Chapter Text
Doc glanced up from the spread of blueprints and marked city maps just in time to catch Baby swaying gently in his chair.
The kid’s head bobbed to whatever song was pouring through his earbuds, black sunglasses hiding those too-observant eyes. One sneaker hooked around the leg of the table as Baby leaned forward, pushing a small red toy car across the paper streets. He mimicked tight turns and sharp burnouts with soft engine noises under his breath, fingers twitching with practiced precision.
Doc noticed. He always noticed.
Baby had favorites. Muscle cars, mostly. Sleek bodies. Strong engines. And if those specific toy models just happened to be kept closer to the edge of the display shelf, easier to reach without drawing attention… well. Coincidence.
Doc continued explaining the job, voice calm and commanding, even though his eyes flicked back to Baby more than once. He didn’t need verbal confirmation. The boy never missed a detail. Never. Like a loyal dog waiting for approval, ears perked even when pretending not to listen.
It was irritating.
And… almost endearing.
Doc forced his attention to the rest of the crew.
Ronny. Bill. Kandis.
Or as they insisted on being called—Jbird, Dot, and Sweety.
Jbird lounged back in his chair, lazily flipping a knife between his fingers, his grin sharp and mean. Sweety leaned forward across the table, clearly trying too hard to catch Baby’s attention, batting her lashes in exaggerated motions. Baby didn’t look once. His entire focus stayed locked on Doc, posture straightening whenever Doc spoke.
Good. Where it belonged.
Dot was the only one actually taking notes, eyes narrowed in concentration. The bare minimum of competence. Doc felt his jaw tighten.
Why he tolerated these people was beyond him.
He finished laying out the escape route, fingers itching for a cigarette as the tension settled in the room.
“Any questions?” Doc asked, scanning the group.
Jbird snorted. “Yeah. You sure your pet here was payin’ attention?”
Before Doc could respond, Jbird flicked his wrist.
The knife sailed across the table.
It struck fast.
Baby didn’t flinch.
The blade skimmed close enough to scrape against the metal ring of the snug black collar around Baby’s throat, clinking softly before embedding itself in the corkboard behind him.
The room went silent.
Baby slowly reached up, fingers brushing the collar out of instinct more than fear, then dropped his hand again. His expression didn’t change, but Doc saw it. The subtle tension in his shoulders. The barely-there inhale.
Silver hardware rested at the front of the collar. If you looked close enough, you could see the small bulge at its side.
Doc knew exactly what was inside.
A shock unit. Timer. Tracker. Camera feed.
Insurance.
The collar couldn’t be removed until Baby’s debt was paid in full. Trying to force it off would trigger a current strong enough to drop him to the floor. Baby had learned that lesson years ago. Hard.
He never touched it now. As far as Doc knew.
Doc swallowed, irritation flaring hot in his chest.
“Enough,” Doc snapped, eyes cutting toward Jbird. “Don’t test my patience.”
He turned back to Baby.
“Well?” Doc asked more softly. “Were you paying attention?”
Baby straightened immediately.
He pulled one earbud halfway out, lips parting as his hands began to move without hesitation.
“Tomorrow. Seven a.m. I wait outside,” Baby said quietly, signing along to his words without realizing. “Ford Mustang Shelby GT500. Grey. They go in. Seven minutes later they’re back in the car. I take downtown route, swap vehicles, back here by eight-twelve.”
The room stared.
Sweety blinked. Dot froze mid-note. Jbird’s grin faltered.
Baby’s eyes never left Doc.
Doc felt something twist pleasantly in his chest.
It had been three weeks since Baby had spoken around him.
Three weeks of silence.
Doc usually had to rely on the collar’s camera feed to hear Baby’s voice soft and careful ordering coffee at corner shops. Even that only happened occasionally. Lately Baby preferred writing orders on scrap paper, sliding it across the counter with small, neat handwriting.
Hearing him speak now… directly to Doc…
Doc forced his face neutral.
“Good,” he said shortly. “That’s correct.”
Baby nodded once, earbuds sliding back into place. The music resumed. But something was off.
The tapping rhythm Baby always kept — against tables, walls, steering wheels — was slower now. Less playful. Muted.
Doc studied him quietly.
The kid looked… tired. Withdrawn. Like something heavy sat on his shoulders.
Then it clicked.
His birthday was coming up.
Eighteen.
A big number. A dangerous one.
Doc pushed the thought away immediately.
He cleared his throat and turned back to the map. “Good. We’re done here. Now out.”
Dot stood first, gathering his notes and heading toward the elevator without a word. Sweety lingered, deliberately brushing past Baby and blowing him an exaggerated kiss. Baby didn’t even glance up, thumb flicking through songs on his iPod, completely uninterested.
Good.
Jbird shoved his chair back with a loud scrape that made the metal legs scream against concrete. He stalked toward Baby, looming close enough that Baby could smell cigarette smoke and cheap cologne.
Jbird leaned down, invading his space.
Before Baby could react, rough fingers hooked around the edge of his sunglasses and ripped them off his face.
Crack.
Plastic snapped in Jbird’s clenched fist.
Baby blinked once, unbothered on the surface, eyes briefly flicking toward the broken remains before he calmly reached into his hoodie pocket. He pulled out another pair — bright pink frames — and slid them onto his face.
A tiny white tag still dangled from the arm.
$3.99.
Doc noticed immediately.
Of course he did. The kid couldn’t walk past a store without pocketing something. Candy. Sunglasses. Lighters. Anything shiny enough to satisfy that restless itch under his skin.
Doc crossed his arms, rings clinking softly as his fingers flexed. He stayed still. Watching.
Jbird’s jaw tightened. He snatched the green glasses off Baby’s face and threw them to the floor, grinding his boot down hard until plastic splintered.
“See you tomorrow, Baby,” Jbird sneered, mocking the name as he turned and followed the others.
The elevator doors slid shut.
Silence fell.
Baby didn’t move until the elevator dinged, signaling it had reached the ground floor.
Only then did he stand.
Doc pretended to organize the table, stacking maps and straightening folders, while Baby lingered near the edge. His fingers hovered over the red toy car one last time.
He gently nudged it forward.
The little car rolled smoothly across the table, spinning slightly before coming to a stop near Doc’s hand.
Baby swallowed.
He wasn’t allowed to take the cars home. Never had been. No matter how badly his fingers twitched, no matter how strong the urge clawed at the back of his mind.
That itch again.
The wanting.
Doc picked up the toy and placed it back into the display case, fingers brushing the spot Baby had just touched. The metal felt warm.
He shut the glass door with a soft click.
“Baby,” Doc said casually. “Stay and chat a while. Since you’re so talkative today.”
Baby’s shoulders tensed instinctively. But he walked over anyway.
He always did. It was never really a question.
Not that baby really minded. Joe was taking a nap right now like aways plus it wouldn't be the first time baby's been late.
Not that he enjoyed it there was always concern and worry itching at him, he loved joe and he couldnt let anything happen to him- he wouldn't let anything happen to him, he was the only dad he’s got.
He won't be a jinx this time. Not to Joe and not to Doc.
Baby stopped in front of him, standing close enough that Doc could see the scar near his jaw, the nervous way his fingers rubbed together when he wasn’t holding onto something.
Doc’s lips twitched before he could stop it.
Up close, the kid was even prettier.
Before he could overthink it, Doc reached up and cupped the back of Baby’s neck. Not tight. Not aggressive. Just enough pressure to steady him. To ground him. His thumb brushed softly over the fine baby hairs at the nape of his neck, grazing leather and warm skin where the collar rested.
Baby’s breath hitched.
Something loosened in his chest, like a knot finally giving way. His shoulders dropped a fraction, lungs filling deeper than they had in hours.
For a moment, everything felt… quiet.
“Let’s go to my office,” Doc said, pulling his hand away slowly.
Baby blinked, eyes refocusing as if he’d been underwater. He nodded once and turned immediately, heading toward the office door.
Doc followed, faintly amused.
Years ago, Baby wouldn’t have moved an inch without explicit instruction. Would’ve waited. Frozen. Watching for approval.
Now he walked ahead without hesitation.
If Doc didn’t know better, he’d say the kid wasn’t afraid of him anymore.
What a ridiculous thought.
Baby pushed the door open and stepped aside to let Doc pass first.
Inside, Doc dropped into his plush leather chair with a tired sigh. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat, fingers brushing over several wrapped suckers and loose candies before finally pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a gold lighter.
He brought one to his lips.
Click.
The flame sparked.
Doc noticed immediately how Baby’s gaze locked onto the lighter, eyes following the shine of gold like it had gravity. His fingers twitched at his sides.
Predictable.
“Well?” Doc said dryly. “You gonna sit down? You know I hate loitering.”
Baby startled slightly, shaking his head as if waking from a trance. He walked forward — past the empty chair in front of the desk — and instead lowered himself behind it. He dropped onto his knees, then leaned back until his shoulders pressed against the drawers.
Doc looked down at him, exhaling smoke slowly.
“Still using the floor, huh?” he asked. “Yep,” Baby replied softly, that gentle southern drawl slipping out.
A small smile tugged at his lips as he tilted his head back to look up at Doc. People always thought it was weird.
But Baby liked the floor. He could feel vibrations through the wood. Footsteps. Movement. Danger. Safety. He liked knowing what was coming before it arrived.
And it was quieter here. No eyes. No stares. No weapons pointed his way.
Growing up surrounded by killers, monsters and rapists did that to a kid. (though Doc stopped hiring rapists when he took baby on. He became much pickier about who was near his baby.)
This office became his safe place.
And… it meant he could stay close to Doc without dealing with anyone else. Especially if he shuffled just a little closer.
Especially when he could tuck himself partially under the desk, hidden from the rest of the world.
Doc had tried to break the habit when Baby was around thirteen.
Yelling. Threats. Orders.
That mostly stopped the night Doc found him curled up beneath the desk, fast asleep, knees tucked to his chest looking like a child half his age with eyebags turning darker and darker with every day.
Doc hadn’t said a word.
The next morning, Baby found a fluffy blanket folded neatly under the desk. It never left after that.
Now, five years later, the space had evolved. Two blankets. A couple of pillows. The perfect little nest.
And hidden inside the bottom drawer of Doc’s desk was Baby’s personal stash of snacks — candy bars, gummies, stolen chocolate coins.
Baby wasn’t entirely sure if Doc knew about that part. The man never opened that drawer. Funny coincidence, Baby supposed.
He slipped one earbud out so he could hear Doc without needing to read his lips. Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward until his head rested against Doc’s thigh.
A soft sigh left him. The familiar smell hit him all at once — cigarette smoke, metal, expensive cologne, warmth. Safety.
Doc wouldn’t let him get hurt. He was Doc’s lucky charm, after all.
Sure, Doc had hit him before. Slapped him. Threatened him. Yelled when things went wrong.
But Baby told himself it meant something that Doc had rules.
One of them was no killing in front of Baby.
Doc knew he hated blood.
Even if… he still made Baby drive cars with bodies in the trunk. Still made him watch red streaks leak onto pavement. Still made him watch while blood splattered against the crusher walls.
But that was different. That was just part of the job.
Right?
Baby squeezed his eyes shut as images flashed behind his eyelids. Screeching metal. Red pooling and splattering on concrete. The ringing in his ears grew louder, louder—
“Your birthday’s coming up, isn’t it?” Doc’s voice cut clean through the noise.
Baby startled slightly. “H-huh? Oh. Yeah… it is.” He swallowed. “Why? Is there a job that day?”
He forced a slow breath, syncing it to the beat in his remaining earbud. The ringing faded as Doc’s voice anchored him back into the room.
Somewhere safe.
Baby realized his hand had twisted into Doc’s dress pants, fingers gripping tight enough to wrinkle the fabric. His knuckles ached. He loosened his hold quickly, embarrassed, smoothing the cloth with small apologetic motions.
Doc’s hand had settled into Baby’s hair at some point. He hadn’t even noticed when it happened.
Long fingers gently combed through the messy strands, slow and steady, like petting a nervous animal.
Baby melted instantly.
He shifted closer without thinking, pressing his head more firmly into Doc’s palm, a soft sound of contentment slipping from his throat before he could stop it.
“No, no,” Doc said calmly. “You know you get your birthdays off. Joe likes to spend them with you.”
Baby relaxed at that.
“Day after, though,” Doc continued, already reaching for a pen. “I’ll give you your gift then. You only turn eighteen once. I’ll take you to Bacchanalia. Maybe you’ll finally learn what real food tastes like. Not that sugar garbage you survive on.”
Baby blinked.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “Okay.”
He didn’t really get a choice. But it was nice knowing Doc would handle it. Plan it. Take care of things.
As long as Baby followed orders.
“Good,” Doc said.
He allowed himself a small smile, knowing it was just the two of them. Knowing Baby’s eyes had slipped shut again, body loose and relaxed against his leg.
Doc busied himself with paperwork, filling out new “employee” sheets. He wasn’t fond of Ronny or Kandis anyway. Wouldn’t be the first time someone disappeared for forgetting their place. After a moment, Doc noticed Baby’s earbud still dangling loose against his shirt.
Without a word, Doc gently tugged it free and leaned down just enough to place it back into Baby’s ear. His fingers lingered in Baby’s hair afterward, settling back into slow, absent-minded strokes.
Conversation over. Permission to leave.
Jazz filtered faintly from the earbuds now, warm and smooth. Baby let Doc’s hand anchor him.
Let himself breathe.