Chapter Text
they say folks is dyin' to get here, me i'm dyin' to get away
to a little town out west that's spankin' new
and while i ain't never been there i can see it clear as day
if you want, i bet'cha you could see it, too
Flynn Rider had never been a heavy sleeper, even before he lived on the rooftop of a semi abandoned building in southern Manhattan. He’d grown up in a single bedroom apartment, sharing the moonlight hours with rattling cough from his mother’s ribcage. There’d been a time where Flynn had thought he couldn’t hate anything more than the sound of that cough. He was wrong, of course. Flynn eventually came to discover that he hated silence more. He would lie awake for hours, staring into the darkness as the silence roared in his ears, threatening to deafen him.
All the same, it had definitely gotten harder to sleep through the night the last 5 years. He usually woke up around 4am, a habit developed due to his father’s extensive former work schedule. This morning had been a rare one, in that Flynn managed to sleep past his usual internal alarm clock. He didn’t stir from his fitful sleep until nearly 6am, when he was awakened by the dull clang of wood against iron.
“Ow.” A muffled voice traveled through the damp New York morning.
“Hey, where ya goin’?” Flynn groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes to stare at his friend Lance. “The morning bell ain’t rung yet, go back to sleep.” He flopped back over onto his sack of lentils, closing his eyes.
“I wanna beat the other fellas to the street,” Lance said, ignoring Flynn’s wishes to go back to bed. “I don’t want anyone should see… I uh, I ain’t been walking so good.” Lance finished the last button of his vest and brushed off the worn fabric in an attempt to make himself more presentable. It didn’t work.
“Oi vey, quit griping. You know how many fellas fake a limp for sympathy, right? That bum leg of yours is a gold mine,” Flynn sat up and stretched, giving up on the idea of going back to sleep. The humid morning air caused the thin material of his shirt to stick uncomfortably to his skin, and he just knew his hair had frizzed up massively overnight.
“Someone gets the idea I can’t make it on my own, they’ll lock me up in the refuge for good this time,” Lance shoved his newsboy cap onto his head and grabbed his worn wooden cane. “Now be a pal, Flynn, and help me down.” Lance hobbled over to the fire escape, lowering himself to swing his legs over the edge.
“No one’s gonna give no dusty, bum-legged Haitian a second glance, you’re worrying for nothin’,” Flynn huffed in exaggerated annoyance, shoving his cap over his curls. “Hey, slow down, can’t you see there’s fucking dew everywhere?” Flynn called out towards Lance, delivering his warning just a bit too late.
“WOAH!!” Lance’s left hand lost its grip on the fire escape and he nearly tumbled 6 stories through the air onto the streets of New York. He dangled precariously for a moment, his knuckles turning white beneath his dark skin as he clung to the railing with all of his strength.
Flynn sprang to his feet and sprinted over to his friend, grabbing his flailing hand and pulling him back up onto the roof in one fluid motion. The boys fell into a tangled pile of limbs, safely away from the edge.
“You trying to bust your other leg too?!” Flynn wheezed at Lance, trying to keep his voice steady. He didn’t want any trembling to betray how frightened he had been for those 10 seconds.
“Uh, nooo, I wanna go down,” Lance grumbled, straightening his cap. Flynn shoved him over.
“You’ll be down soon enough,” Flynn pushed himself up and walked to the edge of the roof. “Take a moment,” Flynn pleaded. “Drink in my penthouse, high above the stinkin’ streets of New York.” The sun was growing closer to the horizon, the gray haze of the city seemed to take on an unearthly glow from the indirect light source.
“Disgusting,” Flynn muttered.
“You’re crazy,” Lance rolled his eyes, still sitting down where Flynn had shoved him.
“Oh, what? Because I happen to enjoy a breath of fresh air? Because I like seeing the sky? And the stars?” Flynn cried indignantly.
“I’ll make you see stars,” Lance waved his crutch in Flynn’s general direction, in an attempt to intimidate him.
Flynn raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. He turned back to his brooding, training his glare onto the pedestrians below. These streets had sucked the life out of his father. Years of backbreaking jobs and getting consistently screwed over by factory owners really took its toll on him, though he’d always tried his damnedest not to let on. But then, Flynn’s mother had died. Looking back, his dad had died that day too. He started underperforming at work, he couldn’t carry on at his previous pace when his body was wracked by grief. Flynn’s mouth flattened into a thin, bitter line as he recalled the day his father had been let go from the slaughterhouse. Flynn went to work hawkin’ papers the very next day, and not three weeks later he found himself burying another parent.
“New York City,” he sighed, “Center of the universe. Yeah, who’s gonna break the news to poor Copernicus that the center of the universe is basically just a giant armpit?” Flynn looked over at his pal with a wry smile.
Lance laughed, slightly unsure. “Haha, yeah, you make absolutely no sense right now, pal. Don’t be stupid, everyone wants to come here. It’s New York!”
“Sure, New York’s fine for those who got a big, strong door to lock it out,” Flynn threw his arms up in the air, gesturing wildly. He grabbed his shirt off of the makeshift clothesline they had fashioned, figuring he may as well get dressed with all possibility of returning to sleep out the window.
“Let me tell you, man, there’s a whole other way of life out there.” Flynn sighed, shrugging his shirt on over the tank top he slept in. “You can keep your small life in a big city. Me? Give me a big life in a small town. Do you know they went and made a whole city out of clay?”
Lance couldn’t help smiling at the evident awe in his friend’s voice. The younger boy moved closer, drawn in by Flynn’s words.
“And that’s not all, Lance, there’s actual trees and crap out there. Imagine Central Park, but everywhere,” Flynn continued excitedly, “Santa Fe! Can’t you just picture it? Close your eyes, Lance!”
“What for?”
“For picturin’ it better, now just shut up and do it,” Flynn admonished, enthusiasm undiminished. Lance sighed, but he did as Flynn wanted
“Now come with me, on a journey of the mind if you will, to a little town out west called Santa Fe. The minute that you get there, folks walk right up and say, ‘Welcome home, son, welcome home to Santa Fe.’ You spend your time doing honest work and being paid fairly for it. Splitting rails, planting crops! Imagine having your own land, full of your own food, Lance!” Flynn’s voice carried through the damp morning air, as clear as a bell. Lance was sure that even the pigeons roosting nearby were starting to dream about Santa Fe. Flynn was still chattering excitedly.
“And on Sundays you just get to lie around all day, tellin tales around the fire with all your buddies,” Flynn sighed in contentment.
“Since when do you care about getting Sundays off?” Lance joked, knocking Flynn with his shoulder.
“Hey now, do I seem the type to reject a day off because of religious differences?” Flynn nudged Lance back gently, careful not to knock his friend off balance. “You could come with me, you know, when I got enough money for a train ticket. I can see you living sweet in Santa Fe.”
“What, you got folks there I don’t know about?” Lance asked, surprised that these plans were more concrete than the escapist musings of a tired boy.
“Ain’t got no folks, nowhere,” Flynn scoffed, “You?”
“Well, I don’t need folks,” Lance said dismissively, adjusting his stiff leg, “but I got friends.” Flynn turned and met Lance’s gaze, his hazel eyes crinkled by his warm grin.
“So come with me then! No one cares about no bum leg in Santa Fe, youse just hop a palomino, ride around in style!” Flynn said, hopping into a feigned gallop as he went to grab his vest. Lance laughed loudly, throwing his head back.
“Oh yeah, feature me ridin’ in style,” he shook his head dismissively, dark eyes twinkling in amusement at Flynn’s antics. “You know I don’t trust horses, not after that one time with that police horse.” Flynn, now fully dressed with his vest over his shirt, black on blue, didn’t miss a beat.
“Hey, I bet a few months of clean air and you could toss that crutch for good! We’ll build up those twig arms of yours working the land, chasing the sun. By the time Santa Fe is done with you, I bet we could swim the whole of the Rio Grande, just for fun!” Flynn cried out, joining Lance back at the edge of the roof. He propped his arms up on the ledge and gazed over the horizon. Lance didn’t doubt for a moment that Flynn could see all the way to Santa Fe.
It occurred to Lance how genuine Flynn seemed in this moment, guard down, dreaming out loud. Loud enough for all Manhattan to hear, certainly. He was so earnest, Lance could almost see this life Flynn was dreaming up for them. Lance stared down at his hands, suddenly overwhelmed with trying to hold back tears that had sprung up out of nowhere. He could see himself running for miles into the Santa Fe sunset, unimpeded by his crutch. Finally, a burden to no one. Finally free.
Lance looked up from his hands to see Flynn looking at him in concern.
“Hey, don’t you know that we’re a family?” Flynn grabbed Lance’s shoulder, turning the shorter boy to look at him. “Would I let you down? Huh? No way! You know me, Lance. Just hold on, kid, I’ll get us there. Just hold on for Santa Fe,” Flynn took his cap off, lightly smacking Lance in the center of his chest with it to punctuate his words. Lance smiled, burying his friend’s words deep in his heart. Family, he liked that. He liked that a lot.
The relative quiet of the neighborhood was punctured by the ringing of the morning bell.
Flynn groaned, shoving his cap back onto his head.
“Well, time for dreamin’s done, ain’t it? Let’s get a move on and go see if we can find those helpless children we call our coworkers. Newspapers don’t sell themselves, after all,” Flynn made his way over to the fire escape, preparing to help Lance down.
Lance shifted his weight onto his good leg and followed Flynn.
“And thank God for that. Still, ain’t it a fine life? Carrying the banner and all?” Lance asked.
Flynn paused for a moment, considering.
“Yeah, I ‘spose it is. Beats washin’ dishes, anways.”
close your eyes, come with me, where it's clean and green and pretty
and they went and made a city outta clay