Chapter Text
Another hour and a half of driving had them coming up to a small town called Mt. Vernon just after Springfield when Hosea spotted an unfortunate sign in the distance.
Road closed for maintenance. Detour onto 39.
“What in the goddamn hell?” Dutch grumbled, “Are they allowed to do that? Close an interstate?”
“It appears they’ve already done it,” Hosea jested, pulling the map out of his glovebox and trying to pinpoint where they were heading now. He directed Dutch down the road, having him turn off onto 160, then off-shooting onto 126 in a little town called Golden City with nothin’ but a supermarket as they continued due west.
“Gettin’ low on gas, Hosea,” Dutch pointed out now, “We’re stopping in the next town whether you like it or not.”
“One right there, just over the state line,” Hosea gestured to a road sign coming up, “Pittsburg. Feel like you’re back home?” He joked now, smacking Dutch’s elbow with the back of his hand.
“Maybe if they spelt it right, I would,” Dutch laughed, “Took the H off the end and gave it to you, I suppose.”
“Good one,” Hosea replied, head shaking in disbelief, “Turn off right here.”
Dutch pulled into the gas station, coming to a halt beside one of the pumps. He filled the car as Hosea went inside to ask for directions to a place to stay for the night. There were only three options of places to stay; technically, five if you counted the two hole-in-the-wall seedy places that Hosea didn’t feel too inclined to stay at. They stopped at the first place, it being fully booked, then the second, far too much money for a single night, before they continued to their last option. The only option available at the motel was a single room with two beds. Dutch and Hosea shared a knowing glance, both far too tired to drive anymore and just wanting a lie down.
“We’ll take it,” Hosea replied to the concierge as he grabbed the keys. Dutch’s bags had barely even hit the floor of the motel room before he was sprawled out on top of the sheets.
“Ain’t this nice, Hosea,” Dutch grinned, eyes shut as he inhaled the stale air.
“I ain’t quite sure about that,” Hosea winced, placing his luggage on the ground and sitting at the foot of the other bed.
“You reckon they do room service here? I’m starving.” Dutch added, rolling over onto his stomach and reaching for the phone on the nightstand.
“I don’t think we’re that lucky,” Hosea explained as Dutch picked up the phone, a bewildered look on his face as he realised the cord was no longer even attached to the receiver.
“Goddamnit,” Dutch laughed, putting it back as he pushed himself off the bed. “I could have sworn I saw a pizza place down the road. Are you interested?”
“As long as we bring it back here,” Hosea offered, “I ain’t wanting to sit down in any sort of restaurant right now.”
“That can be arranged, fine, sir,” Dutch grinned, holding the door open for Hosea. They came back to the motel room a half hour later, with a hot pepperoni pizza, as well as a bottle of whiskey they grabbed from the liquor store on the way back. They split the pizza and alcohol as they fell into a comfortable conversation.
“Was it Virginia, or West Virginia, you were from?” Dutch inquired, passing the bottle back to Hosea with hazy eyes.
“Virginia,” Hosea iterated, “In the mountains. Just me and my parents. They’re long gone now, they died when I was twenty-two, but Chicago is where I’ve called home for almost six years.”
“Ah, I’m sorry to hear about your parents, Hosea.”
“Don’t be. They loved me good and long when they were alive,” Hosea dismissed, passing the bottle back to Dutch as he lay down more comfortably on his bed, “I know your family ain’t been the best, that you made clear. That’s why you left, ain’t it?”
“My family,” Dutch began, with a shake of his head, “They had issues with how I was living my life. Lifestyle choices, or whatever the goddamn hell they said. Told the bastards I didn’t want to marry my goddamn cousin too, which set ‘em off. Bunch of inbred trash that can’t get along.”
“Good, you got out, then,” Hosea praised, eyes carefully on Dutch. “Ain’t married otherwise?”
“I ain’t. Definitely had my time foolin' round in the corn fields, but ain’t much more than that. What about yourself? Anybody back home?”
“No,” Hosea dismissed, “Ain’t nobody. Used to be married long ago, in my twenties, but she passed back in ‘68.”
“I’m sorry to hear,” Dutch breathed, “That’s a real shame.”
“Cancer,” Hosea stated, not feeling as much heartache to talk about it as he did when it was fresh, “Ain’t much we coulda done. Bessie loved me until the very end, and I, her. She was sick for a while, we knew it was comin’. It was in her wishes for me to find someone else to grow old with. She just wanted me to be happy. I didn’t date for what, three, four years after that. Met some nice people, had some fun, but ain’t nothin’ serious enough for me to tie the knot again.”
“Well,” Dutch began, trying to lighten the mood, “I’m sure there’s someone out there. Handsome fella like you shouldn’t have any trouble.”
“Good grief,” Hosea chuckled, looking away for a quick second as he tried to will the warmth on his face to settle. “Thank you.”
If anybody were to be the handsome kind, it would be Dutch. Hosea had caught himself staring at the man more often than not over the past little while. There was something about him: charming, comedic, alluring. Dark brown eyes with the dark curls to match. Hosea had had his fair share of foolin’ around with women and men alike over the years he spent in Chicago, and while that wasn’t his original intention with Dutch, he wouldn’t mind one bit if anything were to happen between them.
Dutch, on the other hand, knew damn well what he liked and how he liked it. The selection of men he could fool around with was limited in his small town, and he made do with what he could, but Hosea? Oh Lord, Hosea was like a goddamn dream to him, and here he was, stuck on an endless road trip with the man. All that suave beauty for him to stare at as much as he pleased. Those cheekbones, those hazel eyes, the blonde hair with bits of silver peppered through it. His smile was something that made him weak in the knees at times, especially when he had a cigarette dangling between his teeth.
“I mean it,” Dutch grinned, “Real handsome kind.”
“Give me that,” Hosea hissed, snatching the whiskey bottle back out of his hand and taking a good, long swig off it. “I reckon you’ve had enough for one night, mister.”
“Fair play,” Dutch replied, making the move to stand up and stumbling a bit as he made his way to the bathroom. Hosea had fallen asleep before Dutch had even returned, eliciting a small chuckle out of the younger man as he turned the lights off and settled into his bed for the night.
Hosea awoke the next morning, head pounding like he had been hit by a freighter. Dutch had peeled the curtains open bright and early, nothing but a slight belly ache giving him trouble.
“Shut. Those. Now.” Hosea hissed, pulling the covers up over his head, “Or this is your final stop on our journey.”
“I made you coffee, grumpy,” Dutch gestured to the bedside table, “Drink it before it gets cold.”
“Thank you,” Hosea grumbled, propping himself up in bed on his elbow. He groaned as the blood rushed through his body, pinching his eyes firmly in response to the sensation. He sipped the coffee slowly as Dutch took a morning shower. Hosea took one afterwards, colder than usual, in the hope it would shock his senses enough to hit the road again. It didn’t work, much to his chagrin, and so he popped a pain relief pill and shoved his sunglasses on his face before they checked out.
“Can y-” Hosea began as they put their luggage into his car, but Dutch got the gist of the question just from that.
“Yes, I can drive,” Dutch replied, “That whiskey did somethin’ harsh to you, didn’t it?”
“Shut it,” Hosea groaned, sitting in the passenger seat. “I ain’t drank like that in ages.”
“Hungry yet?” Dutch offered as they peeled out of the motel’s parking lot. “Big ol’ plate of eggs? Cheeseburger? How ‘bout a milkshake?”
“Don’t,” Hosea grimaced, “I’ll hurl and I love this car far too much to do that.”
“You ain’t much of a jokester when you’re hungover, are ya?” Dutch teased, poking Hosea in the shoulder. He glared daggers at Dutch over the top of his sunglasses, before turning his attention to the passenger side window.
“Just get on the goddamn interstate, Dutch,” Hosea replied, head shaking in disapproval, “Or I’ll leave you behind.”
Dutch laughed in response, pressing play on the cassette that still sat in the player as he turned onto I-160 due south. They stopped in a town by the name of Vinita for breakfast after over an hour of driving; Hosea’s nausea had settled just enough for him to stomach a bit of food and nurse a coffee. Dutch continued driving as Hosea napped, before he woke him up in Tulsa to swap out. Another 140 miles and they arrived at their destination, Oklahoma City.
The city stood as the centre point of Route 66; the heart of it all. Staying here for a few days became a plan for both Hosea and Dutch, and so they found a place in the middle of the city that offered them two rooms. Although Dutch suggested they just share another room like they did prior, explaining how it was the most cost-efficient thing to do if they were going to be staying here a while. Hosea was good and solid with his finances, and while he had no clue how much money Dutch truly had, he’d hate for him to run out of money at some point.
Dutch hadn’t told Hosea the full story about his money yet. In plain terms, it was a mixture of all his savings from years of working at an auto shop since he was sixteen and a large amount of money he stole from his parents and as much of his siblings as he could nick from. He did not incline to ever go back to them and had enough hatred for them that robbing them blind didn’t feel as criminal to him as it should. Besides, ain’t that van der Linde money his too?
The room they had gotten was quite nice. Two comfy queen sized beds, a table and chairs, a radio, even a goddamn television. They found homes for their luggage, knowing they’d be staying here for a while before they smoked outside on the balcony as the orange summer haze began to settle.
“What do you say we go out and have some fun tonight?” Dutch offered, cigarette smoke hovering whimsically above him in the hot sun, “Some sort of honky-tonk I saw advertised just down the road from here. Line dancin’, and the like.”
“I didn’t know you liked to dance,” Hosea chuckled, cigarette dangling between his teeth as he leaned back into his chair.
“Who doesn’t like to dance, Hosea?” Dutch exclaimed, “Have you ever been square dancing?”
“Of course I have. Do you forget where I’m from?”
“Then square dancin’ we will do!”
Country music buzzed through the bar as they entered through the front entrance at half past seven, patrons already doing two steps and jigs in front of the stage. Hosea and Dutch slipped into a booth around the corner, hailing a waitress to get some food. Dutch bought them each a whiskey too, a nicer tasting one this time than the cheap one they had last night. It went down smoothly, and they ate their meals before Dutch offered that they go and dance. They hopped into a simple line dance they both could decipher easily enough before the nine o’clock square dancing that Dutch had known about began.
It had been a good long while since Hosea had square danced, bars like that not being as easily accessible in Chicago as they were back home in Virginia. Meanwhile, Dutch spent more time in the dance hall of his rural Pennsylvania hometown than he did at home, learning to dance from women his grandparents’ age. They danced for a good long while, swapping partners as they completed the routine to the jaunty fiddle that played from the stage. At one point, Hosea tapped out, his hip giving him trouble as he collapsed onto a barstool nearby. Dutch finished his dance with his partner before meeting up with Hosea, throwing an arm around the other man as he collapsed onto the barstool beside him.
“Getting tired, old girl?” Dutch teased, squeezing Hosea around the shoulders before pulling away.
“I beg your pardon?” Hosea cocked an eyebrow.
“Well, you ain’t a young fella, per se.”
“I’ve had enough of you right now,” Hosea chuckled, kicking Dutch’s boot with his own, “Get me another whiskey and I’ll let you live another day.”
“You got it, old girl,” Dutch teased, before hailing the bartender behind the bar for another two whiskeys. It wasn’t long before Dutch was raring to go; he had spotted a mechanical bull in the corner he was urging Hosea to give a shot on.
“I’ll break a goddamn bone, Dutch,” Hosea explained, “I ain’t gettin’ on that.”
“Come on,” Dutch pressured, “Just one time.”
“You first,” Hosea teased, “Then I’ll think about it.”
“If I’m doing it, you’re doing it,” Dutch stated, before he grabbed Hosea by the upper arm and dragged him towards the bull. They watched a girl a tad younger than Dutch get bucked off as she flew onto the mats below.
“Oh, good grief,” Hosea breathed, “You can’t pay me enough to get on it.”
“I’ll get you another whiskey?”
“You’re awful at bribery,” Hosea dismissed, “but I’ll accept the deal regardless. I love a good whiskey.”
“Saddle up, partner!” Dutch exclaimed, pushing Hosea into the ring, when the attendant gestured for another rider.
“Dutch, I thought you were going first!”
“I’ll go after!” Dutch laughed, saluting Hosea as he hesitantly climbed onto the mechanical bull. “Ride on, old girl!”
Hosea gripped firmly onto the front handle, his thighs squeezed tighter than he would ever on a real animal as it began to buck around frantically. He only held on for about five or six seconds before getting bucked off the side.
“Ain’t a bad go!” Dutch praised as Hosea stumbled upright again. Dutch’s turn was equally as awful, getting bucked off in the first three seconds. They drank a couple more whiskeys at the bar before calling it a night, paying their tab off and heading back down the road to their hotel room for the night. They spent the rest of their night listening to the crackling of the radio in the room as a radio station host told some late-night stories on the air. It was a tad boring, to say the least, and Dutch considered calling into the radio station himself at one point, offering some lavish and all very fake story just to get a bit of variety, but Hosea had dozed off mid-conversation before he could come up with a funny one.
They spent the morning sipping coffee and eating breakfast, before their afternoon was filled with visiting the cowboy and western heritage museum. Both of them had a sort of attachment to the Old West and spoke in detail about what they’d be doing if they were gunslingers a hundred years back. Dutch said he’d lead a gang of sorts and even invited Hosea to run it with him if he pleased. Hosea rolled his eyes, saying he would have much rather chosen to have a ranch out somewhere and live a nice and peaceful life instead of one of crime. They spent the evening fishing out on Lake Hefner when the sun began to sit closer to the horizon, catching a few beauties before tossing them back into the water.