Freight Hopper

His body bolts upright as he gasps, his hands shaking violently. His chest heaves up and down, and he can feel his heart thumping at a furiously rapid pace. Frank's head falls to his hands. His eyes squeeze shut; he tries erasing the images from his mind, but it was as if they want to stay, intent on torturing him with the horrors they held.

He sighs and lazily picks a leaf out of his greasy hair. His back cracks as he stands, and he groans at the pain. Bending down, he fumbles through what is left of his old backpack. He smiles, gratefully, as the cold silver of his canteen comes in contact with his clammy hands. He clenches his fist around the cap, making sure it won't slip out; it would never be found in this light if he accidentally dropped it. He brings the canteen to his mouth, his dry throat begging for the liquid.

There was no water left.

“Fuck,” he breathes, kicking the ground in frustration.

“Where ya’ goin’, kid?” Rat growls from behind him. He jumps in surprise as he spoke.

“I just gotta take a piss…” Frank mumbles, walking away. He hears Rat grunt, but knows better then to make a remark. Rat was a great guy, well debatably, but he did not like attitude- from anyone.

Frank quickly relives himself, and walks to the stream. The freezing water stings as it runs down his dry throat, but the need for water overpowers the pain he fells. He gulps down two more handfuls hurriedly, and refills his canteen for later.

“Kid! Where are ya’?”

His head whips around as Rat’s voice comes from behind the trees. He rushes away from the stream, nearly tripping.

“Next train’s due in 20 ‘r so. You ridin’ or stayin’, kid?”

Rat knows he does not really need to ask Frank, but it was standard procedure. He asked each one of them before the next ride. People didn’t often stay behind, and Frank was no exception, but every once in a while a kid would come along that would stay- not that there was ever much to stay for.

“Ridin’, ‘a course,” Frank grins. Rat pats him on the back, and gives a chuckle.

“Come on, then,” he grunts, and drags Frank with him.

His eyes are sore. He still feels thirsty, and the tightness in his back makes it hard to move. He reaches a hand to his shoulder, trying to soothe one of the aching kinks he can feel there. He knows Rat’s eyes are on him; he can feel them, watching, always watching. Rat notices everything.

“Why don’t you go see Mac, real quick, ‘for the next ride, eh?”

Frank smiles at the thought of McKinley. Magic hands, that’s what made her special. He nods at Rat and he shoos the boy off in her direction.

“Hurry it up!” he calls after him. Frank's pace quickens under his orders.

“Mac?” He whispers, shaking her shoulder lightly. She turns, still sleeping, and wraps her blanket around her, hugging it tighter.

“Mac,” He repeats.

She groans loudly and mumbles something he is not able to understand.

“McKinley…” he sings, “Wake up. Please?”

“What?” she snaps, her eyes remaining at a desperate close.

He gives no reply, waiting patiently for her eyes to open. Finally, she yawns, and very, very slowly, her eyes open, revealing her bright, sapphire orbs that, even in the dark, seemed to glitter.

“Oh,” came her voice, with sudden realization, “I didn’t know it was you, kid.”

He smiles, “Next ride’s in 20. You comin’?”

“Haven’t missed one yet, have I?” she retorts with a sleepy grin. She stands with a heavy yawn and a stretch, and hastily begins packing her bag.

He stays silent, contently watching her pack her things. The silence holds no tension, and neither of them feel the need to fill it.

Eventually, she says, “I know you didn’t come over here just to wake me up, kid. Rat could have done that.”

Frank suppresses a smile, and gives her the most innocent look he can conjure.

“Oh, fine.” Mac sighs, “On your stomach.”

With a satisfied smile, he flops on his belly, and crosses his arms to rest his forehead on. He moans as her fingers sink into his back, moving in perfect circles that seem to soothe all the right places. They hit each tense spot with exactly the right amount of pressure, instantly easing the pain that has settled there. And yes, oh god yes, []ithis is why I love McKinley, he reminds himself. Magic hands. Another moan escapes his lips as her hands reach the spot on his shoulder that’s been giving him mountains of hell, and he can feel it melt away, and the pain goes with it, and oh, god does it so damn good.

“Moan any louder, Kid, and people are gonna think we’re doin’ the nasty or somethin’.”

He chuckles lightly, and offers a small apology, which, in the end, she refuses to accept.

And then it’s five more minutes of Frank biting his lip to hold in every sound that is just begging to slip out of his mouth, and magic hands, and wonderful words of praise and gratitude that go along with words of “Not a problem, Kid” and “Don’t worry about it”, before every wretched knot in his back has vanished and he can move again, and it just feels good, so fucking good.

“Your shit all packed up, kid?” Mac asks, as he rubs his eyes.

“Shit.” he says, quietly.

“That’s what I thought, go do it.” She orders.

He nods and darts off towards his stuff. As his things come into sight, he notices his blanket is no longer balled up on the ground, but folded in a perfect square, and that his bag is resting neatly on top of it. He smiles, thanking Rat in his head. He sits for a moment, resting his legs. His mind feels at ease, as it always does after time with Mac. The horrors from last nights dreams are finally gone, and he can just enjoy the comfortable darkness that is engulfing him.

As the deafening, but soothing sound of the train whistle comes to hear, he snaps back into reality, shoving his blanket into the backpack in haste, and he yanks it onto his back. He can hear Rat counting, checking numbers, last minute calls.

“Kid! Where th’ fuck ‘r ya’?”

“Sorry!” he say, sliding in the dirt as he ran.

“Hurry it up next time ‘round.”

He nods his head obediently, and smiles at JayB, who is standing next to him. He offers a tired, worn smile back. They both watch as Rat hops into the car passing by, and, when he signals, they chase off after it. Most of them can get up by themselves; it’s not hard once you get the hang of it.

Frank's one of the last, unusual for him, and his chest tightening in protest as he keeps up pace. Finally, his fingers grasp the sidebars and he feels his body pull up, his feet planting safely on the metal landing. His head turns to the side, all aspects of the wind rushing into his face, and he remembers. He remembers why he is here; why he had did what he had done. Freedom, ultimate freedom.