Nicholas stayed behind in Philadelphia with Sophie but, with a little coaxing, the boys managed to convince Scatty to join their group. "Only because you need all the help you can get," she said, poking Billy in the back of the head. She settled in next to Machiavelli, who was wishing for the first time in his life that he'd been created a shorter man.

Perenelle looked back at them from her coveted place in the passenger seat. "Are you sure you're comfortable back there, Niccolo?"

"Don't worry about me," Machiavelli assured her, trying to smile a bit. "Really," he added, because she was looking unconvinced. "My only problem is this one bag," he said, shifting the suitcase they hadn't managed to fit in the trunk. He pushed it more into the middle of the floor of the backseat. "Is that okay, Scatty?"

"Yeah, it's fine," she agreed idly. "Are we ready to go, kid?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. I was just checking our route. Here, can you keep watch for me, later on? I think I'll be fine, but you never know." He passed his phone back to Perenelle and took the brake off.

"Let me know when you want me to start giving you directions," Perenelle told him. He nodded. In the backseat, Scatty leaned against Machiavelli, who put his arm around her. Leaning his head against hers, he suggested under his breath that she might try to get some more sleep- it was still early morning.

Billy was the only one who seemed at all awake. The others watched sleepily as the scenery changed from city scape to suburbs to countryside, but Billy beat out a rhythm on the steering wheel and sang Broadway hits, unblushingly knowledgeable about several musicals, it would seem. He tried to get the others to join in, but they all declined in varying degrees of politeness.

It took much of the day to get to Indiana. Even Billy was quiet by the time they'd rolled over the border of the state; in fact, he grew more pensive by the hour and Machiavelli had a feeling that despite what he'd said before about being certain his mother wasn't in Indiana, the American immortal was truly and deeply hoping to find her this time.

Tired from the hours on the road, they decided not to start their search that night, but instead checked in to the only place with vacancies that they could find- a cheap motel on the edge of town, where sparse trees grew to the east and neon lights blinked to the west. There they had a quick and hasty meal in the girls' room before splitting into their individual groups. It was still past midnight by the time Machiavelli and Billy got into their room.

"I guess you get what you pay for," Billy said, moments after the Italian flicked on the light to their room. Their room was exactly the same as the one Scatty and Perenelle were staying in, except that it seemed slightly smaller, which was really saying something.

"It's… homey," Machiavelli said drily, putting his bag down on the ground. Shutting the door behind them, he surveyed the room they'd just paid for. The more he looked at it, the more dreadful it seemed. It was absolutely tiny- basically a square room with a full size bed on one side and a couch with an end table on the other. At the back, they could see the bathroom which Machiavelli sincerely hoped had hot water.

"Good thing we're close," Billy commented, moving over to the mattress. "This has got to be the smallest bed that they could have put in here, beyond putting a twin in here."

Machiavelli bent down over his suitcase, not wanting the Kid to see on his face that he wasn't disappointed. He relished the situations where he was forced into close proximity with the American immortal. Even now that things were going so poorly, he knew he was going to enjoy the next few days of close contact. "I'm going to close the blinds," he commented instead, turning away and closing them off from the outside world. He turned around to find Billy changing. "Ah, sorry. You were awfully quiet."

"S'okay. I just want to get in bed." The Kid tossed his shirt over into the corner and shimmied out of his jeans. Stepping out of them, he pushed them aside indifferently; Machiavelli heard the rattle of coins and the heavy thud of Billy's wallet, but his attention was really on the Kid's physique. Shaking his head, Machiavelli forced himself to think of Billy in terms of a whole person. He's just a friend. A friend that looks incredibly tired. "Long trip, huh, Mac?" Billy said, breaking into his thoughts.

"Si. You must be the most tired, having done all the driving… I'll be right out. I'm just going to change," he said vaguely, moving past the other man and into their little bathroom. He got undressed as quickly as he could, motivated to be fast by his own exhaustion; tonight, he forewent brushing his teeth.

In the other room, he found Billy already in bed, setting an alarm on his phone. "It's cold, isn't it?" the outlaw commented, shivering slightly.

"Is there an extra blanket?"

"Nah, I looked. Are you going to be cold? You can wear one of my sweatshirts."

"This shirt's pretty warm. But yeah, if I get cold, I'll track one down." Machiavelli eased himself onto the bed on his side. "Hi," he laughed, finding himself nose to nose with the American. "Fancy meeting you here."

Billy giggled. "We're probably lucky this bed's so fricking small. We're going to need to share body heat to live through the night."

"I think the long trip is getting to us," Machiavelli whispered. "We're pretty giddy for two grown men."

"I'm always giddy," Billy said immediately, a small smile curving his lips. As he said it though, the smile faded slightly.

"Thinking about your mother?" the Italian immortal asked, throwing his arm under his head to prop himself up a bit more.

"Uhm, yeah. I'd like her to be here, but I have a feeling that she's not… We only stayed here a little bit. So really, I'm wasting Perenelle's time. Yours too, you know."

"It's hardly a waste of my time. I'd do anything to help you. Anyways, we have to check. What if we assumed she wasn't here and never found her?"

"Perenelle says that ghosts pick places that were meaningful to them in life… I hope she's not in New York- can you picture searching there? The buildings are all different and there's tons of people, we'd never be able to find her. Plus, Perry was telling me that larger cities have higher populations of ghosts, which makes sense but…"

Niccolo thought Billy was getting a bit caught up in his fears. "William…"

"I'm rambling?"

"A bit… Let's not borrow troubles. We haven't even looked here yet."

"Okay…"

Machiavelli looked over at him. He could barely see the American immortal in the inky darkness, but he cast around for a different topic, wanting to allay some of the Kid's fears, if only temporarily. "Did this place always look like this?"

"I've never been in this motel before," Billy said sleepily.

The tactician shook his head. "Oh, no, I meant Indiana."

"I don't really remember," he slurred. "This is where I lived when I was a toddler. And there's stores everywhere nowadays… those weren't there back when I was here. Changes the landscape a bit…" He rotated his neck and squirmed a little. "My back's out of whack from all this driving," he mumbled.

"I can help you with that," Machiavelli said, rolling back onto his side. "My wife used to have back problems," he explained. "Probably from carrying a baby around for ten years- we always had a toddler, it seemed. Lie on your stomach."

Switching the light back on, he rubbed his hands together to warm them up. "Where does it hurt?" He began working on the spot Billy indicated, using his thumbs to lightly put pressure on his sore muscles. "How's that?"

"S'good," Billy whispered, turning his face to the side. He was rigid though; Machiavelli thought he must have really been sore. "Could you- could you do lower? It's right around here that it really hurts," he indicated, rubbing his lower vertebrae.

"Sure- sure," Machiavelli agreed reluctantly. He wondered why Billy was continuing to torture him; the spot he'd indicated was barely above the outlaw's ass. "Does it feel like your back is out of alignment?"

Billy rolled his shoulders around experimentally. "Maybe?"

"Okay, well we can't do anything about that up here. Get on the floor."

The Kid lifted his head. "Scusi?"

"Get on the floor. I need a hard surface."

"Oh. Okay, I guess. If you're sure…" He laid facedown. "This floor's very cold, you know," he mumbled.

"I'll be quick," Machiavelli promised. "What I need is for you to breathe in slowly and then breathe out the same way. I'm going to push down when you breathe out." He thought he'd prepared Billy pretty well for what was going to happen but the Kid let out a squeak of surprise nonetheless when Machiavelli cracked his back. "Did it hurt?" Machiavelli asked, afraid for a minute that the years of not practicing had caught up to him.

"No, but did you hear that noise? Oh god, Mac…"

"Well, let's keep going," Niccolo said hastily. He moved down the Kid's spinal column, patting Billy on the shoulder when he was done. "Think you can sleep now?"

The outlaw got to his feet, flexing his back. "Yeah… Thanks, Mac."

"Sure, don't mention it." Machiavelli clambered back into bed, crawling onto his side of the bed and flopping down. He felt the bed shift as Billy jumped in beside, exuberantly settling in for the night. Switching off the light again, he felt his eyes itch with tiredness; he was asleep before he knew it.

Outside, the wind swirled, bringing a fresh layer of snow down upon them. Billy's Thunderbird was now buried under inches of precipitation, more coming down as they slept. Despite being much more tired than any of the others, Billy was restless, unable to sleep. Sun was already peeking into the room when he finally slipped into unconsciousness.

~MB~

"Mm," Machiavelli sighed, stretching his legs. He brushed against something and frowned. Something was wrong. He coughed, turned over, and wrapped his arm around Billy. Maybe it's just because I'm so cold… wait- what- Billy?

Opening his eyes, he found himself nose to nose with the outlaw, Billy's stale morning breath blowing into his face at regular intervals. He jolted, just barely containing a shout of surprise.

He had to think- should he wake up Billy or let him sleep? Technically, he'd rolled over into the outlaw's space, but now it was getting harder to think… especially with Billy hooking his leg around his. He had to do it- he poked the American immortal.

Billy snuffled and burrowed deeper, resting his forehead on the Italian's chest.

"Billy," he whispered. "William!"

"Whatsamatter?" Billy asked groggily. He lifted his head, blinked at finding himself in such close contact with Niccolo, and let out the yell that the Italian had stifled. Machiavelli shushed him immediately, looking over instinctively at the wall in between their room and the female immortals.

"What's happening?" Billy asked wildly, trying to sit up, getting tangled in the blankets, and flopping down again on his back, like some deranged killer whale.

"I think… we were cold?" Machiavelli suggested dubiously, scrunching down in the bed. "Why is it so fucking cold in here?"

The Kid rubbed his nose. "It's like there's no heat. Do you think the heat went out last night?" He coughed into his elbow. "I'm going to get a pullover- you want one? What time is it?" he mumbled distractedly. "Oh, it's definitely still time to be asleep." He threw his blue sweatshirt over to the Italian immortal, grabbing his other sweater and pulling it on.

Machiavelli watched him walking around the room, surreptitiously checking him out. "What time is it?"

"Five. What even woke you up?"

Niccolo bemusedly pulled the sweatshirt on. Semi-asleep, he didn't have the time or energy to pussyfoot around the subject. "Are we really going to pretend it wasn't that boner you were grinding into my hip?"

The Kid flushed. "You know I get wood in the morning."

"Why the devil would I know that?"

"Oh, well, we've shared a bed for months now. I thought you noticed everything."

"Maybe I don't notice because I normally have more room to outrun you," Machiavelli remarked drily. He yanked the blankets into shape, shaking them so that they floated up and landed in relatively better order than they had been in.

"I assure you, it's not a personal vendetta." Billy laid back down. "Maybe it got frozen in the on position?"

"Why was it in the on position at all?"

"I'm going to plead the fifth on that one," Billy sighed, burying himself in blankets once more.

When they woke up three hours later, Billy had wrapped his arms around Machiavelli's torso again. Instead of waking him up, Niccolo slipped out of his grasp as gently as he could and began to dress in the chilly early dusk.

The Kid stirred fifteen minutes later, yanking all the blankets off the bed and wrapping them around him. He sat in the middle of the mattress, looking around dolefully. Hearing a knock at their door, Machiavelli left him there, crossing the room to open the door. "Good morning, ladies," he said pleasantly, letting them in.

"Mon dieu, why is it so frigid in here?" Perenelle said immediately upon crossing the threshold.

Billy peeped out of his mound of blankets. "It isn't this cold in your room?"

"Non."

"That's it, we have to complain, Mac!" Billy swore vehemently, flopping dramatically to the side. He overestimated how much bed he had left and, flailing, began to fall off the end. Machiavelli pushed him backwards, back onto the bed, before turning to the two women. "Where are we going to start today?"

"I thought we might look up some maps at the library. The town's historical society is housed in the same building; I saw it last night as we were coming in," Perenelle said cogently. "We only have a general sense of where Billy lived after all… he was only a child when he lived here…"

"Do you really think we're going to find out anything?" he called from his place on the bed, already sounding defeated. "This is beginning to sound impossible…"

"Nonsense," she negated crisply. "I just need a place to start. Get dressed. We're going to get lunch first and then we'll start." The two female immortals got up again. Scatty grabbed Billy's keys off of the coffee table and they were gone.

"I really think it'll turn out alright in the end," Machiavelli told Billy, helping to pull him to his feet. "Want me to wait outside while you change?"

"Nah. Nah, I don't mind you here," the Kid told him. Letting go of the blankets, he let them fall around him, pooling at his feet. "It's so cold in here." Grabbing a pair of jeans from his suitcase, he jumped into them, two feet at once. Doing them up, he wandered around the room, threading his belt through the loops. Machiavelli tossed him a Henley which the American immortal put on over the sweatshirt he'd worn to bed. "Okay… I'm ready."

Machiavelli handed him his bomber jacket before putting on his overcoat. They couldn't have looked more different today, he reflected, following Billy out of their room and down the metal stairs, which squealed unnervingly under their weight.

Scatty must have been thinking the same thing because as she began to make her way into the back of the car, she looked at them thoughtfully and laughed a bit. Machiavelli didn't mind. Squeezing in beside her, he gave her a lopsided grin.

Hours later, he hardly felt like grinning at all. They'd spent hours in the town's tiny little library, poring over old land records; occasionally, one of them would find something which seemed to pertain to the Kid's situation, but so far, they had come up blank- those sparse leads never panned out.

Machiavelli was just about to give up when he turned another page in an old, bound together album of newspapers from the 19th century and caught a title which made him stop. 'Local toddler found safe after blizzard,' the article read and, with a leap in his heart, he read the first sentence- 'Katherine McCarthy was overjoyed to find her son, William Henry, 3, after he wandered off of their homestead, thirty miles from the quickly developing town of Indianapolis…'. He felt a jolt of excitement. "Caro."

"Mac?" The Kid looked up. "Did you find something?"

Unable to vocalize his excitement, Machiavelli tapped the article with his well-manicured finger. Curious, Billy leaned in. He looked sharply at the Italian, who nodded. Billy pulled the book towards him. "The boy was checked out at City Hospital before being released to the loving care of his mother. Mac, that's me!"

Machiavelli beamed at him. Now, even if they did not find Billy's mother, they couldn't say this trip was a waste. Watching Billy read the tiny little article, he felt overwhelmingly fond of the outlaw; the article clearly meant everything to him.

Perenelle peered over Machiavelli's shoulder too. "That's great, Billy cher. This means though," she said, looking over at the Italian who dipped his head in agreement, "that we're a town over from where we should be."

They would have liked to do more, but the sun was going down and around them, the staff was preparing to close the library for the day. Seeing an older woman approaching their little table with a stern look on her face, they began to gather their stuff. Billy made a photocopy of the article Machiavelli had found and very reluctantly followed them out.

Back at the hotel, the boys were moved down a room after negotiating with the disinterested motel manager for several minutes. Flipping on the television, Machiavelli was glad that they were at least going to be warm tonight.