A/N: Awesome, only two left! Still am having no legal rights to Baccano! Don't sue, I'm broke.

Vino's Freedom Gains Wings and Makes Tracks Easily

1926:

He'd only barely just started. His job, that is. Not the first one. The one he'd decided on. A train conductor. Well. He was still 'in training'. By some old guy named Tony. And already. Already, he felt free.

So alive. Because. Claire was flighty. And. As everyone who knew him knew, he craved adventure. It was why he'd left. Left the Big Apple to join the circus. Because. It sounded exciting at the time.

And he knew. Deep down, hoped, really that. He hadn't broken his brothers' hearts. But they were tough. Like he was. And. How could you be anything else? When you lived in a world like theirs? Of mafia and crime and bootlegged alcohol.

So. He knew they'd be ok. Hopefully. But he missed them. And his thoughts turned to them often.

Was Luck reading, again? Reading Poe and shivering? Was Keith as silent as ever? Had Berga broken another table?

But surely. Everything was fine. Because. He had heard nothing from the Gandors. And so. Everything must be going at least relatively fine. Because. They knew, if ever they needed help. With any sort of problem. They could call Claire. After all.

Claire Stanfield was very good at what he did.

So. This was good. He was traveling. Everywhere. All over the country. It was perfect. He wasn't tied down. To anyone. To anything. To anywhere. Each city was as good as the next. It was perfect.

Sitting in the last car. As Tony explained the rules, explained his job. And watching the tracks slip by, so easily. Like they were flying. It was a truly beautiful thing.

Claire knew. That people running thought so too. Yeah. There would be a few. Running from crime. Running from exes. Running from poverty. Running to opportunity. Running to hope. Running to family.

And. The rails were good for that.

Running far and fast. Claire knew that personally. He was running too. But.

Claire wasn't really running from anything. Or to anything either. For that matter. Just running.

Or flying. Maybe that worked better. The metaphor plucked at the back of his mind, as if he'd used it before. Maybe he had.

Like everything else about Claire's life, his thoughts were usually quite fleeting. He would have them, and. Once they were finished, they had to move out. Make room for new thoughts. Because he had so many different ones. About many different things. And they came and left. Like fireworks. And. That was usually ok.

Though it meant he probably repeated himself often. In his inner monologue. Somehow. He was better able to remember what he said aloud. It probably saved him lots of embarrassment. Probably.

Claire wasn't quite sure. Sure what feeling embarrassment was like. He supposed it was hard for him to make mistakes. Since. It was his world, after all. And. What kind of loser makes mistakes. In their own world? The one where they're at the center? It seemed pretty ridiculous.

But it really didn't matter. No. Not really. Because. He was free, free. Open, and out there. In the big world. Outside New York. Off the East Coast. Passing landscapes. Unfamiliar to him. And everything was new again.

New and exciting.

He loved it.

He could almost feel it. Even when he was inside the train.

Wind.

Pressing against him forcefully. Rustling his red hair. Yeah. And then. Then he really was. Flying, that is. Yeah. Flying.

He didn't tell Tony.

About the train-walking. Because. Hey. He was an old guy. Right? So.

But besides. Why would Tony need to know. Anyway?

Keeping secrets. Was part of Claire's freedom. It was something exciting. Adrenaline. Pounding in his ears. His heartbeat. Yeah. And he wasn't going to admit something. That anyone could try to stop him from doing. No. He really liked train-walking.

He could almost. Feel out the train. Its essence. From its shape. And he thought. Maybe. The train could see his essence too. Maybe.

And they had a cooperation. Almost. He and the trains. They were his ticket. To freedom. Funny. He didn't really need them anymore, now, did he. Tickets.

But that was really beside the point. Right. Because. Freedom was. About more than just wind and trains. Right? It was about being loose. Not having to worry. About anyone else. The freedom to hop on a train and go.

The freedom to propose to some lovely girl. And then. When she said no. They always did. He could just go. And move on. Find another girl. A prettier one. That made him different. Huh. Because.

Even though he was the flighty one. He still wanted to settle down. Eventually. Maybe. But. Maybe that's why he proposed first. Because. He knew they would say no. But. He also knew. That none of those women could ever keep up. None of them were strong enough. To keep up with him. His lifestyle. It was the honest truth.

But Claire was well invested. In the art of self-deception. Only one problem. He was too clever for that. It made a tricky paradox. But it was fun. A fun game. While it lasted.

And Claire liked games. He enjoyed them.

But.

The best were the dangerous ones.

Because.

Claire Stanfield was very good at what he did.

And he never lost a game.

At least. One he was invested in.

And the best games. Were always dangerous.

Adrenaline. Pushing. A struggle.

His life was a life of struggles. Except.

He wasn't doing the struggling.

No. Claire was too good for that. Too skilled.

And he could afford to relax. Once in a while.

So.

He leaned back in his seat. He closed his eyes. Watched through a veil of lashes. As Tony smiled and shook his head. Yeah. Maybe the old guy wasn't so bad. Claire would see.

Until then.

Claire drifted off.

Into a place between alertness. And sleeping.

And he dreamed.

Of wings and trains.

And the wind.

And strong hands brushing the stars.

Claire was flying.

And he was free.