GO HOME. ( 4 - FINALE! )
Summary: This breeds a whole new headache. Warnings: Mentions of child abuse/trafficking, minor character death, nothing in depth. A/N: I’m gonna turn this short story into a comic in the next month or two, so look out for that - and a secret prologue ending - soon!
“Nothin’.”
Cthugha gawks, his arms folding tightly over his chest. “Nothing?”
“Nothin’,” Kuro clarifies with a regretful nod, one leg crossing over his lap as he reclines slightly in his chair. He spent all morning chasing up the meagre descriptions he has of the runaway child, but they’d all led to nowhere. It’s difficult to explain just how much it hurt to hear the head of the missing persons unit tell him that there was nobody who matched his description. The closest he came to a clue was a missing girl from Vide, and a Viddish citizen didn’t fit his MO to begin with. “I followed all the leads I could. Even mentioned the black hands ‘n’ the extreme aversion t’showin’ their face. Not a single hit.”
Cthugha purses his lips, scowls something horrid. “Your police procedures don’t work.”
“How d’y’reckon?” Kuro asks pointedly, leaning forwards in his seat with a tight frown.
“Can you two have yer little spat some other time?” Connor intervenes as he feels Deko shuffle in response to the noise. They’re still snoozing peacefully, their bagged head dipped low beneath his collar. Their soft breaths warm his shoulder. “Arguin’s not gonna help, no?”
“No. But it does make me feel better,” Cthugha quips, much to Sheriff Braav’s chagrin.
“Yer right,” Kuro agrees, pinching the space between his eyes as he wills a forming headache away. There’s no use in trying to reason with Cthugha when he’s this irate. Something must have happened while he was busy looking for Deko’s next of kin, though he hesitates to ask about it. “... I think we’re gonna have to take their bag off.”
The suggestion hangs limply in the air for a moment, and his resignation is plain as day.
“I hate t’ask,” the sheriff starts slowly, reaching into his pocket to put on his gloves. They’re thick and black, and regardless of how often he washes them, they always carry the slightest hint of decay. “But they seem t’have taken a shine t’you; would y’mind keepin’ ‘em still?”
Connor glances at the sleeping child, then back at Kuro. “Sure I can. But what’s the whole bag business about anyway? I thought it was just Cthugha bein’ cruel.”
“Hey! I’m not that terrible!”
“Deko seems t’be extremely shy,” Kuro explains, watching as they shuffle. Stay asleep. It’ll make everythin’ so much easier if y’just stay asleep. “When they first got here, they charged into the precinct like a wild animal, then hid under Cthugha’s desk. They refused to come out until they had somethin’ t’hide ‘emselves with.” He lowers his voice then, as if admitting to a dirty secret. “We ain’t even sure whether they’re a girl or a boy. It’s kinda hard t’narrow the search down when y’don’t even have basic details like that.”
“Hm…”
Subconsciously, Connor shifts the weight in his arms. It may have been a long time since he’d held Mia in the same way, but a father never forgets what it feels like to hold his little girl. Deko feels different– perhaps because they’re not his, perhaps because they’re a boy after all– but he can’t place exactly how. Their weight is present but ethereal all at once, as if he’s cradling a shadow.
Would Mia’s ghost feel the same?
He has to fight to keep the thoughts at bay; has to devote conscious effort to closing the door on such evocative memories. He may have developed some mental fortitude during his time in Merriway Hospital, but he'll never really be over her death. That much goes without saying.
"I can do it," he says firmly, aligning his focus once more. "They seem harmless."
"I dunno, they have one helluva bite on 'em…" Kuro admits as he closes the distance between them. His hands manoeuvre until they're able to ease Deko's head out from under his collar. To his dismay, they stir, a soft crooning noise made low in their throat.
"Hey, sleepyhead…" he coos, trying his best to come off non-threatening. This really is the last thing he wants to do, but it doesn't feel as if he has much choice. "Who's this?"
Deko scuttles over Connor's shoulder, arranging themselves in the opening of his coat. Snug as a bug.
"Maybe they like the dark?" Cthugha offers, glancing over Connor's choice in apparel. He recalls that the first thing Deko had done ( after scaling him with their improbable speed ) was bury their head beneath whatever fabric they could access. The sun seems to cause them some discomfort, even if mild.
"Listen…" How does he even go about doing this? "... we need a little look under yer baggie. Is that okay?"
They immediately rear back and shake their head, though Connor keeps them locked in place with a firm grip around their waist.
"It's alright," he says, attempting to soothe them. "Sheriff Braav is a good man. He won't hurt you."
But they're already wriggling and writhing with such ferocity that both men, grown and built, struggle to maintain their grip. Before he can think about it, Kuro curls his fingers around the edge of the bag and pulls upwards, attempting to make the motion quick and smooth. It comes off with an obnoxious FWOSHHH, though Deko darts beneath Connor’s coat with a sharp, shrill cry, a squirming lump travelling along the length of his body before they spill onto the floor in a heap. Their breathing is erratic, their face buried into the floor.
“It’s okay!” Kuro attempts to reach for them, but they kick off of their hands and knees and break into a frenzied run.
“They’re gonna hurt themselves!” Connor exclaims as they narrowly miss the blunt corner of Kuro’s desk.
Just before they can crash into the wall, Cthugha appears in front of them and cushions them– somewhat. They wind up sprawled on the floor, and he gains a firm grip in the scruff of their cape, hoisting them up with a squint.
“Alright, blondie. Enough fuss.”
“Wait. Hold on.” Kuro waves a hand, and the chaos seems to dissipate all at once. Cthugha looks at him curiously. Deko continues to shield their face with their arms, completely at the rifter’s mercy as he holds them aloft. “Wha’d’y’mean blondie?”
Cthugha frowns deeply, as if he’s been asked a ridiculous question. “Obviously that they’re blonde?”
“... they’ve got brown hair,” the sheriff states slowly, his brow furrowed.
Cthugha looks at them, then back at him. He repeats this several times before blurting out: “Are you BLIND? I know your years are stacking up, cowboy, but come on!”
Connor huffs, shakes his head. “Are you two screwin’ around fer fun? It’s black.”
The disagreement hovers in the air between them, all but palpable as each man begrudgingly lays down his sword. It’s one thing for two of them to clash, but for all three of them to have conflicting ideas about the colour of the child’s hair? It doesn’t seem plausible. Something greater is at play here.
“... somethin’s wrong,” Kuro says quietly, turning to look at Cthugha. “There’s somethin’ weird about ‘em.”
Cthugha scoffs. “You’re scared of children now? First it was trees, now it’s kids–”
“Shut up!” There’s more bite in the phrase than either of them are used to, and Cthugha is torn between shrinking down and puffing up with indignation. In silence, he lowers Deko to the ground and watches them wobble into a corner, facing it like the world’s most shameful dunce. “I’m tellin’ y’,” he utters, powerless to keep the pain in his head from spreading further. It was a dull throb between his eyes at first. Now it’s an inferno. It’s consuming the forefront of his mind like it’s made of firewood. “Somethin’s not right. They’re… they said they’re from the dark. They hide from the light. I ain’t have nightmares; the one time they stay in my house? A terror like y’wouldn’t believe. ‘n’ I saw them–”
“We’ve been over this,” Cthugha interrupts carefully, his hands on his hips. “Ya must have dreamed it.”
“They were in my room.”
“They didn’t leave the living room! They were there when ya came in, you saw that.” It’s Cthugha’s turn to pinch the bridge of his nose. If it isn’t already evident to those that surround him, he’s terrible at keeping his temper in check. Only when he’s certain that his voice won’t raise: “It was a dream, Kuro. It wasn’t real.”
They’re at an impasse, and it shows. Kuro is so sure, but so is Cthugha, and tension fills the space between them as they stare at one another.
Connor suddenly clears his throat, redirecting attention to himself.
“If I may,” he starts, and only then do they realise he’s holding something. It’s brown and neatly folded, and as he approaches Deko and slides it over their head, it becomes obvious that it’s another bag. Brown, this time; cartoonishly nondescript. “It seems neither of y’have answers. Y’can’t agree.”
“Because it’s dumb,” Cthugha retorts, annoyed.
“Won’t y’concede that Sheriff Braav knows what he saw? He’s got a keen eye. Has to as a detective.”
Cthugha falls silent, his foot beginning to tap.
“And Kuro– can’t y’trust that Cthugha did what y’asked ‘n’ kept his eye on ‘em? He’s proven himself reliable, no?”
The sheriff hums low in his throat, glancing away from the object of his frustration. “... then wha’d’y’propose? We can’t both be right.”
“Course y’can. In part,” Connor replies, his hand settling on Deko’s shoulder as he spins them around to face them both. “Or y’can both be wrong.”
“In part?”
“Just wrong.”
They watch with a muted sense of fascination as Deko shuffles behind his legs, peeking out at them as if they’re suddenly the ones that scare them. Guilt washes over the pair in waves, and they both look away, one scratching at his jaw while the other scuffs the floor with his boot.
“... I’m at a loss as t’what t’do with the kid,” Kuro confesses, his voice a sheepish and culpable hybrid. “I was just tryna help, but I guess I got it wrong. I’m sorry.”
Cthugha scratches his neck, teeters between saying something and saying nothing at all. “... maybe I was… a little too harsh.” Apologising is a monumental task to somebody who’s seldom had to do it before. He may have been in Huron for close to a year at this point, but his reclusive habits still linger. If ever he doesn’t have to speak to people, he won’t. It saves him a lot of commiseration. “Maybe you’re onto something. Things aren’t exactly adding up.”
“Either way…” The sheriff pauses to heave out a sigh before moving to his desk, reluctantly retrieving a file from the draw. “I s’ppose our only option now is t’contact an orphanage over in Vide.”
Connor straightens up, then shakes his head furiously. “Whoa– no. Don’t do that.”
“What else can I do? I can’t leave a child without a roof over their head.”
“Just— let me do it!”
Kuro falls still, then turns to face him with a furrowed brow. “I can’t ask y’to do that. Y’must know that.”
“Yer not askin’. I’m volunteering.”
“This ain’t a community project, Mr. Vanton, this is a person. It’s different.”
Connor circles the desk quickly, leaving Deko behind. His hands meet the surface, his face pleading. “Don’t y’think I know that? That’s exactly why I’m askin’.”
He’s never been to Vide - not for leisure, anyway - but he recalls the things his daughter told him about the state of affairs over there. The overt poverty; the ruthless unrest; the messy streets and the disadvantaged youths. It was precisely why she’d wanted a career in working with children, and exactly the reason that Dawson had been perfect for her, too.
I want t’teach kids that’re strugglin’, daddy. There’re so many in Vide. Can’t y’work closer t’home? I’ll miss y’too much. They need me more than the kids here do. I’ll visit often, I promise.
“Y’don’t know what yer doin’. Kids in there, they don’t leave.”
“How d’y’know that? Are y’an expert on Viddish systems all of a sudden?”
“Mia told him,” Cthugha says, and the penny drops with such a sickening clink that Kuro feels nauseating guilt for the second time that day. “Right? Mia wanted to be a teacher, she was studying in Vide.”
“Yeah. How did you… y’know what, nevermind.” He knows better than to question Cthugha at this point. He has no idea how his time travel powers work– and has barely come to accept that they even exist in the real world in the first place– but he’s willing to guess that they have something to do with his uncanny knowledge. “Yer gonna send them away anyway, aren’t you? What’s the harm in me takin’ ‘em under my wing fer the meantime?”
“Is that really the best thing fer you?”
He hates to ask, but he has to. It would be negligible if he didn’t. Connor had barely left a mental institution but three months ago. Is putting a child in his life– a child that he could grow attached to and then subsequently have to let go– really something that should be entertained?
“Look, I know this isn’t permanent. ‘n’ I’m not– I’m not tryin’ t’fill Mia’s void. Nothing can do that. She’s gone. I know that. I’ve made peace with it.” His words shake almost as much as his arms do. Admitting such a thing takes such herculean effort that he feels dizzy in its wake. “But this is what she’d want, to help a kid who has nothin’. That’s what she’d do. That’s what she’d want us all t’do.”
“What about what you want?”
Both men turn to look at the rifter. He looks milder than before, his disposition cool and calm.
“I just… want t’help. That’s it. I want t’be useful again. I’ve spent so long just… rotting. I’m finally well enough t’do things again and I want t’do them. I can be of use to you, finally. I know I can.”
Kuro sighs deeply, leaning back in his chair. His pen goes takka-takka-tak as he fiddles with it, the gears in his brain turning rampantly. There are several reasons as to why this is a bad idea, one that he should promptly shut the door on, the first of them being the ever-important detail that Connor is barely back on his feet after twenty years of unhealthy grieving.
But there are also several factors that make it the best option he has.
He already knows that the paperwork to set up such an arrangement would be horrendous, and that the process wouldn’t be immediate. Connor also has ample experience with raising a child. He did so on his own, without the presence of his wife to anchor him, and the reason that Mia is no longer with them has nothing to do with the quality of his parenting. She’d been a gentle, sweet girl, whose only goal in life seemed to be making their districts all the more peaceful. A girl with good values, with high morale and a positive attitude, and whose loss is felt by some to this day.
“I say let him,” Cthugha says belatedly, looking quelled.
“Why d’y’say that?”
“Because.” He looks at Connor, and he feels as if he’s being read like a book. “He needs some purpose. People are miserable without that.” His gaze shifts to the sheriff, locks on unabashedly. “You know all about that.”
Kuro flinches slightly, unprepared for such a statement. “What does–”
“You’re going to send the kid away anyway, aren’t ya? What’s the harm in Connor watching over them while we figure out where they actually belong?”
Kuro watches feebly as Deko sidles over, tottering until they’re beneath the flaps of Mr. Vanton’s coat. They take shelter there much like a bird does, nuzzling their face into the denim of his pants like baby birds do their mother’s breast.
“We’ll figure it out,” Cthugha assures with a sober nod. He’s already convinced that he can crack the mystery, even if they’ve had very little luck so far. “Connor can be instrumental to us. He can earn their trust. They might want to tell him something useful of their own volition.”
“We’re gonna leave it in a child’s hands?” Kuro quizzes uncertainly.
“Think of it this way, big guy,” Cthugha starts with a shrug. “Wherever they came from, it couldn’t hold them. Ya really think an orphanage in a negligent district is gonna be the secure safe haven ya think it is? No way. You mark my words, they’re gonna be back out there before ya know it, and then you’ll have a bigger problem on your hands.”
He thinks about that– really thinks about it, until the sense in Cthugha’s words begins to seep into his own brain. He doesn’t know what constitutes as “the dark”, but he’s certain that with enough investigation, he’ll find out - and when he does, he has the sneaking suspicion that he’ll be surprised that they escaped at all.
His heart beats dully in his temples, the beginnings of a migraine forming. This is so far from protocol that he should be disgusted by the notion of going through with it, but all he can think about is this young child stumbling blindly through districts they don’t know. They’re incredibly lucky that the people they found were them and not more unsavoury characters. Only Raku knows what might have become of them if they’d run east and wound up on Vide’s doorstep.
Traffickin’s rife there, I hear.
“... okay,” he murmurs, rubbing his forehead gently. “Yer right. Yer right. There’s no use shruggin’ ‘em off t’a place like Vide. They’ll be screwed no matter what. We’re outta options that don’t damn ‘em.” The report he was on the cusp of filling out is tucked back into its appropriate draw, and he’s slightly ashamed to admit that he does so with some relief. Vide may be improving, but not at a rate that he’s happy with; not at a pace that makes him think it can safely accommodate a baby. “But this is temporary. Just until we find the information we’re lookin’ fer.”
“Thank you.” It’s almost wheezed, Connor’s head bowing as if he’s been granted a million quers and not the burden of a dependent five year old. “I understand. I swear I’ll do it right. ‘n’ anythin’ relevant t’yer investigation, I’ll give it t’you.”
Kuro groans softly as he massages his temples.
With this glaring breach of protocol, he now has a whole new headache to worry about.