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Listen, Kyle's adventurous life had—without question—come with a lot of surprises baked in. In fact, he kinda doubted there was much left that could truly catch him off guard, especially in this corner of the literal Infinite. Or so he'd thought, until a miniature punk caught him in a net like some hairy tuna, which was all manners of fresh.

And alarmingly difficult to get out of.

The damn webbing snagged on his gear when he tried to lift it over his head and when he'd finally tore the fucking thing off, he managed to step into a loop on the way out, tripping himself with the nimble grace of said hairy tuna having arrived on land.

Pleased to meet you, said the doorframe to his nose.

"Son of a bitch," said Kyle, kicked himself free, and started running—

—for a step or so, anyway, before his pack yanked him to a stop. He grunted.

The net had gotten tangled on it and then hooked itself on something in the shed. At this rate the kid was gonna be halfway up the alps by the time Kyle got free, and so Kyle chose to ditch the pack, all while hoping no one'd find it while he was busy chasing his mysterious quest objective.

And oh yeah, finally some fun, right? A chase. A friendly game of tag. A hunt. It got Kyle's wolf all excited, had her claw at his chest wanting out, and drove his heart into a quick, worked up rhythm out of no fault of his own.

Yep. Just werewolf things. No big deal. Unless you were at the other end of the chase and the game wasn't nearly as friendly, because once started, the chase was real fucking hard to stop.

Anyway.

Aiden had taken off in a straight line away from the window, which took him through what amounted to a patch of wetlands cozied up to the riverbed, meaning lots of tall, juicy plant life and ground that threatened to suck Kyle's feet into the mud if he wasn't careful. Then the surface angled up and the plants thinned, spitting him out onto the untamed meadows with grass so tall, Aiden only stuck out from the shoulders up.

Kid was quick though. Kyle gave him that. Quick, and aiming his flight towards the bridge up ahead. A terrible choice, as it turned out, since bridges were just the sort of place that attracted zombies.

Why?

Kyle had no idea. They seemed to be pulled to them by maybe a memory. An idea. An inkling in the back of their cooked brains that bridges were what you used to cross obstacles, only to forget at the last moment that if you wanted to actually get to the other side you'd have to walk over the damn thing. Not, ya know, loiter. And even with the bridge still some ways off, stray loiterers had begun to appear in the meadow, leading to Aiden getting caught in a group of what might have passed for scarecrows in colourful clothes; if they hadn't started to come alive the second they noticed him.

They started screeching.

Great.

Virals.

Eleven of them.

And who'd been the one to send the kid running towards them? Oh, glad you asked, cause it'd been this idiot. Perfect. Right?

At first, Aiden managed the situation like a champ, giving Kyle hope he wouldn't have to try and explain to Death how he'd fucked up. The kid bunny hopped around the Virals, every grab of their gnarly fingers missing and their teeth snapping down on air.

Then—all of a fucking sudden—he was gone.

Like.

Gone.

One second there'd been a full human child, the next there was a yelp and Aiden dove out of sight.

He'd tripped, probably. Caught his foot on a loop of grass (like the ones that kept trying to catch Kyle's shoes). Or maybe he'd stepped into a molehill. Whatever the case, he was now prone. The Virals rushed forward.

So did Kyle, getting on their rotting asses before they had a chance to put a premature end to his quest.

The first one he tackled with a slight dip in his shoulder, lifting it in one forward motion and throwing it against another pair. They went down, for now, and cleared a path for him to step over Aiden scampering through the grass on all fours.

The rest was really stupid simple; or was supposed to be, anyway, considering Virals barely constituted warmup. But even as Kyle flicked the baton from his belt and got started with administering a bulk order of blunt force trauma, the kid kept trying to, well, scamper.

Twice Kyle had to hit pause on whacking chins and skulls so he could grab the kid by the shirt and yank him back, until, finally, every last Viral was down and the only thing left moving were Kyle's heavily heaving chest and the breeze shoving at the long grass. Plus the grasshoppers. Including the human-sized one.

Aiden tried to run. Again. This time he even got to his feet, which was a terrible idea in hindsight since all it took was one step with his right foot and down he went, crying out in pain. He'd have nibbled on some dirt (or swallowed a grasshopper), hadn't it been for Kyle snatching him by the elbow.

"Let's try this again," Kyle said and set him somewhat straight. "Hi, kid. What's your name— Oh? Aiden, you say? Mhm, mhm. I'm Kyle, by the way. Kyle Crane, like the bird, ya know?"

Aiden threw him a sharp glare out from under a mess of sweaty bangs. Dirt, scratches and bruises marked him from the neck up and he'd flushed an angry red that told Kyle he should probably watch his shins.

But, no. This time, the kid didn't kick him. Instead, his eyes darted to the dead zombies, where they got stuck just long enough for the glare to transform into something a lot more… child appropriate.

Fear.

Kyle frowned. And frowned some more as he caught a look at the kid's forearm. It had puncture marks on it. Track marks, from needles. Big, fat needles, and god did Kyle wish his imagination wasn't so damn overactive, supplying him with all kinds of shitty reasons why a child-of-yet-to-be-determined-age would collect marks like that.

Before he could ask, Aiden wiggled his elbow free and awkwardly folded his arms, covering the ugly marks. Which meant Don't ask, Kyle assumed, but—

"Where'd you get these?"

—Kyle's mouth had kinda run off on its own already.

Aiden's eyes immediately dropped, all their focus shifting to his worn out, muddy sneakers. His little shoulders followed suit, sinking like someone had attached the weight of an adult's lifetime to them.

"Wrestling a porcupine?" Kyle suggested, which had the prompt effect of stopping any further droopage and got the kid's eyes to come up. They'd filled with confusion, rather than fear. They were also adorably large when they weren't sharpened by a glare.

"A what?"

"A porcupine," Kyle repeated.

"What's a porcupine?"

With his heart folding together like warm, freshly washed laundry, Kyle smiled down at the child-who-did-not-know-animals. "It's like a— uh. Like a beaver knocked up a hedgehog? With really long spikes." He demonstrated and gestured up a wildly exaggerated spike length.

Aiden tracked the movement. He looked skeptical, but he hadn't gone back to glaring and neither had he kicked Kyle's shin and tried to run off. Granted, most of that was probably down to how he'd rolled his ankle and had to stand on one foot.

Oh. Yeah. The ankle. And hanging out in the middle of a meadow near a bridge. A bridge with a small horde of zombies collected around it. Which would see them eventually, meaning more skulls to crush and— yeah, Kyle was kind of over that of now.

"Okay. You don't have to tell me. And, hey, you don't even have to thank me for saving your scrawny ass from being zombie lunch—"

Aiden huffed, annoyed. "I wouldn't have needed saving if you hadn't come looking for me." He stuck his chin out. "And now my foot is broken," he added. "I can't do shit with my foot broken. I'm going to starve."

"Wow. That's dramatic."

"It's true," Aiden moped. He swayed some, too, losing his balance, until Kyle grabbed him by the elbow again, steading him. "And it hurts," came a moment later, with fear threaded into his voice. It was subtle though; which was all kinds of tragic, because a boy who believed he'd broken his foot wasn't supposed to put on a bold show. He was supposed to— like— cry.

Kyle's heart got all crumpled up and squeezed with a sudden rush of panic.

This is your responsibility now, he reminded himself. If not because Death had sent him, but because, yeah. He'd miscalculated back at the shed and that'd gotten Aiden hurt. Cause and effect and so on and so fucking forth.

"Alright, get on." Turning around and hunching low as he could, Kyle jabbed a finger over his shoulder, pointing at his back. "I'll give you a ride to your little house and we'll check out your foot, kay? See how bad it is."

A peeved whine was all the answer Aiden gave him, along with a moment of hesitation before he finally (and reluctantly, no doubt), climbed onto Kyle's back. Awkwardly, too, as it turned out, like he didn't know how a piggy back ride was supposed to work, unable to figure out where his arms were meant to go or where to put his legs.

Ah. The apocalypse. Killed just about everything, including childhoods.

Along with healthy eating habits, obviously, since the kid had about as much weight on him as a wet cat. Or so Kyle figured as he got to his feet, Aiden clamped to his back.

What weighed a whole lot more was Kyle's absolute witlessness about what he was supposed to do now. Except, you know. Walk. And keep his eyes on the swivel for zombies. And stupid, magical paper birds. Preferably ones with instructions written on them, though of course none of those showed up. That'd have been too easy.

"Porcupines are a real thing?" asked his cargo while he dropped a hand onto the top of Kyle's head and pushed, like he was trying to lift himself a bit further up to get a better view.

Kyle grunted. "Very."

A thoughtful silence followed and wouldn't break, no matter how much Kyle racked his brain for what sort of conversation one might have with a child marked by a fate of yet to be determined severity. A fate which reeked as it hung off Aiden, giving Kyle the impression he was walking through a bog, rather than grass and trees and cool shade as they neared the shed. A bog at the forgotten end of a long-dead land, no less. One where desperation and unhappy endings had once been born.

Grimacing, Kyle made a conscious effort to turn a blind—uh—nose to the kid's fate. There was enough stink in this world, he didn't need the aetherial to leak through, thank you.

They reached the door without another incident.

"Duck," he told the kid, manoeuvred them inside, and then deposited Aiden on the table where he'd first found him.

By the way, that thoughtful silence from before? That'd turned awkward, with Aiden refusing to say a single word and instead defaulting to a hella constipated look that cozied up to a side of pain (now that the shock of the fall had worn off).

Kyle chose not to bother him. For now. He kept himself busy; fetched his pack, tossed out the rest of the net, closed the door, and gave the interior of the shed another once-over.

Specifically the large calendar turned into a conspiracy board. What was up with that?

Then Aiden made a pained little noise and Kyle's attention snapped to him quicker than you could say guilt. The kid had managed to take off his shoe and rolled down his sock, and now there he was, with an already swollen ankle and a miserable pout on his face.

Kyle moseyed over, grabbed a chair, and sat by his side.

"Is it broken?" Aiden asked, his voice every bit that of a genuinely worried child. He looked over to Kyle. The pout was still out in full force.

Kyle shook his head. "Nah, don't think so," he said with all the confidence of a mediocre dude who believed every word he said while having absolutely no idea what he was talking about. "Probably just sprained, which'll still hurt like a bitch, but it'll heal quicker. We'll just need you not to put weight on it for a while."

A sigh befitting a grown man needing to do taxes made it out of the child. "I am going to starve."

"You will do no such thing," Kyle reassured him and dug around in his pack for something that could be applied to a hopefully-not-broken-ankle. What he found was a perfect roll of those stretchy compression bandages, a discovery that threw Kyle's think-meat for a temporary loop. He stared at the roll. It smelled of dusty feathers. (To clarify: he had not packed this.) Annyyyy-way. Back to the kid. "I'll carry you back to camp once we've bandaged you up."

Aiden tensed. First, Kyle thought it to be a perfectly reasonable reaction to a stranger grabbing his foot and beginning to wrap a (maybe magical) bandage around it, but then Aiden gave his head a scared little shake and said: "I can't go back there."

"Because you're a bit of a scoundrel and a thief? I get it, but— look, you're hurt. And adults help hurt kids. They'll get over it." Ha-ha, you about to feast on your own bullshit there, champ?

"No, not that. It's not—" Aiden winced. "Ouch."

"Sorry. Told you it'd sting." Especially with how tightly Kyle was applying the (maybe magical) bandage, but the first aid courses back in the day had said to do so and who was he to disagree.

Another sigh, punctuated by Aiden throwing a meaningful glance at the repurposed calendar. "It's not safe there."

"Yeah? Why's that? And what's it got to do with your conspiracy board?"

"What's a—" Aiden blinked, reconsidered what he'd been about to say, and gave his lip a thoughtful chew. "You'll think I'm stupid. Or you'll laugh. Or you'll do both," he said after he'd gotten done chewing. His voice had gotten so fucking sad, Kyle felt the overwhelming urge to punch something. What exactly? No clue.

"I solemnly swear there will be no laughing."

Aiden stared at him, not believing him one bit.

And so Kyle offered a hand to Aiden, with his pinky finger sticking out. "Pinky swear."

The stare Aiden had thrown at him turned very, very flat. Though he did purse his lips, and, finally, accepted the offer with the dignity of a boy who assumed himself to be far beyond such childish gestures.

It was all kinds of adorable.

"It's for tracking," Aiden said after they'd struck their No Laughing contract. He pointed at the calendar and his face got all grim. "See, those are the kids. The stick figures."

Kyle's brow furrowed. Yeah, okay, with the terrible eating habits going around, kids did certainly qualify for stick figures. But—dear god—why were seven of them struck through with red marker?

"And those? Those are where we've been." Aiden's finger wagged at what might or might not have been sketches of camper vans, and blocky buildings, before he pointed squarely down to the bottom of the calendar. Here, a row of five figures were lined up, each with a name written underneath. "And that's the suspects. We've been trying to figure out who's taking the kids for weeks now, but now—" He deflated. "Now she's gone too, and I don't know what to do. I can't stay, or I'll be next, and so I went to get food and stuff for running away. But then you showed up and now I can't even do that anymore."

"Hold up." Kyle tied off the bandage. "Taking kids?"

Aiden nodded. "Yeah. They've been going missing for months. First two went when we were at the camp with all the house cars. Then the place burnt down and half of us ended up at a factory, where another two vanished. A week after that, the military finds us and a few of us go with them, like, not even that many? It was Sabrina and me and five adults, everyone else didn't want to go because they have a doctor from the Gee Arr Eee." Aiden wrung his hands together. His mouth twitched down. "That's when it got weird because now their kids were vanishing, which got Sabrina and I to think its got to be one of the adults who came with us, right? But no one would listen to us and then I woke up two days ago and Sabrina is gone. Just. Gone. Even her stuff vanished, so everyone keeps saying she ran."

Kyle's mouth took liberties and went with the first knee jerk reaction one might get when faced with a child who just told you he thought his friend was dead. That knee jerk reaction being a lie. "Maybe they're—" right and she did exactly what you wanted to do today? Bail?

Aiden scoffed before Kyle had a chance to finish the sentence and stared at him with eyes so empty of innocence it was almost obscene.

Okay. Okay.

This literal child did not want to be told his friend was fine.

He didn't want to be coddled.

He didn't want to be lied to.

No.

What he wanted—needed—was an adult who believed him.

"Well then." Kyle cleared his throat, the noise every bit as theatrical as the serious expression he plastered on. "Detective Aiden? I'd like to volunteer and chip in with your investigation. If you'll have me, that is."

Aiden's face scrunched up with doubt. "You want to help?"

"Mhm."

"Why?"

"Because every good detective needs a sidekick, duh. And I'm excellent sidekick material, you just wait and see."

And one hella curious fellow (as we'd established already) who couldn't have turned this mystery even if he'd tried.

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