Chapter Text
Art Baker knows a lot of things. He knows of God, and the sky, and the moon. He knows he's been in the car too long. He knows the name of every manned space flight and can list them in order. He knows the names and positions of several hundred stars at any given time. He knows he doesn't do well with loud noises, or with reading emotions. He knows the world is a mostly good place, full of mostly good people.
He also knows if they don't get Hank off the aux in the next five minutes he's going to start screaming.
They've been taking turns, over the past five hours, on who's DJ'ing:
Art knows Pete's fond of the blues, but he's played nothing but older, sappy love songs, which he sang along to loudly, gesturing at Ray the whole time.
Ray himself had played folk and old country, while Collie had leaned more towards punk and rock. Stebbins has refused to play any music, so they had just listened to the radio for an hour.
Hank's music taste was an eclectic and wildly inconsistent range of very loud styles—rock, bubbly pop, heavy metal, a few musical theater songs—and it was starting to make Art's head hurt.
"Let's change the music." Collie says suddenly. Art jumps. Collie's sitting in the very back, squishing Barkovitch between him and Stebbins. He has on a cheap birthday hat that Barkovitch had stuck on him this morning. Harkness swings his camcorder away from the window to focus on Collie's face. He's been filming bits of the entire trip, as well as scribbling notes in his beat-up brown notebook.
"C'mon!" Hank complains, "It's only been like forty-five minutes! I should get my full fuckin' hour!"
"I think Art's gonna fuckin' explode," Barkovitch's voice rings. "Man, I'm gonna fuckin' explode!"
"It's my mystery birthday trip." Collie says, and Art thinks he does actually have a point.
"Ray, back me up!" Hank says.
"Hate to say it, Hank," Ray says. He's not taking his eyes off the road. "But Collie's got a point,"
"Your music taste's ass, Olson." Pete says. "I'm just bein' honest!"
Hank squawks, offended. "You people suck!"
He pouts—in the middle seat, squished between Art and Harkness—and disconnects his phone.
"We don't mean nothin' by our teasin'." Art tells him, just to make sure he's not actually upset. "Just a little loud, is all."
"Thank you Art ." Hank says loudly. "Since the rest of you fuckin' assholes hate my guts, who's up next? Art?"
"Sure," Art says. He fumbles around with the Bluetooth on his phone before it eventually connects to the car.
"Darlin' won't you wait, won't you wait, won't you wait? For I must go far away."
"Ugh." Hank says, but he's smiling.
"Why do you have the soul of a fuckin'—old man or somethin'?" Barkovitch says.
"Shut the fuck up Barkovitch! You listen to bluegrass." Hank says.
"Don't talk shit about bluegrass!" Ray says.
"Eyes on the road please!" Harkness says.
"My eyes never left the road!" Ray says.
And they haven't really, not through the hours they've been in this car. It's Ray's, anyway, a beat-up old minivan he got for cheap at a used car lot, and he's a pretty good driver.
"Just drive, Garraty." Stebbins says.
"Should another love come along, come along," Art sings along softly, "Simply say that you're not free—"
"Send him on his way, on his way, on his way," Pete joins. Their voices sound nice together. "Darlin' won't you wait for me?" Pete shimmies his shoulders towards Ray, who bats at him. Art hears the click of Barkovitch's camera over his shoulder.
Art's playlist is all oldies: early rock & roll, blues and jazz, all from at least fifty years previous. He was raised by his grandmother, grew up on 60's GOLD! and Easy Listening radio stations, what did they expect?
It calms the atmosphere of the car considerably—now much of the group chatters quietly, while Stebbins reads a book in the back of the car because he doesn't get carsick.
The Musketeers are on a cross-country road trip to the annual South Dakota state fair as a surprise for Collie's upcoming birthday.
They'd been watching a movie Art couldn't remember the name of and the rest of the group had been drinking. When the main characters went to a state fair, Collie had offhandedly mentioned his.
"Reminds me of the state fair back home," He'd said, gesturing ambiguously with his mostly-empty can. "We get everybody in the car and drive the two hours, get some fried food and ride some fuckin' rides. I love it. We go for my birthday every year, 'cause it's close enough to the fair." Collie had looked sad, then shot back the rest of his drink. "Can't go this year, which fuckin' sucks, but hey, what can you do?"
"Aw, is someone homesick?" Barkovitch teased.
"I'm going to kill you." Collie said seriously.
The plan had spiraled from there. The musketeers pooled together their money, mapped out the route, somehow contacted Collie's family. Art suspected Stebbins just knew all of their information at this point, but he supposed Collie could have easily told someone.
They were going to be driving for around seven days total, three and a half there and three and a half back. They'd meet up with Collie's mother and sisters, spend an entire afternoon and evening at the fair and then drive all the way back. They'd be missing a fair amount of classes between all eight of them, but it was over Labor Day weekend, so they'd only be missing four days. They'd all agreed it was a necessary sacrifice. Barkovitch had looked downright gleeful at the opportunity.
It had been hard to keep the destination of the trip from Collie, but it was wildly easy to convince him to drop four days of classes to spend fifty-two hours in a car with seven other boys, round trip.
They've been in the car for five and a half hours so far, and Art is realizing it was kind of a bad idea. It's been fun, don't get him wrong, and it's worth it for Collie, but he fears something will boil over in the next few hours.
"Is there a single city in this damn state?" Collie asks eventually. There it is.
"Oh, don't fuckin' say that," Hank complains through a mouthful of grape. "You'll get Ray all fuckin' fired up."
"Look at this fucking place!" Collie says, and when Art looks back he's gesturing out of the window. "I haven't seen a damn city in hours! There's not even any other cars on the road!"
He's right, but Art doesn't mind the countryside. Collie does, clearly, and Ray has been driving for too long.
"We're not even in Maine at this point, asshole," Ray says, twisting back to glare at Collie. The car slowly tilts into another lane. "We're in Massachusetts!"
"Ray—" Pete starts, batting at his shoulder.
"Hey, hey! Eyes on the road!" Hank yells.
"EYES ON THE ROAD!" Barkovich screeches.
Pete jumps at the noise and drops his thick atlas on the car's floor. Pete's a stickler for physical media, which extends to maps, apparently. He'd drawn the whole route out and eagerly shown everyone how to navigate with it.
"Ray!" Art shouts.
'Cause I don't know what's up there, beyond the sky—' Sam Cooke croons over the speaker.
Ray flips back around and puts his hands back on the wheel, straightening the car out and then whipping it into another lane so fast Art's neck jerks to the side. They'd almost missed an exit.
Hank curses loudly.
"We should stop," Pete says succinctly. "You shouldn't be drivin' any longer."
"I'm fine, Pete." Ray says.
"You just about fuckin' killed us!" Hank says, which is an exaggeration, but Ray has been driving for five hours.
"It might do you some good, Ray," Art says hesitantly, "To get a rest,"
Ray sighs, but exits off the highway and into a rest stop anyway.
"Fine," He says, cracking his knuckles. "Who's up?"
No one else is particularly willing or available to drive, but they land on Stebbins eventually, who slides into the driver's seat without any real complaints.
Because Ray and Pete are always together, the whole car shifts. Harkness goes into the passenger seat. Collie takes Harkness's window seat next to Ray and Pete in the middle row. Art and Hank squish Barkovitch between the two of them in the back.
"How come I've still gotta be in the middle?" Barkovitch complains.
"Man, we barely outta the parking lot," Art sighs.
"Olson's fuckin', like, four-foot-three," Barkovitch says. "I'm—"
"I'm a very respectful five-five, thank you!" Olson interrupts, staring straight ahead. Art knows he can get crazy carsick otherwise. "You're like a hundred pounds soakin' wet."
"Whatever, man." Barkovitch says petulantly. He crosses his arms and digs his pointy elbows into Hank's side, bouncing his leg like a metronome.
They spend the next hour or so in relative calm, listening to Art's music and then switching to Barkovitch's, bluegrass with an occasional pop song. Harkness tells them all about a terrible movie he watched.
"Can ya believe they're not together?" Hank mutters eventually, leaning over Barkovitch's lap to whisper at Art. Pete's got his headphones in and Ray looks like he's asleep. Still, Hank can't be too safe.
"What?" Art says, at the same time Barkovitch says "You're shittin' me."
"I'm dead-ass," Hank says, nodding.
"There's no fuckin' way." Barkovitch insists. "Look at them, what the fuck?"
"You assholes talkin' 'bout us?" Pete says, twisting back to look at the three of them with a truly frightening look on his face, only made scarier by the darkness of the sky outside. He only has one headphone in. Hank rears back like he'd never been there at all.
"No!" Art says, and that's technically true, he hadn't been talking about them. He'd said one word.
Pete hums. Ray stirs, and Pete spins around to make sure he isn't waking up. Ray tilts towards the window, and Pete's arm shoots out to tip his head towards his own shoulder.
"Lord above." Barkovitch says.
Ray snores softly, and Art watches Pete's face relax. Watches him run his fingers through Ray's hair.
Hm.
Art waits about thirty more minutes, until Pete's actually put his other headphone in and rested his head against Ray's, before he whispers to Barkovitch and Hank.
"Are we sure they like each other?" He whispers.
Barkovitch and Hank stare at him blankly.
"Buddy, you're fuckin' with me." Hank says.
Art shrugs. Barkovitch starts laughing loudly, before Hank claps a hand over his mouth.
"Shut the fuck up!"
"Everything alright back there?" Collie calls.
"Shut the fuck up!" Hank hisses,
Pete doesn't stir. Neither does Ray.
"They're asleep." Stebbins says monotonously, staring at them through the rear-view mirror. "It would take a tornado to wake Garraty up. McVries is a light sleeper, but he's got his headphones in."
As if to prove their point, Pete snores softly.
"Okay, you wanna tell me what the fuck all that was about?" Collie says, twisting around.
Hank sneaks an arm around the headrest to poke Ray. He doesn't so much as flinch.
"Did ya know Art didn't know Ray and Pete had the hots for each other?" Hank says.
Collie raises an eyebrow, "Really?"
Stebbins's eyebrows raise into his hairline.
"Do we need to be speculatin'?" Art asks, crossly. "I mean, I'm not too good at emotions an' all that, but ain't they just friends?"
"Did y'all know they ain't together?" Barkovitch asks, butting through the conversation. "I think Olson's pullin' my damn leg."
"Yes, we all—" Stebbins starts, already sounding truly exhausted by this debate.
"No, wait, hold on." Collie says, eyes slatted. "They're not together?"
"Nope." Hank says, popping the 'p', "I asked Pete what he was doin' for Ray for Valentine's, tryin' get ideas for Clem, ya know, Pete seems like such a God-awful romantic, and he got all joke-y and all 'We're not together! Blah blah blah!'"
"Take a breath, asshole." Barkovitch says, which Art thinks is a little funny, because Barkovitch is well known for his rants.
"That was in February," Collie says seriously, "They might have gotten together after that."
"They have not." Stebbins says flatly.
Collie shakes his head, "I don't believe it."
Stebbins looks like he has something to say, but he shakes his head instead and pulls off at an exit.
"Where we goin' Stebbins?" Pete asks suddenly, voice still sleep-thick. The whole car freezes.
"Did. Did you hear any of that?" Harkness asks.
"Hear what?" Pete says, sounding genuinely confused.
"Some awful song Barkovitch played." Collie says smoothly.
"Hey! You fuckin' take that back!" Barkovitch says, "Brittney Spears is a national treasure!"
They pull into the parking lot of a hotel, Stebbins executing a complicated turn to pull them into the parking spot backwards.
A weak cheer goes up as he shuts the car off. Ray snores softly.
"We can stand up!" Barkovitch cheers.
Hank is seemingly struck by an idea, and he leans forward to whisper it aggressively into Collie's ear, who whispers it to Harkness.
Harkness smiles wide, looking around eagerly. "Hey!" He says cheerfully. "Why don't the rest of you stay here for a little bit! I can go get the rooms and then we can—I don't know—try and…carry Ray in?"
Barkovitch groans and stomps his feet, but Hank smacks him in the arm and they all agree.
Harkness leaps out of the car, followed after a moment by Stebbins, who mutters about paying, then followed after that by Collie. Barkovitch, Art and Hank can't get out of the car without folding one of the seats down, so they stay.
"Any idea what that was all about?" Pete says.
Art shakes his head.
"Nah," Barkovitch says. "Four-eyes didn't tell us shit."
"Wha happened?" Ray says sleepily.
"We at a hotel, sleepin' beauty," he says, "How was your nap?"
"Great, actually." Ray says, much more awake. "You make a great pillow."
Barkovitch mimes snapping his own neck.
When the trio come back, Harkness is practically bouncing along. Stebbins looks deeply exhausted and Collie is grinning maliciously. He's still wearing the party hat and Art is mildly terrified.
"We got 'em!" Harkness says, waving the key-cards. There are three of them.
Art tries to imagine how they possibly came to the decision of fitting eight people in three rooms, before deciding to worry about it later.
He swings his backpack onto his shoulders, and they go in. It's not a very nice hotel, but it's still clean and shiny. Art has always liked hotels. They didn't go to them very often—he grew up dirt-poor, and his family had stayed in a hotel maybe twice in his life—but he liked them.
They go up to the third floor, down the endless hallways, until they reach three rooms. Only two of them are connected.
"Okay, so," Harkness says eagerly, passing the cards around. "This one is for Collie, Stebbins and me, and then this one is for Art, Hank and Barkovitch, and then this one is for Ray and Pete!"
"A whole room?" Pete says, raising one eyebrow and smirking. "Y'all gonna leave us here or somethin'?"
"No!" Art says.
"Thanks, I guess." Ray shrugs.
"Cheer up!" Hank says. "You'll love it."
Harkness and Hank all but shove the two of them into their room before running, giggling, into their respective rooms.
"Jesus Christ," Stebbins says.
"What was that all about?" Art asks, once he's gotten into their room.
"We're hittin' 'em with the ol' only-one-bed!" Hanks says happily.
"The what?" Art and Barkovitch say at the same time.
"The only-one-bed thing?" Hank says, like it's obvious. "Okay, so, this happens all the time in books, 'specially the kind of books Clem reads, y'know? You put the fuckin' pinin' losers in a room alone with only one bed and then bada-bing bada-boom they fall in love or somethin'."
"And this works?" Barkovitch asks. He throws his satchel down on his twin bed and gestures at the double Hank is laying on. "I mean, you and Jesus Boy are gonna be sharin' a bed tonight, are y'all gonna fall in love?"
"Well, that's different," Hank says confidently. "Me 'n Art ain't in love."
"Hank shouldn't use that mouth to kiss his mother," Art says. "I wouldn't touch him."
Hank squawks, offended, and throws a pillow at Art.
There's a banging on the door between the rooms then, and Art goes to let them in.
Harkness, Stebbins and Collie break into the room, grinning like madmen. Well, Harkness and Collie are grinning like madmen. Stebbins looks, at most, mildly amused.
"Harkness has been spying on them through the peephole in our room." Collie says, laughing, "He can't see anything, but it's keeping him occupied."
"Is it really alright to be—be quarantinin' 'em like this?" Art asks. He knows he'd feel real odd if his friends had put him in a room alone.
"Well there's nothin' sayin' they can't come in here." Hank says. "Plus, I think they'd rather stick their tongues down each other's throats by themselves."
"Well, we don't know if they gonna do that!" Art says firmly. He thinks it's important for someone to be on Pete and Ray's side. They've never said they like each other, so who knows, really?
"Well, Art's gone crazy." Barkovitch says. Then, he smiles, so Art knows he's joking.
Art shoves his shoulder and they laugh.
Eventually, they wrangle everyone together (including Pete and Ray, who seem largely unaffected by the "only-one-bed thing") and they get dinner at a small diner.
Art gets pancakes even though it's about nine at night, and they split an entire cherry pie between the eight of them. It's certainly not the best use of their money, but Stebbins pays quietly for it and doesn't make a fuss. Art sees him handing his card over to the server even as the rest of them try and figure out how to split the bill eight ways.
Art makes a point to thank him afterwards, and he just smiles strangely and says, "For what?"
Back at the hotel, they play several games of UNO on Pete and Ray's room floor before finally turning in for the night.
Art lies, half-awake, listening to Barkovitch mumble in his sleep and to Hank snoring softly and he thinks, just before drifting off—
Lord, thank you for these boys. Thank you for my friends.