Kids in America
Author’s Note: Titled after the eponymous song, covered by Len, featured in Digimon: The Movie. Note that in the original language version, Wallace always calls his Digimon by their Baby / In-Training names, hence why Terriermon is referred to as Gummymon here. Enjoy the story and R&R.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of the Digimon series.
Pairing: Daisuke/Wallace/Michael triangle.
It’s been a decade since Motomiya Daisuke and Wallace’s first pilgrimage together, and they now find themselves on a country trek yet again. Only this time, they have an extra wheel along for the ride.
Motomiya Daisuke slumped to his ankles on the dusty, trodden road. If he had to walk any further, he’d give new meaning to the phrase “You are what you eat,” a pile of limp ramen noodles cooked to a crisp somewhere in the prairies of Nebraska.
The trip they planned to Wallace’s hometown was a quiet retreat to take the load off following a fully packed week of scouting apartments in NYC. Regrettably, Daisuke overslept into Monday afternoon.
Pinning their plight on his American host would have been effortless, but a man doesn’t blame his loved ones for the failures of his own character, especially when the wild night that made them miss their plane was his doing.
Take it easy on the sake.
Maybe if he’d heeded Wallace’s advice and stuck to the less alcoholic beer, they wouldn’t be in this bind.
Skipping breakfast? Not a major deal, except Daisuke wasn’t the sole drifter in the group not to eat. Chibimon couldn’t evolve on an empty stomach, so they were forced to find an alternative mode of transportation.
It’s not like they could realistically cross eight states on Lighdramon’s back alone, anyway. Man, Daisuke yearned for the days when Imperialdramon zipped them around the world in an instant.
Thus far, they’d hopped a train Wallace repeatedly insisted wasn’t the “F Train,” as Daisuke kept mislabelling it. Security was tighter than the golden age of yore, ten years prior; they managed to evade detection at each station, but rail line officers finally chased them out the cargo wagon in Lincoln.
Socks smelly and sweaty, Daisuke did as he often did since arriving in the US: looked to Wallace for counsel. The bilingual Chosen Child had the right idea. On his head rested his big-eared Digimon, shading him from the countryside’s harmful UV rays.
“Daishuke?” The sugar-high “space cat” scaled his partner’s arm.
“At this rate, we’ll never make it to the Summer Memory,” Wallace complained, though he complimented their choices in Digi-sportswear. “Let’s hitch.”
“Anything beats more walking!”
Plus, hitchhiking was how they met. Good times.
“One problem…” Daisuke groaned. “All I see is endless outback! Not a car in sight!”
Untroubled, Wallace raised his thumb. Gummymon raised an ear.
Eventually, Daisuke got bored watching, and elevated a hand himself. Sadly, not even a tumbleweed tumbled by. And boy, did he want to catch a ball of thistle and mail it to his parents in Japan, just to confuse the heck out of them.
Perhaps a cardboard sign would help. Iori’s “With Monster” placard sounded ludicrous, yet it worked once in the past.
“How is your wrist not tired?”
“You have to lower your expectations and be patient. We don’t have the luxury of city traffic.”
Again, his canine companion externalized his argument, shrugging his ears.
“So what you’re saying is, if I don’t think you’ll kiss me, and do jack else, I’ll get some action?”
Wallace laughed. Daisuke’s unsubtle attempt at humour was a nice pick-me-up. “Sure, Daisuke. Sure.”
The roar of an engine approached.
“Somebody’s coming!” Daisuke began dancing on the path’s edge. “Hey! Heyheyheyheyhey!”
It must’ve succeeded because before they knew it, a flashy BMW pulled up. Rugged departure from the rustic surroundings.
The window rolled down.
“Need a lift, Daisuke?”
He didn’t recognize the driver at first, what with his dark sunglasses and white aviator scarf. A dramatic flip of the lenses corrected that.
“Woah! Michael? Is that you? Sick ride!”
Michael. It had to be Michael! Wallace bit his quivering lip.
He and Mr. Fancy Pants became acquainted during a stateside gathering of the Chosen Children Mimi arranged while she still lived in New York. Truthfully, they didn’t jibe well. Wallace viewed Michael as a facetious elitist cruising through life on his daddy’s Hollywood earnings, and Michael viewed Wallace as a self-pitying flirt who couldn’t get out from under mommy’s thumb.
If only each saw in the other what Daisuke saw. Michael may have led a lavish lifestyle, but that was merely a defence mechanism; after resisting the typecasting glares of his father’s fan base and the media for most of his childhood, he decided it best to simply accept those circumstances, and continue on the humble prince he truly was. Wallace – he bottled up his emotions, but it took guts to rough it and disobey a woman as imposing as his mother.
Daisuke tried being the connective glue, ignorant of how deep their quarrel ran. They both desired Daisuke. Considering the emigrant was presently attached to Wallace, friction came naturally.
A bolt of electricity crashed between them, unnoticed by the third.
“The airline called when you were a no-show. Apparently, you listed me under emergency contacts? Haha, lucky you were carrying your Digivice and D-Terminal! Koushiro hacked the Pentagon, triangulated the signal, and tracked you here!”
Betamon genteelly crawled aside to free up the middle and passenger seats, which Daisuke, Wallace, and their Digimon assumed.
“Where to, Mac?”
“Wallace’s old family farm, of course!” Daisuke judiciously punched the coordinates into the GPS.
Figures. The one address he remembers!
“You don’t mind me tagging along, do you?” Michael directed the question towards Daisuke, and a smirk towards Wallace.
“I’d be offended if you didn’t!”
Not sharing his enthusiasm, Wallace bared his teeth in the mirror.
Michael paid no attention, striking up a friendly conversation.
Seriously. What was it about Motomiya Daisuke that made blonds go crazy for him?