Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Staring at the departure board at Denver International Airport, Adam tries his best not to panic.

So far, he’s failing miserably. 

Every single flight out of the city has been cancelled. There’s a few late arrivals that the air control tower is trying to land safely, but other than that— nothing. A once in a lifetime blizzard is about to bring most of the air traffic in the Northern US to a crashing halt. Weather stations all across the country are warning people to stay inside and huddle up – and Adam? 

Well, Adam has to be back in New York in two days or his promotion is at risk. 

Looking out the big glass windows framing the foyer of Denver International Airport, a few lone snowflakes are dancing down from the gray sky. It’s hard to believe that in just a few hours, a bit of ice and snow will make it impossible for him to leave. 

At least he’s not the only one currently freaking out.

All around him families are yelling and fighting, not just a few “but we need to get back for the holidays!” echoing through the crowd. There’s men like him – in business suits, with small leather suitcases by their side – furiously talking on their phones, and women in smart costumes staring at the departure board in disbelief. At least a couple of children are crying, airport employees desperately trying to offer solutions when there are none.

They are stuck.

For the foreseeable future, they are stuck.

Rubbing his eyes, Adam swallows down the urge to cry. This is neither the time nor place. Surely, there’s a solution to this problem – there has to be.

There usually is. 

That’s what he is good at, after all: looking at a mess other people made and figuring out how to solve the problems presented to him in a way that benefits the company. 

What company? Well, whoever hired his consulting firm this time. 

And he can’t just lose everything he’s worked for throughout the last two years over a delayed flight, right?

Worrying his lip, Adam thinks back to the last meeting he had with his boss before flying out. The importance of his business trip was pretty clearly communicated. Adam had one week to close this deal, or the firm could lose up to 20 million dollars in potential client payments over the holidays. Unfortunately, the documents needed to make sure this doesn’t happen – a few signatures Adam was awfully proud of not even two hours ago – are only legally binding once his boss has greenlit them as well. They need to get filed in New York or the deal falls through. As it stands, the deadline will pass without Adam and the contract safely secured in his briefcase back in the city. 

Instead, Adam will fitfully sleep in some run-down airport hotel in Denver of all places while his world falls apart.

(there’s a very real chance this might be it)

Consulting is one hell of a cutthroat business, and Adam has seen colleagues get fired for less.

After years of grueling work, one internship on Wall Street after the other, and a once in a lifetime opportunity to start at his current consulting firm, this can’t be what keeps him from getting a promotion. He needs this. If only so he can sleep at night. 

How else is he supposed to get headhunted into private equity? 

(some people dream of vacationing on the Bahamas, Adam dreams of a world where he can step away from being the one who tells companies which four-hundred people they need to cut-off to remain profitable, so he can simply trade and invest in peace)

(a little bit less guilt might be good for his stomach)

Fucking hell.

Shaking his head, Adam stares at the departure board until his eyes are dry and itchy. Every time he blinks, he can feel his contact lenses catch – there’s some eye drops in his bag somewhere, but right now he welcomes the aching dryness. Rather a little bit of pain than a show of weakness. 

There has to be a solution here somewhere.

“And I thought I was being so clever for booking a flight with a layover in Denver.” 

The voice startles Adam out of his reverie, one look confirming it belongs to the stranger next to him. A man, a few inches shorter than Adam, dressed in a big orange winter coat, hair covered by a white hat, face obscured by giant gold-framed glasses. A nobody, someone’s Adam never met before.

Still, it seems only polite to answer, “Oh, where’re you headed?” 

“New York.” The stranger smiles up at Adam. Disconcertingly, he’s showing all his teeth as he does so. “Well, Baltimore, but the flight to New York was cheaper. As was the layover here.”

“Same hat.” Adam tries to smile back. It probably looks just as weird as the stranger’s attempt at levity. “New York, I mean. We might have been on the same plane before, well, all of this.” 

“Cool.” The stranger nods, before offering Adam his hand. “Ben Doyle, by the way.”

“Adam Chase.” Taking his hand, Ben’s grip is surprisingly strong. “Any idea how to get out of here?”

“We could hijack a plane.” Ben’s words are so dry, it takes a moment before Adam recognizes the humor in them.

And then he laughs. It’s surprisingly earnest. 

“Yeah, we could try that.”

“Or steal Santa’s sleigh.”

“I think the reindeer are unionized, they might not like that,” Adam shoots back. There’s a certain levity to Ben, as if he’s someone who never takes anything seriously, and Adam won’t lie: right now that’s exactly what he needs. Someone who isn’t as high strung as he is, if only so he can distract himself from his own troubles.

Normally, people like Ben (Laid-back stoners, the category is called in Adam’s mind) infuriate him, but special circumstances and all that. 

“Dammit. Santa should do some union busting.” Scrunching up his nose, Ben’s expression relaxes into something more honest. More real. “Or we can try and get a car. Go on an epic road trip together that’ll forever change our lives.” 

Adam blinks. That’s not actually that bad an idea – the roads will be easier to travel on, road services quick to clear most highways even during a bad storm. Even during the blizzard of the century.

“We could rent a car,” Adam says slowly, well aware that he’s offering a serious commitment to this stranger he met minutes ago.

“It’s a thirty hour drive.”

“Doable if we take turns.”

“I don’t have a license,” Ben admits, real chagrin shining out of his eyes. 

“Fuck it, I’ve stayed awake for longer periods of time. I can drive.” 

Adam’s always been a bit overexcitable – that’s why no one was surprised when he flourished doing theater in high school. The opportunity to project his (frequently commented on) voice across an auditorium was all he needed to break out of his shell. Somehow, this trait has stayed with him for all these years, through Yale, his short attempt at a comedy career, and the numerous faceless offices in the Financial District since. 

Just this tendril of hope is enough to get him started, boundless energy trying to burst out of him now that he has a direction to go in. Thirty hours of driving, and Adam can save his future.

That’s not that bad a deal.

He’s certainly sold worse to the morons he works for.

Ben’s staring at him, something complicated happening on the few inches of skin actually visible. It takes a moment, but then he shrugs, “Okay, fuck it. I doubt it’ll be this easy, but I did want to go on an adventure, so…”

Turning around, they cut through the crowds of lost travelers in the direction of the car rental services. It’s not easy, hundreds of people moving all around them, the noise alone almost deafening, but Ben’s coat is bright enough (and unusual enough) that Adam never once loses sight of him. It’s like a beacon, and Adam’s grateful for it.

(it’s been a long time since he had this kind of connection with a stranger – the last time was with Maeve, and he’s still aching over how that ended)

(when she left, she took the cat with her)

(Adam worries if Mr. Cat is even still alive)

Breaking out of the thick of the chaos, the crowd thinning out, Adam allows himself to take a deep breath. It’s stuffy in here, the foyer not built to handle this many people just standing around, instead of moving through its giant halls with a direction in mind.

Pointing at the far wall near the exit, Ben says, “It’s over there, I think.”

“Yeah.”

By now, the snow has turned from a few lone snowflakes into a heavy downpour of white. Adam’s already freezing, even though they haven’t yet left the heated airport behind. He didn’t pack a coat thick enough for this kind of weather – if anything, he’s traveling light. This was supposed to be a quick in-and-out operation, and now it’s turning into some sort of freezing hell dimension, forcing him to overstay his welcome.

His stomach rumbles. He needs an antacid. 

Anything, to help his body calm down.

(by now he’s accepted that his mind is pretty much a lost cause)

Lost in thought, Adam brushes against a man moving in the same direction. It’s just a light touch, Adam quick to offer a “Oh, I’m so sorry” when a surprised “Adam? Adam Chase, right?” stops him. 

Turning around, he looks at the stranger – really looks at him.

Tall, long blond hair, and a jawline that could cut steel, Adam’s not sure if he’s supposed to recognize the man. Something familiar tickles the back of his mind, but Adam can’t quite put his finger on it. Have they met before? Maybe the guy’s famous? But why would he know Adam’s name if that’s the case? 

The stranger seems to have no such problems; his eyes intense, his voice steady as he continues, “Oh, it is you. It’s been a while, but you, like, really didn’t change at all since… five? Almost six years ago?”

That’s at least a timeframe, even if Adam’s still struggling to place him.

Next to him, Ben pipes up, “You two know each other?” 

“Well, I don’t think Adam here remembers me, but— Sam Denby. Adam interviewed for me once.” 

“The world is a truly strange place,” Ben says, shaking Sam’s hand while Adam is busy crashing out. “Ben Doyle. I met Adam here five minutes ago, but now we’re trauma bonded in our attempt to leave Denver.”

Of course, Adam remembers Sam Denby now.

Sam was the closest Adam got to realizing his dream of a comedy career in New York. 

After finishing college, he gave himself half a year to make it as a comedian, hell, or even just a comedy writer – after months of email correspondence, Sam offered him a dream just as Adam was headhunted by a consulting firm willing to pay him six figures in his first year.

He almost said yes to Sam anyway, until his dad called and asked him to please be sensible. And the thing is, for all the crazy stunts he pulled in his youth, Adam is a horribly sensible person. So, he denied Sam’s offer, took up a position as a faceless finance bro in Manhattan and waved his fantasies goodbye.

That was five and a half years ago. 

Sam looks like a man now, compared to the boy he’d been when they last talked. It’s no wonder Adam didn’t recognize him.

“You’re trying to leave Denver?” Sam asks.

“Yeah.” Adam’s voice is a bit fragile, the shock still reverberating through his body. “Yeah, we need to get back to New York. Well, Ben here needs to get to Baltimore, but… yeah. And, hi Sam. Long time no see.” 

“Adam thinks we should rent a car and just drive there, but…” Pointing at the shifting crowds and the long queues forming in front of the car rental places, Ben shrugs, “I don’t think we’re the only people who had that idea.” 

“New York, you say?” Sam looks at them, consideration starkly visible in the lines on his face. “I was heading up to New York as well, actually.”

“You were?” Adam asks in disbelief. 

It’s the only emotion he has left, everything else swallowed up by the insanity in front of him.

Surely, this isn’t actually happening. Surely, Adam’s overactive imagination is once again playing tricks on him. He’s been nervous these past few days, he’s slept badly, had too much coffee, and now his future is threatened – it would only make sense for his brain to conjure up an opportunity from his past he’s still grieving over.

Right? 

“Yeah. Nebula’s End Of Year Party.” Sam’s smile is bashful, as if he feels bad for bragging. “Kinda have to be there as the CCO.”

“What on earth is Nebula?” Ben asks, before Adam can say something stupid.

“A streaming service.” Both Sam and Adam answer at the same time.

They look at each other.

Sam’s grinning.

Adam doesn’t believe in fate, but it’s hard not to listen to the universe when it’s sending you this many signs. With a sigh, he straightens up, “How did you plan on getting there?”

“Well… my car’s parked out front.” Pushing his long blond hair out of his face, Sam makes eye contact with them both. “Y’all, I could use someone to switch with me while driving.”

“I don’t have a license.”

“But I do.” Adam steps forward. “It’d be great if you could— yeah, if you’re offering, we’d love to, I mean, we’ll pay for the gas, of course, I’m just—”

“What Adam means—” Ben acts as if they’re childhood friends instead of whatever they actually are (mostly strangers), “is that we’d love to take you up on that offer. I’m a great passenger princess, by the way.”

“Passenger Princess?” Sam echoes back.

“Oh, yeah, private DJ, snack dispenser, map reader, road tactician… whatever you need, I can usually provide it.”

There is no doubt in Adam’s mind that Ben actually means it. 

“Oh, cool.” Sam accepts Ben’s insanity at face value.

Something relaxes in Adam – he’s still a jittery mess, don’t get him wrong, but there was a part of him that worried about Ben and Sam not getting along. It’s stupid, of course it is, considering functionally they are all strangers to each other, and Adam has no claim on either one of them, but still—

He’s breathing a bit easier now.

“Y’all have everything you need?” Sam asks. “Because in that case: it’s time to go.”

Adam and Ben follow him out into the storm.

Chapter Text

With the heat blasting into the frigid interior of Sam’s jeep, Ben is trying to get an accurate read on the situation. Having snatched the passenger seat from Adam (who gave it up suspiciously easily), Ben’s sprawled over the front seat. 

Jacket balled up on the backseat next to Adam, backpack between his legs, Switch fully charged up, he’s toasty.

If slightly nervous.

He joked about it earlier with Adam, but this is actually kind of insane. He’s in a car with two strangers (who apparently, maybe, know each other?) on a thirty hour road trip through a blizzard back to New York. Well, Ben plans on getting off in Baltimore.

His mom would kill him if he died on some stupid adventure like this.

Especially since he used to be the kind of child who had to regularly be reminded of stranger danger – and look at him now, twenty-five and the people luring him to their car didn’t even have to offer him chocolate to get him to follow them. He’s clearly winning at life. 

(and that’s the crux of it all, isn’t it? Ben still feels like a child in an adult’s body, only playing at being a grown-up)

Texting his mom, he’s telling her that he’ll be home a bit later than expected.

He just hopes she doesn’t ask for a reason – or his form of transportation.

His friend Sarah on the other hand gets a live location and detailed instructions on who to call should Ben end up going missing. He even sent them a picture of Sam’s license plate and the Wikipedia article on the guy currently driving the car. Just to make sure. 

Damn, it’ll never stop being strange to meet people who are actually well-known enough to have a Wikipedia page. That’s just fucking insane.  

(two years in LA – and having Larry Doyle as a father – should have prepared him for this, and yet it trips him up every single time)

“Sooooo…” Ben draws the word out. “What do you guys do for a living?”

“Didn’t you just google me?” Sam shoots back, eyes trained on the road. It’s snowing somewhat fiercely, their line of sight maybe three dozen yards. Ben tries not to think of the traffic accident statistics for extreme weather he memorized as a teenager trying to get out of drivers ed. 

“You saw that?”

“I saw that.” At least Sam’s smiling. “Good thinking, by the way. Keeping your friend informed and sending a live location? Those are some solid precautions.”

“You think we’re trying to kidnap you?” Adam’s voice can get surprisingly high – Ben turns around in his seat at the question to find Adam leaning forward apparently eager for  conversation. 

“No,” Ben starts unconvincingly. “Of course not. That’d be insane.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

“No, but for real, what do you do? I know Sam is some fancy streaming service CCO something or another, but—”

“Mostly I’m a Youtuber.” Sam cuts Ben off before Ben commits to saying something stupid. “I run two channels, Half As Interesting and Wendover Productions. It’s mostly logistics content, with HAI being a more comedy focused channel about fun facts.”

“That sounds incredibly boring.” Ben’s mouth is often quicker than his brain.

“You would think so, but a lot of people really seem to like logistics content. There’re more plane lovers out there than you might think, Ben. We’re among you.”

“I think the reference is actually ‘there’s a traitor among us’ – not sure it works as an ‘among you’,” Adam inserts himself back into the conversation. Judging by the blush crawling up his neck, he’s immediately embarrassed by the pedantic nature of his interruption. “Oh, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Sam laughs, and Ben allows himself a smile as well.

“You really haven’t changed at all.” 

“You remember me surprisingly well, considering how long it’s been.” Ben can’t be the only one noticing the tension returning to Adam’s shoulders – watching him through the rearview mirror, it’s unclear whether it was Sam’s innocuous comment that triggered this or something else. 

Either way, Sam seems unbothered by the edge to Adam’s words. “Hm, yeah. People tend to remember the ‘one that got away’.” A beat of silence and then, “Not that I— I mean that in a purely professional sense, of course.”

(Ben tries not to interpret too much into Sam’s fumbled phrasing)

“Of course.” Adam echoes. “The one who got away?” 

“Yeah.” Fingers drumming on the steering wheel, Sam takes his time to answer, “You know? You would have been my first. My first full-time hire, I mean. Ever. I wouldn’t have offered that job to you if I didn’t think you had what it takes. I completely understand why you said no, the disparities in salary were simply too big to ignore, there’s just— you would have fit in great.”

“Oh.” Adam makes a noise most commonly linked to wounded animals.

Sam doesn’t stop. “Are you still in comedy? I tried to keep an eye out for any publications with your name on them, but I’m not much of a comedy reader. I might have missed some.”

It’s very, very obvious that Adam doesn’t want to answer Sam. Ben has absolutely no idea what Adam’s deal is, he’s barely invested as it is, but since he has to spend another two days in a car with these people, he has to defuse this situation as quickly as possible. Before they fight. Or worse, talk about their emotions.

He’s seen enough road trip movies to know that this bonding experience will force them to have some emotional revelations if they’re not careful. 

“Well, I’m a comedy writer.” Ben lazily stretches out his arms, careful to draw attention to himself. 

At least the jeep is pretty spacious.

“You are?” Adam reaches for the offered lifeline like a drowning man.

“Yeah.” Ben smiles in a way that hopefully conveys self-confidence and pride. “I mean, it’s LA. The business is oversaturated with white guys who think they are funny, and after the writer’s strike the industry’s still in shambles, but… I’ve written a few episodes here and there.” 

“Anything I might have seen?” 

“I wrote two episodes of Animal Control ? And an episode of Mid-Century Modern .” Neither Adam nor Sam react – well, usually Ben has another card up his sleeve. He’s not even sure why he’s trying to impress them. “I was also part of the writer’s room for The Simpsons .” 

It’s not even a lie.

Still, it tastes like chalk on his tongue when he says it.

“ The Simpsons ? Damn, you’re basically writing royalty.” Adam’s excitement echoes through the car. 

“I’m really not.” Clearing his throat, Ben pulls open his backpack in search of a snack. “Does anyone want some granola bars?” 

“Are they high in protein?” Sam glances in his direction. “I’m training for a marathon.”

Ben has no idea what a marathon has to do with his granola bars. Still, he checks. 

“Uhhh, no, but they have a lot of fiber? Whatever that means?” 

“Perfect.” Reaching out one hand, Sam asks for one. “Thank you.”

Ben complies.

Hah, he’s so good at this whole social interaction thing. 

Sam’s trying his best to keep the car on the road, even against the pull of the howling storm outside. Visibility has gone down even more, their pace a grueling 12 mph as they inch down I-76. Three hours into their drive and they’ve barely made it past Fort Morgan. 

The radio is playing some synthesized pop music – Sam missed the name of the artist, but he’ll have to try and find it later to add it to his workout playlist – Ben silent as he stares out of the window into the white nothing of the blizzard.

Adam’s been on his phone for most of the last hour, whisper-shouting at the person on the other end. Sam has no idea what that is all about, his focus directed forward. Still, curiosity is nibbling on the corners of his attention. It’s not eavesdropping if Adam’s doing all this in the enclosed space of a car.

Right?

“-and tell Martin that he can go fuck himself if he fucks up sending that email. No, I am not apologizing for my choice of words. We were supposed to contact the client yesterday and that was decidedly Martin’s job. Not mine, not yours, but Martin’s. He is a member of this team and if he cannot perform to the standards we set—”

Sam knows a thing or two about business. You would hope so, considering he went to school for it. It’s just that he mostly uses his degree to make sure potential business partners aren’t trying to exploit him and his employees. He has no idea what exactly Adam is not-yelling about, but it sounds serious.

It also sounds insufferable. 

There’s a reason Sam started working with Dave. It’s only partially to avoid phone calls like that one. 

(and people like Adam)

(or people like his father, who might enjoy art, but who Sam mostly remembers for the silent expectation placed on all of them to end up in the same line of work as him)

(in that regard, Sam has failed spectacularly)

With a sigh, Adam ends the call. Massaging the furrows between his brows, it takes a moment before he speaks again, “Sorry, about that.”

“Uh, yeah.” Ben shrugs. It’s not hard to see that he’s at least somewhat uncomfortable.

Sam struggles to keep them both in his periphery, most of his attention taken up by the barely visible road in front of him and the distant brake lights of the lone Toyota up ahead, and yet he tries to do so anyway. It seems polite.

Unlike what he does next.

“What was that about?” Sam asks, before he can think twice about it.

He would never admit it, but it did hurt his ego when Adam refused his offer all these years ago. It’s petty and it’s not something Sam actively holds against the guy, but part of the reason he recognized Adam so quickly is that— yeah, it took a while for his younger self to get back out there and try again. And don’t get him wrong. He loves Amy and Tristan – they are the backbone of Wendover Productions and HAI, he couldn’t do what he does without them there to help him, but—

Sometimes Sam wonders what his future would have looked like if Adam had said yes. 

“Nothing really.” Hand over his eyes, Adam leans back.

The silence in the car is only interrupted by the low synth pop coming from the radio and the whoosh whoosh whoosh of the windshield wipers as they try to clear the snow. It is stifling.

“Uh,” Adam says first. 

Apparently Adam sucks at waiting out an uncomfortable silence. Sam stores that information away for later. His money would have been on Ben, considering how much the guy fidgets. 

Adam continues, “I work for a consulting firm. Since it’s the end of Q4, a lot of deadlines are approaching. I’m out of the office for the week and Martin, that idiot, was supposed to take care of client correspondence. Which he did not do. And now I have to take care of this while trapped in a car in the middle of nowhere—”

“ Oh, so you’re one of the bad guys,” Ben says, nodding sagely, forehead never leaving the window. Smudges from oily skin and mistings of condensation streak down the glass. 

“Uh, what? No, that is not— no, definitely not. No, I mean—” Adam splutters.

With night fast approaching, the outside world is little more than darkness occasionally interrupted by swirls of white. Sam only dares to look at Adam through the safety of the rearview mirror, and yet even those few short glances are enough to confirm the blush crawling out of the confines of his white button-down and up his neck.

Adam’s still wearing his tie. 

(Sam’s dad worked in consulting – this is almost too much of a coincidence)

“Chill out. I’m just fucking with you.” 

It’s very hard to say whether or not Ben is telling the truth. 

Sam’s not that interested in figuring it out, so he asks, “So that’s what you did since then?” 

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Silence returns to the car. 

Sam’s just glad nobody expects him to hold eye contact, considering he’s the driver. Holding a conversation is so much easier once everyone stops expecting him to look at them. He can do it, of course, he’s a professional, but just this once Sam allows himself to relax into this lack of expectations. 

Not that any of them are getting a gold star in small talk, if the multiple pauses in conversation are anything to go by.

“A YouTuber, a finance bro, and a comedy writer walk into a bar—” Ben starts.

“What next?” Sam asks, after the words turn rancid in the ever growing tension.

“Oh? Nothing. Usually my jokes basically write themselves, but I just don’t think there’s any material here.” There’s a disastrously long moment of silence, before Ben continues, “I just don’t think y’all are that funny. Sorry.”

A quick glance at Ben in his periphery confirms that the man is smirking, mischief pouring out of every colorful inch visible. Adam, on the other hand, does not seem to detect the dry humor, instead squawking with indignation: “I will let you know that I am, like, really funny—”

It’s stupid enough that Sam has to bite down a smile.

“Sure you are, man.” Ben doubles down with outright deadly amounts of sarcasm.

“Oh, don’t— Just because—” 

Following the gentle curve of I-76 up towards Fleming, Sam cuts through their banter, “Y’all sure you’ve never met before today? Because you have the charm of Laurel and Hardy.”

“Did you just call us stupid?” and now Adam’s focused on him. But somehow the high-pitched tirade on the importance of comedy writers on the American television zeitgeist is a lot easier to bear than the angry cursing that preceded it. “I will let you know—”

This version of Adam reminds him a lot more of the idealistic college graduate that Sam met all those years ago. He certainly prefers him to this weird Wall Street bro that the last five years turned him into.

(he’s not sure if he’s even allowed to have an opinion on this, really; Adam’s functionally a stranger)

“Don’t you have to, like, breathe?” Ben throws in there, just as Adam’s voice crescendos over the influence of Laurel and Hardy on current icons like Jordan & Peele. On purpose. It has to be on purpose.

And Adam’s off again.

(Sam turns off the radio when nobody’s looking; it’s not as if they can hear it anyway)

Chapter Text

They stopped in Julesburg right on the border between Colorado and Nebraska to refill the tank and switch drivers. Now it’s Adam’s job to get them back to New York in one piece.

I-80 isn’t any different to I-76, the world outside just as dark and gray and indistinguishable thanks to the snow. Powered by the six shots of espresso he begged the gas station attendant to add to his coffee (and she complied once he dialed up his smile), Adam’s doing his best to keep his hands steady even as he has to guesstimate the layout of the road. A glance at the speedometer confirms that they are crawling up into Nebraska, instead of driving.

Adam’s actively not thinking about the delay they’re already experiencing.

If they keep driving at this speed—

No. He’ll be back in New York on time, and then he’ll be able to sort out the issues with Martin before filing the contract with his boss. He already sent a few screenshots beforehand, and you’d think that would be enough for them to finalize everything, but apparently Adam’s the only one in the office to fully embrace the digital age, because, of course, nothing can ever be this easy and he needs to—

“You think awfully loud.” Ben’s still firmly seated in the passenger seat, one leg pulled up in a frightening display of his disregard for road safety.

“I do not.”

“Yeah, you do. I mean, you’re clutching the steering wheel as if you’re trying to choke it. Which, kinky, but I don’t think that makes you drive better.”

“Kinky?”

“Yeah. That’s what all the Gen Z kids are into these days: choking. I don’t judge.”

“Aren’t you Gen Z?” For just a second, Adam pries his eyes away from the road to glance at Ben lazing around. Unlike him, Ben seems to be on top of the world. Well, or at least on top of the blizzard, and the clusterfuck it’s turning their lives into.

The radio’s silent. Sam’s asleep on the backseat with an eye mask and headphones tuning out their chatter, and the rest of the world is impossibly far away. Maybe if Adam was sharing this car with different people, or if a deadline wasn’t hanging over him like Damocles' Sword, he could appreciate this moment for what it is: a liminal space. As it is, he longs for silence and the comfort of a hot bath.

“Hm, yeah. I’m also Jewish, five seven, and notoriously single. What about it?” Ben rummages in his backpack. “Protein bar?”

“I had like five of those already. I think I’m good.” Adam taps his fingers on the hard grips of the steering wheel. “If you’re Jewish, why are you flying home for the holidays?”

“Not one to talk about yourself, I see.” Ben shrugs, the edges of the movement brushing against Adam’s periphery. “But Chanukah’s a thing, dimwit. Also my sisters are on winter break, so it’s a good opportunity for the family to get together.”

“Must be hard with you living in Cali if all of them stayed on the East Coast.” Adam refuses to let Ben see him get flustered. Chanukah, of course. Fucking idiot. 

“I’m just messing.” A sly smile pulls at the edges of Ben’s mouth. “Chanukah’s not that big of a deal, actually. And we barely count as religious, as is. We just need a good reason to finally get back together again.”

“Oh.”

“But, yeah, LA’s never really been the dream. Well, not my dream at least. Pretty shit public transit as well.”

“Not every city can be New York.” 

It has always been Adam’s dream to move to New York. Winston-Salem might not have been the middle of nowhere, but it was still North Carolina, and even a much younger version of Adam had already longed for the big city. Even if nothing else worked out how the idealist in him had hoped it would, at least he still has this: the greatest city in the world. 

“Yeah, New York’s pretty dope.”

“You’ve been there before?” It’s small talk, and not even good small talk.

If Ben’s from Baltimore, of course he’s been to New York. 

“I lived there for almost a year after college actually. Did a few internships in the city and all that.” Unlike him, Ben seemingly has no trouble answering all these questions about himself. “I wrote for McSweeney’s and the New Yorker, did a few gigs in the comedy circuit and then— yeah, when you get a job opportunity in LA, you take it.” 

“Makes sense.” It’s basically the same thing Adam did: jump ship when a better opportunity presented itself. Only, Ben’s still following his dream. He’s still doing comedy, meanwhile Adam’s switched over to the dark side.

‘One of the bad guys,’ Ben called him earlier. 

Maybe he’s not too far off.

Goddammit, and to think Adam used to argue for human rights and decency back when he did mock trials.

(and he has morals still, at least he likes to think so)

(only it’s hard to hold onto those when you’re responsible for the restructuring of entire workforces just to slim the budget a little)

“And you?” Ben asks, once the silence stretches on again. “How do you like New York?”

“It’s—”

Great. Amazing. Filled with amazing people and amazing places. So many good museums, art venues and comedy clubs. There’s a restaurant for every country in the world, and Adam wants to try every single one. There’s public transit, and neighborhood co-ops, and farmer’s markets in every borough. There’s Shakespeare in the Park and Broadway and—

“It’s—”

So fucking lonely. The weather’s gray, the buildings somehow even grayer. No green except in tiny, municipally accepted plots. New Yorkers are rude, the subway smells like piss, rats, and vomit, and Adam’s had his wallet stolen at least three times since moving there. Most of his friends work in finance and kinda suck ass, his girlfriend left him because they “no longer share values” and his boss is a cancerous tumor slowly spreading into the very core of what Adam understands to be his heart. 

“It’s fine.” Adam shrugs. “Probably not that different from Baltimore. Or LA. Big cities tend to be pretty similar.”

“Now that’s just a blatant lie.” Breathing out through his nose, Ben sounds as if he’s trying not to laugh at him. “Baltimore and LA couldn’t be more different. And I can say that, I’ve lived in both. And in New York!”

“He’s right.” Sam’s voice startles Adam, bad enough that their speed jumps from 14 mph to 18 mph for just a few seconds. With his heart trying to escape through his ribcage, Adam glares at Sam through the rearview mirror. It works, considering Sam actually sounds chagrined when he continues, “Sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear the last bit of your conversation.”

Eye mask pushed up like a bandana to keep long blond hair out of his face, Sam still carries traces of sleep in his voice. It’s a bit comical to watch him try and get comfortable on the backseat, now that he’s awake, long legs folded sideways so Sam can lean forward in between the two front seats. 

“I’m right?” Ben echoes, perplexed.

“Oh, yeah,” Sam’s voice distinctly reminds Adam of all the Wendover Production videos he’s watched over the years as a form of punishment. “Surely, you know this. New York has a very unique structure even within the United States. There’s multiple reasons for that, geography is just one of them. Manhattan is uniquely situated to function as a population hub—”

Adam already knows all of this. Of course, he does.

He loves New York.

No, he loved New York. 

But that was years ago.

Still, he listens to Sam explain it to him again, anyway. 

It’s better than the hole his vibrating phone is burning into the fabric of his dress pants.

“I spy with my little eye something that begins with an I.” Ben finally conceded the passenger seat one rest stop ago (it was painful to watch Sam try and fold himself up like that), and now he’s sprawled over the entire back row, using Adam’s jacket as a makeshift pillow. So far his attempts to keep up the group spirit have ended up rather mediocre. His success rate isn’t the best.

But at least he’s putting in the effort.

(all the snacks they got certainly help)

(well, they’re helping keep his spirits up)

“If it’s ice again, I will stop this car and leave you on the side of the road in—” Adam glares out of the window, eyes narrowed until he spots a road sign somewhere in the white nothingness of the blizzard “—in Brady. Don’t tempt me. I will do it.”

They’re basically best friends already, Ben can tell. 

“Is it…” Sam, on the other hand, is more than ready to indulge Ben, especially now that he’s given up on sleep (and his legs have enough room to breathe). “Oh! Is it the Interstate sign?”

“That’s a good one, Sammy! But no.”

“Sammy?” 

“Hm, yeah.” Back in high school, guys like Sam threatened Ben, not only because they won the genetic lottery and grew to be taller than their mom, but because they had the sheer presence to demand respect. Unlike Ben, who had to bank on being funny. It doesn’t help that Sam’s obviously a jock, even if he apparently specializes in nerd content online. It’s only sensible to proceed with caution – and by framing himself as a bit of an idiot.

It’s a deeply juvenile and opportunistic way to view interpersonal relationships, but it’s what helped him survive high school. Surprisingly enough, it’s also what has since kept him afloat in LA, drowning in a sea of narcissistic TV execs and overblown egomanics in the writer’s room. There’s not that big a difference between a private school cafeteria and Universal Studios at noon.

“Um—” Not that it matters now, Sam obviously startled into silence by Ben’s new nickname.

“Is it ice?” Adam asks, annoyed.

“No, who do you take me for?”

“You don’t want me to answer that, buddy.”

“Touche.” Ben is so good at this game. “I promise it’s not ice. Pinky promise, even.”

His phone buzzes.

“Is it— okay, uh, is it… the car’s in terior?” Sam tries again.

“No.”

Pulling out his iPhone, it’s a text from Sarah. Well, about a dozen texts from Sarah.

Apparently he’s an avid HAI fan, whatever that’s supposed to mean. Clicking on the little preview, to see what she’s texted him in full, Ben scrolls through four feet of messages only to learn very little. From what he can gather, Sarah’s very excited by the picture Ben sent their way, considering very few people have actually seen Sam Wendover’s face before. 

As it turns out, he’s some sort of internet cryptid. 

Inch resting.

“Come on!” It’s unclear whether Adam’s yell is directed at Ben, or at the truck appearing ahead of them, slowing their already slow speed down even more. “Give us a hint, at least.”

“Spoilsports. But, okay… it’s in this car.”

Making eye contact with Adam via the rearview mirror, Ben raises his eyebrows. It’s a dare and a hint all rolled up in one, not that Adam is going to realize that. It’s kinda fun how high strung the guy is. Very easy to rile up. Somewhere, deep underneath his suit and evil Wall Street ways, he might even be quite funny. Ben’s still trying to figure that one out. 

Before Adam can clock what Ben just communicated with him, Ben breaks their connection. Instead, he sends a few “mind blown” emojis into his chat with Sarah before scrolling down. His mom is telling him to be careful, one of his sisters is making fun of his lifestyle choices (again), and his old college groupchat is busy planning the New Year’s Party to end all New Year’s Parties. Before boarding his first flight (the one that actually got him somewhere) he texted a few of his old New York connections, to see if they wanted to meet up. It turns out, they do.

Maeve’s basically been blowing up his phone for the past hour. 

He likes Maeve. 

They hit it off a few years ago at a networking event organized by The New Yorker. Their sense of humor lines up perfectly, they even share a love for slightly out-of-fashion clothing, and when Ben entered the New York comedy circuit, Maeve helped him book his first few shows. If it weren’t for that tool of a boyfriend (they never met, but just listening to her stories, Ben got sympathy rashes) Maeve would be the closest anyone’s ever got to realizing the Big Apple Dream. 

Judging by the messages she’s sending him now, she might just have finally made it.

At least her horrible boyfriend is no longer in the picture, if Ben’s reading her unsubtle wink-wink-nudge-nudge flirting correctly. Grinning, Ben composes an answer.

“What’s so funny?” Adam asks, attention quickly switching from the road ahead to Ben on the backseat. 

God, Adam must have been a terror in school. 

“A friend texted me. Apparently she’s finally gotten rid of her shitty boyfriend.”

Narrowing his eyes, Adam searches for a lie, “So, it has nothing to do with you pulling our leg about I Spy?”

“I am telling you. I spy with my little eye something that begins with an I. It’s in here. I promise.”

“Is it, oh, I think I’ve got it.” Sitting up so he can see Sam’s face better, Ben’s startled by the self-satisfied smirk that greets him. “Is it Adam’s iris?” 

“That’s not—” Adam starts.

“Wow, you’re good at this game, Sammy.” Ben’s not even being sarcastic. “You’re right.”

“ WHAT? ” Only the need to keep them alive, contains Adam’s outrage. Ben’s glad for the low speed and shitty visibility, if only because he fears Adam would have pushed down on the gas otherwise. “That can’t be it! No, that’s outrageous. Adam’s— no! No, that’s not how—”

“Your turn, Sam.” Ben pokes Sam’s shoulder from behind, ignoring Adam’s side of the car entirely. 

“Hm,” Sam considers, his easy acquiescence to Ben’s whims obviously pushing Adam’s buttons further. That’s probably why he does it. Whatever happened between Sam and Adam before Ben met them (it can’t just be that one job interview, right? Maybe they used to date and now they’re embarrassed to admit it? That would explain some of the weird tension in the car at least), it makes for an interesting set of intricate rituals. “I spy with my little eye… something that starts with a T.”

“Thermos?”

“No.”

“Tachometer?”

“No. Try again.”

“Toyota?”

“We haven’t had a Toyota in front of us since Fort Morgan.”

“How am I supposed to know that? I don’t do cars. They could be magic for all I care.” Ben grins.

Sam answers in kind, “Try again.”

“I hate you both.” Adam says it lowly, under his breath, but Ben still hears him. Just as he can watch as some of the tension bleeds from his shoulders with each inane exchange between Sam and Ben. 

Adam’s a bit of a weird one that way.

“Tomatoes.”

“It’s been even longer since we’ve seen tomatoes.”

“Urgh.” Adam intercepts. "Thermostat?”

“No, but good guess.” 

“Is it actually a real word this time? And none of that Adam’s something or another bullshit?” 

“A real word, I promise.” 

“Tampa, Florida,” Ben throws out there.

“No. However, there are many interesting details about the development of Florida, Tampa in particular—”

“I want to be wrong but— tree?” Adam uses one hand to point at the mostly white forest slowly moving past the car window. With how slow they’re going, there’s no real danger for it to vanish from view.

“You got it.” Sam offers an overeager thumbs up to Adam. It’s only slightly cruel.

Yeah, they are definitely bitter exes.

Even from his less than ideal vantage point, Ben can gauge the strength of Adam’s sigh.

“I don’t want to play this game anymore.”

“But it’s your turn now!” Just as Ben says it, his phone dings.

Maeve again.

She’s inviting him over for dinner if he ever makes it to New York.

Now, how can he say no to that kind of invitation?

“Can we go to the Nebraska Zoo?” Ben looks up from his phone as he asks his question. He toyed around with his Switch earlier, but the handheld has long since vanished back in the depths of Ben’s backpack. Probably in parts because his phone keeps buzzing with incoming messages.

Sam’s tired enough, it takes him a few moments before he can answer, “It’s 2 a.m. I doubt it’ll be open.” 

“Urgh, dammit."

“Why go there anyway? I thought you wanted to get back to the East Coast as quickly as possible?”

That’s at least the vibe Sam has gotten from Adam so far – and without wanting to admit it openly, but Ben has ended up in a similar mental drawer to Adam. At least initially. 

“Eh, I have a bit of time.” Replying to someone on his phone, Ben shrugs. “And there’s very few cool things to do in Nebraska, but Omaha Zoo’s supposed to be one of them. I like animals.” 

Somehow that doesn’t surprise Sam any. 

“I might not be able to give you a fun trip to the zoo, but we can stop at a Runza before leaving the state.” Checking to see if Adam’s still fast asleep on the backseat, Sam accelerates slightly. 

“Runza?”

“Something very Nabraskan, I promise.”

“You’re not from here, are you?” Narrowing his eyes, Ben looks at him in suspicion.

“Would that be so bad?” 

“Not really, I guess.” 

“But, no, I’m from Washington DC. I’d have thought your research earlier would have told you as much.” They’re the only car on this almost frighteningly straight stretch of the road. There won’t be a single bend until they hit Lincoln in – Sam checks the GPS – half an hour. By now they’re almost up to Iowa and it only took them ten hours. Math is not Sam’s strong suit, but he doesn’t need to be a mathematical genius to know that they’re running three to four hours behind schedule. If anything, he’s surprised they’ve made as much progress as they did.

It helps that the blizzard has slowed down somewhat, the flurry of snow narrowing his field of vision only slightly, instead of hiding him in a sea of blinding white.

“I didn’t read the article,” Ben admits without guilt. “It’s weird, isn’t it? That people can just google you?” 

“You can google a lot of stuff,” Sam says instead of answering.

It’s not even a lie.

He got started by going down a list of interesting Wikipedia articles and making videos about them. Who is he to judge what people look up on the internet?

“Is that why you rarely show your face?” 

“What?”

“Oh.” Ben’s doing that thing again, something Sam’s noticed throughout much of the conversations he’s had with Adam, where he raises his shoulders and widens his eyes as if to appear younger and less threatening. It’s a bit infuriating. “Sorry. I just thought— you rarely put your face out there. I don’t think most of your fans know that you’re just some guy in his mid-twenties doing VO over some stock footage.”

“It’s a lot more than that.”

It is.

Still, Ben’s words smart. Because secretly, Sam’s been worrying the same thing. Not that he’s just some VO guy doing mid-tier documentaries on YouTube. But that he’s slowly fading into obscurity by being just another guy producing faceless, meaningless content. At least he doesn’t have a podcast. Yet. Who is he, really? Someone who teaches his subscribers about plane facts and the economics behind F1? Yeah, he likes those things, is deeply invested even, but— he’s more than that, right? 

HAI was an attempt to do something creative, but these days Amy is handling most of the day to day. She burns for these kinds of comedic fun fact videos, just as she burns for her two dozen side-projects. Sam wishes he could be as excited for something, the way she is for her current baby, some comedy program called “Abolish Everything” that she’s trying to pitch to Dave during the End Of Year Party. 

She has his backing, of course, it’s just— 

What’s his Abolish Everything?

“Totally.” Ben grimaces. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you. I was just wondering why you never show your face?”

“I like being able to walk down a street in LA without being stopped two dozen times.” 

There has never been a project Sam was passionate about enough to actually associate his face with – now, that’s not entirely true. If you looked up Nebula, you’d find more than just a few pictures of him, not only on their “Who Are We?” section. But that’s something different. Nebula is a business.

It’s not Sam’s content. 

His livelihood.

His passion project.

“Eh, I don’t think people in LA care enough to stop some YouTuber for a picture.” Ben clearly means this to be comforting.

“How so?”

“You can only watch Brad Pitt order coffee so many times before the whole thing loses its allure.” With a tired sigh, Ben sinks deeper into his seat. “Like, yeah, I once got hit on by a very drunk Jennifer Coolidge, but all it does is turn LA residents into the most insufferable people you’ll ever meet.” 

“You don’t like it there?” Sam stares out into the night, the hum of the engine a rather soothing backdrop to this conversation. “And does that include you? Are you the most insufferable person I’ll ever meet?” 

“I hope I’m successfully clinging to my East Coast charm even as I live and work in the viper’s pit.” There’s a moment of silence as Ben thinks on whether he should say more. It’s heavy, drawn out, but mostly it carries the secrecy of the late hour. That’s probably what pushes Ben over the edge to continue. “First chance I get, I’m moving back to New York.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ben says it as if he means it. “And you? Happy in—?”

“Colorado. Well, Aspen. But, yeah.”

“ Yeah , as in you like it?”

“I love it, actually.” Sam allows himself a smile. “I grew up in DC, as I said, and I’ve lived all over the world, but nothing’s ever felt as much like home as Colorado does.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Changing lanes, Sam passes a sign declaring Lincoln two miles up ahead. A glance in the rearview mirror confirms that Adam is dead to the world. Jacket thrown over his head to block out the light, he is little more than a shadowy heap of long limbs and exhaustion. At least he’s finally pulled off his tie. Sam could feel it cut off his airflow without being the one to wear it. “I just— it’s hard to explain. It’s a place where I can breathe. I love going on hikes, and the mountains there— I know it would be better for the business side of things to move all of my operations to New York, but I can’t give up on all that. ” 

It’s not quite the romantic declaration of love Sam wanted it to be. But it’s hard to put into words why he loves Colorado so much. It’s more than just the mountains, of course, but they do play a huge part in it. In a way, it’s freedom.

Sam lives a pretty regulated life. He posts one HAI video weekly, and one Wendover documentary per month. He goes on daily runs, takes two to three business trips over a period of six weeks, and has meetings with Dave about the business side of Nebula bi-weekly. He drinks one coffee and two energy drinks per day, and organizes his sweaters by color, his shoes by weather-durability. 

Amy has joked more than once that Sam is more machine than man.

But it doesn’t feel that way when he’s three hours into a hike, the cool mountain air soothing something deep within his chest when he takes a deep breath. Surrounded by the mating calls of birds and the rush of nature, it is hard to feel as if you’re drowning – the responsibilities of real life drop away, until only simplicity and physical exertion are left.

Sam loves the burn in his muscles and the ache in his chest – and he loves the vast expanse of land that greets him once he reaches the peak, only the horizon setting boundaries on what he can see, on what he can do.

(there are parts of himself that even Sam doesn’t quite understand, but on the peak of Mount Blue Sky that doesn’t matter)

(with only the birds as his witness, Sam knows what it means to be free)

(the unknown doesn’t matter when Sam can finally just be himself, nothing more, and nothing less)

Inching closer towards the state line, silence follows his fumbled declaration.

“Hm,” Ben finally concedes. “Must be nice.”

“What?”

“Must be nice to actually be that happy.”

But Sam isn’t actually that happy, even if he won’t just tell Ben that. Instead, he shrugs, as if to push some life back into the tired muscles in his arms. It’s getting late. He’s tired. Every part of his body aches for the comforts of his own bed, his skin tight after so much time spent forced together in a small tin box with virtual strangers.

“Want me to stop at Runzas?”

“Oh, hell yes.” 

“Then Runzas it is.”

Chapter Text

A blast of cold air straight into his face wakes Adam up.

He opens his eyes deliriously and blinks harder as his eyelashes catch on something covering them. It takes a few tries for his arms – heavy and barely coordinated – to push the jacket blocking his sight away. The light is dim, his vision fuzzy (did he take out his contact lenses before falling asleep?), he’s greeted by the upside down image of Ben, pointing a foil wrapped something in his direction with a downright evil grin on his face.

“Wha—?” Is Adam’s deeply eloquent response to this rather forceful wake-up call. 

“Rise and shine, princess. We’re in Des Moines, Iowa, Sam needs a break and I need at least two hours of shut eye before I can continue to entertain.”

“Huh?”

“I’m union. The Writers Guild says I can’t work for more than twelve hours without a break. And we’re closing in on fifteen.”

Trying to make sense of the world (and Ben’s nonsense), Adam sits up. The cramped backseat (his hip is numb, as is his right leg) is still blurry, the burning in his eyes a bad sign. Like an idiot, he kept his contacts in. 

Fucking hell.

“Where’s Sam?” Adam asks, already busy digging through his bag to see if he can at least save them by taking them out now.

“Getting you a coffee with genuinely unsafe amounts of espresso in it.” Leaning against the open door, Ben is seemingly unbothered by the cold. 

Adam wishes he could say the same. 

“Oh” is all he can offer as he pries his contacts out of his eyes, shivering as he does his best to actually drop them in the container filled with the Bausch + Lomb solution. It’s that or dropping them on the dirty car floor. Dammit, It’s so fucking cold out. “That’s nice of him.”

“It really is.” Ben somehow manages to make it sound like a judgement. Of Adam.

Adam’s not awake enough for any of this yet.

Ben quickly scoots aside as Adam crawls out of the car, taking his jacket with him. It’s not enough to keep him warm as he takes a good look at their surroundings. The sun hasn’t crested over the horizon yet. A quick glance at his watch tells him that it’s 5:34 a.m. He was asleep for almost five hours. The parking lot they’re on is deeply generic, the gas station a few hundred yards away a lone beacon of light. It’s still snowing, the ground covered in white. The only footprints left are Ben’s, and what Adam assumes are Sam’s, vanishing down into the distance. Everything else is an endless expanse of black, occasionally interrupted by a  few cars driving down the interstate to their left. It’s so cold, it doesn’t even smell of anything but ice.

“I thought you’d said we’re in Des Moines?” Adam asks. 

“Well,” Ben shrugs, his puffy orange coat slung decoratively over his arm. Adam’s just a tiny bit jealous. “More the… outskirts of the outskirts of Des Moines, really.” 

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Sam wanted to stop here to change drivers, so we stopped here. And now stop complaining. We got you breakfast, and Sam’s getting you something warm to drink.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Taking the something Ben’s been pushing in his direction, Adam unwraps it, only to find a soggy log of sandwich bread hidden underneath layers of aluminum foil. “What on earth is this?”

“Runzas.” Leaning against the car, Ben watches him, glasses fogged up. “A Nebraskan delicacy. It really fucking slaps.”

“It’s cold.”

“Three hours ago, it was warm.”

Adam takes a bite just as Sam appears on the other end of the parking lot. A giant slowly wading towards them through the snow, a cup holder full of coffee carefully balanced on his arm. Framed only by the light of the gas station, he cuts quite the figure. 

“Maybe Bigfoot is real.” Adam mumbles, in between bites of cold cheese and overly sweet bread. 

Ben laughs.

“Okay, so you are actually funny.”

“You can be quite the bitch, you know that, yeah?”

“It’s a defense mechanism.” Ben smiles sweetly in his direction, hat pulled low. 

“Oh, Ben managed to wake you up.” The tip of Sam’s nose is bright red when he reaches them, individual snowflakes caught in his blond hair. To Adam and his casually evangelical upbringing, it’s as if Sam carries a halo around with him. 

Adam shakes his head – he’s still half asleep. And even then, he’s pretty sure Sam isn’t nearly holy enough to actually deserve a halo.

“Yeah.” Reaching for the coffee with his name scrawled on it, he nods in Sam’s direction. “He said you want me to drive again?”

“That’d be nice.”

“Of course. Thanks for the coffee, by the way.” The warm drink is a blessing against his frozen fingers. A few more minutes and Adam would have been forced to stick his hands underneath his armpits to get any feeling back. 

“Yeah, they refused to add six shots of espresso to it. They added four, though, so I hope it’s still fine.” 

Ben takes the cup labelled ‘hot chocolate’ out of the cupholder, and says, “Most gas station attendees probably don’t want a lawsuit over an accidental caffeine overdose on their conscience.” 

“It’s not that bad,” Adam defends.

“It really is,” Ben shoots back.

Verbally, if not physically, stepping in between the two of them, Sam pulls all the attention back towards himself, asking “Are you okay to drive?” Dressed in actual weather appropriate clothing, he’s the only one not shaking – Adam doesn’t know why Ben doesn’t just put on his jacket. He’d kill for that orange monstrosity right now.

Jumping up and down to get feeling back into his toes, Adam says, “Yeah, I should be good to go. I just— did the gas station have some cheap reading glasses? I slept with my contact lenses in and…” He trails off.

“What’s your prescription?”

“Huh?”

“What’s your prescription?” Ben asks again. “I’m not gonna need mine for the next few hours, so…”

Pulling off his own glasses, Ben offers them to Adam. It’s a surprisingly kind gesture, especially considering Adam just called him a bitch. Taking the glasses (golden wire frames, the way every hipster between LA, Boston, and London currently wears them) Adam puts them on.

And blinks.

“Oh.”

The world is suddenly a lot less blurry. 

“They work?” Ben asks, as if he can’t quite believe it himself.

“Yeah. That’s— we must share a prescription. That’s—”

“Strange,” Sam finishes for him. “The odds of that alone… I guess that means you’re good to go?”

“Yeah.”

There’s no reason not to.

Adam has to get back to New York.

Walking back towards the car – the driver’s side this time – a half eaten ‘Runzas’ in his hand, it feels less pressing than it did just a few hours ago. But that, too, is probably just the exhaustion. Or maybe Iowa. 

Iowa’s not a state that inspires great hurry in people. 

Adam is almost sad to leave this frozen wasteland of a parking lot behind. 

What a stupid fucking thought. 

Taking a seat behind the wheel, he puts the heat on full blast until the windows fog up. Readjusting the seat – just how tall is Sam? – he checks the rearview mirror. Ben is building himself a nest out of his giant orange parka. Letting his eyes wander, the road back onto I-80 is clear. No cars in sight.

What a strangely lonesome existence this is – Adam barely has time to finish the thought before Sam takes a seat next to him, already fiddling with his backpack and the radio. Yeah, they might be alone out on the road, but here in this car, Adam’s not going to get a single moment of peace. 

“So…” Sam starts, once Adam has pulled back out onto the Interstate. “Anyone know any fun facts about Iowa?”

“Iowa produced fifty-five million tons of corn this year.” Ben’s muffled voice comes from the backseat. 

“Why the fuck do you know that?” Adam asks.

“I like wheat facts.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” 

Adam stares out into the dark.

There’s a hazy quality to reality when Ben wakes up. It doesn’t help that he’s basically boiling alive, his winter coat doing too good a job at keeping him warm. Curled up on the backseat, head resting on his arm, it’s easy enough to keep his eyes closed. All he has to do to regulate his temperature is slip one of his legs out into the open and—

Yeah. 

That’s so much better. 

The radio’s playing faintly in the background, some sort of jazz music that Ben wants to hate on principle. Right now, unfortunately, it’s really soothing, drawing him back down into the depths of sleep. 

“You ever been to Iowa City?” Sam’s voice pulls him back from the edge. 

Dammit. 

“No.” Adam sounds deeply bored. “You?”

“No.” A beat of silence, and then, “There’s really nothing but fields out there, huh?”

Oh wow. That’s— Ben’s glad he can pretend to be asleep for this conversation because it is almost painfully awkward. If anything, it lends strength to his theory that Sam and Adam are bitter exes. 

Anything to explain just how bad they are at talking to each other.

“Ben did say they produce a shitton of corn here.” Adam agrees. 

A trumpet solo fills the car, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Ben starts counting in his head. If he reaches thirty before one of them says something, he’ll ‘wake up’ to save them from themselves. Yeah, so far, he’s not sure whether he actually likes them or not, but letting them steam in their own conversational failures for too long just seems cruel. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, ele—

“How’s Half As Interesting going?” Adam is too blasé to sell his uninterested tone of voice, but at least he’s talking again. 

Ben lets go of the breath he was holding, sinking deeper into the comfortable heat of his coat. Disaster avoided. 

“Good.” Sam hesitates. “You remember Amy, yeah?”

“Since I’m the one who recommended her to you, yeah, I do.”

“Do the two of you still talk?”

“Sometimes.”

That’s obviously a no – and if Ben can hear that, all the way on the backseat without any of the visual clues, it’s pretty obvious Sam can see the truth as well. 

“Well,” Sam draws the word out, to test the waters. Ben hopes he continues talking. It might be awkward as fuck, but it’s getting spicy. Now that they’ve moved past smalltalk, Ben has personal investment in getting to know the tea. “Amy’s pretty much in charge of HAI these days.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, she’s really good at it, too. Extremely funny. Her research skills are damn impressive as well. There’s a team helping her, of course, and I’m still the one who picks the topics and oversees post production but— it’s pretty much her baby these days.” 

“That’s— that’s cool.” 

Ben’s pretty sure, it would have been kinder to just shoot Adam. Anything, to avoid the choked off misery in his voice as he tries to appear cheerful in front of Sam. 

“Do you know… you’re still in New York, right?” Sam continues as if nothing is wrong.

(a blessing or a curse, Ben can’t quite tell)

“Obviously.”

“Do you know Abolish Everything ?”

Ben knows Abolish Everything . It’s been a staple of Caveat’s line-up since 2020. Maeve has performed there, and back in 2021, before he moved out to LA, he did a show or two for them as well. Andy Vega and Chandler Dean are still saved in his phone contacts, just in case he ever moves back out there and needs someone to get him back into the comedy circuit.

If Maeve alone isn’t enough.

“Uh, yeah. I’ve heard of it.” 

“Amy’s currently working on producing a filmed version of it.” – Oh, that’s actually pretty cool – “She has created an entire powerpoint together with Chandler Dean – he’s the guy who started the show – to present to Dave during the Holiday Party. I’m not one for stand-up usually, but I think it could be fun. Diversify Nebula’s portfolio and all that. And Amy keeps telling me that we need to throw those starving artists in New York a bone, so... What do you think?”

It’s made crueler by the fact that Sam obviously wants Adam’s honest opinion.

Ben tries to disappear in the folds of his jacket. As entertaining as it is, his stomach turns in sympathy with Adam.

“That’s, yeah, that sounds like a pretty cool project for Nebula. Do you already have a line-up in mind?”

“A line-up?”

“For Abolish Everything. ” Adam hesitates. “If not… Maeve Dunigan is a pretty good New York-based comedian. Her stand-up is hilarious, and I think— she’s done a show or two at the Caveat before.”

Ben forgets how to breathe.

Adam knows Maeve?

Adam knows Maeve well enough to remember her shows at the Caveat?

Adam—

Holy fucking shit.

Carefully, as not to draw attention to himself, Ben pulls his phone out from underneath his mountain of fabric. It’s not as if Adam and Sam are paying attention to him, too busy with their stilted attempts at normal human conversation. His movements are hidden by the sheer size of his coat and the fact that it’s pulled up high enough to cover half his face. Ben has to squint at the screen, considering Adam’s still wearing his glasses, but even so, he manages to open his chat with Maeve (her profile pic is a photo of her geriatric cat sniffing the camera – which, cute ) and click on the search bar.

It only takes half a second to type in Adam’s name and hit enter.

14 results, most of them from two years ago or older. 

It’s not surprising, they haven’t texted all that much recently. Ben only reached out once he knew he’d be on the East Coast for the holidays, but— they used to text a lot. And Maeve used to complain about her boyfriend a lot. Most of the time just called “the boyfriend”, a few times his name did indeed sneak in there. The evidence is hard to ignore: 

“ Adam can’t come with us to the QED, something came up at his job 🤮” - March, 2022

“If I squint and turn my head a little, Adam does look a lot like a chipmunk” - June, 2021

“Urgh, I really wanted you to meet Adam this time but once again he’s busy” - April, 2022

“ Adam ’s home sick, so I have to cancel. Sorry ❤️‍🩹” - January, 2021

Ben swallows. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

This can’t be it, right?

The guy he’s currently trapped in a car with can’t be Maeve’s shitty ex-boyfriend, right?

His life isn’t that crazy, right?

Past evidence would indicate that it is actually that crazy. He’s rarely gotten lucky so far. His life’s more cringe-fail sitcom than serious character drama. Not only did Ben stumble his way into being an adult, he also stumbled into one shitty situation after the other, the more ironically unlikely the better. And to think that he was looking forward to meeting Maeve in New York later this week… Slowly, oh, so, slowly, Ben raises his phone out of his pile of fluff, until he can frame Adam’s profile with his phone camera. It’s relatively easy to take a picture.

Before he can think twice about it, he sends it to Maeve.

 

Maeve
7:45 AM

Ben: [image]

Ben: Am I losing my mind or is that your ex-boyfriend driving me to New York?

She’s probably still asleep. 

Just this once, Ben’s quite okay waiting for an answer. 

That gives him more time to go insane in the safety of his own mind. 

(Ben is really, really good at that)

(some would say diagnosably good, even)

Somehow Sam has the singular ability to always pick the wrong topic of conversation when it comes to Adam. No matter what he talks about, it is either endlessly boring, the conversation drying up after two or three exchanges, or deeply uncomfortable, judging by the face Adam pulls when he answers any of Sam’s questions.

It doesn’t help that Sam’s mind-meltingly tired by now. They’ve moved past Devenport into Illinois, the streets around them getting busier and busier. It’s still snowing, but at 9 a.m. the denizens of Illinois don’t seem to care whether or not a blizzard is ruining their morning commute. It’s been almost twelve hours since he napped, the hazy light breaking through the heavy grey clouds not helping any to keep him awake. 

“Holy shit, does nobody in this shit state know how to drive?” Unsurprisingly, Adam’s got a mild case of road rage. To be fair, the BMW in front of them did cut ahead during the zipper merge.

Glancing at him from the corner of his eyes, it’s still distracting to see Ben’s glasses balanced low on his face. It makes him seem almost bug-like. Sam refuses to comment on it, considering he’s currently taken to listening to the radio to stifle the awkwardness. Once Ben’s awake again, he’s sure the guy himself will talk about it at length, though.

They barely know each other, but something tells Sam that that’s the kind of joke Ben would make. 

“Chicagoans are famously bad drivers.” Sam offers into the silence. “At least, according to the internet.”

He’s not even sure why he says it.

Maybe he still feels bad about earlier. Adam definitely didn’t want to talk about Abolish Everything , and yet Sam pressured him anyway. It’s just— It’s easier to talk about Amy and her own projects than it is to talk about himself. 

How do you tell a guy working in finance that you find your job creatively unfulfilling? That’s right. You don’t.

It doesn’t help that they’re sharing a car with someone who’s actually managed to get out there and put his stuff on TV. It’s mind blowing that Ben’s actually a TV writer. More than that, he wrote for The Simpsons ! It’s obviously a different world than the YouTube landscape Sam grew up with, and yet, it’s awe inspiring. He and Dave have discussed creating more TV-esque projects to shorten the gap between traditionally produced shows and online long-form content, partially because there’s a certain level of prestige that only television brings.

Sam’s been talking to Abigail a lot, since her ideas tend to veer into the theatrical. If they manage to get the money, she’d definitely be on the shortlist for some of these nebulous ideas of budget streaming programming. 

But that’s just conjecture – Ben’s the real deal, even if he seems weirdly intimidated by Sam.

Out of the window, flat, snow covered fields stare back at him. Every now and then, a farmhouse and silo or a couple of trees break through the icy white, but besides the cars sharing the interstate with them, not much is happening out there.

The vast nothingness of the American midwest doesn’t help any with the weight of his churning thoughts.

Just because Sam has a Wikipedia page doesn’t mean he actually amounts to anything.

No, that’s needlessly cruel. He doesn’t actually think that. He’s just tired. It sucks that his insecurities get louder each hour he’s been awake. His skin feels sticky, days old sweat collecting under his layers of sensible clothing. He wants a shower, a hotel bed, and at least three yards separating him from the nearest human being. Prolonged human contact is currently not helping his spiraling thoughts.

He’s a pretty solitary creature most of the time, yet another reason he moved out to Colorado. 

(if Colorado is about knowing himself, Sam’s never been more of a stranger in his own body than right now, trapped in this car)

“I’m banned from the Chicago Institute of the Arts.” Ben pushes his head through the space between Sam’s seat and Adam’s, startling them both.

“Ben!” Adam’s knuckles turn white where he’s clutching the steering wheel.

“Hi.” Ben’s smile is a touch too wide, his eyes bigger without his glasses on. His hat’s been lost somewhere in the mess he’s made of the backseat, curly brown hair in utter disarray. “Your incredible social awkwardness woke me up.”

“I’m not socially awkward,” Adam defends himself weakly.

Sam has to swallow down the urge to cringe deeper into his seat. 

Everything’s just a touch too much for him right now, not that he’ll say a word about it. He’s the one who offered his car for them to take, and Adam’s the one currently driving it. It’s just another… Sam runs through the numbers in his head. Just another fifteen to eighteen hours of this. He can do it.

(he wants his noise cancelling headphones and some deafening pop music, just to decompress) 

(just so he can go back to feeling like a human being instead of a pressurized bag of meat)

“Why—” Sam clears his throat. His head is throbbing with the beginnings of a stress headache. The water they bought at the last rest stop is nearly gone. They’ll have to stop soon, and then Sam can claim the backseat all for himself. “Why did you get banned?” 

“Oh, that’s quite the story.” Squinting against the pale morning light, Ben sits up all the way. He’s making quite the show of it, everything about him just a touch too saturated. “Hah, Adam looks like a bug.”

Sam called it.

“Do you want to tell us this story or…?” Adam asks, one eye on the road, the other one looking at Ben through the rearview mirror. 

“So, be me.” Ben grins. “Be seventeen. You’re on a trip to Chicago with your then-girlfriend. You want to impress her, and because you’re a seventeen year old boy who grew up in a pretty artsy family, you think that the Art Institute of Chicago is going to impress the fuck out of her.” 

“Oh, yeah?” It’s funny how clearly Adam’s following some sort of lesson on active listening, as he urges Ben to continue his story. 

“Yeah. So, we visit the museum, and it’s pretty cool. I have to say, I do like a good museum. Only after lunch, we get a bit silly.”

“Silly?”

Closing his eyes, Sam lets the voices drift past him. If they talk, he doesn’t have to do much. It’s easier that way. Less stimuli pressing down on him. Less disappointment in his own choices weighing on his chest. 

“Oh, you know how teenagers are… we might have been fooling around. A little.”

“ Sure. ” 

“Yeah.” Ben’s voice is overly chipper, but his words are entertaining enough. “Anyways… my then-girlfriend crashes against a vase and – as I stand there, panic overtaking my entire body – it topples onto the floor. Bam. A five hundred year old artifact destroyed. By my date. As I egged her on. And then just stood there and watched.” 

“No.” Adam sounds genuinely shocked, his laughter falling somewhere between horrified and baffled. “Please don’t tell me—”

“Apparently it looked enough like a complete accident for it to be legally indefensible, but they banned the both of us anyway. For the rest of our lives. So, yeah. That’s why I can never go back there.” 

“That’s insane.” 

Silently, Sam has to agree. 

“And you?” Ben continues. “Any grand tales about the state of Illinois?” 

“Amy’s from there,” Sam offers, without opening his eyes again.

He doesn’t want to see Adam’s face when he mentions her – the first time was bad enough. 

Amy is one of Sam’s dearest friends, even if they are mostly co-workers. But, yes, Adam was the one who first gave him her name, all those years ago when he refused Sam’s offer. Saddled with the same finance background as Adam, it took a while before Sam managed to convince Amy to give him a try – but she did gracefully allow herself to be lured into the dazzling world of YouTube writing after a few months, and that’s where she’s bloomed ever since. Judging by the painful strain to Adam’s smile when they talked about her, it’s not hard to see which of the two is happier these days – but that’s one of these things you aren’t supposed to say to someone’s face. 

So, Sam keeps his eyes closed and his thoughts mostly to himself.

“Uh… Amy?” Ben sounds uncertain.

“My writer. She has a lot of opinions on deep dish pizza.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve tried it once. It certainly doesn’t compare to the pies at Angeli’s, but that’s just my opinion.” 

“Angeli’s?” Adam intercepts, probably just relieved now that Ben’s changed the topic.

“Yeah, Angeli’s Pizzeria, on High Street back home. Their pies fucking slap.” There’s a beat of silence and then, as if to wake a sleeping devil, Ben drawls, “Nothing in New York comes even close to Angeli’s. Lucali’s? Joe’s Pizza? Nothing compared to Angeli’s.”

“Are you—” Adam pulls in a deep breath. “I know you’re just— Okay, but, you cannot just say that. That’s not how this works. New York-style pizza is an institution for a reason, and you— Lucali’s has led national ratings for the best pizza in the entire country multiple times in a row now. You can’t just claim—”

“Those are the words of a man who has never had Angeli’s.” 

“Oh, come on! ” 

Adam’s (fake) outrage is startling enough to pull not only a chuckle from Ben, but a laugh from Sam. If just for a moment, it gets easier to breathe. Opening his eyes, the world just as off-white and covered in sleet as it was earlier, Sam turns to look at Adam. Bushy eyebrows drawn together as he stares out at the dense traffic up ahead, Sam can clearly track the lines the last five years have prematurely left on Adam’s skin. 

Would he look happier if he’d accepted Sam’s offer? Or is that just hubris trying to drown out Sam’s self-doubt?

It doesn’t really matter. 

“Hey,” Sam clears his throat.

“Yeah?” 

“Take the next exit.”

“Why?”

“I think I need to lie down. Ben can have– Ben can have his spot as the passenger princess back.” 

“Hell yeah.”

Neither of them argue with him. 

Why would they? There’s nothing else to talk about.

Chapter Text

Adam ignores the buzzing phone in his pocket, as they crawl closer and closer towards Chicago. 

“Can you check if the weather’s cleared enough for me— for us to take a flight out of O’Hare?” Worrying his lip, he stares at the brake lights of the car up ahead. Maybe twenty-five miles away from the greater Chicago metropolitan area, the interstate’s filled up. The heavy snowfall certainly doesn’t help – it was a lot brighter earlier, but now they are lost again, swirls of white all he can see when he glances out of the window.

In that parking lot in Des Moines everything felt impossibly far away. Right now, Adam can’t help but drown under the imminence of real life.

If only his fucking phone would stop buzzing. 

“I don’t have any internet.” Ben doesn’t even look up from his iPhone.

“You are literally texting someone right now.”

“No, I am playing Snake.”

“Why are you—” Chest impossibly tight, he pulls in a deep breath through the gap in his front teeth. He should have gotten veneers years ago, but he likes the feeling of the cold air flowing into his mouth that way. His therapist calls this “self-soothing behavior” – it’s certainly better than his annoying tic of humming whenever he’s bored (or stressed). “Have I done something to offend you? I thought we got along great but now you’re suddenly stand-offish and—” 

“No, I am literally playing Snake.” With all the grace of an annoyed teenager, Ben pushes his phone into Adam’s field of vision. The only reason this isn’t idiotically dangerous is that they’re currently moving at about 14 mph. But, lo and behold, Ben’s actually playing Snake.

And he’s losing.

“Sorry.” Adam’s shoulders drop, phone disappearing from view.

“Nah, it’s—” Ben leans against the door, the distance between them growing. “It’s fine. We’re all on edge. I’ll look it up as soon as I have reception again.”

The traffic slows even more. They slowly inch forward, starting, stopping, and restarting every few seconds.

On the backseat, Sam’s pulled big bulky headphones on to cover his ears. His eyes move behind his closed lids, but it’s hard to say if he’s dreaming or just lost in thought. For some reason, he hasn’t yet pulled his eye mask back on.  Adam’s not about to find out why – Sam’s the one who stayed awake the longest. Now it’s his turn. 

He can do it. 

He’s done much worse.

(to himself, his relationships, and the world at large)

Fingers thrumming against the hard plastic of the steering wheel, he wills the cars up ahead to move a little faster. Yet to develop Jedi powers, nothing much happens. 

Ben’s fidgeting with the corners of his sweater (a blue-white gradient – it looks nice; why he covers it up with that orange monstrosity most of the time Adam’ll never know), when he speaks up, “Uh, can you, like, stop that?”

“Stop what?”

“The tapping. It’s driving me crazy.” 

“Oh, sorry. Sure, yeah, I’ll— I’ll just stop.”

Adam knows he’s not just imagining stuff. Ben’s behaving strangely. It’s not that Ben’s any less awkward than him or Sam (no matter how much he might claim the opposite), but ever since he woke up from his nap, he’s just off . Less easy sleazy charm, and more manic attempts at filling the silence. 

Only, they’re not friends. 

It isn’t Adam’s place to say anything – fuck it, it’s not even his job.

As if on purpose, his phone starts buzzing again.

“Fucking hell,” he curses. “Can nobody in this damned state drive?”

The universe must truly hate him, because the words have barely left his lips, when their crawling procession up I-80 comes to a halt for good. Rolling the last few yards to close the space between them and the Tesla up ahead, Adam stops the car. 

“Is your internet working yet?” It’s that or a flood of swears he honestly doesn’t want to subject Ben to. 

“Hm… no.” Ben reaches forward to turn on the radio. “But I am sure a local station can tell us why we’re at a standstill just outside of” – Ben scans the scarce landmarks visible out of the window – “just outside of Minooka.” 

It takes them a while to find a station, time in which they cover maybe half a mile. Adam can feel the seams of his composure starting to strain. In the end WBBM Newsradio 780 AM & 105.9 FM (name read out in its full length by Ben at least twice) finally offers them some answers.

“And now to Greg… Greg, how are the streets looking out there?” All news hosts across the country truly sound the same, their anonymity with names like Greg and Susan and Annabelle and Joanne a fact of life that’s accompanied Adam on more than just a few business trips. This one is just a bit different to the ones he’s taken over the last few years. More cars and fewer people in suits. “Oh, Susan, this blizzard is truly wreaking havoc on our beautiful city. Not only are all planes in and out of O’Hare grounded, by now most interstates have completely clogged up as well. I-90 leading into Chicago Heights is fully closed after a traffic accident involving a truck carrying live pig, while I-294 up towards the city is experiencing significant congestion. On I-80— our traffic cams predict a delay up to two hours thanks to an oil spill after an accident on the interchange with I-355. Further ahead, I-2—”

Adam turns off the radio.

They haven’t moved any in the last five minutes.

His phone buzzes again.

“Want me to wake Sam?” Ben asks into the silence, phone uselessly resting between his sweaty palms.

It’s stifling, the thrum of Adam’s heart drowning out the low hum of the engine. His knuckles turn white where they cling to the steering wheel. “No.” It comes out biting.

“Shouldn’t he—”

“Don’t wake him.” Taking a deep breath, Adam pries one finger at a time away from the hard plastic. “He needs his sleep.”

Deep in his pockets, his phone buzzes.

Again.

After Adam fails to react, Ben turns to him and asks, “Do you maybe wanna get that?”

“Mind your own fucking business.” 

He’s not yelling.

But only just.

Either way, it’s enough to propel Ben backwards into his seat, blue eyes wide in shock. Without his glasses on, Ben looks younger, not even the darkening shadows of his stubble helping with the youthful naked fear on his face. 

“Geez, I’m sorry—” Ben’s trying to play it off, even if Adam can clearly see the strength with which his nails have dug themselves into the soft flesh of his palms. “Didn’t know you were this touchy.”

He must have dropped his iPhone, when he flinched back.

Adam ignores the swoop of horror making his gut clench. “No, I’m— Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t— I don’t—” Caught between the literal inches their car moves forward, red brake lights blurring his vision, and the sight of Ben, suddenly so much smaller, in the passenger’s seat, and Adam—

He’s just trying to breathe.

Heart trying to break out of his ribcage, Adam glances back at Sam. Eyes still closed, blond hair fanning over his face, he’s not aware of any of this: neither them stopping, nor Adam losing his cool like a complete dickhead. 

“I’m really sorry, Ben, I don’t know—” Adam starts again.

“Nah, it’s fine.” Ben shrugs. 

It’s obviously not fine.

“But you’re right, I probably should check my phone.” Smile too shaky to be anything but a grimace, Adam reaches for his phone. Almost at a standstill, it’s not quite the traffic violation it could be. 

Ben watches him like rangers watch a spooked horse.

It doesn’t help settle Adam’s nerves at all.

Unlocking his phone, he almost throws up at the sight that greets him. Seven unanswered calls from Michael, three from his boss. The internal teams chat’s been busy and there’s some emails that are marked as urgent, flashing red at the top of his screen. He was driving, it’s not his fault he’s missed all of that and yet—

The car in front of him stops completely, Adam is quick to follow. Both hands free, shaky breath catching deep within his chest, he opens up the first email.

Snow blinds out the edges of his awareness as he reads his boss’ words, focus pulled down into a pinprick. Shallowly, he tries to– to think, the skin on his body tingly, everything pulling tight. Licking his lips, he swallows. It’s almost impossible, his throat painfully dry. 

No.

This can’t—

He’s supposed to have another eighteen hours at least.

He’s supposed to have until tomorrow morning.

But the proof is right there, black on white. The client signed with one of their competitors from Boston, of all places, and somehow – of course – all of this is Adam’s fault.

He’s not going to get that damned promotion.

He’s not going to get a chance to get the fuck out of that office in FiDi. He’s going to be stuck working with the same horrible people at the same horrible job as the same horrible person for another year at least. 

He’s not going to survive that.

No, the parts of himself he actually likes are not going to survive that.

Same difference.

His eyes burn, hot tears a building pressure as he tries to blink them away. Everything’s blurry – the world makes no damn sense. 

He put everything into this. Fucking hell, he’s in a car with two people who lowkey hate him – who are highkey everything he’s ever wanted to be – just to get back to New York in time. And now—

And now—

Pushing Ben’s glasses up into his hair, he presses the palms of his hands against his eyes. If his phone falls down, Adam doesn’t care. He simply no longer gives a fuck. A low groan builds deep in his chest as he tries to push his desperate tears back down. It’s only somewhat successful. 

He knows they’re still in a car. He knows he’s the one driving. He knows Ben can see him. He knows he looks crazy right now. He knows—

“Are you having a panic attack?” Ben’s question is stupid enough to force Adam to turn around and look at him.

Lips parted, Ben seems stunned by his own choice of words. Nevertheless, he doubles down, “I think you’re having a panic attack.” 

Adam can only blink at him.

None of this makes any damn sense. 

Ben (usually) tries to keep out of trouble with varying degrees of success.

It’s just— right now in this moment, he’s in a car, with Maeve’s ex-boyfriend, who is currently having a fucking panic attack while driving said car. Well, they are idling, considering they’ve just caught up with the traffic jam up ahead, but Ben’s point still stands. 

It doesn’t help that Sam’s asleep on the backseat and his internet is spotty at best.

Ben isn’t good at this.

Usually he’s the one others have to talk down, and even then, he hasn’t spiraled bad enough to actually need a stranger to help him since he started meds in college. Yeah, okay, he’s not doing toasty in this car right now, but that is nothing compared to the full blown freak-out Adam is currently experiencing – in the driver’s seat.

Tears running down his face, Adam stares at him. Ben’s pretty sure he doesn’t actually see him.

Just this once, Ben can’t be useless. 

“Okay…” He draws the word out. Maybe he should just wake up Sam, no matter how tired the guy is. But Adam was really adamant earlier— ah, this is why Ben usually tries to stay as far away from drama as humanly possible. He is not built for making decisions on the spot. “Can I touch you?”

Adam blinks at him.

“Okay, obviously that was the wrong question.” 

No reaction.

Tough crowd.

Thinking back, Ben goes through all the bullshit therapists have spewed at him over the years. He’s not stupid – he knows he is where he is today because at some point some of that shit started working. That, and the nepotism. It’s just— none of that involved a moving car. Not even any of the stupid hypothetical scenarios his therapists would make up to logically solve his compulsions. 

But there’s always something that does help. Something stupid enough to halt every doom spiral and idiotic self-hating obsession. 

And that’s a good, embarrassing story.

There’s a reason Ben went into comedy.

“I would really appreciate it if you never ever told anyone about this. But…” Ben glances out of the windshield. They are still idling. Snow has started to build up on the window, the wipers struggling to move it out of the way. Yeah, he’s really going to do this. He owes Adam nothing – they are strangers sharing a car. But he owes Sam to at least try and keep his jeep in one piece, and he owes it to himself to make it back to Baltimore safe and sound and— 

Yeah, okay, call him a softie, but he doesn’t enjoy watching Adam hyperventilate, tears running down his face. The guy has the structural integrity of 432 Park Avenue, and Ben’s afraid of the collateral damage should he fall apart.

“During my first comedy performance I threw up all over the front row. It was in a small venue in Brooklyn. I don’t think it even still exists. It’s one of these nightmare scenarios, right? The kind of thing you get nightmares about before a show? 

“I was feeling queasy the entire day,” he continues, glancing away out of embarrassment, “but I blamed it on my nerves. ‘If you perform you’re gonna throw up’ is exactly the kind of bullshit OCD just constantly whispers into your ear, and by that point I’ve been working for years on not listening to that voice. Fucking hell, turns out just this once it would have been warranted. 

“It was embarrassing as hell. It didn’t help that I freaked out the moment I was done with the— you get the picture. Just started crying on stage. Sobbing. I was a mess. I could not— I thought that was the end of the world. I would have to, I don’t know, hide in a closet until the end of time, or move to Australia to become a kangaroo farmer, or marry my college girlfriend, convert to Catholicism, and raise 3.4 children out in Kentucky. I think for a second there, I was tempted to call it quits, if you—”

“Oh”, Adam’s voice interrupts him, pulling him out of the memories of maybe the most embarrassing moment in Ben’s life. Turning to look at him, Adam hasn’t stopped crying, but at least he’s staring at the road again, every line on his face drawn deep. “But you didn’t and it all turned out fine and I should just—”

“Do you really think I am one for that level of sentimental bullshit?” Ignoring the cuts on his palms from his own nails, or how sweaty they are when he dries them on his pants, Ben squares his shoulders. “I’m just telling you a story.”

“Just a story?” Adam echoes back.

“Just a story so you don’t kill us all.” Ben shrugs, “I’m not the one who almost swerved the car into oncoming traffic.”

“We’re literally standing still.”

“And you’re the one driving.”

That shuts Adam up.

Eventually, he says, “I’m— I’m getting sick of how often I’ve apologized.” Drawing in a rather shaky breath, Adam wipes his eyes with the edges of his white shirt. By now they’re all pretty sweaty, the air in the car impossibly heavy. “But I’m doing it again. I’m sorry, buddy.” 

Ben doesn’t like the way Adam shakes, doesn’t enjoy the obvious effort Adam has to put into swallowing. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, the frown on his face drenched in utter concentration. 

“Buddy?” Ben echoes.

“Oh, yeah, I— sorry, I don’t— I’m just—” Adam stutters, unable to finish a single sentence. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

Immediately Ben regrets asking. He suppresses the urge to hit his head against the window only barely, mostly kept in check by the knowledge that Adam would bear witness to his embarrassing dramatics. Instead, his smile grows until it looks big and unnatural, and feels like a torture device winching his lips apart.

Adam’s not even looking at him. “Hm? Oh no. There’s— I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. Sorry.” Staring out of the windshield at the blurry shapes of the cars up ahead, Adam refuses to acknowledge Ben. “Again. I’m just— I don’t— I’m just gonna drive.”

Ben’s pretty sure Adam’s still crying – his knuckles are deathly pale where they clutch the steering wheel. The driver’s seat – the technicalities of driving a car – is the only thing holding Adam upright.

Ben should say something. This isn’t safe. And Ben’s never been overly comfortable on long car rides. There’s a reason he never got his driver’s license, and yeah, most of it had to do with his girlfriend at the time and an undiagnosed mental illness, but it’s not as if he’s ever gotten used to the pure powerlessness that comes from sitting in the passenger’s seat as someone else loses their mind. 

There’s just one problem.

He doesn’t want to say anything.

Worse yet, he doesn’t know what he’d even say. 

They met a day ago. And, yeah, Ben thought Adam was funny and pretty charming when they hit it off at the airport, but he mostly did it because he was bored and— fuck it, Ben was kinda losing it, stranded in Denver with nowhere else to go. Talking to a stick-figure man in an expensive suit who was obviously ten times as nervous as him seemed like a good idea, anything, really, to keep the spirals at bay.

And now he’s here. And he’s quietly losing it while Adam’s crying.

(Sam, the lucky bastard, is thankfully asleep)

What even are the chances that this is Maeve’s ex? That they’d stumble into Sam Denby, another ex and apparently a famous YouTube star? Who would then offer them his jeep? A once in a lifetime blizzard, and Ben’s spending it stuck in a car on I-80, with two of the most intense people he’s ever met, and somehow has a strange connection to. Turns out life is truly stranger than fiction. 

The universe is out to get him.

That’s the only logical conclusion.

The Tesla up ahead moves, as does the literal army of SUVs surrounding them. Adam pushes down on the gas pedal and lets them roll – the traffic jam hasn’t cleared, but at least they’re moving again, if just at a snail’s pace. 

Bending down awkwardly, Ben picks up his phone. The screen’s still bright, the blinking “GAME OVER” of his game of Snake a rather mocking reminder of his own fate. 

God, this is going to be an insanely long car ride. 

And the air inside has just gotten a whole lot more suffocating. 

Chapter Text

Something happened while Sam was asleep. That much is obvious.

Tristan often accuses him of being oblivious, but Sam’s not nearly as blind as some people think. He’s so preoccupied with his two million things to do, that he overlooks the less important interpersonal details. 

(and it’s a hassle to translate every raised eyebrow into a context when people can just tell him what they want straight to his face)

(he doesn’t quite understand what all the fuss is about)

But, well, in this car, right now, there’s little else for him to do besides try and analyze all the unspoken clues. 

Sam woke up maybe half an hour ago, when Adam took the exit off I-94 onto I-90 a little too fast. Disoriented, it took him a hot second, soft Lofi pop still blaring out of his headphones, to reorient himself – by now (almost up to Woodville) they’re at least five to six hours behind schedule, if not more. 

It was Ben who told him that they’d been stuck in traffic just before Chicago Heights for about three hours. They thought he needed sleep so they didn’t wake him.

While considerate, something tells Sam that that’s not the whole story. 

The fact that Adam hasn’t spoken a single word since Sam woke up is just one sign that something’s wrong. The frustrated cheerfulness with which Ben’s been trying to keep small talk alive since Sam woke up, another one. 

“Soooo, what’re some DC fun facts, Sam?”

“Uh…” Glancing at Adam (no reaction), before pushing his hair out of his face (Sam misses his favorite bandana), he answers, “The DC metro catches fire sometimes. Just, like, casually. But it looks nice so it’s fine.” 

“It looks nice so it’s fine?” Ben repeats.

“Yeah.” Sam shrugs.

Still no reaction from Adam.

So, okay, maybe Ben and Adam had a fight? That wouldn’t be completely unexpected, considering they’ve been locked up in a confined space together for more than 24 by now. Just based on his own mood, and his lowering tolerance for bullshit, it’s no surprise if heightened emotions lead to some exploding tempers. Only— that’s not the vibe he’s getting. At all.

“And what about— you said Aspen, right?” Ben turns around in his seat to get a better view. “Any fun facts about Aspen?”

Sam’s kinda sick of this game already.

“No.”

“No? Nothing to be said about Aspen?”

“Nothing besides the fact that I’m considering moving out of there. Too touristy.”

If anything, Sam wants to get further away from people. 

(maybe reach a place where he can be himself, always)

(only something tells him that place might not exist)

“Interesting.” Ben nods.

It’s really not.

The radio’s silent.

“Can we turn on the radio? A news station maybe?” Sam asks.

“No.”

It’s the first time Adam’s spoken, and his voice sounds fucked. Mostly, his nose is obviously stuffy as hell. Sam decides not to comment on it.

Silence returns as they move deeper and deeper into the afternoon. This close to the solstices, days are short, darkness an ever encroaching shadow slowly reaching over the horizon. The snow is painting senseless patterns on the windows as it brushes against them. As they drive parallel to the shores of Lake Michigan, the weather worsens, visibility going down. Ah, the joys of lake effect snow.

Which means their speed slows down as well.

Expecting Adam’s tendency to curse, Sam’s still surprised by the lack of energy following his short “fucking hell, of course, this is happening now” . Usually everything about Adam is so loud, Sam thought it was impossible for him to swear dispassionately.

Something must be really wrong.

“Do you—” Sam starts. It’s hard to find a comfortable position to sit in now that he’s awake and aware of how ill-suited the backseat is for a man of his size. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Who? Me?” Ben asks, even though he obviously knows that Sam’s talking about Adam. That much is obvious by the overdrawn frown on his face, and the almost comical edge to his squinting as he looks back at Sam.

Adam’s still wearing his glasses.

“No. Adam.” 

Adam doesn’t react, as Sam expected.

With the heating fully turned up, their mileage must be horrible. By now, they’re probably running on empty again. At some point, Sam definitely needs some coffee (and maybe a redbull or five) and a bathroom break. Mentioning it right now feels like stepping on an active landmine. 

“I always wanted an EV,” Sam says, apropos of nothing. He’s usually quite good with silence, has perfected the act of solitude, but his heart aches for the wide expanse of the running track behind his house, and— well, the simple freedom of being able to open his arms wide and touch nothing. This is not unlike a cage, and multiple studies have shown that caged animals showcase atypical mannerisms and behaviors.  

“Uh huh,” Ben encourages, basically begging him to continue talking.

“Yeah, however, Elon Musk went off the rails just as I had the financial stability to invest in a Tesla. And then— living in Colorado, you need a car. I mean, I don’t have to explain car-centrism in the US to y’all, but especially away from the East Coast… no car, no life. So, instead of buying a Tesla, I got this jeep. It’s the most energy efficient car I could get at that size, while still being suited for my needs, but—”

“There are other EV brands besides Elon Fascist Musk’s one.” It’s the most overtly political thing Ben’s said so far, and yet Sam isn’t surprised by it at all. The only thing Ben knows about cars probably relates to Elon Musk and the political clusterfuck currently happening.

“Yeah, my dream car is a Rivian.” 

“I have no idea what that is.”

“An EV manufacturer. Well, you can get one in dual standard, and their batteries last up to 400 miles. It’s just— this jeep, I bought with money I earned with— say, 6.5 million views. To buy my dream car? Current offers start at $80k. I’d need the pure ad revenue of like— seven to twelve Wendover videos, pre taxes and paying my actual employees to pay that off.”

“Oh wow, so many numbers that mean nothing to me.” Ben’s sarcasm helps. 

“The YouTube Economy is truly a fascinating subject. I’m not sure if y’all have ever looked into it, but I got started during the early days of monetization, and since then—”

“I’m going to lose my job.” Adam’s voice cuts through the car with deadly precision. And that even though for once, he’s not talking loudly. If anything, Adam sounds almost frighteningly detached. Empty. Sam has a bad feeling about this.

“Was that the phone—?” Ben says in the ensuing silence.

“Well, I’m not going to lose my job. Probably. Not really.” Adam ignores Ben. Ignores the worried looks Sam shoots his way. Ignores anything but the brake lights of the car in front of him, and the gusts of sleet covering the interstate – at least Sam hopes that Adam still sees those. “But I’m not going to get that promotion. And if I can’t get that promotion, I can’t quit my job. Or get headhunted. So I have to stay in this soulless office, listening as Martin gets praised for being a fucking idiot and and Micheal takes over the office and  my boss takes another offer by Bloomberg to sell us out to even bigger assholes trying to invest into private equity via consulting firms acting as fronts for consolidated private loans.”

“That’s—” Sam stops before he can actually commit to anything. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. 

What is there, really?

I’m sorry your evil finance job isn’t fulfilling?  

“And— and instead of being in New York right now, trying to solve all this, I am in this car with— with you people. Stuck in fucking— I don’t even know! Bumfuck Nowhere, Indiana! My life’s falling apart and who gets to witness it? Sam Denby! The walking, talking representation of everything I can’t have! Fucking hell!”

That… hurts.

Sam didn’t expect it to hurt.

“Ouch.” Hand on heart, Ben leans into the drama of it all. It’s easier to look at him, yet Sam’s eyes keep wandering back to Adam driving his car. “Yeah, get it all out. Say it how you see it.” 

“This isn’t funny.” Grinding his teeth, Adam’s jaw must be aching by now. “This is— I’ve sold my soul to this company and now— this blizzard isn’t even my fucking fault! Climate change fucked me over— My girlfriend broke up with me because I refused to quit my job, and I was this close to making up with her. I cannot believe, I gave them my everything. And— and one blizzard, one shitty road trip with people I don’t even— I cannot—”

Tears are running down his face. Even from Sam’s rather subpar point of view (at an angle on the backseat, with his knee complaining about the position he’s forced it in) it’s pretty damn obvious that those are angry tears.

Words gone, Sam is stuck in his role as an observer.

Ben doesn’t seem to share the same struggle, if anything he’s becoming increasingly animated now that Adam’s ranting. It’s as if he’s been waiting for this, stoked to finally force the tension in the car to break. “The world is truly incredibly cruel to white guys in finance.” 

It’s an unnecessarily mean thing to say – somehow it seems to work.

“Ah, is my breakdown funny to you?”

“No— well, kinda,” Ben says with a cavalier shrug. “You seem to make your shitty life everyone else’s problem, so—”

“How on earth am I doing that?” In a weird twist of fate, Adam does sound less angry now, more relaxed. He’s always been pretty argumentative, maybe that’s it. Maybe Ben’s cracked the code: if you can’t calm him down normally, you have to fight with him.

Raising a hand to count on his fingers, Ben responds, “Well, first off, you’re horribly moody, which makes this life-changing road trip a lot less fun; second of all, you’re not laughing at my funny stories, which is illegal; third of all, you’re involving me, personally, in this weird beef you have with your ex; fourth—”

“Wait a second.” Adam holds up one hand, confusion parting his lips. “Please explain to me how I am involving you in ‘this weird beef I have with my ex?’”

For just a second, Sam sees real fear on Ben’s face. His tan skin pales, as he swallows. When his smile comes back only seconds later, it’s a lot more strained. “Uhhh, Sam? This thing you’re—?” 

“Sam?” Adam repeats. As Sam watches his gaze flickers from the road up ahead to Ben and back towards the road, obviously caught in the horror of not knowing where to look.

Sam understands that feeling just all too well. Because he doesn’t know where to look either. “What?” 

“Yeah?” A blush crawls up Ben’s cheeks. “I mean— the two of you used to date, right? Some years ago? That’s why you’re so weird with each other.”

“That not—” Sam starts, just as Adam interrupts him with a decisive, “We’re not weird with each other!”

For a moment, their eyes meet in the rearview mirror. Sam hates eye contact, but this is a moment of understanding. Or, well, a moment of companionable confusion. 

(somehow, even though Sam doesn’t quite understand it, Sam makes it harder for Adam to be vulnerable)

(somehow, even though Sam isn’t quite sure why, that hurts)

On the passenger seat, Ben shakes his head. “You guys are so weird with each other.”

“How so?” Adam demands, truly distracted now that Ben’s brought up Sam.

“Everything!” Ben exclaims. “You’re— urgh, no job interview can possibly explain how you’re dancing around each other like a couple of headless chickens. The bickering! The refusal to show vulnerability! The downright obscene sexual tension when Sam asked what you’re doing now— I mean, get a room!”

“I—” Adam stutters, speechless. 

Which Sam takes as a chance to cut in, “We really just met that one time in person. There were some emails before that, and a bit of freelance work, but— We really only met that one time. I’m not sure how you’ve come to this conclusion, but Adam and I never dated. Even if—”

“Even if Adam thinks you’re a representation of everything he can’t have?” Throwing Adam’s words back into Sam’s face, the twist to Ben’s lips highlights that there is a certain edge to them. Something that lies outside this inexplicable hurt, something that sounds unmistakingly wistful.

Ben is right about that.

“We don’t have to talk about that.” Adam cuts in, voice hard.

“No—” Ben is ready to annoy him again (it seems weirdly personal what Ben’s doing, and Sam has no idea what’s going on).

“I want to talk about that, though.” Moving so he’s in between the two front seats, Sam leans forward slightly. His head’s basically on the same height as Ben and Adam’s, considering how tall he is and how small the backseat of his jeep feels, walls progressively moving closer the longer they spent like this. 

“You do?” Adam sounds surprised.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Because you said “no” five and a half years ago. Because I recognized you even after all this time. Because you’re obviously unhappy. Because somehow I’ve become your boogeyman. Because—

Sam says none of that.

“Because we’re in this car for another twelve hours at least, and I’d like to know if I’ve somehow offended you.”

Yeah.

That’ll do.

Adam’s thoughts are going 500 miles an hour, and he has no idea how to stop. The car is crawling down the interstate, the icy winds coming down from the Great Lakes making everything a hundred times worse, and somehow Adam’s ended up in this conversational minefield.

And it’s all his fault.

He’s a pressure cooker ready to explode – there’s a reason he refused to talk to Ben after his downright embarrassing breakdown and it’s as simple as that: once he starts talking, it’s impossible for him to stop. And then? Well, usually he digs his own grave. 

For someone who did debate all throughout high school and college (and made giving convincing presentations part of his job), Adam’s completely adrift once he loses track of his script. The anxiety gets to his head, making his hands jittery and his tongue loose.

Which is precisely why Sam’s staring at him right now, eyes incredibly and unnervingly blue in the rearview mirror.

“You haven’t offended me.” Adam already knows that this won’t fly, not after behaving like a damn fool earlier. Goddammit, he’s completely unmoored, cut loose from everything that’s ever made sense.It’s hard to focus on his driving, on hitting the brake at just the right moment to slow them down to a gentle roll as the car in front of them comes to a stop. But it’s still easier to do that, to be useful, than it is to face the music.

It doesn’t help that Ben’s squinting at him in interest from his spot on the passenger’s seat.

Adam Chase is caught up in an inescapable panopticon – the two lingering stares of the people sharing the car with him, a nearly impossible saw trap.

“That doesn’t really seem to be true,” Sam says, voice surprisingly even.

Then again, unlike Adam, neither Ben nor Sam emote much. Most of the time their faces remain infuriatingly blank, with Ben putting a little more effort into his facial expression, while Sam seems to struggle just with holding eye contact. 

Maybe he’s the weirdo, considering he can’t stop pouring out his heart in front of them – if not in words, then in the arch of his eyebrow.

(Adam’s always had a pretty expressive face, and it’d been a challenge to train that out of himself to better fit in at his consulting firm)

(none of that training helps him now, barriers and self-control broken down by over a thousand miles on the road together)

“What do you want me to say then?” 

Sam shrugs. “The truth.”

“How do you know what the truth is?” It comes off as stand-offish. Adam’s okay with that. He does feel rather stand-offish right now. 

(even if Ben’s pure audacity earlier did help – he doesn’t want to admit it, but…)

“I don’t.” Sam pauses for a moment, unsure on how to proceed. “But I’m sure it’s not that.”

Adam makes sure to infuse his words with pure venom and a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Then— what do you want? For me to admit that I’m unhappy with my job and that’s why I name-dropped you?” 

It’s the truth.

Well, parts of it.

Sam’s face could have been cut from stone. “Well, you’re the one who just said that.” 

“Because you’re obviously thinking it! You want the gratification of my misery to feel better about yourself!” 

He’s gotten mean in recent years – that is probably the reason Maeve broke up with him.

Adam doesn’t want to be a mean person.

And yet—

Ben’s low curse sums it up pretty well: “Oh fuck.” 

Next to Adam, a quick look confirms Ben has frozen, eyes growing bigger with each exchange between the two. Mouth open, he has the charm of a confused fish, as he slowly blinks.

Turning away from Ben’s obvious discomfort, Adam returns to the matter at hand: Sam.

“To feel better about myself?” Sam repeats, slowly. “Why would I need to—? I am at the height of my career. Why do I need to compare myself to you?” 

“Maybe not me!” Adam says loudly. “Maybe it’s Ben you’re weirdly jealous of! I don’t know— but you sure as fuck don’t carry yourself like a man who’s proud of what he’s done. Of what he’s doing.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Because you don’t want it to be.” 

They pass the exit to Holmesville as the sun disappears behind the horizon, dark gray turning even darker. Adam’s been driving for at least eight hours. He’s tired. His eyes hurt, Ben’s glasses not quite the perfect fit they all need them to be. 

At the same time, adrenaline is coursing through his veins. It’s electrifying to fight with Sam – if only because Adam doesn’t have to hold back.

If Sam leaves him… yeah, well, Adam did it first. Five years ago. The worst thing Sam can do to him right now, is force him to stop this car and then leave him at the outskirts of a random midwestern small town. And you know what? It wouldn’t even matter. Adam’s not gonna be able to get that promotion anyway – if he’s stuck in fucking Holmesville or Otis or Beattys Corner for another three days, who the fuck cares. 

Fucking hell, he didn’t even plan on visiting his family for the holidays, so they wouldn’t miss him either.

(and maybe he’d just vanish after being left on the side of the road)

(what difference would it make?)

(hah, maybe he could ruin Sam’s life that way)

“Now you’re just making shit up.” Sam’s getting heated; an angry blush is crawling up his pale skin, the tips of his ears turning red where he’s pushed his long blond hair away from his face. 

“Oh, am I?” Adam demands, skin prickling from the rising temperature inside the car. “As if we haven’t noticed that you’re barely talking about yourself? Well, I am glad Amy’s happy working for you, but it sure as hell doesn’t sound as if you’re sharing her passion.”

“Amy?” Sam repeats. “The friend you stopped talking to because she got the job you were too chickenshit to accept?”

“Hah!” His heart’s beating like crazy, colors brighter now that Adam’s really paying attention. The outside world is a never ending sea of dark grey, shadowy trees, and lone houses, but in here? The blue of Ben’s sweater and the orange of his balled up jacket in between his feet are basically blinding. “So it is about how you think that I’m unhappy in my job—”

“Obviously!” Sam groans. “That’s not even a secret! We can all tell! You’re the most stereotypical representation of a burned out, browned out business bro, if I’ve ever met one—”

“And you think I’d be someone else if I’d just taken your offer back then?” Adam hopes the poison he’s spitting reaches Sam.

“Maybe, I don’t know.” Sam, the bastard, shrugs. “You’d sure as hell wouldn’t be contemplating which skyscraper to jump off, though.” 

Like a sudden vacuum in space, air is sucked out of the car. Silence follows, intercut only with Adam’s heaving breaths as he pulls air in through the gap between his front teeth, desperate to keep his focus on the road. Anything, to keep his shock in check. He’s not actually trying to crash the car. 

Sam’s not doing much better, considering Adam can see him fall backwards against the backseat from the corner of his eyes, mouth open in disbelief. Sam’s probably not used to his own cruelty – Adam wishes he could say the same about himself.

Ben’s the only one still moving, real where Sam and Adam are frozen in time, the startled awe illuminating his face warning enough.

Still, nothing could quite have prepared Adam for Ben’s “And I thought listening to my parents fight was bad enough. Wow”. 

Adam sounds downright hysterical when he laughs. It’s painful, pulling on something deep within his chest, but he hasn’t had enough water today to cry again. Instead, he refuses to stop the hitching hiccups of his deranged laughter, Ben’s joke not even all that funny.

Sam refuses to join in. 

“Oh fuck,” Adam finally offers, in between two noises of despair. In his humble opinion, it sums it up pretty well.

“Yeah,” Ben agrees.

“I’m—” Unlike earlier, Sam appears positively meek, when his voice cuts through the tension. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what just— I shouldn’t have said that.”

Adam doesn’t answer.

(he doesn’t know what to answer)

(fucking hell, he doesn’t know what to feel)

(what does it say about him that both Ben and Sam think he’s going to kill himself?)

(what does it say about him that they’re not even overly concerned with him actually succeeding?)

(would anybody actually grieve him if he did it?)

Adam stops the thought before it can grow roots.

“What if I turn the radio back on and we all sit together in silence for a bit?” Ben doesn’t wait for an answer.

Adam does not stop him.

Music fills the car. It’s at least somewhat helpful in drowning out the noise inside his head.

Chapter Text

So, it turns out Indiana is a bit of a shitshow. 

Driving off the interstate to grab a quick dinner in South Bend (Sam insisted on this before leaving I-90 to avoid a long stretch of construction work that takes driving on it for the rest of Indiana to new, monotonous heights) Ben’s already preparing himself for an equally as miserable silence during dinner as has haunted the last one and a half hours.

Not that he can blame them.

Their fight was… legendary. 

Ben’s just glad they forgot to involve him.He’s not all that interested in being pulled into their interpersonal drama. He’s still not entirely convinced that Adam and Sam aren’t bitter exes, not that it matters now. After the things they said… they’ll probably never see eye to eye again.

Stuck in a car together going nowhere.

(New York’s not nowhere – but Baltimore might be)

(at least with how his life is going)

Street lights reflect in Ben’s window as he stares out into the night. Now that they’re no longer on I-90, the view has improved greatly. Snow covered trees frame what Ben thinks is the campus of St. Mary’s college, a river snaking into downtown right next to the streets leading there. 

“I’ve never much thought about Indiana,” Ben says, if only to make the silence a little bit less stifling. The awkwardness physically presses down on his chest. “But it looks nice.”

“It exists.” Adam offers, noncommittally. 

“The best thing about South Bend is that its airport isn’t O’Hare.” Sam, at least, has an actual opinion. “Their Greyhound station is an absolute shitshow. The train station’s nice, though.” 

“Huh,” Ben glances at Sam – who’s pointedly looking out the window still. Meanwhile Adam’s entirely focused on driving. “Indianapolis is probably fun to visit. Everyone’s always going on about Chicago and makes fun of Ohio for… well, being Ohio, but nobody ever talks about Indianapolis.” 

“One time—” Adam starts. Then stops again. They’re silent for a moment as Adam takes a turn down Douglas Road past Notre Dame University to Twyckenham Drive. “One time Maeve joked that it would be incredibly cringe to have a New York wallpaper as a New Yorker, but that the funniest city to have a street sign or piece of decor from would be Indianapolis.”

“Why?” Sam asks with honest curiosity. At least he is seemingly incapable of holding grudges, considering he’s mostly relieved that Adam’s opening up. Slightly. 

(every time Adam mentions Maeve, Ben has to suppress a flinch – it’s stupid, but Adam can’t know about them and now that he’s talking again…) 

(Ben needs this to remain a secret)

(does this make him a bad person?)

(probably)

(he hasn’t answered any of Maeve’s texts in a hot minute either)

“Because nobody gives a fuck about Indianapolis.” Adam shrugs, “A Boston or Baltimore or even a LA sign— those would either be local rivalries or aspiring dreams. But Indianapolis? That’s— people would be confused, I mean, like, what is there?”

“Well, some people care. It’s home to the Indy 500, for example.”

“The Indy 500?” Ben turns around in his seat to get a better view of Sam. 

In between their backpacks and discarded jackets, wrappers of various protein bars and road trip staples littering the floor, Sam has the charm of a giant trapped in a dwarf’s den. The fluff – something Ben would call the beginnings of a beard on him and Adam – growing on his chin doesn’t help with the mental image.

“Yeah.” Sam smiles, obviously uncomfortable with the very act of it. It’s incredibly awkward. Ben can’t help but also find it a bit sweet. “The Indy 500. It’s an annual car race. Established in 1911, once a year, usually during the Memorial Day weekend, and it’s basically the most important date of the IndyCar Calendar. It’s really cool actually. They call their track the ‘Brickyard’ and unlike with most races, you need to complete four timed lapses to qualify instead of just one. Hell, for many teams winning the Indy 500 is almost a higher priority than winning the actual championship.”

There is a moment of silence once Sam stops speaking, the momentary excitement on his face slowly bleeding away. 

Ben won’t let that happen. “Oh, you’re into that?”

“What?” Sam echoes back.

“Car racing. Whatever it’s called.”

“Well, there’s different types of racing, actually.” Sam glances at Adam, but whatever he finds in his rigid posture and intense focus out the window, it doesn’t stop Sam from continuing, “I am mostly a Formula 1 guy. Which is a kind of indy car racing but not IndyCar , if you get my drift.”

“I do not.”

“It’s— okay, the details can get a bit confusing, but—”

Sam’s words wash over Ben as they drive deeper and deeper into South Bend’s downtown. He doesn’t care for whatever Sam is trying to explain (the name Danny Ricciardo keeps getting mentioned) but it’s certainly better than the silence that preceded it. Ben did seriously consider jumping out of the car just to escape it. 

(at their speed, it wouldn’t even have been dangerous)

Now, looking out the window at the poor fucks trying to walk through the darkness as ice cold wind preys on their clothes, Ben finally unclenches his hands. There’s a reason he’s a nail biter, and part of that is that he’d cut up his palms regularly if he didn’t commit to gnawing on his own nails until they were too short to amount to much of anything.

Nobody can accuse him of being impractical.

Pulling into a parking lot opposite some brick buildings (with a touch too much glass for Ben’s taste), Adam stops the car. If it weren’t for the literal mountains of snow building up all along the sidewalks, this would be just another small American town. Wide streets, too many parking lots even downtown, and low brick buildings with a few trees on each side. As it is, they’re in some sort of winter wonderland. 

Ben has no fucking clue where they are. Or why exactly they stopped.

They never agreed on a place to eat.

“Uh, where’s dinner?” Ben asks, because someone has to. He has the strong feeling neither Sam nor Adam are likely to make the first move on this. As it is, he interrupts Sam just as he explains that while McLaren is definitely his favorite team, he has a soft spot for some guy called Ollie Bearman who is apparently some sort of child prodigy.

Ben stopped actively listening the first time Sam mentioned how important the gaps on the corners of a F1 track are. 

Sam falls silent immediately, his face a lot more lively now than it was just minutes earlier. Blinking a few times, he too, finally notices that they parked somewhere in South Bend, no fucking idea where.

“Over there.” Prying one hand away from the steering wheel, Adam points across the street. 

Squinting through the heavy snow, the world decidedly fuzzier than usual considering Adam’s still wearing his glasses, Ben spots some swirly script on the side of the building, “That doesn’t look like a Subway.”

“Carmela’s Restaurant,” Sam reads from his spot on the backseat, confusion pulling the end of his sentence up into a question. “I thought we’d stop at an IHOP or Wendy’s or maybe a TacoBell.” 

“No.” Still refusing to make eye contact with either one of them, Adam sounds surprisingly steadfast. “I’m taking you out to dinner.”

“You’re taking us out?” Ben repeats.

“Yes.” Pulling the key out of the ignition, Adam turns to finally look at them. His eyes are dry (and red behind the frame of Ben’s glasses). “As an apology. We’re going out to have some real fucking food in an actual restaurant, and I’m going to pay. My treat. I looked it up earlier, this place has good reviews. It should be passable for some spot in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’m not sure South Bend counts as the middle of nowhere, actually.” But Sam’s smiling as he says it, already reaching for his jacket and the door as he does so.

Ben follows suit.

The Tuscan decor is a bit over the top, but it’s nice to sit in an actual room, on a proper chair, at a table with a real table cloth covering the grainy wood. It’s a decent place, the kind of establishment Ben would take a date to back in LA – not a first date, those are usually reserved for the shiny gentrified sushi bars popping up all over the place, or a taco truck if he’s feeling a bit more daring and down to earth. No, this is a third or fourth date kinda location, with the candles and the dimmed lighting and the slightly obnoxious Italian music in the background. 

It’s all very romantic.

Which is probably why the waitress looked at them all weird when three very sweaty men, in different stages of untamed beard growth, appeared from the snowy outside to ask for a table. Adam’s suit is high quality enough to look good even rumpled and after two days of being worn straight, which might be what finally convinces her to seat them.

Now, Ben’s swirling red wine around in his glass (he doesn’t even like red wine) as Adam mildly critiques the food with all the grace of a person who’s definitely actually a foodie but doesn’t want to admit it.

“Now, I can tell that they tried, and this isn’t bad, not really, but to make an Aglio e Olio that actually tastes like something you have to invest in good olive oil. I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules.” 

Their conversation is stilted, Adam unsure where to look even as he argues against nothing, forced humor drawing his words out. But he’s trying. And next to Ben, Sam’s eating some overprized (but really tasty looking) mozzarella sticks, and  attempting to be a good sport.

“Have you ever been to Italy?” Sam asks, almost wooden with politeness.

“Once,” Adam says. The wistful quality of his smile promises memories of a better time. “We took a trip from Rome up to Venice and then stayed a few days in a cottage in Tuscany. It was— I would give everything to go back there.”

Ben believes him.

(he doesn’t have to ask who that elusive we Adam’s talking about includes)

“Why don’t you travel more?” Taking a sip from his wine (surprisingly good), Ben leans back in his chair. His fettuccine alfredo is already gone, even if Adam complained about how that’s not actually a very authentic dish at all. “You have the money, right?”

“Barely any vacation days.” Adam shrugs.

Ben doesn’t ask for more – he’d be stupid to disturb this fragile bit of peace.

“I love traveling.” Sam takes another bite, before elaborating, “That’s part of what makes my job so cool. I get to travel. I have to donate to, like, half a dozen climate change projects to make up for my CO2 emissions a year, but— after living in Scotland and Australia… even now, sometimes I wish I had more opportunities to see the world. It’s hard to get enough of the world once you’ve started really experiencing it.”

“Yeah, I’ve been to Europe a few times.” Travel seems like a safe enough topic for all of them, so Ben decides to join in. “It’s easier with a European passport, so—”

“You have EU citizenship?” Adam interrupts.

“My dad’s Irish.”

His dad’s a whole lot of things.

“Huh.”

“Yeah.” Ben shrugs, “Though, I have to admit, I’ve never been to Ireland. France, on the other hand? I have personal beef with Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris. Never hated an airport as much as I’ve hated that one. I didn’t know you could have this strong an emotion about a place, but Charles de Gaulle taught me some things.”

“Now you’re speaking my language.” Sam is laughing. “What did it do to you?”

“They exploded my suitcase.”

“What?!” Adam’s loud enough half the patrons turn to look at them. Ben doesn’t care. Wide eyes, mouth open, Adam looks like an overdrawn cartoon character. Ben has no other choice; he laughs. Still caught somewhere between disbelief and shock, Adam joins in. “You have to explain that!”

“Okay, so—”

Ben takes another sip of wine.