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The summer sun was yet to fall behind them as the Rowdy 3 rode away from Montana and, consequently, the Drummer’s brother and the weird British guy (the latter of which they’d give a generous head start before beginning to track him again). Had it been a different time of year, the sun would have long since set, but it would seem that Blackwing had taken the spring from them along with everything else.
Martin gripped the steering wheel, taking a deep breath as he continued down the secluded highway. They had gotten out, he reminded himself, The Drummer had saved them. They were exactly where the universe wanted them to be.
Speaking of his Drummer Girl, she was smiling up at him through the rear-view, the resplendent heat she emitted as she showed off her new magic wand was enough to melt away the anxiety that had been icing him out. Where she got it from was beyond him, but he could taste the joy bubbling in her as he sent her a wink before turning his eyes back through the windshield. It didn’t take long for Cross and Gripps to begin grilling her about her newfound abilities, and Martin was content to let their voices drift around him, setting his attention on the road in front of them.
Their newest addition, an excitable creature called Beast who had wild eyes and the brightest hair he’d ever seen, was sticking her head out the window like he’d sometimes see Cross or Vogel do, just letting the wind whip around her as she howled along to the song playing over their radio. She seemed to like it when he picked up speed, so Martin leadfooted it down the backroad, smiling into his cigarette as she squealed along with the excitement that erupted from her at every new thing she saw.
Surely sensing the same thing Martin was, Cross called out, “See anything good Beastie?”
“Waz wa de black vines?” her raspy voice called from the passenger seat, the girl pointing at the lines that ran alongside the van as it barrelled down the road.
“Those are power lines,” Amanda explained. “They provide electricity to the houses out here.”
“Lighting it up!” Gripps yelled, “Man, I love electricity.”
Cross whooped from his spot in the back, punching the roof, “Electric!”
“Make it go boom!” Gripps cheered.
“Boom!” The Beast called in return.
“Zippity zap zap” Martin called, taking another puff of his cigarette. He caught Amanda’s eye once more, sharing a bright smile as the boys continued to banter back and forth.
The weight resting on the side of his thigh shifted slightly, drawing Martin’s attention to the remaining member of the group. Vogel was lying curled up in the space between Martin and Beast, legs positioned precariously around the girl and his head almost but not quite in Martins lap as he drifted in and out of consciousness while trying to play his Gameboy. He probably hadn’t slept proper in months, on the run from Blackwing and separated from the others for the first time in 17 years—not to mention that Vogel didn’t sleep well at the best of times and only under the careful watch of the one of the other Rowdy’s—and was definitely in need of some rest.
The thought filled him with displeasure. Martin would never ever wish for Vogel to have been captured alongside them, no matter how badly his starved self longed to hear the boy’s bright voice—there was a reason he sent Vogel with the Drummer once danger showed up—but there were times where he feared that the separation was worse than the torture that Blackwing put them through. They couldn’t sense him in there, leaving Martin to hope that he was even still alive. It was insufferable—worse than the starving or the cages or the fucking gas they doused them with—to not be able to sense Vogel, and he was left reassuring himself just as much as he did the other’s when it came to the younger boy’s safety. He didn’t want to imagine the reverse was like… for Vogel to be on his own for so long.
But they got out. The Drummer saved them, brought them together again. They were exactly where the universe wanted them to be.
There was a part of him that wanted to reach out an arm, maybe rest it along Vogel’s back and rub comforting circles into the boy’s side as he relaxed, but he’d been a bit jumpy since they returned from the weird magic world, and Martin would rather let Cross drive than do something to upset him, so he just took another long inhale from his cigarette and stared out the windshield in front of him.
They made camp about an hour later, coming across an old barn that had plenty of junk for them to destroy. The boys made quick work of the place, tearing out anything burnable and throwing it into a large bonfire. He and Gripps pulled the benches from the back of the van, setting them around the fire while Vogel and the girls danced around it. Cross appeared from around the side of the van with a pack of beers and a couple bag of chips, the latter of which he tossed to the girls.
“Aww she got the crunchies!” Vogel cheered as Beast tore into one of the bags.
“Don’t like those,” Gripps scrunched his nose before cracking a beer.
“You don’t eat em,” Cross bickered, “they’re for the girls.”
“Crunch!” Vogel crashed into Gripps. Practically jumping on his back, he used the window of opportunity the distraction gave him to snatch the beer out of his hands, chugging it back before anyone could protest. Amusement flowed from the Drummer and she didn’t bother to hide her smile as she looked on.
Martin relaxed into a chair at the opposite side of the fire, cracking his own beer, “Eat up, Drummer girl. We’ll get ya something better in the mornin.”
Drummer returned his gaze, and he could smell her admiration as she inspected the offering. After a moment she opened the bag and began to eat, and the emotion faded to that of gratitude. It wasn’t much, and Martin wished they could have done something better, but it would hold the girls over for now. Though it would be a priority to get them something that actually resembled a meal.
Funny, it had been decades since any of them had to worry about that, yet not one of them minded making the extra stops for Amanda’s (and now the Beast’s) sake. They were more than capable of providing for the girls—more than their lousy excuse for parents ever did for them—and he knew they’d be well taken care of now that they were part of the Rowdy 3. They were family and they looked out for each other.
Martin clenched and unclenched his hands as he pondered that thought, lighting up a cigarette and staring into the flames that raged on in front of him.
Gripps’ parents had always meant well, working hard to raise him alongside eight other siblings. They cared about him, sure, but they never understood him. Not like Martin did (not like Cross or Vogel, or Amanda or shit, even the Beast did). They couldn’t interpret his words, the way he showed his affection with loving headbutts and strong punches, and worst of all, they thought him stupid. His flair was considered something to suppress, and his kindness and generosity were ignored completely in lieu of his love of destruction. When he came to Martin with more frustration than he’d ever felt in one person and a heart so broken he wasn’t sure it could be fixed, Gripps was offered complete understanding, a place in the stream of creation and a home. He took it without hesitation.
Then there was Cross, whose father was a monster: purposefully denying him food and punishing him for getting it elsewhere. It was easy to gain the boy’s trust with the promise of never going hungry again and the chance to get back at his old man. Martin still remembered the taste of that man’s horror as they trashed his house, destroying the food he was oh so protective about and having a feast of their own.
They were the Rowdy 3, and they weren’t gonna let anyone hurt one of their family.
Vogel tossed a large hunk of wood into the fire, cheering when it sent sparks flying through the air; Martin could feel the energy radiating out from him as he danced around the flames.
“Careful boy,” Martin called from behind his cigarette, “don’t need you tripping over that untied lace of yours.”
The younger man stuck out his tongue, blowing a raspberry at the leader but stopping to tie the stray boot lace nonetheless, appreciation flowing off of him as he continued his dancing unhindered. Content with the change, Martin turned his mind back inwards.
The youngest member of the Rowdy 3 was a gift straight from the universe. He hadn’t even been born yet when Blackwing took them in originally, not being taken in himself for another six years, and by the time he’d been brought in the scientists had already moved onto more… volatile methods of testing. They didn’t even bother remembering the kids name for fucks sake, calling him “Number 4” or “Project Incubus” while they ran their tests on him and then leaving him to rot in isolation as soon as they got bored. He was nothing to them, just another anomaly those lab coat creeps couldn’t explain, and, like with every other “project” they kept locked up in that place, they didn’t know what to do with him.
Martin could sense him from the beginning. Despite Blackwing’s attempts at concealing him from them, he could feel the small boy’s loneliness like flooded lungs begging for mercy. Vogel was just like him: some thing that the universe had an affinity for, had crafted for a purpose. There wasn’t a need for the same type of promises he gave Gripps or Cross because there wasn’t a choice to be made on the kid’s part. Instead, Martin offered a different promise, that should they stick together, Vogel would never have to be alone again.
A promise that he had kept for eighteen years, only to break it the second Blackwing came kicking down their door.
But Vogel hadn’t been alone this time, he reminded himself, he had the Drummer to look out for him.
Amanda was another gift from the universe, in her own way. She didn’t have the connection like they did, but she was special—Martin knew the moment he saw her photo—and there was a reason their paths had crossed so completely.
The two of them were what he thought about those few times he had found himself awake at the Blackwing prison, wondering what cruel trick the universe was playing having given him two beautiful gifts only to take them away and send him back to the freak show. Had they not been good? Saving the day and all that crap? They’d kept a low profile, even avoided feeding on regular folk, content to follow the weird British guy around, sticking to non-lethal violence and whatnot. And what did they get for it? Blackwing came back for them anyways.
Every second Martin spent in that cage was torture, forced to watch his boys waste away with no access to the neurological energy that sustained them, separated from the one person he promised he would never leave behind, where the only emotions around are the pain and desperation of his boys. It was a fate worse than death.
But they had been fine in the end. The drummer did her freaky voodoo magic and rescued them from their shackles, brought them to some batshit kooky land and fed them well. She saved them, and not for the first time Martin was thankful that the universe put her in his life.
“Hey, Drummer?” Vogel had stopped his dance, snaking around the fire to perch himself on the back of Amanda’s seat, the girl leaning back on his legs to look up at him. “What’s the taste of that one?”
He was looking at the chip in her hand, curiosity burning in him in a way that Martin was wildly familiar with. Amanda seemed to pick up on it as well, because she twisted around to face the boy properly, holding out the bag to him, “They’re… salty, but not bitter. Crunchy in an almost… sharp way.”
Vogel’s eyes flicked over to where Martin was sitting in his own seat, silently seeking approval before he gave into the temptation in front of him. Martin gave him a single nod; it wouldn’t benefit him in any regard, but it also wouldn’t harm him to eat some normal food, if only to sate his curiosity.
With the permission of their leader, Vogel practically dove into the bag, pulling out a chip and shoving it in his mouth. He chewed for a few seconds before disgust washed over him, permeating the air enough to get the attention of the other two who had been deep in conversation with the Beast, and then he was leaping out of his chair. He spit into the fire a couple times, parading around dramatically until the Drummer handed him his beer to wash out the taste.
“What the hell Drummer?” he yelled, shaking out his hands as he paced in circles, “that tastes like dirt!”
“They’re not that bad!” Amanda replied with a laugh.
“Worse than dirt!” he corrected.
“Told you!” Gripps threw his empty beer can at Vogel, hitting him in the shoulder, “Don’t like the crunchies.”
“Shouldn’t have tried it! They’re for the girls whether you like them or not.” Cross sang, punctuating his sentence with a shove to Gripps’ side. A playful wrestling match broke out between the two, Vogel and the Beast egging them on as they put each other in headlocks.
It didn’t take the ability to sense neurological energy for one to see the pure joy that flowed freely around the group. Martin could taste the emotion wafting through the air as if biting into a crisp apple on a summer’s afternoon. It was sweet, mixing with the devotion that the Rowdy 3 had for one another to create a richer scent, like a pie sitting on a windowsill, warm and inviting.
It was home.
***
Martin found himself sitting atop their van long after the others had gone to sleep in a dogpile by the fire. It was a clear evening, stars littering the sky in brilliant flashes of light, dampened only by the glow of the (regular, not freaky) full moon, and he took a moment to savor the warm air, so unlike the freezer that they’d been held in for months.
The universe had missed them, her weirdo freaks—leaves on the stream of creation or whatever you wanted to call it—they were never supposed to be caged like animals in some government facility in the middle of nowhere. They were meant to be free, to follow her whims and go wherever she wanted them to go. It didn’t have to make sense, not to them and especially not to those Blackwing fucks who treated them like something that could be studied. That’s just how it was.
But they were back now, and though they’d been given this downtime to recover together in their newfound harmony she’d have a use for them soon, and they’d be back doing what they did, what they were always meant to be doing.
And then there was the addition of the rainbow girl. None of them really knew what she was exactly, but that was alright, she was one of them now and they would take care of her just the same. They were family.
Speaking of, Martin looked over to where he could hear Beast making weird purring noises as she cuddled into Drummer’s shoulder. Beside her was Gripps, who’s “sleep counting” was muted only by Cross’ loud snores. Even deep in slumber the Rowdy 3 were never truly silent, it just wasn’t in their nature.
They were still together in a pile on the ground, their jackets the only barrier from the dust and ash surrounding the fire (at least the new gray look would be coming in handy) as the five of them dozed off together. Cross and Gripps had the girls protectively cocooned between them, tangled together in a pile of knees and elbows that would have probably been uncomfortable had any of them been normal. There was an air of peace surrounding them—despite their nature—and an untrained eye might not have even noticed that there was someone missing from the scene.
He looked across the fire where Vogel was lying sprawled across a bench and pretending to be asleep. Desperately, the boy tried to hide his emotions from the others, working to suppress them from even himself. He’d been keeping his distance ever since they’d returned to their world, an act that had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the group—despite his best efforts—but there was no hiding that kind of thing from them. Martin could smell the guilt the younger man was harboring from a mile away, bitter and heavy as it was.
But Martin knew better than to confront him about it. Instead he leaned back against the roof racks, lit up a cigarette, and waited.
Fireflies flickered about, and oh how Martin had missed them. Taking a deep breath, he tried to savor the night air once more, his mind remaining firmly on the boy across the fire.
Just as he’d had anticipated, it didn’t take long before annoyance flooded out of Vogel and he was making his way to where Martin was perched. In one swift motion he ran up to the side of the van, using the tire to prop himself up and haul himself over the roof rack rather than just using the ladder attached to the side.
Settling himself as close to the older man as he could without making direct contact (a bad sign in and of itself), Vogel started to fidget. His nervousness smelled like burnt pasta as he stared into the still-glowing embers of the long dead fire, not knowing what to do with himself as he waited for the inevitable conversation that was about to happen.
“You’ve been awake for a while now,” Martin took the lead, “ain’t you tired?”
“Got used to staying up, I guess” Vogel shrugged. “Drummer needs it more.”
There was a brief moment in between the Drummer pulling them through a pool and feasting on those boxheads where Martin could sense the fear and confusion bubbling from Vogel like a witch’s cauldron. At the time he had chalked it up to the strange world they had found themselves in—he was far too hungry to put any more thought into it, and by the time he’d eaten enough to have a clear head, excitement and relief had replaced any previous distress that plagued the boy—Vogel was trying hard to be his happy-go-lucky self, but time and exhaustion had worn the façade away, despite his desperate attempts to hold onto hold onto any semblance of normalcy.
He was on edge in a way he hadn’t been since the first time they left Blackwing all those years ago.
“Alright,” Martin grunted, blowing out a cloud of smoke as he stood, “lets go fuck shit up.”
They wandered away from the camp, walking around the side of the barn to where there was less of a chance of waking the others up. A stack of old broken up skids were leaning against the building, just waiting to be torn apart, and it took no time before they were letting off steam the only way they knew how.
Martin hauled a skid towards where Vogel was waiting, the boy swinging a metal pipe like a baseball bat and sending splinters flying like he was hitting a home run. It quickly became a game between them, trying to see just how badly they could break up the rotting pieces of wood.
Normally, when they were breaking things, it was like every worry was taken away from them as the chaos took over. They became so intoxicated with the destruction that their own emotions were secondary, not even the nicotine that Martin found himself craving so often could match the feeling. It was their way of interacting with the world—with each other—and there was a sense of peacefulness that could be derived from it as they cleared their heads of all their unnecessary thoughts.
But now, there was no peace to their destruction, just the glowing embers of their anger slowly cooling into something more somber. Vogel didn’t have that glint in his eye—the one that radiated a warmth that burned brighter than any fire of rage ever could—it didn’t take a genius to know something was wrong.
“What’s on your mind, boy?” Martin insisted, bringing a halt to their rage. “You don’t gotta hide from me.”
It took a second for Vogel to answer, his voice wavering slightly as he tried desperately to keep some semblance of control over his emotions, “Aren’t you… mad at me?”
Martin dropped the skid he was holding, not bothering to look as it crumpled apart at his feet. He took a step forward, keeping his hands low and in plain sight like he’d learned to all those years ago, and spoke in the softest voice he could muster, “Vogel, I could never be mad at you.”
“But I-I failed, Boss.”
Before Martin had a chance to ask what he was referring to, the remainder of Vogel’s mask shattered, and he was hit with a wave of emotion as the tears came flooding out in desperate sobs, the cigarette that Martin had been savoring for the past hour discarded completely in favor of pulling the younger man close.
The weight of it all hit Martin like a tsunami, threatening to pull him under with the guilt and inadequacy that Vogel had been bottling up for so long. Slowly, he moved them to the ground, letting gravity pull them together as Vogel sobbed into his chest.
“I wasn’t scary enough! And I didn’t know what to do without you guys, and then Blackwing found us and… and he said he could bring us to you, but Drummer said he was lying and I could smell how confident he was, and I just wanted to find you… then smoke and I tried to keep her safe, but he had that stupid freeze gas and he grabbed my arm.”
Priest. There was no one else he could be talking about, no one else that could upset him so deeply.
“If it weren’t for Drummer…” A whimper escaped his mouth, Vogel looked away as he continued, “He wanted to keep hurting me—I could tell—and they were shooting at us and I couldn’t keep her safe! I messed up, I couldn’t keep her safe. I messed up I messed up I messed up—”
He continued to sob, repeating the mantra that denoted his failure. Martin kept a hand on his back, rubbing slow circles as Vogel rode out the grief that crashed through him. It took a while for him to finally calm down, the desperation he felt fading in intensity as his eyes began to dry.
“You’re safe now. Both’a you. Drummer saved all of us, we’re together, and I ain’t gonna let them break us apart again.”
It was a hollow promise. After everything that happened, how could it not be? How could Martin ever be sure of something like that again? But he meant it nonetheless. If Blackwing truly meant to come after them again, he wouldn’t rest until every last one of them was dead, until their family was safe. Whatever it took.
“But what if they come back?” The tears were gone but the desperation in Vogel’s voice remained, “What if they trick us again? Or hurt Drummer? What if they win next time?”
Martin sighed, reaching a hand up to smooth back the other’s hair, “Look, Vogel… I was… distracted when they took us last time. I should’a known they’d be coming for us the second Riggins showed up with that soldier boy, should’a taken you boys and ran right there… but I got too caught up on the Drummer and I’m sorry... It doesn’t matter, you did good. Okay? You did real good, kid. None’ a this is your fault, don’t let them make you think any different.”
Finally, Vogel looked up to meet Martin’s eyes, sniffling into the back of his hand as he wiped his nose hastily. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he looked towards where the campfire was still burning in the distance.
“I’m glad we have the Drummer” he spoke in a soft tone, “Beast too. Maybe… it was meant to happen this way…”
It was probably the truth, given everything they knew about how the universe worked—which, despite what those government fucks may have thought, wasn’t a whole lot—but that didn’t make Vogel’s resignation any less disconcerting. He wasn’t supposed to be the serious, understanding one of the group, and Martin couldn’t help but mourn the loss of his naivety. It wasn’t fair.
“We would have found them anyways” Martin hoped it was true, “But it don’t matter now. We’re together, that’s what matters.”
Wordlessly, he stood up, offering his arm out to Vogel and lifting him to his feet. Together they returned to the rest of the group, and Martin watched as Vogel crawled his way in between Gripps and The Beast, elbows and knees parting the others enough for him to make himself comfortable. It didn’t take long for them all to settle once more, as if there had never been a disturbance in the first place, and soon Vogel’s quiet snores joined the other’s, trusting Martin to keep watch while they got some well-deserved rest.