annundriel:

for @marsastronomica

Cannon Beach is packed.  It’s a Tuesday in early October, and Hank has to circle the two main blocks three times before he finds a place to park.  They could keep driving, but they’ve been following the coast all morning; Hank wants to feel the sun on his face and the wind in his hair, he wants the salt and the sand and a bag of taffy.  (He’ll leave the birds.)  It’s autumn and, hell, Oregon is beautiful and Connor is beside him, fingers fidgeting and looking like Connor does, and Hank feels as bright as the sun off the water.  They don’t have to be back in Detroit for two weeks.

Sumo’s tail thumps in the backseat and Connor turns back to look at him.  “Ready to get out, Sumo?” he asks, before smiling at Hank and slipping out of the car to grab Sumo and his leash.

Alone, Hank grins and then follows.

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