Chapter Text
Another day, another funeral.
There's enough elderly people in this town for there to be one at least every few months. Multi has seen so many of these services in his nineteen years, they've grown into a kind of background noise to him. A static hum: the drone of his father's voice, the rustle of fabric as the mourners shift in their pews. Yellow wasps buzzing outside the stained windows. Soon, another coffin will be lowered into the soil, another grave, further up the hill this time, the scent of soil all overturned and fresh, blowing down over the cemetary. Multi will smell it for about a week on his walks, maybe less, and then it will be gone. Grass will weave its roots around the new marker, moss will creep up its stone face. Maybe sometimes, once a month, once a year, someone will come and put flowers on the new grave until it's not new anymore, till they move on, till they forget. Maybe no one will come at all, because there was no one who cared enough.
(Multi always pays attention to which graves have flowers.)
After the burial, there will be a reception. Multi hates those. He has never been much for the social part of church, not since he was maybe nine, back when praying didn't feel like a lie, when he could read the bible and think that the words meant something, instead of losing himself in the blank whites between the letters, wondering time and again if there was any part of the Holy Scripture that wasn't fiction.
It's alright, his mother used to tell him, everyone has a time in their life where God's light seems very far. You will find your way back, so long as you keep your heart open for His guidance.
Multi will keep his heart open. If Multi thought it would bring him back to God, he would open his heart with a scalpel, take it out and lay it on the altar as he bled to death. But that would do him no good, he still would die a sinner.
Sometimes he wishes it wasn't such a small town. Maybe in the city, he could lose himself, shake off the eyes on his back. Hell, maybe if he wasn't the pastor's son. All he needs is a little anonymity, maybe then he could find his way back without it being his duty to. That would be nice, wouldn't it, to find the Lord again in the small things?
God, it itches the back of his head sometimes, the desire to run, the desperate need to get out of here. He doesn't remember the last time he left this town. He's an adult now, has been for almost two years, there's nothing keeping him here really- he could just go, any time he wanted, pack his things and walk out the door and never look back. Sure his dad might be sad, but at the end of it all, he'd be better off without him.
The service is over; it's time for the burial. Multi leans against a tree and watches distantly as the coffin gets lowered into the earth. He should feel something- sadness, or at the very least compassion. Yet he cannot bring himself too. With each day, life feels more like an infinite monotony, a meaningless march till when his own coffin is laid into this soil. This town is sucking the life force out of him.
One woman is crying. She must be the dead man's daughter. Multi watches her, detached. He can't imagine caring enough about his dad enough to grieve them that much. Multi couldn't care less if another marker was raised with his father's name. The sooner, the better.
He looks out over the cemetery. It's a nice day, trees rustling in the wind and the sky a pearly blue. Maybe he can slip away. Dirt has begun to hit the coffin, mourners are dispersing, returning to the church. Multi takes a few steps back, and, when met with no objection, starts making his way down the hill. The shade is nice, at least. He hates summertime here, wishes the lake was still open for swimmers, but some fucker bought it, closed it all off to build a bunch of houses and now rents them out to tourists, people who stop in town for a day, a week, never longer than a month, leave almost as fast as they came with sweaty arms and skin burnt angry red. They leave, but never happier. They leave, and Multi envies them.
At the bottom of the hill, he stops to look across cemetery, gaze catching on the unexpected silhouette of a person, not one of the mourners, leaning against a tree with the sun behind him. Multi squints, makes out a backpack at his feet and a puff of smoke catching in the wind. He thought he was the only one who came here to smoke.
Curious, he strays from the path, starts off across the grass, faded and crackly from the heat. The closer he gets, the more confused he becomes, because this individual is not someone he knows, and he thought he knew everyone in this town.
To make things even stranger, the guy is pretty badly beat up, scratches all over his bare arms and a bruised face framed by badly chopped black hair. His tank top and jeans are scuffed and tattered, and he looks exhausted, inhaling the cigarette like it's his last breath. Multi figures he's a hitchhiker or something, needed somewhere cool to rest, which, yeah the cemetary does the job there, but he still better be careful. You never know, this could be a murderer or something. Granted, he doesn't look any older than Multi, but there's been younger serial killers, right?
The guy looks up sharply at Multi's approach, stubs out the cigarette against the thick fabric of his jeans, accounting for the black stains against the blue, and picks up his backpack in the rushed way you do when you aren't supposed to be somewhere. "I was just leaving."
"Chill," Multi says. "I'm not kicking you out, it's a public cemetery."
There's a wariness in the slope of the other's shoulders as he slowly lowers his bag. "Alright, well- what do you want, then?"
"Nothing, I was just curious." He shrugs. "The only strangers I ever see in this town are tourists and you- don't look like a tourist. No offense. They usually bring nicer bags."
The stranger laughs roughly, glancing down at his bag. "Yeah, it could be nicer, but we've come a long way." He looks up again. "I've seen you go into that church every morning for the past three days. You gonna tell me I should find God?"
"No. No, no, I don't do that these days."
"So why are you still here then?"
Multi hesitates, not too happy with the knowledge the stranger has been watching him. The smart thing to do would be to drop this conversation. Clearly this man has no love for the church, and that's a red flag in itself, but combine it with how sketchy he is and the fact he's observed Multi without his knowledge- yeah, the logical thing to do would be to speedwalk away. Now.
His curiosity gets the best of him, per usual.
"You said you've come a long way, where from? And why stop here, specifically?"
"Where I'm from ain't your business, and this was the first town off the side of the highway for miles and miles. I was short on food and just about out of water. It was necessary, you all ain't special."
"We certainly aren't," Multi agrees, thinking of repetitive dusty roads and beige houses. The stranger chuckles.
"Someone isn't too happy with this place. Why don't you just leave? Miles of road and it ain't like there's chains on your ankles." He says it like it's more than a metaphor, like it's something he's experienced. Nothing he's said so far has lowered the likelihood of him being a wanted man. "You think the word of God is a miracle, wait till you see the view from the top of a mountain."
There's something so compelling about him. Multi feels more drawn to the stranger's words than that of his own father's on Sunday morning. He says, "Listen, I have to get back to the reception. Are you going to be here, afterward?"
"Who knows. I'll be in town a few more days, probably, and then I'm on my way. I can't bring myself to stay in one place when there's so much out there."
"Fair enough," Multi says. "Hey, maybe we'll run into each other. You seem uh- interesting?"
"I'll take that as a compliment, church boy."
"That's not my name. It's Multi."
"What the hell kind of a name is Multi?"
It's technically Michał, but he stopped going by that back in sixth grade. The only people who call him it now is his dad and the old ladies who come to church. He huffs, "Well- what's your name, then?" To which the stranger laughs.
"Just call me Q."
It thunders later, one of those desert storms that rushes up quickly and will be gone by tomorrow, moving on faster than any of the people here ever will. Multi sits out on the upstairs deck and watches the rain go by, exhaling cigarette smoke into the heavy charged air. He's always liked thunder, found something in it that meant something to him where it vibrated in his ribs and teeth. It felt almost like God was speaking to him then. Multi thinks, distantly, that he would be far more likely to find the Lord in the beating heart of a storm, than in the words of a preacher.
Idly, he wonders if Q found somewhere to wait out the rain.
He hopes the guy stays out of trouble. It's a pretty rough town, and people don't take that kindly to strangers who come here in that state, you'd think they'd be welcoming since they were a town of God but no, they're more likely to drive him out with a gun. Multi gets the feeling it wouldn't phase Q much even if that happened. Hell, he's probably been through a lot worse.
Why is he thinking so much about someone he met for all of ten minutes? Multi shakes himself, stubs out the cigarette against the railing. Tiny embers flash briefly, then vanish, melted to nothing by the rain.
He goes back inside, and the house smells like fried chicken. Fast food again. Multi's sick of it, just another reminder that neither he nor Richard can cook. That they're alone now. Even almost eight months later, the composed front his father puts up at church is just that: a front. At home, everything is falling apart, and it has been falling apart, ever since the last funeral Multi actually cried at.
Give your father grace, people had told him in the first few months, when they saw him out alone almost all the time. Losing someone is hard. And Multi would bite his lips so he wouldn't scream at them, because he'd lost her too.
He pulls up a chair and opens the takeout box sitting on the table. "Did you get fries?"
Richard hardly looks up from his papers. "Not this time. The bills are too tight for that."
Bills would be less tight if they just sucked it up and figured out how to take care of themselves in the aftermath of her death. Multi has it half figured out. At the very least, he can make sure he doesn't starve on the days his father forgets that food is a basic neccessity.
He bites into a piece of fried chicken and barely tastes it.
Maybe he's the asshole for wishing it had been his dad who died. Multi's never been close with him, always preferring to hangout with his mom. Not that Richard doesn't deserve the cold shoulder. He's never been a good father, far too distant in general, and when he wasn't, that meant trouble, vicious fights and Multi's arm getting twisted behind his back. Multi's dad isn't a monster, but he isn't a good person. That much is certain.
"Are we going to that house party next week?" he asks. Richard looks over blankly. "The one Mrs. Jay was talking about at church earlier."
"Oh. No, no I don't think I have the time for that. You can go if you want, though."
"Come on," Multi says, a halfhearted attempt at making things better for them both. "It'll be good for you to get out for a few hours."
"Do not lecture me on what is and isn't good for me," Richard warns.
"I wasn't-" Multi cuts himself off with a deep breath. He can stay calm. He is great at keeping his cool. "I was just saying. You can't spend all your time inside like this stressing over shit, it's bad for your heart, remember?"
"Michał, cut it out. I don't want to go to the party."
"Why not," he says. "What's wrong with Mrs. Jay? Is it that she was friends with Mom?"
"What- no, why would you say that?" Richard looks up finally with narrow eyes. "I know I may not have always been the most… supportive of how much time your mother spent doling out charity to this community-"
"Aren't pastors supposed to love charity?" Multi inturrupts. "Or are you finally straying from your sacred values?"
Richard stands up, shoving back his chair with a vicious scrape, and Multi feels his heartbeat pick up. This is going to be an argument, a nasty one. Worst they've had yet. He can feel it. "How dare you suggest such a thing? Just because you have wandered from the path of God does not mean you need to accuse me of it. I support charity, but not at the expense of our home and family, which your mother did not seem to care about."
"Don't fucking accuse her of that. She was the most selfless person I've ever met. That doesn't mean she didn't love us." Multi forces his fists to unclench. If he's going to win this argument, he can't rise to whatever bait his father throws at him. "You know, I'm starting to think you would accuse Jesus of not thinking about finances."
It's a pretty good one, if he does say so himself, but his father looks at him in horror. "Do not compare your mother to Our Lord and Savior to win a fight."
"Oh come on, like you haven't weaponized Our Lord and Savior," Multi scoffs. "Just say you don't care about charity, just say you don't care about what the Bible says. Just say you never fucking loved Mom."
Oh, he shouldn't have said that. He's fucked up. He's really fucked up.
Richard goes still. Multi waits for him to slam his fist to the table, blow up, start screaming, and honestly maybe it's a bit deserved after what Multi just said. Except he doesn't. He turns his head away for a long moment. His knuckles whiten a little, the only perceptible sign of anger.
"Never," he says quietly, "fucking say that again."
"I'm-"
"Don't," Richard snaps. "Don't even speak. You cannot just tell me that I didn't love your mother. I may have made mistakes as a husband, as a father- but I have always cared."
Multi's stubborn streak flares up. He tries to swallow the words back, but they slip out anyway, rough and low, "Sure have a funny way of showing it."
"Don't push me, Michał."
"Why not? You gonna hit me? Kick me out?" Multi should shut up. He should have shut up five minutes ago. Something sick and dark in him has unraveled. Maybe the devil's finally gotten him. "Go ahead. Fucking do it."
Richard clenches one fist. For a second, Multi thinks he's actually going to hit him, but he doesn't raise his arm. "Don't speak to me about your mother," he says softly, surpressed rage compressed in every syllable. "It's your fault she's dead. If you hadn't been such a crybaby and put some effort into getting your license, she wouldn't have had to pick you up- it's your fucking fault."
Multi steps back like he really did get hit.
"Wait-" There's sudden life in Richard's dead eyes. "I didn't mean that. Michał, I'm sorry-"
"Fuck you," Multi gasps out, breathless and shaky. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I didn't mean it. I was angry. It wasn't your fault-"
"You did!" He spits the words like stones from his throat. "You- you fucking meant it, you've probably been thinking it this entire time. I bet you'd rather I have died. I bet you'd rather we both had- rather be alone than stuck with me, with- with the person who according to you fucking killed your wife-"
"Calm down."
"Don't tell me to calm down. Fuck you." Multi curls in on himself, finds himself shaking. Thunder crashes outside the house. "I hate you. I- I wish you were dead instead of Mom. At least she wouldn't blame me for it."
He doesn't wait to see Richard's reaction, spinning on his heel as the urge to get out shoots through his chest like a bullet. Who gives a shit if it's pouring, Multi isn't scared of a little rain, been out in worse weather after all-
One moment he's yanking on his dark green raincoat, the next he's out the door and into a world made wild by the storm. Rain lashes against his face and he lets it, lets the wind rip his hood off his head and soak his hair, drip down his back like ice cold fingers tracing patterns on his skin. Lightning flashes sharp, a sudden flare all across the sky, turning it all to daylight for a moment, and he feels exposed, like the sky is a camera lens looking down at his misery.
Multi screams, and it's drowned out by the echoing thunder roll. The only evidence he'd made any sound at all is the scraped rawness of his throat. He starts running. Where he's going, he doesn't know, he just needs to get away, away from that house and the thickness of the air inside. Right then, he has no intention of going back.
(And why would he, his father clearly blames him for what happened the same way Multi blames himself, there's no point in going home, hell he may as well rot in a fucking ditch.)
Another flash. Somewhere in the dark, he can make out flashing blue lights and his heart rate spikes. He shakes off the shallow-buried memory it stirs, squints through the rain with a little clarity finding its way into his foggy mind, because this doesn't make much sense. Cops? In this storm? Did someone get fucking murdered? Or- a car crash, again, and he shakes off the morbid idea with a shudder.
His curiosity gets the best of him again. Cautiously, he starts making his way towards the flashing lights, sticking to the shadows of the trees that line the median strip because of it is a murder- and let's be honest, there's not much that would get Beachwood cops out in this weather- he does not want to end up a suspect. He's about seven feet from the first parked cop car when the door opens, and Multi bites his lip sharp, ducks behind a bush because it's apparently physically impossible for him to be smart about something and just fucking leave. The officers who get out don't seem to notice him at least, which is not a shock since it's dark and pouring.
One of them clicks on a flashlight and yells loud enough for Multi to hear, "Fan out! He has to be around here somewhere. Remember, none of us get to bum our asses out of this horseshit weather, so fucking find him."
There's no audible response, but more cops emerge from the various cars and spread out. Multi presses back against the tree, now less concerned about what's going on and more concerned about how high the likelyhood is of him getting found instead of the actual suspect. Whatever this is, whoever they're looking for, it's clearly a big fucking deal, and Multi looks pretty sketchy with his hood and no good explanation for why he's out in the middle of the storm. Not that he can do anything now besides stay pressed against the tree and hope they don't check over here, because running across the big stretch of open road at this point would definitely get him noticed. He's trying to come up with what he'll say if the police do find him when something clicks behind him, and there's a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't scream," says a quiet voice, and Multi feels metal dig into his back.
He knows its a gun without looking or moving. Instinctively, he freezes in place because this is objectively so much worse than being found by the police.
"You're who they're looking for."
"Obviously." There's something familiar to that voice, but he can't place it, not right now, with the thunder loud overhead and panic in his gut. "Now, listen to me. I'm going to search you. Hands above your head, I don't want any fucking trouble."
"Understood," Multi whispers shaky, raising his hands. "Don't kill me- please."
No response. The stranger rummages through his pockets without shifting the gun, and fishes out his phone with a low, disgusted scoff. Multi shakes his head.
"Wait- please don't break it. I don't have money for a new one."
"And I'll die if those bastards catch me. Which means I can't risk you calling anyone."
He drops the phone, and there's a harsh crunch, presumably him stepping on it. Multi falls quiet, too afraid to protest further. The death penalty? What the fuck has this guy done?
"Alright," his captor says. "Here's how this is going to work. I'm going to lower the gun and we're going to go away from here, together. But if you try to run, if you try to do anything except fucking walk, you're getting shot. It won't be the worst thing I've done, so don't try to appeal to my morals."
"Got it," Multi says. Jesus Christ, how did he get into this situation? Is he going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere on outskirts of town? Maybe Richard will finally be happy then, skitters the intrusive thought along the edge of his mind, and he shakes it off with bile rising in his throat.
The muzzle stops digging into his back and he turns slowly to face the harsh silhouette in the darkness beside him. Shorter than him, he realizes. Lightning flashes again, and the stranger's face is cast in sharp relief- only for a second, but it's long enough.
"You," Multi gasps and hears a faint sound that might have been an inhale, it's hard to tell over the storm and his own heavy breathing. "You- I met you earlier."
"No shit, sherlock," Q says. "Now fucking move."
Multi gapes for another second before the sound of the gun cocking makes him stumble forward. For a moment, he wonders if the devil is fucking with him, because what are the odds they'd run into each other again like this. God, he knew there was something up with the guy, but he wasn't expecting- whatever this shit is.
It hits him then, there's a very real possibility he's not making it home tonight. He might never see church again, his room, his dad. His throat aches. Multi has lost most of his will to live, but that doesn't mean he wants to die.
"Where are you taking me?" he asks, trying to hide his own terror, to which Q laughs sardonically.
"You say that like I have an actual place. We're just getting as far from here as possible." Maybe he notices Multi's trembling hands, because his voice softens almost imperceptibly. "Look, if you do as I say, I'll let you go once we're away enough… and they've given up on following me. By the time you tell anyone you saw me, I'll be long gone."
"I won't tell anyone," Multi swears, words tripping over each other. "I won't- just let me go, I didn't do anything- what did I do?"
"It's all about being in the wrong place at the wrong time," Q says. "It isn't your fault, but we all gotta do what we gotta do to survive."
Thunder rolls again, drowning out whatever Multi might have said in reply before it even leaves his lips. He's not sure if it would have been another plea, or an agreement. He glances back through the rain just as a flashlight beam sweeps across the asphalt, across the trees, to them.
Q inhales sharp. The next moment his hand is around Multi's arm in an iron grip and then they're running, Multi's shitty sneakers slithering on the soaked road. The police saw them- that's good, isn't it? They'll catch up, they'll get him out of this horrible situation. Unless they think he's an accomplice. But no, that wouldn't happen, he's a good kid, everyone in town would vouch for him, wouldn't they?
Unless they're all like Richard and they think he's the reason his mom is dead.
"Let me go," he says. Begs, more like. "They saw us- I can't do anything to you that hasn't already happened, just let me go."
"Fat fucking chance. If they do catch me, I'm gonna need a hostage." Q digs his nails into Multi's arm. "Pick up the pace."
This is hands down the worst situation he's been in. At least the car crash was quick, spun out of control too fucking fast for him to do anything but scream and cover his head, this is excruciating, every moment too real and sharp against his soaked skin. He could die. He's going to fucking die.
Multi takes his free hand and wraps it around the cross he still wears, mumbling a prayer he hopes is muffled by the storm. If there's any time to start putting his trust in God, it's now. Yeah, he's sinned, yeah he's strayed from the Holy Light, but maybe- maybe there's still time to repent. There has to be. He doesn't want to go to hell.
Q scoffs. "Are you fucking praying right now?"
"You would too," Multi shoots back. He should probably be a little nicer to the person who may shortly take him hostage and/or murder him, but he's kind of past the point of being nice. "There's not exactly much else I can do to help myself out here."
"God won't help you. You can be as faithful as you want, and he won't help you." Q jerks Multi to the left, down a narrow alleyway between two houses. "We're jumping this fence. Don't fucking think about trying to run."
"I was not planning on it," Multi snaps back, following Q to the chainlink fence at the end of the alley. Behind it is a shallow ditch used for flood control in the case of rare storms like this one. As a kid, he used to catch frogs there after the rain, or throw pebbles into it when it was dry, which was most of the time. With a shudder, he wonders if his body will end up rotting there now. That would be an ironic fucking end.
Once they're over the fence, Q leads him up the hill, past houses all dark and dead, towards the highway at the edge of the town. Multi feels like they're the only two souls in the world, him and the guy who well might kill him tonight. It's a lonely feeling.
They stop finally, at the bridge that takes the highway over the ditch. There is no one out this time of night, not a single car or bus. No one to call for help. Q pushes Multi roughly down onto the dirty concrete under the bridge and looks out into the darkness, still like a snake poised to strike. He stands like that for what seems like forever, silhouetted now and then when lightning splits the sky.
Finally he turns away, saying, "Good. They aren't following." Another flash lights up his face as he glances down at Multi. "Still, there's no getting out of here in this storm, so you're staying with me until I can run."
Fucking great.
"Why are you doing this?" Multi asks, forcing down the desperation that scrapes his throat. "What- what did you even do?"
"Nothing. Not that it's your business." Fabric rustles, and a moment later a lighter clicks, fire briefly illuminating their grungy surroundings as Q lights a cigarette. "At least, nothing to deserve this level of a fucking manhunt. You smoke?"
"You kidnapped me at gunpoint and you're offering me a fucking smoke?"
Q shrugs. "It's more of a temporary detainment. And I know it doesn't seem like it, but I do feel bad. So, do you want the damn cigarette or not?"
"I… guess I do." Multi takes it and lets Q light it for him. "You didn't really answer my question, by the way."
Q laughs, a dry rasp like wind in the desert. "Maybe that's because you don't want to know, church boy. Shut up and smoke."
Multi shuts up. They sit there in silence for a little while, sharp smell of the cigarettes melding with the fresh waft of the rain. For a moment he can almost pretend that they're friends, known each other half their lives, and this is their spot they come to when the world's getting way too fucking much, a quiet place they come just to wait out the storm. For a moment he can almost forget his life is in danger. For a moment, he can almost believe things are okay.
"You should get sleep," Q says. "Don't worry, I won't kill you. I'd like to avoid any more uncessary death."
That should scare Multi, that should scare him a damn lot, but he's so tired. He mutters, "It's not safe to sleep here."
"There are worse places." Q turns away. "Don't worry. You're perfectly safe, unless we get found. You may as well get a little shut-eye."
He doesn't want to sleep. He doesn't want to wake up dead, wake up spiraling with glass in his mouth and eye. But he's so fucking tired, rumble of the thunder almost like a lullaby now, dragging his eyes down like his mother rolling gentle thumbs down his forehead when he was a kid. A little rest won't hurt. Just a little. He'll open his eyes again in a few minutes.
Sleep rises up around him and the storm disappears, and Q disappears. In the quiet, empty darkness, Multi can almost pretend he is safe.