Not so broken-hearted (2D/STYLO) Chapter 2
(A/N: This took awhile, sorry. I wanted it to be longer, but I figured I should begin/end chapters in reasonable places. Remember, I love constructive criticism. Thanks )

2D woke from a restless sleep. It was dark when he woke to the jostling of the Stylo as it finished its nigh-seamless transformation from submarine to land-based automobile. He found himself in the backseat looking out at the dusky skyline of a coastal city as the shadowy auto rolled fluently onto the grainy beach, water rolling from its paneling and chassis.

As the beast came to a stop and quietly idled down, 2D clumsily climbed into the driver's seat and settled, taking a deep breath. His mind was still racing even though his conscious thoughts were dead silent. He mulled over the landscape visually, taking the wheel of the Stylo and driving mindlessly through the sleepy city. He was lucky to have stumbled upon a place that was just winding down for the night.

Everything seemed to just pass by. The world had become distant to him. People watched as he rolled past and heads turned; people who recognized the vehicle and its driver did massive double-takes and even tripped and fell on the sidewalk. 2D didn't care. He didn't notice. Somehow, everything was still so quiet. He kept driving eastward, remaining barely conscious, if only to obey traffic laws.

-
He didn't know when he pulled over, or when he even arrived in the desert. He didn't recall how, but he had wound up in front of the Stylo, curled up in the sand. He couldn't see the road very well from his position. The sun was just about to rise, and it was still cold, but 2D was still too numb to care. He shivered for a moment and curled up on his side. He didn't feel like getting up at all.

2D withdrew into his mind, thinking. He wanted to escape. He hated the sick bastard that had beaten him every day and forced him to sing, essentially turning the younger man into a prisoner. How old was he now? He wasn't even sure. He hadn't kept track of the days in a long time.

His wandering gaze snapped to the Stylo. He stared hard. The grille was still a little mussed, with a bullet hole. The driver's side headlight was still broken. The body of the camaro was still littered with scrapes and ballistics wounds and dents. The thought of such neglect made 2D cringe.

As much as the auto had done for him, and for Murdoc especially– carrying them away from danger in their times of distress, being a mode of transportation after the Geep had gone, sometimes even being a shelter for them when no other home was available.. the thought that Murdoc was so careless not to maintenance the vehicle made 2D angry for some reason. They had both been neglected and abused. Try as he might, thinking about it, angry or not, wasn't going to fix a thing.

As the sun rose and chill turned to warmth turned to heat, springtime breezes giving rise to little dust storms, he was brought slowly back to reality, eyes travelling the landscape. He could now see sparse grass littering the dusty ground, and a lizard scuttled by. The bright sun began to bother him. 2D hadn't realised he'd become so unaccustomed to such light.

Still feeling frustrated and distant, 2D made minimal effort to scoot over into the shadow of the Stylo, appreciative of its presence. Sprawling out on the ground, he laid his head in the sand and thought about all that had happened. Murdoc surely had died, and he considered the fact now without much remorse. The man didn't deserve much second thought these days.

As 2D finally began sorting out the past events in his mind, he decided to peel himself from the ground. Stretching, he opened the door of his new companion and took his jacket off, throwing it into the backseat and settling himself into the driver's seat. He fired up the engine and sat there for several minutes, still a bit lost as to what he was doing.

Laying his forehead against the steering wheel, he pondered what his next move should be. The scent of cigarette smoke stained the inside of the automobile, and the sharp smell made his stomach growl. 2D realised he hadn't eaten in almost a day and a half. Sitting up and pulling his door shut, he pulled toward where he could assume the road was, and sure enough, he found it.

Looking left and right, he saw a town in the distance to his right and decided to head that way, almost reluctantly driving onto the road and decidedly taking his time instead of speeding. The Stylo's gas hand was on almost empty, so he decided to play it safe. He was surprised he had anything left.
-

After looking around the place for a bit, he deduced that he was near the border of California and Arizona. Pulling into a service station– and just in time, as the old camaro ran out of fuel at the pump, he rummaged around. Digging in his pockets, he pulled out about four dollars in change he'd managed to find. In the glovebox, he lucked out. Looked like the old bassist had left one of his billfolds in there.

Pulling it out, 2D opened it and dumped the contents in the passenger seat. Out fell about twenty pounds and thirty US dollars. Looks like Muds still came to the US for booze. 'Looks like I was lucky this time,' he mused to himself, gathering all the money back into the billfold and sticking it into his back pocket except for twenty-four dollars.

Inside, the singer quickly retrieved a bag of potato chips and a cheap bottle of water. Waiting in line, the man in front of him gave him an off glance and the cashier paid no attention, more engrossed in getting money; likely to sustain her obnoxious gum chewing habits, 2D noted. As he got to the counter, he sat his things down including the money. "Twenty dollars on..." he turned and squinted hard at the worn sign at the pump by the Stylo. "...three."

The young blonde woman behind the counter, smacking away at her gum as she punched buttons here and there and violently ripped a receipt from her register commented absently in a southern drawl, obviously not from the area, "Sure is a nice car ya got there. Beat up. Is it one of them re-store projects?" She looked at him curiously.

Taking his change and food, 2D eyed her cautiously for a moment, unsure how to respond. 'Oh no, I got kidnapped in it and it was shot at about eleven times,' he mused in his head, instead choosing a better response. "Yeah. Jus- er, just got 'im." He muttered quietly. After all, the Stylo did need some repairs. Quite a few. But that would come in time.

Seemingly satisfied with this answer, the woman nodded. "Good luck!" She called as 2D hurriedly pushed his way out of the door, taking long strides over to his car. Opening the driver's side door, he tossed his chips and water into the passenger seat, shutting the door and rounding the back of the vehicle with the pump handle, fumbling with the keyring before finding the key to the Stylo's gas cap (which he was surprised still existed, much less locked).

Carefully watching the dusty price counter on the pump, he stopped when it read '20.00' and hung the spout back up. He made sure to completely close and lock the gas cap before getting in the Stylo and firing it back up. The hand on the meter read about 1/3 of the way full. This would get him a little bit further.

Pulling out of the parking lot, 2D headed out to take a look around town. A few signs informed him that he was in Ehrenberg, Arizona. It was a relatively small place, if the scarcity of people was any indication. 2D pondered for awhile. How was he going to get anywhere? He wasn't going to be able to get money from thin air. He noticed a few places with 'now hiring' signs, but who was going to accept some stranger with no plausible ID, no passport, an unbelieveable background, and much less who looked like he did?

With a great sigh, he turned onto one of the few and far roads through a residential area and noticed a yard sale with a large lot of things. Parking in front of it, he cautiously got out with his keys and billfold in his pocket and brought his potato chips, munching as he went.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed something that made him do a double take. Sitting in front of him, between a large chifforobe and a bin of clothing, was a small but good-looking Casio keyboard. At a glance, 2D could tell it was a 44-Key SA-76. A miniature, but 2D swore by Casio.

Looking underneath the stand it sat on, he noted that it was plugged into a drop cord. Switching the instrument on, he easily began rolling out snippets of melodies from a few familiar songs. As he finished playing the melody of "Stylo", the owner of the items for sale came out of the open garage door of the house.
"I see you're interested. You play real good, son."

2D nodded at the old man. He was stocky but not portly. Well dressed in simple khaki shorts and a polo shirt, his dark grey hair showed his age more than his face did, which was currently holding a polite smile. "Yessir. How much for the keyboard?" He quietly questioned. As he figured it, although maybe a long shot, 2D could perform for money to get himself on his feet.

The man eyed the ragged looking boy up and down. "Tell you what, I haven't seen anyone all week for this. How about I give her to ya. My son who used to play left for the military last year and I don't need the thing." This caused 2D to wobble a little. He knew that was practically a steal. However, he didn't want to miss the opportunity.

Shaking the man's hand profusely, he thanked him about five times, to which the man simply replied that it was no problem; just enjoy the thing. Taking up the keyboard and cord with it, he got into the Stylo, waving at the man. He checked the keyboard for batteries and sure enough, it had fresh looking ones in it. "Probably hasn't been used in ages.." he muttered to himself before setting it in the backseat and taking off. It got to be sunset before 2D settled in an abandoned parking lot and locked the doors of his Camaro, relaxing and quickly falling asleep.
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(A/N: I'm trying to work on these back to back, so bear with me if it takes awhile to get the next one up. I get writer's block too! Hope you enjoyed this chapter.)