The airport is bustling with people here to pick up their family and friends who were coming home for Christmas. The shrieking of excited children, the soft playing of the carols over the baggage reclaim speakers and, of course, the whisperings of those people fortunate enough to recognise him from the bashing mere months before. The shrill of the alarm pierces the air, causing the teen to jump ever so slightly. He stands there, resting heavily on one denim clad leg as he rubs his eyes with one hand, the bright blue orbs which are hidden behind his Prada sunglasses. The door beside him opens and a cold gust of air blows strands of dirty blonde hair over his face, obscuring his view as he hastily throws his newly arrived duffel bag over his shoulder. As expected, there’s a car waiting for him outside the doors of the main terminal. Since his landing in Pittsburgh, the skies have decided to open and if his memory serves him right, that means it’ll be raining for about a week now. Figures. So he tugs the oversized leather jacket about his petite frame and wanders across the pathway to it. He wishes he could stop and light up a cigarette but he knows it won’t do his ‘innocent-and-somewhat-angelic’ image any good. With an overdramatic sigh he drops into the backseat, his fingers drumming impatiently on his thigh. “So, Percival, I assume the Captain sent you?” The man in the drivers seat turns his head ever so slightly so he can catch the boys eye in the rear-view mirror before nodding. “Yes Mr Taylor, she wished me to make sure you arrived at the Novotny household unharmed and, preferably, in one piece…” ‘Mr Taylor’ raises a slim eyebrow, a loud puff of air escaping from his mouth, “Oh I just fucking bet she did…” he grumbles quietly, though he supposes it was loud enough as there’s a loud cough from the front seat and the rattling of a tin. “A dollar for the cuss jar please Mr Taylor”, his teasing voice annoys the blond slightly but he fishes into his pocket and pulls out a tenner instead. He spots the confused look and he grimaces. “I’m gonna fucking need that…” The journey home from Las Vegas had been long and tedious. The whole way had been a mass of annoyances from the small child crying behind him to the terror beside him continuously flicking peanuts at him. He’d been close to either knocking the child out or, better yet, throwing himself off the plane. Having spent the last three months allegedly MIA, he’d let onto Deb he was coming home and had, thus, been summoned to a family dinner held in his honour. Wasn’t he special. He could see it now. Debbie crushing him on sight. Michael looking ready to have an aneurysm. Emmett shrieking in a way that would only be audible to dogs in the next state and Brian…well God only knows what Brian would do. Guess he’d have to find out.