Work Text:
“We’re going to be late.” Gabe checks his phone for the seven hundredth time that minute. “Robbie, I told you we needed to leave earlier, we’re going to be so late.”
Robbie drums his fingers on the steering wheel. They haven’t moved an inch in over five minutes. He’d hoped they could skip the roadworks on the 110, take the 10 to Culver City and then the 405 down to LAX ahead of the commuters getting out of work. Eli, bored and already in a bad mood at the prospect of having to carry passengers, tunes into the radio with a crackle in Robbie’s ear.
Told you we should’ve gone through Vernon. Some idiot totalled their stupid truck on exit to Washington Boulevard. We ain’t going anywhere fast.
Shit. He should’ve just told Canelo he’d come back to make up the hours in the evening. That’s what you get for letting that fat fucker walk all over you, kid. Next time he’s gonna ask you to stay longer to suck his—Robbie pinches his wrist. The brief flash of pain doesn’t stop Eli’s tirade, but at least lets him tune out most of the words. Out loud, he says: “Yeah, looks like you’re right. Can you text Charlene to let her know?”
From the corner of his eye, he sees Gabe wilt in his seat as he taps between apps. “They’ll be landing in twenty minutes. We’ll never make it there in time, you know how Mrs Ocampo is. She’ll think they’re causing us trouble and take an Uber.”
Mrs Ocampo can–
Robbie goes to pinch himself again. Gabe slaps his forearm. “Stop that. Dr Dacosta said it’s a bad habit.”
“Sorry.” Eli snorts in the back of his head. He tries to imagine tearing his legs off, but then the unending column of cars in front of them moves a fraction and he has to focus on not letting the Toyota in the other lane bully its way in front of him.
The exit to Crenshaw Boulevard is still several hundred yards away, and judging by the frequent sounding of car horns not offering a quick escape. Gabe groans when they’re forced back to a stop after only a few seconds. Charlene and her mom went to visit family for Christmas – Robbie forgets where, he really needs to pay better attention to those things – and Gabe only told him this morning, when he was getting ready for work, that they needed picking up from LAX of all places. Mrs Ocampo is a nurse of some kind – she’s pragmatic above all else, and would obviously understand both overrun shifts and shit traffic.
She’s also clearly giving Robbie a benefit of the doubt, on account of Gabe being such a nice boy, but he can tell when he’s on thin ice with an authority figure. Oh, wow. That’s a sane fucking thought right there. Hanging out with Charlene has been fantastic for Gabe. He’s gained tons of confidence; they do new things all the time. If Mrs Ocampo starts thinking Robbie’s unreliable…
Look, it’s the kid’s own fault. Shut up. What, it is! He goes offering shit he can’t deliver himself, and you coddle him right through it. The way I see it, it’s a good lesson for both of you. People will be disappointed with you no matter your intentions.
Gabe’s wearing a long-sleeve and jeans, all fairly dark and, crucially, not overly flammable. There are no cameras on this stretch either.
“Robbie?”
“Put your phone in the glove box.”
Gabe gasps. “Really? You’re going to…?”
He hasn’t burned up in weeks, but he and Eli spent ages learning to phase through parking lot barriers without breaking them. Barely. Are you serious? If they teleport into the Quik Park’s third floor, they can snuff out and leave without alerting anyone enough to check the CCTV.
“Really.” He can’t help but smile back when his brother beams at him. “I’ll need you to lay your seat down, though. You gonna be okay for a few minutes?”
“Are you serious? Of course I’ll be okay!” Gabe twists to grab the thick blanket from the back seat and spread it over his lap before letting Robbie help him lower his seat. “Oh my god, you’re the best, you’re the best brother in the world!”
And maybe one day hearing Gabe say that won’t be enough to offset the dread of burning alive. Maybe one day Eli will be stubborn enough to deny himself just to spite him. But today, Robbie grips the steering wheel, ignores the blare of claxons behind him and watches his right eye spark in the rearview mirror.