I should probably wait until it isn't 1am to do proofing, but it was too cute to not post. Enjoy!

Be Wary of Hitchhikers

"Hands in the air where I can see 'em."

Allen had quit being surprised, like, twenty minutes ago. And, trying not to look too bored, did as directed by the gun-toting clowns.

Had he just said 'gun-toting clowns'? Yes, he had.

Allen, standing outside the black sedan with Kanda, could feel the Japanese man's killing aura. It should be noted that the killing thoughts weren't directed at their highway robbers. Well, it was, but a good portion of it was reserved for Allen and Allen alone.

This time, grudgingly and only internally, the white-haired man could admit that certain actions he'd taken in the last hour could be construed as possibly having contributed to the events. Could be. Maybe.

No, scratch that. This was definitely his fault.

Not that he would ever admit it to Kanda.

It all started when they'd reached Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Thanks to Kanda's daredevil-break-every-speed-limit-posted driving skills, they made the five hour drive from Albany to Harrisburg in four.

Needless to say, by the time they got there, Timcampy had been crossing his legs for over an hour and Allen was so hungry he was about to start chowing down on the leather upholstery.

Not to mention that Kanda had completely bypassed Hershey, Pennsylvania.

It was where they made chocolates, for Pete's sake. Who didn't want to stop for that?

Bakanda, that's who.

Anyway, that was how the two adults and one golden retriever found themselves in a Sonic not far off the interstate in Harrisburg.

It was nice, a bit busy at 5 in the afternoon, but Kanda had (once again) managed to defy the rules of the road and snagged a parking spot upfront. Which was convenient, because Allen could walk Tim in the small patch of grass while Kanda got their orders. Well, actually, got his order, because Allen's was too much to carry, so the white adult ended up going back after securing Tim around their outdoor table.

The three of them were in a line of tables in the grassy area beside the interstate, Allen having already scarfed down five and a half hamburgers, when he finally looked up from his food.

Up until that point, the man had been so intent on his food that he'd ignored Kanda's complaints about his eating habits and the watchful eyes of everyone around them. But now that he had enough calories to function, he was able to get a good look at the natives.

There were some teen and adult (and some middle-aged) women that were openly ogling Kanda as he managed to eat his hamburger delicately. Which, compared to everyone (and especially Allen), was rather remarkable – Kanda was taking bites like he was barely savoring the flavor, too intent on the feeling of the wind in his long pony tail and graceful neck, dark stormy eyes gazing off into the distance. Posture straight, fitted jacket emphasizing those muscled forearms that could terrorize babies and bend metal.

…Or so Allen figured.

No, Allen wasn't look at the openly-staring women (and a few men) at the Harrisburg Sonic off the I-81. Nor was it the few people waving at Timcampy, sitting at Allen's side while the white-haired fed him random bits of burger and fries. Or the rare few natives that were staring at Allen's red scar, red arm tattoos, and pony-tailed white hair.

No, it was the clowns.

At first, Allen thought he'd just gone too long without eating. Like, hallucinating because of low blood sugar, or something. Which was totally a thing.

"What the hell?" Kanda wondered, echoing the same thoughts rattling through Allen's brain.

The younger man's grey eyes took in the various groups of maybe-hallucinated clowns. Sometimes he spotted just one or two, other times, clowns moving in a pack of ten or more. A group of nine waited at a cross-walk down the street. Two were in line at the sonic. Five packed into a clown-car in the drive-thru. One group of several walked down the sidewalks, laughing like all clowns did.

Some of them were big, some small, some fat, some thin. Some dressed in lime-green suits and others cherry-red.

No one else seemed to be openly-staring, making Allen wonder if it was just a Harrisburg thing. Maybe there was a large population of clowns that lived there. Or people liked to dress up on… days that weren't Halloween.

"Aren't you so cute?"

Allen's attention shifted from a particularly rotund clown in a red suit and balding head to the sweet female voice at his left.

A woman in jeans and a cotton blouse was making baby-faces at Timcampy. The dog, enjoying the attention, began wagging his tail so hard he created his own wind, panting happily for the friendly stranger.

"Is he yours?" the thirty-something asked, blue eyes meeting Allen's in a smile.

"Yeah," The adult smiled back. "His name's Timcampy. You can pet him if you want."

The woman did so, with vigor, ruffling Tim's ears and long fur. The dog was at first a little hesitant to abandon the food source (on other words, Allen), but his short attention span won out, getting up from his seated position to approach the nice woman.

"Are you folks here for the Clown Convention?" She asked off-hand.

Um, what? "Clown Convention?" Allen said, curious.

As one of the few women in the area who were more interested in the dog than either of the hot young men, she didn't take her eyes from Tim's brown ones. "Oh yes," she continued in the baby voice for the dog. "The Annual Clown Convention down at the hotel. It's their 37th, I think."

Allen was struck by two things she'd said: one, that there was an annual clown convention, and two, that she thought he and Kanda were part of it.

"What's that?" The white-haired Brit asked in spite of himself.

"It's a convention that lasts a few days. I think the clowns learn from teachers on techniques and things for their acts." Then, producing some fries from her Sonic bag, she gave Allen a questioning glance. "May I?"

"Sure," He smiled.

"What makes you think we're here for that," Kanda spoke for the first time, sounding not-at-all pleased by this idea.

Tim practically swallowed the woman's proffered fries whole. No chewing seen. The woman, amused, finally looked at the Japanese hottie. "Oh, not you, the dog. He's just so fwendly," she added to Tim in a baby voice.

A Clown Convention. That was… actually kind of cool. Back when Allen had traveled with Mana, there had been no Clown conventions. It was pretty much every laugher for themselves in those days. It sounded… well, exciting.

Would Mana have gone to one? Allen would like to think he would have. Maybe not every year, but it sounded too cool not to check out at least once.

The native woman, apparently having had her fill of doggie time, gave Tim one last fry. "He's a great dog. Thank you!" she smiled, waving at the dog before departing in her SUV.

"You going to eat those?" A gruff voice asked.

Allen didn't realize he'd still been staring at the empty parking space until Kanda spoke. For some reason, he'd been thinking about that large clown from before. He looked so much like…

"Sure," The young adult turned back to the food, scarfing up the rest of his burgers.

Kanda, apparently having noticed Allen's pensive mood, didn't bother him for the rest of the meal.

Fifteen minutes later, everyone's hunger was sated, Timcampy was ready for a nap after his impromptu play-time, and Kanda was antsy to hit the road. The latter said something about pulling another four hours to make it to their hotel in Petersburg, VA (really, the drive was more like five hours, but with the way Kanda drove, Allen had no doubt they would make it).

"Why don't I drive," Allen tried, putting Tim back into the back of the sleek vehicle.

"No," Kanda snapped, bypassing Allen with hardly a glance.

"Consider it paying you back for the trip. You could probably use a break."

"I'm not trusting you with my car, Moyashi." The Japanese man punctuated the statement by closing the driver door.

Well then.

"I'll let you navigate," Allen said, opening the door so Kanda could hear him.

Was he trying too hard? Yes. Did he want to get to the hotel alive tonight? Also a yes.

"I'm already doing that," Kanda snapped.

Allen met his sapphire eyes. "Come on, Bakanda. I'll go wherever you tell me. And I've been driving for, like, eight years already. Without any accidents."

Kanda scoffed. "You've only had your license for five."

"Cross had unusual guardianship methods," Allen said bitterly, trying to hide his shiver at the memories.

"Just shut up and get in the car," Kanda, drive to get back on the road winning over interest in the conversation, snatched the door away and slammed it in Allen's face.

Like the mature adult he was, Allen stuck his tongue out at the door. Kanda, in turn, flipped him off through the tinted window.

Whatever. Allen could always say 'I told you so' when they were standing on the side of the road, looking at his mangled vehicle.

The black sedan pulled back on the interstate within minutes. Seven minutes after that, they'd crossed Susquehanna River and were almost past the Harrisburg City limits.

That was when they saw the hitchhikers.

Allen knew the perils of stopping for hitchhikers. Knew from various news agencies and true-crime stories that it was never a good idea. Despite Cross' issues, Allen's former Guardian had never once picked up a freeloader on a trip (true that was because Cross was a cheap bum, not thanks to any divine wisdom, but whatever).

Yet, the whole time they'd been driving after leaving that Sonic, in the quiet that filled the airspace around Kanda, Allen's brain had been occupied with memories of times in the circus. Brought on by the clowns and the convention and… well, as always, it came back to Mana.

And that came back to the clowns stranded on the side of the road. Besides, they weren't technically hitchhikers, just people needed to bum a ride because their car had broken down. Or so it looked to Allen.

"Kanda, go back."

"We are not getting you more burgers to eat in my car," He growled dangerously.

"Not that, Bakanda, the clowns."

"What about the fucking clowns," he said, less a question and more of a demand.

"The hitchhikers back there."

Apparently knowing where Allen was going with this, Kanda snapped, "Hell no."

Allen glared at the chiseled face to his left. "If it were Tiedoll stranded on the side of the road, would you want someone to give him a lift?" The adult said, trying to reason with Kanda's inner familial loyalties.

"Hell no," he answered without hesitation.

While he hadn't even bothered to take his eyes off the road, Allen didn't miss that small glimmer of satisfaction in Kanda's eyes. Apparently having found his inner sadist and enjoying it.

The pale Brit palmed his face in desperation. Lenalee always got Kanda to do shit. Why couldn't he? Kanda's currency wasn't food. It wasn't cute dogs. So… what?

Could it be S and M? Because that man certainly had a sadistic streak.

Still… Masochism was a little…

"But," Kanda spoke, snapping Allen from his dwindling train of thought, "If it were Mana, I would stop."

…

…

Wait, what?

Allen watched, dumbfounded, as Kanda took the nearest exit. Going beneath the underpass, he turned going Northeast on the 81. Apparently having marked the exit numbers, they traveled two miles before switching and going Southbound.

They had just started pulling back up on the clowns when Allen regained his ability to speak.

"But… you didn't know Mana."

Kanda tched, putting the emergency blinkers on for the sedan as they slowed to a stop twenty feet back. Sapphire eyes met Allen's over the console, pulled down in the Japanese man's usual frown. "Of course not. In return for this little detour, you're providing gas money for the whole trip."

Allen went from touched to offended in the time Tim could chomp down french-fries. "What? Kanda, this is human decency. You're not charging me for that!"

"It was your idea, Moyashi," the darker man growled, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Agree to it our I'm pulling back into traffic."

For the third time that day, Allen wished his bike had never broken down.

Swallowing the insults, he spat out, "Fine." Then, the pale adult jumped from the car and went to go talk with the three clowns.

Two of the clowns – a large one in a red suit and a shorter one in a lime one – had the hood of their burgundy sedan open, the older with his thumb out for a lift while the shorter leaned over the hood. The third was sitting behind the wheel of the car, apparently trying to get it to start.

Allen, being the friendly adult he was, braved the highway winds, ivory strands slapping his cheeks, to introduce himself.

And, as one would guess, it was shortly after introductions had been made that the red tubby clown – Bert – pulled a gun.

"Hands in the air where I can see 'em."

Allen, trying not to sigh, did as the grey-haired, balding clown suggested, removing his mismatched hands from his pockets, lifting them to his shoulders.

Oliver was the shorter clown at the hood of the car. Wearing lime-green suit, he was just as make-up covered as his compatriot, both of their features nearly unrecognizable for those not used to looking at clown make-up (Since Allen was, he wasn't too concerned, knowing he could give an accurate description to the police when this was over). Oliver, knowing one of the drivers was apprehended, strolled over to the sedan.

Allen's back was to the car, so he had no real way of warning Kanda what was up. Which was… unfortunate, to say the least.

Most people would have expected some road-side assistance when being robbed at gun-point, but Bert and Oliver were evidently practiced at this: The older grey-haired kept the gun close to his body so it wasn't easily visible from the roadside. Since cars were whizzing past them at seventy miles and hour, chances were slim to none people would see anything besides some travelers helping the others with car trouble.

Moments later, Bert had backed Allen up to the black sedan, the handle of the door digging into his lower back. Kanda, having been removed from his prized vehicle at gun-point, was already standing there, back against the adjacent door.

Kanda looked even more annoyed than usual, glaring daggers at Allen's skull. The young adult was far too concerned with his valuable snacks to worry, even if he could grudgingly admit this was his fault. And Kanda definitely had a reason to be mad.

But still. They were in this together, weren't they? No reason to start playing the blame-game now.

Once the two travelers were safely lined up beside their vehicle, the third, medium-sized clown dressed in royal-blue pants and a white shirt with suspenders, popped the trunk of Kanda's car. The third man used the keys Kanda held to do so – neither of the clowns dared to get into the cab with Timcampy, who was barking like hell itself were descending on Earth. Something that, despite the circumstances, made Allen a little proud.

The two waited there, Bert and Oliver holding guns on them, while number three started recounting the plethora of items he found in the trunk. In addition to the wallets pilfered from the two travelers, the highway robbers unearthed Allen's clothing duffle, his emergency snacks (for him and the dog), and Kanda's clothing.

"Oh, what's this?" the blue-looking clown asked in a high-pitched voice.

He'd just deposited their items on the grassy embankment and moved to the shotgun window. Just visible inside, catching the setting sunlight, was the hilt of a sword.

What was a sword doing in the shotgun seat? Well, Kanda had refused to put it in the trunk, forcing Allen to keep it as a shared passenger the whole way down. Ridiculous, yes, but strangely not that uncomfortable (It was better than sitting in the back with Tim, which Kanda had wanted to begin with, so he didn't have room to complain).

Allen, standing beside Kanda, felt the Japanese man go from pissed to murderous.

Someone was going to die. And for once, it wasn't going to be him.

"Leave it, George," Bert commanded in a grunt, obviously getting tired of standing in the sunlight wearing the puffy clown outfit. "We got their cash. Let's go."

"A sword! My boy's been wantin' one for ages…"

"I don't want to deal with no dog," Bert whined. "Leave it."

"It's a golden retriever. What's it going to do, nuzzle me to death? Please."

Ah, Tim. Forever underestimated.

When the blue clown, George, tried to get into the shotgun seat, the door was locked. Forcing him to go around to the driver's side of the vehicle to get the weapon.

And that was when things got out of hand.

While the clown was reaching across the driver's seat and console for the sword, Timcampy lunged to the front seat, teeth bared, letting out a bark so deep and vicious it even startled Allen. Not to mention the two clowns pointing guns in their faces.

Allen went for Bert, using the distraction to his advantage. The clown hadn't even been seriously gripping the weapon anyway, making it easy to dislodge it from the man's hand. Grabbing the gun-toting wrist, Allen brought the elbow down against his knee, practically cracking the bone. A hit with is palm beneath the clown's ribs and a second to his face left Bert lying on the ground, moaning.

By the time the white-haired adult looked away from the red clown, Kanda had Oliver similarly dispatched, smirking down at the disarmed clown who looked in even more pain than Bert. Allen didn't feel any sympathy for the man, but he did wince at the physical embodiment of Kanda's rage.

Allen turned around to look for George, expecting another attack, only…

"Where's the car?"

Kanda's head whipped around so fast Allen almost got smacked with his pony-tail. "Fucking…"

"AAAARGH!" A scream came from the left.

Both adults turned just in time to see the front bumper of Kanda's car disappear over the shoulder of the road. A clown trapped in the front seat and a barking dog in the back.

Allen, without thinking, charged down the steep grassy hill, calling his dog's name. Kanda, concerned for an entirely different reason, gave chase as well, sneakers kicking up the soft dirt and dust into the highway winds.

By the time they got to the bottom of the forty-five degree embankment, the sedan's eleven-mile-an-hour roll down hill had been stopped by a large tree, the car's nose pointed towards the top of the roadway. Kanda went for the passenger side of the car to apprehend the would-be sword thief, while Allen ran to the back for his loyal companion.

Timcampy leapt from the car, tail wagging upon seeing Allen.

Perfect - the dog was alive. Not that he'd expected anything else, but... Tim was in one piece. He wasn't bleeding, he wasn't whining. If anything, he was too enthusiastic, tail wagging so hard Allen was pretty sure his thigh would be bruised as the dog ran in an excited circle around his master.

Not that Allen cared. The clown robbers were apprehended and his dog was safe. Everything was good.

"Moyashi," Kanda snapped from the other side of the car. Allen, busy nuzzling Tim's face, met the glaring sapphire eyes over the top of the car. "Get the rope from the trunk."

"Why do you have rope in the trunk?" Allen asked.

"Just get it."

Giving his dog one last nuzzle to the forehead, the young adult did as requested, fighting through the knee-high grass and bushes to the back of the sedan.

All thoughts of rope flew from his brain.

Kanda was going to kill him.

The car hadn't stopped because it'd reached the bottom of the embankment. No, it'd stopped thanks to the boulder-sized tree planted at the edge of the shrubs. A fat three that had been there god knew how long, placed by some divine creatures centuries ago just to dent Kanda's car and screw with Allen's life.

"What's the fucking hold-up?" The Japanese man snapped.

"Um, nothing," Allen assured, in what he hoped was a normal tone of voice.

The longer he could keep Kanda in the dark, the longer he'd get to live.

The black sedan's trunk, rim, and bumper were pressed in almost seven inches, creating an even crescent shape that would be admirable on anything else but Kanda's vehicle. Dented bad enough that Allen was pretty sure the trunk latch was ruined.

Thankfully the trunk opened, sparing the pain any crow-bar damage on top of everything else. Allen found the rope and tossed it over the hood to Kanda, avoiding the man's gaze as he did so. Kanda didn't notice, too enthused at the idea of hog-tying a clown.

Allen did his best to close the trunk. The thing would snap down, thank god, but it didn't want to stay there.

"Go get the others," Kanda said, busy trussing up their thief.

Ah, good. A reason to leave.

Clipping a leash on Timcanpy, Allen practically sprinted away, feet sliding on the steep grassy embankment. He almost stumbled a few times in the soft Eastern dirt.

Wind grabbed at his clothes when they reached the roadside. Allen, enjoying what would probably be his last few borderline-peaceful moments on a trip that had been doomed from the start, took in the traffic passing at seventy miles an hour. Noticed the clear sky and the setting sun at his back.

So caught up in the view that it took a few moments to realize what was missing.

Their duffel bags of clothes. The robbing clowns. The clown car. They were all gone.

The clowns had made their escape. With their stuff.

What the hell.

Allen might as well just step into moving traffic right now. At least then Tim wouldn't have to watch him get impaled by Mugen.

Tim, oblivious to their imminent demise, continued wagging his tail as he enjoyed sniffing the ground for rodents. Happy to be alive.

Allen wasn't even paying attention. Because Kanda had just joined them on the roadside.

Sapphire eyes took in the empty scene. Processing the facts.

Kanda looked Allen right in the eyes. The latter trying to keep a stoic face in hopes it would make him less of a target.

"Forget gas money. You're fucking dead," he declared, gripping an unsheathed Mugen in his large hand.

"Tim, sick 'em!" Allen tried in a last-ditch effort at life.

Timcampy, instead of going into the attack-mode he'd used on the clowns, simply wandered over to Kanda with his tail wagging.

Thanks Tim.

Looking at the smirking glimmer in Kanda's eyes, Allen couldn't help thinking that maybe Cross had the right idea - being a good Samaritan was seriously overrated.

Florida Keys: 17 hours

Ok, you guys probably think I'm blowing smoke out my ass with this one, but there is really an Annual Clown Convention held in Harrisburg, PA (and yes, this year is their 37th). I stumbled across it when I was trying to find a wrench to throw into the trip. The parallel was just too coincidental to not feature in the story, so I came up with this chap. Originally, there was supposed to be some backstory on Allen and Kanda's relationship so far, but... this was already long enough.

Sometimes I write funny stuff and it reads like I had too many margaritas with dinner. So, please let me know what you guys think.

P.S. I know as much about fighting as I do dimensions for the moon. If you see any errors, feel free to tell me.