The Runaways

11:00 PM, Friday, December 31st, 1999

0.75 miles outside of Leavenworth, Washington

Evan Samuels drove his truck up the mountain. His breath was shaky, and he remained focused on the road ahead despite the fact that his brain was processing 2,000 thoughts per second.

He was dressed rather slovenly: torn jeans, one gray sock, one blue sock, five-year-old tennis shoes that were showing their age, a camo t-shirt, a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off, a beige double-breasted coat, and titanium tunnels stretching his earlobes to a centimeter.

His hands kept moving from the steering wheel to adjust his glasses, or change the radio, or brush his pink hair. He had no idea where he was going, but he didn’t care. He just needed to keep driving until he found a good place to stay for the night. But, of course, that might have to be the truck: it was snowing, it was eleven, and this was the middle of nowhere.

Suddenly, the truck started sputtering.

“No. Please not now.”

Luckily, there was a diner with a parking lot to pull into. The restaurant looked sketchy, though.

No way in hell in I’m going in there.

He steered into the parking, put on his gloves, got out of his truck, and fetched the toolbox out of the flatbed.

Popping open the hood, he set the toolbox down on the bumper and put his hands on his hips as he surveyed all the gizmos inside the truck.

“Oh, who am I kidding?” he said to himself. “I don’t know cars.”

“Apparently not,” someone said, “Because that’s a truck.”

Despite the cold, snowy weather around him, Evan started to sweat.

“G-God?” he eeked out.

“Nope. But I have been called an angel and a demon by numerous people.”

Evan slowly turned towards the man the voice belonged to.

He saw a very attractive man in front of him: golden hair, short stubble, a thick down jacket, worn jeans, steel-toed boots on snowshoes, and a small gold hoop in each ear.

“Just come into the diner, I’ll have someone look at it in the morning.”

Evan blinked. “Um… no?”

The man chuckled. “I guess that sounded a little creepy given the circumstances.”

“Yep.”

The man stuck out his hand.

“Jim. Jim Crumb.”

“Evan.”

“Evan what?”

“Nice try.”

The man laughed.

“What do you take me for, son? A backwoods gun nut? Just grab your tool box, and come into the diner.”

Evan realized that unless he wanted to freeze to death, he had no other choice. So he grabbed the toolbox and followed Jim into the diner. Before he went in, though, he finally read the sign: “Jim’s Diner.”

“This is your diner?” Evan asked.

“Yup. Has been since 1988.”

~*~

Inside the diner, Evan froze and blushed a deep red as five men and four women sitting at the tables looked at him.

“Who’s the fresh meat?” a large, beefy man grunted.

Evan yelped and tried to run out the door, but Jim caught him.

“Joe,” Jim hollered. “Shut up and eat your steak.”

Joe shook his head and turned back to his steak.

Joe had black hair and a thick black beard. He wore blue jeans, a flannel shirt, black work boots, and had some tattoos poking out onto his neck.

“Sit down, let me get you a menu,” said Jim before disappearing into the kitchen.

Evan gulped. He had no idea who any of these people were, and there was no place in this small, roadside diner where he wouldn’t be less than a yard away from one of them.

“What are you afraid of, boy? Sit!” a short-haired brunette woman rumbled.

Evan took a deep breath, sliding into the nearest booth.

After what felt like hours, Jim finally came out with a menu for Evan: four pages of assorted breakfast foods and hearty burgers.

Another man came out of the kitchen.

“All right Jim,” the man said. “Where did you find this one?”

“His pickup broke down outside the diner.”

The man looked at Evan with a serious glare, scanning him up and down. Evan blushed even more now. Where the hell was he?!

“All right, Aaron,” said Jim. “You’ll have time to grill him after introductions.”

“Fine,” said Aaron. “I’m Aaron Stevenson, Jim’s husband.”

Evan’s eyes widened. “H-Husband?”

“You got a problem with that, punk?”

“No! Please don’t hurt me!” Evan yelped as he put his arms in front as a defense.

“Aaron!” Jim snapped.

Jim turned back to Evan. “Sorry about that, he’s a bit hot-headed. And anyway, we’re not legally married, but we have a son together. We’ve been together, oh… what has it been, 19 years now?”

“Yep,” Aaron said, softening a little. “If that’s not common-law, I don’t know what is.”

Aaron was tall- probably 6’3”- and well-built. His short, red hair smoothly connected to his short beard, which rested above a heavily tattooed body wearing a grease-soaked red apron and white t-shirt, work boots, white socks, half-inch tunnels in each ear, and, sure enough, jeans, as well. In fact, everyone was wearing jeans, except for the woman who told Evan to sit down, who had on ski pants, and the teenage boy in the corner, who wore torn khakis.

“Actually,” said Evan, “knowing you guys are a couple makes me feel a little better. I’m gay, too.”

Jim smiled. “I had my suspicions, I’ll be honest.”

The other patrons started smiling, as well.

“Damn it, son,” the brunette from earlier said. “What are the odds you’d end up here?”

“He’s one of us,” her companion, a skinny redheaded woman, said.

“All right,” said Aaron. “What’s your name, new guy?”

“Evan Samuels.”

The teenager got up from his chair and slid into Evan’s booth. He held his hand out, giving Evan a flirty stare.

“Zeke Crumb-Stevenson,” he said.

“Hello,” said Evan, taking Zeke’s hand.

“This our son,” said Jim.

“Who always acts like he’s smarter than us,” said Aaron.

“He is smarter than you,” said the brunette woman.

“Well, he sure as hell doesn’t need to act like it!”

Zeke leaned in closer to Evan. “I graduated high school at 16,” he said.

“And you’re…” started Evan.

“Nineteen. Currently at the university for Meteorology.”

“That’s pretty cool. I got my bachelor’s in Geography.”

“Nice. How old are you?”

“22.”

“And he won’t buy beer for you,” Joe joked.

Zeke blushed. “Gross, no. I hate beer.”

“And just how do you know that?” Aaron questioned.

“All right, all right, maybe we should let Evan order already,” said Jim.

Everyone looked to Evan.

“I’ll need another minute,” he said.

Jim and Aaron walked back into the kitchen. Evan gazed over the menu. However, he felt eyes still on him. He looked up, and Zeke was still there.

Zeke was raven-haired, except for some green stripes, with a pink t-shirt, a white hoodie wrapped around his waist, red tennis shoes, and a lime green solitaire stud in each ear, as well as an industrial in his right.

“Hey,” said Zeke, grabbing Evan’s hand again. “Is that a tattoo I see?”

Zeke pushed Evan’s coat sleeve up to reveal part of an ivy-leaf vine tattoo going up his right arm.

“It’s pretty cool,” Zeke continued.

“Here,” said Evan, “I have some other ones too.”

Evan slid his coat off and rolled his shirt sleeves up to reveal numerous other examples of skin art.

“Impressive,” said the brunette woman, “but you should see Jill’s.”

The redheaded woman rolled her eyes before rolling up her jeans, showing off a blue viper going up her left leg.

“That’s pretty cool, Jill,” said Evan.

Jill was wearing a parka with snow boots, small gauges, and a backward ball cap.

“I’m sorry,” Evan said to the brunette woman, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Maggie,” she responded.

Unlike Jill, Maggie kept her hair pretty short. She wore a blue fleece coat, snow boots, and small silver hoops. She also wore glasses with thick black rims, much like Evan’s.

Aaron and Jim came back out.

“Alright, kid,” said Jim. “See anything on the menu yet?”

Evan handed him the menu. “I’ll take the chicken fried steak and some orange juice.”

Aaron swiped the menu. “Good choice.”

He went back through the kitchen door, and Evan saw him through the service window as he took his place in front of the stove.

“So, kid…” said Joe. “What’s your story?”

“Well, I’m originally from Montana, just outside Missoula. My family’s very traditional, but I decided that I would come out to them before the millennium. Well, my dad’s brother had gotten him this beautiful truck for Christmas. I thought he would be in a good mood after that, but I was wrong. He kicked me out.”

“Wow. That’s rough, Evan,” said Zeke.

“Wait…” said Jim. “Didn’t you come here in a pickup truck?”

Everyone turned to Evan, whose face turned red with embarrassment.

"Well..." He started, "I'm not proud of this- I almost never do anything like this, and I don't even have a record. But the way he reacted- I- I..." he picked the keys and twirled them on his finger. "I guess I just snapped."

Jim sighed, putting his hand on Evan's shoulder.

"Look, Evan," he said. "We all do stuff we're not proud of. I had a record back before I met Aaron. Believe me, if I hadn't met him, I'd be in a very bad place right now."

"Tell him how you met, dad," said Zeke, using his foot to drag a chair over to the booth.

"All right," Jim said, taking that seat. "It was 1980. I was at this gas station in Tukwila, filling my car, when this tall twig of an 18-year-old in church clothes jumped in my car. I yelled at him to get out, but he insisted that I drive him away. Turns out, he had just escaped from conversion therapy. I still wanted him out of my car, but he kept insisting, even offering to pay me. After a while, I finally broke down, and drove us both out of there. I was headed to Spokane, and he just wanted to get away from the 'camp.' But by the time we got to Leavenworth, we had grown on each other. So we stopped here-"

"And managed to rub off on each other," said Aaron, placing Evan's dinner on the table. "I got him to clean up his act, and he got me to loosen mine up. I mean, look at me," he continued, gesturing to his ear gauges and tattoos, "do I look like a church kid anymore?"

"Evan," said Joe, "stealing that truck was not a good decision, but you're not alone. We all have stories. We're all running away from something, whether it be trouble or homophobia."

"Welcome to the Runaways, kid," said Jill.

~*~

11:59 PM

While everyone else was inside awaiting the advent of the 3rd Millenium, Evan joined Zeke outside on the porch of Jim and Aaron's upstairs apartment.

"Hey," Evan said. "What are you doing out here?"

"I just needed a break from the party."

Evan nodded, looking back at the party.

"10! 9! 8!" everyone inside chanted.

Evan turned back to Zeke, who was acting rather shy right now.

"Hey," said Evan taking a surprised Zeke's hand.

They leaned closer.

Midnight, Saturday, January 1st, 2000

They gave each other a kiss as the people inside cheered.

"Happy New Millenium, Zeke," said Evan.

"Happy Y2K, car thief."

Evan gave Zeke a playful punch on the shoulder.

"Hey, now, I just gave you a kiss."

They chuckled as they reopened the sliding door, rejoining the party.

Evan never thought he would find a group like the Runaways. But these people, with their similarities and differences, managed to create a family for themselves. After Evan had been getting to know them for a while, he became of member of this family as well. And that's what everyone needs, whether they be chosen or not: a family you can lean on.