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roosterforme · 5 months

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That's My Boy | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley gets caught up in his emotions after Everett turns twelve. As his son gets older, he realizes that days spent playing baseball in the park together will grow fewer in number. He wants to make all of them count.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing

Length: 2400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

This is a Batting Practice one-shot but can be read alone! Check out my masterlist for more! Banner by @mak-32

"I can't believe he's turning twelve next week," Bradley muttered as you and he stood in front of a wall of baseball bats in San Diego's best sporting goods store. "It feels like he just turned seven."

You slipped your arms around his waist and gave him a squeeze. "Have I mentioned yet that I love that you kept the Padres game tradition alive every year for his birthday? Ev is going to flip when you tell him you got box seats for the game on Sunday."

Bradley kissed the top of your head and grunted softly as he smiled. "I fucking love that kid. He still asks me to take him to the park to hit balls all the time. And I just don't know how much longer he's going to think I'm cool, you know?"

You snorted against Bradley's chest and then looked up at him. "He'll probably think you're cool for longer than he thinks I am!"

"Well, yeah. Obviously, Kitten," he said as he rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh. "But I might only last another year or so past you."

"You're obnoxious," you informed him with a grin as he positioned you with your arms out in front of you and your palms up.

"I know," he replied, giving you another kiss. Then he walked around the store and loaded your arms with two new bats, a new mitt, cleats and some baseballs. "I think that's good. Plus I ordered him and I those personalized Phillies throwback jerseys."

"Seriously? You think the two of you needed more Phillies jerseys? You probably already have half a dozen with BRADSHAW on the back."

"Actually I have seven. This will make eight," he said, pulling you closer to him while your arms were still full. "But he won't be a kid for much longer. He's not gonna want to match with me when he's eighteen. And I love spoiling him. And you."

You set everything down at the register while Bradley dug his credit card out of his wallet. "So..." you said softly while the cashier bagged everything up, and he paid. Bradley looked at you out of the corner of his eye as you ran your hand along the back of his bicep. "You want to take me home and spoil me while Everett is with his cousins for the evening?"

Bradley smirked and grabbed the bag, lacing his fingers with yours. "You want to dress up in your bodysuit and kitten ears for me? Let me kiss off your whiskers?"

You were giggling as you ran out to his Bronco, and Bradley was hot on your heels.

----------------------------

"Dad, I want to try out my new gear," Everett whined as he looked out the front window at the pouring rain a week later. His voice was starting to get deeper, and all of the girls in his class had a crush on him. He had grown up so much since Bradley met him, and sometimes it still shocked him that he had a son.

"It's supposed to be nicer out tomorrow. We can go then."

Everett turned and looked at him. "But tomorrow's your birthday."

Bradley smiled. He couldn't think of anything he'd rather do after work than come home, get changed, grab his mitt, and go to the park. "Yeah, it'll be fun."

But Everett still looked skeptical. "Won't Mom be mad if we ditch her on your birthday?"

"Nah. We'll be home for dinner. And I'll make it up to her later."

Everett grimaced and started to head upstairs, but then he paused and asked, "Can we wear our new jerseys?"

"Of course."

And it turned out, you were a little annoyed at first the following day. "I have birthday dinner and cupcakes planned. I thought the three of us could eat together here since we're going to the pizza place with Molly and Bob on Friday."

Bradley pulled you close and whispered, "Just for an hour?" He rubbed your back and gave you his sweetest expression. "We'll just hit a few balls and come right back."

He turned as he heard Everett thunder down the stairs. "Ready, Coach?"

"Please?" Bradley asked you, kissing your forehead.

"Go," you said, pushing him toward Everett. "But seriously, be home by seven or I'll eat all the cupcakes myself."

Bradley and Everett ran out the front door with twin grins and loaded their gear into the back of the Bronco. It was strange to see how tall his son had gotten after a recent growth spurt; he was already almost as tall as you. Another few years, and he'd be the same height as Bradley. Maybe taller.

"You okay?" Everett asked, and Bradley realized he was just standing there staring at him. He looked a lot like his biological father, but he really looked so much like you.

"Yeah," he grunted, kind of missing the days when he would buckle Everett into his booster seat. Now he climbed into the front seat without help. Bradley started the engine and said, "A few more years and I'll be teaching you how to drive this thing."

Everett's eyes bugged out. "You'll let me drive the Bronco? Mom hardly ever even drives it."

"Yeah, well, Mom doesn't appreciate the fine art of making sure it doesn't stall out on the highway."

"I would," he replied, looking around the interior like it was a hallowed space.

Bradley nodded as he pulled into the parking lot. "I don't doubt it, Kiddo. You ready to test out your new bats?"

"So ready!"

The grass was still a little damp from all the rain, but the air smelled fresh as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. Bradley waited until Everett signalled that he was ready, and then he pitched an easy slider to him. Everett sent it soaring. "Holy shit," Bradley muttered as he watched where it landed so they could collect it later. "Nice," he called out as he reached into his bucket for another ball.

This time he threw the same pitch but harder. The result was identical as Everett nailed it far into the outfield. "I like this bat!" he said, adjusting his stance, ready for more.

Bradley rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck before throwing his slider again, this time with everything he had. He could feel the ball leave his hand. The perfect pitch. And then he heard the crack of the bat. The perfect hit. This time the ball went even farther than the last two.

"Damn," Bradley said, reaching for another ball and rolling it around in his glove a few times. "Try the other bat," he told Everett, and he watched his son switch them and take a few practice swings.

"Ready!"

Maybe he wouldn't be expecting a fastball this time. Bradley wound up and threw a pitch that even Bob could only hit half the time in the rec league games.

Crack!

"Jesus, Everett," he said as he watched the ball sail directly over his head. In a real game, it would have been an easy out for the center fielder, but it was hit so well and so hard, Bradley was kind of shocked.

"Come on, Dad," Everett called. "Throw a really hard one."

Bradley looked at his eager face. He wasn't taunting; he really wanted a harder pitch. But Bradley was already starting to get a little sore as he scooped up another ball. He threw the hardest changeup he could muster, and while it wasn't a clean hit, Everett still got some wood on it.

But when he threw that pitch again, Everett hit it square on and sent it sailing farther than the other balls in the outfield. "Damn, Kiddo," Bradley said, gaping at his son who looked completely unfazed.

"Wanna switch places?" Everett asked, heading toward Bradley and handing him the bat.

But it was more of the same. Sure, the bat wasn't quite big enough for Bradley, and it was still hard for Everett to stay in the strike zone, but Bradley could barely hit his pitches. They were too fast. His slider was so good, he had Bradley swinging too late. His changeup was so sneaky, Bradley swung early.

Finally, Everett threw a fastball that Bradley nailed so hard, they'd be lucky to find it in the treeline. "That's a birthday home run, Coach!" Everett cheered, jumping and tossing another ball up into the air.

"Yeah," Bradley rasped, just standing there staring at the twelve year old. He felt tears prickle his eyes as he smiled and closed the distance between them. "You're really good, Ev," he whispered, pulling him tight to his body. When his son smiled up at him with his slightly crooked front tooth and bright eyes, Bradley said, "Let's get home for dinner with Mom."

-------------------------------

You loved more than anything that you and Everett had Bradley in your lives, and that the boys so easily lost track of time when they were together. But tonight you made an enormous dinner for your husband's birthday, and now they were late getting back. Just as you started to make yourself a plate of food, unable to wait any longer to eat, the two of them burst through the front door. Everett was talking a mile a minute, and they looked absolutely adorable in their matching shirts.

"Did you have fun?" you asked, taking a bite of mashed potatoes. It was actually impossible to be annoyed at them when they got like this. But Bradley met your eyes with a soft smile on his face that almost looked a little sad.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice rough. When you set your plate down and went to him, he pulled you in for a hug. "Thanks for making dinner."

"Happy birthday," you whispered for probably the hundredth time today. "Are you okay?"

He nodded. "I'm perfect."

The three of you ate at the table, but Bradley was a little quieter than usual. And he only ate one cupcake instead of two or three. And you thought you saw tears in his eyes when he opened the enormous Phanatic foam finger Everett picked out for him.

"I love it. And I love you," Bradley told Everett as he hugged him. "We can put it upstairs in the Phillies room."

You watched the way your son hugged him as he said, "Happy birthday, Dad." There was no way that kid was ever going to stop thinking Bradley was cool.

"Ev, sweetie, it's time to start getting ready for bed," you reminded him.

"Go on up and get a shower, and then I'll tuck you in," Bradley told him as Everett went thundering up the stairs.

He was old enough that he probably didn't still need to be tucked in, but you knew for a fact that Everett had never once asked Bradley to stop. When you looked at your husband across the table, he was rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. You stood and went to him as you softly asked, "Will you please tell me what's wrong?"

He looked up at you with tear filled eyes before scooting his chair back and patting his thigh so you'd sit on his lap. You settled in with your arms around his neck, and he kissed your cheek and your shoulder as he visibly tried to hold back his tears.

"God, Kitten. You should have seen him tonight. He's just so fucking good."

"I know he is," you replied, kissing his cheek.

"No. He's better than me now. He hit the hardest pitch I could throw, and then I could barely make contact with his slider."

You let those words really sink in. Bradley was easily one of the best players in his recreational league. He could pitch nine innings and make it look easy. He could hit the ball beyond the fences. "Are you serious?"

"I'm so fucking serious, Baby," he whispered, rubbing his mustache along your neck. "He's twelve. His voice hasn't even changed all the way yet. He hasn't even reached his maximum height."

You took Bradley's face in your hands and kissed his nose. "And this is making you cry?"

He shrugged as you ran your thumbs along his rosy cheeks. "I'm just overwhelmed. He seems so grown up now." He closed his eyes, voice shaky as he said, "I wish I'd had more time with him when he was a little kid, you know? I didn't get to see him when he was a toddler or anything. It would have been nice to have another year of tee ball. Hell, I wish I'd had a few more years with you, too."

Now your throat felt tight with tears of your own, but you shook your head. "You found us at just the right time. Right when we needed you the most."

Your forehead came to rest against his as he gave up the battle and let himself cry. You loved that he was so soft for the two of you and let you see his emotions. He took as much time as he needed while you ran your fingers through his hair, and when he met your eyes again, he was smiling.

"I don't know what I'm going to do when he doesn't want to play ball in the park with me anymore," he said with a laugh as he wiped his eyes. "I live for this shit."

You kissed his cheek as you heard Everett calling for him to come upstairs. "I really don't think you're going to have to worry about that, Coach."

Bradley stood but kept you close. "Pretty soon he'll be grown. An actual man."

When he tried to walk away to tuck Everett in, you put your hands on his chest to keep him in place. "Yeah. He will. And he'll have the best role model in you to show him how it's done."

Bradley ran his hand over his forehead, and he looked like he might start crying again. "I better go tuck him in while I still can."

You nodded and followed him up the stairs. When he turned right toward Everett's bedroom, you stood in the hallway, blinking away your own tears as you listened to their voices. Their combined laughter filled your house and your heart as you waited to take your husband's hand for the night whenever he was done being the dad who was tailor made for Everett.

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Soft and sweet Coach makes me tear up every time. Bradley, Everett is always going to think you're cool, and he's always going to want to spend time with you. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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lemmetreatya · 11 months

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babyyyyyy we’re gonna need that fútbol player!onyankapon fic asappp😩😩😩

your wish is my command wifeeeyyyy

content: afab!reader, possesive!ony, smut, missionary, marking, creampie, breeding

footballer!onyankopon always had a focused mindset when it came to his career -- seldom not occupied on his craft -- but when it came to you? things were different.

footballer!onyankopon who fell head over heels in love with you whilst you used to cheer on your brother at the stand during sunday league matches. footballer!onyankopon who'd bashfully tell you pre-game that any goal he scores will be for you and would always give you a half looped smile whenever he did

footballer!onyankopon who proposes 3 years into your relationship once he gets the greenlight that hes gonna go pro, telling you it'd be wrong to go any further without making you his sole cheerleader. you end up getting to know most of his new teammates but because youre just naturally so bubbly, sometimes footballer!onyankopon can get a bit jealous

"cant lie, if you ever fumble her, know im next in line" are the words that act as the limit to footballer!onyankopon's patience. he knows that theres a sharing mentality with most footballers and the girls they sleep with but thats just not who you are. so, you can only imagine your absolute surprise when footballer!onyankopon is a lot more pouty that night than he usually ever is

"baby, dont talk to my teammates ever again" he says with his toothbrush half sticking out his mouth.

you cant help but giggle at him from the bed, eyeing him over your book. especially concerning how quickly he rushed out the bathroom to tell you this.

"what happen now? another article suspecting theres a secret affair going on?"

footballer!onyankopon quickly pops back into the bathroom to spit the toothpaste out of his mouth before answering you from the sink, unseen.

"they want you after youre 'done' with me."

you can hear the slight despondency in his voice which makes you place down the book on your bedside table to sit up in bed.

"you know thats silly, right? like you know i could never actually be 'done' with you. its you or death."

"ay, ay, ay dont talk like that!" footballer!onyankopon comes out the bathroom having rinsed and dried his mouth. he seems slightly offput by your words but it doesnt hide the slight pang of pain that he wears on his face. even though he was coming to lie down next to you, you still open his side of the duvet for him to lie under.

"no but its true. its us or nothing. no ones having me after nobody, its only me and you papa."

footballer!onyankopon snuggles in next to you but can only find himself staring at the ceiling. he does however appreciate the heat of you next to him

"i know. its just...i dont like thinking about it."

"then dont." you say softly. "think instead about how you do have me and how you have me now. in fact i want you to show me how no one else gets to touch me but you."

footballer!onyankopon doesnt have to be told twice or given an excuse to show you that you were his. to have your anklet with his initials on practically kissing your earlobes as he fucks into you possessively. he was so eager to prove that you were his alone that hed forgotten to prep you as he revels in the feeling of your cunt hugging his cock.

its a tight fit but with how your calling out his name and no one elses?! who can blame him if "mine, mine, mine" is all he keeps chanting into your slick mouth

footballer!onyankopon doesnt mind too much when you scratch at his back in a possesive manner. it'll probably sting him during the salt water bath tomorrow but he doesnt care. he'll probably be teased by his teammates about it during the locker rooms but fuck it, even better. right now, with how pliably succumbing you were for him, there was nothing you could do that'd put him off you.

footballer!onyankopon didn't usually but he couldnt help but to empty himself inside of you; his prime showcase of possession. maybe if you were to have a swollen stomach and then a child that looked exactly like him, his teammates will know not to utter such futile words to him

"let them know that no ones ever getting a turn with me" you mumble as you lightly finger the swollen cross hatching across footballer!onyankopon's back the morning after.

footballer!onyankopon slightly hisses at the sensitivity of it but hes warmly chuckling in response. considering hes sat on the edge of the bed, he turns round to bend and lay a kiss to your forehead.

"dont worry. theyll be more than aware." he assures, smile warm

#onyankopon #onyankopon x reader #onyankopon aot #onyankopon x black reader #onyankopon smut #aot x black reader #aot x black reader smut #aot x reader #aot #attack on titan

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starstruck-cupid · 1 year

Text

The Sweater

Part 3 of untitled Charlie fic. Please help me name it.

( part one, part two )

(edit: name change. Formerly unnamed)

A/N: I'm very tired so this might not be my best work. I really appreciate all of the support! It means a lot that people are enjoying what I've written. I hope everyone is well and enjoys this story. I know it's going slow now, but it'll speed up soon.

TW: use of the word god (once?), mentions of stalking, mentions of absent parents, mentions of panic attack, mentions of passing out, possible insinuations of being drugged, reader being forced to drink water

//////////////////////////////////////////<3///////////////////////////////////////////

"What the fuck?" I whispered in a dumbfounded manner.

After blankly staring at my phone for a minute, letting the video reply over and over, I look at Charlie. He's asleep. I'm not sure when he fell asleep, but he's out cold.

I shouldn't tell him. He's going through enough. It was probably some stupid joke. Putting my phone down, I turn my attention back to the movie. Past me was smart for picking something long. I run my hands through Charlie's hair in a failed attempt to calm myself. I couldn't shake the stiffness of my muscles.

Today was Sunday. Tomorrow I'd be back at school, and I could fully ignore this incident.

After a few hours of snoring and staring at a sleeping Charlie, the charming boy finally woke up. Slowly looking up at me, Charlie noticed my thoughtful face.

"What's wrong?" concern bled out of his voice.

"Nothing," I said, knowing he would see right past my lie.

"You know you can tell me anyone, right, bunny?" He knew that I would tell him anything after hearing that name.

It always reminds me of the first time Charlie and I actually talked. I was too high to remember if I was wearing a full costume or not, but on the top of my head sat a pair of black bunny ears. That was the first thing Charlie pointed out when we were left alone, and it's stuck with him for the last 3 years.

"Can you stay the night? I'm afraid to be alone." I anxiously asked.

"Too many horror movies?" He knew that wasn't the case, but he was too nice to make that knowledge known. "Let me go home and grab some stuff."

As he slides out of the bathroom window, my anxiety rises again. With no one else in the house for a while, I was afraid the unknown person would come back. I was used to being alone. My dad was always gone, trying his best to keep money coming. I love him, but the feeling of isolation was one I was far too used to. Charlie was the only help.

I need a bath. No, wait. I crave a bath. I go to grab clothes, settling on a random horror movie t-shirt, a flannel, and a pair of pajama shorts. So Charlie knows I'm bathing; I open the bedroom window and I close the bathroom window. Usually, once I was in, we'd open the door and we'd continue our conversation, but with the recent state of him and Kirby, I decided he probably needed a small break from me. Before shutting the bathroom door, I quickly wrote a note stating that I was indecent.

Turning the lights off, lighting the candles, and running the water, I was finally able to relax for the first time all day.

My phone started ringing.

At first, I ignored it. If it was anything important, they could call the landline. The people closest to me know I hate phone calls, so they won't call.

Immediately, I hear it ring again. Getting out of the tub with a sigh, I quickly wrapped my towel around myself and walking into my bedroom.

Begrudgingly, I answer "Hello?"

A deep, robotic voice replied, "Hello." Something about it was familiar.

"Who is this? Can I help you?"

"You know who it is." I heard a blunt, almost threatening reply.

"No, I don't."

"You sure about that? Aren't you supposed to be a movie buff?"

"I guess," I sourly replied in confusion.

"Don't you know the movie Stab?" That's when it clicked. This is the Ghostface voice.

"This isn't funny." Are you the same person who sent that video? I could have you arrested!" I angrily replied to the prankster.

"The people you surround yourself with won't make it much longer." There was a pause. "You, though? I'd like to keep you around for a bit." Then he hung up.

Suddenly, everything felt cold and hot at the same time. I felt exposed, uncomfortable in my own skin. I can't breathe. Why can't I breathe? Everything feels so far away.

Attempting to make it to my bed, I fell. As I fell, trying to grasp whatever was around me, I hit my side. Still sore from falling the previous night, I hissed in pain. Everything hurts. Where is Charlie? He could fix this. I can't move. Why can't I move?

I hear Charlie come in soon after. I could tell because he shut the window, which had been squeaking recently. As soon as he realizes I'm on the floor, he runs to me, forcing me to take sips of the water he brought.

Then everything went black.

Fluttering my eyes open, everything feels so weird. Like I snorted a line of melatonin. God, what time is it? Finally regaining my vision, I look at my clock. 10 pm. How long was I out for? When did I get dressed? I can hear the shower.

Slowly getting up, I shuffle to the door and knock. The shower promptly shuts off. I hear shuffling. Soon enough, Charlie opens the door, only wearing a towel, loosely tied around his waist.

"I'm sorry," I shot out quickly but quietly.

Charlie doesn't say anything. He just hugs me. Charlie, hugging me, in only a towel. What I'm feeling right now seems so foreign to me. Sure, I've felt this way before, but not about Charlie. Never Charlie.

Realizing I'm not hugging back, Charlie, with his hand on my cheek and thumb on my chin, he pushes my face up a bit to look at his.

"Are you okay?" a concerned tone echoing through my ears. I didn't want to tell him. It was just a stupid joke. There's nothing to concern him about.

Instead of telling him, I just nodded. Unable to let out a sound. I didn't want to lie. I couldn't lie to him. I was fine now, so it wasn't a lie.

He silently points to the bed. Understating what he meant, I shuffle over. Pulling the blankets back, I slide under. I need this. Charlie, still in only a towel, walks to my stack of DVDs. Quickly grabbing the first Stab movie, he puts it in and beelines to the bathroom to get dressed, leaving the door open.

I did not want to watch this. I couldn't tell Charlie that.

After some shuffling from the bathroom and the sound of the movie ringing out, I finally closed my eyes. I am safe. Charlie wouldn't ever let something happen to me. As I near sleep, I hear him attempting to silently walk to my bed. As the sound got closer, I felt the bed dip behind me.

Charlie and I always shared, usually ending up snuggled together. After a while, we just gave up on keeping space between us.

I felt his arm slip under mine and wrap around my waist. For the first time, I don't have to convince myself that I am safe. I can feel it.

I wanted this every night.

#charlie walker #charlie walker x reader

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vettelsvee · 2 days

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DI! | Sebastian Vettel

f1 masterlist | history series masterlist | season 1

summary: diana's surprise birthday party makes her realize that, maybe, just maybe, she's in love with seb... without her knowing he has a girlfriend already.

word count: 3907

warnings: not actually! seb just being the standard and making sure di has an incredible birthday party (but hiding her he actually has a gf)

taglist: [@theseerbetweenus @annewithaneofthegreengable @vincentvanshoe @formulaonebuff @roisinivy] if you wanna be tagged in each part just tell me in the comments <3

a/n: the best is about to come omg. i'm so happy and so scared at the same time because the next two chapters are gonna be THE ONES (everything is going to hell)

feedback, as well as reblogs and comments, are truly appreciated!

2009

Bahrain Grand Prix Bahrain International Circuit, Sakhir

April 26 Sunday

Diana

Seb had managed to secure a well-deserved second position, just behind Jenson Button, whom he almost managed to beat. I wasn't usually very competitive, but since joining Red Bull Racing at the beginning of March I had been quite the opposite, especially as the results seemed to keep improving.

Now I understood the competitiveness that everyone in this sport exuded, always striving to be the best.

After getting out of the car, the German headed straight to Christian, some mechanics, and even to Helmut Marko, who were waiting for him in parc fermé to congratulate him properly. I knew I could be celebrating there with them, but my nervousness and, probably, the insecurity that had developed from the treatment I received last year, added to the stupid requirements of my contract, which was also stupid, made me stay with Britta.

"Diana, I've told you many times..."

"Yes, I know," I cut the woman off. "Diana, you have to be there, you deserve it!" I tried to imitate her perfectly while gesturing at the same time. "Britta, seriously, just leave it. I'll go some other time."

The woman raised an eyebrow. I knew she wanted me to keep talking, or at least say something that made sense and didn't avoid the conversation.

"You know you should be celebrating," she pointed towards the crowd of people dressed in navy blue. "You're part of the team."

"I don't think so," I reprimanded her. "At least, I feel completely out of place, and I know it's going to take me years to develop a good relationship with everyone, just like it's happening to you!"

"Diana, I've literally been here, in Formula 1, since 2007, when Seb joined Toro Rosso mid-season," she explained. "Do you think that's such a long time to get to know other people?"

I lowered my head and started fidgeting with my feet. I already knew she was right, and that all I was doing was making excuses because of my shyness, fear of rejection, or whatever it was.

"Well... maybe it'll take me a little longer because I'm not as open with people as you are."

While Britta kept trying to convince me to join the impromptu party, where everyone was already full of champagne and drinking from the bottle Sebastian had received on the podium, along with his trophy, my mind was scattered with other thoughts. Tomorrow, April 27, was my birthday. I couldn't help but think about it, no matter how hard I tried not to, even in the middle of all this celebration. If there was any reason why I had been hating my birthday for almost seven years, it was because of the negative change that 2002 had brought to our lives.

Before I could even respond to Britta, Rocky approached us enthusiastically. I had been working closely with him throughout the almost two hours of the race; now he seemed like a different person, with his hair and clothes completely covered in alcohol and small golden pieces of what seemed to be confetti.

"Diana, come here! We did an amazing job!"

The man, without giving me time to answer, opened his arms and enveloped me in a hug, even lifting me up a bit.

"Okay, okay, I get it, calm down!" I replied, surprised, while trying to free myself from his grip. "You don't have to thank me for anything. All the credit goes to Seb for driving the car."

Rocky shook his head as soon as my feet touched the ground again. He went into angry father mode and started a rant about the importance of teamwork.

"Diana, I don't care what role you have here," he encouraged me. "Here, we all work together, and each one of us is essential. You," he took me by the shoulders and shook me a bit, "are an essential part of the team, just like Seb, Mark, Christian, and even Britta," he said, earning himself a punch from the aforementioned woman. "If you think you don't have experience, you're here for that very reason: to gain it and become the best."

"Successes and failures are better handled together, Di.

Before I could respond to anything, Seb appeared with his trophy in one hand and, in the other, a bottle of champagne, possibly empty. His enthusiasm was contagious, and I couldn't help but hide my smile. Seb, in response, just approached us and hugged us enthusiastically, as if we were the ones who had made all that effort to almost bring the victory home. That only made me even more infected with his joy. I was fully aware that getting on the podium meant a lot to him, just as it was special for me to have, in part, made that possible.

“You have no idea how happy I am, I swear,” he suddenly blurted out, trying to calm his breathing, altered by euphoria. “We're going to celebrate, but first, I need to shower.”

Roeske gave him a slight nod. I simply remained static, not knowing what to do or say because I didn't know if I was part of the last thing the boy had said.

“I also have a surprise for you, Di,” he continued, as if he had read my mind.

The word surprise left me completely bewildered, causing my thoughts to become totally confused as I tried to decipher Sebastian's words, who had quickly disappeared from my field of vision to go freshen up. Did he know that tomorrow was my birthday? No, that was impossible; although I was talking to Amelie yesterday...

I hated how gossiping people in the paddock were.

I turned to Britta and found her trying to hide her smile; her wrinkled eyes and contained laughter were possibly what gave her away.

“Do you know anything about this surprise Seb mentioned?”

“Me? Diana, for God's sake, you know me,” of course. I knew her well enough to know she was avoiding what I had asked, 'I don't know anything.”

“Britta…”

My insistence and desperation seemed not to affect the woman, who regained her composure and tried to pretend seriousness.

“Diana, trust Seb. You'll see it's something you'll like.”

Britta's words only increased my curiosity. Her smile suggested she had information, but she didn't want to say too much. So, I decided to play along and not give in to the temptation to keep insisting.

A few minutes later, Seb appeared dressed in a way that took me completely by surprise. He wasn't wearing the uniform he usually wore after a race; instead, he had on a white shirt, jeans, and the black Vans that I was so used to seeing.

“What, do you like how handsome I got for you?”

But...

I heard Britta clear her throat, giving Vettel a somewhat confused look. Sebastian composed himself, and I felt he gave his agent a slight apology with a nod. I couldn't help but think about how handsome he looked and why he would dress like that, as if we were going on a date.

“Of course,” I replied as confidently as I could, although nerves were consuming me inside, 'What exactly do you have in mind? Are you going to kill me, or something?'

“I wasn't thinking of killing you, but I do have a plan to steal your heart or something like that, although don't pay much attention to me.”

After those words, I saw how Roeske, again, glared at her client. Unlike me, she didn't seem particularly happy that Seb was possibly flirting with me.

“Sebastian, stop fooling around and behave!” she shouted, attracting the attention of those present. “You're not a horny hormonal teenager!”

The German laughed and then gently took my hand, guiding me out of the garage as he politely, and as he was already used to, said goodbye to all the team members, who were still celebrating their podium. Again, as we moved through the paddock, my mind was filled with curiosity about what would happen next.

As we progressed among the crowd, trying to avoid journalists and some fans, I began to feel a little uncomfortable and instinctively let go of Seb's hand. I felt that the way we were behaving could attract too much attention, and that was the last thing I needed at that moment. As soon as our contact ended, I saw how the expression on the pilot's face changed slightly, showing me with his expressive eyes what seemed to be disappointment.

“I'm sorry, Seb. I don't want this to turn into a scandal, I don't think…”

I tried to explain myself as best as I could, but I couldn't continue when his gaze shifted elsewhere. My words hung in the air. Deep down, I appreciated it. My discomfort increased just at the thought of cameras taking pictures of us to later publish them, just like happened in Monza.

Our relationship was based on a friendship that was getting better as the days went by, and I didn't want stupid rumors to ruin what I always wanted, and never had.

The whole way to the car was completely silent, which only served to increase my discomfort and make me regret having pulled away from Seb's grip. However, the tension was left behind once Seb opened the passenger door for me, bowing in a way that made me burst out laughing.

“'Lady Di, welcome to my humble carriage. I hope today's journey pleases you.”

I was used to seeing Sebastian Vettel the racer, but not Sebastian Vettel the gentleman. I liked the latter more than the former and wouldn't have any problem getting used to it given the chance.

The guy started driving towards an unknown destination, but tranquility enveloped me when, as always when I got into his car, he played music. The first chords of Umbrella filled me with excitement, and as soon as Rihanna's voice began to resonate throughout the vehicle, so did mine. My shyness disappeared when I was with Sebastian, and I even dared to say that he was the only person with whom I felt like myself.

I didn't even know why this happened to me, and a kind of excitement and desperation invaded me at the same time, especially when I noticed how at certain moments he would glance away from the road to focus on me, forming small dimples on his cheeks that made me blush.

About half an hour later, I noticed the speed was decreasing, and Sebastian parked in what seemed to be.

“Hope you're not actually going to kill me…”

My comment was ironic, but the tremor in my voice was real. I was restless, and once again, uncertainty was creeping in. I heard Seb asking me to trust him, and although I resisted at first, I ended up giving in; it was impossible not to listen to this guy.

“I promise everything will be fine, Di,” he repeated again, making sure I was calm. “I just need you to be blindfolded for a few minutes. Trust me, please.”

I bit my lip, indecisive, but finally nodded. My partner opened the glove compartment and took out a blindfold, which he put on me as quickly as he could, with clumsy hands. My eyes ended up covered, leaving me in darkness and with a feeling of vulnerability.

The car started moving again, and although my vision was completely disabled, my mind was constantly alert to any movement and sound. Every turn and every brake the driver made had me on edge, but after a few minutes that felt like an eternity, that feeling ceased. I could hear the leaves crunching nearby, and suddenly, I felt Sebastian's strong hands gently gripping my arms.

“Easy, Di. We've arrived.”

His words reassured me. I tightly closed my eyes behind the blindfold because maybe, that way, everything would pass faster, leaving all the work to him. I felt him help me out of the car, making sure my feet gripped the ground without stumbling.

“Are you okay? Can you walk, or do you need me to carry you like we just got married?”

“Yes, I'm fine,” I nodded, releasing a sigh of relief. “Thanks for doing all this for me.”

Sebastian's clumsy steps, along with a few jokes he was making, made me release nervous laughter as we walked along what seemed to be a rough path.

“Are you sure you know how to get to wherever we're going, Seb?” I asked.

“When are you going to trust me?' he replied. 'Have I ever lied to you?”

I laughed at his response, but before I could reply, the guy stopped. With a gentle yet determined gesture, he removed the piece of fabric that had been covering my eyes for longer than I would have liked to endure. My pupils immediately began to adjust to the light emanating from the place.

Before me was a dazzling hall, decorated with balloons and twinkling lights of all colors moving constantly in all directions. What surprised me the most was the crowd of people gathered there: drivers, engineers, mechanics not only from Red Bull, but from all the teams; even Britta was there, holding a banner tightly with the words "Happy Birthday, Di" written in completely irregular handwriting, as if it had been colored by a five-year-old.

The sound of Happy Birthday sung by everyone began to resonate in my ears as confetti cannons, held by Fernando and Lewis, shot confetti into the air. Tears filled my eyes, for the first time in my life, out of happiness. I couldn't believe anything that was happening, and even less that Seb had been the mastermind behind it all.

"Happy birthday, Di!"

Seb's voice, full of affection, made me turn towards him, and before I could say anything, I gave him an awkward hug, almost causing us to fall. His eyes sparkled as much as mine, and I could swear I saw a tear forming in them.

Laughter and applause began to fill the room as the confetti continued to fall. I was surrounded by people I admired and respected, and for once in my life, I felt accepted and loved, even if it was only reluctantly.

I took a deep breath to calm myself. My embarrassment was beginning to shine through again because I didn't like being the center of attention, but I tried to put it aside to thank everyone who had taken a little bit of their time to make my day a little happier.

"Well... Hello everyone, although I guess it's already good evening, or afternoon, or however you want to say it," I started, my voice trembling. "First of all, I want to say that, well... this totally caught me off guard, but I'm very surprised and, especially, grateful, that you've taken a bit of your time to be here now, even though we've never spoken, because I see some unfamiliar faces."

Damn it, I could already feel my cheeks burning. Nico approached me and, pushing Sebastian aside, his arms surrounded me, giving me encouragement with his gaze.

I swallowed and continued:

"The truth is, I don't know what to say," I confessed. "This time I've spent in Formula 1 has been amazing,” I lied, “and I'm very happy to have met great people like Sebastian," I removed the older German's arm from my shoulders and moved closer to the other, who seemed to relax. "If it weren't for him, I don't think I would still be here. I couldn't be more grateful to have you in my life."

I looked at Sebastian, who gave me a completely sincere smile, making my heart skip a beat. I wanted to keep talking, but my faltering words made me decide to end the speech with a simple nod. Everyone started applauding, and suddenly Sebastian took the microphone that had been in my hand the whole time.

"Come on, it's gift time for my favorite girl in the paddock!"

With smiles and continuous gestures of gratitude, I accepted all the gifts that started coming my way. As the packages, perfectly wrapped in gift paper, beautiful bags and colorful ribbons, my excitement grew as it hadn't since the last birthday I celebrated, before my mother's death.

Scarves, artisan chocolates, jewelry, among others were what began to flood the table behind me. Much more people than I had thought at first had bothered to bring me a simple detail.

Nico, when everyone had gone to get some snacks and drinks, approached with a box that, although it wasn't wrapped, was quite striking because of its size. He handed it to me with a wink; when I opened it, I was amazed. Inside was a digital camera like the ones I had always said I wanted in some conversation we had about how much I wanted to improve my photography skills that year.

"Nico, this is incredible!" I exclaimed too loudly as I jumped. "I can't believe it! Thank you so much!"

But the German wasn't done. He handed me a small box I opened carefully. A beautiful necklace full of stars with little stones made me widen my eyes. It was delicate and elegant, just my style even though I wasn't a big fan of jewelry. Before I could say a word, the Williams driver took it from my hands and gently placed it around my neck. As he tied it, I felt his breath fall on my goosebump-covered skin, which tensed even more when he left a kiss on my neck.

"I hope you like it, Diana," he murmured in a tone that was too seductive for him. “Happy birthday."

My excitement was at an all-time high, and I was so absorbed in Rosberg walking away from me, his gaze still fixed on mine, that I hadn't noticed that there was still one gift left: Sebastian's.

The blonde, who seemed to have stayed static at the scene he had just witnessed with his compatriot, approached with a small bag in his hands. It was evident, at first glance, that it wasn't as flashy as the other gifts. His expression burst with happiness, but I knew he was a little upset about the gift Rosberg had given me.

"Di..."

"Before you say anything," I interrupted him, "I want you to know that nothing, and no one, will ever top your gift: the first birthday party I've had in seven years. I hadn't had any since my mother's death because my father was reluctant to it," I explained, being more sincere than I would have liked, "and my sister and I are already used to making special days like any other."

"I'm going to make you as many birthday parties as you allow me, Di," he finally responded, without questioning anything I had told him. “I promise you that."

Without saying anything, I carefully opened the bag. Removing the tissue paper that covered it in the same way, I found a small notebook accompanied by a matching pen. It was very simple, but it was exactly what I liked the most, and, above all, I think I needed it.

"I know it's rubbish compared to what Rosberg gave you," he said, pointing with disgust at the camera and the pendant around my neck, "but I thought it would be a good idea for you to have it, so when you can't vent to me, you can do it by writing. I do it a lot when I'm overwhelmed, and it works pretty well for me," he continued, "although sometimes I feel a little secondhand embarrassment about what I write, I'm not going to lie."

Tears filled my eyes again that night, unlike that, for the first time, I had allowed myself to cry. Yes, it was true that it was nothing special compared to the others, but the fact that Sebastian had cared about me, in a way, made it even more special.

"It's absolutely perfect, Seb, really. Thank you so much."

"Wait, there's one more," he revealed, a little more excited.

My curiosity was awakened again as he handed me a jar that seemed to have been hidden all this time under the table where the rest of the gifts lay. It was adorned with a label featuring a photo of us with the date we met written underneath.

"This is one of my silly ideas, but I think you'll like it. Here," he took the jar, and opened it. "There are 365 papers, and I want you to read one each day when you wake up to start the day as happily as possible," he explained, leaving me completely amazed. "They're a mix of lyrics from songs you like, jokes we've shared over this time and well, a surprise or two as well."

If the background of the notebook had left me speechless, this had done it even more.

"Seb... I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything: pick one and read it, let's see what it says."

Seb gently brushed his fingers over my cheeks, wiping away the remaining tears on my face, and enveloping me in his arms as he had done so many times before. His blue eyes sparkled especially as he encouraged me to pick one of the messages from that jar again. Trembling, I took out one of the small carefully folded papers and slid my fingers over it, carefully opening it.

Thank you for being one of the most special people I've ever met. I hope one day you feel as special as you already are to me.

A silly smile spread across my face, and I quickly shifted my gaze from the handwriting to its author.

"Why do you come up with such brilliant ideas?"

The young man tilted his head and gave me a tender kiss on the head as he pulled me even closer to his chest.

"Because you're my greatest inspiration."

His words resonated within me like a constant echo for the rest of the night, partly preventing me from enjoying the party, the music, the dancing, the drinks, and the company. My emotions had turned into an internal storm that put great pressure on my stomach as I tried to process my feelings.

While talking to Felipe Massa, I watched Seb from a distance chatting animatedly with other guests, including Lewis. There was something in his smile and in the sparkle in his eyes when they met mine that made me feel a little special.

Part of me wanted to flee from this whirlwind of confusion and extreme confusion and enjoy my birthday night. However, there was another part of me that was intrigued by the idea of what could happen between Red Bull's golden boy and me, as unimaginable as it was. Perhaps that was why I drank too much that night. There came a point where, due to my mental block, I sat in a chair and kept asking myself, constantly, as if it were a mantra, if I was really in love with Sebastian Vettel or if maybe the German was earning a too privileged place in my life.

All the memories of the night, to my misfortune, became confused, except one.

Britta, taking me to my room, as best she could, while constantly repeating not to play with fire because, perhaps, things could end up worse than I imagined.

#f1 #formula 1 #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel fanfic #sebastian vettel fic #sebastian vettel x fem oc #sebastian vettel x oc #fluff #sebastian vettel fluff #nico rosberg #nico rosberg x oc #history #diana vettel #emma stone #sebastian vettel imagine

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sirdindjarin · 1 year

Text

Shouldn't - Joel Miller x Reader (Part Three)

Featuring: interrogator!Joel <3

Your trip through Lincoln turns into an all-out war. For Joel, it's the internal battle that's the worst.

I've decided this will be five parts in order to get this thing up sooner. Half of part four is already written, so hopefully it'll be up Sunday, March 19th to make up some of the loss of TLOU being over.

Masterlist ->

AO3 Link♥

WC: 8.5k

WARNINGS: Torture (Joel giving), violence, blood, depictions of gore, kidnapping, threat of violence against a child, hurt/comfort, angst.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort, angst, whump, Joel being who he is, mentions of sexual activity.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“We’ll be passin’ by Lincoln tomorrow. I don’t know anything about it, but I’m hopin’ it’s as much of a ghost town as the rest of the Midwest.”

“We haven’t seen a city in a year,” you bite your lip pensively.

“Philadelphia,” Ellie comments with a raise of her eyebrows.

“But,” you optimistically hedge, “that was a major east coast city. We shouldn’t have a serious problem in Lincoln. Shouldn’t,” you emphasize when Joel tsks.

You continue, “We gotta find some food. It’s nearly spring but I don’t even know the last time we saw a rabbit. We have to check out the suburbs, at least.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The sky is deeply blue. No clouds insulate the earth, and the wind injects icy air into your bones. Ellie is a walking sweatlodge in the layers you and Joel forced her into, but you can’t stop a shiver every now and again.

More than once do you look to Joel wishfully: the formidable, sultry desert of a man. He saunters slightly ahead of you now, his rifle cradled in his arms. His wavy hair flutters and you fight a crude smile at the remembrance of pulling it this morning as he moved inside you. Your lower back bears a scrape from where he'd pushed into you against the rock. You smile to yourself at the sting of it. Any tangible reminder that the things you two do are real is welcomed.

Soon, however, your eyes refocus on the tendrils of an unfolding city. The trees become more purposefully planted as the suburbs thicken. It’s mile upon mile of dilapidated house after crumbling apartment block. You’re barely inside the outlying district and yet it's depressing. Cities are always depressing.

Down an alleyway between formerly-beautiful, massive homes, you catch sight of an unbroken window. You motion to your adult companion and he nods. The house sits upon a concrete block, probably concealing a basement, so neither one of you can see through the window. Underneath it, Joel crouches and clasps his hands, palms up.

“What? Seriously?” You chuckle in a whisper.

“Just do it.”

“Ellie’s smaller." You turn to her, “Peek in. And be careful.”

Happy to be involved, Ellie eagerly sheds a coat. Planting one foot on Joel’s thigh and another in his hands, Ellie wobbles as she fights for balance, grabbing his shoulder. She steadies and peers through the corner of the glass, cupping her hands around her eyes.

For a long moment, you admire Joel’s easy physicality, his willingness to be a literal stepping stone for Ellie. He catches you staring, and you smile shyly at him. The corner of his lips quirk and he narrows his eyes in recognition, but then, tapping her ladder’s shoulder, Ellie carefully drops.

“Just a bunch of old-ass furniture. It’s the living room, I think.”

“It look ransacked?” Joel asks, subtly wringing out his hands.

“It looks like a fucked-up museum.”

You smile. “Perfect.”

Breaking in was the wrong word. The patio door was unlocked and undamaged, sliding somewhat noisily on its track. Two plates of rotten, unidentifiable food sit on the round, blue table cloth. The small, galley kitchen to your right is clean, all things considered.

Your boots noiselessly cross the linoleum to fling open cabinets and dust flies in your face, but you choke down the cough.

Ellie stands guard outside on the back porch, and Joel anxiously plants himself halfway along the track of the sliding doorway, unsure if he should leave her or you. His eyes follow you as you cautiously open the fridge, though you already know that anything inside would've perished long ago.

You're right.

Shrugging, you turn back to the graying, handsome man and stage-whisper, "Nothin'."

Joel motions with his fingers for you to come to him, and your stomach knots. His serious brown eyes have you tripping over your own feet, and when you're within arm’s reach, he slides his hand to the top of your spine, fingers curled partially around the back of your neck. Goosebumps blossom where he touches you and something flickers to life in your core.

"We'll try another place," he murmurs in your ear, then guides you out the door in front of him.

Damn, okay. No reason for that to have affected me so much.

An hour later, after two more failed scoutings, Joel picks the lock on the most promising house you've yet seen. Entering from the side yard, Joel steps into a garage. His heavy boots are less stealthy than yours - soft thuds rebounding in the concrete room. Ellie reclines against the house with her arms folded, silently resuming her role as lookout, so you follow Joel. To your elation, inside the garage is a red, four-door sedan. Joel’s head swivels to you and he casts a pleased, cocky smile.

He trains his weapon on the garage stairs and begins to advance into the house with you on his heels. He whips open the door with one hand. Total silence greets him. Gun first, he proceeds into and down the narrow hallway.

At the end of the hallway to the left is a kitchen stuck in the 1990s. A barn red and forest green color scheme covers every inch of the space, accented by roosters in every format: a cookie jar, window valances, salt and pepper shakers, and even a painting. A ceramic dish shaped like - what else - a rooster sits on a shelf next to Joel. He chuckles with satisfaction as he plucks the car keys from the bowl.

Your attention is caught by something else: you move toward the walk-in pantry.

“Remember when you told me to stop crying over trash?” You poke at Joel. He doesn’t reply, unsurprisingly, so you continue, “I miss what life used to look like. The little things, you know? Flavors of soda and terribly-decorated rooms like this one. I miss the dumb shit.”

You leave out your exact thoughts. He knows what you mean. He knows you mean that the small, fun decisions have been erased from the world. You’ll never again eat M&Ms until you get sick. He’ll never again nurse a glass of his favorite mid-shelf whiskey and pass out to a rerun of Whose Line is it Anyway?

You reach the full-size pantry door; the knob turns easily. But the hinges stick, so you jerk it open. Joel lunges for your arm and yanks you behind him when he sees the infected sitting on the floor.

Cordyceps snake up the wall and onto the ceiling where a broken bulb dangles. The… thing was long dead; a husk of a human body, it was no longer a threat. But you wouldn’t be eating anything from that pantry, that was for sure.

Joel still holds you firmly behind him. You try to shirk from his grasp but then you realize his other hand is digging into the flesh over his heart.

“Joel? Joel, are you okay?” You twist powerfully underneath his arm to get in front of him. He looks ashen.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” The fear in your voice is palpable.

It only makes Joel feel worse. He shakes his head sharply. Joel turns away and presses his palms onto the counter. You stand there frozen, unsure how to help him.

“A- are you having a heart attack?” You ask, your voice cracking.

“Don’t - know. Don’t think so,” he chokes out and hangs his head.

You rest your hand on his shoulder, your thumb rubbing soothingly, “You’re scaring me.”

He’s quiet. He takes several deep breaths, expanding his lungs and pushing out the panic gripping his chest. Joel remains hunched for several too-long moments, and you’re about to speak when he beats you to it.

“‘m fine.” Joel straightens and brushes past you to the smaller cabinets above the countertop. He opens three before he gets lucky.

Without a word, Joel grabs the aluminum soup cans and tosses them to you. As he stalks past, you take hold of his leather sleeve.

“Don’t shut me out,” you implore him.

He pauses, his gaze trained anywhere but at you, and then he loosens your grip and gently pushes you in front of him. Down the hallway, out into the garage, and out into the side yard.

“What are those?” Ellie asks excitedly, starting at the faded red and white labels.

“Chicken noodle soup,” you answer flatly, too preoccupied with Joel’s behavior to enjoy the spoils.

“‘M’m! M’m! Good!’” Ellie quotes from the can. She looks up at you cheekily, “Is that what you guys were in there doing?”

“Ellie,” you gasp. “Oh my god.”

Joel wipes a hand over his face.

“No?” She laughs.

Crouching, you zip the cans into your pack. From your position, you look up at Joel and shade your eyes from the bright sun.

Several hundred miles lies between where you stand and where you want to be. It’ll be around a month before the three of you will reach the far end of Wyoming unless you’re able to start that car. In that month of walking, there will be no more major cities.

In short, a few cans of chicken noodle soup will not be sufficient.

“We really need that car inside, honestly. Carrying the amount of food that we’re gonna need would be so difficult. I think we need to risk the city.”

“I don’t wanna start it ‘less we’re ready to leave,” Joel asserts. “If it does work, it’s gonna draw attention.”

“If there’s anyone to give it attention. This place is creepily empty. But I agree with you. So, try the city for food?”

Joel reluctantly nods.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

As it turned out, food wasn’t hard to find. Within the span of a few hours, you spot a food pantry. A square, brick building, Joel hammers at the rusted padlock on the front door with the butt of his rifle. Grunting a final time, it falls.

The building’s entryway is narrow and dark. Joel’s flashlight guides you down the passage; at the end, to the right, is a restaurant-like setup: a dining area and a kitchen.

Inside the old soup kitchen, Joel finds an entire room dedicated to canned goods, corn chips, and jarred fruit. It used to provide meals for those in need and it would do so now. It's a fucking miracle.

Joel reverently picks up a jar of peaches and unscrews the lid. His eyes linger over your profile before he covertly inhales. The first time he met you, he had smelled peaches. Sweet, home-y, good. He knew it made no sense; you were dirty and so was he, but Joel couldn’t drop the vivid association.

“Fill your bag, Ellie,” you instruct and look over your shoulder at her.

Ellie stands wide-eyed at the most amount of food she’s ever seen. She wanders over to the chips.

“Holy shit. I don’t even know what to pick.”

You smile joyfully, “Whatever you want.” Your eyes catch on some ancient cookies, “Not those, though.”

Joel’s lips tug into a hidden, resistant smile at your parental nature. It was something he'd always admired in you.

“Make sure you take some of the vegetables, Ellie,” Joel orders as he carefully bags his peaches.

“Okay, Dad,” Ellie taunts without looking at him.

Joel snaps his head to her as though she called him a slur. He says nothing.

Since you’re not facing Joel, you’re unsure of his reaction and you freeze. You hadn’t told Ellie what he had confided in you. Guilt and responsibility for your sister’s hurtful statement lodge in your stomach. Unsure how to proceed, you follow Joel’s verbal cue (or lack thereof) and ignore it.

Ellie moves like a woman possessed as she ransacks the shelves, voraciously reading the label on every single can and bag of snacks before shoving them in her backpack, completely unaware of the wreckage her words had caused.

The sound of the front door’s hinges squeaks into the tense silence. All three of you whirl to face the direction of the sound. A moment later, a teenage boy carrying a gun and a radio waltzes into view. The boy makes eye contact with Ellie before hurriedly bringing his radio to his mouth and aiming his gun barrel at your head.

“Food stor-” the boy’s shrill warning is cut short when Joel fires.

Ellie jumps and clamps her hands over her ears as the deafening noise rings in the metal room.

The teenager collapses as arterial spray paints the cabinet beside him. Choking, he pushes the button on his radio again and garbles unintelligibly.

Joel makes a horrible guttural sound, pissed that he didn’t end it quickly. Joel strides closer and fires again at the boy’s head. The kid goes limp as chunks of his brain matter cling to the stainless-steel appliances.

“Let’s go,” Joel barks, angry about Ellie’s comment, the boy, and now your useless immobility at the horror before you.

“Okay, okay, okay,” you repeat as a mantra to rise above the shock.

The kid is older than Ellie, probably seventeen or so, and clearly part of a larger, well-equipped group but it was no less difficult to watch him die so horribly. You push Ellie forward, hating that you both must step over the young man’s scattered body.

Joel is already at the front door, ensuring that whoever the kid had radioed was not just outside, when the two of you reach him. You place your hand on his arm to let him know you’re there, and he grabs it.

Pulling you with him, he jogs down the car-riddled street and into the nearest alley. Over the next wordless few minutes, the three of you search for a safe place to hide for the growing night.

Occasionally, the sounds of a shout or screams touch your awareness. You’re not sure if they’re real or if your worried mind has decided to play games, and you’re too afraid of the answer to ask Joel if he hears them, too.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The drip of water is steady and lonely. Cold, damp, dark. This backroom is a depressing place to sleep.

Not that anywhere else would’ve been much cheerier, you amend.

The city had been utterly destroyed. Buildings had been blown apart by god-knows-who while bones and rusted guns litter the streets. It had been a hasty decision to hide inside this bank. Joel was sure he’d heard rapid footsteps approaching when he all but shoved you two into this building.

A steel vault, disused even before the outbreak, sits open in the corner. Though money was of no use now, you’re mildly disappointed to see that it’s empty.

Would’ve been fun to see money again. It’s been such a long time since I’ve touched a dollar.

Joel concerns you.

He is distant and short in his responses. Berating yourself over your optimism, you remember how vehemently he had maintained his emotional wall while you three trudged from the coast. He’d only cracked when you’d been in danger. A pang of some unidentified emotion zings through your gut.

You close your eyes but open them instantly when the image of the teenage boy’s head ripping apart replays. Joel had been too agitated to tell you to look away, but really, you should’ve known better. What else was Joel going to do? Patch the kid up after the first shot? Hope he didn’t communicate with his group again?

The boy’s gun was on me, you remember. Joel might’ve saved my life. Again.

Ellie curls up facing away from the rest of the room, while Joel fiddles with random items from his backpack, making more noise than you’ve ever heard him make before. As he hastily wraps a long piece of duct tape around the toe of his boot, you sit beside him.

He stills and sighs. He doesn’t want to talk.

“What’s wrong?”

His eyes are hard. “Everything's great.”

“I’m sure it’s- I know it’s all… really hard, but I offered to help you,” you softly tell him.

He shakes his head, “I don’t need your goddamn help.” Though his voice is quiet, his tone guts you open. “You think you’re helping me, but you’re makin’ things worse.”

“Wh- what’d I do?” You recoil in shock. “Tell me what you need then, since I’m doing it wrong.”

Joel doesn’t answer. He heaves himself to his feet, crosses the room with an angry stride and wrenches open the door. He’s gone before you can say another word.

“Damn, what got into him?” Ellie props herself up on her elbow, watching the older man leave.

“I have no idea,” you whisper a lie.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Joel broods just outside the door. The atrium of the bank was once spectacular. The building was historical; the original crown molding and a sky-blue mural still adorn the ceiling, darkening with age and neglect. Though the sun has set, the pale light of dusk provides enough light for Joel to see the desks where bank representatives would’ve held appointments.

Joel slumps down in one of the chairs, bracing his arms on the desk in front of him. His odd panicking that morning has been weighing on him. Sure, he knew beginning to care for you and for Ellie would be a difficult road.

But he hadn’t anticipated that. How could he? How could he have known that seeing you near danger would cause spikes of terror to stab at his chest? That he’d be unable to breathe, unable to think? He’d yanked you away from a harmless fucking corpse, for god’s sake.

He wasn’t even protecting you when he pulled you away. He was protecting himself. His losses. Joel can’t go through it again. He’s not sure he actually has gone through it in the first place. It sure feels like he’s still drowning in it.

Joel sits, ruminating, for a long while before he returns. When he does, he’s grateful that you and Ellie are asleep. Joel notices Ellie clutch her blanket closer, and he shrugs out of his jacket. He tucks the jacket over the girl, careful not to wake her. Then, Joel Miller stands and sighs from the depths of his soul.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The screaming is what wakes you. Ellie’s heart-rending, terrified screams zing around the small brick room. You bounce up in a single motion - immediately awake and alert.

Across the room, where Ellie is curled on the floor, a clicker hunches over her. She kicks at it, keeping it away from her until, in a breathtakingly horrible moment, her shoe glances off the clicker’s side and it falls upon her.

Feeling no fear for yourself, you fly across the room, gun in hand. You won’t risk shooting Ellie, so you drop next to her and aim up at its flowery head. Ellie’s forearms brace the thing away from her face, but it’s stronger than she is.

You fire and the thing goes semi-limp. The gunshot reverberates, deafening you all. Weakly, the clicker swings its limbs in an attempt to subdue its attacker, but you fire again. It jolts violently and you kick it forcefully off of your sister. It finally rolls away. Dead.

In shock, Ellie crab-walks until her back meets the brick. One had never gotten that close to her. She’d seen them, of course, even shot a few. But you had never let one get within ten yards of her. She could smell its earthy, putrid stench. Your arms cling around her shoulders as you verbally assure that she’s safe.

Dimly, you become aware that Joel is standing against the far wall next to his bed roll. His gun is out, but he looks far away and uncertain.

You push Ellie’s hair out of her eyes, her ponytail askew from the struggle. “You’re okay. You’re okay, El.”

She swallows and nods, burying her face in your arm for a moment before she scoots out of your hold. She moves as far away from the creature as she can in the tiny, dim room.

Your heart thunders in your chest as the adrenaline leaves you. Shaking, you return your gun to its holster and look over at Joel.

"You okay?" You're careful to remove all inflection. You step over to him. The look on his face is worrying.

He doesn’t answer, but his chest heaves.

“Joel,” you try to snap him from his trance. “It’s dead.”

He finally looks at you; and there it is. In his big, emotional, brown eyes, you see the storm. You see the problem. He cares too much.

Fuck. Now I get why I couldn’t help him, you think ruefully. Though it breaks your heart, you can’t save him. He was right. You’ll only make things worse.

Unable to see him like this, and knowing he didn’t want that either, you squeeze his arm and turn away.

“Okay. Can’t stay in this room now, but -” you squint up at the slit of a window, “it looks like it’s dawn, anyway. Let’s just go. Get out of here.”

Joel - finding something he can do - leaves the room to check for friends of the clicker while you pack up the food you’d managed to find the night before. Ellie’s attention follows Joel out the door, and she absent-mindedly rubs her arm.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Back to that house? I think it was down that way - we make a left, then duck through that old pet store, then out the back door and make another left,” your final word sounds more like a question, and Joel automatically answers.

“Yeah, reckon so.”

Sun glints off of disused high-rises and the light changes rapidly over the ramshackle city. With the weight of your pack, you soon begin to pant with exertion. Ellie’s hand sweats in yours as you march, but after the events of the past day, you weren’t going to be letting go of her until she was in that car.

A shout echoes down the concrete and glass corridor of the city’s buildings. Ellie, still shaken from earlier, whimpers at the sudden sound.

A rough hand grabs your free one, pulling you forward.

“C’mon,” Joel hisses. He’s looking behind you.

Seven dirty-looking men and two women advance on you from the side street. Two of the men and one of the women wear the same green jumpsuit - a uniform?

“Hey! Fuckin’ stealing from us?” The same man shouts angrily and silences any doubt about who these people were.

Dust and pieces of asphalt fly into the air as the group takes potshots at you three. Ducking, you shove Ellie in front of you.

“Go, go!”

The three of you slip behind a burnt semi-truck, then down another alley. Joel’s hand grips yours as if you’ll disappear.

“Left, Ellie!” You scream as she runs ahead.

The sound of chasing footsteps and shouted instructions shoots fear through your chest. Joel rounds a corner a split second before you do, and a bullet cuts the brick just above you. You shriek and Joel grabs the back of your head, pulling you into a running crouch.

Through the maze of alleyways, Ellie manages to navigate back to the road you’d found the house with the car.

“I can see it!” She yells.

“Joel, you got the keys?” You’re entirely out of breath.

He rips them from his jacket pocket and calls Ellie’s name. When she turns, he tosses the keys to her, “Start the car, kid.”

“What are you doing?”

“Shooting at them,” he answers, slipping the rifle from his shoulder.

Ellie sprints down the street, the blue house only three blocks away. Pumping her arms, she doesn’t even feel the pain in her right.

Joel backtracks to the alley you’d come from and positions himself. You join him. Sweating and pensive, he looks at you with warring emotions.

“Go with Ellie. Both of us don’t need to be here.”

“Shut up,” you snap.

The woman in the uniform appears first. Her curly hair is kept in a messy bun. That’s the only thing you internalize before you shoot and kill her. A wail goes up from one of her companions, and vulgar promises fly loose from the men’s mouths. The group stops just out of sight - unwilling to walk into the obvious ambush.

“Stay the fuck back,” you yell.

“Won’t bite you, girlie,” the other woman jeers.

Her voice is overlapped by one of the men talking to the group, “We could use the two girls.”

Joel's cheek twitches and he pushes his forearm against your chest, forcing you out of sight. He goes intentionally quiet.

After a significant beat, a man peeks his head around the corner, curious about the silence and Joel’s bullet enters his left eye.

“You’re dead, motherfucker. You’re fucking dead,” one of the survivors screams. Mumbles, curses, and the sounds of guns being checked and reloaded fill the concrete alleyway.

Joel ignores their threats against him.

“You’re gonna run. Ellie can start the car, but she can’t drive,” he reasons with you. He fires a few shots into the empty alley to remind the group of his presence.

He wasn’t optimistic. You would be faster than him. One of you could make the distance before those fuckers got line-of-sight, but it wouldn’t be Joel. Age and years of hard living took their toll.

You laugh humorlessly. “I’m not leaving you here, you asshole.”

“Okay, well, what’s your plan, smartass?” He asks viciously. “You think they’re gonna stay there ‘til we get gone?”

“I don’t know, Joel, but I’m not fucking leaving you here. What are you bein’ so self-sacrificing for?”

“I wasn’t gonna stand here forever,” he levels you with a guilty look.

“You’re- you were going to ditch us?”

“It’s a win-win. I make sure they don’t follow you, then I… go my own way.”

“That’s a win-win?” You can’t hide the hurt in your voice.

The jeers have stopped. You peek around the building and see most of the crew stalking down the path.

Wow, not the brightest.

Your argument with Joel stalls as the two of you fire upon your pursuers. Several people fall. Whether they’re killed or maimed, you’ll never know. You grab Joel’s collar and drag him backward with you. He has no choice but to run.

You run through brambles and weeds and dirt-covered front yards, leaping over bushes to avoid the aim of any survivors. But no gunshots ring out. The blue house grows in your vision as you close in on it.

A breath-stealing minute later, you realize something as the yard comes into view.

Ellie isn’t there. You bust into the garage to find the red sedan sitting untouched. Backtracking into the yard, you whirl around, searching. A flash in the grass catches your attention. Squatting, you retrieve the car keys. Nothing is clicking in your mind. Nothing makes sense.

She should be right here.

“Where the fuck is my sister?” Your voice shakes.

Joel, having been several moments behind you, sees you crouched in the grass with the keys in your hand, and immediately a switch is flipped inside him.

Ellie is gone. Joel will find her. His crime of failing to act during the clicker attack can be atoned for.

He sprints back toward the group. Dazed but full of adrenaline, you stand and run after him.

It’s quiet now. No one, save for four bodies, is present in the alley. Joel motions a different direction, and you follow. He was right, walking down that way would’ve been stupid.

The road you'd come from earlier was a main thoroughfare, so most of the side streets and alleys fed into it. Joel picks one and hides behind a large, scrubby hedge at the end of the row. He cranes his neck around the corner.

In the distance, seven people travel away from you. Two of them seemed to have come from the direction of the blue house. One of them, much shorter than the others, is being jerked forward every few steps.

Ellie.

You dash out from behind the bush to rush the group, despite their increasing distance, when you're held in place by a hand gripping your wrist.

"Gotta get closer," Joel rationalizes.

“Joel, we need to go now. We can't let them get wherever they're going. She’s just a kid, Joel! She’s my sister," your words string together in rushed panic. Desolate tears fall from your eyes.

Joel grabs your face, “I know. Look at me, baby - I know. We’ll get her back; just trust me.” His warm, determined brown eyes provide a stable place for you to land.

You touch his hands on your face and nod. He kisses your forehead quickly.

Risking exposure momentarily, you two sprint past several cratered buildings before finding cover behind a truck. Trailing behind the group like carrion, you make slow progress. They’re still several blocks ahead of you. As you get closer, it’s obvious that Ellie fights hard; she refuses to go quietly.

Fear twists your stomach, but rage twists Joel’s mind.

You’re closing in - so close, you can hear your sister cursing her kidnappers’ mothers, when the world goes black for a moment.

You feel small pebbles from the asphalt embed themselves in your palms. A jolt in your shoulder tells you that the ground has welcomed you. The buildings around you tilt and double. The faint sound of yelling and the dull sound of punches being thrown reaches your ears.

Fighting nausea, you close your eyes and lie still for a moment.

Maybe several moments.

The noises have stopped.

With a herculean effort, you sit up. A sharp, throbbing pain dings your skull. Curious, you raise a hand up to the back of your head and - oh, god - thick, crimson liquid coats your fingertips.

“C’mon, baby,” a man with a concerned southern lilt breathes. A gritty hand rubs your cheek.

Joel? You wonder. Or maybe you say his name aloud, you’re not sure.

“I got you,” Joel raises you by the upper part of your arm.

“What happened?” You clutch your aching head.

“You were blindsided,” Joel’s voice ices with hatred, "by a fuckin' coward."

“Where is he?”

Joel doesn’t answer; instead, he pulls you back in the direction you’d come toward a busted plate glass window.

And away from Ellie, you realize.

“Joel. My sister,” you protest.

He doesn’t speak, just continues his warpath. He helps you through the massive opening, glass crunching underneath boots, and your eyes are instantly greeted by a duct-taped man sitting in a barber’s chair. Tape covers his mouth, but you can tell his nose is irreparably broken. He’s conscious and his eyes follow Joel as if he were the man’s greatest fear.

“You were out cold,” Joel frowns. “I couldn’t leave you and I had to deal with this piece’a shit.” He looks away from you to admit his next words, “I lost sight of Ellie.”

He had made an impossible choice, but you’re upset anyway.

“She’s a child, J-”

“I fuckin’ know that. I know. I didn’t choose between you, I dealt with the immediate problem. That was this,” he points his knife at the man, “an’ you bleeding in the street.”

You wince as you touch your head again. It hurts like hell, but you’re certain it’s just a gash and a concussion. Both hopefully minor.

“Why’d you leave him alive?” You glare at the man.

“He smashed that bottle over your head so I rushed him; took me too long to get him down and by then, Ellie was gone.” Joel approaches his captive, growing larger and more menacing with each step. “But he’s gonna tell us where they took her.”

Without asking a single question, Joel plunges his hunting knife into the man’s hand, pinning it to the chair. The tape around his mouth prevents the shrill tone, but his scream is audible anyway. Joel leaves the knife inside the man’s appendage while he pulls half of the tape off his mouth.

“Where'd they go?” Joel asks calmly in his gravelly baritone.

“I don’t know them, man, I’m not with them,” he cries. “Listen, my name’s Steven, I don-”

“Wrong answer,” Joel replaces the tape before sawing his knife through the man’s hand, effectively tearing it in half.

Nearly passing out, Steven hyperventilates in pain. Grime and sweat roll down the man’s face. Joel wipes the bloody knife on the man’s shirt.

You collapse in a seated position to the debris-covered floor, weakened by everything that has occurred since you decided to come to this fucking city. Your eyes seek wretched solace in Joel. He looks confident. In control. In his element.

Twice now he has weaponized his brutality towards those who had hurt you; it’s difficult to reject or put name to the feelings it invokes. You watch with an intensity you should be disturbed by as Joel stabs his knife into his victim’s other hand.

“Lie to me again and I’ll rip your goddamn tongue out,” he promises, his voice somehow both hoarse and strong.

You know you should be horrified. You know this is theoretically wrong. But, like the others you watched receive Joel’s wrath, you can’t find it in you to care.

“All this over a-” Steven wheezes, “a girl I didn’t even touch?” He continues babbling for a moment before Joel answers him.

“You did touch her,” Joel wrenches the knife - still inside the guy’s hand - in your direction. The man wails. “Answer my fuckin’ question.”

“I don’t know, man,” Steven pleads. “I’m not in good enough with them.”

Something glints in Joel’s eyes which makes Steven continue hysterically, “But I do see them by the school a lot.”

“The school. Where?” Joel pulls steel from flesh and a gasping cry issues forth from Steven.

“D-down the road a half-mile, make a - a left at the gas station, then follow that road for five, maybe six, blocks.”

“Guards?”

Steven closes his eyes and whimpers.

“Any fucking guards?” Joel demands, looming ominously over the bloody man.

You clench your legs together in a rush. Too much had happened. Too much damage to your mind and your brain - nothing is processing correctly. Truthfully, you’ve never felt so safe, so cared for. Like a brand or a wax seal - heat, pressure, damage - the lengths to which he was willing to go for you and Ellie intensely bonds you to him. Nothing you feel now can you ever admit to Joel. You want him to heal, to stop his violent catharsis, not indulge it.

“Not now, too many of them died over the winter!” Steven screams. “There’s maybe sixteen or seventeen of them, but you killed some and I don’t know anymore - I don’t! Don’t fucking kill me, please.”

From the moment Joel saw your blood on the cold road, this man was dead. And he would be the first in a series to find out just how gray Joel’s morality is.

Joel turns away. He walks over to you and crouches, taking in your battered appearance. His heart lunges against his chest. He was going to get your sister back and he was going to make every single one of them pay for it. The flickering fear of failure lurks in his chest, but it’s stifled by his righteous indignation at the sight of you.

“You okay?” His fingers brush a lock of dirty hair from your face.

And you’re struck by his softness. The dichotomy of his easy violence and his gentle care is what pierces your soul. He would do anything for you and Ellie. Joel would slip back into the violent man he’d been and he would face his haunted memories. You knew which of those was the hardest for him, too.

You simply nod, cow-eyed and dumbstruck for the moment. Two thoughts cycle in your mind, and you voice the only one you can: “We need to go get Ellie.”

He also nods, then stands.

“Why?” He steps toward the man and indicates you.

“T-told you, man, I’m not in good with them. I thought killin’ someone they were after would help my shot.”

Joel’s knife thunks into Steven’s thigh. He pulls it out just as quickly.

“Why?” the dead man shrieks. “I told you everything I know.”

“I know you did,” Joel assures, but his near-mocking tone is not meant to comfort.

With all his strength, ignited by the memory of your bloody face as you fell to the ground, he plunges the knife into Steven’s chest and twists. A sickening sound as though the wind had been knocked from Steven fills the empty room.

Wiping the blade clean with Steven’s shirt, Joel turns uninterestedly from the expiring man. He holds out his hand for you and you instantly take it. He hauls you to your feet.

“’s go get our girl,” he murmurs into your hair.

You nod vehemently and follow him out onto the street. His steadying presence aids you through the pain in your head and your heart.

Trusting Joel entirely with navigation, he takes you through a park adjacent to the gas station his unwilling informant had mentioned. In the stark light of mid-morning, the rusted swing set and playground pierce your heart, reminding you of outbreak day. You'd told her your parents had asked you to pick her up, but that wasn't true. You had snuck Ellie from school because you were lonely.

It comes as no surprise to either of you: torture could get information, but how reliable the details were was murky. In his haste to get Joel gone, the man had underestimated the distance between the gas station and the school.

As the two of you jog along the sidewalk, Joel almost hopes to come across someone. Inside his chest is a riot of anguish and a desire to let it possess him. He had never lied to himself. Joel never felt more at peace than when he was exorcizing his grief through violence.

“I see it,” you pant, “I see the flag pole.”

The school is a single-story, T-shaped, brick building. Thankfully, you don’t have to cross the street to get to it. One man stands on the steps leading to the glass front doors with the very same gun Joel carries so faithfully.

You frown deeply - why only one guard? These people must know you would come for your child. A potentially paranoid explanation that you hate instantly jumps into your mind: because whatever they’re doing to her is more interesting.

As if you could physically stop the thought, you smack your forehead. Then you meet Joel’s eyes and see the exact same thought reflected back. He looks grim.

“How do you want to do this?” You ask Joel determinedly.

“We take out the guard, then go in.” He answers as if he’s simply picking up a kid from school.

“That’s not enough of a plan for me,” you state. “We split up to look for her.”

Joel is immediately shaking his head. “No.”

“Yes. One of us will find her. It’ll be faster if we split up. Whoever gets her, gets out, and we’ll all meet at that park.”

“Goddammit, I said no.” Joel growls, grabbing your jaw.

Worry and sorrow color his face. But you both know you’re right, and you continue speaking as if he's not looking at you like he’s losing a piece of himself.

“I’ll meet you at the park at -” you squint at the sun, “at noon, I guess.” You’re pretty sure that gives you both just under an hour.

His fingers are frozen on your jaw in desperation; the look in his eyes becomes unbearable, so you shoot forward, pecking him on the lips, and then take off around the side of the school.

Joel fights the stampede of his heart by tearing his eyes from your shrinking shape and focusing on the guard.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“We haven’t hurt her,” the short, red-headed man states. His palms face Joel.

“That’s great. Doesn’t help you,” Joel raises his rifle.

“You shoot him and you die,” another man to Joel’s left shouts.

The space is set up like a conference room. A long table, likely from the cafeteria, sits in the center of the cluster of offices. The red-headed man stands at the head of the table as if he's expecting The Last Supper, and Joel’s newest problem emerges from an office to his left.

Joel’s attention shifts to the massive wooden monolith to his right. It had been the front desk, which meant it was taller than usual and sturdy. It would be the best cover he could get in this clusterfuck.

Faster than he thought he could, Joel rolls onto the ground. In frustration, the gunman fires a few .22 rounds at Joel’s moving form. Slouching underneath the desk, Joel feels and hears the satisfying thunk, thunk, of the smaller bullets lodging in the thick wood.

“Coward,” the man jeers.

A different male voice speaks. The redhead. “We want to negotiate. We want our food back. The girl for the food.”

Joel could roll his eyes. Did they think he was that stupid? He had killed at least six of their people on his way inside this building, and probably more - definitely more depending on how they felt about ol’ Steven - and the very first one had been a kid.

“Where’s the girl?” Joel calls out.

“Where’s your other girl?” The gunman retorts. “You the one who taught her how to shoot?”

Joel’s eyes narrow. Against all reason, he had been hoping they’d forgotten about you.

“She shot my fucking wife, you son of a bitch,” the man continues, shaking in rage. “I’ll kill that girl in front of you. She your kid? I hope she is.”

Joel’s not entirely sure which girl this guy means now, but either one is a sore subject, so he pops around the wooden structure as low to the ground as he can, and fires off several shots.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“I’m kind of offended,” your lighthearted tone sounds almost shrill to your ears. “Only two guards on your cell?” Cell is a little much. They’d placed Ellie in a classroom and stood outside of the door. You’d picked them off before they even saw you.

Granted, your gunfire had alerted the rest of the building and rained hell down on Joel when he started shooting right after you in a wholly separate part of the building.

Ellie doesn’t acknowledge your joke. That’s how you know your blustery attitude isn’t working. She wasn’t a toddler anymore. Shaking off or pretending the pain wasn’t real was not going to work here.

She falls into you, her arms locked behind your back. You kiss the top of her head.

“Th- they were going to take turns with me. They told me how. They told me how you’d find pieces of me. I hit them, I made one bleed but -”

You cut off her flow with a shh. “That’s not happening. We’re going to get the car.”

Peeking out the door, the sound of gunfire coming from the other section of the building, you see another man run toward the fight. You shove aside your abject terror for Joel. Ellie needs you.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Joel hadn’t been quite as quick as he thought. He winces at his thigh. The denim is torn and bloody from the bullet wound through the right side of his leg. Since it was a goddamn .22, the shell was probably still inside his flesh, too. His only ray of sunshine was that it hadn’t hit his femur nor an artery.

Joel covers his head as more splinters from the desk fly past. The sound of the gunfire was deafening. Three more men had appeared from behind each of the closed office doors. If Joel’s count was correct, and so was Steven, there should only be five or six men left. He figured one would be guarding Ellie, so what he had to deal with here was likely the rest of the crew.

Breathing ragged, he holds his rifle close to his chest, waiting for his moment. It comes: a pause in the firing and the sound of two - maybe three - men reloading. Joel kneels on his good leg and pops his head and weapon above the desk. He fires upon the man who threatened to kill you in front of him, and watches with satisfaction as the man’s chest blows blood like confetti.

Hurling curses and non-words, the other men scramble to finish reloading, ducking behind doors and walls for cover.

The red-headed man is the closest to the one Joel just killed, and he seems off somehow. But Joel’s attention is diverted as a body comes crashing around the far side of Joel’s shelter.

The human kamikaze comes from Joel’s right, that’s his only excuse for failing to hear the large person’s strides. The bald man barrels into Joel, knocking him over, but he fails to knock Joel’s gun from his hands to the man’s mortal mistake. A single gunshot.

Two down. Three left.

Joel rolls over the now-dead bald guy and examines the room from this new direction. One of the men is hiding behind an office door. A very flimsy, particle-board door. Joel grins briefly and fires through a material he had touched every day in a previous life.

A loud thud comes as the body falls to the floor.

“Stop!” A voice Joel’s already heard several times screams. “Stop. You’ve killed enough of us.”

Joel makes a sour face to himself. To his count, there were three of them left - red-head, his friend here, and whoever was guarding Ellie. That didn’t seem like enough dead.

“No, I haven’t.”

“All we wanted was our food,” the man bellows. “You can have your little bitch.”

“Where is she?” Joel takes great care to keep the pain out of his voice.

To his vague surprise, no answer comes. Joel peers around the wall of the desk. A shadow moves inside an office, but Joel doesn’t think he can shoot through the table legs and wall that divide him from the unseen man.

Right before feeling a searing pain in his side, Joel wonders where the red-headed man went. But then he violently rolls, buckling the very same man’s knees. The redhead falls upon Joel and shoves the barrel of Joel’s gun out of range, gripping the barrel tight. Struggling but strangely weak, Joel punches the man in the nose, breaking it spectacularly.

The man only grunts and spits his blood onto Joel. Joel grunts and swings the gun at the man’s face, but it glances off his chin as the would-be target wildly tries to wrest the gun away.

Footsteps on the thin, industrial carpet alert Joel to the advancing presence of the last man. Allowing the redhead to pull the gun - still in Joel’s hands - upward, Joel uses the confusion to twist the gun to his left and pull the trigger in the direction of the final man.

A piercing scream shreds Joel’s ears as the oncoming person turns out to be the other woman from earlier. She falls to the floor clutching her stomach.

The redheaded man seems as though his brain has malfunctioned. The man is motionless for a fleeting moment and Joel’s jaw clenches in preparation. He understands who he has just killed. Now both men would be fighting for the same reason. A terrible roar is followed by a punch across Joel’s cheek, then another across his jaw, and nearly a third before Joel manages to overpower him.

Using his weight against him, Joel sacrifices the gun, dropping it to the floor, to violently shove the man to the side. Joel gets to his feet, unwilling to turn his back to pick up his gun. Instead, he draws his knife; a wicked grin curls from the depths of his adrenaline-soaked mind.

Driven by grief and hate, the redhead lunges for Joel and slices at Joel’s defensive arm. Joel realizes for the first time that his dueling partner has a shiny, sharp object in his hand.

How’d I miss that?

Joel bulldozes the man in the chest, lifting him off his feet, then pummeling him to the floor. Joel feels a sting to his upper back, but he shoves his knife into the screaming redhead’s chest once, twice, three times.

He sits back on his haunches, then falls to his ass, panting. In the silence, Joel slowly returns to his pained body. His thigh, his shoulder, his forearm, and … his side? Gingerly raising his shirt reveals a half-inch hole in his flesh. He looks up at the body before him and squints at the fucking letter opener in the man’s hand.

Joel’s head thunks onto the wood frame behind him and he shuts his eyes.

When he reopens them, mere slits on his face, the sun blazes through the huge window across the room. It must be noon, but Joel’s body refuses to obey his brain. Unbearable pain smothers him - pulls him down. He lets his eyelids close again.

But… it’s too quiet in this building. His eyes shoot open wildly this time, and he bares his teeth, grunting, as he crawls his way up the furniture to his feet. For all he knew, you and Ellie were dead in the corridor. Or worse.

Using his rifle as a semi-crutch, he hobbles out of the office space and down the linoleum hallway. Two bodies lie at the end, their clothes not the color he remembers you and Ellie wearing, but his heart rate skyrockets, anyway.

Joel softly calls your name, then Ellie’s. As he gets closer to the bodies, he frees a breath at their appearance.

Men. Not the girls.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

One of the swings on the playground moves in the wind. The area is deadly quiet, and it terrifies you. The one time you want to see a human being, you don’t.

“He said he’d be here?” Ellie demands from the backseat.

You had pulled the sedan behind a tiny building containing the park’s bathrooms. The position gave you the perfect view. Alternating between wincing at the position of the sun and searching the grounds, you tap your fingers on the steering wheel and don’t respond to Ellie.

The choice before you was starkly unpleasant. Leave your sister and go find Joel, take your sister to go find Joel, or leave without him.

He was going to leave us, the miserable part of your brain dredges up his choice earlier. Maybe he wants us to go. Maybe it’d be… better…

Better for him. You know it wouldn’t be the case for you. Or for Ellie. She has yet to stop craning her neck in every direction looking for Joel.

“You have to go find him,” Ellie insists eventually. It’s well-past the time you told him to meet you.

“I’m not leaving you alone again.” You state, though you had been considering just that.

“I’ll come with you.” She argues, but you hear the underlying fear of returning to that place.

“Absolutely not.” You veto.

“Then I’ll stay here. I’ll be okay. There’s guns in here. Or I can hide in the bathroom and lock the door, if you think that’s better.” Ellie opens the car door, making your decision for you.

“Ellie!” You hiss.

She pulls a handgun Joel had given her from her bag and nods at you. You fling open your car door, but she’s inside the bathroom before you can rush around the vehicle. She deadbolts the heavy door.

“Go find him. Please.”

Continue ->

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