Chapter Text
// and through it all
we'll find some other way
to carry on through the cartilage and the blood//
It’s hot in California.
It’s always hot, though, so Frank doesn’t say a word. If Kobra Kid and Jet Star can manage to fight wearing freaking helmets, Frank can sit in a car with his scarf over his mouth and not complain like a little bitch. Which he does, day after dry day, but it doesn't mean that he's happy about it.
The weather isn’t as bad as it has been for the last couple of weeks- the air’s still acrid on his tongue, but he can’t feel the heat of the ground seeping through his boots whenever he steps out of the car anymore, which is a relief, because he swears that the rubber soles of his boots were on the brink of melting. He figures that he’ll give it another few days, and then he might not actually feel like his brain’s boiling inside his skull whenever he decides to try to (because it’s impossible in this heat) wear his mask. Instead, he’s just keeping the scarf around the lower half of his face, his hair brushing his shoulders in grubby canopy of greasy black, and then wearing his glasses over the top. It's not super comfortable, but he'll take it over the grey clothes back in Battery City any day.
He’s got a half-empty packet of smokes stored in the waistband of his jeans and he’s itching to light one- his fingers flexing in his lap in aborted effort to reach for them- even though he can’t. If he did that, Party would likely throw a hissy fit and start complaining because the smoking itself is fine, Ghoul, but not in front of the girl. Her lungs are still developing and they’re all trying to save the damn kid, not give her breathing problems. Frank's been given the lecture at least three or four times in the last month and figures that he could probably recite it straight back at Party the next time he opens his mouth, complete with expletives and emphasisations. Fights with draculoids, nights spent in open deserts and high-speed car chases are fine, but smoking? That's where the line is drawn, it seems.
Speaking of; the girl’s sitting in the centre back seat of the trans-am, giggling hysterically at something Jet’s said, the mess of brown hair falling over her face as her eyes gleam. Frank figures that Jet Star’s really the father figure for her, the mature one that everyone- even Party- looks to for guidance. He's probably the only level-headed one in the group, because Kobra Kid will follow Party to the ends of the earth and Frank’s just far too impulsive for his own good.
Party’s driving, as usual, the wind catching his hair and the red strands twist and writhe in it, almost dancing, but his face is almost emotionless beneath the yellow mask. He’s always like this when he’s driving, Frank's noticed- lost in his own little world, encased inside his own thoughts and plans. (Maybe his fears too, (but he'd ever admit to that. He tries not to let on, but Frank can wake up at a god-forsaken hour at night and see Party crying in his sleep, fingers twitching as he fights off another enemy and lips forming prayers that never make a sound. It’s heart-breaking, actually, the way that the firelight casts wretched shadows beneath his eyes and make him look even more tired than usual. He usually settles down after another few minutes and Frank watches him, desperately trying to push away the urge push brush a strand of sweaty hair from his face.)
Frank doesn’t realise that he’s staring until Party takes his eyes from the road and stares back, one eyebrow raised. “Ghoul? You okay?” he asks curiously, and Frank just nods and faces the front again, trying to ignore the burn creeping up the back of his neck. He tries to ignore Party’s small smile as he turns back to face the road, too, because he’s still trying to convince himself that they don’t mean a thing.
People- heroes- like Party Poison don’t think about people- losers- like Frank in anything other than a purely platonic manner. At most. People like Party Poison go around kicking ass and looking hot as fuck whilst doing it, and Frank follows after him with dark hair and deceptively cocky smirks and makes lame jokes whilst picking off the few stragglers Party’s left alive.
Although Frank still can’t shut up his inner ‘yeah, but what if-‘ that seems intent on popping up every time he tries to ignore the way Party smiles at him.
They drive for another few hours before they eventually pull away from the main dust track and grind to a halt. There aren’t any roads out here, just strips of land that are less saturated in plants than others, but eventually they find a spot to set up camp for the night. It’s not dark yet, but Frank can tell that it will be soon- the sky’s blushing pink, scarlet dragging lazy fingers through it and intertwining with the setting sun.
He probably shouldn’t, considering the circumstances, but he prefers living out in the vast expanses of desert that surround them. Sure, the dracs will raise their ugly heads once in a while and stir up shit, and maybe Korse will try to ghost them for the thousandth time, but they always survive. And Frank enjoys stumbling around the undergrowth with one of the group at his side, searching for loose wood and plants dry enough to use for fuel for a fire- it sure can get cold out here at night. This evening, he’s trailing after Kobra Kid, again wishing that his legs were as long as his, just so he wouldn’t end up tripping over every other shrub that’s in his path. Over his shoulder, he can see Jet Star with the girl and Party Poison at his side only fifty or so metres away. Never get too far apart, that’s what Party always says. Splitting up leads to breaking apart, and then being picked off one by one.
Frank can hear the girl’s voice from over here, and he’s judging from the way she’s flapping her arms around- almost as if she’s planning on taking off any moment- she’s pretty excited about something. It could be a dream she had, or another plan to save the world, or maybe both at once. Whenever he sits in the backseat of the trans-am, the food wrappers and wanted posters are all covered in crayon master plans, drawings and diagrams that she’s spent entire journeys on. Party doesn’t knock her optimism either, even though he’s the most realistic one of the entire group. He just congratulates her drawings and then will give her one of his own to keep; Frank’s seen one or two of them before- they’re scrawled out hastily in black children’s crayon onto old chip bags, but they’re still amazing.
Frank almost catches himself wondering once in a while about what they’d all be if what happened in 2012 didn’t happen. Maybe Party would be living under his real name, drawing things out for a living on real paper using real pencils. Maybe Kobra would be running a store filled with the comics he’s so addicted to. He’s not sure about Jet: he’d probably be a musician or something more practical and level, but who knows. He doesn’t know what he’d be doing, either. He’s always imagined that he’d become an internationally acclaimed guitarist, touring the world with fans trailing after him everywhere he went. He lets his eyes wander back to the shock of red hair on his left. Or maybe… Frank reels in those treacherous thoughts and turns his complete focus on the task in hand. No point in dwelling on the ‘maybes’ and the ‘what ifs’ when they didn’t do anything but make you nostalgic for things you’ve never even known.
“Ghoul? What’re you doing?” Frank hears Kobra’s voice and realises that he’s been staring at the same piece of wood for the last thirty seconds.
He glances up at Kobra before turning his attention pointedly back to the stick again, wracking his brains for some sort of excuse for his lack of concentration. Man, a drac could’ve snuck up on him at any moment and he probably wouldn’t have noticed a thing until it was too late. “Do you think this’ll be good for the fire?” he asks, picking it up and twirling in between his fingers. It’s only about the length of his forearm and the width of his thumb.
Kobra gives him a look- one that’s half perplexed, half downright worried about Frank’s sanity. “Is it flammable, Ghoul?” he finally asks.
“Yup.”
“Then you can burn it, can’t you?” Kobra raises an eyebrow turning on his heel and making his way back to the trans-am, his leopard-print shirt flapping slightly in the breeze.
Frank lets out a little sigh and follows.
The firelight catches Party’s hair and makes it glow in an almost ethereal way- vibrant red flickering with darker, almost bloody, scarlet, and it’s as if his entire hair is made of the same fire that’s in his eyes as he maps out their latest attack plan.
The girl’s sleeping in the backseat of the trans-am with Star’s coat draped over her torso. Party had insisted that she didn’t need to be around for the Killjoys talks about murder and destruction, and Frank had to agree. This world, this war… it wasn’t one for a kid.
“Right then,” Party says slowly, dragging every syllable over his tongue as he speak, almost as if he’s contemplating the pros and cons of every word before he actually makes a sound. “We’re gonna drive up to Dr D’s tomorrow. See if he’s got any more news on what the ‘Crows are up to. We can catch up on news, get some more food, chill out for a couple of days before hitting the road again.”
He lifts up his head to meet their eyes one by one. Frank’s last, and he can’t help but shiver. Party’s features are set into harsh, determined lines and sharp edges, and there’s a shallow cut beneath his left eye.
“What about the girl?” Kobra cuts in, and Party frowns.
“What about her?”
Kobra gives a small shrug. “She was asking about the city again today. Wants to know about what’s happened to her parents. I told her that I didn’t know, but she’s gonna keep asking until she finds out.”
It’s dark, but Frank can still see the way that Jet Star shifts uncomfortably, Party’s stiffened, his top lip curling, his expression one of complete disgust. “What does it matter what she knows? She doesn’t need to know anything when she’s with us,” he snarls. “We’ve told her what we’ve had to, what was necessary, and that’s it. She knows that the dracs and the ‘Crows are fucktards and that she needs to keep as far away from Korse as physically possible. We’re protecting her. What else does she need to know?”
Kobra scowls. “Like what’s going on in the city, Party, something like that?”
“She already knows about the drugs.”
“No, she knows that there are drugs, She knows that BLI are using them to ruin every person bit by bit. And she knows that every person left in the city and nothing more than zombies. But that’s it.” Kobra’s furious, spitting his words out like bullets.
“You’re being an idiot,” Party sneers. “You want her to run off? You think she’s gonna get less curious the more you tell her about them? She’s a damn kid, she doesn’t need to know about any of this at her age.”
Jet lets out a reluctant sigh but pipes up anyway. “I’m not gonna fight with either of you here, but maybe Kobra’s right. She’s gonna get more curious the older she gets anyway-“
Kobra Kid shakes his head in disbelief. For the first time in a long time, Frank doesn’t feel like joining in the conversation. Argument. Whatever.
“Who the fuck even says she’ll get a chance to get any older?” Party Poison leans forward, snarling, and his name suddenly seems incredibly accurate. He’s venomous. “We’re living each day as it comes! What makes you so fucking certain that she’s gonna still be alive next week? Or that she won’t find her way back to the city and get dosed up on Better Living’s shit? We are not telling her anymore about the city, you hear me? Fucking nothing.”
“This is stupid,” Kobra scowls. “Why should we expect her to fight for something she doesn’t even properly understand? That’s not fair, you know it isn’t.”
Party pushes a handful of hair from his face and lurches to his feet. “You know what’s stupid? BLI’s shitty agenda. The fact that she hasn’t got a mom anymore. That we’re just a group of nobodies who suddenly have to protect this little kid until she can help us. And you want to risk it all just like that-“
“- I think you need to learn to trust other people more than you already do.” When Jet cuts in, he’s quiet, softly-spoken, but they all hear him anyway. “That’s the only way we’ve manage to last out here for so long already. That’s not gonna change.”
Party looks dumbfounded for a long second, and then, before Frank can say anything to stop him, he’s stormed away.
It’s quiet for a moment, and Frank turns to Kobra, who shrugs. “Give him a while to cool down. He just needs to think about it.”
“Are you sure?”
“He’s a big kid, Ghoul,” Jet sighs. “He can take care of a few dracs if that’s what it comes too. You don’t need to worry about him.”
“Yeah, I know,” Frank says. “I wasn’t… worried… about him. I just didn’t know-“
“He’ll be back in an hour at most,” Kobra interrupts. “Just drop it, okay?”