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Sitting on the bench of some rundown dingy gas station, Mitch takes a long drag of his cigarette. The smoke curls into wispy trails like fire from a dragon's muzzle, heavy in his lungs.
He sighs, head in hand.
The area is deserted aside from the rare car passing by and a little speck on the horizon that's been growing for the past ten minutes. He wouldn't be surprised if it's some teenage hitchhiker; they were a common sight these days, flocking to the border like moths to a flame. It's easy to read on most of them, the backpacks never fooled anyone, and the dirty clothes and gaunt cheeks told what the rest could not.
Not that he blamed them! It's kept the cops off his and Stan's back more times than he could count. Whole damn country seemed to care more about teenage delinquents than the criminals right in front of it's face.
Startled out of his brooding by a curse from inside the workshop, Mitch finds his speculations were correct. The speck has grown to a silhouette, and, even better, one he's quite familiar with.
It's no surprise the kid's made it this far, they'd shown as much during their first encounter with that spitfire of a personality. The three had kept finding each other since then- he'd hardly bothered to keep up the tough guy act last time, couldn't be with that toothy grin they gave him after rewarding them with some of the robbery money.
Whatever the kid's energy levels were, they must've shared his sentiment; head hung and feet dragging, they pad toward him looking like the world's most dejected puppy.
Stifling a frown, he takes one last drag, tugging the mask under his chin and scuffing the cigarette. He wasn't so far gone as to smoke around children.
"Oi, kid! Funny seeing you here, eh?"
Their head snaps up, scrutinizing him with that wide-eyed stare. "Mitch!"
They scamper toward him.
He snorts. "Surprised you can tell us apart!"
"You're taller," They say. "and, uh, wider. Your mask is frowning too."
He laughs in spite of himself, reaching over to clap them on the shoulder. They flinch sharply, ducking to his left.
Right.
He did that .
Subdued, he lets his hand fall. "Say kid, ya look dead on your feet. How'd you like a lift? I'm sure Stan won't mind. No heists attached."
They nod, a nervous chuckle slipping free.
Bingo.
"Speaking of, uh… where is Stan?" Their eyes dart between him and the bench, obviously tired but reluctant to make eye contact. Mitch can't help but be reminded of a kicked puppy returning to its master.
He pats the spot beside him. "Working on the 'cycle, shouldn't take long. C'mere, I won't bite."
So they did.
___
"Our hunch is this psycho is a taxi driver!"
The kid stiffens, their breathing noticeably quicker. "Taxi… driver?"
"Yeah," he replies slowly. "you see him?"
"Maybe, I…"
"Sorry kid," Stan shouts apologetically, "Ya gotta speak up!"
" He tried to kill me ." They blurt out, face pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
Mitch tenses, a cold calm overtaking him. "He what ?"
"I-" their voice cracks. "I was hiking along the road in the canyons, it was dark so I figured no one would see me. I got tired, so I stopped to rummage in this abandoned van- I think it had some kind of brigade graffiti on it.
"While I was leaving, some taxi came speeding around the corner then drove by real slow, like he was watching me. I got freaked out so I waited a couple minutes, but his car was sitting idle when I turned the corner.
"He jumped out from behind a rock when I got close, pulled a gun on me. Kept yelling about how I was a brigade, told me to go find him a light in the van cause he- he -" their voice warbles.
Stan leans down, rubbing a soothing hand over their back. "Easy, kid. We gotcha."
They sniffle, leaning into his leg, arms crossed over their stomach. "I told him I wasn't a brigade but he wouldn't believe me, thought c-cause I remembered there being matches in the van that it was actually mine, kept talking about this surprise he had for me.
"He forced me to- to soak it with gasoline from his trunk, and shoved me in there when my back was turned, said- he said the surprise was gonna be it lighting on fire with me in it. I was so scared- I told him he didn't wanna do this, he had a daughter- it was a gamble but it turned out to be true." They choke out.
"He- he told me her name was Lola, I said she must love him a lot. Between that and me crying, I think he felt guilty. He told me to run, and that I better tell my brigade buddies and Sonya he w-was coming for them, for what they did to- to his daughter."
"Christ." He whispers, the wind howling in agreement.
As if to punctuate his point, a yellow blur swerves around them, tearing up rubber.
"A taxi driver!" He exclaims at the same time Stan says "Shit!", the engine growling with him. "Could be Sonya's stalker!"
Stan leans forward, the bike rapidly picking up speed. "We've got you now, freak!"
"You can't!" The kid squeaks. "He's dangerous!"
"Awh, kid, dun' worry about us." He says, stealthily unpacking his crowbar. "We've got it handled. Sides, he's got scaring you to answer for now. Right Stan?"
"Yep!" His brother replies, recognizing his covert urge to reassure their temporary ward. "Nuthin' to worry about. Just sit back and let us handle it. Got it?"
"Got it." They mumble, still pale but hopefully less likely to jump out at the first sign of their tormentor.
The chase is treacherous but short lived, the taxi coming to a stop a few yards away. Stan curses under his breath, slamming on the breaks.
"Taxi's stopped." He announces, slinging the crowbar over his shoulder and stepping down in one smooth move.
"Could be a trap." Says Stan, cocking the shotgun. "Show this driver the beast ."
"With pleasure." He retorts, sauntering over.
Whoever this guy was, he'd made a mistake in going after a kid. And now? He'd pay .
Mitch swore on it.
___
"You got a name kid?" Stan inquiries, noting with disdain how they try to make themselves as small as possible.
"Charlie." They whisper, gaze flitting between Mitch and the road. Sun-baked fingers wring together anxiously.
"You got a destination in mind, Charlie?"
They shake their head, trembling slightly. They don't elaborate.
"That's fine. Think you can keep your eyes on me? This isn't something you wanna watch."
Charlie tears their eyes off the cab with great difficulty, flinching when the door opens but otherwise maintaining eye contact.
"You wanna ask me a question? Might help distract you from the driver."
"Sure, uh…"
"Take your time." He says patiently.
Allowing the kid a moment to think, he takes quick stock of the situation.
The driver seems to have fallen for their clueless act as his brother has confiscated his pistol with practiced ease, tossing it over the side of the cliff and knocking him over with a wide arc of the crowbar. Mitch steps on his hand, no doubt leaning most of his weight on it. The guy howls angrily, clawing at his leg with not much success. Mitch crouches, says something through the mask, then stands.
"Robbing all the time… don't you ever get scared?"
Stan hums, processing the question. "Course! That's why we got each other. Mitch can deal with that psycho without worrying about his surroundings cause he knows I got his back, I can do that cause I trust his capabilities to handle it. Understand?"
They nod, looking more comfortable around a shotgun-wielding criminal than any kid probably has the right to be.
He bites the bullet. "You still looking to cross the border?"
Their eyebrows become pinched, a conflicted expression taking hold. "I'm not sure. With Florres as president there's no reason to leave, but…"
"...but?" Mitch queries, the gravel crunching underneath his scuffed boots as he crouches to the kid's level.
Charlie glares at the floor. "There's no one for me to return to."
His heart drops. "That's awful Charles, I'm sorry."
They nod.
Mitch stares at him pointedly. He pretends to not notice. "Foster care not an option?" Stan asks.
Charlie bites their lip. "They all gave me back to the system once they figured out what was… wrong with me."
Mitch hums disapprovingly. "Wrong with you?"
They hunch over, as if expecting to get hit. "I'm not… straight."
Oh .
Mitch's eyes burn into his head. It was something they could both relate to- very well in fact. The poison his father spewed as he told them to never come back, Sonya crying in his grip in the doorway… it still haunts him all these years later.
"Mind if we talk alone for a minute?" He asks, dragging his brother off without waiting for an answer.
Mitch sits in the passenger side of the taxi while he takes the driver's side, foot tapping anxiously.
A muffled shout comes from the trunk. He quirks an eyebrow.
"Ignore him. Figured we'd give him a taste of his own medicine before we leave."
Stan snorts, crossing his arms. "You know we can't keep them."
His resolve was weak and they both knew it.
"They're safer with us than on the road or some Brigade's trailer."
"We're criminals." He retorts.
"And they aren't?"
He stays silent.
"Stan, c'mon." A gloved hand cups his shoulder. "Who's gonna look out for them if we don't? We're the only ones out here who get it- who can accept them. You know what those orphanages are like, they eat people like us alive."
He looks away. "You're right." A car speeds past. "I just- if we found Sonya's stalker sooner this wouldn't have happened. I feel like we've already fucked up."
"Maybe. But don't we owe it to them to try?"
He sighs. "Yeah. Yeah, we do."
"Wanna light this baby up?"
He grins. "Now you're talking!"
A cop siren starts up.
"Uh, guys?"
"Shit!"
___
"So kid, I was thinking-"
"Yeah?" They shout over the wind.
"Since you passed Mitch's robbing quiz and all, and you've got the practical experience, we were thinking you could ride with us while you figured out what you wanna do, if you want?"
They sputter for a few moments, mouth moving with no words coming out. "You're- you're sure?"
"Hundred percent!" Mitch yells.
"Yes! I mean- sure, that sounds good."
"Great!" He reaches down and grabs them by the collar before plopping them on the front of the bike, marveling at how light they were. That would have to be fixed . "Grab the handles and lean to the right!"
"What?!"
Not waiting he turns around to take the shotgun from Mitch, leans to the left, aims at the taxi's hood and fires. The car explodes in a resounding boom , fire illuminating their swiftly retreating backs.
Ears ringing, he cheers with his brother. "STAN AND MITCHHH!"
The bike jerks, a yelp accompanying it. "What was that?!"
He sets the gun in the sidecar, taking back control of the motorcycle. "Nothing you have to worry about anymore!"
Charlie turns around, clenching the knee of his jumpsuit in a white knuckled grip. "You killed him?"
"Would you have preferred we didn't?"
"No!" They squeak. "I just- no one has ever… done something like that for me before."
"Tch, that creep had it coming."
The siren dissipates; he slows down, willing the bike to reach the next town over before needing fuel. "Oh, and kid?"
They hum in response.
"You deserve to feel wanted. I'm sorry that hasn't been the case."
"...thanks."
He drops them in the sidecar, having long reached his quota of sappy shit for the day. "Don't mention it. Try to get some rest if you can. There's trail mix in the bag behind you if you're hungry, lord knows you could stand to grow a couple inches."
"Hey!" They whine, but look for it anyway.
"Softie." Mitch mumbles in his ear.
Stan rolls his eyes, elbowing his brother.