My fools. My poor fools. For lack of anything else to do tonight—no! Such a lie! There are many things I could do. Like get high. Or watch Dragonball Z. Or get high and watch Dragonball Z. Or jump out a window and look for toads because toads are cute and then realize they're frogs and try not to get salmonella. I watched my little pony today. I remember having to watch it when I baby-sitted some kids and I was entranced. Somehow it reminded me of all the stories I had just d*cked around with, and so, here is the update….but god help my poor soul. (True story).

Another true story: upon remembering this story, especially after viewing the fanart that was made for it on da, and seeing someone rightfully comment that the car ride was waaaaaaaaaaaay too long—and whoever you are, I am NOT being sarcastic, because you are totally right—and so tonight I decided, hell, I'll rewrite it…..but I read it again….and I really like it. I don't know. It's just nostalgic and nice for me. So, okay, it's the same—this is an update. I figured, f*ck it, I'll just update it to get this mother f*cking car ride over with cause it's pissing me off too. It's like if the I wrote some shitty story about Danny's parents betraying him and it took thirty chapters for him to even wake up…..Oh wait…..

~F*ck it! We'll do it LIVE! F*CK IT! ~ Bill O'rielly

~There's no WORDS there! F*cking thing SUCKS! ~ Bill O'rielly

Frieza looks down at scouter: SUCKIN THING F*CKS! ~ Frieza in my mind.

~RR-VC

A half empty bottle of liquor dripped quickly onto the black of the jeans on Frederick; and littered by his feet, they tinkled and moved as the car sped forward, fast food forgotten—as the teenager had fallen into this terrible doze within the cloud of strong alcohol and the undying, lingering scent of the cigarettes he'd puffed. His black hair messily pressed to the window, and his earrings clicking gently in time with the bottles as he was jolted, the boy slept and did not awaken even as the light of the morning came and they crept through town upon town to reach their destination—passed and ultimately became a part of so many lives perhaps out on just as strange and unholy quests as they that same night, becoming bonded, sharing something—and Frederick slept. Many of them might have slept as well, slept to move from what they did. Danny slept, too, though now, after uneventfully getting the car fueled up and on the road enough in this bizarre road trip to avoid stopping for at least awhile—the car, and Frederick, perhaps similar in some strange way, placated—was in the back seat once again, confirmed alive, and almost miraculously unchanged from his prior condition, sleeping, at most, unconscious because of the gun, at most. The car accident seemed somehow irrelevant and so completely distant as they passed through neon cities and moved further and further from the city that had cursed them—to new opportunities, with new and somehow simultaneously nostalgic instances of memory plaguing them suddenly, sweetly, to push them further into delusion.

It all seemed surreal.

The man beside the sleeping boy had watched as each bottle drained—his eyes drifting and moving to watch the phenomenon. The road snaked and curved and seemed to work those eyes but even when their attention was lost his hands never lost control. It was as if his actions were dictated by some strange, other-worldly sense which had seemed to overcome him just as suddenly and strangely as the encounter in front of the lonely alcohol store with the Mazda clerk and all the sad juxtaposition there. He was overcome by the midnight city and even as they entered and exited, the chill of that warm summer's night history was not lost to him as it became twisted and distorted by the ebb and flow of people who he now found himself associated sadly with. Once—a billionaire with good intentions, mostly. But tonight he'd had a boy in his trunk, and a man who looked like a boy in the passenger seat. He could see his younger self watching him from afar and inspecting the situation, calling softly—What've you become, Vlad? And as his second sense guided him home to Wisconsin, he thought about it for a while. They grew further and further from Amity but he grew closer and closer to the man beside him, the almost-dead boy, the criminals of the night, the city, and himself. It closed in in a blackness that he did not realize was sleep until even the second sense could not keep him on the road when consciousness failed as he rammed into one of the barriers on the freeway. The sound of that revoked in the clearest sense what was going on, and no longer was it a passioned thoughtful contemplation without immediate purpose or ease, perhaps to endanger further, ultimately; with the sound, the softly crunch and jolt of the luxury vehicle, Vlad Masters finally came back into the opposite impassioned reality where he had always had ultimate control. Where Frederick's sweet face and manipulative words wouldn't have touched him. Where he was not part of the night. Where circumstance was purely circumstantial, and the two children, if you could even say that, with him, were none of his conscious' business. He thought rationally, maybe for the first time since putting Daniel in the trunk before getting gas. And it was so impassioned that now he was not forming opinion over thought—as he thought, clearly and cleanly and easily in his mind, unbiased, about how they would get home with Daniel, Freakshow, the car—and he himself home in one piece.

The freeway was empty and he backed up, straightened his now dented luxury car, and pulled the car forward and off one of the exit ramps. Since leaving the liquor store, he realized that he had been driving for over two hours and on the horizon of this pale night could see the sun peeking up beyond a nameless city, and was silently thankful. If he had thought the way he sometimes did he would have thanked the sun for reinvigorating him to bring his boy Daniel back, as the light would pour upon the boy as he lay quietly in the back seat, sleeping, clinging, surviving Freakshow as he had and hanging on to the edge of some reality. He would have thanked the sun, as he had done every morning, for the invisible bonds between them that were not voiced but both would feel sometimes, and maybe somewhere inside, as Vlad thought in the sunny morning, Daniel might smile and thank something of his own. He might have thanked the sun for shining upon the boy in the front seat, where darkness had been—where fear had been instilled in Vlad. The boy's eyes didn't shine a horrid monster green in the rising sun, but a beautiful sparkling emerald, a lush green, like the lands of some unknown, untouched, distant planet. He might have thanked the sun for showing him that he was the only one awake, and that he was the only one who possessed true control of the situation—the only one who was able to remember the city and the only one would could say he knew that city but was not a part of that city, was not engrained in it by sleeping on the deeds and dreaming in some other world. He might have thanked the sun for vanquishing twilight. Bringing warmer nostaligia. This invisible things, but more than anything—Vlad Masters would have thanked the sun as it shined down upon the serene child and diminished the bruises and promised a brighter future. He saw it in the teenager in the rising sun, too, as he tapped into his dreams and his spirit in some strange bout of imagination. They both seemed young, manageable; and he felt tired and worn, but like a morning after some magical all-night wakefulness, he was content to be nowhere else.

But he did not think this. He saw the sun and thought of the hours of driving. He thought of the night before detachedly and thought of himself. He thought of stopping at a gas station, getting a coffee and a donut, refueling, driving—perhaps even stopping at a motel and getting a night's rest. He could sneak Daniel and the boy inside after checking in to whatever room they could put him up in. Freakshow would sober up and Daniel would wake in the morning. Freakshow would do what he had promised and they would be on their way—as simple as that. And, perhaps, the most sensible, from a totally neutral perspective, as one, a god, perhaps, looking down on the situation, would conclude. Frederick's detours had wasted a good deal of time, a good deal of waking hours, and had wrenched their plan askew more than anything. Already compromised, perhaps it would have been best to cut their losses and sleep for the night in the safety of some small but necessary bedroom. A neutral onlooker would advise what they could do for safety; for the sake of the driver, they would suggest the semi-warm bed, if for just a few hours, of whatever place he came upon first. It sounded pleasant.

But the sun shown through his demeanor, briefly, but he did not think about the night—rather the day. The moon was cynical. In the moon he cursed his inconveniences. He cursed Frederick and he cursed the car and he cursed the boy in the backseat and he cursed himself. But in the sun he couldn't deny one bright ray that would never dwindle to the night's negativity. His care about the boy—the only thing left in his life that resembled a worth for living. They boy—his boy—lying gently in the back seat because of something he had done, something he regretted—something that made him unworthy to call the boy his own. And the boy lay there still because of his incompetence. But he thought not of what he had done but what he could do, as the sun's rising rays dictated. In the one ray he became dictated by his strange adoration for the boy as he left the twilight and any care of himself. It was not about plans, about benefits, Freakshow or himself—more than anything it was about this thing that he felt and resentenced and loved simultaneously as days changed to nights. There was a twilight for both of them, warmer, brighter, untouched by cold cities or the road and its strange snaking, monotony, uncaringness, receding on its concrete path to a dead power-plant of the hateful emotions—a Chernoybl where they had left the past and could linger somewhere else. He had messed up; messed up in ways that were strange because he regretted nothing. But he saw another path lighted by sunlight in that morning and when possibilities of a future with a son of his own—a ghost boy, like him, at that—touched him he was too dazed to believe in wrong, if there existed.

Maybe it was selfish.

But if night still lingers—he had blamed selfishness on Frederick.

That was what he was there for.

And so without that burden on his back, he seemed to truly leave it to the sleeping teenager: driving on as the boy beside him rested and assumed what would allow Vlad ultimately to care for Daniel without feeling his insides knot, Danny was checked on again and the empty bottles were tossed to the side of the road, sealing his ultimate choice as he left the spirit of the sin somewhere where the teenager could never recover from its effect before Vlad got back in the car and went, without coffee, without a donut, without sleep. But he drove. He drove toward the sun and thought of nothing else. The boy beside him went unnoticed while he dreamt of a brighter circus—as Vlad watched as Daniel dreamed of a brighter world with occasional glances in the rearview mirror. And his hands and distracted eyes guided the road again as he lingered in a new twilight where now neon lights were replaced with warm light, cities and abandonment fading to the close hominess of the farms of Wisconsin, and looking back at Daniel had put him right in this strange, perfect purgatory where Vlad was certain that the boy would find a new home here—a new spirit, a new passion for life, with him—together.

And it was the quickest drive Vlad had ever had from the area where that liquor store lie.

When he pulled up to the castle, Frederick and the boy were still asleep, unawakened, still, by the passing sites. His palace, domain, loomed over him and gave him a sense of comfort. Freakshow's had been Amity—but this was his, and slowly as he grew warmer and happier and such sleep deprivation seemed only to lead briefly to a more chipper attitude, he began to reflect that he would never be led by the freak again if in his domain—away from the darkness and Freakshow's own deprivation reflected into those unsettling and seemingly undying powers to manipulate. Because here, where it was quaint and bright and the idea of anyone looking like him—of abandoned cities, neon lights, late night drinking, abuse, homosexuality, all unheard of—there was nothing of his to touch. He had control. And as he looked down at the quiet body of Danny, his boy, he vowed never to give Freakshow the kind of control that had allowed him to even touch his boy as he had—no matter how much he claimed he needed to for his own element of control.

They'd just have to work something out—because Vlad, looking down at the child, was done with games.

"V….Vlad…." it was a barely audible whisper from the small body he looked down upon, standing in the open door of the right side of the back seat. His body twitched softly in the sunlight and his eyes shut tightly as they struggled to open. Vlad leaned into the car and carefully looked for the onyx eyes, a little dazed beneath their lids, as the man in his sleek suit caressed the bump where Freakshow had hit him. It was now almost unnoticeable, disappeared now—far away from a darker past.

When onyx eyes showed and stared sleepily up at him, his mouth hanging slightly agape, overcome, drowsy, not quite coherent, but there, present, at least, Vlad smiled down at him with appreciation that, upon closer inspection, proved to be a look of almost adoration—a loving look one would have never seen given from Vlad Masters to anyone else. This was his boy and this was a smile for him. It was apparent; the best thing in the world then had been to see his eyes. No matter the past, no matter the future.

"Yes, my boy. I'm here."

And almost as good? Freakshow still slept.

AN: AHHAHA! HALLELUJAH! Finally!

Yes!-And, oh! Sorry, I lied. Um, no, I didn't have to choose between getting high and writing... HA.

Now for the DBZ part! I'm coming for your ass Frieza!

Well it's done. DOOOOOOOOOONE. Thank F*Ck.

Okay, so, I hope you liked it-if, u know. It wasn't too trippy or u were sober. If you did, or if you didn't, or if you like the story or hate it or whatever, let me know. I appreciate reviews. It's actually so lame I said I wouldn't update if u didn't review, I sound like a hoe, but I do appreciate them. So leave them if you can.

~RR.

(Frieza looks at teleprompter) THERE'S NO WORDS THERE!