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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.

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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?"

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"Central City." He easily helps Glitch right himself again, taking his right hand in his own and getting a firmer grip around his waist.

"...no. Not really." He thinks back, not sure if the vague bits are because he dozed off, or because they didn't merit remembering.

"Ambrose was meeting me for lunch. You never made it." He looks Glitch in the eye. "You were attacked."

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Glitch keeps helping him as best as he can. "Who's Ambro- Oh, Ambrose. We didn't leave him back in the trees did we?"

He turns to look without stopping moving forwards.

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Perhaps unexpectedly, that's a very scary thought. He knows from experience head wounds look worse than they are, but the unseen damage... What if Ambrose was hurt worse than Glitch?

"Let's find out." He halts his pace, coming to a slow stop in front of his partner. "Look into my eyes, Sweetheart."

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Glitch looks back around, eyes wide and startled. "You have the most lovely blue eyes," he sighs out softly. "Such a lovely, forget-me-not blue."

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He smiles softly, touched by the compliment, but his focus is elsewhere. He needs to know they're both okay. "Ambrose? Can you hear me?"

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The big dark eyes keep watching him with that absent amiability, blinking occasionally.

After long moments, there's a bright smile. "Hi! Do I know- oh, of course I do. Wyatt, you look awful."

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He imagines he must, with a four day stubble and going on barely any sleep or food in as much time. His voice is quietly hopeful, despite the strain of speaking out loud. "Ambrose? How are you feeling?"

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"Who's Ambrose," he asked with a slightly distant smile.