Chapter Text
The gentle hum of his motor was the only thing keeping him company as he drove over the state border. His eyes glazed over the miles of dead interstate before him. His phone charger was dead, and gone with it were his gps and music. The radio stations were fuzzy, mixing between static and different genres and songs as the wavelengths clashed. It was annoying and distracting, and so the young man had opted for silence instead. Tired blue eyes fought heavy eyelids as the night dragged on. He practiced eye exercises, moving his eyes left to right, turning his attention to billboards, to exit signs, to anything to keep his mind awake. He knew it wasn’t working. But the rising anxiety in his chest forbade him from pulling off and trying to find a motel in the unfamiliar landscapes. He was almost to his destination, anyway. He would make it.
Eventually he was overcome by a heaviness in his mind that he couldn’t fight.
He thought of his father as his mind drifted away into the atmosphere.
Silence.
Then panic.
He heard it before he felt it, the piercing moan of the rumble strips followed by the frantic vibration of his car.
John opened his eyes and swung the steering wheel to the left in a fierce moment of overcorrection. He felt the bags of luggage in the trunk and the backseat of his car crash into each other.
He was lucky it was the dead of night. No one else was on the road.
The Egbert family didn’t need another funeral so soon.
...Not that he had any real living relatives that would come.
The heaviness in his mind wasted no time settling back in as soon as he corrected himself in the right lane, though. John reached for the knob under his radio to turn the AC up as much as he could. It took a moment for the freezing air to blast on his face, and he perked up a little. He could do this. He would make it there tonight if it killed him.
His stomach growled.
Maybe he should grab a bite to eat first.
John kept an eye on the blue exit signs as they passed. Pulling off wasn’t optional; he was running low on gas, too. In a spark of panic, he looked to his wallet in the cupholder. He really hoped his credit card wasn’t locked from traveling so far. He hadn’t planned this trip; calling his bank was the last thing he would have remembered to do. He sighed and turned his attention back to the road. Amidst the blank signs and open fields, he eventually saw one labeled “Gas, next exit,” and prepared himself to pull off. Dread filled him as he came to realization that he would once again have to scout his own way to the gas station without directions. Thankfully, the illuminated sign for it appeared to be the only thing in sight.
John exited the car, and stood for a moment, taking in the feeling of lightheadedness and the numbness of his legs that made them feel like jelly. The clear winner of his body’s discomfort, however, was the sudden realization of just how much his ass hurt from the days of nearly nonstop driving. He tried to remedy this by shaking out his limbs and stretching, but it didn’t do him much good. With a hearty sigh he managed to pull control of each part of his stiff body, and walk to the barley-hinged glass door. The stark brightness of the buzzing fluorescent lights yanked him farther away from his tired state. The burly clerk wearing a trucker hat didn’t even greet him.
In his hands he gathered a hot dog, three shots of five-hour-energy, and a portable car charger, slightly more expensive than he was used to, that would hopefully last him longer than the last one he bought. His card wasn’t locked, and he wondered if that was a good or a bad thing in the long run. A full tank of gas later, and John was back on the road. He had his gps-serving phone mounted to the dash once more. Although, it was difficult to see the directions under the stream of snapchat notifications from Dave flowing in, now that his phone had re-established connection. He regretted not turning off his snapmaps. He did not regret turning off his notifications for pesterchum, his best friend’s first line of communication.
He had a long drive ahead of him. Outdated movie soundtracks kept him company.
Each time he felt his desire to sleep take control, he switched to a song he knew the lyrics to, and belted it out for no one but himself to hear. Playing the piano from a young age had given him a good sense of pitch. He could probably learn to sing professionally, if he wanted to. Instead, he just used the mental energy it took up to keep him awake on long drives like this.
John saw the sun begin to rise from his left window. More cars began to surround him. He knew that his body needed sleep even more now than it had in the past hour, but now his natural clock was trying to supress the urge. Dawn was here.
The voice on his gps drowned out the rock ballad he was listening to. It told him to take the next exit. He was almost there.
His mind filled with determination, and he followed the guiding robotic voice of his maps application into a smaller city outside of Houston, Texas. A college town, judging by the small amount of students with bookbags beginning to make their way to their summer classes. Aside from having to stop for the occasional jaywalker, he had smooth sailing to his destination.
John parked his car in the pothole-ridden parking lot of the small, two story apartment structure. He decided to leave his luggage for a later hour, and began the trek up the exterior wooden stairs with nothing but his keys and his phone. If his car got broken into… Well, that was an issue for Future John to deal with.
He hesitantly counted the doors until he came to the number he recognized: Apartment 207. His fist hesitated over the door. It was idiotic for him to hesitate now after all the effort he put in to getting here.
Thankfully he didn’t even have to knock.
John saw the doorknob turn, and his anxiety spiked.
The person who met his eyes wasn’t Dave, but instead a short, stout young man with unkempt brown hair and bags under his eyes.
“Who the fuck are you,” his words were a mix between a growl and a shout. It came across as more of an accusation than a question.
John felt a bitterness rise in him. Perhaps he had the wrong apartment, but this dude didn’t need to be an ass, and--
A frantic sound of fumbling movement from inside the apartment made him close his mouth before he could even start speaking. Another young man barreled his way to the front door, putting his hand on his roommate's shoulder and shoving him out of the way...
“What the fuck, Dave?”
...and onto the ground.
Dave stood in the doorway.
It was really Dave.
After 21 years of life, his best friend was there.
Dave looked stunned.
John fell into his arms crying.