Sirius has breakdowns, more frequently than he’d like to admit.
Breakdowns where he will be rambling about how he isn’t good enough for Remus. How he is too corrupted…That being a Black, the bloodline that he was didn’t choose to be apart of, had filled his veins with a certain toxin. No. His blood was the toxin. He could never be rid of it, for it was what kept him alive, yet killed him all the same. It made him like her. Like him.
He would sob to Remus, profusely, questioning why Remus even puts up with him. Then, he’d fold in on himself and blame his tears— they are toxic too. He would say that Remus is leaving him, like it was a fact— one that Remus had vehemently opposed.
Remus would look at his sobbing lover in his arms, holding on to him ever so tightly. Sirius began to rock softly, his breath hitching as the ugly tears continued to pour out of his eyes, wrecking his body. As this happened Remus squeezed his grip on Sirius hand, grounding his love, before planning to speak.
“Sirius, would I still be here if I didn’t love you? Would I be here, holding you if I thought that you were some kind of incomprehensible evil?” Remus would say.
It usually took more than that. More of Remus negotiating with Sirius’ irrational thinking before he would return to his usual, but much more worn out disposition.
In the following hours, Sirius would grow anxious that his outburst would be the thing that drove Remus away. In the midst of this anxious energy, he’d say “let’s just forget that this happened?” Remus would agree, they would return to normal…
But, it happens again. The amount of time between the big breakdowns is never known, but it will happen again. It always does. On nights when he starts to feel like his mother. On nights where his blood begins to feel like nothing but a toxin running through his veins. It will happen again.
Summary: You fall ill, slowly, until it takes over your life. Your mates watch helplessly as you're torn from them too soon.
Warnings: chronic illness leading to death, seizures, fainting rapid weight loss, let me know if I missed something
Words: ~5.2k
Author's Note: So this is for the lovely 🪐 anon, inspired by the song 'A Match Into Water' by Pierce the Veil - I hope I got the vibes right for it, I went with mega angst 🙏 let me know how you guys like it! I didn't start crying til the end, but uh... yeah this one was tough for me to even write, it just feels very heavy. So read with caution. It's up on AO3 too! 🫶
18+ only pls
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It began with a cough.
Not often enough to cause any concern. Not even every day.
And when it did become every day, you had gone to see Madja, who told you to drink plenty of fluids and gave you a special tea to help soothe your throat, which had grown increasingly scratchy.
Of course, you’d done your best to hide it from Rhys and Feyre at first. They were always so busy and stressed as High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, and you didn’t want to burden them further.
But when you had fainted during Starfall, tumbling off the edge of the House of Wind?
Rhys had caught you, thankfully, and you awoke to the sight of his violet eyes filled with worry. When you turned your head to the right, you saw Feyre, her blue eyes sparkling with tears, some of them already pouring down her cheeks.
“Are you okay, baby?” she asked you, one of her hands cupping your cheek softly.
Your head hurt and you were exhausted, but other than that you felt fine.
You didn’t have to open your mouth, Feyre already curled against the inside of your mind just how you liked. “Good, good. Madja’s run all the tests, but she wasn’t able to conclude what made you faint.”
“And, Madja told us that you’ve had a cough for a few weeks?” Rhys questioned, though you knew he was asking why you hadn’t told them.
With the little energy you had, you pulled him into your mind, showing him how worried you’d been for him and Feyre, how overworked they’d been the past few months, and how you only wanted to save them any worry for you, over something as silly as a cough.
Darling, he whispered into your mind, his midnight voice filling your head and washing away the ache that had been building. A cough isn’t silly, when it lasts for weeks. We want to make sure you are healthy, above all else.
You’re our mate, Y/N, a very important piece of our whole, Feyre cooed, climbing into the cot you were on and cradling you in her arms. We wouldn’t know what to do without you. So please, if you keep having problems, let us know?
You hummed in agreement, nuzzling into Feyre’s chest. I will.
Rhys’s head came to rest on your chest, listening to your heartbeat closely, but shot up a moment later when the door swung open.
Madja stepped in, clipboard in hand. “Ah, Y/N, it’s good to see that you’re awake,” she said as she stepped towards your cot, standing at the end of it. “Now, I wasn’t able to find the cause of your fainting tonight with any of my tests. I was wondering if you had any abnormal symptoms before you did? Anything like shortness of breath, lightheadedness, chest pains?”
You bit your lip, your eyes darting between Rhys and Feyre. “Uhm… I started feeling lightheaded when we arrived at the House of Wind, I think?” you said quietly. “And just before I went out my chest started hurting pretty badly so I went to the balcony for some fresh air…”
Rhys inhaled sharply at the news, and you turned to look at him. “You fell from the House, darling.”
Oh.
“Hm. If it happens again, make sure to sit down immediately, and try having something to eat or drink. And I’ll have you come in once a week-”
“Twice a week,” Feyre interrupted as she stroked your hair.
“Very well, twice a week until you’ve had no incidents for three months. I also want you to take more baths, they should help with the coughing you’ve been experiencing, in addition to the tea I gave you,” Madja said, writing out the instructions for you care and passing the paper to Rhys. “If you feel able to have your mates winnow you or carry you home, I think it would be a good idea for you to have a long soak in warm water, followed by plenty of sleep.”
Do you feel ready? Feyre asked softly. You nodded against her, and a moment later you were pulled into her arms and whisked through the fabric of the world, landing next to the bathing pool in Feyre’s old room in the Moonstone Palace. Rhys appeared just after, tugging you and Feyre into his arms. He pressed a kiss to your head, then to Feyre’s before letting his arms fall.
Let’s get you into the bath, love, Rhys whispered, a soft caress in your mind.
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Just like your cough, the fainting only happened every so often.
Until it began happening weekly. And then daily.
Feyre had stopped most of her duties as High Lady, passing all those that didn’t require her directly off to Mor, who was more than happy to help, given the circumstances.
Rhys set foot in Illyria and the Hewn City maybe once a month, with Cassian taking charge of wrangling the war camps and Azriel overseeing Keir’s rule.
They much preferred staying with you whenever possible, taking you on short walks on the edge of the Sidra or snuggling on the couch, reading the latest novels Nesta had recommended together.
That was all you seemed to be able to do these days, if you wanted to stay conscious.
Currently you were sitting on a cot that had become so familiar to you, it was practically your second bed. Madja was standing before you, her hands hovering in front of you as she used her magic to scan your body.
She sighed and lowered her hands, writing something down in your chart. “I’m sorry, dear, but I still can’t find anything that could be causing these symptoms,” Madja said softly, giving your hand a squeeze when your eyes filled with tears.
“Do you… Could the Dawn Court possibly have answers?” you asked, rubbing your forehead to try to help with the pounding headache that had been building the past hour.
“I could ask some of my contacts there, they might have more experience with what’s happening to you,” Madja sighed, and you could tell she wasn’t hopeful. “It’s worth a try. Now… Have you reconsidered telling your family? I’m sure they would care to know, your mother and eldest brother at least.”
You shook your head. “I don’t want to burden him, he’s just taking charge of the court now that father’s been eliminated,” you sighed. “I’d like to wait until I’m better.” You stood slowly from the cot under Madja’s disapproving eye, though she didn’t fight you on your decision to keep the news limited to the Velaris, following Madja to the door. It swung open, revealing Azriel, waiting to take you back to the River House.
If you couldn’t go to your appointments with Rhys or Feyre, you preferred going with Azriel. Cassian always had tears in his eyes, and Mor was overly cheerful, to the point your head ached from the positivity. Azriel was a perfect, neutral party. You knew he was worried for you, yes, but he never had misty eyes or tried to cheer you up, instead giving you the space to process whatever Madja had told you that day, usually the same news that she’d found nothing that would tell her what’s causing your health problems.
Today was no different. He let you walk through the clinic and out the door before stooping to lift you into his arms, taking off into the sky a moment later.
Our little secret, he had called it after one particularly bad appointment. You’d barely been able to walk that week, and had been so depressed at your situation. All you had wanted to do was go for a short flight, but Rhys and Feyre refused, worried that it might cause you to faint or have some other problem pop up. But Azriel had taken you to your appointment that day, and after had taken you into his arms, slowly ascending into the sky.
You’d cried in his arms, the freeing feeling of the wind in your hair washing away most of your worries, at least until you touched back down, just outside the River House.
Today, you looped your arms around his shoulders and looked around, gazing with lovesick eyes at the city you cared for so deeply.
The city you’d barely been able to be in, with your condition.
Your eyes traced the path of the Sidra, marked each building that you used to regularly visit, where your friends live.
Until the right side of your body started tingling suddenly, the pain in your head kicking up a notch-
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“We told you, NO. FLYING. How simple of an ask was that, Azriel?!” Rhys shouted in the distance, loud enough to break through the fuzziness in your ears. “Do you realize that you could have killed her?!”
A voice murmured something softly, and you tried opening your eyes to see what was happening.
But they were so heavy, and you were so tired.
You listened to Rhys yelling for a while longer, drifting in and out of consciousness until you felt a soft hand grip yours.
“Would the two of you shut up?!” Feyre asked angrily, her voice clear and close. “Y/N can hear you.”
An instant later, your other hand was held in between two large, warm ones, and you knew instantly that it was Rhys. Two hands gently grasped your feet, through a blanket.
It took you a few more minutes to muster the energy to open your eyes, blinking wearily up at Rhys and Feyre’s worried faces.
You hated that it was becoming a familiar sight.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Feyre said thickly, tears shining in her eyes as she stroked your hair. “How are you feeling?”
You inhaled slowly, thinking. My mouth is dry, you pushed down the bond, your tongue like cotton in your mouth. Feyre beamed at you, lifting your head gently while Rhys grabbed a glass sitting on the table next to your cot, carefully pouring cool, soothing water down your throat. You finished most of it before you had them pull it back, feeling a bit more awake now.
What happened?
Rhys inhaled sharply, shooting a glare towards your feet. Standing there was Azriel, looking guilty and… scared.
“You seized in Azriel’s arms, mid-flight,” Feyre answered. “He brought you back to Madja’s immediately, but you’ve been out for an hour.”
It’s not Azriel’s fault, you whispered to her. I insist on us flying home, my puppy dog eyes are too good.
Feyre smiled at you, a sad thing. I know, love. Rhys will realize that in a bit too, and apologize.
You gave Azriel a soft smile, hopefully conveying that you in no way blamed him for what happened.
But you knew he would still blame himself.
Madja walked into your room, famous clipboard in hand and an assistant healer by her side. “Y/N, I’m going to be keeping you overnight for observation, just to be sure you won’t seize again without immediate care. Rhys, Feyre, you can stay if you’d li-”
“Yes,” your mates answered in unison, and Madja smiled at them.
“I thought that would be the case. Now, we can get you moved into one of our overnight rooms, the beds in there should be big enough to fit the three of you, but most certainly two of you,” Madja explained. “Now, Norelle will be doing most of your care overnight, but I will still be in the building, available at any moment if you need me. Right now, we still don’t know much about you condition, so tell her if anything changes or gets worse, okay?” she asked, expectant eyes on you.
“Okay,” you agreed, not missing the way your mates also nodded their agreement to her.
“Good. Now, let’s get you into that other room, it should be far more comfortable,” Madja said with a smile.
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You’d been discharged the next morning, with Madja repeating her instructions to sit down and have something to drink if you start feeling off, as well as having one of your mates call for her or Norelle’s assistance.
Only three days later, you had another seizure, hitting you while you were walking in the backyard with Feyre.
You were kept overnight again, and released in the morning, still with no answers as to why your body seemed to be slowly falling apart.
Five days later, you seized again, this time hitting your head on the living room coffee table when no one was in the River House.
You woke to a familiar face hovering above you, glowing hands tracing over your body. “Y/N, it’s nice to see you,” Thesan said softly. “How are you feeling?”
Your head ached terribly, much like it did before each seizure you’d had, and your entire body was sore.
Feyre relayed the information for you while Rhys carefully gave you small sips of water, his eyes completely devoid of stars.
“Hm,” Thesan hummed. “My magic can’t find anything wrong with you. Madja said that this all started with a cough, correct?” You nodded slightly. “And you began fainting at Starfall, preceded by lightheadedness and chest pains?” Another nod. “Those grew in frequency until you began seizing, yes?”
“Yes. Is there… Do you know what might be wrong with me?” you asked hoarsely.
“I’m not entirely sure, but I’ve seen a case similar to yours before,” Thesan answered, somewhat hesitantly.
“And?” Rhys asked shortly, his eyes finally ripping away from you.
“She… It was a difficult road for her, before she passed.”
Feyre sobbed beside you, and you managed to turn your head to look at her, ignoring the stabbing pain in your head as you did so.
Hey, it’s going to be okay, you whispered into her mind. It’s going to be okay.
Her eyes locked onto yours, the anguish in them bringing tears to your own. I know, baby, I’m just scared for you.
Don’t be, we’ve got the second best High Lord helping me now, you told her with a tiny smile.
Feyre chuckled wetly before turning to Thesan. “So, where do we go from here?”
“I’d suggest transfusions of my blood once every other week, and one of yours on opposite weeks,” Thesan explained, and you made a face. Ew. “That should help heal your body from whatever is happening to it, as well as plenty of rest. And since I’m here now, we can start your first transfusion today."
You nodded, ready to get it over with, and hopefully you would start feeling normal again soon.
Maybe you’d even be able to go shopping in the Palaces again, without being carried by one of your mates the entire time.
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A week later, and you’d had no seizures, and only two fainting spells.
Which was perfect, because your brother’s first ball as High Lord of Autumn was tonight, and you desperately wanted to attend.
“Please?” you begged Feyre as you pulled a gown made in autumn colored silks from the closet. “I really want to see Eris be crowned, Fey.”
Feyre sighed beside you as she tried to avoid your eyes, failing miserably. “Fine, but only because you’re so damn cute,” she cooed as she pinched your cheek, pulling you in for a sweet kiss a moment later. “But once we get back, it’s bedrest tomorrow, alright?”
You scrunched your nose, but nodded anyways.
Twenty minutes later, you and Feyre were dressed and ready to leave, meeting Rhys in the living room. He looked mildly upset that you were dressed for the ball, but a moment later he smiled softly at you, likely after Feyre had told him your reasoning. “Are we ready, sweet mates of mine?”
You both nodded before Feyre and Rhys sandwiched you between them, winnowing to the Autumn Court in the next moment and landing in the entrance hall of the Forest House.
Your head went fuzzy for a moment before clearing, and you ignored the worried looks your mate shot you as Eris approached.
“Eri!” you squealed as you flung yourself into his arms, relishing in the way he squeezed you tightly. Before, hugs like these were saved for behind closed doors, one less piece of information for people to use against him. “Being High Lord really suits you, you look amazing!”
“You look lovely as well, sweetheart,” Eris replied, though you could see the worry in his eyes.
You’d lost the smallest amount of weight, you supposed, but it must have been noticeable to him…
“Dinner is just about to start, but once that’s done, I’d like to steal you away from your mates for a dance," Eris said as he led you into the grand hall, the table already set for dinner service, roasts and all.
Dinner was lovely, even with some of the tensions shared between the seven High Lords and their Ladies - or High Ladies, in the Night Court and Winter Court’s cases.
You felt fine all throughout it, and felt well enough to dance once with your brother, after he was crowned with the gold leaf crown of the High Lord of Autumn, adorned with glittering rubies, diamonds, and emeralds.
But halfway through the dance, a dull pain shot up at the base of your skull before spreading further, your body tingling, and you were just able to contact Feyre before all went dark.
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“And when were you going to inform me?!” your brother asked furiously. “She is my sister, I deserve to know if she’s seizing every other day!”
A soft sigh came from your right, a hand gently squeezing yours.
More yelling, but you didn’t care to listen to it, instead shrinking into your mind, where Feyre was curled around you entirely, the inky night cocooning you so nicely.
You’d stay here forever, if you could.
Another hand clenched around your left one, so familiar that you knew it could only be your mother’s.
You drifted off again, coming out of your mind to the sound of more yelling. Your eyes cracked open, moving to the right to meet Feyre’s. Make them be quiet, please, you asked, the pounding in your head only worsened by the fighting.
She nodded, and mere seconds later the arguing ceased, Rhys and Eris making their way to your bed in your old quarters of the Forest House.
“Darling, it’s good to see you awake,” Rhys said quietly.
“Y/N, why didn’t you want me to know you’ve not been doing well?” Eris asked, his amber eyes locking to yours.
Because you would’ve dropped everything to see me, and you needed to secure the court, you told Feyre, and she passed the words on to Eris.
He sighed, but didn’t fight the truth of your words. “Still, I expect to know every detail of your care from now on, and for the two of you to contact me if anything even more serious occurs,” Eris demanded, eyeing Rhys and Feyre carefully.
Rhys nodded, and you knew that he’d keep his word.
“Now, I’m going to have the three of you stay the night until you feel well enough to travel, alright Y/N?” Eris asked, though you knew it was more of a demand than anything. You nodded. “Good. Sleep well, and I’ll see you in the morning. Mother should be back in no more than an hour, she’s off grabbing some tea for you, she insisted on being the one to make it for you,” Eris said, his eyes softening.
“Night, Eri,” you said quietly, watching him leave your old room before looking at your mates. “So… Bedrest?” you asked sheepishly before yawning wide.
“Bedrest,” Feyre confirmed, tears in her eyes.
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The transfusions helped, in a way. You were seizing less, but your appetite had vanished entirely for the first few days following them, no matter how you tried to stop it. You began losing weight rapidly, even as you were feeling slightly better from the healing properties of both Feyre and Thesan’s blood.
But the reprieve it brought you dwindled quickly as your health worsened once more, only two months into the new course of treatment.
Nothing could save you, it seemed.
You tried to keep your darker thoughts from Rhys and Feyre, but you were so exhausted most times that you existed within their minds, leaving your tired, sore body behind for most of the day. So they heard the loss of hope happening within you as you stayed bed-bound for over a week straight, seizing too often to even leave your room now.
Eris had begun visiting at least once a week since your incident in the Autumn Court three months ago, and had been coming close to twice a week for the past three weeks. Your mother joined him most times, but today had stayed home.
“…Going to try that, okay?”
You blinked yourself back to awareness, eyes focusing on Eris’s. “What?”
He smiled patiently at you. “We’re going to try something different today. Thesan believes that you have a blood condition, and that my magic may be able to burn it away,” he explained.
“Okay,” you said, too tired to try and understand his words. All you really wanted was to be in your bed at the River House, snuggled on both sides by your mates.
Instead, you’d been stuck in this room, an overnight clinic room of Madja’s that had been set aside exclusively for you, almost all of your things having migrated here, with how often you had to be here.
Rhys squeezed your hand lightly, afraid to bruise your now-delicate skin. “We’ll be right here, darling,” he said softly, and you could hear how he was fighting tears.
You must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, blinding pain shot through your body, heat burning you from the inside. A scream ripped from your throat and the pain stopped, but your nerve endings were on fire, every inch of your body feeling like a gaping wound as your clothes, the bedding, air touched it.
“What the fuck did you do to her?!” a voice roared from beside you, amplifying the pain in your head until you went unconscious, darkness overtaking you.
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Mount Ramiel quaked beneath him as he slammed his fists into the ground, roaring into the air with a sound of pure pain and rage.
Pain, because his mate was dying, in pain every waking second of every day.
Rage, because the Mother had seen this fate fit for his mate, one of three pieces to a whole, who he could not imagine living, breathing, without.
The creature within him burst through his skin, night exploding around him and covering the mountaintop as he raged, waiting to calm enough to return to her side.
To watch her wither away, losing weight, losing consciousness, losing life.
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Feyre sat at your bedside, quietly speaking to Thesan about any possible treatment routes that they hadn’t gone down.
Obviously, the thought that burning your blood with Eris’s healing fire was a misguided one, one that had sent you into a days long coma, still sleeping beside her. At peace, for once.
“I’m sorry, Feyre, but… I think it’s time to consider her quality of life, how much the treatments have affected her,” Thesan said carefully, watching as Feyre’s eyes sparked with rage, before calming into the numbed acceptance she had been displaying for weeks now.
“What would…” she sniffled, rubbing a few tears from her eyes. “What would you suggest, if we… If she wants to stop treatment? To make her… More comfortable?” Feyre hiccupped, grabbing your hand tighter.
Thesan sighed heavily. “We could give her medicine for the pain, but aside from that… I think the presence of her mates, her family, her friends would be the most helpful.”
Tears tracked down Feyre’s cheeks, and she nodded.
She could make that happen.
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You woke to the sound of quiet chatter around you, your eyelids leaden curtains that refused to part.
Hello, love, Feyre cooed into the expanse of your mind, sinking down next to you on the bed. Can you hear anyone besides me?
Yeah, you replied softly, curling into her presence.
Good, people wanted to talk to you. It’s alright if you can’t answer, they just wanted to let you know that they’re here, alright?
You hummed into your mind, the corners of your lips tilting up when Rhys joined her in cuddling you, physically and in your mind. You let yourself sink into the midnight darkness of them, let them hold you safely as your friends and family spoke to you.
“Y/N, it’s nice to see you,” Eris said thickly, and you felt him grasp your shin. “I can’t stop thinking about when you were ten, and you walked around declaring yourself as the High Lord’s heir apparent to all of our brother’s, me included. I’m glad I followed you, or Doran would have thrown you against a wall for it,” he chuckled. “And Lucien-”
“I made you a crown of leaves from outside, and the three of us had a ceremony in the woods, crowning you High Lady of Autumn,” Lucien finished. “It’s one of my fondest memories at Forest House, along with you covering for my dates with Jesminda. It took you an awful long time to learn how to read spellbooks.”
You giggled in your head, thinking of how happy he’d been, winnowing back into your room after seeing his first great love.
“Well I love how you were always ready to go shopping with me, even if you didn’t need anything yourself. We would chat for hours and have lunch and…” Mor sighed. “I loved having that time with you, Y/N.”
“You’re an amazing cook, probably the best I’ve ever met,” Cassian said, earning a few chuckles and a light slap, probably from Nesta. “And I’ve always thought of you as a sister of my own.”
“Y/N, you know that I love how you can beat me in chess, and we both have the same perfect taste in teas. You’re the one that I confide in, and you feel like a sister to me, as well,” Azriel said softly.
“I loved getting to work with you in the kitchen, Y/N, it was so amazing to learn from someone who knows so much. You’re also so kind, and you treated me so warmly from the moment we met,” Elain said with tears choking her throat, and you heard her turn and begin to cry, muffled, likely by Lucien’s shoulder.
“Maybe I didn’t trust you with my sister at first, but you have the exact same taste in novels as I do, and that… May sound silly, but it made me realize that you loved my sister and her mate, even without the bond. And I’ll always love you for loving her,” Nesta choked out, the most emotional you’d ever heard her in the fifty years you’d known her.
“My… My darling daughter,” your mother sniffled. “You have always been there, by my side. You kept my hopes alive Under the Mountain, and seeing you love so freely has brought me so much joy.”
The pain in your head kicked up when you tried to open your eyes to look at her, to see her once more. Suddenly every noise worsened it, before a wave of night washed down your spine and deadened your senses, and you heard almost everyone shuffle out of the room.
Mates stayed, though. Your Feyre, and your Rhys stayed behind, holding you close before sinking into your mind once more. They held you there, the sound of their heartbeats lulling you to sleep as they sent you images of Velaris, as if the three of you were flying again.
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Soft music floated through your mind as you came to, your eyes opening slowly to the sight of your room in the River House, and a careful, slow glance to the left and right let you know that your mates were laying beside you, their arms and legs tangled around you.
Hello, darling, Rhys purred into your mind as he nuzzled your cheek.
Good morning, love, Feyre whispered, planting a kiss on your forehead softly. Are you hungry? Thirsty?
Thirsty, you groaned, letting her and Rhys adjust you and pour water down your throat, easing the aching dryness that had taken root there.
It never seemed to leave you for long, always coming back to make you cough, to make you lightheaded, to make you fall unconscious.
I love you, Feyre cooed when they settled you back against the pillows, letting her lips meet yours gently.
I love you too, Fey-ruh, you said after a moment, your brain working slowly to pull the words together.
And you know I love you too, Y/N, Rhys said before pressing his lips to yours next, softer than ever before, like you would break at the slightest pressure.
Your lips pulled up at the corners, your eyes meeting his blank, teary violet ones. And I love you, Rhysie. You breathed heavily before putting another sentence together. Don’t either of you ever forget it.
Hey, now, Rhys said softly. Don’t be talking like that, love.
You felt Feyre shaking beside you, her grip around you tightening. It’s going to happen. Just… Don’t forget me. But don’t… You coughed, your entire body going rigid until your lungs calmed. Don’t forget each other, you pleaded with them, looking between them slowly, seeing the tears in their eyes. Promise me, you demanded. Please.
You might be leaving your mates, but you would be damned if they left each other to join you, lost each other after losing you.
Okay, we promise. I promise, Rhys assured you, stroking your hair.
I promise, we won’t forget us, but most importantly, we will never forget you, Feyre said, tears streaming freely onto the pillows now.
You breathed out a sigh of relief. Good. I love you, you said tiredly, relaxing as much as you could into your mates’ hold.
You hardly noticed as you went unconscious, the feeling slipping over you with the next push of your lungs.
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“This is it,” Madja said from the foot of the bed.
Your chest barely moved now, each breath growing shallower and shallower. You hadn’t woken in five days, the only liquids your body was receiving being from ice cubes, lifted to your lips to wet them.
Your frail, near lifeless body lay before them, and they could hardly breathe.
The sight of you withering away, the life in your eyes slowly dulling had been difficult, but nothing had prepared them for this.
Your death.
Rhys and Feyre crawled into the bed next to you, and pulled you against their chests, tears freely falling onto your skin, your hair, your nightgown.
They felt as your breath slowed further, your heartbeats growing fewer and fewer as your body finally gave out to the disease that had sapped your life from you in half a year.
When your last breath left you, when the golden thread that tied the three of you together shredded, severed, shattered inside of them…
Night erupted, covering the land in darkness, their anguished cries echoing throughout the Night Court as their mate lay in their arms, dead.
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General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao @twismare @wrenisrad @icey--stars
Setting: May 2025, London, a Saturday morning in Hampstead Cemetery
Warnings: heavy angst, grief, death of wife + child (past), mourning, alcoholism, self-destructive tendencies, emotional hurt, crying, raised voices/shouting, anger, hopelessness, religious/supernatural themes, paparazzi/media pressure
⚠️ This chapter contains intense grief surrounding the loss of a wife and child, as well as themes of alcohol misuse and self-destructive thoughts that may be upsetting to some readers.
By the time Harry gets to Hampstead Cemetery, the sun is already warm against the back of his neck.
It is one of those deceitful London mornings in May that looks softer than life has any right to be. The sky is pale and clear, the air touched with the kind of early heat that makes the grass smell green and alive, and birds carry on in the trees like the world has not once split itself open and left him standing in the middle of the wreckage.
He hasn’t slept. Not properly. He has drifted in and out of something uglier than sleep, face half-buried in the sofa cushion, television muttering to an empty room no one was there to shush. At some point in the night he knocked over a glass, watched red wine bleed over the coffee table and onto the rug Sophie picked because it was ‘practical, Harry, and it doesn’t show stains, so stop pulling that face.’ He stared at the spill for a long while, too tired and too drunk and too hollow to do anything about it.
The house smelled wrong when he left earlier. Not like flowers anymore. There was a time he bought two bunches a week from the farmers’ market without fail, because Sophie loved fresh flowers in the house, loved the small, unnecessary beauty of them. She put them in jam jars on the dinner table and in proper vases on the kitchen counter, always moving them around, trimming the stems with a seriousness that used to make him laugh. The whole place used to smell like peonies and daisies and tulips and the citrus hand soap she bought in obscene quantities. It used to smell like butter in the pan and baby shampoo and whatever candle she was pretending not to be obsessed with that month.
It used to smell like life.
Now, it smells like stale wine, cheap vodka, and the slow rot of rooms that don’t get opened enough. The only flowers now are the ones he buys out of habit and never keeps. He leaves them in the passenger seat beside him, drives them through London, and lays them in front of a headstone instead.
That morning’s bouquet is tulips. Bright ones. Yellow, orange, red, purple — ridiculously cheerful. Ivy would have approved. She liked things that moved and things that looked like sweets and things that were all the colours at once. He stands over the grave for a long minute before crouching to set them down. The stone is cool in the early warmth, smooth under his fingers when he brushes a bit of grit from the engraved letters he knows better than the lines of his own face.
Sophie Styles *July 3rd, 1995
Yvy Styles *March 27th, 2021
The date beneath their names has become a language of its own.
† September 5th, 2023
Harry swallows hard and sets about arranging the tulips with ridiculous care, spreading them in the vase already sunk into the earth, turning the stems so the colours sit right, adjusting one yellow bloom twice until it looks less lopsided. The sort of thing Sophie would have rolled her eyes at and then secretly appreciated.
“There,” he murmurs, voice rough from too much alcohol and too little sleep. “That’s better, innit?”
His eyes burn. He ignores it. From the crook of his arm, he pulls the other thing he brought.
A pinwheel.
Rainbow-coloured plastic, new and glossy, the little blades translucent in the morning light. He crouches lower and presses the stick carefully into the soil near the others, pink, blue, one silver that has nearly lost its shine. Ivy adored them. Wanted them in the back garden, in flowerpots, in the park, anywhere the wind could catch them. She used to chase them with both hands out like she could grab the colour right out of the air.
His mouth twitches despite himself. “This one’s for you, bug.”
He pushes it in properly, sits back on his heels and the new pinwheel begins to turn. There isn’t any wind. Not enough for that. The leaves in the trees stay still. Nothing moves but the little rainbow wheel, spinning lazily at first, then faster, bright colours blurring together.
Harry blinks. Then, in spite of everything, a startled laugh escapes him. “Oh, so you do like it.”
The words have barely left his mouth before the old pink pinwheel beside it, the one Sophie bought for Ivy from some garden centre in Essex when she was barely big enough to toddle, stirs too. One turn. Then another. Slow and deliberate, like a response. His laugh breaks into something softer. More helpless. “There y’are,” he whispers.
For a fleeting second, light threads through him instead of pain. It is stupid, probably. A trick of air. The sort of thing a sane person would explain away in an instant. But Harry has long since discovered that grief makes room for strange bargains. Tiny mercies. Silly signs. Moments that let him pretend the distance between the living and the dead is not as absolute as it feels at three in the morning with an untouched side of the bed and a child’s laugh still haunting the hallway.
He lowers himself to the ground at the foot of the grave, knees bent, forearms resting on them. Sits facing the stone the way he always does, close enough that he can see where rain has darkened the lettering.
“Sorry I weren’t here Tuesday,” he says quietly. The cemetery around him breathes in soft silence. Somewhere farther off, gravel crunches under someone else’s shoes. A blackbird calls from a yew tree and then stops. Harry looks at the pinwheels. “I was at Mum’s.” He rubs his thumb over the side of his hand, gaze fixed ahead. “Gem was there an’ all. Brought Ava.”
His voice becomes thicker when he continues. “She’s walkin’ now. Properly. Bit wobbly still, but—” a wet laugh catches in his chest, “—she’s got that same determined look Ivy used to get. The one that said she’d rather fall over than let anybody help.”
He smiles, small and wrecked. “And she’s started talkin’. Not much. Just little bits. But… God.” He shuts his eyes for a second. “She looks like our girl did at that age. Sometimes it catches me off guard. Just—” He snaps his fingers weakly. “Out of nowhere. The way she turns her head, or the way she laughs when she’s pleased with herself. It’s mad.”
The words tremble and steady and tremble again. “I keep thinkin’ they’d have loved each other. Ivy an’ Ava. Caused absolute chaos together. You’d have hated it for about five minutes, Soph, and then taken about a thousand pictures anyway.”
His chest aches now. The warm air feels too thin to breathe properly. “Mum’s turned the fountain back on in the garden,” he goes on, softer now. “The little one Ivy loved. Said it felt wrong not havin’ it runnin’ over summer.” His eyes drop to the new rainbow wheel. “Your little boat’s still there, bug. The yellow one. Floats about same as it always did. Maybe Ava’ll like it this year. Maybe she’ll chase it the way you used to.”
He pauses, then sighs. “Everybody misses you.”
It is too small of a sentence for what it means. Too ordinary. It lands uselessly between them. He shifts, elbows pressing harder into his knees. A dull throb pulses behind his eyes.
“I’m goin’ back to Italy for a bit, I think,” he says after a moment. “Need to get out of London. Too many people about. Too many cameras.”
That bitter, familiar pressure curls under his skin. Shame mixed with anger, with exhaustion, with something uglier still. “They’ve been takin’ photos again.” His mouth pulls into something that is not exactly a smile. “Apparently I look rough. Unkempt. Exhausted. Like I’ve crawled out of a hedge. One of the papers says I’ve worn the same blue jacket every day for over a year as if that’s a crime.”
He looks down at the scuffed toes of his trainers. “They’re all very worried about me online,” he adds, and there it is, that dry little note of mockery he uses when something hurts enough to deserve contempt. “Everybody’s got opinions. It’s almost been two years, apparently. Time I moved on. Time I got a grip. Time I stopped wallowin’. Some people are askin’ when I’m comin’ back, when there’s new music, when I’m gonna stop pityin’ myself and do somethin’ useful.”
His jaw clenches. “What exactly am I meant to write about?”
The question comes out sharper than he intends. It rings briefly in the stillness, then falls flat against the stone. “What the fuck am I supposed to sing about, Soph?” He laughs once, and there is no humour in it. “My greatest muses are buried in a cemetery. One of them used to draw on my arms with felt-tip pens and demand biscuits before bed, and the other one made every room feel like home just by standin’ in it. Bit hard to write a summer hit single about that, innit?”
The laugh dies. He scrubs a hand down his face. His stubble rasps against his palm. “Jeff rang,” he says. Even the name tastes sour in his mouth this morning, which is unfair. Jeff loved them too. In his way. He was kind after. Careful. More patient than Harry deserved. But grief turns kindness into irritation if it arrives carrying expectations.
“Said he understands. Said the label understands. Said I can have all the time I need.” Harry’s voice dips into imitation, precise and flat. “‘But as your manager, I’ve got to look after your image too, mate. And you walkin’ around lookin’ half-dead isn’t helpin’.’” He stares at the date carved into the stone until it blurs. “Image,” he repeats. “As if that’s what’s left to ruin.”
A strange sound leaves him then, halfway to a laugh, clipped and mean and foreign in his own throat. “I told him to fuck off.”
Silence. He actually glances at the grave like Sophie might sit up just to judge him for it. “I know,” he mutters. “Bit much.”
He can still hear the stunned pause at the other end of the line before he hung up. He isn’t proud of it. That is the problem, really. He isn’t proud of much anymore. Anger feels good for half a second, and then it curdles into something worse. “I’m sorry,” he says, though whether he means to Jeff, to the women beneath the ground, or to himself, he cannot say.
The cemetery answers with quiet. It is the only place that ever does. At home, the silence is a thing with teeth. It prowls from room to room and settles in corners and under doors and in the untouched nursery down the hall with its drawn curtains and thin skin of dust. He does not go in there. Has not gone in there, not properly, in nearly two years. The cleaning lady has instructions to leave everything exactly as it is — only dust the surfaces, never move a toy, never fold the little cardigan still hanging over the arm of the rocking chair, never, ever change the sheets with the tiny printed stars on them. Freeze it, and maybe time will hesitate too. But time is a traitor. It moves anyway. Quietly. Efficiently. Sanding everything down except the hurt. Here, at least, the noise in his head sometimes softens. Here, he can sit with them and feel the world narrow to something manageable: stone, earth, flowers, sunlight, memory.
He tips his head back and closes his eyes. After a while, without planning to, he starts to sing. Very softly. Barely more than breath. The lullaby Ivy made him sing every night, twice if she was tired, three times if she was clingy, with one chubby hand wrapped in the collar of his shirt so he couldn’t leave before the song was done. It was once simple, almost silly in its sweetness, the old tune about sunshine and grey skies, the kind of song children love because it is easy to remember and parents love because it becomes part of the architecture of home. His voice is wrecked by disuse, scraped raw around the edges, but it finds the familiar melody anyway. For the first few lines, he makes it through. Then he reaches the verse about dreaming you held someone in your arms only to wake and find you were mistaken. The words hit him full in the chest. His breath snags. His voice cracks hard enough to hurt. He tries again and gets no farther than the last line before his mouth folds around a sound that is not singing anymore.
His head drops. And just like that, he is gone. The grief takes him without ceremony, as brutal as ever. It bends him forward until his forehead nearly touches his clasped hands, shoulders shaking, breath breaking in ragged pulls he cannot control. Tears slip hot over his face and into his palms. He cries the ugly way, the human way, the way people rarely do in films because there is nothing cinematic about it, snot and gasping and a pain so physical it makes his ribs feel splintered.
Most nights he dreams of them. Not always the accident. Sometimes worse. Sometimes he dreams Sophie alive and laughing in the kitchen, Ivy in her arms, and the cruelty is in the waking. In opening his eyes and finding the bed cold, the room too large, the whole world rearranged into a shape he never asks to inhabit.
He stays folded over for what might be a minute or five, crying into his hands. Then, through the blur of tears and sunspots and breathless misery, he becomes aware of movement. A shift in the stillness. He lifts his head slowly. At first he only sees shape. A dark silhouette perched on top of the headstone, wrong in a way his mind refuses to process. He blinks hard. Rubs the heel of his hand over his eyes until the image smears and sharpens.
There is a woman sitting on Sophie and Ivy’s tombstone. Harry freezes.
She sits as if she has every right in the world, one leg bent, the other dangling, hands braced lightly at her sides. Dark brown hair falls in loose, slightly wavy lengths around her shoulders. Jeans. A jumper. Black Vans. Brown eyes fixed on him with an expression that is far too calm for a hallucination and far too amused for a mourner. His whole body goes cold despite the heat.
“What the fuck—” He scrubs his eyes again. Looks back. Still there.
His heart starts to thud, hard and stupid against his ribs. “No,” he mutters to himself. “No, no, calm down. S’not real.”
“That’s a bit rude.”
Harry jerks so violently he nearly loses his balance.
The woman tilts her head, eyebrows lifting. “I’m right here.”
For a long, suspended moment, he just stares. She is beautiful in an infuriatingly unremarkable way, the sort of face you wouldn’t call otherworldly because there is nothing theatrical about it. No glowing halo. No white robes. No spectral shimmer. Just a woman, late twenties, maybe early thirties, looking at him as if this entire situation is awkward only on his end.
His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “Are you—” His voice fails. He swallows. “Are you a ghost or somethin’?”
That, apparently, is hilarious. She smiles. Not kindly. Not cruelly. Just with open amusement, like she has been handed a line she has been waiting for. “Nope. Not a ghost. I’m Flora. Your guardian angel.”
Harry laughs. It comes out sharp and disbelieving and just a touch hysterical. “Right.”
“I am.”
“Course you are.”
“I am,” she repeats, unbothered. “And you’re a bit slower on the uptake than I’d hoped.”
He stares at her. Then he gives a short shake of his head, rubs his face with both hands, and looks pointedly away as if that might reset reality. “Okay,” he says to no one. “Brilliant. Finally lost my mind.”
“I’d argue it’s been a gradual decline.”
His head snaps back towards her. She is still there. Still sitting on the headstone. Still looking infuriatingly real. “That’s not funny.”
“It wasn’t meant to be funny. It was meant to be observational.”
“I did not ask for follow-up commentary.”
Her mouth twitches. Something hot and volatile sparks under his skin. Fear, probably. Or the tail end of grief, looking for a new shape to wear. “You’re not real,” he says flatly.
Flora lifts one shoulder. “You can keep saying that, but it doesn’t make me less real.”
He pushes to his feet too quickly, the ground shifting faintly under him. Lack of sleep. Too much vodka. The tears he hasn’t fully caught up from. He sways and sets his jaw, angry at himself for giving even his own body the satisfaction of betraying him.
“No,” he says again, louder this time. “No, I’m not doin’ this. I’m tired, I’m hungover, I’ve just been cryin’ in a cemetery like a pathetic bastard and now my brain’s decided to get creative. Great. Fine. Fantastic. But you are not sittin’ on my wife and daughter’s grave tellin’ me you’re my guardian angel.”
Flora’s expression shifts at that. Not softens. Sharpens. “I am your guardian angel,” she says. “And for the record, I’ve been doing an excellent job under difficult circumstances. Keeping you alive these last two years hasn’t exactly been easy.”
Harry barks a humourless laugh. “Keeping me alive?”
“Yes.”
“Well, maybe that’s because I didn’t want keepin’ alive.”
The smile vanishes from her face. For the first time since he has looked up, she seems entirely serious. “I know,” she says.
He recoils. At her certainty. At the simple way she says it, as if the worst parts of him are laid out plain as weather. He folds his arms over his chest, more defensive than he means to look. “Good for you.”
“You could be a little grateful.”
He stares at her, one eyebrow raised. “For what?”
“For the amount of work I’ve put in, actually.”
His jaw drops. “Work?”
“Yes.”
“You’re havin’ a laugh.”
“I’m really not.”
Harry lets out a hollow sound and turns away, dragging a hand through his hair. “Great. So now I’ve got an imaginary woman takin’ credit for my life choices.”
“Your life choices?” Flora repeats. “That’s bold.”
He spins back around. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” she says, crossing her arms to mirror him, “that if I’d left you entirely to your own devices, you’d have done a spectacular job of ruining yourself by now.”
His face goes hot with anger. “Y’know what? Piss off.”
“No.”
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.”
“I don’t need this.”
“No,” she says, “you need far more than this, but let’s not get ambitious.”
He stares at her in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet, here I am.”
The cheek of her. The maddening ease of her. The way she sits above the grave as if the ache in his chest is a thing she can discuss casually, analytically, like he is not already hanging by his fingernails over the edge of himself.
He takes a step closer before he even realises he has moved. “I didn’t ask for you.”
“No one does.”
“I don’t believe in guardian angels.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“I don’t need savin’.”
“Objectively false.”
“I didn’t want saving!” The words crack out of him, sudden and raw.
The cemetery seems to flinch with the force of it. Birds startle up from somewhere in the trees. For a beat, neither of them moves. Flora looks at him then, really looks, and something older than cheekiness passes through her expression. Something tired. “I know,” she says quietly. “That doesn’t change my job.”
Harry laughs again, but it is breaking apart now. “Your job.”
“Yes.”
“Well, your job’s useless to me.”
Her chin tips. “That so?”
“Yes, that so.”
He is shouting now. He knows it. Can hear it bouncing off stone and trees and the sealed-up morning around them. Some distant, horrified part of him registers that he is making a scene in a cemetery and does not care even slightly.
“Because unless you can bring them back,” he says, voice rising with every word, “you’re useless. D’you understand that? Unless you can put my wife and my daughter back where they belong, in my house and in my arms and in every bloody place they should still be, then I do not want you, I do not need you, and I do not care what your job is.”
Flora holds his gaze. He is breathing hard enough to feel sick.
Her voice, when she answers, is maddeningly steady. “I can’t bring them back.”
“Exactly.”
“But that doesn’t make me useless.”
“It does to me.”
Her mouth thins. He is too angry to stop. Too deep in it now. “What kind of guardian angel even are you?” he snaps, gesturing at her wildly. “Where’re your wings? Your halo? Your heavenly little sparkles? And where the fuck were you the one day it actually mattered?”
The question tears out of him before he can think better of it. And there it is again.
— September 5th —
Not spoken aloud, not by name, but suddenly standing between them with all its blood and metal and ruin.
Flora’s face changes. Not much. Just enough. The wit slips. Pain moves in underneath. “I took human form because you keep trying to destroy yourself,” she says. “And I’m not going to sit back and watch that happen.”
Harry scoffs, vicious. “Bit late for intervention, isn’t it?”
“I’m your guardian angel,” she says, each word deliberate now. “Not Sophie’s. Not Ivy’s.”
It is like striking a match in a room full of gas. His whole body goes rigid. “So their angels were what?” he demands. “On break? Vacation?”
Flora’s eyes narrow. “No.”
“Then what? Standin’ there watchin’ while they died?”
Her eyes drop for half a second, not in guilt, but in heaviness, and when she looks back at him, her voice has lost all traces of playfulness. “No. They were trying to protect them and couldn’t.”
Harry stares at her. Then he laughs in her face. “Oh, they couldn’t?” he repeats, incredulous. “Right. Well, that’s comfortin’, that is. Lovely. What good are you to us, then? What good are guardian angels if you can’t save people when it counts?”
“Because sometimes we can’t.”
“Then what is the point?”
Her hands curl slightly where they rest against the stone. “The point,” she says, and now there is strain in her voice too, “is that we do what we can. We keep people from turning one bad choice into a final one. We steer. We warn. We hold together what we’re allowed to hold together. But we are still angels, Harry, not Gods.”
He takes another step forward, tears burning fresh. “That’s meant to make me feel better?”
“No.”
“Then stop talkin’ like I’m supposed to care how hard this is for you.”
Her face flickers. A wound, quickly hidden. “It isn’t easy,” she says.
He lets out a disbelieving, furious sound. “Easy?”
“It isn’t easy for us to watch our person die either.”
That does it. He breaks. “Don’t.” The word cracks like thunder. “Don’t you dare.”
Flora goes very still. He is crying again now and doesn’t even realise it until he tastes salt on his lips. “I lost my whole heart that day,” he shouts. “Do you understand me? Everythin’ that mattered. Everythin’. And you’re stood here tellin’ me their angels were probably upset too? Were sad too? As if that means anythin’ to me?”
“It means they didn’t fail because they didn’t care.”
“I don’t give a fuck if they cared!” The words rip out so viciously that even he recoils from them.
Flora’s expression shutters. Silence crashes down between them, huge and ringing. His breath saws in and out. His hands are fists. The tulips tremble slightly in the vase where he arranged them with such care only half an hour ago.
Then Flora speaks. Very softly. “I’m sorry.”
It should undo him. It should take the edge off, even slightly. Instead it makes him angrier. “No, you’re not.”
“I am.”
“You don’t understand.”
Her gaze doesn’t leave his face. “More than you think.”
“You don’t know a bloody thing,” he snaps.
Maybe she does. Maybe there is something in the way she went quiet at the mention of death, something too immediate to fake. But grief is selfish, and his is starving. It wants someone to blame, and she appears at exactly the wrong moment wearing exactly the wrong calm. He takes a step back from the grave. Then another. His voice, when he speaks again, comes out hoarse and shaking. “I don’t need you.”
Flora doesn’t answer. He points at her like that might keep her from becoming real. “And you are not going to follow me. D’you hear me? Don’t come near me, don’t show up at my house, don’t sit on any more gravestones, don’t—” His throat closes around the next words. He forces them out anyway. “Just leave me alone.”
For the first time since she appeared, she looks almost angry too. Not loud. Not explosive. Just tired to the bone.
Harry turns before he can see more of it. He strides away from the grave too fast, vision blurred, chest caving in on itself. Gravel crunches viciously under his shoes. He does not look back. If he looks back and she is gone, he might lose his mind for a different reason. If he looks back and she is still there, he doesn’t know what he’ll do with that either.
So he keeps walking. Past rows of stones. Past clipped grass and morning flowers and names of strangers etched into marble. Past a bench beneath a chestnut tree where an old woman sits with her hands folded in her lap. Past the gate with the ironwork peeling at the edges.
Towards the car, towards the city, towards the house that smells wrong and the bottle that waits in the kitchen cabinet and the blue jacket on the hook by the door. His breathing will not settle. Neither will the words. Not Sophie’s. Not Ivy’s. He reaches the car, fumbles for the handle, and stops only because his hands are shaking too hard to get the key in.
Behind him, the cemetery holds its breath. And back at the grave, where the tulips flare brightly against the stone and the pinwheels turn though the air stands still, Flora remains seated on the headstone long after he is gone. Her eyes follow the path he takes until even the sound of his steps has vanished. Then, to the empty morning, in a voice too quiet for anyone to hear, she whispers, “I can’t.”
Pairing: JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader
Word Count: ~1,400 words
Vibe: Heavy angst / moody / hurt-comfort / emotional realism
Tropes: Grumpy (grieving) x Sunshine (protective), established relationship, found family
Warnings: Major character death (mother), medical emergency (heart attack, off-screen), police notification of death, heavy descriptions of grief/mourning, etc.
Your POV
The kitchen was the heart of your world—a sanctuary of yellow linoleum, mismatched magnets on the fridge, and the constant, comforting hum of the refrigerator. Since there was no dad in the picture, it had always been just the two of you, a fortress of two against the world. Your mom didn't just provide; she poured her entire soul into the small things that made a life. It was the way she'd leave a sticky note on the counter when she left for her 7:00 AM shift, the home-cooked meals that were waiting even after her twelve-hour days at the hospital, and the way she'd religiously save the 8:00 PM time slot for your favorite reality show.
She hadn't just been your mother; she was the Pogues' mother, too. She was the one who kept a spare key under the mat specifically for JJ when his own house became a war zone. She was the one who drove the entire group to the Marsh Terminal before anyone had a license, singing along to the radio just to make you all laugh, and hosting backyard pool parties that lasted until the lightning bugs came out.
You vividly remembered the afternoon you finally confessed that JJ was more than just a friend. You'd been picking at a plate of her famous chicken parm, heart hammering against your ribs, while JJ hovered nervously by his bike in the driveway, looking like he was ready to bolt. Before you could even get the words out, she had looked up from her glass of wine with that knowing, tired, and beautiful smile.
"He's a Pogue, honey, and he's got a lot of static in his head," she'd whispered, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. "But I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching. Like you're the only solid ground he's ever stood on. He'll be good for you. He'll protect you when I can't."
Monday. 8:15 PM.
The TV was flickering, showing a group of contestants on a beach, but the seat next to you was empty. Your mom was never late without a text—never. If she were staying for a double or if a patient needed extra care, she'd send a "Save me some popcorn!" message by 7:30.
Then came the knock.
It wasn't the light, rhythmic tap of a Pogue or the fumbling of your mom's keys. It was heavy. Rhythmic. Official.
When you pulled the door open, the humid marsh air rushed in, but you felt ice-cold. Officer Shoupe and a younger deputy stood on your porch. Shoupe was holding his hat in his hands, his face tight and his eyes downcast. Behind them, the blue and red lights of his cruiser cast long, rhythmic shadows across your driveway, pushing against the siding of the house like a warning.
"Is there an adult home, kid?" Shoupe asked, his voice dropping to a gravelly, pained whisper.
"My mom is... she's at the hospital," you said, your voice reaching a pitch you didn't recognize. "She's just late. She's always late when it's busy."
"There was a cardiac event," Shoupe said, stepping forward as the world began to tilt. "Right in the middle of her rounds. The staff... they did everything they could. They worked on her for an hour. But she didn't make it through."
The world didn't end with a bang. It ended with the sound of a screen door clicking shut as the officers walked back to their car. You stood in the hallway, staring at the empty kitchen table, surrounded by her collection of coffee mugs and the lingering scent of her perfume, and you simply broke. You had just lost your person, the woman who had spent eighteen years being your entire world.
In the sudden, suffocating silence of the house, you realized with a terrifying clarity: your anchor was gone.
Time doesn't move when you're grieving; it just rots. Tuesday had been a fever dream of police paperwork and Shoupe's heavy boots in the entryway. Wednesday was the day you stopped answering the door entirely. Thursday was the day you stopped moving.
By Friday, you had holed yourself up in your childhood home for three days, and the house had become a tomb. You hadn't left your bed, hadn't showered, and were still wearing the same hoodie you'd had on when the officers stood on your porch Monday evening. The air in your room was stagnant, heavy with the scent of unwashed sheets and the lingering, cruel ghost of your mother's perfume that seemed to cling to the curtains. You were heaped under the duvet—a jagged pile of limbs and a heavy heart, buried under a silence so loud it made your ears ring.
You were deadpan. That was the only word for it. No sobbing was left, just a hollow, echoing "nothing" in your chest. You stared at a single crack in the ceiling, tracking its path until your vision blurred, your mind a repetitive loop of Shoupe's gravelly voice.
Your phone lived on the floor, a glowing rectangular ghost that haunted the shadows. Every few minutes, the screen would flare to life, casting a cold, blue light against the wall—a graveyard of concern from the people who loved you.
Kie (Wednesday, 10:15 AM): Where are you? Mike is asking why you aren't at The Wreck for your shift. I'm covering for you, but I'm worried sick. Answer me.
Pope (Thursday, 9:00 AM): You missed the history midterm. I tried to stall the teacher, but he noticed your empty desk. Is everything okay? Please, just a thumbs up.
JJ (Friday, 2:15 PM) [Voicemail]: "Princess, pick up. I'm at the Chateau, and I'm about to put a hole in the wall. If this is about the thing I said last week, I'm sorry. Just... just tell me you're breathing. I'm coming over. I don't care if the door is locked."
You watched the notifications fade into black. You didn't have the energy to care. You let sleep take over in the late morning, drifting in that half-awake, half-dead headspace until sunset.
Around dinner time, the silence was finally shattered. Knock-knock tap-tap.
You didn't move. You knew that knock. It was the "Pogue Entry" code—the rhythm JJ used when he was trying to be annoying. When you didn't answer, the sound moved. A minute later, you heard the laundry room window groan—the one with the loose latch your mom always joked was "JJ's private entrance."
His boots hit the floorboards with a heavy, frantic thud. He didn't call out. He ran. He took the stairs two at a time, and your bedroom door groaned open. JJ stood in the doorway, his blonde hair a mess and his flannel rumpled, framed in a sliver of hallway light. He looked like a man who had been through a war.
He crossed the room in two strides and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't wait for permission; he reached into the mountain of blankets and hauled you out. He pulled you into his lap, his strong arms wrapping around you as he began to rock you back and forth. You didn't even hug him back at first; you just slumped against him, a broken doll with tear-stained cheeks and a vacant gaze.
"Talk to me," he whispered, his voice thick with a desperate kind of sweetness. "You're starting to scare me, and you know I don't scare easily."
You looked at the boy your mother had hand-picked for you. The boy she knew would be there. Finally, the words fell out like stone.
"She's gone, J. Heart attack... on Monday. She was alone."
JJ's body went rigid. You felt his heart hammer against your ear before he let out a choked, ragged breath. He didn't say it would be okay. He just tightened his grip, his hand cupping the back of your head.
"I'm right here," he murmured. "I'm not leaving this house. I'm your anchor, okay? Just hold onto me."
He sat there with you in the dark for over an hour before he pulled back just enough to look at your face. He wiped a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb.
"Hey," he whispered. "You're shivering. Here's the deal: I'm going to go downstairs and attempt to make you something to eat. You haven't eaten in four days, baby. While I'm doing that, go in there and just sit in a hot shower. Reset the system, okay? I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."
The Darkness and Other Impossible Feats - Chapter One
SUMMARY:
After six months on mandated leave following an undercover case, Doctor Spencer Reid returns to the BAU a colder, altered man, silent about the mission that shattered him, and hiding a dangerous truth: somewhere out there, the cartel he infiltrated holds the last pieces of a life he’s desperate to reclaim.
WARNINGS: graphic violence, emotional avoidance, drugs, mention of drugs, use of drugs, lonliness, guns, gun violence, trauma, PTSD, murder, death, pain, injury, panic attack, nightmares
(there may be more added as each chapter is posted - please check the individual warnings on each chapter just in case)
WORD COUNT: 4904
Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four
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Gunshots rung out, one after another. The sound cracking and echoing off the concrete walls as the bullets flew through the air towards their target. Accompanied by the staccato rhythm of brass casings, clattering against the floor.
Dr. Reid didn’t so much as flinch as he fired shot after shot. The weight of the glock sitting comfortably in the palm of his hand as he stood, shoulders square, arms steady even as the recoil pounded against his joints. Ever shot was controlled and precise as pushed out each measured breath. If he felt any tension, it didn’t show. He simply kept the weapon raised and fired again.
Up in the gallery, SSA Aaron Hotchner stood behind the reinforced glass, his hands loosely clasped behind his back Taking in the sight of the once nervous, Dr. Reid, as he confidently fired off another round. A stark contrast to the man he once watched in his previous certification tests. Reid’s posture, focus, the complete absence of hesitation greatly different from the strained, reluctant sessions he’d witnessed before. The ones he only passed by the skin of his teeth for meeting the minimum standards of marksmanship for the FBI.
Now, it was like Hotch was watching an experienced marksman.
As the final shot rang out through the range, Reid lowered the gun with a detached calmness that didn’t belong to the kid Hotch once knew. The ease of which he lowered the protective ear muffs sent a strike of worry through Hotch. Worry about what, he was yet to understand.
Hotch watched as the range officer collected each target sheet and held it up to the light. Each was littered with a ring of bullet holes, each centred, brushing the bullseye with precision. Not a single miss throughout the entire test. The range officer let out a low whistle of approval before talking the sheets into the office. Leaving Spencer standing alone, still holding the glock tight in his grasp, staring at the space where the target once hung. He had a strange expression on his face, not quite pride, closer to quiet certainty. As if this was expected. As if anything short of perfection would have been failure.
Hotch slowly turned away from the glass, letting go of a quiet exhale he wasn’t aware he was holding. As he descended the metal stairs towards Spencer, he couldn’t help but let his brow crease with gentle concern. This was the first time he’d seen Spencer in over four years. Sure, he had seen the notes from the psyche evaluations, talked to colleagues about his impending return, heard stories of how he’d changed, but nothing could have prepared him for what he’d just witnessed. While he couldn’t deny the strain of pride that coursed through him at the ease of which Spencer had passed the exam, it was tempered with something much heavier. People didn’t come back from time away transformed like this without a reason. When he reached the bottom step, where Reid was patiently waiting for him with an unreadable calm, Hotch knew one thing for certain:
Spencer Reid was ready to re-enter the field. However, one thing he wasn’t quite sure of yet, was what this readiness would cost him.
Hotch’s office was silent when Reid stepped inside. The blinds were drawn, blocking out the steady thrum of the bull-pen just outside. The door gently clicked shut behind him as Hotch gestured for him to teach the seat opposite his desk.
Slowly, Reid took his seat, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he watched Hotch flip through what must have been his file. Had this been a few years ago, Reid would have rambled to fill the silence, quoted statistics or muttered various facts to avoid dealing with the uncomfortable lull in conversation. However, now, he simply waited. His features calm and almost unreadable, even under the gaze of one of the best profilers.
Finally, Hotch sat, placing the open file on the desk in front of him. He tucked his chair under the desk, placing his elbows against the table as he skimmed over the file he’d read nearly a hundred times in preparation for this meeting.
“Your re-certification was excellent,” He spoke, slowly, as if he was holding something back, “But you already know that.”
Hotch looked up, meeting Spencer’s eyes for the first time since he’d stepped into his office. Reid gave a small nod in response as Hotch ran his fingers along the edge of the file. His fingers grasped at a small red tab as he carefully turned the page.
“I’ve looked over your psychological evaluations. The one from before your leave six months ago and the one you attended last week.” Hotch let out a quiet sigh, “The department has cleared you for duty.”
Nothing in Reid’s expression shifted as he received this news. He just nodded, as if he already knew what Hotch had to say.
Hotch skimmed down the file again, his eyes pausing on a specific sentence.
“But,” He began, but paused as he chose his words carefully, “there are a few areas of concern.”
Reid’s gaze remained unfazed as Hotch continued.
“Your evaluator noted significant changes in affect. A marked increase on emotional compartmentalisation. The way you declined to discuss most aspects of your leave. While not entirely unusual…”. Hotch paused, lifting his gaze to meet Reid’s once more, “given the reason for your absence, it does signify a reason for concern.”
“I answered everything required,” Reid stated, his gaze staying fixed on Hotch’s. His expression remained unreadable but something in his eye’s caught Hotch off guard. A brief flicker of what may have been anger, frustration or upset. However, as quick as it was there, it was gone, never giving Hotch the chance to properly name the emotion.
“You did,” Hotch agreed, nodding slowly, contemplating pushing the issue further. However, as he attempted to decipher Reid’s blank expression he decided against it. “Another issue, we’ve attempted to contact you multiple times during your absence. Letters, certified notices, even a few care packages from the team.” Hotch paused, taking a shallow breath, “All of them were returned. No forwarding address. No explanation.”
Reid’s jaw tightened for a brief moment before he gave a simple response, “I moved.”
Hotch waited, expecting more, an explanation perhaps. But when no more came he continued. “All right, then we need your current address for your personnel file.”
Without hesitation, as if Reid had been expecting this to come up, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. He slid it across the desk. Hotch picked it up, unfolding it slowly and reading over the contents. It was a PO Box number and nothing else.
“Spencer,” he exhaled, “This is not an address.”
“It’s enough,” Reid replied, settling back into the chair slightly, “the box is checked daily and I’m notified of any deliveries.”
Hotch shook his head, “That isn’t the point,” his tone was firm without rising, “We have to have your physical residence on file. It’s mandatory.”
“With all due respect,” Reid countered, sitting straighter, “You have what you need. It’s a way to contact me. That fills your requirement.”
Hotch shook his head once more. “It doesn’t,” his tone grew sharper, “If something happens, if there’s an emergency, if the Bureau needs to reach you—“
“Then they will,” Reid cut him off, his tone calm but with an edge of steel, “Through the PO Box, my work phone, through email. You don’t need a personal address to do your job.”
Hotch set the slip of paper down, levelling his gaze at Reid.
“This isn’t optional.” His tone was hard, with a sense of finality that left no room for arguments. However, Reid wasn’t prepared to accept defeat.
Reid met his eyes, “Neither is my privacy.” He spoke in a tone that matched Hotch’s. However, this time it was clear the argument was over.
For a moment, the room felt impossibly still. Tension danced in taut waves between the two, making Hotch feel as though there was an entire story sitting just behind Reid’s eyes, locked away in his careful composure. There was something he wasn’t saying and it was only a matter of time before it would either break him or come crashing out, taking them all down with it.
“Spencer,” Hotch began, much gentler now, “We’re just trying to ensure your safety.”
“I know,” Reid’s voice softened, but only slightly as he leaned back again, “But I’m telling you, that in the interest of my safety, this is enough.”
The unresolved conflict settled heavily between them. The profiler in Hotch wanted to say more, wanted him to say more. Anything that might give away some further reasoning behind his changes. However, he knew this was it, this is who Reid is now. He knew he would be different upon his return, but the boy he knew wasn’t one to defy orders, challenge him, ignore be bureaucratic legislation. Something had changed within Spencer Reid. Something fundamental, but whatever it was, it was clear he wasn’t ready to talk about it.
Hotch let the silence stretch for just a few more seconds, long enough to make it clear that he wasn’t ready to let this go, but also that pushing this matter right now, wouldn’t get either of them anywhere. With a gentle sigh, he closed the file and set it aside.
“We’ll revisit the address issue,” he said, his tone once again measured as he reached across and pulled open the top drawer of his desk.
He carefully pulled out a small, black leather case, worn at the edges in a way that made it unmistakable. He placed it on the desk, directly in front of Reid. Next to it he placed Reid’s glock, freshly cleaned and ready to be reissued.
Reid’s breath caught, subtly but unmistakably as he reached for the case. He held it in his grasp as though it may disappear if he blinked for too long. He slowly turned it over in his hand, tracing his fingers along the worn leather, before finally flipping it open to reveal his FBI badge, polished in anticipation of this day.
Noticing how Reid had yet to reach for the glock, Hotch stood, stepping around the desk. He carefully lifted the weapon and held it out to Reid, who was still focused on his badge. For a moment he didn’t speak, he simply watched, as if making sure that this really was the right time, the right decision.
“You earned them back,” Hotch spoke quietly, “Every test. Every evaluation. You did the work.”
Reid slowly stood, clipping the badge to his belt as if it was second nature, as Hotch continued to hold the gun towards him. Reid’s posture was straight as he looked at Hotch, his eyes bright with something complicated; gratitude, responsibility, maybe even the faintest flicker of nerves.
Finally, he reached for the glock, taking it in both hands, almost reverently. He checked the chamber with practiced ease before holstering the weapon. Hotch watched carefully, noting the ease of the motion, the confidence in his actions.
“Welcome back to the BAU,” Hotch spoke, his voice steady and formal in a way that carried weight.
Spencer nodded in thanks.
“You’ve changed,” Hotch said, not as an accusation, just an observation.
Reid met his eyes again, that new, controlled calm settling over him once more, “I had to.”
Hotch didn’t push, instead he nodded once, firm and final.
“The team will be glad to see you,” he said, “They’ve missed you.”
Reid swallowed once, a smile flickering at the edge of his features, “I’ve missed them too.”
Hotch moved towards the door, gesturing towards the bullpen, “then let’s go and tell them your home.”
Whatever had happened out there, wherever Reid had gone, whatever he wasn’t saying… he was back, he was home, and for now that was enough.
Just outside of Hotch’s office, down the metal steps in the bullpen, the rest of the BAU team hovered in a loose circle. Each attempting and failing at small talk as their eyes repeatedly flicked towards the closed door of Hotch’s office. It was as if they believed it may open if they just stared hard enough.
JJ paced a short line behind her desk, periodically stopping to run a hand through her hair in both frustration and worry.
“They’ve been in there a long time.” She huffed out, carding her fingers through her hair for what must have been the hundredth time.
“It’s been longer than I like,” Rossi nodded, leaning against the edge of his desk, looking at the team around him, a cup of coffee in hand that he hadn’t touched since the office door closed almost an hour ago. “This morning Hotch had that tone. The ‘I’m not saying it’s bad news, but I can’t promise it isn’t’ one he uses when he’s trying not to give anything away.”
Before anyone else could speak up, the familiar click of Garcia’s heels filled the room as she rushed in, a bag of baked goods in hand from the bakery down the road.
“Is he here? Is he back? Is he-” She began rambling, but as she took in the quiet nature, solemn of the room the words died on her tongue.
She gently perched on the corner of Morgan’s desk, “This is torture. We don’t see him for years and now he’s just there and we can’t… ugh… why can’t we have a window into the office? Why aren’t government buildings transparent?”
“Baby Girl,” Morgan spoke as gently as he could, given the situation, as he ran a hand over his face, “is the Bureau made things transparent, half of our jobs wouldn’t exist.”
Garcia shook her head, “That’s not comforting, Derek!”
“I wasn’t trying to be,” He muttered truthfully in return.
She huffed dramatically as she looked towards the office door, placing the bakery bag on the desk next to her, “I mean… he’s okay, right? Reid’s okay?”
Morgan hesitated, just for a moment, not because he doubted it. Rather because none of them really knew. How could they? Four years of questions, what ifs, silent birthdays, empty desks and a handful of cryptic, second hand updates that never came from Reid himself weren’t an awful lot to go off of.
“He’s here.” Morgan answered finally, his voice quieter than usual, “That’s a start.”
JJ stopped pacing, turning towards Morgan. A look of fire and frustration in her eyes, “I still can’t believe it. After all this time.”
Rossi nodded slowly, “Four years off the grid and he walks back in like it’s any other Monday.”
Emily took a step forward from where she’d stood, silently watching, waiting and listening. “What is he supposed to do? Sure, it’s been a long time but at the end of the day, this is his home, his family. Four years doesn’t change that.”
Garcia gently chewed on the edge of her thumb, the weight of Emily’s words sunk in, “four years…” she almost whispered, “four years since he went undercover… since we heard his voice… since-”
“Hey,” Morgan reached over, gently squeezing her shoulder in reassurance, “He came back. That’s what matters.”
“But what if he’s not the same?” Garcia finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper, “I mean, we don’t know what happened out there, where he was, what he went through.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Rossi spoke simply, “We always do.”
Morgan nodded, one firm, grounding nod. “It’s Reid, he’s tough. Tougher than we’ve ever given him credit for. If he walks out of that office with his badge and gun, then whatever he saw, whatever happened, whatever he did… none of it matters anymore because he survived it.”
Garcia exhaled shakily, quickly wiping away the few stray tears that fell when she was thinking about where Spencer had been. “I just want to give him a hug and also maybe wrap him in twelve weighted blankets… and bring him food, lots and lots of baked goods.”
JJ cracked a small, sad smile, “He’d let you do two of those.”
Garcia sighed, a shaky laugh tumbling past her lips. “It’ll be the blankets. Definitely the blankets.”
Over the sound of Garcia’s gentle laughter, the sound of Hotch’s office door opening. They all turned, watching as the door opened in full. Morgan straightened his posture. JJ’s breath paused. Garcia froze like a statue made of anxious glitter.
Spencer stepped out first. He looked almost unchanged and yet entirely unfamiliar. He wore the same grey suit, with knitted cardigan underneath. His hair was longer, slightly lighter but still recognisable. However, it was the way he held himself now, that was different. It was controlled, grounded and far too guarded.
Hotch carefully followed behind him, but no ones attention was on him. They all stayed focused on Reid as he descended the metal steps towards the bullpen.
No one talked, no one moved, no one so much as breathed as they waited for him to approach them.
JJ remained frozen beside her desk. Garcia was still frozen perched on the edge of Morgan’s desk, the bag of baked goods long forgotten. Rossi straightened up almost imperceptibly as Emily stood beside him, her arms were crossed but her eyes remained soft as she shifted her weight like she wasn’t sure whether to smile or brace for something harder.
As Reid reached the bottom of the steps, Garcia’s eyes took him in fully, her eyes scanning up and down him for any indication that the Spencer they knew was still in there. Until, her eyes froze, landing on the FBI badge, securely clipped to his belt.
Garcia shot up, “You…your badge…” She whispered, “You have it! You… you’re really… Spencer, you’re back? Right?” The words tumbled out, each overlapping with the last.
Reid paused, looking over each of his team members, and former friends, before nodding once, quiet, controlled.
“I’m back,” He spoke quietly and firmly.
JJ let out a shaky, luminous little laugh as relief and joy knocked the breath out of her. She hurriedly stepped forward, opening her arms without hesitation as she closed the gap between them. However, just as she came within touching distance, Reid stepped back. Not harshly or defensively, but carefully and deliberately.
JJ hated mid step, her arms suspended in the air as confusion and hurt flickered across her face before she could hide it.
“Oh…” She breathed quietly, slowly lowering her arms and stepping away from him slightly, “I, I’m sorry. I didn’t think, I just… sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologise,” Spencer spoke softly, too softly, but the distance in his tone was unmistakable.
Emily’s brows punched, just barely as she stepped forward half a pace, gently inserting herself into the tension without touching him or making him feel cornered.
“Hey,” She spoke carefully, giving him an out and JJ a lifeline, “It’s okay. There’s no pressure. We’re just, glad to see you.”
Reid offered a tight, polite smile. One Emily quickly recognised as not real. It wasn’t full or entirely genuine. It was not the smile they were used to from him. It was nothing like the smile they’d get at all hours of the night when someone made an awful joke or silly pun.
Morgan watched Reid closely as he stood there, his jaw tightened slightly as he finally spoke up, “Good to have you back, Kid,” his voice was steady but the nickname felt bitter on his tongue as the man before him seemed nothing like the kid he remembered.
Garcia shifted anxiously, her eyes wide as they searched Reid’s face for something, anything that might indicate that the Reid they knew is still in there. “We missed you,” She whispered, her voice trembling lightly around the edges.
Reid nodded once more, that in-genuine smile flickering again as he spoke, “I’m glad to be back.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed slightly at his words, not in suspicion, but in recognition as she knew that tone. She knew that distance and she knew that Reid, their Reid, wasn’t there with them. Only the version who’d survived the past four years was.
In the brief lull of silence, Reid’s gaze drifted past them all, towards the break room door, a space that offered a small slice of escape away from all of the watchful eyes. His fingers twitched at his side, a tiny, restless gesture he quickly stilled.
“I’m… I’m going to get some coffee,” he spoke slowly, his voice thin but steady, “I’ll be right back.”
He didn’t wait for a response, he just turned and briskly walked to the break room with the same quiet, controlled precision he’d perfected. The moment he disappeared out of sight, JJ inhaled sharply and went to follow him. However, a hand quickly took hold of her wrist, not harshly but enough to still her.
“Wait,” Emily spoke firmly, her voice low and her expression calm but authoritative, “Give him a minute.”
JJ quickly spun towards her, hurt evident on her features, “Emily, he just pulled away from me. Did you not see that? He’s not okay, we need to—”
“I know,” Emily said gently, cutting her off, “Believe me, I understand, but if you go in there right now, he’s going to feel cornered.”
Garcia blinked hard, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, “We’re not cornering him, we’re just checking on him.”
Emily nodded, “I get that,” Her voice softened, “But that’s not how it’s going to feel to him."
JJ shook her head, frustration and worry tightening every line of her body. “So what, we just stand here and do nothing?”
“No,” Emily said. “You stay here, I’ll go.”
JJ stiffened, her gaze snapping up to meet Emily’s, “Why you?”
Before Emily could answer, Rossi stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on JJ’s arm.
“Because she’s right.”
JJ glanced between Rossi and Emily. Frustration still alive in her eyes as the argument stalled on her tongue.
Rossi continued, his voice patient and sure, “Emily was undercover for a long time. She knows what it does to you, how it rewires the way you trust and how you react when someone gets too close too fast.”
Emily nodded stiffly, meeting JJ’s eyes with quiet understanding.
“He’s not rejecting you,” She spoke softly, “He’s protecting himself and he doesn’t know how to turn that off yet.”
JJ nodded slowly, letting out a shaky exhale. Her shoulders dropped as the argument left her system and the frustration was replaced with worry.
“Okay,” she whispered, “go.”
Emily reached forward and gave JJ’s arm a tentative squeeze in reassurance, before stepping away, heading towards the break room with careful, measured strides. The bullpen watched her go, the air thick with hope and dread, along with anticipation at finally getting some answers.
As she approached the door, her steps faltered sightly. She placed her palm against the wood, ready to push it open but something in her froze as she prepared herself to enter his moment of quiet.
Finally, after taking a deep breath to steady herself, she entered the break room. The room was much smaller and dimmer than the bullpen, lit only by the faint buzzing of fluorescent lights over head and the soft glow from the coffee machine warming its idle plate.
Spencer stood with his back half-turned to her. His shoulders were slightly hunched as he held a deep blue ceramic mug in both hands. He wasn’t drinking from it. He was just staring at it. Studying the colour, the way the light reflected off the glaze, the way the rim was lightly chipped from age.
Emily took a slow step further into the room, readying herself to speak, to ease her way in and let him know she didn’t want anything from him except honesty and maybe a little trust. However, before the words even formed in her throat, Spencer spoke.
“You don’t have to pretend you weren’t watching me.”
Emily jumped, releasing the door and letting it softly click shut behind her. It was just a tiny, startled flinch, but enough that Spencer noticed when he finally looked up. His eyes met hers over the rim of the mug. Calm. Too calm.
“I, I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you,” Emily spoke, carefully, regaining her breath, “You just, you were quiet. I didn’t think you’d heard me come in.”
“I heard you when you were still halfway across the bullpen,” He spoke easily, lowering the mug slightly, not quite smiling, “You walk on the outside edges of your shoes when you’re trying not to disturb anyone. You learned that when you worked at Interpol.”
Emily blinked, surprise flooding her features, “You remembered that?”
“I remember all kinds of things,” he murmured, his gaze drifting back to the mug, “Some whether I want to or not.”
There was no bitterness in his words, but there was no warmth either. Just calm fact, cool and clinical. Similar to the way he used to talk when he was compartmentalising too much too fast.
Emily moved further inside, keeping her steps slow and deliberate as she inched closer to him.
“Spencer,” she spoke softly, “you don’t have to talk. Not if you’re not ready. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, without the audience.”
Reid didn’t look up as he muttered a quick, “I’m fine.”
Emily didn’t respond to that. She didn’t believe him and she was certain he knew that, but for now she let the silence settle over them. However, just as the silence tipped towards unbearable, Reid huffed out a quiet, breathy exhale that sounded almost like the ghost of a laugh.
“It’s still here,” he murmured,
Emily’s breath caught, confusion flooding her features.
Spencer didn’t look up. His voice was quiet, almost detached like a man observing a fact rather than sharing a feeling, “It’s the same mug. On the same shelf. Same faint coffee ring on the bottom. Exactly where I left it.”
He turned the mug slightly, studying the way the light hit the ceramic once more.
“I thought someone would’ve thrown it out,” he continued, “Or moved it, maybe even replaced it, but it’s just been here, waiting.”
Emily’s chest tightened, the weight of his words settling over her.
“Spencer, we’d never get rid of your stuff.”
He nodded once, but there was no comfort in the gesture, just acknowledgement of her words.
“It’s strange,” he said softly, “Everything else changed. I changed… but this—” He held the mug a little higher, a small, sad smile crossing his lips, “It’s like I never left.”
Emily took a final step closer, slow enough to give him room to stop her if he needed to, “I’m glad it’s still here,” She spoke gently, “Maybe it’s a good thing that something stayed the same.”
Spencer finally looked up at her, really looked at her. His eyes were far older, far quieter than she remembered.
“I don’t know if it is,” he said, barely above a whisper, and with that simple sentence, that small fracture of honesty was louder than anything else he hadn’t told them yet.
Emily held Reid’s gaze, half expecting him to look away, but he didn’t. He just stood there, mug in hand, still and silent in a room that suddenly felt far too small for the distance around them.
“I’m glad your back,” she said softly.
There was no expectation or pressure in her tone, just truth. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. His gaze shifted down, then up again, as if he was searching for the right words or perhaps trying to decide if he even had any left to give.
Finally, he nodded once. Just a nod. Nothing else. No it’s good to be back, no I missed you too. Not even the familiar ramble he used to fall into when he wasn’t sure how to respond or how to fill the silence. The nod was accompanied by a small, faint smile, thin around the edges. It flickered as though it might vanish if she looked too long. A smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Emily didn’t push. She didn’t move closer or try to fill the silence stretching between them. She simply held his gaze a moment longer, anchoring him with a quiet understanding until he looked away again. His shoulders curling as he turned to fill the empty mug in his hands.
Eventually she exhaled and stepped back. Quietly retreating from the room. Outside she could hear the team murmuring. JJ’s hushed worry, Garcia’s anxious breaths, Morgan pacing and Rossi grounding them all with calm and patience. They were waiting for him. Hoping he’d step out and give them all a glimpse at the Reid they’ve been missing, but Emily knew the truth as she watched Spencer retreat into himself, his eyes fixed on the coffee swirling gently in his cup.
He wasn’t back yet, not really. Not in the way they remembered him, the way they wanted him to be. Whatever he’d brought home with him after those four, long, years… he wasn’t ready to let anyone see it…Not Yet.
Emily pulled the door open, glancing back one last time.
“Take your time,” she whispered.
He didn’t respond, and she didn’t expect him to, as the door softly closed behind her.
You can find chapter two here!
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Nathan looked at the partially destroyed bedroom, the door was broken down and everything was moved or thrown. Nathan picked up and moved the weighted blanket back onto the bed. It was grounding to do a simple task, such as making a bed. It got Nathan's mind off of what has been going on, and what will happen shortly. After smoothing the top comforter Nathan heard a knock. He didn't move and listened as Steve walked in.
"I'm glad you are back. I heard what happened." a pause then Nathan heard Steve take a small breath, "everything that happened. You have my sympathies with Alexander."
"Thank you." Nathan said, his voice flat with exhaustion. "Look after Alexander." He picked up the now abandoned project he was working on to surpise Alexander. Nathan debated throwing it out, but when he looked back at Alexander Nathan couldn't bring himself to. He carefully put it away and moved to sit. Steve walked up to him and stopped him, Nathan blinked and let Steve pull him into a hug. The brotherly affection surpised Nathan, especially after he targeted Steve for abandoning Alexander.
"I am sorry Enkidu." Steve whispered pulling his brother closer. The use of his old name, the one given to him by The Emperor for his heroic actions during the Unification Wars, made Nathan crumble into his brothers arms. "It will work out. We will get you through this." The words soothing. Nathan didn't cry but he was finally able to relax, at least for a second. Nathan pulled away, holding himself in an attempt to self soothe.
"Thank you. Can- can" Nathan couldn't get the words out of his mouth.
"I will look after Alexander." Steve finished for Nathan. "You can stay out of his line of sight. If you don't want to talk to him." Nathan nodded and moved to sit out of of sight. He watched as Steve checked on the chains and the anchors. Steve watched as Alexander started to stir. Nathan made a mental note at how the time under sedation was getting shorter. He heard Alexander groan and then suddenly there was a battle roar. Nathan jumped slightly and Steve signaled Sister of Silence to join them. Nathan felt his heart sink seeing her, not becasue he was disturbed by the presence of the blank but because what the blank would do to Alexander. The Sister walked in and Alexander stilled, the null field washing over him. The curse vanished and soon Alexander was tugging at the restraints, screaming nonsense. Nathan put his head in his hands and listened to the terrified screams of his partner.
Steve looked over to Nathan and suddenly Alexander talked. Both Custodians snapping to him.
"Nnnnathhaan! HELP ME!!! PLEASE" The screams barely cohenrent though the sobbing. Nathan rushed over to him, moving as fast as he could. Nathan saw as Alexander reconized him tears swimming in Alexander's eyes. There was a warmth to them that could only belong to the man that loved him.
"Alexander? Do-do you remember me?" Nathan asked trying to hold Alexander steady. Alexander nodded, tears streaming down his face.
"O-of course. Help me" Alexander was amoslt convulsing. "my love please" Nathan turned and saw Steve taking the Sister away. Nathan turned back and held Alexander as he started to recover from the blank. Once the shaking started to die down Nathan pulled back, looking at Alexander.
He watched as Alexander started to relax but his eyes breifly glazed over. Then he was back and looking around confused. His body tensed as he pulled at the restraints. Nathan pulled back and Steve took over. The brief time he got his Alexander back was now gone. And until those seals were fully removed the only way he would be back was going to be through proximity to blanks. Nathan entered the bedroom and laid ontop of the bed taking in the smell of his partner. He felt himself drift off and let himself. Nathan would need all of the rest he could manage to help deal with the future to come.
Warnings: Canon typical violence, Infected, descriptions of gore and violence, death, character deaths, suicide and mentions of suicidal ideation, the pieces finally click, LOTS of angst and little comfort, guns and other weapons (let me know if I mentioned anything)
Author's Note: I hope everyone had a pleasant holiday season! I was planning on this chapter to be around 10k but it ended up being 14k (I got a little carried away hehe) Anyways, I hope you enjoy reading it! Feel free to leave comments and reblog! I love hearing your thoughts. Thanks for your support!!
Sleep had come easy to Piper. It was a foreign feeling as peace swept over her mind and body. And for the first time since she was twelve, Piper dreamed. The dream wasn’t unique; She sat on a porch watching the sun go down, taking a rainbow of colors with it. Hues of pink and orange flooded her view, and for once in her life, she felt alive. Of course, it wouldn’t be a dream if she was alone, so sitting next to her was Ellie. Her younger sister was bright, and her skin glowed under the departing sun. It was her and Ellie. Ellie and Piper.
Piper leaned into her sister’s shoulder, and a smile formed on Ellie’s face. She was reading her joke book. Ellie always had it with her. Piper peered at the pages and snickered when she found a horrible joke. Then, another figure sat down next to her. Piper was puzzled as she turned to her right. Joel. It was Joel. Joel was in her dream. Whatever confusion Piper felt washed away at the sight of him. She felt oddly at home. Dazed, she looked at Joel, Ellie, and the sunset. It felt unnatural not to have adrenaline pumping through her veins or her mind and heart running a million miles per second. She wasn’t on guard. She wasn’t FEDRA’s child soldier. She was just Piper, and next to her was just Joel and Ellie. They were happy, but what disturbed Piper the most wasn’t that she was delighted; she felt like she had found a home. This was her dream. Joel, Ellie, and her are safe, happy, and together at home.
But dreams do not last forever; before she knew it, the steel walls around her mind built up again. Her thoughts turned back to themes of violence and survival. She woke up and joined the war once more.
“Piper,” Ellie whispered when she saw her sister wake up. If it hadn’t been for Ellie’s hands holding Piper’s shoulders, the young teen would have collided with her sister.
“Ellie? What’s…” Piper followed Ellie’s worried gaze to a man standing behind her.
Forcing Ellie’s hands off her, Piper sat up and faced the man. He raised his gun and warned her not to make any sudden movements, or he’d shoot. Piper’s eyes grew cold as her instincts kicked in. The man, whoever he was, was nervous. His hands shook as he directed the gun at Piper. In any other scenario, she’d attack him then and there. However, there was another in the room. A kid, whom Piper thought to be about six or seven years old, held a gun at Joel.
“Els, wake up, Joel,” Piper calmly said as her eyes never left the gun before her. Her chin slowly jutted up as a sign of her cautiousness.
“Joel, wake up,” Ellie said. He lay sleeping. “Joel.” No response. “Joel!” Ellie yelled and grabbed onto the man’s jacket, shaking him awake. It was then Joel finally began to stir.
“Joel,” Ellie’s lips parted in relief as she saw the old man rise. Joel blinked his eyes slowly, with the fog of sleep still on his mind. Once his dark orbs landed on the silver metallic shine of a gun, his muscles tensed.
“Eyes on me,” the man said to Joel. “Eyes on me. You don't have to worry about what to say. We don't wanna hurt you. We wanna help you.”
Joel raised a brow at the man, and Piper held back a scoff. He wet his lips as he awaited the young man’s following words.
“Okay. Okay, um… I don't know what the next step is with something like this, but if I lower my gun… we didn't hurt you… so you don't hurt us… right?” The man’s gun lowered slightly.
“That's right,” Joel said. The words left his mouth too soon to convey genuity.
“That's a weird fսck¡n' tone, man,” the man with the gun said. His hands began to clam up, and his knuckles turned three shades lighter. If they gripped the pistol even tighter, Ellie was sure that lights where the man’s knuckles were would illuminate the room.
A gasp left Ellie’s mouth when the gun inched closer to Piper’s temple. Her sister, however, didn’t flinch. “That's just the way he sounds. He has an asshоlе voice. Joel, tell him he's okay,” Ellie begged.
Joel glanced at Piper and Ellie and then back at the man. “Everything is great.”
“Dude,” Ellie hissed with desperation.
The man’s movements were becoming more frantic, and Piper knew they’d probably all be dead if she didn't pounce. “Fսck! Okay… listen… I'm gonna trust you,” the gun lowered to his side, and Piper’s shoulders relaxed. ”Yes. But if either of you guys try anything…” he raised the gun again, alerting Piper. “Yeah? Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Ellie nodded.
Briefly, Piper peered over at Joel. Her eyes communicated her distrust in the situation; however, Joel’s warm eyes gave her a sense of ease. They would see where this went, and if things went wrong, they’d fight.
“Can I sit up?” Joel asked. His eyes darted between the older guy and the kid.
“Yeah. Slow. Get up slow,” the man instructed Joel before looking at the kid beside him.
“Who are you?” was the next question Joel asked.
“My name's Henry,” he introduced before pointing to the younger kid beside him. “That's my brother, Sam. I'm the most wanted man in Kansas City. Although right now…” Henry’s eyes scanned the three of them. “My guess is you're running a close second.”
Joel’s brow tensed. It was a subtle change that only Piper and Ellie picked up on. To Henry and Sam, he was still the man glaring at them.
“So…” Henry muttered, “truce?” Henry held out his hand as if Joel was going to shake it. Joel did no such thing. Instead, Joel’s posture tensed as Henry’s dark hand waved in front of Joel. Henry’s lips drew into a tight line before directing his hand at Piper. He got no response from her. However, Ellie stood up and grabbed Henry’s hand, agreeing on a truce for her two stubborn guardians.
“Truce,” Ellie mumbled before plopping back down and reaching into her bag to cover up the shaking in her knees. In the next moment, her hands were full of food. She tossed some to Henry and Sam.
“Where'd you get these?” Henry asked. His mouth began to water at the sight of the stale sandwich.
“From Bill,” Ellie replied, digging into her sandwich. “He's dead.” Feeling Piper's irked stare, Ellie rolled her eyes as she shoved a sandwich into Piper’s hand. The older teen’s stomach rumbled, betraying her cold stature. Reluctantly, Piper began to eat, slowly cueing Joel to partake in the meal.
Once they were all eating, Sam turned to his brother. His little hands twirled and waved, fingers bending and straightening to create symbols. Henry’s eyes followed his brother’s movements as everyone’s confusion grew.
“He says thank you,” Henry translated. He nodded as he gazed down at the food. “I'm guessing you don't have much, so… this means a lot,” he smiled.
Ellie grew curious, looking at the younger boy. His hand movements only intrigued her. It appeared to be a secret language. Her mind began to whirl with thoughts on creating her secret language with Piper and how cool it would be to torment Joel. “How old is he?” Ellie asked.
Henry placed down his sandwich and created some hand movements to communicate with Sam. The young boy nodded and replied. “He's eight,” Henry noted.
“Cool,” Ellie beamed as her eyes squinted, trying to interpret the language. “I'm Ellie!” She watched as Henry relayed the information back to Sam, trying to copy the signs subtly. Still, they were over before she could move her fingers in the correct position. Sighing in defeat, Ellie peered over at her sister.
The muscles in Piper’s jaw clenched so tight that Ellie thought she could throw a piece of coal between her teeth and find a diamond in five minutes. Quickly nudging her sister, Ellie saw Piper’s jaw unclench as her older sister flashed her a look of annoyance.
“You gonna introduce yourself?” Ellie asked, placing all her body weight on Piper’s side, nearly knocking the teen over.
Piper’s arm ached from the sudden force, and it took everything in her not to wince at the recent pain from the bullet’s trace on her arm. Quickly, Piper angled her shoulder to shove Ellie's offer before sending her another look that said she wasn’t planning on saying anything soon. Ellie huffed, the sound mixing a laugh and a sigh of disappointment.
“That’s Piper. My sister,” Ellie said, pointing to Piper. Piper whipped her head to Ellie. The tension in her jaw returned, and her eyes burned with the offense of being betrayed by her sister. Her internal vow of silence broke.
“Ellie!” Piper hissed.
“What? That’s your name unless you want to go by Annie Reaction,” Ellie replied.
“Fucking hell,” Piper cursed. “Of course you–”
“Jesus, you two stop it,” Joel grumbled. The girls grew silent. Meanwhile, Henry felt a wave of awkwardness grow between the group. Being a witness to the scolding of others was always strange, and he was unsure if he should disappear or contribute to the conversation.
“I'm Joel.” Joel scrunched up the wrapper holding his food and shoved it back into his backpack. He linked his fingers together and placed his gaze on Henry and Sam. “Look, you ate, we didn't kill each other; let's call this a win-win and move on.”
Henry’s face paled. Piper wanted to scoff at the young man. He had no clue how to deal with situations like this. “Well, I'm betting…,” Henry said, gathering his thoughts. “…That y'all came up here to get a view of the city and plan a way out. And when the sun's up, I'll show you one.”
Joel leaned back. His dark eyes scanned Henry’s for any sense of a lie. He found none in the young man’s honest demeanor. He glanced over to Piper, who had come to the same conclusion. Henry was right. They needed to escape the death trap of a city, and he just offered them their salvation.
꧁_____꧂
“Welcome to Killa City,” Henry announced as his arms parted to the panoramic view of the city that the building provided.
The view was not much compared to the sights Piper had already seen. It was a city. Buildings were crumbling and rotting underneath the strain of time and neglect. Dust was everywhere, placing the city in a tinted haze. As the young teen’s eyes scanned the view, she saw what had drawn Joel’s attention: the center of black in the middle of the city. The center was even worse if the rest of Kansas City had seemed barren. It was torched, leaving everything a charcoal-like color—a midnight graveyard. The sight made Piper shudder.
Joel was grateful he didn’t have to crane his neck to look outside the window. His back, neck, and other muscles were stiff and sore. They refused to move properly. It was another sign Joel was getting old. He let Piper fall asleep on his shoulder as they were sitting guard, and now his body was paying the consequences. Not that Joel minded providing a stable shoulder for the young teen to rest her head on, even if she was adamant about staying awake with him. The thought of Piper’s stubbornness almost made Joel chuckle if it weren’t for the scorched center of the city.
“No FEDRA,” Joel muttered. The view of the city did little to ease the knot of nerves growing in the pit of his stomach. These were the people they were hiding from, who set the Kansas City QZ ablaze. Who knows what else these bastards did and are capable of?
Henry nodded as he spotted what Joel was eyeing. It was the old QZ, burned to the ground. “Not as of ten days ago, no,” Henry confirmed.
There was a shuffling behind the two men as Piper leaned back onto the table in what was supposed to be a conference room. “We always heard KC FEDRA was…,” Piper began. Her voice was soft and almost indecipherable from the noises caused by Ellie and Sam.
“Monsters? Savages?” Henry finished. His wide eyes glanced back at Piper as he answered her. His dark pools reflected the horror and fires that set ablaze ten days ago, and she forced herself to look away. “Yeah, you heard right. Raped and tortured and murdered people for 20 years. And you know what happens when you do that to people? The moment they get a chance, they do it right back to you.”
“But you're not FEDRA,” Joel noted as he looked Henry up and down. Joel knew what FEDRA looked like, and Henry, well, he was in no way the FEDRA image.
Henry’s eyes glanced down, and his shoulders slightly caved in as if making himself physically smaller would help lessen the blow of his following words. “No…,” Henry shook his head, “worse. I'm a collaborator.”
Piper and Joel’s eyes widened at Henry’s confession.
“I don't work with rats,” Joel spat. His brows were furrowed, and eyes narrowed in on Henry.
Upon hearing Joel’s words, Piper felt her stomach churn. Her feet stepped back from the conversation as her arms defensively crossed over her torso. Joel didn’t know she was one of them, that she was FEDRA and had been for years. Suppose he was this pissed off at Henry working with them; who knows what he would do to her. She gulped, and her eyes blinked rapidly as she turned away from Joel, an action that did not go unnoticed by the man.
“Yeah, you fսck¡ng do. Today you do… 'cause I live here and you don't,” Henry hissed. “That's how I followed you here. I know this city, and that's how I'm gonna help you get out.”
A vein bulged in the middle of Joel’s forehead, deepening his wrinkles. “Why help us?” Joel asked.
“I saw what you did… the way you killed those men,” Henry mumbled. His voice was quiet as if he didn’t want the kids to overhear him. “Now, I know where to go, but I don't know how to make it through alive, not if it's just me and Sam.” Henry glanced behind to look at his brother, who was smiling as Ellie scribbled on his scratch pad.
“You seem capable enough,” Joel noted. “You're armed.”
Henry’s body shook in disagreement. “You're wrong and wrong. Never killed anyone. And pointing an unloaded gun at you was the closest I've ever come to being violent.” He let out a nervous chuckle at his admission. “So that's the deal. I show the way… you clear the way.”
Suddenly, a burst of light laughter filled the arm, drawing the attention of Joel, Henry, and Piper. It was Ellie and Sam. They were in a fit of giggles at something one of them had said. Henry’s anxious expression gave way to a soft smile. The creases on Joel’s face relaxed, and Piper’s arms unfolded themselves, resting at her sides.
“Haven't heard that in a long time,” Henry muttered. Piper nodded. It had been a while since Ellie had laughed like that. How long had it been since she laughed like that? Yeah, she played along with Ellie’s antics, resulting in a giggle here or there, but it was a real laugh where her chest tightened because she could no longer breathe. A real laugh where her eyes watered, and the sound no longer became aesthetically pleasing to the ear. If it was a laugh like that, then Piper hadn’t laughed in a long time. She thought back to last night. Joel had almost made her laugh like that. Piper’s chest clammed up on her heart and lungs, making it hard to breathe. She was getting weak. She was letting Joel in.
“So how are we gettin' out?” Joel questioned, his reluctance destroyed by the children’s laughter.
Knocking on the table, Henry got Sam’s attention, and with a few signs, a paper and crayon were placed in front of the three of them. “Highways…,” Henry took the crayon and began to sketch on the paper. “Downtown. Us. This whole area belongs to Kathleen.” He pointed out each area.
“She's in charge?” Joel asked.
Henry nodded. There was a fear in his eyes when he mentioned Kathleen. “Leader of the resistance. You can see the way highways bound us. They got people posted all around the inside perimeter. If we get close, we get caught. No question. So how do we get across?”
As Henry explained, Joel glanced over to Piper. She was oddly quiet. Yes, Ellie was the more vocal and talkative of them, but even so, Piper would chime in and comment here or there. Now, it appeared as if Piper wasn’t even breathing.
Again, Henry pounded on the table. The vibrations reached Sam. Some more signs were exchanged, and then Sam began to write. Joel tilted his head like a dog trying to understand the English language. The scribbling stopped, and Sam held up his pad. “Tunnels,” it wrote. Ellie peered over Sam’s shoulder to look at the answer.
“Boom.” Henry made an explosion with his hands to emphasize his point.
Joel’s confusion only grew. “Kansas City has a subway?”
“No,” Henry elaborated, “but they have maintenance tunnels. There's a bunch of buildings all put up by the same developers. And they share these tunnels, including… a bank building here.” His finger pointed to a square on his drawing, representing a nearby building. “So we enter the tunnels here… travel underground, and pop up here. Westside North. Residential. There's an embankment on the other side of the houses. We head down, a pedestrian bridge over the river… free as a bird.” He smiled and peered up at Joel and Piper.
“You're right. It's a great plan,” Joel agreed, and Henry’s smile grew. “So, what do you need me for?” The smile was gone.
Sighing, Henry began to tap the tabletop with his fingers. “You noticed anything strange about this city? I mean, other than the strange sh¡t you've already seen?”
Piper broke her silence. “No Infected.”
“Oh, there's Infected,” Henry explained. Joel and Piper realized that they didn’t like where this answer was going. “Just not on the surface. FEDRA drove them underground 15 years ago and never let them come back up. It's the only good thing those fascist mοthеrfսckеrs ever did.”
“So you want us going into a tunnel full of Infected?” Piper was already shaking her head at the idea.
“Everyone thinks it's full of Infected, including Kathleen,” Henry said. “Which means that we're not going to be running into any of her people. But you see, what I know is… it's empty.”
“You've been down there?” Joel interrogated. He was with Piper on this. They’d have better chances of taking the alive humans than a horde of Infected underground.
“…No,” Henry hesitantly said, “but the FEDRA guy I worked with told me that it's clean, completely clean. They cleared it out. All of it.”
“When?” Piper asked.
“Like… three years ago,” Henry replied.
Piper scoffed, and Joel began to step away from Henry. “Three years ago is a long time,” Joel noted.
“Okay, maybe,” Henry yelped, reaching out to the two of them to hold their attention. “There's one or two, but you handle it.”
“What if there's more?” Joel asked.
“Or one of those blind ones that sees like a bat?” Ellie interjected from the other end of the room where she and Sam sat.
Henry’s eyes widened with shock. “Wait, you… you ran into a Clicker?”
“Two of 'em,” Piper muttered. The mention of the clickers made the bite mark on her arm burn. She raised a hand to soothe the phantom pain.
Henry’s shoulders rolled back. “And you're still alive. You see? You're the right people. If it gets bad down there, we turn around and run back out the same way we came.”
“Oh, that's your great plan?” Joel sarcastically said.
“No,” Henry spat. “That's my dicey-as-fuck plan. But as far as I can tell… it's our only shot.”
A dull thud came from the table. Sam had his fist on the wood, waiting for their attention. He waved his hands around as Henry’s eyes carefully observed. “They're saying they're going to help us escape,” Henry said as he signed back to Sam. Ellie smiled at Henry’s words and playfully nudged Sam’s shoulder, asking him to continue their conversation via the scratchboard.
“You’re gonna help us, right?” Henry said, lowering his hands and praying that his words reached Joel.
“Joel?” Piper whispered, waiting for his answer. She knew Henry was all they had right now, and she couldn’t say no. Not when Ellie had a friend. Not when Ellie was smiling and laughing like she did before Riley died, before all this shit that has happened to them. This was how Ellie was supposed to be, not that Piper had her Ellie back; she was determined to keep it that way.
Joel’s brown eyes looked down at Piper. Her eyes glowed with an eagerness that tugged at Joel’s heart. He knew he couldn’t say no, just like he couldn’t brush Piper off his shoulder the night before. As Joel agreed to the dicey-as-fuck plan, he couldn’t help but feel like a tiny sliver of the man he was before the Outbreak returned.
꧁_____꧂
They were running again. With the addition of two bodies, the group darted between garbage containers and squeezed between alleys, ducking low whenever necessary. The old bank building wasn’t far from where they had sought shelter before, but not far; it still seemed like a lifetime away as Kathleen’s men scoured the street, hunting them down.
It had felt like years had passed by the time they all had reached the bank. The interior of the building did little to conceal the five fugitives. Windows that were untainted by the dust allowed crystal clear visibility both ways, boxed in on the ground floor. Piper’s stomach hurled at the thought of being vulnerable from all sides. Her eyes twirled around frantically, looking for some possible escape for cover. Ellie clenched her hands, burying her nails into her palms. Piper’s worried expression only added to her own. Ellie trusted Piper’s gut instincts more than anything in the world, and if Piper was on guard, then something was not right.
“We need to get outta sight,” Joel harshly muttered to Henry. He sensed the girl’s unease. It was a mutual feeling.
“Uh… I,” Henry turned around, scanning the open floor. “I-I think it's this way.” His long legs quickly led the others to a set of stairs. Once the windows were exchanged for solid concrete walls, Piper felt slightly more at ease.
They descended the stairs. Their hurried footsteps clambered over each other, creating a loud noise. A large steel door with “Exit” written on it appeared. Henry was the one who pushed the door open, revealing a parking garage. A cool air hit the group, sending shivers down their bodies from the temperature change.
“Jesus, it’s cold,” Ellie shivered.
Piper glanced towards her sister before quickly shrugging off her jacket and handing it to Ellie. “Take it,” Piper insisted, and Ellie did. Piper wasn’t cold. She couldn’t be when her heart was running a million miles, pumping adrenaline into her veins.
“This should be it,” Henry announced as they approached another steel door. The labeling on this door was too faded to read. “You ready?” Henry asked Joel.
Joel’s unwavering eyes scanned the door in front of them. “Girl’s,” this caught Piper and Ellie’s attention. “Get your guns out,” Joel instructed them.
They didn’t need to be told twice to retrieve the weapons and flashlights. Henry eyed the guns but decided not to give them a second glance as he reached for the door handle and swung it open. Joel entered first. His flashlight and gun were in hand as he scanned the area. Next were Piper and Ellie with their respective guns and lights. There was nothing except water dripping as the droplets echoed throughout the tunnel.
“You see? It's empty! The plan is good,” Henry cheered.
Ellie, Piper, and Joel all winced at Henry’s volume. “Shh,” they all hissed at Henry, and his face faltered.
"The plan is good? We've been down here two seconds. We don't know anything,” Joel spat.
Henry bit the inside of his cheek. The tunnels were clear; anyone could see that. “Your dad's a pessimist,” he whispered to Piper and Ellie.
“He's not my dad,” they instantly replied.
“I'm not their dad,” Joel said simultaneously. They all glared at Henry for even suggesting such a thing. Henry’s eyes widened as he raised his hands, suggesting his regret in implying anything. “Just point your lights forward… and be ready to run,” he told the group.
Slowly, Joel turned around to face the long tunnel ahead of them. He waited for a few more moments. His mind was ready for sudden movements and the sounds of screeches and clicks. Nothing came, so he took a step forward and then another. The rest of the group followed behind him.
When Henry mentioned tunnels, Ellie thought there would be many twists, turns, and dead ends, like the mazes and labyrinths she had read about in some of her comics. However, these tunnels were straight and covered with many different pipes. “Tunnels” wasn’t even the right word; he should have said tunnel because there had only been one so far. There were no turns, dead ends, or monsters in the middle of the maze. Ellie was glad about the no monsters part. She could live without seeing another infected for the rest of her life. The no turns or dead ends were a buzzkill. Only so long could one walk straight before they started to think they were crazy. Luckily, she wasn’t the only one who thought so. Sam had been writing to her. They conversed via the scratchboard and imagined what it would be like if the tunnels were like those in the comics. The two talked about the rats that occasionally scurry between their feet or the few turns the tunnel now had. Ellie noted how much broader the tunnel was getting. The ceilings grew up a few feet, and she was sure they all could walk side by side with how far apart the walls were.
Soon, Joel’s pace began to slow, bringing the pace of everyone else behind him to a halt. There was another turn in the tunnel. This time, it led to a tiny hallway that, if Ellie reached out her arms, she could be touching both sides. It was darker than the rest of the tunnel and made her and Sam forget about the latest topic of debate on the scratchboard. The tunnel continued like before, but the claustrophobic enclosure gave way to a vast opening. The group stilled and stared. Something had caught their attention.
“Whoa,” Ellie gasped as she flashed her light around to look at the walls. They were covered in drawings of rainbows, flowers, children playing, and there was even a castle. The colors illuminated underneath the flashlights’ glow.
“Does anyone else think this is fucking creepy?” Piper whispered to the group. Something about the vibrant colors and the plastered smiling faces drawn onto the wall by children unnerved her. She grimaced as goosebumps formed on her arms, and she now regretted giving Ellie her jacket.
Sam was amazed at the bright colors and art. It reminded him of the pictures he made with Henry on the walls of their confined make-shift home a few days ago. In front of Sam was the door to the castle. He smiled and reached out a hand to open it.
“No,” Joel quietly said as he shook his head and pulled Sam away before taking his place and opening the door. Together, they all winced as a bright light blinded their view. There was light in this underground bunker.
One by one, the group scattered about the room. The walls had the same sort of drawings present in the tunnel before. Buckets of toys and books were lined up against the walls. On the far end of the room was a large drawing of a goal with the word “GOAL” written in all caps. On the other end was a kitchen filled with pots and pans.
“I heard about places like this,” Joel commented. “People went underground after Outbreak Day. Built settlements.”
Piper’s eyes caught sight of a giant whiteboard on one of the walls. Pieces of paper with children's drawings were taped alongside the “house rules.” Her dark eyes read down the list, her mood souring. It felt like she was invading a grave and was not welcome.
“What happened to them?” Ellie asked.
Piper peered closer at one of the pictures on the whiteboard labeled “our protectors.”
“Maybe they didn't follow the rules, and they all got infected,” Joel replied.
“Mm,” Ellie hummed before dropping her sack on the ground and picking up a toy car. She whirled it around the air and then dropped it on the table before Sam. They shared a mutual smile.
Suddenly, Sam reached the ground and picked up a worn copy of a comic. He began to flip through the pictures before Ellie burst with excitement.
“No way! I love these,” she exclaimed. Sam just nodded his head and smiled. Realizing her mistake, Ellie shook her hands in the air as if she was writing on paper. Sam understood and handed her his scratchboard. “I have issues… four, five, six, 11,” she wrote.
Sam replied with the issues he had.
“Ah. So cool,” Ellie replied. Leaning close to Sam, she slowly said, "To the edge of the universe…and back. Endure and survive." It was the signature catchphrase from the comics. Sam’s brow furrowed as he tried to read the young girl's lips. Gradually he started to sign along, understanding what she was trying to say.
“Endure,” Ellie muttered as she copied Sam’s sign for the word. “Survive. Endure. Survive.” Ellie was now doing the signs as Sam had taught her. “fսck yeah, man!” She raised her hand to give Sam a high-five. Once their hands collided, they giggled.
“Hey, keep it down. We're not out yet,” Joel reprimanded the young teen.
Ellie rolled her head back in disappointment. “Ah, c'mon. Can we just rest here for a while? There's, like, actually sh¡t to do here.”
“Wouldn't be so bad to wait the light out a bit,” Henry commented. Safer in shadows when we pop back out on the other side.”
Ellie’s eager eyes glanced over to Joel, who bit his lip. He looked over to Piper, who couldn’t care less if they stayed a while, before shrugging his shoulders and finding a comfortable place to sit down.
“Yes!” Ellie cheered before dragging Sam along to the painted soccer goal to play some ball. The two passed the ball between each other as a warm-up until they were ready to start playing. Ellie began to shoot into the goal. With one swift kick, the ball went into the goal.
“Let’s go! Come on! Yeah!” Ellie raised her hands triumphantly in the air. “Come on. Pass it back,” she motioned to Sam.
A few feet away sat Joel and Henry. They were situated around what Joel thought to be the meal table. He watched as Ellie and Sam passed the ball back and forth. It reminded him of…No, he wouldn’t let himself remember. Instead, he turned his sights toward Piper. It took him a moment to find her, but she was in one of the far corners of the room. Her back leaned against the wall as her eyes followed the ball as it was passed back and forth. Joel saw Piper grow smaller at the sounds of her sister’s laughter. Her lips drew into a tight line. She looked confused and uncomfortable as her eyes withdrew from Ellie and Sam. Piper looked at the shelves filled with books; her brows furrowed as her eyes glanced over the titles and authors of each book. Joel couldn’t help but think that Piper should be playing with Ellie and Sam. Yes, she was older than them, but Piper was still a kid. Kids loved to have fun, and soccer was fun. Especially the way Ellie and Sam seemed to be playing it. Yet Piper sat with her legs drawn into her chest, trying to, well, Joel wasn’t quite sure what she was trying to do. All he knew was that she wanted no part in the play.
A soft chuckle came from beside Joel. It was Henry. From the corner of his eye, he saw Henry smiling as his brother played.
“If you were collaboratin' to take care of him, I… I shouldn't have said what I said. I don't know your situation. And I'm not sayin' they should let it go, but…,'' Joel began his attempt at apologizing.
“Ah, that was awesome!” Ellie beamed as Sam made his own goal on the post.
Joel’s eye flitted back to Henry. “all things considered, seems kinda cruel…To send a whole army after you for that.”
“You know, I wasn't, uh… exactly telling you the truth before…,” Henry confessed, causing Joel to raise his brow. “About me not killing someone. There was a man, a great man. You know, he was never afraid… never selfish… and he was always forgiving. Have you ever met someone like that? Kinda man you'd follow anywhere. I mean, I wanted to. Well… I would've. Yeah, but, uh, Sam, he, uh… he got sick. Leukemia.”
Joel’s eyes glanced towards the ground as he felt his heart hurt.
“Yeah, anyway, um… there was one drսg that worked, and, whoa… big shock… there wasn't much left of it, and it belonged to FEDRA. And if I wanted some… it was gonna take something big. So I gave them something big. That one great man. The leader of the resistance movement in Kansas City. And Kathleen's brother,” Henry said. He cautiously looked over to Joel. “Yeah, so, you still think they should take it easy on me? Or am I the bad guy?” Joel shrugged as he thought of an answer. “I don't know what you're waitin' on, man. The answer's easy. I am the bad guy because I did a bad guy thing. But you get it, though. You might not be their father… but you were someone's.” Joel’s jaw clenched at Henry’s words. “See, I could tell,” Henry muttered.
A loud, playful roar erupted from Ellie’s mouth as she chased Sam around the room. The game of soccer was forgotten. The two of them darted past Joel and Henry, and as the wind from the children’s speed blew past them, Joel’s reflective daze was broken.
“We've waited long enough,” Joel muttered, snatching his flashlight and gun as he stood up.
꧁_____꧂
Ellie was trying her darndest not to laugh, but with how Piper’s sleeping face twitched as she dragged the felt tip marker across it, Ellie couldn’t help but giggle. Come on, it was peak comedy for the eight-year-old. Her masterpiece was almost done. All she needed to do was draw on the final touches. Then Piper’s nose scrunched. Her head jostled, ruining Ellie’s perfect line as Piper’s movement dragged the marker across her face. Ellie quickly pulled the marker back from Piper’s face as her sister raised a hand to wipe away the midday nap from her face.
“Els?” Piper groaned as she arose from her slumber.
Quickly stuffing the marker in her pocket, Ellie smiled innocently at her sister. “Good afternoon, shithead.”
Piper rolled her eyes. “Ellie, what did I say about swear words…”
“Only use them when necessary,” she sighed.
“Good.” Piper sat up and glanced back at Ellie. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Piper asked quizzically.
Ellie’s face faltered as she tried to cover up her smug smile. “Looking at you like what?”
“Like…like you’ve–what did you do?” Piper’s brow raised, and her eyes grew serious.
A red tint appeared on Ellie’s face as she scooted back and began to reach for the bunk bed railing to help her stand up. “Nothing. I swear on my fucking life.”
“Ellie,” Piper said, disappointed.
“What, you not believing me is a good reason to swear,” Ellie noted.
Piper rolled her eyes. “Sure,” she smiled.
“See, I told you that–”
“Ah ha!” Piper exclaimed as she snatched the marker hidden in Ellie’s pocket.
“Hey, that’s mine!” Ellie cried out as she tried to grab her marker from her sister’s hands.
Waving the marker in the air, Piper smirked. “What exactly were you doing with this marker?”
“Uh…drawing. Duh,” Ellie said. It wasn’t a lie so that Piper would believe her. Ellie hated how Piper could always tell when she was lying. She was trying to get better at it. Riley was even helping her here and there, giving her pointers. Which all worked on the FEDRA teachers, but still, not one had worked on Piper. She was just too good. Ellie couldn’t believe it. Piper was eleven and reading her like she was a book. It wasn’t fair.
“…Okay,” Piper sighed. “I believe you.”
Ellie smiled. Half-truths may be the way to go with Piper.
“What were you drawing?” Piper asked.
Ellie’s face fell. She was screwed. “Um…something. It’s a surprise.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What?! I’m serious. I’ve been working really hard on it,” Ellie whined. She had been. Piper had been asleep for about an hour, giving Ellie ample time to plan her artistic masterpiece. About twenty minutes of the hour were dedicated to putting her idea to work. Twenty minutes was a long time. It was far more time than she had ever put into a work of art.
Piper raised her brow, and her eyes were full of skepticism. “You serious?” Ellie frantically nodded, and Piper sighed. “Alright, but you’ve got to show it to me when you’re done. ‘Kay?”
“Totally,” Ellie snickered.
There was something in the way Ellie stood in front of her with her hands fiddling with her shirt that tipped Piper the wrong way, but she chose to believe Ellie, giving her the benefit of the doubt. “Well, we’ve got to get to the dining hall,” Piper said, shrugging the sleep off and pulling on her shoes. They were worn to the sole, and the heel would have fallen off by now if it weren’t for the duct tape holding it together. She’d have to get new shoes soon. Maybe Levi would have some for her, Piper thought.
Feeling tiny static hairs at the back of her neck, Piper headed for the mirror to fix her bedhead. Ellie saw her sister’s trajectory and darted to the door of their room. It flung open with not much force, and Ellie entered the hallway. “Race you there, Pipes!”
Piper chuckled at Ellie’s antics. It only fired her will to beat Ellie to the dining hall. Hurriedly, she glanced in the mirror. She froze. Her hair was fine. It was hardly amiss. That was not what was wrong. Looking in the mirror, Piper saw Ellie’s masterpiece. All over her face were little squiggles and drawings. Some were hearts and stars, and even a mustache tinted bright pink. The cherry on top was the crooked lettering that spelled “Dummy.”
By the time the two girls showed up in the dining hall, they both were adorning the loving title of “dummy” on their foreheads.
꧁_____꧂
A chilly night air blew over the group as they emerged from the tunnels. Henry was right, there were no infected. Joel eyed the young man as he smugly led the group through the neighborhood.
“Do you know where we are?” Joel questioned. He eyed the abandoned homes. Their windows held the ghosts of a time before the outbreak. They stared as he walked along the once clean paved streets and litter-free sidewalks. His spine pricked as the eyes of the past washed over him.
“Yep. The other side.” Henry looked back at Joel and slightly snorted. “No. No one is here. No one's gonna be here because…,” Henry turned humbly and triumphantly shrugged his shoulders. “My plan worked.”
“So much goddamn talkin',” Joel groaned.
“I'm just saying I delivered. Make this right, go down the street, embankment behind the last house, and we're out,” Henry said.
They were almost out. Ellie softly smiled and peered to her side where Sam strolled. They were almost out, and she’d have to say goodbye to her new friend. Biting her lip, she thought of an idea; maybe she didn’t have to say goodbye. “So we cross the river, and then what? Where ya gonna go?” Ellie asked.
“Don't know yet,” Henry replied.
“Well, we're goin' to Wyoming.” Joel glared at her. Piper just sighed and rubbed her arm. The pain had returned, and she worried it was infected.
“What?” She defended, “It's a huge state. It can fit two more people.”
“Yeah,” Henry solemnly nodded. He glanced at Joel in understanding. He didn’t want a few extra people, and Henry wouldn’t force the older man. He didn’t think he’d get far since their deal was just getting out of the city. “Maybe we just call this a success and say our fond farewells.”
Ellie frowned. “No, he'll change his mind. Trust me. This is how it goes.” She cleared her throat and patted her chest with a fist, preparing her vocal cords to speak lower, and in a deep voice, she said, “He's like, "No, Ellie. Never, ever, ever happening. And then I'm like, "I'm gonna ask you a million more times." And he's like–
A shot fires near them. A dust kicked up, and the group ducked down low. Piper gasped, grabbing the roots of her hair.
“Move, move! Go!” Joel ordered as more shots were fired. Quickly, the group huddled behind a rusted car.
“The fսck is that comin' from?” Henry hissed.
“Shut up,” Joel spat as he peeked over the car's hood. His eyes narrowed. The dark wasn’t making it easier to see where the shots fired. A spot of bright light flashed from the upper window of a home. A bullet shattered a window in the car.
“fսck. Let's move. Let's go,” Henry whispered before he grabbed Sam’s hand and began to run the way they had come.
“What are you doin'?!” Joel yelled.
“Gettin' the fսck outta here!” Henry replied. A shot fired in front of them. “Oh sh¡t, oh sh¡t!” Darting back to the safety of the car, Henry turned to Joel. “What do we do?”
Piper nodded her head, wanting to hear what the plan was. Her gun felt heavy in her hand. She could do that. She could find the guy and shoot him. She could hunt him down. She never missed.
“All right,” Joel breathed. He shuffled around and solved his pistol into its holder on his side. “Stay here.” He crouched down low and shifted his weight forward.
“What?” Piper and Ellie blurted.
“If you don't move, he's not gonna hit you,” Joel explained. The girls were shaking their heads. “I'm gonna go around, try to get in the house through the back, and then I'll take him out.”
“But if you go out there, he's gonna kill you,” Ellie pleaded.
“Joel, I can do it. I’m smaller and–”
“No. I’m going.” He saw the fear in the girl’s eyes. Piper’s dark eyes concealed it better, but Joel knew. “Look, it's dark, and he has sh¡t aim. Nobody's gonna kill me.” He tried his best to reassure them.
“Then he's gonna kill us,” Ellie whispered.
Joel’s chest tightened. “Do you trust me?”
The girls shared a nervous glance. Ellie reluctantly nodded. Piper bit her lip and scowled. Her nose and eyebrows scrunched together as if it pained her to say yes, but she did. In her softest voice, she said yes.
꧁_____꧂
Joel was breathing hard as the shot kept on coming. Each wisp of air as the bullets hailed down only made his heart beat faster. It was his luck that the street was littered with cars, each big enough to cover his body. However, if luck had been on Joel’s side, then someone wouldn’t have shot at them in the first place. He knew no infection in the tunnels was too good to be true. Something had to go wrong eventually, and it just happened to be right before they reached freedom from this hell hole of a city.
It was like a dance how Joel maneuvered between the cars and the occasional mailbox along the side of the street. Each time he ducked, he was one step closer to the house, to the window where the culprit was shooting from. It was the last house on the cul de sac, standing tall and brown in the dark of the night. At least, Joel was pretty sure that the house was a shade of brown, but he could be wrong. He was convinced that this whole neighborhood must have been something to see in the days before the outbreak, but now it was a war zone. Now, someone was using the home to shoot at him and the girls.
At a certain point, the shooter had stopped. Joel wasn’t sure why, but they had. Joel hoped that it was because of a lack of bullets, but his fears came true when he heard the gasps of the girls, Sam and Henry. The shooter was targeting them. He had to hurry. As he darted between the bushes and trees on the lawn of the brown house, he caught sight of the bridge. Water rushed underneath it, echoing a calming symphony of nature. They had to cross the bridge, and then they’d be free. Joel could get to Wyoming; the girls could go with the fireflies. Everything would be alright. Except now that Joel thought of it, his stomach churned.
He broke into the back of the house and climbed the stairs. Joel’s gun was raised close to his torso as he checked his corners before proceeding. He had to get this right. He had to save them, to protect them. Another shot was fired, and Joel’s heart lurched out from his throat. Joel held his breath while creeping towards the room at the end of the hall. Brushing the door to the side, he aimed his gun at the man sitting in the chair by the window.
“Put the gun down, slide it over to me, and then stay up here for another hour,” Joel calmly said; however, nothing about him was calm. “That's all you have to do.” The man turned around and peered up at Joel. His shaking old hands changed grip on the gun as he turned around to look at the intruder. “Please don't do it. Please,” Joel begged. But the man did not listen. Another shot rang out in the air. Joel’s hand ached as he lowered the gun from the slumped-over body.
Suddenly, a static noise pierced Joel’s ears. “Anthony? Anthony? Anthony, hold them where they are. We're almost there.”
Joel’s eyes widened. “Fսck.” He clambered to the window and stuck his head out, and with a guttural desperate cry, he yelled to the girls. “RUN!”
꧁_____꧂
Ellie’s fingers fiddled with Pipers. Her smaller digits weaved around her older sisters. Each movement brought a sense of control to the young girls. They didn’t dare think about the silence after that last shot. They didn’t dare get their hopes up.
Piper’s ears twitched as she peeked out from behind the car. Joel was in the window where the shooter once was. She couldn’t help but beam at the sight, but soon her smile faltered. His arms were waving frantically at them, and he was shouting something.
“What’s he saying?” Ellie wondered as she stood next to Piper. Henry and Sam soon stood up as well. Each of them was confused at the sight until the final piece of the puzzle was placed: the sound of the revving of cars. They froze as Joel’s words now clicked.
“RUN!” He screamed.
Panic coursed through their bodies as they stood there, the ground now rumbling and the horrific roaring sound pounding in their ears. Then they ran.
“Go! Go, go, go, go!” Henry shouted as the group darted from behind the car and towards the house, towards Joel. Soon, their shadows stood tall in front of them. The light behind them grew brighter. Ellie cried out in fear as she turned around with her gun in hand to shoot. She hadn’t expected the car to be so close. She couldn’t see anything, yet her legs kept running. She raised her gun and shot. It missed. She fired the weapon until it was empty. The car was closer. She was going to get run over. Another shot rang out, and the car swerved off the road into one of the wooden houses on the side. Whipping her head around, she saw Joel in the window with a rifle. He had made that shot. He had protected them.
“Ellie!” Piper gasped as she ran back for her sister in the chaos of the crash. Ellie hadn’t even realized her legs had given out. “You okay?”
Ellie’s head nodded in a jagged motion before her lungs could produce enough air for a singular word. “Yeah.” With confirmation, Piper dragged Ellie over to where Henry and Sam hid. The four of them ducked down behind a nearby car as the street was illuminated from headlights.
“He's up there,” A voice said. “Fսck.” The voice was close. Too close for Piper’s comfort. She clenched her eyes shut and squeezed her gun. Her hands were shaking. “Two and two! Around the back, take him out!” The voice instructed. Her eyes shot open as she glanced at the house to Joel. The marching footsteps of the people faded as they approached the house at the end of the street. Piper bit her tongue until she tasted blood. Joel could handle himself. He had to.
“Dead end, Henry. Gonna step on out? Save us some time?” It was a female voice. Ellie hated to admit it almost sounded comforting, like a mother. “No? That's all right. Doesn't matter.”
Henry glanced at Sam, Ellie, and Piper. He could do it. He had to save his brother and the others. Henry’s eyes met Pipers. She shook her head at him, and he only smiled.
“I'll come out! Just let the kids go!” Henry yelled from behind the car.
“No. Sorry,” Henry’s face paled. “The girls are with the man who killed Bryan. And Sam… Well, Sam's with you.”
Henry shook his head. “You don't understand, Kathleen!”
“But I do,” the woman named Kathleen smiled. Piper could hear the chilling grin in the woman’s voice. “I know why you did what you did. But did you ever stop to think that maybe he was supposed to die?”
“He's just a fսck¡ng kid!” Henry pleaded.
“Well, kids die, Henry. They die all the time,” Kathleen said. “You think the whole world revolves around him? That he's worth… everything?” Piper looked over at Ellie. “Well, this is what happens when you fսck with fate.”
“Get ready to take him and run,” Henry whispered to Ellie and Piper. Ellie shook her head. “Yes. Do it.” His eyes turned to Piper. She couldn’t bear to look at him. They were the same. They’d do anything for their little siblings, so Piper agreed. She grabbed Ellie’s hand and then Sam’s, who looked confused as his brother stood up and out of the cover of the car.
“It's time, Henry,” Kathleen said.
“Enough! Okay.” Henry had stepped out and raised his hands. With teary eyes, he looked up at Kathleen. The burning home behind her framed her as she raised her gun at Henry.
“It ends the way it ends,” She whispered. Her finger cocked back and then hovered over the trigger.
There was a crash, and dust fell over the mass. The burning house collapsed, and the ground had caved in. Wood, tires, and the car had fallen in with as the fire crackled around. A colossal explosion fired up into the air, and all fell silent. Everyone froze as a deep rumbling came from the earth below them. Piper thought it was an earthquake for a moment, but the noise told her better. It was growling. An unearthly snarl escaped the pits of the ground. After all, it’s where they were buried—the infected.
All at once, wave after wave, they climbed out of the hole. The monsters screeched as they ran to the nearest human. They were fueled by a desire to kill and to spread. A rainstorm of bullets fired as fear overcame Kathleen’s men. All thoughts of killing a group of five were forgotten. The only drive was to survive.
Screams of “No!” fell from people’s mouths as Infected leaped upon them, tearing out their throats and opening their jaws to feast on their flesh.
“Run 'em down! Run 'em down!” A voice commanded, and cars began to drive down the street, taking out groups of infected.
꧁_____꧂
From the safety of the brown home, Joel watched as hell came thundering down on the street below him. The fires spread from home to home, painting the scene as a sight from hell itself as people were carved open by the hands and teeth of the Infected. Raising the gun, he peered into the scope. His eyes moved around until he had found them. Henry had run back to the cover of the car, grabbing Sam’s hand tightly. Next to them were his girls, Piper and Ellie. He would keep them safe. They would get back to him. They would cross that bridge. Cocking the gun, he fired. The bullet lodged into the head of an Infected, who jumped on top of the car, reaching for the group.
Henry and Sam ran away from the vehicle. Piper and Ellie ran the other way. Joel followed his girl’s movements and took out each predator. No matter how they grabbed, leaped, and screeched, he would never let them touch the girls. The first few shots had startled the girls, but with a quick, grateful glance up at him, they knew who their protector was. His gun followed the girls as they ducked behind cars and raced away from the bloodied mouths of the infected. His gun kept firing, taking out the monsters, until one shot was met with silence. The barrel was empty.
Joel’s shaking hands dug around for another cartridge, for more bullets. His eyes tore away from the window to re-arm the gun. When he looked back, Piper had shoved Ellie towards a van as an Infected pounced on the girl. It knocked her to the ground and growled. Its head whipped around to the younger and prepared to jump when its body fell limp. Joel held his breath, and it only returned when Piper shoved the monstrous body off of her. She was alive. The girls exchanged some words before Piper pushed Ellie into the van. The younger girl makes it in. Joel kept firing, giving Piper more time to seek shelter when she stopped. There was a roar that shook the whole street. A towering blob of infected snarled as it stomped towards the van, towards Ellie and Piper. Joel fired at the thing, and the infected howled each time the bullets hit.
Suddenly, Piper was gone. Joel scoured the crowd to find her. The light of the fire blinded him. Muffled shots were fired, and he whirled around to find it. Piper was luring the thing away from Ellie. He watched as she opened her mouth to scream at it before shooting it once more. Its pace picked up as it charged. Joel cocked the gun once more, but it was empty. He cried out as he watched Piper scurry away. Her body was hidden from view behind two cars. It was too late. The infected raised its arms up high and roared as they came down.
꧁_____꧂
“Hurry and get in!” Piper hissed.
Ellie whined. As if she didn’t already know what was awaiting them outside the van.
“I’m trying!”
“Ellie!” Piper glanced behind herself and froze. “Ellie,” Her tone hardened.
“I’m in! Piper, come on, let’s go–”
“I can’t.”
Ellie’s brows pinched together. “What do you mean?” There it was, that sickening roar. It made Ellie shiver. As she peered through the muddied glass of the van, she gasped, although the sound was more like a scream.
“Piper!”
Her older sister glanced back at her. Piper’s dark brown eyes were glossed over as she flashed a shaking smile. “Ellie,” Piper whispered. “I need you to–”
“No!”
“Ellie! I need you to hide. Stay low and quiet. Joel will–”
“Fuck Joel,” Ellie hissed. “You’re my sister. Remember? Me and you till the end.”
Piper bit her lip and cast her eyes downward. Her hand was still holding Ellie’s, although at this point, it was more like Ellie clung to her sister.
“Yea, me and you. So you’ve gotta keep goin’. I’ll live on with you. Just get out of here.”
Ellie was crying now. “No, Piper, no!” But it was no use. Piper had yanked her hand away from Ellie. Her sister’s screams challenged the Infected as her shots drew it away. Away from Ellie. “PIPER!!” Ellie cried as her eyes trailed her sister’s movements.
Piper’s sights were on the monster. The firelight illuminated the tears on her dirtied face like stars in the night sky. Ellie banged at the van window, slowly moving her body to keep her sights on Piper. The monster roared at Piper, and Ellie shrieked as Piper’s back hit two cars. The trucks caged Piper in, leaving her no room for escape as the Infected hunted her.
The Infected was mere feet from Piper. She had nowhere to run. Ellie wailed and screamed as she banged against the van. Piper’s name kept falling from her bloodied lips. As the monster raised its arms, Ellie watched Piper turn her head to the side. Their eyes met in a weak attempt to say goodbye. After that, Ellie could only hear the never-ending screams and sobs that were squeezed out of her lungs.
It was these cries for her dead sister that drew in a hunter. The tiny Infected clicked and screeched as its ears attuned for fear were lured in. Ellie gasped as the monster’s body twisted like a spider. The van rattled with the newest edition. That little huff of air sealed her fate, and the Infected lunged. Ellie cried out in terror as the infected struggled to climb over the mountain of seats to reach her. In the front of the car, Ellie used her legs to kick open the passenger side door of the van. With one powerful kick, the door swung open. Ellie fell out of the van and slammed the door behind her. The Infected shrieked, and its claw-like nails scratched at the window.
From behind her, a familiar voice yelped. “Get it off!” Henry yelled as his legs frantically kicked a snarling Infected away. Sam was beside whimpering as a second Infected was reaching for him. Ellie wiped away her tears and scrambled over to the monsters. Her pocket knife was in her hand as she stabbed the infected, grabbing Henry. A shot rang out as Joel took care of the one attacking Sam. Her hands reached out to take hold of Sam’s and Henry’s before pulling them up when all she wanted to do was crumble to the ground and cry.
“Thanks,” Henry said. “Hey, where’s Piper–”
“Gone,” Ellie said. Henry’s eyes filled with pity, but Ellie didn’t want his pity. An Infected screamed and jumped towards them before Joel shot it down. “Come on, come on!” Ellie waved her hands for Henry and Sam to follow. “Go, go!” She yelled as they made their way to the house at the end of the street.
Joe stood outside on the lawn. His gun was aimed to shoot any approaching Infected. Upon seeing Joel, Ellie let go of Henry and Sam’s hand and ran to him. His somber eyes only made her cry as she clung to his coat. Henry and Sam stilled at the sight. Joel lowered his gun and patted Ellie’s head. His words wouldn’t do anything for her. He knew that. His eyes met Henry and Sam, who shared the same solemn look.
“Stop!” A sheer voice cried out. The group whirled around and found Kathleen. Her gun was raised and aimed towards Henry. Joel’s grip on Ellie tightened. Kathleen chuckled. “You think you’ll get awa–”
Blood spattered on their faces as a bullet lodged in Kathleen’s head. The woman’s body fell limp, collapsing to the ground in a pile of sprinkling blood. Behind the deceased stood a trembling figure. Blood, ash, and dirt covered their body from head to toe, almost making them unrecognizable. Their dark eyes glistened as the weapon lowered to their side.
“Pipes?” Ellie whispered.
꧁_____꧂
It was black. Piper’s mind was constantly replaying her last few moments. Her desperate goodbye to Ellie as she ran away, shooting at the monster. Each shot hit. She’d never miss, not when it counted. She only wished Ellie could get away, that Joel would protect her.
Piper was expecting death to hurt a lot more. She had seen how the monster after her had torn off a man’s head before doing the same to the rest of his body, but nothing came.
The terrors that were occurring on the street still reached her ears. The pleading screams of men and women as they were scratched open, the infected’s hand burrowing into them. Gunshots firing in a feeble attempt to save oneself. But what she heard the most was heavy breathing. It was her own. She was still breathing.
Unclenching her body, she opened her eyes. She covered her mouth to stifle the gasp that tried to flee. The infected stood before her. The two cars trapping her were demolished by the brutal force of the Infected. It stood before her; its fleshy chest heaved as it looked down. Piper was scrunched into a tight ball as she stared at the monster before her. It was watching her–the mushrooms, where eyes should be, followed her movement. She gulped. It stood still, waiting for something. A shaking breath left her lungs, and the Infected leaned down low. The potent smell of death and decay flew into Piper’s face as it snarled. She pushed herself as far as she could into the bent-up cars behind her. Her eyes widened to the size of boulders as it opened its mouth. Its teeth were rotten and covered in blood, and its throat opened up enough for her to see the tiny spiral of fungus climb out of its mouth. The thing was reaching for her. She cried out and crawled out from under the Infected. It made no motion to stop her.
Swiftly, Piper rolled underneath one of the cars and watched the Infected roar again before its thundering feet chased a new victim. As quickly as she sought shelter under the car, she rolled out. Pushing herself off the ground, she observed the horrors before her. Infected screeched and preyed after the people. Fires raged on, burning the neighborhood to the ground.
A burning sweat made Piper’s tangled hair stick to her neck and head. Her shirt was torn and bloody, and her knuckles, elbows, and knees were bloodied and tainted with bits of gravel. Choking on her breath, her feet began to move. Piper’s eyes scanned the terrors for any sight of Ellie, Joel, Henry, or Sam. An ear-splitting screech impaled her ears; Piper jumped back to find an Infected. It stared at her before turning the other way. More monster screams, and rasps were cut short as the Infected fled from the stumbling girl. She watched as these things parted the seas of torching fire, death, and rot.
She watched as hell fell down on the people who were bent on killing them. The Infected ripping them apart. She passed by men who cried out for her to save them as the monsters feasted on them. Their skin squelched as decaying teeth bit down. In her daze, Piper’s feet knocked away a pistol. The handle and barrel were drenched in blood and chunks of human flesh. Reaching down, she picked it up and wiped away the gore. The reddish handle glowed in the firelight as she caught a look at her tainted reflection in the handle. Blood trickled down her nose and mouth. Her skin was scraped, bleeding, and covered in dirt. Her eyes were cold and lifeless as her freckles disappeared under the dark of the night. Looking in the handle, she couldn’t figure out what she saw, but it wasn’t her–it wasn’t Piper.
“Go, go!” Ellie screamed. Piper’s eyes whipped around, searching for her sister. Ellie was alive. Ellie. Piper found them at the house. Henry, Sam, Joel, and Ellie. They were all there. They were safe. The weakness in her legs vanished as she ran. The sight of them was all she needed to keep going. Her family. Joel and Ellie. Her home.
꧁_____꧂
The adrenaline depleted from Joel’s system as he leaned back on the wall of the motel room. It was the least smelly of the ones on the first floor, and the carpet wasn’t as moldy as the others. The room would do for the night.
From the side room, Ellie's voice was heard as she read the comic book to Sam. "Pew. Pew. As the Raven 01 approaches the red planet.” Ellie’s finger traced the words, letting Sam know where she was. Their eyes scanned the pages of the comic book, inhaling the magical world within its pages.
Henry glanced down at his food and decided he should save the rest for later. Wrapping it up, he sighed. “You think they'll be okay?”
Joel’s ears perked up. “Yeah, I think…,” his eyes trailed off to peer into the room. “…it's easier when you're a kid anyway. You don't have anybody else relying on you. That's the hard part,” Joel said.
His words conjured up thoughts of Piper. She had it hard. She was still a kid and had to go through everything with Ellie clinging to her hand. The teen in question had been silent the entire journey to the motel, and before anyone could ask the burning question of her survival, she excused herself to go find some mattresses for them to sleep on. She mumbled something about not wanting to sleep on the sketchy green carpet.
“Well,” Henry chimed in, “I guess we're doing a good job then. Piper too.” Joel nodded. “What's that comic book say?”
"Endure and survive,” Joel repeated from memory.
"Endure and survive?” Henry cocked his brow. “That sh¡t's redundant,” he laughed.
“Yeah, it's-it's not great,” Joel agreed, and for a brief moment, a faint smile appeared on his face.
“No, it’s not, “ Henry said.
As an uncertain silence fell between the two men, Joel observed Sam and Ellie. They looked content. Two kids doing what kids do best. His heart swelled at the sight. This is how it should be, thought Joel. His dark eyes lit up with an idea. “Look, I don't know exactly how I'm gettin' to Wyoming. I'm probably walkin'. But… you know,” Joel muttered. “If you want to.”
Henry bit his lip to stop the smile from spreading. “Yeah. Yeah. Um… Yeah, I think it'd be nice for Sam to have a friend.” He nodded his head in a feverish manner to hide his excitement. “I'll tell him in the morning. New day, new start.”
Joel nodded along. It was a good idea that would be the best for the girls.
Standing up from his seat on a wooden chair that was much too stiff for his liking, Henry pointed to the room. “I’m gonna go check on them.”
“Hm?” Joel’s eyes followed Henry’s direction. “Yeah, I should–I should check on Piper. See where she’s at on the mattress situation.” Grunting, Joel pushed himself off the floor and left the room in search of Piper. Meanwhile, Henry turned back to his brother and Ellie.
"Bingo! Should we knock?” Ellie read before turning to the next page of the comic book.
“Hey,” he muttered as he knocked on the door. Ellie tapped Sam’s shoulder to let him know his brother was there. “You need sleep,” he said and signed at the same time.
Sam sighed before rolling over on the bed and tucking his legs in tight. The pink plaid blanket did little to ease the discomfort from the decades-old mattress. It smelt of things that Sam had never smelt before, but he knew he didn’t want to smell them again.
Seeing Sam tucked in for bed, Henry turned to Ellie. “You should–”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ellie said. “I’m going.” She closed the comic book and placed it on the side table. Then, lying down on the bed, Ellie settled in for bed. Satisfied with the situation, Henry softly closed the door and left Ellie and Sam to sleep.
꧁_____꧂
The night air had gotten chillier the moment Joel had stepped outside. He wished he brought his jacket, but checking on Piper was a greater need. A slight tremor spread from his fingertips to the rest of his body, and his heart felt like it was being squeezed. Everything hurt, and Joel had to raise a hand to the wall to stop himself from crashing into it. Oxygen seemed to flee his lungs all because of her. Piper. The girl he thought died. He had seen it. She had been cornered with nowhere to run. The bloater was after her, and it was out for blood. He saw the cars crumple up as if they were soda cans under the force of the creature’s arms. Wincing as his breath came back to him, he heard a shuffling in a nearby room.
The room was only two rooms over from where they were, but it was still too far for Joel’s comfort. Stepping forward, his hand pushed the door open with a creak. Immediately, his eyes caught sight of the dim light of a flashlight.
“Kid?” Joel called out. He entered the room and glanced around. It was like the room they were staying in, except the ceiling had more water damage and mold. “Kid?” He repeated after hearing no response.
“ Room 4 has two mattresses in decent condition,” Piper muttered. Joel turned to find her unpacking her bag and laying out her sleeping bag. “You could drag ‘em over.”
Joel felt that same tense feeling enter his body from before as he saw her settle her things. “Kid.”
Fluffing up one of the pillows on the bed, Piper ignored Joel. Her face was still like that of a statue. Her eyes were cold and hard. Joel was sure if he reached out his hands to freeze.
“Kid, what are you doing?” Joel asked.
Piper scoffed. “What does it look like I’m doing? And I’m not a kid.” She still hadn’t looked at him.
His arm reached out, and his hand felt like it burned as he latched onto her shoulder, pulling her away to face him. “Look, I know what happened must have been–”
“Terrifying? Yeah, you could say that.” Piper bit the inside of her cheek. Her dark eyes still refused to look at Joel.
Joel held his tongue. He wasn’t sure what to say as his eyes took in Piper’s disheveled state. She looked awful, and it hurt him more than he’d like to say. “Hey, I’m trying here,” finally, she peered up at him. Her eyes glossed over. “Just…how did you–I saw that bloater–,” Joel whispered for fear she’d blow away if he spoke any louder.
“So that’s what they’re called.”
“I thought you died, kid,” Joel confessed. His eyes watered over, and his grip on her shoulder tightened.
Piper’s eyes briefly widened before she turned away, brushing Joel’s hand off her. “Wish I did,” she muttered.
“No,” Joel shook his head. “don’t say that. You don’t get to say that.”
Piper’s face tensed, and every line became visible. Her eyebrows clenched together so that they became one as the pain in her broken soul was revealed. “Then what do I get to say, Joel?! That I’m a monster! That the Infected treated me like their own! That they didn’t touch me! That they can’t! It’s because I’m like them. I’m a monster. I’m infected–”
Joel’s brows raised in confusion. “No, you’re immune. Just like Ellie.”
“No, you’re wrong,” Piper spat. “I’m nothing like Ellie. The infected still go after her. They will always go after her, trying to rip her apart, but me…? They just walk by as if I don’t exist. I’m one of them, Joel. It all makes sense. They were all after Ellie.” She tucked her arms close to her torso as she stepped away from Joel, putting too much distance between them.
“You got bit in the museum. You–”
“It was trying to bite Ellie, and my arm got in the way. Not that it mattered,” Piper explained. “I’m a monster.” Her eyes glanced down at the scarred bite mark from that day.
“No,” Joel said. He reached out to her. “You’re Piper.”
“And Piper’s a monster!” Piper sobbed. Her whole body shook as shaky breaths entered her lungs, fueling her pain.
“Kid, let's get back to the group. Ellie’s–” Joel tried to reason.
“No!” She yelled. “I’m not going anywhere near them, Joel! What if I….” Her voice grew soft and vulnerable. “What if I kill them? You said it yourself. I could still turn. Doesn’t matter if it’s days, months, or years. I could– I could go after Ellie. I could.”
Joel took a step closer to her, and Piper took one more back. Determined to keep distance. “You’re immune, kid. You’re immune, and even if you turned, you’d never hurt Ellie. I know it.”
“Bullshit,” Piper cursed as her back hit the wall of the room. Her knees crumbled underneath her, and her legs smashed against the floor.
“It’s not,” Joel comforted. “Come, kid. Let’s go.”
“I’m staying here,” Piper hissed.
“It’s not safe,” Joel pleaded.
“I’m not safe. I don’t feel safe in this skin.” She began to pick and pull at her skin. The wounds from earlier opened up, and fresh blood began to taint her skin once more. “I don’t feel safe around you or Ellie,” She choked on her sobs. “I–I should’ve died. I was supposed to die. I–”
Joel leaped forward and encased Piper in his arms. She tried to fight him. Her body twitched under his hold before the attempt to free herself stilled. “Shhh, I’ve got you,” he whispered into her hair.
Slowly, her trembling hands wrapped around his arm. “I’m so tired,” she breathed.
“Sleep,” Joel said as he lifted Piper off the floor. “I’ll watch over you and make sure nothing happens.” With an arm under her legs and another supporting her back, Joel carried her out of the room.
“If something does happen?” Piper whispered. “Will you shoot me?” Joel’s throat constricted. “Joel?”
Examining the girl in his arms, Joel’s eyes held a mix of fear and sadness. He’s been here before. His memory proved to be too powerful. Pulling Piper closer, Joel sighed, “Just go to sleep, kid.”
Piper was too tired to push the subject further. It would be something unspoken between the two. Joel prayed it would stay that way, for he knew his answer. If she had asked him that question in Boston, he’d have no issue with her request. But they weren’t Boston anymore. Joel wasn’t who he was in that city. He was someone else, someone familiar. It was as if he had discovered a pair of clothes from his past and decided to give them a try once more just to see if they fit. As he held the teen in his arms, it was no surprise that it did. Those clothes would always fit so long as Joel was willing to wear them. As for Piper’s request, he could never. He would never.
꧁_____꧂
Ellie couldn’t help but smile as Henry closed the door. He let them keep the light on. Everyone knows you’ve got to turn the light out when you leave a room where kids are supposed to be sleeping. Snatching the comic book from off the table, Ellie tapped Sam on the leg. He whirled around, eyes wide, until he saw her waving the book at him. He smiled and sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed to see better.
Ellie cracked open the comic book and held the pages open so that Sam could see. Her thin finger traced the word bubbles as she softly read them. Her face was animated as if she was a part of the story herself.
"I don't see any weird movements. "Stiff? Negative. Damage here in Sector 153. Stella, can you hear me? I read you. Okay, from here…” Ellie read.
Raising his pointer finger up, Ellie paused and placed the comic book down. Sam reached to his side and pulled out the scratchboard. His small hand took the pencil and began to write.
“Are you ever scared?” he asked.
Ellie read his message and grabbed the board to write her reply. “Do I not look scared?”
Sam shook his head. "Never."
Ellie’s eyes fell, and she picked up the scratchboard. “I'm scared all the time…,” she wrote.
Sam scoffed. Ellie softly smirked and continued to write.
“… of scorpions!” She flashed the scratchboard, and Sam and Sam raised a brow, unamused.
She erased her message before writing her truest fear. “I’m scared of ending up alone,” she wrote. Her eyes began to water as she thought of today’s events. Sniffling, she wiped away a tear. She’d almost lost Piper, and she’d already lost so many others: Her mother, Riley, and Tess. Who else was going to be added to that list? Maybe Sam? Joel? Henry? Piper? “What about you?” Ellie wrote.
Sam took the board in his hands and slowly wrote his response. “If you turn into a monster, is it still you inside?” He asked.
Ellie’s brows furrowed in confusion, but her confusion faded as Sam raised the hem of his pant leg. The light highlighted the bloody bite wound. Tiny veins reached out from the injury, but Ellie knew better. Those weren’t veins. It was the fungus. She saw Sam’s expression falter, and without thinking, she pulled back her sleeve. She stuck her arm up to the light, and Sam gasped. She had a mark just like him.
“My blood… is medicine,” Ellie wrote on the board before showing it to Sam. He tilted his head. Quickly, Ellie fetched her knife out from her bag and cut her hand open. Sam raised his hands up in protest, but Ellie ignored them. Carefully placing her bleeding hand on his wound, she mixed her blood with his. Sam winced as her finger dug into the bite. But as quickly as it happened, it was over. Sam’s pants returned to cover his wound as Ellie bandaged her hand up.
“Stay awake with me,” Sam wrote.
“I promise,” Ellie replied.
Raising up his hands, Sam signed the word “Promise.”
Ellie followed suit. Her fingers mirrored Sam’s as she said, “Promise.”
With the promise to each other, Sam and Ellie hugged. Their bodies rocked back and forth to bring a sense of comfort. Ellie held onto Sam tightly. She wouldn’t lose him. Her blood was the cure. It had saved Piper after she got bit, so it had to work on Sam. It had to.
It wasn’t long before the light of day broke through the window of the motel room. Ellie jolted awake as the sun’s beams fell on her face. She groaned and rubbed the sleep from her eye. Looking on the bed next to hers, she found Sam. He was sitting up, looking out the window. The morning sun had painted a picturesque scene outside. The sky was a grayish blue, and the grass was a deep green. Ellie was glad to see green again instead of steel-gray buildings and dust.
“Hey,” she called out to Sam. Once the words left her mouth, she smiled, realizing her mistake. Shuffling, she got out of the bed and walked towards the young boy. He was humming a song she hadn’t heard before. She wondered how he even knew what he was humming but figured she could just ask him. Reaching out her hand, she tapped on his shoulder.
Sam whipped around. His eyes were dead as they scanned Ellie. Immediately, he raised a hand to scratch her. His mouth opened and snarled. Ellie screamed as he pounced on her and knocked her to the ground. The force broke down the door, landing them in the other room.
Ellie struggled to keep her hands up to keep Sam’s gnashing teeth away from her. Her whimpers and cries reached the ears of Joel, Henry, and Piper as they were shaken awake. Immediately, Joel and Henry reached for the gun lying between them. It was closer to Joel, but Henry was faster. Jumping to his feet, Henry aimed the gun at Joel and then at Piper as they tried to approach Ellie and Sam.
“Nope, nope, nope,” Henry discouraged.
“Joel! Piper! Joel!” Ellie pleaded. Sam’s deadly eyes bore into hers. Her friend was gone. She had failed him.
There was a deafening bang, and Sam dropped to the floor. A pool of blood spilled from the young boy’s head, turning the sickly green carpet a scarlet red. Henry gasped, and Ellie screamed. Piper’s body could no longer hold her up, and she fell to the floor. A permanent expression of shock was carved onto her face. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t–
“Ellie,” Joel whispered. “Are you okay?” He held his hands by his head as Henry’s gun trailed his motions.
Ellie peeled her gaze away from Sam’s dead body to look at Joel and Piper. Silent sobs fell from her lips as a flood of raging tears trickled down her cheeks.
Henry stepped back, pulling Joel’s attention. The young man’s body was eerily calm as his eyes conjured up a storm. The seas of Henry’s dark eyes crashed and shook.
“Easy, easy, easy,” Joel muttered. He took a step towards Henry, who had brought the gun to him. “Henry, gimme the gun.”
“What did I do?” Henry sobbed.
“Shh,” Joel soothed.
“What did I do? What-what-what did I do?” He looked back at his younger brother. Where there was once a bright smile now sat a gaping hole where the bullet had entered. Sam was dead, and Henry had pulled the trigger. “Sam?”
“Henry, gimme the gun. Gimme the gun. Gimme the gun, Henry.” Joel was begging now. “Gimme the gun.”
Henry did no such thing. Slowly, his steady hand brought the cool metal of the gun’s barrel to his head. His desperate eyes met Piper’s. It was only a brief glance, but it was enough for Piper to understand. In the storm of Henry’s eyes, Piper saw the girl in the abandoned mall. She saw the young girl tear into her own flesh, begging the dead monster to have bitten her instead. She saw the gun that had a bullet promised for her brain if Ellie was taken by the fungus. She looked at Henry and understood. Closing her eyes, she knew. Moments later, she felt the warm droplets of blood on her face and the bang of a gun. Her arm was burning now. The very arm where her teeth had dug into her flesh months before. It was scalding as Henry’s body fell to the floor. The very floor where his brother met his demise seconds before.
“Oh God,” Joel gasped. A prayer or a cry of shock, none of them knew.
A few hours. That’s all it took to dig the graves of Henry and Sam. They laid to rest in fields behind the motel. Piper had found some sticks to make gravestones with. Sticking them on the ground, she silently turned back to the motel to retrieve her things. She had said her goodbye, so there was no use sticking around, no need for tears, and no need for mourning. Ellie had followed suit, grabbing her and Joel’s things. The girls returned to find Joel patting down the soil. Heaven forbid if any animals got into the grave and made a dinner of the bodies of the people they could have called friends.
Dropping Joel’s jacket and bag at his side, Ellie placed down her bag. In her hand, she held Sam’s scratchboard. She crouched down at his grave and picked up the pencil, writing one last message before placing it down. Picking up her backpack, she threw it over her shoulder and turned to Joel.
“Which way's west?” Ellie asked Joel. The wind had started to pick up, and the pleasant weather from before had started to turn sour. It was going to rain soon.
Joel’s eyes squinted, and he looked around before nodding in the direction. His lungs were still trying to recover after digging the graves.
After getting her answer, Ellie started to walk, leaving Sam and Henry behind. Piper followed. The girls walked side by side, together but feeling forever alone. Joel wasn’t following them.
“Let's go,” Ellie hollered back to Joel. He removed his gaze from Sam’s grave to look up at the girls. They stood waiting for him to move on. They didn’t have time to waste. After all, a storm was coming.
Joel shrugged on his jacket and backpack before taking one last glance at the graves. The message Ellie had written would forever be burned into his brain.
“I’m sorry.”
꧁______꧂
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