Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Music had always made Evan feel better in bad situations, but now his only option was the car radio, and that just made him depressed. The music was interspersed with hosts talking about the weather, and traffic, and political scandals. Once upon a time he would have listened to news stories for hours, but none of it seemed to matter now; none of it was pertinent to their situation, none of it really affected them, none of those people were suffering nightmares of shadows and monsters and hurting the ones you loved without control.

Maybe he was bitter. Or maybe he was just tired.

He glanced to his left, watching Vinnie's eyes as they darted across the roadway. Traffic was getting busy, and his hands twitched on the steering wheel in irritation. They'd been on this particular stretch of highway for about 15 minutes, and discomfort was starting to set in. It was never good to be in one place for too long.

Glancing back, he caught Tim's eyes. The other man blinked in acknowledgement, probably not wanting to risk moving in case he woke Jay, who was snoring quietly on his shoulder. Evan nodded once, then turned back around.

No doubt Noah, from the car in front of them, was getting rather ticked off at how slow they were moving. In the time Evan had known him, he'd noticed Noah had a bit of a short temper, especially with relatively trivial things. He could just see it in his mind: Jessica on the verge of laughter in the passenger side as Noah grumbled and groused, with Alex in the back looking out the window with a smirk, Brian rolling his eyes in amusement, Michael with the tiniest of smiles on his face.

Michael. God, Michael Andersen. What a sad cutie. Not that Evan was really that gay, but- Aw hell, who was he kidding. Michael was really cute. He was adorable. Which just made it so much more difficult to recognize that it would probably be months before he would talk to Evan.

The look on his face whenever they were near each other... Michael could look at Vinnie. Would even nod or shake his head in response to things he said. The other day he actually said something back. But Evan? It was like Michael was deaf. He'd clam up immediately, wouldn't even acknowledge him. It was frustrating, to say the least, especially when Evan had used one of his best pick up lines, even just as an effort to make Michael laugh, but there was nothing.

Traffic seemed to be letting up, and he sunk lower in the passenger seat, putting his feet up on the dashboard. Vincent grumbled under his breath, but for once didn't tell him to take them down.

"You're thinking about him again, aren't you?"

Evan glanced back when Tim spoke up, voice quiet in a further effort to not wake Jay. "Who?"

"Michael. You seem to get particularly glower-y when he's on your mind."

Evan folded his arms, tucking his chin down as he turned away. "No, I don't."

Vincent rolled his eyes, his grip on the steering wheel lessening as traffic eased up. "Yeah, you do. It'd be kinda cute if it wasn't so sad."

Evan stuck his tongue out, then turned to look out the window, huffing under his breath.

They finally got off the highway and moved into a town, circling around to try and find a hotel. Noah pulled into a Bed & Breakfast just off the main road, and they all parked on the south side of the building before piling out of the cars, stretching and groaning irritably. It was about five in the afternoon, and the Arizona summer sun was dry and hot above them. The middle of June was not nice to drier states, and Evan was ready to be in California, where he could hopefully go swimming regularly.

His gaze went to Michael, who climbed carefully out of Noah's car with his bag over one shoulder. Their eyes met for one moment, and then Michael looked at the ground, shuffling closer to Noah, who he'd quickly grown attached to along with Jessica. Evan didn't know their sleeping arrangements, but he had a feeling Jessica was the one who slept solo.

That shouldn't have irritated him, but it did. Some rebellious voice in the back of his mind kept saying You should be there. You should be with them. He squashed it down. Not now.

They all went inside, and Tim booked three hotel rooms for them. They had to take the elevator, as the stairs were closed for renovations, and by the time they all got out on their floor they were twitchy and uncomfortable. Confined spaces are not fun when you're a bunch of incredibly paranoid, PTSD-ridden humans.

Michael, Jessica and Noah took the middle room, and the Hornets boys took the one on the left like usual, so Vince and Evan got the last one, the single. Evan immediately fell onto the bed, face down, and groaned.

"That was a pretty nice Jay you just pulled," Vincent remarked, setting his bag down and going to open the window shades.

Evan grumbled, "Fuck you," but his mouth was still against the pillow, so it came out more like, "Fmmf mrf."

"Yes, yes, I know." Afternoon sunlight streamed into the room, and Evan pressed his face fully into the pillows to block it out. He was too tired for this bullshit.

Vinnie sat down next to him on the bed, hand rubbing up and down his back comfortingly, and he tried to relax. He was always wound up, but this was just ridiculous. No one should be this stressed, no one deserved to be this stressed.

"It's been a few days since he joined," Vince began quietly. "Maybe you should talk to him."

"I don't know whatch're talking about," Evan growled against the fabric in his mouth.

"Evan, you really are quite obvious when you think about him. I get that you're an uncomfortable bisexual, but come on."

"He hates me, Vinnie," Evan mumbled, finally turning his head so he could speak clearly. Admitting it out loud was different from considering it in his head, and it just made his heart crash into his stomach.

"No, he doesn't," Vinnie reassured him. "He hates Habit. None of his sadness is because of you, I promise."

"But the fucker used me to do it, so it's basically the same thing."

"No." Vince harshly patted Evan's back, bringing him out of the depressive spiral. "Stop it. You are not defined by what he's done with your hands. You keep doing that, and it's not healthy."

Evan sighed as Vince started tracing little circles on his back. The fabric of his shirt dulled it slightly, but it was still comforting. It helped quiet his ever-rambling mind, and almost put him to sleep until Vinnie stood. Evan lifted his head, rubbing his eyes, and saw that the door between the rooms was open.

"Hey," Noah murmured to Vince, just loud enough for Evan to hear. "I hate to dump this on you guys, but Jessica and I are gonna go get dinner, and we don't want to leave Michael alone. Can you guys check on him every once and a while?" His apologetic grimace was clearly full of worry, but Vincent looked about as hesitant as Evan felt.

Finally, he sighed, nodding. "Yeah."

"Sorry."

Vince waved a hand placatingly. "Don't worry about it. I wouldn't want to leave him alone for too long either."

Noah nodded, then glanced at Evan, who gave him a fond, lopsided smile. He nodded again, awkwardly, and looked down, color in his cheeks.

The door clicked shut again behind him, and Vincent sighed, glancing toward the other man in the room. "This is gonna be fun."

Several minutes passed in companionable silence, Evan relaxing on the bed while tracing floral patterns on the ceiling with his eyes and Vincent scrolling through his phone. Sunlight continued to filter through the window, though it slowly got more and more orange as the sun went down. It was so quiet, so comforting, and Evan relaxed more in that one moment than he had in the past year. He was so relaxed that he almost missed the light music coming through the wall.

Vincent looked up from his phone, glancing at the door between the rooms curiously before meeting Evan's eyes. He tilted his head in the direction of the music, and Evan sighed before sitting up and cracking his neck. He stood, stretched, and opened the first door.

The next room over, Noah, Jessica and Michael's, looked basically identical to his and Vincent's, besides the addition of a second bed. The blinds were open, bathing the room in that same warm light, and the window sat at just the right angle so as to create a halo of light around Michael.

The man sat on the side of one bed, a guitar in his hands. His eyes went rapidly between the frets and the strings as he played, a quiet tune that sounded at the same time both melancholic and hopeful. The look on his face made it clear that this was a private moment, and Evan closed the door as quietly as possible so as not to alert him. At first, the only sound was the instrument, flowing chords that went straight through Evan's chest, making him feel oddly nostalgic, but Michael soon added his voice.

It was the first time he'd said anything that felt real, like he really wanted to say it, and it wasn't even spoken word. Evan watched in awe as beauty fell from the man's lips, his eyes flickering closed briefly as he began.

"I once knew a guy
Obsessed with the afterlife
What a terrible day there was
He realized, he wasted all his time.
Time was ticking by
And he'd been left behind..."

His voice was beautiful, every word treated like it was the most important one in the song. The verse continued, sorrow dripping into the room like an overflowing glass, and Evan closed his own eyes as he listened, heart pounding in his ears. The chorus was coming up, he could hear it in the way the music paused and swelled.

"And when we fall, we will fall together
No one will catch us so we will
Catch ourselves
And where we roam,
Oh, we will roam forever
No one will understand
What
We
Meant."

Evan must have made a noise, as moments later the music stopped abruptly, and he opened his eyes to meet Michael's. The feeling of softness and melancholy faded quickly, and Evan cleared his throat. Michael looked at the floor, clutching the neck of the guitar like a lifeline.

Silence reigned, awkward and stifling. Evan had to say something, anything, but he couldn't for the life of him come up with anything substantial. Unfortunately, he didn't need to, as Michael set the guitar down on the bed next to himself, shoving his hands into his lap and shrinking down as much as physically possible.

"What did you need." It was more of a statement than a question, muttered so quietly that even in the silent room Evan had to strain to hear it. He swallowed uncomfortably.

"Um. Vinnie and I heard you from the next room, I was just, uh, curious. What the music was."

God, that was the worst way to explain that. Michael turned his head away slightly. "You know now."

He was definitely being told to leave. Sadly, Evan had never been very good at taking hints. "I'm, uh, sorry I didn't, like, let you know I was here, I guess? It was really good, I didn't want to disturb you."

Evan was the worst person to do this, but for some reason that softened Michael's tense figure. "You...liked it?" Was that hope in his voice?

"Yeah! Yeah, I did. It was beautiful, where'd you learn to sing like that?"

Michael's eyes flickered up to him and back down to the floor. "I guess I taught myself, kinda. Didn't really have much to do in the hospital. Or many teachers."

"Well, uh, self-taught or not, it was really good. Did you write that?"

He shook his head, his face dropping slightly. "No... It's just a song I like. Shaun introduced me to it and taught me how to play the chords, before he-"

Oh, shit.

Silence fell once again, so thick that it clogged Evan's airway. Why had he felt the need to ask? Any headway he'd been able to make with Michael was now gone, completely vanished. He'd been an idiot to think there was any way- "I know it's not your fault."

Evan's mind halted abruptly. He stared, watching Michael's feet shuffle awkwardly on the floor. "Wha- what?"

Michael sighed heavily, still refusing to meet his eyes. "I know it wasn't you. Patrick's talked to me, and... Logically, I'm convinced that you aren't the same person who-" He stopped again, brow furrowing in irritation. "It's just hard to really believe."

Evan swallowed, dizzy from the sudden change in atmosphere. He mind reeled, trying to catch up with the conversation before he said anything stupid.

"I'm sorry."

And it stopped again. "Huh?"

"I'm sorry."

Evan shook his head minutely, like scattering stray flies or thoughts. "I'm...what? For what?"

"I mean, you have to deal with so much worse. He's always with you. He's probably hurt so many more people you care about, I have no right to blame you. I'm sorry for that, too. For blaming you. You don't deserve that." Michael's eyes tightened painfully, staring down at the floor like it had personally offended him. He looked so battered, so broken, and Evan panicked a tiny bit.

"It's- it's fine, it's not your fault. Everybody blamed me for his actions, I'm kinda used to it." He laughed uncomfortably.

"That's not very fair."

He swallowed thickly, unsure why Michael was the one trying to convince him of this. Silence fell again, and Evan was starting to get tired of how awkward this whole situation just generally was. About two minutes passed of no speaking, and Evan eventually cleared his throat, extraordinarily uncomfortable. "You can, uh, finish the song, if you want."

Michael looked up, then nodded uncomfortably before grabbing the neck of the guitar again, settling it back in his lap. He strummed a couple of chords, expression focused as he remembered where he was, and Evan sat criss-cross on the opposite bed to watch. Michael played the last few chords of the chorus, then started into the next verse.

"The beaten and the bruised
Forsaken the abused
What a glorious day we will have
Rising up, and claiming all our dues
The day will come
As sure as the ever-setting sun
And all of those that self-imposed
Will find themselves so indisposed
And we know not what we knew..."

He continued, melodies flowing from his lungs like a mountain stream (okay, these analogies were getting ridiculous). Much too soon, the song ended, and Evan opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed. Michael was watching him, guitar held loosely in his hands, and he blinked and looked away when their eyes met, making Evan smile.

"Do you know anything else?"

Michael's eyes darted back to him in surprise, then creased in thought. "Hmm, a couple of things." He strummed a few chords, tightened a string, then started playing the same notes in a pattern.

More music came out of the guitar, another song with a quiet, sorrowful tone. Michael sang the first verse and chorus, then just played the instrumental version for a few minutes, filling the room with quiet ambiance. If Vincent was wondering where Evan was, he didn't act on it, as they remained undisturbed for a long time. It was calming, almost as relaxing as simply sitting in the other room had been, especially since the sun was even lower now and it was a cooler orange-blue light that filtered in.

The music faltered, then faded completely, but still neither spoke, choosing to let the calm silence continue unabated. It was the first time Evan had felt okay, the first time he'd actually been happy in Michael's presence. For once, it seemed like life was normal. He glanced to the side, at the other man, and stared in awe.

Michael was gazing into the distance, eyes on the wall yet not really seeing it. But the most extraordinary thing: he was smiling. Just a small, calm smile, but it was still there. It was beautiful. He looked almost happy.

Of course, it couldn't last long.

Michael hissed quietly in pain, a hand going up to rub at his temple. "Dude, shut up, that hurts," he muttered, glaring at his lap with enough venom for a dozen snakes.

"You okay?"

Michael shook his head, less as a negative and more as an involuntary flinch. "Yeah, I'm just- God, Pat, stop apologizing, you're just making it worse- Patrick tries to talk to me while I'm in control sometimes, but it's really painful." He frowned, rubbing an eye irately, though his body seemed to ease up, like the pain had lessened.

"Oh. Uh, sorry about that."

Michael shook his head again, more voluntarily. He sat forward, setting the guitar carefully back down on the bed. "It's fine."

Evan peered at the instrument curiously, a thought occurring to him. "Where'd you get that?"

"Hmm?" Michael peered at the guitar for a second, then blinked. "Oh, I found it. I was just looking through the room, and the case was under the bed." He put one of his legs over the side of the mattress, kicking his heel inwards. There was a sharp thud from his foot hitting something solid.

"That's weird, I wonder-" Evan was cut off by the door to the hotel room opening, and the lights were flicked on.

"Why's it so dark in here?" Noah asked as he and Jessica entered, setting bags of cheap Chinese take out on the floor. His eyes widened fractionally when he saw who else was in the room, and cleared his throat. "Oh, uh, hey."

Michael nodded awkwardly, eyes flitting between Evan and the two who'd entered.

Noah wandered over to the bed Michael sat on, fingers lightly tracing a circle on the guitar. "Where'd this come from?"

"It uh, was already here. Under the bed. I figure we can turn it in to the front desk when we leave tomorrow."

Noah nodded distractedly. "It's really nice."

As he admired the instrument, Evan glanced at the other new person, then looked away with embarrassment. Jessica's knowing smirk was just too much, he couldn't look at her long.

Damn her intuition.

Evan stood, excusing himself back to his and Vincent's room. Vinnie was dozing on the bed when he entered, but started awake when he sat on the edge of the mattress.

"Hey, food's here."

"You were over there a while," he observed, a yawn breaking up his statement.

"Yeah, well..." Evan didn't exactly have a clear answer, or at least one that wasn't moderately embarrassing, so he just trailed off into silence.

Vinnie patted his shoulder comfortingly, though it was slightly sarcastic. "Don't worry, babe, I get it. I'm glad you were both comfortable enough to be in each other's presence for so long."

Evan grinned sheepishly, looking down at the floor.

Maybe there was something to this after all.

Chapter Text

Days passed without incident. They departed the hotel, drove for hours, found a new one, stayed the night. Rinse and repeat. It was monotonous, but at least it was something to do besides wait for an attack that may never actually come.

They'd transitioned to a two bedroom system, as even the money Damien had given them wouldn't be enough if they continued with three. The four Marble Hornets boys kept their room (it was almost a staple at this point that they had one), and the rest shoved themselves into the other. Vince and Evan got one bed, Noah and Michael got the other, and Jessica volunteered to sleep on the floor (though with some places, there were no extra blankets or mattresses, so she had to bunk with Noah and Michael; she wasn't necessarily opposed to it, but wanted to give them as much room as possible, given how small those beds were. They offered a place beside them all the time--she respectfully declined).

Michael quickly acclimated to the new routine. After that first good interaction with Evan, he warmed to him rapidly, and though there were times he seemed to flash back to depressing memories, he always returned, and when he wasn't, he became a joy to talk to. He was understanding, less timid and more calmly quiet, with a lot to think about but little to say. Evan fell for him almost scarily fast.

Evan wasn't usually an early riser--he'd always been a night owl, even since childhood (or as much of it as he could remember). But something woke him one morning, and he blearily searched for the digital clock on the nightstand, groaning silently when he saw that it was 6 AM. Vince made a sleepy noise beside him, the arm over Evan's waist tightening a fraction, but he didn't wake.

Evan slowly extracted himself, rubbing his eyes grumpily and yawning. He glanced over his shoulder to see a figure standing in the window, gazing out at the city around them, and one look around the room gave him their identity.

Michael was so still, just standing there, and Evan wasn't sure if he'd been woken by a noise the other man made, or simply due to his presence. Probably the first, but he had no way of knowing, so he just climbed carefully out of bed, made sure he still had pants on at the very least, and made his way over. Michael didn't acknowledge him at first, eyes locked on the city skyline, but when Evan leaned his back against the wall beside the window, the soft brunette blinked, and his head turned slightly as he noticed he was no longer alone.

"Morning," Evan murmured, and Michael hummed softly in response, eyes returning to the slowly rising sun. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Didn't sleep much at all," he responded. "I was an insomniac for a long time, and... sleeping next to Noah has been helping, but it's not a cure-all, I guess."

Evan nodded distractedly, more interested in staring at the beautiful man before him than in listening to words. They fell silent again, Michael watching the sunrise, Evan watching Michael, both of them weary yet calm, not wanting to be ready for the day but being so nonetheless.

Michael broke the silence again. "Evan, I want- I want to show you something."

Evan blinked out of his minor trance, meeting the other man's eyes. "What?"

Michael stood back, the side of his face illuminated by the light of the dawn. He looked down, unable to meet Evan's eyes, and took a deep breath, then grasped the bottom of the sweater he always wore, the one he refused to ever take off. He pulled it over his head in one swift motion.

There was no shirt underneath, though Evan sort of wished there had been, as the sight before him made his heart creep into his throat, blocking his airway like an ugly cork. Scars, thick, white cracks ran all over Michael's torso and arms. Some were just random slashes, but most spelled words, horrible words that struck deep into Evan's psyche. It was like a gruesome art exhibit of the worst thoughts in Michael's mind, and Evan lifted a hand, letting his fingers hover inches from the phrase DOESN'T FEEL REAL etched into the shaking man's right arm.

Something in Evan told him that most of these were self-imposed.

Michael's body shifted forwards slightly, his arm making physical connection with Evan's fingertips, an invitation to complete the motion. Evan let his hand slide around the thin limb, thumb gently sweeping over marred skin, and lifted his head to meet Michael's eyes, or at least try to. Michael was looking away at the floor, eyes narrowed painfully.

"You know these aren't true, right?"

Hazel eyes shifted quickly to his, surprise breaking through the self-loathing-filled haze. "What?" The question was so quiet, even in the small empty-seeming hotel room, only Evan would have been able to hear it had anyone else been awake.

He lifted his other hand, tracing letters across Michael's chest light as the caress of a bird's wing. "These don't define you. You're not a burden, you're not a liar. You're not a pretender, or a fake, and I don't want you to forget anything." His eyes hardened on the final word, scrawled sharply into the other man's collarbone. "And you're definitely not a virus."

He laid his hand flat against Michael's stomach, a comforting presence, before peering up into his eyes. They were glazed, staring at him unseeingly, and were swimming with a thin layer of tears, threatening to spill down his cheeks at a moments notice. Evan remarked silently that Michael seemed to cry relatively easy, thought he couldn't say much given the amount of times he'd almost cried in the last month was more than the days they'd been through in that same time period.

It was a moment of solace, a moment of understanding. There was a feeling of isolation, as if they were the only two beings that existed, but companionship overpowered any loneliness. They were together, and that meant more than anything else in the world.

Evan wanted to say something, anything, but before he could get a word out, Vincent shuffled behind them, and the moment as over. He stepped back, and Michael tugged his sweater back on in a light panic.

"Ev...?"

"...Yeah, Vin. I'm here." Evan gave Michael a small smile before sitting gently on the edge of the mattress, running a hand over Vincent's blanketed thigh. "Did we wake you?"

"Mmm." Vince rubbed his face blearily. "Why are you up? We have like..." He glared at the clock, squinting. "Two hours or something, I dunno. I can't see. Come back to bed."

Evan snorted and stood, moving around the bed. He glanced back at Michael, chewed his lip for a moment, then gestured to the other man, offering a place beside him in Vinnie's arms. Michael looked away, seeming uncomfortable, and Evan smiled warmly, accepting the perceived negative, but was quickly corrected when the other man shuffled over and reached for his hand. He gave Evan a tiny smile, their hands intertwining, and Evan returned it wholeheartedly before tugging him to the empty side of the bed.

Evan crawled under the covers, nudging Vinnie to make him scoot over, then pulled open the sheets, offering Michael the spot next to him. He took it, and Evan set a hand lightly against his hip, silently offering to hold him but not wanting to push it. Michael took the hand in one of his own and pulled gently, an affirmation, and Evan buried his nose in soft brown locks, letting his eyes slip closed. Vincent's arm wound over both of them, and Evan had never felt safer.

A couple more hours couldn't hurt.