#there's a theory whose fault this is but hmm dunno dunno

[vesna-v-irkutske]

Me, watching 3 Academy Maniacs Telegram channels being destroyed one by one over the course of a couple of days:

[softupshur]

Trespassing

Oh boy look who’s late to the game!

The overdue secret santa gift for @cheekygavin whose list motivated me to write a Miles and Waylon venture I had in mind for some time but never got around to writing.  I had a lot of fun returning to these sillies and I hope you enjoy it!  

Can also be read on Ao3

“Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen. Nobody knows my sorrow…”

Miles’ pitiful attempt at a crooning bass voice echoed off the walls of the dingy holding cell. Without an old harmonica to accompany his tune, the song hardly did justice to Miles’ despair at his Saturday night stage. Somewhere in his melancholy tune, an officer asked if he was here all week, which only made Miles sing louder. He’d have given an encore performance, if not for the eventual sound of the gate opening. He shot up from the uncomfortable bench he laid on as he sang, and cocked an eyebrow at the officer who unlocked his cell. “What’s the verdict, officer?”

“Someone’s paid your bail. You’re free to go.”

He craned his neck to look past the officer to see Waylon down the hall. At first, he smiled, but it faded when Waylon responded with a glare. Miles dragged his feet down the hall to meet Waylon, only looking up when they were face to face. “Heh….hiya,” he said, with a sheepish smile.

“Come on,” was all Waylon said, before he turned to leave.

Head hung low, Miles followed. He hopped into the passenger seat, waiting for the car to start. When the silence continued after the engine purred, Miles reached for the radio dial, but Waylon spoke up before he laid hands on it.

“Really? Trespassing again?” he asked, flatly.

“Hey! It wasn’t my fault this time! The Walrider was being really antsy and took over. Before I know it, they’re taking my mugshot! Just be glad I was able to keep it under control before anyone got hurt.”

Without either of them touching it, the once silent radio screeched loudly, before fading into muffled static, which made Miles groan. “Oh, calm down, will you!”

Despite flinching at the noise, Waylon maintained his even tone. “Apparently the Walrider doesn’t appreciate you using it as your scapegoat for the third time this year.” He reached over to tune the radio to the easy listening station.

Any other day, Miles would voice a fit over the music choice. If he didn’t complain aloud, he would send the Walrider into the radio to tune into the classic rock station. Today, Miles did neither. He crossed his arms, and leaned against the window, staring out. The property he invaded brought him to the middle of nowhere and made for a boring view, but his gaze remained on it, rather than turn to Waylon. If he did, he would have seen Waylon’s expression soften.

“Now Miles…”

"Oh, don’t ‘now Miles’ me!” he huffed. “You always say that before you lecture me like I’m one of your kids.”

Waylon’s expression morphed into a soft, but knowing smile. “Well, I did tell you this would happen if you went after that story.”

"But how could I not chase this one!? I tell you, buried on that land is proof that the Jersey Devil did exist! I was going to go down in history as the man who brought it out to the public!” His mania faded into a sigh, as he narrowed his eyes at the empty expanse outside. “I just didn’t think that old hermit would be such a good shot.”

“He didn’t hit you, did he?” Waylon’s brow furrowed in concern.

Miles laughed. “Now you’re just bullying me! You really think I’m that slow?”

“Well...I knew the Walrider would keep you safe, but…” Waylon bit his lip.

“You weren’t so sure about me,” Miles finished for him. His tone hardened. “Glad to know you got such faith in me.”

“Don’t be like that, Miles...”

Finally, Miles tore his eyes from the window to look at Waylon.

Though his eyes were concentrated on the road, his eyes were clouded with worry, and the bags underneath them darker than usual.

Miles sighed heavily. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just forget that there’s someone out there worrying about me nowadays.”

“Is it really that easy to forget?” Waylon asked, in a lilting voice.

“What can I say? I’ve been a lone wolf for a long time now. This whole thing of someone actually paying my bail is new to me.” He offered a chuckle to lighten the mood, which Waylon mimicked, but not with enough sincerity for Miles to accept.

Miles looked back out the window to see the view not near as empty as it was last time he checked. They now drove through a town so small that it was little more than a glorified truck stop. Rival gas stations were paired with fast food franchises. An old Motel 6 served as the crown jewel, but it was a single neon sign that caught Miles’ attention. It was still too light out to be lit, but he could see that it read “burgers” and was paired with an arrow that pointed to a wooden building that was little more than a shack. He leaned over so he could nudge Waylon. “Hey, take the next left coming up!”

Waylon’s eyes followed the sign and he shook his head. “If you need to use the bathroom, I’ll stop at the next gas station here.”

"No, stop here!”

“What? Miles-”

“I’m hungry. Let���s get burgers!”

"But why there? A place like that can’t have seen a health inspector in a decade.”

“That’s why it’ll be the best lunch you ever had.”

“How do you know that?”

“C’mon, I owe you one for busting me out. Let me buy ya lunch.”

“If you insist.” Though he frowned, Waylon flipped his blinker and followed the dingy sign to a dirt parking lot. He parked beside a dusty, rusted pickup truck--one of the only two in the lot.

While Waylon swallowed a lump in his throat, Miles barreled out of the car, smiling brightly. Once Waylon stepped foot out of the car, he motioned for him to follow before trotting ahead and barging into the sorry excuse of a burger establishment.

There were only three, grimy tables, surrounded by mismatching chairs. Everything else was standing room only. Plastered on the walls were license plates from all 50 states and scribbled on dollar bills. The only living soul amongst it all was a burly man at the counter, too enthralled with his Maxim magazine to notice the customers until Miles cleared his throat.

“Afternoon,” he grunted, without looking up from the spread. “What can I get ya?”

"Hmm…” Miles stared up at the overhead menu, looking back and forth between the Chilli Burger and Everything on it Burger. “You go first, pal.” he said to Waylon.

“Uh...a regular cheeseburger and a pepsi?”

The man looked up so he could roll his eyes, before moving onto Miles. “And for you?”

Miles slammed his hand on the table at his decision. “I’m taking a chance on the chilliburger! And a budweiser to wash it down.”

“Heh, I like your style.” He smiled at first, then raised an eyebrow at Miles’ incomplete hand. He would have said something else if Miles hadn’t already held out the money for him, which the man took with nothing more than a shrug. “Sit wherever ya want,” he grumbled before shouting something over his shoulder to an unseen cook.

“So why this place?” Waylon asked, when they settled into the chairs with the least amount of unidentified stains.

“I dunno.” Miles leaned back so he could kick his feet up on the table. “The sign said ‘burgers’ and that just sounded really good right now.”

“But why these burgers?” Waylon challenged. He wasn’t harsh in his tone, merely inquiring. “If we drove just a little further, we could have gone to Burger King.”

“We could have, but I like places like this.” Miles smiled, scanning the wall, as if trying to read the defaced dollar bills. “They’re quiet and entertaining at the same time, so unlike everything out there that it never feels quite real. There’s something nice about that.”

“It feels like the world is still loading,” Waylon observed.

"That’s it!” Miles attempted to snap his fingers, but without all his fingers, it was a silent motion. “Man, where do you come up with this stuff?”

“Staring at too many buffering screens in my line of work,” Waylon replied, actually smiling at recalling the daily annoyance.

“You don’t find them frustrating?” Miles asked of his smile.

Waylon shrugged. “Sometimes they are, but other times, I’m happy for them. It’s nice to have that little break and stop thinking for just a moment.”

“That’s exactly how I feel about spots like this.” Miles sighed contentedly. “Can’t get that feeling in some crowded fast food joint. In a shithole like this, it’s like our personal hiding place from it all, if just for a little bit.” Miles’ voice softened, which cued an equally soft smile from Waylon.

“Never thought of it that way,” He trailed off into silence for a time, as his eyes wandered to the license plates that lined the walls. “You been to all these states?”

“I been to enough of them,” Miles replied curtly.

“How many is ‘enough’?”

“Let’s just say I’ll hit up Hawaii when they come out with the technology make my jeep float.”

Waylon chuckled. “How do they even get license plates from Hawaii?”

“I have a theory people just buy them online for bragging rights or something. I mean, who in their right mind would leave an island paradise if they lived there?”

“You, probably.”

They shared a chuckle at Miles expense, which cued the worker to arrive with the food. “Here ya go,” he grunted. He plopped the burgers in front of them, before walking off to return to his reading. Three paper plates were needed for each burger to accommodate for the grease and excessive toppings. Otherwise, they would have soaked right throughand onto the already filthy tables. Even with the precautions taken, it took some effort to peel the burgers off of the plates, and the grease drenched the buns that were nearly flattened due to the grease.

The calorie count did not deter Miles, who snatched his lunch and chomped right into it. “Mmm, now that’s the good stuff!” He grinned even as the chilli slid off and plopped onto the paper plates. “How’s yours?”

Waylon grimaced as he looked down at his. “Uh...I was going to see if they had any napkins to wipe some of the grease off.”

Miles waved a hand in dismissal. “Nah, just eat it like that! The grease adds flavor!”

At first, Waylon opened his mouth to protest, but his stomach spoke up with a growl for him. “Alright, I’ll give it a try.” He lifted the burger which was heavy thanks to too much cheese and overly thick patties. After taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and bit into the monstrosity.

“So what do you think?” Miles asked when Waylon swallowed.

The cheese stuck to his teeth and he could already feel the grease lining his stomach. Still, he replied with, “This is the best burger I’ve ever had,” and took another bite.