Tin Man: Assignment
Title: Assignment
Author: Vashti
Fandom: Tin Man
Character(s): Wyatt Cain, OC
Rating: PG (probably G, but let's be safe)
Summary: How he'd gotten this assignment was beyond him.
Length: 1,665 words
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way.
Notes: written for the tm_challenge Fall Picture Challenge. It's unbeta'd as usual, and so feel free to spot beta...as usual ;)
Cain pulled his hat off with his left hand and smoothed his hair with his right. It was getting a little long, a little bushy to be exact, and Adora would be wanting to cut it soon. If only he could get five minutes to let her do it.
He slipped out of the jacket Adora had put on him early that morning to combat the pre-dawn chill and took a seat next to the girl. How he had gotten this assignment was beyond him. Sure he’d been complaining about being stuck inside all day, but this wasn’t what he’d meant.
Then again (he kept the eye-roll to himself) Captain Franke had said something about “You’ve got a kid now. You can handle this.” Right. He had a two-month old that he only saw when he cried in the middle of the night wanting his mother or to be changed or to be held or just to bawl his tiny lungs out. Wyatt Cain wasn’t sure he’d seen his boy with anything other than a splotchy red face since the day he was born. Oh Adora assured him that he had a sweet little boy during the day, hardly cried, hardly fussed, watched her with big curious eyes and barely gave her any trouble at all if he was fed every few hours. Luckily his beautiful wife had a reputation for honesty-painful honesty Cain’d thought when he was courting her-and so he believed her that Jeb was not a wiggly voice box set permanently to scream.
None of that, surely, gave him even the least bit of experience for how to handle a lost little girl in a leotard, dance slippers and accessorized at every inch with purple. And it weren’t like he was holding back on the stories of restless nights. Certainly sleeping with his lovely life wasn’t giving him dark circles under his eyes. Not anymore at least.
But he’d taken the assignment anyway. If it was his boy that was lost (assuming his boy could walk of course) he’d want to know there was someplace he could go and be safe until Cain or Adora or one of the neighbors could rescue him. And if the Tin Men weren’t it, who was?
“Hey,” he said, hoping to sound amiable. He was the oldest of three. He should know how to handle someone younger than he was. So his next oldest sibling was about ten years his junior…
Why had they given him this assignment again?
The girl looked up from her knees, purple and lavender and pinky-lavender hair frippery bobbing and nodding and generally making it a little hard for Cain to focus on her face. She sniffled. “Hi.”
Cain patted down his pockets, pulling out a number of things (a comb, one of Adora’s earrings, a handful of used napkins, some linty mints, and keys that had been floating around the pockets of his uniform for years without any apparent usefulness) before he finally found a clean handkerchief. He wordlessly passed it to the girl.
She stared at it real hard for a minute, gnawing at her lower lip, then the tears really started to flow.
Putting a friendly arm around her shoulders, Cain admitted to himself that he was just happy that she hadn’t decided to blow her nose with it. They had throw-away tissues for that back in the stationhouse, and Adora knew it. She’d be furious with him for “snotting up another perfectly good kerchief, Wyatt Jeremiah Cain,” long before he’d be able to get out that he hadn’t been the one doing the actual snotting up.
“Hey there…shh…it’s alright, darlin’. You can-whoa.”
Crying was one thing. He hadn’t been unprepared for that. That she’d be creeping into his lap, that was unexpected. And more crying, this time soaking his collar. Great. All the fun of being out in the rain without the actual rain.
Still and all he patted her back as best he could without getting too familiar (which was decidedly hard seeing as how she was in his lap and all). If his back-pats were a little awkward, the girl didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy crying and mumbling and using him like a big Tin Man hanky. Cain couldn’t remember situations like this ever being covered at the academy. And his sister hadn’t been much of one for needing comforting, not with having an older and a younger brother. Just couldn’t afford it. But every now and then some one or other managed to get under that thick Cain skin and strike a nerve…just before she’d “strike” them. And sometimes, if they hit deep enough, she’d go to her big brother for a good ranting and a bit hugging because she knew Wyatt wouldn’t ever tell that Winifred Jeannine Cain could actually cry.
So, suddenly more grateful that he and Adora’d had a boy, he waited for the girl to cry herself out. For sure she was taking longer than Winnie ever had, but his sister had never been lost and alone. Not as a child at least. Certainly that SOB she’d married had left her in a state. When he and Wendell had heard about it they’d gone right over to where the bastard was working and-
Cain’s train of thought dropped off as the girl rubbed her nose against his shirt. Yup. This one’s ruined. He was pretty sure she was done now, though. Maybe he could get some answers. “You okay now, sweetheart?”
She nodded against his chest.
“You got a name, honey?”
She did. Something so long and twisty he couldn’t wrap his head around it, let alone his tongue.
“You got a shorter version of that?”
Sniffling, she said, “I get billed as Gretel.”
Not the prettiest name he could think of, but it sure would fit better on a-
“Billed?”
She nodded against his chest, hugging him tightly. Cain hadn’t realized she’d thrown her arms around him at all. She had to be in a state if the firearm in its shoulder holster wasn’t bothering her. The girl, Gretel, was right up on it. “I’m one of the Flying…” and she said another word he couldn’t get to work right in his head. But that, at least, was because he’d been saying it wrong for the last five years.
“You’re a Flying Zjabratwykis’?”
She nodded again, but he could feel her making a face as Cain butchered her family name. He’d have never figured her for it. There wasn’t a trace of accent on her. Would account for the leotard though, and the ballet shoes and maybe all the frippery.
“I take it you somehow got separated from’em?” he asked as he tipped his head to one side so he could see her proper.
“They were loading up the wagons while me and some of the other kids were playing. Then the ball went wild so I went after it.” Her head sank down to her chest. “If I’d been working like Grandmother told me to I wouldn’t be lost.”
Oh no. Cain could hear the edge of cryin’ in her voice. “Might be so, but you found a real good place to be lost in.”
“But Central City’s so big. And I’ve never been around it, just in the fair ground or in the palace for the Royal Family.”
Which was a sight closer to the royals than Cain himself had ever gotten, a circumstance that was just fine by him.
“That may be so, but this is Tin Man headquarters. If anyone can find your family before they head too far out of town it’s us. How long have you been lost?”
Gretel seemed to think on that for a while-which gave Cain time to think of ways to ease her off her lap. Early afternoon during the Ozian summer was not the time to be so up close and personal. “A couple of hours?” she finally answered, her vice soft and unsure.
“When was the last meal you ate?”
“Breakfast.”
“Was that a long time before you went after that ball or a short one?”
“Long time. We get up early when we have to move out.”
Made sense, even if it was a little unhelpful. “Well,” Cain continued, “are you hungry now?”
Gretel stomach chose to make itself known. She let out a breathy, embarrassed laugh. “I wasn’t hungry before,” she said, drawing the last word out.
Cain chuckled. “Bet you were too busy being worried to be hungry. That’s all right. No matter how far your family’s gone, we’ll find’em. And if we have to, we’ll send runners after them. Do you know where they were headed next.”
She nodded.
“All right then. I say we discuss a plan of action for finding your lost family over a late lunch. What do you say?”
“But they’re not lost. I am!”
“Well you know where you are now, right?”
“In front of the Tin Man Headquarters.”
“Uh huh. And I know who you are. Miss Gretel Zjabratwykis.”
“I don’t know who you are,” she pointed out.
“Wyatt Cain, Tin Man, at your service, miss. So seein’ as how you know where you are and everyone that’s here knows who you are and you know them, but you don’t know where your family is, then I’d say that they’re lost and we have to rescue them.”
Gretel giggled at that.
Cain slid her off his lap then stood. He picked up his hat, jammed it on her head, then reached for his jacket and held his free hand out to Gretel. She reached down to pull her fallen socks-purple on purple, of course-before standing and taking his hand.
“How do you feel about salami and cheese sandwiches, Miss Gretel, with a side of butter cookies.”
“My gram makes butter cookies.”
“Well my wife made these. You try one and tell me whose you think are better.”
[in]Fin[ite]
Author: Vashti
Fandom: Tin Man
Character(s): Wyatt Cain, OC
Rating: PG (probably G, but let's be safe)
Summary: How he'd gotten this assignment was beyond him.
Length: 1,665 words
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way.
Notes: written for the tm_challenge Fall Picture Challenge. It's unbeta'd as usual, and so feel free to spot beta...as usual ;)
Cain pulled his hat off with his left hand and smoothed his hair with his right. It was getting a little long, a little bushy to be exact, and Adora would be wanting to cut it soon. If only he could get five minutes to let her do it.
He slipped out of the jacket Adora had put on him early that morning to combat the pre-dawn chill and took a seat next to the girl. How he had gotten this assignment was beyond him. Sure he’d been complaining about being stuck inside all day, but this wasn’t what he’d meant.
Then again (he kept the eye-roll to himself) Captain Franke had said something about “You’ve got a kid now. You can handle this.” Right. He had a two-month old that he only saw when he cried in the middle of the night wanting his mother or to be changed or to be held or just to bawl his tiny lungs out. Wyatt Cain wasn’t sure he’d seen his boy with anything other than a splotchy red face since the day he was born. Oh Adora assured him that he had a sweet little boy during the day, hardly cried, hardly fussed, watched her with big curious eyes and barely gave her any trouble at all if he was fed every few hours. Luckily his beautiful wife had a reputation for honesty-painful honesty Cain’d thought when he was courting her-and so he believed her that Jeb was not a wiggly voice box set permanently to scream.
None of that, surely, gave him even the least bit of experience for how to handle a lost little girl in a leotard, dance slippers and accessorized at every inch with purple. And it weren’t like he was holding back on the stories of restless nights. Certainly sleeping with his lovely life wasn’t giving him dark circles under his eyes. Not anymore at least.
But he’d taken the assignment anyway. If it was his boy that was lost (assuming his boy could walk of course) he’d want to know there was someplace he could go and be safe until Cain or Adora or one of the neighbors could rescue him. And if the Tin Men weren’t it, who was?
“Hey,” he said, hoping to sound amiable. He was the oldest of three. He should know how to handle someone younger than he was. So his next oldest sibling was about ten years his junior…
Why had they given him this assignment again?
The girl looked up from her knees, purple and lavender and pinky-lavender hair frippery bobbing and nodding and generally making it a little hard for Cain to focus on her face. She sniffled. “Hi.”
Cain patted down his pockets, pulling out a number of things (a comb, one of Adora’s earrings, a handful of used napkins, some linty mints, and keys that had been floating around the pockets of his uniform for years without any apparent usefulness) before he finally found a clean handkerchief. He wordlessly passed it to the girl.
She stared at it real hard for a minute, gnawing at her lower lip, then the tears really started to flow.
Putting a friendly arm around her shoulders, Cain admitted to himself that he was just happy that she hadn’t decided to blow her nose with it. They had throw-away tissues for that back in the stationhouse, and Adora knew it. She’d be furious with him for “snotting up another perfectly good kerchief, Wyatt Jeremiah Cain,” long before he’d be able to get out that he hadn’t been the one doing the actual snotting up.
“Hey there…shh…it’s alright, darlin’. You can-whoa.”
Crying was one thing. He hadn’t been unprepared for that. That she’d be creeping into his lap, that was unexpected. And more crying, this time soaking his collar. Great. All the fun of being out in the rain without the actual rain.
Still and all he patted her back as best he could without getting too familiar (which was decidedly hard seeing as how she was in his lap and all). If his back-pats were a little awkward, the girl didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy crying and mumbling and using him like a big Tin Man hanky. Cain couldn’t remember situations like this ever being covered at the academy. And his sister hadn’t been much of one for needing comforting, not with having an older and a younger brother. Just couldn’t afford it. But every now and then some one or other managed to get under that thick Cain skin and strike a nerve…just before she’d “strike” them. And sometimes, if they hit deep enough, she’d go to her big brother for a good ranting and a bit hugging because she knew Wyatt wouldn’t ever tell that Winifred Jeannine Cain could actually cry.
So, suddenly more grateful that he and Adora’d had a boy, he waited for the girl to cry herself out. For sure she was taking longer than Winnie ever had, but his sister had never been lost and alone. Not as a child at least. Certainly that SOB she’d married had left her in a state. When he and Wendell had heard about it they’d gone right over to where the bastard was working and-
Cain’s train of thought dropped off as the girl rubbed her nose against his shirt. Yup. This one’s ruined. He was pretty sure she was done now, though. Maybe he could get some answers. “You okay now, sweetheart?”
She nodded against his chest.
“You got a name, honey?”
She did. Something so long and twisty he couldn’t wrap his head around it, let alone his tongue.
“You got a shorter version of that?”
Sniffling, she said, “I get billed as Gretel.”
Not the prettiest name he could think of, but it sure would fit better on a-
“Billed?”
She nodded against his chest, hugging him tightly. Cain hadn’t realized she’d thrown her arms around him at all. She had to be in a state if the firearm in its shoulder holster wasn’t bothering her. The girl, Gretel, was right up on it. “I’m one of the Flying…” and she said another word he couldn’t get to work right in his head. But that, at least, was because he’d been saying it wrong for the last five years.
“You’re a Flying Zjabratwykis’?”
She nodded again, but he could feel her making a face as Cain butchered her family name. He’d have never figured her for it. There wasn’t a trace of accent on her. Would account for the leotard though, and the ballet shoes and maybe all the frippery.
“I take it you somehow got separated from’em?” he asked as he tipped his head to one side so he could see her proper.
“They were loading up the wagons while me and some of the other kids were playing. Then the ball went wild so I went after it.” Her head sank down to her chest. “If I’d been working like Grandmother told me to I wouldn’t be lost.”
Oh no. Cain could hear the edge of cryin’ in her voice. “Might be so, but you found a real good place to be lost in.”
“But Central City’s so big. And I’ve never been around it, just in the fair ground or in the palace for the Royal Family.”
Which was a sight closer to the royals than Cain himself had ever gotten, a circumstance that was just fine by him.
“That may be so, but this is Tin Man headquarters. If anyone can find your family before they head too far out of town it’s us. How long have you been lost?”
Gretel seemed to think on that for a while-which gave Cain time to think of ways to ease her off her lap. Early afternoon during the Ozian summer was not the time to be so up close and personal. “A couple of hours?” she finally answered, her vice soft and unsure.
“When was the last meal you ate?”
“Breakfast.”
“Was that a long time before you went after that ball or a short one?”
“Long time. We get up early when we have to move out.”
Made sense, even if it was a little unhelpful. “Well,” Cain continued, “are you hungry now?”
Gretel stomach chose to make itself known. She let out a breathy, embarrassed laugh. “I wasn’t hungry before,” she said, drawing the last word out.
Cain chuckled. “Bet you were too busy being worried to be hungry. That’s all right. No matter how far your family’s gone, we’ll find’em. And if we have to, we’ll send runners after them. Do you know where they were headed next.”
She nodded.
“All right then. I say we discuss a plan of action for finding your lost family over a late lunch. What do you say?”
“But they’re not lost. I am!”
“Well you know where you are now, right?”
“In front of the Tin Man Headquarters.”
“Uh huh. And I know who you are. Miss Gretel Zjabratwykis.”
“I don’t know who you are,” she pointed out.
“Wyatt Cain, Tin Man, at your service, miss. So seein’ as how you know where you are and everyone that’s here knows who you are and you know them, but you don’t know where your family is, then I’d say that they’re lost and we have to rescue them.”
Gretel giggled at that.
Cain slid her off his lap then stood. He picked up his hat, jammed it on her head, then reached for his jacket and held his free hand out to Gretel. She reached down to pull her fallen socks-purple on purple, of course-before standing and taking his hand.
“How do you feel about salami and cheese sandwiches, Miss Gretel, with a side of butter cookies.”
“My gram makes butter cookies.”
“Well my wife made these. You try one and tell me whose you think are better.”
[in]Fin[ite]