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[amicably_absent]

Ambrose, even more than Glitch, made an effort to make himself inconspicuous when he went out into the public arena. He could cope with a large group of strangers he didn't have to address or acknowledge. He had more trouble in some ways, but walking the streets he could manage. He shrugged on his coat, enjoying the swing and heft of the cloth as he started out of the palace.

He hadn't walked this path, but Glitch had and he hoped that that might carry true. But if it didn't, he had left early and had time to let Glitch get directions.

He didn't have a wonderful sense of time, but he knew he needed to be there when the sun was directly over head. So when it was getting close, and the shadows were short and sharp, Ambrose slipped back to let Glitch wander up a side street where some people lurked. "Hello?"

They paused and looked to him, squinting with narrowed eyes. "What?"

"Can you help me? I'm a little lost." Glitch smiled at them.

"I'll say you are, head case." One of the men stood. "Central City doesn't have the time or resources for your type."

"My type?" He looked around as they all started standing up. Something in him vaguely and dimly rang caution.

"Your type. Murders. Rapists. Filth." One of them spat on the ground. "Taking food out of our mouths."

"Hey, what? No. I was a political dissenter!" He stood up straight, pushing his hair back. "I lost my brain for Queen and country."

Oh, well then," one of them said in an odd tone. "I suppose that makes it all right then. You better go about your business."

Glitch smiled, relieved that they were such reasonable, nice guys. "Hey, thanks!"

He turned to walk off again, already having forgotten why he had tracked them down to begin with.

Then something hit him in the back of the head. There was a flare of pain, thick and wet and sharp. His vision fuzzed and darkened, and he felt his knees hit the pavement.

"Be careful. Promise me."

Ambrose heard footsteps. He flipped up onto his hands, kicking backwards and slamming his feet into jaw and chin, head snapping back under the force of Ambrose's kick. He landed with his feet spread, standing over the man's fallen body before looking back over one shoulder with a dark, heavy look.

He ducked a second rock, spinning and dropping into the form stance, one hand out stretched, the other hooked over his head, fingers curled.

His eyes went wide as the gun was pulled out. He twisted as there was the crack of the shot, heat scalding through his coat and over his ribs. He was running forwards already, fly kicking the gunman in the chest, foot snapping up and down onto his chest, standing there he rounded the maneuver with a high kick, spinning to kick his boot heel into the third man's face.

He backed off, the three of them groaning. The remaining three men were looking at each other warily, and at him.

A few steps back, and he had enough space to get away.

He turned and ran, trying to get out of the city. Central City was dangerous. The Longcoats were waiting, ever waiting and the Longcoats were bad.

He had to get to the safe place. Where he wouldn't be hurt. The place with the coffin.

Dodging more people, quiet and dizzy, he slipped through the city and out into the field and woodlands around it.

He liked beaches. There was a beach down by the water. That would go to the safe place, he was sure.

Comments

[amicably-absent.livejournal.com]

It was three days later that news of where he was reached Central City.

A rider came in with an urgent message for the Station. A strange headcase had turned up at the Papay fields. He was avoiding being caught or seen when possible, but he had been overhead mumbling that he had to get to the Station and tell Cain.

Tell Cain, he didn't know. Who Cain was, he didn't know. But they didn't really want a rogue headcase in the fields when the papay were still a bit on edge and the new farming staff even moreso.

The Station phone the palace. A headcase looking for Cain in the fields of the Papay. Pass the message to Cain, please.

Azkadellia sends the message to DG via a white dove.

DG gets the pass the message to Cain when she next sees him.

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The days leading up to salvation was living through the End of the World. Not like it, it was it. It was searching in the dark, running blindly through the forest hoping to stumble over the man he loves just so he could find him. It was shouting his name tirelessly - GLITCH! AMBROSE! - until he lost his voice. It was telling DG in no uncertain terms that she was keeping the fire going out front every night while he went searching. He only returned to the cabin twice a day, for news and being forced to eat something, drink something, rest.

Rest... How could he rest when every fibre of his being crawls with the need to move, to be out there, to do something. He should've known. He shouldn't have been angry with Glitch for being late, or Ambrose for getting distracted like he promised he'd try not to... He should've gone for help sooner. He should've known.

Three days with no luck, and then, a blessing. A white dove, DG says, from Azkadellia. Glitch is alive. In the fields of the Papay. Looking for Cai--

He's running for the fields before she can finish reading the message, and she hurries to follow him, stick in hand. You never know when it might come in handy.

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The fields are starting to blossom again, pale green leaves and white flowers and pink flowers and the first hints of fruit on the trees.

Further in, the fruit is riper, heavy and plump and the branches that have carried nothing for so long almost seem to sag under the weight of once again being fertile and alive, content like mother's weighed down with babes in arms.

That's where the farmers point. Somewhere on the outskirts, well away from their camp. A pale white figure in a long coat, blood matting the side of his face and neck. Most thought he was a ghost of a Papay victim, waiting for release.

A couple had spotted the glint of silver in his hair, through the curls. They think he's by the fallen trees, but he vanishes when they try to get close and prove it's a headcase, not a haunting.

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"Glitch! Ambrose! Where are you?!" It's DG shouting all the way to the line of blooming trees, because even if Cain could, she doesn't think he would, not with the focus he's showing, the blind determination.

Or so she thinks, unable to hear the hoarse whispers forcing themselves from his heart. "AMBROSE! GLITCH!"

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For a long time, there's nothing. It's darker here, the tree branches thick and musty, collapsed on one another in great piles of rotting wood.

Then, finally, there's a glint from behind some leaning trees, a flash of an eye peeking out and ghost white skin. He ducks behind the tree again, peeking out the other side. That shows the blood, dried on his face and neck, staining his shirt and coat crimson.

He doesn't move. He watches them silently for a moment.

"Hi?"

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Wyatt swallows tightly, walking closer with his hands handing at his side, limp and useless; he can't feel his arms. For a split second, his head feels as though dunked in ice water, as if air fills his chest and his mouth and his head and it's too much.

He thinks he needs to sit down, but he can do that once he knows Glitch is safe, once Ambrose is in his arms and breathing and his heart's beating into his ear and he's safe, not a ghost, alive and going to be better.

He stumbles closer, bright blue eyes staring.

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Glitch doesn't flinch back, but he doesn't move forwards at first, just blinking at Cain with those dark, hollow rimmed eyes.

Then something lights. There's realisation and awakening, like someone just opened the windows. "Wyatt," he whispers. "You're Wyatt Cain." He takes a few shaky steps forwards. There's red on his fingers, staining them. "I have to, tell you. Tell you..."

He looks off for a moment.

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All the air rushes out of his body in a breath of anguish, his face twists as though from physical pain, and he surges forward to crush Glitch to his chest.

Behind him, DG's eyes are welling up with tears.

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Glitch is caught flat footed, swept into a hug and held tightly and just looking sort of bewildered. He doesn't know where he is, or who the girl is, or why he's being hugged, but right now, he knows that this is Cain.

He slowly wraps his arms back around him, eyes finally closing as he holds him. "I- love you, Tin man," he whispers.

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He sags in his arms, his knees doing a bad job of keeping him upright. "I know. I know, Sweetheart, I love you too. You're safe, I got you. You're safe."

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Glitch has nothing like the strength he needs to hold them both. As Cain said, Ambrose didn't have the experience surviving, just enough to get them here.

He sinks down with Wyatt, still holding onto him. "Your voice is all croaky," he says softly.

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DG wipes her eyes, giving Glitch a wobbly smile as she pads over to hug them both. "He called your name for, like, all night and all day, and then he lost his voice."

Wyatt nods, but for the moment he's more concerned with knowing they're both alive. And then the young princess pokes him in the arm. "We were worried, Glitch. Looked everywhere for you and Ambrose. Everywhere between here and Central City."

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Glitch snuggles in against Wyatt more, petting his hair and neck softly. "I didn't mean to worry you... Hey, do I know you?"

He stares at her for a moment, then cuddles Wyatt again, tight and close. He looks back up at her. "Hey do I know you?"

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"Send for Raw. We'll be at the cabin." As soon as he can feel his legs again, they'll get going.

DG nods, fear and concern and love clear in her eyes. She leans in to kiss Glitch's cheek, and Wyatt's, then runs for the cabin in that way of hers, with her arms flailing almost like the little spinning dolls of her childhood.

Leaving one exhausted Tin Man with the man he loves, badly hurt. "Sweetheart? Do you know where you are?"

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Glitch isn't sure why she kisses him, but he smiles anyway because it's nice to get a kiss for nothing.

He keeps stroking the messy blonde hair, feeling dirt and dust under his fingers. "No." He whispers. "Where am I?"

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"You're home." He musters a smile mere heartbeats before he tilts his head to kiss him.

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Glitch smiles at that, because he believes it, wholeheartedly.

He kisses back. It's familiar and easy and smooth and right. it warms the cold knot in him.

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And there'll be more of it later, but right now Cain needs to get his priorities straight. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up and into some warm clothes. The cabin isn't far."

He makes to get up off the ground, because he needs to get things sorted before he can collapse from fatigue and relief.

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"Can you walk," he asks, pure worry on his face. "Here, I'll help." He stays close to be leaned on, what little support he can give.

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It strikes him as ironic and sad and plain wrong that he's more done in by the past four days, but it isn't strictly a physical exhaustion. It's all in his head, and his heart, twisting and turning with what could've been and what is.

He smiles, pushing himself up, and once on his feet, wraps his arm securely around Glitch's shoulders. Clearing his throat, trying to get something more out than the feeble croak of the past day, he manages a murmur. "I'm fine. How are you feeling?"

He starts walking, careful to keep Glitch's pace.

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"I'm good!" He doesn't even consider the answer, because his brain is off somewhere else entirely from the rest of him. "Though I might be hungry. But I'm not sure. I had to tell you something. But I don't remember what." He half carries Wyatt, insanely strong for someone who should be near collapse. Maybe his brain hasn't warned his body of that and carries on regardless.

When he crashes, he's going to crash. But right now, he's going strong.

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Maybe it's just as well he can't feel it right now. Maybe he needs the detachment, Wyatt isn't sure.

He tips his hat to the farmers when they pass them, slowly making their way from the Papay Fields and back to his cabin. It seems as though the land itself is healing, and that holds true even for the patch of land and water surrounding his old home. No longer a swamplike, muddy mess where slimy green moss grows everywhere, it's growing brighter green and firmer under one's feet each day. It's a slow journey, but even in the distance, this much is clear to see. The only sore thumb to the context, so to speak, is the tin suit that stands ever vigilant, ever watching over the house and what took place there over ten annuals ago.

"I have some spare clothes," he notes off hand. "But we'll get you clean first, how about that?"

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The farmers watch with wide as the 'ghost' of the last few days helps Cain back out of the orchard. Glitch ignores them, possibly not even aware of the fuss he's caused for them.

"The coffin!" Glitch points at the suit, eyes wide. "That's the place that we were going to go! The safe place with the safe man and the coffin out the front!"

He looks to Cain. "Clean?"

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Let them watch. It's only to be expected, with what they've seen in the zipperhead. A restless spirit, a ghost, someone who's fallen victim to the Papay as they were during the Sorceress's reign.

"You've been missing for over three days, Glitch. You've been out here in the great outdoors for that long. You need a bath, and food, and rest, in that order."

More like tending to his injuries, using clean up as an excuse, then food.

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"Oh. That's a while. Where did we go missing from?" He stumbles on a hole, landing on his knees before scrambling back up. "You look really haggard. Have you slept? Or anything?"