Chapter Text
The rain creates a soft, rhythmic tapping on the umbrella the stranger had given him. It’s still gripped tightly in his hands, protecting them from the sheets of rain that continue to fall. The man had given him a scarf to wrap around his mouth, but even he can tell it did very little against the air's pollutants. His throat felt tingly, like a cough was just waiting to come out no matter how many times he’d cleared his throat.
Still, he keeps the umbrella as still as he can manage, because that’s what he was asked to do. This stranger, this mysterious man had given him a name, something he’s desired for as long as he can remember. Who was he to deny him anything he asked?
Enjin. That’s what he’d called him.
He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He wanted to like it, he did, but it felt wrong. Like he didn’t deserve it. He knows he doesn’t, not after everything he’d done, the people he’d hurt. Yet somehow he got what he wanted without an apparent cost. An actual name, not one that was only added to the pile of names he’d been given by screaming adults, but an actual name. The man had called him that after giving it to him, and something had welled up in his chest, an unfamiliar feeling. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.
A part of him is still waiting for the other shoe to drop. To be manhandled and taken away back to the market, like this was all some big trick. It wouldn’t surprise him if that happened. He wouldn’t be upset. This man had already given him the only thing he desired, if he wanted to sell him, then fine. The man’s behavior only made sense to him if it was some kind of trick. He was strange, carrying him to safety and giving him water without asking for something in return. It didn’t make sense to him.
For as long as he’s been alive he’s had to give something to get something. People don’t help just because they want to. They help because you have something they want, or they want to use you, or they are going to hold it over you or trick you. Enjin knows this, it’s how it’s always been, but he can’t figure out what this man wants.
It’s unnerving.
He can’t help, but look up at him. Maybe if he stared long enough it’d come to him. He’d always been good at reading people. His hood is back up, obscuring his face once more, so all he could really stare at was fabric hiding the man. The animal they’re riding jerks suddenly, and he nearly slams into the man’s back, the umbrella tipping to the side. He barely manages to fix it before they get soaked.
“Sorry about that, wasn’t paying attention.” Maybe this man is just an idiot and that’s what’s wrong with him.
…
It only occurs to him when the walls of a city come into view that maybe this man just plans to sell him after taking him to the doctor. That feeling from before settles in his chest again. Something like acceptance. He’d acknowledged a while ago that the only life he could lead was as a slave or buried in the ground. He’d understood that every time he looked down at his arms. If he wasn’t sold, then his only other option seemed to be dying. What else was there for someone like him?
It made sense, that kind of ending to his miserable story. He’d snuck out to get help, and in the process hurt everyone, doomed them to a fate arguably worse than death. It was his fault because he just couldn’t put up with the screaming and the fighting, and the adults who never did anything to help. Even when they got sick or starved or cried, they just scoffed or ignored them. He wanted to get help, get the kids something better, but he just ended up making everything worse.
And now where was he? Being carted around by a stranger that seemed too good to be true? It was his fault his housemates were auctioned off like animals one by one. He didn’t do anything to stop it. He’d always told himself ‘What could I do against them?’, a single sentence used to justify curling up in the corner while his housemates were dragged away kicking and screaming. He didn’t do anything, even though it was his fault, he didn’t help. He’d always just told himself he’d make it worse again.
Apparently his own futile lies didn’t work on himself, because when it was his turn? He fought, scratched, clawed and bit at the man’s hands to get away, scrambling through broken streets and in between crumbling houses. Why did he do that? Why could he help himself, but let the others he damned suffer? Selfish was too kind a word to describe what kind of person he was. He caused all this pain, all this suffering, and yet he was the only one who got away.
How was that fair?
The animal jerks again, and he can’t stop himself from slamming into the man’s back this time. The umbrella tips, and rain soaks both of them. He wants to pick it up, but that tickling in his throat just flared up. He can’t stop coughing, burrowing his face into his arm. They stop, he can feel that at least, and the stranger is off the animal.
Enjin feels the umbrella being pried from his hands, but he doesn’t want to let it go. It’s all he can do to crack an eye open and peer up at the man. He’s looming over him, the shadow from his hood making it difficult to see his features, but there’s a frown on his face. Something akin to fear rises within him at that face. He knows that face, has seen it far too many times.
Disappointment.
He swallows down the rest of the coughs, nearly gagging at the desperate need to release the air trapped in his throat. It hurts, but the man seems to lean away from him when he’s finally silenced, shifting his gear. Hands slip under his arms a second later, and he sputters as he’s pulled off the animal. He’s set down on the ground, and they’re both soaked now. He tries to lift the umbrella back up, but he’s too short to comfortably raise it high enough to shield them both.
He startles when a laugh comes from the man.
“You don’t need to do that, here,” he says, smiling. He crouches down, ducking his head under and the umbrella protects them both once more. The stranger looks him over, but his eyes settle eventually. It doesn’t take a genius to realize what he’s looking at, the skin on his arms suddenly feeling itchy. He’s overcome by the urge to cover these tattoos all of a sudden. He was always alone after he’d run, never having to hide them. It felt odd, the urge to hide them now. He’d never cared before.
“Keep holding that for a minute,” he says, voice quiet. He digs through his bag before pulling out a roll of bandages. Tucking them under his chin before pulling out the same towel from before. He reaches forward and he lets the man pull one of his arms forward. The towel is soft, still slightly damp, but it dries his arm enough for the man to begin wrapping. He watches as the mark vanishes from sight.
The stranger repeats the process with his other arm until they’re both gone. He can’t even recall the last time he’d seen his arms without those marks. They weren’t allowed to cover them up at the orphanage.
“Try to keep those on there. We wouldn’t want someone to recognize them.” Enjin doesn’t say anything, doesn’t really know what to say, so he stays silent. He watches the bandages disappear back into his bag, before he stands back up, but his hand lingers. It’s open, like he’s expecting something. What could he want? Payment? Shouldn’t the guy know he doesn’t have any money by now?
“I got it now, my hands are free again,” he clarifies. The stranger motions to the umbrella still gripped in his hands. A part of him doesn’t want to let go of it. It’s the first thing he’s been given, even if it was just because the man needed him to be useful. He doesn’t want to let go of it, it’s his job to hold it.
He lets go anyway, and the man takes it, holding it up high. They’re both already drenched, but it’s nice not being pelted by rain as they walk towards the entrance. The walls tower over them both.
He hasn’t seen a city before, not like this at least. The slums he’d lived in were barely buildings, still only upright because they were built so close together there was no room for them to fall. Trash and decaying food littered the streets, sometimes even corpses. Here though, the buildings were tall, still crumbling in places, but they looked sturdy enough. The streets weren’t sparkling, but they looked cleaner and people walked down them carrying their own umbrellas and disappearing into what he only assumed were stores. Talking freely, and simply existing.
Enjin couldn’t help, but gawk at the sight, so much so he hadn’t realized he’d stopped walking until there’s a hand on his back, silently urging him forward. There’s a wary look in the man’s eyes, so he resumes his steady pace.
His feet ache, they had ached before too, but he hadn’t noticed it as much then. Who knows how much trash he’s walked through, how much has likely embedded itself into his feet. There’s a sharp pain after a particularly heavy step, and he hisses, stumbling briefly. It’s just enough for his lungs constrict again, and he gags, before hacking into the corner of his arm once again. The looming shadow of the stranger is hanging over him once again.
“How long were you in that polluted zone before I ran into you?” There’s an urgency to his voice now, but Enjin doesn’t really know how long he was there, it’s not like he had a way to tell time. He wants to voice that, but his lungs aren’t letting up. It feels like there’s something at the back of his throat, and he can barely suck in a breath between the heaving.
He hears the man’s voice again, but can’t make out the words. Arms scoop him off the ground, his entire body rejecting the idea of being picked up once again, but there’s little he can do. A hand settles on his back, rubbing circles into his skin through the thin fabric.
“Just breathe.” He’s trying.
He coughs so hard he gags once again, tears welling in his eyes. Something wet lands on his hands, different from the rain. It’s warm and thick, and a deep shade of red. He barely gets the chance to look at it before he’s coughing again.
“Shit.” They pick up speed, and he’s jostled with every step, but the hand never leaves his back. By the time he’s stopped hacking, he’s stuck wheezing instead, head limp against the man’s chest. Curling up as small as he can, the stranger’s arms tightening around him in response. He spots a neon sign getting closer in his fading vision, but he can’t keep his eyes open any longer. He’s just so tired. His eyes slip shut to the sound of a bell ringing, followed by the man’s voice, his chest rumbling as he talks.
It feels nice being held.
—
Alto had figured the kid would get sick eventually. Who knows how long he’d been wandering out there without a mask. It’s a miracle he wasn’t already dead when he’d happened upon him. He’d expected this, though not so suddenly. Especially since he’d seemed mostly fine on the way here. He sighs, rubbing his eyes.
It probably didn’t help that the kid’s immune system was shot. It was already hard enough to get proper nutrition down here, but coming from an orphanage that turned into a slave market? He can’t imagine the last time the kid had an actual meal. Alice had run a blood test, but just looking at his protruding joints and pale skin told you he likely had a mountain of issues.
Human trafficking wasn’t anything new on the ground. It was simply just another business to the people who ran the markets. Even the ones who managed to escape tended to end up dead long before they got anywhere. Most escapees he’d stumble across were dead from pollution poisoning, or the elements in general.
He shifts in his seat, eyeing the boy. He’s still out cold, eyes shut and lips parted slightly under the oxygen mask on his face. He’s paler than he already was, but at least he’s been looked over. Alice had swapped out his soggy clothing while she was looking him over. The last thing he needed on top of potential pollution poisoning was a cold.
“Where’d you find him anyways?” He turns, eyeing her from her spot at the edge of the curtain. She looks the same as she always does, but he thinks she’s lost more hair since he was last here a few months ago. He doesn’t dare mention it, he’d much rather still be able to hear after this visit.
“I was on the way here when I saw him. Trash beast was about to make him its next meal.” Her eyes brows shoot up in surprise, the curtain fluttering as she shifts on her feet.
“Trash beast huh? Surprised he even lasted long enough for you to find him. You brought him in here looking like he had one foot in the grave already.” He just shrugs, eyeing the boy's arms. The bandages had been replaced too. Alto’s not worried though, knows she’d never do anything about it. Never rat the boy out. She’s likely treated runaways before.
“He’s had it rough,” is all he says, because he feels the need to say it, even though it’s obvious. She watches him, her eyes drifting back down to Enjin’s arms, before back up at him.
“You certainly picked up quite the stray.” He lets out an exaggerated sigh before smiling.
“I couldn’t just leave him there to be eaten.” He was close to it as well, not at all fighting the inevitable death. If he hadn’t shown up, the kid would’ve died without anyone noticing, and not one person would’ve remembered who he was. Not with a long ass name like that at least. The kid had refused to move, even after he saved him. Had to carry him all the way to that cave, and only once they were inside did he utter those first words.
You won’t get much from me old man.
That acceptance, coupled with the empty look in his eyes and unmistakable tattoos. It made him sick.
Alto sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“I don’t have any other patients right now, but who knows who could wander in here. Make sure those stay on.” He nods, having already planned not to take them off at all. She pulls the curtain closed, and he hears her walk off before slumping back in his seat. He’s going to be here for a while it seems.
—
Enjin wakes up to a water stained ceiling and the sound of pencil scratching across paper. He binks a few times to rid his eyes of their blurry vision. Where was he even? Did the stranger drop him off somewhere and leave?
“You’re alive!” Enjin jolts, and then the stranger is hunched over him, looking him up and down.
“Kinda thought you might keel over on me on the way here with all that coughing.” Ah, right. He’d forgotten his coughing fit. He looks around again, eyeing the curtain and the small table in the corner where a few pill bottles sat. It doesn’t take much to figure out that this must be the doctor’s office. He licks his lips, and something itches around his mouth. He reaches up to tug on the mask over his face before a hand grabs his wrist.
“You can take it off, but if you start feeling short of breath Alice said to put it back on immediately.” Enjin nods slowly, and tugs the mask away from his face, rubbing the skin where it was sitting. He’s lost his original clothing, now in a plain white shirt an black pants that are slightly too small if the way they ride up his legs says anything. He could feel bandages wrapped around his feet now too.
He looks at the man again, trying to hide behind the hair falling into his face. He can’t help, but be surprised he’s still here. There’s only one reason he can think of.
“Are you going to sell me soon?” The man stills, his face going unnervingly blank at his words.
“I’m not going to sell you.” Enjin cannot fathom this.
“Why not?”
“Do you want to be sold?” The question hangs in the air for a moment. He should be. Should’ve already been with his new owner. Would’ve been if he hadn’t escaped. It’s the only fate he can see for himself besides dying. If this man didn’t let him die, then doesn’t it make sense for him to be sold instead?
Perhaps his silence is enough of an answer, because a frown finds a way onto his face soon after.
“I’m not going to sell you,” he repeats, but there’s a conviction in his words that wasn’t there prior, like he’s promising something. Promising not to sell him? He doesn’t understand this man, he really doesn’t. He’s unlike anyone he’s ever met. Enjin isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing yet.
“Okay?” The man says, then waits.
“…Okay.”