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The road seems endless, a streak of gray pavement that stretches towards the melting hues of purple and orange and red in the horizon, but never quite reaching it. Forever yearning. The sun still hangs in the sky, but just far down enough for the outline of trees to cast long shadows along the highway. Snow blankets the earth, and some more flakes have begun to fall too. The car clunks every so often, jostling the two passengers from truly taking in the scenery just outside their dingy windows. Artificial warmth blasts through the AC, shrouding the interior with a dull hum, but not loud enough to drown out the wistful silence that's been settled since the beginning of the ride.
Gloved hands steady on the steering wheel, beady eyes fixated on the long stretch of road, Charlie sighs.
“Well, that was fucking depressing.”
He’s met with silence at first, but Pim then blinks himself out of a daze, nodding.
“I mean, a real kick in the ass for my first day back, right?” Charlie continues.
“Yeah. It’s been a while since we’ve gotten a serious case.” Even though he’s been painfully awake for the entirety of the ride, Pim rubs some sleep out of his eyes.
“It’s whatever though. At least we got that kid to stop crying.”
Pim isn’t surprised by the other’s nonchalant attitude, but maybe he expected more of a reaction considering what they had to deal with today. He leans his head back against the aging leather seat, aiming his eyes towards the iridescent sky. The momentary silence is idyllic, but Charlie doesn’t seem to appreciate it as much.
“I feel kinda bad, though. Poor dog. I had a dog when I was younger.”
“Yeah?” Despite the daunting urge to fall asleep, he spurs him on. He isn’t sure why. Perhaps he just needs to hear his voice. Just to make sure he’s there. Ever since the incident, he’s been cursed with an itch under his skin; he always has to make sure Charlie is there. Alive.
“Got run over though. My dad didn’t see the damn thing when he was pulling out of the driveway. He was already pretty old, so he was just taking a nap out there. At least this one died of old age. But that kid was crying pretty hard, right? I didn’t even cry that much when mine died. Guess I was pretty tough. I don’t know. Maybe I’m being harsh.”
“Cancer.”
“Huh?”
“The kid’s dog. It died of cancer, not old age.”
“I mean, yeah. Same thing. Old dogs get cancer. Were you even listening to my story?”
“Kinda. I was trying to fall asleep, honestly. I’m tuckered out.”
“Yeah, go ahead. Didn’t mean to bore you with my dead dog story. You didn’t even let me get to the interesting part. The lil’ stinker was laying there, and my dad backed up right over his head. There was so much fucking blood everywhere. You should have seen it. I didn’t even cry when I saw it happen, really. I couldn’t. I just kinda stared at it. The mess. The blood and his brain all over–”
“Charlie.” Pim sees his friend jolt back to the present, his black pupils briefly whale eyeing when he calls his name. “I– sorry. I don’t know if I want to hear this story right now.”
“Yeah, my bad. My bad. I ramble when I get tired.”
“No, it’s okay. I get it. I’m just–” he cuts himself off with a sigh. “I wasn’t expecting this job to be so tough.”
“It’ll be fine. Dogs are good, y’know. They’ve all got a spot in heaven.”
Pim’s smile gets lost in his shroud of sadness. He’s warmed by Charlie’s attempt to console him, even though he didn’t quite get the mark. There’s a dull murmur in his head, telling himself to correct him. To actually say what’s been bothering him. What he expected Charlie to be bothered by too.
“I know. But, it’s… more than that, I think.”
“What do you mean?”
Suddenly, almost comically, the car jolts, much more violently than the previous times. The thing is old, they both know this all too well, but they still share a vexed look across the center aisle. It makes a noise like the drawn out squeal of a dying animal.
“Shit,” Charlie spits, turning the steering wheel until the vehicle is pulled over on the side of the highway.
The spinning of the wheels transitions into a piteous churn when they meet the burial of dense snow. The ambience of the heater continues, but the overall volume of the car withers down a substantial amount.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
Charlie wrestles with the key once, twice, three times. Every attempt ends with the car giving out a pathetic whine. The fourth try only results in bleak silence.
Pim reaches out a hand when Charlie intends to jam the key in a fifth time. The taller critter exhales through gritted teeth, squeezing the rusted metal in his hand before letting it fall under his seat. The blade leaves a series of indented grooves in the palm of his leather glove.
“Come on, man! This cannot be fucking happening right now!”
“Okay, okay. Let’s not panic, Charlie.”
“I'm not–!” he snaps, then retreats like a shamed dog when he notices Pim flinch out of the corner of his eye. “I– I’m not panicking. I just… don’t wanna be in this situation right now.”
“Look, I’ll call Alan. Do– do we even know where we are? I can’t even remember the last sign we saw.” Pim checks the map on his phone, only to stare down the unrelenting loading icon like the barrel of a gun.
“I’m sure they’ve got the case’s address on file, or he could ask the Boss. Just give him a call. I’ll check the hood.”
Charlie huffs like a weary astronaut about to step out into the abyss of space. The momentary chill that violates the car’s innards is enough to make them cringe, and Pim is left alone after the door slams.
The smaller critter dials Alan’s number, eyes methodically avoiding the dangerously low percentage at the top of his screen.
“Alan!” he nearly shouts as soon as his coworker picks up. “Hey, we’re stuck on the side of the road. The car just gave up on us and it won’t start.”
“Where are you guys?” His monotone inflection is splotched with static.
“Not sure. Ask Mr. Boss for the address of today’s job and try to find us from there. Please?”
“Hmm, might take–.” The remainder of his sentence is cut off. “Will you two be able to hold up till then?”
“Uh, yeah. I– I think. Just get here as soon as possible, please. You’re breaking up.”
Whatever Alan says next is unintelligible.
“Alan? Crap, I think I’m losing–”
The other line goes dead, and when Pim inspects the device, he’s met with his own reflection in the black screen.
“You.”
Dejected, he slips the futile phone back into his pocket and sighs. Beneath the whistling wind and the drone of passing cars, Charlie swears under his breath, clicking his teeth and occasionally smacking his hand across the frosted metal. Pim watches the peak of his beanie maneuver over the popped hood.
A memory fogs his cognition, and Pim feels eleven years old, thick glasses balanced on his nose, holding an odd assortment of unrecognizable tools. His father, buried underneath his prized vehicle, barks out orders for Pim to hand him this and that. Whenever he got it wrong, which was very often, his father would snap at him, growing increasingly irate until Pim finally guessed the correct one.
Young and virtuous, Pim liked to help his father whenever he could, even if he never really appreciated it. He simply relished in the moment in which his father would wheel himself out from under the car and pat his head like a well behaved dog, then go back inside the house for a swig of beer.
Stupid was his father’s preffered word of choice.
Slow. Dense. Dull.
Other people weren't as nice with their phrasing, but Pim got the message clear enough. He tried not to let it get to him, though. He was a happy kid. A good kid. Somebody who always tried to make other people smile, even when he was met with a grimace.
He's startled out of his subconsciousness when Charlie slams the hood so hard that the car sways. The driver seat door swings open, and Charlie plops himself down, shutting it behind him. He mutters something profane, teeth gritted into a nasty line. Engulfed in a momentary chill and terrible hush, Charlie allows himself one, no, two punches atop the dashboard before settling his head on the steering wheel, gloved hands on either side. Any last hope sizzles out, and as the sun continues to plunge into the horizon, they both drown in their quiet, doomed realization.
Pim hates seeing him like this. The sting of Christmas Eve still lingers. He lets Charlie simmer in the silence.
“What’d Alan say?” he mumbles, like he already expects the answer to be nothing of use.
“He said he’ll try to find us. It might take them a while though.”
“Fuck, man. I just wanna go home. I didn’t wanna deal with this shit today.”
“I know. Me neither. But it’ll be okay.” Cautious, he reminds himself. But it isn’t quite good enough.
“Fuck!” Charlie slams the dashboard again. He clicks his teeth, buries his head in his hands. The profanity escapes his mouth like it pains him. It’s angry, yes, but almost pathetic too. Pim wants to reach out and touch him, sink his hands past this harsh exterior and into the source of Charlie’s animosity, and pluck it out. But his hands stay folded in his lap.
“It’s okay, Charlie. Just stay calm.”
“Yeah, whatever.” It’s weary, which seems like a slight improvement from agitated.
They’re quiet for a very long time. The background noise of other vehicles barreling past diminishes every passing minute. Pim counts them in his head. When the spaces between each car gets progressively longer, he attempts to come up with solutions. Something that would give them hope. Something that would make Charlie smile.
“Maybe… maybe we should try walking until we find something. Like a gas station or a repair shop. We can’t be too far from civilization, can we?”
“Pim, c'mon. I am not walking out in the fucking cold.”
“Then I’ll walk. I don’t– I don’t know what else to do.”
“Don’t be stupid, man. You’ll freeze to death out there. Besides, we don’t even know where we are.
He recoils, burying himself further into the corner of his seat. That word stings his skin.
“I was just throwing out ideas. Is your phone still working?”
“Dead. Has been for a while.”
“Did you see what was wrong with the car? When you checked under the hood?”
Charlie sputters out a breath. “A lot of shit honestly. This car’s a piece of shit. I already didn’t feel good about driving such a long way in it. Probably something with the battery or the engine or… fuck. Fuck, I hate this.”
“Well, maybe we can… I don’t know. We could—”
“Pim, I get that you’re trying to help, but it’s not really working right now.” It’s spiteful, bitter. The fire licks at him, and Pim, despite getting burned, snaps right back.
“I don’t see you having any better ideas.”
“There’s not much we can do, Pim! We just have to wait it out. Even if it takes all. Fucking. Night.”
“I’m perfectly fine with waiting. I’m just tired of… y’know.”
“Tired of what?”
“The,” he mocks Charlie’s tone, “f– fuck this. I hate this. I wanna go home.” He even slams the dashboard with his fist, flinching at his self-inflicted pain. “I don’t wanna have to hear it all night.”
“Oh, sorry for being pissed. It’s been a long day. And it’s my first day back since all that shit happened. And it’s not like you were a lot of help today anyways.”
Pim sneers, baffled by his audacity. “Listen, I tried, okay! I got overwhelmed by… everything that was happening. Give me a break.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m overwhelmed. So give me a break!”
“Because you actually had to do your job for once? Oh, you’re such a hero. You take over for me once and you’re making it seem like I’ve never worked a day in my life. How often do you even help me on these jobs anyways? Really?”
“This shit again? Pim, let it go.”
He’s struck. He draws his mouth into a fine line, nestles back into his seat. Subconsciously, ‘again’ gets filed under the same category as ‘stupid.’
“Okay, okay. Let’s not… I don’t wanna argue, Charlie. We’re both stressed right now. Let’s just sit in silence.”
And like a call from Hell, the hum of the AC goes mute. Shock syringes into both of them. The quiet, the cold, is dreadful. They hold their breaths, waiting, praying, for the heater to come back to life. When they’re met with nothing, Charlie huffs out a humorless laugh.
“This can’t be happening. This cannot be fucking happening right now! Am I in Hell again? Oh God, this is Hell, isn’t it?” he cackles.
“Uh– let’s not panic. Let’s just– damn it. I don’t even know,” Pim fumbles. Charlie’s panicking. He’s panicking. The words are just flying out of his mouth at this point.
“What, Pim? What great idea do you have for us now? We might as well just walk for miles and miles into the snow. Cause we’ll freeze to death either way!”
His hand is flailing between them, quivering from anxiety or cold or a combination of everything that’s been building up inside of him for the past month. It stills for a split second, just long enough for Pim to grab hold of it.
“Charlie, I need you to listen to me. Just breathe, okay? Give yourself a minute to breathe. Everything will be–”
His grasp on Charlie’s hand slips away, and in the next second, he’s face to face with him, much closer than he ever anticipated. He’s got a rabid grip on the collar of his sweater, lifting him to his feet without a struggle.
"Pim! Just stop! I don’t need you to be my therapist or my mother or my savior. We are going to die out here, Pim. How else do you want me to react to this? Cause guess what? Not everybody can shut up and smile in this situation. Not everybody can break down as gracefully as you!”
An eerie feeling creeps up on him. Not the hypothermic cold sneaking under his layers of clothing or the dread of being stuck in this car far past sundown. A somber remembrance, cryogenic and unwanted, rippling across his skin and cracking the surface like a stone thrown into a frozen lake. A memory. The image of Charlie's childhood dog, head crushed under his father's wheel. The axe. The pine tree. The blood.
His lungs can't quite get enough air into them, and his skin turns damp with sweat, furthering his shivering. Charlie's animalistic stare bores into him. He can't even get himself to take a breath because he knows that if he does, it'll go down his airway like shards of glass. His eyebrows force into a furrow, attempting to match the other's deranged look, but his heart isn't in it. His jaw clenches so hard that it's painful, and through gritted teeth he spits out a pathetic, "Fuck you."
Charlie looks a little less like a barbaric animal and more like a pissed off teenager. Lonesome. The grip on his sweater loosens just enough for Pim to wriggle out of it. His eyes leave him as he struggles with the door hatch, knowing that if he looked at him any longer, tears would start to form. And nothing would be more pitiful than that. Stupid.
He slips out, slamming the door behind him, feet planting into the sea of white. The wave of wind and wet snow pelting his face is tortuous, and all his instincts nip at him to return to the warmth of the car's interior. But he trudges through the snow until his feet reach the edge of the road.
And then he just stares.
Stares at the river of pavement and the tree-lined edge of the earth and the multitude of passing cars that pay them no mind.
Pim hates that Charlie is angry, so fucking angry. But so is he, so maybe he can't even blame him, because he gets it. And of course he would, and perhaps that makes him even angrier. Because Pim always has to get it, always has to be empathetic, always has to understand where Charlie is coming from.
Pim wants to get close to Charlie, and maybe all he wants is for Charlie to want the same thing. To get so close that their anger fuses into a hot, white star, then burns out into something beautiful and bigger than the both of them. It's stupid for Pim to want something so astronomical. Charlie is lightyears away, and Pim is terrified of what would happen if he turned back now.
Shamefully, he wonders if Charlie is looking at him through the window. Staring at him like Pim is staring at the opposite end of the road. Or maybe he’s just looking straight ahead, keeping an ear open for Pim’s footsteps. He wants him to want him. He longs to be needed.
After a moment of standing so still that his nerves seem to have fallen asleep, he holds up an arm and raises his thumb. The last, miserable thread of hope still holding his fragile mind together subdues the ache in his arm that turns into a freezing numbness. In his head he counts the number of people who wouldn't care if either of them died on the side of the road on a freezing January night. He bites the inside of his cheek every time he loses count.
Is any of this even real? Could other people see them? Or did they just choose to ignore them? He can't tell which answer would sting more. Standing on the edge of the road, cars rushing past mere meters away from him, he's ghostlike.
It feels like hours. The slurry of snow from the sky grows almost violent. The cold has managed to seep into his bones, holding him in place like a statue lost to time. He wants to cry, but his brain is hibernating, too tired to send any signals to the rest of his body. He thinks about Charlie's dog, rewinds the image of its caved-in head on the driveway as if it were his own memory. Maybe him and Charlie are just that close. So close that he can't tear himself away even if he tried. Even if it pains him.
His drawn out arm seems to freeze in the cold, halted. The sun crawls underneath the ground, and the number of passing cars dwindles, and he just keeps staring. He stares at the lining of trees like they're the gateway to heaven. Obscured in cryogenic darkness. Their branches reach for him too. He takes one step forward, and his foot brushes the snowless asphalt.
He doesn’t register the hurried shuffle of boots approaching him until a hand grips his shoulder.
“Pim.” It seems like a warning, but it comes out as something more. Yearning. “Pim, come back inside.”
The moment is nauseating. Even in the grand scheme of things, it’s immortal. Pim’s feverish down to his bones. He stares up at Charlie, his concerned face against the backdrop of dusk, and it’s just like the day he came back.
“Please. Let’s go. Let’s wait. Together.”
It’s a supernova. His phrases are blunt, like saying anymore might kill him. Pim doesn’t know how he keeps himself from vomiting into the snow. He smiles instead, but not without the corners of his eyes bulking with tears.
He lets Charlie lead him back to the car, and the inside is woefully frigid. The stillness somehow makes it even worse than the outdoors. Despite it, there’s a warmth that blossoms in the center of his chest.
Charlie has his arms crossed over his chest, thinking. For a fleeting moment, he glances over at him, then back to the field of white in front of him. The downpour rages on, turning the view from the windshield into static. He inhales, shaking, looking like he could break at any moment. When he lets out a long breath, Pim intercepts.
“Pim, I—”
“Charlie, I’m really sorry—”
“No, Pim. St– please, let me. You don’t have to apologize. Not then, not now.”
Pim goes quiet. He watches him with wide expectant eyes, watching him fidget with the sleeves of his hoodie. Charlie’s gaze can never quite stay on him for long; they always end up returning to the storm.
“You were trying to be a good friend. And I was being a jerk, to put it lightly.”
“But, I–”
“Pim, you’re always seeing the best in people. Seeing the best in me. Even when I’m being stubborn and stupid and pessimistic. Even when I don’t deserve it. You’re always reaching out. Putting me in my place. Telling me what I need to hear. And… I never appreciated it. You try so hard, all the time, and you deserve the best because you’re such a good person. I got myself killed cause I didn’t wanna listen to you. And the second I came back, you were the one apologizing. So let me say what I should have said back then. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, and I need you to know that.”
Pim is glowing; he must be. Because Charlie is looking at him now like he’s a star that’s just crashed right in front of him. He can’t quite catch his breath or think straight or get his tongue in the right place.
“Charlie, I— Th– thank you. I know that now.”
Pim smiles, and Charlie matches him. Every inch of his body is a victim to the freezing weather, but he’s trembling for an entirely different reason now. He feels the heat crawl up to his face.
“And you do deserve it, by the way,” he continues. “To have the best seen in you. I think you’re great. I’m truly lucky, y’know? I’m the luckiest critter on earth to actually get their best friend back from the dead. Most people don’t get a second chance like that.”
Charlie’s smile is wistful, sad, almost. “Yeah, they don’t. But you deserved it. Because I wasn’t gonna leave you like that. You know that I can be lazy and a quitter, but I wouldn’t have fought my way through Hell if I didn’t have a reason.”
“Do– do you really mean that? Me? I was your reason?”
“Of course.”
Pim must be burning red at this point. Perhaps he is, because Charlie gives him a soft-hearted laugh. Pim laughs too, then sniffles. His breath escapes his mouth in puffs of smoke.
Maybe they’re both getting a bit delirious, because Charlie chuckles and says, “God, you’re— you’re really cute. Like that.”
“Huh?”
“Ah— I don’t know why I said that. I mean, it’s true but— the cold. It’s really fucking cold, huh? I think it’s getting to my head.”
“Y– yeah. I can’t feel my legs.”
“Wait, really?” Charlie looks panicked all of a sudden. Pim’s shaking like a dog, and he feels idiotic for not noticing it sooner. He hadn’t even noticed his own shivering, he realizes.
“Charlie, are you scared?”
“Of– of what, buddy?”
“Dying.”
“Um, I— no? Yeah? I mean… we’ll be fine, right? They’ll find us. Somebody will find us.” The sweat that forms along his back worsens his trembling by tenfold. Breathe, he reminds himself.
“Cause I keep thinking about that kid’s dog. Old and suffering,” Pim mumbles like he’s barely registering the words coming out of his mouth. “Having to put it down. I– I couldn’t focus. Couldn’t think. I wanted to help. That kid was crying so much, but… it kept reminding me of you. I just… I felt like I could’ve– should’ve done something. I felt like a little kid.”
“Pim? I—”
“But I had you there. You… you always know how to help me out. What would I do without you?”
“Pim, is– is that what you meant? ‘It’s more than that?’ You… you weren’t just talking about the dog?”
“Did– did you forget about that day already? You should have seen me afterwards. I was…” He trails off into what starts as a pitiful laugh, then divulges into a sob. The onslaught of tears lodge whatever words he had left back into his throat, choking him.
Charlie can only watch his best friend get overtaken by relentless weeping. He feels useless, wringing his hands, wanting to do what Pim does by second nature. It’s ridiculous. To actually think that burying the thoughts, the memory, would actually mean forgetting it for good. To think that it wouldn’t come back to haunt him. But the past always has clever ways of creeping up on him.
God, it’s so fucking cold.
It takes a while for Pim’s voice to come back to him. He speaks through his own sniffling.
“I wasted it, didn’t I?”
“What do you mean?”
“This. This chance to get close to you. I actually got you back. I watched you die right in front of me, then come back to life. And I just wasted it. I want to keep doing these jobs with you. I want to watch movies and eat fast food and go on adventures with you. Go home with you. Live by your side.”
He interrupts himself with a bittersweet laugh.
“Damn it. It all sounds so stupid now. I don’t know if anybody will find us out here.”
There’s an unsettling sadness, because he wants nothing more than for Charlie to be happy. And neither of them are happy now, Pim thinks. He’s failed to give him the one thing he had promised he would give him since the day he came back. Granted with a miracle, he had let it slip out of his hands, lost to the snow forever. They’re freezing, and he’s crying, and Charlie is staring at him like he could cry too.
He doesn’t. Caught in a fit of tremors, he unsheiths the leather gloves. He slides the driver seat as far back as possible, and reaches his bare hand out to him. Pim unfurls himself from the corner of the passenger seat and takes the invitation, allowing Charlie to drag him over to the opposite side of the car.
They embrace, Pim’s face buried in his hoodie that matches one of the many hues in the sky.
“It’s not stupid. I should have told you earlier, but I’ve always wanted those things, too. With you.”
Pim smiles against his chest, inhaling his scent. The wind sings a melody outside.
“I am scared, Pim. I’m scared of dying. But I think that’s a good thing, right?”
“Wanting to live; I think that’s a good sign.”
“I don’t wanna lose you. Not again. But you’ll get a good spot in heaven. I know that.”
“I’ll bring you with me. I promise.”
Charlie hesitates, swallows thickly like he’s about to tell a lie. “Thank you.”
"Hell, I’ll go down there and drag you up with me if I have to.”
They chuckle. “Thanks.”
The air is cold, but Pim is warm. Face flushed pink and wet with tears and trembling, but still warm. The opposite of death. Charlie holds him impossibly closer.
He shuts his eyes and lets the darkness and frost blanket them.
---
When the light hit’s Charlie’s eyelids, he’s petrified to open them. He doesn’t want this, he realizes. He had said that he was scared, and he meant it. But he still feels Pim in his arms, breathing ever so slowly, quivering, so he pries them open.
He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but when he forces his eyes to bear their surroundings, the familiar scenery of snow and pine trees greets him once again. The dusk sky has melted into a murky, starless abyss. Beautiful and new.
And headlights. Two shining halos.
The rest is a blur. His heart jump starts when Alan bangs on the driver side door, corralling them into the truck. He carries Pim in his arms like a child, feeling him nestle against him when they step outside. Alan leaves them inside while he latches the defunct car, and Charlie cranks the heater to its limit. He wraps Pim in a spare blanket found in the back and watches the color steadily seep back into his face.
Despite practically spooning mere moments ago, Charlie opts to leave a decent bit of room for the other critter on their awkwardly shared seat. Even though the only contact they share is Pim’s head laying on his lap, Charlie sheepishly looks out his window when Alan returns to the truck.
“All set,” he grumbles. “Sorry for making you two wait so long.”
“It’s whatever, man. We’re just glad you finally made it,” Charlie yawns.
The rest of the ride is silent. The heater hums all night, and their shivering stalls. Charlie sneaks his ungloved hand underneath the blanket and traces his fingers along Pim's cheek. Just to make sure he’s getting warmer, he justifies to no one but himself.
Pim twitches under his cold touch and smiles. When Alan shoots a quick glance between them, Charlie stills his hand, looks away.
He isn’t ready to think about what all this is. He rewinds Pim’s words, his words. His head pulsates; he’s tired. The moments come back to him in fuzzy polaroids. Too dark. Too bright. Unfocused. He props an elbow on the window ledge and rests his head in his hand. His other hand stays on Pim’s cheek.
---
They’re forced to take a week off after that. Nasty bug, they conclude. Mr. Boss doesn’t mind, but they expect to get an earful from Alan and Glep for having to take up all their cases.
Charlie stays at Pim’s much nicer, neater apartment. The two of them are practically bedridden, but they take turns heating up cans of soup for one another. They share tissue boxes, run each other warm baths, listen to each other’s mindless ramblings. Charlie doesn’t even mind when Pim’s ice cold feet brush against his legs in the middle of the night.
Neither of them can come up with a tidy definition or even a simple word to describe what this is.
They’ll have to start thinking about it eventually.