Most people presumed that working night shift at a gas station would be a dangerous, thankless job. They thought that it was a prime target for crime, a place where theft and gun violence were commonplace. Which, to be fair, Robb couldn't really blame folk for thinking such thoughts. It wasn't like they were wrong. He'd googled the statistics once out of morbid curiosity. Crime in this industry was a consistent factor, but it more-so had to do with where the gas station was located than anything else.

The hazards of working in a gas station mainly came from more locations that were easily accessible in the world, be they that way from population or tourism. Or both.

The more people capable of coming in, the more likely a crime could be committed. Simple statistics.

New York City? The most populated city in the United States? Riddled with crime involving gas stations. Robbery and arson and manslaughter alike. Every teller had a story, and every teller to come would soon enough.

Midwest? In those random border towns on the way to more important locations? Similarly hit hard with crime. It's much easier for somebody to want to rob a spot blind when they were already hundreds of miles away from their own home base. Less chance that they'd be tracked down when making a getaway.

But where Robb had been born and bred? In the ass-end-of-nowhere Maine, with a local population of less than 2,000 souls and nothing worthwhile in-between save for forests and mountains and the wildlife that were treated more like raccoons than anything else? It was almost funny to think about.

No, Robb wasn't concerned with working the night shift. Crime wasn't the problem Robb had with his job.

Robb paused his thoughts as the bell of the front door dinged with its opening. He craned his neck to see a muddy booted trucker come in through the door. The man looked around briefly, ignored Robb, and shuffled on over to the bathroom, leaving footprints every which way he went, caked and muddy cracks marring the already stained tile floors.

Sighing, Robb went in the back and grabbed his mop, falling into routine.

The danger of his job was boredom. Nothing happened here. People came by to get their gas, take their piss and shits, maybe snag a drink or a few scratch-off lottery tickets, and get out. Robb had worked at this place for a few weeks now, and he'd never been more disappointed with his lot in life. And considering the shit he'd experience growing up, that was a hard milestone to accomplish.

Two more weeks, Robb thought. Just two more weeks.

In two weeks, Robb's savings would finally be deep enough in the black. With it, he'd be able to start his road trip from the east coast to the west coast, a bucket list that his mother never got to accomplish. Once he completed that, that final hurrah in the memory of the woman who shaped who Robb was, he felt he'd be able to finally move on from his past and do things for himself without any further regrets.

Just two more weeks until the start of my life.

Mop in hand and mantra in mind, Robb went about his duty. It wasn't like it was hard. The floor didn't need to be spotless. It just couldn't be as dirty as it was. As he swept soapy water over the flooring, Robb caught sight of a wallet fallen next to an empty bag of Cheetos. Curious, he picked it up, opened it, and saw the license picture of the man that had just gone inside.

Who was in the bathroom. And knowing what he knew about truckers, the man would rush away the moment he was done with his business. Without his ID.

A groan echoed from Robb's mouth. He didn't want to talk to anybody. Nothing good ever came from starting a conversation in a gas station bathroom at midnight. It broke at least five unspoken rules of various the bro code of conduct and common sense, but in this case, not speaking would have broken a bigger, more personal rule for Robb. It was a matter of ethics.

Robb damned his moral compass sometimes. Normally, it served him well, but he'd really rather not do this.

Still, needs must, as it were.

"Excuse me?" Robb cleared his throat and opened the bathroom door, quite clearly speaking to the only other person in the building, the large man facing a urinal, wearing a stained pair of ratty jeans and a wrinkled-up flannel shirt.

The man, who had been minding his own business, as he should have been, more than likely just trying to do his do and get in and out as quick as possible, as one was wont to do in a gas station bathroom, craned his neck towards Robb, his beady black eyes staring in disbelief.

"You've gotta be jokin'," the man hissed, some flakes of what Robb could only presume to be Cheeto dust falling from his beard as he spoke. Well, that answered why the bag had been next to the wallet. "I'm tryin' to take a leak over here, so piss off 'fore I piss on ya!"

Robb grimaced, recognizing the threat as truth, but pushed through regardless of his. He held up the wallet he'd picked up only a few moments before. "You dropped this."

The large man blinked down at Robb in disbelief, as if he couldn't comprehend that his warning hadn't deterred him, then scanned what he was holding, before letting out a swear as understanding bloomed in his brain. Fumbling with his pants zipper, the man turned around and snatched his wallet back from Robb's hand, uncaring for the fresh urine stain slowly spreading over the front of his jeans.

"How the hell'd you get this?" The man demanded, looking through his wallet for anything missing.

"Saw it while I was mopping up your mud." Robb succinctly explained. "Figured you'd want it back."

Satisfied with his on-the-spot wallet inspection, the large man let out a breath of relief, slumping in on himself. He shot Robb a warm smile and patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks kid. You're good folk."

Internally grimacing at the touch, for Robb was well aware that this man hadn't yet washed his hands, he nevertheless offered the trucker a quick smile in return. "No problem. Hope you have a nice day."

Robb turned to walk out of the bathroom, content in his good deed done for the day, but the meaty hand on his shoulder didn't move. Robb felt his stomach twist. That probably wasn't a good sign, now was it?

"Hold on," the trucker said, far more amiably than before. "I've been a rude sort, haven't I? Shouldn't do bad to one that does me good. And it would've been real bad if I lost that. Can I get you a drink as thanks?"

Mom always did say to not turn down a gift offered in kindness.

…Dad would have belted me if he found out I did this though.

Considering Robb's father was a long-term patient of a psych ward in an entirely different state, his feelings on which parent to follow the advice of were more often than not quite lopsided in the favor of his mother. Who woulda thunk it?

Still, Robb wasn't willing to just go anywhere with a stranger just because they were being nice. Anybody could be nice when the mood struck them, and he liked to believe he had plenty of common sense. Or at least enough to get by. "I mean, if you're sure about it," Robb said, trying to give him an out. "You don't need to pay me back or anything, it's what anybody would have done."

"It's what everybody should do, kid. Not what they actually do." The trucker said, taking his hand from Robb's shoulder. He twisted around and quickly lathered his hands in soap at a sink. "Name's Keith. Keith Ulises Newman. Folk call me Kun though."

Robb blinked, the introduction of the full name and odd nickname throwing him off for a moment, before he felt strangely compelled to reciprocate the odd greeting. "Uh. Hi Kun. I'm Robert Stark. …No middle name. Call me Robb."

"Huh, thought everybody had one'a those in the states." Kun mused, turning on the water briefly before shutting it off and whipping his hands in the air to dry them.

"I guess I'm the odd one out," Robb shrugged. Sure, Robb used to have a middle name, the name of his birth father, but upon his eighteenth birthday, Robb's graduation gift to himself was to legally have it removed from his identity. Best money he'd ever spent.

Better to have no middle name than be associated with that man any further than he already was.

"And Stark? Robb Stark?" Kun repeated, a teasing grin on his face. "Fan of 'thrones?"

"Pure coincidence. I've never actually seen it," Robb admitted. "Never had HBO and I never bothered to figure out how to pirate it. But I've looked up pictures of Richard Madden. Not the worst guy to be compared to."

It was obvious that Robb looked nothing like the actual actor of the character he shared a name with, nor did he look like the source material character in question. Richard Madden was a tall prince charming looking man with deep blue eyes, strong cheek bones, and a curly mop of dark hair. The book version of Robb Stark was probably exactly the same, save for the fact that he was a redhead teenager. That was literally all Robb knew on the subject of the series character.

In actuality, Robb was a pale, freckled dude with ruddy blonde hair and brown eyes the color of coffee, cursed (or blessed, depending on how one looked at it) with a baby face that had people often thinking he was around fifteen years old. Him being on the short side didn't help with that. Robb knew he wasn't ugly, he kept in decent enough shape and was pretty good with his grooming. He thought he was a solid seven out of ten.

It was just hard to compare to that.

Kun didn't comment on Robb's name any further, save for a hum, a smirk and a shrug of his meaty shoulders. When he exited the bathroom, Robb followed him over to the refrigerated drinks section of the shop. Rather than go to the many labelled sodas and energy drinks available, Kun instead stopped in front of the liquor isle, traipsing around more mud wherever he went. Robb frowned at the sight. And now I get to mop again.

"Whaddya want?" Kun asked, waving his hand at the walled fridge. "Beer? Liquor? Wine? It's on me. Keep it reasonable though. Ain't made of money."

"Can't drink," Robb retorted. "Definitely not where I work at least. I'm underage."

Kun stared at him, snorted humorlessly, then grabbed two bottles of beer and approached the self-checkout register. Quickly paying for the drinks, he then pulled a balled-up paper bag out from his butt pocket and dropped one of the bottles in it.

"And now you're work don't know," Kun said, shoving the covered beer in Robbs hand. "C'mon, let's sit down. I need to nurse this."

Robb trailed after the trucker awkwardly, once again regretting his choices. For once in his life, he probably should have gone with the gut feeling left behind by his crazy father.

They sat down on a rickety bench and took a swig of beers. Robb grimaced, not caring for the bitter flavor, but didn't speak out a complaint. Momma didn't raise no quitter. An awkward quiet fell upon them, for Kun was too absorbed in his drink and Robb too unwilling to start any sort of conversation. He wanted to finish his beer and get back to his till.

Kun didn't seem to have the same plan in mind. "So, you're too young to drink but you're working nightshift at a gas station? Weird. Ain't you got school or something?"

"No," Robb denied, shaking his head. "I graduated last year with my GED. I'm 19. Well, 20, actually, now that we're passed midnight. It's my birthday."

"No kiddin'? Happy birthday kid." Kun said with a laugh. His tone returned to how it had been before fairly quick. "You should be doing something better than this though, mm? Ever thought about getting a trade? Plenty of work."

"I haven't really given any trades much thought," Robb admitted, taking a second testing sip of his drink. He put it down quickly. Nope. Still nasty. "Not that there's anything wrong with them! Definitely not. It's just not my thing."

"It's nobody's thing nowadays," Kun griped, taking another swig of his beer. "How many jobs are there for folk if they just get their hands a little dirty? Not even just in America. Worldwide. And they pay good money! It's a damn waste, I say. Well, what about college then? Got anything in the works there?"

Casually avoiding that first line of topic, for Robb had no intention on debating employment with a barely acquainted trucker, he answered the second. "No, no college either. Don't have the money."

Kun shot him a yellow-toothed grin. "Ever heard of saving up?"

"I'd be saving forever. Hard to hold on to cash when you don't have anywhere to put it."

"Stick it under your bed." Kun said, rolling his eyes. As if that were all one had to do.

"Don't have one," Robb drawled, hoping that would steer the conversation away. Or end it entirely. That'd work too. He just wanted to go back inside, mop up the floor, and watch some youtube videos to pass the time. Maybe even play that romhack he emulated on his phone.

Kun paused, studying Robb for a moment with his small, dark eyes. "You're homeless?"

"Ish," Robb admitted, waving his hand idly as he leaned back into his seat. "It happens. And it's not all bad. I live in my van, so I've at least got some shelter. Plus, all day access to the whole country is pretty sweet."

"A van lifer, huh? Heard some fun things about them. How'd you get into it?"

"I was born into it," Robb said, nostalgia leaking into out. "My mom and I used to road trip around a lot. Or at least, that's what I thought as a kid. Turns out, we weren't all that secure in our home life, so she sold off all of her stuff to buy a new van and get us out of dodge. She would take me from place to place all over the northeast to try and find something she could do for a while. It wasn't easy, there were definitely a lot of hard times. But when you're a kid, you don't look at it like that, I guess. I fell in love with the life and ended keeping with it. I even drive that same van we used to travel with now. Inherited it after she died a few years back."

"Sorry to hear," Kun offered. Robb grunted, offering a shallow nod. "She sounds like she was a good woman, if it means anything. How'd it happen, if'n you don't mind me askin'?"

"Ran over by a truck."

"A truck," Kun mused, scratching at his beard. "What make?"

Robb had to pause for a few seconds, taking in the words he just heard, before glaring at his seatmate incredulously. Whenever he told people about his mom, they tended to offer sympathies and platitudes. Sometimes they awkwardly left him alone, which was what Robb had been going for this time around. Nobody had had the balls to ask him what kind of truck had been used to mow his mom down.

The thought alone actually made Robb even more angry.

"I've got no clue," Robb growled, putting down his beer. "Why would I know that?"

"Ah, gotcha. Weren't there yourself, then."

"No, I'd probably be dead if I had been." Robb scowled, sarcasm thick in his voice. "Lucky me."

Kun seemed to have finally caught on to the fact that he'd annoyed his seatmate and tipped the last of his drink into his mouth rather than speak further. He pulled a smartphone out from his pocket, a model that Robb had never seen before, and opened up a database that Robb had, similarly, never seen before. He presumed it was specific to his job, and happily left it be.

When Kun finished his drink, idly tossing it into a trashcan behind him, he stood tall. Finally, Robb thought.

"Tell you what," Kun said, cracking his back. "I'm technically off the clock. Shouldn't even be talking to you. But you're a good kid, and I just looked her up, and your mom was on the list for one of my coworkers. And you don't seem to have any attachments here. So, I'm gonna do you a solid. I'll set you up in the same spot that she was. Call it a birthday present."

"What the hell are you on about?" Robb snarled, shooting up on his feet. Kun had almost a foot of height on Robb, but that meant nothing in this situation. He'd rather fight like a man and get his ass kicked than hold off like a wimp. That was the only lesson Robb had ever accepted as fair from his father.

Kun looked down on Robb, offered a wide smile and a thumbs up, and just… disappeared. No smoke. No mirrors. There weren't even any sounds that denoted any for of movement.

There was only nothing where Kun stood. One moment he was there, the next, he wasn't.

Robb felt something deep inside him, in the far recesses of his mind, that often-ignored area called credulity, snap. "I'm done," he declared to the world, turning about-face back towards the gas station. Walking back behind the register, Robb grabbed his phone and keys, turned off the lights, locked the doors, and left his post. He was, as he'd just stated, done. He didn't have the wherewithal to deal with shit anymore. Tonight was his birthday. His boss wouldn't fault him too hard for taking an early shift off. And if he did? Well, Robb was going to be submitting his two weeks tomorrow one way or another. What did it matter, really?

As he made his way to his van, on the other side of the street, because of course his boss didn't want employees parking in guest access spots, ignoring the common sense of the matter and the rarity of customers, Robb began to chart out the rest of his night. The key was that he needed to destress. Kun had really rubbed him the wrong way.

Robb could already envision what he was going to do. He was going to bust out his Nintendo Switch for the first time in a while. Considering he was trying to save his money in order to go on a life-time excursion, one might think it silly for him to own a console of any kind. They were money sinks, at the end of the day.

But that thought was just plain wrong. If you were going to live in a van in the middle of Maine, where summer snows and hypothermic rains were pretty common, you'd need something to entertain yourself with for hours on end while waiting around. The Switch was the easiest way to do so, in Robb's opinion.

Yeah, Robb thought, psyching himself up. That's what I'll do. The game he was going to play was irrelevant. Maybe some Breath of the Wild. Maybe some Mario Oddysey. Hell, he might just boot up Animal Crossing and mess with his old quarantine island. All Robb really knew was that he needed to relax.

Unfortunately, the world seemed to have a different plan in mind. Just as Robb crossed the street, a calm gravel path with a small dirt lot on the other side, a light reflected into his peripherals. Robb's felt as if his brain short circuited for a second, before kicking into gear as he jerked his head to his left, directly into the twin beams of a semitruck hurtling his way.

It was hard to describe what Robb was feeling in that moment. As certain death thundered at a breakneck pace towards Robb, going well over eighty miles and hour if he had to guess, his eyes picked up the oddest details of the vehicle. The spiked metal plates on the rims of its tires. The dice hanging from its rearview mirror. The strange scratch marks scuffing the windshield. The license plate that succinctly read T.R.U.U.C.K. Idly, Robb wondered how much money Kun paid to get his hands on the plate. It was probably worth a pretty penny.

Idle thoughts came to a halt as the truck accelerated even further. Its horn blared an obnoxiously loud AWOOGA sound. In the window, Kun raised a hand to his forehead in a military-style salute, a manic look in his eyes.

And then it was over. The truck hit him. There was a flash of pain, a startling loss of breath that lasted for less than a second, a shift of temperature from warm to cold then warm again, and then there was only numbness as darkness clouded Robb's world.

When Robb awoke, it was to a cloistered feeling of wetness and warmth. It felt both like the most comfortable thing in the world, and similarly the worst place he could ever imagine being in.

He wanted out. Now.

For some reason, his body was not reacting well. It was sluggish beyond the extreme, barely moving at all according to his desires. He'd never felt anything like this before. As he struggled to move, jostling himself in place over and over and over again, trying to escape wherever he was, a small light caught his eye, barely the size of a penny.

Robb needed to go to the light. It was this unmistakable, unstoppable instinct, one that he could not place the origin of. The light was there. Robb was not. He had to be there.

He pushed and pushed and pushed, thrashing with great failure towards the light. When finally he was able to make it closer, seeming as if he'd spent an eternity chasing what was less than a foot away from his person, the light began to expand, and from it came a cold that Robb more than anything else wanted to be enveloped in.

As Robb finally touched the light, an even more odd feeling came upon him. Something large and rubbery grabbed him, both gently and with great force, and pulled him toward the light. Robb was terrified at the feeling, the utter helplessness that came with being so weak. Squeezed through the light, feeling as if he'd been pulled through a slick-yet-sticky tube of some kind, the cold of the light washed over him, and Robb screamed at the foreignness of it.

A cheer echoed his scream, followed by him being maneuvered to and fro without any input of control. Robb struggled to see anything, let alone hear anything. Everything was blurry, everything was muffled. He thought he was in a hospital room of some kind, based on the heavy smell of cleaning solution, the whitewashed walls, and the fluorescent lights flickering above.

Robb must have been on some serious pain pills for him to be as out of whack as he was in that moment. But he was alive, and he had a name. Keith Ulises Newman.

Kun.

Ohhhhh, but Robb couldn't wait to get his grubby mitts on him. He was going to sue the ever-loving shit out of that dung heap of a man. He didn't know much about the law, but even he knew attempted manslaughter would see the sonofabitch put away for a long time. Hopefully, the lawsuit would further set Robb up for the rest of his life. After rehab, of course. God, he was not looking forward to that.

Thoughts of revenge and relearning to use his body as it was once able were temporarily halted when he was maneuvered once more. A sharp sting fell upon his stomach, right around his belly button area, and after it passed, he was placed in a cloistered box of some kind, next to a life-sized purple plushy, for some unspoken reason. Robb couldn't even tell what type of plushy it was, once more due to the fact that everything was blurry. Nor could he tell why he was next to such a thing. It didn't seem to fit in with a hospital vibe.

Regardless, even if Robb couldn't figure out where he was, there was at least something that he could make out; a shadow that loomed over his box. With difficulty, muscles stiff and unresponsive, Robb strugglingly craned his neck towards the origin of the shadow.

And when he realized what it was, he screamed.

It was a titanic monster, the likes of which he'd never seen. With brown armored skin, ivory pale horns, and blood red eyes, it was like nothing Robb could describe. Robb screamed and thrashed, using up so much energy that he barely noticed the monster moving in a panic, letting out croons and holding a clawed nail to its muzzle, the universal signal to quiet.

Energy spent, Robb slumped into a resting position once more. Movement at his side startled him, and when that movement came from the purple plushy, his startled form turned still as stone. It sat up, rubbing watery eyes and yawning, before looking down at Robb with innocent black eyes.

"Kanga?" The thing sounded.

It was too much. Everything was too much. Robb felt overloaded, felt as if nothing made sense, and seizing on that feeling, his mind did the only thing it could; it shut down.

Robb fainted then and there.

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