The Last Train [PJM]
➴ Pairing: reader x Park Jimin (platonic; familial) | WC: 1.7k | Genre: angst, h/c | Rating: G (general)
➴ Warnings: grieving/grief; major character death (already happened prior to story; death is just the main theme of this fic), death (obviously)
➴ Tags: death, grief, hurt/comfort, train conductor!jimin, train!conductor reader, grandfather!jimin, grandchild!reader [gender neutral], major character death
➴ Summary: Upon the end of your grandfather's life, you seek closure and begin a life without him.
➴ Author's note: this is a very personal story. I lost my grandparent six months ago and it's all been downhill from there, but it's time for me to get up off the floor. I understand that not everyone grieves the same way I do (namely to put it into writing and publish it), but this was also written for anyone who's lost a loved one and needs comfort. Please don't yell at me for not writing something a certain way -- this was written as a form of self-comfort and serves as a goodbye to my grandparent. NOT BETA READ.
Based off the poem The Train of My Life by Jean d'Ormesson.
Do not redistribute or plagiarise on any other platforms (including but not limited to wattpad, youtube, instagram, facebook). I only use tumblr and AO3 as of the time of posting. If I find my work plagiarised or redistributed without consent, I will not hesitate to take legal action.
“It’s been a pleasure, fellow Conductor.” a voice sounds near your ear, warm and comforting.
You swivel in your chair to find a familiar figure standing near the sliding door, hands clasped together in front of him.
“What do you mean?” you ask, not bothering to hide the quaking in your voice.
“I mean that my stop is next. That we’ll be arriving at my station soon, and it’s time for me to go.” A sad smile mars an elderly gentleman’s face, shattering the peaceful façade.
Tears well up in your eyes and you pull the brakes as hard as you can, unwilling to go even a metre further. The train screeches to a halt, wheels groaning against the metal tracks as sparks fly from the friction between the two.
“No,” you say firmly, shaking your head. “No, I won’t let you go.”
His smile widens further, but his eyes offer a glimpse into his true emotions. He hurts as much as you, if not more. He’s known you since you were still in your mother’s stomach, after all. Has fought for you, loved you, since the moment he learned of your existence. Has sheltered you, raised you, nurtured you, laughed with you, and wiped your tears away when you were sad.
“Grandpa, please,” you beg. “Just a little more time. Just a few minutes. That’s all I ask.”
“But a few minutes will turn into more, and then we’ll be at a standstill, my dear,” he says gently. “When it comes to those we love, even forever isn’t enough.”
Your lower lip trembles as you fight to keep a sob from escaping. He’s not wrong. In fact, that’s precisely why it feels like your heart is entrapped in a vice-like grip. “Please don’t leave me.”
“My little one,” he says simply, eyes shining with unshed tears as he lifts his arms. You don’t hesitate, crossing the short distance between you in two bounds and into his embrace. “My sweet, beautiful, kind-hearted little bird.”
He strokes your hair lovingly as you press your face into the polo shirt he loves to wear at home, the piqué fabric greedily soaking up your tears.
You hold his waist with one hand, the other resting on his back as you return the embrace. He continues to soothe you, whispering while he waits for you to collect yourself.
“You can’t leave yet, grandpa,” you mumble into his chest. “I haven’t finished honouring my familial duties to you.”
“What do you mean by that?” he asks.
“I treated you horribly when I was a teenager. I flung your hand away every time you reached for it. I said things I wish I never said, but can’t take back. I wished terrible things on you when I thought you were being unfair. I even wished for your—”
“My little bird,” he says again, lifting your chin to meet your eyes. You look away, unable to meet his gaze. “Look at grandpa. Please.”
You do as you’re told.
“We have all done things we regret in life. Grandpa has never once blamed you for anything you did. Ah-ah,” he starts when you begin to protest. “I don’t want to hear it. You are my beloved grandchild. I don’t hold it against you. I never have, and never will, even for a second. We are all foolish when we are teenagers. You do, you regret, you learn from your mistakes, you move on. This is what grandpa has taught you. Do you remember?”
You nod meekly, tears continuing to flow down your cheeks.
“Grandpa loves you. And you love grandpa. This is what is truly important. Your actions spoke louder than your words. I know you loved me then, and you love me even more now. You have grown so much, and I am very proud of you. I know you did not truly mean what you said then. We never do when we are emotional, and you were quite angry during your teenage years, weren’t you?”
You flush at the memories that arise from his words. He chuckles lightheartedly. “Forgive an old man for his cheekiness.”
“Anything for you,” you reply simply. He beams at that, his smile wider than it has been in a long time.
“And that, my little bird, is what I mean when I say you have a heart of gold. You have always been kind. Kind to a fault, really. You forgive and forget when you should only forgive, and people have taken advantage of your gentle nature. You are too sweet. You must learn to protect yourself. Be kind, but have a backbone. Bite back when you need to. Being magnanimous does not equate being a doormat. Be like grandpa.”
A fresh wave of grief washes over you, and you cling to him like it’s the last thing you’ll be able to do.
He rests his head on top of yours, blinking back the evidence of his own anguish as he swallows hard. It hurts him just as much to leave you, if not more, but with his earthly duties finished, he has no choice but to leave.
“There’s so much more I wanted to do with you,” you say sadly. “I just got my memories back, and you’re…I mean, our journey is ending. I wanted to reminisce with you more and ask you advice like you always wanted me to do and—”
Your voice quivers and breaks as denial finally breaks its hold over you. Your grandfather is leaving, his story continuing only through the legacy he’s left on this earth, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. No amount of begging, holding, pleading, or wails of agony will delay his departure, even if you both desperately want him to stay with you.
Your grandfather tucks a finger under your chin to peer at your face and smiles bitterly, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. You bite your lower lip, vision blurring as you sniffle.
“I don’t want you to blame yourself for anything that’s happened in the past,” you hear him say. “The past is in the past. What’s important is how we move on from our mistakes and learn from them.”
He brings your attention to a digital clock that has begun counting down the time you have left. 15 minutes. 14:57.
You blink. 13:53. That can’t be right. You can’t have wasted one minute just staring at the bright red numbers instead of memorising every last centimetre of your grandfather’s face. No matter. You’ll regret it later. You have to make the most of what’s left.
Steeling your resolve, you pull back in your grandfather’s embrace and look at him determinedly, furrowing your eyebrows. He lets out a laugh at something only he can see, and you feel the corners of your lips quirk up at his infectious joy. You think your grandfather is the most perfect human being to exist, albeit having his flaws. He has helped countless people over the course of his life, giving advice, comfort, and financial assistance to those who needed it. He made mistakes and bumbled his way through life at times, but never once did he let his mistakes hold him back.
He taught you to keep moving forward, even if it felt like the sky was crumbling.
You spend the rest of the time you have holding him close, murmuring your innermost thoughts and listening to his voice, not noticing when he leans over to the control panel and disengages the brakes, allowing the train to begin moving forward again.
It is only when a gentle chime sounds, echoing throughout the train, and a pre-recorded voice announces that the train has arrived at the last station that you realise your time is up.
Fresh tears well in your eyes when your grandfather squeezes your hand tightly, tugging you along to the door. Mutely, you follow him and step off the train, wrinkling your eyebrows when you see a new train on the opposite side of the platform.
“That’s your train, little bird,” your grandfather says. “Your journey with me is over, and it’s time to take control of your own train. It has followed you the whole time you were on mine. You have a life to live, a train of yours to drive. You will have passengers that get on and get off. You may promote some to co-conductors and demote them. This is all part of the train of life.”
He pulls you to him, holding you so tight that you can’t breathe, but releases you after a moment. “Fly free, my little bird. When it’s your time, I will be waiting at your station to welcome you home.”
Tears spill over and follow a pre-ordained path down your face as you step off your grandfather’s train and onto your own. It feels wrong, but you know it’s the right thing to do. You must move on, no matter how difficult it is.
The doors are closing. Please step back. You listen to the disembodied announcer and watch, smiling through your tears, as your grandfather-less train begins to move and leave his station. His waving form grows smaller and smaller, until nothing but the darkness of a tunnel surrounds the train. You’ve officially left him behind.
Letting out a long exhale, you wipe your eyes and your nose before entering your conductor’s cabin, where you freeze.
On one of the chairs lies a framed photo of you and your grandfather, with a note on top that reads:
To my precious little bird. I could have never asked for a better grandchild. Even if I could spend eternity with you, it would still not be enough. You are my pride and joy. Finish your duties thoroughly and leave as few regrets as possible. Do not rush through them to find me. I am an important but not the only part of your life. You still have much to look forward to. I love you. See you soon.
As you read the second last line of his letter, your train exits the tunnel into a beautifully sunny field with his favourite flowers lining either side of the meadow.
Momentarily blinded, you hold a hand to shield your face and squint against the sudden onslaught of light before turning your attention to the last line of the letter he left you.
Love, Grandpa (Park Jimin).
MList
“The Last Train [PJM]” is © copyright @youtifulhobi 2024, all rights reserved.
