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vanillabourbon · 7 months

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low operative | intro | ongoing narcos series

story summary. javier peña spends several evenings with someone only to walk into the office weeks later to find them working counterintelligence one floor up from his desk - a stranger turned colleague.

chapter warnings. javier should be his own warning (sexual behavior but not too explicit hehe), she/her pronouns in reference to reader; cursing (i literally wrote this like steve's voiceover voice from s1 and s2 lol)

story pairings. javier peña x reader

words. 3150ish

Introduction.

Shortly after Colonel Carillo died, everyone in and surrounding the capture of Pablo Escobar was running from something – bloodshed, murder, secrets that came up to their ears, literally and figuratively, or guilt. Lots and lots of guilt. The thing about blood is that it doesn’t wash away easily, and Colonel Carillo’s left a stain so big everyone anywhere and at any time could see it.

But everyone has their own methods of escapism. For Javier Peña, it was usually women. And lots of them. But he had been had by a fine beauty he got caught up with while trying to escape the pressures of the last faults he took upon himself. He couldn’t bring himself to risk that again. Not for a few weeks, anyway. After a while, he needed something just as badly as he knew he didn’t. The words of his last escape still rung in his head, loud and clear, the conversation repeating itself over and over again like a broken record he wanted to do everything in his power to fix:

“Why don’t you stop?” he had asked her.

“Why don’t you?” she had quipped back. Causally. Playfully.

The thing is, he couldn’t stop. And he knew that. Sooner or later, his habit would catch up to him, just as all habits do. It’s just that Javier’s habits usually came dressed in tight skirts and loose tops close to base and even closer to the case itself.

His resolve was defiant but short-lived, and he was in his car with his tail between his legs in no time. He had just plopped down a time-sensitive find on a dead colonel’s desk, and the night was still young enough to placate himself to do the same thing in the morning. So he figured a random girl, one that wouldn’t matter and wouldn’t ask any questions, would do him just fine. If he could find a woman like that – one that was easy, a non liability – that asks no questions and leaves every stone unturned, he’d count himself lucky. A woman like that would be a gift from God Himself and a chance for Javi to let his guard down.

And he knew exactly where to look.

He drove to a place he’d only heard of, in passing, at his usual spots. Whispers and rumors of the Joya de Colombia. A name thrown around as a sarcastic jest in dark corners of shitty bars and shady corners of the underground. Some woman, you, probably American, that did deeds for men that somehow left them satisfied enough without ever being able to touch you. You were a challenge, and one that Javi took personally. It was a way for him to forget about everything that had yet to catch up to him, or Murphy, or the whole team for that matter. It was something easy – something he knew he’d be able to accomplish, in due time or in no time. And the best part was that your place of ‘work’ was far enough away from the office that Javi felt accomplished in finding someone far, far removed but close enough that he felt safe to wind down.

Guilt aside, or forgotten or whatever term means anything other than gone permanently.

And boy you were a jewel alright.

You were most certainly American, and you’d been hauled up on top of a bar-top counter ever since he’d walked in. Every shift of your hips and smirk thrown over your shoulder sent a thrill so far down south Javi nearly turned himself in early. But he waited. He tucked himself into a back corner and drew a cigarette to his lips while eyeing every exposed inch of your bare skin. This was a stakeout – one he could control. One he knew for certain wouldn’t end up with a bullet between anyone’s eyes or a slew of witnesses asking him for something. This was easy. And tonight – tonight, Javi liked easy. He craved it.

The jewel was anything but easy, but Javi didn’t need to know that. Nor would he ever. You were waiting for your target when you saw Javier walk in. By the time he drew his eyes from you and down to light his cigarette, you finally took the time to eye him appreciatively. The looks you gave one another that night were probably enough to send any sparks flying. But there was nothing calm, sweet, or lovely about it. Just as much as Javi, you were looking for an out – something different but safe enough to take a risk on. You were a risk taker alright. Always had been. But Colombia was no place for your usual risks. You had been warned by your superiors to avoid your usual behaviors.

Behave, They had said. Don’t mess up. Be on your best behavior. And, for God’s sake, don’t make these men kill each other.

The men you had encountered over the last few months were forgettable, faces blurring just so to wipe them from memory any night you were able to convince yourself to sleep. Blurred but not beyond recognition. Most of them were targets – or targets of your targets. Being untouchable, being far removed, was a conscious choice. It was risky enough, but a tactic meant to keep them dangling precariously in front of you should you ever need to reach out and take – take their testimony, take their confessions, take their lies.

But Javi was different. His face wasn’t blurred or recognizable. You didn’t know him, and you liked that. Even better, you didn’t need to know him. No intel required. No details to share. You could eye him easily, lustfully, without any consequence or fear your reputation might wane.

Except it might. It always might.

You had already figured and calculated all the variables. Truth was, you almost didn’t care. Almost.

For what it was worth, Javi could’ve taken you anywhere in the building if he wanted to. It had been a long time since you’d indulged in the touch of another with reciprocated intimacy, and you’d be lying if you said the thought wasn’t tempting. But you had a job to do. If he approached you, you’d already made up your mind that you’d give him a chance. A brief one. One that might leave him wanting more but at least you’d get it out of your system. And, with any hope, he would know what’s good for him and never see you again.

With any hope, this was a matter of luck and convenience. This was nothing more than a man who wanted something to forget, and boy were you ready to be just that.

It was all contractual. Unspoken or not, you knew as much as he did that one night was all anyone ever truly needed. Just one night.

Except it was not just one night. It never is. Javier was hooked on you like all the corporate assholes from New York were on the shit Escobar was funneling through airports like candy. That night he could hardly contain the twitch in his jeans or the sudden tightness of his shirt on his neck when he noticed just how much you were maintaining eye contact with him.

It all happened fast – faster than Javi anticipated. Part of him was disappointed. He wanted the thrill of chasing you, charming you until the only thought in his head was the smell of your perfume or the strands of your hair resting on your pretty, little forehead – until Colonel Carrillo and the shitshow of the mission he’d perpetrated was so far shoved up his memory that nothing and no one could dig it out until morning.

But the chase was still present, still there, even when Javi approached you, and you gave him a pointed smirk when you twisted away from him. You were coy, he’d give you that. But fun — oh so fun. The kind of fun that sent a crooked smile curving its way onto Javi’s face. You were enticing him, reeling him in with every intentional move you could think of. He watched your back arch off the table, shoulders and hips digging into the wood as your fingers trailed up your body and into your hair. At that point, Javi’s fingers were practically twitching at his sides.

You were putting on a show, and it was obvious you were putting on a show for him.

And he loved it.

Which is why he let his mind wander, even if it was for just a few minutes. It had been awhile since he let his mind run rampant with dirty thoughts and lustful intentions – a mind so filled with sin he could easily wipe out the memory of poor Escobar running the streets of Colombia like a madman on a mission. Tonight, tonight, Javi could let himself be what he’d been so desperately discouraging over the last few weeks.

Who was Javi kidding? He couldn’t control himself even if he tried. It was in his nature.

His eyes roamed slowly, painstakingly, across your body. He took in every inch like an undisclosed case file he had no business reading. It was easy to ignore the hands of the men around him, inching towards you but never quite touching you. Javi knew their time was limited. He knew he had you hooked, same as you had him. He knew it the moment he’d walked through the door and felt you eyeing him from the start.

You could pretend now. It was nice of you to play his game. You were nothing if not inviting.

That’s why, when you had stood and hopped off the counter, your walk to a side hallway, away from prying eyes and straining ears, had Javi following behind you like a lost puppy. He had no shame, of course. His walk was still as confident and collected as he’d always been. The other men that had been surrounding you were trudging away with slumped shoulders and a devilish look in their eyes. And as always, Javi was smug about it.

By the time you were far enough away to turn around, Javi had only a few inches between you and another step that sent you slumping against the bar’s tacky walls.

“You’re not my usual clientele,” you noted.

“No, I’m not.”

Your voice did more for him than he anticipated, and his determination to draw this out for as long as criminally possible was already crumbling. He needed you in more ways than one, and he was going to get what he wanted. If you obliged him, of course, but he knew, same as with most all women, that you would. It was a certain skill he had – an ability he had picked up over the years. He could pridefully read a woman’s body in seconds.

“Should I be worried about that?” You drew a finger up to his chest to fiddle with his unbuttoned collar. “You have to tell me, business or pleasure.”

Javi was still in his right state of mind to know you were distracting him, but there wasn’t a part of him that cared enough. His nose was flaring and his teeth were grinding with enough impatience to spur a horse. But, if he had been looking for a red flag, that should’ve been it. He should’ve clocked the real reason for your concern, and just what that meant, before he let you trail your finger down to his zipper. And if dear old Stevie had been there, he would’ve.

But he was alone, and no one knew where he was. Just how he wanted it.

“Give me pleasure, baby.”

And that was all it took for the two of you to go careening into a closet two doors down from where you'd been standing. You were a pile of flesh and bone without any other exchanges. Your breaths came hot against each other’s skin, and Javi was yanking off his jacket and stepping backwards to push you further and further into the room all at the same time. His hands found purchase on your hips early. He was an expert in his field, no one could ever say otherwise.

For a while, you let him. Unlike other men, you let him trace his tongue from your collarbone to the shell of your ear. Your head fell back, mouth hanging wide open at the sensation and leg rising to latch around his hip. It was unusual for the Joya de Colombia to take so much in so little time, but you enjoyed it. If only for a minute.

It wasn’t long before you were pushing Javier back and sinking to your knees like it was some kind of religious ritual. Javi wanted to protest, and normally he would, but his eyes were blown wide and his chest tightened by the minute. He had no idea just how wound up he’d become trying to ignore his need.

It was a bad need, one that got him in trouble more times than he could count, but a need all the same. And, if you were willing to give him what he wanted before he even thought to ask, then who was he to stop you?

His pants were barely to his ankles before your fingers dug into the flesh of his upper thighs. Your lips stretched around him in a way that would make just about any man spill their darkest secrets. And maybe that should’ve been another red flag that tipped him off early, but it didn’t. Javi was too busy with his dark eyes staring down at you and his hands collecting your hair in a makeshift ponytail. He was holding you there, pushing his hips, back and forth and back again, without a single care in the world.

As selfish as it sounded, this was for him. He said he would forget the burden of sin he was carrying around, and he did. Though most people never tried to make up for one sin with another, but it worked for him.

And it worked for you.

Your tongue wander across him in ways he hadn't experienced in awhile. His teeth ground to a rough stop so he could whisper sweet praises to you. A quiet 'good girl' sent a hmm from deep in your throat up to his core, and he reveled in how such a simple praise could send you taking more of him than he thought you could manage.

You could manage alright. You had him curling his fist and tightening his core in no time. His hand found your neck when he pulled you up for a kiss, rough and persistent, like he wanted you to drown with him.

At the time, he didn’t mind leaving like that – didn’t mind taking what he needed, leaving you with a kiss and the pad of his thumb swiping along your bottom lip. It was every night after that that was a real challenge.

You were reluctant to go any further, and it showed. You were the Joya de Colombia after all, and no man had been able to do half of what you’d let Javier Peña do in only two week’s time. Your reputation remained steady, but it became a habit for every man to sulk away from you whenever Javi entered whatever building you found yourself in that night. He was good at that, at finding you when he needed to.

You should’ve been worried. It was bad for business, after all. But the information kept coming and the men never stopped trying.

It was when your team still refused to extract you that made you tip over whatever boundary you’d made yourself a long time ago. You’d done all you needed to do; you could do more chained to a desk back on base than whatever they wanted you to do inside a dark, overly-crowded bar in the darkest corners of Colombia. You were more than livid. You were impatient, upset, desperate to get back to whatever semblance of a life you had before agreeing to this whole thing.

And, when you saw Javi, the change in you really became apparent.

You took hold of him like a wild doe in need of taming. The shock of it all blew well over his head, and he welcomed the change. You became so open to him that Javi found new ways to make you scream than he had ever found in any of the rendezvous you had before now. It was intoxicating, reckless, but you didn’t care in the slightest.

It was your turn to be selfish, and God did Javi give you exactly what you needed. He was entering you, over and over again, like a man in desperate need of air. Every snap of his hips sent your nails clawing at his back, scratching sweet praises across his bare back and earning loud grunts in your ear.

You were finished, done for. Javier ruined you for just about every man after, and you didn’t care. If it meant stress relief and a chance to rid yourself of all the men still trying to grab you for their own personal gain, you’d take hours with Javi every chance you got. You weren’t sure how it happened – how Javi became so integral to your stake in this mission – but it happened regardless. Javi was your out, physically and mentally. Even if your team didn’t give you one, you found one yourself.

And maybe it wouldn’t be enough in a few weeks, but it was enough for now.

And a few weeks did come. You were finally getting extracted from your post, and a bitter feeling ran down your spine at the idea of seeing Javi for the last time in that God-forsaken bar. But he never came. In fact, he hadn’t come in the last five days. It was the longest streak he’d held since seeing you. A part of you thought it was for the best. At least now you didn’t have to put on an act of indifference. At least now you didn’t have to figure out how to separate yourself from him for the last time.

Except, it wasn’t the last time, and it never would be.

The next time you saw Javier Peña, your blood ran cold and every cell in your body wanted to turn tail and run. The way his eyes widened and body grew rigid you figured he felt the same. Even if you both hid it well, neither of you anticipated this – neither of you anticipated you’d been two steps behind the station’s CIA officer with a badge on your hip and a gun on your side.

For Javi, it was the worst. It was a big lie. The biggest. Javier just had his life turned upside down and his reality with it. You were a fake. A fraud. He’d gotten off on knowing you were too far from him, too far from his work, to be a cause for concern. He selfishly took from you, and gave to you, thinking you were a nobody, a person of no interest. And of course, he’d been had, yet again, because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. Above all, he couldn’t separate what was in his pants from whatever emotions he was constantly running from.

It’s why when you nodded at him and Steve, offering a firm, “Agents,” in greeting, he only brushed past you, bumping your shoulder with his and leaving the building entirely.

“He takes a minute to warm up to new people,” Steve said.

But little did he know how wrong he was.

#javier pena x reader #javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #narcos #narcos fanfiction

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vanillabourbon · 7 months

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The way I'm crying right now?? This means the world to me. Thank you so much for reading!!

the first of many. | intro | ongoing tlou series

story summary. joel arrives at Jackson twenty years after the outbreak with a young girl that cares for him just as much as he cares for her. little did he know, he would soon meet someone else that would urge his returning sense of humanity one step further.

introductory chapter warnings. weaponry. alludes to suicidal thoughts and behavior. mentions of blood and violence. wounds. kinda sad ngl but let’s call it canon. pls let me know if i missed anything.

story pairings. joel miller x reader, tommy miller x platonic!reader

words. 11k (i went a bit overboard, hehe, but editing is going slow so pls ignore any obvious mistakes. this is the first work i’ve taken seriously so please enjoy :))

Chicago, Illinois. September 2003.

The mind and the body’s initial response is always denial – denial of things, of circumstances, and of situations that are too radical, too unconventional, to believe.

How could anyone believe the events of things as they were? Social and societal constructs had been dismantled in a matter of hours, as if the very fabric of everyone’s being had been tied together by a mere string. The justice and sovereignty in belief, in trust in the nature of things themselves, was apparently so fickle, so haphazardly constructed in the first place, that it took a rapidly spreading infection to displace and make known just how unsafe anything is from harm.

No one should be shocked, really. Least of all you.

Keep reading

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vanillabourbon · 7 months

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the first of many. | chapter one | ongoing tlou series

chapter one warnings. i'm starting to realize this is going to be a slowburn, sorry friends.

story pairings. joel miller x reader, tommy miller x platonic!reader

words. 7873

Chapter One. The Prodigal Son.

Jackson, Wyoming. 2023.

It was a brutal winter. Jackson sat in a valley, leaving many, including you, to assume the brute of every storm would pass without much consequence. Of course, this once, you were wrong.

The nights were cold. Sometimes the following night was even colder. The indoors weren’t so bad, but you couldn’t help but to think of the bitter, chilly air while lying alone – awake for an unknown number of hours – in your bedroom. Every creak and groan of the house you took refuge in had long since gone silent whenever the wind died down at this hour. If solitude had a brink, you were sure this would be it.

The only noise you heard was the incessant ticking of the grandfather clock somewhere in the hallway. It was loud, repetitive to a fault, and the last thing you wanted to hear when another sleepless night led to the start of your patrol week. Every slow blink of your heavy eyelids only interrupted the path your eyes traced along the speckled ceiling above you. Every tick reminding you of all the times you forgot to ask Tommy to help you remove the clock from your house instead of spending your nights wondering who lived here before you.

Before the outbreak. Before the world fell to pieces.

The ticking was never the only noise. Not for long, of course. Jackson was stirring awake. Front doors were shutting and little children were already laughing. Despite the cold, despite the frostbitten fingers and cracked lips, despite the outside world staving off infected, every child-like sound and rumble of snow removal felt mind-numbingly similar to a world you’d almost forgotten.

Or maybe a world you wanted to forget. Even now you still couldn't decide.

Your thoughts were on repeat, just like the clock. And yet the clock was still louder. Much louder. Every second passed was excruciating. You willed yourself to be thoughtless. Every night you fought to quiet your mind … to no avail. Without the need or constant threat of surviving another day, there was nothing to displace a constant line of thinking that never failed to bring about a quiet discontent.

Eventually, you noticed the rhythm of the clock’s ticking coincided with every tap of your finger against your bed frame. Your back dug into the mattress, pressing yourself deeper and deeper into it as if your bed would swallow you whole. You ignored the sudden sounds of boots climbing up the stairs of your front porch as you forced yourself to stop tapping.

A well-timed, and fully expected, knock at your door did nothing to draw your gaze from the ceiling. Not at first. You knew who was on the other side of that door, and you also knew you didn’t want to hear a thing from Maria about being late to patrol. It was either bite the bullet now or later.

With a soft grunt, you chose now.

You hoisted yourself out of bed and ambled over to your opened closet. While you made quick work of changing your clothes, another round of sharp knocks – thump, thump, thump – echoed throughout your house. Insistent. Unrelenting. But still substantially polite.

Only Tommy, you thought. Only Tommy.

–

Before making your way to the front door, you slipped into the kitchen and grabbed a leftover apple you snagged from the dining hall. Strictly for appearances. You wanted to seem like you’d just awoken, that you’d started having a light breakfast before patrol. You weren’t unaware of Tommy’s ability to appear more oblivious than he actually was.

He’d notice. He always did.

You opened the door shortly after his fifth knock. The two of you made eye contact, already very much aware of the other’s intentions.

“I wasn’t going to miss check-in,” you stated, taking a pointed bite out of your apple. “I was just getting ready. Thinking about some new patrol routes to run by Colby before we leave.”

Colby, your patrol partner and ever the golden boy. No one thought twice of your word when you mentioned him, least of all Tommy.

You took a step back, acknowledging Tommy’s entrance, before grabbing your boots and walking toward the adjacent living room. Tommy closed your front door softly before following you. Slowly. Eyeing you as if he was trying to figure out how to broach an inevitable subject.

He shuffled forward, choosing to lean against the wall instead of sitting down next to you. It felt condescending. Wary. “I didn’t come here for that. You know that.”

You held your apple in your mouth as you shimmied a boot onto your foot. You raised your brow in question, trying to act as oblivious as you hoped you looked.

Tommy eyed you for a long moment before sighing. “You didn’t come by for breakfast again.”

You plucked the apple out of your mouth. “I overslept.”

“You never oversleep.”

“Maybe I’m just tired of eating breakfast with Maria.” Your defiant, tight-lipped smile immediately vanished at Tommy’s hurt expression. Your chest deflated. “ … And you.”

He frowned. “What?”

“With the baby coming, you two need to spend as much time together as possible, Tommy. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“You wouldn’t.” Tommy tried to give you a meaningful look, but you kept your eyes down. Your fingers worked to lace up your boot in the sudden silence. “Nothing’s going to change.”

“Everything’s going to change, Tommy. Everything has changed. And that’s alright. At least one of us had to relearn how to build some kind of a life.”

“You’re always welcome for breakfast. That’s never going to change.”

You let the silence drone on, using the need to put on your other boot as much needed time to think of what to say. Preferably how to change the subject. You took another bite of your apple before placing it on the coffee table in front of you.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand before settling on a change in subject. “Yeah, well, I told myself that I’m going to start eating in the dining hall with Colby.”

“Thought you didn’t like Colby. You said he talked too much.”

“Yeah, so do you. I got used to that real quick. I’m sure I can give Colby the same benefit.”

Tommy let out a short laugh. “How is the new partner, anyway? First one who hasn’t switched on you since we were partners.”

“Are you saying I’m hard to be with?”

It was clear it was growing difficult to suppress a smile, but Tommy fought it well. “No,” he replied slowly. “I’m only saying. Seems nice enough. A good fit for ya.”

You finally caught on to his insinuation. The threat of something more – something intimate – made you recoil sharply. “Don’t, Tommy.”

“I’m just saying. He’s nice – a good man.”

“We patrol together, Tommy. And half the people in Jackson are ‘nice.’ Nice comes from losing so much.”

Almost instantly, you regretted making the conversation turn for the worse, but Tommy’s always been quick. He was leaning against the wall so openly, so casually, shoving his hands in his pockets with a familiar, disarming smile in less than a minute.

“You mentioned something about new patrol routes. Something happen?” You went quiet for a minute, standing to shoulder your jacket that’d been draped over the sofa. You ignored the few steps it took for him to cross the living room and stand in front of you. He helped you with your jacket without question. “You know if something happened, you and Colby have to report it.”

“I know, Tommy.” With a mutter, you added, “You sound like Maria.”

He paused, forcing you to look at him. “If something happened, you have to tell me.”

“Nothing happened, Tommy. Honest. Other than tripping and falling in the old warehouse, nothing’s happened.” You zipped your jacket and faced him fully, looking into his eyes with sudden sincerity. “Sometimes we all just need a change. In pace. In scenery. Just a change, Tommy. That’s all it is.”

Tommy’s response was slow … and then not at all. His mouth opened slightly before closing altogether.

You tilted your head, puckering your lips in annoyance. “You want me to run it by Maria.”

Nearly imperceptible, Tommy sucked in a breath, weighing his decision before shaking his head. “No. Not as long as you stick to the usual route most of the time. You know how they are around here. Real –”

“ – protective of this place. I know, I know. You remind me every day.” You gave him a small smile. A genuine one this time. “Deal.”

He shook his head, smiling like the over-tolerant man he tended to be with you. “C’mon, we’ve still got time to run by the dining hall.”

“We?”

“I’ve got time; I’m helping fix up some of the buildings today. You can eat a proper breakfast, and, if you’ve got new routes to share with Colby –,” he paused, ambling over to your front door and gesturing for you to follow close behind, “ — then I wanna hear ‘em.”

With that, the walk toward the door was already filled with Tommy’s habit for talking. It was clear his mind was elsewhere – on Maria, on the baby, on the state of Jackson. He had a habit like that, talking about the things that were clearly on his mind while trying to defect to other conversations to keep the solemnity of it all to a minimum.

You’d almost thank him for it. Almost.

It was always nice to hear regular conversation, as if the world wasn’t burning, and had burned, outside of everything that currently surrounded you. Tommy was good at that – a constant reminder that no matter how bad things were, there was always something, seemingly inconsequential, that could bring light to the seriousness of it all. Of everything, really. You liked that.

That’s why you let him talk and didn’t immediately wipe the growing smile that traced your lips.

“ – and I’ll probably work less, once the baby comes. Marie and I have already decided that,” he was saying. Your smile dropped, then.

It all felt strange – inane. Like everyone and everything was trying to rebuild something that wasn’t meant to be rebuilt. And children. Children were the last thing that should be brought into a world like this.

But he was Tommy, and you would be remiss not to share in his happiness.

You managed a tight-lipped smile, eyes barely leaving the ground, as you reached for the door knob. “Yeah, sounds great, Tommy. Happy for you.”

You eyed him for a moment, a smile threatening every inch of your countenance, but you shoved it down as soon as you opened the door. Your patrol partner, Colby, stood on your front porch, arm outstretched mid-knock, and wide eyes trained on the both of you. His tall, lanky figure stood awkwardly in your doorway.

Tommy stopped, mid stride, conversation dropping immediately and a wide grin spreading rapidly.

“Well, looks like we didn’t have to go lookin’ very far,” Tommy said, humorously bumping your shoulder as he shoved his hands in his pockets. He nodded in greeting, “Colby.”

“Tommy.” Colby nodded, looking between you and his raised fist before dropping his hand entirely. “I – um – I couldn’t find you at the dining hall. I thought I should swing by to check on you before our shift.”

Tommy’s eyes slid toward you with a smirk, muttering, “Well, ain’t that sweet.”

Colby’s hopeful expression was almost unbearable. For a moment, you tried for a smile, but you were sure it came across as more of a grimace. When you didn’t say anything, Tommy cleared his throat. The absence of subtlety was lost on Colby. His failure to notice your annoyance was almost as comical as his inability to tell your intention as you took a few pointed steps toward your pack hanging on a hook to your left.

You were going to leave your pack today, but you hoped it would send a message: Let’s get to the stables and start our shift. Nothing more; nothing less.

You nodded, hooking your pack across your shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Without another moment, you ushered the two of them out and away from your door. Even as you fished your house key out of your pocket, you could see the warm, encouraging smile Tommy gave Colby as they walked. You made no attempt to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at the sight.

The sound of your door locking tightly behind you sent you bounding down the stairs to join the two men on the street.

With a simple nod, you were going to walk right by Tommy and expect Colby to follow in your wake. But Tommy stopped you with a light hand tap to your arm.

“Careful on those new routes.”

“Always.”

He studied you for a long moment, eyes scrutinizing and stance weary. You just let him. Something in your gaze – determination, lack of fear, self-preservation – made him relax and, without warning, pull you into a side hug. You hit his side as he whispered, “Bring it in.”

You took a few measured breathes, letting yourself relax in his grasp, before you pushed yourself upright. You walked out of his embrace with another nod in his direction before heading to the stables.

You hardly noticed the way Colby looked when he fell in stride with you.

"I didn't take you for the affectionate type."

With a shrug, your clipped response was a grunted, "I'm not."

Despite yourself, Tommy's hugs were familiar, reminiscent of a time you couldn't quite place with people you couldn't quite remember. But the next time you saw Tommy, hours later, pulling another into that same kind of hug, it was suddenly different. Foreign.

Hours later, he was hugging his brother.

–

All of the air had been sucked out of the room the moment Joel Miller spoke.

Maybe we could have a moment alone, just for family, he had said.

Your immediate thought was how rude the insinuation must’ve seemed to Maria … until Joel’s gaze met yours first.

He had been in Jackson all of five minutes, and your eyes hadn’t left him since. Even now, when he and a young girl – Ellie, he had explained – sat across from you, Tommy, and Maria in the dining hall.

He looked exactly as you thought he might. You weren’t sure what it was you had been expecting from the older Miller, but the person sitting in front of you was pretty much it. Broad. Brooding. Similar to Tommy in looks and in stature, but still not quite the same. They were family, though, that was for sure.

And now he was making it very apparent that you were not.

The cold, icy feeling of isolation and neglect crept along the back of your neck at his words, bristling and tensing as his gaze fell over you for the first time. Briefly. He set his stare on Tommy after that, working his fork over what was left of his food.

He hadn’t bothered to look at you much, but you also made no effort to make your presence known. You hadn’t spoken since you'd returned from patrol and the two brothers had reunited. You hadn’t left Tommy’s side, either. The latter wasn’t unusual, of course, so there was no hesitation when you remained at his side, same as Maria. Hesitation only came when Tommy, with a slight pause, turned toward you.

In shock, you snapped your gaze from Joel to Tommy. Without the heat of your gaze, Joel’s eyes could appraise you without much risk. His eyes flitted between you and Tommy, trying but failing to understand the silent conversation that warred between the two of you. His eyes trailed from your hair to the way your fist furled and unfurled on the edge of the table. He was assessing. Gauging. His eyes were back on his plate within seconds.

Conversely, Tommy’s gaze pleaded with you, with every ounce of subtle vulnerability he could muster, with the warm, apologetic look he gave. He wanted you to do as Joel said. A sickening feeling peeled at your gut and constricted your throat at the thought.

But he and Joel were right; you weren’t family.

With an indignant sniff, you rose from your seat and left the dining hall without a single look back.

In your wake, Ellie watched your retreating figure with newfound interest. “Who’s that?”

After a moment, and a brief glance in Maria’s direction, Tommy answered with a cool smile, “A friend. We came to Jackson together. We survived together,” he paused, using his index finger to motion between Joel and Ellie, “Same as you.”

At that, Joel’s eyes momentarily slid over to the door you’d just exited from.

–

The latter half of the evening began to settle in when you heard a familiar gait approach you at the stables. You didn’t bother turning around, not initially. The sun had slipped below the hills surrounding Jackson, and you were sure you could safely spend the rest of the night alone before having to face Tommy again, or anyone really. You wanted to sift through your thoughts properly without the threat of having to speak to anyone else.

That's why you came to the stables. They're quiet. Unassuming. A good place to be alone.

You should’ve known Tommy wouldn’t let you stay that way.

It was no surprise that he knew to find you at the stables, checking the locks for the millionth time in the way you did when you could find nothing else to do with your hands. Or time.

It was cathartic, you used to always say. Made you feel like you were worth something.

“I didn’t think we rotated stable duty anymore. Not this quickly, anyway,” he called out. “Besides, I’d think you should still be sleepin’ off your patrol shift from this morning.”

You merely glanced at him over your shoulder, offering something between a scoff and a humorless laugh. “I’m just double checking. The new guys always forget something.”

“Suit yourself.” You could hear him shuffling around, trying but failing to avoid the obvious tension between the two of you. “You find anything interesting on your new route today? Was it the scenery you hoped for?”

Your back remained toward him as you mumbled something, nearly incoherent, in response. Nothing new. Different scenery, same feelings. Nothing worth over explaining … or explaining at all. Your voice faded and the silence continued until he let out a sigh.

“I wanted to apologize about earlier. I shouldn’t have made you leave. Everything was so tense –”

“Doesn’t matter. You don’t have to apologize. I get it.”

He paused before trying again. “Everything was so tense. I thought it best to do whatever Joel said to ease it up a bit. Make ‘em feel more comfortable.”

You only nodded, and Tommy sighed again. He moved to lean against a wooden post, crossing his arms and looking at his feet. You wanted to finish checking the locks before you turned around. You thought of him, and the girl, and Joel. His brother came back, and Tommy chose to cater to him. That should be fine. That is fine. You’d probably do the same, if you could.

Joel. Something about him clung to your mind, and perhaps that was why your skin crawled and you hadn’t felt right since seeing him. You never quite thought of what to expect when you met him. If you met him. The way Tommy had dropped little pieces of information about him – here and there, in spurts and bouts – you were sure you knew the man already. But the man that had sat across from you was unforthcoming, aloof, restrained, hard to read, … stiff.

You nearly wanted to double over at the memory of Tommy once telling you that you reminded him of his brother.

Finally, you stopped idling poking around with the locks and dropped your shoulders, turning to face him. At least he could be read like a book.

“I know there’s more, Tommy. What is it? Did he tell you the real reason why he came?”

Tommy shook his head quickly. Almost too quickly. “I really do think he came to check up on me, that's all. I haven’t radioed him in a while.”

“I told you to.”

“I know. Can’t pass up an opportunity to say, ‘I told you so,’ can you?” A moment of silence. His smile died on his lips as he was forced to acknowledge the seriousness. “He wants me to take the girl.”

“What do you mean? Take her where?”

“South. The fireflies have a base in Colorado.”

“Did he tell you why?”

He looked at you – communicative yet reluctant. Like he wanted to tell you but couldn’t, and the guilt made him apologetic. You swallowed a lump forming in your throat.

“Alright,” you said slowly. “Did he tell you anything else?”

“Nope. Just that I need to take her … and I agreed.”

You nodded, weighing your options in your head. “Well, then, when do we leave?”

“Woah, ‘we’?” Tommy pushed himself off the post and walked a step closer. “There’s no we on this. It’s just me and the girl.”

“Tommy, if you think I’m letting you leave Jackson without me, you’re wrong. And you know it.”

“It’s just a week’s ride. You and me, we’ve gone further than that – separately, too. I’ll be fine. I’ll take the girl, and be back before your next stable duty. I need someone here to watch Maria. To watch Joel. Someone I can trust.”

“Yeah? And who will watch you?”

He let out a short laugh. “I don't need anyone to watch me.”

“You know it’s more than that, Tommy. I have a bad feeling about this.”

You both shared a look – a knowing look. Tommy was well aware of how much it meant to you when you had a bad feeling. And it was true. You practically couldn’t stand still at the thought of it all.

He nodded in understanding before looking away. “I get it, but I’m going alone on this. It’ll be easier. Faster. But I needed to tell you so you don’t go worryin’ tomorrow morning.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, to step closer and end the conversation with a light, familiar hand to the shoulder, but he didn’t. He only gave you one last meaningful look before turning and walking away.

–

That night was the same as all others. The incessant ticking of the grandfather clock, the methodical tracing of every grove and indent in the ceiling above you, and the quiet natural sounds of the undisturbed town. The only difference was the added weight that dipped the mattress at the base of your bed – your bag.

Despite what Tommy said, you fully planned on joining him in the morning with a bag packed with two week’s worth of essentials.

Over and over, you imagined the conversation in the stables. You were searching for any giveaways on Tommy’s face that might lend any credibility to what Joel was getting him into. Why the fireflies? Why would the girl need to go to one of their bases? Why come all the way to Jackson? What made the girl so important?

Your stomach churned at every scenario and theory, eyes regularly forgetting the path they were tracing across the speckled ceiling. With a low huff, you turned on your side and stared at the curtains instead. The standard, white, thin curtains that came with the house, same as the clock. They weren’t your favorite, but they reminded you of the time before. They reminded you that there even was a time before.

For whatever reason, that brought as much comfort as it did pain.

Whether the thought brought a wave of fatigue that pushed you over the brink of sleep, you couldn’t tell, but you were pulling yourself up and out of bed the moment the first signs of daylight poked through your window. The early sunlight spilled lazily across your floorboards and sent your heart thumping wildly.

You knew if the two of them were leaving, they would do so early. You’d be damned if Tommy left you behind.

You were up and out of your house faster than you’d ever been before. A small part of you tried not to dwell on the fact that your heart was actually beating with excitement. The thought of leaving Jackson for some time was invigorating – freeing. You’d never admit it to Tommy – you’d barely admit it to yourself – but the town was far too overwhelming at times.

You’d traded Fedra's walls for Jackson’s walls, and the idea was none too pleasing next to the sight of all of the calm, relaxed faces.

It still seemed so trivial to have all of this in here – calm, reassurance, life – while the world rotted out there.

The suffocation of it all was also one of the reasons you jumped at the chance to join the patrol team only days after you and Tommy joined Jackson. You needed a regular out, to catch your breath and to remind yourself there still was a world out there. Broken, tattered, and empty. But it was there all the same.

And now here was another chance, an opportunity to go even for just a little while longer.

Even if the last thing you expected was to turn the corner at the entrance of the stable and see Joel.

The older Miller was fiddling with one of the padlocks, mumbling something under his breath before he chanced a look over his shoulder to find you watching him with partially parted lips. He froze that way for a second. It never occurred to you which one of you would speak first until the silence between you started to stretch on, second by second.

The two of you took a breath at the same time, seconds away from over-talking one another, just as Colby rounded the corner and came to a stop a few steps behind you. Your name left his lips, breathlessly and pleasantly surprised.

“What are you doing here?” He asked. You turned to face him just as his eyes flitted towards Joel before settling back on you. “Our name’s aren’t on the board for today.”

You nodded. Your bag suddenly seemed heavy on your shoulder, so you adjusted the straps to avoid eye contact for a few seconds. “I could ask you the same question.”

“Olivia and Myles need some things fixed around their house. Toby mentioned we had some spare tools lying around the stables if I wanted to help.” His voice trailed off at the sound of Joel yanking the padlock off one of the horse’s pens. Colby’s eyes shifted to your bag. “Are you heading out?”

You heard the faintest stutter in Joel’s movements. You wondered if he realized Tommy let you in on the matter.

When you didn’t immediately respond, Colby tried for a laugh. It sounded oddly strained. “Showing the new guy the ropes already, huh?”

An exaggerated grunt sounded behind you, and you rolled your eyes. Joel’s lack of response and familiarity with you should’ve been enough of an answer for Colby. Obviously not, of course.

“No,” you stated simply. You were quick on your feet. Dismissive. You felt partially bad for how smoothly a lie flew from your lips to placate his misplaced curiosity, but you wanted him gone more than anything else at the moment. “I’ve been helping Maria with something.”

Your response did exactly as you anticipated. There was little opposition whenever you said you were doing something for Maria; no one ever asked or pushed further. Thankfully, Colby was one of the many who never asked questions.

Colby nodded, excusing himself as he stepped by you and walked toward one of the work benches. His gaze flitted toward Joel several more times as he collected a few items and grabbed a nearby toolbox. You’d never seen him in such a rush to do anything. You wondered if he could feel the taut air, the strained edginess in the situation he just walked in on.

If he did, his smile didn’t show it.

He walked back toward you on his way out, brushing your shoulder with his own. He nodded his head in goodbye. “I’ll see you around.”

Your only response was a tight-lipped smile as you watched his retreating figure. Anything to avoid turning back to Joel for as long as possible. You weren’t sure what to say or how to say it. You were sure he suspected Tommy told you what the two of them had discussed, even if Tommy hadn’t told you much. Joel didn’t know that.

And, when you turned around, Joel’s expression gave away exactly what you figured. Partial annoyance littered every muscle in his face as his jaw feathered.

With eyes trained on you, he nodded in your direction. “Tommy tell you?”

You didn’t know whether to nod or vigorously disagree. You were aware of how rocky their relationship was, how turbulent their past must have been for the two of them to separate, and you wanted little to do with however they felt about one another.

Still, Joel took your silence as an answer and clucked his tongue in irritation.

“You shouldn’t blame him,” You spoke up, crossing your arms defiantly, “When I want information, I’m pretty good at grilling people for it.”

“I know Tommy. He doesn’t need much grillin’.”

Silence ensued once more until your curiosity won. You watched him strap his pack on the horse for a few moments before speaking up again. “If Tommy’s the one leaving, why are you here? Prepping a horse, no less.”

“I’m giving Ellie a choice – me or Tommy.”

“And why’s that?”

“It’s only fair.”

“No, I mean, why Tommy? Why not you? It’s been just you and Ellie so far. Why change that now?”

“Tommy’s younger. Stronger. Faster. Her best bet would be to leave with him.”

You considered that, eyes wandering Joel’s figure with sudden interest. It was partially self-indulgent, if you were to be completely honest with yourself. It was your first time really getting to look at him … and he looked alright. A slight tilt to his gait, from age or injury or both. His broad frame and build were controlled, guarded, muscular.

With a shrug and a brief look away, you tried for indifference. “You seem just fine.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not. Tommy’s the better choice.”

“Tommy has a kid on the way.”

“Yeah, well,” he paused, casting a short glance in your direction, “not that it’s your place, but it’s important that Ellie gets to where she needs to be.”

You chose not to say anything after that. You felt it best to wait for Tommy, to see how this would all play out. You were fine there, with your arms crossed and eyes now pinned on your shoes, until one side of the saddle slipped. Joel’s frustrated sigh made your head snap back up. He was holding one of the saddle clamps in one hand and raising his other hand to his mouth, biting the tip of his gloved finger to yank the glove off completely.

With a roll of your eyes, you dropped your bag and marched towards him without a second thought. He was too distracted, busying himself with the horse’s straps, to notice you until you were grabbing the loose straps from his cold hands and finishing them yourself.

He didn’t protest or take a step back – didn’t move an inch, in fact. All he did was take his glove from his mouth and stare down at you, sizing you up.

“Why’re you here? Were you going to leave with them – with Tommy and Ellie?” He paused. “Is that what your bag is for? Was that your plan?”

He made your idea sound ridiculous. Far-fetched. His tone was enough to make you shoot a glare over your shoulder, making brief but pointed eye contact before your attention fell back to the horse.

“Wherever Tommy goes, I go.”

“That so?”

You only hummed in response until you conceded. “Mostly.”

“Why’s that? Tommy said this trip shouldn’t be dangerous.”

“It’s not.”

“Then why leave?”

The last strap slipped easily in place, and you turned to look at him. “Because I want to.”

You’re not sure why you said it, however truthful it was. His brow furrowed in confusion, and a part of you wondered if you said too much. It was clear his persistence only meant his genuine concern for his and Ellie’s safety. You were sure he wasn’t expecting to pull a confession from you.

Thankfully, the sound of footsteps interrupted the silence once more as Tommy and Ellie rounded the corner of the stable’s entrance. You stepped away from Joel to meet Tommy halfway, and the movement caught Tommy’s attention immediately. His approach suddenly became cautious, weary. His brow furrowed, and you noticed how similar his confused expression was to Joel’s.

“What are you doing here?”

With a smirk, you responded, “Told you you wouldn’t leave here without me.”

He only shook his head, fighting a grin, as the two of you turned to watch Joel and Ellie. It came as a shock to you how quickly she chose Joel. Her decision was quick, without question, and made Joel fail miserably in hiding his elation. She was already swinging her leg to climb on top of the horse by the time Joel registered her clear devotion.

You should’ve been relieved – relieved that Tommy would be staying here and not taking some random teenager across the empty planes far from Jackson, alone. Maybe a part of you should’ve felt traces of bitterness for not having the opportunity to leave as you wanted to. But all you felt was a feeling of dread deep in your chest, like that day twenty years earlier. Outbreak Day. The day your brother never came back.

“I’m going with them.”

It was quiet. Small. Even without trying, Tommy still heard it.

His head whipped towards you. “What? Why?”

“Something still doesn’t feel right, Tommy.”

He studied you – the way your eyes never left Ellie, or Joel. Finally, he nodded. “Then, I’ll go.”

“What?” You turned to face him, shaking your head. “Tommy, you can’t just leave like you used to. Maria needs you here.”

“If something happens to my brother, I should be there.”

A lump formed in your throat at his sentiment, but you’ve had enough practice to push it down. You only nodded solemnly. “Maria needs you Tommy. I’ll go.”

Tommy took a moment. He looked between Joel and Ellie, then to you. He finally nodded and set his gaze on Joel. “You need an escort?”

–

A part of you was glad to find immediate solace in the way the sun crept along your neck and pulled apart your every tensed muscle. Even if your only thought was Tommy's parting words to you.

"Play nice," he had whispered, looking meaningfully towards you. He had nodded in Joel's direction. "Go easy on him."

The other part of you was too consumed by the consistent chatter coming from the two trotting close to your left. Joel’s responses, however short and sparse, were nothing compared to Ellie’s tendency to ramble. His speech still came – deep and soft – more often than you expected it to. Joel was a different man with Ellie; that much was clear.

“What about you?” Ellie's voice drifted towards you without caution.

“Ellie,” Joel grunted.

“What? It’s just a question. Doesn’t have to be answered … but I know it will be.”

Your eyebrow perked up as you chanced a side-long look in her direction. “Yeah? What makes you think that?”

“I can see you over there, practically dying to chime in on our conversation.”

“That’s an overstatement.”

“Maybe … but it’s true. Partial truth, I guess, but true all the same.”

“I actually didn’t think the two of you would be this talkative.”

“He didn’t use to be.”

You looked over at Joel this time. His eyes flitted away from you at first contact, feigning indifference. His elbow nudged Ellie from where she sat behind him, gripping his jacket. It was clearly his attempt to shut her up before she said something that might crack his facade. But you’d be lying if you weren’t curious. The older Miller brother was growing harder to read – nothing like how you’d thought or how Maria assumed him to be.

You decided to lean into Ellie’s good graces, to spurn her on. If and only if to protect Tommy, even if it meant from his own brother. “Alright. I’ll bite.”

“He used to be a grump. Always said,” she paused, inflating her chest as she put on, what you assumed to be, her best attempt at Joel’s accent, “‘no’ or ‘Ellie shut up.’”

“And what changed?”

The two of them went radio silent, and you shrugged it off with an annoying tug of disappoint. At worst, you’d already missed your chance to nudge at the real reason the two of them suddenly wound up in Jackson, or if Joel posed a risk to all that Tommy built away from him. At best, you gained the silence you were hoping for.

For two seconds.

“So, movies. Were they always like that – like back in Jackson. Just a bunch of people in front of a screen, watching some boring movie.”

You wanted to snort at that. A brief quirk of the corners of your lips probably betrayed the humor you’d found in her statement. For a brief moment, you remembered him – your brother. Jostling your shoulders in the snack line, ready and willing to watch some movie with you because none of your friends would. So carefree, so unaware of the hell that would lead to neither one of you seeing the inside of a theater ever again.

The hilarity of it all suddenly died.

“Pretty much,” Joel offered. “Overpriced junk food, long lines, and faded chairs with candy stuck between every cushion.”

You frowned at that, sending a glare in his direction that you didn’t entirely mean. Before the outbreak, movies were your favorite. It felt remiss to let Joel dull the experience for a kid – for someone who would never get to experience it the way you did. The way either of you did, if Joel were to be honest you were sure.

You scoffed, gaining both of their attention almost immediately. “Jackson is only half of what the world was like. A good half – or start, I guess – but half all the same. Everything’s different, including movies. Back then, movies were packed with people of all ages. Everyone was always excited to see whatever was playing. Or, sometimes, you’d go to these places – stores – and get the movies there to watch at home.”

“Movie stores,” she stated. Whimsical. Dream-like.

You nodded. “You’d rent them, take them home, and probably lose them the next day. You’d rack up enough late fees to make you never want to rent a movie again. Then you show up … and do it all over again.”

“Why?”

Thinking about the world in its current state and everything you did before the outbreak seemed silly, dramatic. The cares of that life seemed so far away, so distant and ridiculous, you were sure it had no meaning now and certainly had no meaning then. But it was nice … even if the information was being forced out of you, pried by someone – just a kid – who meant no harm, just an innocence worth protecting.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully.

You spared a glance in their direction and saw them both looking at you intently. You cleared your throat, mentioning something about being careful and needing to make it to your destination in a timely manner, before spurring your horse forward with a kick of your heel.

–

Their words became isolated, faraway, with the distance you put between yourself and them. You kept your head on a swivel, watching and waiting for anything out of the norm or out of place. It had been awhile since you made this trip, but you were still able to remember natural landmarks fairly easily. You were starting to think your worry was for nothing, that Joel might be wondering why you’d made such a commotion at the thought of them leaving alone.

At the thought, you turned around to check on the now silent duo. Your checks were periodical, militaristic, but necessary all the same. From here, it seemed like Ellie’s head had found rest against Joel’s shoulder, brown ponytail tossing in the wind and brushing against his bare skin. It stirred something in the pit of your stomach, so you faced forward.

You trotted onward, slightly shocked Joel made no mention of setting up camp as the sun dipped lower and lower. Your only thoughts were on the destination, pushing and testing the boundary on how far you could ride before camp was unavoidable.

Eventually, you decided to relent. The sun was low in the sky, and dusk was beginning to wane. You turned and sent a nod in Joel’s direction before pulling off the road to find camp. This was the one part you never particularly liked. Camping, even in a part shrouded by trees, felt too open, too vulnerable. But it was all you could manage between here and the firefly base.

To your slight surprise, Ellie and Joel worked in near perfect unison to take off their packs and find places to settle while you attended to the horses. It didn’t take long for Ellie to slip into her sleeping bag and let sleep wash over her. Even in the middle of a dense wooded area, on hardened ground and surrounded by unlocalized sounds, sleep came easily for her. You were slightly jealous and suddenly reminiscent of times when sleep came easily for you too.

When you were finished, you took refuge against a tree, back digging into the bark. Quietly, Joel sat adjacent to you, eyes also on Ellie but, every so often, on you.

“How do you know Tommy?”

You almost wanted to laugh at how quickly he jumped right into conversation. Without Ellie’s chatter, it didn’t seem like Joel could stand the quiet any more than he could stand having an added third party with them. Or maybe he was just genuinely curious about his brother. With all the time between them since the last time they’d seen each other, it was only right that he’d be interested in the life Tommy built away from him.

You wondered what it was like – for an older sibling to watch what the younger had built without them, without their help.

Tommy. Just the thought of him made you turn toward Joel. You caught his eye just as his gaze flitted toward you. The two of you eyed each other, wearily.

You wanted to ignore Joel completely if it meant sitting in comfortable silence, but Tommy meant something to you. And Joel meant something to Tommy.

Play nice, Tommy had whispered. You partially hated how he assumed you wouldn’t … even if he was right.

“We met a little while before we bumped into Maria and her crew.” You shrugged. “I guess you could say we’ve been something like partners ever since.”

“He never mentioned you on the radio.”

“Tell me, Joel, did you ever have conversations that would’ve led to him mentioning me?”

Joel seemed partially stunned by the biting remark. He gave a small shake of his head before retreating back into himself. A heavy feeling settled in your chest at the sight. With a sigh, you decide to give conversation another try.

“So, how do you know the kid?”

He huffed. “‘S complicated.”

You glanced at the horizon. “We’ve got six hours, cowboy.”

The nickname slipped from your tongue so easily you almost didn’t catch it. It was normal, typical, when talking to Tommy. You tried to ignore Joel’s raised brow when he looked at you for a long moment before responding.

“I’m just meant to protect her, that’s all.”

“I get that.”

A wry smile broke his neutral expression as he shook his head, picking up your insinuation. “Tommy’s a grown man. He doesn’t need protectin’.”

“And that’s why you traveled across the country to get to him?”

“He’s my brother. That’s different. ”

“Yeah.” You nodded, swallowing an impending lump in your throat. Your gaze dropped to your lap. “Yeah.”

A quiet fell between you two. The surrounding trees suddenly felt too close, too restrictive. You were certain they were starting to close in on you. You probably would've stood and tried to find a clearing had it not been for Joel clearing his throat.

“What about you — any family?”

“We all used to have somebody.”

“Colby seems to know you well enough. Seems to be the only person I’ve seen you talk to other than Tommy.”

“Well, in the two minutes you’ve been here, yes. Colby’s my patrol partner. It was always Tommy, but we’ve learned to accept things as they are in Jackson. Even if it means something as simple as trading shifts.”

“You or Tommy?”

You looked at him, brow quirked in confusion. “What?”

“You said ‘we’ve learned to accept.’ You certainly sound like ‘em. At least, the way he is now anyway. Just wonderin’ if you’ve taken to Jackson’s many … rules like he has.”

You suddenly remembered what you had told him back at the stables – about wanting to leave Jackson. You shook your head at the memory.

“Jackson really is a good place. They’ve treated us like their own from day one. I didn’t trust them at first, but we made friends … I still think I can thank Marie’s soft spot for Tommy for that.”

“So you were there? When they were … married.”

“Of course I was. Look, I know Tommy. He rushes into things, doesn’t always think them through …,” Your voice trailed off at Joel's sharp glance. You realized how you must’ve sounded, but it was clear his sudden attention wasn’t from a place of warning or hostility. He was agreeing, partially shocked at how observant and perceptive you were to who his brother was. You continued on, “ … but I really think he took his time with this. He cares about her, a lot.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“You and him just seem so close. I thought …”

He wasn't sure what he thought, but he didn't finish his thought. A part of you was glad for it, even if the conversation dwindled. Not because you weren’t used to people assuming some sort of romantic past existed between you and Tommy, which it didn’t, but because you were not in the least bit interested broaching that subject with his older brother.

You stood to your feet. “Tommy’s my friend. I protect his the way he would protect mine. Right now, that means you.” You look around, trying not to look at his expression. He seemed surprised – eyeing you as if he was trying to figure you out. You didn’t particularly like it. “We should probably check the perimeter again. It’s been awhile.” You nod in some vague direction. “I’ll head over there, make sure the area’s clear.”

“Yeah.” Joel was nodding finally, taking his time to stand to his feet. He seemed to tower over you, even while leaning. It was then you noticed he was slightly taller than Tommy. A few inches, but taller all the same. You were surprised he didn’t laugh at the notion of you protecting him the way Tommy always did. “If you see something … shout.”

“And wake the kid?” You nodded toward Ellie, sleeping in her sack like a pile of bricks. A ghost of a smile almost graced your lips. Almost. “I’d kill to sleep like that again. If I see something, I’ll take care of it.”

“She’s tougher than she looks. Even if you do wake her, she’ll be alright.”

The two of you shared a nod before parting ways. Joel was the one to glance over his shoulder at your retreating figure first. Then you at his.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #tommymiller #tommy miller x platonic!reader #the last of us tv show #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #thelastofus #tlou fanfiction #tlou #joelmiller

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vanillabourbon · 11 months

Text

the first of many. | intro | ongoing tlou series

story pairings. joel miller x reader, tommy miller x platonic!reader

words. 11k (i went a bit overboard, hehe, but editing is going slow so pls ignore any obvious mistakes. this is the first work i’ve taken seriously so please enjoy :))

Chicago, Illinois. September 2003.

The mind and the body’s initial response is always denial – denial of things, of circumstances, and of situations that are too radical, too unconventional, to believe.

No one should be shocked, really. Least of all you.

In hindsight, which is the only perspective anyone can rely on at a moment’s notice, everything gave way to regret and humiliation. How had no one seen this coming? Everything up until that point in time suddenly seemed so obvious – so commonsensical. It was as if someone had balled up every bad thing and every imperfect thing until it could no longer withstand its own constraints and, instead, chose to flow directly toward the seemingly permanent.

There’s always an element of impermanence in the seemingly permanent.

For whatever reason, now, only a day had passed since the events that led to an abrupt collapse in society as you knew it. You wanted to believe the best – that society and the nature of man would prevent anything from happening. You trusted that the condition of humanity would never outweigh the moral weight of integrity and righteousness. You told yourself that the militant responses of the government were out of necessity and that order and control would fall soon after – or, at least, eventually.

Whether you truly believed that or not no longer mattered.

You were being ushered through the city of Chicago by your older brother, trailing after your uncle, aunt, and two cousins in the wake of another riot. It was dark, darker than any time you had ever stepped foot through the streets of Chicago. And it was bare. Every skitter and harsh knock of a tin trash can sent your brother’s nerves into overdrive; his fingers dug into the flesh of your forearm, dragging you beside him with every step he took. His vice-like grip pained you, but you didn’t bother to tell him that.

You did exactly what he had instructed you before: keep quiet and avoid eye contact.

Military brigades sat empty in the torn and destroyed city streets. Fires engulfed and illuminated countless buildings – convenience stores, pharmacies, mini marts, miscellaneous retail stores. For a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw a young boy, no older than your small cousins, ducking behind a fire hydrant. Tiny fingers braced against the stained red paint, gripping the rusted bolts as if a life depended on it. Maybe it did. But the boy was gone when you chanced a look back.

“Eyes forward,” your brother mumbled.

You didn’t bother to argue. You were far too consumed with wandering, catching stray remnants of the world around you in your peripheral. Anything and everything surrounding you seemed too fantastical, like a stupor you were unable to shake yourself from. The tall, familiar skyscrapers were in stark contrast to the now empty storefronts and abandoned vehicles.

Even though it felt like the end of something, it seemed like the start of something else. Of what, you didn’t know.

Regardless, you wanted to make no effort to distract or distress your brother any further. You’d never seen him so laser-focused, so adamant about one thing, in your life. It was clear that safety was his top priority, and the thought sent your mind and your heart reeling.

Even if your brother hadn’t been dragging you toward Lawrence Avenue, you felt that your feet would have been bumbling about of their own accord. You were sure they weren’t moving because of anything you were doing. Your mind was elsewhere, eyes flitting to and from every glimpse of dark corners and shattered glass you dared to witness. Surprisingly, it wasn’t fear bubbling up and threatening to overtake your every sense; it was surprise, perhaps confusion.

Your gaze would’ve gotten lost down a dark side road as you were marched by it, but you were torn from your daze. A slight stumble, the slip of a toddler’s foot, caught everyone by surprise. One of your cousins rested in an awkward heap a few feet in front of you, ground having scraped her knee and stray debris nearly slicing her palm as she braced herself. Among stray tires and pieces of burnt wood, she looked so small, so petite. Her face twisted in pain and sadness as she turned about, first to you and your brother as you approached then to her parents only a few steps away.

Without missing a beat, your uncle ushered your aunt forward, pushing her lower back and guiding her to keep going. He did the same with his young son before going back and reaching down, scooping up his daughter from where she lay on the pavement with one hand and reassuring her with the other.

Momentarily, his eyes flitted toward you and your brother. It was the first time he had turned to look at either of you since you started your trek. For a moment, you wondered if he was about to say something.

But he didn’t. He only locked eyes for a second, maybe longer, before he was turning on his heels and picking up his pace to a light jog.

Only minutes had gone by before your family’s pounding footsteps were quieted by shouts and gunfire. A frighteningly sudden halt came when you all jolted to a stop. If things were still, you would’ve been gracious for the moment to rest your feet, for the chance to catch your breath and rock back on your heels to ease the pain from your soles. The act of running was starting to take its toll – stripping and coercing your composure and relief from their rightful place.

Calm felt so far removed. Even more so when the gunfire ceased and a loud, nearly automated voice came over a distant speaker: “ALL REMAINING CIVILIANS MUST REPORT TO ONE OF TWO EMERGENCY MEDICAL CAMPS.”

A tan army vehicle passed by your group just then. It rolled passed, and you all did a poor attempt at ducking into the shadows. Your brother’s grip tightened, if that were even possible, and dragged you to his side. Your breath caught in your throat until the back tire of the vehicle disappeared from sight, rolling down the road and toward the loud din still protruding from two streets over.

Whoever was among the shouting didn’t matter. It was clear that there were a lot of them, and that scared you. The streets had seemed so empty, so shallow. For a moment, you could pretend like your family was all that was left, that you all would make it to your aunt and uncle’s vehicle you’d left at airport parking. Maybe drive until you found a place safe enough to sleep. Wake to a world not burnt and bruised on every side.

It was a good dream. A pipe dream, perhaps, but a good one.

Your uncle was the first to move. He wrapped his arms around your aunt and cousins, driving them down a side street a few feet away. Your brother, a slight wild look in his eye, chanced a look around. For a split moment, he looked as if he was going to grab your wrist and keep running, chance a run-in with the military or with a group of people just as scared as the two of you. But he didn’t. He let out a low huff and dragged you toward the same side street.

Your aunt was huddled a few feet away, partially occluded by shadow and rocking one of your cousins in her arms. She was crouched, whispering, or pleading, something in a low voice. It was almost unnerving to watch her come undone.

Your gaze was torn from the sight when your uncle grunted. He was crouched right beside you, tying your other cousin’s shoes. Your cousin’s small hands were splayed across his back as she tried to balance herself.

“Danny boy, you’re with me,” he finally said. He looked over his shoulder and up at your brother. “We’ll run the rest of the way. It’s just a few blocks.”

You furrowed your brow, stepping forward quickly. Danny’s hand was still locked around your arm, but he made no move to stop you nor speak for himself. “Wait, what?”

Your uncle turned his attention back to the small white strings in his hands, his fingers fumbling awkwardly with the small shoelaces. “I know we said we’d get the car checked, but it should run just fine. We’ll come back for them in five minutes, tops.” His head was nodding before he even finished his sentence. “Yeah, yeah. Five minutes. Tops.”

“You can’t be serious.” Since he made no effort to acknowledge you, or to look at either of you again, you turned to your brother. “Is he serious?”

Danny was chewing on his bottom lip then, staring down at your uncle with eyes that did not seem in the least bit alarmed. “You sure about the car?”

“Positive.”

“It’ll run?”

“Should.”

At that point, your chest started to heave. Slightly, but heave all the same. A thickness suddenly but slowly started to coat your throat, like someone had lodged a softball right between your esophagus and windpipe.

Danny might’ve been calling your name, but, if he was, you couldn’t hear him. In seconds, he was dragging you backwards until you were pressed into the wall of the closest building. It was some worn-down bar. Your shoulders dug into the brick. “You have to stay here. Okay? With Aunt Lorraine and the twins.”

And that did it – that truly jolted you. “No,” you protested, hands coming up to grip your brother’s forearms. Now it was your turn to dig your fingers into his flesh. Anything to keep him there and grounded, right beside you, where he belonged. “You can’t just leave me.”

“I have to. We can get the car. Skirt downtown and be on our way to Indiana.”

“What about the military?”

“We can get away from them.”

“How?”

“We can.”

“It’s the military,” you deadpanned.

For a moment, you could almost make out a brief glint of humor in his eyes. The side of his mouth perked up, threatening a smirk that always drove you crazy whenever he found hilarity in situations not in the least bit hilarious. But right now, in this moment, it lifted whatever burden was trying to settle like a rock in your chest. Your brother was still your brother. And, to you, he’d never leave you.

“We just can, alright?” He reasoned. “We have to.”

“Well, what happens when we get to Indiana? What if we can’t find a place to stay?”

“You let me worry about that.”

“But, that’s the problem, Danny. You don’t worry about these things.”

You finally broke eye contact then. Pools of tears were beginning to form, blurring your vision and making everything around you swim.

“Well, that’s why I need you, isn’t it? Gives me an incentive to actually come back for you.”

You scoffed, a slight sniffle leaving you as you did. “As if you’d ever leave me behind.”

“Hey, we need to go, kid,” Your uncle said.

Afar off, he had long since stood and was waiting for your brother at the mouth of the street. When you turned toward him, he looked away, chancing a quick look both ways before exiting the shadows entirely. He loitered there, clearly waiting for Danny to join him.

Your brother had completely ignored him, not taking his eyes off of you for even a second. “Exactly. That’s why you have to trust me when I say I will come back.”

When you returned his gaze, his eyes were as earnest as you had ever seen them. He was telling you the truth and trying his hardest to make sure you believed him before he took off. You did, of course, but something was making every nerve in your body hot and every hair on your head stand. Something wasn’t right.

“I trust your word, Danny, but I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

And something told you he didn’t mean himself and your uncle.

He urged himself forward, pressing a hard kiss to your forehead. He stayed there for a few seconds, crushing you to his chest, before abruptly letting go. He determinedly strode down the street, meeting your uncle on the sidewalk with a firm nod.

Before he disappeared, he turned once more to you and added, “I’ll see you again.”

–

Austin, Texas. September 2003.

If Joel could give voice to the crushing weight of a broken heart or the sudden unwillingness to yield to the innate response to keep going, he still wouldn't be able to properly identify it as true sorrow.

He still couldn’t quite pin it – anger, disbelief, pity … guilt. Everything had happened so fast, as they always do. But never to him. Calculations and planning, pure thought – the things he was used to and relied heavily on simply because they worked – were nothing compared to the devastation of unpredictability – of spontaneity, the unexpected. As cruel as fate could be, as cruel as life itself could be, there was very little possibility that it could bring about something like this – to take something so pure, so innocent, as a life. A child’s life.

A life for a life, he determined.

“Swear?” Sara had asked. Long ago now, it felt like. Something about a birthday cake, but the softness in her voice had sent Joel’s heart pumping with love and affection.

“On my life.”

A woman screamed somewhere to his left. His brow twitched, and, for the first time, he became semi-cognizant of his surroundings. A makeshift medical camp was teeming with victims, families, military and doctors alike, swarming and descending around him. White lab coats and camouflage armor were a hazy swirl as frenzied bodies wheeled grocery carts, gurneys, wheelchairs, beds – anything they could find – all through one Austin plaza.

For one second, one split second, Joel could vividly picture himself and Tommy driving by here on the way to pick up supplies not even two months earlier. He had been laughing, then. Shaking his head at something his brother had said to diffuse his anger for having been late the morning of.

Joel had been clutching a juice box then, too. A ‘good source of vitamin D.’ It felt small and strange in his hand at the time. Foreign. An odd replacement to the coffee usually growing cold in his tired grip. But he had promised her. Even when she threw a smile over her shoulder and clamored out of the truck to bound across her school’s parking lot, he didn’t let the box go until he’d drunk it all. Even when the memory was fading now, lost to a couple of weeks and now permanently overwritten by the last time he’d dropped her off, Joel could still feel the box.

Small. Strange. Like the last image of her now boring into the backs of his eyelids – curling and uncurling her failing grip in his t-shirt with every gasping breath.

Out of nowhere, a woman screamed again. Not loud enough to startle him from whatever depth he was losing his footing in, but still loud. Loud enough to draw the attention of nearby soldiers, who rapidly trained their weapons toward her. They didn’t shoot. They didn’t stand down either.

The woman was on her knees in the middle of all the chaos. A nurse unknowingly side-stepped a soldier and nearly tripped over the wailing woman. She didn’t notice of course. She just knelt there, rocking and shrieking. It took a moment for Joel to notice the small body she was clutching in her hands. A girl. Straight, dark hair thick and spiraling, down her mother’s lap and nearly sweeping the concrete. Her legs were dangling, bedazzled skechers limp and uncanny. There was a trail of blood leading from a misshapen wound – like indents left from teeth – on the girl’s left calf.

He looked away.

“Joel.” A voice came. Hardly recognizable. Seconds later, Tommy appeared in front of him, hands gripping his forearms and eyes pleadingly searching Joel’s countenance with growing anxiety. “Joel, c’mon now. Talk to me, brother. Say something.”

He did say something, though it didn’t quite reach Tommy’s ears. He was muttering, balancing himself on the perch of the old gurney beneath him and rocking himself slightly.

“On my life,” Joel muttered, continuously, trapped in an earlier memory. An earlier conversation. With the only one who mattered.

“Alright, well,” Tommy started, dropping one hand as he scanned the surrounding area. “We need to get you something to cover that hand.” He turned his attention back to Joel, leaning down and pushing forward to take up Joel’s entire field of vision. “I’ll be back, you hear me? Don’t move.”

He was gone almost as fast as he came. At his words, Joel’s eyes dropped to his hand, the one he’d been unconsciously cradling in his lap. Blood dripped, unceremoniously, down the valley of his palm and onto the cracked pavement under his boots. He vaguely remembered lashing out at some guy before being ushered into the camp. In front of some convenience store. He had landed roughly, shards of glass impaling his skin before Tommy got the chance to haul him up and press him to keep running.

There wasn't a single part of him that felt it, though. The gaping wound – the whole ordeal – seemed like a hallucination, like something plucked from the deepest, most submerged part of his consciousness. Something hardly thinkable. Something vicious and unnerving. Something that simply couldn’t be true.

“Dad … Daddy!”

Joel jolted awake. A stray frosting tip fell from his fingers and rolled across the floor until it hit the edge of Sarah’s heel. His vision swam with exhaustion, drowsy eyes sweeping over the kitchen table. A half frosted cake, a bit lopsided and slightly whiter than the yellow version advertised on the box. A frosting bag filled with purple frosting resting precariously on the edge of the table, inches from his hand now numb from laying on it.

In sudden alarm, he turned back to a curious Sarah. “Baby, I –.” When she met his gaze, he just sighed, dropping his shoulders. “What’re you doing up? It’s late.”

“I saw the light,” she said simply.

She bent down, retrieving the frosting tip before ambling over to his side. He watched her every move, weighing every option that popped into his head about what her expression meant. Child-like innocence. Brief reminders of every year he’d spent enjoying her life right before his eyes.

The small gears were shifting in her head; he could see them from here. She was eyeing the cake, if he could even call the mound of crumbled blocks a cake. Her gaze momentarily slid toward him as she neared him. She stopped at his side, a small hand on his thigh indicating her intent. He pushed his chair back, hands easily guiding her up and onto his lap.

“What’re you doing?” She finally asked.

“Figured I’d try my hand at baking. Construction’s getting slow these days. What’d you think?”

His voice was casual, but he was anything but. He had worried his lip in the aisle of the supermarket just at the thought of buying the wrong cake decorations. The moment of truth had come too soon for him. If he hadn’t been so damn tired, if Tommy had gotten the supplies earlier and hadn’t caused the job to go until ten –

“It’s pretty.”

Her voice startled him, laced with joy and, what seemed like, pleasant surprise. Her back was leaned against him, and he could just make out her face, angled slightly away from him. She was smiling softly at the poor imitation of whatever he’d bought. The only store left open had been out of cake mix, of course. A woman in the aisle with him explained how easily he could make something close to it with this. Easy for her was hell for Joel, but he couldn’t put a price on Sarah’s smile at that moment.

“Thank you. Tried real hard on it.” He was trying for humor, but he meant every word. His attempts were born from a real place – a place that desperately wanted to see her light up the way she did when he forced himself to sit through her favorite movie, when they decorated the Christmas tree early last year, and when he finally let her drive the truck on Tommy’s lap.

The two looked at the excuse for a cake. It was leaning now. A small portion protruding from where Joel attempted to make a flower out of a mold.

“Is it –,” she paused, cautiously, but hopefully, picking her next words. “Is it for me?”

“‘Course, babygirl. This masterpiece of a cake ain’t for just any eight-year-old.”

“I’m not eight yet,” she reminded him. “Except,” she paused again, frowning. “My birthday’s tomorrow.”

“You always wake up so early. Thought I’d try to surprise you by fixin’ it tonight.”

She stared a bit longer before nodding decisively and throwing an arm around his shoulders. She twisted in his lap, eyes and smile beaming up at him. “I would’ve slept in for you.”

Luck. It had to be luck. Joy, devotion, trust, unquestionable love. A child’s eyes swim with all of the above, and one child in particular, his child, was looking at him with all that and more. Her tightly-wound curls framed her small face and swept her tired eyes, but her expression remained the same. Joel’s heart twisted at the sight.

He cleared his throat, hesitant to speak with the growing lump in his throat. “You would’ve pretendin’ to, anyway.” He rose, maneuvering her until he was carrying her comfortably against his hip. “C’mon, now. It’s late. Gotta get to bed if you want your gifts.”

Abruptly, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, daddy.”

He smiled, part of him worried his eyes were growing wet. “Anything for you, babygirl. Happy birthday.”

Joel was torn from his stupor at the sight in front of him – the sight he’d been staring at while reliving a memory he felt fading almost as fast as he began to remember it. It was a boy, barely old enough to be a teenager. His tear-stained cheeks were nothing compared to the way his eyes rapidly and wildly scanned the area. His gaze hit Joel’s for only a second before he was moving on.

“Dad!” he was shouting. “Dad!”

The boy was turning in circles, looking every which way and shouting into the sea of unknown faces. Every so often he was jostled by complete strangers – unnamed faces covered in weaponry, medication, or grief. One man bumped into him so hard he nearly lost his footing. It didn’t matter. It didn’t stop his shouts or his turns or his wild eyes cutting through the masses of people.

“Dad!”

“Dad … Dad!”

Joel turned suddenly, new reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose and hands gripping a cup of coffee – fresh seconds. His elbow was propped against the kitchen table he had been occupying for the last hour, mountains of papers and file folders splayed across the tabletop along with a black pen resting atop an unfinished tax document. With Sarah now in sight, his eyes briefly scanned the backyard through the patio-door window, where he’d last seen her playing soccer with Tommy.

His brother, of course, now leaned against their fence with a shit-eating grin on his face as the woman he was talking to from his neighbor’s yard threw her head back in laughter.

Of course.

Joel’s eyes turned back to Sarah, breathing in feigned annoyance. “What? Jesus, you keep calling my name like that you’re gonna dad me to death.”

She snorted. “If I wanted that, I’d do it more like this – Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Da–.”

“No, now that’s more like it.”

With a shake of her head, and a small smile, she wandered closer to him with a simple, “What’re you doin’?”

“Takin’ a break from you.”

She ignored him, stepping close enough to peer over the table. Normally, Joel would shoo her away with an obvious hint that she shouldn’t concern herself with whatever was his job. He didn’t like her looking or hearing about their situation in any way, good or bad. She was supposed to be thinking about soccer and school and zoos and the fair he and Tommy were taking her to later that week. Not any of this.

After a moment, he finally did; he abruptly moved forward, reaching and shuffling the papers into a messy stack.

“Nothing you have to worry about, honey, it’s –”

“Line eight E is repeated three times.”

He froze. “What?”

“Line eight, letter ‘E.’ It’s repeated three times.” For emphasis, she pointed down at the document closest to her.

Joel picked up the paper, letting the black pen slide off of it and land with a soft thud on the paper beneath it. She was right. There was no denying she was right. “Huh.”

“‘Sometimes it’s good to have a second pair of eyes,’” she quoted him, turning and strolling to the cabinet to retrieve a bag of chips. He’d told her that when he let her replace the axle nuts on her bike tire. She’d sworn the nuts wouldn’t rotate until he came over to help. The sentiment worked then, and it was working now. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself, Dad.”

He gave her a look, brows furrowing, but her back was turned. She busied herself pouring chips into a bowl. He tried for humor again, responding, “I’m never by myself. I got Tommy breathin’ down my neck every day. He’s all the help I need.”

The only indication of her response was a slight shake of her head, curly hair brushing, back and forth, between her shoulder blades. A quiet huff, something close to a laugh, escaped her.

“We’re also out of milk.” She threw a reply over her shoulder casually, very obviously avoiding turning around.

For a long moment, his eyes were still trained on her. It took a mental connection, a moment of realization, for his brows to lift slightly. His gaze slid over to a purple sticky note hanging diagonally on the refrigerator. Her frilly handwriting, turned cursive upon entering middle school, etched out ‘Get milk from the store!’ in large letters.

“That’s what the note on the fridge is for?”

She remained silent but finished making her snack, ambling back to his side and taking a seat in the chair beside him. There was no need for her to respond, but Joel’s nerves went into overdrive at any and all underlying insinuations. Was she worried about something? Worse yet, was she worried about him?

“Where’s all this coming from?” he continued.

She shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes. “You just work so much. More than usual. I just thought – Least I can do is help you some.”

“You really wanna help out around here, maybe you can finally get a job,” he tried, verbally poking fun. “Pick up a few hours.”

“Oh, ha ha.”

She briefly smiled at him, but the act ended as soon as it began. It was clear something was bothering her. Worry was etched between her brows, and it was then Joel realized that’s how she’d been looking at him all month. Eyes wide and deep with concern; brows furrowed with a tight smile that didn’t seem quite as natural anymore. His heart nearly broke, and he cleared his throat to hide his upset.

“Look, I’m sorry. I know I work a lot, and I’m not … around as much as I used to be. I’ll do better. I will. But there’s nothing you need to be worryin’ about.”

She only nodded before adding a soft, “I know.”

“Good. So you also know I love you, babygirl. Not much I wouldn’t do for ya.”

“I know.”

“That all?”

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I love you too, dad.”

“That all?”

“Well, I wouldn’t wanna ‘dad you to death.’”

“Oh yeah,” he teased, leaning forward to swipe a few chips from her bowl. He flung one towards her, grinning when a laugh erupted that she couldn’t quite contain. Popping the rest of the chips in his mouth, he warned, “Stop playing with your food.”

The sound of laughter, even from a memory, felt jarring, too rich and too pure for the dark scene unfolding around him. He was long-since aware of his eyes growing wet, and, for once, he didn’t care. Couldn’t bring himself to fear or worry about it. He just stared – from the shrieking woman to the shouting boy to the wide, suddenly imposing, city landscape in the distance. It all felt void, lacking meaning in a meaningless world.

What was to be gained from this? What did any of them gain from anything?

Someone ran by, bumping into Joel’s gurney and swearing a harsh apology in the process. Or maybe just swearing. He couldn’t quite place it, and he didn’t try to. But the action was enough to remind him of his being; his body felt weightless as he drifted from distant memories to distant memories, deliberately failing to grasp one long enough to replace the bitter nightmare threatening to replay itself, over and over again. Maybe if he’d twisted the other way. Or took a chance on running. Or held her a little tighter. Or –

The gurney suddenly felt rough where his hands were gripping the edge, knuckles white and blistering. Now he could sense pain from his open wound. And maybe that was the point. To sense, to feel, something other than what was threatening to send him spiraling. The recent events were still forming pictures in his mind. Consolidation taking its time as depictions kept reordering and restructuring themselves. Building and tearing down again. It was like his brain refused to settle on any one experience.

Because they were all wrong. It was all wrong. It shouldn’t have happened. Not like this.

Emotions had yet to hit him like a brick wall, and, quite frankly, he didn’t want them to. Not now. Not ever. Sensations were returning, sporadically. There was only one he settled on. He vaguely remembered Tommy slipping a handgun into the waistband of his jeans earlier, telling him he might need it before hoisting him to his feet and pushing him to run. To run like his life had depended on it. Even if he was forced to leave his entire life – a child – lying on the cold ground behind him.

That was the sensation he focused on: the hard lick of metal curling its cool touch against his lower back.

Chicago, Illinois. September 2003.

Waiting is just as agonizing as not. You still couldn’t quite decide if you wanted time to go faster or to go slower. You were, however, determined to maintain as much control over the situation as possible. If Danny could manage a calm head, so could you, for his sake and in his absence. You made sure your aunt was comfortable, reassuring her with a few pats on the shoulder after she’d sunken to the ground. Your cousins kept near her, staring up at you with pure curiosity.

You wondered if they understood, or just how much they understood. For their sake, you hoped they hadn’t a clue. If their silence was any indication, you were sure they were fine, probably more so worried about their mother’s – your aunt’s – tear-stained cheeks than anything else.

You tried your best not to glance at the street entrance every minute, but your head was on a swivel. Time itself seemed to stand still. How could you not wish you could do the same? Stand still, as if holding your breath might make it easier to hear your brother’s footsteps come back to you. His footsteps – loud, heavy, familiar.

That’s what you were thinking about when your uncle stumbled through the mouth of the side street he’d left you in. A purple bruise was forming on the lower left side of his jaw. A streak of blood ran across the chest of his gray shirt. Most disturbing of all, he was completely and utterly alone.

“We’ve got to go,” he said.

He hurried right by you, taking long strides towards his family. After checking his wife and daughter, he crouched and busied himself zipping his son’s jacket.

“Where’s Danny?” You asked.

The question hung in the air – thick and unanswered. He ignored you. Easily. His eyes remained pinned to his son’s body as his fingers fumbled, first with the jacket and then with the cuff of his son’s jeans.

“Where is he?” You were still calm, then. With no answer, you pulled back and stepped cautiously toward the end of the street, looking down where he’d come from. When no one else came by, you returned to your place a few feet away from your family. “Where’s Danny?”

All action and thought cease to exist when laughter brings forth pure, adulterated delight. Especially for a six-year-old child. Laughter and millions of innocent giggles bubble over and make it easy for small feet to run freely. Untamed footsteps can easily fall in line with grass and get lost to rows and rows of trees.

Lost. So, so lost.

You stood in the middle of a clearing. At some point, your laugh had burned down to a chuckle, then to silence, when you realized how far you’d made it alone. Your brother had teased you, playfully giving chase about a mile back, and you had wonderfully ran and leapt over branches and small creeks. Even climbed over a small boulder. You only came to a stop when your echoes seemed too quiet for two.

“Danny?” You called to no one in particular. “Where are you?”

It only took a moment for the beautiful chirps and snaps of branches to seem daunting, not tranquil. Terrifying, not serene. The stillness of it all threatened to suffocate you and evoke fear where you didn’t think it previously possible. You wanted to back away, but your foot had already nearly slipped on a slick mud spot.

Your eyes bounced, wildly, from one tree trunk to another. An unfamiliar feeling coiled up your back and settled at the base of your neck. The sun was starting to slink toward the horizon then. Which way had you come from? What would happen if you didn’t make it back home? What if Danny had gotten hurt, and you hadn’t both to hear him or stop for him? Had you left him somewhere?

“Danny!”

There was no answer. Only the distant sound of water trickling over rocks and another quick snap of a tree branch waving in the wind. Hot tears trickled down your face as you dropped down, sitting and pulling your knees under your chin. You were lost, but, above all, you had lost your brother.

“Hey, little sis, look what I found!” You nearly jumped out of your skin, twisting around to see Danny stepping around a bush and joining you in the clearing. He looked up to proudly present you with a small frog, cupped carefully in the palms of his hands. “Wanna name him?”

For a moment, you stayed right where you were. A soft cry escaped your lips, but there was an early sense of relief flooding every part of your small frame. You still hadn’t relaxed your furrowed brows or the frown that wound tightly on your face. Fear had gripped you, and you were beginning to realize it was the hardest thing to shake.

It only took Danny a second to realize you were crying, and only a second longer to bound over to your side and drop to his knees. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He set the frog down on a dry patch of grass before fixing an intense stare on you. “Did you fall? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, sucking in a breath and releasing a broken sob. “I – I thought you were gone.”

Danny’s shoulders dropped a bit. “I’m sorry for scaring you.” He reached out and set a hand on your shoulder. “I would never leave you, okay?”

You nodded, and he dropped his hand. He let you take a few breaths and calm down a bit before he stood to his feet.

“I think we should go back now. It’s getting dark.” He stuck out his hand, pulling you to your feet when you slipped your hand into his. “Do you remember our secret handshake?”

“Yes.”

An easy grin graced his features once more. “Good, you can show me when we make it back home.”

He moved to leave, but you pulled him back. Your hand fell from his and pointed down at the frog. “What about the frog?”

“What about him?”

“He doesn’t have a name.” He stood back and looked at you expectantly. “I think we should call him Rex.”

Danny nodded, pretending to be lost in thought for a moment. He tapped his chin with the tip of his finger before smiling down at you. “I like Rex. It’s cool.”

Your smile returned, and you skipped out of the clearing, grabbing Danny’s hand as you went. That’s how it was, and that’s how it should be, when an older brother is so near – when another’s presence soothes the quiet that only loneliness can bring about. Your tears had dried and a glimmer of tranquility returned to the noises in the air and the stillness of the environment. A feeling of safety returned soon after, too, and the discomfort of fear had fallen without your notice.

His word was enough: I would never leave you.

You half expected him to scare you like he had when you were children. To step around the wall and stumble towards you, completely oblivious to your worries and concerns about his whereabouts. You would berate him, maybe smack his arm or chest for sending your nerves into overdrive, but you would most likely pull him into a hug and look him over for any bruises. You kept glancing in the direction of the street, waiting for an arrival that would never come.

“Where’s Danny?”

“Honey,” your aunt tried, giving your uncle a sincere look that read: Please answer your niece.

He ignored her too, setting his hands firmly on his son’s shoulders and giving him a nod. He looked at his son intently, probably trying to reassure him with just one look. With the state the world was currently in, words were starting to fail. All anyone could do was offer some sense of familiarity in gestures and in looks.

But that wasn’t enough for you. It never would be.

In desperation, you moved to grab at your uncle’s shirt. “Where is he? Where’s D–.”

Your uncle stood abruptly, whipping around to face you. You were nearly chest to chest as he leered down at you. “He’s not coming back.”

Your response was immediate, taking a step back as if someone had punched you squarely in the chest. “Wha– What?”

A long, silent moment went by. You could just make out the screaming crowd now nothing but a soft, inaudible sound to your ears. Your uncle dropped his gaze. He looked almost guilty for not being able to offer you the reprieve you were obviously searching for – the answer he just couldn’t give you.

“He’s not coming back, kid,” he said, softer this time. “I– I’m sorry.”

He turned, picking up his son and grabbing his wife’s arm to hoist her up with him. Your aunt held her daughter close to her chest, unable to meet your eyes. There was another moment of silence between you all. They stood there, uncertain. Your uncle refused to meet your eyes for longer than a second, flitting his gaze from you to the street behind you. It was the sound of another military vehicle that finally made him straighten his posture and look you in the eye.

“You need to get out of here. It’s not safe out in the open.”

He turned to jog further down the street, in the opposite direction of where you’d all entered originally. That’s when your aunt offered you a sincere look. “Come with us.”

You made no effort to move. Your feet were cemented to the soiled street; Your eyes still glued to your uncle’s distressed countenance. His words were the only thing you heard: He’s not coming back.

“C’mon, Lorraine. We need to go.”

“We can’t just leave her here, David.”

The military truck came louder now just as the backdoor to the bar slammed open. A man stumbled through the door and landed in a heap of tangled limbs on the ground. A low growl escaped him as his hands fisted the concrete, and he doubled over, twice, in obvious pain. His brown hair was awry, fingers caked in something you couldn’t quite place. The back of his shirt was ripped in various places, and his veiny flesh was exposed; skin long since too inhumane to not deserve the look you gave him. Your eyes blown wide and jaw slack.

The man’s head snapped up, wild eyes looking directly at your aunt.

“C’mon, Lorraine!” Your uncle shouted louder, backing away and pulling his son tighter to his chest. “We gotta go now!”

Your aunt stayed there, frozen in fear. You took a step back, foot catching in a small puddle and sending the man’s horrid attention barreling toward you. The break in harsh scrutiny was all your aunt needed. She took that moment to hug her daughter close and sprint after your uncle. Their retreating footsteps hit like lead to your chest, every step sending you reeling backward as your chest heaved with something closer to alarm than fear.

The man shrieked, scrambling to his feet and running toward you. For a moment, your eyes slid to your aunt and uncle’s distant figures just over his shoulder. A part of you half-expected them to chance a look back, to answer their curiosity about you and your wellbeing. But they didn’t. They didn’t spare a single look, even when they turned sharply and disappeared around a corner.

A deep pain began to throb, harsher now, from the spot Danny had been gripping your arm. The man was within arms length now, hand reaching out to grab that same arm – the arm Danny had held protectively in place.

Your body reacted quicker than you did. You weren’t sure you would’ve reacted at all, if not for the slightest inkling, the slightest hope, that Danny was still out there, somewhere close. Who would come for him if you didn’t?

With a surprised yelp, you turned on your heels and sprinted toward the street entrance – toward the street Danny disappeared down not even thirty minutes before. Gnashing teeth and a horrible stench followed you closely, squirming and throwing itself at you like an animal. You had made it only a few feet in the street before the man tackled you to the ground. Pain erupted from your knees and elbows as you fell with a sharp cry.

A hand pulled your hair, clothes, arms, just about everything fingers could find purchase. You twisted sharply, coming face to face with the man. His teeth came dangerously close to your face and, on instinct, you brought your forearm up to his neck, pushing him away with as much strength as you could muster. You gritted your teeth, but a scream soon ripped from your throat as his upper body pushed further and further down on you. Closer and closer until –

A shot rang out, and the man’s body went limp.

–

Austin, Texas. September 2003.

The finality of acceptance had still escaped Joel. Maybe that’s why it was so easy for him to take anything in that moment as truth, no matter how outlandish it might have been.

Two white coats rushed by, stopping mere feet away. Even among the chaos, their conversation was easy enough to overhear.

“I have a dad asking after his kid.”

“Everyone’s asking after someone.”

“Yeah, but she was here when they arrived. Apparently lost her in all the confusion.”

“Take him to triage. A lot of missing kids there. We just revived one.”

Joel looked up at the new truth being presented to him – a truth that was far easier to accept than the one bombarding his current experience. His feet were carrying him away from his spot of refuge before he could even think. In fact, he wasn’t thinking. He was scanning for her. Curly hair. Eyes looking for him as much as his eyes were looking for her.

We just revived one.

If there was a possibility she was here, he was willing to take it. He had already accepted that possibility as fact without his own notice. His heart was elated and his chest was rising just at the thought. It was easier, fairer. And in no way was he preparing, or thinking to prepare, for the inevitable crash that always took place when attempting to deny reality.

“By nine, Dad.” Sarah hopped out of the truck, slamming the door behind her. She went to Tommy’s side, hand clamping down on the opened window and eyes boring into her Dad from where he sat in the passenger seat. “You said nine.”

“I know, I know.”

She opened her mouth to add something, but the bell cut her off. She huffed in resignation before pointing at the two of them, each in turn. With a growing smile, she waved and ran towards her school, throwing a quick “Don’t forget the cake!” over her shoulder.

Just as Tommy pulled out of the lot, his eyes slid over to his brother, and his face twisted into a wide grin he couldn’t hide even if he tried. “Jesus, that kid loves you to death.”

At that, Joel couldn’t hide his own smile, even if the weight of Tommy’s words felt heavy on his shoulders. “Yeah, I know.”

A content quiet fell between the two as Tommy maneuvered out of the school lot. Once he was back on the road, his eyes drifted toward his brother a few times before he shook his head. He always did that when something was on his mind but didn’t know quite how to approach it. Especially when it was Joel he was trying to approach.

“I tell you what, Joel. You gotta cut back.”

Joel was no stranger to the topic Tommy was attempting to bring up. He knew he was working like a madman again, picking up projects and stumbling into the house late at night often long after Sarah had put herself to bed.

Still. He acted oblivious. “What do you mean?”

“Sarah, man. You gotta cut back. Spend more time with her. I know you mean well. You want to provide for her, protect her. I respect that, Joel. Hell, everybody sees and respects that. But she’s still young. Still needs you. It won’t be like that always. She’s got a bright future ahead of her. Nothing’s going to take that from her. From you. Nothing’s going to change that. You don’t have to work so damn hard just to keep it that way.”

Joel didn’t say anything, but he offered his brother a brief nod when he glanced in his direction. They both knew he was right.

“Besides,” Tommy continued with a teasing grin, “you need to get a hold on her before she gets too much older. If she’s anything like we were, they’ll be hell to pay.”

Joel grunted. “Nu uh, my Sarah’s too smart. I ain’t worried ‘bout nothing.”

“You say that now.”

“And I’ll say it then.” Joel nodded decisively. “It’s like you said, she’s got a bright future ahead of her.”

“I know, brother, I know. All I’m saying is that you should make the most of it now. These years will be gone before you know it.” Tommy turned to look at him, more intensely this time. “She’ll be gone before you know it.”

The children were many, but the number that resembled her were few. The child they had revived was a boy no older than four and had been revived for reasons unbeknownst to Joel. The inevitable crash of secret humiliation and embarrassment at his own deception led him to a corner, away from the frenzy and uproar in the camp. Two soldiers stood, with their backs toward him and weapons drawn, with their heads on a swivel. But they paid no attention to Joel. Even with the cool metal resting in his hands, safety off and finger poised at the ready. They still paid him no mind. He might as well have been a dead man.

Should’ve been, anyway.

On my life. Not yours, babygirl.

With that thought, he was ready for anything that might come after. Truth be told, he was more than ready. He wanted to pull the trigger, so he did.

But he flinched. Even before the bullet had left its chamber, a part of him was wholly certain that any shot or amount of lead was not meant for him. It was a destiny he was never meant to share, no matter how much he wanted to.

–

Chicago, Illinois. September 2003.

Four pairs of hands were on you and hauling you to your feet before you could reassess your situation any further. The body slid off of you as you were pulled to your feet; its weight made a sickening noise as it thumped to the pavement at your feet. You were being dragged to an armored truck filled with people – men, women, children. Greedily, you scanned the faces for the only one that mattered. Maybe they’d got him. Maybe they’d saved him, too.

There were a lot of people, but none resembled Danny.

Finally, something broke – anger, bitterness, nauseous … mostly anger. You dug your heels into the pavement, nearly sending one soldier tripping over his feet at your sudden protest. You took the moment of surprise as an opportunity to rip your arm free from his grasp, shoving him away and clawing at the hand still clamped firmly around your other arm. You tried desperately to free yourself, scratching and pulling like your life depended on it. Like Danny’s life depended on it.

“No!” You shouted. “No! Get off me!”

Your doorknob rattled before your brother let himself in, closing the door softly behind him as if he hadn’t already made a world of noise just by entering.

“Jesus,” you started, sitting up in bed, “don’t you know the first thing about knocking?”

“I’ll knock when you stop stealing my sweatshirts from my room.”

Childishly, you stuck out your tongue and crossed your arms. “Fair.”

Without missing a beat, he took three long strides toward your window and looked out, smiling down at something. Undoubtedly his friend’s car, waiting for him in the driveway. “I’m heading out.”

“When are you not?”

“Just open the window for me when I get back, alright?” You got up to join him by the window as he opened it. “I won’t be too late this time.”

“I’m starting to think you like asking for trouble.”

He turned to smile at you – soft, mischievous, winning. Your brother could just as easily ask to leave the house, but he preferred sneaking out. He was defiant just to be defiant, doing so in a way that still made him agreeable and likable. Roping you into his mischief was like a sibling rite of passage, as he put it.

Despite yourself, you smiled back before watching him clamor out of your window. He crouched on the roof, turning to flash you one last smile. “Don’t forget my knock.”

“Three knocks.”

“Always three so you know it's me.” He winked.

“You say that like anyone else would be knocking on my window at one in the morning.”

“You’re right. Because you’re lame.”

“Go before I push you off the roof.”

He grinned widely before turning and inching his way toward the edge. He immediately stopped when you called his name.

“Danny,” you said softly. He looked over his shoulder. “If anything ever happens, don’t be afraid to call the house. I’ll come get you myself if I have to.”

“What could possibly go wrong?”

“I’m serious, Danny.”

“Relax. I know my fearsome sister will always come to my rescue.” He gave a mock salute before jumping down to the lawn. He ran toward the idle car before turning back toward you, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting, “Three knocks!”

When the soldier had recomposed himself, he walked back toward you and yanked your arm, much harder this time. Your outburst drew the attention of the others on the vehicle. A mom pulled her child closer to her, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was still out there, missing, and not a single person seemed to give a damn.

“Get off me!” You screamed again, voice breaking as a tear slipped down your cheek. In frustration, you sent a swift kick that the soldier sidestepped easily. “Get off me!”

One soldier finally let you go as the other wrapped his arms around you, pulling you off your feet and carrying you the rest of the way to the awaiting vehicle. Your struggle was rendered useless as he carried you with ease, tossing you onto the truck like you meant nothing. You probably didn’t, not to him and not to anyone. But you knew you meant something to Danny, and you weren’t going to go down without him. Not without a fight.

You pushed off the bed of the truck, attempting to scramble off of it and back onto the street. “Danny!” You shouted, pushing a stranger out of your way and making a quick jump for it. “Danny!”

You were sure you were still calling his name, even when the butt of a gun connected with the side of your forehead.

–

Austin, Texas. September 2003.

The sound of a weapon firing draws a lot of attention. Namely from uniformed soldiers who were to make sure all civilians had been thoroughly searched and weapons properly confiscated before entering the medical camp. The mistake was sure to cause one of them trouble, which is probably why they tackled Joel with such ferocity. He was on the ground and surrounded by military and medical personnel before he could blink.

Tommy was shouting his name again, parting the crowd roughly as he clawed his way to his brother. White bandages gripped in his hand. He was searching for him, relentlessly, before catching sight of the commotion. All the while, Joel was calm. The realization hadn’t dawned on him yet; the adrenaline of the deed he was trying to commit had not yet worn off. He was delusional with the loss of will – his volition having been stripped from him through no effort of his or anyone else’s.

For a second, he let himself believe he was dead. Like some instinctual force hadn’t just caused him to flinch.

Someone hoisted him to his feet; all while someone, most likely Tommy, was shouting, “Don’t shoot him! Don’t shoot him!”

A doctor stepped forward. She flashed a light in his eyes. “Sir. Sir? Can you hear me?”

A trickle of blood slid past his peripheral. It dawned on him that the commotion around him was real – it was happening – and his unfocused eyes finally snapped toward the soldier gripping his arm. His unfeeling expression hidden under his helmet felt familiar. Too familiar.

“Joel,” Tommy warned. He knew his brother well enough to predict his intent. He stepped forward, cautiously, trying but failing to shoo the soldiers and doctors back. He momentarily looked between the wound on Joel’s head and the discarded gun on the ground. He hesitated, partially, but hesitated all the same. “He ain’t sick or nothing.” Tommy turned from the doctors back to Joel. “Joel, listen to me, brother. Let’s get you patched up, alright? Let’s ge–.”

Joel was swinging before he knew what he was doing. He lunged, kicked, and swung wildly, nearly ripping himself from the awkward grip now three soldiers had him in. They were strong; non compliant. They wrestled with him for a moment before another doctor ushered him away.

“Here,” the doctor was saying, “bring him over here.”

“Careful, I said he ain’t sick,” Tommy butt in, grimacing at the hold they had on his brother. “Joel, calm down. Everything’ll be okay, Joel. Just — Just calm down.”

The soldiers were dragging him to a nearby gurney. A few medical personnel were preparing a syringe somewhere off to his right. He sure as hell wasn’t going down without a fight, and every single thing he was doing was an indication of that. Somewhere, deep down, he could hear his brother. Calling for him to stop. Calling for him to settle down before they did something to him. But he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Maybe they should do something to him. Put him out of his misery. Or subject him to the same fate they subjected her to. It was a cruel thought that they’d spare him – that they’d do everything in their power not to hurt him in the way they hurt her.

They were wrestling him onto his back when his mouth finally caught up to his actions.

“My daughter!” He shouted. “My daughter. You took her.” He leered in the face of the nearest soldier, tears glistening in his eyes. “You took her.”

A needle was being pressed into his skin when a third voice spoke to him, calmly. Another doctor. “Don’t worry, sir. We’ll find her. I’m sure, wherever she is, she’ll be alright, if she’s not already.”

His next protests were weak as his body suddenly relaxed. His eyes fluttered just as Tommy came into view at his side. Tommy just stared at him. Horrified. Guilty. Sad. They both looked at each other, eyes mirroring one another and telling stories neither one of them were ready to say aloud.

–

2023.

The consequence of grief and sudden loss might be unique to the individual, but it is imminent for all individuals. No one can measure the actions or reactions of another. Neither can blame be given or taken away. The repercussions of any event are often cyclical, far outweighing descriptions or explanations. In any one situation, one might fall and another might rise. Or perhaps one and another might both fall.

With loss, it’s typically the latter.

Joel’s gruff appearance was unmistakable to the people in the Boston QZ. Unsurprising. Like the rumor that swirled around about him after the day’s shifts ended and the people could return to their nightly rituals of whatever placated their poor souls — beer, pills, sex. The former two either stolen or traded for rations.

The rumor didn’t spread far — not past a block, maybe a sector at most. It was a cautious one. A woman told of her inability to toss a child’s body to the flames during her shift. An unforgiving job. A thankless act of service to the QZ that meant discarding the ones killed at the hands of those in authority — by Fedra. Infected. Suspected. Guilty (or not). Didn’t matter. Her story was one that stoked plenty of bitter, angry people who already hated the QZ for their wrongs and misdoings.

But it was Joel who stoked their feelings too — feelings of fear and avoidance. Wordlessly, he had tossed the lifeless child into the awaiting flames with as much absence of emotion as he always displayed. Unfeeling. Unapproachable. Never spoke a word but was somehow enough all on his own – enough to cause others to steer clear, to look away whenever he came around.

The only one that could tolerate him, that could placate him, was Tess. Something she could use to her advantage and soak in the pleasure of.

Nearly a thousand miles away, you were pacing wordlessly outside a freezer in the back of a restaurant in downtown Chicago. A bitter cry had long-since been muted by the sounds of grunts and a flurry of punches before a familiar face stepped out. He didn’t say anything, even when he walked right by you and wiped his hands on a dirty rag.

You did as you always did — followed at his heels. “I don’t trust this guy, Dallas. He’s lying.”

“You never trust anyone.” His face was serious, but his voice carried humor. You rolled your eyes.

“And for good reason. He’s been lying since I found him by the old medical camp near Lincoln Park.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

He turned to look at you, eyes boring into yours for a few seconds. You were dropping your gaze before the intensity of it all could get too thick. For a moment, your attention bounced around the small kitchen. Your ears caught the quiet voices of your group outside — a good mix of men and women.

Dallas turned fully, tossing the rag on the floor and standing in front of you with arms crossed over his chest. “What were you doing near the old med bay?”

“I told you.” Your voice had a dangerous edge to it. You shifted your weight to your other foot and finally met his gaze again. “I ran an errand.”

Unconvinced, Dallas nodded. “You were looking for him again, weren’t you?”

He commanded and barked orders well. You usually followed them — usually. But even he wasn’t stupid enough to mention his name aloud to you. Your sibling’s name was never spoken again after you revealed to Dallas that dark night twenty years earlier. But Dallas knew this was about him. He could tell in the way a muscle in your jaw jumped, and you looked away briefly.

He chuckled. Dark. Low. “Look, I get it. You haven’t been back here in years, and I figured the thought of finding him’s been tempting you since Arizona. But you keep putting the group at risk, and I’ll have to abandon you.”

You snorted. “As if you’d leave me behind.”

“Watch me.”

He was grinning, a certain humor in his tone that wasn’t in the least bit light or airy. There was nothing indicating that he wasn’t as serious as his darkened eyes meant to be. Something twisted in your stomach, heart plummeting, as your smile dropped at the thought. Only a moment went by before you forced the feeling away, choking the thick emotions down until the only thing you could feel was cold metal being pushed into your hand.

“If you don’t trust him,” Dallas muttered, stepping closer to you as he pressed the gun into your limp palm a bit firmer, “then end it.”

You swallowed quietly, taking the weapon and testing its weight without once looking up at him. You could feel him hovering over you. His heat dripped off of him and pooled at your feet. Deep. Menacing. Unforgiving. His request wasn’t the first time, and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. But this time, this one time, some part of you felt off. Something tugged at your lips until you unknowingly frowned down at the tigger your finger hovered over.

Maybe it was the mention of him. Maybe your emotions were too high and your willingness finally waning. Maybe it was the sister waiting back at the old medical camp, looking for the brother you helped kidnapped and now held hostage in some worn-down freezer.

“Is this really necessary?” You asked. “If he’s really lying, we can still use him.”

“And have them get to him? He’s a damn liar, sure, but he’s a traitor first. He knows what we did.”

“Yeah, but he did the same to them.” You finally looked back up at him, gun held loosely at your side. “For us. Remember? What else did we expect? For him not to turn on us, too?”

Dallas was quiet for a moment, a long moment. But the way he was peering down at you, with hooded eyes and clenched teeth, didn’t change for a second. “I’ve never stopped to question you. We are the only two here. I never left you.”

You knew what he was referencing. Suddenly the group just beyond the thin white door separating the kitchen from the dining area seemed too close, too imposing. Every person in your group was a new face. Their voices were still unfamiliar and discomforting to hear. Your old companions were either dead or dying, snitching to Fedra for brownie points or taking their chances on their own, and Dallas was all you had left...

He measured the look on your face before leaning in further, adding, “Now’s your chance to prove your loyalty to me.”

Your eyes snapped up at him, mouth now partially agape. Everything you had done leading up to this point had been erased by that measly sentence. Your actions, however gruff and unforgiving, were whittled to nothing before your eyes, and you were made out to be a fraud. Weak. Someone incapable of returning the favor of protection or dishing it out in the first place. The thought made you sick.

With a low huff, you spun on your heels and walked determinedly back to the freezer. You threw open the door to find your old partner, Brett, tied haphazardly to a chair surrounded by two of your guys. At the sight of you, his eyes were blown wide and head shook furiously from side to side. He was shouting something: No. No. No— please, no. But you were already gone, doomed to proving what you had already proved time and time again.

It only took one steady aim before you pulled the trigger.

Your men stood, jaw slack, as Brett’s body fell with a sickening thump. Your knees suddenly felt wobbly as adrenaline seeped from your body in waves, nearly doubling over as a pain hit your chest. You sniffed, waving the barrel of the gun between the two men before pointing it in Brett’s direction.

“Clean this up.”

Perhaps — for you and for Joel and for anyone else — the mind and body’s first instinct is denial. Perhaps sorrow cannot be given a true voice. Perhaps acceptance is far more brutal than the precious time one can spare living a half truth. Whatever the reason, manifestations of pain and suffering matter little when grief goes unnoticed and the heart unattended.

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