silenttrainbaby | arrival (closed to Curtis)

The pain wasn't bad, not really. As he'd trained, he'd been hurt a lot, muscles and joints bruised and bones nearly broken. He's used to pain. This - this pain he felt now - was nothing new, not really. It was just more final and Grey knew it. Since Gilliam was dead, this - death - was nearly a relief. He'd done what he could to help Curtis, to avenge Gilliam's death. Nothing more could be done. As he felt the knife press into his chest, he sank into oblivion.

Only to wake up with a start at the train seeming to have stopped. He was on the floor, of course. The pain woke up a second later and he hissed out between clenched teeth. He pulled and realized that the knife was still lodged through his right hand. That hand throbbed and his entire body felt as if he had been been through too much, worse than any training session. His left hand hung from his wrist uselessly. He forced his eyes open and stared at the ceiling of the steam car of the train.

Where was the old man in the suit?, he suddenly wondered, the one who had been fighting him? Grey's vigilance forced him to sitting, ready for more fighting despite the pain. He pushed the knife from his hand and held it, even if the pain seared through his palm, his left hand still hung loosely; the wrist was broken. It didn't mattier. Surely, if the train had stopped, he must be ready for anything. He pushed to his feet and forward in the train, it not yet occurring to him to go outside the car. After all, wasn't the world still frozen?

Threaded | Flat

Curtis fucking hated the train.

He knew it wasn't the same, that there was no man behind the curtain, eating his steak and enslaving children from his place at the engine, but it still left a cold feeling in his gut, whenever he saw it.

He'd taken to walking, or using the bus. The train wasn't for him. Still, he found himself near the station, and something drew him down toward the platform. Anger or distrust or just curiosity. Or something else.

The train pulled into the station, people filing on and off, but in an empty car near the back, Curtis saw the flash of a familiar face. At first, he thought it was a trick, again, but the set of the young man's shoulders, the determined scowl on his face...

"Hey," Curtis shouted, to no one in particular, shouldering his way onto the the platform and dashing through the doors before they could shut.

The doors slid shut behind him with a whoosh and he grabbed with his one good hand, steadying himself on a rail, as the car lurched forward.

Curtis, standing in blue jeans and a long-sleeved henley, one empty sleeve penned up at the elbow, was cleaner than Grey would've remembered. But Grey... He looked like no time had passed at all.

"Grey."

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