Chapter Text
Sam saw the fire from down the street. Panic hit him, he slammed on the brakes believing that somehow, his workplace had caught fire. The momentum from the car flung the still-wet suit out of its pillowcase and somehow directly onto Max's head.
“While I appreciate the concern,” he said peeling the suit off his face “The only thing on fire right now are your towels.”
Sam stopped panicking and actually looked at the fire. He was right. While Sam was out on his mission, Max had built a successful bonfire out of towels and various sticks he had found. A circle of rocks surrounded it to make sure it didn't escape. Sam grabbed his makeshift bag and stepped out of his car, admiring his handiwork. “That's impressive,” he said.
Max grinned, “I used to take arson classes.”
Sam started at the fire wistfully “ Wish I took arson classes.”
The water from the suit had already dried off of Max's head. “Arson classes were the best! They had to kick me out, my skills were simply too impressive for everyone else to handle.” He shook his head, remembering the important part. “Did you get the goods?”
“Yep!” Sam said before emptying the pillowcase onto the ground and finding himself a seat.
“Apple juice?! Candy?! CHICKEN NUGGETS!!!” He grabbed the bag of chicken nuggets and hugged it to his chest. “June has the best food ever!” He grabbed an apple juice out of the bag and started slurping on it.
Sam rolled his eyes. “No, she also has soup.”
Max gagged in disgust. “Soup!? Now that's just disrespectful.”
“I know, she would even eat cold soups,” he shuddered.
Max scoffed “You see, this is why I don't like women. If you're going to eat soup you should at least burn yourself on it.”
Sam nodded. “Foods should be eaten, not drunk. If you drink it then it's a drink.” Sam had spent quite some time pondering soup and was glad to have finally found someone to agree with him.
By this point he had emptied out the apple juice and tossed the empty box into the fire. The fire hissed and spat smoke at them, displeased to be used as a garbage disposal.
Sam tried to wave the smoke away from his face. “Hey, don't be mean to it!” He said.
“And which one of us took the arson classes again?” Max asked.
“Ok then, wise fire-maker can you please stop getting your son to spit smoke in my face?” He wheezed.
“Hmm… perhaps, but first you must prove yourself worthy enough to sit in my son's presence. Get us some pointy sticks!”
Sam rolled his eyes, but he got up and went looking for sticks. They were hard to find but eventually he located two reasonably sized pointy sticks and returned to where Max was standing.
“Will these do oh master of flame?” He asked, presenting the sticks to him.
Max took the sticks and inspected them. “Yes, you have proven yourself well dog-boy.” He said, “We will use these to punish those who disrespect me or my mighty son” He handed one of the sticks back to Sam before opening the bag of chicken nuggets and spearing one onto his stick. Sam smiled at him, spearing his own chicken nugget to roast.
“Yes… burn the heretics!” Max laughed as his nugget caught fire.
Sam shook his head laughing “You crack me up little buddy”
Max somehow managed to put out the smaller flames on his nuggets before he ate them. Sam, on the other hand, never caught his nuggets on fire in the first place. They continued like this, Max charring his nuggets to a crisp, and Sam carefully roasting them, until of course they ran out of nuggets to roast. This did not deter Max from his fire sacrifices, as he simply grabbed and unwrapped a candy bar from the bag.
“Max, I don't think we should cook the candy bars” Sam said.
“You may be an expert of the fire now, but he's still my son.” He said sticking the stick into the flames. The candy bar, being mostly made out of chocolate, melted almost immediately. He sighed dramatically, ears drooping “We shouldn't cook the candy bars. Our son is too temperamental.”
“Which ones do you like?” Sam asked
Max stared at him confused at the question.
“The candy bars.” He clarified “witch one is your favorite?”
He picked one up from the pile. “These ones.”
“Oh. Good. I hate those ones.” Sam smiled and picked up a different candy bar. The wrapper was red with a large ‘Now Made With 70% Real Chocolate!’ printed on the front. “These ones are my favorite.” He said.
“Why do you hate these ones?” Max asked
“They've got peanut butter in them.” He said. “I hate peanut butter.
“Do you hate it more than soup?”
Sam laughed, “I’m so sick of soup, I'd eat a thousand peanut butter candy bars to be rid of it.”
Max ripped open the wrapper of the candy bar in his hand and threw it at Sam’s face"
“Hey!” Sam shouted
“Payback,” Max said “for the wet suit you threw at me”
They laughed for a while eating candy and occasionally throwing it at each other. But inevitably the sun had gone down and they were starting to get tired.
“I’ll go get those towels again,” Sam yawned.
“Our son ate them.” Max said. They both stared into the fire.
“It's okay,” Sam said “We will have the money to afford new towels after the business deal tomorrow. But for now…” He looked around. “You can sleep in the pillowcase, and I'll wear the suit, it should be dry by now.” He looked at the fire again. It was now as much his child as it was Max’s. But still, it might be hard for him to let go of. “Do you want me to… uh… take him to the farm?” He asked, awkwardly gesturing towards the fire.
Max shook his head. “I brought him into this world and I can take him out of it!”
Sam, satisfied by Max’s response, put on the suit and curled up near the fire. He fell asleep almost immediately, leaving Max alone with his doomed son.
Max headed inside the building. Surprisingly enough the door wasn't locked, he wasn't sure if Sam had just forgotten to lock it or if there never was one in the first place. Probably something he should have paid attention to on his first night here. He grabbed a bucket and filled it up with water. Max really wasn't sure what to do now. The only option was to run but if he did, where would that leave Sam? No home, no girlfriend, no food, and most importantly no towels. He hauled the bucket of water back down to their little campsite. It wasn't really like he had any other options. June was right to hate him. He had burned her boyfriend's life to the ground. He poured the bucket of water, watching his son sputter and hiss, screaming in its own way, begging for mercy he didn't have. But perhaps due to his own selfishness, he didn't want to leave just yet. He put the bucket down and wriggled into his pillowcase staring at that stupid dog who started this whole mess.