Work Text:
This is one of life’s toughest decisions, this is. Truly, there are terrible consequences at hand if Grian makes the wrong choice. He can’t mess this up. Their lives are on the line, here.
He reaches for the Barbeque chips.
Or- no. No, he doesn’t. Because even if Barbeque is a solid choice, there’s something much more appealing, right now, about the bag of plain old Original flavoured chips staring at him, right underneath his previous choice. If it weren’t for the various contractual obligations that Grian’s under, he’d probably swear. He instead, lets out a quiet hiss.
While sitting down on the (admittedly, uncomfortable, and slightly wet) flooring of the gas station, Grian attempts to complete the task of finding him and Scar dinner. With his companion outside getting fuel, the only company he has comes in the snores of the store's sole employee, sprawled out and sleeping on the counter. Which, if you asked him, he’d say is lovely . He’s not envious at all.
So. Dinner.
There are pros and cons to both options. On one hand, Barbeque is always a good choice: tastes good no matter the hour, and it’s one of the few flavours that Scar won’t tease him for enjoying. Though, Original? Even if it means putting up with endless complaining from his friend, Grian thinks they might be worth it. Maybe. Is letting Scar starve worth having a whole bag of chips to himself? Also maybe. Though, before he can make the decision that’d lead to the slow death of his friend, Grian hears the bastard walk in behind him, announced by the abnormally loud beep of the automatic doors. Fantastic.
“So, how’s the scavenger hunt going? You found any delectable treats for us to tear our teeth into?” Scar squats down to meet his eye level and starts picking out a few random snacks, glancing at their labels before putting them back.
“Not the greatest, I’ll have to admit. You got any thoughts on barbeque?”
“Eh, I mean, they’re fine, but my heart’s calling out for some salt and vinegar, y’know?”
Grian groans. “You know I can’t eat those, Scar. Literally any other flavour will do. Let’s just get the barbeque. We both like it, so surely that’s the most reasonable option, yeah?”
“I mean. If you want, we can get both, but I just think we should try to save some money. It never hurts to have another dollar in the bank.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, you have a point,” fishing out a crumpled-up note from the front of his jeans, Grian continues. “We got ten bucks. That’s it. That’s our allowance for dinner. So, what’s our plan?”
Scar squints at him. That’s not a good sign.
“Uh, no, that’s our gas money, G. You’ve got another note in there, right?”
Ah.
“I do not.”
“Well.”
There are times when Grian believes that some higher power is out to get him, to make him a court jester, of sorts. This is one of them. The next words out of Scar’s mouth only serve to further this belief.
“...I mean, we could just-” he makes a vague gesture with his hands. Grian doesn’t think it’s something he could describe, even if you paid him to. “- y’know?”
“No, Scar, I do not know.”
He makes the gesture again. Grian pinches his nose bridge and sighs.
“If you’re suggesting we just steal the snacks, you can just say so. I’m not playing charades with you.”
“Aw, c’mon. I was doing so well!” Scar pouts, before a more playful expression overtakes his face. “Anyway, you ready?”
“Now?”
Channeling the energy of a toddler who just had their first huff of sugar, Scar responds. “Yeah, now! There’s not even any staff members around, we can just leave! Just grab some stuff, and let’s go!”
Wait, but- “Uh, Scar - no - there’s someone at the counter -'' But before Grian could finish, his hand was already being dragged towards the entrance, the two of them leaving a trail of snacks in their wake. Grian turns back to look at them, pick them up, do something, when suddenly- something cold reaches inside his chest and twists. The weight in his hand is gone, everything slows to a syrupy halt, and then-
“ -they’re fine, but my heart’s calling out for some salt and vinegar, y’know?”
Wh -
“Grian?” There’s a body next to him, an arm hovering around a bunch of brightly coloured bags. That’s -
What?
“What?”
“I mean. If you want, we can get both, but I just-” Scar cuts himself off, and pauses to look up at Grian. There’s a flash of something in his expression, but it’s quickly overtaken by a furrowed brow and a frown. “You alright, G?”
“I- There was just-” Quickly glancing around, Grian stops, noticing the lone employee, who was now sitting at the counter, browsing through a magazine. “Etho”, his name tag reads. The man blinks, and looks up. “You two need help with anything?”
Grian goes to respond, his gaze meeting Etho’s, but then-
everything-
melts.
The steady hum of the artificial lights begin to warp, almost shimmering in their mimicry of a sound; the brightly painted colours dripping across the walls burn with saturation, and Grian feels static cling to the tips of his fingers, dragging itself over and through his skin, up his throat, mapping him out, pulling him, dragging him towards something -
And then it’s gone.
Huh.
Someone asked him a question, right?
Grian turns back to the employee, matching the stare that was already directed at him. “We’re...just fine, yeah.” His neck itches. “We’ll get out of your hair, soon.''
Returning to his earlier conundrum, he’s met with the site of his companion, whose arm is currently elbow-deep in the shelf. That’s normal. Once again, Grian wonders where everything went wrong, and clears his throat. “Right , Scar?”
No response. There’s a head where a collection of carefully placed foil bags used to peacefully reside.
Etho raises an eyebrow, then shrugs. “Alrighty. Well, I’m here all night, if you need me,” he says, before returning to whatever trashy magazine he was scanning through.
Now’s a good time to leave, Grian thinks.
“Scar. C’mon, we gotta get back. We can grab something to eat from the van, let’s just get out of here.”
There's a few harsh thuds as Scar withdraws himself from the inner workings of the display. Alright. That’s - Ok. Sure. At least they’re getting out of here.
As they make their way to the counter, Grian pointedly chooses to ignore the very obvious crinkling noises coming from Scar. There are some battles he’s not willing to fight.
Etho drops his magazine onto the floor with a fwop , and looks up at the incredibly unsuspicious pair of customers in front of him. “Got everything you need?” he asks, the corners of his eyes crinkling up.
“Uh, yeah. We’re good. Just….paying for the gas.”
“Oh? Just that?”
Grian glances at Scar, then, at the two large bulges on his chest. Etho does the same.
“...Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yep. Just- Just the gas, for today,” he confirms, glancing back at Etho.
The other man stares back. There’s an itch on Grian’s neck. Nope. Don’t like that.
Making the conscious decision to lose whatever staring context the two of them were having, Grian slaps the singular note on the counter and turns to leave. Sometimes you just gotta nope out of a situation, leave, just...remove yourself from it. Give it a big, fat “absolutely not”, as you get outta there. Grabbing Scar (who looked about 5 seconds from starting his own staring contest with Etho), Grian decides to take his own advice, and books it out of the store, announcing his exit with a simple “keep the change!”
The two of them start sprinting back to the van as soon as they step outside, and Scar lets out a couple of celebratory hoots along the way, hugging the newly unearthed bags of chips to his chest as he runs.
“King! King! King!”
Grian lets out a snort as the two of them approach the vehicle. “King? What is this, Reddit?” He says, pulling open the van door and clambering inside.
“Well, no, but look at us! A couple of kings! We’ll be feasting good tonight, G! Just look at our bountiful yield!”
Scar, now sitting opposite him inside the vehicle, holds up 2 bags of Salt and Vinegar chips, looking almost delirious with joy.
A pause.
“Scar.”
“Yes?”
“I can’t eat those.”
His expression drops, and a slight frown drags itself onto Scar’s face. “...Ah. Forgot about that.” He brings up one of the bags to his face, studying it. “Well, I mean, you can probably have a bit, it won’t kill you, right? Something’s better than…”
“Better than what?”
There’s no response. Scar’s just...squinting at the bag, now.
“Scar? You good?”
If it was possible for squinting to make a noise, Grian’s sure there’d be a steadily growing buzzing sound emanating from his friend’s eyeballs. Reaching over, he grabs the other bag of chips from beside Scar and glances at the packaging, curious to see what had Scar so enthralled.
Ah.
That’d be it.
Instead of the generic “Wow! Buy our product!” schtick, there’s...a photo of the employee from earlier, holding up a peace sign. The bag is otherwise completely blank, other than bright red text, in comic sans, above him, that says “Don’t steal! Honesty is a virtue! xD”.
Huh. Before Grian can even attempt to gather a single thought about this, he’s interrupted by an absolutely grief-ridden shriek from Scar.
“It’s all just communal wafers!”, he cries, pulling out a handful of the things from the bag. “Look what they did to my babies!”
This is...Grian doesn’t think he has any words for this.
He puts his head in his hands and mentally nopes out. That's enough for one night.