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Tangerine did not want to carry those stupid trains.
For one thing, they were for children, which he was not. For another thing, the small bulge it made in his pocket was the definition of uncool, which he was not. [Lemon had once suggested they put them on keychains, but Tangerine had responded that he'd rather just die, and Lemon never brought it up again.]
As much as he hated them, though, they made Lemon happy, and that was all that really mattered. In truth, it was his motivation in just about everything he did, even if he'd never admit it.
The trains were Thomas and Friends, of course, and linked together so that when they got close enough, they'd call out to one another. “Hi best friend!” the bright green Percy train would call with a joyful blast of its tiny horn. “Hi, Percy!” the little blue Thomas would answer back. Tangerine always thought it was kind of cruel, that Thomas was Percy’s best friend but Percy, apparently, wasn't Thomas’s. He would never say that to Lemon, at the risk of a lecture on the intricacies of railyard politics. What he did say was more along the lines of how those stupid fucking trains were going to get them killed one day, and he hoped he at least lived long enough to get out one last “I fucking told you so.”
They weren't total idiots, of course, despite Tangerine’s protests. They took turns keeping the trains switched off, since they wouldn't talk to each other unless they were both turned on. He couldn't imagine how that could possibly be entertaining for a child, but he didn't spend too much time thinking about it. The practical applications of children's toys were better suited to aimless men with too much time on their hands, which he was not.
In fact, what he had now was no time at all. At least, that's how it felt. There had been a shootout, a grenade thrown, a deafening explosion. His ears were still ringing, but aside from that there didn't seem to be any noise. He wanted to find Lemon and he wanted to get out of there but instead he made himself do the thing he hated most of all--he waited. He listened. He took stock of his surroundings, his injuries. His leg was bleeding, but it didn't seem life-threatening. His head hurt, but that was to be expected. A cut on his eyebrow was dripping blood into his left eye, which was infuriating but otherwise harmless. Everyone around him seemed to be either dead or incapacitated, because he didn't see or hear anyone else moving around. But the only thing that mattered, the only thing he actually cared about right now at this moment, was his brother. Lemon had been next to him when the shootout had started, but had gotten up to see if the coast was clear. That was before the grenade hit. They'd been separated in the blast, of course. He stood, slowly, favoring the leg without a huge gash in it and looking around to see if Lemon was anywhere in sight. Which he was not.
But it wasn't time to panic. Not yet. They'd been separated before. They'd been hurt before. They'd been kicked in the dick by life so many times, he'd lost count a decade ago. But the panic crept in anyway, snaking its inky black fingers under the door of his mind and rattling it in the frame. Tangerine took a breath, looked around again, forced himself to stand still when all he wanted to do was run, in every direction at once, screaming his brother's name. Not the stupid nicknames they gave each other for anonymity but his name , the one only he knew, since anyone who had known it was lost to time or death. He wanted to tear at the rubble until his hands bled but that wouldn't help anyone. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the little blue train, turning it on and closing his eyes in a silent prayer to no one in particular.
The light came on, and that was good. But the little train stayed silent, staring up at him with his giant, vacant, painted eyes. Say something you piece of shit, he thought, but of course…nothing. He took a tentative step, then a shaky breath, then picked a direction, trying to remember which shoes Lemon had put on that morning. He actually kind of hated that Lemon had given him the Thomas train. Thomas was meant to be the leader, but sometimes Tangerine didn't feel like leading anything. Also, and more importantly, Lemon was his best friend. His only friend, sure, but that didn't actually change anything. In any universe, in any situation, Lemon would be his best friend. Not that he'd ever said that out loud. He sighed. Maybe that was how Thomas felt about Percy, too.
The leg held, so he took another step, wiping the blood from his eye as best as he could. There were bodies everywhere, but none that looked familiar. He could barely remember what they were doing in this jungle, what this mission even was. He walked, slowly, the agonizing pace threatening to tear him into a thousand little pieces. But he knew the slightest noise could alert him of someone's presence, or, more importantly, Lemon's location.
As he walked, head sweeping slowly from side to side, ears straining for the smallest sound over the ringing of his ears, he made promises, the way he always did. No more of this. No more missions, no more jobs. The money was good and money was important to two kids who ‘d been bounced through the foster system, but it wasn't everything. His brother was everything. And if--he winced visibly as the thought hit his brain, causing the cut on his eyebrow to reopen and drip more blood into his eye. When he found Lemon, they'd quit all of this. Open a dog groomers or a dry cleaners or a fucking bakery for all it mattered. Anything that didn't involve lying and getting shot at. And they could put these trains on a shelf or in a drawer or in the bin. He didn't care. He lifted his hand again, staring at the train’s face and one-watt headlamp. This was pointless, he thought, before starting to walk again. The worst idea they'd ever had. What if Lemon's train wasn't even on him anymore? What if it'd been lost in the fight? Or what if it had been switched off, or crushed? Or the batteries fell out? Or--
“Hi, Percy!”
Tangerine froze, straining his ears so hard it physically hurt his muscles, but he didn't want to miss it. Couldn't miss it.
“Hi best friend!”
His head whipped around so fast he nearly fell over, but he saw, all the same: the sleeve of Lemon's jacket, ripped and covered in blood, sticking out from the door of the cabin they'd been in when the explosion had hit. Tangerine made his way toward him fast as his injured leg would allow, not caring if each step sent fresh blood down his shin. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered as long as Lemon was alive. He reached his brother's side and hauled the door off of him, hissing through gritted teeth. They could handle anything that came their way, as long as they did it together. As long as his brother was still alive. Which…
“Told you those trains would come in handy.”
He was.