Chapter Text
When he began his journey, when he was packing his bags, when he was buying the tickets for the Greyhound buses, Nico knew that as soon as he got out of Washington, DC, he would be unstoppable. If he could get past his father wondering why a thousand dollars had gone missing from his bank account, if he could give away all his things that he wouldn’t need on the road to pawn shop, if he could learn how to use a map, then there’s nothing in the way between him and Los Angeles, California. His father could track him in DC– hell, he may even be able to track him throughout Virginia– but once he crossed the border into North Carolina, what would Hades do? If Hades didn’t care about Nico when he was in DC, then he won’t care about him when he is in LA.
Besides, a missing son isn’t good for the press. If Hades wanted to keep his image as mayor of DC, then he’d need to keep this business under wraps. Or at least pretend that Nico never existed. Either way, Nico doesn’t care. He’s passed beyond North Carolina, which means that he is out of Hades’ grip, out of Catholic school, out of tight expectations.
Which means Nico is free.
Sure, it’s going to take him another day and a half to get to LA, but once he’s there, nothing else will matter. LA is the land where hopes and dreams come true. Nico wants to see the Hollywood sign. He doesn’t know what else to do there other than his main mission, but he’ll figure it out. Or, rather, Bianca will figure it out.
Bianca has been living in LA for a few months now, so she’ll have some things to show him. Maybe they’ll see a national park, or maybe she’ll drag him to a women’s protest or something of the sort. Either way, Nico will be with his sister again.
That’s the thought that keeps him alive on the Greyhound. With Kate Bush’s entire discography playing on his headphones, Nico has spent the first day on the bus zoning out. Whether it be staring out the window or writing in his journal, he has successfully tuned out the world.
Until the bus approached the San Antonio, Texas stop. If Nico was free once he got into North Carolina, he was back in a cave at this part of the journey. All because of the two old ladies sitting in front of him. He couldn’t see them, but didn’t need to. They are loud enough to make Kate Bush’s mesmerizing vocals sound like she is underwater. Eventually, Nico admits defeat, turning off the music but keeping his Walkman headphones on. That should give everyone the hint that he doesn’t want to be bothered right now.
As the bus rolls down the highway, the two old ladies could not take the hint. Their conversation turns from an exciting discussion on Reaganomics to a brawl over the Immigration Reform and Control Act. Seeing two old ladies– one an obvious die-hard Democrat and an equally inflamed Reagan lover– fight would otherwise provide some great entertainment value. But things are different on a Greyhound. The laws of the state do not apply here because everyone is moving so quickly between borders, so the Greyhound has its own set of laws. However, those two old ladies were about to break a good law or two right now.
Now the bus was slowing down. Now Nico was taking off his headphones. Now the old ladies are standing, inches between them. Nico rolls his eyes. The sun is setting at an angle that is burning his thigh, but he has stopped minding. He has too many things to worry about. Such as the kid next to him tapping his shoulder.
To be honest, Nico hasn’t yet paid attention to who sat next to him on the bus this entire journey. He never had to: with his previously mentioned headphones and journal, he’s all set. But this time is different, because Greyhound law is being broken, all thanks to President Reagan.
Nico looks to his left to make burning eye contact with whoever is tapping him. This is what he found: denim on denim, blonde hair that looked like whoever was cutting it couldn’t decide between a clean shave and a mohawk, and bloodshot blue eyes. Nico feels mixed emotions simmer inside of him. First, why so much denim? Second, is this guy’s barber blind? But, third, Nico decides against voicing those two thoughts, for this poor guy had obviously been crying so discretely that Nico hadn’t noticed.
“Hi,” says the blonde. At such a short statement after such ferocious tapping, Nico felt like saying those two thoughts out loud now. Before he could, the blonde continues, “Are we getting off the bus?”
Nico sighs. He would not roll his eyes. Even if he wanted to. “Did the driver say we are?”
“I don’t know, those ladies are causing quite a ruckus.” Quite a ruckus, Nico thinks over to himself. “I can’t hear what the driver is saying.”
Nico looks up to where the driver is now– pulling apart the two old ladies– instead of at the blonde who says phrases like quite a ruckus. “It doesn’t look like it,” he settles on saying.
“Good. Thank you!” the blonde says, a bit too cheery for someone with tear-stained cheeks. Nico nods and, with that, turns to watch the driver again, thinking that the conversation was over. Maybe, if he had put his headphones back on faster, then he wouldn’t have been brought into that boy’s mess. But he didn’t, so the blonde gives himself a name: “I’m Will, by the way. What’s your name?”
The blonde– no, Will– says his name as if he rehearsed it in the mirror a million times before getting on this bus: in his bedroom mirror, in the gas station bathroom mirror, in his reflection in a glass of water, even. Should Nico give his name in equal precision? After a moment of thought, looking at Will’s smile, he decides that he’s just going to put on his headphones again. Bianca always said he is bad at socializing.
But Will doesn’t rest. He taps Nico’s shoulder again. Good thing (for him) that Nico doesn’t have any music playing yet. “I’m Will Solace, I’m sixteen, and I’m from rural Texas.”
Without looking at him, Nico takes off his headphones. “What’s your social security number, while we’re at it?” Did nobody teach this kid about stranger danger? Okay, in retrospect, maybe “kid” isn’t the best term– this person is the same age as Nico. Still, this Will Solace guy seems completely at peace with dumping this information on him. And where is his family, anyway? It is unlikely that someone as sunny as Will was traveling alone at the end of November.
Will blinks at Nico’s question. “What?”
At that moment, Nico remembers that he is expected to respond with the same information he was given: a full name, an age, and an origin. “Listen, um, Will– are you traveling with anyone?” he asks, and Will only shakes his head. Will is spared from replying because the two old ladies have been given new seats that separate them across the entire bus, and now the Greyhound is moving again. Nico throws on his headphones again, presses play before Will could open his mouth, and soon enough Kate Bush’s wonderful voice is replacing Will’s Texan drawl.
Will doesn’t fight back, surprisingly enough. Instead, he allows Nico to tune him out and resumes to whatever he was doing before. What that is, Nico doesn’t care to know. All he cares about right now is getting to the next gas station stop. He’s sure most people on this bus feel the same way, but Nico, as in most things, feels differently. While most people will use the break to buy a snack or two and stretch their legs, Nico is headed straight for the payphone.
Nico has a tiny journal in his back pocket. On the first page, he wrote Bianca’s landline number. Before she moved to college in LA, she promised Nico that he could call her anytime from this number. Nico, being the annoying younger brother he is, abused this privilege all the time: though only three months had passed since her leaving, he had already called about math homework, problems with Hades, existential questions on the need for Jesus’ death, and stories of him trying new foods. All in all, Nico’s life hasn’t been too eventful since Bianca left, but that didn’t stop him from giving her all the details. In return, Bianca told him about college boys, sorority girls, anthropology professors, and exhausted students.
Nico is going to tell Bianca all about his journey once he gets to the gas station payphone. He’ll tell her about how he made it past North Carolina, about the two old ladies fighting over Reagan, about Will Solace the Texan. And this time, she’ll pick up the phone. It won’t be like the last few times where the phone rang and rang and rang without an answer. It won’t even be like that one time her dorm mate answered instead of herself. This time, Bianca is going to answer the phone.
The Greyhound arrives at the gas station an hour after the old lady fight. Everyone clears out of the bus while the driver shouts that they have twenty minutes to conduct their business– until seven thirty. Nico notices the chill of the November evening air as he takes those first steps into the real world. The payphone– the marvelous, beautiful payphone– is standing in a secluded patch of grass. He makes a beeline for it.
He doesn’t need to check his journal for Bianca’s number– it’s ingrained into his memory. Pounding in the numbers, he says a quick prayer to whoever is listening above. “Please let her answer the phone,” he mutters. He wraps his aviator jacket closer around him as it rings once, then twice. The usual routine is that he waits for seven rings, but while on the road, he shortened it to five due to the lines that form behind him. He turns around to check and, yep, there’s already two people there. And the fifth ring just passed, which means it’s time to put down the phone.
Hands in pockets, head down, feet stomping, Nico makes his way to the gas station convenience center. The money he stole from Hades needs to be saved, but his need to not starve to death is just as important. Gas station food may not solve that problem, but it can’t hurt (if he doesn’t buy the tiny containers of sushi and get food poisoning, that is). Dejected, Nico makes his way inside.
This is where he finds Will Solace. He’s pacing around, not looking at anything for more than a glance, cracking his knuckles. In a moment of pity, Nico wants to scoop him up, put him in a jar and examine him. The only thing stopping him is Will’s inherent ability to be the most annoying person in the room. Nico has only known him for a few minutes, but the introduction alone is enough to make him want to distance himself as much as possible. Maybe when he gets back on the bus he can sit somewhere else.
Nico grabs a turkey sandwich wrapped in plastic from the counter. Bianca always said that processed meat like this would give him cancer, and that thought alone drives a spike of pain through his chest. Where could she be? She didn’t come home for Thanksgiving break. She stopped answering his calls. She stopped talking to Hades. When Nico finds her, he’s going to demand answers, but only after the longest hug of both their lives. LA isn’t that far away from San Antonio. He’ll make it.
He grabs a Diet Coke from the wall of refrigerators in the back. Will Solace is a few fridges down, staring at the Arizona bottles. Nico doesn’t pay too much attention. After all, what good could that bring?
Will stopped being scared out of his mind a while ago. Or maybe he still is, but he has become accustomed to the feeling. Either way, his hands stopped shaking every second, his mind stopped replaying his family’s last words to him, his eyes stopped tearing up at the sight of mothers with their children. Now it’s time to get to LA.
The journey to the San Antonio Greyhound station was a tough one. Stealing his mother’s car wasn’t the hard part, nor was ravaging his bedroom for every dollar he earned babysitting and at the convenience store. Instead, what really tears his heart apart is the silence that followed his departure. During the ride to the Greyhound in the stolen car (is it really stolen if it’s your mother’s?), he couldn’t listen to the radio despite his attempts. A country song would play, because he’s in rural Texas, and suddenly the tears would well up and he’d have to pull over. Maybe it was Dolly Parton, maybe it was The Forester Sisters. No matter what, he’d stop the car, crack his knuckles, wonder where he went wrong.
Will could blame it on the school. Will could blame it on his family. Will could blame it on his father. But, for the last one, he doesn’t really want to. That’s why he’s headed to LA: because he doesn’t blame his father for anything. There’s nothing to blame Lester Apollo Papadopoulos for. Will could blame his running away on many things, but mostly he blames himself. But he can’t dwell on that. That only brings back shaky hands, replaying minds, and teary eyes.
Will chooses to dwell on the Arizona bottles at the gas station instead. There’s so many options! The convenience store he worked at only had about five different flavors. Now there’s Georgia Peach Green Tea. If there was a Texas grapefruit, Will would grab that immediately. But, despite being in the big San Antonio area, there’s no Arizona flavor with the Texas state fruit. Georgia will have to do. It is a southern state after all, and Will is nothing if not a southerner.
The boy with the aviator jacket just grabbed a Diet Coke from one of the refrigerators down the line. Will wants to talk to him. This boy looks around Will’s age. He’s the first person Will has encountered on his journey that isn’t of the retiring age. The journey, however, hasn’t been too long, though. And he slept through the first half of the Greyhound trip until he was awakened by the ladies’ argument. (Will never had strong feelings about President Reagan until now, and those feelings aren’t the most polite.) Despite the rational side of his brain that knew his only goal should be getting to Los Angeles, Will wants to talk to the boy in the aviator jacket anyway. What is there to do?
Pick something to eat– that’s what he should do. The only thing he’s eaten since he left home twenty over four hours ago has been gas station food. Now he finds himself at another gas station with not too much money and a lot of hunger.
He could just buy a sandwich. That’s the logical thing to do. Will digs in his pockets. He has enough money, sure, but does he have enough to get to LA now? He splurged on the Greyhound ticket before. Now is the time to be frugal.
But should he steal!? The answer is yes if he wants to not starve to death while getting to LA safely. The answer is no if he wants to be right with the God the ladies at vacation bible school taught him of when he was younger. Then again, God wouldn’t want him to starve, and God wants him to meet his father, right?
Will looks for the boy in the aviator jacket again. He’s paying up front. He also has a turkey sandwich. This means that the cashier is busy. In a moment of divine intervention, Will remembers what his friend Cecil had told him, before the running away: if you want to get away with anything in the world, you have to do it with confidence.
Will has never been a confident person. But look at him: he’s running away from home! It’s time for him to learn some confidence. And who is a better teacher than experience? So he sucks in a breath. So he swallows his morals. So he squeezes the wrapped sandwich in his hand.
“Hey, where do you think you’re going?”
It’s the cashier. The sandwich in Will’s hand almost slips out from his sweaty palms. They lock eyes, and now the cashier is making his way out from behind the cash register desk. He doesn’t have much muscle: maybe Will could take him in a fight? No, no, no, he couldn’t. Will doesn’t have much muscle either.
The boy with the aviator jacket turns around now. He scans Will up and down, examining everything from the turkey sandwich in his palm to the cowlick in his hair that he can’t get down quite right. Under this boy’s eyes, Will’s embarrassment increases tenfold. Now the turkey sandwich actually slips out of his hand. The cashier swipes it up and holds it in front of Will’s face. Will has half a mind to grab it and run, but he knows that would only magnify the situation.
“You thought you could get away with this?” the cashier says with the most disgusting smirk Will has ever seen. He shakes the sandwich, as if he was taunting a baby he just stole candy from. “I should call the cops on you for this.”
Will might cry. No, actually, he’s not going to cry. He’s going to bite his lip and stare at the ground and let his face burn up. “Can I just…” Will fumbles, “pay for it?”
The cashier’s laugh resembles a cackle, but the gas station makes it less dramatic. A crowd is forming now, including the two ladies who fought over President Reagan. How humiliating. “No way, Jose,” says the cashier.
“Calm down,” says a voice. Will momentarily thinks it’s his own, but then remembers that he has the confidence of a snail. Flickering his eyes over, he sees the boy in the aviator jacket. My hero! Will thinks. My hero who definitely finds me annoying! “Let me pay for it,” the boy says, already digging through his pockets.
Will takes his chance to closely examine his savior. The aviator jacket makes up most of his person due to it being two times his size. He has dark hair that curls into wings on his head, and eyes to match. His boots look like they could crush a skull. His black jeans, which also look too big for him, are ripped to shreds (which must suck in November) and are rolled up at the bottom at least four times. This kid is definitely someone who knows how to steal. And now he’s covering for Will!
The cashier’s head flips between the boy and Will. He scowls at Will, before turning to the other boy with an open palm. The boy slaps down the exact amount for the sandwich, waves to Will, and walks out. Will, in a rush of gratitude, almost forgets to grab his sandwich from the cashier. Once he does, he returns to the crisp November air.
The boy is already boarding the bus, but thankfully no one is behind him. Will rushes to him, almost tripping over the cracks of the parking lot pavement multiple times, and makes it just in time to be right behind him.
“Hey!” Will says, tapping the boy on the shoulder. “Thank you, thank you so much, literally, I owe you my life! ”
The boy doesn’t say anything until they make it to their seats. Ironically, it’s the same seat from before the gas station stop. “You are the stupidest person I’ve ever met, Solace,” the boy says once seated. He’s not putting his headphones back on, which has to be a good sign.
Normally, Will would be insulted at being called stupid. But now, on the run, his priorities have changed. “You never told me your name,” Will says in response.
The boy doesn’t roll his eyes like Will expected him to. Instead, he says, “Nico.”
“That’s it? That’s your whole name?”
“Yes, Will Solace, that’s all you need to know.” Then the boy– whose name is Nico– sighs and says, “What were you thinking?”
Will doesn’t realize how hard he was dreading the question until it was asked. “Um,” he says eloquently.
“Actually, I don’t want to know,” Nico says, saving Will yet again. “You need to learn how to steal.”
Will’s first response is to say why would I need to learn that? But then he realizes just why he would need to learn that. He’s on the run, and Nico won’t be there the whole time to hold his hand. “Can you teach me?” he asks.
Now Nico rolls his eyes, but then his face softens. “Okay. First thing you’ve got to know is when it’s right to steal. I’m not talking about, like, morals right now. I’m talking about whether it’s the right time for you to get away with it. Just now, in the gas station– that wasn’t the right time because there were too few people. The best time is when it’s super crowded. Yeah, it’s hard to get in a gas station. But if you are going to steal in a gas station, you’ve got to be sneakier about it. Don’t walk right past the cashier with your stolen item- instead, walk out with a group. That way you’re harder to pin down. Also, Will, you’ve got to hide what you’re stealing. I know you’ve got some pockets in that hideous jacket of yours.”
“Hey– what’s wrong with my jacket!?” Will looks down at himself now, the same jacket that he’s had forever.
“It’s hideous,” Nico repeats, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Will wants to make a comment on Nico’s appearance, but then realizes that Nico is actually cool. Will rarely encountered cool people like that back in his rural Texan area. It strikes him right then that Nico isn’t from Texas.
“Where are you from, Nico?”
“The ninth circle of hell.”
“Come on, Nico! Indulge me.” Just then, as the Greyhound kicks off on the highway, Will is afraid Nico will pop on his headphones again and ignore him.
But Nico is full of surprises. He says, “DC,” and suddenly the skies clear.
“That makes sense. I knew you weren’t from Texas.”
“What gave it away?”
You’re cool! Will wants to say, but despite what Nico thinks, he’s not that stupid. “What’s DC like?” he says instead.
Nico pauses to consider it. “It’s cool, I like it.” That was the most vulnerable Will has gotten Nico yet. “What’s Texas like?”
“It’s nice. My family owns a farm. I love Texas, it’s my home. It’s not a big city, though. Real rural area, just outside Austin.” Will laughs.
“Interesting. What’s your social security number while we’re at it?”
“Ha, ha, same joke twice. You’re a comedian, Nico.”
Nico shrugs. “I try.”
Will has a momentary glimpse into a possible future, where he and Nico are on the road together. Sure, it’s too hopeful, but he has to find out if it’s possible: “Where are you headed, Nico?”
“Los Angeles.”
Will has to physically stop himself from squealing. “California! Me too! Well, I’m going to Hollywood, but that’s in LA, right? This is amazing, what are the odds?”
“Can you two quiet down?” the man across the aisle says. Will, embarrassed, mouths an apology and turns to Nico, who is biting back a laugh.
Maybe running away from home isn’t that bad.