Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

it had all been hell as promised so far during the beginning of the Trans-American Wild Race. First one to New York, New York gets a fat stack of cash. At least that’s what was promised. Dylan wouldn’t be too surprised if the money-grubbing B.I.G. Boss bosses find some way to scheme a way to make triple the profit, so it won't even make a dent in their wallets.

Either way he’s gotta win that cash. For Claudia. For the orphanage she cared so much for. For it to be rebuilt with all the new finishes she had dreamed of, making it a better place for the children. Claudia was an angel despite this god-forsaken world she lived in. A breath of fresh air and the only thing in his life he ever wanted to protect.

After the hell he brought on her, fixing up the orphanage can't makeup for a tenth of what she’d given him.

There are a lot of fresh faces to this whole racing deal, especially for such a treacherous journey. He can't blame these kids for being high off adrenaline he guesses, though he worries for the small child bent on revenge traveling in that death trap of a car.

Know this, he’s not one to go sticking his neck out to stop the brat from killing himself, but if he gives some words of advice and keeps a watchful eye out for him that’s nobody’s business. The kid's got enough trouble with who he’s pickin a fight with, Gil T. Shiga and his devoted lackeys, but if the boy gets caught somewhere he ain’t supposed to be, he could put his whole tribe at risk. Hell if he looks the wrong way at a bastard they could make a case with no grounds at all. People nowadays don’t act too forgiving to people they believe are beneath them.

He’s been an outlaw long enough to know there’s no difference between men of different races. Can't trust no one in this world, doesn’t matter what they look like.

The REAL pain in his ass, however, is the clown driving next to him. TJ. All he does is play his horrific music. And just his luck he got stuck on a hours long detour with the guy due to the jackasses blowin up the damn valley.

That brings him to where he is now: trying to focus on a way to make up for his lost time in the race while this heathen is screaming out his window about god knows what over his even louder music. They drive side by side way behind the rest of the racers. The sun’s already past the mid-point in the sky. He ought to be trying to get to the next checkpoint before it gets too dark.

“Could yer choice in music get any more annoyin’?” Dylan yells at the therefore mentioned clown.

“what's that? Can't hear you over my bangin’ music!” TJ abhorrently responds.

“You're making this drive even more unbearable by the second.” he says, too frustrated to come up with a witty or at least half thought up retort. He feels an impeding headache forming from just being in Tj’s proximity for this long. Dammit, he needs a drink.

“Aw is the pretty boy getting' gwumpy cause he wost his pwosition in the wace? C'mon baby it's just you and me. You better start accepting the company cause it all we got out here till we get to the checkpoint.” TJ says, tauntingly with an edge of something he couldn't quite place. Wait.. could he be flirting? He mentally slaps himself in the face for even considering that option. rediculous.

“pretty boy?”

Dylan rolls up his window with one hand and with the other gives him a not-so-friendly gesture, an unamused look on his face. Then he’s speeding off ahead. He could give a crap about being lonely, he needs time to think of a strategy to get back in the lead.

Or more importantly...

Do people really think of him as a pretty boy? Course not. He's the strong stoic type. That’s what everyone says. Sure, he has a good number of female supporters that he normally has Seth deal with, but he’s not out there fussing about his looks or anythin’. And he’s definitely not beggin’ for attention by walkin’ round in a flashy outfit with a damn noose round his neck like a certain idiot he knows.

“That colorful idiot’s probably just pissy that Claudia chose me over him,” he thinks to himself with a small smirk, reminiscing on the day he beat Tj in the duel to win her heart. It had been one of the most exciting matches in his life. Course Claudia hated the whole thing. Always screamin’ bout how’re gonna get ourselves killed over petty matters when we could be usin’ our strength for good.

“Perdy smile you got there, cowboy. Thinking bout me again?” his hand on his chin and hearts in his blindfolded eyes like a damn school girl.

Absolutely insufferable.

“Why don’t you go ‘head and crash already and you can see this ‘perdy smile’ at the finish line.” he taunts back with a little more energy than he had before and a smirk on his lips. TJ smiles at this, noticing the change in demeanor.

“let’s just see who gets there first, big shot.” TJ yet again screams out his window, but this time he’s the one speeding forward, instigating a race the rest of the way to the checkpoint.

Ask them who won and they’ll both say themselves. Though in actuality, it was a draw.

Chapter Text

Apparently, there was a whole show of finding out the bad brothers were well, the bad brothers and not Gil the butcher and his lackeys. Didn’t seem too consequential at the time, so although Dylan had his doubts, he never vocalized them. Wasn’t none of his business anyhow.

A little later, he hears that half the competition had been murdered by the actual snake-tattooed group. He learns about how the samurai on the team with the madman engineer had cut down all five perpetrators and saved his team as well as the female racer and the French guy with BNW. And better yet, now Gil’s group has threatened to kill every last racer.

All the racers had been called to a meeting by Seth to discuss whether the race would continue, but due to the samurai, 'Kosume' he learns, the race can continue with minor changes to the course in order to keep their distance from Gil the Butcher. Dylan seriously doubts it’ll be that simple.

“At least ya’ll got to have a good time though. Then there’s me, drivin’ through the dessert with this clown here. Halfway wishin’ sobody’d shoot me.” TJ announces just a tad too insensitively, though Dylan agrees (with the first part at least). They’ve avoided most of the interesting stuff so far and it's been quite boring.

Dylan scoffs nonetheless, “Callin’ me a clown in that get-up?” referring to the other man’s outrageous choice of clothing.

“Every piece of my outfit I’m wearin’ for a reason.” he snaps back almost immediately. Then adds “You just lettin’ you neck hair get like that.”

“Hey now wait a second.” he says, honestly that one was uncalled for. Sure, they used to be best friends, but damn, it’s a race. It's not important how his hair looks. He didn’t get a chance for his comeback because Seth clears his throat leading the conversation back on to the task at hand.

The suspicious racer, Richard, who was the only survivor of the incident with the Snakes, decides he’s just not cut out for risking his life in a race like this. “Well... duh. That was literally the whole point that this race was dangerous.” the brunette thinks to himself as Richard gets up to leave. He’s surprised the coward even made it this far.

The whole time, though, he can't stop thinking “What's wrong with my hair? It hasn’t gotten that out of hand, has it?” unfortunately there are no mirrors to check and he can’t let anyone see him fixing it either or he will be known as a pretty boy.

If anyone’s a damn pretty boy, it’s the damn European! Or even Seth for that matter! Or maybe that engineer guy who built his own car, 'Appare' he thinks was his name. He had a sort of charm to him and definitely had a pretty face, having thought he was another female racer at first glance. One face he wished to see more often was TJ’s (only to find out who the real pretty boy is of course!). He kept that blindfold on so often these days, he can't even remember the man’s eye color.

Wait a minute. What was he thinking?!? Why is he judging the looks of the other male racers???

The meeting was over before he knew it and they were told that they got the whole day to do whatever, due to needing to change the course last minute.

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He was trying to make use of their day off to pick up supplies in town when he passes a barbershop. The brunette catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the storefront window and realizes TJ might’ve been right. He could use a trim.

“Why was he even paying attention to my hair in the first place?”

Upon entering the barber shop, he regrets his decision.

“Oh my goodness! if it isn't THE Dylan G. Orene, the famous outlaw, in my little ole shop looking for a trim! If you woulda told me this morning I woulda’ told ya to quit lyin’. I'm such a big fan of the hundred 4th or was it five thousand 5? Goodness me”

“Thousand 3.” Dylan supplies him with an answer, irritated. He remembers why he hadn’t gotten a trim for so long now. He hates idle chatter.

As the barber continues chatting about what the name of the group is, the man in need of a haircut and now a drink cuts in “I'd prefer it if you just called me-”

“Oh I get it! You're the strong silent type. Don’t want no fuss or nothin’” The Barber moves his head back in place, a bit rougher than he woulda liked.

HA! He knew it! He is the strong silent type! Eat shit TJ!

Just when he had had about enough of the barber's drabble, Appare walks in muttering. Dylan immediately hides behind his newspaper despite the younger man clearly not noticing anything going on around him.

At least his hair will be done soon he tries to convince himself.

Why does he care so much about this anyway? Normal people get haircuts. He’s not a pretty boy!

Chapter Text

He finds a nice hot spring in town to clear his head and have a much-needed drink (no drinks in the springs, but who’s gunna stop him?). He’s been all over the place for this whole race. He must just be worried about getting the money for Claudia’s orphanage. There are a lot of factors getting in the way of his hope of a straightforward race that’s making him all out of it.

The main one being the damn thousand three. Of course, his old buddies had to come in and disturb the peace. At least Gil’s not in the actual race. I guess TJ isn't all bad since he’s a fun competitor when he’s not blasting out his ears.

As soon as he’s even a thought in Dylan’s head there TJ is with the french guy. The chatterin’ of the other racers isn't far off either. There goes his peace again. It’s almost like TJ is doin’ this on purpose.

Speaking of the bastard: why is he still wearin’ the blindfold in the damn hot springs?

In no time at all, the springs are filled will racers swimming, chatting, being thrown around, and being... naked??

In Japan, hot springs are a bit different, apparently. He feels sorry for the girls who found out the hard way.

Though portraying otherwise, Dylan kind of enjoys the comradery of all the racers hanging out together. It takes him back to when the thousand seven would laugh around the camp going through loot and telling stories after a big heist. He wonders if TJ feels the same. If he told the other man, he’d just laugh and tell him how soft he’d gotten.

He looks around for the mentioned man; he hadn't seen him since he was being thrown around into the water by the fake Gil who turned out to be a big softie. He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t notice the hand in his hair or the words being spoken to him.

“I said ‘Hey pretty boy, did you get a haircut cause I told you it looked bad?’”

He turned around fast and ducked away from the other man’s hand, while a weird feeling started up in his stomach. Food poisoning?

“Huh?! What? No, that’s just how it looks. Shut up.” he lies rather sloppily while moving far away from the other man. There’s a small heat he’s feeling in his face, but they are sitting in borderline boiling water so that’s not that unusual. He started a petty fight with the other bad brother all the while, he could still feel where TJ had been stroking his freshly cut hair.

He needs another drink.

After he leaves to get another drink and comes back, everyone had basically cleared out. He let out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding in.

While it was nice to be surrounded by comrades again in a light setting, he much preferred the silent alcohol-induced bliss of his own mind (since his sober mind had refused to shut the hell up lately). With the warm buzz of alcohol running through him, he felt his mind melt back into that peaceful place again.

Alcohol has always been a stabilizer for him, no matter how farfetched it sounds. The buzz to his senses helps clear his mind of unimportant clutter (like his dead wife or these weird feelings he doesn’t understand toward his old best friend). He can focus solely on driving and fighting, things that are fun, without the extra noise.

“Still an alcoholic I see.” a familiar voice comes from one of the none-visible areas of the springs that were thought to be deserted until now. He takes another swig of his bottle, paying the comment no mind, and starts to soak his aching muscles once again in the warm water.

“How do you drive so good when you’re always drunk?”

“m not always drunk.” is the response the dark-haired man gets.

“Right, and I'm gonna be the next president.” He says as he swims closer to where they’re a comfortable distance to chat while not impeding on any personal boundaries.

Dylan finally gets a better look at his old best friend while they sit in comfortable silence. They’ve both grown a lot from their days of robbing banks and killing politicians’ competitors when paid a handsome amount of money. He hates to admit it, but TJ has gotten much more muscular than he has. He looks- he looks powerful and confident in his abilities. Something Dylan’s always admired about the other man. He always knows exactly who he is and never changes for anyone. When Claudia had chosen Dylan, the dark-haired man respected her wishes and was happy for them. As much as he talks up how crazy he is, he does have a code. He never beats people up without cause or steals from those poorer than himself.

Dylan was lost in thought again, just staring at the other man when, “Hey, my eyes are up here. But since you started it, you ain’t too shabby yourself.” the taller man says with a now unmistakable flirty attitude. Dylan’s prepared this time, he’s not sober.

“Oh? What else do you like about me besides my hair of course since you ain’t keepn’ yer hands out of it or ya eyes off it?” he replies sharp as a tac and smooth as butter. There's a beat, so he looks up to meet his eyes. He-

TJ sat there with his mouth agape with a hint of a smile in his cheeks. A more sober Dylan would’ve been worried at that reaction, but drunk Dylan was intrigued.

Chapter Text

“What you mean all those fan girlies never tell ya about how sexy your accent is? Or how your eyes are so blue they make the ocean jealous? They ain’t tellin’ ya any of that gushy shit?” the man asks in an exaggerated girly accent.

“Not once I'd reckon.” he says slowly stepping closer to the taller man, offering him the bottle. “However, I am interested in how much thought ya put into those compliments,” he finishes, tilting his head to the side, pinning the man down under his gaze. They're now closer than what could be considered normal and it’s a game of who’s backing down first.

Dylan’s the first to notice TJ’s quick glance down at his lips after he downs a long swig of the burning liquid. Oh? “Shit Orene, you really think you got me don’cha?” he says taking a step back then pushing Dylan back till he hits the rock feature in the middle of the spring. The brunette feels a slight pounding in his head now, no doubt from the impact. Tj now has him pinned to the wall, their faces so close they can feel eat other's hot breath on their skin.

“And maybe you do, but let me tell you this pretty boy, I'm winnin' this damn race and I'm gettin' that money because I don’t listen to nobody and I do what I fuckin’ want. Unlike you who’s sitting pretty with GM B.I.G. Bosses beggin’ for orders like a damn dog.” his outburst of emotion made him weaken his hold on the shorter man.

Dylan’s head might still be fuzzy, but he uses this moment to switch their positions, pressing TJ against the rock this time. For a moment they’re both breathing hard, so caught up in their own world that even if someone were to walk in on them in this position, they wouldn’t give it a second thought.

“We’re all are here for our own god damn reasons! You don’t know shit about me or why I'm doin’ this-” he starts, only to be cut off.

“Cause of damn Claudia! Isn't it? You’re biggest weakness. Being hung up on that woman’s gonna get ya killed someday and I won't be there to stop it. She isn’t coming back!" he pauses a moment, the weight of his last statement lingering before he continues. "She wants you to live your own life. You can help the damn brats at the orphanage all ya want, but do it for you. Do it cause you wanna, not because she never got to. I ain’t wanna see no more friends throw their lives away for nothin.’” Towards the end of his speech, the taller man’s hand found its way into Dylan’s hair again.

Dylan’s hand moved faster than the other man could think to stop it and the world around him becomes clearer. His blindfold. Dylan had-

“yer eyes are brown.” is all he hears before the world is gone again and all he’s left with is a pair of lips on his own. The shorter man is so close, he can feel his heartbeat beating a million beats per second. After the initial shock subsides, he starts kissing back. They're both still out of breath from yelling at each other so it’s more like a bunch of kisses over and over with heavy breathing in between. The feeling of Dylan's lips on his own had paced his mind for years, but never would he have expected it to feel this right.

Right before he was fully pulled out of his right mind, a realization struck him- on the tongue specifically, because all he tasted was alcohol. Dylan’s drunk. He knew this. Shit. He knew and he let it get this far. What once was utter bliss was replaced by doubt and guilt.

Dylan on the other hand was mildly upset about the kiss being broken off, but he seemed soothed by just looking at the other’s face. Analyzing every feature and memorizing it in case this is all a dream and he’s about to wake up.

“Dammit! Why do I have to be the responsible one?” TJ complains, annoyed. At that moment he hears a door closing and footsteps. “shit.” “SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT” he repeats as he’s scrambling to get out of the springs and sees the women’s changing room door shut. “it’s too late to have anyone else in here anyway.” he justifies to himself as he yanks the door just about off its hinges and plows through the women’s changing room just as the second door closes behind whoever saw them. He catches up to them in no time, but it had gotten dark by then so he couldn’t tell who it was till he had them by the arm.

“Pardon! Pardon! Je n’ai pas vu! I zidn’t zee anything!” shouts the perpetrator. Sophia Taylor.

“Woah little lady. If you ain’t seen nothin’ then you wouldn’t be apologizin’. Listen, I'm not gonna kill ya. Stop struggling!”

“hoh no you are right. I went back to grab my towell and I zid zee you and monsieur Dylan-” she’s cut off by a hand to her mouth.

“Shhhh shut it lady. Ya want the whole continent to know? It- it was an accident, I uhhh- fell and so then- dylan, yeah? Uh so that bastard he um-”

“zo zhose ar ze activities you remove your mask for, no?” she remarks, smirking knowing she’s no longer in danger due to the stronger man being unable to complete a single sentence. This prissy who can hold her alcohol will be the death of him! He smacks a hand to his face.

“Look, miss priss, Dylan's drunk, so he’s not thinking right. I'm taking em back to camp right now. Don't go blabbing or Frenchie won't have no one to make his tea. Ya hear?” it’s hard to be threatening half-naked in a bathing suit, but she gets the point nonetheless and makes a zipping motion over her mouth.

To be sure he makes her swear to not tell ten more times before he lets her go. Then she’s gone and he hears Dylan walking up behind him.

“If you wanted to kiss me so bad you should’ve asked before.”

“You shut up.” he falls onto a nearby bench and lets out a breath. He's exhausted.

“I know what I was doing by the way. I'm not that far gone. I guess- I guess I should apologize. You were- you were right," the obvious strain of admitting such a statement apparent. "about what you said about me. I'm still living for a dead woman instead of living for myself. I'm an outlaw dammit.” the brunette says after the silence grows a little too uncomfortable.

“Man... I guess I shouldn't've slammed ya into the rock, but you looked too goddamn good talking back to me. It made me angry.” he pouts.

“Sorry, what was that? I'm so good-looking that I make you want to slam me against things? Wow, I'm really that special?” he adds sarcastically.

“I'll fuckin’ kill ya if u keep this up dammit.”

“Cause of what I said or cause I'm hot? Or both?”