apartment."
Neither of the other two men spoke. They just stared, trying to assess Jaime's character, and whether or not he was a threat. He watched Jaime put his hands on his hips and shake his head. "Going to have to go back upstairs. I suppose I can just leave these here. Not like anyone's going to steal a bag of food, right?" He laughed, putting his hands in his pockets and walking at a brisk but relaxed pace towards the front exit of the garage. "Say, are you gentlemen alright? You're looking a little lost."
"No, we're okay," the other man said. His accent was much more New York than Texas. "We're just looking for a friend of ours."
Jaime frowned as he walked straight up to them, and Tony noticed his hands were shaking again. "Well, you won't find anyone down here. You might be better off checking in the building. You know. Where the people live."
The two men didn't appreciate the joke - but they did seem to be fooled by it. Jaime's acting was natural and convincing. The Texan tilted his head. "Say, is there a way we can get in from down here? A fire exit, or something? Just to avoid the hassle of going all the way back round the front."
"Well, there is a fire exit over there," Jaime said plainly, pointing at the exact place Vic and Mike were hiding, and Tony gaped, his stomach lurching. "But you won't have much luck getting in. The stairs are collapsed and out of order halfway up. It's unsafe, I know, but there's only so many times I can complain to the management. They just won't do anything."
He was convincing, alright. It seemed to be enough. The two men sagged a little. "Ah. Okay. Well, I wonder if you could show us into the building? You know. Point us in the right direction," the New Yorker suggested casually. Jaime nodded and smiled.
"Sure thing. So, are you guys new around here? Don't think I recognise you..." he chatted easily as he led them out of the front door. He allowed the two men in front of him, and then, just before he shut it behind him, he flicked his hand and pointed towards Mike's car. Then the door shut, and he was gone.
Immediately, the lights on Mike's car blinked as he unlocked it, and then Tony was helping Vic with the body as Mike popped open the trunk. "What an idiot," Mike muttered to himself. "He's going to get himself shot."
"Why did he put the bags by the other car?" Vic grunted as between he and Tony, they managed to stuff the man in the trunk, and Tony tried not to gag from the smell as they slammed the lid.
"The license plate," Tony explained as Mike opened the driver side door, and Mike frowned.
"Huh?"
"They'd have been wary of him," Tony continued, figuring it out. "So they'd have clocked the number of that car, when they saw he went to it. Not this one. So they won't know the license plate."
There was a hesitation, and then Mike raised his eyebrows. "Okay. You are smart. Now get in."
Tony opened the right rear door, but Mike snapped his fingers. "Nope. Sorry, I like to have my passengers where I can see them. Front seat for you."
Tony fumbled, but he obeyed and got in the front passenger seat and buckled the seatbelt as Vic got in behind Tony, doing the same and tucking the two bags of supplies in the foot space. Ready to go, Mike turned the key in the ignition and placed both hands on the wheel before breathing out. "Come on, Himes," he said beneath his breath. There was no movement from either the fire door or the entrance, and Mike cursed softly before removing his snapback, revealing a head of soft brown hair, pressed into shape by the hat. He held it out, offering it to Tony. "Here. Pull it down over your eyes and look down if we see anyone suspicious." Nervous, Tony accepted the snapback and put it on, pulling it down low. Mike huffed. "Actually kind of suits you."
The silence reappeared and snuck into the car, and it would have been possible to hear a pin drop. They just waited.
And then the entrance opened and Jaime jogged back in, and everyone heaved a sigh of relief as he pulled open the door behind Tony and slipped in. "Sorted," he panted, out of breath.
Mike didn't waste a second - he put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space before stepping on the gas and driving out of the garage.
"You absolute idiot!" Vic said in a voice that wasn't quite a shout but also wasn't exactly quiet. "You could have got yourself killed!"
"Vic, honey," Jaime gasped, still trying to catch his breath. "What don't we do that could get us all killed?"
"Oh for God's sake," Vic snapped, but he wasn't truly mad - just relieved. In the wing mirror, Tony saw Vic lean over and kiss Jaime softly before resting his head on his chest and growling in frustration.
"How did you ditch them?" Mike asked as they pulled out onto the road and drove away from the building.
"I pretended to find my car keys in my back pocket," Jaime chirped happily, and Tony huffed in amazed amusement.
"Brilliant."
"Perks of being a self-proclaimed idiot," Jaime said proudly. "Nobody gets suspicious when you act like one."
Mike handled the car as if he'd been driving since he was born - he met the absolute speed limit, not interested in wasting time, but didn't at any point exceed it or let it spin the car out of control. The BMW didn't skid around corners - it hugged them. It didn't jerk through stop lights - it glided. It was like the car just wanted to obey him and treat its passengers well.
They took the quietest roads out of San Diego city and Mike accelerated, and Tony saw the signs for the interstate and began to relax a bit, knowing that the exit was in sight - and then Mike turned off the road leading to the slip road and onto a small, narrow road without so much as a car on it. From here, Tony could see the interstate racing above them, and then it diminished in size as the road began to peel away and there was desert stretching in all directions.
"Where are you going?" Tony asked. "Interstate is that way."
Mike laughed. "We don't take the interstate."
"...then how do you get from state to state?"
"Backroads," Mike told him. "We take the backroads of America. Normal people have no clue how to navigate them or where they lead, or even that they exist. That's what makes them so safe for what we do."
Tony paused and raised his eyebrows, looking out the window. "Interesting."
"So," Mike said loudly, tapping his hands rhythmically on the wheel. "Map man. We're taking a bit of a detour, due to this lovely extra passenger we have lodged in our trunk. What detours am I taking?"
Tony looked over his shoulder at Vic, who unrolled his map and traced the red line. He sighed. "Okay. I don't want to have to do this, you know..."
"I know. But like you said, we don't have options."
"Yeah...okay. So. First stop...Klamath Falls, Oregon."
* * * * *
Tony started and sat bolt upright in his seat, jamming against the seatbelt, eyes flying open. "Mm," he hummed in surprise; and then, more of a groan; "mm."
"Dreaming?"
Tony took a moment to get his bearings and then looked over at Mike. He'd taken his hat back and looked as relaxed as could be behind the wheel of the car, one hand controlling the steering, the other resting on the gear stick. Tony cleared his throat. "Uh...yeah. What time is it?"
Mike sat up straighter and checked the clock on the dashboard. "Ten o'clock."
"How long have we been driving?"
Mike chewed his lip and did some quick math in his head. "Probably about nine hours, all in all. Maybe more."
"Aren't you tired?"
"Starting to be. We're stopping for the night in about fifty minutes."
Tony nodded and looked out the windscreen. The road was dry and deserted as far as the eye could see, and up above the Earth the navy blue velvet of the night sky stretched on forever, billions of stars caught up in its fabric and glittering like precious jewels.
Tony glanced in the wing mirror and saw both Vic resting against Jaime's shoulder, and Jaime with his arm wrapped protectively around him. Both were asleep, and Tony sighed.
"Mike?"
"Yeah?"
"Why are you doing this for me?" Tony asked softly. Mike frowned.
"Because it's the right thing to do."
"But I'm just putting you in danger. All of you. Every gun pointing at me is pointing at you too. Why would you put yourself through that for someone you don't even know?"
"I wouldn't say I didn't know you," Mike shrugged. "I know your name is Tony Perry, you turned nineteen yesterday, you work in a coffee shop and you like history and stuff. And your parents are murderous cult leaders. What's not to know?"
Tony huffed with laughter, and shook his head. The words he wanted just wouldn't come into words. Instead, he just studied Mike's profile. He had tattoos climbing up his throat and curling behind his ears, and yet he had something about him that told Tony he was gentle and kind at heart. His eyes were big and open, like flying saucers the colour of burnt honey, and they were framed by long, fluttering eyelashes.
Mike laughed suddenly. "Are you eye-fucking me?"
Tony immediately snapped himself back into the chair, averting his eyes and staring straight at the road. "No," he said hurriedly.
Mike chuckled again, and then there was a short silence. "Got a girlfriend?"
"Nope."
"Boyfriend?"
"Nah."
"Interested in one?"
"Are you offering?"
Mike laughed once more, and Tony relished in the sound. It was so light and such a pretty, tuneful sound...
"Alright," Mike said eventually, letting up but allowing the smile to stay on his lips. "Well, that's one more thing I know about you. You're a single, sexually ambiguous, shameless flirt."
Tony was unsure how to respond for a moment - but eventually instinct kicked in and he looked down at his lap, smiling. "If you say so."
"Hey," Mike started, tapping his arm. "Maybe it would make you feel better if you knew some more about me. Ask me some questions."
Tony paused, and then shrugged to himself. "Okay...uh...what's your middle name?"
"Christopher."
"What's your favourite food?"
"Anything with hot sauce on it."
"Do...um...do you play an instrument?"
"Drums," Mike nodded proudly, and Tony brightened considerably.
"For real? You're a drummer?"
"Yeah. My dad taught me and Vic to play music when we were little kids. I loved drums, he likes guitar, and he sings. And Jaime plays bass. How about you?"
"I play guitar," Tony said proudly.
"Are you good?"
"Not to brag, but...yeah. I'm good. I used to have this idea that when I was grown up I could be in a band and tour the world and play music for a living...there were a few problems with the dream, of course. For one, I hand no friends, let alone a band. For another, there was no way for me to even get going in the music industry...and then there was the matter of my parents. No support of any of my ambitions, so...guitar stayed a hobby. A hobby I was good at, but a hobby nonetheless."
"You shouldn't quit playing," Mike said quickly. "Don't give up on music if it hasn't given up on you."
"I don't think I could. Even if I tried. I always end up going back to the guitar, at the end of the day. Hell, music was the only thing that ever made me feel...well. Not alone."
Mike nodded, as if understanding exactly what he meant. "Yeah. Tony, you aren't alone any more."
The car passed a sign for a motel forty miles away, and Tony sighed in relief. His legs were starting to cramp up from being sat down for so long. "Yeah."
The blinking lights of the neon stars up above were almost hypnotic, and Tony leant back and shuffled down against the seat, hands clasped together in his lap. Tired, scared and aching from the drive, he breathed out and closed his eyes, safe beside his saviour in the driver's seat.
* * * * *