#finally continued

 A couple of people in the subway station eyed them curiously but not enough to make Washington worry. Once on the subway he pulled Doc into a seat next to him and and kept his arms around his waist, knife still in hand. He didn't know what Doc would do now. If he would actually try to get away so he could return to his jars and appointments. If he was in shock about his new life and would just sit there muttering to himself. Washington didn't know. He also didn't want to take the chance at losing his getaway card/potential identifier.  Washington wasn't going home. He wasn't that stupid. But he also didn't want to go somewhere he didn't know. The place was pretty far, and partway through the ride Doc actually did start to cry, but before they reached their destination he was asleep leaning on the railing at the edge of the seat.  This guy was a mess, Washington concluded.  On the one hand, becoming a kidnapper was the only way he could escape earlier. But on the other, now he's stuck with this guy until he finds some way to get rid of him without there being a possibility of him ratting Washington out.  With Doc asleep, he let go of him, finally free to pull out his phone. Washington sent a text to his friend and alerted him to the current situation.  There were a lot of questions but Wash didn't think he'd have enough time to answer them all so he sent a simple, “I'll explain when we get there. Hide all of our pictures or anything with personal info.”  The place was only a few more stops away when Washington could tell Doc's breathing was overly forced to sound natural. He wrapped his hand around Doc's wrist and Doc let out a startled squeak and a quiet, “Sorry.”  Washington sighed. How was he going to deal with this guy?  “Listen, Doc.”  “I'm not a doctor.”  “Shut up and listen, Doc.” His grip kept tight. “We're gonna walk a few more blocks to get to a place where I can rest and try to find out what I'm gonna do with you.” The doors opened and closed, one stop closer. “I'd rather not have a knife on you. So what we're going to do is play domestic and hold hands. If you try to run or scream at any point in our little walk, I won't hesitate to stab you. I don't want to stab you, but I will. You get me, Doc?”  DuFresne nodded rapidly, anything to keep the knife away from him and resolve things peacefully.  Once they got on actual ground level, Washington released his grip on Doc's wrist and slid his hand down into Doc's. Lacing their fingers together for a more secure grip.  Doc could see why Washington wouldn't want his knife out here, that kind of posture would stick out like a sore thumb. There were neat rows of houses, little patches of green grass, actual fences made of wood and not chainlink. Domestic hand-holding fits in a lot more than possessive lover.  They walked a couple minutes after the sun had set and way past when Doc was getting tired, but thankfully he had grabbed a bit of sleep in the subway. Washington, however was sick of everything. His feet hurt, his hand was sweaty, his neck was sore. Washington just wanted to sleep and forget today had ever happened. Why did he have to grab a hostage? Why did he run? He should have just stayed and answered questions. He was in the right! He just... panicked.  Doc looked up at his captor when he felt a light squeeze on his hand. “Washington?”  Wash jumped, free hand immediately reaching for his pocket, stopping short when he realized it was just Doc asking a question.  “What? What? What the hell do you want, Doc?” He snapped out.  DuFresne squeaked like a frightened gerbil at the outburst. “Nothing! You squeezed my hand, I thought you were going to say something!”  Washington's grip lessened and almost let go entirely. He shook his head, closing his tired eyes for a few seconds. “No... I... no.” He couldn't think of anything cohesive to say, to explain what had just been going through his mind without sounding weak. He laced his fingers back through Doc's and pulled slightly. “Few more minutes.”  They reached a light blue house with a short white fence surrounding the front just as the street lamps began turning on. Washington knocked lightly on the front door, holding Doc's shoulders to plant him nearby. The door opened rather quickly and a giant hulking figure stood before them.  Doc let out another pitiful noise and stumbled a, “hello” out at the man.  Washington shoved Doc inside and made a few hand motions to the man on the way in. “This is the situation I was telling you about.” He said, with a few more hand signs.  The big guy shook his head, grunting quietly and signing back.  “I know, I know.” Washington sighed, movements following every word. “I just panicked! The cops were there and I was covered in someone else's blood. I left my jacket in a dumpster and I'm just hoping they don't find it. I don't know what to do, Maine! Please help me.” His hand movements had been as exaggerated as he had been loud, but towards the end they tapered off as he did.  The guy, Maine, made another little grunt, thinking for a minute before signing something back.  Doc watched them, dumbfounded. The psycho kidnapper and his giant hulk of a friend knew sign-language.  Washington shook his head. “No, it wasn't York. It was that creep, Butch.”  Maine nodded and made a flurry of hand signs.  “Yeah but if they ask him-” He stopped as Maine started up a new wave of signs, Washington nodding more enthusiastically as he continued. “That's true! Butch was always a straight forward guy, we fought on bad terms, but they were fair.”  Maine looked proud of himself.  Washington nodded some more, talking now more for himself than Maine, but still continuing to sign. “Yeah, so Butch isn't going to tell the cops who I am. No one at the bar is gonna cross Butch.” He looked up, hopeful but still a bit manic. “Doc!” DuFresne almost fell off his perch on the arm of a chair in the adjacent room. “Do you have security camera's around your building?”  “Yeah, but they're like most of the cameras out there, they're just for show.” A lot of the cameras on that side of town were either broken or never hooked up to anything to begin with. The presence of a camera itself deterred crime from happening, usually, so none of the one's on Doc's building even had cords.  Washington nearly jumped out of his skin. “Perfect!”  Maine signed a few more questions that Washington answered, some only partially out loud, and quit once Wash stated that it was near impossible for them to have seen a clear shot of his face at any point. The best they got was his hair color and he was bottle brown anyway. If he let his blond hair grow back for a while, they would eventually have bigger things to worry about. For now all they needed to do was figure out how to deal with Doc.  They filled the room DuFresne was sitting in, boxing him in on either side. Maine made a few signs and Wash interpreted. “He want's to know what you're planning on telling the cops if we let you go.”  “If!?” He shouted. He could hear Maine growl a warning. He swallowed. “Exactly what I said earlier, I have lots of various drugs and oils in my office. It's not outrageous to claim that you drugged me with a few of them so I would go with you willingly and not remember anything.” He swallowed again, looking frantically between Wash and Maine. He could feel his eyes burning. “If- if I just went back to work I could play dumb and act like none of this happened.”  Maine made a few gestures and Washington shrugged at him before asking Doc, “How could we trust you to do that?”  Doc was about to cry. He was looking forward to a nice quiet day of oil mixing and jar organizing and instead had to put up with knives in his side and neck and sweaty hands and sticky subways and far too much walking. “B-because... I-I'm a p-pacifist!”  Washington looked between Doc and Maine, an expression of 'what the hell'. Maine scratched lightly at his shaved head. He got up and tapped Doc on the shoulder, intending for it to be reassuring. Doc hiccuped violently.  Maine made a few signs for Washington to take over the job of shoulder-patting as he walked away to the kitchen.  “Don't cry.” Wash muttered through clenched teeth. “There, there.” He patted Doc's shoulder like a robot with a rusted joint.  Doc actually did cry. He let loose like someone had broken a dam and he didn't show any sign of stopping soon. Wash eventually stopped trying to comfort him and just sat nearby looking really uncomfortable. A few minutes in to all this, Maine finally reappeared. A tray with several cups of tea on it in his hands. He nudged Doc lightly with his foot before he placed the tray on a table in the middle of the room. He scooted one towards Doc before doing the same with Wash and then grabbing his own. He sat back down in his chair opposite from Washington and sipped quietly on his tea.  Doc's crying dwindled down to a few dying hiccups as he added sugar to his tea and stirred it rather ungracefully. He sipped it loudly and tried to drink too much at once and far too quickly.  Washington held his cup in his hands, letting it warm his soul instead of his throat.  Once Doc relaxed back into being a normal person, Washington spoke up, not looking away from his tea. “We're going to let you go.”  Maine made a noise and both of them looked up to see what he had to say. Washington interpreted, “Maine's going to give you some of his brother's old clothes and take you a few blocks away. Just as a precaution. There you can change back into your clothes and make your way back to your side of town.”  “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Doc chattered. “I don't want to start any trouble, I swear. I just want to get back to my life.”  Wash nodded. “I know.” He put his cup back down on the tray and got up. “I'm sorry you got caught up in all this.” Washington walked away, thanking Maine for the tea. Doc thought he could hear Washington walking upstairs and then a door click shut quietly.  Maine nudged a sheet of paper into his hands. Startled, he read it. “It's really late. You can sleep here.”  “You trust me not to leave?” Doc asked, mentally slapping himself for even mentioning it.  Maine took the paper back and wrote, “I can tie you to the radiator if you think you need to be.”  DuFresne let out a loud, nervous laugh. “No, no. I think I can manage not to run away. Haha... no thank you...”  Maine woke Doc up early, before Washington got up so he could get it done without having Wash worry around him for an hour.  “Thank you, for getting me out of this mess.” Doc whispered as Maine walked with him through a semi-secluded park.  Maine nodded, typing a message on his phone. “Just don't forget your end.”  “I won't. Believe me, I won't.”  A few hours later and Doc was sitting in a police station, being interrogated. He may have cried again. After a few hours of questioning, which would have been over sooner if Doc didn't keep sobbing about being a pacifist, he was released and allowed to go back to work.