Rock couldn't quite foresee the trajectory of his life anymore. He never could really but he hadn't quite felt as lost as he did when Andy died and everything spiraled into chaos. And yet, now sitting here in a car being taken to god knew where with a scoundrel, he felt a glimmer of something.

Or maybe it was the residue boiling of his blood still lingering. His nerves tingled with the sensation that came whenever he used his powers. Or curse. Or whatever the fuck it was anymore. It hurt like fire singing through his veins yet dulled over time. That had been Rock's favorite way to wound himself until it was banned by Kain. So it discombobulated even Rock that he used it to help Yamazaki of all people.

But then again the man was the lesser of two evils especially when compared to Xanadu.

That creepy joker had been cradling Rock like a baby and whispering inane riddles into his ear, keeping him locked in a bearhug. It was uncomfortable and just…well, weird. Therefore, it felt good to punch the living daylights out of him. And there was the reality that Rock had been fighting. He had broken out of his numb haze and fought, recapturing part of his past self. It was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

For now, he felt like floating adrift. And stuck with Yamazaki to boot. But the man had said things that poked at something raw and long since buried. Not exactly motivational and he wasn't really trusted, let alone liked. Still, he had done something. Whatever that thing was. But what now? Where were they going?

"What's in the briefcase?" Rock posed the easiest of forty-million questions welling up inside.

"Six million bucks," Yamazaki sent him a brief sideways glance.

"…Are you serious?"

"No, it's six million dried clitorises."

"That's…that's fucking gross, man. You got issues."

Yamazaki scoffed with a dark chuckle like it was a goddamn compliment. "That's the nicest thing anyone has said to me."

"Gee, I wonder why."

"Fuck you too then," Yamazaki shrugged, the corner of his lip pulling into a smirk. Sweet yet dripping in so much sarcasm, it could kill a man.

"Is that code for 'yes, I know I'm a psycho '?"

"Pot calling the kettle black, kid."

Scowling, Rock raised his hand and gave him the meanest middle finger, he could muster up, squeaking when it was swatted away. "I'm not no kid, pal."

"Double negative, brat."

Heat shot to Rock's face, and he let out an irritated groan, pulling his knees to his chest and dropping his head on them, considering how he should tell that jerk to fuck off. Instead, he sat and pouted into the silence, feeling the exhaustion creep up on him.

He considered closing his eyes to sleep and thought of the time he spent with Yamazaki. It was nowhere close to fun, but it was a reprieve from everything. Like a sturdy nest in a storm. Which was so odd because it shouldn't come from Yamazaki of all fucking people. Yet here they were.

Here Rock was getting blindsided by a question that broke the silence like a brick through a window. "You never told me what happened to South Town?"

"…Andy died," he answered and left it that. But his emotions sure didn't, weeding their way through his skin, pricking under his flesh, jabbing at his nerves until the urge to hurt became overwhelming. He snuck a pair of fingers under his sleeve and began scraping nails across his skin. He should be able to get away with it given how dim the car was and when he felt that familiar sting, he thought he could sink into the hurt for a moment while the emotional wounds closed themselves but-

"Don't do that," it came from Yamazaki. Direct, frank, with no pretenses or humor. "You could get an infection and die. I ain't spending my new fat paycheck on a funeral."

Rock furled into himself a little more, his mask of numbness slipping back on. "Toss me into a river then."

"Nah, you're too pretty for that."

"What is that supposed to mean? You're gonna taxidermize me?"

Of course, Yamazaki didn't answer. He just fucking smiled. But for once, it wasn't malicious, just mildly amused and it did things to the atmosphere, making the air shift and change into something…different. Normally Yamazaki's presence was a source of discomfort or irritation but now, it was just something not negative. That was the best way, Rock could describe it.

He sank into his seat again, closing his eyes and trying to streamline all the happenings around him. Six million bucks richer – which came with a monkey's paw in the shape of Yamazaki. Unless they split it? But was that even an option? And what was Rock even going to do with that money?

He sat with no answers, slowly dosing off when the sound of gunshots in the distance jittered him awake. Yamazaki noticed it too, increasing the car's speed with a sullen look on his face. He looked up at the rearview mirror and Rock looked over his shoulder, spotting a pair of headlights behind them. Bullets rang out again, this time scraping against the roof of the car.

"You know how to shoot?" Yamazaki asked, calm like this was just a normal occurrence to him. It probably was but not for Rock.

"N-no!"

"Consider this your lesson. Get the gun from the backseat and get blasting!"

Well fuck. Rock sucked in a breath through his teeth, unbuckled his seatbelt, and reached his hands over across the backseat, padding about until he felt metal under his fingertips. He pulled the firearm to his side and opened the window just when another bullet hit the side mirror.

The gun, firearm, whatever was extraordinarily heavy. So much that Rock struggled with holding it still as he placed his finger on the trigger. He could hardly see the outline of the car chasing them so aiming was based on little more than guesswork.

"The fuck are you waiting for?" Yamazaki sneered behind the wheel. "Shoot some fuckin' heads already!"

"Shut up or do it yourself!" Rock yelled back as he pulled the trigger, nearly dropping the whole thing from the recoil that shot through his body like a shockwave.

Round after round came out of the gun, bullet casings dropping onto the road in a trail after them. He kept the gun aimed, hoping to god that he actually hit something against the occasional shots that were fired back. Rock's hands began to throb from the heat of the gun warming his fingers more than comfortable, but he hardly felt any of it due to the adrenaline pumping through his blood.

His eardrums were ringing but blood rushing through his dead drowned out the roaring of the engine, the wind blowing through the window, his heartbeat racing. His mind numbed but not in a way, he had ever tried before. Not for a long time.

All he felt was pure survival.

And so, he pulled the trigger again veering off just a notch, hoping he'd hit his target. Then he heard it; the shattering of glass. Seconds later the light tailing behind them began to swerve uncontrollably from side to side, tires screeching, indistinct voices yelling in panic.

Then careening off the road entirely, swallowed by darkness. The gunfire stopped as reality sank into Rock in waves. He let the terror, the shock pass and pulled himself back into his seat, staring blankly ahead. The gun was still in his lap, a reminder of what he had accomplished.

And in the midst of it, came the guilt.

"I…I killed someone," he said in utter shock, almost terrified to put the words out there. He closed his eyes and saw a stranger, riddled with bullets, bloodied and bruised. Maybe wounded, then killed in the car crash. His life had been taken by Rock Howard.

A monster. No better than-

"You did what you had to," Yamazaki interrupted the storm of self-destructive thoughts swirling in Rock's head. "It was kill or be killed. Didn't your uncle teach you that? You think those fuckers were innocent? For all we know, they probably beat their girlfriends and let their buddies run a train on their own kids."

Rock swallowed hard and his chest tightened. It wasn't implausible. It certainly wasn't. He knew South Town was like an iceberg; a peaceful surface and a scummy underside. He knew it all. He saw it. He felt it on his body, felt it sully his memories, felt it course through his blood. He. Knew. Rock tossed the gun to the backseat and curled himself into a ball, standing on the line between mental spiraling and objectivity without a need for ethics or morals.

The car slowed down to a normal speed again as exhaustion came beating up on Rock again with a vengeance. He looked up and stared at Yamazaki, slightly envious of his inability to look tired. His indifference to death and how easily he separated it from morality was eerie.

It was that horrible reminder of what this man was; a cold-blooded criminal.

Someone who, if he wanted to, could try and kill anyone who made the mistake of trusting him without a moment's hesitation. Coming to terms with what Yamazaki was, felt like a kick to the gut. And the stupid thing was that Rock already knew. Otherwise, they would not have met under the same roof with Kain.

So away from the Heinlein life and into pure darkness, they drove in silence, past a few turns and twists until the car came to a sudden stop. Still swallowed up by the void, Yamazaki turned his head very slowly. It occurred to Rock that he had been driving with one hand this entire time.

"Listen up, kid," he searched through his pockets, pulled out a phone, and typed something in. "Take this. There's a safehouse you can go to."

Rock blinked in confusion, then stared down at the device that was handed to him – and the coordinates typed in. "…What about you?"

"I'll need a new car," Yamazaki shrugged. "This one is riddled with bullets."

It was telling he didn't mention the briefcase. Rock couldn't fault him for this, given how he was with the cash, the materialistic ass. Besides it was blood money anyway. Rock hopped out of the car and just barely managed to close the door before it reversed into an arch and drove off into the night.

Alone in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, Rock looked down at his phone, feeling ever so increasingly untethered to anything worth living for, let alone his sanity. Reception out here was poor but it did pinpoint a route for him to follow and so he did, occasionally looking up to nothing but darkness when he felt something large brush against his foot.

Mostly brambles, bushes, shrubs, and some flora that stuck to his leg.

The hike, for lack of a better word, was a nice distraction from the storm of thoughts returning full force. Not quite at that point where he was crushed to bits because he nearly broke his ankle over a fallen tree trunk. Just looming in the back of his mind, ready to pounce the moment, he had found the safehouse.

Desperately unhappy, Rock felt like he was moving in a haze, an apt metaphor for the nightmare his life had become. Unwillingly masochistic, he accepted every bit of it because he deserved it. There was a part of him-no, a whole side of him that reminded him he was destined to fall down this hole of misery. For failing to keep himself together. For failing to keep the friend group intact. For failing to grieve properly. For failing to keep Terry grounded. For failing to just keep Terry.

For simply failing.

And for that, Rock was deserving of his suffering. Without someone to fall back to, he stumbled backward and fell into the void. Much as he nearly fell when stepping into a mud puddle that almost ate his shoe. He jerked his leg back and hastened his pace, rushing past a few thorny bushes that scraped his stomach, hoping that Yamazaki would put himself through this as well.

After what felt like two eternities, Rock looked at his phone and saw that he was just a few feet away from his destination. The surface he walked on felt different now; less grass, more dirt. He felt pebbles under the soles of his shoes, kicking to a few larger rocks until the markers on the screen were practically on top of each other.

Slowly, he reached out his hand to feel something, fingers brushing against a concrete wall. And he kept pawing at it until reached what he assumed was a door, situated above a few steps of stone. He searched for the handle and pushed it down. Only to find it locked.

And Yamazaki hadn't given him a key.

Ah…If Rock was in a better mood, he could have burst out laughing. If he wasn't already so downtrodden, he could have cried. All he could get himself to do was to sit on the steps and let his body slide down the door. Desolation felt like a hand around his throat, in his throat, reaching down and squeezing his lungs.

Forcing him to think what now, forcing him to face the dark thoughts standing in line at the door to his brain. He hugged his knees tighter, hands winding up around his wrists and almost, almost harming himself, too tired to work up the gloom to do so.

On the precipice of sleep, Rock thought of the person he killed.

He thought of Kain and wondered if he was mourning his absence or discarding emotions in favor of values. If Grant was warming his bed again. If he was being abandoned here in the middle of nothing. If his mother would hate the person, he had become.

He wondered where in the world Terry was.