oliver terrence wood.

O l i v e r   T e r r e n c e   W o o d                         //  bio 

              // the roots //

full name: oliver terrence wood birthdate // zodiac: march 18, 1996 // pisces gender // pronouns: male // he/him sexuality: asexual (non sex-repulsed) // demi -biromantic occupation: all rounder hometown: atlanta, ga. family: diane terrence ( mother - deceased ), william wood ( father ), holly wood ( half-sister; older ), merrick wood ( half-sister, younger ).  medical: chronic idiopathic bronchiectasis, a condition in which the lung’s airways become permanently thickened and damaged. often managed with antibiotics and inhalant medications, one can diminish the possibility of flare-ups by maintaining healthy daily habits. 

she’d been on her way home from another late night spent in her classroom going over plans when the need for a little liquid  warmth had overcome her -with her kettle out of commission the only way livia was going to get a decently brewed cup of earl grey was to stop by the cafe/diner - a place she generally tried to avoid unless she was picking up her daily work sandwich - but it looked close to empty and she had to wonder if maybe she was interrupting olivers close up.

“no one sane would frequent a diner at this time of night.” she shrugs a little in response “i’ll be back to my regularly scheduled food runs soon enough - for now i’m going to need you to tea me.”

as she waited for the younger man to start working on her order, she tilted her head to the side and studied him - not quite a newbie, living in the foley house with her favorite people, she hadn’t really gotten to know him all that well yet, but fletch seemed to like him and that spoke wonders for his character at least in her mind so she’d need to make moves to rectify that at some stage.

for now though she’d just take the tea - and maybe put out a few feelers to see if he was community spirited enough to rope into her ‘project’.

“while i have you here though…ever thought about putting any talents you might have to good use?”

.

Livia was someone he only knew through her stops in the cafe and the occasional conversation around the Foley house about her latest doings. But he knew she was a fellow tea drinker so when she ordered, he knew exactly what she was after. 

He pulled two of the clean mugs and turned back to the little sink that had the hottest water. He’d still have to put the kettle back on by starting hot would decrease the time waiting. While it filled, he unwrapped the tea bags and set them in the mug, wrapping the end around the handles the way his mother had always done for him. 

Earl Grey was usually a morning tea for him but any excuse to share tea, he’d take.

He heard her question through the swinging door as he went to put the kettle on the stove to heat. “Uh,” he said loudly so she could hear him, “I’m not sure I have any actual talents, so I’m not sure what you mean.”

He came back through the door and leaned across the counter, his hands clasped in front of him as his elbows supported him. “Why? What are you looking for?”

“One of these days a copy of the Goonies will show up in the warehouses, and I’ll find a VHS player somewhere in town and make you watch it.” It’s not the NeverEnding Story, but another 80s classic he had grown up on. He’d take the fantastical tale of the underdogs on a treasure hunt over the bitter-sweetness of Stand By Me’s take on the good ol’ days as well. To each their own, but regardless of preference Fletch intends on putting Oliver through the adventure of The Goonies just so that his joke is relevant.

Somewhere between the talk of old 80s movies and reminding Oliver his presence is no burden to him nor the Foleys, a decision is made. One that brings with it a sense of relief and excitement in Fletcher. He doesn’t even realize how much he is grinning at the concluding statement.

“Definitely far from the worst. Who else makes banging omelettes and picks out the freshest blueberries for breakfast?” The smugness is feigned and over the top all for the playful conversation they have going on. Oliver makes it easy to joke, and makes Fletch feel comfortable enough to act in such ways with no fear of judgment. Proud and teasing until he settles down and leans into the couch cushions with a thoughtful look in Oliver’s direction. “Probably Gordon Ramsey, but he’s too busy yelling at some zombie chefs for under cooking brains in a kitchen far away from here.”

“Despite that, I’m glad you’re going to be sticking around. It’s been, uh… really nice having you around.”

.

“Hm, no see I don’t think Gordon Ramsey survived. He can’t stand being around anything that isn’t fresh. There’s no way he didn’t scream himself to death about all the rotting... you know, everything, that’s going on out there.”

The idea of Gordon Ramsey as a zombie, complaining about the freshness of his food did make him laugh though. “He’s probably the pickiest undead eater out there,” he said, giggling at his own joke.

Fletcher really did do that to him, make him relax and enjoy himself. Everywhere else he went, he felt like he had to make effort and appear put together enough to be useful. He still talked and smiled but it was only a half-measure and he knew it. It was his way of surviving. It almost always had been.

Fletcher just... coaxed the other half out of him somehow.

“It’s been nice being around,” Olive replied and then, deciding it was borderling flippant, added: “It’s been nice to be wanted around. I haven’t really had that since...”

Since Merrick. Since telling Holly.

“It’s just nice,” he finished. “So thanks. For wanting me.”

“Sounds like you already know the beginner basics,” Javier murmured as Oliver went on to list off a handful of things most everyone should know about cars - though given the state he’d seen some vehicles in that were brought to his garage, let alone the clueless people who drove them, it definitely wasn’t always true. 

“I’m sure there is plenty that needs to - or at least wouldn’t hurt - to get done around here,” he admits with a lift of his shoulders. If something came up and the kid was around to learn, Javier wasn’t against showing him a thing or two. But he certainly wasn’t about to go seeking him out. Javier wasn’t keen on accepting help from people - he was stubborn that way. 

Besides, there were others on staff in maintenance already; it wasn’t as if Javier had any pull one way or the other as far as how things got done. He was simply a pawn in this game when it really came down to it.

“Haven’t you got your own job to do around here?” That was how it worked, wasn’t it? Everyone pulled their own weight doing something. 

.

“Cool,” Oliver nodded, looking around the shop. There was a lot of stuff in there but without some kind of direction, he had no idea what was a work in progress, what was waiting to be started, or what was useless. It all looked interesting though and as someone who tended to avoid downtime until someone forced him to relax, there did look like there would be plenty of projects to be found.

His attention snapped back to Javier.

“Uh, yeah,” Oliver said, scratching the edge of his jaw. “I mean, this is my job. I just... do everything.”

It didn’t feel like enough explanation; it usually wasn’t. When he’d show up to wherever he’d been assigned for the day, or where someone had indicated they might need extra help, he was usually greeted with some confusion and hesitance. A little bit of “what are you doing here?” and a little of “please don’t get in the way”. 

“I think the council started calling me an all-rounder,” he said, “or something like that. They send me somewhere or I hear about people needing extra help and I just... go there. I think it’s because I’ll do anything. Sorting, building, cleaning up scrap. So. Yeah. I’m on distribution today.”

“a work of art sure - like a goya or one of picassos self portraits.” she grinned a little as she teased “you’re okay - some might even go as far as to call you super cute even with that mope face of yours but anyone claiming work of art has gotta be drunker than i am.”

“oh nice, i hit a comic book store the other day which was - big shock - pretty much untouched but i think you might be right pickings are slim.” she’d noticed it out on her runs, how supplies were becoming much more limited in the towns surrounding fairvale. it would only be a matter of time before their runs became longer and the further away from fairvale they went the more likely they were to start running into big time danger.

if she’d been on her own it wouldn’t have worried her so much, but she wasn’t alone, there was mateo to consider and she fucking knew he was going to be one of the first to sign up to venture into the wider greater unknown “almost makes me wish i’d signed up for guard duty instead of the supply team.”

.

Oliver couldn’t help the roll of her eyes as she compared him to paintings but that was the nice thing about Colette; she was quick and witty but never malicious. At least not to him. 

He caught the bartender’s eye and made a small wave, knowing that they’d get to him when they could. If he was going to be sitting with Colette, he might as well get another drink. 

“Could have used them for fires,” he pointed out about the comic books, but he had to admit: there wasn’t much use for them anymore. Kindling and maybe a few additions to the small library, but after the virus, things like comic collections and rare editions had lost a lot of meaning. It was sad, in a way; it was like losing some kind of joy in the world, losing something that used to have meaning to people. 

“No way. You’d be so bored on guard duty,” Oliver reminded her. “There’s not nearly enough action for you in it. You’re waiting for something to happen the whole time and it would drive you nuts.”

“Besides, you like bringing things back. It makes people happy and that makes you smile.”

**~**

“That’d be the produce,” she sniffed but tried to keep her eyes wide open regardless of how much they were watering. It was really like hitting a wall of rotten, she could almost taste it. She pulled the hankerchief down off her head and over her nose and mouth. It only made the scent slightly bearable. There was little chance someone could stand that enough to be in here indefinately but there was still a chance and she moved away from the produce section and toward the more likely area, canned and dry goods. 

The movement caught her eye first and she thought they’d gotten lucky. Someone had been holed up in here. But then she focused on them. The thing that moved. It had once been a man but that wasn’t really what made her pause. Walkers were dangerous but they easily could have gotten out of the store and to the car without breaking a sweat. No it was who he resembled that made her stop. The blood drained from her face and her hands felt suddenly cold. Her heart felt somewhere in the region of her navel. The last time she had seen this man was when his fists were breaking her bones. He was moving toward them but her feet felt cemented to the floor. A scream rose in her throat but all that escaped was a small and strangled squeak. 

.

It was never safe to stay in one place for too long, no matter how well the place had been scouted and swept beforehand - neither of which was true here. He tried to stay somewhat close to Willow, an aisle away at most, as there was still some merit to the divide and conquer technique despite the risks of being alone. Oliver was capable of defending himself, he knew that from the past year of being on his own most of the time. Willow was too, he knew, in her own ways; maybe she didn’t look like much of a threat but he had the feeling she had the tendency to surprise. Another reason he liked doing runs with her.

He could just pick up the sounds of her an aisle or two over as he quickly went down his own aisle of picked-clean shelves. He grabbed the few things that were left - it was easier for a community to finds use for things than an individual sometimes - and had just opened his bag when he heard it. A strange shuffling, louder than he expected of Willow. 

A low groan and his hair raised. Eyes open, sharp. Arrow nocked and ready to be drawn back in his bow. Everything shut down inside him except instinct. He moved quickly, quietly, around the corner. Looking for it. Looking for Willow.

A very small squeak led him to her and the sight of the walker nearly on her made his heart freeze in the exact moment he left his arrow fly.

It hit the walker in the shoulder, knocking him back enough that Oliver had a better shot at his head - a shot that wouldn’t hurt Willow. He let loose two more, one through an eye and another through the skull. 

“Willow, move,” he hissed as he passed her, pulling a small switchblade out of his jacket pocket. He stood over the thing, watching it carefully as it twitched, before bending down and plunging the blade into it’s head. It was disgusting, every time, he had to touch the rotting flesh and bone, knowing that people didn’t feel like this. That this was truly death on every level.

When it stopped moving, Oliver pulled his blade out, grimacing as it splattered on his jacket sleeve. He retrieved his arrows, knowing he would use the last of his water bottle to clean his weapons because he couldn’t stomach the way it looked and smelled all the way back to the safe zone.

But Willow was still just standing there when he looked back. 

“Hey,” he said, trying to gentle his voice and rid it of adrenaline. He quickly looked her up and down, resisting the urge to reach out to her just in case she was... well, just in case of anything. “It’s dead, it’s okay. Willow? Are you hurt?”

“It’s like wind.” Fletcher’s eyes narrow in considerable thought, but the look is quickly filled with disbelief. “Don’t think that’s how bodies work, bud.” Then a playful snicker at that. He probably could go on a full tangent about blood vessel dilation and increased blood flow to the muscles rather than to the skin to cool off, but he’s not so sure Oliver cares for that factoid. He likes to run, so be it. Who is Fletcher to pass judgment? He’d never, especially not for those he actually enjoys.

Fletch then shrugs and relaxes from all his dramatic posing. “Just, uh, run an extra lap, make some more wind - for me. How’s that sound?” All said in playful teasing, that lightheartedness starts to rush from Fletcher’s entire at the notion that Oliver’s presence is a burden of all things! He shakes his head, waves one of his heads and has to gather himself from feeling worked up about the possible offense he may have just caused.

“No! Nonono, no way! You’ve not outstayed your welcome!” Fletcher rushes out. He bounces down from the arm to the couch down to the cushion beside Oliver. “Not in any way. Everything’s all copacetic, right? I like having you around. I love the girls, but it’s just nice to- ah - ahem, Logan adores you and loves your stories, it’s like having another older brother around, and trust me, if Mads wanted you out she’d have said so. She’s… not shy at all in that aspect.” No siree, she’d definitely not tolerate anyone she didn’t want in the walls of her own home if she didn’t want to. Then it occurs, maybe it’s selfish to insist Oliver stays.

“Unless you want your own place, of course. But, I think we’d all be sad to see you go. Who else can I yell ‘Baby Ruth’ down the stairs at if you leave?”

.

Oliver had started grinning again when Fletcher got to “copacetic” and was downright laughing by the end of his little speech. 

“Yeah, I still don’t get that, but you should probably know that I prefer Snickers,” he says, knocking his shoulder into Fletcher’s once the other guy finally stopped to take a breath.

“I... don’t think I want my own place,” he says, picking at a loose thread hanging from the hem of his shirt. “I like it here.”

He really did. Madison was so nice and patient and Logan was as rambunctious as any other teenager, but they treated him like he was a long-lost cousin or a friend. Madison brought him snacks and Logan was constantly asking him about his times camping or how to catch a fish with her bare hands and was very disappointed when he said he’d never done it successfully.

The house itself was comfortable, everyone with their own space and Madison hadn’t even questioned when he’d stayed more than his allotted time in her basement. And god, he really liked that basement. It was big enough that he didn’t feel closed in, quiet and safe. He found himself able to relax there. Even on the first night, he could sleep, truly sleep. When he actually unpacked his backpack, she’d made a cake. It wasn’t for him, but it also didn’t feel like it wasn’t for him. 

And of course, there was Fletcher who was as fast a friend as Oliver had ever made. Maybe the fastest. There was just something about how open he was, especially now. They all had their reservations and it’s not like he didn’t expect Fletcher to have his own. It was just... he didn’t seem to let it get to him.

Honestly, if he had to put a word to it, he thought Fletcher was brave.

“Yeah, I think I’ll stay,” Oliver said finally, smiling widely. “You’re not the worst company in the world.”

the hand gliding along his back stutters to a stop, flinching into the fabric of his worn t-shirt and she blinks up at him, once, twice as she feels her eyes moisten and a fog descends around her mind.

he’s wrong, he has to be - he can’t know that - he can’t…

“no she did, she did make it, she’s just lost ollie, but we’ll…we’ll find her” but the look in oliver’s eyes speaks of something more than just lost hope and pessimistic ramblings. there’s grief, so much grief and pain and fear and hollys whole body feels like reacting to it. a scream welling up in her throat she has to swallow back as the urge to grab him, to shake him and beg him to take it back overwhelms her.

“you don’t….why would you…how…” her hand shakily drops from his back, and she can’t think straight, cant find sensible enough words to ask for answers (holly she didn’t make it, she didn’t make it, shedidntmakeit), the breath expelling from her lungs and she thinks maybe she might never be able to breathe properly ever again “tell me you’re wrong…please tell me you’re wrong. tell me you don’t know.”

.

He’s never seen a heart break. He’s seen the before and the after, the change in people, but he’s never seen the moment it breaks. Looking in Holly’s eyes, he wishes he could take it back from her. Tell her it was a cruel joke and take on the burden of her never forgiving him just as long as she still, somewhere in her unbroken heart, believed that Merrick was out there, alive, and would find her way back someday.

But instead he watches Holly shatter.

“I buried her,” he whispers, voice so low it physically hurt, “in Riverside. Next- under the tree in your backyard. I- I didn’t know... I don’t even know if she’d like that spot, I just- I’m so sorry.”

He wants to cry. So fucking bad, he wants to cry. But Holly isn’t crying yet and he has no right to cry in front of her; not when he cost her Merrick. If she had to choose, he has no doubt she’d choose her sister. Her baby sister. He’d even forgive her for it.

“We met on the road,” Oliver continues. “She was looking for you, I was looking for both of you. Riverside seemed to be the best- we never went too far.”

His hands are shaking as he reaches for the dusty backpack that slumped on the floor. He can barely work the zipper on the front pocket. When it splits open, the contents practically spill out into his hands. A battered notebook, bent along a curve for being in the pocket for too long. 

“This is hers,” he nearly chokes as he stares down at it. His fingers linger over the torn up edge of a sticker then traces the final swoop of the K in her name. Hers. Her hand. Her thoughts. Her prayers. Her final testament.

“She wanted me to save this.” And that right there almost does him in. The way she threw the backpack at him, the way she left him holding the last of her while she sacrificed herself. As if things would make up for her death. As if she didn’t think anyone would rather she save herself. 

“She- I can’t...” he shakes he head clear of it, holding back the impending collapse until he isn’t here telling her sister that she’s dead. “It’s for you. I think it’s for you.”

“They’ll probably find better use here than rusting in inventory.” Odds and ends, mostly - but they were things that would be lying around in any mechanic shop or construction closet in the past. Things you didn’t necessarily need…until you did. “Not sure we have any immediate need for any of it but…” His shoulders lift in a slight shrug, glancing back over at Oliver. 

“We’ve been trying to keep a list of things that might be good to get - I’ll…have to remember where we stuck it.” He straightened up, glancing briefly around the garage. It was probably lying around somewhere in the house, wherever the last idea had struck someone. “I can bring it by inventory when I can.” When he finds it - or when he writes a new one up…

At the suggestion of learning ‘some of the basics’ Javier raises a brow, curious by the suggestion. “You…want to learn the basics?” That could mean plenty of things, given how extensive this newfound job of his was. Only some of it was actually in his own wheelhouse. Cars were all well and good, that was what he knew the most about - but they didn’t matter if people weren’t traveling, or if they didn’t have the gas to run them, the tools to keep them in running order.

“Of what? Working on cars? Or the solar panels? Or…everything else we got running this little town? I’d say a lot of it is just…fiddling with it ‘til it works.” 

.

“Maybe things like beginner basics?” Oliver shrugs, not really sure what he meant himself. It was just that need to feel useful at all times, to do what his mom would expect of him and help other people. “I know things like, changing a tire and changing oil and I put new headlight cover on my friend’s car once.”

He listened as Javier listed a few of the other jobs Maintenance seemed to catch under their belt. He could see now why it seemed like an odd request, to learn the basics of something when there were dozens of things that had to be handled. 

“I’m pretty good at that,” he said after a minute. “I usually fixed most of the things around my apartment growing up, while my mom was working overnight. Some of the stuff I’d actually broken first and didn’t want her to know but I usually got things up and running.”

“In any case,” he continued, fiddling with a loose washer that had been sitting on the work desk, “I’m willing if, you know, something comes up. That’s all I really mean.”

status: open location: central park @thecatastrophicstarters

“What the”, the man exclaimed as a water balloon made contact with his temple, drenching not only him but the comic book he was holding. Eli  squinted around trying to locate the owner of the balloon that had just connected with his scull, and it didn’t take long to spy the source. With two other children at his flanks, Andon, Eli’s nine year old nephew stood there a devilish smile playing at his lips. “No, no. no”,Eli said holding his hands out as he noticed the other children were armed. But before he could say another word he was hit with the remainder of colorful latex, an action that sent the boys into a giggle fit but also a run. “Hey you little shits”, he growled. “You know how hard it is to get water around here?!”

.

The water balloons were wasteful; he knew that but there was something nice about the way the kids were enjoying themselves as they tossed the things around the park, squealing and laughing and running. It was simple and carefree. Kids were supposed to be like that. Worrying about not getting tagged in a game instead of worrying about the walking nightmares in the world. 

Besides, it kind of watered the grass and in that way, they were contributing, right? Thank god he wasn’t on the council to have to decide if water balloon fights were damaging.

He heard someone shout next to him and bit his lip so he didn’t laugh out loud.

One of the nice things about Fairvale was it’s consistency. Except for the guards, runners, and medical staff, everyone kind of ran on similar schedules. It made prepping food at Common Grounds pretty easy. There was the breakfast assortment that would be gone just after noon, at which time people started looking for whatever sandwiches or other light meals that could be provided. When dinner rolled around, most people were at home or Hard Times Tavern so there wasn’t much prep put in there except for the few stragglers who came in for coffee at night.

That’s why he was surprised to hear the little bell above the door jingle as someone walked in. Even for stragglers, it wasn’t really the kind of time to expect anyone, somehow too early and too late at the same time.

Oliver set down the plastic tub he’d been using to carry the assortment of newly cleaned mugs on the back counter and turned around.

“Hey,” he said. “This isn’t your usual time.”

“of course…of course we can.” she shakes her head, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and leading him to the small sofa in the corner of her office. she helps him sit down before sitting beside him, one arm wrapping around his back as her hand lays over his chest…over his heart where she feels the erratic beating against her palm (too fast, much too fast, skipping beats everyso often), thoughts of merrick pushed to the side, as she berates herself for concentrating on their absent sibling when oliver clearly needed her attention more - stupid of her, so stupid and blind.

“just breathe with me okay? in and out - concentrate on the air filling your lungs.” she’s not sure what set him off, his illness or her mentioning merry. had she shocked him so much that she’d just sent him into the early throes of an attack? was it anger at her or fear for their sisters safety? was he worried she’d place her responsibilities as a town medic over her need to protect him? 

she wouldn’t, she couldn’t - not ever.

“just wait here for a second, keep breathing, i wont be long.” she slips away from him and out of her office and slips down the hall to the stock room, searching quickly through under-stocked cabinets until she finds what she needs - albuterol - not many but enough, enough that the one she slips stealthily into her pocket wont be missed.

she practically rushes back into the room, closing her office door quietly behind her as she re-joins her brother on the couch and pulls out the medication offering it up to him like an apology, or a promise. “i wont tell anyone ollie, no one needs to know - i can take care of you when you need it, i wont let anything happen to you - i swear i wont.”

.

Greedily, he clutches the inhaler in his hand. Like it’s precious something precious, like gold or diamonds or... like something suddenly scarce in an apocalyptic world. Like it is precious. And he fights the urge to use the entire can immediately, to relish in the feeling of truly open lungs for the first time in so many months, but he paces himself. A few good, hard shakes, a deep breath through his mouth as he depresses the canister. Hold, hold, hold. 

He takes a second hit, probably sooner than he should, but this isn’t exactly his normal medicine - which he may never have again - and the familiar feeling of chemicals in his lungs is somehow so comforting that he can’t stop himself from clinging to it for just a minute more.

“Thanks,” he says somewhat shakily, somewhat guiltily, as he caps the inhaler and slips it into his jacket pocket. Holly just nods, rubbing her hand over his back and all he wants to do is collapse into the arms of his oldest sister, his friend, but he can’t. He really can’t. 

Not when Merrick, her real sister, her real best friend, can’t.

“I... Holly, I have to tell you-”

Fuck, how is he supposed to do this Merrick? How?

closed starter for @oliverterrencewood / 

madison never really had any say over who came into her home and who didn’t. she had lucked out with oliver - he had fit right in with fletcher, the two becoming fast friends, and logan loved hearing about his adventures in the woods. he could entertain logan for hours, something that madison truly appreciated even if she was sure it wore oliver out. 

so she did what she could to help him out - a tea blend she’d noticed he liked in a mug that used to belong to her mother, a plate of cookies stella had brought with her the last time she dropped in to check on the household. 

“knock, knock,” madison sang quietly, knocking gently on the wall as she made her way down to the finished basement. it didn’t look that different from her teenage years - she’d spent many nights on the pull out couch down there, interwoven with her best friend as they shared secrets with one another. “you didn’t come up for dinner, and i wanted to make sure you had something to eat - so i brought you some tea and cookies.” 

.

It had been such a long day, the kind of day that seeps into your bones and weighs them down with responsibility and exertion. It started with a guard shift that went immediately into a build. From there, it was a shift at the diner where he’d thankfully been able to grab a late lunch and when he was done there, he’d ended up helping the runners bring supplies in and escorting someone to medical. By the time he’d gotten back to the Foley house - his house? - he had not thoughts that weren’t a shower and the comfort of his bed.

He had heard his housemates in the kitchen earlier, making dinner and laughing, presumable eating together. A part of him wanted to join them, to show up and include himself, but the other part of him just needed to do nothing. To recharge and rest for just a little while, until he felt like he could function again.

A little while may have gone on too long if Madison was now here.

“Hey,” he said, a little surprised at exactly how tired her sounded. “Sorry, I meant to come up. I just lost track of time.”

She passed her the mug and cookies and he took them gratefully. It wasn’t exactly a nutritious meal and the logical part of him knew he should decline and go get something that would actually fuel his body in recovery. But they looked amazing and the thought of trudging up the stairs for anything else felt like a death sentence.

“Thanks,” he said, biting into a cookie, swallowing, then taking a sip of tea, his favorite for the moment. “Oh god, I love this tea.”

“Yes, of course,” Stella greeted, wrapping him in a quick hug before trying to smooth out his hair for him. She’d become somehow more maternal to those around her since they arrived in Fairvale - maybe it was the ache from knowing she’d never be able to carry another child safely into the world, or the knowledge that everyone had grief following them around like a shadow, but she couldn’t really help herself. “I just wanted to come by and check in - if Logan had told me you were asleep, I wouldn’t have asked for you.” 

Of course they both knew Logan wouldn’t have said anything even if she had known; for a teenager, she was particularly rambunctious, and Madison and her both came to see Stella on a fairly regular basis for advice and company. 

“I haven’t seen you in a couple weeks,” she reminded him, heading towards the Foley kitchen - after six months in town, she was comfortable in most of the houses in the area these days, though she still wished she could truly calls theirs her own, like the one they had up in Boston. “I know you’re busy, running around everywhere, but I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She dug through the cabinets, pulling out some pancake mix and humming happily to find it - whoever else was in the house would also enjoy a nice breakfast. 

“Come, sit, tell me what’s going on in your world and I’ll make us some breakfast. Nora decided to throw a tantrum and ruined mine at home this morning before I dropped her off with a sitter.” 

.

Stella was one of those people who were born to be a mother. Kind, open, warm, always ready to put herself aside if someone else appeared to need her. He wasn’t really sure why she’d latched onto him so much - shared traumas aside - and it continued to baffle him every time she went out of her way to check in on him. 

He once again tried to figure it out was she started making pancakes like it was second nature to her. She barely had to look at what she was doing, choosing instead to keep glancing at him as she asked after him.

“I don’t think I really have anything new going on,” he said after a thoughtful minute. “I do the work, I help out where I can. Willow and I had a run-in with a biter not too far back but it was pretty par for the course. Fletch and I hang out. I mean, we all do, here at the house, not just me and him.”

He took a breath, his throat a little sticky with the morning. He got up from the chair she’d practically sat him in and went to the sink for some water. He chose to lean against the counter instead of going back to the table. 

“Holly is still... distant,” he admitted, a little pain in his chest at that. 

His silence was part of the reason he was her favorite companion. There was never any pressure to talk about anything let alone her history. Of course, that meant she didn’t really know much about him either. Other than he was her doctor’s brother. It was surprising how many people had reunions in the random small town in Georgia. Maybe it was just luck but she couldn’t help but think it was more. Some sort of fate that had stepped in on their behalf. She sure hoped that the same fate never intervened for her. It was sick and twisted that she hoped her parents hadn’t made it through the whole downfall of society. Her father for sure couldn’t handle if there were no doormen or drivers. And her siblings were better off without her. They could survive much better on their own.

Willow pulled into town and found a parking lot that was mostly vacant to pull into. Somewhere they could see from all angles but get slightly lost in the vehicles. It was a shopping center with a grocery store on one side and a dozen smaller shops on the other. Perfect place to check. “Just a quick trip to the store, right?”

.

Oliver couldn’t help the small smile that quirked at his lips. He liked Willow. She was a lot like him, he thought. They both came off quiet and reserved but it was only that filling silence wasn’t something they needed to do. Appreciating silence was an underrated quality, he thought, and it was nice to have a companion who had that.

And her wit was unparalleled. Unassuming and subtle, but funny nonetheless.

“Just need to grab some milk,” Oliver agreed and his smile was big now, grinning as he looked over at her. 

They fell into tandem as they walked towards the grocery store. It looked absolutely ransacked from the exterior - all the shops did - but the door was actually still on it’s hinges and the windows weren’t totally blown out. That was actually a good sign. This wasn’t a place that had been hit at the beginning, when the panic was more like a riot and the scavenging was more like looting. The people who had come to this place since had been easier on it and they might have only taken what they needed.

There might be something left. 

He opened the door, the creak of it soft, and readied an arrow on his bow as he entered. Careful was still the name of the game, no matter how promising and peaceful a place look.

That’s when the smell hit him: dank and musty, a kind of sweet rotten that he hadn’t expected. 

He coughed into his elbow, muffling the sound, then looked at Willow with crinkled eyes. “On second thought, that milk might have gone bad.”