John blinks a little at that revelation—that his name isn’t…well, his name. But if he’s been alive that long, it makes sense he’d have an alias at some point—if he’s tried so hard to run from his past…

“What’s your name?” He asks softly. “You don’t have to tell me, it’s okay…but if you do, I won’t use it if you don’t want me to. I just…”

He frowns, trying to figure out how to put it into words.

“…you have that box for the photos. The things you want to hold onto, to remember. I wanna keep you safe.”

Drawing him down, John kisses his forehead, nuzzling his hairline.

“Maybe I can hold some of the bad things for you. Keep them safe if you need them, keep them from hurting you. If you want.”