notes: so this was originally going to be a painfully long one shot but, well. i kind of don't have the patience for that, so. voila! my first a&a multi-chapter fic has arrived! this probably won't be terribly long; probably three to five parts at the most. i enjoy writing badassbitch!ally and aloof!austin. also partially inspired by the music video for 'robbers' by the 1975 because it is very much brilliant and matty healy is my baby; and, in turn, the 90's tarantino film 'true romance.'
warnings: gratuitous violence, copious drug use, self destructive behavior, so much fucking crime oh my god what am i doing, probably smut later because why not.
you've got a pretty kind of dirty face
we'll give you one more fight/ said one more line/ be a riot, 'cause i know you — robbers, the 1975
part one: headlines
Ally Dawson's name has become a national headline.
Four months ago, at the tender age of sixteen, she stole one of her father's credit cards and ran away with Elliott Cody, her boyfriend of seven months; apparently they ran out of money fairly quickly, because they promptly robbed a drugstore in Moore Haven, Florida at closing time; eyewitnesses claim the boy, clad in black pants and a black turtle neck that must've been choking him in the summer heat, held the owners at gunpoint whilst Ally grabbed the money, three bottles of Captain Morgan, five cartons of cigarettes, and peach lipgloss. The two assailants promptly thanked the stunned workers for their cooperation and dove into the back of a red '99 Camaro. Two days later, the fire department was called when guests of River's Edge Motel in Labelle, Florida complained of the air in the area being thick with black smoke. Just behind the hotel, in a clearing amidst a thicket of trees, they discovered that very Camaro, empty and in flames.
Since that first notorious burglary, there have been plenty more — Fort Myers, Boca Grande, Lake Placid. The two rogue teenagers seem to be working their way across Florida. They go in no particular order and never hit the same town twice.
Every night, the news broadcasts the same message following each and every story:
"It is still unknown if the pair is working alone, or if there are any accomplices. If you see them do not confront them; they are suspected to be armed and violent. If you have any information, please contact the FDLE or your local police department immediately."
Two more months pass; four more robberies.
They remain free.
Austin is kind of jealous of this Ally Dawson girl. It's not like being a wanted criminal is something to strive for or anything, but still, her name is in all the papers and the talk shows and that's more than he can say. She's out there having adventures and, like, doing stuff with her life. Even if it is highly illegal stuff. Okay, so he might be kind of crazy.
Still, he thinks gloomily as he climbs in his car on a sunny Saturday morning, it must be nice being out there with a friend, completely independent and free do to whatever you wish whenever you please.
He meets Dez at The Waffle House for breakfast, just like every Saturday. Austin sighs. His life is so routine.
"God, there you are! You're late. It's not even breakfast time anymore, it's like, brunch now," Dez chides him as he slides into their usual booth in the back, taking an obnoxiously large bite of his syrup-drenched waffle. Austin glares at him and orders chocolate chip pancakes.
"You're the only person I know who comes to The Waffle House to order pancakes."
"It wouldn't be weird if we went somewhere else for a change."
Dez gapes at him like he's just been commanded to give up his first-born. "How dare you! The Waffle House is sacred, Austin. It's tradition." Not so much tradition as matter of habit, Austin thinks bitterly. This is what he means by routine.
Dez, sensing his friend's annoyance, quickly changes the subject. "So, did you hear about Ally Dawson's boyfriend?"
Austin's head snaps up. "Elliott Cody? What about him?"
"Oh, yeah, that's his name. I always forget. Anyway. Dude, it's all over the news!" Dez tells him between bites of waffle. "Apparently they hit this place in North Port last night, but they didn't count on the owner having a gun. He shot Elliott in the chest twice. Twice, dude. I guess he died right away. It sucks. I mean, I'm not saying he should've gotten off scot-free but, they're our age, man. Pretty heavy stuff."
Austin just blinks, completely unaware of how this news managed to escape his attention. "Oh my god. Dude. Oh my god. What about Ally? Did they catch her?"
Dez shakes his head furiously, stabbing at a full sausage link with his fork and eating the entire thing in two bites. Swallowing painfully, he continues, "Nah. Apparently she fled the scene as soon as he fired the second shot. And Elliott died right away, so they couldn't even, like, interrogate him or anything."
"Do you think they'll catch up with her soon?"
This time Dez nods vigorously; he mumbles something that Austin thinks sounds like, "Oh, yeah," but his mouth is too full of food at this point to communicate through words. Austin contemplates that while he waits for his red-haired friend to finish chewing.
"Let me elaborate," Dez speaks up finally once his mouth is clear. "Not that I know personally, but I have heard from some very reliable sources that Ally is kind of dead weight in this operation — you know, she kinda just stands there and looks pretty. Her boyfriend is the brawn, and probably the brains, too. So what is she gonna do? She's still a wanted criminal, and without her boyfriend scheming for her I predict she'll be in police custody by this time next week."
Austin nods, only partially paying attention as a heaping stack of warm pancakes is placed in front of him. "That makes sense," he says, taking a bite. He sighs happily. No matter what, pancakes will always be there for him.
"When she does get caught, I hope she writes a tell-all novel about her life and crimes. I'm gonna direct the movie based on it. Megan Fox is gonna play Ally and I will most likely play Elliott, meaning I will be up for not only Best Director, but for Best Actor at the Oscars as well."
Austin shakes his head, chuckling. What was he thinking? His life may be routine, but really all he needs are his best friend and pancakes (though those two are often interchangeable.) Still, he cannot help the unanswered questions from gnawing away at his insides. In all honesty, he is a little disappointed — he's been following the Ally Dawson and Elliott Cody case since the beginning, and it fascinates him. It's going to be weird not turning on the news and seeing that they've hit somewhere else, where people least expect. There will always be the court case, he supposes. That should be interesting.
"Yo, Austin. Quit with the dead eyes and talk to me over here. What's on your mind, dude?"
Austin bites his lip, contemplating whether or not he should lay his thoughts on the table. "I, just. I don't know. I feel kind of bad. She's out there all alone and now she doesn't have her boyfriend and she's probably scared shitless, and now they're gonna catch her and lock her up and all the freedom she's had these past few months is gonna be taken away. Am I crazy for feeling bad for them — her because she's alone and him because he's, well, dead?"
"Definitely crazy," Dez agrees, stealing a pancake from the top of Austin's stack and placing on his now completely cleaned plate. "Don't get me wrong; it sucks. But, well, they're still criminals, you know?"
Austin huffs out a sigh, pushing his half-full plate towards Dez.
Dez' eyes widen comically. "Seriously, dude?"
Austin just nods. He's not very hungry anymore; he sips his water and tries to ignore the growing lump in his throat.
Dez just grins. "Thanks, man," he mumbles, mouth full of cakey, gooey chocolate goodness. "You're the best."
The only sound for the remainder of the morning is the sound of Austin's fingers tapping on the table and Dez' obnoxious chewing, blissfully unaware.
Nobody has ever commended Austin for his intelligence, which is probably a good thing, because no intelligent person goes for a midnight stroll on this side of town. Even Austin wouldn't, under normal circumstances — he's seen all the horror films and he knows this is the part where a masked man steps out from behind a tree and cuts his head off with a machete or something.
At least if he did have a run-in with a serial killer and survived — because of course he'd survive; he's practically a master at martial arts, with those three classes he took when he was seven — he'd have something cool to brag about.
Miami isn't the safest place, not by a long shot, but Austin doubts he'll be running into any serial killers tonight. He sighs, feeling very mopey and bad for himself because he can, dammit. He kicks a rock dramatically, crossing his arms in front of his chest and pouting. Everything sucks. He just wants to do something interesting.
Austin finds himself wondering what Ally Dawson is doing tonight. It's been over a week since Elliott Cody was killed, but contrary to Dez' prediction and much to Austin's surprise, she hasn't been caught yet. There have been no other reported robberies, but the girl remains elusive.
Elliott Cody's autopsy revealed some grisly details: thieving wasn't the worst of his problems. Come on. They're trouble kids, but they weren't expecting to find traces of extensive abuse of cocaine and yellow jackets.
A black GMC Vandura roars past just then, pulling him from his thoughts. It barrels on down the road, and Austin finds himself yelling, "Slow down; you're gonna kill somebody!" out of pure spite. It's not like they can hear him — the windows are all shut and the ground is practically vibrating from the booming music coming from the van.
Or, like. Maybe they can, because just then, about fifty feet down, the driver slams on the brakes. Hard. And then the car is making a really sharp, dangerous, completely illegal U-turn and wow, Austin really regrets not running his laps during gym. He doesn't even have time to turn and book it to the closest house when a voice comes out of the darkness. "Don't move." And then there's a shot being fired but he's not hit (a blank, maybe?). He obeys, heart pounding like cymbals as he gazes at the car that's stopped next to him. A hooded form jumps out of the front seat, and oh fuck, okay. That's a real gun. Hooded Assailant promptly yanks open the sliding door to the back of the van, and tells him, "Get in."
Austin contemplates running again, because if the gun is full of blanks, he can get away no problem. There's a CVS around here somewhere. But if there are actual bullets in that thing, well. He doesn't want to think about it.
Stupidly, he decides not to chance it.
So he slumps forward, defeated, and crawls into the dark of the back of the van, and he's barely inside before the door slams shut. There's a board or something installed between the back of the van and the front seats, which Austin is pretty sure is illegal, but then again. So is threatening strangers with a gun and forcing them into the back of your van. Somehow, Austin thinks legality is the least of their worries.
The floor rumbles beneath him, signaling the car is moving again. From the front of the car, he can hear something that sounds dangerously close to swing music. He shakes his head in disbelief and leans back against the inside of the car, feeling like he's going to puke or pass out or die or maybe all three. Okay, maybe not die, but he's definitely going to puke, any second now —
Aw, fuck.
He cringes as he feels bile crawling up his throat and swallows it down the best he can, which in turn only makes him want to vomit more.
The door opens again, squeaking violently on its hinges and from the darkness beyond the cracked doors comes a distinctly female voice.
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen," Austin squeaks out, trying to make out a face, but all he can see is their - her - shadow looming there, frighteningly still.
"Do you smoke?"
Austin opens his mouth, closes it again. "Is this a police investigation? Because I swear to god that whatever it is, I'm not involved."
"Answer the question." The voice itself is sweet, but the tone is so harsh and demanding it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
"What was the question again?"
The voice huffs impatiently. "Do you smoke?"
"No," Austin answers truthfully, crawling slowly towards the source of the voice. He jumps back when the lithe, shadow figure draws a gun from behind her back, pointing it square at him. Enough with the guns already, Austin thinks. Seriously.
"Stay back." Her voice is like ice. Austin draws his knees to his chest. Seemingly satisfied, his capturer continues her questioning. "Do you drink?"
"Um. Not really."
"Do you know how to use a gun?"
Austin purses his lips, unsure of how to answer. Maybe if he says yes she'll get scared and let him go. "Yeah. Sure."
The shadow goes silent, pondering. "He's perfect," she says, voice sugary sweet like cough syrup. "Trish!" she yells then, slamming the door closed on him yet again. "We're keeping him; let's go!"
Austin blinks, confused. So he's not dead. Yet. But he doesn't know what's going on or where he is or who these people are and what they want with. Austin is a fairly good person; he doesn't understand why anyone would intentionally nab him off the street. And he never thought he'd end up victim of a random act of violence.
Rather abruptly, fingers are pulling away the board blocking him from the driver's seat, and dammit, he could've done that if he'd known it was a piece of damn plywood and also was not recovering from being threatened with a gun and kidnapped. He blinks, the bright lights from the passing cars on the road harsh on his eyes which have grown fairly accustomed to the darkness in the fifteen whole minutes he's spent in the back.
"You can come sit up here, if you want." The voice belongs to the same girl who threatened him with her gun. Twice. And then had the nerve to interrogate him.
"Who are y-"
"If you're going to ask questions, you can just stay back there," the voice snaps harshly.
So Austin shuts up. But then he talks again. Because, well. "Um, there aren't any other seats..." He trails off, wondering if he's missing something.
"Oh, where are my manners? Here." The girl promptly unbuckles and hoists herself onto the center console, gesturing for Austin to take a seat in the passenger seat.
"Watch your damn legs; I swear to god if I crash the car because of you I will not be held responsible this time!" The driver — also female, Austin notes with surprise — hisses.
"Cool it, Trish. I'm just trying to let our new friend here get settled in." Not wanting to be responsible for a crash and probably his own death, Austin awkwardly clambers over the headrest into the passenger seat. Hooded Girl promptly scoots off the console and onto his lap, pushing off her hood and fluffing her hair.
"Am I too heavy for you?" She giggles, and he can see her eyes now - dark brown and sparkling with mischief.
"No. No...not at all," he sputters out disbelievingly. Austin isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, and his vision isn't perfect, and he certainly isn't completely in his right mind at the moment but there's no way his eyes are playing tricks on him this time.
"God, Ally, you're sure this is for sure the one you want? You didn't want to wait and maybe we'd find someone, you know, not so scrawny and...blonde?" The driver — Austin has come to the conclusion that her name is Trish — wrinkles her nose as she glances at him.
"I think he's cute," Ally (it can't be that Ally, no, not that one, oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh) says, grinning at him. Yeah, that's definitely Sinatra playing over the speakers. "What's your name?"
"Austin Moon." The words barely come out as a whisper. And then, before he can stop himself, he blurts, "Are you Ally Dawson?"
The girl's lips curl upwards in a feral grin. "You can call me that."
Austin doesn't know what that means, exactly, and he doesn't ask; he just takes it as a resounding yes which makes his pulse throb and his head spin.
It's not like he didn't want adventure in life; he totally did. It's just that getting kidnapped wasn't exactly at the top of his bucket list. He's still not sure that it should be.
But now he's sitting in the passenger seat of a most likely stolen van going something like thirty miles over the speed limit on the freeway in the middle of the night with the living member of Florida's most notorious duo of thieves in his lap and Sinatra blaring over the speakers, and he has to admit, it doesn't suck.
end part one
i am literally so excited for this story. you guys don't even understand. please let me know what you think — it would make me a very happy little flower.