He's 19, standing outside Killer's truck in a field.

Killer's slumped in the seat, lifeless where Kidd strapped him in, blood dripping off his head. Kidd checked the belt one last time, checked his friend's face for any response - none - and then closed the door and frantically went to the the driver side of Killer's truck.

He'd been driving the Datsun for years, done more engine work for the old girl than Killer had at this point; he knew her as well as he knew himself. He'd also never attempted to drive her alone. Killer would be no help this time - the perfect sync they had with the gear stick wasn't going to be there this time.

"Please, Vicky-girl" Kidd prayed, starting her up, "Please help me today."

Once she was idling, he pulled the seat bench up as close as he could manage, until he could brace his thighs and stub on the wheel to keep her steady. Right foot on the break, left on the clutch. He shifted them in reverse, and the truck eased out of where she'd been resting across the bridge while the two had worked. Okay. Easy enough.. Break and clutch back in, and he put her in first.

The challenge came when her poor little engine needed him to shift up as he sped down the dirt road. The uneven surface pitched them too much for him to let go of the wheel, and he pressed his thighs and the stump of his left arm against the wheel to let go with his right, quickly bumping them into second.

He could do this.

He had to do this.

He's 14, sitting in Killer's truck after school. The senior started driving them both to high school this year, in his ancient yellow Datsun 620 lil'Huster, and Kidd feels like the coolest freshmen on campus walking out of the senior's parking lot every morning.

The lot's nearly empty now, most everyone's gone home. Killer'd tossed him his keys in the hall earlier in the day. Detention again most likely.

Usually the school tried to make them serve those over lunch - knowing that the massively rural portion of kids couldn't exactly wait around after hours. But you could only eat lunch so many times in the detention room before it was clear other measures needed to be taken. Kidd was just hoping Killer hasn't gotten himself expelled again, which would put him back on riding the school bus at oh-god in the morning.

Killer was Kidd's closest neighbor, living about a mile or so up the dirt road from him, and the only one Kidd knew whose folks still sent him to public school instead of homeschooling. Kidd could get up and walk the fifteen minutes to Killer's and have his neighbor drive him the hour to school. Or he could get his stepdad to drive him to the single light in town for the bus, and sit on it for the next three hours as it wove in and out of the back roads for 40 odd kids scattered across the deepest parts of the back country.

Kidd's mom had outright hugged Killer a few weeks before classes started when he'd stopped by to drop of some mail that had been misdelivered, and had offered to drive Kidd in - seeing as they were going to the same place now after all. Kidd had been mortified by his mother's reaction, and Killer had turned so red he'd matched the woman's hair.

He was just as red in the face now, but instead of embarrassed, Killer just looked pissed. Kidd watched him as Killer stood there in front of the truck hood, just seething. He opened to door as Killer came stalking over to the passenger side, "why, what-"

"Move over."

Kidd looked at him dumbfounded, "Wait man, you can't leave me here!"

"No. Move over. You're driving."

The panic of thinking he was getting kick out morphed quickly into the panic of driving, "The fuck? I don't know how to drive!"

"Unless you want me to wrap us around a tree, fucking move."

Kidd slid across the truck bench until he was behind the wheel, heart in his throat. Killer threw his bag into the bed of the truck before taking Kidd's usual spot, slamming the door behind him.

Killer seethed in place, Kidd staring at him worriedly. "Well, fucking start her!"

Kidd slid the keys into place, but the engine just cried at him when he tried to turn the ignition. He flinched, waiting for Killer to yell at him for it.

Instead, Killer leaned forward until his head was practically on his knees.

"Killer?"

"Right foot on the break - that's the middle pedal," taking a heavy breath, Killer spoke, voice a forced calm, "and take her out of gear."

Kidd glanced down at the three pedals. He was aware of the pedals, and of shifting; he'd been watching Killer do it all year for crying out loud. It wasn't new, he just never had even sat behind the wheel of Killer's truck before, much less been trusted to drive her. He pressed down on the middle pedal.

"Using your right foot?" Killer asked without looking when he did. Kidd nodded, turning to look at the stick shift. It was all the way to the lower far right - reverse. His hand was noticeably shaking as he gripped the stick, and it slide easy up into neutral. The car rolled ever so slightly, and Kidd tried to press harder on the break.

"Start her again." Killer's voice was still muffled.

"Killer - "

"Turn the key, Kidd."

The engine roared alive this time.

"Left foot to the clutch - put her all the way down."

Killer took a deep breath, and sat up just a little, looking at Kidd and then at the gear stick under his hand. "First gear, top left. Feel the pathways the stick has. Always start driving in first." Kidd pulled the stick to him until it caught, then pushed up.

"Feet stay where they are. Keep the clutch in. When you're driving she'll tell you when to go to second, pull the stick all the way down. Try it now."

Kidd moved the stick to second.

"Third is back to the middle, then up."

Kidd second guessed where the middle was, but then he could feel the groove and slid the gear to third.

"Fourth is straight down like second was" Killer sounded distant, the anger simmered down for later as he coached Kidd though the motions.

"And fifth it back to the middle, right all the way to me and up."

Kidd shifted up to fifth. It was harder to do without looking, and he had to watch to make sure that he had it correct.

"We're not going above third. I don't care if it takes all night. Okay?"

Kidd nodded.

"Put her in first."

The stick went back to the middle, then Kidd pulled it to him and pushed up. "Think of each gear as giving you another 10 miles an hour. It's not prefect, roads and weather will change that. but .. 1st under 10, yeah?"

"Okay" Kidd said, hating how small his voice was.

"You can do this."

He's 15, sitting in Killer's truck, leaning over to angrily beat the horn with the palm of his left hand. They're less than two weeks into the second term, and he doesn't want to start the new year with late marks already. His mom's already cross with him over his other disciplinary notes from the first half of the school year.

Finally, Killer stumbles down the steps of his dad's place, looking exhausted.

"Dude. We're going to be late." Kidd cracks the door to yell - it's too cold to crank the window down. Killer comes around to Kidd's side and just shoves the keys at him and pushes him across the bench.

With a roll of his eyes, Kidd moves into the driver seat, eagerly starting the old girl up so he can turn on the heater. "Seriously, Killer. You hungover or something? What party are you going to in fucking January," he grumbled, pulling the truck down the drive to the dirt road they lived on, "and why wouldn't you invite me?"

Killer gave him a tired smile, one that didn't reach his eyes, "I'm not taking a freshman to any parties, Kidd."

"Tch" Kidd grumbled, pushing the truck as hard as he dared on the snow pack. He risked a glance at Killer, who just slumped against the glass, dozing already. "hey... you sleeping okay?"

Killer grunted a him, "Some jackass drove through the west fence yesterday. By the time they got his car back on the road it was dark. We had to round up and move Big Mam's herd to the horse paddock so the fuckers don't wander out on the highway."

"Fuck." Kidd muttered. Killer's folks didn't raise cattle, but they did lease their land out to the ranchers who did, meaning they were on the line if anything happened. Big Mam was one of the old families of the area, one of the few to actually make money living in this rural nightmare, making her one of the four biggest local employers. Everyone Kidd knew worked for her in some way; her or Old Beast Kaido. "When'd you get home?"

"Like... two hours ago." Killer mumbled. Kidd did ask anymore questions, just let him sleep as he made the hour drive to the only town large enough for a school.

"Hey... Hey Killer, wake up man." he nudged Killer's shoulder once, pulling into one of the crappy fast food joint's drive through. They were late already, no point in hurrying now. Killer only grumbled at him, so Kidd ordered them both the same breakfast and coffees, before pulling into a stall behind the place. He waved the coffee under Killer's face, until finally the senior opened his eyes. "Coffee?"

"Food too," Kidd grinned, working on his own meal once Killer took the coffee from him. The two sat through first period in the empty parking lot, munching away. Killer looked better with something in his system, but the dark circles weren't going away any time soon. Kidd drove them back in time to start second period.

By the end of the week, Killer's still driving Kidd into town, but he sleeps in his truck though the first half of the day. By early March, he's dropping Kidd off a the school's door and not bothering with classes at all. He officially drops out two months before the school year ends, and Kidd is pissed at him.

"Wasn't going to graduate anyway, why bother?"

He still drives Kidd to school every morning, drops him off at the school, before picking up a part time job in town to fill his day instead of classes. "I dun wanna work for Big Mam or Whitebeard or whoever for the rest of my life. I don't want to die in this shit hole with everyone else. I start saving now, and hell, maybe I can get out of here by the time you graduate."

Kidd walks to wherever Killer's working that day once the last bell rings, and most days Killer lets him drive them back, catching some sleep before they get home and Killer's out helping his old man with some job or another for which ever of the Big Four.

Its the summer between his freshman and sophomore year when his stepdad crashes their car into tree so hard it splits the vehicle in half. They're out in the back country at the time, miles from the main road and any traffic. They're out there for hours. Kidd lost consciousness on impact, and didn't wake up again until he was stable in the hospital. His stepdad never came off the mountain alive. The how and why never get mention to him - everyone's more worried about him getting better. Healing. Dealing with the fact his left arm was severed just above the elbow and there was nothing the docs could do but close it up.

Killer's truck is stained with his blood for the rest of the summer, until he can finally afford to replace the bench. He won't let Kidd in his truck until he does. That's how Kidd finds out Killer was the one to find them, pulled Kidd out of the wreck and used his own belt to tourniquet Kidd's arm to keep him from bleeding out. That he's the one to drive Kidd down off the mountain that day.

Kidd feels like he owes Killer his life; Killer feels like it's his fault Kidd lost his arm.

He's 16, and he's looking at the requirements he's got to fulfill do be able to get a driver's license. He can't just take Killer's truck down to the DMV for the driving test anymore. The modifications required for him to have on his vehicle to be allowed to test are extensive... and expensive. "I'll ask around," Wire had told him, "We'll get at least something so you can take the test."

He's been driving Killer's truck for two years. He doesn't want to take the test on something new.

Killer is quiet for a long time after he's read over the documents. "Fuck that." he said finally, throwing Kidd his keys. Kidd caught them one handed easily. "Get in. You're driving."

Kidd waves his stump at him.

Killer doesn't stop for him, just gets in his truck. Driver side open for Kidd.

He's nervous for the first time since he was 14. Killer scowls at him, and Kidd pulls on the seat belt to distract himself. It's awkward to put it on in the driver seat, Kidd's heart is hammering in his throat. His palm is sweaty.

Killer puts his left hand on the stick, "right foot on the break - that's the middle pedal."

It's so ridiculous, Kidd laughs. But he does as he's told, something he's done a million times so far. Killer seems to be able to feel when the brake engages. He pops the truck in neutral. "Start her up."

"Killer - "

"Just turn the key, Kidd. Trust me okay?"

The engine roared to life.

"Left foot to the clutch - put her all the way down."

Kidd grins, giving Killer a silly look. "You're crazy."

Killer just grins back, wiggling the stick in his left hand. Kidd pushes down the clutch, and Killer raises an eyebrow questioningly.

"First gear, top left" Kidd tells him. Killer does so, but his hand stays where it is, resting on the stick.

They start down Kidd's driveway slowly. Kidd's as nervous as the first day in the student lot, but he knows this engine. He knows her noises, and more importantly, Killer knows his truck. He's not going to let Kidd mess this up, not really. Sure, he lets Kidd stall a few times on the back roads, but no more than Kidd did himself when he first learned.

They work out a system, and Killer only beams at him when they get her up to fourth. "See - you got this."

He's 17, and he's driving Killer's truck out to one of the pastures on a warm June morning. Him, Killer, Heat and Wire are baling hay for the Basils. Their son Hawkins drives the family's swather wheel rake out to the field and shows them the flat trailer he wants the bales loaded onto but otherwise refuses to contribute to the family business, leaving his father to hire out when it's hay season. Old man Basil had a team cut the field already, and had called them in to bail it up once he's satisfied it's ready.

The four of them have been baling all over the county together for a few several summers now, moving like a well oiled machine. Killer worked the field first, at as home with Hawkin's machine as he was with his truck, circle blades spinning away, back and forth all morning. He seemed in his element, blue and white striped neck gaiter over his mouth to deal with the dust, hair pulled back on a ponytail under a battered cowboy hat for once to keep it from collecting loose hay stalks, perfect tidy lines of cut green wild field grasses laid out behind him as he went.

Kidd drove over it next with the baler, the shoot dropping them on the flat bed Heat and Wire rode on, stacking them as they went. It made for a long hot day, but getting to get out there with the machines was a thrill Kidd never really got over. He was almost sad when they bound up the last few bits of grass into a sad little half bale, tossing it on the top of Basil's full flat bed. The trailer of hay and the swather were parked back at the gates, and Wire's family tractor and baler loaded onto his own flatbed, hitched up to Heat's old Nissan. Instead of going home though, Heat drove them out Basil's back gate into the national forest. Killer let Kidd take the wheel, carefully trekking along behind Wire and Heat as they cut through the back roads home. Kidd marveled at Heat's ability to thread the trailer down the path with such confidence, leading them to a secluded pull off by the river.

Kidd backed Killer's truck over so they could chill in the bed of old Victoria, named for the last owner. Killer had bought the Datsun from her a lifetime ago. Victoria'd been the prettiest girl Kidd had ever seen, the meanest one he'd ever met, and she'd turned and walked away from the rural life when he was 12. He never heard where she ended up, but Killer honoured her time with them by naming the lil'huster after her - the one who got away. Maybe they'd get away too one day.

They jumped in the river to wash away the mornings sweat and grime, swam lazily in the summer currents, set up cans to shoot down with Heat's rifle, smoke joints that Wire had rolled for them, and took the early evening off to goof around and dare each other to increasingly stupid stunts. Kidd finally felt like he wasn't the baby of the group, but just one of the guys. Besides, Kidd likes working with Heat and Wire - they all might be rednecks from bumfuck, but Heat's got great taste in music, and much better speakers then Killer's truck, and they rocked out to his cassette tape collection of punk and metal. By the time the sun started to set on the horizon, their clothes were mostly dry and Wire and Heat said their good nights, still needing to unload the baler once they got back.

Killer and Kidd watched their taillights disappear into the twilight, until the cherry of Killer's smoke the brightest thing around. It gets cold fast once the sun's down, and they move inside the truck. Killer takes shotgun, rolling the window down so he doesn't hotbox them, much to Kidd's amusement. They can't stay out much later - Kidd still has class in the morning, but for now they giggle and joke and sit pressed against each other, and Kidd feels more alive than he has in years.

"Good job out there today," Killer grins around his smoke, the tip bobbing as he talks, "You're doing great with the baler. Knew you had it in ya."

He's 18 and Killer is drunk, fighting Kidd as he tried to buckle the seat belt across his lap. They don't usually bother with the belts most days, but Killer is clingy and keeps clutching at Kidd, and he really doesn't want to worry about Killer grabbing him while he tries to drive the truck out of the bar parking lot before the fucks inside decided they want shit-talking, round two. He's only grateful Blueno called him as soon as Killer showed up. By the time Kidd walked to the single bar at the only light in 'town', Killer was shitfaced and only hadn't gotten his ass handed to him because the hicks inside he was sniping at were as drunk and uncoordinated as him.

It used to be Killer, Heat and Wire at the bar, Kidd left behind like the highschooler he is.

Except, Heat and Wire finally got out, moving three hours away to a tiny one bedroom in the capital's downtown together. Some people talk, dark crude whispers, but most just shrug and know they wont be coming back. Most kids never get a foothold outside of this shit hole, but the ones that get out never even look back. They might have well died for all they are treated. The rest are doomed to repeat the cycle, trapped forever like Killer, living in a makeshift 'studio apartment' above his dad's garage. Kidd legally still lives with his mom, but crashes more nights with Killer on his crappy futon couch than anywhere else.

Killer's dad doesn't charge him rent, but anything they would have saved because of that goes to gas getting to town and back. Kidd's picked up a couple hours after class at a gas station near the lumber yard Killer works at, and it comes with a small discount that keeps them from spending all of Killer's paycheck every week. His mom still send him off with lunch when he bothers to show up to do laundry, and she's been packing a second one for Killer since Kidd started his senior year; her way of thanking her son's friend for still driving his ass around. Kidd never told her that he does most of the driving these days.

He just usually has Killer's help. He's got the truck started, the ancient tape player blasting out one of Heat's punk rock mixtapes he'd left behind, and Kidd is trying to figure out how he's gonna steer and shift at the same time.

Killer's giggling now, something he only does when he's high or drunk these days, and he grins at Kidd like a loon. "Keep it up chucklefuck," Kidd warns him, "It's gonna be your fault when I crash us into a ditch."

"You're not gonna craaash," Killer singsongs, then erupts into laughter like it's the funniest shit he's heard all day.

Kidd scowls, but then Killer leans against him, smothering his laughs into Kidd's good shoulder.

"I gotta drive us home, shithead, get off me."

Killer just laughs, a "nope" with an obnoxious pop on the p. His left hand runs along Kidd's thigh for a minute before he looks down at his hand, giggles, and then, grabs the stick-shift instead.

"Left foot to the clutch," he mumbles into Kidd's shoulder.

"This is the worse idea you've ever had," Kidd warns him, pushing in the clutch.

Killer looks up at him, bangs falling over his face, but not before Kidd catchs the blue eye shadow. Kidd notices the faint purple on his lips; he'd gone fancy tonight. Kidd thought he'd stopped wearing lipstick when Heat and Wire moved away. "I can think of worse ideas" Killer whispers.

Kidd stares, thoughts racing. "First gear, top left" he says finally.

His hand sweats against the wheel for a new reason as he pulls out of the parking lot. "Dun worry" Killer drunkenly mutters, "I gottcha."

Its the summer after he graduated high school, and he's got a stack of paperwork he's combing though for his fall semester start date. He's gotten a full ride scholarship across the country, and is picking though the housing options. they want him to stay on campus, but that means leaving Killer behind. He's looking for a way for him to live off campus as a freshman, and hope Killer has enough to cover rent until Kidd can get a job. Maybe he can convince them to give him a housing stipend.

Two weeks before the housing paper work is due, Killer's old man lets himself into the little one room above his garage unannounced and catches them both cuddled on Killer's futon together. He's furious, and screaming, and he drags Killer down to the floor and starts raining blows on his son. Kidd takes an elbow to the face trying to break them up, and ends up with a broken nose.

Killer drove him to his mom's after, and Kidd made him walk him to the door. His mother pulled them both inside, refusing to let Killer go back home or drive off alone. She let slip that Killer wiped out his savings helping out them out after Kidd's accident, it was her turn to help him.

Kidd's childhood bed is too small for the two of them, but they make due.

He's 19, and he's driving Killer's truck along the back dirt roads long the river. Wire called them up - his old man needed help getting his irrigation line up and ready. The water board should be giving permission to run the irrigation lines any day now, and all along the river, folks are in a frantic rush to get things ready, waiting for the go ahead.

Kidd likes working with the old ram pumps, he finds their old fashioned simplicity charming, and the rust doesn't bother him in the slightest. Killer's long mastered the art of clearing trees and brush with the scythe and the pair of them are most people's go to these days for stuff like this.

They've got a few more months of work ahead of them, a few more months of savings to hoard. Kidd filed to take a gap year, and his scholarship is waiting for him in September. They've waved the freshman-on-campus rule for him; Wire and Heat have moved into a bigger place and they've got a bedroom waiting for him. Now he'd just gotta convince Killer to go with him.

He pulled them across the cattle guard, but stopped the truck before the bridge. The wood structure is maybe the oldest thing still standing in the area, and Kidd isn't even sure it will hold their own weight anymore, much less the truck. The canal and river valve were across the water - an old fashion gravity system. Most of the work would be digging the valve out, cutting back debris - dealing with any critters that had moved in over the winter. As long as they didn't have to deal with beavers again, Kidd would take on whatever it was. They marched across the old wood - it cracking and groaning with them, river lazily flowing 10 feet below. The wood maybe only had a season or two left, if Kidd had to guess. "Gotta let Wire's old man know this is gonna come down soon."

"Hmm," Killer agreed, his collection of cutters, spades and hand scythes bundled up over his shoulder, Kidd's tool box on his other hand.

They split up once they crossed the bridge, Kidd setting to work on the old metal water gate, wading into the knee deep cold mountain water. Killer set to work digging back out the other side of the valve.

They'd been working for a good hour when he hears Killer call for him, low and urgent. "Kidd. Get out of the water."

Kidd was almost done with his area as it was and pulled himself up to see what Killer needed. The field had gone still and quiet, the river bubbling away the only sound. Killer's back was to him, hand scythes out like a weapons, studying to the tree line.

"Slowly, go back to Victoria, and get the rifle from behind the seat."

Kidd scanned the woods for whatever set Killer off, the stillness warning him something was there, even if he couldn't see it. Kidd made his way back to the truck, never turning his back on Killer or the woods as he crossed the ancient bridge.

As promised, Killer had an old pump action Remington tucked away on a mount on the back of the bench, and a box of extra ammo. Any other time, Kidd be miffed that Killer had never taken him shooting with the gun, hiding her away like this. As he one handed loaded the rifle, Kidd glanced back to where Killer has slowly started backing his way to the truck, their tools left behind. There's movement in the tall field grass between them and the forest, a few skulking bodies stalking them.

Coyotes? No. No, Kidd realizes with dread, feral dogs.

He uses the seat bench to pump the rifle, steadying the barrel on the 'v' of the driver door and truck frame. The last thing he wants to do is hit Killer by mistake. He also knows with feral dogs, he's got a 50-50 chance of the noise scaring them off or startling them into action, and he's not going to be able to reload fast enough to be of any use if he misses.

There's five dogs trying to circle Killer when his heel hits the wood bridge, effectively keeping them from slipping behind him, and he relaxes just a fraction, able to focused solely in front of them.

Unfortunately, the dogs don't care about Kidd's gun or Killer's scythes, and moment they get bottle-necked at the bridge, they rush at Killer. Kidd's got a clear shot at one of them and downs it immediately. Killer's able to slam blades into three at once, but the last one slips though the opening left and goes for the throat.

Kidd's pumped the rifle on the seat as soon as he fired, but he doesn't bother trying to sight down the barrel again, just rushes around the door yelling, using the rifle as a bat to beat the dog away from where its got its teeth around Killer's shoulder.

One dog Killer got with his cutter says down, another streaked with blood makes a break for the field. The last one, cushioned by it's companions from the steel is making to get back up and Kidd has to drag his attention away from where Killer is fighting for his life to fire at dog before it gets any closer.

Its only seconds, but turning his back on Killer - his screaming, the snarling of the dog trying to maul him - so he can put a bullet in the skull of the remaining dog before they get overwhelmed will haunt him for years. He's barely pulled the trigger before he's whirling back around and Killer's got a knee in beast gut, and Kidd's swinging the rifle butt around to smash into the dog's temple, and they rip it free from Killer and over the bridge's edge.

It's not a far fall - but it buys them time and Kidd is hauling Killer up one handed, gun left abandoned as Kidd clutches Killer to himself, awkwardly shuffling and running them back to the truck as fast as he can.

He has to pin Killer to the side of the truck with his hip as he scrambles to get he passenger side door open, bloody hand slipping off the handle at the first tugs. Killer has gone silent and boneless against him, head slumped against Kidd's left shoulder.

Kidd gets the door open, wresting Killer into the cab. His left arm looks like minced meat, shredded and torn apart. His throat is thankfully still intact, but the dog got his face a few times, teeth tearing into his cheek and nose. His ear barely looks attached and there's multiple puncture marks in the back of his head.

Killer seems to be awake but he's not reacting to Kidd's frantic questions; his left eye is bloody and swollen shut but his right eyes is open, dull blue that's not tracking anything, swallowed almost entirely by pupil. Where he's not covered in blood, his skin's cold to the touch, his breathing is rapid and shallow, and Kidd knows innately - they have to get off this mountain now.