Another bump, another grumble. 

The road since leaving June’s illegal basement, tucked away in a series of alleyways nicknamed December Lanes, only got rougher the farther east they went. It didn’t help that their driver disobeyed any and all pretenses of safe driving. Unlike the two hogs under his charge, fat and grimy creatures clearly fed well, the twin Shisa named Han and Hun were getting all the rest in the world. 

“ me.”

Snoring, legs backpedaling, Hun nuzzled himself further into Han’s shoulder. Jongdae, however, was unable to ignore the boisterous driver’s ramblings. He should’ve pressed June for extra bottles of sleep-in-a-jar before journeying on to Cusp’s End.

“ me.”

Vivid images of spiders rolling mothballs helped sway him towards peaceful slumber. One, two, three, dust bunnies down, hundreds to go. Victorian moldings and paper-thin curtains with delicate, golden trims all words to describe now blurry memories of “home.” The smell of rotting pig proved much more comforting than his past experiences with luxury — as only something still living, in some sense, can rot. 

“ you, June!”

The driver, clearly taking the hell hole that was the Underground for granted, hollered into the air. Voice slurred, accent obscure and unpleasing to the ear, he was reaching mad scientist levels of annoying. 

“I swear I’ll kill ya for this! I will!” 

Protectiveness over the doctor sprouting up from nowhere, a low hum caused Yeol’s Adam’s apple to vibrate. Growling, the Gentle Giant’s bare toes clenching and unclenching, Jongdae couldn’t have been happier to not be on the receiving side of Yeol’s glare. Unsettled, their driver stuttered out.

“Make the big guy stop starin’ at me like that. Scarin’ the out of me, ‘e is.”

Wincing with each distorted syllable beating against his eardrums, Jongdae decided to — at the very least — make use of the driver’s talkative nature. “So you transport June’s goods?”

He laughed, head jerking backwards. Snapping forward so quickly Jongdae flinched. “Say it any louder and the fuzz’ll be on us ‘afore I can answer.”

“The Society polices the Underground?” 

Once upon a time, Minseok told him the Society makes trips every so often into the Underground. All in an attempt to track down runaway Black Coats, apparently. Lately, three months prior, the effort to capture Cerberus had dwindled. The Tower had turned its eye to another project deemed more conducive for the corporation.

In other words, Jongdae wasn’t as special as he once thought.

“Nah,” another laugh, louder and emptier than the first, “I’m just in’ with ya. People round here’ve got too many thanks to give June to even think bout turnin’ ‘im in.” 

Compared to June, the lord and savior of the entire western district of the Underground, Jongdae’s existence couldn’t have been more miniscule. “Special.” Losing the adjective didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. If anything, all that hurt was his stomach. Two days without food and counting. Chen had been spoiled by the Dog Fights. 

A fact even funnier than the driver’s awful cadence. 

“Besides, I owe ‘im. Guy hurts ‘is back one too many times and ‘e starts owin’ the local doctor. Ain’t nothin’ I can do bout it. A debt’s a debt.”

Jongdae ignored his heartfelt words, instinctively searching for more answers, “Your name’s Baekhyun Byun. Are you from the Haven?” 

Tao. Deo. Shoe. Fay. Han. Hun. Yeol. Chen.

Names like this came from the Underground — where one survived on simplicity. In an attempt to prove the validity of his charge, June provided the four strays with an entire file of data collected on their driver: Baekhyun Byun. 

Weakness masked with wryly tones. A crooked countenance in the face of amicable intentions. Forever untrusting, but always able to be trusted. Turns or turned 26 sometime this year, his exact birthday a sore topic for reasons unknown.

Living up to his profile, the driver ran a thumb across his rounded chin and asked, “You eva ‘ear a Blessed talk like me?”

More concerned with his lack of attention on the road, Jongdae attempted to interject, “No, but—“

“Name’s Beck and ain’t no Blessed.” In Beck’s words, who knows when the fuzz’ll be listening. “Jus’ like you four ain’t no Black Coats.”

Another noise of displeasure comes lolling off Hun’s lips, the carriage hitting a snag that sends it a handful of feet off the ground. The resulting impact with the ground causes the Shisa’s head to bang against wood. He remains asleep at his brother’s side nevertheless, Yeol’s unmoving form showing he’d long since done the same. 

Temptation to follow suit soon sets in. Jongdae, figuring he’d ask for forgiveness instead of permission, lays his head onto Yeol’s outstretched legs. The makeshift pillow was more comfortable than expected. One, two, three, four dust bunnies rolling by all he got to before he felt himself dozing off. 

Another bump, another laugh.

Smiling, Beck clearly says, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Jongdae never pegged himself for a heavy sleeper. In fact, he’d easily woken up — on multiple mornings — to Miss Jessica’s cat calls beneath his window. A demure debutante, she knew exactly which syllables to hit to send his muscles tightening. For the curious, Fay hits all of them without discrimination. 

Where was the fun in every utterance bearing such importance in pitch? 

Certainly not face down in the muddied earth, somewhere between nowhere and everywhere. The exact distance traversed by Beck’s hogs was a mystery to the slumbering Jongdae. Waking up to pieces, big and small, of wood and torn cloth, the last issue on his mind was location.

He moved to his feet, body aching from hits he endured while unconscious. Iron filled his lungs, his throat coughing up a mixture of blood and dirt. The pain slowly subsided as he scanned the remains of the carriage all around him caused by a crash he wasn’t awake to experience. 

Yeol and Hun were nowhere to be found: a fact he could simply feel after one hazy glance. Another and there was Beck, the performing hog tamer, belly up as his two pets nudged his unmoving form. 

A wound the size of a pea smack dab in the middle of his forehead told the story of his fate. 

The sound of a gun leveling beside his temple told Jongdae’s own. 

“Hands where I can see ‘em.”

Into the clutches of Clockwork City’s infamous “Dog Catcher” fell Cerberus. No axe in sight, the more twisted Shisa twin held hostage, Jongdae willingly threw his hands into the air. The thing is, he did it without thinking twice. 

All because he could hear Fay laughing, words filled with clarity and ounces upon ounces of significance, as she said, “Have you been practicing?” 

A/N: Happy New Year!