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“So, whose car is this, anyway?” Vert asked, perched precariously on the backseat’s middle hump–not very safe, but they were driving an automatic. This was a no-fun-allowed zone—so agreed the note ‘Don’t have too much fun’ crumpled in Kurt’s hand—and Wylde was sure driving like a reasonable person. That wasn’t like him. Under the circumstances, the blond was half-surprised that he hadn’t let his brother drive. Well, there was still a long way between California and New York. Suppose Kurt would get his time to shine eventually… in an automatic Ford Mustang. What a waste.
“Taro,” Wylde answered.
Kurt supplemented, “Yeah, Markie pitched a fit when they told us we’d be leaving in the back of a federal sedan. So, Taro somehow convinced the Silencerz to have someone go fetch one of his instead – to “prevent an incident” he said.”
It worked out pretty well for them. Having a car of their own made smuggling one Vert Wheeler out of the Silencerz’ base so much easier. Truly, a group effort. If only Taro had chosen a better car. Why’d he even own this thing? Kurt tried not to dwell on the implications that Mr. Kitano might have bought and loaned this car specifically to mess with them. He tossed the crumpled sticky-note onto the floor. Maniac. Although, it was equally true that neither he nor Mark’s cars were fit for passengers; the Accelerons had lovingly rebuilt them just the way they were before. One seat, one driver. Hopefully, the Silencerz wouldn’t completely ruin them for the sake of research.
“Hey, there ain’t no way I was gonna let them–”
“Tell you what to do?” Again, Vert helpfully supplied Wylde with the rest of his sentence. Out on the road, he felt a little bit better. Okay, a lot a bit better, enough to be cheeky. Wylde shot him what was allegedly an unamused look from the rearview mirror, albeit his recipient was unphased. Kurt stifled a snort.
“Yeah, well.. that, too. There ain’t enough money in the world to convince me into a fed’s car, and–no offense, Vert. I ain’t a little kid anymore. I don’t do backseat.” Not unless he was sleeping in it, but even so– Wylde preemptively slugged his sibling passenger, immediately gratified with a clipped hey! He could feel you thinking things, Kurt. Call it a brother’s sixth sense. So, don’t you start, and don’t act innocent, either. He knew you too well.
As an only child, Vert was equal parts delighted and confused.
“Y’know, you’re not that much older than me, Markie.” Was this the side Vert really wanted to take? Well, suppose Kurt was his teammate. Technically. Albeit, mostly Vert was just along for a good time – not to choose between brothers; so he leaned forward, bracing himself casually against the two front seats like a real heckler. Like someone who’d be in real big trouble if Wylde decided to suddenly brake, but as much as it was a little tempting… Vert needed to be in one piece and not squished into Taro’s dashboard. He was, however, the recipient of one gratuitous side-eye.
“It’s Mark, and older’s older. How’s it feel being the youngest driver, Josef ?” Wylde couldn’t say for sure–no matter what he asserted–but he swore he remembered Kurt mentioning that Nolo was older by about this much. He had to be, right? Nolo was the leader of the scrap squad; it’d be embarrassing if he was the babiest of the bunch, too. Honestly, the fact that his own brother was the old man among the Teku was something else, but that was a fun thought for another time. Priorities and all.
“Now that I think about it? Not too bad, actually. You should ask Kurt how it feels losing to someone who’d just gotten their license,” Vert deflected to a resounding Hah from his left. Alright, y’know what? Priorities changed. Giving Kurt a hard time was always the answer. Yet, to their collective right side, Kurt was less impressed, glowering fiercely. Kids. Worse yet: teenagers. Mark hardly looked the part anymore, but deep down the tattooed behemoth wasn’t too different from sweet, summer child Vert Wheeler. If he weren’t so irritated, then Kurt might have remembered that this was a good thing–Markie making friends his own age.
“Hey, we’re on a team now. It isn’t about winning or losing.” That hurt to say. He tried to rein in his pride–act maturely– but his level of believability was… somewhat lacking. Kurt Wylde was a sore loser. Always was, always would be. It was a gift from their father.
“Right, right.. I just couldn’t help noticing–” You didn’t want Karma to know. Petty, both of them. Yet, Vert wasn’t allowed to finish his sentence, the telltale buzz of a flip phone derailing his precious train of thought. Focus scattered to the wind, Vert mumbled a distracted apology as he fished the accursed device from his pants pocket. A belated gift from his father. Something so they could keep in touch more easily. He frowned. It was a device of Just checking in on you. Kurt’s expression remained mostly unchanged as he watched Vert’s painfully slow, defeated slide from the middle hump into the backseat proper. Great.
Wylde exchanged a guilty, knowing look with his brother. Trouble.
“Hey dad–” Vert answered, trying to drum up some semblance of enthusiasm. Much like Kurt, he wasn’t very convincing, flinching as the tinny speaker relayed his father’s sudden and rather impressive disapproval. Where are you, Vert. It wasn’t even a question! Hell, it wasn’t even at a normal speaking volume, overheard loudly and clearly by the two brothers up front. They knew. Vert didn’t. Simple as that, he struggled to answer. Where was he..? On the road? In general? Why was his father disappointed this time? Wylde said–
“He’s with us,” Kurt projected firmly, not particularly caring whether or not Major Wheeler caught any of it. He added quickly, “Sorry, I need to see your phone–”
Vert hadn’t time to object. Snatching and clapping the phone closed in one fluid motion, Kurt had half a mind to fling it out the window, but that wouldn’t solve anything. They had to talk. They had to talk before Major Jack Wheeler took it out on his only son. So, there was an ominous, looming silence as the car slowed, rumbling past the sleeper lines separating the shoulder from the rest of the highway. Wylde pulled over. Something was wrong here; Vert wasn’t stupid. Yet, it wasn’t until they’d stopped completely that his searching gaze was finally met with an answer.
Wylde muttered an expletive, dragging a hand down his face. He twisted around in the driver seat, trying to manage line-of-sight with the man sitting directly behind him.
“Sorry, uhh.. should’ve probably said something sooner,” Wylde offered sheepishly, distracted momentarily by his thoughts–by his brother flipping the phone back open to double check he’d turned it off (it was).
“We had permission to leave,” Kurt clarified, punctuated by the loud, plastic snap of the phone closing again. As a courtesy, he passed it off to the backseat–an offering of choice. This would all be for nothing if Vert was forced into their decision. Well, more than he already was by omission, but they hoped Vert could forgive them for that. Beyond allowing him plausible deniability… they were worried. “–but not you. I’m sure your father called, because he finally realised that you weren’t there anymore.”
“That explains a few things…” Vert settled on slowly, eventually. His father’s ire, the getaway car with tinted windows, Tork and Nolo’s brawl over something they’d settled already (a distraction!), the tension at the front gate – it all fit snugly into place. This was as much a kidnapping as it was a road trip. It was more surprising, touching in a strange way, realising how many drivers were in on it. Just not him, huh? Though, if Vert was being honest with himself, it was a lot easier to think out here. If they’d told him everything from the start, he might still be stuck in that room. Miserable.
“If you wanna head back, I’ll do it – just say the word,” Wylde said, gripping the steering wheel tightly in his prosthetic left hand. Oh, how he didn’t want to, but he would – no matter how much the idea of returning Vert to those Silencer creeps really pissed him off. “It was my idea, so I’ll–”
“We’ll,” Kurt corrected.
“–deal with your old man. He can’t do nothin’ to me that ain’t already been done worse. We just…”
“We care about you, Vert. That’s all. It ain’t fair keeping you and not any of us.” Tezla aside. Kadeem aside. Lani chose to stay. Everyone else, though? It just wasn’t right, and the only reason any of them could figure was because he was the Major’s son. It was personal. Wylde ran his mouth to make up for the awkward tension engulfing them. “...sure you’ve heard this enough times already, but I’ve been to prison. Bein’ stuck like that is soul-sucking. Didn’t want that to be you, a’ight?”
For only a few moments, Kurt’s expression turned pensive. He fixed it.
“Yeah… thanks, Mark. Kurt.” His decision was a heavy one, but this wouldn’t be the first nor the last time he defied his father’s expectations. So, they might as well make the best of it, and he knew just the thing. Knocking the seat in front of him, Vert wasn’t sorry about it, either. “Though, as long as we’re stopped.. Tag out, I’m driving.”