Chapter Text
The soft rattle of the Greyhound bus had an almost hypnotizing effect on Nathaniel—Neil. Neil shook his head. Nathaniel Wesninski was dead, abandoned with a pile of corpses and a house he never had to see again. The man who sat on the bus now, toddler curled against his chest, auburn hair damp on his forehead—he was Neil Josten. Nighttime rendered the landscape outside the window flat and bleak. Pale honeycombs of moonlight slid through heavy-bowed trees and wet grass almost as tall as Connor. The view faded to an indistinct smudge as Neil’s heavy eyelids fell and he drifted to sleep, but all Neil would find there was blood.
Traveling from Baltimore to South Carolina with an eighteen-month-old wasn’t something Neil’s life as the son of a crime boss had prepared him for. But Connor had snored softly for most of the ride, thin trickles of drool pooling on Neil’s hoodie. At least one of them could get some rest. Neil brushed his hand over the little wisps of Connor’s auburn curls and gently massaged tender skin. He didn’t know a lot about parenting, but he was certain a child shouldn’t have to witness any of the things he and Connor had just seen in Baltimore.
Neil’s right leg cramped painfully thanks to the bus’s brutally efficient design, Connor’s constant weight, and the duffel blocking off what little foot room was leftover. He shifted his weight to his left in slow degrees. At first, Connor’s long eyelashes lay still, but then his little forehead scrunched and he began to stir. What started as an exploratory moan escalated into a decent temper tantrum in a split second, loud enough to wake up even passengers in the last row.
A woman two rows ahead turned to glare, nose pinched. Neil glared back while he lifted Connor’s head to his shoulder and tried to calm the crying child, mumbling reassurances and lowly humming his favorite lullaby. She relented, but things were never easy for Neil, so of course, the woman swiveled her head around a few minutes later and opened her mouth.
“Sorry, but could you calm that kid a bit quicker? We’re all damn tired in here.” She turned to her neighbor, muttering something about kids not being allowed on buses until they were old enough to know how to be quiet.
Neil sighed. He wouldn’t be able to leave that without comment. “Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe you could try headphones and, I don’t know, a beating heart? Though not having one explains why you never cried as a child, I’m sure. Oh, wait, no,” he held up the arm not wrapped around Connor and feigned looking at his watch, “my bullshit meter’s full today. Maybe next time.” Neil’s voice was still raspy and harsh from the last twenty-four hours, but the menace in his expression was real. The woman must have been able to tell; she turned around and remained silent as Connor’s bawling quieted to sniffs and hiccups.
After forty-five minutes that seemed to stretch an eternity, the bus squealed and puffed to a stop in Palmetto, South Carolina. The town was small enough not to attract too much attention, but big enough that no one would ask questions. And if anything happened, Neil could always get them quickly to Columbia. When Neil saw the name “Palmetto” on the stop list, he remembered how Aubrey had told him about living there as a kid for a while. The memories she shared were good. It felt right to bring her son here, but right now all Neil wanted was to find a motel where he could get his first proper shower in days and sleep in a bed instead of hunched over at awkward angles in bus seats or next to toilets in public bathroom stalls. Neil squeezed the back of his stiff neck and looked down at Connor, tiny lips pursed and breath lapsed back into even calm. They’d both be happy to sleep on a mattress again.
Neil stepped off the bus and into the warm night. Droplets of rain began to dot his shoulders. The boy on Neil’s chest frowned at the warm rain as it stippled the little stretches of fabric and skin Neil couldn’t shield with his arms.
“I know, I know. It won’t be a long walk,” Neil said. A yellow motel sign glowed fuzzy in the rain. “What about a nice breakfast tomorrow morning, huh? I’m sure you’re as hungry as I am. Maybe eggs and toast?” Connor clenched his arms tighter around Neil’s neck and nuzzled his head deeper into the hollow between Neil’s neck and collarbone. “No eggs and toast then?” Neil sighed. He needed to have a conversation with someone over two years old, and Connor needed stability and routine as soon as Neil could find it. They wouldn’t stay in this motel any longer than they absolutely had to.
It was with Neil’s last puff of energy that they made it through the door of the small, shabby place right at the edge of town. The elderly woman behind the reception desk gave Neil and Connor a pitying smile when they pushed past the door, as if she had been expecting them. Connor’s red-rimmed eyes swiveled around the room and back to the woman as he clung tighter to Neil’s body. The lobby’s walls had been painted mint, and they reflected cold halogen light back toward Neil where the paint wasn’t chipped and worn. Old upholstery clothed a wing-back chair in the corner, so misshapen from use Neil wasn’t sure it would hold if he sat down on it. A kind of shabbiness permeated the place, like a thin layer of grime sunk into the furniture and the carpet no longer reachable by vacuum or spray bottle.
The motel room wasn’t more than the basic bed, nightstand, and bathroom, but Neil couldn’t care less as he got his son ready for bed. The sheets were a bit suspicious, and for a moment Neil considered having them both sleep on top of the covers, but the frustration in Connor’s eyes had him deciding to just sleep now and shower thoroughly later.