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The hum of the engine echoed off the metal walls of the Zomburger food truck, no chatter or music to drown it out.
The crew had all left early for the night, at Cesare’s wishes. He just told them to wrap it up, that they were young and deserved a night off. He’d done it before, to make a good impression, but never as a cover up for something like this.
Usually, he’d be out at the front of the truck critiquing Conrad’s sign-spinning skills. Today, however, he just sat in the driver’s seat and watched the line of shitty Instagram micro-celebrities grow longer.
Even sitting in the janky cloth seat of the truck was too much, every nerve in his body screaming at him to lay down on something to cradle his bones and take pressure off his joints.
He didn’t really have anywhere else to go, anywhere to fulfill his body’s wishes for rest. The hard metal floor was the closest place he could even lie down on, much less comfortably.
So, in a fit of desperation, he started up the truck and made his way onto the highway, to the one place he might find even a little succor.
Cesare gripped the steering wheel tightly, blue knuckles turning whitish with pressure.
The truck jolted, hitting the area of the asphalt with arterial tar lines on the road.
The minuscule bumps nearly sent him into a pain-induced fit of frustration, muscles tensing.
Cesare glanced at the map on the little smartphone he’d slowly been taught to use. 16 minutes until he reached the little park. 16 minutes of trying to keep conscious through all his joints screaming at him for a rest.
He’d get a rest if he made it there.
Cesare got the zomburger truck for $500 off of Ebay, then offered the trucking job to anyone who was generous enough to help him paint it.
Meaning it wasn’t the most up to date or comfortable, no matter how much they’d remodeled it.
But there was no debate or internal monologue about Steve allowing him in the Bigtop truck, to lay down on one of those new reclining seats that allowed for napping.
Cesare may be out to get Steve and they may be in the process of their eighth divorce, but Steve would rather die than leave Cesare at his door. Divorce doesn’t come without marriage first.
Street lamps on the highway shone too brightly in his eyes, the hum of the engine and the roll of the wheels a near piercing noise in his head.
The fog in his head grew thicker as he struggled to keep the truck in the lane. Nobody else was around on the highway, thank God, but the swerving was getting harder to control.
12 minutes until he’d reach Steve’s truck.
The truck hit a bump, a sharper pain reaching him through his state of disorientation.
Cesare ground his teeth, hearing his jaw pop deafeningly in his head. The cartilage on nearly all his joints was wearing away more day by day, the grating of his bones together worse on some days than others.
His body was degrading, ever so slowly. Being alive for over 250 years will take its toll, no matter how much magic had been used to bring you back from your initial death.
None of his wounds had healed either.
All the cuts and stabs from that fateful night remained open, despite no blood seeping from them. They just left him with a constant, sharp ache throughout his torso. Although they didn’t bleed, Cesare made sure to keep them wrapped with gauze or medical tape. Leaving them alone was painful enough, having his shirt rub on open wounds would be a nightmare.
7 minutes.
The road bumped more as the his GPS took him down a highway exit. The neon lights from the traffic signals that appeared in his line of sight nearly blinded him, pale yellow eyes narrowing even further.
Cesare’s entire agonized body tensed up so tight it felt like Medusa had looked him in the eyes.
5 minutes.
5 minutes until he’d reach the one person who might actually care. The one person who might give him a comfortable place to rest his creaking joints and strained muscles.
He took the exit off the highway and took a right on some street lined with suburban houses behind a fence.
3 minutes.
Navigating the area was tough, but Cesare could see why Steve would choose to keep his truck in a place like this. It clearly had a large population, and large population meant a lot of possible buyers.
Cesare closed in on the park. A fountain was turned off in the center, with the truck on the outskirts next to a picnic table.
All the lights around were off, save for a few houses and neon signs from businesses.
Steve’s truck light was off too.
Cesare grimaced. He’d known in the back of his mind that Steve would probably be asleep, but seeing the dark truck just confirmed it and fed his anxiety.
He unbuckled the seat belt, wincing as he reached for the plain walking cane he’d placed under the driver’s seat. It was for extreme circumstances only, even being old and dead and needing the support, it still brought him a sense of shame.
Cesare helped himself up, hearing multiple joints crack simultaneously.
Opening the door was a struggle, his shaky hand barely able to get a strong enough grip on the handle.
Pushing the door open with the small amount of energy he’d managed to summon, Cesare’s unsteady legs carried him down the steps of the truck. His knees creaked and taut muscles felt like they were on the verge of being pulled at any second.
After placing his cane down and planting his feet on the asphalt he turned and shoved the heavy door in until he heard the click of the doorknob.
Cesare looked over at the dark Bigtop truck, taking in a deep breath that had him wincing with the ache that grew around his ribs in response.
One step at a time. He’d made it all the way on the highway, all the way through the neighborhood, even through every bone in his body had been telling him to not get up out of that seat. He couldn’t just give up now.
He rapped his knuckles on the Bigtop truck door, too anxious at the thought of Steve actually answering.
A light flicked on and he saw Steve’s form walk up to the window.
Steve could’ve just stared at him and gone straight back to sleep. It’s not like he was required to open the door to his ex-husband in the middle of the night. Hell, Cesare didn’t even deserve a second thought.
But Steve opened the door, eyebrows creased and eyes half lidded with sleep.
“What… what is happening here…?” Steve asked, exhaustion and a touch of anxiety both present in his gruff voice.
Cesare nearly crumbled on the spot.
“I just- I- Uh… I didn’t ha- have anywhere else to-o go…” The words came out in a hasty mumble, barely able to be understood on Steve’s end.
Steve gave him a pitiful look, clearly unsure how to handle the situation.
“You… uh… you can come inside. I guess. Hold on.”
Cesare looked down at his shoes shamefacedly, knowing Steve was tired enough, that he didn’t want to deal with Cesare more than he needed to. Cesare was sent to kill him, and it was that mission that made them realize they could never be truly happy together.
He placed the ferrule of his cane on the step of the truck, both hands gripping the handle to heave himself up into the truck.
Steve must’ve noticed his grunt, because he reluctantly reached out and held his hand at Cesare’s level.
Cesare placed bony fingers in Steve’s warm palm, feeling a tug as Steve helped him up the other steps.
They just stood there, both unsure of what to do. The smell of frying oil permeated the air, rather than the perpetual stench of charcoal and additions he’d rather not mention that filled the Zomburger truck.
Not like Cesare could really eat either, but one smelled better than the other.
“Is there, uh, is there a place I can rest here? Like… even just a spot to lay down. To rest these old joints.” Cesare leaned on his cane, trembling body cancelling out the forced smile he’d plastered on his face.
Steve scratched his neck, looking sheepishly over at the empty kitchen.
“There’s the… the bench. The metal one. In the… the kitchen.”
Cesare nearly had a meltdown right then and there.
Why had he even come here? What was the point? He could’ve just got himself a hotel room, or gone to one of the Zomburger crew’s places.
He could’ve gone anywhere, anywhere but here, anywhere that would’ve guaranteed him a place to lay down and give his stupid undead body some sort of physical relief.
But instead he’s standing in the “office” of his ex-husband’s food truck at midnight, in too much pain to think straight.
The lightheadedness from said pain suddenly tripled and his knees shook at the task of keeping himself upright. His palms grew cold and clammy, the feeling of bile, or whatever was left in his undead stomach, rose in his throat.
Cesare leaned against the nearest wall of the truck, cane handle in a death grip.
He slumped over further, vision spotty and spinning while the floor looked closer and closer to his face.
Steve’s garbled voice was the last thing he heard before his senses went completely dark.
It was also one of the first things he heard waking up, the very first being more nonsense from the mouth of the ginger woman that was leaning over him. A yellowed light from above shone like a halo around her head.
“-eve, he’s awake!” Her distorted words finally fell into place and Steve was suddenly in his line of sight as well, thin eyebrows knitted together with concern.
Steve waved his hand in front of Cesare’s face, “Do I have all my fingers? Do you see them?”
Cesare just grumbled and lifted a heavy, aching arm to swat away Steve’s hand.
“Steve showed up to my door with you and said you actually passed out! It was like midnight when he got here, so I couldn’t just say no to that… I’m Penny, just so you know, and this is my place. Lemme know if you need something, like water or uhh… a light snack would be best on your stomach…”
Penny trailed off, mumbling to herself as she got up and turned the lighting down a little bit, knowing it was probably rough on his eyes.
Cesare tried to pull himself into a sitting position, grunting with the effort it took out of him.
Steve placed a warm hand on his back, thumb rubbing circles into his sensitive blue skin.
As he came to, Cesare absorbed more of the what was around him.
The gauze over his knife wounds had been replaced, first of all, and his chest was unbound. The large shirt he’d been dressed in was probably Penny’s, considering it wasn’t a graphic tee with some outlandish design that Steve would probably wear.
Steve took Cesare’s hand in his own.
“I’m sorry I didn’t- wasn’t able to get you what you needed.” Steve’s raspy voice trailed off and he looked down at the carpet, unsure of how to apologize.
Cesare just nodded, too out of it to really understand much.
His joints and muscles and tendons and every other part of his body still ached like someone turned him into molten lava.
But it felt like the lava was cooling. Like maybe the worst was over.
Penny walked back over with two glasses of water in her hands, the one with a straw presumably for Cesare.
“I thought you might appreciate something to drink, I heard passing out kinda, like, makes your throat dry? Not too sure if that’s true, but water would be good anyways, I think.”
Penny gave both the glasses to Steve, probably worried Cesare was too weak to hold it and would end up spilling it on the blanket and himself.
She started to walk away before turning back around and leaning on the back of the couch.
“You’re both welcome to stay here as long as you’d like, as long as there’s no, uhm, no fighting. Or anything like that” Penny laughed nervously, trying to keep her little apartment out of the cannon-firing zone.
“Oh, oh, and my daughter is sleeping in the room down the hall, so I’d reaaally really appreciate it if there‘s no, like, yelling or anything. Please.” A small bead of sweat appeared on her freckled forehead before she walked towards said hallway, “I’ll be in my room if either of you need like, an extra blanket or pillow.”
She made her way down the hallway, leaving the little living room with an air of awkwardness.
The two both stared at the floor, neither wanting to look each other in the eyes.
“I can… I can keep a cot or a… a folding chair in the truck if you’d like me to,” Steve scratched the back of his neck, “If I had known you were g’nna be there I would’ve at least tried to like… prepare something for you to lay down on.”
Cesare nodded again, unsure of how to respond to such an offer of hospitality from his ex-husband of all people.
“That… that would be nice, Steve,” He finally replied, “Thank you.. for taking me here, not really that sure why Penny is just okay with it after our little… work feuds. But thank you.”
Steve internally raised an eyebrow at Cesare’s description of… all that… as merely “work feuds”, but there wasn’t a point in caring about that at the moment.
He took Cesare’s hand again and placed a kiss on the pronounced tendons.
“I… think no matter what y’do, I’ll still always have a… have a place for you if you need it. Please don’t… test that too far though.” Steve muttered at the end, hoping Cesare didn’t take that as a go-ahead for kidnapping the Bigtop crew or something.
Cesare just stared at him, eyes wide.
“That’s- that’s… thank you. Thank you, Steve.” Cesare tried to respond as appropriately as possible, a little taken aback at the sentiment after all these years of turmoil between them.
He looked down and yawned, the popping from his mandible joint loud in his head.
“I’m gonna… gonna rest my eyes. And my body. Just for a little bit. Until the morning.” Cesare snuggled back down onto the couch, shaky arms pulling the blanket further up his body.
Steve stood up from the carpet he’d been sitting on, grunting.
Cesare’s heavy eyelids flew back open, alarmed.
“Steve! Stephen! I- I don’t know this lady, Stephen! Where are you go-” Cesare cut himself off with a sharp breath in, feeling his muscles tighten and joints pop as he sat up too quickly.
Within a second Steve was back at his side, a gentle hand again on Cesare’s bony back.
“Didn’t mean to- to worry you, I was g’nna go get a blanket so- so I could sleep out here. Like, watch over you.” Steve stumbled on his words, clearly panicking a little at Cesare’s still frozen-stiff form.
Cesare took a deep breath and slowly lowered himself back to a laying position, closing his eyes.
“‘m gonna go get… go get that blanket, okay?” Steve stood up again.
Cesare began to nod before wincing at the movement.
“Mm-hm.”
How pathetic of him to whine like that.
He pulled his own blanket back up to his chest, sighing again. Even breathing strained his undead body, but at least he wasn’t still in that damn truck.
Cesare cracked an eye at the sound of heavy footsteps and looked over to see Steve sit in the big chair next to the couch, draping the blanket he’d grabbed from the closet over himself.
They had both snuggled into their respective spots before Steve turned and blew Cesare a little kiss. Penny probably taught him that and it was a little awkward, but clearly a display of some sort of affection.
Cesare just smiled and made a little kissy sound back, mentally crossing his worn-out fingers that maybe their relationship was being patched.