Chapter Text
The train is stopped.
The recurrent beating of the wheels hitting the tracks had created a lulling tune that put Megumi right to sleep. Much needed sleep too as he had been traveling for the past couple days, by train, coach, horseback, and again, train, and he was ready to drop dead.
On trips like this, Megumi wishes Gojo would spend the extra couple bucks for him to have a private car. He always offers but Megumi never likes to indulge. But when it comes to actually feeling the bone-deep weariness and back pains, he cannot help but regret it each time.
Nevertheless, long train rides in the middle of the night have become the equivalent of booking a hotel room for him.
So, when the train gives a tremulous jolt and begins to shriek its way into a sharp stop, sparks flying off the metal of the tracks, it yanks Megumi out of his drifting sleep, straight into a confused stupor.
The train is nearing its destination, having passed the Scarlet Peaks an hour or so ago, when Megumi was last awake.
Yet now the train is stopped. Something is holding it up.
Pressing his face to the glass of the window he is leaned on, his eyes track the tree line, flicking back and forth as the scenery finally chugs to a grinding halt. The train gives a long stuttering sigh before the engine dies completely.
The night sky sits above luminous and haunting with its smiling moon. A watching specter, it illuminates the forest and train tracks below, casting everything in an eerie glow. Something about it does not sit right with Megumi.
“Why have we stopped?” one finely dressed lady to his right asks, clutching onto her husband’s arm.
Megumi casts his eyes over the other passengers, watching them stir from the clutches of sleep and begin murmuring amongst themselves. An undercurrent of worry grows. The longer they wait listening to the night’s silence, interrupted by the occasional hooting of owls and releasing steam from the locomotive, the more people whisper and grow agitated.
He is starting to worry himself. A sudden train stop is the biggest concern for when one travels at night along lonely paths. And there’s really only one reason for a train to be stopped at such an odd hour.
His eyes can barely make out the blockage in front of the train. It looks to be a carriage of some sort. Squinting, the warning text on its side reveals it to be an oil tank. A shadow moves on top of it, a person. The hair on the back of his neck stands up in warning – this, this was not good.
Then, as if answering his very concerns, his eyes catch onto lights coming out of the woods. Lanterns.
Megumi’s heart plummets to his stomach. Are you fucking kidding me.
Men are coming out of the woods. At least twelve of them.
The orange metal lamps they carry cast shadows across their profiles, but it’s enough to see that their faces are covered, pistols drawn, glinting in the moonlight. With hats sitting low on their heads, only flashing eyes are visible. Dangerous, ready.
There’s a beating of horse hooves. Two men ride up next to the side of train by the expensive looking couple. The wife lets out a scream, and all hell breaks loose.
Another man comes fast on Megumi’s right – oh, this was a big gang – and by now, the group of bandits have arrived at the train and are aiming.
A shot rings out and Megumi flinches. Someone screams again, and then, a volley of firing begins. Rattling against the metal of the train and successfully bringing everyone to the floor. He understands it for what it is, an intimidation before the actual robbing begins.
He closes his eyes and prays that no stray bullets find their way into their car. His heart is threatening to escape his chest with each passing second.
Over the mayhem, Megumi can hear a hoarse and angry voice.
“Everyone to your goddamn knees, we’re comin’ in!”
With that, not wasting any time, the doors of the car slam open and boots thunder in. They charge in like wild bulls. There’s a shot into the ceiling to announce their arrival, sending crumbs of dust and wood splintering into the air. More horrified screaming and another shot is sent into the roof, demanding a frigid silence.
Everyone has ducked down, heads tucked between elbows and clenched-white fists. Heartbeat pounding, fingers shaking, Megumi hasn’t even noticed he has already turtled himself between the seats. He can smell the fear in the train, rancid and raw, feel the cold of the floor seeping through his bones with it. It’s awful.
Now, Megumi is wishing he had just said no to Gojo in doing this trip all together. What good is being a traveling doctor when said doctor’s brains end up plastered to the walls of a dingy train car?
“Send someone up to get the conductor,” that same voice from before says, it’s deep and has a certain quality to it that gives him goosebumps – clearly the leader. He sounds like he’s directly behind Megumi, but he doesn’t dare move his head to look. These types of men were trigger-happy and only needed the slightest excuse to blast his face off.
“Rest of you, get to the other cars and get to work.”
Megumi can hear the rest of the burly men, smelling of dust and gun smoke, run up ahead and fill the cars ahead of his. They plan to overtake the train.
“Everybody stay calm and nobody’ll get shot!” A new voice shouts, pacing past Megumi. He catches a quick glimpse of the man carrying a burlap sack in one hand and a revolver in the other.
Distantly, the sound of the same instructions is heard in the other train car. So it begins.
“Let’s go, give us everything you got!” The leader barks, voice booming down the aisle to where the other man with the bag was. Cries and sobs fill the room anew. “Money, valuables, every fuckin’ cent!”
Someone cries out but Megumi listens to the hasty clinking of jewelry being ripped off, the unclasping of shiny watches, and coins being tossed into the bag. “There you go,” the bag man said with each new ‘donation’, almost like an encouragement.
His heart is throbbing something painful, Megumi closes his eyes and lets his head thud against the wall behind him in dismay. Fuck – they were going to take the rest of his money, as little of it as it was. He had been planning to send it to Tsumiki once he got to the nearest post office.
“We ain’t leavin till this bag’s full,” the leader declares, as if to spite Megumi, and more money is coughed up into the bag, bleeding the passengers dry. It goes this way down the aisle until one gentleman seems to refuse.
“I ain’t got nothing for you. You vermin are ruining this fine country, and I’ll be damned if I help you with it,” the man snaps, spittle collecting in his mustache.
The leader disappears from behind Megumi to meet the man. Only then, does Megumi truly see the size of his captors. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, and the man with the moneybag next to him is equally as large, a bull of a man.
Standing next to each other, side by side, although their faces are obscured, he can make out an uncanny resemblance between their profiles. And when the leader touches the other by the forearm to make way for him, Megumi instantly recognizes it as familial.
“What did you just say old man?” the head honcho bites out. The car is hushed.
“I ain’t giving you shit.”
“Funny, didn’t think I asked.” With that, he hurls his fist out and it lands across the elder’s face. There’s a crack of a nose being broken, and a spray of blood hits the windowpane.
“Next time,” the man swiftly brings out his pistol – a bone-ivory color with strange black accents over it. “You get a bullet in the gut and I’ll just take the money out of your pocket, huh?”
After that, everyone hands the money over with no complaints.
When it comes to Megumi, he doesn’t even meet the bag man’s eyes, just throws the rest of his meager dollar bills into the mix. There is no empathy to be found if he looked up. There never has been for him.
The brother takes a moment to move on if the dragging of his boots across the wood floor mean anything – could it be he thinks Megumi is hiding more?
Before Megumi starts to worry that they’ll come back to him, the door at the opposite end of the corridor slides open. A man rushes in, feet pounding on the creaky wood. Several people gasp.
It’s a hired gun.
The guard doesn’t even have time to lift his rifle to fire before a round slams him into the wall with a wail of a cry. The rifle clatters to the guard’s feet and he slides down to the floor, smearing a bloody trail down the wall, giving it a new layer of paint.
The frontrunner's gun is smoking. Megumi sees where the guard lies on the ground. He isn’t moving.
It is instinct. That’s the only way to describe the pure stupidity that fuels Megumi in those following, fleeting moments.
Satchel gathered, Megumi runs down the aisle, dodging the armed, masked men.
A woman screams and a baby starts crying from somewhere, just to add to the chaos.
“What the -!”
“Now, wait a damn minute!”
He does not look back at the surprised voices. Megumi flinches when a terrifying crack of a shot fired echoes off the walls. But he still keeps going and does not check his step, not even when he feels the bullet bury itself into the floor next to his feet.
When he stops, it’s with a slide, burning his knees, next to the man. A man whose wheezing in an anguished panic, who only took the job to earn a couple dollars, but with the cost of his very life.
The clinking thud of fast approaching steps forces him to look up. The brother is there, filling his vision with his presence.
He peers down at him, and all Megumi can see of his face underneath the black cloth is his eyes. Honey-brown eyes that look much too earnest and bright to be on a man such as him. Eyes lie though, as his hulking body casts a shadow over Megumi and the injured guard, and he is reminded of the danger.
“Don’t give us no trouble, mister. Get back in your seat. Now.” His voice is hardly muffled by the road-stained bandana.
Megumi disregards him and hastily applies pressure to staunch some of the bleeding with a roll of gauze from his satchel. The bullet went right through the guard’s shoulder, thankfully not through any vital organs. By the looks of the bleeding, it doesn’t seem to have hit the subclavian artery either, a close call. Either way, the hole in his shoulder needs to be stoppered or all his luck is worthless.
The man groans in anguish, convulsing beneath Megumi’s hands. The man meets his eyes and in them he sees a desperate ache of survival. It lends steel to Megumi's spine. He does not pay attention to the degenerate looming over them both, not even with the spearhead joins, spurs thudding against the wood floor in his arrival.
“I’m a healer,” he gets out, blatantly. The blood is hot and sticky beneath his fingers, and the feeling is only growing worst. “I need to help him.”
The leader raises his hand and points a gleaming pistol, cocking the hammer. His voice drops its volume, consumed by a cold rage. “Get your ass in a seat.”
Someone wails like a wounded animal nearby.
Megumi’s pulse doubles. The noose of fear constricts around his throat. Time is ticking.
Swallows. Takes a slow breath. In, out. One more. And then another.
Distantly, with sweat cooling his neck, he remembers his father's words.
Remain calm. Don’t panic. Keep your focus. Look em' in the eye.
He steadily meets the leader’s gaze. And fuck – he looks right at him.
His breath catches. Everything about him is menacing. Eyes wild under the shadow of a worn black hat and they look near red in the lamplight. It sends a straight shiver down his spine and almost steals all of his courage with it. These are the eyes of a killer, hardened, unflinching.
Megumi doesn’t think he will ever forget that gaze.
It forever sears itself in the frontal lobe of his brain. A look of death.
Throat filled with cotton, he beseeches the man, “Please, I need to help. I help people."
"You got a death wish or somethin'?" Even with a covered face, the man has a powerful scowl.
Megumi ignores the question. "You've shot his good arm. He won't be causing any more trouble for you. There's nothing wrong with letting him get help."
"I don't take kindly to those who try to shoot my men."
"It's only his job," he bites out, a flash of anger igniting, "Just like how yours is to steal and murder."
Megumi knows he's playing with fire. Perhaps even begging to get killed. "And mine is to help people."
For a second, he thinks his glare softens a degree or two, although it could be the work of the shifting light fixtures.
“Now, are you going to give me any trouble?” Megumi asks with an arched brow.
The leader blinks, almost dumbly. And he says nothing, only glowers at him for a moment that feels like years. A stretched infinity.
“We got the money!” A voice abruptly shouts, coming from the car up ahead. It tears the threatening brute out of his own head. He lowers his gun.
The soft-eyed man next to him releases a held breath. It sounds like a laugh, a relieved one.
The leader’s thick eyebrows twitch. It’s the only warning the brother gets before receiving a slap up the side of his head, knocking his hat off and revealing a tousled mess of strawberry blonde hair – in which now Megumi is certain they are related.
“Fuckin’ get moving,” he grunts at the other. “You heard em’.”
The brother – now acting more like a shy boy than a grizzled outlaw – scrambles to retrieve his hat, darting his eyes to Megumi for a second, and then bounding off the train, money bag secured over his shoulder.
The air is still tense when the headman diverts his attention back to Megumi. The rage has left him but there’s an assessment going on behind his eyes as he looks at him.
Megumi feels as if he is a bug being held under a microscope, poked and prodded, analyzed. How close was he to getting shot, really? Other passengers are watching the exchange with bated breath. Is there still a chance to get shot?
His questions are never answered because the towering man releases a harsh breath, kicks his boot forward to nudge Megumi’s knee – making him jump – and growls, lowly, almost to himself, “fuckin' idiot, wanna' get yourself shot,” then stalks right off the train.
The gang leaves after that, without any ceremony, competent and efficient in their procedure. They disappear into the woods, lights snuffing out, followed by the beating of horse hooves with their escape. They are gone without a trace, almost as if they never existed in the first place - if it weren't for the leftover trauma.
In the aftermath, the train sits silent, save for the weepy and shaken passengers. A husband waves air in the face of his fainted wife. Another cradles a crying baby to their chest.
And Megumi is left to tourniquet the guard, who has paled a considerable degree and probably needs to be taken to a hospital as soon as possible. Hopefully, the conductor wasn’t dead.
Admittedly, Megumi and shit luck were close friends.