richie rich survivalists

[thedreamthief]

Holy fucking Christ it's hot.

Ronan wakes sprawled on his back, the air around him humid and musty and clingy. At some point in the night he'd flung off his lone threadbare blanket and even in only his boxers and a loose wife-beater, Ronan feels like he's nearly liquified.

It was Gansey's turn on the mattress and he's still passed out, mouth agape and eyelids fluttering, deep in sleep. Not for the first time, Ronan wonders how dreams feel for other people, for normal people. He wonders how it feels to look forward to sleep, that escape into a harmless dream world with dream people and dream happenings instead of constantly fearing the reality of horrors they can conjure.

Ronan's not had a single nightmare in nearly two months, but he still has the fear every single night.

Silently cursing, Ronan sits up, uncomfortably aware of his morning wood as well as his full bladder. Darting another quick glance at Gansey, Ronan reaches for the zip of the door and, wincing, crawls out into the dewy morning grass. Chainsaw's there to great him, chirping and cawing away as he stumbles to his feet, following him as he wanders to the copse of trees he and Gansey have essentially made their bathroom.

Afterward, he pulls their bag of food down from the tree, scowls at the cans of beans and cream of corn and peas. His stomach growls.

"Chainsaw," he grumbles. "Go fetch us some french toast and coffee."

Comments

[darganfyddwr]

"That's not true," Gansey says. He looks around for something to throw at Ronan, but comes up with nothing, and has no better response. It's such an outlandishly untrue thing to say, so obviously just to make Gansey wonder, that adding any more exasperation to his response would only play it into Ronan's wishes. So Gansey just grumbles and chuffs the wet soil beside him with his feet.

The idea does make Gansey uncomfortable, though. What sort of truths would his mouth tell during his dreams that Gansey would never let it when he was aware? Would it tell all about his feelings for Blue? All about how worried Gansey was about every little evidence that his faith in what he was doing with his life was wavering?

Would his mouth tell stories about how terrified Gansey was that he loved them more than they loved him?

"Can I have a piece?" he asks, pointing to what's left of Ronan's orange. It looks better than his apple, or at least easier to cbew and swallow. "No more apples next time. I'm tired of apples."

[thedreamthief]

Gansey's uncomfortable, that much is clear. As far as shitty things Ronan's said in his life, accusing Gansey of talking in his sleep doesn't even make the top one hundred. But Gansey is still clearly uncomfortable.

Ronan squints, then shrugs, popping another slice into his mouth before stepping closer to hand the entire rest of the orange over to Gansey.

"Your shithole or mine?" he asks, before ducking into the tent to pull out the small pile of dirty clothes he's acquired since the last time they managed to get some laundry done. He sniffs at his armpit afterward. Definitely needs to throw in this shirt too, then. "We can grab food on the way back. After the french toast."

[darganfyddwr]

Gansey stares at the orange for a moment before eating it and then proceeding to take the chance to lick the juice off his fingers carelessly, seventeen again for a rare moment. The acid stings a cut on his lip where his worrying tore off a piece of dry skin; he needs to buy chapstick at the store. Gansey needs to buy a lot of things, and hasn't the money to do all of it at once; a first.

"Mine," Gansey says, decisively. Ronan knows he unseated Gansey, and Gansey knows Ronan knows, and Ronan probably knows that too.

"I need chapstick. And hiking boots. You need boots, too. Then I need to find a walking stick."

[thedreamthief]

Ronan's gaze drops to Gansey's lips and then away as he gives a grunt of acknowledgment.

"You're fucking geriatric sometimes, Jesus," Ronan mutters as he balls his clothes under his arm and nods toward the Pig. "Fuckin' walking stick."

He doesn't wait for permission before pulling open the driver's side door, arching an eyebrow at Gansey as though in challenge. With two Pigs now, Gansey's been mildly less possessive, but Ronan's still eager to push, just to see. It's fairly fruitless considering Gansey has the keys.

"You got a bright idea how we're paying for this anyway?"

[darganfyddwr]

Gansey rolls his eyes this time at the insult and stands from the seat he'd taken to grab the drawstring bag he's got, packed full of half a week of very dirty clothes. He does laundry exactly as often as he needs to, but with only four sets of clothes, that is more often than Gansey likes.

Pulling the keys to the Pig out of his pocket, he shifts their weight around in his palm, running the ridges of his fingers over the ridges of the metal of the keys, their familiar shape, familiar feel.

Then, abruptly, he tosses them at Ronan.

The Pig is Gansey's. It's Gansey's house, just as much as Monmouth -- here, maybe even moreso. But Ronan has given up so much to Gansey, whether Ronan knows that right now or not. Ronan's given Gansey time and energy and sacrificed all manner of other things to Gansey's search for Glendower, for Gansey himself. For Ronan didn't care about kings or favors.

He deserves the faith.

"My ATM card. While that still lasts," Gansey says. He has, for once, put thought into what to do beyond that, but his thoughts aren't structured yet, and he doesn't share them with Ronan for that reason.

[thedreamthief]

The toss comes quick, silver glinting in the early morning sunlight before Ronan snatches them out of the air, metal sharp against the skin of his palms as something in his chest floods warm. It's no small gesture, this level of trust, and Ronan wonders how much of it is Gansey trying to prove a point, trying to show Ronan that whatever chasm may be between them now, there's still a fundamental, unshakeable foundation.

Ronan's lips quirk, a bare expression of surprise and excitement before he's throwing his clothes into the back seat and dropping in behind the steering wheel. Chainsaw zooms in through the open back window, fluttering to a stop atop a pair of Ronan's boxer-briefs, her feet picking at the cotton.

"Breakfast's on you too, then," Ronan says because it's not really a question. Gansey's money is now Ronan's money and vice versa. They haven't really talked about it; money has never been an issue for either of them. It's not something worthy of conversation.

[darganfyddwr]

If Gansey regrets acquiescing to Ronan's little pushes and tests for even one moment, the regret flees again at the quirk of pleasure that manages to take the corner of Ronan's lips, and the way that Chainsaw follows him eagerly into the Pig. The Pig is the picture of Gansey's soul, a reflection of what Gansey wants to be. It isn't always, maybe, reflective of every objective reality. But it's Gansey. And Gansey is, increasingly, unsure of just who he would be without his people.

It's only fair then, maybe, that Ronan gets to sit behind the wheel every so often. The worst that could happen is that Ronan wrecks the Pig.

And that's already been done.

Gansey slaps a palm on the roof of the Pig and yanks the door open with the squeal of a heavy metal door. He likes the way the Pig's doors sound, with its body still made of solid metal with substance. He pulls himself into the passenger seat and shuts it loudly behind himself.

The bag of laundry gets discarded in the back seat.

"Do you think Darrow has a Denny's? Or a Denny's substitute." Nobody would look twice at them in a place like that. Which could be useful, just as useful as being part of the scenery at Nino's had been.

[thedreamthief]

Chainsaw flutters and gives a disgruntled grunt as she ducks the laundry bag then perches herself atop the ledge of the backseat, placing herself right in Ronan's view through the rearview mirror. He smirks at her as he shoves the key into the ignition.

As always, the Pig needs a little coaxing to start and Ronan pumps the gas and gives it another try or two before the engine finally turns over and catches. He darts a glance over at Gansey, something like satisfaction or pride doubtlessly written all over him.

"I say we drive around town until we find one," he says, ignoring the fact that they have a limited amount of gas at the moment and limited funds to refill the tank. He carefully backs the Pig out of it's makeshift parking spot and onto the main road, managing to not scrape the undercarriage as he does. "I should tell you now though, I haven't found any fucking sweet tea in this entire town."