[Law. 14-15. On the road to Swallow (outside Juneau). Alaska. Wolf.]

Dreams and nightmares clashed without end, disordered, broken by his brief awakenings.

Law shivered under his thin coat in the trailer. Outside was worse. The thick tarp shielded him from the freezing wind and the shards of ice it hurled across the region. He heard it hiss above him, sinister, shrill. A strange uneven sound, like a taut metal cable, haunted the horrific atmosphere.

Sleep finally abandoned him. Law didn’t mind. It only gave him nightmares and dark thoughts. He peered through a small tear in the tarp. The lot was empty, except for two trucks parked farther off. The sky paling toward morning. The state flag snapped violently in the gale, loose cables whipping round the pole. Each strike gave off that eerie, almost alien sound.

To step out into the storm would be suicide. Rosinante hadn’t given his life for him to vanish so quickly, before doing anything with this new one. He had to wait. Stay hidden a little longer. But the truck’s owner would come back, surely. He couldn’t get caught squatting in the trailer.

A dull burn gnawed at his stomach. Vertigo seized him. Curled on the rough metal floor, Law felt the world swing without mercy. He squeezed his eyes shut, wrapped his arms around his knees, waiting it out. Hunger hollowed him out too. With no food, his strength was draining by the hour. It’s fine. The wind will stop. I’ll get out, search for something to eat. Then I keep moving. It’s fine. It’s-

Rosinante’s face broke through, that slightly ridiculous grin. The urge to cry surged. No. Never again. Never. But his body, drained, betrayed him. Great sobs wracked him for long minutes. He gave in to the heaviness numbing him, let the dark fold him under.

A door slammed. Law jolted awake. The sound was close, almost on top of him. Music, loud and pulsing, started up. The driver was back. Time to go. The engine groaned to life, sluggish, frozen stiff. If the man had sense, he’d let it warm a few minutes. The wind had died. This was it.

Carefully, slowly, Law slipped one side of the tarp loose and wriggled out. He landed on his knees, palms out. The warped concrete of the rest stop cut through his gloves, icy against his skin. Hunched, he limped as fast and quiet as he could to the shuttered bathroom block and ducked behind. When he was sure he hadn’t been seen, he let himself breathe again.

Behind him, the rusty pickup that had sheltered him roared happily, then faded away. First step done. Now, food.

Morning had crept forward while he was out. More trucks had rolled in, most of them delivery rigs, likely restocking towns farther north. One caught his eye: a trailer marked by the faded colors of a fruit-and-veg crate painted on its side. Maybe the run wasn’t finished. For once, luck. No one in sight. The drivers were scattered, finding a tree line or corner to take a piss. The woods were hundreds of yards away. He had time.

A plain padlock sealed the trailer. Nothing fancy. Wouldn’t take long. He steadied himself on his heartbeat, inhaled deep, though the cold tremors rattled his body. He gripped the lock. In his mind he pictured the inside, the pivot piece. Move. Nothing. Move, damn you! He had to eat. He had to live. He had to-

Click.

The lock dropped into his palm. Cool~. A flicker of a smile. The door shrieked on its hinges as it swung open, but caution was gone now.

Inside, crates stacked high to the roof. Law climbed over them, scrambling for space. Vegetables -useless, raw and cold- he passed over. A crate of apples caught him. The sharp green of Granny Smith twisted his gut: too acidic, his stomach wouldn’t take it. Further in, a box of yellows. Goldens. Perfect.

Even stiff with cold, juice burst sweet against his teeth. He bit again and again without chewing, gorging shamelessly. His mouth too full, he swallowed half-whole, choking, then sighed with relief. A tired laugh burst out. He finished the apple slower, grabbed another. He needed reserves. He reached for his bag.

The door screeched wide and daylight flooded him. A huge silhouette filled the opening. Shit. Backlit, he couldn’t see the man, but danger radiated. A hand like a clamp grabbed his collar and yanked him out of the trailer.

“Well, well. A little mouse nibbling at the goods!” the man barked, amused. Terror blanked Law’s mind; he thrashed weakly. “Quit squirming, idiot! You’re all bones, you’ll keel over in my hands!” Law froze mid-swing, his fist useless against the man’s arm. He was dumped onto the pavement, landing hard.

The stranger shook his head, sighing. “I step out to drain the oil and I come back to a kid in my trailer…” Law tried to back away. The man glanced into the load, nodded to himself, then looked back. “Hungry?”

Law said nothing. Could be a lunatic. He’d lived among too many. Anyone could be.

“When’d you last eat?” The man pressed. Law’s silence earned a loud groan of exasperation. The man dug through a crate, came back and stood over him. “Catch.”

Law’s hands lifted by reflex. An apple dropped into them.

“Got better at home, if you want it…”

Law’s fingers clenched around the fruit. Worse than crazy. A creep. The man smacked his forehead. “Not like that, moron!” He slammed the door shut, picked up the padlock, rolled it in his palm, then snapped it back in place.

“Where you headed?”
“…Town.” Law croaked, startled by how raw his voice sounded.
“Town? Which one?”
“Doesn’t matter…”

The man folded his arms, brows thick and bristling. “Here’s the deal. I’ll drop you at the next town, two hours out. Heat in the cab. Food.”

At the word food, at the thought of warmth, Law swallowed hard, heart racing. “In exchange for what?”
“You tell me how you ended up in the only rest stop within a hundred miles.”

The tone was steady, without mockery or malice. Someone who actually wanted to help. Like Rosinante. Maybe a serial killer. Or maybe a decent man. To refuse was to throw away a chance to survive.

Like with Rosinante, he took the leap. The step into the void.
“…Okay.”

The man nodded, no smile. He held out a scarred, massive hand. “Name’s Wolf.” Law gripped it, let himself be hauled up on shaky legs. “Law.”

The cab was bare, old, worn down, but kept in decent shape. Wolf must have guessed his look, the squint, the pinched mouth.

“This ain’t California, kid. It’s Alaska,” he barked, mock offended.

Law slipped his bag off, wedged himself deep into the passenger seat, clutching his meager belongings tight. Wolf leaned back, dug an arm between the seats, and pulled out a beat-up cooler bag. From it he produced a flask.

“Here. Start with this.”

The cap twisted loose. Steam and the smell of chicken soup drifted up. Law’s stomach growled so loud it embarrassed him. He ducked his head. Wolf laughed.

“Go on. Before it’s cold.”

Law tested a sip, careful. Then drank deep, long pulls, nearly draining half. Salt stung his tongue. Not just the broth. Tears. They slipped free before he could stop them, shorting out all his vows, all his walls, as warmth spread through his gut.

He knew he should slow down, but he couldn’t. What if the man changed his mind? What if he was just another psycho, like the rest? Then better to take what he could. He only stopped when his chest burned for air. He wiped his mouth and chin with his sleeve, panting.

“Easy there, champ, you’ll drain the whole pot,” Wolf muttered, yanking the flask back to make him breathe.

Best thing he’d eaten in three days of running and starving. But grief, hunger, exhaustion all pressed close. He wasn’t safe yet. Not out of the woods. Even after accepting Wolf’s offer, even after choosing to step forward into the unknown, he couldn’t fully trust him. I’ll survive, Cora. I swear.

He scrubbed the traitor tears from his face.

“Yeah, and you’re gonna need a hell of a shower too,” Wolf grumbled.

The engine kicked to life -Law jumped- and heat finally flowed through the vents. Wolf shoved the flask back into his hands.

“Finish it. Then we roll. Got deliveries left.”

This time Law drank slower, tasting it properly. Not a dream. Not a trap.

“I like to talk,” Wolf said at last. “But there’s two of us in here. You owe me something.”

Law had no desire to spill his story. Wolf sighed.

“You running from who, or what?”

He didn’t need to tell it all. Couldn’t lie. Not clean. Just a slice of truth.

“…My family.”

Wolf’s brows drew down. “Your family hurt you?” The sarcasm rose to his tongue, but Law bit it back. Wouldn’t land here.

“They… killed my benefactor,” he admitted.

Wolf’s lips thinned. He gave a slow nod, like he understood what that really meant. “One of those families then…” he muttered.

He let it drop. “How’d you end up in Alaska?”
“Bus. Train.”

Wolf nodded again, no judgment. “Got relatives here?” Law shook his head. Not in a state where the Family might have even a fingerhold.

“Yeah. Best to steer clear of their ground,” Wolf said, as if reading him.

The truck rumbled back onto the road. Law stayed tense, watching every twitch, still unsure if he’d chosen right. But Wolf stayed the same: gruff, tactless, no soft words. Little by little, Law’s grip eased on his bag. Warm cab. Rough steady rumble. Soup heavy in his belly. Sleep dragged him under.

When he woke, night had fallen. Engine off. Driver’s seat empty. His body snapped taut.

The truck was parked outside a grocery, workers hauling crates. Wolf’s broad frame stood among them, trading handshakes, words. Then he was back, climbing in, slamming the door with a satisfied grunt.

“Done. Last run of the season.”

He caught Law staring, tight with unease.

“Why’s it dark?”

Wolf raised his brows. “Because it’s five in the damn evening and you’ve been out cold all day.”

He fired the engine again. “I wasn’t about to wake you. You needed it. And the first town’s a shithole for a kid on his own.”

Law didn’t argue. It went against instinct, almost hurt, but he stayed silent.

They left the small grid of streets behind, just two crossed roads and rows of houses. The highway dove into frozen forest.

“I’ll make you a deal. Room and board, for work.”

Law frowned, wary.

“I’ve got a farm,” Wolf went on. “The produce you saw? Grown under glass. I haul it out to the local towns.”

The trees thinned. Law glimpsed the ocean, calm, silver under the moon. Between them and the water, a scatter of lights marked a coastal village.

“Harvest’s done. Hired hands gone. But the place still runs.” Wolf’s voice didn’t soften. “I need help to keep it up.”

They rolled through the village, then out again, road running down a spit of land into the sea. A handful of buildings clung there.

“So what d’you say, kid? Hard work. Honest work. Not as thankless as it looks.”

Honest work… Words Law hadn’t heard in years. Wolf had been straight with him so far, in his blunt, rough way. Straight enough that Law had let himself sleep -truly sleep- beside him. The Family would never sniff around some lost corner of Alaska.

“How long?” he asked.
“As long as you stay. You work, you eat. You want to leave, you walk.”

Law gave a slow nod. It was a plan. Until he made his own.

“…Deal.”

Wolf grunted.

“Good.”