#&. grief is an amputation but hope is an incurable hemophilia: you bleed and bleed and bleed ---- jeremy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

netherfeildren · 1 year

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FEAR OF GOD: Chapter VII: For: Before

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: Fate and irony make for strange bedfellows.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: canon typical violence; explicit descriptions of injuries; gore; PTSD

A/N: Art is Cupid Making His Bow (detail) by Parmigianino (c. 1533-1535)

Word Count: 5.3K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER VII: For: Before

Grief is an amputation, but hope is an incurable hemophilia: you bleed and bleed and bleed. -David Mitchell, Slade House

You come to in increments, taking stock of your body, each limb, slowly, as consciousness re-enters your mind. The taste of iron sits heavy on your tongue, thick and viscous in your mouth, and your side is on fucking fire. Your breath starts to wheedle in and out of you quickly, each gulp a stoking of the flames, but you can’t control it – can’t seem to hold onto composure as you regain your senses. Your left shoulder is a sharp throbbing mangle of searing agony, and you can immediately tell from the way you’re laying on it that it’s been dislocated from your fall. You try to shift your legs, make sure you haven’t hurt your back, and yes, yes there, they’re moving, thank God. You stretch your left knee, shift your ankles slowly. Not broken, that’s good.

Your eyes flutter open – you’re laying in a small pool of your own blood, and the woman from the forest is sitting directly across from you; rifle propped up on her bent knee and pointed straight at you. Her abdomen is ripped open, savaged, the gleam of her entrails peeking through her clutching fingers, the edges of torn skin shredded as if hacked at with a serrated knife. The sight makes your stomach turn.

“Fucking finally,” she spits. Her voice is a guttural whisper.

You swallow several times, try to find your voice again. “Where’s Noah? Vero?” You tilt your head up, searching for them, only to be met with Vero’s open, empty stare inches away from you. You jerk back, scream caught in your throat, the abruptness of your movement makes your injuries howl in protest. A hoarse, mangled sound, half groan, half scream claws its way out of your throat.

“Yeah, she’s dead,” the woman deadpans. “You’re the girl from last night, aren’t you? From the woods?” You can’t answer, your voice is gone. The sight of Vero’s empty eyes – what will you tell the others? She clicks her fingers at you. “Hey,” she snaps, “Boy here said you’re a doctor. That true?” The gaping hole in her head – there’s chunks of her brain and skull splattered in the trajectory of the bullet behind her prone body. What will you tell the others? What will you tell the others? You should have never asked them to come out here. This is all your fault. “Noah. Where’s Noah?” You move to sit up fully.

“I asked you a fucking question,” she spits. “Is it true you’re a doctor?” There’s a small trickle of blood coming from her mouth. Her color, gray and ashen, breaths coming in short, gulping pants.

“You killed my friend…” your voice is hoarse and grating “You killed her.”

“Answer me!”

“I– yes, yes– I have some training. Where is he?” She jerks her chin behind you.

“I thought you all were with that group from last night – the ones that attacked us. Didn’t know it was you. And look what the boy’s done to me,” she looks down at her savaged abdomen, there’s such resigned disappointment in her voice. As if this is the greatest inconvenience in the world. You shift to turn, but she snaps, “Don’t even think about moving. My daughter – she’s six months old. I need you to take her.” Noah’s lying face down a few feet away from you. From here you can see that there’s a large laceration to his scalp, the flap of skin hanging grotesquely – exposing the slick bone of his skull beneath – bleeding profusely, a bullet wound to his left shoulder and his left leg is bent at a sickening angle. What the fuck did this woman do to him? But you can see the small, subtle rise and fall of his back, and there are no protruding bones from his leg, a good thing. The pool of blood beneath him is significant, but not a call for hopelessness. At least, you think so, from here, from what you can tell with just your eyes. But then her words penetrate the haze of your mind, the small grasp of concentration you’re tenuously hanging on to snaps to attention – the baby, the baby she had with her.

You turn back to her. “Where is she?”

“I’m –” she gasps, her words pain her – she’s losing time, “I’m not going to last much longer.” She lifts her arm, looks down at the brutal wound marring her belly, and a gush of dark red streams from her. “Seems to be more than just a little scratch, huh?” She lets out a small hysterical huff of laughter.

“Where is she?” you say again, more forcefully.

“There’s an abandoned cabin – about fifty yards in that direction,” she jerks her chin, “I hid her there.” The rifle is starting to slip off her knee.

“Alone? You left her alone?”

“Didn’t have much of a choice, did I? Her father was killed. Those fucking animals last night, they found us – killed him. Couldn’t wait around like a sitting duck, couldn’t hunt with h– her on me. Doesn’t matter–” Her words are starting to slur. “But if you’re a doctor y’can take her. No one she’d be– be better off with. Please, please, you have to take her.”

“You don’t even know me. What I do means nothing–”

“I saw your face last night. I recognized you…”

“Recognized me? What do you mean you recognized me?” A terrible sense of premonition begins to churn deep in your gut, and the words out of your mouth are hysterical because she’s right, and you know exactly what she means. Somehow, somehow, it was like you’d known her, even though you’d never laid eyes on this woman or her child before in your life. But there was something, some sort of preternatural call you’d heard from her. As insane as it sounded, you’d recognized her also.

“Don’t know… just– just did…” her head lolls over the hill of her shoulder, and you watch her glazed eyes stare off into the distance. She mumbles something else you can’t make out.

Your mind feels broken, your body just as mangled. You have enough foresight left to register that if you don’t stop the bleeding in your side soon, reset your shoulder – restore the blood flow you can tell is disrupted by the tingling numbness that’s starting in your fingertips – that things are going to get very bad and very complicated for you, very soon.

“Her name is Kate,” she says with the last of her strength. That snaps you back into focus.

Kate.

“Yes– yes, I’ll take her.” Because there is nothing else to say. Because there is nothing else to do – no other choice. You’d known, since last night, since you’d heard that high pitched cry of terror, that this was what you were moving towards. Perhaps that was why it was so easy to leave this morning, despite everything else. Perhaps that was why there was no doubt, no thought for the concern you’d leave behind because you knew, somehow, in some preternatural way, that this was what was waiting for you. She seems to almost deflate at your agreement. All the urgency and fight leaving her eyes like you’d just pulled the string of a lamp. “That– that’s good,” her eyes flutter shut, finally resting. “That’s good,” she whispers.

You begin to shift, get ready to move, pushing Vero’s dead body from your mind, you can’t dwell on that right now – shoulder first, you think. “Knew – knew last night,” her words are stuttered, almost incoherent. You sit more firmly on your bottom and bend your knees to find purchase with your feet spread apart on the hard ground – slowly you begin to slide your jacket from your back. “S– Some– something in your ey– eyes.”

You keep your sight on her as you fold the sleeve of your jacket into your mouth to bite down on. She’s going to die soon – minutes, seconds, is all she has left. The pool of her blood surrounds her completely now, a macabre barricade for the place of her death. You lay back, flat on the ground, shoulders level, feet planted, knees bent, and slowly start to pull your left arm up with your right one – it really, really fucking hurts, and your stomach heaves, bile stinging in your throat, vision wavering, tears burning. You swallow a cry, bear down harder on the jacket, press your feet hard into the ground, as you straighten the arm with your other hand. Slowly, slowly, you can feel the joint making the painful shift. You can’t pass out, you can’t pass out, please, please, you can’t. You hear Joel’s soothing voice in your mind, my brave girl, the feel of his palm enveloping your cheek. You have to be brave now. Noah needs you, there’s a baby waiting for you. Kate. You focus your mind on the thought of her, what she might look like, trying to dissociate from the feel of the rotating ball of your bone shifting back into place – muscles screaming with fire, your flesh shooting bolts of pain down the lines of your back and up into your neck and head. Your movements are gentle but firm, and you feel the joint settle in place. You open your clenched eyes, she’s staring in your direction, eyes starting to take on the far away look of death, like a small light being snuffed out.

“Good job,” she whispers it like she’d laugh a little if she still had it in her. “I really loved her…” A single tear makes a slow track down the side of her face. You watch her hand laying on the ground twitch, “My name’s An– Anna.” And then she’s dead. That feeling of premonition comes to a screeching head, makes your heart drop into your stomach.

Fucking irony. If you had it in you right now, you’d cry for them all. Anna.

You find that Noah has another bullet wound low to the right side of his abdomen, besides the one through his shoulder. Both seem to be bleeding steadily, but thankfully, slowly. The one in his belly, low and lateral enough for you to guess, based on your approximated path of trajectory, is not life threateningly concerning, at this moment, if you can get them closed soon. His head is bleeding much more profusely, and poses the greater concern. You quickly realize that the leg is pulseless and will need to be reduced as soon as possible. You need to get out of the open before you do anything, though. You’re too vulnerable here.

You manage to coax one of the horses down to the ground for you to pull him onto its back. Doing it one handed is difficult, but you have to avoid using your hurt arm as much as possible. If you make it worse you run the risk of losing function in the limb forever. The pain and exertion is making you delusional. You keep hearing Joel’s voice through the trees. Beth’s dying screams. Fucking concerning that you’re already hallucinating. Vero’s body will have to be left, there’s no other option. You need to get to the baby and tend to Noah as soon as possible. A constant litany of prayer is running through your exhausted mind, that she’s still in the cabin, that you’re even able to find the goddamn cabin, that she’s okay, that no one’s found her, that no one else finds you, that you can save Noah, that you don’t pass out. You wish Joel was here so badly.

But he’s not. The only one here right now to help Noah and that baby is you.

You start to move.

You find her in the cabin, exactly where her mother said she’d be. And as you take her into your exhausted embrace, as you take in her little face, the big blue eyes, dark lashes, wet and clumped together, the little cherub mouth, it’s like everything around you is screaming: the wind, the trees, your heart.

Your choice to leave, your choice to go after this baby, your choice to walk away from him, even when you would rather die than do such a thing, to risk the tragedy of him not following – it feels worth it in this second. You’d thought once that nothing would ever be able to take you away from him, but as you look down at Kate’s little face, you realize, she is worth it. Coming out into this hell alone, if only to find her, this is worth the possible loss of everything else. This is what I was meant to do, you realize.

Anna had left a pack of supplies with her, fairly well stocked. Shockingly, with several canisters of formula, God knows where she’d found those. You set water to boil while you prep your supplies.

Stitching the slash of the bullet wound to your side proves more difficult one handed, than you’d imagined, but you manage it – thanking every higher power you’ve ever heard of for the fact that it’s only a flesh wound. The blood loss you’ve experienced will pose a problem soon, you need to work fast before it catches up to you and the adrenaline wears off. You inspect your butchered stitch job once you’re done, not your best work, but at least it’s closed and doused in the alcohol you’d packed in your kit – albeit minimally. Noah needs it more.

You reduce his leg first, which restores pulses to his foot – good sign. The muscles are malleable, the color of his skin normal, another good sign. You’ll have to watch for stiffness, though. You say a silent prayer of thanks that the fracture hadn’t pierced the skin. That would’ve been something you’d worry you’d not be able to save him from. Next are the two bullet holes. Both are through and through, and the trajectory of both are optimistically positioned. You douse both in alcohol and stitch them up. Then you shoot the both of you up with penicillin from your pack. Over-preparedness is truly the gift that keeps on giving. You give your past self a metaphorical pat on the back. The laceration to his scalp is closed quickly, as well. No obvious fracture to the bone underneath.

He mumbles a few slurred words, but other than that, he remains unconscious. Kate is sleeping peacefully after her bottle, and you know you need to rest too. Although, it would be incredibly shortsighted to fall asleep right now, your body isn’t giving you much choice. Your aches and pains and the blood loss are all catching up to you, and you’re fading incredibly fast. You fashion yourself a makeshift sling, and then pull the lone table in the room in front of the door, barricading yourselves in. If anyone tries to break in, you hope you’ll hear the jostling of the piece of furniture, and then you drag Noah’s body to the farthest corner of the room and place Kate’s little bundle between the two of you. You lay down between the two of them and the door. You’ll just rest your eyes for a while, rest your body, you won’t fall asleep. You only need to lay still for a few moments, you’ll feel better after that.

You told Maria you’d be back tonight, promised not to be gone after dark. When she sees the three of you haven’t returned she’ll send someone out. As soon as Joel realized you’d gone, he’d probably come out to search. You hope. His words from last night ring in your ears, but you can’t think of that now. Despite what he’d said, despite wanting you to go, he can’t have wanted this for you. You hope last night’s damage isn’t irreparable. That he hasn’t decided to be completely done with you. And that thought jump starts your anger. If that’s what he’s decided, well then fuck him. You feel the small warm press of Kate’s little body up against your back, and despite the position you now find yourself in, you can’t regret your decision to come out here, to come find her. You have bigger things to consider now. You press your hand to your belly, to the fear you’ve carried with you these past few weeks. Much, much bigger things to worry about now.

You dream of him. Over and over. His face swimming through the dark lake of your unconscious mind. There’s a house somewhere, shrouded by trees. You know somehow that there’s water near, and you think that this must be his home. You know he’s somewhere near, but as you walk through the lonely house, you can’t seem to catch up to him. He stands just outside the scope of your dream vision. You want to ask why he’s here, if this is his house, if you live here with him too. But he won’t answer your questions. His omniscient voice keeps telling you to not forget, over and over, he repeats it. Don’t forget, Birdie, don’t forget, don’t forget. And you want to scream that you don’t know what he’s talking about, that you don’t know what it is you’re not supposed to forget, but suddenly your voice won’t work anymore. All you can do is continue to follow the possibility of him, around another and another corner of the house.

You come to a room suddenly, with an old couple within. They sit alone, side by side, looking out a window that faces upon a wide, green field. You wonder if perhaps they’re his parents, but something tells you that’s wrong. His parents? No – they’re someone else. Someone you know but can’t place in your mind just yet. You’ll think on it, you’re sure it’ll come to you eventually. They sit quietly, holding hands. You can ask them no questions either, so you sit on the floor, knees pressed to your chest, slightly behind them, watching them look out the window. Their silence is so comforting, as if they’ve been sitting here their entire lives, as if they will always be sitting here.

You pass out for longer than you’d intended. Startling awake out of a dead sleep, scrambling on the cold ground at the sound of Kate’s sharp, piercing cries. You can feel her little wiggling form at your side, and you wrap an arm around her to pull her up onto your chest, her squirming settling as your warmth seeps into her. The inside of the cabin is freezing, and your mind is so hazy, your entire body screaming in pain. The sun coming through the murky window is bright with the light of afternoon. Fuck, you’d slept much, much longer than you’d intended, it’s probably the next day now. You turn your head towards Noah, passed out, but still breathing.

“Noah,” you croak, and his head shifts a tiny bit at your voice, eyelids fluttering. You need to move, need to get up and feed the baby. Try and get the three of you home. You need to find the strength to do so.

You manage to force your body into moving, slow and painful. You give her another bottle and examine Noah one last time before leaving. His wounds are holding up well, pulses still present in his leg. He’s strong, you know he’ll survive. You force yourself to eat something small from your pack and load the horses. The exertion of doing everything with half of your dexterity compromised is excruciating, but you manage it.

The real issue now’ll be finding your way back. Plagued by a lifelong poor sense of direction, you’re hopelessly turned around after last night’s struggle, but you think that if you keep east you’ll find your way eventually. If someone else doesn’t find you first.

Dawn creeps over the horizon, the sky a meld of pinks and blues, orange streaked, as if smeared by the fingers of a child. Your rational mind seems to have abandoned you miles back. Your blood a bread crumb trail leading back to the site of death, of catastrophe, you’d left behind. Vero, Vero, I’m so sorry. Your haphazard stitches popped a ways back with the exertion of getting Noah’s unconscious form draped onto the back of his horse again and yourself on to yours. Your body sways with the cadence of the horse's pace. You’ve tied your left hand loosely to the pommel, in case you lose consciousness and fall off again. But despite all this, the baby is tucked into the front of your jacket up against your breast, sleeping and warm, and Noah is still breathing. You’re still breathing. That’s all you can care about, all you can focus on now. You pray no one you don’t want finding you comes upon the three of you. You’re certain there’s nothing left within you to fight anyone if you need to. You keep hoping you’ll miraculously come upon Joel. That he’ll find you somehow. That whatever connects the two of you, whatever has always prevented the two of you from staying away, leads him to you now.

For the first time in years you’re able to recall the exact cadence of your mothers voice. Keep going, sweet girl. Just a little longer, you can do it. She was always gentle and understanding of your sensitive nature. Always understood that you were the child who liked to color inside the lines, follow the rules. That your heart was soft and easily hurt, but that there was strength and steel within you, as well. It only needed a little coaxing to be lured out. Sometimes Beth and your father, for all he liked to exploit your obedience, made it seem like this was a weakness, but not your mother. Never her. She always reassured you that it was your greatest strength, your greatest asset. That a soft heart never meant weakness, if anything a wealth of patience, of tenacity, of understanding and care for the world around you could only ever bring you good things. She always encouraged you to push that heart to greater lengths, greater realms of understanding, but to never let anyone take advantage of it. You hoped you’d done as she wanted, so far. That she’d be proud.

The mountains in the distance look so terrifying. They whisper at you that you’ll never make your way back. That the three of you are going to die out here. That you’re not strong enough to find your way home. That you’ll never see him again.

Your mind flits from place to place, like a butterfly nursing on the nectar of a sea of flowers. You think of your mother, the feel of her soft hair. The years of study – you’d tried for so long to be perfect, you’re sure you never achieved it. Connie’s familiar scent of peppermint and mothballs and paper. I would not like to see your choices taken from you once again. Beth, your last night together. Your shared childhood room, the drawings of stars you’d glued to the ceiling. The two of you would lie on the floor of that room with the soft pink walls and look up at your pictures, imagine constellations connected between the lines of your made-up heavens. That last night she was alive, lying together under the open sky, you’d connected the real stars in the hanging darkness, mapped the constellations out. Planned for a future together you’d never have.

Why do non-reasons sometimes feel so much more urgent than actual reasons? Like the things you really want, the things that are truly important to you, get pushed to the back burner in favor of things that never really mattered in the first place. Joel. The two of you should have just figured it out. Been more open, more honest, less afraid. The feel of his hands on your skin – you wish you had them now. You can’t help but wonder if you’d done anything different, even a single thing, if the outcome would have changed. If you could have eased his fears, if you could have helped him be a little braver. If you had been braver, if you’d had the courage to just ask for what you wanted out loud, if he’d have readily given it to you then. You’re terrified you’ll never see him again, never make it back, never hear his voice again, never get the chance to tell him all the things you need to.

You think you get lost several times. Too delirious to properly navigate your way back home with any real sense of direction, the sun sets and rises more times than you have a mind to pay attention to, it seems like. You feel like the three of you ride aimlessly for days, years. You get to a point where you can’t even soothe Kate’s desperate, hungry cries, and eventually the only thing keeping you balanced on the horse is your sheer force of will, the thought that if you fall, you’ll crush her.

Eventually, you assume it’s her cries that draws them near, that helps them find you. Because suddenly, out of the dead quiet of night, you hear shouts of what you think you remember your name to be. It’s a little lost to you now. Who you are. You don’t know if Noah’s still alive – haven’t had the mind or strength to even turn your head back to check if his chest still moves. The only thing that exists anymore is the sway of the horse beneath you, Kate’s wailing.

And then your name, being shouted out of the yawning darkness, and you think you hear him. The deep cadence of his voice, so familiar to you. You think you could recognize it even if you weren’t yourself anymore – through anything, time, space, death. The sound of his voice is like the sound of your own beating heart – it lives inside of you now.

You hear a pounding, pounding, pounding – the sounds of war, and you flinch away, curl your screaming arm around the baby. Even if you’re dead, you still have to protect her. And then there are lights and movement surrounding you, and it’s too much for your broken and exhausted mind, and you’re falling, melting off the side of the earth.

Gravity overtakes your body, takes you away with it, and you brace yourself for the agony of your injuries screaming against the hard earth, but then he’s there. You recognize the strength of him immediately – his scent, the pressure of his touch, before you hear his voice pressed against your ear. The precious bundle clutched protectively in your arms screams at being jostled, stolen, starved, frozen, traumatized, and the wound in your side writhes with fire. You could howl into the frigid night air if your voice still worked. You grit your teeth together, jaw clenched so tight it feels on the verge of fracture.

You press the baby tighter to your breast as you feel Joel’s arms lower you slowly to the ground. Your head is a two ton weight, unbearable to sustain. You’re bleeding heavily. You can feel the hot, slick warmth of your blood pool and mingle with the cold, wet grime of your clothes and the dirt beneath you as he settles you between his legs. You’re fading fast, and you have the sudden, jarring thought that if you die, this little girl will be alone. You promised her mother you’d take care of her, and now you’re bleeding, and your body won’t fucking listen to you, won’t get up and do what it needs to – to take care of her, protect her. Joel’s voice is a panicked buzz in your ears, you can hear your name on his lips. His hands gripping and pressing along your body checking for injuries. You cry out in pain as he comes into contact with your wound, and you’re gasping out his name then – a pleading litany you need him to recognize. His horrified gasp comes as his hands find the dark vermillion of your blood. “Come on, baby, please.” Your moans are high and pleading, and his panic answers yours, clashes and twines with it. “I know, baby, I know.” He clutches you tighter against his body, and you want to say that you’re sorry. That you didn’t mean for this to happen. That you never meant to make him go through a hurt like this again.

“I know it hurts – you’re gonna be okay. Listen to me, I gotta get you up. I gotta get you up, alright?” he says over and over again in your ear. You wish you could just be quiet together for a moment. That you never had to move again. Just the two of you here together, just for a little bit.

“Tommy, help me!” He’s shouting. He’s afraid again. You can hear it. You wish you could open your eyes, look at him one more time.

Birdie, I love you. Birdie, Birdie, my Birdie.

No other words matter in this moment. The encroaching darkness echoes with his confession, soothes your blistering agony. You will hold on to that, you decide, hold on to him telling you he loves you. That will anchor you.

He’s been here before. His panic is full blown, screeching in his ears, his heart a fist punching against his chest, his worst nightmares come to fruition again. Searching for you for days without success. It didn’t make sense, he was always supposed to be able to find you, always, always, no matter what. The most terrible, gripping fear he’s ever experienced in his entire life. And now finally, here you are, he’s found you, but your blood covers his hands. The sight so abhorrent to him it drives all sound, thought, understanding from his mind. Sarah, dead in his arms, again and again and again. The sick fucking vision of the person he loves slipping away from him eternally. Her big brown eyes, vacant, and her purple t-shirt, the one he never forgot, made dark with the gruesome sight of her blood. Never being able to stop it. Your head lolls back at a sick angle, your eyes flutter behind your closed lids. The skin tinged blue with the hue of your veins, stark against your shockingly pale skin. And then he sees the baby – tucked inside the zipper of your jacket, her wails not having registered in his mind until the moment his eyes meet her big, wet blue ones – and he freezes. “Birdie, who is that?” he whispers, tries to grip your jaw, but his fingers are slippery with your blood, leaving horrifying streaks of rust in their wake across your pale, frigid skin. It’s a baby.

“Joel… please,” you can’t open your eyes even though you so badly need to look at him, to reassure him, you don’t know if he can even hear you, “I promised her mother…” Your voice feels invisible, broken. You think of Ellie, what she must have been like as a little girl, her face comes into your mind. She’d told you once her mother’s name was Anna.

Anna, Anna, Anna.

Fucking irony. You want to laugh or cry or scream, but all you feel is the slide of a tear track back into your hair. The universe has a sick and twisted sense of humor. You think of how hard it is now for you to recall your own mother’s face some days. You hope she and Joel can forgive each other. You think about how fate robbed you of a sister but gave you Ellie, gave you Connie, Joel. You hope the world can gift Kate someone like that one day.

He’s still there, his voice begging you to come back to him. You don’t want to fail him. He loves you.

And then nothing. Darkness.

Chapter VIII

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

#FoG fic #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #Pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller imagine #Joel Miller smut #joel miller x female reader

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cowgurrrl · 1 year

Text

It’s a shame that we’re not soul mates

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (though this is all backstory)

Summary: “Grief is an amputation, but hope is incurable hemophilia: you bleed and bleed and bleed.” - David Mitchell, Slade House [5.0k]

Warnings: if you’ve been reading this far, you know what to expect

"Janey, be careful!" You say, even though she's already on top of the counter. You put a hand on her back to stabilize her, but she wiggles out of your grasp.

"I got it." She says as she reaches up and grabs a bowl once her knees are steady against the counter. She hands it to you and jumps down carelessly, making you flinch with phantom knee pain. She giggles at your reaction as she moves back to the half-made dinner she's helping you with.

"Stressin' me out, homegirl."

"I'm trying to help!" She defends, and you laugh as you hand her the spoon to stir the pasta.

"Well, you can help by stirring this," you pass off the responsibility, and she groans. If you didn't know better, you'd say she was eight going on eighteen with the way she rolls her eyes and grumbles under her breath. It's mostly funny only because you remember being the same way to your mom. "Do you have homework we need to work on tonight?" You ask as you pass behind her to grab some cheese from the fridge. Thank God for smugglers with good connections.

"No, I already did it while I was waiting for you to pick me up." She says with enough sass in her voice for you to give her a look. She raises her eyebrows in a silent challenge, and you laugh.

"I said I was sorry, little judgy pants," you bump her out of the way with your hip so you can grab the boiling pot and carry it over to the strainer. "I had to talk to someone about work, and it took longer than I thought it would."

It's not a total lie. Lee had warned you the next shipment wouldn't come until a little more than a month after your last one. He gave you an update to let you know that smugglers from nearby would be ready to trade by tomorrow. You don't tell her you were also helping Lee move weapons. There's been a void since you killed the top weapons dealer in the QZ. "Somebody's gotta fill it," Lee reasoned as he opened boxes upon boxes of FEDRA-level armory. He doesn't seem to have any qualms about taking over a dead man's position, and you silently question just how real the hit order was. No one besides Fireflies were publicly executed that week, and no one mentioned anything about a grieving brother pushed to madness.

Still, that money allowed you to take a month off to be with Jane. You got to wake her up to a homemade breakfast and walk her to and from school. You got to help her with her homework and sneak up to the roof to look at the stars like you did before QZs and gunfire. You got to feel like an active mother for once in your life. So maybe a little white lie on Lee's end isn't the end of the world? Besides, you got a good amount of ammunition, two new guns, and a switchblade out of his new venture. There are worse things.

Jane eyes you suspiciously at the mention of work but doesn't have time to say anything before the front door opens. You jump a little until your eyes settle over Adam and the excited glint in his eyes. His hair has gotten long in the past month, and it curls delicately over his forehead. Jane yells his name as she runs over to him and hugs him tightly. You can't stop the smile from tugging at your lips at the sight. Despite whatever relationship you two have, he's really great with her.

"Hey! How was your day, Janey girl?" He asks, crouching to her level with one hand behind his back.

"Good! I ate lunch with Lucy!" She says, and he laughs.

"I know. I saw you guys in the lunch room," he says as he glances at you. You nod and pull a third bowl from the cabinet to keep the peace. "Hey, I've got a surprise for you and your mommy."

"Really? What is it?" Jane asks. Adam looks at you again before bringing the hand behind his back into view. Jane squeals and jumps up and down at the small radio in his hand. It's the most excited you've seen her get about anything in a long time. You laugh as you come up behind her and put your hands on her shoulders. "Mommy, it's a radio! We can listen to music again!"

"I see. What do you say to Adam?"

"Thank you!" She says as she throws her arms around him.

"You're welcome, honey." He says, rubbing her back. Over her shoulder, he meets your gaze, and you smile sincerely.

"Thank you." You mouth silently, and he nods.

Once the excitement dies down, the three of you scoop heaps of pasta into your bowls and sit at the table. You only own three dining chairs, but it's probably for the best. If you had an extra one, the space would feel too big. Three feels like a good number. Together, you exchange stories about your day and conversations with others. Jane tells you about the latest playground drama and how she's the fastest writer out of anyone in her class. There's no mention of FEDRA or Infected. Even when yelling rings out in the street, you go silent until it stops, and then it's back to the safety of your dining room.

After everyone is full, you and Jane wash the dishes while Adam helps dry and put them away. It's always the first thing you do after dinner because they'll never get done if you don't wash the dishes immediately. Then, with Jane's help, Adam tunes into a crackly radio station playing a song you recognize. Jane deems the late 90's tune "weird" but dances along nevertheless. She laughs breathlessly when you pick her up and spin around the kitchen with her in your arms. You bounce between doing silly dance moves individually and holding hands as you dance. For ten perfect minutes, the upbeat songs of a lifetime ago echo in your kitchen, and the three of you dance like this is how things were always meant to be.

When a slower song comes on, you scoop Jane up again, and she wraps her legs around your waist so you two can sway together. It's a position you've been in so many times in your shared life. So much so that Jane didn't even question it when you grabbed her. The night of your senior prom, you stayed home with your flu-ridden toddler and slowly danced until she fell asleep in your arms. You'd dance with her at friends' weddings while everyone else danced with their partners. Whenever either of you had a tough day, you'd dance in the kitchen as a gentle reminder that you had each other, no matter what. This is the first time you've gotten to dance to actual music in years. You fight your tears and manage a smile whenever Jane picks her head up from your shoulder to look at you.

"Mommy, Adam doesn't have anyone to dance with." She whispers, and you meet Adam's eyes from where he sits at the kitchen table.

"Do you wanna dance with him?" You whisper back, and she shakes her head. "Do you want me to dance with him?" She nods. You take a deep breath as Jane wiggles out of your arms and walks over to Adam. He looks confused as he stands but still takes her hand whenever she holds it out for him. Then, so politely it hurts, she walks him over to you and slips his hand into yours. He freezes, so you take the lead, sliding your hands over his shoulders until they lock behind his neck. He gently places his hands on your waist and begins moving with you.

"I'm not gonna bite." You mumble, and he grins as he takes a step closer. His body is warm against yours, and he smells like the good soap you smuggle in. It's a comfort to have him so close. Something you've never realized before. Sure, having someone to help deal with your frustrations was comforting, but this is different. Somehow, this feels more intimate than sex. The circles he rubs into your hips don't help you shake the feeling. The song ends with little fanfare, but you linger in his arms until Jane tugs on your arm to dance to Kurt Cobain's sputtering voice.

You stay up dancing until well past Jane's bedtime, and she's all but nodding off in your arms as you carry her to bed. You kiss her temple, carefully lay her in bed, and pull the covers over her body. She stretches and shifts in the new environment, and her eyes blink open. "Can we dance again tomorrow night?" She asks, snuggling into her pillow, and you nod.

"Whatever you want, baby."

"Awesome." She yawns before rolling over and falling asleep. You laugh to yourself as you tuck her in and kiss her head again. Adam is lingering in the kitchen, his hands in his pockets, when you come back out and shut Jane's door quietly. He smiles as you approach him and looks between you and the radio.

"Bought it off some FEDRA officer who said he couldn't get any signal from it anymore. Pretty sure he thought I was gonna sell it for parts." He answers your silent question.

"Why didn't you?" You ask, and he shrugs.

"Felt wrong," he says simply. "Besides, I think kitchen dances are a much better use than scrapping it." You nod in agreement as you kiss him. He's caught off guard for a moment before he kisses you back like you're made of porcelain. His hands find your waist and pull you closer for the sole purpose of being closer to you, and you let him. There's no rush, nowhere to go, no anger. It's just you and the soft press of his lips.

"Thank you," you whisper, leaning your forehead against his.

"For what?" He asks, breathless.

"Making her smile." His Adam's apple bobs at your words, but he doesn't say anything. He just kisses you again. For once, you let him unbutton your shirt, lead the way back to your bed, and take his time. His hands are soft against your skin and draw all the breathiest noises from you. You try not to hide from him like you usually do. You even let him fall asleep next to you once you're done, chests heaving in tandem. It's nice. It's more than a comfort. The fuzzy, warm, confusing feeling in your head scares the shit out of you as you watch him sleep next to you.

He doesn't need to see me— all of me— just yet. Let me live in this a little longer, you think, as the sun rises. You slide out from under his arm seamlessly and begin getting ready in the quietest way possible. You're supposed to meet the smugglers before noon, and the walk is long for both of you. You should leave sooner rather than later. You're fully dressed with your boots and backpack on when your rickety drawer stirs Adam awake. You freeze as he shuffles until his eyes open to you, one hand on your gun and the other on the edge of the bed to keep you balanced.

"Are you going on a run?" He asks, his voice gravelly and thick with sleep. You think about lying about the shipment or telling him Lee needs you for something. You think about not answering at all and just leaving. But then, you remember the lightness in his body as you danced in the kitchen and the way he shivered under your touch.

"It won't take long. I'll be home before Jane even gets out of school."

"We're supposed to go together."

"Adam," you start, but he sits up before you can finish.

"No, this wasn't a part of the deal. You were supposed to tell me about the next drop so we could go together. You said you'd show me." He says, and you sigh. The betrayed look in his eyes presses on a bruise deep in your heart, and you have to look away. You grab your gun and put it back together, hitting the magazine with the palm of your hand.

"The group I'm meeting with doesn't like strangers. If they see you, they could freak out and start shooting," you say. "I'm not going to put you in that position."

"But you're fine with that possibility?” He snaps as you tuck your gun into your waistband.

"Please, just stay here. I can handle them myself."

"No," he stands his ground. "No. I'm not letting you go alone. Do you know how fucking scary it is to watch you walk out that door, not knowing if you're gonna come home? Even before I knew you were smuggling, I was always scared. When you were late last time, I almost went out there looking for your body." You knew he often stayed up to make sure you got home in one piece, but you didn't know he was ready to go out looking for you. He's probably the only other person who would notice if you went missing. You feel like you could choke on your shame.

"I didn't know that."

"Because we don't talk. We fight, and we fuck, and that's it. Last night was the first time I felt..." he trails off, shaking his head. Of the two of you, Adam has always been more in touch with his thoughts and feelings than you have, which makes sense considering most of your day is spent in survival mode. "Last night was the first time I felt like you actually wanted me around." He says, and you take a deep breath. You slide your backpack off your shoulder and perch on the edge of the bed, grabbing his hand.

"Hey, look at me," you urge, squeezing his hand. You only continue when he lifts his head. "I do want you around, okay? Not just for Jane or because it's convenient but because..." You fumble with the words, and Adam scoffs, pulling away.

"You can't even say it."

"I don't care what happens to me," you say suddenly, getting his attention. "I don't want you to go with me because I don't care what happens to me or what I have to do to come home. I'm reckless and dangerous and don't hang out with good people because I'm not a good person. And I'm scared you'll leave the second you realize that and try to take Jane with you." You blame the years of guilt and dishonesty in your veins for the word vomit, but seeing how his face contorts makes you feel like you could actually vomit. You look away, but his hand on your jaw turns you to look at him again. "If you're here while I'm there, that's the best way to keep you safe."

"Who keeps you safe?" he mumbles. "Please, let me help you. Just this one time. Please." You know you're going to lose the argument. You feel it. You can scream and push him away, but you won't win.

"Can you handle a gun?" You ask, and he chuckles.

"Yeah, I can handle a gun."

"I've never seen you carry."

"It's not the most appropriate thing to bring to school." He says, and you take a shaky breath as you stand and walk over to your closet. You spin the combination on the safe until it pops open to reveal rounds of ammo and another handgun. You make sure the safety is flipped before releasing the magazine and pull back the slide to eject the bullet left in the chamber.

"Can you handle something like this?" You ask, holding the grip out for him to grab. He takes it and turns the cold metal over, inspecting all the grooves and indentions with reverence. He nods after a moment, and you nod back. You hand him the magazine and watch him shove it into the gun. "If you're really gonna do this, you listen to me. You don't wander. You don't talk to anyone unless I talk to them first. You don't pull your gun until I pull mine. Even then, you don't shoot until I do. Do you understand?" Your voice sounds like it does when you're talking to Lee. Mechanical, robotic, mean. Adam takes it in stride, only blinking at you.

"I understand." He agrees.

"Let's go, then."

While Adam gets dressed, you go to Mrs. Carmichael's apartment and ask her to take Jane to school. Being retired with no living children frees up her schedule pretty nicely, so she agrees. You give her the same rundown you've given Adam a million times, and she nods along, listening intently. "And just... tell Jane I love her, and I'll pick her up after school." You say.

"Oh, honey, of course. We'll have a great morning! You go on to work." She says, and you smile as Adam steps out of the apartment. You hug Mrs. Carmichael and thank her quickly before leaving the building and walking out to the street. You're silent the whole way to Lee's building, where he gives you the stuff you're trading, and you grab some full magazines from your cache under the floorboards.

"Since when did Golden Boy start coming with you on drops?" Lee whispers as you stuff the bullets in your backpack. You glance over your shoulder to look at an otherwise oblivious Adam and shake your head.

"This is a one-time thing. He twisted my arm."

"C'mon, nobody twists your arm. What do you owe him?"

"Drop it, Lee." You seethe, and he rolls his eyes.

"Fuck you, too." He mumbles as he walks away, but you don't take it personally. You're sure he'll do nothing but sing your praises when you return this afternoon, or that's your hope, at least. After bidding Lee a semi-forced goodbye, you and Adam continue on your way. He stays quiet when you pass through the Areas and under the wall. As you get further and further away from the QZ, Adam will turn around to check the distance like he can't believe he's actually outside the walls. His eyes light up when he sees how nature has taken over the city you once recognized, like this is a field trip.

Meanwhile, your anxiety is off the charts. Every little sound has you reaching for your gun and whipping your head around to identify the source. If this were a normal day, Adam might make fun of you for being so jumpy. "Lighten up a little," he'd probably say. "We've made it this far." But he doesn't say anything. He watches you work and listens when you warn him of falling into craters or teach him how to avoid Infected. Overall, you have to give him props for actually following your instructions, and you make it to the old Shell station in record time.

"Do you trust these people?" Adam asks as you lean against the crumbling wall of the gas station and wipe sweat from your brow.

"Trust is a big word for people like this," you say as he settles next to you. "But, yeah. For the most part, they're honest people who're just trying to feed their families."

"How many groups of smugglers are there?"

"Probably hundreds. I deal with five or six from different QZs to get what I need. Some are small, like Lee and I, and others are a huge network of people. It's hard to know just how many are out there."

"And how long have you been smuggling?" He finally asks, and you take a deep breath as you kick at a rock under your foot.

"Since we moved into the apartment. I tried doing the shitty FEDRA jobs for a while, but it just wasn't enough money. I was desperate, and there was a need for people willing to go over the wall, so it just made sense. Lee found me about a year into my smuggling and took me in. Helped me actually turn a profit and get Jane some new clothes or better food. I owe him a lot." You say, remembering how you went hungry for days so Jane could eat. They say a hungry dog is the most dangerous, and you're living proof.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asks, his voice soft and sympathetic like he would done anything to change the past if he could. You shake your head and pick at your cuticles.

"Cause I didn't want to look weak. I'd spent the last five years keeping our heads above water and keeping her safe, and then... it was all ripped away. I didn't ask for help when I was sixteen, and I sure as shit wasn't gonna start at twenty-one."

"Someone should've been there to help you," he says. "Matt should've stayed."

"I don't know. I think we turned out alright." You shrug off his sincerity and push off the wall to walk a little way out, leaving him and the conversation by the wall. You don't want to talk about Matt. Not to him. Not ever and never more than you have to to answer Jane's questions about the amorphous blob that is her father. "Where are they?" You ask, mostly to yourself, as you look around in either direction. Adam comes up next to you with either a question or an apology on his lips, but the sound of footsteps jerks you away from him.

"Help me, please." A man clutching his bloody stomach steps into your path, and you pull your gun and point it at him. Adam stops and looks between you and the stranger, uneasiness passing over him.

"Stay where you are," you order. The man takes another step, and you cock your gun. "Don't make me repeat myself," Adam mumbles your name, but you shake your head.

"Please. I'm hurt."

"What happened?" Adam asks, and you give him a look. "How can we help?" A twig snaps behind you, and you whip around to see five other men surrounding you and Adam. Raiders. There's little to no coverage besides collapsed walls and stray cars. You really hope Adam wasn't lying about his ability to handle a weapon. You fire first, a bullet easily ripping through the distraction's head, before grabbing Adam and diving to hide behind a car. Gunfire rings in your ears as you try to assess where the shots are coming from. You aim under the car and take out two pairs of feet, taking the lethal shot when they collapse to the ground.

Three left, you think. Three is manageable. You glance over at Adam in time to see one of the raiders gunning for him with a knife. "Duck!" You shout as you raise your gun and fire the shot. Adam barely moves out of the way in time, and you hit the guy's shoulder. Before you can fire the next shot, a pair of arms wraps around you and pulls you from behind the car. You kick and scream as you watch the guy you shot and another raider grab Adam.

You're not exactly sure what happens next. You know some punches landed on your face, and pain travels through your body. You hear Adam yell for you. You feel someone just barely press a knife into your skin. The rest is a mess of blood and gunshots and ringing in your ears. You think— no, you know— you killed the last three men. The blood on your clothes and staining your hands is enough of a sign. When your eyes land on Adam again, there's blood pouring from the side of his head, but he's upright. He's alive. He rushes toward you, and you have to fight the twitch of your hands from pointing your gun at him. He says something you can't hear, but before you can ask for confirmation, he grabs your hand and runs back towards the QZ.

He doesn't look back at the bodies you left in your wake, but you do. You have to know you're still here, and they aren't. You have to know you won.

The bathroom is quiet as he leans against the sink, struggling to keep himself upright as you dab blood from the cut on his head. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, everything hurts, and your vision blurs in the corners. He groans and winces as you reach for the antiseptic. "I know, I know. I'm sorry." You whisper.

"Just finish it." He says through gritted teeth, and you nod. You pour the clear liquid over his cut and cover it with the rag, keeping him from moving away from you. He curses loudly and shakes under your touch, but after a minute or two, his breathing evens out, and you lift the rag again.

It doesn't need stitches. It'll probably heal over into a scab more than anything else. You don't know if it's a result of the fight or your bullet grazing his head. You don't want to ask. You silently clean his blood and press bandages to the inflamed skin to encourage the wound to close. Worst case scenario, he has a scar no one else knows about but you. It wouldn't be the first.

Once you're done, you carefully push him out of the way so you can wash your hands, and you have to look away as the red spins around the drain before disappearing completely. You scrub at your skin until it's raw and clean. Jane still has another hour left of school. She doesn't need to see the blood on your hands. Adam is the one to turn off the sink and hand you a dry rag to distract you.

"Are you okay?" You ask quietly, hoping he'll avoid the subject of your frenzied hand washing, and he gives you a look.

"I should be asking you that. You got knocked around more than I did." He says, reaching out to push your hair out of your face to get a better look at your black eye. His hand lingers on your jaw, much too gentle fingers swiping over your skin. Slowly like he's giving you time to pull away, he kisses the bruised skin around your eye. It's too soft, too sweet, too perfect.

"You don't have to stay," you blurt out. "I got you into this mess. I can clean myself up."

"I made you take me."

"But I pulled the gun first. I started the fight."

"You also protected me."

"Stop trying to make me the good guy here, Adam," you snap. "This is what I do every fucking day. I killed those guys without blinking, and the next time something like this happens, I'll kill them again because I have a kid at home. And guess what? I'm never even home on time to see her. I'm not a good person." Despite the anger rising in your chest, Adam doesn't flinch. Instead, he takes the towel from your hands and turns the tap to cold, soaking the rag. He presses it under your eye, soothing the swelling heat of your skin.

"I don't think you're a bad person." He whispers, and you scoff.

"How?"

"What?"

"How can you think that?" You challenge. He takes a big breath and puts the rag down, his eyes scanning your face.

"Because you could've left me to die. Because you could've killed me the first time we kissed, and I wouldn't have blamed you. Because even after years, you still refuse to shit-talk Matt in front of Jane because you don't want her to think you hate him even though you do. Because I've seen you read your daughter bedtime stories and dance with her in the kitchen. Because only good people could create such an amazing human," he says. "And because I know you. I know you on your good days and especially on your bad days. And even when you slam the door in my face and try to make me disappear, I still come back because you are one of the most extraordinary people I've ever met." He's so gentle and patient, and you are so fucking mean to him.

"I'm not afraid of you." He says, and tears cloud your vision. You stare down at your blood-stained shoes and swallow around the lump in your throat. I am, you think. I'm afraid of me.

"Thank you," you say instead, feigning a smile. He doesn't look like he believes it, but he doesn't say anything. He just pulls you into a big hug and does his best to shield you from your own thoughts. He's warm and sturdy and real. More real than the images floating around in your head and more real than the stinging feeling in your hands. It's nice. "Thank you." You repeat, and Adam nods, believing you a little more than he did the first time. He kisses your hairline, and you feel his lungs expand with a breath.

"We need to be more honest with each other if we're gonna keep doing… whatever it is we're doing," he whispers into your hair. "No more secrets."

"I'd like that," you mumble. "But it's gonna take me some time. I can't... I can't change overnight."

"That's okay. I'll wait." He says, making a piece of you want to collapse into him and cry. You don't. You keep yourself upright and count his heartbeats as his words echo in your mind.

For the first time, you let yourself think about more days wrapped in his arms, protected from your internal war. You imagine nights spent dancing with Jane and kisses that you don't have to hide and mornings where you don't kick him out of bed. You imagine a future. A dangerous, perfect future with him and Jane. If you fight hard enough, you can make it happen, right? You can be enough to keep them alive. You could do it.

You could stay alive for them.

#tlou angst #the last of us angst #when you’re lost in the darkness #look for the light prequel #the last of us #joel the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us x reader #the last of us series

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