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John Steinbeck shot a glance toward the unconscious child beside him, only to look away. He’d asked Lovecraft to get them, and he had complied, but John didn’t really have any other plans besides that. Now, there they were, the three of them -- his old partner, an unconscious child, and John between them -- on a train to somewhere. Alcott had bought the tickets as some kind of goodbye and, in her own distinctly Alcott way, an apology. All he’d said was that he wanted to leave, but he couldn’t go home. He couldn’t go back to his family after everything he’d done. Not yet, at least. But he wanted a taste of the familiar, home-like even though he couldn’t have his home, and she had offered to find them somewhere. The child -- Q, the report had said, but Kyusaku Yumeno, Lovecraft had told him -- shifted and stirred, somewhere between unconscious and awake. He sighed.
What was he going to say, when they woke up? What could he say? They were going to be angry, almost certainly, and he couldn’t really blame them when they did. He didn’t know what to do, and Lovecraft was asleep, so he couldn’t ask him for help. He knew they’d be mad, he knew they’d be scared, he knew there was even a chance they would retaliate, and he knew there would be nothing he could do if they did. The more he thought about it, the less he knew why he had wanted to take them with him. Maybe it was a fragile attempt at reconciliation. Maybe he was trying to make himself feel better. Maybe he just missed having someone to take care of. It didn’t matter anymore, why he did it.
Yumeno whimpered, and he glanced back over at them. They had pulled their limbs tight against themself, shaking and shuddering. He extended a tentative hand, fingers hovering over their head. He didn’t know the specifics -- a kid like them had plenty to have nightmares about -- or even if he should get involved, but he wanted to. He swallowed the lump in his throat and let his fingers run through their hair, watching the brown and white blend together. He could almost imagine that he was home, comforting one of his own siblings, rather than on a train in a foreign country with a child whose life he had destroyed.
They curled up even closer in on themself, and he could see that they were crying now. Should… should he wake them up? He didn’t have a chance to make a decision, though, as their eyes flickered open. For a hazy moment, they leaned into his touch, and he smiled. Then, they blinked and suddenly shot upright, stumbling away from him, instinctively pulling a ragged chunk of glass from their pocket.
“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay.” He raised both of his hands and tried to smile what he could only hope was reassuringly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Oh, I know.” They smiled, and he felt something drop in the pit of his stomach as they reached for their doll. “But I’m going to hurt you.”
“Wait… please…”
“Now why would I do that?” They were still smiling, but he watched a tear roll down their cheek. “Did you wait, mister? Did you even think twice before you tied me to that tree? So no, I don’t think I will.” Their fingers sank into the doll’s head, and John froze. There was so much he could say, should say, before they killed him. Maybe, if he got lucky, Lovecraft would intervene, but either way, one of them would end up almost destroyed. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want them to die. He had to do something, had to stop them, but he didn’t know how. “Are you crying, mister?”
He was, he realized. Here he was, trying to win a fight he refused to be having, and he didn’t know what to do. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? You think that’s going to cut it?”
“No, I know that it doesn’t. I know that nothing ever will. But please, Yumeno… don’t.” The moment he said the name, they froze, doll falling limp on the ground at their feet.
“Why did you…?”
“Yumeno? Someone told me that was your real name. Do you want me to call you that?” For a moment, they stepped toward him, before their eyes went cold again.
“I don’t want you to talk to me ever again.”
“If you don’t kill me, we can get off this train and never see each other again. Is that okay?” They glanced around and nodded. He breathed a sigh of relief as a gentle tingling spread across his neck. They had released their ability. “I…” Was this a good idea? They shot him a glare. “We bought you lunch if you want it.” They watched him fish the box out of his bag. “I picked it out based on what my siblings like, so I’m sorry if we guessed wrong.” They tentatively took it and sat down again, setting their doll between themself and John in what was obviously a threat.
For a while, they rode in silence, the only sounds being Yumeno making their way through their lunch and the rattle of the train. Then, “Hey, mister, why did you take me?”
He gulped. He’d been dreading the question, but it was now or never. “I don’t know, to be honest. It was kind of a spur of the moment decision. I’m so sorry about what I did to you, and I know that there’s no way I can ever make it up to you, but I had to try. I wanted… well, shit. I guess I just wanted to see you again. I had to make sure you were okay.” They looked at him, nodded, and looked away, leaving the two of them, plus a still-sleeping Lovecraft, in silence once again.
It wasn’t until forty-five minutes later that anyone spoke again. “I don’t want to go back to the mafia,” Yumeno muttered.
“You don’t have to.” He wasn’t even quite sure what he was saying, but it felt right. “You’re going to be okay, Yumeno.” They stared at him.
“That’s what everyone says, and it’s never true. Dazai said that and then imprisoned me. Chuuya said that and then tried to stab me. Gin said that… that…” They hiccupped and started crying. Once again, John was stuck. He needed to do something, but he didn’t know what. Finally, he conceded to his ‘big brother instincts,’ as Ruthie had taken to calling it, and slid over to them on the bench, carefully shifting their doll into their lap.
They slumped against him, seemingly acting as much on instinct as he was, but they seemed almost confused by it, like it didn’t make sense to them to seek or be receiving comfort. For a moment, he expected them to jerk away from him, maybe arm their ability again. It seemed like they were expecting the same thing, but they didn’t move, just lay there, even as he brought his arm around to the other side and let them sob into his side.
At some point, he didn’t know when, he started crying. It was all just so much. He wanted to help them, but he knew they didn’t want his help. They’d been through so much, and he’d made everything worse because he was bitter and cold and angry. ‘God doesn’t love you?’ How could he have said that? How could he have said that to a child, a child who just wanted to be safe and loved and happy? That’s what he wanted, all he’d ever wanted, and he’d thrown his chance for it away to destroy theirs. He wanted to apologize to them every day until the day he died. He wanted to tell them that everything was okay and have it be true, and yet he couldn’t. At some point, their breathing evened out again, and he sighed. With a careful shift of his weight for their sake, he closed his eyes.
“Mister?” He blinked. Yumeno looked down at him. “We’re here.”
“Ah.” He drearily pulled himself to his feet and shot a glance at Lovecraft, who was standing half-asleep against the doorway. “Well, let’s go.” The three of them made their way off of the train. “Alright, I guess this is it.” He didn’t want it to be over, but it wasn’t up to him, in the end. It wasn’t his choice to make. He knelt down to get on eye level with them. “Take care of yourself, kid.” They looked at him, and he suddenly pulled part of their lunch wrapper out of his pocket. Maybe… he could give them the choice, if they ever decided to see him again. He scrawled a phone number onto it and offered it to them. They took it with a confused nod. “If you ever need anything…”
“Thank you.” They smiled, turned, walked away, and they were gone, disappearing into the crowd. John didn’t know if they would ever call. Maybe, someday, when everything hurt less, when it had all faded into painful memories, his old cell phone would ring, and he would hear that familiar voice on the other end.
“Well, let’s go, Lovecraft.” Lovecraft nodded, and they started walking in the opposite direction of the one Yumeno had gone, even as John fought the urge to run back after them, beg them to come with him, promise that he would protect him.
They made their way toward the end of the street. They were about to round the corner when he felt something run into him and wrap around his waist. “Ah!” He spun, already reaching for his knife when he saw what it was: Yumeno, arms wrapped around him.
“Thank you.” They looked up at him, mismatched eyes wide. Then, smiling softly, they disappeared once again into the crowd, leaving him with nothing but his regrets.