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browncoatparadox · 3 years

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That’s the Highway That’s the Best

The Murderbot discord talked about a modern road trip AU for MB & ART and I ended up writing 1.7k when I was supposed to be doing homework. Title from “Route 66″ because why not.

I’m travelling across the desert in my van and I am completely and utterly bored. The radio cut out a couple miles back, and I’ve listened to every CD in here with Iris about a thousand times. I would look over some of the data I’ve collected, but I need to keep my eyes on the road even though there’s no one else around. The only thing that adds any variety is the occasional interesting rock formation, which doesn’t really catch my attention. I’m not a geologist, and even if I was stopping to study these would only make this trip take even longer. I sigh as I adjust my mirrors for something, anything to do, and see another figure by the road. This one’s closer, almost on the pavement itself. I idly wonder how long it’s been there. Was the road built next to it, or was it deposited later? It takes me an embarrassingly long time (about five seconds) for me to realize that the rock is moving. Specifically, it’s holding out a thumb and waving with its other arm. A hitchhiker, out in the middle of the desert, absolutely covered in dust, wearing a battered backpack and an irritated expression.

I pull up. This person doesn’t look like much of a threat, and even if they are I can take care of myself. That’s why my parents let me do the four-day drive back to the University on my own. Well, that and the fact that they were busy with some of their… “extracurricular” activities. I roll down the window, taking in the figure before me.

“I need to get to RaviHyral,” the person says, and- holy shit. Upon closer inspection they’re tiny. I know I’m big, but this kid looks like they weigh less than a helium balloon. They’ve clearly been out here for a while, drenched in sweat and sand. There’s a bandage wrapped around their leg, and their long hair drapes over their eyes. In short, they look like someone’s who’s had a rough time lately. They look me over skeptically, glancing each way as if they’re checking for someone else. I’d know better than anyone that, at least in the direction I’m coming from, I’m all they’ve got if they want to get out of the sun.

“Hop in,” I say, unlocking the passenger door. The kid slinks in, hugging their backpack close as they buckle their seatbelt. I reach into the back and rummage for a water bottle. When I turn my focus back, the kid’s hunched against the door. They shake their head when I offer them the bottle, pulling a canteen out of their bag. I shrug and turn the engine back on, sighing as I feel the air conditioning kick in. The kid exhales a bit as well (and I should probably call them something else, but there’s no way they’re older than me and it’s not like I know anything about them). The van starts moving back down the road, and I look over at my passenger.

The kid puts on headphones and starts listening to… something. If I really focus, I can make out music, something melodramatic, and people talking over it. I’m concentrating so hard on trying to make out the words that I don’t realize I’m leaning towards the kid until the kid shoves me. The kid glares. I glare back. The kid shrinks into the seat. Fuck. I didn’t mean to do that.

“What are you listening to?” There, hopefully that will clarify my curiosity. And make it so that I’m not just sitting in silence again, but this time with a mystery right next to me.

The kid says, “Episode 373 of The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon. The colony supervisor…” The kid’s voice trails off. “It’s kind of complicated. If you want to listen, I could put on a new show? Then we could start from the beginning?”

I nod enthusiastically, rummaging through the compartment in front of me for an aux cord. If the kid doesn’t want to talk, then at least I’ll have something new to listen to. I hand it to the kid, who plugs it into their battered iPod and presses play for something labelled as Worldhoppers. A bombastic horn flourish plays out, and I notice the kid start to relax as the characters begin to talk. It quickly becomes less of a concern to me, though, because apparently the kid has fantastic taste in media. The kid smiles a little when I look at them after the credits roll. “Next episode?”

We listen to four episodes of Worldhoppers in between where I picked up the kid and the nearest gas station. I pull over, enjoying the chance to stretch my legs. The kid sits on the hood of the car, legs kicking, as I go to refill the tank. “So, what are you doing in fuck-knows-where, ART?”

“Art?” I ask. I have no idea where that could have possibly come from.

The kid shrugs. “Short for Asshole Road Tripper. You didn’t give me your name.”

I wince a bit. In my defense, I’m not used to introducing myself to people. Most of the people I hang out with have known me since I was adopted, and those that don’t have talked to Iris first. Anyways, it’s not like they’ve given me their name either. “ART works. Just don’t talk about me with binary pronouns- it/its preferably, but if you’re uncomfortable with that they/them is fine.”

The kid startles a little bit, opens their mouth like they’re going to ask a question, and then shuts it again. I’m hoping that means that they aren’t going to start anything with me over my gender. Good. I’d hate to kick out the kid in the middle of the desert, even if they didn’t have what was quickly turning into my favorite show. I give the kid five dollars to get something to eat while I wait by the van. If they want to ditch me, they can. Even with the shelter of the gas station, they’re miles from RaviHyral and night’s coming. I doubt the kid’s going to want to be out when it starts to get cold, especially with the shorts that they’ve been wearing.

The kid comes back. I pretend not to notice them pocketing the change. They scramble into their seat as I close the fuel tank. By the time I settle into place, the intro to Worldhoppers is already playing. I turn the ignition, patting the wheel as my van rumbles to life, and head back onto the road.

The sun sets. I roll down my window and look out at the sky, even though the air has become frigid. I love the stars out here. They’re the best thing about the desert, so close that I can almost touch them. The kid looks out too, eyes widening as they take in the Milky Way splayed above us. It almost feels like flying through space, like my van is a starship travelling between worlds instead of a beat-up camper travelling to a nowhere mining town.

We ran out of episodes an hour ago. The kid had put the finale episode back on after we finished it (which I, for one, greatly appreciated, considering the sheer amount of chaos in that episode), but now we’re just sitting together in silence.

“How’d you end up out here?” I’ve been thinking about this in between Worldhoppers episodes, and while I have a hypothesis of my own I want to know what the kid’s going to say.

They hesitate for a moment. “The last car I was in broke down. I ended up going ahead while the driver waited for a tow truck.”

I look at the kid. “I meant before that.”

They grimace. I think about the news alert that was on the radio right before the signal began to deteriorate, about a group of scientists who had found traces of radioactive waste during their biological survey, and a local teen who had helped them find evidence linking the materials to the GreyCris Mining Corporation. About how said local teen had disappeared after being checked out from the hospital, having been shot by GreyCris’s guards.

The kid sighs, and explains the story. It lines up with what I know. I notice that they don’t mention the injury on their leg, but decide not to push it now. I’ve got a full medical kit in the back that I can use to fix it up when we stop for the night.

I’m really not liking the situation. I didn’t like it earlier, when I just thought they might be a kid travelling alone through the desert. I ignore the part of me that points out that I’m technically also a kid travelling alone through the desert. My family knows, if not specifically where I am, my general itinerary, and they know that I can look out for myself. Plus, I’ve got a van. This kid has no one, and it sounds like they may be in the kind of trouble that my family can help with. If they need a new identity, a place where they can hide from GreyCris, I can help with that.

I don’t want to press them, but I’m this close to passing by RaviHyral and taking them back to the University with me.

“What do you need to do in RaviHyral?” I ask. I’m not planning on leaving them there alone. If they’re just headed to the nearest town, I can take them somewhere safer.

The kid looks at me, really looks, their eyes taking in everything about me and tallying it all up in their head. They make some sort of mental calculation, nod to themselves, and take a shaky breath.

“I need to find one of my old foster homes,” they say quietly. “I need to figure out what happened to me there.”

My brain runs through all of the possible meanings of that statement. This kid isn’t trying to hide their identity. They’re trying to find it.

Fuck it. My family won’t be too upset if I show up a few days late.

#my writing #murderbot #the murderbot diaries #fanfic #modern au #fun facts #ART is 6 foot 6 and broad #its family are all astrophysicists at the UoMaNT but also make fake passports/visas for immigrants #both MB and ART are nonbinary #MB is figuring out its name and pronouns #MB is a runaway teen that pretty much accidentally got involved with Preservation #everyone wants to adopt MB #it's a problem (according to MB)#ART does roll up to University five days late with its medical supplies depleted and tells its family about its new friend

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