Part One
Hellfire did in fact, have cookies to sell.
More than cookies, which Dustin practically preened over when Eddie dragged himself back to their table.
The ornaments they had made were still there, but now the centerpiece was an array of baked goods. Spread out in a spiral, it started from the large cake in the center and spun out into miniature cookies held in tiny decorated bags, all while Harrington stood over them like a proud parent.
It smelled mockingly delicious.
Eddie glared at the display, resisting the urge to upend the whole thing onto the floor.
Cookies and cakes and (--was that frickin bread pudding?) whatever other treats Harrington had shown up with might look good, but Eddie didn’t trust it.
Didn’t trust Harrington, even if the bastard had never really done anything himself--but then, he never had to, had he?
That was the point of all that money, after all. So he could pay other people to do his dirty work while he kept his hands squeaky clean.
“Inch a bit to the left--there, stop!” Harrington was saying, like the bossy asshole he was.
Like he thought he could just come in and expect everyone to follow his lead.
“Perfect! Now don’t touch it.”
God, Eddie had to nip this in the butt, now. Before King Horrorton harassed his sheep all day, and cemented the club's undeserved bad name in the minds of Hawkins.
“Dustin what did I just say--”
Eddie stepped up to the front of their table, preparing himself for war. Looked over to his friends knowing they'd likely need a nod of reassurance. A show from him that said he had this handled.
There was no cowering.
No pleading, helpless, 'What do we do Eddie!?' gazes aimed his direction.
Hellfire wasn’t even looking at him, and not because they were all avoiding Harrington's line of sight.
No, the fucking traiters were flanking the King. Like they were buddies with the bastard instead of mortal enemies.
“Hey, Ed’s, Harrington brought pies. Cakes too!” Gareth said around a mouthful of said cookie when he noticed Eddie standing before him.
It came out a garbled mess, but years of experience had Eddie understanding him anyway.
Jeff was busy playing what sounded like twenty fucking questions regarding the setup, and even Grant appeared comfortable, happily letting Harrington order him around as they finished setting up.
Like this was some kind of cutesy Disney movie where they all held hands and sang songs instead of a hostile takeover situation.
Eddie’s eye twitched.
Sensing a disturbance in the force, Jeff looked up and immediately interrupted himself to point to a series of red and green cookies placed dead center, delighted.
“Check it out man, Steve made some shaped like dice!”
(And he did say ‘Steve.’
Not Harrington, or This Asshole, or The Invading Evil Forces of Darkness.
Just Steve, like Steve was someone Jeff hung out with everyday.
Jeff’s cleric was a dead elf walking.)
Eddie took note of what was in fact, dice cookies.
He hated how good they looked.
“There’s four flavors.” Steve told him, cocky little grin on his face as he observed his work. “Chocolate chip, peanut butter, snickerdoodle--and the dice ones are sugar cookies.”
He licked his lips before finally turning to look at Eddie, hair curling over his face and making him wave a hand to brush them out of his eyes.
Eddie hated how good he looked too.
‘Hate, hate, hate, absolutely loathe-’
“Great, sure, wonderful.” Eddie managed, though given the look Grant and Jeff both shot him it might have come out as more of a growl.
Dustin rolled his eyes, and Eddie couldn’t help but notice that Hellfire’s other two youngest hadn’t dared to show their faces yet.
Likely they knew Eddie was having an absolute meltdown over Steve’s presence and were waiting for his reaction to blow over.
(Their characters were dead too.)
“I have two full cakes--one chocolate, on vanilla--and a few individual slices we can sell.” Steve was continuing, as if Eddie wasn’t glaring a hole in his forehead. “Those did really well last year when I made them for the basketball team.”
Insults fought for space on Eddie’s tongue, but he managed to roll a 20 to pick the best one, opening his mouth to let it fly.
"Harr-" is as far as he got before he was rudely interrupted.
“Steve? Is that you?” A woman Eddie didn’t recognize but was clearly someone's mom came up cautiously to the table, side eyeing the Hellfire banner like a nervous horse. “That can’t be your famous tiramisu, is it?”
Steve beamed at her. “Well hi Miss Carpenter. It is!”
Eddie was bumped aside by a massive purse, the woman not even glancing in his direction as she stepped up to the table.
With a sneer, he finally slumped to the back of their little spot as Miss Carpenter looked over all Steve’s (not Hellfire’s and absolutely not Eddie’s) offerings.
Didn’t care to wipe it off right then, even if he knew he needed to if he wanted to make sales.
Jeff sent him a look.
The same one he usually aimed Eddie’s way when he thought Eddie’s antics were going to cause problems.
He ignored it, on grounds that traitors don’t get to be judgy.
“Oh,” Miss Caprtender tittered, the draw of Harrington’s baked goods clearly overcoming whatever fear she had about Hellfire. “Well I just can’t pass that up. The swim team meets aren’t the same without you!”
Eddie pretended to gag.
Waited for her to comment on Hellfire--their clothes, their music, hell even the length of Eddie’s hair--and found he was almost disappointed when there wasn't even a single question about Hawkins precious golden child was slumming it with the weirdos.
Instead, Miss Carpenter's hand went fishing in her purse for her wallet as she loudly called out over her shoulder, to presumably another annoying woman;
“Terry, Steve’s here! He’s been baking!”
For two terrifying seconds, there was a notable dip in the conversations around them.
Grant’s eyes went wide as several women responded to the announcement like dogs hearing food hit the floor, and within seconds their table was absolutely swarmed by the mothers of Hawkins.
Even Eddie’s eyes went wide at the sheer number of them.
“Hold, men, hold.” Dustin cautioned as Jeff and Grant both took a step back. “Come on, we need to get our gold!”
“They’re scary though.” Gareth whispered in horror as four women tried to talk at once, jostling each other so hard they shook the table menacingly.
“Ladies, ladies there’s enough here for everyone!” Steve laughed, showing off his disgustingly cute dimples as he did, getting several of the mom’s to blush at their own behavior in the process.
The sheer amount of attention of course, drew in even more people, and Dustin quickly took up directing, planting Jeff and Grant at either end of their table while he and Steve fended off the hoard from the front.
(Given the way he and Steve were equally ordering Hellfire around, Eddie finally knew where the little shit had picked that attitude up from. He was going to have to cure Dustin of it, ASAP. )
“Here you go Miss Harper.” Steve said sweetly, handing over yet another stack of baked goods.
Without turning his head, and in the tone of voice one used to warn a misbehaving dog, he added; “Gareth don’t think I can’t fucking see you, get back up here.”
Caught trying to sink under the table with another cookie in his mouth, Gareth found himself hauled back to his feet by his collar, putting a snarl on Eddie’s face immediately.
“Hey--” He started, defensive and more than ready to intercede, except Gareth wasn’t flinching or cursing or doing that thing he did with his mouth when he was desperately trying to hold in his temper.
Instead he was giving a sheepish grin and a half-assed apology while he hung in Harrington’s grasp, before doing what the guy told him to do.
(It did not help that Steve patted him on the shoulder when he released him, before handing Gareth a third fucking cookie.)
Eddie’s eye twitched a second time.
(He told it to knock it off.
It didn’t listen.)
No one acknowledged Eddie or his outburst, which meant he was just skulking behind the boys while they all worked.
Arms crossed, rings tapping a rhythm on his forearm, far too keyed up to do anything other than glare at the back of Harrington's skull.
The King seemed perfectly happy to ignore him.
Likewise, Gareth and Grant knew better than to bother him when he was in a snit.
Henderson made the occasional snappy little comment, but the brat had mostly left him alone now that they were well into the swing of selling, chortling over the increasing stack of cash Steve kept trying to get him to put into a “safe place.”
Eddie was seconds away from walking up and snatching the cash himself when Jeff decided it was on him to attempt the impossible.
Get him to help Harrington.
“More hands would be nice, Eddie!” Jeff called, looking more than a little harassed as the mom he was helping changed her order a second time, snaking out the last single slice of chocolate cake from another mom who was eyeing it. “Steve and I could really use your assistance over here!”
Eddie’s glare, which had been doing its level best to try and vaporize the King’s brain, switched targets instantly.
“I’m supervising.”
Jeff made a face like he was about to argue, but the King beat him to it.
“It must be tough,” Harrington said, tilting his head to look back towards Eddie, “to supervise people who are working so much harder than you.”
Which promptly set the mood for the next full hour.
xXx
Harrington was matching him tit for tat.
Every shitty, sneered word out of Eddie’s mouth was met with an equally mean toned barb, though given the repeated looks everyone kept shooting him, Eddie was very much considered the aggressor here.
A fact he cannot believe is coming from his own friends.
What happened to comradery? To Eddie stepping in and protecting them, from the likes of people just like Harrington?
But no, Eddie makes one fucking comment about how the cookies are probably half hair-spray and suddenly he’s the bad guy.
(Nevermind that Steve had fired right back, telling Eddie that any hair-spray taste was probably from all the drugs he did.)
Was somewhat, halfway--okay maybe amazing, Eddie might have snuck a cookie himself--food really all it took to get them all to turn on him like this?
Erase the years of Eddie being their shield in high school?
Act like Harrington wasn’t just as bitchy and awful as he had been in high school (even if he was, admittedly, being nicer about it all right now? Almost--aloof, like he couldn’t figure out why Eddie hated him so much, but likewise wasn’t going to take even one eye roll sitting down--and no, no, Eddie wasn't derailing this by thinking about his stupid eyes, he wasn't!)
Frankly he would have flipped them all the bird and stormed off, if it weren’t for the increasingly weird little comments people were making.
‘Oh Steve, it's a shock to see you here.’
‘Are you doing someone a favor?’
‘You know Pastor Jim said something about this game…’
The last one had put Eddie’s teeth on edge, even if Dustin had brushed it off. It hadn’t been aimed at Steve directly but the women saying it had absolutely been looking at the King, as if waiting for his reaction.
Not that Harrington would take the bait this soon, though.
There were too many people buying fricken…cupcakes and shit, while the King enjoyed the attention of the masses.
Eventually this tiny crowd would die down though, and that’s when Harrington would change his tune. Start answering some of the questions he seemed to be dodging as more and more people got braver about coming up to the table.
This whole thing was a ticking time bomb, and Eddie would be ready when it inevitably blew.
To defend his table, his club, his friends.
Even Henderson, who absolutely didn’t deserve it just then.
“Dude perk up would you? You look like you’re going to stab somebody.” Jeff hissed at him ten minutes later, when there was finally a break in the flood.
Eddie ignored him in place of taking stock of the table. (And maybe, sneaking another cookie.)
“Hope you brought more than this, Harrington.” He said, knowing he sounded like a stuck up ass and not feeling an iota of guilt about it. “Unless you plan to run home and bake more like a good little housewife.”
“Dude.” Grant said, casting him a look like King Dick might leave and take the cookies with him.
“Oh I brought more.” Harrington dismissed, with a small flick of his fingers. “And I’ll have you know you’d never find a housewife more perfect than I am, Munson.”
Then he turned to nail Eddie with the most shit eating grin he’d ever seen the King wear.
Facing flaming a brilliant red, Eddie sputtered for a second before finally getting ahold of himself and spitting;
“How delightful. I--”
“Okay.” Jeff cut in, forever the mediator. “Gary, Dustin can you help Steve pull the extra stuff out from under the tables? While I go talk to Eddie?”
“Can I try the tiramisu?” Gareth asked, inching hopefully towards the treat while keeping an eye on Harrington’s hands, lest he get smacked again.
“Only if you’re a good boy.” Harrington told him sarcastically and goddammit why did that make Eddie blush harder!?
Jeff sighed, before grabbing his arm and hauling Eddie back, away from the table, right as a younger man in some stupid sport’s jacket asked questions about one of the dice cookies.
“Look I get it man, I do,” Jeff started, voice talking on the sort of wheelding, pleading tone it did when he really wanted something and knew Eddie was opposed. “but Steve’s actually been super cool. We might actually make money off this, and he’s giving us all of it. Can you just… not antagonize him for five minutes?”
Eddie stared at his best friend in abject horror.
“You couldn’t have talked to him for more than twenty minutes total. Half of which he spent bitching that you were bagging a cake wrong! At what point was Harrington "being cool!?"
The asterisks were made by his fingers, which Eddie mockingly framed his face with.
He got a flat, unimpressed stare in return.
“It was a very informative twenty minutes and he was right about the cake. Now are you going to help or are you going to glower in the corner?”
Eddie gaped.
“I cannot believe you right now--”
Jeff didn’t even wait to hear him out.
“You’ve chosen to glower. I can’t help you man, but we’d all have a much better day if you weren’t at Harrington’s throat every five seconds.” Jeff turned smoothly on his heel.
Over his shoulder he added; “Seriously, don’t come back until you’ve worked your way out of your snit.”
Shocked, Eddie watched Jeff float back to the front, inserting himself easily between Grant and Steve and immediately striking up a conversation.
With the enemy.
“I didn’t know you baked.” Jeff told Steve loudly (and very obviously, for Eddie to see.)
Steve gave a bashful little smile, then shrugged. “It’s a hobby. Got into it back when the basketball team needed to fundraise a few years ago and Tommy’s mom got it in her head we should sell home baked goods. Turns out its kinda fun.”
“Please never get out of it.” Gareth insisted, a piece of God knows what crammed in his mouth.
“Dude, how many of those have you gotten into!? Stop eating the merchandise!” Dustin commanded, smacking at Gareth’s shoulder.
“I physically cannot stop man.” Gareth dodged, reaching out for another cookie. “I’m not sorry.”
Steve just laughed. All charming and buddy-buddy, like it was natural for him to be here.
Wearing a Hellfire shirt. Making jokes and teasing the guys.
In Eddie’s fucking place.
He seethed, fingers twitching, and envisioned the very unsexy murder of one Steve Harrington.
Cartoon X’s for eyes and all.
xXx
Trouble didn't hit the table.
It in fact, seemed to stay away as if on purpose, to shove in Eddie's face that he was the one in the wrong here.
Even the questions toned done, as the second wave of moms showed up, this round prompted by some former teammate of Steve’s Eddie didn’t recognize yelling about his apple pie.
Instead, Eddie’s wayward sheep finally made their appearance Mike and Lucas trying to sneak in as if Eddie wouldn’t notice during the new rush.
(Eddie himself almost caused trouble when he realized Lucas was wearing a Not-A-Hellfire shirt, which solved the mystery of where Harrington had gotten his.
He was inching his way towards them, a snarky word on his tongue when he saw Sinclair said something about how he was “already on Eddie’s shitlist for joining the basketball team,” in relation to what must have been a question about his Hellfire shirt, that caused Eddie to freeze.
With the air of a sad, wet kitten, Lucas followed it with; “I’m sure it won’t be long before he kicks me out of Hellfire anyway.”
Like he'd been punched in the gut, all the air left Eddie’s lungs.
Because before Lucas had said that, Eddie had been thinking it.
Not really--he’d never kick anyone out of Hellfire.
It was more that he'd thought about it in the way one does when you know you're right, and are having to resort to underhanded tactics to force the other party to come to their senses.
Like a sort of shitty, angry “I should kick you out, let you see what happens when you don’t have us!” kind of innervation.
The same kind he had heard the jocks sling before, when they were mad at each other and--God he wasn’t--he couldn’t be, like them...could he?
Like fucking Harrington, who oh fuck, was patting Lucas sympathetically on the shoulder and giving him some kind of whispered advice.
Sonovabitch.
“I’m going for a smoke.” Eddie bit out, vision tunneling.
He knew he needed to go sit down somewhere, before he fucking lost it in front of Hawkin, Harrington and everyone.
And wouldn’t that just be a treat for King Steve?
To watch Eddie realize he had turned into the very thing he hated, preached against, even?
That Steve was, maybe, possibly, doing a better job of following Eddie’s own Munson Doctrine than he was?
Eddie barely saw the room anymore--waived off whatever Grant was trying to say to him as flew past, shaking hands fishing for a desperately needed cigarette.
Maybe a hope and a prayer too, because apparently he needed it.
How long had he been like this?
Been a douchebag asshole?
Was it the whole year? More than? Or was it just now, with stupid Steve involved? Could he trace this back to that stupidly cute--no, no, annoying, asshole?
Was this some fucked up way of coping with his growing crush!?
Lost in thought and growing self hatred he nearly careened right into Robin Buckley.
Her slightly bent paper reindeer ears marking her as a member of the band kids who had been absolutely butchering ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ a few minutes earlier.
Vaguely heard her yell Steve’s name as he ran off (because that’s what he was doing. What he always did.
Run--from himself and his own fucking feelings, like a total cliche.)
--but didn’t take in that she was doing more than saying hi to, oh fuck him sideways--her friend.
Because she and Steve were friends.
Good ones, if the freshmen were to be believed.
Rather than go outside and catastrophize in the cold, Eddie threw himself threw the doors at the end of the hall, then up the stairwell, to the second floor.
Tucked himself right into a corner, right there by the stairs.
Sank down into a crouch, hands scrubbing up his face before tangling in his hair, head dropping between his knees, cigarette shoved into his mouth.
Somehow, Eddie decided, this was Steve’s fault.
He'd have come up with a reason for that, he was sure. A good one even, except he forgot one of the key features of his life.
He was a Munson, and as a general rule of life, nice neat things did not happen to Munson's--but they did get kicked while they were down.
“Okay, what happened?” Steve fucking Harrington asked, voice loudly echoing up the stairwell from down below, and Eddie threw his head back, nearly slamming it against the wall.
(Maybe he’d pissed off a witch. His life would make a lot more sense if someone had cursed it.)
“She gave me her number!”
That was Buckley, the shrill timber identifiable even as she whispered the words.
Eddie can’t really see them without giving himself away--could probably make his escape if he got down and army-crawled past the railing he’s huddled by, but figured this is their fault anyway.
Not his problem if he overhears a private conversation if they’re both too stupid to check to see if someone was seated literally right up above them.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?" Steve was saying. "That’s what we wanted!”
“Is it!? What if she’s just, you know, giving it to me?”
“...I’m not following.”
“Like in a friend way. Not a--”
“Romantic way?”
Harrington has the smarts to say the words quietly. So quietly in fact, that had Eddie not been in the exact right position he wouldn’t have heard--but he almost swallowed his unlit (he should have lit it, maybe they'd have smelled the smoke and fucked off) cigarette anyway.
“Sssshh!” Robin hissed, and Eddie can’t see either of them but he imagined her jamming her hand over Harrington’s big fat mouth.
“Not so loud, Steve!”
“Sorry, God.” Sure enough, Harrington’s voice is muffled. “How did she give it to you? Did she say anything?”
“She asked if I want to hang out after band, but because I have that stupid family thing, I told her I couldn’t today, but I can literally any other day, and she said she’d call me, and I said--”
“Robs, breathe.”
“Don’t interrupt me, Dingus!” Robin said, voice shrill again, before she clearly listened to Harrington and took a breath.
It was big, and deep, and she blasted it back out loud enough for the fucking birds on the roof to hear.
In a calmer voice, Robin continued; “I said we never traded phone numbers so I didn’t have hers. She grabbed my arm and wrote her number on it. Look, she added a heart!”
“Okay, here you go! A hearts a good sign!"
And Harrington sounded--sounds happy for her, practically ecstatic, which doesn’t make much sense given Robin is talking about a ‘her’ and-
And-and-and--
Eddie’s always been quick to connect the dots.
It’s something he inherited from his old man. A Munson trait he’s tried to make his own through being an excellent DM (and not by robbing people blind or boosting cars.)
Here, the dots clearly screamed that Robin Buckley was trying to ask a woman out.
You know, in a gay way.
Which Harrington not only knew, but was supportive of.
Steve Harrington, who famously called Jonathan Byers' a queer before smashing the guy's beloved camera into the ground.
Eddie’s head exploded.
Or was in the process of exploding--he’s not entirely sure given the tunnel vision was back and his soul felt like it had exited his body entirely.
Just knew that his world was being remade for a second time in five minutes, and that he was dealing with it pretty damn poorly.
(Maybe God would be nice for once, and just give him the aneurism he clearly deserved.)
Which was of course, when trouble finally did decide to show face, in the form of Dustin Henderson barging through the doors and into Steve and Robin's little meeting.
Eddie knew, because Eddie could hear him.
“Steve! Steve we have a problem!”
“I’m busy Dustin--”
“Be busy later, we have an emergency on our hands!”
“And what, pray tell, do you think is an emergency?”
Eddie, who had instantly latched onto the conversation by the sheer need to have something distract him from his own thoughts, wondered the very same.
“Jason Carver showed up at the table, with a priest. They’re trying to do some whole kind of crazy sermon--is that a good enough emergency for you!?”
“Oh shit. ” Steve spat, at the same time Eddie yelled it from up high.
He sprang up, all thoughts of Robin and Steve knowing he’d eavesdropped vanishing entirely from his head as he lunged for the stairs.
Flew down them, because the thing he'd been waiting all fucking day for had finally happened.
He nearly crashed into Robin once again as he blew through the barely closed doors, Steve and Dustin already far ahead of him.
“Eddie?” Robin asked, voice noticeably nervous. "Were you--"
"Not now Starbuck, but we can talk later." Eddie told her, flying right past.
After he saved Hellfire.
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whoever this beloved anon was I am so touched by your kindness! You definitely didn’t have to do this but I am so happy you enjoy this idea and I will happily expand upon it for you!
this is just a collection of word vomit bullet points for the time being but I will happily answer any and all questions about this pair!!
warnings: violence, angst, child death (Sarah Miller), foul language, the same warnings that apply to tlou, reader is Sarah's mom and described as having similar features to her.
So the general Idea is that you and Joel are happily married before the outbreak.
You had been Sarah's mother, his high school sweetheart he got pregnant when neither of you were old enough to have any reaction to the pregnancy test other than a fucking panic attack in one another’s arms. but you made it work
you both worked but made time for one another and your sweet girl, going to museums every other weekend and joel insisting on swooping you off for a date every now and then
nothing special. He knows you’re more of a diner gal than anything too fancy that makes you both feel out of place.
On his birthday in 2003, you had planned to tell him that you were pregnant again. But the memories of your own fears of motherhood from all those years ago begin to swirl through your head again and you get cold feel. deciding to tell him the morning after
it is his birthday afterall, you want to focus on him.
but when you’re woken up in the middle of the night because tommy needs to get bailed out, Joel kisses you sweetly one last time before promising he’ll be back and you can’t shake the feeling that something bad is happening.
its you that shakes sarah awake that night. shouting at her to put on her shoes when she’s still rubbing the sleep from her eyes because you’ve been listening to the radio for the past two hours, calling joel again and again and again praying for him to fucking pick up but to no avail.
Sarah, bless your little girl’s bleeding heart is the one who insists you check on the adler’s against your better suspicions and when you find the eldest looming over her daughter, blood and sinew dripping from her mouth, you grab your daughter hand and burst into a full sprint until something slams into your back and sends you tumbling onto their front lawn
its how joel finds you, struggling to keep the once sweet old woman, whose now nothing more than dead eyes and gnashing teeth straining to snap at your pulse point as you push against her while sarah shrieks before your husband runs forward and cracks her skull with a wrench.
there’s hardly a moment of pause, just enough for him to pull you up and into his arms before he’s ushering you both into the car with an urgency.
when the truck crashes, you get separated from them. Perhaps at Tommy’s side when the flames rise and create a wall, separating you from your husband, or maybe pulled into the mob of chaos when trying to escape from those already infected-
all joel knows is that you promise you’ll find him: just get sarah to safety and you’ll meet him at the river
Poor thing is already so frightened, held in her father’s arms with tears streaming down her face insisting they can’t leave you they just can’t but her father kisses her forehead and reassures her its going to be okay
“we just need to be brave, okay babygirl? Your mama’s real tough, she’s gonna be alright.”
he isn’t sure if he’s saying it to his daughter or himself.
but when he comes to the river you aren’t there. Only a soldier who points a gun at the scared little girl in his arms and then he loses everything
its when the light is gone from his daughter’s eyes that he realizes. His voice cracked and raw from sobbing that he looks around to see his brother with drawn in shoulders and tears in his eyes but his wife is nowhere to be found.
Tommy says you got lost in the chaos. Everything was so loud, so sudden that he turned around and suddenly you weren’t there.
Joel wants to go back but its Tommy that stops him, that dulls the red in his vision to a sad faded pink because his brother points at the orange horizon not too far from them, so much of the city is already in flames.
“We’re gonna find her, but not there.”
So Joel searches. for the first year spent in the world post-outbreak its all he did.
He became a smuggler because of it.
Information came at a price and he needed to be able to fucking pay it, whether it be in blood or ration cards. He was willing to do anything to find you or any thin thread that lead your way.
But it’s Tommy that asks him to give up. Not in those words of course.
The youngest Miller knows better than to say something so cruel that would make his brother, the only person he has in this world turn on him.
But his voice is worried when he asks him one night in Boston when he hasn’t even had the chance to wash the blood from his knuckles
“You think she would have wanted this for you?”
the fight that followed his words was brutal. Vicious insults and scarred fists slamming against each brother until they're both too tired and bloody to continue. Each leaning against a wall for support and Tommy’s wavering voice breaking the silence.
“I don’t know where she is, Joel. But I do know you're gonna get yourself killed if you keep lookin’ for her.”
All he can do is nod.
It’s a few days later when he meets Tess. Who has heard plenty of stories about the elder miller’s brutality and wants him to put that muscle to good use for some extra profit.
It begins his new life. One that empty and cold but one he can live.
Until of course, Ellie comes along. The sweet and incredibly opinionated girl that makes him become something akin to the man he thought died twenty years ago.
its when he’s traveling with Ellie, that it happens. When a warm familiarity has settled between the two because so much blood and pain has been shared he can’t help but see her as something close, something bright even though all he can force himself to utter in her reference is “cargo”
when theyre traveling through the woods as Ellie chatters away, probing his memory about a movie that may or may not have existed thirty years ago because her descriptions of the plot are incredibly odd he hears a voice shout for them to stop and finds himself staring at a man- no, a boy- pointing a gun at them.
Ellie stills, but Joel can see enough to know that from the lanky figure and dimpled face that he’s young. Maybe twenty, twenty-two at the oldest, but his eyes dart from Joel to Ellie with a pinprick of fear that allows Joel the time to charge forward and slam him to the ground before wrestling the gun from his hands.
He has enough to time to tuck it under the stranger’s chin before he hears the sound of the safety being turned off and finds himself looking up and seeing a gun just inches from his face.
Joel’s head whips around when Ellie’s voice calls out his name in fear, he turns to see another stranger holding her a gun point, shoulders drawn back and a shadow cast over their face by the had obstructing their identity.
“You hurt one of mine, I hurt one of yours. That a fair deal?”
Its takes him a moment to recognize you. It’s been so long since he’s heard your voice, the sweet tease when you would poke at him each time he woke up late despite the fact that you reminded him to set his alarm the night before, the times you’d chide him with a harsh “Joel Miller!” whispered in public anytime he was able to grab you a bit too passionately to be appropriate in public but the laughter in your voice let him know you were never truly mad at him. You didn’t know how to be.
But that sweetness is buried under a cold rasp that cuts through the air as you point a rifle at the scared little girl in front of you.
“You think I won’t?” You’re older now, skin covered in scars from a life he didn’t know you got the chance to live and your eyes are cold as they regard your husband. “Put the gun down and get the fuck off of him, I won’t repeat myself.”
Joel mumbles your name in awe. The woman he loved, the woman he mourned the one he fought so hard to find stands before him like some sort of hallucination and suddenly the world feels like its spinning until you bark orders at him again.
“You’ve got five seconds Joel, make a fucking choice before I make it for you.”
He looks down and realizes the boy under him, the one with the bleeding nose and snarling face has your eyes and his dimples.
“One.”
The one above him has Sarah’s hair. Soft brown curls that shine under the sun.
“Two”
Wait. No, they both do.
“Three.”
Twins. Jesus fucking Christ you had twins.
“Four.”
Joel holds the rifle up above his head and the one boy standing snatches it from his grasp, tossing it to the ground and kicking it far from his reach. He slowly stands, allowing your son- dear god your son- to scramble to his feet.
Your voice softens just for a moment. “You okay, Duke?”
Blood stains the bottom half of his face from where Joel slammed his fist into the boy’s nose just moments before, but he nods nonetheless.
Now, they both stand on one side of you and he can see the resemblance clear as day the same way he would whenever Sarah was by your side.
When you order him to hand over his bag, he does so without question before telling Ellie to do the same.
She watches him with wide eyes, her hands still up in the air but gaping at her companion as if he had grown a second head.
“Joel!” “Just do it, alright?”
He doesn’t miss the way you watch their interaction with narrowed eyes until she tosses her bag to you and you slowly lower your gun.
“Now, you want to tell me what the fuck you think you’re doin’ at my home?”
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