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#oh and!! if you want to take a detour through a nice and historic route
bluestempigeons · 2 years
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I'm slowly coming to accept that every pigeon show roadtrip in the western US will also turn into visiting at least a few national parks
#i can't help it. they're all so close to so many national parks#plus every time i drive out through utah moab is RIGHT THERE! i can't not go to canyonlands!!!#i may have a problem but consider: hiking fun#btw if you're ever heading through utah on i70 take the detour to moab. it's worth it. that whole area is gorgeous#also you can't just drive through arches. if you want a nice drive go to canyonlands. arches is more for hiking#though if you are willing and able to hike those trails they're great. don't go in the summer and you're golden#if you're taking i70 through colorado visit the grand mesa and escalante canyon. they're underappreciated#visit land's end and get a great view (don't come during august! it'll be hazy!!) and then go east on 133 :) enjoy#(head south off the mesa and then east on 133 you'll hit the road that goes to aspen as well. it's not a shortcut but it's a nice drive)#ok this became recommendations on less-appreciated parts of colorado. while we're here: go to gunnison. also to the black canyon#the black canyon is free access and also GORGEOUS i think it's so unappreciated#and also go to ouray. it's a diamond in the rough and also they have hot springs and a lot of super nice trails#oh and!! if you want to take a detour through a nice and historic route#go on 141 toward gateway. you'll get to see what once was uravan (uranium mining town that was fully buried) and a lot of mining history#anyways :) i like going places and looking at things a normal amount#my dad is the type who stops at all those historical marker signs and reads every word so you can probably see where i got it from#pigeon coos
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ieattaperecorders · 3 years
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“I’m rambling again aren’t I?” and “Is that okay with you?” for the jmart prompt please :)
Cannon compliant, 1.4k, set at the end of S4. Prompt from here.
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Cash only, no IDs, change directions at least twice. That was what Basira advised, so they were taking a roundabout route - train to bus to train again, a walk to another station, and then a third train to the outskirts of a town near a village near an isolated cabin. Someplace to hide.
Each time they stopped Jon would grab maps and brochures to stuff in his pockets, studying them carefully during quiet moments. Something about being prepared to act as if they were headed to a different destination if anybody asked.
Nobody did ask, and in any case Jon would have probably looked weird and suspicious, throwing in needless details about whatever place they were meant to be visiting. But it was painfully endearing, the way he poured over them, concentrating like he was prepping for an exam. One hand holding the brochure, the other usually clasped over Martin's or pawing at the fabric of his sleeve.
At one point, Jon's hand absently came to rest on Martin's knee. He flinched -- surprised at the unfamiliar contact, at the intimacy. Then he covered Jon's hand with his own, keeping careful around the edge of the wide, angry scar Jude Perry had left.
It had been so long since anyone touched Jon gently. It had been so long since anyone touched Martin at all.
* * *
There'd been a quick, fearful trip to Martin's flat so he could pack a bag. Jon barely let go of him the entire time, as if scared that he might still disappear. (Maybe he was scared. Maybe he was right to be.) He frowned when, after only a few minutes, Martin zipped up a small bag of clothes and toiletries and said that he was ready.
"You . . . may want to look around a bit," he said softly. "See if there's anything else you want to take. We might not be able to come back here."
"Thought the idea was to get in and out quickly. And shouldn't we be traveling light?"
"We can spare another minute. Besides . . . ." he bit his lip. "You might want to keep a few things. Even if they don't seem important. You may end up missing them if you lose this place."
Martin glanced around. The truth was he'd been living sparsely for a while. Bit by bit, he'd boxed up and donated most of his personal things over the last several months. It had just felt right.
(Jon's flat was long gone. He only had the small satchel he'd been carrying, and a plastic bag of thrift store clothes that Basira had gotten for him.)
He ended up grabbing a few books, a notebook he hadn't written in for a while, a couple of cheap pens, and a scarf that he'd always liked. The small carved box his grandfather had given him ages ago went in the bag too -- he'd never found anything to put in it, but he'd kept it all these years and it still smelled pleasantly like cedar.
Despite Jon's insistence they could spare another minute, he spent the entire time Martin packed bouncing restlessly on his heels, his gaze flicking back and forth between the windows.
"God, it's cold in here," he whispered.
". . . Is it?"
"Yes. Colder than outside . . . noticeably so," Jon looked at him sadly. "You can't feel it?"
Martin shook his head. He hadn't noticed.
"Suppose I'm used to it," he said.
Gravely, Jon nodded. He took Martin's hand and squeezed. Martin held back for a moment, then pointed out it was hard to pack with one hand, and Jon awkwardly let go. Another minute and they were done.
As they made for the door, Martin noticed Jon shivering and thought Basira ought to have gotten him a heavier coat.
"Hold on."
He made a detour to the closet, grabbed one of his thicker jackets and held it out. It would swim on Jon, but at least it was something.
"Dunno if it works on supernatural cold spots, but it'll be cold in Scotland too," he explained. "You'll want more than a windbreaker."
Jon stared at him for a moment, then swallowed heavily and nodded. As he put it on, folding the sleeves back so his hands would fit out, Martin noticed him wiping at his eyes.
Was he tearing up? Why? It was only a jacket, one Martin was probably going to lose anyway.
Jon held his hand all the way to the train station.
* * *
They didn't talk about the Lonely on the train. They didn't talk about any of it there, not the Institute, the entities, the attack. It was all too risky if they were overheard.
Instead, Jon talked about the places they weren't going, the things he read about as they went. Describing historical points of interest or natural features, sometimes adding a jarringly morbid fact that Martin was sure he hadn't gotten from the brochures. He suspected part of it was an attempt to engage him, as Martin found himself going long stretches saying next to nothing.
It was nice, though, listening to him chatter on as if they were out on holiday. Sitting there with the landscape going by, the rumble of the train around them and Jon talking about some landmark or another, Martin could pretend they were just out seeing the sights. Traveling on their own time, without a care in the world.
As it got late into the night, he realized the train car they were in was empty. It was the last one that ran, and there hadn't been many on it to begin with, so it wasn't much of a surprise. But with no one else there, they had a chance to speak more freely.
"Jon?" Martin nudged him, interrupting his description of a stone burial site a few miles down the line.
"Hmm?" Jon started, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry. I'm rambling, aren't I?"
"It's not that. Was just thinking . . . I know the plan is to keep moving, but we'll have to wait for the morning train anyway. Wouldn't make a difference if we got a cheap hotel room or something tonight, would it?"
"Oh . . . no, I don't think it would," he shuffled through some papers in his lap, peering at the train schedule. "Actually, in that case we may want to take the next stop, rather than going to the end of the line. There's a motel near the station that could be perfect. It's cash only, and the only security camera is over the safe."
"Did you See that?"
"Not deliberately. There's just, ah . . . " he winced, "been a lot of really gruesome murders there."
"Ah. Right." Martin raised an eyebrow. "Are we going to get gruesomely murdered if we stay there?"
"Well it's not a service they provide."
"But we do have murderers after us."
"True . . . and I don't think this place would be much protection if they caught up. But the same could be said about a bench outside the train station," Jon shrugged. "And I don't believe it's supernatural, just a bit shady. Which is probably what we want at the moment."
Martin nodded. Then, with a smirk, asked "does it have a pool?"
"Yes. And so many people have drowned in it."
". . . Hmm."
Jon's deadpan look broke into a smile. "I've no idea if there's a pool. Probably not."
"Pfff," Martin reached an arm out over his shoulders, and Jon leaned into the embrace, smiling. "The Beholding didn't think to list amenities, then? Not even an evil laundry service or, like, a continental breakfast that eats you?"
"Thankfully not."
"Good enough for me, then."
He felt Jon chuckle against him and leaned back, yawning loudly, thinking about how nice it would be to lie down in a bed. Jon shifted a little and sighed, looking at him with a smile.
"I love you," he said. Soft and warm, as if he'd said it a thousand times before. As if it was natural and obvious and easy.
Martin must have gone noticeably tense, or maybe his expression changed, because Jon's eyes widened and he looked down, fidgeting. Worried he'd made a mistake.
"Is that, ah . . . okay with you?" he added weakly.
Almost dizzy with it all, Martin let out a breath that turned into an unsteady laugh. He felt tears pricking at his eyes, and he squeezed Jon tighter.
"Y-yeah," he whispered, "yeah Jon. S'good."
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