Ryan actually laughed, "That's more complicated of an answer than you might think. The Collector is, in a way, like my father. I'd never call him as such, though. He took me in at a young age and taught me the ways of the dark arts. When I was in my twenties, he finally had two sons of his own, and he cast me out. That was... Forty-ish years ago. He didn't leave me with nothing at least. He caused the storm that destroyed the town and condemned these tunnels. Then, allowed me to turn it into my home. Over the years I've been forced to share it, unfortunately, but I never needed that much space anyways."

"You don't look sixty years old." Ricky replied.

"I'm a child of the dark arts." He stated simply. 

"So, the magic keeps you young?" 

"No." Ryan set down the brush he was working with and got up from his seat. He journeyed over to a chest, kneeling down in front of it and opening it to reveal a pile of small dresses. While he cycled through them, he explained, "Kuza's potions keep me young. I give him the souls, he gives me the elixir. He delivers the souls to the Collector, the Collector doesn't kill him or his pets."

"Is that what we are to you? Pets?" Ricky answered, distaste in his voice.

The dollmaker stood back up, obviously frustrated he couldn't find a damn thing that worked for his current project. He tended to create Victorian era dolls more than anything. Making a Native American girl wasn't something he did often, leaving him with nothing to work with. He knew as soon as Nimo asked that he'd most likely be making a doll from scratch, but that didn't make him any less frustrated.

"No, not necessarily. As I've already told you, I've created you primarily to act as caregivers for my baby. You'll still have a lot of downtime because he's not too much of a handful, and that's why I decided to also make you my part time assistant." He grabbed a pair of scissors off a table and pointed them at Ricky. "That's not to say that we're equals, though. You're still below me. Very far below me." 

He turned over to a crate containing countless rolls of fabric, all of different sizes. Ricky was rather thankful to see he actually grabbed those scissors to cut fabric and not him. Ryan was the most stable person in these tunnels, but he definitely wasn't stable at all. It was clear his life had experienced some stress fractures over the years, to say the least. There was still plenty enough mind left in him to maintain his craftsmanship in making these dolls, to execute his orders tactfully, and to take good care of Chris. That was scarier than anything. 

Ryan cut off a sizable piece from a mossy green roll of suede and tossed it on the table behind him. He continued on, "In all honesty, it wouldn't faze me if these tunnels ate you alive, but that would upset Chris. He likes you, and that's the only reason I haven't left you for dead. The Collector wasn't really happy with me when I made him. He actually wanted to kill Chris, but instead we worked out a deal. As long as I never make another living doll again, he leaves Chris alone. Even though you're human, he still probably won't be too happy with me keeping you and giving you doll parts. If he orders me to get rid of you, or he kills you, there's nothing I can do about it."

"I still don't fully understand why you bow down to him like this. Yeah, he gave you a home, but is it really worth it if he's constantly threatening to kill the one you love and forcing you to take people's lives?" 

"Weren't you listening? If I don't give him the souls, I don't get Kuza's elixir. If I don't get that, I die. Without it, I would begin to age rapidly, and believe it or not, aging forty years in two days overloads your body and kills you. Even if it didn't, Chris will stay looking twenty-five for his entire life. Just like most people want someone to grow old with, we both want someone we can be frozen in time with." 

"No matter what you look like on the outside, you're still sixty years old and he's still three years old. You don't find that a little fucked up?" He replied.

Ryan scoffed, "Give it a little more time and you'll realize him and I are the least fucked up thing in this tunnel. When we went through tunnel nine, I prevented you from seeing what was in there. If you'd like, though, I can give you a flashlight and you can go look." His offer was dead serious, but only resulted in fearful silence from Ricky. "That's what I thought." 

( ø )

After what felt like hours of watching Ryan create a new doll, from painting the delicate face, sewing in the dark hair, and stitching an outfit, Ricky was finally able to return to Ghost. He followed his new "boss" AKA captor inside the antique cluttered train. It seemed their timing couldn't have been better, or worse depending on how you look at it. 

Walking into the second to last car, the sight laid out before them made Ryan's stomach drop. Chris was in tears, sobbing in Ghost's embrace. Ghost was sat up in bed, trying his best to calm the poor child down. This time of night, Chris should've been asleep. There wasn't many possibilities as to what would upset him so greatly. 

Ryan immediately dropped everything in his hands and rushed over to his baby's side. Around Chris was the only time he showed an emotion that wasn't hatred or disdain. Of course Chris instantly fell into his love's arms. Ghost, still blinded, felt the pressure lifted off his chest. Ryan held him close as he took a seat on the adjacent bed.

"Shh, shh, Daddy's here." He whispered softly, "It's okay. It's all going to be okay." 

Ricky sat down beside Ghost, gently taking his hand. The simple action comforted him. He seemed almost as shaken up as Chris did. Ricky didn't have to say a word either. Ghost just knew by the way his touch felt, and how his warmth radiated, it was him. His beautifully tranquil yet scratched voice followed, "What happened?"

"He had a nightmare." Ghost hesitantly responded. At this point, he wasn't really sure what would set Ryan off. What in his mind classified as upsetting Chris? Ghost couldn't control his dreams, but he didn't know if Ryan would see it that way.

Ricky, on the other hand, was a little surprised to hear Chris could even have nightmares. Did his mind really work exactly like a human's? To that extent? It makes sense, but at the same time, it was a bit of a surprise. At least it was only a nightmare, he thought. Here, there's a million much worse things it could be. To no surprise, Ryan opened his mouth to disprove Ricky's thoughts.

"A nightmare isn't just a nightmare for him. I'm going to get him calmed down and put back to sleep. In the morning, I'll deal with this." He spoke, lifting his angel up in his arms as he rose to his feet.

Ryan carried Chris back to their bedroom. Just like any child, he'll most likely wear himself out from crying. Now that he had Ryan, Ghost knew he'd be okay. Regardless, there was still something so heartbreaking about having something so innocent and beautiful sobbing into you. He raised his hand to his shirt carefully, delicately touching the tear stains on his shirt. In the back of his mind, it actually upset him, and that was a problem. So quickly, he's formed a bond with Chris, and he hated it.