Chapter Text
This is ridiculous. There can't be no one out here.
Can there?
Klaus shakes his head and runs one hand through his hair. Continue straight on Farm-to-Market Road 969 for three miles, his GPS chimes cheerfully, and he's beginning to think maybe he put in the address wrong. He'd known his uncle lived in a little backwater nothing town, but he hasn't passed another car even driving away from this tiny place in almost an hour. This can't be real. This can't be right. He's going to get axe-murdered out here.
Unfortunately, his GPS beeps ominously at him, and when he tears his eyes off of the unending iron-dark road, he finds that it claims there's no signal.
"Great," he mutters, signaling to turn into the little gas station just up ahead. He needs gas anyways, what's a trip inside to ask for directions?
A lot, according to the several old men who glare at him. He supposes it's the outfit: cuffed coffee-colored corduroy pants and a beige short-sleeved button up, halfway undone over a t-shirt with a print of a flower. At least he looks better than them, in their beat-up jeans and Hawaiian-print short-sleeve button-ups. Eventually, as he fills his little Cooper up with gas and gives them a withering look in return, they pile into their trucks and drive off. The gas station's radio is playing Jim Croce, tinny and distorted, but he piles back in his car and turns on his Lord Huron CD. He supposes he'll drive until he finds something that somewhat resembles civilization, and ask for directions there. Worst-case scenario, he runs out of road and ends up in somewhere nice. Like Houston. Or Galveston. Somewhere with a recognizable and pronounceable name, preferably with more than just a few old white men to call it home.
He's back on the road when he notices the sign that says Honeysuckle, six miles. That's where he's going -- he thinks. Either way, if it's nice enough to need a sign, there has to at least be a Walmart, or something. For now, it's back to burning more rubber on the road as he sighs and runs his hand through his hair again.
It's bad enough that he's out here in the first place -- does it have to be for the whole summer? He has better things to do -- like start college early, or work to save money for later. Uncle Montgomery can't possibly need that much help on his farm that Klaus has to schlep out and do it. There are plenty of people around here to help.
He's tired, most of all. Being cooped up in a sandy Mini Cooper, though very pleasant and fashionable in a big city, is not fun when the only things around for miles are trees, cows and barb-wire. Houses start to pop up closer to the road, a sign he's getting closer to the town, and there's the Subway. He's officially in Honeysuckle, according to the cheery Welcome! sign on the side of the road. Klaus rolls his eyes and makes a beeline for the parking lot of the Walmart. He cuts the engine and steps out onto the pavement, taking a glance around at his surroundings, then down at his phone.
It's a lot of trucks, he notices, but that's just Texas. There were trucks back home -- but this is a lot of trucks. The parking lot is almost exclusively trucks in every color, make, and model. He pauses to stare at a maroon one with a pride flag bumper sticker affixed to the back before he strolls through the door of the Walmart.
The customer service counter seems like an obvious choice, so he waits for a woman with frosted tips to stop yelling at a young woman with long, caramel-colored hair and a supremely bored expression. Her nametag says Isadora when he gets close enough to read it, and she gives him a warm smile.
"Hello, sugar," she says, "how can I help you?"
"I need to get to Montgomery Montgomery's farm? I know that's not quite why you're here, but I thought I'd ask..."
"Monty?" she says, just as he's beginning to feel extremely stupid for asking. "Sure, sugar. He's--- oh! My brother's headin' over there, I could ask him to lead you." Klaus nods slowly, and Isadora turns over her shoulder. "DUNCAN!"
"A'right, a'right," someone replies, emerging from the chip aisle with a bag of barbecue Lay's in his hand. "I ain't stealin'. Not this time."
"Nah. Pay and get'cher ass over here." She shakes her head. "That boy could hear Johnny Cash callin' 'is name and still think one a'us is bustin' him for stealin'."
"Mmm," Klaus hums, mainly because he doesn't know what else to do. He's still focused on the boy, now in line, and his near-flawless tanned skin and tawny colored hair. He could be a model if someone put him in something other than lightwash jeans and a t-shirt that reads WOMEN WANT ME, FISH FEAR ME. "Hello," Klaus says when he strides over, receipt in hand.
"Hi," the boy-- Duncan-- replies, in a voice that drips from his tongue thick and sweet, like honey. "Ain't seen you 'round here before."
"No, I'm from up by Dallas... I need to get to Montgomery's farm."
Duncan gives him a once-over that seems almost appreciative before he says, "City mouse come out to watch us field mice slave away." Klaus barely suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. "A well-dressed city mouse at that. What's your daddy do?"
"It's mom's money, actually. Heiress to a law firm." Duncan and Isadora give him twin snorts. "Look, I don't want to be here any more than you want it. So please just take me to the farm and I'll be gone the moment summer's over."
"So, mid-October."
"Early September." Duncan tilts his head from side to side, considering Klaus's words, and finally nods, though he looks decidedly unhappy about their arrangement. "If I had my way, I wouldn't be here."
"Life ain't always gonna go your way, pretty boy. Best get used to my face, too, 'cause I'm your darlin' uncle's stable boy." Klaus almost groans, but turns it into a cough before Duncan can be offended and decide to swing. It would be a two-hit fight, Klaus thinks as they walk out the automatic doors into the oppressive late-afternoon heat: Duncan hitting Klaus, and Klaus hitting the floor. With those arms... Klaus shakes his head, trying to keep his mind on how dismissive Duncan was only moments before.
Duncan seems to be making a beeline for the maroon truck he'd spotted on the way in, with the pride flag. At least he's progressive. He hops up into the driver's seat and fires it up, and Klaus jumps at the way his truck growls, low and loud. He shakes his head again and walks a few spaces down to his Cooper, content to hear the purr of the engine. It doesn't do much to cut the rumble of Duncan's truck as he pulls into the open parking spot beside Klaus's car and nearly laughs out loud at the sight.
"May baby Jesus have mercy on that car," he yells over his truck's engine. "It'll need it where we're going."
Klaus does roll his eyes now. "Just take me to Uncle Monty's farm," he yells back, trying to ignore the way his heart skips when Duncan laughs, a bright sound that cuts the drone of both engines easily with how pleasant it is. He rolls the window back up and waits for Duncan's truck to back out before he follows.
They turn back onto the farm road, going back the way Klaus came from, to a gravel road Klaus hadn't noticed because of how many vines had grown over the barb wire and the gate set far back from the road.
He's going to die, isn't he?
Klaus closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the steering wheel as Duncan hops down from his truck. He's going to die, he thinks, and the anxious part of his brain latches onto that and makes his head and limbs go fuzzy. He lifts his head just in time to see Duncan give him a wide, white-toothed smile as he hoists himself back up into the cab of his truck. Klaus sighs and puts his car back into gear as he tries to ignore the image of Duncan's smile, complete with soft dimples, that seems etched into the insides of his eyelids.
How dare this hick make this experience so pleasant and not at the same time? Besides, they're ambling up the driveway, and Klaus is sixty-five percent sure his car is about to disintegrate with him in it. To add to this absolutely wonderful experience, a yellow Labrador comes bounding down the driveway, barking excitedly and following Klaus's car up to the strangely rectangular house nestled between two gorgeous, gigantic live oak trees. There's another dog here-- scratch that, two dogs: another yellow lab, this one looking blearily up from where it was apparently napping on a pile of old towels, and a little Jack Russell barking just as excitedly as the other lab. Duncan cuts his truck off and jumps down from the cab to rustle the first lab's ears and kiss its snout, laughing as it licks all over his face. Carefully, Klaus emerges from his Cooper, only to have his ankles assaulted by the Jack Russell.
"That's Queenie," Duncan says over the cacophony: the other lab has joined in barking, and it's descending the stairs gingerly to investigate the new person. It's older than the other one, if the way it slightly limps over to him and the powdered-sugar face are anything to go by. He remembers this one.
"Hi, Daisy," he says, dropping to his haunches and allowing her to sniff his hand for a moment. "Sweet girl."
"This is Blazer," Duncan says, softer now that the dogs have stopped assailing their ears, and gesturing to the other lab. "He's a little mean, be careful."
"Hi," Klaus says gingerly, holding a closed fist out for Blazer to sniff. Queenie yelps at the lack of attention, and Klaus jumps a little, eliciting a soft laugh from Duncan. "Don't you have something better to do than laugh at me?"
Duncan raises his hands in surrender. "I see how it is." He stalks off to a barn Klaus hadn't noticed before and wrenches the door open just as the screen door to the house opens up.