Chapter Text
Law checked his watch for the fourth time. The slightly illuminated digits glowed in the darkness. He strained his eyes.
11:51.
The trucks were late. Damn him for planning around the drivers being punctual.
He slumped back against the wall and closed his eyes, focusing on his surroundings. The usually crisp April air was just showing signs of the changing seasons. Wind blew down the alley and ruffled his dark hair. He brushed the rough brick walls with the tips of his fingers, imagining the micro-scratches they left behind. Breathing in shallowly, he allowed the pungent sweet odor of rotting food to enter his lungs. Nausea threatened to break through his calm alertness but he swallowed it down.
On a normal Wednesday evening, Law wouldn’t be huddled conspicuously behind a dumpster in an alley that smelled more like piss than garbage. But he had obligations and, like it or not, he had to adhere to them. He may be the don of the Heart Family, but, unfortunately, pulling the strings of a mafia family only meant more work for him. So, instead of reading a book or playing cards with Bepo, or hell, doing his goddamn job, he was swimming in a pile of shit, glancing impatiently at his watch every thirty seconds.
The distant traffic filled the city air like white noise. Honking from the highway, the revving engine of a motorcycle, the wail of an ambulance. Luckily, the area nearby was all but abandoned. It was an urban dead-zone—completely abandoned, both by residents and the government alike. Law doubted new cement had seen the streets in ten years.
Long defunct businesses and old plants that had gone bankrupt lined the street like weathered concrete husks. He remembered a few of them from when he was a child when they were still buzzing with workers. Many had been shut down after being indicted for unsafe work conditions. Others had simply been sold and had fallen into disrepair. Now, the once thriving street was littered with broken glass and graffiti. The few buildings that remained in decent condition had long been burglarized.
Despite his childhood memories, Law was grateful that the buildings remained unoccupied. His past didn’t matter here. After all, if things got noisy, the lack of inhabitants would give him an advantage. And if there were to be any sort of fallout from the robbery, there would be nobody other than his own people and the drivers who would be involved.
Only three of his men came with him today. He didn’t run a gang, after all. Most of his men specialized in medical practice and insurance. They were smart and loyal, but they just weren’t prepared for a gunfight at every turn. Running into trouble, however, was becoming a much more serious issue as of late.
If all went to plan, they’d be back at the lab in a half hour, stock of painkillers, steroids, valiums, and antibiotics fully refilled. It was lucky he didn’t have another surgery for a few days, but at the same time, that only gave him a few days to restock his supplies.
Which brought him to his current predicament—hiding behind a filthy dumpster in a piss-stained alleyway.
The rumbling of engines echoed throughout the alleyway. Law opened his eyes, eyes flickering to his watch. It was five minutes to midnight. He scoffed and allowed the weight of his body to shift away from the bricks. Finally.
Two pairs of white headlight beams danced across crumbling walls and broken windows. Law could hear the trucks bumping along slowly. The drivers must have been trying to maneuver carefully to not rattle their cargo too much. Law appreciated the consideration.
One after the other, the trucks rolled past Law. He listened for a moment at the slow bumping of tires against uneven pavement before rounding the corner. He watched as both trucks halted in place, their path blocked by Penguin’s shiny white van.
Law approached slowly. He didn’t want to start a brawl, after all. The drivers were just here to get the cargo from point A to point B. They didn’t need to put their lives on the line for 50 cents a mile.
The click of Law's boots almost cut through the noise of the engines. It felt like he was the only man in the world. He grasped the long sword on his back but thought twice about it. It was his most defining feature as a criminal. The sword told others that he was the leader of the Heart Family. It was a staple of the Surgeon of Death’s infamous ensemble. More importantly, however, his sword told people that he would not hesitate to get in close and kill them with his own hands.
Law considered for a moment but decided that perhaps this required a bit more finesse. His fingers left the hilt of the sword and traveled to his hip, instead grabbing the gun that sat there.
Guns were dangerous and terrifying. He was sure that these people would need a lot of time to recover mentally from this. But he could at least save them from thinking he was a psychopath as well as a robber.
He strode alongside the second vehicle, making sure to hide in the blind spot of the side view mirror. The driver sat hunched forward over the wheel as if trying to get a better look at the situation. It was unlikely he could see past the first truck, but he had no doubt radioed the other driver and was hearing about the roadblock from his colleague.
Law sidled up to the driver's door and knocked against the window, gun in hand. Anxious eyes met his own and widened. The man visibly flinched when he saw the gun and his hands raised instinctively from the wheel. Law motioned for him to lower the window. He nodded shakily.
“Turn off the truck and hand me the keys.”
The man shuttered visibly. His mouth opened but no sound came out.
“I don’t want your life,” Law promised, voice relaxed. “Hand me the keys and leave the truck with your arms out in front of you.”
The man obeyed stiffly. He shakily handed Law the silver keys and opened the door when signaled to do so. He stepped stiffly from the cabin. Law moved to his side, sensing his unsteadiness. The other flinched.
“I can tell that you have clots from driving. I’m just coming over to help you down,” he explained calmly. He could tell from the red swollen legs that this was the case. Just last month, one of his patients came to him with the same ailment.
Law knew that his voice wasn’t exactly soothing but he hoped he would be able to put this man at ease, nonetheless. Panicked drivers would only make the situation that much more difficult.
Luckily, the driver seemed to realize this as well. He nodded jerkily and grabbed onto Law’s shoulder, allowing himself to be lowered onto the road below. Law made sure he was steady before releasing his hold.
“Hey, boss?”
Shachi sounded alarmed. Why did Shachi sound alarmed?
“Get to the sidewalk and stay there,” he muttered to the driver, hurriedly making sure he could walk on his own before taking long strides to his companion.
“Shachi,” he started, voice only slightly strained, “What is it?”
Shachi had broken the seal to the container and was holding the truck’s doors wide open. Law glanced to his side and saw the driver of this truck already standing on the sidewalk ten feet from where the man Law had spoken to hovered uncertainty.
“What’s the problem?”
He could hear the edge in his own voice. Was the truck filled with the wrong medicine? Were the crates damaged? Did the trucks not carry the drugs Law needed at all?
“Um,” Shaichi shifted from foot to foot.
“Spit it out,” He growled, grasping Shachi’s shoulder with one hand and maneuvering himself behind the door so he could assess the problem for himself.
“There’s a kid…”
Shachi looked lost. His flashlight was clutched loosely in his hand. It seemed more like a burden than anything else at the moment.
Law turned his gaze to where the beam was pointed. There, at the very back of the trailer, Law could see a person lying flat on his back. He was fully unconscious, from what Law could tell. He could only really make out two spindly legs and a pair of sandaled feet in the darkness of the truck. The rest of the body was hidden behind boxes of precious cargo. Law felt a pang of sympathy for Shachi, who didn’t know how to handle the situation, and for the truckers, who certainly didn’t sign up to be robbed. But, to be perfectly honest, he mostly felt bad for himself. Why did everything have to be so complicated?
He closed his eyes briefly, willing patience to replace the anxious annoyance he felt. Gun in hand, he knocked against the truck door with his palm. It felt ridiculous–like he was stopping by for some coffee and a chat when in reality this kid was the one imposing.
“Hey,” he tried when the banging didn’t work. Was he dead? Law squinted, trying to see past the boxes. “Get up. Or I’ll shoot your ass and leave your corpse to rot.”
That seemed to do the trick, though not in the way Law expected. Instead of startling awake, long skinny limbs stretched almost unnaturally in the air and a loud yawn echoed throughout the truck. Law saw a groggy head poke up from behind a crate and look around dazed.
Gun aimed at what looked to be the kid’s eye level, he tried again.
“Hey,” he started with a little extra force. That got his attention. Instead of snapping to alertness, the head turned to face him lazily. Law couldn’t see any features clearly, but the silhouette he could make out betrayed a small stature and tilted head. Maybe he snuck in to get a hit? Law would only be slightly surprised. This was an extremely secure vehicle, but Law had witnessed addicts go to more desperate lengths.
“Hmm? Who’re you?”
The voice was surprisingly clear. He sounded sober. A little cheerful even, despite his tired demeanor.
“Step out of the truck if you don’t want a hole in your head.”
Law saw Shachi’s minuscule flinch from the corner of his eye. The flashlight beam jerked slightly, causing the stranger's face to pitch back into total darkness before the light steadied once again.
Unfortunately, his demand only managed to spook Shachi. The kid remained insufferably unfazed. His face, now slightly illuminated but with heavy shadows, only betrayed his stubborn confusion. His head remained cocked and his arms shifted to a folded position over his chest.
“Why should I?” He huffed indignantly.
“Because I have a gun pointed at your head and I will shoot you if you say no?”
The only response Law received was a curious hum. The head cocked further.
“And,” Law continued slowly. Was this guy just an idiot? “It’s kind of cold in there, isn’t it?”
That managed to snap him out of it.
“Cold!” He whined, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. He scrambled forward, almost knocking down a crate in his hurry to escape.
“How did you not notice before?” Law murmured under his breath, grabbing a cold hand with his own empty palm. The gun remained firmly grasped in his other hand, aimed carefully at the shivering figure.
Only then did Law notice the uniform. The kid, nearly a head shorter than him, stood perkily in between him and Shaichi. A white coverall hung off his frame, making him look sloppy. The uniform certainly didn’t look like it was made for him. The pants were rolled up to right above his knees. One sleeve was likewise rolled up past his elbow, the other closer to his wrist. A white cap sat atop his head blocking his face.
With a wavering glance, Shaichi managed to catch his eye. At least he was just as lost as to what to do.
“Alright. Just—“
“Is that a gun?”
Law held his breath.
One second. Two.
“Yes. It’s what I’ve been threatening you with this whole time.”
“Huh.”
And…was the idiot seriously picking his nose right now?
This was serious. The moron was riding in the back of a medical supply truck that had just been hijacked. A notorious mafia boss was at the other end of a gun aimed at his head. He was a finger-twitch away from losing his head, but he didn’t seem phased. It put Law on edge.
He didn’t look like he was a member of another mafia family. Hell, no way would any of them hire such a blockhead. Doflamingo would sooner kill the imbecile and he doubted Moria or Crocodile would be any more forgiving. It’s possible that he was hired by Caesar—the idiot was pathetic at the best of times—but last he heard, Caesar had formed a coalition with Doflamingo. Not that the cartel was a shock.
The only other organized group that he knew little enough about to possibly accuse was the Mugiwara Family. The group was known to be vicious against cops and criminals alike. They worked underground to the point where only one member, Roronoa Zoro, had both a name and a face known to the public. It was common knowledge that the unpredictable head of the mafia family was extremely selective when it came to adding members. The members it had were hurricanes, stirring up chaos in the underground and general public alike. He may not know the members, but with a group so selective and devastatingly effective…no way this kid had any part in it.
He was probably just hired to load the truck.
“Look. You’re going to need to tell me what you were doing in the trailer. These trucks carry temp-controlled medical supplies, not stupid little sandal-wearing freaks.”
The stranger pointed at himself. Law could almost picture him mouthing “me?” in confusion.
“Yes, you. Now come on. I have a gun, remember?”
“Can I hold it?”
He clapped the back of the moron’s head with his empty fist for that one.
“Ow! Geez!”
Finally, he started talking.
“Nami told me I needed to make extra money because I spent too much on food and fun things when we went shopping. She brought me to this big place with a bunch of boxes and told me I had to load them into a truck.
Law ignored the roundabout explanation. He could pick out a liar in a crowd. Hell, he had met hundreds of people who lied professionally. And this kid sucked at it.
He knew he was lying, at least partially. He wasn’t going to let him get away without telling him what he was doing. This slide through the cracks was a one-way ticket to getting killed.
With a maneuver quicker than the kid could follow, Law pulled him forward and slammed his back down flush onto the cold truck floor. Using his height, he towered over the downed body. His left arm pushed roughly against a skinny chest and throat. The kid raised his hands to grab at it, clawing uselessly at his wrist for a second while he took in his situation.
Law was pushed up between his legs and hovering over him with a growl in his teeth. The other wouldn’t be able to move if he tried. And he did try.
Legs kicked uselessly in the air in an attempt to push Law away. Pointless squirming accompanied the kicks, only causing Law to hold on tighter.
“I said,” he growled, “tell me why you’re here.”
“Fine!” The whine was annoying. “I promise Nami told me to load the truck. But it wasn’t because I spent her money. Well, that was part of it. But she snuck me into the warehouse so I could look for our friend who’s missing!”
“Why would your friend be in a medical supply vehicle?”
The story wasn’t checking out, though he couldn’t sense a lie in the other’s voice. He pressed harder against the other’s chest and a wheeze escaped the body below him.
“Sanji said there were people who stole drugs around the area and that our friend Camie might have been taken by them! Did you take Camie?”
Law wasn’t expecting the seriousness of the other’s voice. He wished again that the truck had lights. He wanted to see this stranger's face.
“I am here for the medical supplies only. I don’t know where your friend is.”
The body underneath him let out a groan. Law could feel the hot breath puff up and hit his face.
“I’m telling the truth, I promise. I loaded the truck and then I fell asleep in the back. Then you woke me up and told me to get out.”
“Your work ethic is astounding,” Law grumbled, now only half paying attention. He thought he heard something behind him. A whirring, like a quiet engine. He eased off of the other and pulled back.
“Thanks.”
He rolled his eyes. The other had hopped down from the trailer and was now brushing off the most-likely-stolen coveralls. Law felt a little bad for the idiot. After all, he was just a guy looking for his lost friend. Even if his methods were unconventional and kind of stupid, he seemed innocent to Law. Maybe he was an idiot, but he was caring enough to put himself in danger. He might not be a dock worker, but Law was sure he wasn’t involved in a criminal organization. Nobody in the mob would be this…stupid.
“Aw man, Nami’s going to be pissed at me if she finds out. Who are you guys by the way?”
A deafening blare from a car horn cut him off and caused them both to jump in shock. The whirring from before became revving and Law only just managed to jump to the side, pulling the closest person with him as he went, before a black SUV plowed down the alley where they had just been standing. A sickening screech of metal on metal burned in his ears as the van crunched its way between the two trucks, taking a door off the back with a grotesque pop.
With an ear-shattering screech and crunch, the SUV swerved, plowing into the terrified trucker. The left headlight hit the bricks before the rest of the van followed harshly after.
Blood dripped in a bright red smear across the decimated wall. The driver…well he was hardly more than debris. Body parts were littered across the truck’s path. Law had a hard time not gagging.
A cloud of debris plumed from the wreckage like a bomb had gone off. The air was thick with brown dust from the crushed bricks and black smoke from the wrecked car. It felt like Law was choking on it, though he knew that the squeeze in his throat had little to do with the murky air quality.
The second it took him to regain his footing was all the car’s occupants needed. Two men stumbled out of the van, blood dripping down their faces, down their arms and legs like a faucet had been turned on. One of them clutched his arm tightly with gritted teeth. Another smirked and spat out a tooth. He let out a gurgled, disgusting laugh before he zeroed in on Law. The strangled laugh huffed into a deranged wheeze and a gun aimed itself at Law’s head.
Law moved. He jumped back behind the side of the mangled truck door that was still attached, grabbing the dock worker around the neck with his elbow and pulling him down behind the relative safety of the metal shell. A slew of bullets riddled the door like pinpricks. It sounded like a chorus of screaming devils. Law instinctively ducked for cover, holding the other close to himself, as far as he could away from the gunfire.
It took several seconds before the shooting stopped. The thugs must have realized they were just hitting the cargo container. Law’s ears rang wildly. How long did he have until the shooting started back up?
One lone street lamp flickered eerily, casting moving shadows across the pavement. He saw Shachi taking cover behind the other van. Law recognized the firm set of his shoulders. He was crouched low and had his own gun out. He signaled to Law and started to make his way around the truck. He was going to try to take them out from behind. Law nodded back, mouth set in a firm line.
The body in his arms squirmed. The fabric he was still holding tightly was rough in his hands. Law looked down. The white hat had gotten wedged between his head and Law’s chest. Law pulled back slightly. The cap now sat askew atop his brow. The coveralls he wore were a canvas of bright red blood from the driver. In the dim light, he could just make out a splotch of red on a scarred cheek.
The kid shifted in Law’s hold and his cap created a long shadow that morphed his face back into the darkness.
Law wished he could see his eyes. His body language gave too little away. Was he terrified? Angry or upset? He squeezed the shoulders in his grasp.
Another wiggle and the bright red filled his vision again. It trailed down the soft cheek like a tear, dripping onto the stained torso of the uniform.
Law was pissed with himself for involving a civilian. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hell, he wasn’t even supposed to be in the truck. Now he was in the middle of a shootout.
Of course, the trucker who was murdered was a civilian as well. The driver that Law had steadied with his own hands was most likely bleeding out if not already dead by now, too. They didn’t deserve this either. But this kid was only inches away from him. He was facing blood-stained Law head-on. Gun-in-hand, “Surgeon of Death” Trafalgar Law, who was about to put one hundred bits of tiny metal through the bastards who interrupted his heist and smile while doing so. This kid was about to have full sight of him at his absolute worst.
A second black vehicle screeched to a halt near the first. Law barked out a crazed laugh. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around. He couldn’t look at his reflection through civilian eyes. He knew that what he saw would only bring him despair.
The harsh quiet burst into a hail of gunfire from multiple directions. Law squatted behind the wheel well, motioning for the civilian to do the same. Just as the other squatted down next to him, a bullet tore through the tire, making a loud pop as compressed air escaped all at once. Law startled but, curiously, his companion didn’t even flinch.
Maybe he was in shock. Or perhaps he didn’t realize the full extent of their dire situation. It paid to be stupid, Law supposed.
The cargo hold was in shambles. Tiny bits of glass and metal haloed around the pavement underneath the container’s open doors. Law doubted anything had survived the last barrage of bullets.
He peered around the wheel. He needed to gauge the situation better. He kept his free hand behind himself grasping onto a smaller chilled hand. That way, if he moved even an inch, Law would be able to pull him back to safety.
Familiar shouts rang through his scrambled mind. Penguin and Shachi. Thank god.
Some of the tension left his body. He was relieved they were alright. Bepo, he was sure, remained safely on the opposite end of the street. If he was lucky, he could get one high ground and take one of two of these guys out. The thought made his chest clench, however. He knew his men would do anything for him, but he would be devastated if any of them were injured. He would almost prefer if Bepo hid away completely, far from the bullets, and the His grip became less bruising. One shot and took the others with him.
He realized then that his grip must be crushing the other. He felt tiny wrist bones shift and creak as his hand released the kid’s. He winced. That would definitely leave a bruise. If the kid made it out of this alive.
A body hit the floor with a lifeless splat. Cheers from Penguin told him he was the lucky shot. Law would have to take him out for sandwiches. One man down. How many were left?
The shootout continued. Law was hardly able to peek out from his position before the bullets were upon him.
With the skill of someone who had carried a gun for over a decade, he managed to take another down.
With a cry of success, one of his boys took out another man. He couldn’t tell who. He’d just have to buy them all sandwiches.
The foreign body hit the ground and the chorus of bullets eased by one gun.
How many men were left? Three? Four?
A distant yelp had his heart seizing in his chest. He waited for a second. And then another.
Like clockwork, Penguin shouted a quick “I’m fine!” and Law was able to release the breath he was holding.
The figure behind him became jittery. He must have finally been shocked out of his impassiveness once he realized the peril they were in. Perhaps the numerous close calls made him realize that he might not make it through the night. He could be rat food by morning.
Law kept his eyes on the shooters but didn’t allow himself to fully ignore the other. The poor kid must be scared shitless at this point. When civilians got involved in his business, they always made things messier and it never failed to leave Law feeling like he should have done more to help. That he could have left the fight with fewer lives lost if only he were a better person.
The last time something like this happened, it ended in three unnecessary deaths. He wouldn’t let a third life slip away this time. He couldn’t allow this fight to end in a bloody spray of bullets like it had the last time.
Law realized with a start that the stranger was still holding onto his hand. Whether it was to ground or to comfort himself, Law didn’t know. He didn’t care. The cool touch let him know without seeing that the other was still alive.
He gave the thin fingers a squeeze before shaking his hand away. He could finally see a clearing.
There were only two shooters left, and he needed to take them out as soon as possible.
He could tell without looking that his men were worn thin. If he knew them at all, the three were silently begging for the fight to be over. Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin weren't combat men. They could hold their own in a fight, but they were first and foremost his medical assistants and trusted subordinates. They knew how Law liked to run things best and helped him with every strategy and plan he put forward. They assisted him in surgeries and advised him with business tactics. When forced into the field, they followed him diligently. No extra noise. No flair. Get in and get out.
And he had dragged them into a war zone.
If any of them were hurt he’d kill someone. And their family. And their dog.
He bolted out from behind the truck, gun aimed forward. With a shot from his pistol, one more man fell to the ground dead. His gaze flicked to the right, but the final gun was already pointed at his chest.
Bang!
Fuck.
A force hit him like a truck. His body was slammed backward and to the side all at once. His right shoulder hit a cool body and his hand clenched on instinct. There those slender fingers were again, tucked against his palm.
His other arm hung limply against his side. A cramp spasmed through him. He felt stiff. He felt sick. He had been shot.
Looking down in the dim light he noticed dark blood staining his left bicep red and dripping steadily down his fingers. A wave of discomfort radiated throughout his arm from his fingertips to his neck. He was mesmerized for a second until his right hand was squeezed again.
The kid. The man. He couldn’t tell his age. The person who Law had shoved behind him in the crux of the fighting. He had pulled Law from the bullet's path unknowingly. His fear of being left alone behind the truck saved Law’s life. If not for him, Law would have been convulsing on the ground with a hole blown straight through his chest.
Two more shots from Shachi or Penguin, Law couldn’t tell, finally took out the last man. He peeked out to make sure the area was clear, fearing he had missed one, but each assailant lay prostrate and bleeding out on the ground.
“It’s safe,” he called, voice hoarse.
He emerged from the cover of the truck, crunching through debris toward the prone shooters. He kicked several guns away in case any of them were alive and conscious enough to reach out for them.
One man remained gasping for breath. His hands were shakily grasping at his chest just below the heart, uselessly hovering over a bloody bullet hole. Law knew that it was useless. He wasn’t confident that even he could perform a surgery that would be able to save this man.
Good thing he wanted him dead.
He looked down at him with a scowl.
“Who are you working for?”
It was more of a demand than a question. Not even that, it was an ultimatum. One that said ‘You’re going to die here and I am the last person you will ever see. Tell me or your life will end in agony.’
A gurgled gasp left his mouth. It looked as if he were trying to smile through bloody teeth.
“There’s no use being brave here,” he spoke softly.
The smile wavered.
Law moved closer but a tug at his hand had him blinking from a stupor. His hand…
A rough skinny hand remained firmly clasped in his own.
Fuck.
Fuck .
Damn civilians getting involved in his shit. But he had gone far beyond getting this one involved. He dragged this one over broken glass and debris from a shootout he had just been a part of. He had dragged him through a minefield of corpses to a dying man. He had him firmly by the hand while delivering a death sentence to a man who was bleeding out from a gunshot wound.
He had fucked up.
With effort, he released his grip, shaking the other’s hand gently from his own. With a hand on the kid’s back and a soft voice, as soft as he could muster, he sent him away.
“Go on.”
He said it and it felt like the still air could swallow his words completely.
The boy turned his head back over his shoulder and continued to look for a moment. As if sensing the mood, he whispered back.
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
Law gritted his teeth and pushed more firmly against his back. Finally, after what felt like minutes but was surely only seconds, his head turned back around and he began walking away.
Breathing out shakily, Law returned his full attention to the dying man. He crouched down to his level. He didn’t feel regret for killing men like him. He deserved to die, no matter how Law looked at the situation. But still, there was some solace in taking one’s final breath. And he had seen the signs of death on his breath before he even caught sight of the bullet hole.
It was the look in the man’s bloodshot eyes that told him that he had already cracked.
“Whoever ordered you here doesn’t have the time to come here and punish you. You were shot through the aorta and will bleed out sooner rather than later. I can make it painless.”
Bloody lips parted and breathed out a bloody gurgle. The name that Law dreaded slipped out from red-stained teeth.
Law bowed his head. With one last shot, the man lay dead on the pavement.
In his short absence, his team made quick work of assessing the damage. The truck that he had taken cover behind was long condemned. Only one tire had remained unpunctured. The body of the truck was torn to pieces. Bullets had smashed their way through glass and metal leaving behind a corpse of a truck. The cargo fared a similar fate, residue strewn about the metal floor in a tormenting display. Law's whole reason for coming here was now destroyed.
Somehow, the second truck survived with only a littering of bullet holes denting the carriage and one shattered window. It seemed like he had sent them to take out Law alone. He wanted Law dead. The same man who had sabotaged his refrigerators in the first place.
Law knew they would be back to kill him in the near future. Rather than falling into a panic, he focused on the task at hand. He would just have to deal with his attempted murder later.
He shooed Penguin off to his van. It, too, was in need of repairs, but after a quick inspection, Penguin deemed it safe to drive back to the lab.
Bepo was already climbing into the truck’s passenger seat, muttering worriedly to himself. Law jumped in the truck pulling the kid in after him with a quick jerk of his wrist. His weight tugged on Law's wrist and then settled against his side. His other arm twinged and he winced. Shachi looked shaken—too much to say anything but he hesitated before retreating to the front. Law took pity on him.
“Drive Route B. Route A is too risky given the noise we made. Someone is bound to come by and call the cops. This truck isn’t exactly inconspicuous.” His head jerked to the civilian. “We’re dropping him off on 86th Street. Loop around once to make sure that the street is empty. After that, we’re heading to the drop location. Don’t ask any questions.”
The last bit was mainly for Shachi’s benefit. Law had taken the responsibility from his hands. Anything that went wrong from here was Law’s problem.
The doors closed with a cold clang behind them. It went from dark to pitch black. The lack of sight made Law’s arm hurt all the worse. He sat in rigid silence until the engine revved up and he could feel the truck moving. He held the small body close to his own trying his best to keep him from jostling around too much. He couldn’t be happy being forced back into the cold truck.
The air felt tense. It wasn’t the kid—his wrist was loose and relaxed in his grasp. But the air was thick with…something. Stress? Anger? Barely restrained panic? He felt it rolling off himself in waves. Law figured his new companion sensed the atmosphere and chose not to break the silence lest Law snap and decide to swivel his gun between his eyes. That is until he opened his mouth.
“Hey, that was so cool. Can I hold your gun?”
The tension snapped.
“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he hissed. He was supposed to be panicking. Hell, even Law was panicking a little.
“C’mon, don’t be like that! My friend Usopp has some guns that look super cool but he never lets me touch them. Not like we’re doing anything but sitting in here. Come on, let me see!”
Maybe this was the point Law finally broke. Because he sighed, rolled his eyes in the dark, and slapped the gun into his travel companion’s hand. Maybe it was a “thank you for saving me” or an “I’m sorry for dragging you into a gunfight and making you watch me threaten a dying guy”. Or maybe it was just plain old intuition. There wasn’t an ounce of malice in the lanky little body next to him.
Most likely he was just losing it…
Whatever, it’s not like the gun was loaded anymore.
“So cool!!” the idiot whispered to himself, bouncing in place on the truck floor. Seriously, how old was he? No way a rational adult would act like this. He should be crying and pissing himself. No doubt poor Bepo was in the truck cabin.
Minutes went by before Law felt the telltale signs of the truck slowing to a stop. He heard two knocks from the cabin. He took his gun gently back from the stranger and opened the back doors. With a gentle push, he urged him out into the warm air. 86th Street was just as dim if not more so he had trouble seeing him clearly.
It was odd. He stayed silent. He hopped down with the help of Law, his hand completely engulfed in Law’s own.
“Good luck finding your friend,” Law whispered, wishing the kid would hear but at the same time hoping he didn’t.
As the doors shut behind him, the other still hadn’t turned away. He hadn’t even moved. As Law felt the truck start up again and begin to accelerate down west 86th, he imagined the stranger watching the truck drive away, unmoving. He imagined him standing in the street where Law left him until the truck was too far away to see or hear.