Chapter Text
In the darkness of the cave, Wile E. Coyote slouched over his blueprints, hastily scribbling out his failed plan of the day: a large net attached to a pulley, attached to a boulder that he would push off of a cliff when the Road Runner stopped for the birdseed in the net. But of course, like always, one thing led to another, and the coyote laid flat under the boulder at the bottom of the canyon. He had looked up tiredly, meeting the bird’s bright eyes, his smile never wavering, becoming more of a motivation than a mocking over the years.
77 years of pushing himself to his limit, just to never reach that goalpost that kept pushing even farther.
The coyote rarely thought about his situation, the hopelessness of it all. He never ran the calculations, never thought about how if in all this time he hasn't come close, the probability of tomorrow being different was close to zero. But sometimes, days like these brought him close to that spiral.
He stared up at the array of blueprints, all scribbled out with little pointers to why they didn’t work. Small things at first, “The angle was a millimeter off– and threw off the balance of the contraption!”, or, “The ACME product malfunctioned… Again!”
But over the years, the small notes had fallen into the same hopeless chant, “Too slow.”
But as previously stated, Wile E. Coyote rarely let himself dwell on that. His Road Runner would always be just one step ahead, just a little faster, too conveniently–just out of reach. That's just who the bird was. Effortlessly teasing the coyote, day after day, until the end of time. It would be a lie to say the coyote did not admire that quality, that perseverance, that wild speed and wit that could rival his own. Apart from the feast that the road runner would be, he wondered what else drew him to the bird. But there were never any words to describe their rivalry, their relationship, their friendship, their.. Whatever it was.
Just like every other day, the coyote filled his aching stomach with the pathetic meal of a few beetles, or a lizard if he was lucky, and laid his head down. With all the time he spent dedicating his wit to capturing the Road Runner, he rarely had time to think of the future, where he’d be hungry again, alone, in the cold, gameless desert. He simply operated under the belief that at the end of the day, he would have his prized meal, never wondering what came after.
He closed his tired eyes, dreaming of another plan to catch the Road Runner.
Somewhere else in the desert, across that small ravine lay etched a recess in the canyon, easily protected by shade and a convenient tree covering the opening. Inside the small space, the Road runner had lived for years, resting atop the bundle of sticks and feathers that made his nest. Today had been a good day for him, like all other days, really. He got to run and feel that wind in his feathers, the sound of the air breaking around him, that burning sun warming his core. And without fail, his friend would always lay some bizarre trap to capture the unstoppable bird, always playing a little game, never leaving any room for a monotonous life. But he had to admit, the coyote often picked intense traps, and there had been a sizable amount of times that the road runner had worried for the coyote at the bottom of the ravine, crushed by a boulder, singed by a fire, or just smoky and disheveled by his latest game. But his coyote was always resilient, he admired that, along with his passion and spontaneity. Surely, tomorrow awaited another chase he so looked forward to.
The night passed peacefully, with the coyote only waking a few times to the cramping of his hollow stomach, but in the morning, he still stood ready to face the day. Surely enough, the Road Runner had filled his dreams, his smile framed by the coyote’s sharp claws, his vibrant feathers blooming around them both. Sure, it wasn’t his most original idea, but surely a cage could stop that quick bird! Four walls– no- six walls would be no match for the Road Runner.
The coyote quickly got to work, welding together thick metal bars, fashioning up six pallets of them, and assembling them into an open cube, saving one for the lid which he hinged on top. The coyote marvelled at his work for a moment, and then tried to push the cage out of his cave, which… worked as well as it could. Wile’s scrawny legs pushed into the sand as he put all of his strength into moving this impossibly heavy contraption, perhaps he should’ve waited until he was in position to assemble the cage… never the matter, he still had one trick up his sleeve, his genius mind. He quickly attached wheels to the cage, rolling it out onto the road, securing it with a rock wedged in one of the wheels, and the lid with a stick. Truly, foolproof.
He pulled out his ACME birdseed, sprinkling a generous pile inside of the cage, and then assuming his position behind a small shrub, waiting for the Road Runner.
Surely enough, the bird sped through his usual path, before slowing a bit at the small glint of metal in the distance. Upon a squint, he saw the coyote huddled up, waiting for him. He chirped up a bit at this, excited for whatever surprise Wile had today. He played up his aloof demeanor when he reached the cage, quickly eating the nice meal his friend had laid for him, and acting surprised when the coyote jumped out, kicking the stick holding up the lid. A few seconds passed, and nothing happened.
The Road Runner tilted its head with a smile, before speeding back out, a little amused by today’s game. The coyote covered his head in frustration, inspecting the lid frantically, checking the hinges, the seemingly perfect construction, before the lid snapped shut on his hands. He howled in pain as he tried pulling his hands out, all the jostling knocking the rock out of the wheel. Anywhere else, this would've been fine, but the coyote could only watch and be pulled along as the cage sped down the desert hills, before slinging off a sharp turn, plummeting into the shady canyons.
The Road Runner heard the thud from a few meters away, since he never really “escaped” Wile’s traps until the coyote had given up or had gotten caught up in them. The bird’s smile faltered at the sound, speeding down the hill and along the cliffside to stand over the coyote’s body, imprinted into the sand, with the cage landing a few feet away from him. The coyote looked up at the bird, an upset quirk in his brow at his failed plan, but it softened at the Road Runner’s worried smile, and for a moment, that hopelessness seemed to creep in again. Surely, the Road Runner never mocked him, but did the bird pity him? Was that worse? The coyote just continued to stare at the bird, letting his body relax against the sand. His stomach grumbled, his bones ached, and.. He was tired. Not from sleep, not from his efforts to build and set up his plan, not even tired of failing, but it was a different exhaustion, one that laid deep in his heart. His obsession had taken his life, and he wouldn’t have it any other way– but sometimes he looked at the Road Runner and wondered if he was tired too. Did the bird sleep with the hollowness of never getting the only thing he wanted?
Well, by now, the Road Runner was deeply concerned as to why the coyote hadn't gotten up yet, wondering if his resilient friend had truly been hurt this time. In a way, he had. The bird’s eyes widened at the coyote’s watery eyes, it certainly wasn't the first time he had seen him cry, but it was the first time seeing this kind of silent, calm defeat in his coyote.
The Road Runner finally sat down, unsure of what else he could do for him.
Years of constant pursuit boiled down to the pair laying in the sand, listening to each other's breaths calm and slow.
Finally, Wile did sit up, meeting the Road Runner’s eyes again, and the bird did the same. It was quite strange, but in moments like these, moments that came so rarely that the Road Runner could count them on his talons and have claws left over, there was a mutual understanding that there was no race, no need to play their little game.
The coyote leaned forward, his head resting on the bird’s supposed lap, settling it there before curling his body inwards into his warmth. The Road Runner closed his eyes, craning his head over the coyote’s back, feeling the tenseness leave his shoulders.
Tomorrow, there would surely be another plan, another chase, another game for them to play, but it would have to wait, just a little bit longer as the pair allowed themselves to exist outside of their roles.
Just for a bit, since neither can stand still for long.