The meal, after they'd woken Brendon up, was more strained and uncomfortable than anything the four had ever shared. And there wasn't food enough although it was the kind of quantity Ryan, had he been on his own, would have been expected to eat during a whole day. He had made sure the others didn't watch as he took his serving, didn't want them asking why he was making it be only half the size of theirs. They didn't need to know that their food supply wasn't bottomless. Besides, he wasn't really hungry.

Once he finished he put Jon in charge and got up himself to walk a large circle around the campsite, making sure the area was secure. It was nice to be alone for a bit, get away from the oppressing presence of the others now that they knew his actual identity. At the same time he still just tried his very hardest to keep from thinking about everything, but it wasn't exactly easy. And he could only stretch the surveillance so far before they'd start to wonder where he was. With a sigh, he returned to where Jon and Spencer seemed to have at least thought far enough ahead to wash what little dishes they had made. Brendon still looked the worse for wear, and something in Ryan just wouldn't stop clenching whenever he looked at him. So he made sure not to do it too much. "You three get some sleep," Ryan said softly. "I'll take first watch."

Brendon had picked at his food, mostly, taken a few bites and then discovered that eating made him want to throw up. He'd grimaced and spooned his serving into the other two's bowls, but the sick feeling lingered long after they retired. He curled up close to Spencer, and though he could hear the boy snore softly, he couldn't seem to manage getting to sleep himself. Not surprising, really, when he thought about everything that had happened. He was still worried about his mother, and he hated not being in charge of a situation. Not only was this little excursion completely out of his control, but there was an attack going on that he knew nothing about. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, shuddering breath, quickly wiping a tear that had slipped down his cheek and was making its way into his hair. It wasn't far from being the right time to cry, of all the moments in his life, but it certainly wouldn't be cautious to do it with the other three right next to him. Holding his breath, he listened, trying to see if he could hear them all breathing peacefully. When he was satisfied that he could (though Spencer's snoring might have been the only thing he could really hear), he carefully slipped away, looking down at the ground to make sure not to walk on any twigs or anything else that would make too much noise. He didn't walk far, of course, but he leaned against a tree, out of view, and tilted his head back against it, letting his eyes close again. He wasn't ashamed of the tears that followed. He was angry with himself, though, about the whole Ryan situation. And embarrassed, and regretting the last few months. It didn't sit well that he hadn't seen through the boy's disguise. He had, literally, failed everyone he loved, not to mention his country.

Ryan, still on watch, had heard someone get up and walk a little distance away, but he recognized the sound and rhythm of Brendon's footsteps almost immediately and kept his eyes straight ahead instead of watching where Brendon was going. The younger boy must've not heard it when Ryan informed them he was taking the watch, which meant he would obviously still be awake, but he couldn't exactly blame the Prince for being absent-minded. Ryan shuddered slightly at the thought of going through what Brendon had been through this night. It was all bad enough from Ryan's viewpoint. He couldn't even imagine what it must be like for the younger boy. He kept listening to the footsteps until they stopped, still close enough that Ryan could easily intervene if something happened, and satisfied with that, he decided to leave Brendon be for now. The Prince, Ryan imagined, needed a little time alone. And no matter how much he itched to comfort the younger boy, he knew he'd only make things worse.

Quite a while passed, and Ryan's eyes were starting to droop. He was finally beginning to feel the effects of being awake for well over a day after a week of very unstable sleep. He knew he should wake up Jon soon to take over for a few hours before Ryan couldn't stay awake anymore and left them unguarded. And he really should remind Brendon not to go too far and to keep his ears open. And definitely to get some sleep. Well, maybe he needn't actually wake Jon yet. Ryan got up with a slight yawn and crossed the clearing, making sure he made enough sound that the younger boy would know someone was coming. "Brendon," he murmured when he was just a few feet away. "If you could keep watch for a few hours, that would be good. Wake Jon when you want to sleep." He took a deep breath and turned around to walk away. Hopefully at least feeling like he was doing something to help the little group would help Brendon feel less helpless. Ryan could only hope.

Brendon had nodded dully, and let himself slump down to sit at the base of the tree. He found that he wasn't tired; his mind, at least, was fully alert, even if his legs and arms and back ached with fatigue. Wiping his face with the sleeves of his sweater, he peered through the trees around him, but didn't see anything, or even hear much more than the soft wind in the trees. He wondered when the others would wake. How far they had come from the school? Had his mother followed his instructions? Was the castle now destroyed? Would they kill all the workers, as well? He sighed and scrubbed a hand over their face. He just hoped that they wouldn't think to attack Grace cottage. It was famous, of course, but only in the surrounding areas. Nothing like the castle, that was for sure. And it was his mother's favourite place in the world. If everything fell apart, hopefully she would at least have her sanctuary... Leaning his head against the tree trunk, Brendon looked up at its leaves, swaying gently. He watched the clouds move, listened to the faint sound of running water. He concentrated fully on breathing evenly and strained his ears to make sure he caught every sound around him. He could even hear Spencer's soft snoring if he held his breath. The near silence was perfect for thinking, or would have been if Brendon hadn't wanted to close off all his thoughts. As it was, every sound was deafening, which he was somewhat thankful for. At least he was helping in some way.

Falling asleep, Ryan realised, was difficult. His body was heavy with fatigue and his eyes wouldn't stay open, but every time he had almost drifted off his imagination would take over and he'd think he'd heard someone shout, or a shot, or Brendon screaming. The most painful thing had to be when he'd fallen asleep for just a few minutes and dreamt that none of this had happened, that they were back at the school and everything was as it had been just a week or two ago, only he wasn't lying or pretending. He had never been Ryan Hastings, they hadn't all just liked someone who didn't exist, they had liked him. And then he woke up and scoffed at the impossibility and the stupid, hopeful cheesiness of it. He was a grown man, and childish fantasies shouldn't have room in his life anymore.

After a few hours of restless tossing and turning and perhaps fifteen minutes of sleep all together, he woke up with a parched mouth, so dry his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and tasting like something that shouldn't even exist. He knew there was absolutely no way he'd fall asleep as thirsty as he was, and so he crept out from under the blankets - Spencer's, he believed - and crawled on hands and knees out of the shelter, groaning and stretching before reaching one hand down to pat his pocket, checking that the gun was still in place. He went to the rucksack without looking Brendon's way, and picked up the water purifier and the single mug they'd all had to share. A minute later he was crouched over the narrow, small stream, his mug dipping down and coming up full to the brim of dirty, brown liquid that could barely pass for water. He made a face and poured in a single drop before holding his nose to numb the taste, and pouring it all down his throat, gagging slightly. The purifier made the water harmless, but it didn't take away the taste. Finally a little satisfied, he turned around and walked back, stopping when he was next to Brendon. "If you want a break, I don't think I can sleep anyway," he stated softly. "Just let me have a piss first." He gave a wry, not at all happy grin, and headed towards the other side of the clearing.

Brendon did not watch Ryan as he walked away, and neither did he stare at him for half a second as he obviously went about his business. Sniffing and turning his head to look in the opposite direction, Brendon rolled his eyes. He didn't need to sleep, he didn't want to sleep, and he didn't need or want Ryan wandering around while he was trying not to think. Running a hand through his hair, Brendon shifted a bit and pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. The ground was hard beneath his ass, and he could feel himself starting to go numb. The bark from the tree scratched his back, even through the big sweater, he was dirty, probably smelled, and entirely too uncomfortable to be seen by others, even if two of them were close friends. A Prince should never be seen like this, he thought. But then again, he doubted that he still held power over the country, and so could no longer be called a Prince. And if that little thought caused him great relief, it was only because he would no longer be tarnishing the Royal name. It had nothing to do with the fact that Brendon hadn't wanted to be Prince for a while, now.

Ryan went back across the campsite and sat down some ten feet or so away from Brendon, still carefully refraining from looking at the younger boy. "We're going to be walking all night," he stated, still keeping his voice soft so as not to wake Jon and Spencer. "You need to be rested at least a little." He knew that applied to him as well and that maybe it was a little hypocritical of him to tell Brendon to do something he'd already concluded he wouldn't manage very well himself. At least he was better trained. He glanced carefully towards the trail they had walked by, looking through the foliage in search of any threat. There was nothing. "Once Jon and Spencer get up you should get him to teach you both how to hold and shoot a gun," he muttered, feeling a slight chill down his stomach. Brendon really shouldn't have to ever touch a gun, but at the same time Ryan, more than anything, wanted the younger boy to survive. "If we get in a bad situation it might be good to be able to defend yourself. I can only do so much. Especially if something happens to me. I'd prefer it if you could still survive, all of you, if I get hurt."

"I'm not tired," I don't want to touch a gun, I don't want you hurt, I don't want any of this. Brendon shook his head, staring out in front of him for a few seconds before bravely turning his gaze to look at Ryan. The other boy didn't look like he'd gotten very much sleep, either. Brendon looked down at his knees, finding himself unable to look at Ryan for too long. It just hurt too much, which scared him more than anything. He wanted to rewind his life and go back to when he'd been blissfully unaware. He wanted to be able to look at Ryan again. He really wanted to be able to touch him, and he wanted to taste him, and hold him, and talk to him again. Really talk to him. He looked back at Ryan after a moment. He'd been so happy when they'd had sex. That meant something about their relationship, didn't it? After that night, when he had woken to Ryan beside him, he had thought that there would be many mornings just like that one to come. It hurt him that he'd been so wrong, it hurt that Ryan had lied, and it hurt that he would never feel close to Ryan ever again. He doubted he could even stand being the boy-- man's-- friend. Brendon sighed and closed his eyes briefly before opening them to look at Ryan again, forcing himself not to turn away. A few meters away, he could hear Jon and Spencer begin to wake up.

Ryan sighed, deciding not to argue about it. "You probably won't believe me," he muttered after a while, quite sure that Jon and Spencer still weren't capable of overhearing anything he had to say. He wasn't really sure why he was saying anything. Speaking about the issues could easily make everything harder and it wasn't strictly necessary to speak at all. But something told him he shouldn't keep it too quiet, for Brendon's sake as much as his own. "But I never wanted this. I don't want a war, I didn't want to lie to you or use you or hurt you. I'm sorry, and I wish I could say I regretted it, but I don't, for several reasons. I don't want my country attacked anymore than you do yours, but I guess the main reason is that some of my best memories are from these last months." He looked away to hide the slight blush staining his cheeks and caught sight of the other two approaching. "I'm going to go do... something," he finished, grimacing. He couldn't believe how awkward he was being. But then again, Ryan Ross had always been awkward. Ryan Hastings just hadn't and he'd gotten too used to that. Biting his lip, he quickly got to his feet and went to his bag to start sorting through things, move some to be more easily accessible and, well, whatever else he could come up with to make himself scarce.

Brendon didn't get the chance to reply, though he doubted that he'd have had anything to say to Ryan, anyway. He sighed and tightened his arms around his knees, watching as Jon and Spencer made their way closer. Their clothes and hair were mussed from sleep and both were wearing the adorable expression of someone who had just woken up. They each took a seat beside Brendon and he smiled softly. "I'm sorry," he finally muttered after a few seconds in silence which Spencer and Jon spent stretching and rubbing their eyes. "I hate that this is all basically my fault and that you two were caught up in it..." he trailed off, averting his eyes. He felt someone put their arms around him and turned slightly to see Spencer's head on his shoulder. Jon smiled and wrapped his arms around Brendon on the opposite side, sighing into his neck.

"S'not your fault," Spencer mumbled. He didn't like seeing Brendon like this, and he knew that the boy would blame himself for this for a long time. But Brendon hadn't chosen to be born into the Royal Family, and he hadn't chosen to go to the conference and take the papers. These things were his responsibility, just like Ryan's responsibility had been to find those papers. Brendon hadn't ordered the attack-- in fact, Spencer was quite certain he'd been against it-- and he hadn't chosen to feel whatever it was that he felt-- love, like-- for Ryan. These things were mostly out of their control. And if Ryan hadn't found the papers, would he still have been lying to Brendon? The alternative to their leaving Jackson wasn't much better, in his opinion. But Spencer kept quiet for now, simply holding onto his friend.

Ryan felt a lump forming in his throat at the sight of the others in his peripheral vision. It wasn't the same kind of guilt as it had been before, but he wasn't sure this was that much better. They wouldn't have had to be in this situation if it weren't for him. Brendon wouldn't have had to go through all this if not for Ryan, and God, did he feel like a fucking bastard for it! To make it even worse, he felt pathetic. He missed Tobe, he missed his mother. Absolutely pathetic. But he still couldn't help feeling even more alone when he looked at the three younger boys. He swallowed painfully and looked back at the job at hand. Biting down on his bottom lip nearly hard enough to draw blood to keep himself under some kind of control, he picked up two extra clips to attach to his belt, following by the gun holster he'd neglected to tie on earlier. He took a deep breath and pulled out two of the small hand grenades, placing them in his jacket pocket while he hoped intently that he wouldn't have to ever use them. He had nothing against guns, except their use on other people. He'd always enjoyed target practice and shooting with blanks, but he hated how real the weapons felt just then. Hand grenades and bombs... those he'd always hated. But he'd do what he had to do. After another bit of rummaging he pulled out a silencer, and with that in hand he walked cautiously towards the three younger males. He didn't want to pull them out of comforting each other, but he also knew that it was too dangerous to forget about the situation they were in. And Brendon and Spencer needed to be able to protect themselves at least a little as soon as possible. He took a deep breath and held out the silencer. "Jon," he said softly, wincing slightly at having to break the three apart. "Put this on the gun and help Brendon and Spencer get in some practice. We can't have them helpless."

Jon winced as Brendon stiffened in his arms, and he shot Ryan a glare even though he knew the boy-- man?-- was right. He didn't want his friends to be without protection, whatever their situation. Sighing, he took the silencer offered and unwrapped himself from around Brendon so that he could stand. Taking out the gun, he popped the silencer on with a little twist and motioned for the other two to follow his lead. "He's right," he muttered, inhaling rather shakily. "As much as I don't like the idea, I don't want you two to be caught unprotected." He walked a ways away, aware that Spencer and Brendon were following closely, and that they were holding hands. When he turned around, it was to explain to them how to hold a gun steady, how to fire, and how to aim. It was all very basic, but he hoped it would do the trick. When he let them try the gun on their own, though, he cringed at Brendon's shaky hands and Spencer's horrible aim. Both of them hesitated before firing, which was not a good sign. In a life or death situation, it was the worst thing someone could do. Biting his lip, Jon tried his best to help them, but to little or no avail.

Ryan winced from where he was standing slightly behind the others, looking on the progress, or lack of same. "Don't hesitate," he instructed briskly, shutting all emotions out of his voice. They weren't good when teaching anything. "Hesitating for just one second means the opponent gets first shot, which could easily mean you die, or someone with you does." He drew in a deep breath, narrowing his eyes as he looked at both Spencer and Brendon, trying to gauge the problem. "Spencer, keep both eyes open or you take away most of your own depth perception. Closing one eye for better aim is a myth. Brendon..." He sighed slightly, pausing for a moment to think. "You need to stop thinking about what happens if you shoot and start thinking about what happens if you don't. And watch the backlash." He took the second silencer out of his pocket and screwed it onto the gun from his belt. "You don't have to kill just because you shoot. See that tree over there?" He nodded his head, indicating a tree about fifty yards away. "The one that kind of looks like a person?" He took another deep breath, aimed, and fired four bullets in quick succession, hitting each of the two side branches and twice by the base of the trunk. "Now he can't pick up his gun or move in pursuit of us. He's still very much alive, though, and in a couple of months he'll be as good as new, but right now he can't harm us. See the point?"

Brendon, who'd been flinching at the sound of his and Spencer's gun shots, had to firmly restrain himself from sticking his fingers in his ears when Ryan shot off four one right after the other. As it was, he raised a hand close to his head and recoiled a bit, turning his face away. Right. How did he expect to get anywhere when he was scared of such a thing? The gun wasn't even close to being aimed at him. He did like, though, that he didn't have to kill. But since his aim was completely off, who was to say that instead of getting someone in the arm, he wouldn't get them in the chest? Sighing wearily, he tried his hand at it once more, shooting at a tree and hitting a lower branch. Exhaling deeply, he quickly passed the gun on to Spencer and watched his progress, still flinching at the sound of gun fire.

***

When darkness had fallen Ryan still hadn't had the guts - or the heart, really - to give the last extra guns to Brendon and Spencer. Brendon was likely to not shoot at all, but be seen as much more of a threat because he was visibly armed, and Spencer might be willing and able to pull the trigger, but he was also about as likely to hit one of them as do any damage to any opponent. If anything happened, Ryan and Jon would just have to deal with it as best as they could. He'd considered giving them hand grenades since neither of them threw balls too badly from what he remembered from PE, but he thought they might just hesitate that second too long, and it wouldn't be an enemy exploding.

It was completely dark now, and by Ryan's calculations they'd walked maybe somewhere around twelve miles already, which was evident in Spencer's huffing breath and Brendon's dragging feet. Jon didn't seem too well off either, and Ryan himself was really starting to feel that he hadn't gotten nearly as much physical exercise these last few months as he was used to. He'd need to check the maps soon too, and he could still hear the sound of the stream a little off the track. When they left it he couldn't be sure when exactly they'd find water again, and since he only had two bottles to carry any in, they should probably get those filled and get something themselves as well before going any further. "Break time," he murmured, halting and looking at the others while he fumbled in his pant pocket for a moment before picking up the small bottle of cleanser. "We need to get something to drink, and something to bring with us. I think we need to change directions a bit soon."

Jon nodded in agreement, then turned around to see Spencer and Brendon were holding hands. Again. His gaze flickered over the laced fingers before he quickly looked away. It seemed that every time he turned around, they were having some kind of moment. He narrowed his eyes slightly and clenched his jaw, then caught himself and relaxed. What was wrong with him? Spencer was obviously lending some support, and he was getting angry? Jon shook his head and dismissed it as him being tired. He then turned to Ryan. "Anything I can do?" he asked.

"D'you think he was just saying that, or...?" Before Ryan's announcement that they were stopping, Brendon had been telling Spencer about Ryan apologizing. Spencer had nodded thoughtfully, fighting a smile the whole time. He did, of course, believe that Ryan had meant it when he had apologized, and he told Brendon this. Brendon blew out a breath, shaking his head slightly. "I think this is going to be one of those instances when you want to forgive someone for what they did, but you don't know how. And I don't..." he trailed off and licked his lips. "At least not yet," he added, shrugging. He had never known before now how hard it was to forgive someone. Mentions of 'forgive and you shall be forgiven' that he'd heard many times while growing up and attending church suddenly seemed much more challenging than he'd ever thought before. He found, in that moment, a new kind of respect for those who could forgive easily. He was a bit jealous, as well, though.

Ryan bit his lip as he thought the situation through. Then he carefully unstrapped his rucksack and put it on the ground. "There are bottles in the upper left side pocket. If you could take Brendon and go fill them and clean the water..." He winced slightly, not liking to leave the prince under anyone's supervision but his own, but he assumed Brendon would appreciate the distance. "I'll look over the maps and watch out for Spencer. Drink what you guys need to. Spencer and I will empty the bottles when you return and then we'll refill and possibly ration until we find another creek or stream." He paused slightly, looking the younger male in the eye. "Get him back in one piece, all right?"

Jon smiled reassuringly and nodded. He took both bottles from Ryan and then waited until Brendon was at his side before setting off towards the sound of water. Spencer, who had watched them go, now sauntered over to Ryan as nonchalantly as he could. "So..." he said, staring idly at a tree to Ryan's left. He had his hands behind his back and was rocking on the balls of his feet. "So, had a little chat with Brendon?" he asked innocently, swatting at a mosquito. He had a smile playing on his lips as he waited for the answer, and could hear Brendon and Jon's voices in the distance. He knew Brendon would have a hard time with Ryan for the next few weeks, months, and maybe years. Who knew? But Spencer was determined to see the good in people, always had been, and he knew that Ryan wasn't the bastard he'd appeared to be only yesterday. He thought the best course of action was to just talk to the boy as normally as he could. He'd obviously failed just now, but he was too excited by the prospect of Brendon forgiving Ryan and there being love all around. He almost snorted at this thought, though. When had he become to optimistic and sappy?

At the feel of the blush washing over his face, Ryan was more than just a little grateful for the darkness that hid his exact coloring, and probably outline too, from Spencer's probing eyes. "I guess I did," he answered, just as softly. "I'm pretty sure you've already gotten the summary, though," he added, bending down and digging into another side pocket to bring out the maps. He spread them out on the grass and turned the flashlight he'd had hanging from his belt on, grateful his blush had apparently gone down. Slowly, he calculated the distance they had walked, grateful he'd always had a knack for that kind of thing. "We should be somewhere around... here," he finally stated, putting his finger down on one point on the map, looking up at the other boy through the bangs that still habitually hung in his face. "So, Spencer Smith. What do you know about navigation?"

Spencer smirked at Ryan's answer, shaking his head. When Ryan got the map out and pointed out where they should be, Spencer shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm... horrid at Geography," he admitted, scrunching up his nose. One of the only subjects he wasn't very good at, and it was a bit of a sore spot. "But I'll help in any way I can?" he offered, looking hopeful. He could see Brendon and Jon coming back, now, and Jon was smiling a bit as Brendon muttered something too softly for Spencer to hear. He grinned at both of them and was surprised to see Jon's face light up before he looked away briefly and smiled back.

"Water's delicious," Jon said, only a bit sarcastically, and winked at Spencer.

Ryan gave Spencer a small smile. "No need to worry," he assured. "Geography was one of my better subjects." Well, everything but PE had been one of his better subjects, but he needn't mention that. "See, I already told you where we are." He pointed at another spot on the map. "That's where we need to go. So it's pretty simple, really. We set a nearer destination and then we find the best way on the hiker's map I have right here." He nodded at a still folded map next to the one they were looking at. "Not much Geography, really. Just logic and a bit of math." He took a breath, noting his parched mouth, and looked over his shoulder at Jon and Brendon. "I know it tastes awful, but can I please have a bottle?"

Jon chuckled and handed his bottle over to Ryan, while Brendon gave Spencer his. Spencer, who was busy nodding his understanding at Ryan's explanation and studying the map, only took notice of the bottle being proffered when Brendon hit him lightly on the arm with it. "That sounds pretty easy," Spencer agreed. When he looked up, it was only to notice Brendon's tired face and that his eyes looked like they were surrounded by light bruises. He frowned, wondering why the hell he hadn't noticed before, and brought a hand up to swipe his thumb right under Brendon's eye, as if that would help him. "Christ, Brendon," he muttered, more to himself than anything. "Did you get any sleep?" he chided, shaking his head and sighing. "You know, you're only punishing yourself," he shook his head, disappointed.

Brendon drew back at Spencer's words, glaring angrily. "It's none of your business," he spat, looking away and clenching his jaw. Spencer could see a muscle near his temple twitch. "And for your information, I just couldn't sleep," he finished stubbornly, folding his arms across his chest defensively. Spencer merely sighed again and ran a hand through his hair, knowing that there was nothing else he could say.

"We have a few hours left till sunrise," Ryan stated, taking a deep gulp of water and grimacing at the taste. "Unless someone literally collapses we keep going until then. I'll take first and fourth watch. Jon second, Spencer third." He sighed slightly. "Brendon, I want you in your blankets the whole day. You aren't doing anyone any good otherwise." He knew it was harsh and that it would probably raise the boy's hackles to be ordered around, but there weren't a lot of other ways. Brendon looked beyond exhausted, and hadn't been trained to going with two hours' sleep for days on end the way Ryan had. If he didn't have enough sense to sleep on his own, he would have to be encouraged, frail sensibilities or no. Ryan looked up at the sky for a moment, taking another drink before turning his eyes back on Spencer. "See any good routes on the hiker's map?"

Spencer, who'd also been greedily gulping down water as he surveyed the second map, nodded absently. He pointed to a trail that was right ahead of them, turning slightly to the left, and shrugged. He didn't know these forests well enough to judge with any sureness, but it seemed to be the easiest and most efficient way. He chanced a look up at Brendon and winced at the murderous look on the boy's face, but was happy that he'd restrained himself from talking. It seemed, though, that no matter what Ryan said, he was doomed to anger Brendon. Spencer didn't think it very fair, but when had life ever been fair? And, Ryan hadn't been very fair to Brendon, either, after all. What goes around, comes around, he thought the clichéd phrase bitterly, taking another drink of water.

"Looks good," Ryan stated in agreement, purposely ignoring the fuming anger on Brendon's face. The boy already hated him, so Ryan would rather anger him than have him keel over because he wasn't getting any sleep. "Now, Spencer and I will go refill the water. Brendon and Jon, you two rest your legs for a little, and then we're going onwards."

***

Ryan was startled out of his sleep sometime in the early afternoon, during Spencer's shift, he thought, by a frantic thumping on the top of the shelter. He was out of his sleeping bag in the blink of an eye, giving Jon, who was next to him, a shove in the hopes that that would bring him around as well. Then he quickly crawled out of the shelter, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he got to his feet, turning to ask Spencer what the problem was. He needn't ask, though, since he was hearing voices from not at all very far away. DURA, judging by their accents. Ryan's heart seemed to jump into his throat, thumping madly in the blink of an eye. He might have been battle trained to some degree, but he'd never been in an actual fight and had hoped not ever to be. But he'd also planned for all eventualities and he wasn't all that surprised. He picked up his rucksack as silently as he possibly could. "We need to get out of here," he whispered, as silently as he could, turning towards the shelter to check if the others were coming out yet. They'd have to abandon it, and the blankets too, but if that was the price to pay to avoid direct combat, he was more than willing.

Jon had been annoyed for being woken up, at first, but realized when Ryan made his way out of the shelter that there was something wrong. He stilled and, listening, was alarmed to hear voices that he definitely did not recognize. Crawling out, he crouched down to wake Brendon, who looked like he had finally fallen into a restless sleep mere hours ago, if that. As quietly as he could, he approached Ryan after informing Brendon to be silent. "We're leaving everything here?" he breathed out, catching Spencer's eye. It would be unfortunate to leave everything, but he wasn't worried about that just now. When Brendon joined them, he looked, perhaps, even more terrified than everyone else. Jon couldn't blame him, really.

"Won't they hear us?" Brendon asked, his voice only betraying a bit of his panic. He wiped his hands on his pants, because they had become sweaty and had a bit of dirt on them from when he'd pushed himself up off the ground. He listened to the voices, wondering if they were getting closer, of it that was just him.

"Not if you're silent," Ryan bit back in a low whisper. He regretted the snap in his tone a moment later, but now wasn't the time to take it back. "We need to get well away before they notice the shelter," he added. "Come on, now!" He guided the others in front of him, keeping the rear as they moved towards the deeper parts of the under brush. He could still feel his blood thumping madly through his veins, the beat resounding in his ears as he urged the others on. More quickly, more silently, and all the while he kept trying to hold onto his own calm so the younger three wouldn't panic.

They were just about behind cover when Ryan heard yells and looked back over his shoulder to see that a few soldiers had broken through to the clearing they'd been camping in. They'd be spotted in seconds, and there was no way they would be able to outrun trained soldiers. Ryan dropped his bag immediately, drawing his gun out of his belt while his other hand fumbled in his pocket for the hand grenades, just to be on the safe side. Then there was yet another shout, and the young agent immediately followed the voice with his eyes, seeing first the gun and then following the aim in the man's gaze, something seeming to burst in him when he realized Brendon was the target. Without another thought or any actual sound he set into motion before the trigger had even been pulled, shoving the prince to the side as quickly as he was able before he started to duck himself, just as he heard the snap of the gun being fired. He was a fraction of a second too late, and he knew it immediately.

Never before in his life had he known pain as he did when white-hot agony bit into his left shoulder, leaving him breathless and unbalanced. Somehow he managed to keep standing while his training finally kicked in and he fired his gun again and again in quick succession, barely even watching as he dropped to his knees behind the trunk of a tree. He hoped the others had found some kind of cover, but he really didn't have time to check. White spots were bleeding into his field of vision and bullets seemed to be raining around him, biting into the tree trunk or going past him. He watched, but barely registered, as two of his countrymen fell, and then all he heard were empty clicks when his gun emptied. The pain was growing rather than lessening and he was starting to feel light-headed and he needed this over with, and so he went to his last resort, hastily putting his gun back in the belt holster while he reached with his bad arm for the opposite pocket, adrenaline overriding the excruciating pain as he pulled up one of the hand grenades, quickly changing hands. He pulled off the safety and threw it towards where the soldiers were, dropping flat to the ground.

Moments later the explosion was heard, leaving a roar in his ears that wouldn't seem to leave. His left hand was sticky and his vision swam, but the pain seemed to have gone away behind the adrenaline. His breath was coming in quick pants as he got up. "Jon, get the rucksack!" he ordered briskly, hoping to God he'd gotten all the opponents and that they hadn't had a chance to call base beforehand. "There's a farmstead half a mile from here. We need to get a car and get out of here!" He reached up with his right hand, clasping the wound to stop the flow of blood as he started off, staggering slightly until he found his rhythm. They needed to get this place far behind them before looking at the first aid box, and Ryan didn't know how much longer he'd be able to run on endorphins alone.

Jon did as he was told, putting his gun away and slightly angry at himself for only having shot three times and hit one person. He grabbed the bag and hurried after Ryan, not thinking to spare a glance at the other two.

Spencer, who'd huddled behind a tree, quickly walked towards Brendon, who was crouched down, head hidden in his arms. It was a miracle he hadn't been shot, really. He hadn't even known that the shot had been meant for him until he heard it and turned around to see Ryan step in and take the bullet. It had been like a movie in slow motion, and Brendon had stumbled down, in the exact spot he now found himself. He knew that he was shaking like a leaf, and the moment Spencer touched his shoulder, he crumbled, covering his face with his hands and shaking his head violently. "C'mon, Bren, we need to move. You can do this later, okay? Please, Brendon," Spencer pleaded, looking back towards Jon and Ryan. He winced at Ryan's staggering steps. "If we don't move, Ryan is going to lose a lot of blood, alright?" He wasn't sure if any of this had gotten through until Brendon took a shuddering breath and slowly took his hands away from his tear-streaked face. His eyes were brimming with tears and bloodshot; he looked horrible. Taking his hand, Spencer lead him quickly to follow the other two, fighting tears himself. When had his life become so dangerous?

Ryan never knew how he had managed to walk more than half a mile with a hole in his shoulder, but when a haze of time had passed, they stepped out through the trees and he could see the farm buildings up ahead; house, barn, some kind of a stable. And in the driveway, a battered, old-looking jeep. "I hope at least one of you knows how to drive a car," he gritted out through his teeth, words coming interspersed by heavy breaths. He still felt faint and his lungs still seemed to be on overdrive.

Jon glanced over at Ryan before he nodded, confirming that he could indeed drive. He was happy that his grandfather had started giving him lessons when he'd been thirteen. Sparing a glance behind him, he felt his heart clench at the look at Brendon's face. He was glad, though, that Spencer seemed to be taking care of him, because if Jon were forced to choose, he would take care of Ryan's wound first. Sighing heavily, he picked up speed as they approached the jeep, then looked back at Ryan questioningly. "Should we get you fixed up first?" he asked. He didn't like the sight of blood seeping through Ryan's shirt and fingers.

"We need to get some distance away before that," Ryan answered, his voice tight and pinched. He followed Jon, soon overtaking even though his steps were uneven and badly balanced by now. Moments later, ducking so not as to be seen from the house, he reached the car doors, relieved to find them unlocked, and opened it with his good hand. To his disappointment the key wasn't in the lock, and he resorted to kicking some panelling off until the wiring became visible. Getting the hunting knife out of a pant pocket with some difficulty, he leaned forward and nearly keeled over before he managed to cut and connect the right wires, mostly one-handed. And then the car started up with a roar of the engine. He quickly scooted over into the passenger's seat, not bothering to strap himself in, and waited for the others to follow. "North east," he instructed, his voice a little faint as he finally lent back into his seat, closing his eyes for a moment. "Get us ten miles away and then stop."

Jon jumped into the driver's seat, watching in the rear view mirror as Spencer and Brendon got into the pick-up's trunk. Pulling the stick into drive, he pressed onto the gas pedal and quickly turned the wheel so that he could follow Ryan's instructions. He could faintly hear the house door banging open and he accelerated, pulling away from the house as quickly as he could. "Alright," he said, breathing a sigh in relief. "Alright," he said again, adrenaline flowing through his veins.

His hair whipping in the wind, Brendon sat himself in a corner of the trunk, closest to the front of the truck, and pulled his knees in close to his chest. He hid his face in his arms and relaxed only slightly when Spencer put an arm around him. He felt as though he couldn't quite think, only feel the fear that had paralyzed him and the guilt gnawing at his stomach. He shivered, hoping that this would end sooner than later. He didn't know if he could handle much more than this. He didn't want to, and he didn't care if that was selfish.

The road passed as a blur to Ryan and those ten miles felt like ten thousand. The adrenaline rush was wearing off, and by now he could feel the pain again, worse than it had been before. It felt like a hot fire starting in his shoulder and stabbing all the way through that side of his body, no matter how much he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes against it. Finally he determined that they'd moved far enough and directed Jon to turn onto a dirt path leading in the right direction. The bumps in the road made his body jump and bumble and every movement sent a new shock wave of pain through his whole body, so strong that he could hardly think through it. When they were finally a fair bit of way off the main road, Ryan called for a halt. "There's some bad field surgery equipment in the box," Ryan informed, his head lolling. "I need you to find it and get the bullet out of me, then bandage it up really fucking tightly. If there're some Aspirins there I wouldn't say no either..." His voice was becoming slurred and he wasn't sure he was saying the right words anymore, could only hope that Jon had gotten the message.

Jon nodded once, trying not to show that he had no idea how he would get a fucking bullet out of Ryan's shoulder. He looked through the back window at Spencer, locked eyes with him, and was grateful when the other boy nodded. Spencer was opening Ryan's door in a matter of seconds, pulling himself in and forcing Ryan to lean against him. Jon, busy going through Ryan's supply bag, took out all the tools he would need, smiling slightly when he spotted a bottle of pain killers. He handed the bottle to Spencer, who grabbed one of the water bottles and gave Ryan four pills. Jon cringed as he peeled back Ryan's shirt, turning him slightly to peer over his shoulder hopefully, but he pulled back moments later. "No exit wound," he muttered, defeated. He would definitely have to get this thing out on his own. "I don't know what I'm doing," Jon said, shaking his head, panic seeping through his voice.

Great. Apparently Jon had gotten all kinds of training except the medical bit. Ryan inwardly groaned and bit his lip, trying to keep his swimming head afloat. "Tongs," he slurred, head lolling back against Spencer's shoulder. "Should be tongs in there." He opened his mouth obediently and swallowed the pills, already couldn't wait for just the faint sensation of numbness they might be able to afford him. "And scalpel..." he winced at the word, groaning slightly. Shit like this shouldn't happen without anaesthesia. "If it's stuck."

Jon nodded, taking out both items. He leaned in close, taking in the wound and glad to see that the bullet had lodged itself in the joint of Ryan's shoulder, and that it wasn't very deep. He carefully did what he thought was right, cringing when he had to open the wound a bit more with the scalpel. It was scary how easily it cut through layers of skin. Breathing shakily, he gripped the tongs and managed to carefully pull out the bullet within ten minutes. "It might get infected if that stays open," he said quietly, holding the bloody bullet in one hand and pressing material against the wound. "Do we have a needle and some thread?"

Ryan groaned at the question, his cheeks feeling incredibly wet after these last minutes. It felt like someone had gripped his arm and just pulled until it came off. On the other hand, that might not have hurt as much. "Yeah," he got out, his voice hushed and choked and gravelly. "And disinfectant," he added, grimacing at the mere thought of either. "Same box, further down," he directed, closing his eyes again and letting his breath out in short, rhythmic huffs. If he focused enough on breathing right perhaps it would take some of the pain away. As it was, he wanted nothing more than to sleep, and he was pretty sure that with the amount of blood he'd lost that was the best idea anyway, but at the same time he had no idea how to sleep through the pain. "There's morphine as well," he added. "Give me a shot at some point, please. I think I really need to sleep."

Jon, one thing at a time, decided to start with the morphine. Luckily, they were equipped with a tourniquet and clean needles, the morphine clearly labeled in a tiny, dark brown bottle. Getting Spencer to wrap the tourniquet tightly around Ryan's arm, right above his elbow, Jon stuck the needle into the little bottle through an even tinier hole, then pulled the plunger back and watched the syringe fill. Pulling it out, he set the bottle aside before flicking the syringe with his thumb and then pushing in the plunger a bit, watching as liquid spurted from the needle. Satisfied, Jon looked down at Ryan's arm, which was already quite veiny, and stuck the needle into the biggest vein on the inside of his elbow without warning. Pushing the plunger in all the way, he really hoped that this would work in taking away the pain and helping Ryan sleep. When his heart calmed, the blood flow would be slower, which was always good when one had an open wound. Grabbing the disinfectant, he cleaned the wound as thoroughly as possible before taking up the needle and thread. His grandmother, bless her, and spent most of his childhood sewing and Jon was proud at this moment to say that he'd picked up a few things. "There we go," he said when he was done, breathing a sigh of relief.

Completely hazy, and on the very verge of sleep now, Ryan managed a faint smile even though his body was completely numb. "Thank you," he muttered, and then he was fast asleep.

***

Brendon woke at some point during the night, and was in the same position he'd been when falling asleep, his knees tucked to his chest. He looked around and spotted Jon and Spencer who were also in the back of the truck with him, clearly having given Ryan the front seat to sleep on. He sighed softly, images of Jon sewing Ryan shut flashing through his mind. He was proud of his friend, but a bit angry at himself for not having helped at all. He pushed himself up a bit more and peered around him. There wasn't much to see and he couldn't hear any water, no matter how much he strained. Sitting back, he bit his lip and thought back to the previous afternoon, closing his eyes tightly as he remembered. He hadn't expected the bullet, and he'd expected even less that Ryan would do such a thing as jump in front of it. Would he have done the same? he wondered, but was too scared of the answer to think about it much more than that. Suffice it to say that Ryan had surprised him. Frightened him-- but surprised him more than anything else.

Ryan awoke to a throbbing pain in his shoulder, and at first he couldn't remember a thing about what had caused it, but then the recollections came back and he gave a slight groan as he came to completely, hungry and thirsty and positively aching all over. He still felt dizzy and light-headed, but whether that was caused by the blood loss or the amount of pain medication he had taken he couldn't tell. He found the medical kit discarded on the other seat and reached out to open it one-handed, shimming through it until he came across the sling he'd been looking for. Clutching it in his hand, he managed to get the door open and stumble out into the fresh night air. They should be on the move now, should be... They had the car. If they drove for just an hour in a while they'd make it just as far, if not further, than they would've been able to on foot. And it wasn't the top priority right at the moment. At least everyone was hopefully slightly rested by now. "Hey," he murmured when he spotted Brendon awake, feeling more than a little bad for disturbing the boy. But he knew from experience that sometimes being pulled out of your thoughts was sometimes far from a bad thing. "Could you give me a hand with the sling?" he asked with a slight grimace. "And maybe help make some food. I'm sure the others will be starving once they wake."

Brendon looked up as Ryan exited the car, stumbling a bit, and then nodded absently. He jumped out of the back of the truck and walked over to Ryan, doing as requested and helping getting his wounded arm into the sling. Once the deed was done, he stood motionless for a few seconds, unblinking and staring at Ryan. "I'm sorry you were hurt because of me," he said finally, his voice no higher than a whisper. Looking away, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and ran a hand through his hair. "What would you like me to do?" he asked wearily, grabbing the bag of supplies from the front seat and rummaging through it as he waited for Ryan's answer.

"We need to get the trangia started," Ryan stated. "And then probably get some canned food. Rice or mashed potatoes won't work with no water." He drew a breath, gazing at Brendon intently for a moment before looking away. "If you could hand me another couple of painkillers that'd be much appreciated too. And Brendon... I wasn't hurt because of you. I could've chosen to let you fend for yourself, but I didn't. My choice, not yours. So don't blame yourself." He smiled wryly, steadfastly ignoring the pain from his shoulder. "I can take it," he stated, doing his best not to sound cocky, but not knowing if it worked. Even if he did, he was sure that after the whimpering he had been doing while Jon fixed him up would make any cockiness sound as nothing more than a joke.

Brendon sighed as he fished around for the bottle of painkillers, shaking his head lightly. "They were aiming for me," he argued, looking back up once he'd found the bottle. "This whole-- thing is basically my fault," he continued, voice firm as he stared at Ryan reproachfully. He popped the cap off the medicine and took out four, then looked around a bit before spotting the water bottles in the front seat of the truck. Only one had any water, he noticed, as he snatched it up and gave Ryan the pills, followed by the water. Next, he took out the apparatus he'd seen Spencer and Ryan fiddling with before and lifted it up for Ryan to see. "This thing?" he asked, frowning at it a bit. He didn't know a thing about cooking, he realized, and wondered if he'd be more damage than help.

"Unless you're the one who wanted a war, and the one who signed the commands to prepare an attack, this is no more your fault than Spencer's. You're not to blame, and definitely not half as much as me." Ryan sighed slightly, shaking his head and popping the pills, followed by a small gulp of water before he capped the bottle again and set it down. "You're a good-intentioned young man with hardly half the influence he's made out to have, and who got caught up in circumstances bigger than him and bigger than anyone should be asked to handle." He looked down at the tiny stove, nodding. "That thing," he concurred with a small smile. "Just find two cans of something you think you'll like, get them opened and dump them in the pot, then I'll help you light the Trangia. It's not that hard. The food's already been made. All you have to do is stir while it heats."

Brendon stared at Ryan a bit quizzically, his head tilted to the side. "You know only old people call me a 'young man', right?" he asked, snickering slightly before catching himself and stopping. He licked his lips and averted his eyes to look through the supplies again. There was a can of stew, which he took out proudly. Stew always filled people up. He held it up to show Ryan, then thrust the bag forward a bit. "You want to choose something? You are the one with a bullet wound," he mumbled, and found himself blushing for no apparent reason. Clearing his throat, he looked away briefly, firmly telling himself to get himself under control before looking back again.

"There's another can of stew," Ryan stated with a small smile, politely failing to mention anything about Brendon's new colouring. "I think stew is probably what goes best with stew. Or the carrots and peas. Your choice." Then he sighed, returning to more serious matters. "I'm not sure people can be raised the way you were and go through what you are and still be considered a boy," he said. "My best friend is nearly two years older than me and you're one hell of a lot more mature than he will probably ever be." He shrugged. "I guess some people just don't get to have a very long childhood. It's sad as fuck, but it's the way of the world." He looked away, feeling his eyes cloud with emotions for a moment. He guessed that in an entirely different way he belonged in that category just as much as Brendon did.

Brendon scrunched his nose in disgust at the mention of peas, instead opting for the second can of stew. He nodded hesitantly at Ryan's explanation, looking down at the cans in his hands, and feeling his stomach clench. It was suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere, causing Brendon's breath to hitch, and when it was over, he scowled. "Um," he hesitated, then drew himself up confidently. "What do you want me to do, then? I'll need instructions if we don't want this stew burnt and disgusting," he said, his voice playful and yet somehow still all-business. "We'll probably need more water soon, right?" he then asked, remembering that they only had one half-full bottle.

"When the others wake and we've eaten, I hope we can drive for a while, at least until we find some water, and hopefully farther. I really don't want this 'camping trip' lasting longer than it has to," Ryan answered, and set about explaining how to light the device. He bit his lip slightly. "You'll have to speak with Jon and Spencer soon, decide whether you want to go anon and be shipped to a refugee camp like other people who've made it across the border or if you want to go public about who you are. The second option would make it much easier for your parents and anyone else to know you're alive, but it would also give you some diplomatic difficulties that I don't have the gifts to get you out of." Not that he'd likely be around at that point anyway, but he wasn't exactly keen on thinking too much about that. "Remember to stir hard and quick enough that it won't burn on the bottom," he reminded, leaning back against the wheel of the truck.

Brendon did as he was told, all the while thinking about what Ryan had said. At some point, Spencer and Jon had woken and were now sitting close to them, talking quietly. Brendon sighed as he stirred with more force than was necessary, despite Ryan's earlier warning. The stew, once done, smelled delicious and tasted just as good, thankfully. Brendon couldn't help but feel proud that he'd made it. Well, he'd heated it up without burning it, in any case. He took a bite and then stared at Ryan for a moment, thinking of what he wanted to say. "Won't I be recognized, anyway?" he asked quietly, after a few moments of silence. He saw Spencer and Jon look up from the corner of his eye, looking interested. "I mean, isn't there any danger of that, even if I do..." he trailed off. "And if I do declare myself publicly, won't I also get diplomatic immunity? Or..." he trailed off again, slightly frustrated. Was he still Prince? Did he hold any power at all? But he didn't dare ask those questions out loud.

"You should," Ryan stated. "And if you endure the media circus to make your presence completely public, no one could rebuff you without an international outcry. My country might not be big on royalty, but we are allied with people like England who would definitely take offence to a prince being treated as anything but a prince." He shrugged slightly. "But then again, I can't look into the future. And I think that if you did your best to look a little ragged, maybe did something about your hair and took to wearing glasses or something, you might be able to blend in. But it's your choice." He shrugged again, taking another spoonful of the small portion of stew he'd given himself. He still didn't want to take food out of the mouths of the others, and even though he hoped the rations would last them, he still didn't want to take chances, which was why they were four people to two one-person meals. He swallowed the bite, smiling slightly. "It's good," he commented

Brendon nodded slowly, thinking this over. Did he want to go into a refugee camp? Or could he take a risk and just be himself, hoping for the best the whole way? He looked around at Spencer and Jon as he took a bite of the stew, humming in content. "Will Jon and Spencer be allowed to stay with me if they know I'm a Beauregard?" he asked softly, and knew that this would probably be one of the answers that clinched his decisions. And then a thought came to him. "If my father has been killed, doesn't that make me king? And if I am, couldn't I organize a conference and try to talk to DURA? Settle some of our differences?" he asked hopefully, his eyes wide and bright.

"It's an option," Ryan agreed. "But we have no way of knowing if he's dead or alive, so you probably shouldn't consider that option too much." He thought slightly, going through his long-buried legal knowledge from way back when before the academy. "Jon, to appease his parents, will probably be allowed to do whatever the hell he wants," he mused. "If he chooses to go public as well, that is. You, with diplomatic immunity and everyone trying to please Jon should secure Spencer wherever you want him to be." He shrugged, taking another slow bite of stew. It filled more if he ate it slowly. "You'd probably be courting the media the whole way through, though. It'll be far from a vacation."

Brendon scoffed, looking at Ryan as he'd grown an extra head. "Do you think dealing with the media is new to me?" he asked, his tone biting. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "And don't think they've all been very nice to me, either. I know when someone is being polite because they have to, and when someone is just genuinely nice." he finished, taking another bite of the stew. He was glad, though, that Spencer and Jon would be safe. Taking refuge was the farthest thing from his mind, now. "Will Jon get to see his parents, then?" he asked, and suddenly realized that Spencer also had parents. A father who spent a lot of the time in the castle, as a matter of fact, and the castle had no doubt been under attack. He cringed, his heart jumping to his throat. He didn't feel much for the fact that his father might be dead. The man had never really held him or been fatherly in any way. He was scared, though, for his mother, for Spencer's family, and for all of the workers in the castle who didn't deserve death. Shuddering, he quickly took another bite and looked down. Why did things always have to go pear-shaped?

"Not first thing," Ryan answered, deciding to diplomatically ignore the first comment. "From what I know, they're still in Beauregia too, probably working with our..." He cut himself off, at a loss for a moment of how to describe his countrymen. They weren't 'our people'. Ryan wasn't really on their side anymore. He was somewhere in between, still loyal to his country but working to protect the children of the enemy, actually fighting both sides. "The DURA soldiers," he concluded. "Once this is all over, I guess I don't see why not, but it's not really up to me." When this was all over, nothing was going to be up to him anymore, but he did not want to think about the looming threat of imprisonment, and so he determinedly pushed the thought away, going back to his food as he closed his eyes slightly, head leaning against the tire. His shoulder didn't hurt so much anymore now that the painkillers had kicked in, but a dully throbbing ache still remained, and he was tired again.

Spencer and Brendon both wore the same confused look. Spencer nudged Jon gently with his elbow, causing the boy, who had been steadfastly not looking up, the peer at him. "What do your parents really have to do with all of this, Jon?" he asked, trying to make his question sound as innocent as he could. Jon cleared his throat and shrugged uncomfortably.

"It's a long story," he finally settled on saying. "But basically they've been fighting against the way our country is run for a very long time, and they're very involved with DURA..." he trailed off bitterly, hoping this wouldn't change his friendship with neither Spencer nor Brendon. "It's a long story," he repeated, "and one I can tell you once this is all over, alright?" he asked, sighing slightly. He really didn't feel like getting into all the details. He loved his country, and he loved his parents. He wasn't ashamed of what they did, but it would be hard to explain it to people like Brendon and Spencer. Luckily, instead of pushing the subject, Spencer simply nodded and smiled slightly. "Anyway, we should probably start driving soon. The sooner we find water, the better. And I'm anxious to get as far away from Jackson as possible," he added before eating the last mouthful of stew.

Ryan decided not to add what he knew to the conversation, quite sure that Jon would rather handle that one on his own. "I'm anxious to get you three out of Beauregia as quickly as possible. It'll probably only be days now until the countryside will be crawling with soldiers, and I don't really want to be here for that." He sucked in a breath and quickly downed the rest of his stew. Sod eating it slowly at this point. All the others seemed to have already finished theirs. "I hope you're up for driving again, Jon," he said. "I'm not sure I can handle the wheel if it gets too bumpy at the moment. I'll do the navigation, though." With that he picked up a paper napkin from the rucksack and started - awkwardly with only one hand - to clean his plate before dumping it in the backpack and hoping someone else would get the bag in the car. Then he opened the door and climbed inside.