Work Text:
It starts as a regular day.
Not normal, because the Nameless never have normal days, but regular. Caelus wakes up to March banging on his door, stumbles downstairs, pauses to shoot Sunday a glare for simply looking so put-together at this time of the morning, sings Dan Heng’s name obnoxiously as he spots him in the Parlor Car, dodges Himeko’s attempts at offering him coffee, and plops down at the breakfast table right as Pom-Pom is placing down the plates.
“Hmph,” Pom-Pom grunts, squinting at him sternly. “You’re cutting it close, Passenger Caelus!”
“Sorry, Conductor!” He chirps back, giving them his best puppy-dog eyes while simultaneously loading his plate with food. Not one to let this slip by, March elbows him sharply.
“Hey, save some for the rest of us!”
“There’s more than enough for everyone, crew,” Himeko laughs, even as Caelus sticks his tongue out at the younger girl.
Someone else begins talking to carry on the conversation— Pom-Pom or Dan Heng or Sunday, he’s not sure— but everyone is quickly distracted by the new arrival to the table.
“Sorry I’m late, everyone,” Welt says, hastily claiming the final empty seat. “It appears I overslept a bit.”
Usually, everyone would easily brush this off. After all, Caelus himself is late to every other meal, and while Dan Heng is getting better at attending meals regularly, it’s still not uncommon for him to miss one every now and then. Even the great Mr. Yang is bound to mess up every now and then. But, he looks… bad.
Well, not bad, that sounds too mean. Someone who doesn’t know him well probably wouldn’t even be able to pick up on it. But the Trailblazers spend all day and sometimes night with him; he’s helped them out and saved all of their lives more times than can probably be counted. So Caelus knows he’s not the only one who notices the dark circles under his eyes, the messy tangles of his usually-combed hair, the askew tilt of his glasses. He looks like Dan Heng did the days after they left the Luofu, or Sunday when someone stumbles upon him awake alone at night.
“No need to worry about it, Mr. Yang,” Dan Heng replies at last, voice carefully neutral. “But… is everything alright?”
Mr. Yang looks, of all things, surprised. “Of course. Apologies, do I seem a bit off this morning? I just had some trouble sleeping last night, it’s no cause for concern.”
Sunday frowns, concern evident in his eyes. He’s much more open now, Caelus thinks, since leaving Penacony.
“If it’s insomnia that’s bothering you, perhaps I could try and help? I know of many ways to ease someone into sleep using the Harmony.”
“Or, you could have some of my tea!” Himeko offers, perfectly genuine, Aeons bless her. “I picked up some delightful new additives from Penacony, it puts me out like a light every night!”
“Himeko, with all due respect, I’m afraid any beverage you give me will be a bit too strong for even my tastes,” Mr. Yang chuckles. “No, none of that is necessary, but thank you. If anything, I think it’s more a sign that I need to stop watching so much anime before bed…”
They all share a laugh, and then the conversation moves on. Caelus has all but forgotten about the exchange until halfway through breakfast, when the next strange thing happens.
They’re all discussing the immersia adaptation of The Angler Mystery that’s coming out soon, garnering both excitement and skepticism over the faithfulness to the source material.
“I mean, on one hand, I’m excited to see the Angler perform his detective skills in real life! Buuut at the same time, I don’t want it to be another stupid immersia that totally changes the plot and just uses the novel’s name for clout!” March 7th groans, throwing her hands up.
“Mm, I disagree,” comments Dan Heng as he layers some butter on his toast. “I’m looking forward to seeing a new take on such a classic novel. If I wanted to experience the original a second time after all, I could just read the book again. But seeing how they tweak and develop the story in their own way is what interests me.”
“I’m still upset they already had an actor picked out for the big bad. I mean, Pom-Pom would’ve killed that!” Caelus adds helpfully.
Mr. Yang chuckles, reaching over to pat him lightly on the shoulder. “Well, either way, it’ll only be a couple weeks until we find out. It comes out on the fifteenth, right? So that’s… What’s today’s date, again?”
“Ah, I believe today is the first of August,” Sunday offers, back to being all polite. “Which would make it fourteen days until the immersia releases.”
All of a sudden, Welt freezes. His face goes a little pale, and Caelus is beginning to worry if he’s actually choking, when he finally swallows, throat bobbing.
“Ah. I see.”
They’re having waffles for breakfast— it’s one of Mr. Yang’s favorite foods. He doesn’t touch any of his meal after that.
Caelus notices, and Caelus worries.
It takes one more instance of something strange occurring— Mr. Yang declines to catch the newest e-sports match with them to go “lay down” instead— for all the rest of the Nameless to assemble in the Parlor Car.
“He’s possessed,” Caelus proclaims with absolute certainty. “By a heliobus. That’s the only way to explain it— the Mr. Yang I know would never pass up on game day.”
“That’s… a bit of a leap to make for something so small, Caelus,” sighs Dan Heng.
“Then what’s your bright idea, huh?”
“He’s… probably just sleep deprived. I sometimes don’t even enjoy reading or writing when I’m too tired, this could be the same.”
“Yeah, but I get more hungry when I’m tired, not less, so why was he so picky this morning?”
“Ooh, I know!” March chimes in. “I bet he’s sick! Y’know how I was after we warp-jumped to Amphoreus? I didn’t want to eat or do anything then, either.”
A brief silence ensues as the others stare at her, broken only by Sunday’s small but polite,
“Forgive me, Miss March, but… are you referring to the adverse reaction you had to the presence of the Remembrance on Amphoreus, which led to your consciousness being sent into Amphoreus as your body was encased in Six-Phased Ice?”
“Oh.” March pauses, nose scrunching up as she thinks. “Maybe that’s not the best example after all…”
“Kids, as sweet as your concern is, I’m sure Welt will come forward and say something if there really is something wrong. Let’s not push him before he’s ready, okay?”
Immediately, all eyes turn to Himeko, who had previously been pretending to ignore them while fixing up one of her coffee-making contraptions. A shared understanding passes through the four younger Nameless, and they latch onto the woman’s words like a shark on blood.
“You know something,” Dan Heng accuses first, voicing what they’re all thinking.
“Himeko, did you poison him?!” Caelus cries, falling to his knees dramatically. “How could you?!”
“Ugh, she didn’t poison him, stupid!” March scolds, before pausing and looking up at the older woman. “…Did you?”
Himeko releases something between a sigh and a laugh. “No, I didn’t poison him, March. Nor did I give him any of my coffee, before you ask.”
“But he’s told you something, yes? About why he’s acting… unusual?” Sunday clarifies.
“I…” she sighs. “Not… quite. He’s never explicitly told me what’s wrong. It’s really more of a hunch than anything. All I know is that every year at around the same time— August 1st— Welt gets… strange. Quiet, more subdued. Why that is, I don’t know, it’s just something I’ve observed over our years trailblazing together.”
A small silence follows as the crew takes in the information. Caelus himself frowns at the news, deep in thought. Mr. Yang is… sad? Obviously the man isn’t a robot— he knows he does feel emotions— but knowing it and seeing it are two separate things. Mr. Yang always seems so strong and mature, for him to be so upset that it shows… it’s rare indeed.
And yet… every time Caelus has been sad or upset, Welt’s always stepped in to comfort him. Hell, even just last week he was there to help out after his and March’s failed attempt to domesticate a wild raccoon. Even though he’d already warned them that it might be a bad idea, he still helped recapture the raccoon, free it once more, and then sanitize and bandage their scratches afterwards. It’s just the kind of man he is.
So really, that only leaves them with one option.
Caelus slams his hand down on the table, grabbing the attention of his fellow Nameless attendees.
“Operation Cheer Up Mr. Yang is a go!”
They start simple. Small things, like plates of his favorite treats left on his desk, or funny shorts and videos sent to his phone. When those are met with subdued gratefulness and a strained smile, they take it to the next level.
March goes first, knocking politely on his door before throwing on her best damsel-in-distress demeanor.
“Mr. Yang!” She wails, throwing a hand over her forehead for good measure. “I need your help, please! Silver Wolf talked me into playing an Ultimate Combat match against her later, but I can’t even get past the tutorial! Pleeaaase, show me your gaming master ways!”
This is, of course, a fabricated story. Silver Wolf has no interest in playing “noobs”, and March isn’t dumb enough to challenge her in the first place. However, the stakes— or perhaps the pink-haired Nameless’s puppydog eyes— manages to rouse Welt from his room at last.
By the time the “match” is set to start, March is much more knowledgeable about the mechanics and strategies involved in Ultimate Combat, and Mr. Yang’s attitude seems to have improved slightly. It’s when he makes to return to his room that they initiate phase three of their plan.
“Ah, uh, Mr. Yang, there you are!” Dan Heng calls out, intercepting him just before he can enter the Passenger Car. The man in question looks up in surprise, blinking.
“Dan Heng. Did you need something?”
“Uh… yes, in fact, i-if you don’t mind, I was wondering if you could take a look at this data bank entry for me. I was revising the crew’s individual entries and wanted to know if I could add or improve on anything with yours.”
Mr. Yang sighs nearly imperceptibly, even as his face softens. “Of course, Dan Heng. Lead the way.”
This is also somewhat of a misdirection, though not quite a lie. While Dan Heng has been revising the personal entries on each of the crew, this one in particular has been… doctored, for lack of a better word. Instead of the usual content about the person in question’s general demeanor and role on the train, as well as a short summary of their past accomplishments, this one is stuffed full with as many compliments as Dan Heng could manage to fit in. Not the impersonal, platitude-kind either; it’s all deep, thought-out praise for and aspects of a man he’s looked up to from the day they first met. Dan Heng isn’t good at voicing his thoughts about people, especially not to their face, but he is good at documenting things he believes to be true.
Welt’s face goes through a series of emotions as he reads through the entry before finally landing on a slightly-scrunched mix of gratitude and bafflement.
“Dan Heng, I… I don’t know what to say. What is all this?”
The Vidyadhara shrugs pseudo-casually, though the fact that he can’t meet his gaze betrays his bashfulness more than anything.
“Just… some additions I made to your entry. I thought about divulging more of my personal thoughts on each member, and this is simply what I think of you.”
A light scoff that makes him worry that their plan has been found out, but then the older man is placing a hand on his shoulder. Mr. Yang smiles at him, watery eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Thank you, Dan Heng. You’re such an incredible young man. I’m glad that you trust us, and me, enough to share these thoughts. I really am proud of how far you’ve come.”
Which, whoa, is not fair. Now Dan Heng is the one blinking back tears, when this was all supposed to be about Mr. Yang in the first place. Leave it to him to somehow turn the tables.
Welt’s mood lightens significantly after this, but not enough for the Nameless’s liking. He’s still too quiet, smiles still too strained, eyes still too sorrowful. Which means it’s time to bring out the big guns, and initiate phase four.
Sunday, their field agent for this mission, is the one who stakes out the Party Car. When Mr. Yang walks in and takes a seat— not even noticing Sunday’s presence, which is another red flag— he types out a quick message to their private group chat.
Operation Cheer-Up Squad
Agent Quillfeathers
Mr. Yang has entered the Party Car.
Agent Galactic Baseballer
dude you have to say it right
Agent Quillfeathers
What?
Agent Cold Dragon Young
[exasperated Pom-Pom emote]
he means you must use code words.
Sunday sighs, barely suppressing an eye-roll.
Agent Quillfeathers
Very well.
The target has been spotted at Location: Party Car. He is seated on one of the couches. Proceed with plan.
How was that?
Agent Galactic Baseballer, Agent Cold Dragon Young, and Agent Freezeframe reacted “👍” to your message
Putting his phone away, Sunday returns his attention to the man— sorry, target— in question. He is indeed sitting at one of the couches by himself, but rather than doing work or simply resting like usual, he appears to be drawing something in his sketchbook. It’s apparently a hobby he quite enjoys, but for some reason he now looks disturbed as he draws, brows furrowed in something other than concentration. Which is especially strange because, even at a distance, Sunday can tell that the drawing does not resemble anyone on the Express or otherwise acquainted with the Nameless. No matter. With any luck, whatever is troubling the older man will be eased soon enough.
You see, while the previous phases of the plan had been ongoing, Caelus and Sunday had not been slacking at all. In fact, through the combined force of their power, they had used that time to interrogate Himeko further about Mr. Yang’s demeanor and habits on this day in years past. Caelus’s blunt, zero-filter accusations alongside Sunday’s own carefully-worded politicking worked together surprisingly well, and they managed to pry one clue out of the woman: apparently, on previous August 1sts, Welt would often spend hours and hours doing nothing but gazing out at the stars.
This had led to a heated discussion between the four younger Nameless on what exactly was the cause of this sudden lust for the sky. Obviously, it isn’t out of character for anyone on the Express to spend time stargazing, but Welt in particular almost always seems to do so with a wistful look in his eyes. Dan Heng thinks that he’s reminiscing, March 7th wonders if he’s daydreaming of the future, Sunday suspects that he’s homesick, and Caelus theorizes that he’s mulling over the inconsequentiality of one mere human in comparison to the vast, empty void of space that envelops them all like dirt does a grave, embracing, suffocating, and still (which was terrifying and mildly traumatizing to hear, to say the least).
However, what they settle on is that he must be feeling lonely. It would explain his sudden self-isolation, his lack of desire to enjoy things he usually loves, and the grief in his eyes as he stares out towards the heavens. Which means their solution must in turn revolve around making him feel as surrounded and loved as possible.
Hence, why Sunday enacts his part of the plan, strolling up to the table Mr. Yang is sitting at. Finally seeming to notice him, Welt startles and looks up.
“Oh, Sunday. I didn’t see you there. What’s up?”
“Not much, thank you for asking. I’m only here to serve as the distraction.”
“Ah, I see— the what now?”
All at once, the rest of the schemers emerge from where they’d snuck in from the other side of the Party Car, all springing into action. Dan Heng vaults over the back of the couch and lands on the man’s left. Caelus somersaults— literally somersaults— across the floor and pushes himself into the seat on Welt’s other side. March dashes forward, nearly sliding too far and having to grab onto Sunday’s jacket for support, and then throws herself on the opposite side of the couch. Sunday waits until they’ve all settled to daintily take his seat next to March, at the end of the couch. In other words, they have effectively boxed him into where he’s sitting.
Mr. Yang stares at them all, completely dumbfounded.
“Uh… hey, kiddos. What’s going on?” He asks slowly, evidently wary and beginning to suspect— correctly— that he’s found himself at the center of one of their schemes.
“We wanted to talk to you,” replies Dan Heng, as unaffected as ever.
“And give you this!” From behind her back, March produces a necklace. Upon the long, silver chain (harvested from a necklace the girl had bought months ago but never worn) is a simple locket. Mr. Yang pauses, a bit confused by the turn of the events, but pops the locket open nonetheless.
“Uh… thank you, I… oh.”
Inside is a small photo of the Express Crew, including Pom-Pom. It’s a good one, a rare picture where they’re all smiling (and not wrestling or making meme faces or in the middle of fighting a monster) together like a big happy family. At the very bottom, “We Love You Welt!!” is scribbled in Himeko’s nicest handwriting. Mr. Yang stares at the necklace, suddenly blinking very fast.
“Do you like it?” Caelus presses, uncharacteristically anxious. It makes sense, however; they’d all worked very hard to obtain the necklace, find a good photo, print it to the right dimensions, glue it in and get Himeko to sign it in only a few hours.
“It’s got all of us in there, see? Even Pom-Pom! We made it so that we can always be with you, even if you’re off on a solo mission or running an errand alone!” March explains, also nervous but doing a good job of hiding it. “A-and we left the other side of the locket blank, so that you can add a photo of whoever you like in it. I know you probably don’t have a ton of pictures like I do, but I figured you could probably just use your Imaginary powers to make one, right? I can even show you how to glue it in best so it won’t fall out!”
The man is silent for a few moments longer, an ever-so-subtle quiver in his voice when he does speak, “You… made this for me?”
“Mm.” Dan Heng nods firmly, though his eyes and tone are soft. “We know you’ve been feeling… down, today, so we thought we could remind you that there’s an entire crew here that has your back. No matter what, we’re here for you.”
Welt makes a noise like a choked-back sob, one that turns into a distinctly watery chuckle. “You all are too sweet. What am I to do with the lot of you?”
“You could tell us what it is that has you so sulky today?” Caelus suggests, followed by an “ow!” as Dan Heng smacks him on the chest (reaching over Mr. Yang to do so) and March shoots him a look.
Welt gives another light little laugh, shaking his head. “I guess I have been pretty gloomy today, haven’t I? I’m sorry about that, kids.”
“It’s perfectly alright, Mr. Yang. We all have days like that, and we simply wanted to provide for you what you always do for us.” Dan Heng casts a sharp glare in Caelus’s direction before continuing, “Please, do not feel obligated to share anything more than what you are comfortable with. We’re here to listen and support, not force your hand.”
“Thank you, Dan Heng, I appreciate it,” he says wryly, aware of the way Caelus pouts at the obvious barb. But then the man’s eyes go distant once again. “It’s just… today used to be a very important day for me. And now… well. There is no longer a reason for it to be important to me.”
And that’s that. No one pushes any further. Instead, they all converge around the man for one overly-large group hug, and privately celebrate over Mr. Yang’s much lighter mood and smile.
Caelus is happy. He’s proud of what they were able to do, proud they were able to help. And he really won’t ask if Mr. Yang doesn’t want to share, he isn’t that nosy.
But he still finds himself wondering what could possibly be so important that it nearly brings Welt Yang, one of the strongest people he knows, down.
--- ---
Somewhere in another world, a boy sits alone on the roof of his house. It’s reasonably late into the night, maybe nine or ten, and dark enough that even the city lights in the near distance can’t fully block out his vision of the starry sky. A stray breeze tousles his short indigo hair, drawing it up from where it usually lays rather flat on his head. He shivers and pulls his knees to his chest, but never lets his teal eyes drift from the stars above. On the flat ledge before him sits a small paper plate with nothing but a singular cupcake holding a lit candle.
The celebration was nothing major, but he’s okay with that. He’s never been one for big crowds and lots of attention anyways, not to mention that it’s hardly even a birthday to begin with. Just a few friends stopping by to congratulate him and occasionally deliver a present, and then some cupcakes at the end of the day. It was nice. He’d gotten a new book series he’d been wanting to read from Aunt Einstein, along with some recommendations on further reading materials, a bunch of new outfits and yet another remote-controlled mini-robot from Aunt Tesla, and even a new lens for his telescope from Bronya. And Tesla waited until after they celebrated to get blackout drunk, which was nice. All in all, a perfectly good day.
Or at least, it should’ve been.
Still, he finds himself on the rooftop, as he does every time he gets like this. Above, the half-moon shines bright, bringing up memories of stories he’s heard time and time again. Shifting his weight a bit to get more comfortable, he looks to the sky, and speaks.
“Hey, Dad.”
Logically, he knows this is probably stupid. Obviously his dad can’t hear him from— wherever he is, and the moon, if it can, doesn’t care to listen. Maybe if he was any less desperate, he’d feel embarrassed.
But he isn’t.
“Can’t believe it’s been seven years since we last celebrated my birthday together. Heh, Einstein kept making jokes about us being the same age now. Though hopefully my age will actually change next year, if you know what I mean…”
He clears his throat, attention returning to the cupcake. Wax beads and drips down the sides of the candle, the flame flickering weak and unsteady. Chocolate cupcake, teal frosting, white candles. The same every year.
“I brought you a cupcake. One with a lot of frosting, like how you like… right?”
As time passes by, it gets harder and harder to remember all the small details about a person he once knew by heart. So he clings to tradition, clings to the memories, like it will bring him back if he just holds on tight enough.
Heaving a sigh, he looks out towards the sky once more. Familiar constellations light up the night, and he recalls a warm, familiar voice in his ear,
“Look, see that one there, the one that kind of looks like a spoon?”
“Mm… mhm!”
“That’s the Big Dipper, it’s a part of Ursa Major. That’s the one that looks like a big bear. And then you see that bright-looking star above it? That’s Polaris, the North Star. It’s part of Ursa Minor; the little bear.”
“Oh… I thought that one was called α Ursae Minoris?”
“...You’ve been spending too much time with Einstein, haven’t you?”
He likes Polaris, maybe a little too much. It’s his favorite star. It’s not the brightest, but it’s always in the same place. It’s always there. Winter, summer, spring, fall; it stays in the same spot year after year. From when his father first pointed the star out to him all those years ago to now, it is constant.
There is a stinging in his eyes all of a sudden that does not come from the wind, and a chill in his heart that does not come from the weather.
“I just… I just wish you were here,” he chokes, the words spoken to everyone and no one and one specific man. It’s been seven years. Why does it still hurt? Why does it still ache? Why can’t he forget, move on, heal?
Why is he still gone?
The world moves on, the world stays the same.
Somewhere in another world, Joffrey Joyce Yang turns seventeen, and there is no father to celebrate with.