Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His feet hurt. Fuck, everything hurts. His legs burn, and he can feel his heart beating twice every second in his calves. His lungs feel corroded, like they were dipped in acid, shrivelled and raw. The backs of his hands are sunburnt from holding onto his pack straps, throbbing as well. The thing that hurt the most has to be his eyes, though. Every blink feels like lava had been poured on the upper half of his head, brain like cotton that has been lit by a match, burnt to a crisp. His ears are ringing, and any sound that he hears over his breathing getting lost in translation.

He wonders if Freaky D’Allessio died quick when he got hit by that car. Did he lie on that road, knowing that he was dead? Did he feel like Garraty feels right now, his body broken and bruised? Could he feel his heart beat weaker and weaker until it eventually couldn’t contract anymore?

.

.

.
No, probably not. He probably died instantly, not feeling any pain. Died on that bike of his with the wonky handlebars and big scratch on the side, thinking about baseball like he always does. Did. Always did. Lucky boy. Garraty’s on that road, his back scratched by the rough surface, the back of his head stinging at the hard asphalt and pebbles under his skull. Garraty’s not dead like Freaky, though. Not dead like Curly. Like Harkness and Olson. He’s alive, lying on that road, not walking on The Long Walk. He should be dead, but he’s not. Not yet, at least.

Because there is no Walk. There’s no half track watching his move, gun trained at his throbbing skull. There’s no guards watching him, probably betting 30 dollars on his brains being on that road before someone like McVries or Stebbins. There’s no Major yelling something about “sack” that Garraty chuckled at the first three times he heard it, but groaned at the next 12. There are no footsteps. Pounding boots, sneakers, moccasins, loafers, or oxfords no more, aside from Stebbins’s pacing back and forth about 10 feet away from Garraty. The few remaining boys still alive on this day, May 3rd, 1965, are all notably not walking. A few are sitting on those same half-tracks they couldn’t touch three hours ago without buying a ticket, waiting to call their moms or dads, hearing them exclaim, “I knew you’d live! I knew I’d be able to see you again! I can’t wait for you to come home so we can throw a party, eating cake, and throwing water balloons at each other!” Or whatever normal parents do. Maybe they’d just say, “Why didn’t you win? Why aren’t you coming home with all the money in glorious America, riding on a fucking elephant like you’re the great King George!” 

No, that’s dumb. They’d probably just cry. He thinks he’ll cry when he sees his mom again. Get to hug her again. He regrets not being able to hug her tighter before he left. How horrible would it be if he had died on this walk after he pulled away from her next to that car? It’d kill him, if the bullet didn’t already. He hears Stebbins let out a rattling cough, sucking in a pained breath of air as he continues to pace up and down that road, passing by Garraty. He shuts his eyes, trying to ignore the pain as he does so, counting his heartbeats. He gets to twelve before Stebbins pauses, turning back around to walk in the other direction, messing Garraty up. He starts counting Stebbins’s steps this time. One, two, three, four, five, six…

He lets out another cough, interrupting Garraty’s thoughts. This one is wet, and he hears the other man spit the phlegm onto the road before letting out a shaky breath. Where was he at with steps? Seven…eight…nine?

“Why are you even walking, Stebbins? It’s done.” He barely recognizes his own voice, sounding rough. Broken, he supposes. He thinks they’re all broken after The Walk. He groans slightly, opening his eyes, looking over at where Stebbins is. He can’t bring himself to lift his head, to sit up, to do anything, so he just deals with Stebbins being sideways.

“Says who?” Jesus, Stebbins sounds like he just swallowed three cheese graters and drank a gallon of lemon juice. He lets out another wet cough, hacking into his hand, spitting more phlegm aside as he turns, now walking towards Garraty.

“Says everyone?” Garraty gestures at the few boys around, all remaining seated or lying down like he is.

“Knowledge is power. And the consensus says that common knowledge isn’t so common.” Garraty’d roll his eyes if he didn’t think he’d throw up. Every time he talks to Stebbins, he forgets how annoying the other man can be.

“The fuck are you talking about?” He sees Stebbins look down at him for a second before looking back at the road, walking past him.

“Usually, you follow like a lost duckling.”

“I’m tired, Stebbins.”

He hums, walking a few more steps before turning around, now keeping his sight on Garraty instead of the road. “The Walk doesn’t end just like that.”

“Pretty sure this one did.”

“No. No, it didn’t. They don’t just end like that. It doesn’t matter if there’s no road to walk on, doesn’t matter if there’s a tornado or hurricane or whatever you have in Maine, and it certainly doesn’t matter if they decided to put The Walk on the back burner so they can focus on trying not to lose another war.” He lets out another cough, this time finally slowing down his steps slightly as he crunches in on himself, holding his chest with one hand, other hand covered over his mouth as though he’s trying to catch pieces of his lungs that come up. When he’s done, he lets out a pained noise, speaking again, walking faster. “No, Garraty, until I can see everyone’s ticket with a hole punched in the top, proving that I’m the winner, I think I’ll walk until I don’t have legs. Until I’m crawling on my belly like a snake. How poetic is that? Rabbit turning into a snake.”

“Think that was the longest I’ve heard you talk while actually saying something.” He mumbles, half to himself, half at the other. He sighs, shifting against the road, feeling rocks and dirt clumps dig into his skin. He wonders if someone ever got shot right here, right where he’s lying.

“Rabbit?” Garraty raises an eyebrow, raising a hand to cover his eyes when the clouds part, exposing the sun that shines down on them. He sees farther clouds, gray ones peaking over the distant hills. Even if he didn’t see them, though, he can feel it in the air that it’s going to rain. Stebbins lets out a quiet huff. He’s been a bit…off, since they heard the announcement on the radio.

“White rabbit, I told you. Or do you not listen to our wonderful conversations?”

“I listen. Not too sure I understand most of them.”

“You’re a smart one, Alice. I think you understand more than you let on.” Garraty’s face scrunches, bringing his hands to rest on his chest, squinting his eye furthest away from where he’s lying on the road.

“How come I’m Alice?”

“You compared me to the caterpillar, no?”

“I don’t remember half of what I say. How come you don’t want to be Alice?” Stebbins lets out a huff, and Garraty smiles. He remembers seeing Stebbins smirk whenever Garraty would get frustrated with his cryptic words. Now he knows how fun it can be, and he can’t bring himself to blame Stebbins.

“Because I’m the white rabbit.” Garraty hums at that, looking away from Stebbins. Barkovitch is alone, sitting next to a wheel on the half track furthest away from the group. He’s looking down at the grass, rocking back and forth gently. Garraty blinks, watching Barkovitch stand up like he’d been burned, saying something to a guard. The guard looks down at him, saying something, pointing at a truck on a dirt road surrounded by grass. There’s two guards in the front of the truck, three boys, plus Baker, in the bed of the truck. They’re taking them to a phone so they can talk to their loved ones. Garraty wonders if they’re driving to a payphone or to someone’s house and seizing theirs. He doesn’t see the point in calling his mom. She’d likely be here soon, anyway. He figures she heard the radio, is in their car already, racing to get him. He sees Baker look up, waving at Garraty.

He sits up now, wrapping one arm around his jelly legs, bringing his knees to his chest. He lifts his other hand, holding it up as the truck comes alive, slowly veering down the dirt path. Garraty sighs, turning back to watch Stebbins. He shifts his body, wrapping his other arm around his knees, resting his chin on top of them. Stebbins is no longer looking at Garraty, eyes trained on the road he’s walking on. After a few moments of silence, the sound of the truck growing quieter, he speaks up again.

“You didn’t want to talk to anybody?” Stebbins doesn’t look at him, spinning on his heels, walking the other way. Garraty moves his head to follow his every move.

“Curiosity killed the cat, Garraty.”

“Satisfaction brought it back.” Stebbins actually does look over at Garraty with that one, raising one thick eyebrow. He hums, tilting his head, spinning on his heels again.

“You ask a lot of questions for someone who doesn’t understand most of what I’m telling you.” Garraty shrugs, not knowing what Stebbins is getting at. They stare at each other for a few quiet seconds before Stebbins turns once again, getting closer to Garraty so it’s easier to talk, hands in his pockets. “No point in calling.”

“You don’t want to talk to them? You’re probably not going to see them for a while.” Stebbins rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t say that, now did I?”

“No, but you’re not saying much else for me to go off of.” Stebbins skips twice, spinning on his heels once again, getting close to Garraty, speaking low.

“Aren’t you a smart little mouse…you going after that cheese? You aren’t the second one, Garraty. You’re the first.”

“Sometimes, I think you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“The second mouse gets the cheese. Figured you’d know that one.” Stebbins coughs into his hand, facing away from Garraty. It lasts longer than before, leaving him gasping slightly, shaking his head when he’s done. He slowly lets out his breath, moving his neck to crack it, shifting his feet side to side. “Got all the company I need right here. All ten toes, bruised and battered, but fighting unlike you.”

“Who said I’m not fighting?”  He hates that he can hear defensiveness creep into his voice. He hates Stebbins’s smirk even more, his teeth showing from behind his lips.

“You look like you’ve got about as much fight as Olson did. Guess your little promise to help his wife didn’t mean anything in the end. Just like I said.” Garraty stands up at that, ignoring how his legs feel like autumn leaves, ready to break apart and crunch under pressure. He walks in front of Stebbins, making the man stop for the first time in days. Stebbins takes a step back, instinctively looking up at the half-track with a guard on top, expectedly, face unreadable. He looks back down at Garraty, eyes squinting, turning heel and walking away. Garraty walks behind him, seeing Stebbins’s tense shoulders. Were they always like that?

“Don’t speak about Olson that way.” Stebbins turns so he’s walking backwards, raising one hand from his pocket to swing it by his side. He’s looking at Garraty with that expression he can’t describe. Can’t decipher.

“You act like you’ll remember him tomorrow. Maybe someday you’ll see his name in a book describing The Walk, point to him, say how he didn’t make it, and think nothing more. My comment was merely an observation, Alice-”

“Don’t call me that.” Stebbins raises his hand. There’s a soft splotch of red beside his thumb, looking dry. He’s smiling again, and Garraty finds himself wishing he had never talked to Stebbins.

“You won’t be thinking that way for much longer, though. I guarantee it.” Garraty huffs, a mirthless sound vaguely resembling a laugh if you squint. He crosses his arms, walking faster to get closer to Stebbins. They’re getting pretty far away from the group. His feet hurt even more now. Now that he has gotten a rest.

“You didn’t win. You’re not better than anybody. You’re the same as everyone who's fallen. You’re a drowning man, Stebbins. You’re not smart enough to realize, too busy thinking about rabbits and cats and god-knows-what. Too busy thinking about how weak others are for their hearts not beating as you cough yours into your hand. You’re a drowning man, and I’m not offering you a straw.” With that, Garraty clenches his jaw, huffing as he turns away, scanning the crowd to see where McVries is. He doesn’t get to see Stebbins pausing his walk for only the second time, fingers twitching as he squints harder.

It used to be a lot easier to tell what time it was while they were walking. Stebbins always stayed at 3 miles per hour, so if you’d just do math with the mile markers, you could tell how long it was since they started. He’s next to McVries now, arms wrapped around his knees, his eyes closed, back against a thin tree. McVries is humming a tune softly, plucking long blades of grass from the ground. After so long on the road, he’s almost not used to the feeling of it. He occasionally hears McVries whistle using the grass blades, sometimes successful, sometimes not. He lets out a soft sigh. It’s always so easy being beside him. Like sitting next to a friend on a long bus ride. He opens his eyes, seeing those gray clouds now closer. They’ll probably be here in a few hours' time. He wonders how long everyone else will still be here for.

Collie’s already gone. As soon as The Walk officially ended, with Major dickhead firing into the sky once again, Collie had been bothering the guards. Had been yelling at them, tossing rocks inches away from their heads, and trying any way he could to take that old truck away from this place. It was a bit amusing seeing the guards not able to do anything, having to put their guns down and not shoot at them. It was even more amusing seeing how pissed off they were getting at Collie, doing everything they could to get him out and away from their impromptu campsite. Garraty glances at McVries, blinking softly.

“What time is it?”

McVries looks back at him, dropping the folded blades of grass he had been messing with. He takes out an old, beat-up-looking watch from his pocket, covering it from the sun so he can read it.

“12:46.”

Garraty nods his head, looking back at the other side of the road where two guards are talking. The announcement came around 10, he thinks, right after food was handed out. It’s amusing how fast they all worked to get Collie heading back home. Had drove him and another boy to the airport to catch a plane. Before he left, he’d seen Barkovitch talking with Collie, too quiet for him to overhear. Collie had that same expression that he always does on, and Barkovitch was way more twitchy than normal. It must’ve gone good…for a Barkovitch conversation, anyway, seeing as how Collie didn’t yell at the blonde, instead just walking into the truck, leaving Barkovitch alone again. That was about 15 minutes ago, and he already misses Collie. It’s hard to think about everyone going back home. To know so much about everybody on this Walk, but also not know anything about their homes. What state do they all live in? Who do they live with? What they do? Not being able to talk to them anymore. He wonders if anybody got Collie’s information so they can write. That’d be nice. Staying in contact. He turns to McVries again, speaking gently, like he usually does with the other.

“How long do you think everyone’s going to be here for?” McVries looks up from the grass in his hands, taking a scope of the camp. A couple guards are putting up shitty-looking tents, a few boys already inside them to hide from the beating sun. He likes that about McVries, that the other man always takes his time to answer Garraty. Like he’s taking everything into account to give him the best answer.

“Everyone’ll probably be gone sometime tomorrow. I think they’re too busy handling everything going on to worry about holding a bunch of us hostage. Maybe before morning comes, depending on how much they hate all of us.” Garraty snorts, shifting his knees closer together.

“One big slumber party.” McVries nods, a smile on his face that makes Garraty feel soft. Garraty’s own face drops at the sight, making him look down at his red hands. He flicks the nail on his thumb, taking in a deep breath.

“Where you from, Pete? I guess I never asked.” McVries is still looking at Garraty, blinking soft. He looks back at the tents across the road.

“If you’re worried I’m going to go home and not talk to you, you can just tell me.” Garraty’s cheeks lighten somewhat, feeling called out. He flicks his nail again, jumping slightly at McVries reaching his arm over, wrapping it around his shoulders. “I won’t let that happen.” He looks over at the other man, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. He nods at McVries, copying the smile the other had on.

“Thanks, Pete.” McVries pats his back, bringing his arm back to his side.

“Of course.” He lets out a quiet breath, quirking his mouth to the side. It’s a few seconds before his voice comes back out. “...I drove up here from…New Jersey. I suppose I can leave any time I want…but…”

“...but?” He smirks again, bumping his arm next to Garraty’s, the both of them giggling like schoolgirls. He shakes his head, resting it against the smooth bark of the tree behind them.

“...when I leave you…I guess I’ll be alone again.” Garraty’s smile drops slightly, causing him to glance down at his hands again. He pops his knuckles, the tips of his fingers tapping on his knee. He looks back over at McVries, trying to sound as gentle as possible.

“...I’ll write. I’m sure…my mom’d let you come up some time, sleep over. I’m sure I should probably be lookin’ into living on my own. Or…” He sucks in a breath, suddenly feeling nervous, his heart beating a bit faster. He wonders how fast someone’s heart can beat before it gives out. If he’s getting close to that threshold. “...with a friend?”

He sees Pete sit up a bit straighter, throat bobbing as he swallows his spit. He opens his mouth slightly, scar on his cheek moving. After too long, he smiles, voice sounding choked, looking away from Garraty.

“...I’d like that, Ray.”

Garraty bumps their shoulders again, making Pete chuckle once more, pushing him away with one hand. Garraty laughs, loud, almost startling himself, pushing McVries as well. The other pushes his hand, holding onto his wrist carefully, but firmly.

“Okay! Okay…I get it!” He sticks his tongue out, sighing as he brings one arm to himself…keeping one hand still on Garraty’s wrist. “...I’ll…probably stay here with you for a while longer. At least until it gets dark. I don’t see them bringing out too many more tents, and I’m not risking sleepin’ next to Barkovitch.” Garraty nods, stomach dropping when he thinks about McVries leaving. He decides to just…enjoy McVries being next to him while he can. He looks away, freezing when he sees Stebbins staring at him from about 30 feet up the road.

“Motherfucker…” McVries turns to face Garraty, leaning forward to see what he’s looking at.

“What?”

“Stebbins.” McVries turns to look at Stebbins, humming quietly. He tilts his head, glancing back at Garraty.

“...what about him?” He huffs, squinting his eyes. He wants to look away from Stebbins…but the other man hasn’t blinked yet. He wonders how long he can go without blinking. Without looking away. He can hear the tone in his own voice, sounding…off. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s feeling.

“He’s just…staring!” Pete’s quiet for a few seconds before snorting, putting his chin in his palm.

“...you’re staring at him too-”

“That’s different.” Garraty almost interrupts him, trying to defend what he’s doing. Stebbins was staring first. He’s just…testing the other man. His eyes are starting to hurt from not blinking. He wonders how much longer it’ll go on for.

“Stebbins is different.

“Stebbins is different.”

“You can’t really get pissed off at him when you’re always the one going up talking to him.” Garraty’s neck twitches when he says that, wanting to look at McVries, pinch his eyebrows up, questioning what he’s trying to get at by saying that…but he doesn’t. He continues to stare at Stebbins, not knowing what he wants the other man to do. After another few seconds, he blinks, rubbing his burning eyes.

“Fuck.”

“Staring contest?”

“Yeah. I don’t get how he can do that.”

“You lost?”

“Duh.”

He hears Pete hum, quirking his mouth to the side. Garraty opens his eyes, seeing Stebbins walking towards the two of them. Pete bumps Ray’s arm again, mumbling quietly so there’s no way Stebbins can overhear.

“He’s not real. Like a machine. Robot or some shit.”

“Robot.”

He squints his eyes, watching Stebbins glance to the side when he crosses the road. McVries pats his shoulder, like he’s wishing him luck as Stebbins comes within a few feet of them. His voice is quiet, monotone.

“...Garraty.”

“...”

“You still got your panties in a knot about what I said about Olson?” McVries turns, looking up at Stebbins.

“You said something about Olson?” He sounds upset. Stebbins turns, looking down at Pete, like he’s a bug he’s accidentally stepped on. He turns back to Ray, rolling his eyes, still staring at his face. After a few seconds, he shifts one foot.

“...I’m leaving soon.” Ray’s face softens slightly, looking between Stebbins’s eyes. Stebbins’s face doesn’t change. Ray glances over at Pete, standing up from where he’s sitting.

“Oh…”

“Yeah.”

“Do…you want to talk before you go?” Stebbins glances to the side, moving his shoe in the mud. He shrugs.

“Doesn’t matter what I want.” Garraty expects Stebbins to walk away from them, but he remains there, making marks in the wet dirt. Garraty glances down at Pete, looking back at Stebbins. He starts to walk down the road, seeing the taller man following him. It’s strange, he can feel the other’s sharp gaze on the back of his head. After a few feet, when they’re far enough away from everybody, Ray turns around. They’re staring at each other now, an awkward tension in the air between the two of them. Ray looks at the truck, turning the corner after dropping off Collie. He looks back at Stebbins, glancing down at his shoes. They look like they’re going to fall apart soon. God, he wonders if that would’ve happened later on during The Walk. His mom wanted to get him new boots, but he didn’t want her to waste her money. He sucks in a breath, glancing to the side.

“Are you-”

“I lied.” Garraty pauses, slowly glancing up the other’s body.

“...w…what?”

“I’m not leaving. Not yet, at least. I just said that so you’d talk to me.” Garraty squints at Stebbins, blinking twice. Why would he do that? What is wrong with him, lying about that?

“You want me to talk to you?”

“I never said that.”

“But…” Garraty rubs his face, groaning softly. What is Stebbins getting at? What’s his angle? “Fuck, I don’t…I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“You! I don’t know you! I try to have a conversation with you, and you skirt around talking points like…I don’t even know! Like you don’t want to talk to me, so why did you lie about leaving to get me to talk to you?” Stebbins is still looking at Garraty with those sharp eyes, like he could cut the man in half with just his gaze. Usually it’s enough to send a shiver up his spine, to make him feel unease…but it doesn’t right now. Not with Stebbins shifting in place, eventually looking away from Garraty, to the side where a thick patch of weeds lies.

“...Olson fought hard.” Stebbins sounds pained, like he’s stepping on rusty nails just saying that. Garraty squints slightly, trying to figure out why he said that. The other man huffs, now looking down at his own feet, probably wiggling his toes. “Didn’t want my glass house to come back at me.”

“...stones?”

“Stones.”

“Hmm…” Stebbins looks at Garraty, blinking once. He sucks in a slow breath, and now that he’s so close, he can hear the other’s lungs rattle in his chest. It sounds painful. Wrong.

“...My mom doesn’t have a phone. That’s why I’m not jumping the gun to talk to her.”

“Oh…that…yeah, makes more sense, I suppose…”  Garraty doesn’t bring up how Stebbins only mentioned his mom. His mind is starting to run wild, though. Does Stebbins still live with her? Does he live alone and only talk to his mom? For some reason, the thought of Stebbins living alone makes him feel…sad. Does he have any siblings? Does he talk to his siblings? Why doesn’t his family have a phone? Does he-

“Your mind racin’?” He jumps slightly, looking up at Stebbins’s face.

“...Yeah…”

“Hmm…” The noise Stebbins lets out is sharp, quiet. He sucks in a breath, turning away, taking a step back as he hacks into his closed fist. He winces at the sound, flinching when he sees something red on his hand. Stebbins winces, flicking his hand, covering it from Garraty’s sight. He turns his head slightly, sharpening his gaze more.

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t.”

“You were thinking it. I can tell.”

“You can read minds now?”

Stebbins rolls his eyes, not saying anything else after that. Ray smirks, glancing back. He sees one more boy leave, likely for the airport seeing as it’s going a different direction than before. He wonders how long everyone will stay here for.

Wonders how long it’ll be before his mom gets here.

Chapter Text

“I’ll write, I promise.”

Garraty’s holding onto Baker tight, his voice soft in his ear. It’s about eight at night, the air thick with moisture. If you squint, looking to the west where the sun is setting, you can see a thick rain slowly creep towards them. Baker pats his back, holding onto Garraty’s arms. A lot of boys are leaving right now, with the airport being less busy at night. He’d say there’s about six already in the bed of that truck, not including McVries and Baker beside him. McVries had decided it was the right time to leave, wanting to spend some more time with Art before they parted ways. He also wanted to piss the guards off, making them drive him all the way back to the starting line of The Walk. In a sense, Garraty feels jealous. At least he knows home is close by.

“Write…okay.”

“...Okay?”

“...” Garraty clenches his jaw so tight, he’s worried his teeth will crack. Maybe that’ll be a good souvenir. His teeth. “...’kay.”

“Okay.”

Baker squeezes his arm, pulling up a necklace from around his chest, putting it in Garraty’s palm. He rests his hand on top of it for a few seconds, his feet shifting in the dirt. He lets out a slow breath, sounding choked up. At least he’s not the only one.

“I think my Grandma’d want you to have this. Remember me by. Remember all of us by. I think she’d like you, Ray. You can always mail it back to me if you don’t want it-”

“No…no, I’ll keep it.”  It’s a silver metal, cold in his hands, a cross in the end. Garraty’s not a very religious man; maybe his mom would take him to church whenever she thought he was especially bad growing up. She volunteered at the church every Sunday, before his dad…she doesn’t go there anymore. Stopped talking about faith after. He wonders if she prayed for him. If all those moments he felt good, all those times he didn’t want to give up, all the times he wanted to win were because she knelt beside her bed. If she interlocked her fingers for the first time in years, closing her eyes, saying, “Please, god. Let him be okay. Don’t take them both from me.” His fingers twitch, throat closing up as he makes himself look away. He can’t cry right now. He squeezes the thin paper Baker gave him, his address on it. He shoves it into his pocket, wiping his mouth with his free hand, nodding gently. “I’ll keep it.”

“Alright…alright. I’ll…I’ll send you a letter, soon as I get home. I’ll let grandma look through it, have her write too if she wants.” Garraty lets out a sad laugh, scratching his nails together.

“You'd better. I’ll be waiting, okay?”

“By the mailbox?” Garraty has to bite the inner corner of his lip, nodding gently.

“Until the flag raises.”

He sees Baker’s jaw clench, turning over to McVries. He has a weak smile, nodding. He pats Garraty’s arms twice, turning to head into the bed of the truck with the other boys.

“I’ll see you again, Garraty.” He doesn’t bring up that he can hear the emotion in Baker’s voice. Doesn’t bring up how quickly Baker looked away. Baker doesn’t bring up how Garraty’s covering his mouth. It’s a win-win situation. He can’t bring himself to look at McVries. Can’t bring himself to face the other man because he knows he’ll cry. Knows that when he hugs the man, he’ll want to sit down and sob into his shoulder about nothing and everything. He always thought about Pete’s life. How he never seemed to talk about it to Garraty, not out of secrecy, but out of shame. He hears the other mutter quietly next to him, voice soft as nothing else. Like dandelion fluff.

“This is it.”

“...yeah.” He turns his head so he looks at Pete. McVries has his eyes closed, head down like he’s a dog getting scolded. Like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Atlas nods to himself, putting his head down further.

“...I’m glad…glad that I didn’t have to see you-”

“It’s okay.” McVries sucks in a sharp breath, freezing like a pin had been placed in between his shoulder blades.

“...yeah?”

“...yeah. I’m glad too.”

“...” He sucks in a breath, seeing McVries huff, reaching over and pulling him into a big bear hug.

He flinches slightly, feeling his breath being squeezed out of him as Pete puts his face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. He freezes. He doesn’t want Pete to leave him. He can feel fingers clutching at the cloth of his shirt. Can feel McVries slowly start to copy Garraty’s breathing. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that they live so far apart. Not fair that they’ve only known each other a handful of hours, and now are being forced apart once again. It’s just not fair. He can feel Pete start to let go, causing him to finally snap out of whatever he was doing, hugging the man back.

“I’m going to miss you.” He hears McVries swallow his saliva, fingers twitching against his thin shirt.

“I’ll miss you too, Ray. Same as Baker, I’ll write.”

“...okay…make it quick…” That causes Pete to let out a laugh, pulling away from Garraty, holding onto one of his arms. His chest feels so empty. He had already gotten used to the feeling of being so close to the other. It felt…natural. Good.

“I’m not even gone and you’re already worried about when you’ll hear from me next?”

“Fuck off.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“It helps when I don’t have to deal with your bullshit every waking hour of the day.” He ignores how thick his voice is. Ignores how he’s blinking back tears. McVries doesn’t tease him about it. Doesn’t pry any further, just nodding, rubbing his skin with his thumb before the truck revs up. He doesn’t move, though, staring at Garraty’s sunburnt hand.

“You didn’t mean that.”

“No…No I didn’t.”

The truck revs once more, making Garraty wince at how loud the sound is. They’re pissed. He’d think it’d be funny if he didn’t feel like crying. McVries glances back, seeing that it’s threatening to leave without him. He turns back around, and with one last pat on his shoulder, he starts walking back.

“I’ll be alright. I’ll think of you the whole drive home.” Garraty snorts, looking down at the ground, trying to hide how teary his eyes are.

“...please be alright. Bye, Pete.”

“...Goodbye, Ray.”

“...You really have to go, you know.”

“It’s hard, fuck off.”

Garraty chuckles at McVries’s words, mostly because he feels like crying. With that, he hears McVries climb into the truck, letting out a wince at how hard the landing was. The truck pulls out of that road, rolling on the asphalt like a bat out of hell. Garraty covers his mouth, his entire body tensing up as he feels a hot wetness come down his cheeks. It’s all not fair. It’s not fair that he’s all alone now. He can’t bring himself to move until he can no longer hear the truck.

He didn’t see any point in staying awake after Pete and Baker left, especially not with the night slowly lying on them all, weighing them down even more. He figures most of the boys still left, maybe five excluding him, are all asleep in the two tents the guards had provided. Well…aside from Stebbins. The man is still walking down by the patch of weeds about a football field away. He sees Stebbins spin on his heels once again, hands in his pockets, eyes trained at the road. He had only stopped a couple of times to talk to Garraty, but other than that, he’s been walking like he’s afraid of getting shot still. He hears him cough once again, with every growing hour sounding worse and worse. The few times he slows down while he’s walking are when he’s coughing, his entire body shuddering and shaking from the force.

He doesn’t want to deal with Stebbins right now. To deal with Stebbins is to exert brainpower he currently doesn’t have to decipher his Einstein puzzle ass. He walks across the road, glancing at the two tents. He guarantees that all three of the other boys chose one tent, not wanting to sleep next to Barkovitch. He’s…okay, he doesn’t love Barkovitch. It’s easy to poke fun at him. Hearing him talk sends an uneasy chill up his spine, like he’s going to snap any second and stab somebody with that spoon he’s always messing with. He chooses the farther away tent, opening it up…to Barkovitch lying down alone. Well, at least his theory with the tents was correct.

He fully enters the tent, closing the front flap. He sees Barkovitch flinch, curling in on himself more. Ray raised an eyebrow, glancing over at him.

“...you’re still awake?” He doesn’t hear Barkovitch say anything, face buried in the thin, scratchy blanket they had provided all of the boys. He feels…awkward, grabbing a blanket and a sleeping bag from the corner of the tent. When he tosses the bag beside Gary, he jerks, curling in on himself more. His speech is muffled by the blanket, sounding tight, like a cord holding a piano about to snap.

“The fuck you doin’?” Garraty sighs, flopping down onto the thin bag. He shuffles inside of it, throwing the blanket over him, leaning away from Barkovitch.

“Just trying to sleep.”

“Why are you in this tent?” Barkovitch’s voice is tense, like he’s speaking through gritted teeth. Ray groans, turning his body, prying his eyes slightly open.

“...It was the first tent I chose?”

“Bullshit.” His eyes are wide, and just like Garraty thought, teeth and jaw clenched tight. He’s messing with that spoon again, running his thumb along the side. The side must be sharp, though, because every other drag seems to press thin lines into his skin, looking red and raw. There’s a few spots of blood from where it dragged too deeply, making Garraty wince. That spoon always didn’t sit right with him. He sits up in his bag, shakily holding out a hand.

“Here, give that here.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, I’m being serious, Barkovitch. Ain’t no point in having it anymore.” Barkovitch glares at him, half-turning his body to face Garraty’s. In all honesty, he expects the other to spit in his face, driving that spoon into the meat of his thigh. Gary’s face is…strange, though. A mix of anger and something else. He shifts under that blanket, hiding the spoon behind his body.

“No, it’s mine. I need it.”

“Barkovitch-”

“I said no! I’ll…” He flips back around, hand wrapped in his greasy hair, tugging on it roughly. Garraty clenches his jaw, glancing at the front flap of the tent.

“You’ll dance on my grave?”

“Shut up. Just SHUT UP!” Garraty flinches as Barkovitch sits up, glaring at him. He raises his hands in a surrender, blinking slowly at the other. Barkovitch breathes hard, shaking his head, covering his mouth with his hand as he closes his eyes. After a tense minute, he sucks in a breath.

“I-I ain’t a fuckin’ killer-”

“I never said you were.”

“You were thinking it. I can tell, you were thinkin’ it. You were thinkin’ I was gonna crawl on you like a snake and stab your fuckin’ heart in your sleep, weren’t you? That’s why you want the spoon. So you can do it instead. So you can slit my throat.” He shakes his head, trying to breathe quietly, gesturing at Barkovitch’s cut thumb.

“No…No, I was just saying that because you kept scratching yourself with it. Why do you need it anyway?”

“None of your business. You’re probably just in here prayin’ on the fact I’m alone to enact your fantasies of McVries. Go fuck him on your own time.” Jesus. It’s like playing tennis, his thoughts going from one to another before Garraty can catch up. He’s really regretting not just talking to Stebbins, because at least with him, you can somewhat see the path his mind is going. He’s so tired, though, and the sooner he can get Barkovitch to calm down, the sooner he can rest his aching eyes.

“McVries already left. Why’d you even bring him up?”

“He-” Barkovitch lets out a huff, breathing in and out through his nose hard. His jaw clenches even more, and Garraty swears he can hear his teeth cracking like branches under a car. After a few seconds, he can see Barkovitch slowly rock back and forth before bringing one hand up, smacking the side of his face closest to Garraty. He winces, seeing the other shake his head, holding onto his mouth before grabbing the long hair in his face.

“I n…eed it.”

“...t…the spoon?”

“Yes, dumbass! …I need it…in case they come in here ‘gain.” Garraty blinks, letting out a groan as he closes his eyes. His brain is mush, like spoiled applesauce stuck to the sides of his skull. He’s not following along.

“The…guards?”

“No. Fuck-” Barkovitch twitches, sounding more frustrated as he growls. Garraty puts up his hands again, scooting back in the sleeping bag. After a few seconds, he hears the other mumble again. “The fuckers in the other tent. They came in here, and saw I was up and awake and watchin’ their every move, so they left. They’re after me. They want me dead like Rank, but I’m no killer. I didn’t do that shit, you hear? That…I’m not fucking dead. I’m not lettin’ them near me.”

“Okay…okay, they won’t come in here. I’m in here too, now. They can’t do anything.”

“You-” Barkovitch looks at him, something between a glare and a deep sadness. He tries to make his expression as soft as possible to avoid angering or upsetting the other. After a few seconds, Barkovitch’s gaze slowly trails his entire body, turning back around when he’s done, like he was looking for something. “You can always leave soon as I’m asleep. They can come in here…fuckin’ stab me or some shit.”

“Stab you with what?”

“Does it fucking matter?”

“No…I suppose it doesn’t. Sorry.” He sees the blond flinch when he apologizes, bringing his hand up to his face, covering his mouth. His fingernails dig into his hollow cheeks, leaving crescent indents. He sucks in a sharp breath, rocking back and forth twice, shaking his head.

“You’ll be asleep. Then they’ll come in and-”

“Then I’ll…” He lets out a sigh, really thinking about whether he wants to say this or not. He’s going on 50 hours of no sleep, feeling like his blood has turned to molasses. Barkovitch sounds…scared, though, and he never sounds scared. The only time he can think of that made the other as jumpy as this was when Rank got shot. Maybe he’s thinking of that, worried that the same’ll happen to him. He mumbles out the words, almost regretting them as soon as they enter the air, hanging low. “Fuck, I’ll stay up, okay? Keep watch.”

Barkovitch flinches like he’d been branded, scooting away from Garraty. He rocks back and forth more, something Garraty gets the feeling he does a lot. A method of self-soothing, something he absolutely needs. He clenches his jaw, shaking his head.

“No…no you don’t…you won’t-”

“I will. Swear. I’ll stay here…can wake you up every once in a while so you know I’m not lying.” Garraty watches Barkovitch closely, seeing him relax slightly. It’s strange seeing him relaxed, his face not looking so sharp. His throat bobs as he swallows his spit. Garraty can see scratch marks on his skin, looking red, almost hidden under his shirt. Barkovitch sucks in another breath, slowly letting it out as his gaze shifts to a spot next to Garraty’s hand.

“...why?”

“...You seem really worried about it. You deserve some rest.” He sees Barkovitch run his thumb against the side of the spoon once more, making Garraty wince. He holds out one hand again, wrapping his other arm around his knees. The blond flinches hard, shifting in his spot inside his sleeping bag. After a few moments, he looks down at the spoon, grabbing onto the sharp end, holding out the dull side for Garraty to grab onto. He doesn’t say anything, scooting away as soon as he takes hold of it.

Ray looks down at the metal, seeing that one side of the spoon is thicker than the other, the handle feeling rough, and homemade. The side of the spoon Barkovitch kept rubbing his thumb against is sharp, dots of red against the side. “Looks hand made.”

“My uhm…my Peepaw…helped me make it…couple years back. He uh…worked as a blacksmith growin’ up…making farm equipment.” Barkovitch’s voice is twitchy, like he’s regretting every word. Garraty hums softly, glancing up at the other boy. He’s still rocking back and forth, slower this time, blanket up across his shoulders. He glances back at Garraty, quickly looking away, covering his mouth. “Peepaw…Fuck…I…fucking-”

“No…no, sorry. It’s…it’s cool. You made this?” He raises an eyebrow, flipping it over, observing the dark metal.

“...yeah…yeah, I always…I always wanted him to…teach me shit, ‘n when I…” Barkovitch speaks quietly, voice falling off, glancing back at Garraty, looking nervous. When he sees Garraty looking at him, waiting to finish, he nods. “...turned 16…he…uhm…taught me how to make small things. Spoons…then knives. It…I-I guess it worked out…in the end. Was real helpful in school. Kids always kept tryin’ fuck with me. Kept kickin’ the shit out of me so one day I said “I’ve had enough, you hear?” So I made a little pocket knife, and carried it on me so they wouldn’t do ‘nothin. Wish I had it right now.”

Garraty hums, not saying anything. He sets the spoon down by his feet, looking at it, wrapping his other arm around his knee. He wills his brain to use the few wrinkles he still has, trying to come up with a good response to what Barkovitch just dropped. He feels a deep pit in his chest, regretting not taking the time to get to know him better. He wonders what would’ve happened if he pushed the two of them to become friends before The Walk. If Rank would still be alive. If Barkovitch would be smiling instead of flinching at every small movement he makes. If Barkovitch would have more friends instead of being worried about getting killed.

“You still in school?”

“...n…nah…I wanted to drop out, but…my Meemaw wouldn’t let me. FInished last month.”

Garraty nods, quirking his mouth to the side as a sharp gust of wind blows against the tent. He can feel a bit of the air coming through the flaps, making him shiver and pull the blanket higher up his back.

“...You shouldn’t have had to deal with that. I hope things get better for you.” Barkovitch doesn’t say anything to Garraty’s words, just looking down at his lap, his rocking slowly coming to a stop. It’s quiet between the two of them for a while, to the point Ray wonders if he had accidentally fallen asleep sitting up. After another few seconds, he hears a scratchy voice from beside him.

“I…I apologized to Collie, earlier. I…fuck…I’ve just…I don’t want to be an ass, you know? It’s just…like…I don’t know, like it’s the easiest option for me. Instinctual. I…don’t mean much of what I say. I wanted to say all of that to him, but…I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I gave him my address though. Said I hoped he’d write to me. That by the time he does that, I’ll have calmed down all the voices in my head ‘n give him a real apology. Do…you think he’ll do that?”

“...write to you? Probably.” Barkovitch sits up straight, his face shifting to become softer, his jaw unclenching. He turns to face Garraty, leaning somewhat closer.

“You think?”

“...yeah. Probably. Especially if you told him you’d write back to him to apologize.” Barkovitch nods, like he’s been worried about this for a long while. He shifts his hips again, resting his thin hands in his lap.

“...c…can I write to you too?” Garraty blinks, not expecting that. He opens his mouth like a fish, probably looking like an idiot. At his silence Barkovitch flinches away, shaking his head, smacking his cheek. “Fuck, I didn’t mean that. Don’t want-”

“No…no, hey. I’d…yeah…okay. I’d like to write to you. I…I’m just tired, Barker, that’s why I didn’t respond immediately.” Garraty shifts his knees closer to his body, glancing at Barkovitch’s back. “You got a paper I can write it on?”

“Yeah…yeah uhm…” He turns to the side, grabbing the pack next to his camera. He takes it, being careful as he pulls out a thin notebook, flipping it to the end. He offers Garraty a page and a short, stubby pencil. He nods as he grabs it carefully, making sure to write down his address as neat as he can. His mom always said he had good handwriting. After a few seconds, he offers the notebook back to Barkovitch, whose face shows a tense smile. “...thanks.”

Garraty nods, returning a smile back. After a few seconds, he gestures at Barkovitch’s sleeping bag.

“Should lay down. I’ll wake you up in a while if you want.” Barkovitch looks back at Garraty, letting out a soft breath as he scoots forward, finally looking relaxed as he lays. He brings the blanket up to his chin, shaking his head.

“No…no, I…you said you’ll watch…I trust you to.”

“Okay…Goodnight, Gary.”

“...Night, Ray…and…thank you…I’m…”

“It’s okay. Don’t have to say anything.”

“...okay.”

He’s bored. Holy shit, he’s bored. Barkovitch is snoring softly next to his thigh, wrapped to high-hell in all of the rest of the sleeping bags and blankets and anything else he can get his hands on. He looks like a bird in a next, only the upper half of his head poking through so he can breathe. Garraty sighs, staring at one spot against the tent. He doesn’t know what time it is. He had started counting the seconds earlier, before he got bored of that and just decided to think about things instead. He had gotten to 2495 before he thought about his mom. Had thought about why she hadn’t come yet. Thought about what had been taking her so long. Sure, the drive is a couple hours, but even if she had drove up after her work, she would’ve been here long before now. Had she gotten stuck somewhere? Had she heard the news on the radio? Does…she even want him back in her house? He tries to think about everything he’s done in front of the camera, trying to decipher if he’d done anything too horrible. He can’t think of anything, though, with how tired he is. It’s all just one painful blur.

He hears footsteps outside his tent, and he raises an eyebrow. He blinks, hearing them walk past his tent before turning back around, like a shark circling pray. Stebbins. He hadn’t thought of the other man in a while. Has he been walking this whole time? What’s the point of that. He glances down at Barkovitch, seeing how asleep he already is. He’s gotten up a couple times so his legs don’t fall asleep, and the other hasn’t made any sign of waking up to it. Must be a deep sleeper. He looks at the tent, seeing Stebbins’s thin shadow walking around. He sighs, cracking his neck, whispering loudly.

“Jesus, sit down for once! You’re makin’ me nervous in here.” He sees the shadow jerk, like he’d accidentally startled the other. His steps falter slightly, walking over to the front flap of the tent. It opens, revealing the other man, looking even worse than he did before. He has on that thick green jacket, shirt wrapped around his neck, cheeks and nose flushed red from the cold and sickness. His chest rattles even more with every breath, making Garraty wince. He clenches his jaw, squinting his eyes at Garraty before pulling out of the tent, continuing to walk around it.

“Should be nervous.” He groans, already annoyed at Stebbins.

“I told you. It’s over. There’s no reason to keep walking.”

“And I already told you, I’m not going to stop until I see it with my own eyes.”

“And how do you expect to see it? You want The Major to come up to you, waving a big sign that says “Go home! This Year’s walk officially over!”?” He hears Stebbins hum quietly, his shadow bringing a hand to his chest. He lets out a weak cough, like he’s trying to be quiet to not wake up the sleeping boys inside the tents.

“You’ll see.”

“What will I see? What are you-” He sucks in a breath, ignoring the irritation telling him to yell. He groans, rubbing his palm over his face. “Just get in here.”

“Tall order for a hypocrite.”

“What?”

“You’re telling me to rest while your eyes are wide open, Alice. Didn’t we talk about glass homes earlier?” Garraty rolls his eyes, knowing Stebbins can’t see it. He lets out a breath, looking down at Barkovitch resting easy.

“Barker told me to keep an eye on him so nothing bad happens.”

“Since when did you get so close to him? His leopard spots are branded on his skin, you know.” Garraty looks up to watch Stebbins’s shadow circle his tents, hearing his footsteps against the dirt. There’s another strong gust of wind, chilling his arms and face. Stebbins doesn’t shudder at the wind, despite being exposed to it. He’s a robot, Garraty’s sure.

“What are you talking about? I swear, you just get worse and worse with that shit.”

“With what?”

“Talking without saying anything.” Stebbins hums, his shadow turning around so that he’s walking backwards.

“I’m saying that your little group kept yelling at him about how he’s a killer. When there’s smoke…”

“Oh, aren’t you on a high horse.” Stebbins moves closer to the tent, rounding the corner towards the front flap. He opens it, poking his head through, crouching down so that him and Garraty are on the same level. He glances down at where Barkovitch is sleeping next to him, raising an eyebrow. He smirks, and even in the dark, he can see how sick the other man has gotten.

“All cats are gray at night, no?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stebbins’s smirk drops slightly. He must’ve thought whatever he said was funny, disappointed at the lack of a reaction he got.

“A nod is as good as a wink, blind horse.”

“...”

Stebbins sighs, rolling his eyes, shifting his feet closer inside the tent, letting the flap rest on his back, but not fully entering the tent. “Nevermind. You were much more fun when you were more awake.” Garraty hums, looking to the side.

“So sorry. You going to come in, and sleep, or just stare at me?”

“Enjoying the sights.”

“Go take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Stebbins smiles, not quite reaching his eyes. He glances over at Barkovitch’s camera, tilting his head towards it.

“You think he’ll let me? Will you strike a good pose?”

“No to both of those.”

“Aren’t you a born and true coquet, huh?”

“A what?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

With that, Stebbins pulls back, walking away from the tent. Garraty can hear his footsteps get quieter and quieter as he transitions to walking on the asphalt. God…he’s so weird. He can’t imagine having to live with that every day.

Chapter Text

He’s going to kill Stebbins. He’s going to drag Barkovitch back to where they are, take his spoon, and stab Stebbins’s wheezing chest. It’s raining now, wind blowing hard, making the sparse trees groan, threatening to topple at any moment. The guards had taken down the other tent when the three boys inside had finally gotten on that truck to head to the airport, probably having to drive through the rain. Garraty’d feel worse for them right now if he weren’t so tired.

Barkovitch had left about 20 minutes ago, an old rusty-red car pulling up, humming loudly. Barkovitch had shot up from his sleep, ran outside, and into the arms of an older woman. Garraty stumbled out of the tent, still seeing Stebbins pacing further away. It had turned out to be Barkovitch’s ‘Meemaw’, babbling something about missing him and asking if he had made any friends on The Walk. Barkovitch had looked back at Garraty, clenched jaw. He guessed he had felt bad enough to where he walked up, offered his hand to the woman, and said that he’s going to miss Barkovitch a whole hell of a lot when he leaves. He ignored the hurt feeling in his chest when she pulled him into a hug, whispering a soft “thank you” into his shoulder. She took a picture of him and Barkovitch next to that car, both with awkward, tense smiles. He wonders if Barkovitch is going to keep that picture. He kinda hopes so.

He’s in the last remaining tent, messing with an old radio he’d asked the guards for. Most of the half-tracks drove off as soon as it was just him and Stebbins remaining, just two pissed-off looking guards not even paying attention. He wonders if they’re getting paid to babysit them.

He thinks back to the first (and last) babysitter he’d ever had, an older lady down the street. He was seven, and had gotten in such bad trouble the week before that his mom no longer trusted him to be alone in the house for the hour between when he got off of school and his dad got off of work. She paid Mrs. Hartley 2 dollars to keep an eye on him, a total scam if you picked his brain. He doesn’t remember much of what happened after, just that he had ended up with three broken toes, a trip to the local clinic, and not seeing Mrs. Hartley again. His dad said she had run over his foot while pulling out of the driveway. Maybe it’s a good thing he doesn’t remember.

There’s another strong gust of wind, making him shiver as the tent threatens to leave the ground, his weight being the only thing keeping it down. He pulls the blankets up higher over his shoulders, teeth chattering slightly. He groans, resting his head forward against the cool metal of the radio in front of him, his eyes burning. He wants to sleep so badly. Wants to curl up in all of the blankets like one of those field mice lying inside a flower, dreaming of hot showers and his mom’s warm oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

He can’t fall asleep, though. Not when he can hear Stebbins’s footsteps acting like a metronome outside, wet and heavy. The other man is humming a tune, has been humming that same tune ever since it was just the two of them alone together. It’s slow, soft-sounding, something he doesn’t expect from the other man. It’s nice, slightly gravelly coming from the other, as to be expected. Familiar. Maybe a song he’s heard on the radio and logged into the back of his mind. He wonders what else is back there that he’s forgotten. His humming is quiet, but it’s all that Garraty can think about, swirling and bouncing against the walls of his brain like a game of hockey.

Holy fuck, is it annoying. It’s almost on the tip of his tongue what it is, short and repetitive, occasionally a few notes changing at the end. At a few points, where Stebbins couldn’t hum without going into a coughing fit, he switched to whistling, sounding weak through his cracked lips. Sure, the first time or two he’d done it, Garraty liked it. Now…

“Ugh…will you please just shut up!” He hears Stebbins finish part of the song, only responding then. His steps sound close by to the tent, close enough to where he can hear when his shoes get stuck in the mud and he has to pull his feet hard to get them out.

“Can a man not entertain himself on The Walk?” Garraty sucks in a breath through his teeth, closing his eyes.

“You aren’t on The Walk, Stebbins. Stop saying that shit, stop fucking humming, and stop walking before you end up killing yourself!” He hears Stebbins sigh loudly, lungs crackling as he coughs. His feet stumble slightly, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t end up face-first in the mud.

“Go sweep your own door, Garraty. I know what I’m doin’. You’ll see.” Garraty can hear his voice get a bit weaker as he retorts back, ending with another wet-sounding cough that makes him feel uneasy. He fiddles with the radio, trying to find the station he needs.

“What’s with you and all those sayings? You can’t just say what you mean, can you?” He hears Stebbins suck in a breath, cracking his neck as he rounds the corner of the tent once again.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He hears Stebbins chuckle at nothing, his shadow dancing along the inside of the tent thanks to the lamp beside Garraty. It reminds him of the shadow puppet shows his dad always used to put on when he was younger, someone's fingers contorted to control Stebbins’s thin body, twisting it, making it continue to walk on broken feet.

“I don’t know how you can keep on going. I don’t want to stand up for another twenty years. Not sure if I could.” Garraty’s voice is quiet as he pulls his eyes from the shadow on the walls, focusing on getting the radio to work how he wants it to.

“Are you exhausted, Ray Garraty?” He rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he mumbles to himself.

“Jesus…not this again.” He must’ve done it too loud, though, as he hears a sharp bark come from Stebbins, almost making him flinch.

“Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life." Stebbins speaks like he’s reciting a mantra. Or like he’s reading off a script. Either one. Garraty blinks, looking up at the shadow, raising an eyebrow.

“You a religious man, Stebbins?” He hears Stebbins chuckle, kicking a puddle of mud, splashing it onto the outside of the tent. He raises an eyebrow at that, abandoning what he was doing to watch Stebbins closer, listening in on his curt tone.

“Wouldn’t you like to know. Would you like my autograph and blood type while you’re at it?” Stebbins’s tone is sharp, almost showing emotion for once. It’s a strange concept to wrap his head around. He’s used to the lean Buddha keeping his distance from everyone, walking like a scarecrow come to life.

“Was just making conversation.”

“You were prying.”

After another minute, he hears Stebbins’s humming starting up again, the emotion he had heard before gone, his walking lighter. He bites his tongue, continuing to slowly turn the knob until he hears a tinny voice come through.

“Finally.”

“What?” Stebbins speaks low, hacking as he breathes in. Garraty grabs a sleeping bag from the corner, unzipping it and pulling the waterproof side out and over his body. He winces as he stands up on his uneasy legs, pulling the tent flap back so he can walk out into the rain. He shivers at the wind, curling the sleeping bag closer, the bottom of his pants already starting to get wet. He walks up to Stebbins, covering the radio as he turns it louder for the other to hear.

“You’ve been saying you need proof The Walk’s over? Here. It’s a radio I got from the guards, since you thought Tressler’s was ‘untrustworthy’.”

“It was. You must believe everything’s written on the ceiling.”

“I look at the writing on the wall, Stebbins. Why can’t you?” The other man shrugs, coughing into his clenched hand, spitting a reddish mucus into the mud.

“What can I say? In addition to an epidemic of laziness, there also happens to be an epidemic of gullibility. In the land of the blind, the one-eyed is-”

“Stebbins. Just…listen, before it skips over the part you should hear.” The man clenches his jaw tight, squinting his eyes at Garraty. His hands are in his pockets, hair plastered against his forehead. His cheeks and nose look even more flushed, and Garraty can hear his wheeze with every breath inward. It’s a few long seconds before Stebbins takes one step forward, leaning towards where the radio is playing. There’s been a station with that radio broadcast on loop ever since that morning, replaying so that all Americans know what’s going on. There’s a crackle of static, making Garraty wince before the voice resumes the same winded speech.

“-at nineteen long years ago, this country was nearly torn apart at the seams as a result of war. A war that had killed millions of good men, and a war that we should have won. This glorious country, threatened at the brink, eventually began recovery efforts. These recovery efforts had culminated into The Long Walk, held in Maine as of two days ago on May 1st.”

“With tensions once again rising, an executive decision had been made for the safety of not only the brave Walkers but also of every American living on the East Coast. We don’t want a repeat of the national tragedy still engraved into all our hearts. With the conflict threatening American soil, we ask you to consider the following decision, while tragic, to be a necessary evil. This year’s Walk has been cancelled until further notice, with remaining Walkers holding their heads high knowing they had done all they could, and have received a prize better than money: their lives…”

Stebbins tenses, standing up straighter, dark eyes staring down at the radio in Garraty’s hands. His eyes flick to Garraty’s face, his mouth moving as he sucks in a crunchy-sounding breath. He can’t help but wonder what Stebbins’s lungs look like. He imagines them as walnut-esque. He brings the sleeping bag over Stebbins’s shoulders to try and help guard him from the rain, leaning forward so the radio doesn’t wet. The voice continues.

“These Walkers remain as symbols of hope. Inspirations that you…yes, you…can look up to and replicate. Their valor should be commended and sought to be replicated as we enact a replacement lottery system. Th-”

The radio buzzes, the signal cutting out as the wind picks up. Garraty curses, smacking the radio, trying to adjust the dials. The guards probably gave him the shittiest of their radios, not that he can particularly blame them. Stebbins is eerily still beside him, his breathing shallow and eyes almost glazed over. After a minute of smacking, adjusting every knob he can think of, the radio sparking once again, the man’s voice picking up.

“...-ove that America is once again, number one. We ask for every American to contribute to the fight in any way they can by contacting their local government. Measures taken during the last war will be doubled down once again. Surveillance at the state and national level will be doubled down once again. National pride, resilience, and compliance in accordance with the rules and regulations established to return this country to its former glory will be doubled down once again.”

“The first lottery will be held in two weeks' time at 12 pm CST to determine which men have the privilege of joining Walkers in showing American greatness and superiority. May god rest easy on everyone’s souls, and good luck to those who choose to fight for this country. Remember, you are in charge of your own destiny, and with enough determination and bravery, you can do anything.”

The radio dies down, giving way to static before shitty, watered-down songs start playing. Garraty goes to turn off the radio to save its batteries, just in case the guards decide to get on his ass about it, but he’s stopped by Stebbins catching his wrist. His fingers pressed deep into his bones, making him wince.

Stebbins doesn’t seem to notice, staring at the radio like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. No noise comes from Stebbins, not even a wheezing breath in. It’s like someone paused him, like he’s a wind-up toy that someone needs to pick up and reset. After a few seconds, he stands up tall, letting go of Garraty’s wrist slightly, taking one step away from Garraty.

That’s all the warning he got before Stebbins threw up into a patch of grass beside them, crumpling in on himself as one of his knees hit the mud. It splashes a dark brown onto his almost-black looking pants, his back spasming as he tries desperately to pull in a breath through his lungs. Garraty is frozen in place, Stebbins’s hand still wrapped around him. He closes his mouth he hadn’t realized he’d opened, shifting one of his feet so that he’s a bit closer to the other man, putting the radio closer to his chest.

Stebbins lets out a choked noise as he sucks in a breath, coughing thrice at how fast he tried to inhale the air. After another few seconds of that, he loudly swallows, his throat probably in agony, standing up much too fast for what should be possible. He’s facing away from Garraty, his free hand covering his mouth as the rain pours onto his head, already starting to wash away the soiled ground. Garraty breathes quietly, fingers under Stebbins’s hand twitching, making the other man pull his hand like he’d been burned. He’s standing tall now, like he hadn’t just vomited randomly, shaking his head as he shifts his feet.

He raises his head, lowering his hand to hang low against his side. After a few seconds, he sucks in a breath, walking quickly over to where the guards rest on the remaining half-track. Garraty pauses, blinking twice before wrapping the sleeping bag tighter to his body in hopes of not getting wet. Pain shoots up his legs and into the meat of his thighs as he walks quickly to try and catch up to the taller man.

“Stebbins? What the fuck was that? Where are you going?” His footsteps are out of sync with the other man’s, splashing mud onto the ends of his tattered pants. Stebbins just shakes his head, his fists clenching.

“Away. Like everyone else, Garraty. Going up to those guards like walking up to a lion, asking to drive to the payphone, airport, hell, probably just around the corner to get shot. Anywhere but here, though, that’s where I’m going.” Garraty pinches his eyebrow, wincing as he pumps his legs until he’s a few inches behind Stebbins.

“What are you going on about? Did you hear any shots when everyone else was carted off? Considering your history, I’m surprised you weren’t giddy with excitement, giggling at every ‘bang’.” He hears Stebbins let out a mirthless chuckle, rubbing his mouth with his hand before shaking his head.

“Fine, but there are quieter ways to kill, Raymond. Quiet ways that’ll make your skin crawl and’ll have you wishing for the easy death The Walk provides. It doesn’t matter. None of this matters anymore.” His voice is final, like that’s the end of that conversation as he nears the half-track. Garraty clenches his jaw, taking three quick strides as he holds the sleeping bag in his teeth and in his hand holding the radio, reaching out to grab onto the back of Stebbins’s jacket.

He yanks hard, making the other man let out a choked noise as he spins 90 degrees. He leans forward enough that he can smack Garraty’s hand from off of his back.

“What’s your problem!”

“What’s your problem? You could’ve left at any point with any of the other Walkers, and you just now decide to hightail it out of here?” Stebbins rolls his eyes, leaning forward, speaking to Garraty like he’s a child.

“I’m leaving because I’m done. I’m not your friend. I’m not here to talk to you, giggling like schoolgirls discussing their crushes on Robert or John or Henry. I’m here to win. I can’t do that anymore. Therefore, I’m leaving you and this state behind. Goodbye.”

Stebbins turns to walk away once again, reaching a hand out to climb onto the half-track before Garraty hands the guard back the transistor radio so he can put both hands in front of Stebbins to stop him. He can feel the sleeping bag slip from his head, making part of his forehead slick with rain.

“Just wait a minute, Stebbins! You can’t seriously expect-”

“I do.” Garraty lowers his eyes, trying to stand taller.

“I didn’t get to finish what I was-”

“I don’t care. I want to leave.” Stebbins makes one more move to get onto the half-track, Garraty moving to get in front of him. He can’t…can’t just leave like this. Not Stebbins. Not when he doesn’t know where the other lives, not when they haven’t had a real conversation without Stebbins talking like he’s trying to be as elusive as possible, and certainly not leaving off on the note that Garraty meant nothing to Stebbins.

The taller man takes a step back, face lowering and softening somewhat as he brings a hand up, pushing the sleeping bag off of Garraty’s shoulders and into the mud, almost instantly making him just as wet as Stebbins. He clenches his jaw, seeing Stebbins smirk softly.

“Why did you just do that?”

“Because you’re in my way, Alice.” Garraty crosses his arms, ignoring the stares the two guards behind them are surely giving.

“I’m not Alice, Stebbins. Why are you insisting on calling me that?” Stebbins leans back, sucking in a breath through his nose softly so as not to trigger more hacking.

“Otherwise, I’ll call you a fawn. A little baby deer prancing around in the woods, unaware of the hunter with his sights trained on its fluffy, little, white spots.” Garraty raises an eyebrow, tilting his head as he crosses his arms over his chest. He hates the sound of wet fabric rubbing against each other. It makes his teeth hurt.

“People don’t hunt fawns. Besides, what reason would you have to call me a fawn? Should I just call you Rabbit?” Stebbins hums, like he’s considering Garraty’s words. He glances up and to the left before looking back, staring into Garraty’s eyes.

“No. Not more like the animal, like the response. Fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. You’re a people pleaser, too focused on being nice and getting everyone to like you. You’d stick your neck out for Satan if he’d ask you nice enough. You’re lucky The Walk is over, would’ve gotten yourself killed for your so-called friends. I would’ve laughed.” Stebbins spits out the last sentence, getting close to Garraty, scanning his face for a reaction. Garraty clenches his jaw, holding in a breath. Stebbins apparently sees what he wanted to see; his poker face had always been a weak point. He’d lost too many nickels to that when he was growing up.

Garraty doesn’t know what to do. He likes Stebbins…but also hates him. Wants to stay in contact…but also never wants to see him again. Wants to punch his face in…but also feels his stomach curl in on itself whenever the other coughs too hard. He should probably just move aside. He knows he should. He can’t bring himself to move, though. Just staring at Stebbins, seeing the other man staring back.

He jerks, hearing the low hum of an engine pulling up, different from the usual half-tracks he’d already gotten used to. Quiet. Familiar. He takes a step to the side, surprised when he doesn’t immediately hear Stebbins climbing onto the vehicle next to the guards. He sucks in a breath, bright lights blinding him, exposing just how badly it’s raining. He always liked the sound of tires on wet asphalt. Despite not being able to see anything, he knows who it is. Deep in his gut.

“...mom?”