#I have a lot of brain rot for Walker but I’ll talk about all of them

[dirgc]

let me talk about my ocs.

[remsmoonlight]

— title : battle scars

— word count : 2.1 k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : during a quick run, you fall into some trouble with some walkers though daryl’s love language is spoken with actions and not words.

— warnings : mentions witnessing death, near death experiencing, extremely minor cursing, mentions of blood and gore

           ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　requested     　/     requests are open    *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

okay so i requested this a while ago to someone else and they said they’d write it but i never found it  and i forgot who i asked so i might of missed it, but maybe a walker grabs readers hair or something so she looks for something to tie it up with and daryl gives her his bandana and she just decides to claim it or some cute shit like that??? it’s okay if you don’t wanna♥️♥️

Shap rays penetrate effortlessly through the barred windows, the tatty scraps of cloth providing little protection against the blinding morning sunshine. You pull your arm to cover your eyes, not quite ready to be released from the grips of your slumber.. the nights before a run have always been the most troublesome. Your mind running through every which way the day could turn out, pleading to your mind to focus on the positive outcomes that are always on the table of possibility. Both the positivity and negativity keeping you awake into the late hours.

The only consolation being when you were gifted the image of a blanket of stars over the dark sky, free from any light pollution that was known among many.

“ time to get your ass up, sleepy head. “

You don’t need to remove the arm that lays heavily draped across your head to know who’s familiar drawl that belongs to. Daryl Dixon. His voice in being a quite distinct quality about him. Though there’s more than that you think humorously as a smirk that lazily snakes its way onto your lips.

“ yeah, yeah. I’m up. “ you respond to him as you find yourself focusing on his form in the doorway, clutching the bed linen that serves as a makeshift door in his grip. Your mind wonders if you’ve ever seen him in a state of inactivity that held no tension .

Members of the group continue to filter into the main hall at a leisurely pace, sleep still clinging to their backs in a losing battle.

Sitting off to the side, your gaze settles to the lone male. Daryl nods from you to the space across from him, a bowl laid across from him.

“ thanks for saving me some breakfast. “ you speak, breaking the silence as you pick up the spoon and lifting a heap of oats onto it. Knowing you would need the energy, of course, the world ending brought a new meaning to breakfast being the most important meal of the day.

“ yeh, don’t need ya collapsin’ on me now. “

Amusement tugged at both corners of your mouth as you peer at him, even after all the time had passed, he still doesn’t want to show how much he cares for the people in the group. Even the newcomers from the Woobury group. Of course, you know.. you see what it means to him see everyone safe, to avoid losing yet another member of his new found family to the rotting fingers of death. The finality of death landing heavier blows on his already bruised heart over again is not something he wishes to fall victim to.

“ you know you’ll never get rid of me, I’ll haunt you from my grave! “ you say, joy lighting up your features as you chuckle, momentarily forgetting your breakfast.

A silence embeds itself comfortably between the two of you, something that becomes less and less awkward every time you find yourself in the vicinity of the man. Human contact and communication had to be quickly developed and it wasn’t long before you became comfortable chatting with everyone as if you had known them for years, but Daryl isn’t completely like those members in your group. He speaks with his actions and it took you long enough to realise that, which is why you found no awkwardness sneaking itself around your throat to force words to fall from your lips unwillingly.

“ so, where are we going first? “

“ ‘saw there was a sports store a few miles out a few days ago. they’ll have some’a those bike chains for those fences. “

Nodding in response, you understand it’s nothing more than a simple task. Though, nothing is truly simple now, even something so minor can cost you your life. The first few days you had spent up at the quarry were plagued with nightmares, every day when you saw the sun begin to dim roused a deep fear that bled into your heart, opening a deep pit in the bottom of your stomach, thinking about the rotting corpses and the frenzied deaths of those you loved. The night time cradled your worst moments, to have to close your eyes and to only be left alone with your thoughts would haunt you endlessly.

Shaking your head to yourself, you rid yourself of that dark energy clouding above you. You have dedicated a lot of time and drive to make progress, it’s not something you yearn to be thrown away as if it were nothing.

“ are we going to pick anything else up, or is it just those? “

“ nah, no use gettin’ ourselves killed. “ he responds, focusing on eating breakfast.

You nod your head swiftly, you certainly can’t argue with that logic! Knowing others have lost their lives or have been horribly injured attempting to go the extra mile.

“ well, I won’t be disagreeing with that plan. quick and simple. “

“ sounds like.. “

He lifts his line of sight to stare at you as his sentence trails off into silence, a passing moment crawling along almost uninterrupted before the realisation of what he meant erupted in your mind. He’s talking about you!

“ that’s so rude! “ you say with wide eyes, creasing up and shaking with laughter.

“ I ain’t wrong. “

Even Daryl begins to ease up and chuckle to himself, a small part of him had been cowering in the corner thinking that his words may have been too offensive, even for you. But seeing the sparkle in your eyes as you find amusement is enough to banish it permanently.

The two of you leave the confines of the prison, your arms are locked around his midsection as you are settled behind him on the motorcycle. The speed of it hit a steady pace, the scenery around you nothing more than passing blurs merging into a melting pot of Earth tones.

Slowing to a stop, the two of you get off the bike and make your way into the abandoned store, your eyes scan it in its entirety. Confidence fills you in the thought that it is older than you and definitely had seen better days. Dirt and grime lined the structure from the bottom, sliding up the walls to the top of it. Your brows burrow in repulsion, though surely it can’t be as bad as the prison. Or how it used to be..

“ stay back. “

You watch as he bangs a hand against the grungy window, hardly anything could be seen through the layer of dirt that had made its home there. A visual picture certainly would not be helping either of you this time.

It took around two minutes for a series of slams against the windows to startle you, your heartbeat begins to speed up slightly at the suddenness of the noise. Even when you’re expecting the arrival of walkers, they still manage to catch you off guard. The two of you nod to one another, you move to open the door for four walkers to pile out. Your attention is kept to the two who made a beeline for your body. You step backwards with your knife now in your hand, hoping to create distance between the two of them for you to be able to stab one of them.

One of them grabs your shoulders, immediately your hand goes to shove one of its away from yours. Momentarily it loses grip and trips into you, luckily your hand with the knife is faster than you realise and you feel the resistance its skull and brain give you but you’re stronger and ensure it hits the mark. The change is instantaneous, the walker descends quickly, taking you with it. All your strength and fight is dedicated to pushing the dead weight off of you, your arms make progress as it falls next to you with a thud.

Scrambling to the space next to you to retrieve the knife still sleeping snugly within its head, your breath is ragged from the physical exhaustion and stress of the situation. Your eyes are wide with fear and it takes more strength than you realise to pull it out with a sickly squelch, a darkened liquid coats the once shining blade. Though you have little time to study its form before you feel fingers clawing at your hair, the surprise causes you to drop the knife and your hands to move towards the decaying ones who have secured their grip.

Screams erupt from your lips as your fingers move upwards, pushing what you guess is the walker’s snapping mouth that feels so close. Close enough that you’re unable to distinguish if the breaths you feel close to your neck is from the walker or your imagination. Never before had you felt like a prey animal before, you’re too close to death for your liking, you’d seen people turn from being bitten and to be seconds away fills you with dread. Your fight becomes less and less by the passing second, your body is too tired to fight itself and the walker at the same time, incapacitation is becoming your reality.. warning to confront you one step at a time.

One moment all you can hear are snarls and a warm pain that shoots through the roots of your hair, the next it feels like time has stopped. The grip that was once securely locked is now absent, you don’t know where to look.. all you know is you don’t want to look behind you.

“ y’alright? “

Your sight moves upwards, squinting as you take in the face in front of you. It’s Daryl.

“ uh, I -- “ your voice breaks at the end as you reply, shock overwhelming your body. You drop your head towards the ground in disturbance, refusing to allow your emotions to spiral, you focus on a spot on the ground.

Daryl moves towards you, his gaze checking you over, though begins to search through your hair to make sure the walker has not scratched or punctured your skin with its filthy teeth. Seeing you in that state with the walker so close to dimming your light pushed him, pushed him to fight harder than he has with a few walkers. He knew he could have sent a bolt through its skull, but rage filled his entire being as it drove him. Sending him in its direction and sending a blade through it with his entire force.

“ hey, it didn’t get ya. y’hear me? it didn’t get ya. “ he says, bringing your attention back to him. Though whether it was confirmation more for his benefit or yours, he can’t tell.

“ I never even.. I knew, I.. “

“ y’ain’t got your battle scar yet. “

“ not with you around, luckily. “ you reply with a shake of your head, a soft tone is all you can muster in that minute.

Even in spite of yourself and how you feel, a light chuckle coming from you dusts the air gently as if it never occurred. Shaking your head with a smile that barely registers you push yourself onto your knees and make a move to stand. He’s there to help you up, a tender force clutches your upper arm that you almost fail to associate with him.

The both of you share the same thought unknowingly, that your entire being feels nothing but sensitivity. Shock from enduring the ordeal leaving your body made from nothing more than glass that could shatter at a moment’s notice.

“ hey.. “

A bandana is dangling in front of your vision, confused, you take it into your fingers. Your touch feels the rough material as you run your fingertips across it. Like a light bulb, understanding lights your features up with the power of a thousand suns. Your hair is gathered over to one side, collected to form something of a braid now rests over your shoulder.. with the bandana keeping it together.

“ thank you, Daryl. “ gratitude coats your words, you are extremely thankful for his intervention “ this is mine now though.. “ you inform him, a hand moving to finger the material that now has a new home in your hair.

“ yeah, y’wish. “

“ I meant what I said though, thank you. if you weren't here I’d be one of them. “ a sigh from your mouth releases, a shudder crawling its way through yourself. The shake being easily visible.

“ that ain’t ever gonna happen, I ain’t gonna let it. “

A dull smile pulls at the corners of your lips, a sadness coating your expression at his words. Moving towards him gradually, your arms slide around his midsection. Knowing that those promises can’t always be fulfilled, but that’s Daryl a thought crosses the centre of your mind. He always wants to save everyone. You barely register the light weight of two palms on your back, but a warm light grows in size within you at the realisation.

“ you can let this bandana be mine though.. my good luck charm when you’re not around. “

“ fine. “ Daryl gives in, a hint of laughter in his response as he speaks to you.

[twdbegins]

Spooked

__

Simon x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Language. 

A/N: A lot of pet names in this...haha SHOCKER. Here’s a little early Halloween addition fic! I’ll have more holiday fics coming soon.

Requested by: @birdieofloxley

Word Count: 1,835

“Why would you make up something like that? You really scared me.” 

__

The legs of the chair you were sitting in squeaked as you leaned forward, tuned in to what Negan was saying. It was late October (or at least, you had estimated that it was October) meaning Halloween was soon approaching. Halloween was one of your favorite holidays as a kid. The candy, the trick or treating, the costumes were all part of the spooky experience. As you got older, you cared less about the costumes and more about the scary movies. Almost every Halloween (pre-apocalypse of course) consisted of you curling up on the sofa with a bowl of wrapped chocolate with some sort of scary movie on. 

The only downside to this was that you were a bit jumpy. It didn’t take much to get you feeling paranoid and have you checking under your bed for monsters. Which was ironic considering you literally lived in a world where there were horror movie like creatures roaming at every turn. 

So you weren’t really sure how you ended up here. Sitting with Negan and Simon outside of The Sanctuary after hours on a particularly cold night, listening to the two of them tell scary stories. Negan was recalling the time he almost became walker food when he was out on a run alone once. His voice was low and deep, his eyes fixed on yours as he spoke;

“Its hand barely had any skin left on it...it was basically all bone at that point,” He described; “For a half rotted roamer, it had a nasty grip on me though.” 

Your heart was beating crazy fast in your chest. You couldn’t even imagine how scared you’d be if that had happened to you. The fact that he was able to laugh about it now was astonishing. 

“I was able to reach my knife and just as it went to sink its teeth into my calf, I drilled the blade into its head,” He told; “I stabbed it an extra time for good measure. It took me at least a good five minutes to get it completely off of me because I was shaking so bad.” 

You were wide eyed now as you processed everything he was saying. Simon sucked in a breath before sighing it out;

“Shit. I don’t even think I’ve ever come that close to being roamer chow,” He admitted. He noticed the chill that went up your spine, prompting him to one up Negan’s story by telling his own; “You think that’s bad? Let me tell you about the time I was chased by my neighbor who was an escaped convict for murder.”

Your head snapped in his direction;

“You’re not serious.” You gaped.

Simon put his hands up in defense;

“It’s true. I swear.” He said with a hint of smirk appearing.

It wasn’t true. As excitedly terrifying as it may sound, Simon had never known any murderers or real criminals in his day. He was just making this up off the top of his head.

“You’re fucking with us. No damn way that happened.” Negan bantered.

Simon chuckled;

“You wanna hear the story or not?” He asked sassily.

You and Negan shot each other glances, before turning your attention back to Simon.

“I was about 18. Just about to go off to college,” He began; “This guy lived about three doors down and had always been a little odd. He very rarely came out of his house, but it was always dark. He had weird vibes all around. All the parents in the neighborhood wouldn’t dare let their kids go play around his house.”

You were nervously chewing on your thumb nail as you listened intently. You didn’t like the fuzzy feeling that was bubbling in your belly. 

“It wasn’t a surprise that none of us knew that he had been arrested and thrown in prison. His house was exactly the same when he wasn’t around. I felt bad for the guy. For all I knew, he was just a lonely guy with no one to talk to,” He continued; “So one day I thought it would be nice to hand deliver his morning newspaper to him. I went to the front door, knocked, but didn’t get an answer.” 

You didn’t like where this was going. You were quite literally on the edge of your seat as you took it all in. Negan himself even refrained from interrupting, curious to see how this would end.

“I heard some sort of racket in his backyard, so I walked around and through the fence. And what I saw about made me damn near sick,” He explained; “He was in his prison jumpsuit and all. And he was burying a body in his backyard.”

Your heart hit your shoes and bounced back up to your throat. Negan’s jaw dropped and his face went pale. This was the most insane story you had ever heard. 

“I was going to just make a run for it and pray to God I could forget about it. But then he saw me standing there like a deer in headlights,” He said rubbing his slightly chilled hands together; “I shit you not, the fucker dropped the shovel and started running at me.”

You were speechless. How had he never told you this story before? More importantly, how did this not traumatize him? Now Negan was just as wide eyed as you, stunned at what he was hearing. 

“I swear my feet left the ground before I could even think. I sprinted in the other direction and started screaming bloody murder...no pun intended,” He snorted; “Anyways, to make a long story short, I managed to run out of my neighborhood and found a policeman down the street. Turns out he had escaped his cell that morning and they had been on the hunt for him all day because they were afraid of what he might do. That body was some random guy that he encountered after his escape.” 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. The hairs on your arms and legs were sticking straight up. You suddenly had the eery feeling that someone was looking at you. 

“My mom had to come pick me up from the police station. I was convinced she wasn’t going to let me go off to school after that,” He joked; “But once it was all cleared up, things turned back to normal...but I still would get a sense of fight or flight every time I visited home. But, hey, shit happens.”

Simon finished his story nonchalantly. As if he hadn’t just confessed that he had almost been chopped to bits by a psycho killer. You felt like your heart was going to make a leap of faith out of your chest. You had never heard anything like that in your entire life. Negan shook his head to shake the thought;

“You were had a life or death encounter with a serial killer and all you can say is ‘shit happens’? Simon, I may have pegged you wrong,” Negan stated; “You are one badass motherfucker.”

Simon grinned and shrugged. He had been lying, of course, but if it earned him brownie points with the boss, then he didn’t mind dragging it out. You were shocked silent. What do you even say to that? Negan smiled, shaking his story off effortlessly;

“I don’t know if I can top that, but have I ever told you two about the time I fought off a rabid raccoon?” Negan asked with a raised brow. 

Simon caught your ghostly and tired look and stood from his chair;

“No and I’d love to hear it, but I think she’s had enough storytelling for one night.” Simon said guiding you up from your chair. 

Negan shrugged with a scoff;

“Suit yourself. It’s one hell of a story though.” He said standing from his own seat.

Simon assured him of another time to tell it and finally walked you back inside from the courtyard. Simon had already completely discarded the story he had just burned into your head. He didn’t even catch the slight shiver in your limbs. You were rattled and even a little terrified. You felt like a little kid who swears they had heard a monster under their bed. Simon slipped his hand into yours as you walked back to your floor;

“So, I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?” He asked softly in your ear, careful not to wake anybody else up. 

He wasn’t going to leave you alone tonight, was he? Surely not after all that. You stopped his trek and looked at him with pleading eyes;

“Can I stay with you tonight? Please?” You asked gently; “I don’t want to be alone tonight.” You confessed.

Now, he realized something was up. He instantly agreed, leading you to his room. He watched as you quietly got ready for bed and crawled under the sheets and covers. He followed suit, pulling you to him. You latched onto him like he’d float away if you didn’t. Simon looked down at you with worried eyes;

“What’s the matter, baby?” He asked sweetly.

You buried your face into his soft shirt and shook your head. You didn’t want to admit you were scared, but you also couldn’t get the thought of being chased by a crazed killer out of your head either. He rubbed your back comfortingly and encouraged you;

“Darlin’, you can talk to me. Always.” He cooed.

You mumbled against him. He rested his chin on your head, taking in the scent of your favorite soap. His brain racked up any ideas of what was making you so fidgety. He finally thought back to the story that he had just told about a half hour prior. He suddenly felt guilty. He didn’t think it would’ve scared you this bad...especially since it wasn’t even true.

“Is it the story I told just a little while ago?” He asked.

When you nodded, he whimpered out an airy sympathetic sound. He held you tighter and admitted his lie;

“Oh, sweetheart, that didn’t actually happen. I just made it up.” 

You paused and looked up at him. The way your glossy eyes shimmered and lower lip quivered broke his heart;

“Really? You’re not just saying that?” You asked desperately.

“I promise. The whole thing was just a story.” 

Your brows furrowed, suddenly a little annoyed;

“Why would you make up something like that? You really scared me.” You said truthfully.

He kissed your forehead and hummed deeply;

“I didn’t think you’d actually believe it. You always see through my bullshit.” He grinned brightly.

You growled faintly;

“Not always. I literally thought you were serious.” 

“I’m sorry, [Y/N], I didn’t mean to.” He apologized. 

You nuzzled back into his frame, accepting his apology. You were mostly relieved that didn’t actually happen to him though. You would’ve been scarred for life. 

“That’s okay. You really could’ve been an actor, might I add.” You joked.

He scoffed, kissing your skin;

“I’ll stick to storytelling in the courtyard.” 

[whatdorothyhaleknew]

Something I wrote when my mother was dying.

My mother is dying, and not in the Buddhist, Sylvia Plath "we're all dying, all the time" way. Her body has been compromised, the messages her cells send each other got confused, and now there is rapidly developing cancer in her lung, and most horrifically, in her brain. Just typing that disgusts me enough to taste stomach acid rising, the most brutally unfair place to become ill, a desecration on the shrine to her life, her person. I've been staying  at home a lot, obviously, and unsurprisingly, my university work has been put on the back burner while I cope emotionally and practically. Mum has been her usual stoic self, we don't talk about it. She just wants to sleep, drink her tea, keep on smoking (as laughably distasteful that seems), listen to her radio. She doesn't want to disrupt any of our lives. But despite her stiff upper lip, her cancer is catching up with her. First, she couldn't make it up the stairs, so she had to stay downstairs. But she still was ok. Then she had her infection, knocking her out completely over Christmas. Back then we still didn't know she had cancer, she had kept it from us. She seemed to recover a bit, she came home, she was back to normal. It wasn't until later that she began to decline. Now, she is frailer than I could ever have imagined her to be. She moves with a tricycle/walker that we got from the NHS, which she could use by herself at first. I stay at home as much as I can. I stay up late, listening for her needing my help. When she could move easily by herself, getting out and into bed with no problem, zooming around with her walker, going up and down the steps no bother, it wasn't such a big deal. I went to sleep without any worry. Then she got thinner, slower, she needed more help with getting up the little step to get into the kitchen. I started staying up late, listening in my bedroom for the telltale sound of the kitchen light flickering on, coming down and making excuses, assuring my mother that I was up anyway, and that I just wanted a tea, like her. About 3 or 4 times a night I would sit with her until she went back to bed, trying to make conversation. I still haven't talked about her cancer, or her terminal diagnosis, with her. It feels too cruel to do it, to someone I love, who is dying, who never wanted to have the difficult conversations. I dread when people ask me how she is. She's getting worse, more confused as the tumours annex more of her brain and more of her, she's thinner, getting lighter for her final journey. The last week or two, she has had trouble getting in and out of bed. Now there is no pretense, she knows I am up for her in the night, because she calls me to come down. She knows I stay awake. Yesterday, I had the horrible thought that all of us were just waiting to be bereaved, trapped in between two points, the names of which I am too frightened to fully acknowledge with words. Mum was adamant that I stay in university, and so I have also been thinking of all that tedious business, in the back of my mind. Now there are some deadlines coming up, and I have threadbare theories to work with, subjects that I struggle to care about. Today, I came back to my flat near the university, and headed to the university library with my laptop, intending to bulldoze my ideas and theories until I produced something. I stared into space when I tried to read, I desperately switched to Buzzfeed, Facebook, Twitter when I tried to write. Without realising it, my fingers seek distractions from when I try to let my brain out of its safe space. About 20 minutes ago, I was finally pushing my thoughts forcefully onto the Word document, rough, shoddy work, but at least it gave me a mound of clay from which I could sculpt my argument. I had stopped, just for a second, to think, or to not think, just for a second. I had Spotify on my earphones, on shuffle, my playlist including over 9000 songs. In that dead space, my brain briefly off-lining itself while I gain momentum to write again, Amanda Palmer came on, freezing me with her words. "Love of mine, soon you will die, And I won't be far behind, I'll follow you into the dark." I sat through the entire song, not sure if I should just have skipped it, as I felt that icy boulder I have in my gut thaw, a real, bitter taste to my throat. Embarrassed to say that I cried there. I swallowed that mysterious lump that comes from crying. I think the Chinese guy to the side of me saw that I was crying, but I'm thankful he didn't say anything. After I got myself together again, after I grew used to the wound that the song had created, or exposed, I felt....the same? Worse? Better? My life at the moment is like a kaleidoscope of brown and grey, even when it turns and changes, it's just more of the same aching dullness. This whole thing with my mum at first made me scared about where would she go when she died. I was raised a Catholic, then I was an atheist in my teens, and now I confess that I am agnostic. I don't know, and neither does anyone else. I don't think the picture painted in the Christian Bible, or the Muslim Qua'ran, or any other holy book is the perfect, accurate story, I don't think it is the exact blueprint for how the cosmos works. Ultimately, these religions were created, I think, to act as an adhesive for communities, creating immutable laws for everyone, and explaining unknown things. Of course, the belief in the afterlife is part of that last thing. Even knowing this, in my cold, rational brain, I can't quite believe that a person ends completely. Part of this lack of belief in disbelief is something I can't explain without sounding mildly insane. I have always had this sense, that the pair of eyes I look out of is a complete fluke. That I could have just as easily be looking out another pair of eyes, and using a different pair of hands, being called a different name. I have never liked labels placed on my identity, or people assuming I like this or that because I am female, or because I am straight, or English. Because I am well aware that there is a part of me, deep in my mind, which is neither female or male. It has no sex, no nationality, no race, no preference. I would stay awake for a long time as a child, thinking about this other me, that was looking out of my eyes, knowing they were only mine by chance, and knowing that these eyes are only mine for a limited time. As a child, when I went to sleep, this is all I would think about. As I got older, as I absorbed the culture I grew up around, I did not have so much time to reflect on this opinionless, sexless, ageless edifice in my mind, thinking instead about how I could fit in with the others, whether I'd get a job, if I would fall in love. But that thing still lives, it has always been there, it sits, unchanging in its appreciation in the randomness of this body and this life, a dark, hard, immortal rock in ever-changing currents, the mountain my house is built into and on. I don't know what to call it, not entirely sure if I can call it part of me, and if that it is the "real me", and the personality I have developed is just a growth. I don't want to use the word "soul," as it is too value-laden, but it suits this rock within me in some ways - it is unchanging, it watches, it is nothing but itself. If I lose both my legs, this rock of me will not be chipped, it will not be scratched, it will remain as unmoved as it always has been. I could lose my eyes, and it will only increase in its heaviness, in its presence. If the part of me that is me is my brain, what happens when it rots? Does it rots away around this rock of me? Does the rock of me stay?

[asweetprologue]

The Impermanence of Flesh

Kieren Walker’s hands were shaking.

Over the last three weeks this had become a usual occurrence, but the slick black liquid dripping to the floor had not. This was new. This was concerning. 

Kieren wasn’t entirely sure that the shaking in his hands was involuntary now.

A nosebleed was nothing to worry about. The shaking had prompted the doctors to up his dosage of Neurotriptyline, which hadn’t helped. Nothing to worry about, they said. Lots of people have this side effect. Doesn’t mean anything.

Doesn’t mean anything. 

Kieren scrubbed at the black blood furiously, ripping toilet paper off of the roll and plugging up his nose like that would make this better. A nosebleed. Shaking hands. He knew those signs. They’d been passing around flyers not that long ago with those signs listed in bold, warning people, be careful, watch out. Those signs made the doctors start whispering things like might be getting resistant and regressing and rabid.

Kieren’s hands were still shaking. His shirt was covered in black stains.

He changed it. Went to his room and put on another shirt and an oversized sweater. Sat on his bed and stared at his hands, clenching and unclenching them, watching them tremble, out of his control.

He was having muscle spasms. Forgetting things. He knew those signs, too.

Nosebleeds were now frequent. 

He needed to tell his doctors.

He needed to tell Simon.

The doctors gave him a different form of Neurotriptyline, something different, stronger. They told him to come back in a week or so if he wasn’t feeling better. The drugs didn’t help.

Kieren made his way over to the bungalow that Simon still lived in, where he still kept Amy’s room untouched and preserved in case of some second miracle. Second Rising. Simon no longer held meetings and congregations in his living room, didn’t preach at Kieren about the Undead Prophet or the superiority of the redeemed. Kieren no longer wore the cover up, chose not to shy away from mirrors when he caught a glimpse of his pale white eyes. They fit better together now. Two undead people who’d just lost a friend. Simple.

Kieren felt like he was dying again as he knocked on the door.

Simon answered a moment later, barefooted and wearing too many layers as usual. Kieren wondered why Simon wore so many sweaters when they didn’t feel the cold.

“Simon,” he said, and his voice was too raw, damn it, he’d meant to make this come out slowly and meant to make it easier but Simon somehow knew everything that Kieren was feeling the second the younger boy opened his mouth. The thin smile fell from his face, pale brow creasing in concern. 

“Kieren,” he said, motioning him in. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Kieren laughed. Just a little. It felt hysterical. 

“Can we talk?” he said, instead of blurting it out, instead of saying kill me before it all goes bad, do it now, for me, please, because Simon had to be reasoned with first. Had to be made to understand.

Simon was nodding, led him to the couch and sat him down, turned to face him while he drew one knee up onto the cushions. Slid his fingers through Kieren’s hair, the gesture unconscious and unfelt by either of them.

“So what’s going on?” Simon asked, letting his fingers settle on Kieren’s neck. If he’d been alive, the older man might have felt a pulse there, just below his fingertips. Now there would be nothing. Maybe a slight chill. Silence. 

Kieren stared around the room that Amy used to live in. It seemed grayer now. It was dull before, he knew, nothing bright about it, but Amy was bright. Amy had made everything bright, even boring old Roarton. Amy found the light in things, made their brightness come out. Without her the world was rotting away.

He held up a hand for Simon. Fine tremors ran along his fingertips, a hum that Kieren couldn’t feel. Simon studied it, and Kieren didn’t watch his face.

“There’s nosebleeds, too. And… seizures, and memory loss. The doctors can’t help. I -” Kieren took a breath. He didn’t need it. Some kind of involuntary response, lungs opening, catching more air, moving on. Bellows to blow out his words. “I’m regressing. The medication… isn’t working anymore. Nothing is.” 

Simon was silent. A statue. Wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing. Kieren wondered if Simon breathed at all, or if he was undead to his core, something totally otherworldly. Kieren felt human, sometimes, when he wasn’t paying attention to the numbness of his skin or the colour of his eyes. Simon felt like something… else. An alien. An angel.

Simon opened his mouth and said, “You don’t know that, Kieren.”

“Don’t be intentionally thick, Simon,” Kieren said, and he meant to snap it, but the words sounded brittle and small when they fell from his mouth. Tired. “I’m going to go rabid again.”

The other man gripped Kieren’s shaking hand tightly, tightly enough that his knuckles went white and some part of Kieren’s brain that refused to believe that he was dead quietly went now that must hurt. Kieren looked up at Simon, who was looking at him like he was something special, like the sun after a million years in the dark. Simon looked at him like that a lot. Like Kieren held the key to his absolution. “You’re not,” Simon said, firmly, with the conviction of someone who had to believe something or be ripped apart, and chose the easier path.

“When it happens,” Kieren replied, “you have to stop it. Stop me.”

“No. Kieren.”

“You have to kill me before I hurt anyone else.”

“No, I -”

“Simon.” Kieren took both Simon’s hands in his own, looking into the other man’s milky eyes. Beautiful, he realised, belatedly, too late. So fucking beautiful. “Simon, you have to. I can’t… I can’t hurt anyone else. Please.”

Simon pulled away, stood up. Paced. Ran a hand over his mouth, distraught, frazzled. It was the most animated Kieren had ever seen him. Simon was charismatic but controlled, direct. Quietly devoted and enlightened. Now he was vibrating out of his skin, couldn’t seem to stop moving. There’s what I believe, and then there’s you. He was always changing for Kieren. 

“What you’re asking me to do…” he said, pacing, rubbing his arm under his sleeve, “I can’t do it.”

“You have to, Simon -” Kieren started, but Simon cut him off.

“I’ve tried,” he interrupted. “I tried to kill you, once. The Undead Prophet wanted me to, we, I thought you were the First. I had to bring about the Second Rising. I had the knife in my hand,” he said, showing Kieren his palm, fingers splayed out, as if he were dropping the knife even now, “I had it, and I saved you instead.” He laughed a little. “I am physically incapable of doing you harm.”

Kieren stared at him. “You were supposed to kill me?” he asked, fingers twitching in his lap.

“Supposed to,” Simon agreed. “Couldn’t. Can’t. You’re not going to go rabid. We’ll fix it,” he said, and this was his new cause, Kieren could see it in every line of tense muscle, this was Simon Monroe’s new religion. “We’ll fix it, we’ll find a way.”

“If we don’t,” Kieren said. Knew. This was unfixable. “If we don’t, don’t let me go. Don’t let me hurt anyone else, don’t let me go back to Norfolk. Simon, I can’t be that again. I can’t live like that, not ever.”

Simon sat again, took his hands. Kissed his fingers. “I know,” he said, “I know. It won’t happen. I promise it won’t.”

Kieren nodded and Simon pulled him into a tight hug, something somehow more intimate than kissing now that kissing no longer involved much sensation. Simon Monroe was in love with him. Too in love to do the right thing, to save other people, to save Kieren. Kieren couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything but disappointment. 

He would ask Jem. It wasn’t fair - wouldn’t be fair, to anyone, not ever, it was all so, so unfair - but it had to be done. Jem was strong, and she loved him. It would break off pieces of her, he knew that, but hurting her like that was better than killing her later, rabid, on the rampage. 

People had died because of him, before. Never again.

Simon eventually let him go home. Said, “I’ll see you tomorrow” like nothing was wrong, gave Kieren a quick kiss and a smile. Belief was a powerful thing. Simon Monroe believed in him, but Kieren had always been faithless. Especially after the dark cold nothing of the grave. If there was a God that had given him this life again just to take it back, Kieren would finally find someone that he hated more than himself, maybe. And he was an optimist, like Amy said. He couldn’t believe that anyone was quite that cruel. 

He walked home in the fading light, night sweeping in and cradling the world, covering the sky in a blanket of dusky clouds. 

Kieren Walker’s hands were shaking, so he stuffed them in his pockets. The clouds shifted above him, slowly opening, raindrops falling like tears onto his skin, his hair, sliding into his jacket and along his back and he could feel everything.

Kieren Walker’s hands were shaking, and he felt alive.

[youreverycolor]

An Unlikely Love: Admissions (Rafael Barba x Anna Stein)

AN: Prompt #187 from 200 Prompts from @drink-it-write-it (“I know I kissed you before, but I didn’t do it right. Can I try again?”).

Written for @thatesqcrush -- if you would like to be tagged on future Barba oneshots/fic, please reply and let me know! :)

Other tags: @madpanda75 @misssirenlove @evee87 @garturbo @danahart1 @dianilaws @ele-esposito @nikkijmorgan

Song: “Tiny Voice” by Lexi Walker

~*~*~*~

“It was good, but it could be better.”

Anna glanced up at him. “Okay, but how?”

Rafael had just finished reading her admissions essay for Fordham Law School, and while he knew that it was good enough to get her in, he would be remiss if he didn’t give his honest opinion. Her wording was precise, the message decent, but something felt off. It was as though the essay was a puzzle and there was one piece, right in the middle, that was missing.

The young woman had come to him four months before, asking for his advice on how to begin a legal career after her sexual assault the previous year. She had been working in the financial industry when she was assaulted by her boss and, after the conclusion of the trial, decided to rebuild her life from the ground up. Rather than default back to her biology degree—one she had not used since graduating college—she wanted to go in an entirely new direction. Rafael was humbled by this; usually, he didn’t get to see the victims after they’d begun to heal. His impact, he thought, ended after he convicted their rapists. But Anna had come to him to tell him that he inspired her to begin a legal career, and so he wanted to do everything he could to encourage her.

Or, at least, that’s how it started.

“Well,” he replied, “obviously your reasons for wanting to attend law school are different than most people’s. But because of that, I feel like there should be more…emotion here. It feels like you’re holding back.”

She tilted her head and chewed her bottom lip. “Okay, I can see what you’re saying.”

“Is it hard for you to talk about?” he asked. “Because if that’s the case—”

“No, it’s not that. I think it’s just that I’ve spent a long time trying to put what happened to me in a box, you know? Like, this is where it goes now, in this corner of my brain. So digging the box out and opening it up is a little difficult.”

He nodded. “I can understand how that would be hard, but remember, there are actual people who read these essays. They want to know who you are. I know that people think admission is by the numbers, and your LSAT score is great. But you need to set yourself apart from all the other applicants with great LSAT scores.”

She leaned over the coffee table. “Right. I get it. Okay. I’ll revise.”

He was continually surprised at how well she took criticism. Most law school applicants tended to be a bit arrogant and didn’t really want to hear that their work wasn’t impeccable. Then again, it was generally type-A perfectionists who wanted to attend law school in the first place; Anna was…not that person. It wasn’t that she was lazy or that she didn’t care enough to try; on the contrary, in their weekly meetings, Rafael had been impressed with how hard she worked to achieve this goal without compromising her easygoing nature or the balance of the rest of her life. She may only have been twenty-four, but she was wiser than half the people he’d gone to school with.

He wanted to end their meeting on a positive note. “That said, I think you stand a very good chance of getting a scholarship. Which I’m sure will help, especially given that you’re just temping right now.”

She stood up, smoothed her linen skirt over her knees, and pulled up her brown suede boots. “Yeah, I’d like to come out of this with as little debt as possible. Especially since…”

“Since what?” he asked, rising to his feet as well.

She looked down, a little sheepishly. “Since I want to do public defense.”

He almost dropped his coffee cup. “Excuse me, what?”

She sighed. “I knew you’d react like this.” She gathered her application materials from the table and packed them into her messenger bag.

“I mean, how did you expect me to react?” he asked. “After everything you’ve been through, after telling me that I inspired you to even go to law school—how could you want to do what John Buchanan and Rita Calhoun do?”

“Do you really think I would turn out like either of them?” she asked, a bit defensively. “I have no desire to be Buchanan!”

He set his cup down on his desk and put squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Look, I know that we’re all supposed to say that the justice system only works when criminals are afforded a defense, and that the Constitution says they’re entitled to one, but I just—”

“Rafael, I understand that you don’t like this. I get it. You’ve made it perfectly clear. But it’s my life.”

“And it’s my time!” he snapped. “I’ve been laboring under the impression that you wanted to do what I do. At least, that’s the impression you gave me, since all we’ve discussed about the practice of law is from the perspective of a prosecutor.”

She folded her arms and stepped closer to him. “Well,” she said, “if having your help is conditional upon doing what you want me to do, then I’d just as soon thank you for your time and try not to waste any more of mine.”

He was trying very hard to be annoyed, but he couldn’t help himself. “You do realize you just quoted a Sara Bareilles song?”

It took her a second to process what he had just said. “Wait…did you really just admit that you, Rafael Barba, big, bad prosecutor, listen to Sara Bareilles?”

“I guess we’re both full of surprises.”

She sighed, grateful for the tension breaking but also not done with the conversation. “Look, I know you don’t get it.” She put a hand on his arm. “I understand that you don’t get how anyone would want to be a defense attorney—”

“It’s not that I don’t understand why people do it. It’s that I don’t understand why you want to do it.”

“I want to do it because there are people like Buchanan out there. You’re such a good prosecutor, Rafael. And the reason you’re good is because you’re a good person. You want to do the right thing. And so do I. The defense world needs people like you, but if they can’t have you, then maybe I can”—she paused, taking a breath—“maybe I can be a substitute. Like I said, I know you don’t understand it. And I’d love your approval. But I don’t need your absolution, because I’m not doing anything wrong.”

He found himself at a loss for words. Never had he considered the idea that good people might want to negate the impact of defense attorneys like Buchanan. Maybe he had just come into contact with too many terrible defense attorneys. Or maybe he had just been a prosecutor for so long that he assumed all defense attorneys were terrible. But he couldn’t imagine ever thinking that about Anna.

In fact, all he was thinking about Anna at that moment was that her hand was still on his arm.

She looked down and noticed the same thing. She didn’t even remember putting it there. But she also didn’t see him pulling away. She moved a little closer, so that there was only an inch or two of space between them. The world blurred a little at the edges.

“Anna…” he whispered.

She knew that he was doing her a favor by helping her. He certainly had better things to do with his time than spend it with a victim who he’d already done so much for. But she also wasn’t willing to sacrifice her goals just to earn his approval—or, she thought, his affection. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “I hope someday you can understand,” she said, and in a flash of linen and suede, she was gone.

***

Anna canceled their next meeting. Rafael wasn’t surprised, but he found himself disappointed. Not because she did something wrong, but because he hadn’t realized how much he looked forward to spending time with her until suddenly, he wasn’t anymore. Every time he saw a flash of blonde hair outside his office door or in his apartment hallway, his heart seemed to stop. Once or twice, he’d started to text her, but couldn’t really figure out what to say. It wasn’t that they had ended their last encounter on a bad note; it was more that he didn’t know whether she expected an apology and didn’t know what to say to find out.

So, he just didn’t say anything.

A week later, he got home from work more exhausted than usual. He had just finished a particularly gray case involving a teenage boy who had likely pressured a teenage girl into rounding third base, but the girl’s parents seemed more interested in prosecuting than she did. He hated these cases, because it wasn’t as easy for him to dislike the perp. It wasn’t that he sympathized; he couldn’t imagine pushing a woman into anything and would never understand how a man could get pleasure from sex with someone who wasn’t entirely into it. But he also felt like he was contributing to the girl’s pain—she seemed more embarrassed by the legal proceedings than traumatized by the incident itself.

On days like this, what he loved doing most was coming home, ordering takeout, and—although he would never let anyone else know it—watching those ridiculous house-flipping shows on HGTV. Even though lots of people would recommend just burning these old, busted houses to the ground, there were always people willing to try to turn them into something worthwhile. He liked watching things rebuilt from the ground up. It was while he was watching one of those shows that the realization dawned on him: that’s exactly what Anna was trying to do with defense work. She couldn’t do it all, of course; there would always be houses that should be left to rot. But she wanted to try to flip what she could.

And he’d been telling her to burn it all down. And for what? His ego? To earn his respect? Just today, he had been doubting himself for even prosecuting the case against that boy, wondering if it was really a rape or whether the girl’s parents just wanted to believe it was. Was his side of the law really above reproach?

He opened his laptop to send her an email. He wanted to tell her something, but it was too much to text. And that was when he saw it: the subject read, “Revised Essay. For Your Eyes Only.”

So he started to read.

Most of the essay was the same as it was when he first read it. But the last few paragraphs were new and were everything he had hoped she would revise about it.

It’s probably common for applicants to say that they’ve wanted to go to law school since they were kids. And most people probably say it’s because they want to save the world, do good, protect people, pursue justice. They probably say that they’ve been inspired by another lawyer or that they see the good the law does for people. Those are all valid reasons, and I respect people for them.

For me, it’s really quite simple. I want to be a lawyer because I see the damage the law can do. I’ve been torn down on a witness stand by an attorney who had no compunction about calling me a slut. I realize that this attorney would say he was zealously defending his client, and I’m sure he believes that. But I think there are ways you can defend a client while also respecting the dignity of other humans—even the humans accusing your client of heinous crimes. I think there are better ways to practice law, and I want to find out what they are and pursue them.

I want people to realize that defense attorneys are not the monsters portrayed on television. I want to be a defense attorney that prosecutors can respect. I want to practice law in a way that makes people able to understand why I decided to practice criminal defense. If I can achieve that, if I can make a believer out of the most cynical, stubborn people who think there is no such thing as a defense attorney who is both good at their job and also good at being a human, then I will consider myself a success. I hope that Fordham will allow me to achieve that goal.

The reply he sent was short and to the point, as he always was.

Anna,

Whether or not you attend law school, you’ve made a believer out of this cynical, stubborn old man. I’m sorry to have tried to take away that dream.

-Rafael

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on his door. He expected it to be the Thai food he’d ordered. But when he opened the door, something much better awaited him on the other side.

Anna looked flustered for the first time since they’d started seeing each other regularly. “I know I kissed you before,” she said, “but I didn’t do it right. Can I try again?”

He pulled her in by her hand and pressed her to his chest. “It was good, but it could be better,” he replied, just before his lips met hers.

[itsjustinknow]

a short piece i wrote for my therapist that i never got to show her (so why not put it on the internet)

Warnings: drinking/smoking referenced, accidental (more or less) misgendering brought up, not necessarily harm but implied. it surrounds my relationship with one of my cousins, who was close to me growing up, and his father was not the best person. nothing explicit really besides the drinking part, but i still thought to put that in. also discussion of religion, albeit briefly (specifically Catholicism), and some talk of mental illness.

We’re sitting on the bed of his father’s truck: him drinking from a cracked bottle in the moonlight, and me swinging my feet wishing I had a cigarette. Not because I liked the smell, or the taste, or the idea of poisoning my lungs, but because I needed something to calm myself down and during times like these my impulses would always get the best of me. Never thought you’d take up drinking, I say, eyeing the way the drops fall through long, thin lines from where his godfather dropped it. It was the reason he had it now. He swallowed. Might as well. He’s got the slightest glare as he stares at me from the corner of his eye. If I didn’t know him better, I’d think I was fooling myself. Since I’m just as much like my dad as you say I am. I roll my eyes. You know I only say that when your mom comes crying to me. If you didn’t make her then I wouldn’t talk.

(An hour ago, his mother told me she wished I was her daughter instead, or at least, that I was around more to keep him in line. I smiled and told her I was always around if she needed anything. She’s never realized that we’re practically the same person, my cousin and I. It’s just that one of us is smart enough to shut up.)

He turns his gaze back to the bottle, frowns at it, shrugs, and takes another sip. She’ll be alright. I’m leaving soon.

I know, I say, and I go back to warming my shaking hands.

He laughs at my fidgeting. Why do you do that?

I shrug. Always been jumpy, haven’t I? That’s a lie, and he knows it, but I’m not sure either of us want to point it out. I don’t know what I want, just that I want, and it’s an ache in my chest burning a hole through my skull, and if I don’t do something, I might just throw myself from the truck and see where I land. It’s why I wish I smoked, somedays. Was a bitch to get up here, though. My dad never lets me bring my walker when visiting relatives. Too unseemly, might scare them. In my head, I tell him I sometimes want them to be scared, to see me and realize just how fucked up it all is, and then realized that I’m exactly the same bitch I was at 12 at 16, at 18, at every age. Maybe they’d stop pitying me.

I don’t say that, though. Too unseemly. Might scare them more than I’d prefer.

My hands twitch. He doesn’t notice this time. You’re weird, is all he says. I raise both eyebrows, because I never got the hang of just one. Like you?

He shakes his head. No, like you. Like a ------- brand of weird. I shrug, Maybe, I guess, but I can’t push away the shitty taste in my mouth at the use of That name. I told him once, last time I was here. It was three days after Christmas. We stayed up watching horror movies, one of those apocalypse survival flicks that just came out. He always agrees with the one self-absorbed pragmatic asshole, saying he’s right even if everyone else in the film makes you think he’s wrong. It’s always a man, isn’t it? I’m the movie critic of the two of us, pointing out inconsistencies, judging how every turn is handled. He says if he’s ever in the apocalypse he’ll grab his father’s shotgun and go out in a blaze of fire and glory. If he goes out, of course. I tell him he’ll probably die like that. He tells me to shut up and watch the movie. 

(Halfway through the final act, he tells me he’ll carry me if I want. The girl on screen kills herself, the so-called insane killer laughing in the background with blood on his hands. I tell him to shut up and watch the movie.)

Now I’m fidgeting again, thinking about men and women and bad movie tropes that turn my brain into a time bomb even I know will one day go off but it’ll take me before it does anyone I love, when he asks What are you going to do when I’m gone?

I swing my feet over the edge. Finish school, I say, because that’s the obvious answer and he’ll be annoyed that I said it, go to college. 

Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. Yeah, but what else? 

I think about it. My mom wants me to go to that retreat. 

He snorts at that and downs the rest of the bottle in one go. That place is wack, except I’m already laughing at the phrasing as he gives me another of his pointed looks, I’m for real, it’s like they brainwash people!

I let myself grin. You’re just mad that you knocked out five minutes into adoration. 

He tilts his head and looks at the sky. I can’t do the same because it’ll cause too many electric shocks in one go. I don’t know what that was, he says, softly, like it should be a whisper but it’s just a touch too loud, because he always is, but I don’t think it was God. I don’t comment on the lack of my or even our (because since when have we had the same God?). 

What’s the difference?

He turns back to me, eyes hollow, somewhere far away but still right here in front of me. Because isn’t their God the kind of God that says people like us shouldn’t exist?

I swing my feet. It takes a second for me to respond. Gotta be something that keeps changing your ship date.

Yeah, he says, staring back down to my shaking hands, to the shards of glass on the ground from nights past, to the moonlight reflecting off of them. It’s a time loop, really, saying these goodbyes and odd heartfelt moments only to be told not quite, not yet and then start the dance all over again. Every time. Usually he was the one invited to quinces an the lot. I always sit in the corner and steal snacks. 

He’s still staring when he said I don’t think that’s God.

He laughs, I jolt, but of course he thinks it’s funny. He always finds a way to make it funny. He’s going to have to try a harder, he goes on. Shoot, break both my legs or something. 

I find myself grinning again, What, the hurricane wasn’t good enough?

Ehhhh it didn’t affect me directly, so not really.

But don’t you like it? I’m leaning towards him now, full-on grinning, my legs have stopped swinging and my hands are still. 

He blinks twice before responding. What, being here at home? Hell nah.

No, I say, something being bigger than us. Something that can stop you and it works. Don’t you feel it? Don’t you like it when something can finally challenge you? When it can kick you in the fucking teeth?

He doesn’t say anything and I think I’ve gone too far this time, if this is when he leaves, because I couldn’t keep my mouth fucking shut. Because when you’ve been told your entire life you’re simultaneously the best and the worst, the good and the bad, the brightest and the moodiest bitch, you start to wonder. You start to think. Toy start to get tired and you start to get twitchy, like a time bomb waiting to go off at any second. You want to burn just to see how they’d react. Sweet girl, never did anything wrong. Fucking bitch deserves to rot in hell. I’m tired of the time loop, tired of being a paradox. I want to bring the whole world down with me, to see God and laugh. 

Of course, that would be inappropriate. Keep your voice down, you don’t know who’s listening. 

Fuck. I’m not even a girl.

He doesn’t share that sentiment. He shakes his head and laughs. I don’t know. Seems like your weird stuff. The ------- weirdness. 

I lean back at the sound of That name. Asshole. He’s face value, sometimes, wears his world on his sleeves and knuckles, breaks it again and again, boldly and loudly in his blaze of glory, riding off into a piss colored sunset with nothing but the shit on his shoes and the knowledge that he won. I, at least, wanted an audience. He never believed in a quiet existence. I sometimes wish I could build my world like his. 

You wanna watch Black Mirror? he asks. I’ll let you pick first. He knows what I like and doesn’t admit to liking it back. 

I eye the ground before me. You’re gonna have to help me. 

He jumps off. Bet. You’ll be walking in no time. I don’t bother to correct him. But I kick him before he can carry me, laugh when he drags me by the arm, already practically picking me up by the time we get to the back door. He pushes me through. I turn around. He’s gone. I’m not on the step anymore; I’m lying on the gravel, no walls, no ceiling, just the stars above me and the crackle of a fire somewhere in the distance. It’s done now. He’s gone. I don’t have to say goodbye. But I keep my shoes on in case I do. We’re the only ones who could ever kick each other in the fucking teeth. Now, I have to do it myself. He wouldn’t want me to wait for him. Maybe, just this once, I’ll break the rules. 

I miss him too much to make a metaphor. 

The fire burns. I am still waiting.

[its-negans-lucille]

The Silent One - Part Five

THIS IS A RE-UPLOAD

You can fine the other parts HERE Synopsis: You are caught by Negan and taken to your new home, The Sanctuary Ships: Negan x Reader Words: 1,536 Warnings: Cursing, Kidnapping, sexual references, reference to Genocide

***

You were sat in a black car beside Negan. You had your arms tightly crossed over your chest and you were looking at the dark treeline outside. The low rumble from the engine was the only sound in the car. The crescent moon was beginning to make it’s decent towards the dark earth. You calculated that it must be around 4am.

“Are you gonna just sulk out the window like a fucking teenager until we get there?” Negan said in an indignant tone. He was tapping a small tune on the steering wheel. You could feel his intense gaze on your neck. You kept silent but let out a sigh.

“You seemed awfully verbal earlier. What were the words? ‘Jesus fucking Christ’?” Negan said, there was a humorous edge to his voice that let you relax a little. Only a little.

“Bastard.” You spat. A walker zoomed past your window and was gone in a second.

They had taken all of your weapons from you when they had found you. You had been in total shock and didn’t retaliate. Now you were here, in a car with the precise person you wanted to avoid.

“She speaks!” He said loudly. The car bounced slightly as they trampled a walker.

“My previous statement still stands.” You said shortly. Negan let out a low chuckle that sent an electric like shock through your bones.

You were biting your already short fingernails subconsciously. It was a nervous habit that you had picked up from kindergarten. It hit you in a sudden wave that all of those people were probably dead, or the dead. You turned to face the road fully now. The headlights cast a cold light on the road ahead of you.

“Don’t you want to know where we’re going?” Negan asked innocently. Beside him in a small alcove in the side door was Lucille, perfectly lodged so that she was just visible enough to be menacing.

You shrugged and didn’t reply.

“Come on, Princess, give me the joy of your conversation.” He said sardonically.

“Bastard.” You said once again.He didn’t deserve your conversation. Murderers don’t deserve to be treated like anything but what they are: Murderers.

“You’ve got a feisty mouth on you, don’t ya?” Negan said with a smile. “I don’t know if I find it disrespectful or hot.” He paused for a second, as if thinking. “Probably the latter.” You could practically hear the smirk on his face. You felt an involuntary heat rise to your face so you turned back to face the window.

“You know that when we get home-” He started saying in a solemn tone before you interrupted him.

“Wherever you’re taking me, it’s not my home.” You said shortly, you turned to face him for the first time. You saw a flicker of annoyance across his face, he quickly masked it and shook his head slightly.

“Well, you ran away from Alexandria. So where is your home, Doll? Huh? Answer me that and I’ll take you there.” Negan sad finally. “You give me a straight answer and I’ll turn right around and we’ll go there.” He was looking at you, his dark eyes searching yours. You thought and deliberated for a minute or so but you came up blank.

You turned back to the window without saying a word.

“Okay, and as I was saying; when we get back to the Sanctuary you’ll have to be punished for your disobedience.” You turned to face him, your mouth a gape and staring at him incredulously.

“Punished?” You said, a frown crinkling your features. Your hard eyes were confused. Was he serious? He nodded and swerved around a walker. “What are you gonna do? Spank me or something.” You said as you huffed back in your seat like a hormonal teenager.

“That can be arranged.” He winked. You shook your head and turned back to the window. “You won’t be in the Dark Room for long. Only for a few days if I can pull some strings; which I can.” He said in an almost consoling voice.

“There she is.” Negan said after about ten minutes of driving in silence. “The Sanctuary.” He said it with so much love and care that it actually startled you about how human he sounded.

It was a large building which looked like a lot of blocks. It was fairly plain in the early morning light. There were a few cracks in the bricks. No matter how much you wracked your brains together you couldn’t figure out what it must’ve been before the apocalypse. There were tall, wrought iron gates –much like the gates that Alexandria had-  which were the entrance to the blocks of buildings. Two men opened the gates, their guns cocked and ready.

What took you aback the most were the Walkers.

You couldn’t count the amount of walkers. You jumped back in your seat as one started clawing at your window. A bullet was immediately put through it’s brain, curtesy of one of the guards. When you jumped back you had brushed up against Negan and he had not wasted the opportunity to wrap an arm around you. You sat very still, his grip was firm and you knew he would not be letting go. You weren’t scared of him, Negan.

And that thought scared the ever living shit out of you.

Negan pulled up outside the largest of part of the building. Dawn was just beginning to break over the top of the building. Negan swiftly retreated his hand from a round your shoulder. You felt a weight lift from you but you felt something else… disappointment? You ignored that thought and pushed it deep down.

“You just stay here, Doll. I’ll be back in just a sec.” He winked and took Lucille from where she was lodged. He shut the door with a loud wham.

You waited until Negan was busy talking to one of the guards until you slithered your hand through the door handle and pulled.

No joy.

The door stayed firmly shut. You let out a string of curse words before you slumped back in your seat.  You sat there for a second before leaning forward and opening the glove compartment tentatively. Looking for some sort of weapon couldn’t hurt. Could it? You started pushing through old newspaper cut outs, some empty pill bottles. There was an out of date granola bar at the far back of the compartment. Under an old postcard there was a wallet. You took the black, leather wallet out of the glove compartment.

Inside the wallet there were a few loose coins and a crumpled dollar bill. Where you would keep a credit card you saw an old Polaroid. You slowly took it out and unfolded it so that you could see it properly. The picture was of a woman who was extremely beautiful with auburn hair. She was holding a small baby in her arms, the woman was laughing. You carefully folded the picture back into its place. You saw an employee key card in the other pocket in the wallet and you were about to take it out when the door swung open. You swore loudly in surprise at the sudden noise.

Negan had opened the door and was leaning on it while looking at you. “What were you doing?” He asked in a commanding tone.

“Committing mass genocide. Obviously.  Can’t you see that from the open glove compartment and the wallet in my hands?” You said sardonically as you rolled your eyes. You swiftly pushed everything you had taken out of the compartment back into it. You shut the compartment with a slam.

“Alright, smart ass.” He said, there was an amused glint in his dark eyes. He held out his hand for you to take. You ignored it as you straightened up out of the car.

The rotting smell of the dead hit you and you keeled over gagging. You probably would’ve puked if there was anything in your stomach. You were wrenching and coughing. Each gasp of air you took in just made the smell more undiluted. “Come on, breath. You’ll get used to it.” You heard a voice in your ear say. You turned to look at Negan who now had an arm around you and was steering you toward the building. “Just breath.”

And so you did. And you were annoyed to say that it worked. You straightened up and as much as you could with Negan’s arm around you. He steered you down many bland corridors before you came to a blank iron door.  You frowned as he opened it reveal:

Nothing.

There was nothing in the room. It was small enough to be mistaken for a closet. You frowned as you shuffled closer.

“What is this…?” You asked tentatively.

“Punishment.” Negan said with a solemn look.

“Ah. I see.” You said as you walked into the room. You did a 360 degree turn  and faced Negan again.

“I’ll be back soon. “ Was all Negan said before he left you in the pitch darkness

. ***  

I hope you enjoyed this part! And I did say in another post but I’ll say it again over here, I will be continuing this story! Please thank the wonderful @perseusandmedusa​ because she has forcibly taken me into her imagination. (Help me I’ve been here for weeks) So that’s fun! Hahahaha… everything is fine… *sweats nervously*

Anyway! I hope you enjoyed this part! And as always HAVE A WONDERFUL DIGGITY DAMN DAY!!

@negans-network

[davidcarner]

Chuck vs Truffaut Industries Ch 2, Complicated

A/N: So, most of you like it, some of you are a little irritated at Sarah (some of you all are flat mad). So, let's see what we can do about that. Backstory time. Sit back, get in your car, head up the 5 to Stanford, find your Arvil Lavigne CD (you know you had it), and put on Complicated. (you might need tissues) Ch 2, Complicated

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, but I'm hoping someone makes a movie soon.

Stanford, August 2002

"Are you and Jill coming to the party tonight?" Bryce asked.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Chuck replied. "I've got class, Buddy, see you later."

Bryce headed back across the quad when he was stopped by a man in a dark suit and sunglasses.

"Bryce Larkin," Langston Graham said. Bryce stopped short.

"Sir, what are you doing here?" Bryce asked.

"This is too important to trust to anyone else," Graham said. "I have an assignment for you."

"Sir, I have class," Bryce said, wanting to do his job, but knowing he couldn't get behind in his classwork. Graham smiled.

"The assignment is on campus," Graham said. "We have reason to believe that Fulcrum has infiltrated parts of the CIA and is already recruiting. We fear that one of your classmates may be an agent."

"Who?"

"Jill Roberts," Graham said, watching the color drain from Bryce's face.

"That's nuts, Sir," Bryce said. "All due respect," he added quickly. Graham nodded.

"Let's be sure," he said, handing him small electronic devices. "Plant these bugs in her purse, phone, residence, wherever you can. Let's be safe rather than sorry." Bryce nodded. "Bryce, above all else, keep Chuck Bartowski safe."

"Chuck, sir?" Bryce asked. "Why would he be in trouble?"

"I don't know that he is, but when we recruited you we also checked out Chuck," Graham explained. "We don't need him going through any more tragedy." Bryce nodded. "I don't want to keep you, Son, but you have to know this is the highest priority."

"I understand, Sir," Bryce said. Graham nodded and Bryce left. He watched him walk away, and pulled out a cell phone.

"Orion, it's done," Graham said. "You'll be surveilling as well? Fine, just get me my Intersect."

Three weeks later

"I can't believe it," Chuck said, taking a swig of another beer. "We got through the summer, that's what I was worried about. I mean I get it, I'm a nerd," he paused and his brows furrowed. "She's a nerd too, but a brainy nerd, you know?" he said, turning to Bryce. "I mean she's kinda outta my league, she's so smart," Chuck said, dreamily. "But to tell me she was doing half the football team, that's just harsh."

"Hypersexuality is such an unknown in the world of medicine," Bryce said, nursing his second beer. Bryce had lost count of how many Chuck had drank. The bug had found Jill was indeed a part of Fulcrum, and in an interesting twist, Graham agreed to keep Jill out of a hole if she would break up with Chuck. He said it had to be something that gave him no chance of ever wanting her back. Bryce wasn't sure her telling Chuck that she was having sex with half of the football team was necessary, but it had done the trick.

"I mean how does she even know some of those guys?" he asked, blowing air out of his cheeks.

"I have no idea, Buddy," Bryce said. He loved Chuck like a brother, but this was the third night of this, and it was enough. Bryce's phone rang. "I gotta take this man." Chuck grinned.

"AHHHH," Chuck said, grinning sloppily. "I know, is it Heather Jenkins, no, I know, Rebecca Stephens." He sat up quickly. "I know, I know, it's Suzie Pfephercorn."

"I don't know Suzie Pfephercorn, Chuck," Bryce said. Chuck thought a second, and then turned back to the bar.

"Yeah, you wouldn't," Chuck admitted. "She went to my high school. She had pretty eyes."

"Eyes, Chuck," Bryce said chuckling. "You can speak freely here," he said, as he patted Chuck's back standing up.

"Thanks, Buddy," Chuck said. "She had the greenest eyes," he said, his glossing over thinking back. "It was like looking into a field of grass in the spring after the rain." Bryce shook his head at his friend, grinning.

"Never change, Buddy, never change," he said walking outside. He called back the number. "Larkin, secure."

"Graham, secure," Graham answered.

"Please for the love of God, Sir, get me out of here," Bryce begged.

"That bad," Graham asked.

"Worse," Bryce answered.

"Hang on tonight, and I'll get my best agent there to watch him over the weekend," Graham answered. "I need you to take out that cell, Larkin, they may be targeting Bartowski."

"Understood, sir," Bryce answered. "Do I need to hand him off?"

"Negative, Bryce," Graham answered. "Leave tomorrow like planned. I have other eyes on him, but I need my best on him. She'll take care of him." Bryce was uncomfortable.

"Sir, no disrespect, but with everything Chuck's been through," Bryce began.

"Larkin, she's not going to seduce him," Graham answered. "She's good enough she doesn't have to do that."

"Thank you, sir," Bryce said. He heard a dial tone. He sighed and walked back in, and Chuck was still talking about Suzie's green eyes."

Simi Valley

Sarah stood in front of her mother's house, and just stared at it. How hard was it to walk up and ring a doorbell, or knock on a door….or better yet, hop in her Porsche and drive off? She sighed, walked up to door and rang the doorbell. The door opened.

"Sa-" Emma began. "What do I call you?"

"It's probably best to call me Sarah," she answered. Emma nodded and pulled her into a hug.

"Come in," Emma said, after they broke the hug. Sarah came in and joined her mom at the kitchen table. "So, what's your mission?"

"No, mission, Mom," Sarah answered, shaking her head. "I'm here for the football game, and to see you."

"Football?" Emma asked grinning. Sarah sighed.

"I mean I do like it, but…Harvard's not that great," she said, sighing. "I've been gone on the weekends for so many CAT Squad missions that I need to do something with the student body." She was silent for a second. "I could use the time to study," she grumbled under her breath.

"How is real school going?"

"Good, I'm going to graduate on time, maybe even early," she said grinning. Emma returned the grin, and then it left. "Mom, please don't," she said softly.

"What did he ever do for you?" Emma spit out. Sarah sighed.

"I have a deal with Graham," Sarah said. "He lets dad out on parole after five years, he clears his name after ten."

"Sweetie, your father doesn't deserve what you're doing for him," Emma said.

"He's my dad," Sarah said softly, tears in her eyes.

"I know, Sweetie, I know," she said, putting her arm around her. "I just hate this."

"I'm getting a college education, dad gets out, and you're okay," Sarah said. "I made the best with the hand I was dealt." Emma held her daughter close, and just looked up at the ceiling.

"I hate this," Emma said softly. Sarah gave a laugh.

"There's days I do too," she admitted. Her phone rang, she groaned, and rolled her eyes. "I've got to take this." Emma nodded, let her go, and Sarah walked to her room.

"Walker, secure," Sarah said.

"I need you to go to Stanford," Graham said.

"I'm going for the game Saturday," she said.

"I need you to go now," Graham said. "We have a high priority target. He's a civilian and he may be in danger, I need you to get close to him and keep him in your sight for the next several days."

"Sir," Sarah began, bile rising in her mouth.

"Sarah, I'm not suggesting what you're worried about," Graham said. "You know me better."

"I know, Sir, it just sounded…yes, Sir, I understand," Sarah said.

"I'll text you the substation address there and the code of the day, they'll have your dossier ready," Graham said. "Sarah, this is a good guy. He is a citizen that's had a terrible hand dealt to him in life, and he needs your protection, that's why I'm sending you, you're my best."

"I'll protect him, Sir," she replied. With that, the call ended. Sarah walked back into the kitchen. "I've got to go." Sarah saw her mom's face. "I'm going to go protect a civilian, it should be little danger." Emma hugged her.

"If you let him rot, no one would blame you," she said.

"I would," Sarah said softly. Emma hugged her tighter.

"You're a better daughter than he ever was a father," Emma said. Sarah laughed as she pulled away.

"Mom, that we can agree on," she said. They said their goodbyes, she climbed into her car, and off she went to Stanford.

The next morning

Chuck was sitting on a bench just looking over the campus. It was Thursday. There would be a lot of parties tonight, and tomorrow night, and Saturday after the game. His plan was to partake of all the free alcohol he could. His brain and stomach wasn't agreeing with that idea right now. He was watching the blonde walk across the quad. She had a map and she had crossed it twice already. It was possible she was lost. He was going to say something to her the next time she passed, but he hadn't seen her again, so he didn't worry about it. He gave a deep, contemplative sigh.

"I mean I passed by twice, you could have said something," the voice came behind him. "Are all you Stanford guys jerks?"

"I'm sorry," Chuck said, never turning his head. "I've been nursing this amazing hangover all morning, and I'm processing on about one quarter speed." She came around him, and plopped on the bench, she studied him for a minute. She sniffed the air, and Chuck laughed.

"Nope, no vomit, and I showered," Chuck said.

"You still smell of alcohol," she said.

"Probably three straight days of drinking," he said. She raised an eyebrow. There was silence for a moment.

"Now see, you can't do that," she said. He turned slowly towards her and lifted his sunglasses, a curious expression on his face. She grinned at him, and Chuck forgot about why he had been drinking. There sitting in front of him was a real life angel. He thought Suzie whatsherface had amazing eyes, they were nothing compared to the girl in front of him. They were blue…a stormy blue, like they would change with her mood, and the grin….he could get lost there forever.

"Chuck Bartowski," he said, offering his hand. She raised an eyebrow. "My parents were sadists." She laughed and shook his hand. Chuck was really wondering why he had been drinking. This amazing woman was laughing at his joke. He just stared at those eyes…and then he realized he might be seen as creepy. "Sorry," he said, as he quit staring into her eyes. "Hung over, not processing."

"I think that's the first time I've ever had my eyes stared at," she said, a smirk on her face. Chuck shrugged.

"What can I say, they're a gateway into the soul," he said. She studied him for a minute.

"Jenny Burton," she said. "I'm supposed to be here with a bunch of friends from Harvard to see the game, and they ditched me." Chuck looked shocked. "Vegas," she said with a grin. Chuck nodded. "So I have no idea where I'm going. Any chance you could show me around?" He looked at her in surprise. "You intrigue me, Chuck Bartowski, and you can finally tell me why you've been drinking for three days."

"My ex-girlfriend was banging half of the football team," Chuck said. Sarah didn't know how to respond. "I'm not sure why just half," he said, and glanced over at Sarah. She couldn't help herself, a fit of laughter burst out of her.

"I mean she only did half the job," Sarah said, giggling.

"Right?" Chuck replied. "She's probably not worth the drinking."

"Probably?"

"She's not," Chuck said, nodding. Sarah stood up and offered him her arm.

"Take me to breakfast," she said. "You could probably use some food that's not liquid form." Chuck stood and took her arm.

"You're exactly right," he said.

}o{

Sarah was trying to not fall out of the chair laughing.

"So, wait," she said, trying not to snort. "You actually call him, Awesome."

"Oh, yeah, everything he does is awesome. Climbing mountains, jumping out of planes, flossing," Chuck said, as Sarah fought off another fit of giggles. "Wait until you meet him." Chuck realized he was assuming a lot. Sarah just smiled. "So what about your closet and skeletons?"

"I am relatively free," she said.

"That's good, I have so much baggage I need my own personal baggage handler," he said.

"Maybe I could be your baggage handler," she said. Sarah kept her face neutral but inside, she was losing it. What was she doing? She was part of the CAT squad, this was a just a civilian, true, a civilian that life had taken a dump on, but a civilian. He wasn't being suave, or trying to get in her pants, and she was caving from honesty? Was she cut out for the CIA life? Chuck was grinning at her.

"You would be the most attractive baggage handler I've ever seen," Chuck said.

"Thank you," she said.

"Don't let it go to your head," he said, grinning. "Have you seen some of them?" She threw a napkin at him, grinning. "Seriously, you have the perfect life?"

"My dad," she said shrugging. Chuck nodded. "I mean nothing as bad as you, your sister raised you."

"But," Chuck said. Sarah grinned, nodded, and thought why not? She'll never see him again after this weekend.

"My dad and I have problems, and it's caused problems between me and my mom," she said. Chuck looked at her. "What?"

"We both know that's not the full story, but that's okay," he said, his smile on full blast. "I've got to earn that story." She leaned forward resting her chin on the back of her hand.

"And how do you plan on doing that?" she asked.

"By showing you every guy at Stanford isn't a jerk," he said. She grinned at him, and then her smile fell. "What's wrong?"

"Well, my friends and I all had hotel rooms booked, but now…" she said, shrugging.

"You trust me?" he asked. "I know you barely know me, but my roommate is gone for the weekend, and if you can handle me being in the same room with you, you can have his bed," he said. She began to smile. "Before you do, he's a bit of a player, so maybe we should find some different sheets." She laughed out loud.

}o{

For the next two days, the two were inseparable. Sarah retrieved her bag from her beat up car provided by the CIA substation. They went to the party Thursday night, Chuck didn't drink, and he and Sarah talked all night. They dozed off in Chuck's bed, on top of the covers, fully clothed, watching a movie, Thursday night. Chuck skipped classes again Friday (he was going to have to kill himself the next few weeks making up all he had blown off) and he and Sarah hung out all day. Friday night was the big fraternity party, and Sarah constantly had someone give her a fresh drink. All the guys were so thankful that someone had pulled Chuck out of his funk. They all were calling her Chuck's girl, and she was playing along, teasing him, and loving every time she caught a blush on his cheeks. She was feeling all the effects of the alcohol, Chuck, and his friends encouraging her, that when she made her way to their room that night, she didn't have it in her to deny herself.

"Jenny, what are you doing?" Chuck asked.

"I'm going to show that idiot ex-girlfriend of yours how stupid she was for cheating on you," Sarah said, slightly swaying, trying to line up his lips for another kiss. How did this nerd kiss so well? Chuck took a deep breath.

"Jenny, you're drunk and we can't do this," Chuck said.

"Why not?" she asked. "I know how, and if you don't know I can teach you," she said, waggling her eyebrows.

"Jenny, not like this," Chuck said, hating his moral code. "Not like this."

"You're right, I've got too many clothes on," she said, grinning. Chuck blew out a breath.

"Okay, let's try this, you go over there, wait for me under the covers," Chuck said. "I'm going to go brush my teeth and I'll be right back." Sarah smiled.

"That's the spirit," she said, patting his cheek. "Hurry back," she said, stumbling into the bed. Her shirt was flying off, as Chuck sprinted out the door. He shut the door and turned and saw one of his fraternity brothers smiling at him and shaking his head.

"She's drunk, wants to, and you won't," he said. Chuck nodded. "Dude, if you ever want to date my sister, I'm cool with it." Chuck laughed softly.

"For the record, I hate myself," Chuck said. His fraternity brother laughed, patted him on the arm, and headed downstairs. Chuck wondered how long he should wait, when he heard a sound coming from his room. He grinned and opened the door, and there was Jenny Burton, snoring. She had one leg sticking out from under the covers. He stared at it, and then jerked his eyes away, refusing to follow it to its eventual end. He walked over, and managed to get the leg in bed without seeing anything. He walked over to his bed, thought about changing clothes, but decided against it, just in case. He crawled into bed, and went to sleep.

}o{

Chuck woke up, hearing Sarah tossing and turning. Sunlight was starting to pour into the window. Sarah suddenly sat up with the blanket held tightly against her.

"Oh, God," she said, looking under the sheet. She turned and looked over at him. "Chuck," she said, her face frantic.

"For the record, that's the first time you uttered that phrase in this room today," Chuck said, shaking his head no. She took a second to process what he was saying, and then the giggles began. They turned into full fledge laughter from both of them.

"Funny," she said. Chuck shrugged. "About last night," she began.

"Please don't apologize," Chuck said. She looked at him. "You have pulled me out of the biggest funk in the world, and I should have watched out for you better last night, my frat brothers…they were hoping I'd…you know." She grinned at him.

"Thank you for being a gentleman," she said, grinning shyly. Chuck nodded.

"I need to take a shower…a cold one," he said.

"Was that necessary?" she asked.

"You offered to teach me last night," Chuck said. Sarah hid her face in her hand. "Jenny, it was fine, it happens, but I need to be totally honest with you, if you weren't drunk last night…" Sarah stared at him, and then she winked. "And Bob's your uncle!" he yelled shutting the door, Sarah laughed.

}o{

They had spent the day around campus, holding hands, and Sarah found herself finding ways to wrap Chuck's arm around her where she could. She was falling for him, and she knew she couldn't, she shouldn't. She was. During the game she found Chuck's arms around her from behind, and after it was over they walked to the frat house. The party was in full swing, but they ignored it and went upstairs. She shut the door, and locked it. Chuck looked at her nervously.

"Jill, was an idiot," she said, grinning.

"Yeah?" he asked. She closed the distance between them quickly and attacked his lips. This was what she wanted to do. A part of her hated herself. They had no chance at a future, and she wanted one. She wanted a life where she could meet Chuck Bartowski, date him, fall in love, marry him, and have 2.5 kids and a white house, red door, and a white picket fence. She hated her dad so much right now, and she loved this man in front of her. A little girl today had lost her balance, fallen, and spilled her drink. After Chuck made sure she was okay, and they found her parents, he had gotten her another one. She hated her dad so much.

"Chuck, I'm not drunk tonight," Sarah said.

"I'm not either," Chuck replied, grinning, she returned the grin.

}o{

It was around 4 when she heard her text go off. She unwrapped herself from Chuck and gave him a long look. What had happened last night…magical. She hated what had to happen next. She got her phone, saw that the threat had been neutralized, and she could come home. She had thought about how this would happen for a long time, and while she hated it, it had to happen. She got dressed, wrote a note, kissed Chuck softly on his head, ran her fingers through his curls, and then said the words she needed to say.

"I love you, Chuck Bartowksi," she said softly. She grabbed her bag, slipped out the door, and headed to the CIA substation.

When Chuck woke in the morning, he knew she was gone, he could feel it. Part of him ached. Ached like he never had before. He saw the note, and picked it up.

Chuck,

I hate leaving, but what I hate more is not letting you know how to contact me. Jill is an idiot, never forget that. Never forget that you are loved. I will always carry a piece of you with me. I know one guy at Stanford who is definitely not a jerk.

Love,

Jenny Burton

Chuck held the letter next to him. He carefully folded it and put it in his wallet.

"I love you too, Jenny," he said.

}o{

2 week later, Stanford

"Bryce, I'm in," Chuck said, happy as could be. He was going to find her.

"All right, Buddy, I knew you could do it," he said. Bryce had a feeling he knew what had happened. Some poor CIA agent came into Chuck's life, and had got turned upside down. She hadn't been prepared for the heartwarming that this nerd possessed. Chuck's fingers stopped typing. "Found her?" he asked with a smile.

"Jenny Burton doesn't exist," Chuck said dejectedly. "There is no Jenny Burton at Harvard," he said, turning to Bryce. "Why would she lie about her name?"

}o{

6 week later, Langley

"Walker, good to see you," Graham said. "Have a seat."

"I'm pregnant, sir," Sarah said.

"How did this happen?" Graham asked. Sarah was in no mood.

"Well, when a woman and a man-" she saw the look on his face and stopped. I blame Chuck for that. I wonder if his kid is messing with my mind. Part of her smiled at that thought. "My assignment at Stanford."

"Sarah, that was a great sacrifice," Graham said, struggling to keep his emotions.

"Sir, it was my choice," she said. "I want to keep this baby."

"And the father?" he asked. She shook her head.

"I don't know," she said softly.

"Why don't you give it a week and then we'll talk, but as for now, you are an analyst." She nodded and left. Graham picked up the phone and made a call. "Orion, you should know, the agent I sent to watch your son, they…she's pregnant." He listened for a minute, and his mouth fell open. "You don't know that she's like your wife! You've never met her." He sighed and blew out a breath. "I understand Orion, he'll not be told, but I better have that intersect soon, or I'll call him personally. Do you understand? Goodbye." Graham hung up his phone, sat there a second, stood up quickly, and with an arm knocked everything off his desk in a rage. He sat back down with his head in his hands. "They don't deserve this."

}o{

A week later

"Sarah, have you decided about Bartowksi?" Graham asked. She shook her head. "Sarah, he's a civilian. You didn't tell him your name, you're a CIA agent, and your family's past, do you think he'd want to be a part of that?" She shook her head, tears coming out of her eyes. "I think deep down you know." She nodded.

"I won't tell Chuck," she said. She left a few minutes later. Graham pulled out a flask.

"Of all the things I've done in this job, this feels like the worst," he said.

}o{

One year later

Sarah stormed into Graham's office.

"What the hell!?" she screamed. "He got expelled from Stanford!?"

"Sarah, calm down," Graham said.

"Calm down!? I have that man's child, who he can't know about and you want me to be calm because one of your agents got him expelled!?"

"How do you know about this anyway?" he asked his eyes narrowing. Sarah realized she was caught.

"He's my child's father, I can't not know," she said. Graham's face softened.

"Sarah," he said softly. She was near tears.

"She lives an hour from his sister's apartment," she said, crying. "I only get to see Molly a little each month, he could be there with her."

"You know it's not for the best," Graham said, sick to his stomach.

"I know," she said. "I made a deal with you, one I will honor." Graham nodded.

"He's already out," Graham said. Sarah looked up at him. "We had a deal, I honored it. Now, it's time for you to go to the Farm and finish your training.

"What about the CAT squad?" she asked.

"Without you, it wasn't the same," he said. She nodded and left.

}o{

One year later. Ice Cream shop, New York City

"I'll have a scoop of Butter Pecan," the man said.

"And two scoops of Rocky Road in a cup," Sarah said, behind him. He turned around and grinned at her. He turned back to the cashier.

"You heard my darlin'. Two scoops," he said. They went and sat. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Dad," Sarah said.

"It's Jack Burton today," Jack replied, winking.

"Ahh, playing the hits," she said, grinning.

"Talk," he said, watching her. She gave him a look. "What? I still know all your tells." Sarah sighed and told him about the deal she made with Graham, Chuck, and the baby.

"And, now, in two months or so, they're going to give me a red test. I have to kill someone, Dad, someone very dangerous, but someone," she said. Tears were in her eyes.

"Sarah, you're not a murderer," Jack said. "That's not you. Cons, protecting people, all the rest, is fine, but killing someone, bad guy or not, that's not you." She smiled and he laid his hand on hers. "You know this, so why come ask me?"

"Because a girl needs her dad," she said. "Even when he is a bad one." She grinned, but he looked at her seriously.

"Then why haven't you told that schnook?" Jack asked. "Because we both know he'd be a better one than I am." Sarah put her hand to her mouth. "Darlin' tell him. I don't think he's gonna care."

"But she's sixteen months old," Sarah said.

"Better late than never."

}o{

The next day, Langley

"Sarah, what can I do for you?" Graham asked, knowing what was coming.

"I can't pass the red test," Sarah said. "Too much has changed in my life."

"I know," Graham said. "And I know why you stayed on. I should have done away with our deal then."

"So, what do we do?" Sarah asked, terrified.

"Stay away from Bartowski for the next four years and your father's record is expunged." Sarah's eyes bugged out of her head. "There's still some heat on him," Graham said. "Stay away for four years, your father stays out of prison." Sarah nodded. "We'll finish all the paperwork tomorrow." Sarah got up and left. Graham picked up his phone.

"Orion, I've gotten what you wanted, but this is sick," Graham said. "You are purposely breaking up another family. Why don't you give them a chance instead of projecting your problems onto them? Fine! Just get me my damn Intersect!"

}o{

A few weeks later, Simi Valley, Christmas

"Look at you, holding your girl," Emma said to Sarah. "Sarah, your dad wouldn't want this." Sarah had tears in her eyes.

"Look, in four years I'll go see him and explain all of it," she said. "Then we'll see."

"Sarah," her mom began. Sarah shook her head.

"There's no chance of an us," she said softly. "I've already messed it up too bad."

"Is he seeing anyone?" Emma asked. Sarah shook her head. "How do you know?" Sarah wouldn't look at her, as she looked away sheepishly. "Have you wondered why?" Sarah didn't want to, but she grinned.

"He's very into his career right now," Sarah answered.

"Didn't you say he worked at the Buy More for $11 an hour?" Emma asked.

"He's working on other stuff," Sarah said. Emma shook her head.

"Dada," Molly said, pointing at the picture of Sarah and Chuck from that weekend.

"He is," Sarah said. "One day, baby, one day."

}o{

Four months later, Echo Park

She slowly opened the Morgan door. She had done this a half a dozen times the last six months. She should just tell him, and damn the consequences. She walked quietly right beside him.

"Jenny," he mumbled, a grin on his face. She felt things move in her. She softly stroked his hair, leaned down, and kissed his head.

"I love you, Chuck. Nothing's changed," she said softly and went to the window. "I'll be back in a few weeks," and with that she left.

}o{

Three months later

"And you're telling me the CIA is telling them if my granddaughter doesn't meet her father, I keep the deal?" Jack asked. Emma nodded. "Screw that."

"Gwanpa," Molly said.

"Do you want to see Dada?" Jack asked Molly.

"See Dada!" Molly yelled, and clapped.

"Jack, are you sure?" Jack reached over and put his hand on Emma's.

"Emma, I've screwed this family up enough, isn't it time I make things right?" Emma smiled at him.

"You were always a schnook, but you're my schnook," Emma said. "And I think I have just the idea."

}o{

This morning

"Ray, Emma Truffaut here. Yes, I know you're coming in, but my IT guy was looking at it, and he says it's a big deal. We're on a time crunch, and I was told about a Chuck Bartowski that is supposed to be the best, do you think there is any way you could get him? Really. Of course I need that for the building. Absolutely we can purchase that. Thanks. Oh, and Ray, don't let Chuck know we asked for him. Thanks." Emma smiled as she hung up and looked at Molly.

"It's time we straighten this mess out, sweetie."

}o{

Now

“I guess you did know where he was all along,” Emma said.  Sarah gave her a sad smile as she brushed his hair with her hand.

“Yeah,” she admitted.  “And I know that you did this on purpose.”  Emma just grinned.

“She trusts him,” Emma said.

“Dada hurt his head?” Molly asked, coming over to brush his hair like Sarah was.

“He’s okay baby,” Sarah said.

“Dada come home?” Molly asked.  Tears were in Sarah’s eyes as she looked up at Emma.

“Perhaps I didn’t think this out,” Emma said.

“Dada wake up,” Molly said, and leaned down to kiss his cheek.  Chuck opened his eyes and looked at Molly and then Sarah. “Dada!”  Chuck looked at Sarah.

“99.2%?” he asked.  Sarah shrugged.  Chuck looked at Molly then to Sarah.

“I think we need to talk,” Sarah said.

A/N: Still mad at Sarah? Until next time.

DC

[twdgfanfiction]

Chapter 7: Ghost Town

Omid may had been a bit generous on how quickly the group could walk to the town opposite the bridge. By the time they had reached the town, the sun had already reached the centre of the deep blue sky, the sunlight beaming down warming up Charlotte's shoulders and melting more of the fallen snow away. The tarmac path under the snow was exposed, the boots of the survivors walking along quieter than the crunching of feet in the snow was. The winter breeze was still frosty, causing goosebumps to form along Charlotte's exposed skin as she rubbed her hands together, trying to keep the digits warm while staring at Dylan's gloved hands with jealousy. The teen was none the wiser, instead glancing around the long road leading into town with his pistol clenched tightly, his finger kept away from the trigger until he saw something he didn't like.

Omid kept to his side, holding his rifle lazily while strolling down the road. Over his shoulder, Charlotte could see the town in the distance, and yet no sign of any undead wandering the streets. All the way there, save for the few they encountered by the river, the group hadn't been attacked by walkers or scavengers alike, but Charlotte knew better than to get complacent. She'd have to keep her wits about her until they returned to the cabin. From in front of her, she listened as Omid finally piped up in a joking tone. "Well, here we are. Albemarle. Took a bit longer than expected but at least we're here in one piece."

"It looks like a ghost town." Dylan pointed out, staring at the distant town with narrowed eyes before he turned his head back to Charlotte, sharing a nervous look with her as he confessed his uncertainty about the place. "We haven't seen many walkers so far. I don't like it. Shouldn't they have come out of the cities by now?"

"I have to agree with ya, there, buddy." Charlotte replied, sighing deeply as she moved to his side and placed a hand on her brother's shoulder. Staring up at her, his worry faded away slightly as she smiled down at him, returning that smile with his own as she quietly ordered him in a gentle tone. "Stay close to me. We don't know if the walkers are gone or just hiding somewhere."

"I'll take lead. You guys are capable of watching my back, yeah?" Omid chuckled, starting to walk down the road towards the town centre. Charlotte and Dylan shared a sly smirk between them, the younger of the two following after Omid while his sister continued walking at a leisurely pace. The winds made the trees lining the road sway, the bare branches that stretched out moving at the mercy of the breeze while all its leaves had fallen onto the soaking floor, crunching under the survivors' shoes as they continued down the road. Having pulled her knife out to defend herself in case walkers made a sudden appearance, she twirled it in her hand and stared down at the blade, flecks of blood that she hadn't gone to wiping off staining the steel.

Tired, blue eyes stared back at her, the woman surprised with just how tired she looked in her reflection. Bags under her eyes had darkened over the weeks that she had left her previous group, the lack of sleep not helping matters as her brain continued to work even under the strain, unable to stop to rest in fear that walkers, or worse other survivors, would come across her family and harm them. She could feel that exhaustion slowing her down. Legs ached from the journey over multiple states to reach North Carolina, Charlotte still not recovered fully from the strain that it took on her body, but she kept her ills to herself as she noticed Dylan chatting away happily with Omid. He looked happy. For now, she'd keep that happiness in her brother alive and make sure he didn't worry about her. She was meant to worry about him, that was her job, but she couldn't help but feel that she needed someone to tell her to slow down.

After everything that happened, she could barely recognise the Charlotte before all this happened. The Charlotte that left her family to go and follow her own path, who didn't want to remain on a farm or become just someone's wife left to stew in a house with kids running around everywhere. She loved her mother, she knew that she wouldn't be who she was that day without her mother raising her right, but that life wasn't for Charlotte. Looking back as she walked towards the dead town, she would do things differently. She wouldn't want to leave her family's side again. If only she had a chance to go back to when everything was normal.

In front of her, she heard as Dylan continued talking with Omid. "I went to San Francisco on a school trip once."

"Oh? That's awesome, what'd you think of it?" He questioned, pleased that the teenager had been to the city where he lived before the plague. Dylan shrugged at that, prompting the older man to continue with his questions. "Well, it's a pretty cool city, huh? It has some cool beaches and the Golden Gate Bridge, you gotta have crossed that to get into the city."

"It was pretty boring." Dylan revealed, staring up at Omid as the latter glanced back down at him, looking between the nonchalant twin and his giggling sister laughing away behind them. Charlotte felt bad for laughing at the sudden confession, stifling her chuckles with her rolled up fist while Omid continued to act flabbergasted with Dylan. The youngest of the group just shrugged again, continuing on with a small smirk on his face. "I liked the bridge, but one of the boys in my class got travel sick bad. The trip got a lot less cool real quick."

"Gross." Charlotte piped up from behind, earning a wider grin from Dylan as he glanced over his shoulder at her. Omid shared her sediment, grimacing at the thought of the scene that the teenager was describing to him while staring off ahead, leaving Dylan and Charlotte chuckling to each other quietly. She didn't even remember Dylan going on that trip, or anyone ever mentioning it to her before that moment, and she couldn't help that twinge of guilt in her stomach at the thought of how much time she missed with her siblings in the later years when she left to go and do what she wanted. There was likely more stories like that one where she was never told. At least she had them now, and she would make sure to be there for her brothers for as long as she could.

The town started coming closer and closer, yet there was still no sign of any life within, living or undead. Charlotte paused, staring at the long road ahead with a deep frown while the other two kept on walking. As they got closer, the winds had died down, the birds roosting up in the trees had all but abandoned the area around, and an eerie silence hung over the town like a thick blanket. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, her grip on the handle of her knife tightening as she carried on following after the others. There, she noticed Dylan glancing off to the right, raising an eyebrow in confusion until she followed his gaze and realised exactly what he saw, the sight causing her to sigh as he stopped in his tracks. Omid noticed his disappearance immediately and stopped too, looking over his shoulder while Charlotte reached her brother's side and placed a hand on his shoulder again. It was a graveyard to the side, the tombstones dirtied and grass overgrown from the months of abandonment and the world going to shit.

"You think the dead there have come back?" Dylan suddenly asked, glancing up at the older woman with a saddened frown before adding softly. "Do you think Grandpa is one of those things? Just… stuck in the coffin, left to rot?"

"I honestly don't know, but it won't be him. No matter what happened, he's at peace. He didn't have to see what the world has come to…" She comforted him, staring at the abandoned gravestones with her weak smile finally falling. Dylan couldn't even bring himself to return that smile, just staring ahead with a blank expression on his face, clearly pushing his true feelings below the surface once more. Slowly, he carried on walking in silence, brushing off Charlotte's hand as she just let it fall to her side once more. He passed Omid, who just watched him carry on while Charlotte followed after him, turning his attention back to the older sibling while offering her a saddened smile.

"Hey, is he doing alright?" He asked, showing concern for the poor teenager. She didn't answer, rather looking down the road as Dylan just kept walking, his back to them as the adults carried on walking side by side. Omid glanced at the graveyard one more time, while Charlotte just kept her eyes straight until she heard him carry on beside her. "He seems pretty alright, but I dunno. It's only gonna be a matter of time before he can't handle it anymore."

"He's trying to be tough… like his dad. But you're right, Dylan's a pretty emotional kid, sorta wears his heart on his sleeve type. I'm just keeping an eye on him and trying to help out when I can." She explained, turning her head at Omid while he nodded in agreement. Glancing away again, she kept the car crash that happened weeks ago to herself, unsure if Dylan would appreciate her telling Omid about how he lost control of the car. It wasn't his fault, but if Dylan was anything, he was a serious martyr type.

"Your other brother is a cute kid." Omid piped up again, staring at Charlotte as she allowed a small smile to appear on her face again at the mention of her brother. "I think he's warmed up to Clem. Those two could become good friends."

"It'll be nice for Mason to have friends besides me. Sometimes I feel like I don't really understand them, being teenage boys. Maybe it's the hormones? I dunno." She confessed, earning a chuckle from Omid as she asked amusingly. "What?"

"That's just it. They're teenage boys! Soon they see a pretty girl, their brain melts down. It's a scientific fact." He joked, adding in a more genuine tone as he comforted the grown woman. "You've kept them alive this far. I think you're doing what's best for them, that's all that matters."

"I don't even think Mason is interested in all that stuff. He mainly focused on school work, ready to get into medical school when he was older." She reminisced, staring at Dylan's back as he continued to walk in front of them. "Between you and me, Dylan once brought a girl he liked home to show Elizabeth's horse. Won three dressage competitions before he threw Elizabeth off and broke her collarbone and arm."

"Holy shit." Omid gasped, eager to learn what had happened as Charlotte recalled that hospital visit. "What happened?"

She crossed her arms with a wide grin on her face, her voice quietened with amusement clear in her words. "Well, Elizabeth retired him after that. Dylan brought his classmate to the stables where we kept him, Annabelle, I think her name was-"

"It was Abigail." Dylan interrupted, still looking at the approaching town without once turning around to face his sibling and Omid. Charlotte raised an eyebrow at that, sure it was Annabelle, but went with what her brother told her as she turned back to resume the story with Omid.

"Anyway, he wanted to impress her and jumped up onto Champion's back to show her how good he was at riding. Didn't even make it to the field before a snake slithered past and spooked the horse. He bolted, and Dylan ended in the pig's trough with a concussion." She finished, leaning closer to Omid so that her brother couldn't overhear. "Between you and me, you tap his head and you can hear the metal plate they put in at the hospital."

"Are you done with that story? Jesus, I could say millions of stories about the times you fucked up." Dylan shot back, his face flushed in embarrassment as he couldn't even bring himself to fully look the two smirking adults in the eyes. Charlotte couldn't even bring herself to feel guilty, thinking it was cute that her younger brother really wanted to impress his friend, though he could've picked a better horse to do so.

Chuckling deeply, she stared at Dylan's back as she defended herself. "I never nearly killed myself to impress someone."

Dylan started snickering at that, causing Charlotte's smirk to fall into a frown as she uncrossed her arms, glaring at him as he finally turned his head and revealed. "What about when we first met Samantha?"

"Now I had that situation under control." She shot back quickly, hoping that Dylan wouldn't elaborate with Omid there. However, he was ready for revenge over her little embarrassing tale regarding him and Abigail. Despite the funny side of the situation, it was still too soon for Charlotte to deal with the death, and she tried to stop him with a low warning. "Dylan, don't."

Instead, he looked over at Omid and explained the story with a grin on his face. "Before we met you guys, Charlotte knew this girl. Samantha. Well, when they first met, she tried to impress her by climbing up this huge tree to get the fresh apples that were growing there. Only thing is, she miscalculated a jump and ended up landing right on top of the guy in charge. It was pretty funny until we found out she fractured her leg."

"Ouch." Omid winced, turning to Charlotte while he asked. "You get the girl?"

Charlotte didn't answer that. Rather, she just shook her head and walked straight ahead, passing Dylan as the two glanced at each other, before Dylan cursed under his breath. She knew that it was just joking, but that didn't mean it still didn't hurt whenever someone mentioned her. Behind the survivor, she heard her brother call out to her in a guilty tone. "Charlie! Charlie, I'm sorry!"

His words caused her feet to stop moving. Standing there, she stood there with a tired expression on her face until Omid and Dylan reached her again. Reaching her side, she looked down at Dylan as he glanced away, clearly guilty about bringing up the deceased, and yet she didn't even blame him. Quietly, she placed a hand on his head and pulled him closer, bringing him into a hug as she muttered. "Don't apologise, buddy. I… I guess it's good that you remember her during the good times, rather than all the bad times."

He smiled sadly at that, before pulling himself away and watched as Charlotte looked over to Omid, finishing the story with a saddened smile. "Yeah. I got the girl."

"You know, this reminds me of when Christa and I first met. Vegas. Threw up on the roulette wheel and watched it go flying everywhere, but let's just say that wasn't the best introduction I coulda had with her." He reminisced, walking past Charlotte and Dylan as the trio carried down the road. They were close to the junction just in front of the town, the roads abandoned with few vehicles left, and Omid paused for a moment as he glanced around. Charlotte stopped by his side, the uneasiness in her stomach worsening when she saw nothing but streets and the aftermath of humanity abandoning the small town. A car was all that was left in the street, having skidded across the junction and crashed into the lampost, causing the thing to topple over and pin an unfortunate person underneath.

She approached the destroyed lampost, wincing when she saw the crushed head underneath, the body pinned underneath. She didn't know what happened to the person, what made them stop to look at the thing as it fell. Maybe they were just unlucky. At the very least, they didn't come back as one of the walkers, and it didn't seem like they suffered all that much before their death. Dylan appeared by her suddenly, staring down at the corpse before shaking his head softly and walking away. She did so too, rather following after the others as they moved further into town. By Omid's side, her hand gripped the knife tightly as her other hand ghosted over the gun in her pocket, wondering where all the undead where. It was unnatural.

Suddenly, Omid stopped and lifted his rifle, looking down the sights while Charlotte froze in place, her hand moving away from the gun in her pocket and instead held behind her to signal to Dylan, causing the teen to stop in his tracks as he narrowed his eyes, trying to see what Omid was seeing. Quietly, she whispered to him. "What'd you see?"

"Looks like… a pharmacy." He muttered, a hopeful tone in his voice as Charlotte smiled, before his voice dropped again. "Oh shit."

"What? What's wrong?" Dylan piped up from behind them, pushing past his sister as his hand pressed against his forehead, providing some protection from the sun as he stared up ahead. Slowly, Omid lowered his rifle again and glanced over at Charlotte, sharing a worried look with her.

"Well. We found our walkers." He revealed, passing the rifle to the grown woman so she could see for herself. Taking the weapon, she sighed and lifted it up, peering down the sights as she tried to see where the walkers Omid mentioned were. Eventually, her breath stilled in her chest as she spotted the walkers just outside the pharmacy, watching the corpses as some just stood there, nothing grabbing their attention, while others were lying on the ground, sitting or even devouring any food that was unfortunate to be in their grasp. From beside her, she heard Omid point out. "Too many for us to fight, but there might be something in that pharmacy that we need. Medicine, even things for the baby."

"Woah, woah." Dylan started, turning around to stare at Omid as he snapped. "You didn't say anything about a baby."

"Christa's not that far along by the looks of it, Dylan. It'll still be months before we have to worry about it coming." Charlotte sighed, lowering the rifle to look down at her annoyed brother. Dylan crossed his arms, glaring at them as Omid rubbed the back of his neck, though Charlotte returned the heated glared as she growled. "This ain't the time for arguing. Right now, we gotta figure out how we're gonna get past those walkers."

"I just wish you bothered to tell us. Having a baby will change a lot of shit! We have to think about getting supplies for it; diapers, baby formula, and then there's the actual birth! We don't even have a doctor!" He hissed, turning to Omid as he added. "Mason knows how to treat cuts and wrap bandages, but delivering a baby is completely out of the question!"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there, but we have to focus now." He pointed out, turning to Charlotte with a worried glance. "We still haven't figured out a way to get past the walkers."

She hummed, before turning her attention back to the situation on hand. Lifting the rifle up again, she looked around the area for anything that could be of use, trying to think of a way to get the walkers moving. Softly, she listened as Omid suggested to her. "We could use sound to lure them away. Back in Savannah, this girl used the church bells to move the walkers to one area while she savenged the other. That might work here."

"I don't see any churches around, let alone one with bells." She replied, trying to see around for anything else that would cause a racket.

"You don't need bells." Dylan explained, watching the roads as Omid looked over at him in confusion. Charlotte moved her head away from the rifle, keeping it upright as she too stared down at her brother, listening as he carried on with his explanation. "See if you can find a car, or a couple. You set the alarms off, and while the walkers are going to investigate, we can sneak into the pharmacy."

"That ain't a bad idea. I'll see if I can see some." She agreed, looking into the sights to see if she could spot any vehicles that the group could use. They couldn't be too far away, otherwise the walkers may not hear it, and sure enough, she spotted a couple of cars down the road that had been abandoned. Lowering her rifle, she muttered to the others in a low tone. "Found some just down the road. They should lure the walkers away, and let us see if there are any of them hiding around."

"One of us should go." Omid explained, receiving surprised looks from the others as he sighed. "We can't all go and set the alarms off. One of us can sneak past the walkers to the cars, and then flank them when they start approaching."

Dylan nodded at that, glancing up at Charlotte as he offered. "I can do it."

"Absolutely not. It's too dangerous, and if walkers somehow cut off your escape path… I just can't let you do that." She rejected, earning a heated glare from her brother. Omid watched the two stand off, nervously eyeing the walkers down the road while Charlotte continued to dig her feet in, refusing to budge on the matter. "I don't want you risking your life like that."

"Every single day in this shithole we live in I'm risking my life. When are you gonna stop treating me like a little kid?" He demanded, his question stunning Charlotte into silence as he waited for some kind of answer from his guardian. Her face fell, and she listened as he carried on in a annoyed tone. "I'm smaller than either of you, I can sneak more easily past the walkers, and I'm quicker on my feet. So, I'm going."

Charlotte shook her head, before sighing loudly and agreeing with her brother. "Alright, buddy. I'll give you this chance, but if something happens out there-"

"It won't. I promise." Dylan nodded, eager that he was finally given a chance to help the group, rather than being shoved to the sidelines by his overprotective sister. With a nod from Omid, he took out his pistol and started to make his way over to the cluster of cars, keeping low as he watched the walkers near the pharmacy. Charlotte held her breath, following after Dylan with Omid by her side. Quickly, the three separated with Charlotte and Omid sneaking over to an overturned truck, while Dylan continued forward towards the cars.

Pressing her hand against the cold metal, she peeked around the truck and watched the walkers as they remained unsuspecting of the survivors sneaking around them. Finally, she released her breath when she saw that Dylan had managed to reach the cars undetected. The teenage boy looked at the vehicles for a moment, before gesturing to Charlotte and Omid with a point of his finger, signalling them to watch the walkers while he set off the trap. She obeyed, turning her head to look over at the front of the pharmacy, watching the undead with a worried look on her face, unable to stop the feeling of something going wrong from twisting in her stomach. She had to believe in Dylan however. He was right, he couldn't be protected by her forever.

A low groan behind her set her hairs on the back of her neck straight up. Glancing behind her, she noticed that a walker had pulled itself out of the truck cab and tried to grab Omid's leg, the grown man jumping out of the way in time whilst trying to stop any yell of surprise from leaving his throat. Quickly, she pulled out her knife and stood on the walker's neck, stopping it from moving anywhere before she pierced the back of its head. All movement ceased, and blood pooled underneath its head in a small puddle, the stench overwhelming as Charlotte covered her nose in disgust. "Disgusting."

"We should be more careful." Omid pointed out, looking from behind the truck at the larger group of walkers. "Next time, we might not be so lucky it was only one walker."

She nodded in agreement. Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering caused both of them to jump in fright, the loud wailing of a car alarm blaring in the air as Charlotte felt her heart stop. Moving around the truck, she saw Dylan moving onto another car as he smashed the window with his gun, opening the passenger door to do something. Shaking her head, she wanted to yell at him to hurry up and get out of there, noticing that the walkers in front of the pharmacy had noticed the sudden sound and started advancing onto Dylan's location. Her mind was yelling at her to run and save him, but Omid had grabbed her upper arm when he saw the grown woman trying to move from their hiding spot, shaking his head silently when she looked over at him in terror. Going out there would only botch up their plan, and likely get Charlotte and the others killed, but she couldn't bare the thought of sitting there while the undead descended onto her brother.

He's just a kid. The thought ran through her mind, Charlotte repeating it with fear setting in, before she shook her mind free of the troubling ideas. Dylan was a survivor. He had to be, considering they survived for this long into the apocalypse. So, she watched, and that niggling fear in her stomach lessened somewhat when she saw that Dylan was pushing a body onto the horn, making more noise as he slammed the door shut once more. Kneeling down, he saw the walkers approaching and started to move around the car, out of Charlotte's sight. Not being able to see him, it caused warning sirens to go off in her mind, but she couldn't give much heed to them as she saw an opening to get inside the pharmacy.

"Come on!" She whispered harshly to Omid, sneaking around the truck and making her way over to the building as fast as she could. The loud sirens covered the sound of their footsteps. Glancing over at the walkers, she noticed that Dylan was no longer at the cars, and wondered where the teenager had gotten to. Cursing under her breath, she turned her attention to the front doors of the pharmacy, noticing that the glass doors had been smashed in, the glass littering the inside of the building.

"There isn't anything stopping the walkers from getting in if they find us. We gotta be quick." She ordered, slipping through the broken door with Omid close behind her. Inside, she saw that the pharmacy had already been picked over by scavengers before them, and groaned in frustration with her hands behind her head. All the shit they went through to get there, and there isn't any to show for their efforts.

"We should comb over this place. There has to be something that other people have missed." Omid wondered hopefully, trying to keep the situation light as he went around the aisles to see if there was anything left. Charlotte wondered if she should join in, but she wanted to make sure that Dylan had made it out in one piece. Peering through the door again, she saw that the walkers were still distracted, and yet she couldn't make out where her little brother was. Her heart fell, and she couldn't help but fear the worst.

However, a door opened loudly from behind the counter, causing the two survivors to be on edge as they watched the door nervously. Charlotte gripped her knife tightly, but when she saw that it was only Dylan that had opened the door, she breathed a sigh of relief and shoved her knife back into her pocket, propping the rifle up against the door before running over to the counter as Dylan closed the door behind him, and made his way over to the counter. She helped him hop over, her hands digging into his jacket as she felt the need to never let go. Instead, she embraced him tightly, her nose in his messy hair as she smelled that familiar scent. It was only then that she realised how close she was to losing it altogether.

"I appreciate the touching gesture." She heard Dylan mumble into her chest, before he managed to release himself from her grip. "But we gotta look around. The car alarms won't last forever, especially with the state the cars were in when I saw them up close."

"He's right. Come on, kid, you can help me look around." Omid offered, pausing in his search to gesture to the teenager to come and help him. Dylan nodded, lifting the backpack off his shoulders as he jogged over to where Omid was standing. Letting him go, Charlotte couldn't help but smile. The fear had gone somewhat, her brother was back with them, and she felt somewhat guilty for ever doubting that he had what it took to survive.

Glancing back at the door, she called over to the others as she walked back over to it. "I'm gonna keep an eye out. If the walkers look like they're coming back over here, we gotta be gone by the time they get back."

They didn't reply. So, she picked up the rifle again and just leaned against the door, watching as the cars continued to blare out the alarms in the distance. The walkers were trying to figure out where the food was as they circled the cars, while others just stood there, mesmerised by the sound blaring into their ears. She didn't know how long the car alarms would go on for, but given Dylan's warning, she knew that they were on borrowed time. It was times like this that she wished her father was with them. All the trucks and cars, even the family tractor, that he worked on would have been useful for them. Maybe if he was there, they wouldn't have crashed and had managed to get to Charlotte sooner. However, if they did, she dreaded to think that maybe she wouldn't have ran into Omid and the others.

"Erm, Charlie?" She heard Dylan awkwardly ask from behind the aisles. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the teenage boy shuffling over to her with something in his hands, raising an eyebrow in confusion until she saw his flushed face. Slowly, her eyes lowered to the box in is hands and her face heated up, raising a hand over her eyes as he continued. "I-I noticed… that, erm, you ran out in your bag when I was getting the food out. So…"

"Just throw them in your bag, please?" She replied, unable to bring herself to look at Dylan as he nodded quietly, practically running back to an amused Omid and carrying on with searching. Charlotte shook her head, looking back out of the pharmacy with her cheeks feeling like they were on fire. It was sweet of him to grab something for her, but it was also really embarrassing. So, she shoved that thought away and instead focused on her task on hand, narrowing her eyes when she noticed that walkers from the car park in front of a supermarket had started to move over to the cars.

She hummed under her breath, picking herself off the doorframe and looking through the sights of Omid's rifle. The supermarket looked like someone was trying to survive in there, the windows all boarded up and the doors blocked off with cars parked in front of them, looking like the attempts of desperate people. Her stomach growled when she looked over the old signs that the supermarket had up for deals on their food, and she couldn't help but wonder if there was anything left there. That was, if the people were still there. Lowering the weapon, she turned her head around and called out to the others. "There's a supermarket across the street. Could be a good a place as any to find some food."

"Worth a shot, we're running low as it is." Omid replied, shoving a bottle of something into his bag before standing up. "Not much here, anyway. Found some feminine stuff, a bottle of painkillers, and a roll of bandages."

"Guess other people just got here first." Charlotte sighed, looking around as she noticed Dylan's head bobbing up from behind an aisle on the other side of the store. Slinging the backpack over his shoulder, he glanced over the counter with a curious look, before turning back to Charlotte.

"We could check behind the counter. That's usually where they keep the good shit, right?" He asked, before moving towards the counter when Charlotte nodded in agreement. Omid followed after him, both of the survivors hopping back over the counter while the third member of the group went back to keeping an eye out of the walkers. One of the car alarms had given up, the battery likely to have died after months of neglect, but there were still a few going off that kept the walkers distracted. Her stomach twisted in worry however, as there would only be a matter of time before the other batteries gave out and the walkers were left to return to where they once were.

"I'd hurry up, guys!" She yelled back to them, her hands tightening on the rifle as she moved from her casual position against the doorframe. Rustling could be heard from behind her, and when she turned her head to look, she noticed that Dylan and Omid were packing up all they could find. In the distance, she could hear another alarm starting to fail, the once piercingly loud sirens quieting until the battery finally gave out. Only one car remained, and looking through her sights, she saw that the car with the body propped up against the horn was no longer working. "Oh shit..."

"That's the last of what's here!" Dylan piped up, hopping over the counter and running over to where Charlotte was standing, looking out at the cars as he realised that only one was working. "Fucking shit, why isn't the horn working?!"

"You mean you don't know?!" Charlotte replied in an exasperated tone, glancing down at Dylan as he narrowed his eyes in response.

"Forgive me, Dad must have skipped that lesson with me!" He growled, turning his sights back to the car as he added. "Anyway, we should get going if we don't wanna be trapped by the walkers."

"I found some vitamins behind the counter. Should be useful for Christa, you know, with her pregnancy." Omid revealed, holding up a bottle of prenatal vitamins for Charlotte to see. Nodding in response, she watched as he shoved them in his jacket pocket before passing him the rifle back. With a grateful smile, he took the gun off her and glanced over her shoulder, his smile turning into a worried frown as he muttered. "Looks like we're gonna have to get the hell outta Dodge."

"I can see the supermarket you were talking about." Dylan piped up, pointing to the boarded up building that Charlotte had spotted just before. "There could be supplies in there that we need. We gotta check it out."

"I dunno. The car's gonna give out at any moment, we should get outta here while we still can." Charlotte rejected, watching the walkers as some already started breaking away from the group, no longer interested in the car as the alarm get going off. Dylan frowned at this, and when her stomach growled again, it only proved a point to the teenager.

With a gesture of his hand, he snapped at her in annoyance. "Look at us! We ain't gonna survive if we don't have food, and if we come back another day, what if it's just like the pharmacy? What if someone already comes along and takes it?"

"There doesn't seem to be that many walkers near there. If we're quick, we can get in before the walkers even know we're there." Omid agreed, watching the walkers while Charlotte thought it over. Crossing her arms, she glanced nervously at the walkers and thought against trying their luck with them, but her crippling hunger reminded her just how desperate the group was getting. The fish traps were their hope for a renewable source of food, but what would they do if the traps ended up not catching anything?

Quietly, she sighed and nodded. "Alright, but we gotta be quick. Some of the walkers are already getting bored with the alarm."

Dylan nodded eagerly, before taking the front as the group left the pharmacy back through the destroyed doors. Quietly, they moved through the empty car park while keeping an eye of the walkers, Charlotte glancing behind at the pharmacy as they left the building behind. She had hoped that they found more for their troubles, but they would have to deal with it, and she focused on the matter at hand rather than the pitifully small take they had on their backs. The walkers that had moved away form the cars had started to roam the streets, a few making their way back to the pharmacy while the group snuck away, hiding behind the truck that Charlotte and Omid were hiding behind before. Pulling out her knife, she peered around the vehicle and noticed that the walkers hadn't noticed them yet, instead returning to the pharmacy car park.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned her head to the other two and whispered. "They hadn't noticed us."

"Yeah, but they ain't noticing the car anymore. How're we gonna get over there without tipping them off?" Dylan pointed out, moving to her side as he too peeked from behind the truck. Charlotte somewhat agreed with him on that matter, but as she continued to watch the walkers, she noticed that they were grouping up, moving further down the road as another alarm further down had been set off. Confusion struck the group, none of them saying anything as they just watched the walkers move as one towards the sound.

"What the fuck?" Charlotte muttered, sharing a look with Dylan as he shrugged his shoulder. Glancing back up, she added in a more relieved tone while watching the undead. "Well, I think this is our chance."

"I'll watch your backs." Omid offered, following after Charlotte and Dylan as they all moved from behind their cover. Standing up straight, they ran across the junction to the other side, making a beeline straight for the supermarket while the walkers were distracted. As they reached the other side, the final car had finally given out and the alarm fell silent, the few walkers that remained turning their attention to the survivors as they paused.

Charlotte gripped her knife tightly, holding her hand out in front of Omid when he made a move to shoot the walkers. "Don't. We start making noise, and the whole herd will come down on our ass. Let Dylan and I take care of it."

"I'm right beside you." Her brother replied, pocketing his pistol as he instead pulled out his own knife. Omid did what she ordered him to do, backing away and keeping an eye out while the others approached the growling walkers, poised to attack as they allowed the undead to be drawn away from the leaving group. Charlotte glanced down at the exposed shin of one of the walkers, unable to keep an eye out on Dylan as she delivered a rough kick to the leg, pushing it from underneath the walker and causing it to collapse to the ground, vulnerable as she stabbed it in the back of the head.

Pulling her weapon free with a grunt, she looked to her side and noticed that Dylan had taken care of the other walker, already piercing its skull as she noticed another walker approaching him. Running to it, she threw her shoulder into the corpse's side, sending it stumbling back and away from her brother. With the attack, it turned its attention to her and snarled, showing off its yellowed teeth with its lips missing. Disgusted with the sight, she lifted her arm and threw it forward, stabbing the walker through its eyeball and into its brain, grimacing at the fluid dripping from the damaged socket. With her other arm, she threw it to the ground and stomped on its head with her heavy boot, feeling the front of its skull caving in as she stamped on it again for good measure.

With it dead, she backed away, turning around to see Omid helping Dylan by smacking a walker in the head with the butt of his rifle, the force put behind the assault causing it to fall to the ground dead. Out of danger, she breathed heavily, trying to catch her breath back as Dylan gasped to her. "We got an opening. Might be wise if we use it now."

"You got that right, buddy." She nodded, looking up at the supermarket before running the rest of the way there. With the others behind her, she panted heavily as she looked down the road, watching the walkers as they carried on after the sound without even realising that the group had already taken care of the few stragglers left behind. Stopping in front of the cars blocking the entrance, she sighed in annoyance, trying to see if they could get through.

"Looks like someone was trying to keep the dead out." Omid pointed out, walking to her side as he kept tight hold of his rifle. "You think anyone's still in there?"

"There has to be someone in this town. The alarm down there couldn't have gone off by itself, right?" She wondered, earning an unsure shrug from Omid while Dylan walked up and down the front of the store, trying to see if he could find a way in. "Either way, these windows are boarded up tight, and we ain't getting in this way."

"I wouldn't give up so easily." Dylan piped up, a smirk on his face as he stood down the other end of the supermarket. Charlotte raised an eyebrow, curious about what he found that made him so happy, and so decided to walk down towards him with Omid beside her. When she reached his side, she realised what he was staring at with that grin of his, and listened as he added. "Looks like their maintenance wasn't up to scratch."

In front of them, she saw that one of the boards blocking the broken window wasn't secured properly, only one end being held up with an unsecured nail. Approaching it, she grabbed hold of the board and pushed hard, feeling the board give up slightly as she tried again. With another rough push, the board finally gave in and fell to the floor inside with an echoing bang. Turning to Dylan, she gave him a pleased smile as she praised him. "Good eye there, Dylan."

Smiling back at her, he waited as she lifted herself up into the window. Peering in, she stopped in her tracks as she stared in horror, the scene in front of her filling her up with dread. There were people in the supermarket. Corpses littered the floor, half decayed with flies swarming around them, the stench causing Charlotte to back off outside and retched what little contents she has in her stomach. Dylan and Omid were shocked by her reaction, unknowing about the scene inside the supermarket before the older man approached the window to peer in. Charlotte was bent over, staring down at the vomit on the floor before wiping her mouth with her sleeve. On her back, she felt Dylan's hand rubbing her softly, his voice concerned as he asked her. "What's wrong, Charlie?"

"Holy shit." Omid piped up, finally seeing what Charlotte saw before he backed away. "Oh, that is not right."

Dylan, pushed with curiosity and worry at the same time, moved towards him and peeked through the window, seeing the massacre inside as he too couldn't stop himself from retching, running past Omid as he threw up. Straightening herself up, she turned towards Omid and saw his distraught face, shocked to see the death inside the supermarket. She thought they would at least be used to it, especially given her past, but seeing all that up close, the stench of rotting flesh wafting into her nose, it was too much for her already sensitive stomach. Still, she pulled herself together and walked over to Dylan, comforting him as he continued to empty his stomach on the tarmac of the car park.

"Come on, buddy." She muttered, helping him upright while he wiped his mouth with a disgusted expression on his face. "We still have to see if there's anything in there that'll make this trip worthwhile."

Nodding, he moaned under his breath, before following after Charlotte and Omid as they pulled themselves through the window again. Jumping down on the other side, she grimaced as she stood in a blood smear, lifting her boot to examine it while sighing to herself. The stench was dreadful, but she had to keep moving around the bodies and the counters to see if there was anything there. With Omid by her side, she instructed him with a gesture of her hand. "It's a pretty big place. We'll need to split up to cover as much ground as possible. I'll take Dylan with me and check this half, you go and check that half."

"Sounds good. We'll meet here when we're done." He suggested, earning a nod from Charlotte before he walked away from the others. With that half being taken cared of, she turned to Dylan and offered him a sympathetic look when she noticed him looking at all the bodies. The sorrow was clear on his face, and as she walked towards him, she listened as he spoke.

"They were people once." He whispered, looking up at her with guilt in his eyes. "People, just like Aaron, Grace, Michelle… everyone in our group. I wanted to hate them for killing Samantha, but some of them were my friends. It hurts, knowing all the things that they did… all the things you and Liz did."

"Now you know why we left. The group, they were scared, but they were making all the wrong choices. I didn't want you or Mason to make those choices either." She confessed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "At least now, they're all in peace. They don't have to live in this shitty world anymore."

"I was such an asshole. I just acted like their deaths were nothing, that they somehow deserved it. They did stupid things, we all did, and yet we're here and they're just more bodies on the road. More of the dead." He sniffed, rubbing his nose with his sleeve as he continued. "I just wanted to hate them. It's easier to hate them than to admit that the people you cared about did such shitty things."

"We can make it up, though. All the things I did, I will make up for them, and that's why I'm going to keep this group alive. Whatever it takes." She promised, guiding Dylan away from the bodies as she muttered softly. "Come on, we still gotta see what's left."

He offered no resistance to her suggestion. Instead, he followed after her silently as they started to comb through the aisles, looking for anything that could be taken. While he started grabbing a few packet of noodles that had been left behind, Charlotte looked down at the freezers, noticing that they were all mostly empty. Given that it had been months since the freezers even worked, she wouldn't trust any of the food that was left behind. So, she just looked through the aisles. The group that had been there before must have started to feel the strain of finding food, considering that as the two moved through the aisles, there wasn't that much left. From behind her, she heard Dylan sigh. "Maybe other people came here and took what was left?"

"There doesn't seem to be any sign of entry, though." She pointed out, picking up a pack of water bottles. She tested the weight, nodding with a smile on her face she see looked over at her brother. "It may not be much, but we need anything we can find."

"Take it out of the packaging and we can fit it in my bag." He explained, pulling the bag off his shoulder while Charlotte started to take the bottles out of the packaging. With the bag opened in front of her, she started tossing in the bottles while Dylan continued to look over the shelves for anything else. Staring at the contents of the bag, she was surprised when Dylan came back with cans in his arms, a pleased look on his face as he laughed. "I found them down there. More beans, and even some canned soup!"

"Soup's always great on a winter day. Shove them in." She smiled, standing up and looking at the picked clean shelves while Dylan packed up his findings. From the windows high up, she could see that the sun was starting to dip behind the buildings, the skies still that deep blue but the light starting to fade, the clouds starting to form as it looked like it would rain soon, or worse. She couldn't deal with walking in the cold again.

"There's some stuff down this way." Dylan piped up, gesturing for Charlotte to follow after him as he jogged down the aisle with his bag over his shoulder. She ran after him, wondering what he found that got him so riled up, watching him as he swung around a corner into another aisle and tried to keep up with the agile survivor. When she too turned around the corner, she saw that it was a stationary supplies aisle. What was left, anyway. Ignoring the files and packets of envelopes that were left behind, she joined back up with Dylan as he stopped near something, the teenage boy lifting up what appeared to be a school bag in his hand.

"You should have one. We can carry more, then." He explained, passing the bag to Charlotte and going about his own business as she looked down at it. It was black in colour, but on the front pocket of the item was a smiley face, and she couldn't help but smile herself at her brother's kindness. So, she pulled the bag over her shoulders and approached him again, noticing that he was eyeing up a book that was abandoned on the shelves.

Glancing up at her for a moment, he looked back and shrugged. "I was just thinking. It should be Christmas soon, I mean, as close as I can think. I don't have a calendar but I'm pretty sure. So, it might be nice if we can find something for Mason and Clementine… Something they can open up on the day."

"That's a sweet idea, Dylan." She replied softly, earning a bashful look from her brother as she picked up the book he was eyeing. Flicking through the pages, she realised that it was in fact a colouring book, the blank drawings on the pages showing animals, plants, even mythical creatures like dragons and unicorns. Looking at him from the corner of her eye, she closed the book and took off her new backpack, shoving it in while smiling. "Clementine should like this book. See if y'all can find some crayons or something for her to colour in with."

Nodding with a grin, he walked over to the part of the aisle where all the pens and stuff were kept, looking over the remaining stock while Charlotte watched him, before deciding to find something for the teenager to open on Christmas as well. Looking around, she combed through the aisles for something that would please her brother, knowing that he was too old for colouring. Moving further down the aisle, she paused when she noticed the book section, spotting a few comic books amongst the more adult books left. Grabbing them, she looked over the cover, noticing it was about superheroes and that. Dylan wasn't a big fan of reading, but he was a big fan of superheroes, ever since he was just a kid. With a nod, she glanced over her shoulder and, when she noticed that Dylan wasn't paying attention, she shoved the comics into her bag quickly.

She looked back up at the books, noticing some of the romance novels and decided that maybe Christa, and herself, would enjoy the books for some entertainment. Plucking a couple off the shelf, she shoved them in with the comics and zipped her bag back up, standing up just in time as she heard Dylan's voice from behind her. "I found some good crayons for Clementine, and I grabbed some drawing stuff in case she finished her book. Paper too."

Turning around, she spotted all the stuff in his hand and nodded with a bright smile, unzipping her bag and taking the supplies off him, quickly shoving them in as she mumbled. "Now we just need something for Mason."

"He already has some CDs from our trip up here. Maybe, we can find something else?" Dylan asked, searching through the stock to see if there was anything they could take. Charlotte joined him in his search, unsure what it was that Mason would want. All this time, she was surprised that she didn't really know his likes or his wants. Before the plague, he was just focused on school, and after everything that's happened, he's just focused on survival. It was quite sad.

Picking up a humorous birthday card, she chuckled at the funny looking penguin on the front before putting it back in the shelf. With Dylan behind her, she spoke up in an amused tone. "You know, considering we're his family, it's a bit strange that we don't know what he wants for Christmas."

"Tell me about it." Dylan responded in a dry tone, picking up a snowglobe with a frown before putting it back down. "I get more flak about it, considering we're twins."

"And so you should, now keep looking." She shot back, earning a glare form Dylan as he did what he was told. Slowly, they made their way up the end of aisle, their findings coming to nil as Charlotte sighed to herself, placing her hands on her hips as she looked around. "Come on, we should meet back up with Omid."

"Wait." Dylan replied suddenly, stopping for a moment before he jogged past Charlotte. Confused, she watched as he stopped near a stand that was separate from all the others, looking over the contents while she wondered what it was that he was doing. After a few seconds, he plucked something off the shelf and turned around, approaching his sister again as he showed her his findings.

In his hand was a polaroid camera, a grin on his face as he finally piped up. "Mason's told me before that he wished he grabbed a picture of our parents before we left. I was thinking that we could give this to him, so he'll have a picture of all of us. In case…"

His face fell, the gravity of their situation setting in as Charlotte stared at him with empathy in her eyes. Slowly, she approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder and smiling sadly, trying to get him to smile back at her as she nodded her head in agreement. "That's a lovely idea. I'm sure Mason will love it."

His smile came back. Her kind words helped him out of his depressive state, and quickly, he shoved the camera in her backpack before the two started making their way back towards the front part of the store, picking up any forgotten food that they could find. While the haul was definitely better than that of the pharmacy, they would definitely need the fish traps to work out if they were going to survive through the winter. Finally, they reached the front of the store again, though Omid had yet to return from wherever he was. So, Charlotte decided to wait for him, propping herself up onto the conveyor belt next to the till with her backpack beside her. Dylan just walked around, unable to keep still like she could. Sitting there, she could no longer hear the alarms in the distance, wondering how long it would be before the walkers would wander back to this part of town, and decided that they should be gone before then.

Quietly, she heard Dylan swear to himself. "Shit."

"What's up?" She asked quietly, keeping her voice low to avoid drawing attention from anything that may be just outside.

Dylan stopped his pacing, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as he sighed. "I forgot to grab Omid something for Christmas. It wouldn't be cool to get everyone else something and not him."

"Well…" She paused, before deciding to let the teen stray away from her for that moment. "Go and quickly grab him something. I think I saw a joke book back in the other aisle."

"Sure." He nodded, before turning on his heel and rushing back to the aisle where the books were. Charlotte smiled at the sight of him running to find Omid something, shaking her head while chuckling deeply to herself. Dylan may have tried to act like a tough survivor, similar to all the other men in their group, but he did have a heart of gold when given a chance. She just hoped that he wouldn't lose that the longer they went surviving in this world.

She sat there in silence, keeping an ear out for any of those telltale groans that signalled it was time for them to pack up and go. All that she could hear though was the distant birdsong and the wind blowing through the open window, the chilled winter frost causing goosebumps to form on her skin, even when she was wearing multiple layers of clothes. She wished she was back in Texas. The warm summer nights, the beautiful beaches near the Gulf down south, the deep blue ocean and the rivers that her father took her fishing on. She remembered a time where she thought she caught a huge catfish and tried so hard to reel it in, only for it to be an old tire that someone chucked into the river beforehand. Her father wanted to laugh, she knew that, but he didn't. Seeing the disappointment on his young daughter's face, he just put the fishing rod back in her hands and told her to keep trying.

Never give up.

She held those words of advice close to her. In his thoughts, she didn't hear the footsteps coming towards her until she spotted Omid approaching, pushing her memories away as she offered him a smile and asked quietly. "You find anything?"

"There was a small medicine section at the back. Most of the stuff was gone, but I did find some antibiotics. Other than that, just noodles and juice boxes." He revealed, lifting his backpack further up his shoulder while holding his rifle in his other hand. Looking around, he raised an eyebrow and questioned the only survivor there. "Where's Dylan?"

She didn't know what to say, and rather spoil the surprise, she just deflected the question. "He's just gone on a last minute sweep, see if we missed anything. We found some stuff for Clementine and Mason, you know, for Christmas."

"That's an awesome idea. What'd you get them?" He complimented, leaning against the conveyor belt that Charlotte was sitting on, propping his rifle up next to him. Charlotte glanced at her bag, pleased with what she and Dylan picked out for the others.

"We found a colouring book and crayons for Clementine, and a camera for Mason. He wanted pictures of our parents before we left our house, down in Texas… but he never got the chance. At least now, he can have pictures of all of us." She explained, earning an saddened smile from Omid, before he tried to lighten up the mood again.

"Hey, make sure he gets my good side, then." He joked, earning a soft laugh from Charlotte as she watched the front of the aisles, wondering where her brother had gotten off to. She couldn't help it, but worry started to make her stomach twist painfully, the gut feeling like it was tying itself into knots, and yet her brain scolded her for getting so wound up when Dylan was gone for literally minutes.

It was just too quiet. Even Omid was starting to get unnerved with the silence, and evening starting to set in while the light was fading from the skies. Slowly, she jumped down from the conveyor belt and shared a worried glance with the other survivor beside her, the both of them unwilling to say anything in case it jinxed them. Suddenly, she heard something fall to the ground, a loud smash of something like glass breaking echoing through the air, and her heart stop when she heard Dylan's voice yell out. "Get the fuck away from me!"

"Dylan?!" She called out desperately, already running ahead while Omid fumbled for his rifle, trying to keep up with the taller woman as they pelted it down the aisles. Her mind was racing with thoughts, pleading that nothing happened to her brother. Anyone but him. Please, if there was a God up there, let Dylan be spared. With her mind distracted, she almost tripped over her own two feet, her hands pushing her off the ground as she recovered from the blunder. Again, she heard Dylan yell for her.

"Charlie, help!" His frightened voice spurred her to move faster, and when she spun around the corner, she saw Dylan trying to escape someone's grip. It wasn't the undead, as they made no attempt to bite him, and the gun to his head made her heart stop and her face fall in horror. Finally, Dylan spotted her standing there, trying to escape the person's grip as he snapped. "Get off!"

"Get away from him!" She snarled, pulling her pistol out of her pocket and aiming it at the person, her narrowed eyes glaring at them. Omid raised his rifle, ready to defend the group if given the chance, and the three of them were at a standoff. The person was just a woman, dulled eyes staring at them with dark bags underneath, her hair in a messy bun and her skin a sickly pale.

"Put the guns down." She ordered in a chilling voice, keeping a tight grip around Dylan's neck as she snapped. "I ain't gonna shoot a child, but I ain't gonna let some assholes roll over me with my supplies!"

"Your supplies? The place was abandoned when we came here, everyone that was here is dead!" Omid pointed out, unsure what the woman was talking about.

His words caused her eyes to widen, a look of pure rage on her face as she growled at them. "They were my friends! We escaped the place, but no, we can never escape this hellhole! You think all you gotta worry about is the dead, but the living will turn on you just as easily! Those people, I thought we were in it together! They lied! You'll lie too!"

"Easy there." Charlotte tried to calm, starting to worry about the survivor's mental state as she raised her hand, trying to approach them to save her brother. Dylan watched with widened eyes, quietly whimpering when his captor shoved the pistol further to his head, closing his eyes momentarily while his sister questioned the deranged woman. "What's happened here?"

"Don't come here with your niceties! That's what the man was like, he said everything will be alright and that we were safe, but I knew better! You're never safe!" She rambled, pulling Dylan further back as she backed away from Charlotte. "Don't you take a step closer, I mean it!"

"Who's the man? Where's this place that your group escaped from?" Omid asked, joining in on the questioning to see what had happened.

The woman glanced over at him, her eyes looking him over before stopping on the rifle aimed at her, before she started to break down into hysterical sobs. Charlotte watched with caution, unsure what would set her off again, but she couldn't leave Dylan in that situation any longer. Finally, the woman gasped between sobs. "He said it was safe! Then… all the rules came in, all the bullshit and the death! I lost my family! I don't know where they are or if they're alright! My little baby… He's only a baby, he needs his mother!"

"Hon…" Charlotte started, moving against towards them with her hand reached out. "Do you know where your family is? Do you need help finding them?"

Quickly, the woman stopped crying and glared at Charlotte, her voice a piercing snarl as she snapped at them. "They were here! When I left to get help, they stayed behind to help someone in our group who was sick! They're all gone… The dead don't lie, but people who were meant to watching out for us lied! I'm not going back, you tell them that Ol' Hilda knows their dirty tricks!"

"Hilda, you're not making any sense. Please, just let Dylan go and we'll leave you alone." Charlotte begged, starting to grow more worried for the safety of Dylan. When the teen tried to removed himself from Hilda's grasp, she tightened her grip and moved back again, seemingly unwilling to actually pull the trigger. That didn't mean she was willing to test that theory, though.

"You his mother?" She suddenly asked, her voice a softer tone than the constant screeching she was doing just then. Charlotte paused for a second, glancing at her brother before shaking her head in response, listening as Hilda carried on. "That won't do. The poor boy, he's only young. Boys need their mother."

"Our mother died months ago. I'm all he has left. So, please, give him back." She begged, watching as Hilda thought about it before quickly adding in a pleading tone. "You lost your family, Hilda. Please, don't take mine away from me."

"You folks should leave now. It's not safe when it gets dark." Hilda suddenly pointed out, confusing the others as she continued to ramble. "I was a mother. I had a little boy with beautiful blue eyes, just like Dylan has. I can be a mother again. We can live here and I won't let what happened to my family happen to him. He'll be my little boy."

"That's out of the question. I can't leave without my brother!" Charlotte snapped, unwilling to abandon her brother to the mad woman. Omid tried to stop her from physically attacking Hilda, grabbing her upper arm tight to make sure the situation didn't escalate out of control, but Charlotte's adamant refusal with the woman's suggestion caused her to turn again.

"You think you're safe out there, that you'll keep him safe and alive! You don't know what you're doing! In the end, we're all gonna die, and I'd rather shoot this boy here than let him leave this place with you, because no matter what, he's just gonna die anyway!" She screamed, her finger moving to the trigger as Dylan cried out in panic, trying to fight against her grip as she continued in her rant. "You're not even his mother! What do you know on raising a child?! How are you gonna keep any of these people ali-?!"

Charlotte didn't give her a chance to finish her ranting as she fired her gun, watching as the bullet shot through the front of her forehead, the blood trickling out as she stared ahead in shock. Dylan took the opportunity to get free of her grip, running forward into Charlotte's arms as the body collapsed to the ground. Her hands gripped into his jacket, keeping him close as he finally broke in her arms, crying softly as she comforted the traumatised teen, shushing him while Omid moved past them. She stayed where she was, watching as he picked up the gun from Hilda's hand and stared at the scene with shock still on his face. Slowly, he turned to face her with widened eyes, none of them unable to say anything as she continued to shush her brother, trying to get him calm enough.

"I had to do it." She finally whispered, meeting Omid's eyes with her own as she repeated herself. "I had to do it. I couldn't lose Dylan. I promised my parents I would protect them no matter what…"

"Shit." That was all Omid could say, before he just stared down at the corpse as the blood formed a puddle under her head. Charlotte looked down at the unblinking eyes staring up at the ceiling, wondering what had happened that pushed the woman so far mentally that she just snapped. With a sniffling Dylan in her arms, she lowered her face until the lower part was pressed into his jacket, holding him close while she finally closed her eyes. She couldn't bare to look at what she did. Hilda was too far along, there was no other way, her brain kept telling her over and over again, trying to think of some excuse for what she did.

You killed people before. Why is she any different? Her thoughts pointed out, and she honestly had no answer for them. She did kill before, and it was usually without much provocation. It was just business. It was survival. But kneeling there, she realised that it was survival that pushed her to pull the trigger. Cruel mercy. The woman was too far gone, and she had lost so much. She made a choice, and so she would have to live with the consequences on her conscious.

She had to do it.

[luminarai]

ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE THIZZEE AU !!! (still set in 1979)

let it be known that i spent most of my young teen years completely buried in fantasy and young adult novels of varying quality and this prompt just catapulted me years back in time (also weirdly reminding me that at some point i wrote half a novel about an awkward zombie dude who worked in a bookshop and fell in with a demon (?) with terrible eyesight? idk i forget the details) so i loved this prompt!

one day, i’ll be able to write a prompt about these two with less than 1000 words. but not today. also: the symbols mentioned are old viking sigil runes and magic staves. i had a norse mythology obsession as a child?? i was a weird kid

Dizzee’s going to die. He’s going to die and all he can think is, dad fucking told you so. And yes, intheory, art is worth dying for but in actual-fucking-reality, he’s really notready to die in an abandoned train yard, eaten by zombies.

Before the Virus, he’d watched a lot of zombie films, usually the badlyproduced cheap b-horror kinds, mostly with Ra Ra. He remembers thinking that themost ridiculous, unbelievable part was the fact that the dumb main characterssomehow always almost got caught by the zombies who moved at a near-glacialspeed. Biggest plot hole ever, he’d thought. Who’d be stupid enough to getcaught by zombies?

Turns out the answer to that question is, him, apparently. It also turns out that zombies ravaged by a rampantbrain virus causing necrosis and the unstoppable urge to eat human flesh move alot faster than those b-films had suggested. They’re also a lot scarier. Whatwith actually being real and all that.

Dizzee’s running as fast as his legs can take him, having already thrownaway his bag and all extra ballast possible, and he can still hear the growlingand moaning just a handful of feet behind him, the weird dragging slump-crunch of heavy limbs moving franticallyon gravel. One of the zombies he’d caught a glance of before running had beenmissing half its head, one arm hanging toolow by its side, a single milk-blue eye staring unthinkingly ahead. Dizzeesupposes it’s some sort of karmic irony that the zombie had been wearing a tornpolice uniform. 

But worst of all is the smell. It’s the stench that permeates most ofthe Old Bronx, the sickening reek of rotting flesh. Putrid with decay butsomehow still human and alive. It seemsto billow towards him like a fog, swirling around him like tendrils that tightentheir grip on his throat, forcing their way down his airways and making himgag.

The crumbling tunnel is pitch black around him and his lungs are burningbut Dizzee doesn’t want to die, he refusesto die, torn apart by zombies in No-Man’s Zone, leaving his mom and dad behindwithout ever truly knowing what has happened to him but being able tohorrifically guess at the truth.

That’s the moment that a voice calls, hushed, from a small, hiddenopening in the tunnel wall, “In here!” And it could easily be a trap but, hey,there’s at least a dozen zombies at his heels and Dizzee’s always believed intaking risks.

He grabs the hand offered to him and hurtles through the opening, slamminginto the wall of the small alcove it leads into. His heart is racing but hedoesn’t dare to breathe until the groaning and crunching outside start tosubside and then disappear.

The boy next to him, his saving grace, looks to be about Dizzee’s agebut that’s about where the resemblance ends; broad where Dizzee is lean, he’s builtfor close combat, and his long blonde hair has been swept into a tight braid. He’sa study in opposites – delicate silver jewelry in his ears, intricate andweirdly familiar symbols inked onto the pale skin of his arms, dark stains onhis jeans that Dizzee’s willing to bet have the color of rust in daylight. He’sgot a tight, focused look on his face but his features are soft; the lowlighting makes it impossible to tell but he’s probably got blue or green eyes andthose lips look like they’re a shade of pink that will haunt Dizzee for weeks. Byhis belt hangs an honest-to-god long-shafted war hammer.

Dizzee’s in fucking love.

“We’re lucky that the walkers can’t see for shit in the dark,” the boybreathes and finally looks at Dizzee. His mouth hangs open for a bit, then heblinks. “Uh. You. What are you doing out here?”

Dizzee should probably be more suspicious. This boy may be beautiful andhe may just have saved him, but he’s a complete stranger, and a stranger thathangs out in No-Man’s Zones and calls zombies walkers like he’s one of those rich assholes that escaped toAustralia before the Virus took over most of the country at that.

There’s a lot of things Dizzee should do. Like not go painting in No-Man’sZones. He never claimed to be smart.

“I was painting,” he breathes and then he’s rambling, words all butfalling out of his mouth without his permission. “On one of the old subwaycars, you know the ones that can be seen in the Safe Zone and all the way overto the Rubble Fields. I was going to write, nowis the time to unite the soul and the world, now is the time to see the sunlight.All those people out there, we’ve all lost everything but they deserve to know.They deserve to know that there’s hope even in this wretched place, that aslong as we keep going there will be light again. 

The boy is staring at him as he talks, eyes bright even in the darkness.When Dizzee finally runs out of breath, he says quietly, “You’re Rumi, aren’tyou,” in a way that isn’t a question. Then, “Holy shit. You’re amazing. You’relike the voice of the rebellion, you know? You’re fucking brilliant, man.” 

Dizzee’s been called a lot of things through the years. Weird, daydreamer,an alien – but brilliant? That’s a whole new ball game. “What,” he says. “Wait.You know who I am? Who are you?” 

“I’m nobody,” the boy says and shifts in – embarrassment? Is heblushing? Dizzee feels like he’s been hit by a train. “I just – I make thesesymbols around the city, you know? Like sigils, sort of, or. Yeah.”

Finally, Dizzee sees the bag of spray paint by their feet, quite similarto his own. It’s a rush when he realizes, “Oh my – you’re Thor, aren’t you? Iknew I could recognize those tats.”

Thor he’s – he’s almost an urban legend, of sorts. They all call him a phantombecause he seems to go through walls, travelling through all the zones of thecity, emblazoning runic symbols wherever he goes. They’ve taken on a languageof their own, signals of safe spaces, places to find food and clean water,where to find congregations of Rebels and Fighters. Dizzee doesn’t know howmany times he’s used those symbols to find his way through the city.

Thor smiles, seemingly helplessly, and Dizzee feels lighter than he hasin, well, years, since before they had run from the Bronx, since long beforethe Virus first started spreading through the alleys of the boroughs. He’s theoldest and seeing his siblings growing up scared, seeing his father’s voicegrow quiet through the years and his mother’s hands pale from worrying, was thefirst reason why he started spraying messages of hope on high walls and slantedrooftops around the city. But he hasn’t actually felt much hope until now,staring at this boy with the symbol of the Rebellion tattooed starkly on hisforearm.

Thor seems to shake himself. “We need to get out of here, before thewalkers come back,” he says, glancing out of the alcove. “I can get you back tothe Safe Zones. I know the way.”

Of course he does. Dizzee doesn’t actually swoon like an actress in anold black and white Hollywood film but it’s a close thing. Without eventhinking, he reaches out and grabs Thor’s hand in his, twining their fingerstogether. Both their palms are rough against the other’s but their hands slottogether like two pieces of a puzzle.

Thor swallows audibly and shoots him another one of those helpless, awedsmiles. Dizzee thinks he’ll never grow tired of that smile. There’s already animage of his next piece blooming behind his eyes. “Let’s go,” he says, and Thortugs him back into the tunnel and out into the night air.

[juicy-cookie]

Through The Valley - Chapter 8

Fic Summary: A deeper look into The Sanctuary.

Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. Boy has a weird obsession with a baseball bat, promiscuity and the word “fuck”. Girl has to find out if she can look past these things. Also, zombies and shit.

AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10075958/chapters/24405657

Tags: @rickdixonandthefandomlifeposts @embracetheapocalypsewithme @redisunamused @kinkozan @lupienne @theblack-wolf @lovingzombiechaos @dragonracer @miiraal

Pairing: Negan X OFC

Chapter Summary:  Blood, brains and spidermonkeys

(I know the last chapter has been a little boring, so I hope this one will make up for it)

Word Count: 4316

The black van sped across the deserted road through fields that had been untouched by human hands for so long that all that was growing now were six-foot tall weeds, parched by the long summer that was now coming to a close.

Negan was scanning their surroundings for signs of walker activity, but the trip to their destination had been calm so far. A little too calm for his taste, since one of the van’s occupants was sound asleep with her head resting against the window and the remaining three people were respectful enough not to disturb her. He usually liked to chat during these long drives, and talk about the upcoming mission, but he guessed that it was better to let Lilly catch a few more Zs, before they would have to start their scavenging. Best to have his companions well-rested to face whatever was out there.

Their meeting on the day before had been quick and efficient. His declaration that Lilly would actually lead this run had been met by a couple of seconds of stunned silence, but when they had explained that every potential scavenger had to plan their first mission, she had stepped up immediately. Lilly had presented them with a ledger full of places she had already been to and had the grace to look ashamed when Negan had asked her why she hadn't shown him her notes before.

They had decided on a small town halfway between Sanctuary and the place where she and Jax had lived. Lilly had been there before and had told them that there were a couple of stores there that might be interesting. Even if the aisles had already been looted, the surrounding houses might still hold something interesting from people who had lived there the first couple of days into the apocalypse.

The apocalypse. Negan still couldn't warm up to the word. It sounded like nuclear fallout and an exploding sun and the end of mankind, although the latter wasn't too far from the truth, he supposed. He remembered watching movies about people roaming deserted wastelands and he used to make fun of the idiot characters that he had been sure wouldn't last two days in a real situation like that. He had liked to make up scenarios in his head and had arrogantly declared that he would have no problems keeping himself and Lucille safe. They'd probably end up the last two people on earth. As they passed the fourth abandoned farmhouse this day, he couldn't help but chuckle lightly at the irony of it all.

Lilly seemed to be an extremely light sleeper, because she woke up with a start and asked him “What's so funny?”

“Your face.”

“My face? What's funny about my face?”

“It's all fucking busy when you sleep. Like you've got some important shit to do.”

“Well, I do. I'm sleeping. Sleep is important.”

“Yeah, I fucking noticed that with you.”

“We're here,” Seth announced from the driver's seat and they all looked out of the car to inspect the town they had just arrived in. It looked just like any other place nowadays. Rusting cars, overgrown yards and hedges, buildings with windows that were either broken or blind. Lilly absentmindedly reached for her bow and quiver on the floor of the van and Negan copied her actions with Lucille. They had all spotted the walkers shuffling along the fronts of the stores and office buildings, which had by now heard or seen the van driving up the street and had started to instinctively follow the loud and moving object.

“This place is infested. We should go back or find somewhere else to scavenge,” Laura quietly remarked. Negan thought so, too, but he wanted to see what Lilly would do. He could use a bloody date with Lucille. He just wasn't sure if it was worth the hassle, since the stores around them seemed to have already been looted.

Lilly was busy concentrating on the buildings, turning her head left and right to look out of the car windows while Seth kept maneuvering the van slowly through the street. They had by now summoned a group of about ten biters that were following the van through town, snarling and reaching out for them with rotting fingers.

“Stop the car!” Lilly commanded, turning around to assess the walker situation.

“Lil, there are quite a lot of them,” Seth argued, but Negan was already in fighting mode, gripping Lucille and fiddling with the door latch, ready to jump out as soon as the van stopped. The girl wanted to kill, he'd happily help her to blow off some steam.

“Give us some distance. Go fast to that laundromat and stop there.”

Lilly's tone didn't leave any more room for arguments and Negan was impressed by how dominant she could be if she wanted to.

Seth stopped as he was told, but instead of jumping into the street, Lilly opened her door and climbed up to the roof of the van. Negan, Laura and Seth all stepped out of the van, their eyes wandering between the group of hungry walkers and the woman on top of the van, who had already nocked and drawn the first arrow.

“Keep behind me until I say otherwise,” she called down to them while aiming for the walker leading the group that was now about sixty feet away. She released the arrow into the herd and the first walker fell with several behind it stumbling over its now finally dead corpse. Lilly didn’t lose any time admiring her own handiwork and had already nocked a second arrow and added another walker to the ground. Her whole body was as tense in concentration as the bowstring she was pulling back to aim for a third headshot, but her fourth arrow ended up in the biter’s neck and the remaining undead had now come uncomfortably close. Lilly slipped her head through the bow so it would sit on her back and hopped down from the van’s roof, while barking orders at Negan, Seth and Laura:

“Seth to the left, Negan to the right. Make some noise. Try to split them up. Laura and I take care of what’s left. Go!”

Seth and Laura glanced at Negan to watch for any signs of disapproval, but he was already on his way to flank the right side of the herd, holding Lucille in a vice grip and grinning like a madman. He was happy to finally get some action and Lilly’s little show on the van had made him all the more excited to bash in some rotten heads. His and Lucille’s thirst for blood resulted in two dead walkers before the others had even time to get into position. The remaining ones went for his companions, who were now ready to end them. Seth and Laura used their respective knives on the walkers closest to them, while Lilly was busy grabbing the arrow that stuck out of the neck of the one she had missed earlier. She used the arrow to keep her distance from the biter’s snapping teeth and sunk her machete into its eye socket. It dropped to the ground and the arrow slid out. Lilly put it into the quiver behind her back and went for the next walker, this time bringing the blade down on its head and kicking one foot into its stomach to free the machete from where it got stuck in brain and bones.

Negan watched her in fascination until he noticed the last remaining biter had managed to get dangerously close to Lilly while she had her back on them. He ran over and swung Lucille in a wide arc, ending the battle in a rain of blood and rotting tissue.

He straightened his back and looked around for Seth, Laura and Lilly to make sure everyone was still in one piece. Laura was standing in the middle of the pile of dead walkers, panting slightly and cleaning her knife on some undead’s shirt. Seth was grinning and giving him a thumb’s up from across the street. Lilly was still standing next to her kill and was watching him intently. She smirked, said “Thanks!” and went to retrieve her remaining three arrows before she ran across the street to take a look into the shop windows there. Laura and Seth did the same, but they all shrugged and shook their heads after every inspection. Lilly was still busy peeking into every window as she made her way back down the street in the direction they had come from, until she stopped and sheathed her machete to look at an unassuming office structure with her hands on her hips. The rest of of their small group tried some more windows, but anything valuable seemed to already be gone and Negan could feel himself and Seth and Laura grow frustrated.

He joined Lilly in front of the three-story building at the end of the block.

“We stopped for this shit? What’s so fucking special about it?”

“See the steel door and the bars on all the windows? The other buildings on the street don't have that. Someone thought that whatever is inside is worth protecting. At the very least it’s a great hide-out.”

“Well, tough fucking luck. I'm not going to risk destroying the van by trying to rip out that door or the bars.”

“I don't think we have to. There should be access to the building on the roof,” Lilly mused as they walked around the corner into a small alley with some dumpsters. They both looked up the building to assess any possible entryways.

“Are we gonna fly up there? Someone destroyed the fucking fire escape.” Negan pointed at the warped and rusting metal stairs that had escaped from their hinges and were now hanging into the alley.

“No, I can get up there. I’ll try to open the door for you from the inside.”

“What if it’s full of dead fuckers, or worse, living?”

“Let’s check!” Lilly said cheerfully and walked back to the steel door, pulling out her machete on her way there. She put her ear to the door and listened intently for a couple of seconds before she raised her machete and used the handle to knock on the door three times. She then went back to listening to whatever was inside and Negan mimicked her so as not to feel entirely useless. He concentrated hard on any sounds and then he heard it: a muffled snarling and a scratching sound as if someone, or something, was clawing on the other side of the heavy steel. He stepped back and raised his eyebrows at Lilly who put her index finger on her lips and closed her eyes for a moment, still listening to the sounds inside the building.

“Okay, should be two, maybe three walkers. I can handle those.”

“So, let me get this straight. You’re going to climb up there somehow, try to get in through the roof, kill at least two biters on your own -and that’s only what you heard on the ground floor; there might be dozens of undead assholes in that building- and then open this heavy-ass door for us, so we can all waltz in and take whatever is inside. IF there even is something worth taking inside.”

“Yep. That’s pretty much the plan. The other buildings have been picked clean and I’m pretty sure it all went into this building. I think it’s worth a shot.”

“Well, it’s your fucking mission,” he shrugged and they made their way back to the others. Lilly slipped her bow and quiver from her shoulders and handed them to Seth, telling him to “Take good care of it!” and her eyes fixated on the building in front of her. She asked Laura for her flashlight, which she slipped into her belt, exclaimed “Geronimo!” and took off to the building’s wall in a run. Negan realized now what she had been looking at so intently a minute earlier. When Lilly reached the building, she grabbed onto the metal drain pipe that ran along the facade, jumped a little to place her feet on the left and the right of the pipe and started climbing up the wall.

“Holy shit! She’s a fucking spidermonkey!” Negan exclaimed and he and the two others laughed.

Lilly reached the roof in record time and hoisted herself over the parapet, which made Negan remember the defined arms and shoulders he had noticed on her during their little half-assed tryst back when they had found her. She disappeared for a moment, only to come back to the edge of the roof and yell down at them that the roof access door was indeed unlocked and that she would see them downstairs in a minute. Seth shouted back at her to be careful and she saluted them with a hand to her temple, took her machete and the flashlight from her belt and disappeared again. They heard a loud creaking sound, like metal grating over concrete and then there was silence.

The atmosphere down in the street immediately became tense again, while Negan and his two lieutenants waited for Lilly to let them in and it hit Negan that this had been an incredibly stupid idea. One girl clearing out an entire building by herself, going in blind to who knew how many undead freaks, and for what?

“You think she’s going to be okay?” Laura asked what everyone was thinking.

“She’s tough. She can handle herself around those things,” Seth reassured her. He had seen Lilly in action while working on the fence and Negan knew that they had become friendly. He usually trusted Seth’s judgement, but he still felt a nervousness creeping up his spine and after a couple of minutes of them stupidly staring at the door in silence, he couldn’t stand still anymore. He swung Lucille over his shoulder and walked up to the building, followed by Seth and Laura, to try and listen for any movement inside.

Negan put his ear to the door again, but he couldn’t pick up anything with the other two behind him starting to talk about what they might find inside.

“Will you shut your fucking traps for just one second?” he barked at them in frustration, when they all suddenly jumped back from the door after hearing a loud noise of scraping metal. The door swung open, revealing darkness and a very serious looking Lilly.

She looked even paler than usual when she rushed past them and Seth's concerned question if she was alright was met with a grunted “I'm fine. Building is clear.”

Seth and Laura entered and Negan followed suit to find out what had upset his newest Savior and if all the hassle had been at least worth it. They were greeted by an overwhelming stench of decay, piles of blankets and food cans and three corpses lying by the stairs to the upper levels.

“Another fucking jackpot,” Negan grinned when he discovered water jugs and pasta packages, but his grin was quickly wiped from his face when he took a closer look at the three bodies. All three had obviously been walkers when Lilly had killed them and all three bore a tell-tale stab wound to their heads. However, only two of the three bodies were adult sized.

“Fuck,” he muttered and turned back towards the open steel door. He could see Lilly leaning against the hood of the van, looking up to the sky with her hands crossed in front of her chest.

When Negan approached her, she was taking deep, shaky breaths and when she noticed him, her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

“You really have a thing for sniffing out places that are fucking loaded.”

“Thanks. Though to be fair, it was our place that was loaded last time and Dwight and the others sniffed us out.”

“Just take the fucking compliment,” he grinned and leaned back against the van, all the while telling himself that he was merely making sure to keep his newest scavenger happy and productive.

“So, uh… did those biters in there give you any trouble?”

“They’re fucking dead, right? Isn’t that the point?” she snapped and pushed herself off the van to glare at him with her hands on her hips. Negan raised his free hand in a placatory gesture.

“Whoah, calm down, babe. No fucking criticism intended.”

She chewed on her lower lip and leaned back next to him again, her eyes cast on the ground.

“You know you didn’t kill that kid, right? I mean, not really, anyway.”

“Yeah, I know…,” she sighed, “I don’t mind killing these things, but kids always fuck me up a little. I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. It really is completely fucked up if you think about it. If someone had told me two years ago that I’d scatter my neighbor’s fucking brain matter all over his driveway at some point, I would have had them institutionalized.”

“Were you friends with your neighbor?”

“Nah, he was a fucking asshole. Always complaining about the noise coming from my garage. But still…”

Lilly laughed at that and Negan was glad that he had apparently averted some kind of mental breakdown, but he still had to ask:

“Did you have kids? You know, before?”

She visibly tensed and stared off into the distance for a couple of seconds, before answering:

“Nope. I just don’t like killing children. Even if they’re technically not children anymore.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, not quite convinced. He’d find out eventually. He always did.

They made their way back to Seth and Laura who were already grumbling about having to do all the work alone. The yield from this house wasn’t nearly as big as what they had gotten from Lilly and Jax, but the stuff they did find was still valuable enough to justify the mission. Apart from two weapons and a few cases of canned food, they were particularly happy about a couple of water filters and some meds, including some children’s tylenol.

They carried everything to the van and were on their way back to Sanctuary after having spent not even three hours on that street. In, out, back home for dinner. Just the way Negan liked it.

Lilly fell asleep again during the car ride and he thought that anyone else would probably think that she had some kind of medical issue, but he knew better. He knew about almost everything going on at Sanctuary and the people patrolling at night had informed him about Lilly’s erratic sleeping habits. They’d often find her reading in the middle of the night, sometimes she would take walks around Sanctuary and chat to whoever had patrol duty and apparently, whenever she did sleep eventually, it would be next to Jax.

He kept wondering about what kind of relationship those two had. They were definitely close, but he had never seen them showing public displays of affection beyond the occasional hug and despite it turning out to be a ruse, she hadn’t exactly been reluctant to slobber all over Negan when they had shared a bed for those memorable couple of minutes three weeks ago.

His mind kept coming back to that night from time to time, especially whenever he had to interact with her and he had lost count of the number of times he had blown his load to the thought of her soft body draped all over him, her hands touching every inch of him she could reach and her warm mouth on his neck.

He had thought a lot about why she occupied his mind so much. Usually when women told him to get lost, he would move on without a problem. He had come to the conclusion that for a few glorious minutes, she had acted as if she had truly wanted him and that was something he hadn’t experienced since long before the world had gone to shit. That and she was hot as fucking hell, of course, even more so now that he had seen how capable she was of getting shit done.

Seth’s voice announcing that they were almost home pulled him out of his reverie and he cursed himself when he realized that he had been staring at her sleeping form for way too long. Lilly woke up from her nap with a yawn and a stretch of her legs and hopped out of the van with the others as soon as the van stopped inside the courtyard. Negan took his sweet time to gather Lucille and step out of the vehicle. The supply run had been fun after all and he knew that whatever was waiting inside Sanctuary could only make his day worse instead of better.

A couple of Saviors led by Carson walked up to them to carry the boxes to inventory and he caught himself being grateful that they weren’t accompanied by the wives who he had no doubt would be all over him soon to demand some treats.

He started walking towards the door and was surprised when Lilly fell into step beside him. He had expected her to run straight to Jax, since he, Dwight and Gavin should be back from the outposts by now.

“So… am I on the team, or what?” She looked up at him expectantly and a little doubtful, although he couldn’t imagine why she would question her performance today. She had done a really good job.

“I still have to talk to Seth and Laura, though I’m pretty fucking sure they’d have my fucking head on a platter if I didn’t make you a scavenger. So yeah, go talk to Dwight tomorrow to set up runs and shit.”

“Awesome! Thank you Negan,” she told him with one of her rare genuine smiles and he couldn’t help but smile back at her, “I’ve noticed that the other scavengers have other jobs when they’re not out there. I’d really like something to do when I’m at Sanctuary.”

“Well since you’re already leading the life of a fucking vampire, you could always do some night patrol shifts if you want to earn some extra points.” His smile turned to a grin when her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Is life here that boring that everyone knows about my sleeping schedule?” she asked, her voice laced with humor.

“Nah, I just like to keep up to date with what’s happening around here. And the new girl roaming the fucking halls at night is pretty fucking newsworthy. Mark almost shat himself when he saw you wandering around for the first time. Thought you were a fucking ghost.”

“Don’t give me any stupid ideas. I might just start messing with people,” she laughed.

“I wouldn’t fucking do that if I were you. You might get fucking shot.”

“Oh damn, right. Sometimes I forget that everyone is armed from top to bottom nowadays.”

“In-fucking-cluding you Miss Terminator. I bet I’d pull a fucking landmine out of your vagina if I ever got that far,” he grinned and carefully studied her face, bracing himself for the verbal, or even physical smackdown that usually followed whenever he got too crude with a girl.

“Now that’s an interesting mental image. How would that work, anyway? You touch it and blow everything to bits?”

“I know at least one thing that would blow with your vagina involved.”

She had been grinning and giggling the entire way to the inner courtyard and Negan hadn’t even noticed that he had been walking there instead of heading for the penthouse. She tried regaining her composure and leaned against the wall next to the door after they had stepped outside, her shoulders still shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Speaking of all my weapons… I never told you this, but I’m actually pretty useless with a gun. Never even held one before the dead started walking.”

“You sure as fuck seemed fucking confident when you threatened to shoot me in the head, back when we first found you.”

“Eh… fake it ‘till you make it, right?”

“Negan? What are you doing here?” Sherry was standing in the doorway to the hall, her hands on her hips, looking at them with an expression as if she had just caught them doing something way more inappropriate than just sharing a couple of jokes. Although they were standing rather close and to be fair, Negan did usually go straight for the wives whenever he came back from a run, instead of having little walks around Sanctuary.

“I’ll be upstairs in a minute Sherry,” he told her and Sherry knew him well enough to notice the edge in his voice and the way his eyes conveyed a serious ‘Get fucking lost’ attitude.

Sherry disappeared back into the hall, but not without rolling her eyes at him first. Lilly pushed herself off the wall and started heading for the dormitory.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you from anything. Thank you again for giving me a chance today, Negan.”

He tried to think of something that would get her to stay a while longer. He had really enjoyed their little banter. But all that came out was a grunted “Sure thing, babe. See you around,” before she smiled, turned around and broke into a run towards the dormitory door.

He shuffled back into the hall and started his ascent up the Tower, already dreading the verbal spanking he would get from Sherry. That bitch was way too jealous for someone who hated his guts.

He kept thinking about the way Lilly always laughed about his stupid jokes and for the first time ever, he decided that he would start frequenting the Groundling rec room more often from now on. Only to keep an eye on his subordinates, of course.

[mykatesingh-blog]

    The new year is coming.  I was bewildered when a documentary ask “what will you change in 2018?”  My first thought was how silly to asked that so soon.  It took the next morning for my muddled brain to realize that 2018 is within weeks.  By the time this post, it will be days.

I’m one of those die-hards that just love my New Years resolutions.  I’m getting pretty good at setting goals and reaching them.  The trick is to set goals you can’t wait to tackle and make plans you jump out of bed to accomplish.  It has to be fun things you love doing.  You then interweave the not so enticing task that will only improve the following lifestyle.

For example, my goals are to do as much homesteading as possible and to save a lot of money.

Easy peasy!  Except that building a homestead takes money, right?  Not necessarily.  We already have the foundation laid such as having land, having a huge compost rotting in the back of the detached garage as I type, we have chickens, raised beds…I even know where to get free horse manure.

I’m using my winter months wisely.   I have until the last frost in March to study and study I’m doing.  I’ve been browsing through backyard farming books, buying ones I feel are a library must such as The Encyclopedia of Country Living, watching anything on YouTube on gardening how to’s.  My new celebrity is Novella Carpenter that wrote Farm City, The Education of an Urban Farmer.  Fun book to read (not for the vegetarian though).  She and her partner moved to the worst part of Oakland and began farming an abandoned lot next to their house.  She raises poultry and goats, bees, even pigs for a time but that was too much.  The lot has a huge veggie garden with fruit trees.  I love this clip about her and her urban farm.  Vegans and vegetarians be warned, she does raise meat to eat.  There will be blood.

I would love to meet this lady.  But what I love about backyard farmers the most is when they spend almost no money to develop a mini farm that feeds them abundantly for years.  As one farmer calls it, “money on trees”.  They use what they find or is already there and create a sort of paradise.

I don’t know how well I’ll do or how far I’ll go.  I’m still a bit shocked that I have hens.  That was a move that seemed so advanced…so revolutionary, to have chickens in the suburbs, that I only dreamt big chicken dreams until grannie told me to get over it and get some hens.  Now I have 4 hens bossing me about my own yard.  They have a cute yellow cottage and a white picket gate to a yard that goes along the side of our house (all free).  I hear my girls clucking and scratching about under my bedroom window and I swear I hear them talking in the middle of the night even with my windows shut tight to the cold winter nights.

I’m already thinking bees.  I would be a very good bee mother, not stealing all their honey greedily and giving them sugar water for the winter as so many farmers do.  What a crime.  I think I’ll wait for the boys to get a bit bigger…or not, maybe just have some Epi-pens on hand just in case we have an allergy.

But gardening, that is something I can really get crazy on.  We have 5,260 square feet of yard.  It’s less than 1/12th of an acre.  I didn’t think it was much land until I saw a small family farming in the city on 4,000 acres and they were feeding themselves year round.  There were goats and chickens, trees and row after row of beds.

We have a cement patio in our yard.  We have a lot of grass…and fences.  There is so much potential in each situation.  We could grow grapes and berries on the fences, container gardens and a greenhouse on the cement, dig up the grass and make plots.

I’m really into the food forest idea.  I’m learning about companion planting of say corn, beans, and squash together.  I’m learning about growing bamboo to use for building fences, trellis, and more.  Potatoes grown in tubs, the magic of mulch, and how bees not only give you honey but make your crops more abundant.

It’s very addictive.  With each step of self-reliance and green living, I find myself doing all sorts of little things to further slow down the pace of the modern world that tries to creep in through the cracks of our magical world.  The wood floor vacuum broke down and would be easy to fix but I chose a handmade broom that I’m currently in love with.  Dishes are hand washed and the thought of taking up precious space in my little 1940’s kitchen for a dishwasher is forbidden.  I hang my clothes on a line outside most of the year and felt like I was taking a step backward when the dryer had to be plugged in this winter.  I have a wooden rack on back up but we have the heating on the ceiling and clothes take so long to dry that they begin to stink.

I love my coffee and recently I replaced Mr. Coffee with a stovetop espresso maker and a stove top percolator.  Bali had a conniption the first morning he couldn’t work the espresso maker (it was 5:00 in the morning and he hadn’t been trained, I would have hit the roof myself).  Now he makes himself coffee every morning with either the espresso or the percolator.  He never used to make coffee in the morning before work so I know he loves it.

Paper books are still big in our house and waiting for popular movies from the library trumps renting from Redbox or Netflix.

For me homesteading means that I do a lot of garden therapy year round, we feed ourselves for pennies, there is a connection to the land happening, and an old pioneering instinct is tapped into.  Our farm is creative and fun to build, it gives my husband and myself great pride in every victory.  I am thrilled when I can eat from the yard.  We love our hens.

Bali is not thrilled with the idea of rain barrels because he doesn’t feel we have space but he always talks about grey water.  He agrees on digging up the grass and planting food but he doesn’t agree on wood chips everywhere, as in no grass just a land of mulch.  He also is completely against getting rid of the garage.  If I had my way and extra money I would tear out the detached garage and all the cement.  That ain’t happening on his watch.

Oh well, I’ll negotiate on grey water and more veggie plots on the lawn.  When I get more courage I’ll get bees and a couple more hens.  But that is it!  Maybe…

Homesteading is living like a farmer in the city.  You get the entertainment and convenience of the city and not the isolation of a real rural farmer but all the health and well-being benefits.  You also save a lot of money as you get better at it.  You are growing clean, organic food that is so fresh and packed with nutrition.

As for the budget, that is changed vastly when the gardens produce and the trees mature.  Until then I do what I can to save money in all areas while I buy organics at the Coop.

Do I want to be off grid?  Live in an eco-village?  I’ve checked all these out and I’d say not.  I like small towns, walking to the store, buying burger buns when lazy, having coffee in a cafe and monthly movies at the theater (I keep threatening my family I’m having this again).  I do love some of the modern conveniences.  But I love the old-fashioned ways and the quiet and slow pace.  I’m a walking contradiction.

But what I love the most is being a housewife and staying home with my family.  I don’t want this to ever stop and recently we encountered some issues and I was looking at possibly going back to work and putting my boys in a school and daycare.  Things worked out in our favor but it made me really pursue all avenues of self-reliance and trimming our budget to the thread.

My budget is simply mortgage, food, utilities.  Bali gets free gas at work as part of his manager benefits and we have begun walking a lot.  If we can shop or do the library within walking distance, we do it.  My DirecTV contract will be up in the spring and I will be relieved of that.  I have the smallest internet, home phone, and cell bill ever.  The utilities are small.  Even for AC in the summer we paid half of what our neighbors paid.  I am always looking into other ways to save.

Our groceries are purchased at a very nice health food store in Grass Valley.  It is my one luxury.  Everything is organic now.  I afford it by joining the Coop and getting almost everything in bulk.  I only buy rice, beans, produce, nuts, raisins, flour, coffee, and plant milk and cream.  I make all my food from scratch.    I make everything from granola bars to lentil loaf.  If I crave it I have to make it.  I have a list of things I want to make such as pickles, burger buns, soap.

I do little things too, I save all the bags to reuse, water down dish soap and shampoo, boil toothbrushes instead of buying new every 6 months.  I am back to making all my own house cleaners and will be making laundry detergent again.  I even make my own houseplants from trimmings off the main plants.  Then I get all my needs met with hit movies and popular books by the library.

I write books to make money.  I was a caregiver for a season and that paid for book covers, editing, and sending Arjan to Fox Walkers every Friday for a year.  I also redecorated the living room with beautiful new furniture all under $220 at a high-end thrift store.  My royalties are set aside in a far away bank and automatically deposited.  Any extra home job I get I use for all the luxuries.  I am now considering babysitting to bring in some extra money for vines and seeds, a greenhouse, and doing more work on the house.

Those to me are luxuries.  And the occasional theater movie with that God awful popcorn.

      How to streamline that household budget and building that urban farm. The new year is coming.  I was bewildered when a documentary ask "what will you change in 2018?"  My first thought was how silly to asked that so soon.