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Baldroy never told lies about his past, nor did he bring up any battle but the one Sebastian had found him in. He could not bring himself to lie. He also could not bring himself to speak about it.
His regrets were ugly things, and contained within a certain person’s corpse.
Baldroy would always have the same nightmares.
“Mistah!” A peculiar accent. America was a large country with many areas, it was very likely that everyone had a different way of saying the same words--that was fine. But those accents had a way of telling you just who that person was. The person who had this peculiar accent was a little black boy. His curly hairs were in little chunks atop his head (he suddenly had visions of a faceless white man tearing hair out of this tiny boy’s scalp, the boy screaming, the scalp bleeding a dark red his skin could not disguise), his body so thin Baldroy feared he would collapse any second. He wore a torn Union uniform that was about ten times his size, most likely taken from a dead soldier. What caught Baldroy’s attention the most, however, was the way the black boy was clinging to his arm. Desperately. Enough to break the rough fabric.
Baldroy kneeled on the ground, and looked at the black boy in his wide, teary eyes. The boy let go of his sleeve. “What’s wrong, boy?” He did not bother to ask for his name. If the boy had chosen a name for himself, he should announce it proudly without having to be asked for it.
“My dad!” Only a single tear fell from his eyes. Good. Strong boy. He was going to live and fight. “He fought! He not… he…” He didn't come back, Baldroy finished in his head.
“Did he choose a name?”
“John, he say.” And, of course, no last name. Figures. Black soldiers were so hard for him to find, too, since he was white--due to very obvious reasons, they distrusted most of the Union soldiers and kept to themselves.
“Okay. Okay, I can work with that.” Baldroy mumbled that more to reassure the boy than actual confidence. Perhaps if he brought the boy, he’d be able to sort some sort of temporary truce with the black soldiers? “Wanna come with?” He held out a hand for the boy.
“Yes.” The boy ignored his hand. Baldroy smiled and stood up, and began to lead the kid to the food tent. Might as well be seen in the most crowded areas if he wanted some black soldiers to approach him. He really hoped they would ask first, punch later.
It had only been five minutes of dropping in on some tents before a group cut off his way. They looked between him and the boy, and waited in complete silence. Baldroy cleared his throat. “The boy’s looking for his dad,” he explained. “A fellow named John. Kid, could ya describe him?”
The boy nodded. “He… taller from white man,” he said this as he pointed to Baldroy. “No hair. White eye,” he pointed to his left eye, “Strong.”
“We will ask around,” one of the men said, nodding to the kid. “Come with us. Thank you, white man.”
“No problem.” Baldroy had really wanted them to ask his name, but he also didn't want to push his luck. Decades of being mistreated by a race really did a number on your trust, Baldroy understood that, but they also had to understand that this army made up of both white and black men, supported by white and black women who brought them food and clothes, was fighting for their freedom. The Union was safe. No one who had slavery in mind would even join the Union, why would they give their lives for a race they believed was inferior?
Baldroy had honestly forgotten all about the black boy by a day’s time. War did that to you, fighting for your life in and out of the battlefield had a way of prioritizing your memories and thoughts. He didn't even know how long had passed until the black boy found him once again.
“Mister!” Again, that peculiar accent with a familiar voice. Again, grasping his sleeve. Baldroy had turned and suddenly remembered the face as the nameless boy who had been looking for his dad.
“How’s John?” he asked casually, turning and looking at the map again. He had to have it memorized to make a solid plan. He could already see the blood that would be shed, his eyes colored the map red.
“Dead.” The word was said so casually that Baldroy almost choked on his spit. Of course that word lost its meaning in the Hell America had come to, it was an experience shared by both black and white people who fought this war, but a child sharing the burdens of adults would always be deeply unsettling for Baldroy. He would always mourn the fact that not even children, so innocent and unknowing, were spared in this fucked up world.
“How long?”
“Since I came here.” The boy had improved his English. Baldroy felt like John would be proud. “I wanna fight. I can hold and shoot the guns, I can strangle the soldiers with my hands.”
“You willing to be treated like a dog by the commanders?”
“Will white men be treated the same?”
“Colors don't matter when you’re in the military. I can have blue skin and a cock half my height, and the commanders would still find a way to kick me to the dirt.”
The boy showed him the tiniest of smiles. It was a nice smile. “I have been treated like a dog all my life. I can do it for longer if it sets us free.”
Baldroy grinned. “Let’s test that aim.” And that was how Baldroy had found a new comrade in that boy.
As a man who had never talked to anyone of the other race and never talked to children, talking to this boy felt unusual to him. He did not know what to do or say, he did not know how to act around him. He worried about even the way he breathed or looked. Finally, knowing he was only stressing himself out and distancing himself from one of the only people he could consider close to him, he fucked it all and treated the boy as he would treat any of his comrades. The boy seemed to appreciate it.
It had become a habit for them to seek each other when they came out of battle. They would check each other for wounds, then Baldroy would force the boy to sit down somewhere while he got them both some food and drinks. The boy would let Baldroy worry like an overprotective grandparent, and Baldroy would let the boy hold his hand tightly when he felt threatened or uncomfortable. Baldroy’s friends loved to annoy him with his new behaviors and habits. They had even taken to call him “Daddy Baldy”, which the boy absolutely loved--the traitorous bastard had laughed so hard water had come out of his nose when he first heard it. Baldroy had still given the boy his own water when the boy was looking the other way because he was a complete softy, but given him the silent treatment for the rest of the day. The boy had apologized a little later, not sounding sorry at all. He was lucky he was cute.
One day, a soldier named Eddy had come and sat next to Baldroy while he was deep in thought. He had welcomed the higher-ranked soldier with a grunt, and Eddy had laughed heartily and patted his knee. “I have a little girl, myself,” Eddy had started. That had snapped Baldroy completely out of his thoughts. When he had tried to stand to properly greet the general, Eddy had only waved a dismissive hand and tightened his hold on Baldroy’s knee to prevent him. “Truly beautiful. She has her mom’s brown hair, and the warmest brown gaze I have ever seen. Her chin, though, is an exact copy of mine. Maybe not a traditional beauty, but a strong one.”
“Congratulations,” Baldroy had replied, because what else did you say to that?
“Thank you. She’s ten now. I heard she helps her mother and our neighbors like the angel she is. I can't wait to go back home and play the role of the annoying dad.” Eddy had taken a deep breath, blinking up at the sky. Baldroy had said nothing. “Every time I feel so defeated that I want to abandon this war, I remember my little girl and my wife. I remember that there are thousands of people just like them, only their color’s different. Thousands of dads and moms who can't see their children smile and play, who can't protect their children from the horrors of this world. So many children who could be like my little girl, able to be carefree, but can't because they have a darker skin tone.”
Baldroy had blinked his tears away. Something about a parent’s love was always a bit too much for someone like him, a ‘laugh the pain away’ type of man. Maybe it was because they were able to penetrate your thick skin and aim straight for your heart. Or maybe it was because they knew every trick you had up your sleeve because they used it on their children, so you couldn't do anything to protect yourself against them.
“Whenever I see you with your son, I see the joy and love as clear as day in his eyes,” Eddy had said with a smile. “And I am motivated to try a little harder.”
“He- he is not my--” Baldroy had tried to correct him, his heart warming and beating a bit harder despite his protests.
“Not biologically, no,” Eddy had agreed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But still your son. Unless you don't love him?”
“Of course I…” Baldroy had begun to cough. He felt his cheeks flush, and his throat close up. Oh, God. He actually wanted to be that boy’s dad, didn't he? He didn't know the first thing about being a dad! This wasn't what they taught in the army! Not to mention that the boy had had a dad before him! What if he wasn't good enough?
“When my wife gave birth, I was scared witless,” Eddy began to tell. Baldroy looked at him to see the man was looking off into the past with a fond smile. “I was a brute who only knew about muscle work, how the devil was I supposed to take care of a fragile… bundle? I tried to convince her that I would break or drop the little baby. She just grinned and pushed the bundle towards me. Holding my baby was… the most natural thing to me. It felt as if she were a part of me that I had forgotten about and finally retrieved. It took me a while to get comfortable with that feeling… I feel ashamed it took as long as it did. Being a dad is frightening. You always feel like you won't be good enough, you aren't doing as well as you could be, your child won't ever love you back because you are a sorry excuse of a being.
“But they do love you if you are trying your very best. They trust your judgement, they miss you so much if you aren't there with them. You are a part of them, too--just as vital as their mom is. So what if that boy had a dad before you came along? He loves you just as much as he loves that man because, just like that man, you are also trying your best to raise him. So be proud of yourself! You’re a dad!”
Eddy had left him with that talk, telling him to take well care of the boy and that they would see each other around. Baldroy had nodded numbly and began to consider the man’s words.
If Baldroy cried, there was no one there who could hold it against him.
With both of them now on the same page, the boy and Baldroy had grown closer. They were family. Baldroy knew that growing too close to anyone when war was about was the worst mistake to make, but he could not help it.
The boy had finally chosen a name.
John, after his dad. A strong name, he told Baldroy. Baldroy agreed. Indeed a good, strong name--after a man who had given up everything for his son’s freedom. Baldroy knew he would do the same if he was given a choice, but he selfishly wished he didn't have to just yet. He wanted to feel his boy holding his hand for a little while longer. In his more desperate days, he wanted to run away with John--live the rest of their days in more peace, buy them more time to spend together.
He could not find John’s body.
He had remained on the fateful battlefield for two days, not sending a single word to the base. He wandered like a ghost, but still could not find John’s body.
It was on day four that he finally did.
John’s legs were torn off. Most likely a canon shot. His dark eyes were staring unseeingly into the clear blue sky.
Baldroy had screamed like an animal. That was the one thing he remembered, that was the one thing that made sense to him. Maybe he’d cried, maybe he’d torn the hair off his fucking scalp. His nails were filled with fresh blood. He knew it was his, though he didn't know when or where it came from. His throat was sore. His eyes were dry. By the time he left to locate the base, he didn't know if he had managed to bury the body. What kind of a father had to bury his own child?
One who wasn't good enough.
John, the father, had been more than good enough. He’d managed to keep his son alive. Baldroy had been a failure. And he had known this would happen--he had known he wouldn't be a real dad, he had known this would end in a tragedy; and yet he had deluded himself into believing that, just once, he wouldn't fuck up. He had let himself buy into that fucker Eddy’s story, he had given that child who couldn't possibly know better false hope and promises. Love? Give him a break. The thing that boy had been apparently feeling was fucking Stockholm Syndrome.
He found the camp. He was chewed out by his commanders but he couldn't hear whatever it was they said, he just gave whatever sorry excuse of a report he could manage and returned to his own tent.
With John gone and his eyes opened to another race’s point of view, Baldroy grew bitter and distant. He began making observations.
No black man was ever promoted to higher stations in the army, they were always kept in the front lines. Granted, Baldroy was also always in the front lines, but that was because he always raised his voice against his commanders and didn't follow rules he believed were dumb--if he were to actually be blindly faithful he was quite sure he’d be at least a general by now. He had reassured John that black people wouldn't be treated differently, lying straight to that child’s face and, worse,not even looking for any injustices.
Saving the black people was a lie.
There were some who did actually believe this was the reason this war was fought, Eddy and Baldroy himself were the prime examples, but it wasn't. This became clear to see when you began to examine how the army operated. The Union just wanted the South’s riches, they only saved black people so that the Confederates would grow weaker while they grew stronger.
Perhaps the father had known the lie and picked his poison, but the boy John had died believing in the freedom Baldroy had lied to him about.
Baldroy began playing Russian roulette on the quiet nights he was left alone. That type of night came by so often now that John was gone. Dead. Killed.
Eddy was killed in combat the other day.
Baldroy’s friends were beginning to distance themselves from him. No one wanted to have connections to a dead man.
Baldroy’s friends were killed today.
A bomb had been dropped into their trench and they hadn't been fast enough.
Baldroy looked at the battlefield filled with white corpses. The Confederates had taken the black soldiers alive, they had wanted new slaves. Baldroy hadn't been able to stop them. He hadn't been able to protect John either. He was used to being a disappointment by now, he was used to the pain it brought him.
When the man in the fancy black suit had told him about a new job, Baldroy hadn't really thought about it when he said yes. He didn't want to disappoint anyone else anymore. He didn't want to be stuck here, where every little thing reminded him of John’s eyes and laugh and smile.
Sure, his master was a kid he had to protect, but Baldroy had learned his lesson. That kid was strictly his Master. Nothing else. A Master who could handle himself, a Master who didn't need him to do anything other than use his gun, a Master who’d already had a father. Baldroy wasn't stupid enough to fall into the same trap.
When his Master asked him a question, Baldroy only gave grunts or short words as answers. Sebastian lectured him but the Master didn't mind as long as there were no strangers around--Baldroy took that as permission and ran with it. He couldn't afford to get attached.
The Master was the polar opposite of John. His skin was a pale white, his eye a startling blue. He was dressed fashionably in custom-made clothes that cost more than Baldroy’s life. He was a powerful someone, a political presence. He never smiled, he never acted like a child his age.
A part of Baldroy’s brain that was stupid and stuck in the monkey era of evolution still found ways to liken the two: The mischievous glint in their eyes, the childish insults, their deadly accuracy with a gun…
The two were undeniably different, but they were similar in ways all children (and, in some cases, only they) were.
Baldroy had felt his walls crumbling ever since the Master had first asked him if everything was going fine, sincere but trying desperately not to show it.
Finns and Mey-Rin were planning on throwing him a surprise birthday party. Tanaka had strongly advised against inviting any of the Master’s family members--the Master hated crowds and his birthday was not something he liked to celebrate--so they had planned something small. Just the servants. The cake lacked flavor and looked like something straight out of a five year old’s coloring book, Finny and Mey-Rin's presents were cheap and handmade without finesse.
Baldroy had just bought a magazine he thought any young boy would enjoy. He didn't think the Master would be pleased, but he couldn't say no to Finny and Mey-Rin when they were being cute. Tanaka had seemed very happy to be participating in this as well. He had refused to show them his gift--told them they could see it when the Master opened it.
The Master’s eye had watered when he’d seen the cake. He’d reached for the presents with soft hands, slow, as if he were afraid they just might disappear in a puff of smoke if he held them too tightly.
Baldroy’s walls had come crashing down.
He really was stupid enough to fall for the same trap.
As he looked into Sebastian’s eyes and Sebastian grinned savagely at him, Baldroy readied himself for another tragedy.