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Road trips were made to kill.
Mathew's sure of it. What other reason is there to force a family of lit dynamite into a car for eight hours, if not to create an explosion? He can almost hear the ticking of a time bomb counting down in his ear. Dad and Papa aren't talking. Not that they usually are, but the silence feels heavier this way. Alfred, on the other hand, is talking too much, some pointless drivel about a movie he once watched, or maybe a dream.
"And that's when the shark transforms into this wierd, were-shark thing! But the issue is-"
No one's listening to Alfred, Mathew least of all, but he still nods his head and makes the appropriate exclamations when Alfred pauses. Dad is beginning to look pissed in the rearview mirror, like Alfred's endless chattering is ruining the road trip. In Mathew's opinion, Alfred's mindless chatter is the only thing saving it.
But it's only a matter of time until the bomb explodes, and Mathew can still hear the phantom ticking in his ear.
"Why don't we just listen to music for a bit?" Dad suddenly cuts Alfred off, something sharp in his tone that's he's only barely trying to mask, and Alfred suddenly breaks off into a glum silence as the radio turns on. It's not even music, some stupid ad between songs playing, but Alfred doesn't try to continue his story. Maybe he doesn't even know where to continue from - Mathew suspects Alfred himself wasn't listening either.
Papa reaches over to switch the channel, and Dad twitches, and for a second, Mathew thinks this is it. The bomb is going to explode. But Dad just tightens his grip on the steering wheel, lips a thin line, and Mathew leans his head against the window, pretending he's going to sleep. As if anyone could sleep in this situation. Besides him, he hears Alfred shift, the rustling of going through a bag, and then the tell-tale sound of a switch powering up.
Tick, tick, tick.
"Alfred! Again? You don't need to be on that device all of the time! Why don't you look out the window, and actually enjoy the trip for once!"
Dad snaps, and Mathew winces, but keeps his eyes closed, like he's sleeping. Even though they all know he couldn't be, it's impossible to fall asleep in five seconds.
"I haven't even played it at all yet!" Alfred retorts, but there's a whine in his voice, an unspoken plea for Dad to please just let it go. Dad never lets things go.
"Are you talking back to me?" Dad's frustration is flaring, and Mathew internally prays for Alfred not to fight back, just do what Dad says, don't let the bomb go off-
The switch powers down beside him, but before he can even breathe a sigh of relief, Papa choses this moment to blow them all up.
"Just let him play his game, Arthur. We've been driving for hours, it won't hurt anything."
If Papa is oil, Dad is water. If Dad is fire, Papa is water. If Dad says something, then Papa is wrong. The car combusts.
"Excuse me?" A tone like a cat about to spit and hiss. "If I said he's played enough, he has! It's a beautiful day, and I don't want him rotting his brain out on that thing! He's already failing school because you indulge him too much and let him game instead of study!"
Even without looking, Mathew can feel Alfred physically shrink at Dad's words. There's something heavy and thick in his chest, probably the words Mathew wants to spit but can't. Alfred's not even failing school, he just got a low mark in geography! And Mathew's not one to jump to his brother's defense, but seriously! Alfred wouldn't have gotten such a low mark if either of them had helped him when he asked! Dad and Papa were always the perfect parents, and "there for you" right up until you needed them. Of course.
In an explosion, no one is safe. Mathew's body reacts to Dad's words before he fully registers them, snapping up straight.
"And Mathew, sit up! You wouldn't be tired if you went to sleep on time like I told you to! Maybe you should have thought about it before you decided to stay up reading all night! Yes, that's right, I noticed! You're not as sneaky as you think! You should be glad I didn't ground you! If it weren't for this trip I would have! "
"Arthur!" Papa snaps back, and Dad bristles even more.
Mathew glances at Alfred from the corner of his eyes as Dad snarls back at Papa. He hadn't even been reading last night, he just couldn't sleep because of the building stress. And he isn't even tired! He just... Alfred isn't looking at him, eyes fixed vacantly on somewhere outside the window, but Mathew doubts his brother is taking in the view. Alfred is probably off in one of his daydreams, some world where problems could be fixed, and Alfred is the hero come to save the day.
Some world where a car trip didn't make him want to kill himself.
"Don't roll your eyes at me, young man!"
Dad catches his eyes sliding back to his lap in the rearview mirror, and Mathew is under fire again. Mathew is always under fire. And Alfred. And Papa. No one is ever good enough for Dad. And Papa is making it worse, as always. He never jumps to their defense, or at least, not for them. He just uses them to get back at Dad, and then Dad loses it on them in return.
"Maybe he wouldn't roll his eyes if you weren't being so unreasonable! Just let him nap, there's nothing else to do anyways!"
Case in point. Mathew wishes they would just divorce. Why even stay together if all they're going to do is hate eachother? Of course, that was probably his fault too. Everything bad that ever happened was either his or Alfred's fault. They wouldn't be late if Mathew had woken them up on time. They wouldn't be arguing if Alfred would just study like they asked. They wouldn't have to take this stupid trip if they didn't have kids they hated that they had to take on a stupid vacation that neither of them had even asked for.
According to his parents, they would be living a perfect, white-picket life with overflowing pockets and a mansion of it weren't for Alfred and Mathew. Dad would already be a high-end CEO and wouldn't have this stupid dead-end Data entry job, Papa would be a famous artist and not some broke professor if only Alfred and Mathew hadn't come along and got in the way of their dreams. Dad couldn't get that promotion because he would have had to relocate, but the move would be "too much" for little kids. Papa had to give up his dreams and pursue an ordinary life in order to feed the two inconvenient additions to the family.
Mathew wonders why they even had kids, if they hate them so much. It wasn't even like they were an accident, it wasn't like Papa just went "oopsie!" and accidentally signed up for a several-years-long adoption process, and then BAM! A stork dropped of some random kids on the doorstep to ruin their life. Because that's apparently all Alfred and Mathew do. Dad is just about reaching that point in his argument.
"We're going on this trip for YOU! Do you think I wanted to get up at six am so we could drive for hours so you can play at the beach and go sightseeing for a week?"
He says it like Alfred and Mathew had begged for this trip, not like they were just told one day that they had to cancel all their plans with friends because Dad and Papa had decided they were going on a vacation for their whole school break. Like Mathew and Alfred ever have a choice in anything. Mathew doesn't say this though, he just dips his head and mumbles a lifeless apology and thanks to his lap. Alfred does the same, but apparently his tone isn't dead enough yet, and Dad decides there's still some will to live he can berate out of Alfred.
"Watch your tone, Alfred! Your Father and I have given up so much of our time and resources so you could go on this trip, not so you could spend it being an ungrateful brat!"
"I know." Alfred's exploding now too, and Mathew's trapped in it, unable to escape, or even breathe.
This time it's Papa who snaps back. "What was that?"
"I said I know!" And Alfred's done holding it back, it was always just a matter of time, Alfred's ego vs Dad's need to fight. "Im the worst thing to ever happen to you, and I ruined your life! Dad and you would be happy if I wasn't here! Guess I'll just kill myself then!"
And Dad slams on the breaks, and some car behind them blares it's horn and the driver shouts obscenities out the window as he suddenly has to swerve to avoid a crash, and Papa starts yelling at Dad for "nearly getting them killed" , and Dad is yelling at Alfred, and the worst part is, Mathew knows Alfred's only half-sarcastic. It's the serious half that's the problem. But it's not like Mathew can fault Alfred for it, or even scold him. After all, Mathew's half-serious about it too. Who wouldn't be?
It's not like he wants to die, or anything, it's just... He knows things would be better if he wasn't there, if he suddenly went missing or got hit by a car and died one day. It's not like he thinks his parents wouldn't mourn, it's just that he knows they'd be relieved, at least a tiny bit, on the inside once it was over. Once the tears were gone, the funeral was over, once his stuff was all packed and donated away. He likes to imagine that they'd be guilt-ridden, but if there's one thing Papa and Dad share in common, it's the unshakeable belief they are never wrong.
Papa is never wrong. Dad is always right. Alfred is stupid and Mathew is a failure. The sun rises from the east and water is wet.
It's his mistake to let himself think, because when he does, he ends up with a thick lump in his throat and burning in eyes, and he doesn't dare sniffle or clear his throat, or Dad might remember that Alfred isn't the only one he hates. Dad is yelling something about how if Alfred wants to die so badly, he'll make it happen, and he jerks the wheel and the car serves dangerously, and Mathew yelps before he can stop himself. Alfred is stiff as a board and pressing himself into the back of the seat as well as he can. Papa is yelling over Dad, demanding he pull over.
There's never a cop when they need one.
Papa reaches over and tugs the wheel, and they swerve dangerously in the other direction, and Alfred is the one who gasps this time, which just pisses Dad off more.
"Why are you scared?" Dad always has to get the last word in, "This is what you wanted, right?"
Because of course. Part of Mathew is internally urging Dad to go through with it. Go on, crash the car. End it all. Fuck if I care. But it's overpowered by the real Mathew, and the absolute terror he feels. Forget death, they're going to end up mangled, and Dad's going to take out some innocent person whose only crime is existing in Dad's vicinity when he throws a tantrum.
Finally, Papa manages to get Dad to pull over, and the car's barely stationary before Dad is out of the car, and Papa has to reach over and turn the keys to shut it off before he gets out.
Of course, not without reminding them how everything is their fault.
"Now look what you did! Why did you have to talk back to your Dad? I hope you're happy!"
And then Papa's gone too, slamming the door behind him. And just barely in time, because the burning in Mathew's eyes is turning into an itch of salt tears running down his cheeks, and a familiar drip starting in his nose. It always ends like this. Not just roadtrips, their whole life is a bomb. The only difference is, the bomb resets after every explosion and they never get to recover and rebuild after they explode. They just keep burning.
Beside him, Alfred's switch powers back on, and Mathew sniffles as his nose begins to drip.
"Don't cry." Alfred admonishes, not taking his eyes off his game. "It's what they want."
Which is stupid, because Dad and Papa couldn't care less about them, unless it's for Dad to be irritated they dare have feelings, and besides, Mathew can't control it, unlike Alfred, he hasn't yet learned how to shut down his emotions on command. And Alfred looks down on him for it.
"I'm not crying." Mathew lies, wiping his face and trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. Alfred's right, sort of. He shouldn't cry. It will just set Dad off again when he comes back.
Alfred snorts, but doesn't say anything else. His game dings. Mathew watches the side of the road warily, eyes trained on where Dad has stopped pacing, waving his arms, and is finally listening enough to Papa to argue at his face. Mathew doesn't predict Dad calming down for another half hour, and at least fifteen for Papa to get Dad back in the car. Who knows how long before Dad actually drives -God forbid Papa drive instead, that would mean giving up control- and there's still three more hours to go. In a way, it's amazing. Five hours is almost a record for them. Five hours without anyone threatening to kill themselves or drive off the road. The kind of thing other families don't have a countdown for.
Then again, other families probably actually like eachother, to some extent.
Dad starts back towards the car, and Mathew stiffens.
"Al." He warns, and Alfred has the game saved, and the switch tucked away and hidden in the span of five seconds, and is looking as innocent as ever by the time Dad gets back in the car. Not that that's ever helped.
Dad speaks in a thick voice.
"We are still going to enjoy this vacation that we put so much time and effort into. You are not going to ruin it, no matter how much you want to. Because I still care about you and love you, even when you are horrid."
Dad's love is the sort of hypothetical thing that would be really nice if it actually existed, the kind that came with "I love you no matter what"s and "I'd die to protect you"s. The closest Mathew has ever seen him come is "I'll tolerate you for a bit longer"s and "I'll kill us all right now to prove you wrong"s. How beautiful.
Alfred fixes his eyes on some non-existent focal point somewhere between Dad's right shoulder and the passenger's headrest, the only sign he's even heard is the tightening of his jaw. Dad looks like he's going to burst a blood vessel, but Papa gets back in, and for once in his life, Dad decides not to go for Round Two. Mathew's smart enough not to think it will last.
Dad doesn't start the car, they don't drive. They just sit there, in a stuffy, thick silence, like Dad is waiting for something to happen. Probably for Alfred to apologize. But Mathew knows his brother, and that's about as likely as Dad admitting he was wrong. Minutes pass. Three. Five. Seven. Finally, Mathew makes the move no one else will.
"Sorry Dad, I shouldn't have acted like that. I didn't mean to ruin the trip."
Which is stupid, because what did Mathew even do? But it doesn't matter because it's what Dad wants to hear, and it doesn't matter who says it. He starts the car in silence, not acknowledging Mathew's words. Alfred shoots Mathew a dirty look. Mathew swallows heavily. He knows, okay? He knows that it was pathetic, and submissive, and it wasn't even his fault, his mistake to apologize for. But they're moving again, pulling out into traffic, and the sooner they move, the sooner it's over, and if they're lucky they might just arrive alive.
He has to survive it, Mathew reminds himself. They have to survive this.
He isn't sure who "they" is, or what "this" is. Him and Alfred? The family as a whole? Survive what? This car drive? Each other? Life? He isn't even sure what "surviving" even means, anymore. But it doesn't matter anyways. It's just something he tells himself to get him through each day. Through each dinner, each road trip, each vacation. Mathew has to survive it. They have to survive this.
It doesn't feel like they're succeeding.
Alfred is zoning out again, staring into a life that doesn't make exist. Papa silently opens the glove compartment and finds a bottle of Advil. Mathew can see him dump out three or four, and dry-swallow them. He's pretty sure the dosage is two, max. Dad has a death-grip on the steering wheel, like if he doesn't focus every inch of his being onto gripping it, he might just strangle all of them. And Mathew lowers his gaze to his lap and picks apart every moment where something had gone wrong in his life.
He's failing French, and it's only a matter of time until they find out, there's only so much scanning of report cards and digital editing to change the grade he can do. The bomb will blow up eventually and it won't just be Dad who's mad at him. Papa will take it as a personal offence that Mathew's failing at his native language, like Mathew is doing it on purpose to spite him. "You should have asked me for help!" Papa will say, like he'd actually help if Mathew asked. It wasn't like he could use the things he heard at home to pass tests. Somehow, Mathew didn't think having perfect pronunciation of "Just go die in a ditch" and "I hate you" would impress his teachers very much.
Mathew picks at his fingernails. Papa sniffs, and shifts in his seat, but no one breaks the stifling silence.
Beside him, Alfred discretely checks his phone, and Mathew's hand twitches toward his own phone in his pocket before he remembers. He won't have any texts. Lars is on vacation with his family in Holland, and Carlos is mad at him. He'd flipped his shit when Mathew had told him about the last minute vacation, and it isn't like Mathew doesn't understand why. It's always like this. Dad and Papa spring something on them last minute with no warning, and then they're expected to cancel all their plans to do what their fathers want instead. It isn't fair, but there's no use arguing, because they just end up grounded and not going to either event. In other words, it's not the first time he's had to last minute cancel on his friends.
But it might be the last time, Mathew thinks ruefully.
There's another thing he's failed at: friends. But his friends don't seem to get that "No" or "Sorry, I already have plans" isn't an option in Mathew's house. Nothing is an option in Mathew's house. Not what they eat, how they dress, or going on stupid road trips designed to make them kill each other... Or themselves.
Papa leans over and switches the radio back on. Dad reaches out and turns it back off.
The ticking is back again, phantom sounds in Mathew's ears. Tick, tick, tick. Papa frowns, and turns it back on, this time leaving his hand over the touch screen so Dad can't turn it off. Dad even looks explosive.
"Let's just drive in peace and quiet for a bit." He requests through gritted teeth.
Papa never makes anything that easy. "I would like some music, actually. It's nice." And of course, he drags them into it. "The boys think so too, right?"
And there's no good answer that doesn't leave them with a parent mad at them, but Dad is driving and has already tried to kill them once, so Mathew takes the safer side.
"I like the quiet."
Nothing has ever been less likeable than the quiet. Alfred wisely keeps his mouth shut. Papa shoots Mathew a dirty look, and turns off the radio. Mathew shrinks into himself. Alfred kicks the side of his shoe with his sneaker, but Mathew can't tell if it's supposed to be a comfort or reprimand. Dad doesn't drive them off the road or into incoming traffic though, so Mathew must have made the better choice.
And then, because the universe hates Mathew, he begins to feel a growing discomfort in his bladder. Crap. It's a familiar game to Mathew, the waiting game of his bladder VS his father, trying to out wait Dad's bad mood before Mathew makes it worse by asking for a bathroom break. Just Mathew ruining Dad's life again by having natural human needs. Mathew tries to go stiff as possible in his seat, so he doesn't jostle his bladder and remind his body that he needs to go. It works for about ten minutes, then Mathew can't help but shift, pressing his legs together to quell the urge. When he looks up, Alfred is watching him.
Alfred raises an eyebrow. Mathew shakes his head discretely in Dad's direction. Alfred sighs.
"Dad? Can we take a break? I like, really gotta go."
Alfred, who's already pissed off Dad, taking the fall again. Mathew feels a lump of guilt growing again in his throat, and then feels angry at himself for it. What kind of family is so fucked up that he feels guilty for needing to pee? Dad sighs, heavily, like Alfred is the biggest inconvenience in his life, and Papa starts on his speil, the same one they get everytime; "Why didn't you say that earlier? There was a gas station an hour ago we could have stopped at! I told you not to drink that pop earlier, the next exit isn't for fifteen minutes. Now we have to pull off and find a gas station."
Mathew didn't need to go a half hour ago, but there's no point arguing that, especially since Alfred already took the fall for that. Mathew wiggles a bit in his seat. He can wait fifteen minutes...probably. Alfred gives him another look, an offer to kick up more of a fuss if needed. Mathew shakes his head. He doesn't want to agitate Dad more than he already is. Papa isn't helping, now resorting to muttering things under his breath - probably about how inconvenient his kids are. The next fifteen minutes are excruciating, partially because of Mathew's full blader, and partially because Papa and Dad are back to a stony silence after Papa dared to contradict Dad.
There's a foreboding feeling in Mathew's gut. Either this bathroom stop will be the chance his family needs to air out and walk off their stress, or its going to be the next site of the explosion. Mathew desperately hopes its the first one. He has a feeling it will be the second.
Tick.
They pull into the gas station.
Tick.
Alfred unbuckles his seat and hops out before the car is even fully parked.
Tick.
Dad yells at him for it, but Alfred is already gone.
Tick.
Mathew waits for the car to fully park to bolt.
The tension in the air doesn't seem lighter, even after escaping the car. Mathew takes his time in the bathroom, dawdling, washing his hands slowly, checking his phone. Finally, when he can't delay anymore, he starts for the car. Then he hears the yelling.
Bang.
The bomb's gone off. He's too far away too hear what it's about, but Alfred is there too, just as loud as Dad, Papa looks like he's trying to hush them, probably saying they're "embarrassing him". Dad grabs Alfred by the arm and starts dragging him to the car. Mathew makes an executive decision and darts back into the bathroom. It's hard to breathe, but not from his short sprint. It feels like there's something heavy sitting on his chest. He takes a deep breath, holds it, tries to calm the blood rushing through his viens. He can't stay there long, Mathew knows it will just piss off Dad more if he takes too long. But he doesn't want to go back to the shouting.
He waits, counting in his head. One minute. One minute's break before he goes back. And then...Then the timer starts ticking again. He exhales heavily when he reaches sixty, and shakes himself a little before he leaves the bathroom. He can't hear yelling anymore, just quiet. Great. Back to the suffocating silence and heavy tension of the calm before a storm. Only an hour and a half left. He has to survive it. They have to survive this. He pushes out into the parking lot, and then stops.
Tick.
The car is gone.
Tick.
He scans the parking lot in a panic, nothing.
Tick.
They left him, they seriously just left him there! Dad and Papa, sure, they were probably arguing too much to even notice they had one less annoyance than usual, but Alfred too? Was it really that easy to forget his presence? Or was it on purpose? He took too long and-
Like an invisible time bomb going off, Mathew hears a ringing in his ears.
His phone is heavy in his pocket, he could just call, but-
He can't swallow around the lump in his throat anymore. He can't fight back the tears for one more minute, can't hold his breath any longer. Mathew sinks down onto a concrete parking block, not because his legs have lost energy, but because he doesn't know what else to do. It isn't the first time he's been forgotten. It probably won't be the last. But there's a difference between a Walmart parking lot and some gas station, miles and miles away from home.
There's a sound like something cracking, and he realizes it's him. He's weeping, silent tears that shake his heaving form, and each breath cracks like his lungs have forgotten how to work. Figures. Even with Dad and Papa gone he can't cry noisily, too used to holding it back. Too used to trying to avoid being the spark that sets off the bomb. But the bomb goes off anyways. It always go off anyways.
It would be easy to call Dad, or Papa, or even text Alfred, but what's the point? Mathew will just be the one who gets blamed anyways. They'll figure it out eventually, come back, and yell at Mathew; "Why didn't you call?", "Why did you take so long in the bathroom! I told it was just a quick break!", "I can't believe you made us waste all that time and gas!" And, for a brief moment, Mathew is struck with a hint of hysteria, laughter bubbling between his choking sobs.
He should leave. Just up and start walking. Wouldn't that be a sight; his fathers' faces when they come back for their abandoned son, only to discover they were the ones abandoned. Not that Mathew would see it. He can just go, it doesn't matter where. It isn't like he has a "where" anyways. He'll just walk, or hitchhike, he'll figure it out, and then he'll be on the news for missing kids, and Dad and Papa will never know where he is and they'll feel guilty, and then..
Then they'll take it out on Alfred. Mathew's hysteria suddenly sobers. It isn't like he and Alfred are best fiends, or always get along. They fight just as much as they don't. But Alfred is more than his brother. He's Mathew's only ally in the family, and Mathew is Alfred's. They cover for each other more than they push eachother under the bus, a passive agreement to hold the status quo, to not make life worse than it is. And without Mathew...
He doesn't want to look down on his brother, but Mathew knows Alfred's limits as well as his own.
They have to survive this. He has to survive it.
And Mathew knows he can't do it alone. And neither can Alfred.
Mathew starts at the sudden presence of a person over him, and he doesn't realize he's feeling hope until it dies. Its not his family, but a stranger, a trucker stopped for a break on his trip. Mathew shrinks back into himself.
"You okay, kid?"
Mathew wonders whether the genuine concern from a stranger hurts more or less than the lack of from his own family. He shrugs.
"M'fine."
"Where's your family?"
And curse his stupid weak heart that cries at every opportunity, because tears are running down his face again, and Mathew hurries to wipe them away.
"They're coming back." His voice sounds thick and hoarse, and even to his own ears Mathew doesn't sound believable.
"They left you?" The trucker's eyebrows raise, almost meeting his hairline.
Mathew sneakily wipes his nose on his sleeve, smearing snot down his sweater. Gross. "I was in the bathroom."
The trucker looks even more concerned than before. "Need to borrow a phone to call them?"
Mathew shakes his head, mutely. It's stupid, because he shouldn't be the one feeling ashamed in this situation, but he is, and he can't stop it.
"I have my cell."
He doesn't mention that he didn't bother to calm them. For a moment, he wishes the stranger would ask. Then Mathew could spill everything that happened and all his feelings he has to keep swallowing down back to someone who would actually listen. But the trucker doesn't ask. He looks around, uncomfortably, then says, "Well, then." and slaps his thigh, before awkwardly gambling back towards the station and his truck. Mathew wipes away yet another escaping tear.
He should call Dad now, before its too late. Or maybe Papa, cuz Dad is driving. Maybe then he can avoid the inevitable "Why would you wait so long and make us waste so much gas and time?" speech, and just get the "This is all your fault" speech instead. He swallows past the lump in his throat, and dials. The phone rings.
Mathew wonders what he'll do if no one picks up.
Ring.
Maybe he really will just leave. Go nowhere. At least it will be peaceful.
Ring.
Mathew was wrong. The sound of a bomb about to go off isn't ticking. It's ringing, and wondering if anyone is going to answer the phone. Whether it will pick up with click, or go to voicemail. It's wondering what he'll do if it does.
Ring.
Click.
"Mathew? Where hell are you?"
Papa's voice, and Mathew can't determine if Papa's angry or distraught. Mathew can't tell if he's relieved or upset.
"At the gas station."
"Where you left me," Mathew leaves unsaid. Don't stir the pot, don't rock the boat. Don't set off the bomb. Carefully, carefully.
"I, uh, was in the bathroom... Guess I missed the car."
"Its all my fault." Mathew tries to communicate. "You didn't do anything wrong, so please don't yell at me." Because it's never Papa's fault. It's never Dad's.
"Way back there?" Papa questions, like maybe Mathew is lying and just secretly slipped out of the moving car without someone noticing, and is just around the bend. Or maybe he's trying to insinuate that Mathew should have started walking to meet up with them.
Mathew doesn't even know what way they went.
He doesn't say anything, and he can hear Papa, slightly muffled, like he's pulled the phone away from his face, explain the situation to Dad. And he hears Dad curse, like Mathew did this on purpose to ruin the trip. Papa comes back on the phone, clear again.
"Sit tight, we're coming back."
"Okay."
It feels pathetic to let out a sigh of relief at that, because of course they'd come back to get him, even his fathers weren't that heartless. And Mathew knew that... right? There's something else bugging him too. He didn't hear Alfred in the background of the call. Alfred isn't the type to be quiet. Did his brother say nothing on purpose to get back at him for some slight Mathew doesn't know he committed? Or did Dad kick him out of the car after a fight, and leave his son behind on purpose this time?
It wouldn't be the first time that had happened.
Like the countdown to a bomb, Mathew's heart beats with each minute.
Tick.
He tries to keep his breath steady.
Tick.
He tries to swallow down the always-present lump in his throat.
Tick.
Tries not to think about how a stranger was more worried about him than his family.
Tick.
Tries not to wonder what's happened with Alfred.
Tick.
Tries not to puke as his stomach churns with stress.
Tick.
And Mathew prepares himself to get back in that car, that tiny space full of noxious fumes and burning fuses.
Tick.
The car pulls in the lot, screeching a bit as it turns the corner, and Mathew moves to meet it. It wouldn't do to make it any later. The door slams open before the car has even stopped, and Papa comes spilling out. Something sinks in Mathew's stomach. He's too late. He takes a steadying breath, and dips his head. He tries to make himself look submissive and apologetic.
Tick.
And Mathew tries to strike first, to apologize before he's yelled at.
"I'm sorr-"
Thump.
Papa's body hits Mathew with a small thud because of the speed. And before Mathew can even recoil, there's arms around him, holding him tight.
"Oh, Mathew, I'm sorry."
Words that don't make sense, because Papa doesnt apologize. Papa is never wrong.
"I'm so sorry."
And there, behind Papa's shoulder, Dad is getting out of the car too, slower than normal, with a strange knit expression on his face. His eyes almost seem red-rimmed. He looks...guilty. But that doesn't make sense either, because Dad doesn't feel guilty. Ever. Not even when he forgot Mathew's birthday last year. Guilt means that you did something wrong, and Dad is always right. Papa releases him when Dad approaches, and Dad reaches out a hand.
Mathew doesn't mean to flinch, it's just instinct. After all, even Dad wouldn't slap him in a public parking lot. But Dad freezes at Mathew's flinch, and Mathew stiffens, cursing himself. Great. Now he's made it Dad's fault again, and Dad doesn't like to be wrong. It doesn't matter if it's a public lot or not, anymore. He waits for it, Dad's customary; "I'll give you a reason to flinch!" and the slap. It's not even like it hurts that much. Dad's getting older anyways.
It doesn't come.
Mathew risks a glance at his father. Dad is looking at Mathew like he's never seen him before, a twisted expression on his face. Papa makes a choked sound. Mathew takes a step back, uneasily. There's something missing, someone who should be there who isn't. Mathew scans the car with concern. Is Alfred there? But why would he stay in the car? Unless.. No, Dad wouldn't really kick Alfred out and leave him, would he? Or had Dad left Alfred behind with Mathew, and Alfred had already left, thinking Mathew had abandoned him.
No, Mathew's being stupid. They wouldn't, Papa wouldn't let Dad even if he tried, and even Dad wouldn't abandon Alfred in the middle of nowhere...
...But they'd done it before. Not just once, or twice. So many stupid arguments that ended in Alfred kicked out of the car and told to find his own way home, even in blizzards and rainstorms. Mathew never said anything. He never could. But now-
"Al?"
His voice sounds small, and tight with concern. He needs to fix that, before Dad loses it again. He tries to turn it into a joke, trying for a loose grin and a joking tone.
"What, no hug from you?"
His voice sounds shaky, rather than joking, but Mathew hopes his father's will attribute it to his distress at being left behind. He avoids eye contact with either parent carefully. Papa sucks in a deep breath, like the opposite of a sigh, and calls out to the car.
"Alfred, you can come out."
And Mathew's knees almost give out with relief when his twin slinks out, a scowl deeper than the Grand Canyon etched on his face. Alfred crosses his arms and refuses to come closer, taking a solid stance. Mathew will worry about why Alfred's angry at him when he finishes being relieved his brother is there at all. He relaxes, a nervous laugh slipping out that Mathew quickly tries to mask as a hiccup. Then he addresses his fathers.
"Sorry for making us late... I shouldn't have took so long."
He waits for the bomb to blow.
Tick, tick, tick.
"That's not... Why are you apologizing?"
Dad's voice sounds thick. Mathew feels stiff. He doesn't know how to respond, this isn't the father he knows. He fishes for words.
"Um, because I dawdled? And then you had to waste time coming back for me?.. And gas."
Mathew would smack himself. Why is he setting himself up? Wasn't the situation bad enough as it was without giving Dad and Papa more reasons to berate him? Papa grabs him by the shoulder, and Mathew jumps, looking wildly up to see what's going on. Papa looks close to tears.
"Mathew, no... It's not... It's not your fault."
Mathew glances at Alfred, hoping for a clue about what's happening. Alfred avoids eye contact, studying the gas pump like its the most interesting thing he's ever seen. Instead, Mathew accidentally catches Dad's eyes. Dad is doing a strange blinking-squinting thing, like the sun is hurting his eyes. Except its overcast, so there is no sun.
"Mathew..." Dad says in a tone like he used to use when they were kids to comfort them after a nightmare. He takes a step forwards, cautiously, like he's afraid Mathew will flinch away again. Mathew doesn't make that mistake again. Dad reaches for his face.
"Did you think we abandoned you on purpose?"
It feels like a trap. Mathew glances at Alfred again for a hint, but Alfred is pretending to play on his switch, which would be more believable if it wasn't upside down. Well, at least Mathew knows whatever is going is Alfred's fault.
"Of course not," Mathew hears himself lie, distantly, "I just got forgotten... Cuz of the rush."
And Dad looks at him like Mathew just told him his favourite show was cancelled, or that tea was now illegal. Papa chokes back a dramatic sob.
Oh. Oh.
Mathew gets it now. It's just been a while since they did this routine. The whole dramatic crying, how-could-you-even-insinuate-that-I'm-a-bad person routine. Mathew hates this one, every answer always seems to be the wrong one. So, he does what he does best when this happens: he runs.
Mathew shakes off Dad and Papa's arms and speedwalks for the car, pointedly not looking around, or back.
"Guess we should probably get a move on now, or else we won't get there in time to watch the sunset, eh?"
He doesn't wait for a response, pulling open his door and sliding into his seat as quickly as he can. A moment later Alfred follows suit, giving Mathew an annoyed look, like Mathew had fumbled an easy pass on the football field. Mathew ignores it, shooting Alfred a shut-up! Look. When he glances over his shoulder, Dad and Papa are dawdling in the lot, but this tune, without raised voices. If Mathew hasn't completely lost it in the last few minutes and imagined this whole thing, they look like they're talking, something he'd thought they'd forgotten how to do. Dad and Papa don't talk, they either shout, or don't say anything at all.
Well, whatever is going on, Mathew takes the chance to interrogate his brother.
"What the hell did you do?"
Mathew isn't sure if he's horrified or impressed. Alfred is making the gruff face he makes when he gets embarrassed, so Mathew knows whatever he did was big. Alfred shrugs uncomfortably.
"I just yelled at them a bit."
Mathew gives his brother a hard stare. Alfred's main form of communication with their fathers was sarcastic comments under the breath, followed immediately by yelling, to the point Mathew would be concerned if Alfred didn't yell at least once in a day. Alfred suddenly finds the blank screen of his phone interesting.
"That didnt work much, so I tried talking." He shrugs again, like he can shift Mathew's interrogation off with the movement. "They listened."
Mathew shoots another glance at through the back window at his fathers. Papa is leaning against Dad, and are they hugging? Mathew didn't know their father's knew how to listen, and if he didn't see them hugging right in front of him, he would have accused Alfred of lying.
"What did you say?"
Mathew needs to know these miracle words.
Alfred gives him a shifty look.
"You know... Just the regular stuff... That road trips with out family should be banned under the Geneva Convention... That we left Mathew behind... That if they hate us so much they shouldn't have adopted us and that if they love us, they have a funny way of showing it."
Alfred is not a good liar. He never has been. And Mathew can't prove that Alfred is lying, but he knows there's more Alfred Isn't telling him. He doesn't get the chance to ask. Dad passes by his window and Mathew straightens back up into his best submissive pose, head down, hands folded neatly on his lap. It wouldn't do to set off the bomb that Alfred has somehow managed to delay.
Dad gets in the car with an oddly subdued air, and Papa sniffles as he gets in. It's an odd air that Mathew doesn't know how to react to. He waits for the car to start, for the heavy air to resume over the road trip from hell. It doesn't. Dad clears his throat, and speaks carefully, in a tone he hasn't used for ages.
"Boys, I... I wanted to.. We want to make some things clear."
He's gripping the steering wheel with the death grip again, and Mathew wilts more. Ah, they've avoided the explosion and incited the calm rage. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Well, it's Mathew's fault for expecting anything from them.
Dad continues in an firm, but awkward tone.
"Francis and I are not divorcing."
That gets Mathew's attention. He shoots a look at Alfred, trying to convey "Seriously, what the hell did you say?" His glare dies when he sees Alfred blinking back the tears in his eyes. Mathew is genuinely confused. What did Alfred say? Does he really think Papa and Dad are gonna divorce? There's no way, both of them are way too proud, and divorcing is like admitting they've failed, and neither of them will do that.
Alfred seems to disagree.
"Yeah? Sure seems like it."
Dad falters, looking to Papa for help. Papa twists in his seat to face them, looking sad, and guilty, and sincere.
"I love your father very much. We just... Have to sort out our differences. But its not your fault. It's never your fault. And we would never abandon you."
He's not just speaking to Mathew and Mathew realises it with a jolt. Alfred wipes roughly at his face, drying tears that haven't fallen yet, but doesn't respond. It sinks in then, something Mathew has never thought of before. Something that has become so commonplace in their lives he never thought to analyze it.
All those times Dad kicked Alfred out of the car, or out of the house, those times he'd shouted at Alfred, "If you don't want to be a part of this family, then leave! Get out!", how could it leave Alfred unaffected? If, even a bit, Alfred believed what Dad said, then-
Mathew remembers the dread he'd felt in the parking lot, thinking he was left behind. At least Mathew knew it wasn't on purpose. But Alfred had been left on purpose, multiple times. Alfred had been told they wanted him gone. And, if Alfred believed it....
For the first time in a long time, it feels like the bomb has stopped ticking. No more lit fuses, or timers slowly counting down as the tempers rise, just shrapnel, and the wounds left behind. Mathew's chest aches from a wound that can't be seen.
"Alfred? You understand me, right?" Papa's insistence isn't so strange now that Mathew understands. "Mathew?"
Mathew nods mutely, eyes on his lap. Alfred isn't so mute.
"Until the next time I piss you off."
Dad makes a sound like a sob, but that's unlikely. Dad doesn't cry. Crying is something you do when you lose, and Dad always wins. And then, even more impossibly;
"I'm sorry."
Dad apologizes. Mathew reels. He thinks he should be glad, or excited, or pleased in some way. Instead, he just feels dread. Every weakness comes with its cost, every calm comes with a storm, and Mathew is scared what the cost of this one brings. The bomb just starts ticking again. Every time. He wonders how long the countdown will last this time. A few hours? A few days?
Mathew doesn't even have the faith to accept an apology from Dad anymore. He knows without looking that Alfred is the same.
"Okay." Alfred's response is simple. It's simple, and it's wrong. Because it's not okay. Because it's an apology they can't believe. Because Dad's "sorry" won't make it through the next failed grade, the next broken curfew, the next fight. Because every road trip goes the same way. Ticking, an explosion, a stiff and unpleasant silence, an explosion, a ceasefire, an explosion, making up, and then the ticking starts all over again.
Because they only have a week before they have to make the trip back, and Mathew's already dreading it.
Papa makes a sound like he wants to say something, but doesn't know what. Dad shakes his head, denying Alfred's lie.
"Its not okay. I mean it. I'm sorry."
But it's not what they want to hear. It's not what they need to hear. Because what they need to hear is "I won't do it again." But Dad will, Papa will, and Alfred and Mathew will keep messing up. The car stays silent, and in the heavy air, Dad starts the car again.
Only and hour and a half to go. The phantom clock keeps ticking.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Alfred pulls out his game again, and starts it like nothing ever happened. Like there was no bomb, no apologies, no hurt feelings. Mathew leans his head against the window and Papa reaches for the Advil again. Dad's hands are tight on the steering wheel. Mathew closes his eyes.
Tick, tick, tick.
No one snaps at him to stay awake. No one yells at Alfred to put the game away. Papa turns on the radio. Dad doesn't turn it off. An ad plays for a car none of them care about.
Mathew thinks about forged report cards and failed geography tests.
Alfred starts up an idle chatter about the game he's playing.
Tick, tick, tick.
In a week, they'll repeat the trip.
Mathew has to survive it.
They have to survive this.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.