bambi eyes || tradley

18. my only home

Tristan was panicking. He'd expected the curly-haired boy to have returned by morning, but he awoke to an empty bed, frowning at the space where the small boy should be waiting for him. The boy had been gone ever since he left on the motorcycle to wherever. Tristan had been staring at the door for hours, patiently waiting for Bambi to unlock the door. After a while, he just gave up, pinching himself and hoping all of this was just a dream. But the pain in Tristan's back from being roughly flung to the floor was still there, reminding him that yesterday did happen, and the country was still in his hands. He knew Bambi didn't hurt him on purpose, though. He never did.

The dark-haired man wasn't sure what else to do. The whole situation was frightening him. He didn't like the idea of the country being in his hands. Tristan's hands were far too small. He couldn't even hold his own little life in his two, weak hands. But he'd watched all the videos sixteen-year-old him left about getting to the headquarters nonethelesd. He'd fortunately explained the directions for himself specifically, and Tristan replayed the tapes so many times he could almost see the roads leading to it and the inside of the building vividly in his mind. Sixteen-year-old him even explained how to sneak inside without anyone seeing him, and how to break into the lab to release all the "experiments" into freedom. Tristan was nervous, and he wished Bambi would return so they could attempt saving the country together.

(Not that Tristan actually thought he was capable of doing that. All of this was still scaring the shit out of him.)

After a while of sitting and waiting, Tristan returned to the cardboard box, pulling out the two folders the past him stored inside for him. He randomly chose one, sliding one sheet of paper out of the folder and scanning his eyes over it. It was a long list of political magazines, Tristan realised as he read the different titles he'd printed for himself. Slipping the paper back into the folder, he slid out more, widening his eyes at the photo.

"So, this is the lab," he muttered to himself. There were rows and rows of glass tubes, holding unconscious humans in identical outfits. It was scary. It looked like they were storing a classroom of dead people in a room. Tristan could only suck in a breath before going through the other photos. On the back, there was red handwriting on it, explaining the different experiments done on the humans, and how they'd been ruthlessly swiped from  families. Tristan could barely breathe.

He paused as he reached one photo of another row of the people experimented on. He brought his face closer to the moment captured. The person in the tube looked familiar, but he wasn't sure where he'd seen the man from. With a shrug, he slid it back into the folder before sorting through more photos full of explanations. Tristan set the folder aside before opening the second folder.

A gasp escaped his lips at the realisation it was a documentation of Brad's true identity - before the government made him Nineteen-Seventeen. He smiled widely, reading over his birthname, his date of birth, allergies, etc. Tristan read everything over, including an address. A smile widened on his face. They'd documented where he lived before he was taken into the government's custody. Tristan was nearing a chance to meet Bambi's family and return him there.

Tristan folded the sheet of paper and slid it in the pocket of his jeans before he paused and returned to the folder before. He skimmed throughout the photos slipped inside, pulling the one he'd inspected before. He realised he did know that person.

It was the same man who tried shooting at Bambi and him in the cabin.

. .  .