JJ's Babygirl

They- They’re kicking me out. There’s this eight foot tall troglodyte pissed I hustled him out of one-fifty. That money’s mine, y’know. I-I earned it. Should’ve seen my trickshot, dude. Almost as pretty as my cumshot, but you’ve seen that plenty, haven’t ya?

…

This is the part where you laugh, Cameron. C’mon, you gonna pick me up in your souped-up Kook-mobile or what? ‘Cause I’d rather not have to blow one of these old guys for a ride. What’s the worst that could happen? Stupid things have good outcomes all the time.

JJ’s sitting on the curb when Rafe pulls up, hunched over like he doesn’t know whether to puke or pass out. Rafe knew the kid was drunk the second he picked up the phone, but it’s different to witness. Stoned seems to be JJ’s default state, but plastered has a strange effect on him, like he’s twice his age and half all at once. Even from the car, Rafe can barely look at him and his bedraggled state. Hair a swishy mess and sticking to his forehead, clothes damp from the rain that’s been pissing down off and on since the early morning, JJ looks lost. It’s got Rafe’s stomach knotted up and he’s not sure why. He’s not sure why he’s even here. Leaning across the seats, Rafe grabs the handle and shoves open the passenger door. “You coming?” He barks out, making JJ’s head snap to attention a second too slow.

JJ runs a hand through his hair before holding out his arms for balance and carefully rising to his full height. He’s unsteady and one step has him slipping on the greasy curbside and falling right on his ass like a puppet with cut strings. Rafe winces, but JJ’s back on his feet before he can get out of the car to help him. JJ’s laughing, but Rafe can spot the force of it, the sharp edge that hits the ear all wrong.

“‘M okay,” JJ mumbles as he flounders into the passenger seat. The second he’s got the door shut, Rafe’s skidding down the street, eager to get away from the less-than-reputable bar JJ just stumbled out of. “Woah, Speed Racer. Give a guy a second to adjust,” JJ groans as he starts wrestling with the seat belt. He ends up tangled up in it, but manages to click it into place after a few harsh tugs.

Thanks to his astigmatism, the rain-dappled windshield looks like a goddamn kaleidoscope and Rafe has to squint just to make out the street signs. His vision’s been taken over by red and yellow smears, but whatever happens he’ll just blame on the drunken puppy next to him. JJ keeps fidgeting, pulling Rafe’s attention from the road. He’s fucking with the sunviser, the window button, the air conditioning. It’s making Rafe contact-anxious, JJ’s energy infectious as always.

“Remind me again how a seventeen year old got served at a bar?” Rafe asks, his brow quirked with suspicion. He’d bet money on JJ having a fake ID, but there’s no way that would work on home turf. Rafe realizes with a jolt that he’s driving in the direction of the Chateau, unsure when exactly he memorized the way.

His gaze flicks to the glovebox, thinking of the heap of string he stashed there. He’s unsure about that too.

“My money’s as green as the next guy’s,” JJ shrugs, slurring like his tongue’s loose in his mouth. Every syllable’s another marble he chokes on. Rafe tightens his hold on the wheel, the impulse to shake JJ until he sobers up is a constant hum behind his ears that he’s forced to ignore unless he wants to risk driving into a pole. “‘Sides, my dad’s taken me there since I was in, like, Pampers. Everybody knows Papa Jay.”

Ignoring the eye-rolling nickname, Rafe makes a sharp turn and scowls at the thought of JJ sucking on a pacifier as he crawls around a dirty bar floor, cigarette butts sticking to his skin. It’s hard to shake, leaving his stomach cramping like someone’s got a knife in his guts, twisting it all around like spaghetti.

“Aren’t you afraid to run into him?”

JJ scoffs and lifts his feet onto the seat, knees to his chest. He’s scratching at his ribs, one hand hidden beneath the threadbare muscle tee he’s got on. It’s monsoon season, but naturally the idiot’s not wearing a jacket. “Wrong question.”

Rafe sighs heavily and rubs his brow. He turns up the hand he’s driving with in a “whatever” motion before gripping the wheel again and widens his eyes pointedly. “Aren’t you afraid of him?”

JJ laughs, some high-pitched squeal that rattles like out of tune bells. “Wrong-er question. Turn here,” He says between fits, pointing with his finger where he wants Rafe to go.

It’s not the right way, Rafe’s sure, and his suspicions are only confirmed when they’re stuck in the middle of a dead-end street. There’s nothing around except a couple of abandoned shops with boarded up windows and dead, muddy grass. As soon as he’s got the car in park, JJ’s on him. All hands and teeth, he claws at Rafe’s hair and devours his mouth like he wants to climb inside him.

It doesn’t matter that JJ tastes like cheap beer and smells like a gutter, Rafe sighs against his tongue anyway. It’s too easy and JJ’s too pliable, all limb-heavy and syrupy with that wildness that Rafe’s become fond of. Skin buzzing, his annoyance drifts out like a tide as JJ runs his nails along Rafe’s scalp. If JJ wants a distraction, Rafe’s happy to provide one.

JJ’s got one hand around Rafe’s throat, a steady pressure that Rafe trembles against. His heart’s gone haywire, leaving him a panting mess beneath frenzied kisses. He likes it best when JJ’s not careful, when he throws Rafe around like he’s unafraid of breaking him.

Pulling back, JJ presses his forehead to Rafe’s as his free hand goes to Rafe’s shorts. He’s got the fly popped open in seconds and Rafe must have sucked the Pabst Blue Ribbon off JJ’s tongue because he feels drunk too, dizzy and helpless and flung out to sea. The rain’s kicked up, pouring down on them in fat drops that leave the car muffled and humid. The windshield’s a blur of inky blue, fogged at the edges like a shitty watercolor. It’s like a curtain’s been draped over them, hiding them from the rest of the world.

“I’d let you fuck me,” JJ rasps as he takes Rafe in his hand, bouncing with a jagged rhythm Rafe can’t follow. It’s like getting sucked in by an undertow, and all Rafe can do is hold onto JJ for dear life. His hand’s under JJ’s shirt, feeling the contours of his broad chest and the bumps of his scars. There’s a smattering of cigarette burns along his sternum that Rafe’s never forgotten. He doesn’t need to ask how they got there, he just knows. “Ever do that before?”

Rafe squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t picture it, doesn’t want to, and it’s hard to think with how JJ’s still gripping his throat, pressing against his pulse until everything spins. He’s whining now, fully at JJ’s mercy like a feeble kitten.

“Luke doesn’t fuck me, but Ward fucks you. Do you think that means my dad loves me less than yours loves you?”

It’s an unfamiliar voice coming out of JJ’s mouth and Rafe jerks back, his stomach flipping as something ugly and terrible seeps into his pleasure-drenched senses like tar into milk. His spine is snapping, his chest is bursting, something constricts and he can’t breathe. JJ’s staring at him with that wretched expression, his eyes searing into Rafe through a tangled mop of blond hair. Rafe can’t stop it, the push and pull of his mind and body, but he doesn’t even want it to stop. He needs more, needs to reach out and grasp the knife that JJ’s got in his belly. JJ’s touch is too much and not enough all at once and Rafe could swear there are tears on the kid’s cheeks, but maybe that’s just the rain fucking with his vision again.

JJ’s still stroking him with that punishing motion, but Rafe’s thinking about how his bedroom’s the only one in the house without a lock. He’s thinking of the anemic yellow of his father’s office lamp and the burn of plush carpeting under bare knees. The bite of stubble against his cheek. A meticulous hand fluttering across his ribs, slow as torture and twice as agonizing. Quiet, Rafe, don’t wake up your sisters. Rafe would tear apart the world if Ward asked him to; wishes his father would.

Is that love? He used to be sure that it was, back when it was simple. Back when he only knew affection in the form of his father’s tender brutality, his precious fury. But that was before JJ, before the savage boy tripped and fell into his life and got his sticky fingers all over everything. 

It has to be love. It has to be love or Rafe won’t have anything left.

The memory of JJ, choking in a headlock with his hand in Luke’s lap, that golden cherub face of his contorted in shame as tears ran down his face, hangs in the periphery. JJ’s wearing that same face now and hate bursts behind Rafe’s eyes, bleeding out of him like he’s dying of a thousand cuts and he can’t stop the flow. He can barely manage to think, everything racing and blurring together, but he takes JJ by the nape of his neck and tugs him close, needing all of him before he bursts like overripe fruit. JJ’s mouth is on the underside of his jaw as his hand tightens around Rafe’s neck, making him see stars. Rafe’s back arches as slow, steady ecstasy builds from his solar plexus and blooms through him, his very nerves shaking from the intensity.

It has to be love.

“Harder,” Rafe spits, his voice a dry wheeze from the grip JJ’s got on his throat. He feels brittle. He feels fucking ruined and it’s all JJ’s fault. When did it stop being easy? When did he stop being able to lie still beneath his father without thinking of JJ touching him like this, undoing him little by little?

JJ releases Rafe’s neck and bites into the soft skin there. The sudden rush of blood to his brain and air in his lungs sends him over the edge until he’s falling, he’s dying, his synapses are exploding because JJ keeps stroking him, milking him through his climax until Rafe can’t suffer the oversensitivity anymore.

Ward’s face fades from his vision as JJ pushes off him, leaving behind an emptiness that makes Rafe twitch. Struggling to get his breath back, Rafe leans back against the seat and motions vaguely towards the glovebox. “Napkins,” He says, needing to clean up. Quickly. He can’t stand feeling unclean, like there’s pondscum stuck to his skin. He remembers the shower inspections from childhood, how Rafe would stand at attention while his father looked him over, making sure every inch of him was sparkling clean.

Appearance matters, son. It matters more than anything.

Rafe watches JJ bring his hand to his mouth and suck a dollop of come off his thumb before opening the glovebox with his other hand. He grabs a handful of napkins and tosses half of them to Rafe, who captures them with unsteady fingers. They both clean off and Rafe’s checking his clothes for stains when he realizes JJ’s gone still.

JJ’s staring into the glovebox, the small light inside illuminating its contents. A couple straws, the car’s registration, and JJ’s bracelet.

Rafe’s blood stops. He can’t hear JJ’s breathing, just the confused melody of raindrops hitting the car as JJ reaches out his hand. He picks up the heap of string Rafe had stolen off his wrist, runs his thumb along the woven pattern as his silence stretches, thickening until the walls sweat. Rafe didn’t want it in his room where his father might have found it, but this is worse. This is so much worse.

“My dad wants me to come back. He left a note,” JJ says, his voice so quiet that Rafe has to strain to hear him. “You’d know that if you had asked the right question.”

Rafe just stares at him, paralyzed like a stag staring down the barrel of a rifle.

“He says he’s clean,” JJ continues, still studying the bracelet like it holds some holy secret. Rafe’s seconds away from snatching it from him or painting the interior of his car with vomit, one of the two. He can already taste the bile, the back of his throat coated in acid. “He does that sometimes. Starts going to church again, cries all the time. It doesn’t change anything.”

Rafe’s jaw is clenched tight, his hands on the wheel just so he can grip the leather until his knuckles threaten to pop. “If you go back there, I’ll kill you.”

Carefully, JJ places the bracelet back inside the glovebox and shuts it with a soft click. Rafe feels like he’s been flayed open, like JJ’s discovery has unmade him, but he can’t ask about it, can’t form the words despite how desperately he wants to know what JJ’s thinking.

Ask me the question I’d rather die than answer.

“You keep saying that,” JJ sighs as he kicks his feet up on the dash. His head’s turned away, staring out the window almost like he’s sleeping. “Take me home, Rafe. The rain’s let up.”

It takes effort to move, each of his muscles working against the other, but eventually Rafe manages to put the car in drive. He switches on the wipers, and all it takes is a single pass to clear the windshield.

You crouch near the bank with the small bar of soap, scrubbing your underwear carefully in the current. After a second, he come up beside you and you pass the soap to him so he can do the same.

You hang your clothes over a low branch to dry and wade down into the water, sitting where it almost reaches your shoulders.

It’s cold at first, but then it’s perfect. The kind of cold that clears your head.

You notice JJ rinsing out the bandana that he'd used to clean you up last night.

Your eyes meet. You both freeze for half a second, then laugh quietly, a little shy but still accepting what had happened without making it weird this time.

He drops down into the water beside you with a splash and runs a wet hand through his hair.

“Feel like I got hit by the tank personally,” he mutters.

Your chest tightens at the mention, but it doesn’t spiral this time. It just sits there — heavy and manageable now. "Me too."

You splash water over your face. He does the same.

“Yeah, this was a good call,” he nods after a minute. “This is helping.”

“It’s like when we used to hide under the dock at the Chateau,” you say, wrapping your arms around your knees. “After drinking a thousand beers. Just float for hours and pretend we weren’t dying.”

He smiles faintly at that. Suddenly missing those day more than ever. “Yeah. Floaties and Gatorade.”

You sit there a little longer, letting the current tug gently at you.

Eventually, JJ stands first. “As much as I love this,” he says, pulling his boxers back on, “I don’t love the idea of fighting a biter buck naked.”

You laugh and wade out after him.

You’re halfway to your pile of clothes when your bare foot comes down on something sharp. The pain is immediate and blinding.

“Ah! Shhhhit—”

JJ is at your side in seconds.

“Let me see.”

You lift your foot and blood wells up quickly from a slice in your sole. A broken glass bottle glints half buried in the sand nearby.

“Of course,” he mutters.

"Yep. Another day, another stupid broken glass bottle."

He presses his bandana firmly against the cut. You grit your teeth but let him guide you to sit on a mossy rock near the bank.

“Hold still.”

You get dressed and he keeps pressure on it, jaw set in concentration. Once the bleeding slows, he pulls out his med kit. He pours disinfectant over it and you hiss, grabbing his shoulder.

“I know, I know,” he says quietly. “Sorry.”

He rummages through the kit and frowns. “No gauze.”

Without hesitating, he grabs the flannel he found at the house and slices a sleeve off with his knife.

“This’ll have to do.”

He wraps your foot carefully, tying the fabric snug but not too tight.

“There,” he says, sitting back slightly.

You pull your sock over the makeshift bandage, face scrunching. “Thank you, Doctor Maybank.”

He smirks faintly. “Yes ma'am. That’ll be two cans of Vienna sausages.”

You shake your head laughing and try to stand. The second your weight hits your foot, you wince hard. “Okay. That’s… great.”

JJ’s smile fades. “You can hardly walk,” he says flatly.

“I’m fine,” you start automatically.

“We need to find somewhere to hole up for a day or two,” he cuts in. “You can’t be out here like this.”

Guilt creeps up your spine. “If we stay somewhere... what if they get farther away? If they’re alive, what if we’re just—”

“Don’t,” he says firmly.

You look at him.

“Don’t apologize. Don’t do that.” His voice softens slightly. “I don’t mind hunkering down another day. I still feel like shit anyway.”

You give him a small smile.

He returns it then moves to your side, offering his arm. You lean into him as you start walking, your pace slow and uneven.

After a few steps, he stops then shifts his backpack around to the front of his body instead.

“You know what,” he says. “Hop on.”

You blink at him. “You serious?”

“Yeah,” he says, bending slightly. “Serious piggyback. Jump up.”

You stare at him for a second — then laugh softly and hop on his back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

Finally the trees part completely and a graveyard stretches out in front of you. Beyond it, a small white funeral home sits in the middle of the property.

JJ shifts your weight slightly on his back.

“Well,” he mutters. “That’s… promising? Maybe?”

He starts toward it.

Halfway through the rows of graves, your eyes snag on one name.

Carmen.

You slide off his back before he can ask why.

You limp toward the headstone and just stare at it

JJ notices the tears in your eyes immediately. He just steps away for a second, plucks a bundle of silk flowers off a nearby grave and gently set them on Carmen’s headstone.

It’s a small thing, but it makes your throat close up as you look up at him.

He reaches up and gently wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb then offers you his hand.

You take it.

You both stand there for a moment, leaning into each other, the wind rustling through the grass around you.

You wonder if this is Carmen's way of haunting you like she said she would. The thought make your lips curl a little even through your tears.

After a minute, you nod faintly.

He turns, crouches again without a word.

You climb back onto his back, arms around his shoulders, and he carries you the rest of the way.

At the front door, JJ sets you down carefully and steps inside first. He bangs three times against the wall and gives a soft sharp whistle.

“Give it a minute,” he murmurs.

You both stand still for a moment and nothing comes.

“Alright,” he says quietly.

You walk in together, guns raised slightly.

“It’s so clean,” you whisper.

He scans the hallway slowly. “Yeah. Someone’s definitely been taking care of it. May still be around.”

One room is filled with coffins. In one of them, an embalmed man lies perfectly still, dressed in a dark suit.

You both stare at him.

“Interesting,” JJ mutters.

You clear the rest of the rooms together, slow and methodical. Nothing jumps out at you.

In the kitchen, you open cabinets one by one.

Empty.

Empty.

Empty.

Then one swings open and you freeze.

“Whoa.”

It’s fully stocked. Cans lined neatly. Jars stacked in rows.

JJ steps in beside you, rifling through it. “Peanut butter, jelly, diet soda, pig’s feet…” He smirks. “That’s a white trash brunch right there.”

“All looks good to me,” you grin. Then you frown slightly. “There’s not a speck of dust on any of it.”

He nods, opening a jar. “Yeah. Definitely somebody’s stash. We’ll take some. Leave the rest.”

You smile at him. “Aww, aren't you sweet? When did you stop being a little thief?”

"I'm still taking some," he shrugs. And then dips his finger straight into the peanut butter and sticks it in his mouth.

You wrinkle your nose. “Ew.”

He points at a jar. “Hey. Those pig’s feet are mine,” he says around a mouthful of peanut butter.

You snort and nod. "You got 'em."

Down in the morgue, JJ finds more medical supplies. Gauze, disinfectant, tape, bandaids and pain relievers. He stuffs some of them into his kit.

“Okay,” he says, patting a metal table. “Let’s get that foot wrapped up.”

You hesitate, glancing at the bodies laid out on tables nearby. Dressed carefully in formal wear. Hands folded.

You can tell by the faint marks that they were biters before being embalmed.

“Looks like someone ran out of dolls to dress up,” JJ mutters.

You shake your head softly. “It’s kinda beautiful.”

He looks at you.

“Whoever did this cared,” you say. “They wanted these people to get a funeral.”

You glance around the room again.

“They remembered these things were people before all this. They didn’t let it change them in the end.” You meet his eyes. “Don’t you think that’s beautiful?”

He studies you for a second. Then he smiles faintly. "Yeah, guess so."

He helps you sit on the table and gently unwraps your makeshift bandage. He cleans it again and rewraps it properly with gauze this time, hands steady and careful.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He gives your ankle a light squeeze. “Anytime.”

Before you can argue, he scoops you up bridal style.

“JJ— I can walk.”

“Sure you can, princess,” he says lightly. “But I don’t feel like watching you hobble.”

You giggle as he carries you back upstairs to the kitchen.

He sets you in a chair as the sun dips lower outside.

He makes peanut butter and jelly crackers, sets a bottle of diet cola down between you then lights a candle and sets it in the center of the table before sitting across from you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly. “For taking care of me.”

He shrugs, popping a cracker sandwich into his mouth. “You’d do the same.”

“I would."

There’s an easy silence after that. Soft teasing. Shared sips of soda.

For a second, it almost feels like a date.

After you finish eating, JJ steps outside with a handful of empty cans he found in the trash. You watch from the doorway as he strings them along the porch railing with twine.

“If anything bumps into these,” he says, tying the last knot, “we’ll hear it.”

You lean against the doorframe, smiling at him in the fading light.

It’s not home. But for tonight, it’s close.

You’re both standing at the kitchen sink with toothbrushes in your mouths, shoulder to shoulder, while you tell JJ for the billionth time in the last almost year that there aren't dentists anymore.

He reminds you for also the billionth time that he hasn't even gone to a dentist since he was a kid anyways when suddenly you hear the cans he'd strung up on the porch rattle.

You both freeze then look at each other.

He spits a mouth full of toothpaste immediately into the sink. “Stay.”

Your heart starts pounding as you watch him grab his shotgun and head towards the hallway.

He moves fast but quiet, shoulders tense. He edges toward the front door and peers through the small gap in the boarded-up window.

There’s a pause. Then the tension drains from his shoulders.

He cracks the door open slowly to see a scraggly white dog with one eye standing on the porch, tail low but wagging faintly.

JJ lets out a soft, surprised laugh.

“It’s just a damn dog,” he calls back, grinning.

Your mouth drops open and you immediately start limping toward the door, ignoring the sting in your foot.

JJ crouches down, setting the shotgun carefully against the wall. He holds his hand out slowly.

“Hi,” he murmurs. “Come here, buddy.”

The dog tilts its head. For a second, it looks like it might. Then it barks once and bolts off the porch, disappearing into the dark yard.

JJ’s smile drops. “Ah, come on,” he mutters quietly, standing up.

He closes the door gently and locks it again just as you hobble into the hallway.

“He wouldn’t come in?” you ask, frowning.

He turns, catching sight of you balancing awkwardly on your good foot. “I told you to stay back.”

“You said there was a dog,” you reply defensively.

He exhales through his nose, stepping closer. His hand comes up to squeeze your shoulder. “Maybe he’ll come back around,” he says.

You glance toward the door one more time.

“Come on,” he adds softly. “Bedtime.”

You look back at him and smile a little. “Okay.”

You both drop your backpacks inside the funeral home’s “slumber room”, which feels strangely fitting. A room meant for mourning, for staying close to someone you don’t want to let go of.

The wallpaper is soft and floral. There’s a little nightstand with a vase of dead flowers and a narrow bed tucked against the wall.

JJ sets the candle down carefully on the nightstand and rubs the back of his neck. “I can take the couch out there if you want.”

You look at him. “Why?”

He shrugs, not quite meeting your eyes. “Just… didn’t know if you still wanted to be that close after last night.”

You roll your eyes lightly. “I’m not gonna try to jump your bones again if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His mouth twitches. “Wasn’t worried.” He shifts his weight. “I just wanted to make sure you’re still comfortable being that close to me.”

Your expression softens immediately.

“JJ,” you say gently, stepping closer. “I’ll always be comfortable being close to you.”

Something in his face relaxes at that and he nods once. “Okay.”

He blows out the candle and you both climb into the tiny bed. It dips under your combined weight, forcing you closer automatically.

At first, you lie there on your backs, staring at the ceiling. A careful inch of space between your arms.

Then you shift.

You turn onto your side and slide closer, resting your forehead lightly against his chest.

He freezes for half a second, then his arm comes around you, slowly and he pulls you in.

Like you were hoping he would.

You tuck your hand against his stomach and his fingers trace lightly up your back, settling at your shoulder.

“You good?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

He smiles, heart swelling. “I’m glad you are too.”

His arm tightens around you, just a little. “Night,” he murmurs, pressing his chin gently against the top of your head.

“Night.”

The nightmare drags you under before you even realize you’re asleep.

Smoke. Screaming. The prison fences falling. Gunshots cracking through the yard. You’re running and you can’t find him.

You don’t know where you’re running to — just away.

“JJ!” you scream, but your voice gets swallowed by the explosions. By the fire. By the roar of biters pouring through the tank sized gap in the fence.

You see flashes of faces of people you know but every time you reach for someone, they disappear into the smoke like they were never there.

The yard stretches longer than it ever did in real life. The fences bend inward, collapsing. Towers fall in slow motion. The sky turns purple.

You run through the cell block, but the hallways twist wrong. Doors slam shut before you can open them. You try to push through one and it won’t budge. You pound on it.

“Open it!” you scream. “Open the fucking door! Please!”

On the other side, you swear you hear JJ’s voice calling your name. But when you force the door open there’s nothing there.

Just more smoke.

You stumble outside again, heart pounding, lungs burning.

You’re not in the yard anymore. You’re in a graveyard outside the funeral home. The smoke turns into fog and the tombstones stretch endlessly into it.

“Hello?” you call weakly, turning in a small circle.

You take a step forward and your foot hits something hard. You look down and see a headstone, fresh dirt piled in front of it.

The name on the grave: CARMEN

You back up. Then look up. And that’s when you see her.

She’s standing on the other side of the grave exactly how you remember her. Hair the same. Eyes warm with that little playful glint in them.

"Hey darlin'."

Your breath catches before you rush over and wrap your arms tight around her and begin sobbing uncontrollably. "I missed you. I missed you so much."

She just laughs, that easy Carmen laugh that you can hear so clearly it feels real.

“You’re not…?” You can’t finish the sentence.

She tilts her head slightly. “It’s okay,” she says gently.

Relieved tears burn your eyes. “You scared me,” you breathe. “I thought—”

“That I was gone?” she finishes softly.

You nod.

She steps closer to the grave, hands folding in front of her.

“I am.You lose everyone,” she says calmly.

You freeze. That's not Carmen.

“What?” you whisper.

“You lose everyone,” she repeats, still smiling faintly. “That’s what happens.”

The wind picks up. The mist curls tighter around your legs.

“You lost the mansion. The prison,” she says. “You lost the group.”

Her eyes darken slightly.

“You’re gonna lose him too.”

Your chest tightens. “No. No, no, no, I can't.”

Her smile stretches wider — too wide.

“You can’t keep anyone,” she says. Her voice changes on the last word. Distorted. Rougher. Wet.

You take a step back. “Stop,” you whisper.

Her head jerks unnaturally to the side. “You couldn’t save me.”

The skin around her mouth splits. Her lips peel back slowly, revealing blackened gums and rotting teeth. Her eyes cloud over.

“No,” you breathe, shaking your head.

Her skin grays. A hole forms in her neck and blood begins to drip out slow and then faster.

“You lose everyone,” she snarls — her voice now a guttural biter's growl twisted around words.

You stumble backward before she lunges over the grave.

You try to run but your feet won’t move as the ground turns soft and muddy beneath you, sucking you down to your ankles.

Carmen’s body jerks unnaturally as she comes at you, jaw hanging open, black blood dripping from her mouth.

Her hands grab your shoulders. Her mouth opens wide, rotting face inches from yours before you finally wake up, choking on a scream.

The room is pitch black. For a second you don’t know where you are, only that your chest feels like it’s caving in and that JJ's still there, sleeping peacefully beside you.

The fact that he's there only brings you a small amount of comfort before the words "you'll lose him too" echo in your brain.

You desperately want to wake him up but he looks so goddamn peaceful that you feel sick at the thought of putting any of this on him.

So you don't. You slip out of bed quietly and pad down the hall into the tiny bathroom, shutting the door behind you and gripping the edge of the sink. Your hands are shaking so hard your teeth chatter. You try to breathe but it comes in sharp, shallow pulls that aren't enough.

“Stop,” you whisper to yourself. “Stop.”

But you can’t. The tears come anyway.

A floorboard creaks.

You don’t hear him until the bathroom door opens slowly.

“Princess."

Your head snaps up.

JJ stands there, hair messy, eyes already alert. He takes in the shaking hands, the uneven breaths, the tears — and his face softens immediately.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice gravelly from sleep as he steps in.

“I didn’t wanna wake you up,” you say, voice breaking.

He crosses the room in two strides and gently moves your hands from the sink so he can step between you and the counter.

“You think I care about sleep?” he mutters softly.

Your breath stutters again.

He cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing under your eyes.

You drag in a shaky breath, but it breaks halfway through. A sob slips out instead, and you grab onto his wrists like you need something solid to keep from collapsing.

“I—” Your voice cracks. “I had a dream. That I lost you. And I can't. I really can't lose you, JJ."

You try.

He tilts his head, brows furrowing and wipes away more tears as they keep falling. “Look at me.”

“You're not losin' me. M'right here,” he says, low and steady. “Breath for me. In. Slow.”

You inhale, a little shaky.

“Hold it.”

You hold it.

“Out.” He exhales with you, his forehead pressing gently to yours.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers.

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt. “I’m tired of this,” you choke out. “I’m tired of you having to take care of me all the time.”

His hands still. He pulls back just enough to look at you, jaw tightening.

“Don’t,” he says quietly.

“It’s not fair. You—”

“It’s my job.”

The certainty in his voice cuts through everything. You just stare at him.

“It’s my job,” he repeats, softer now. “Especially now.”

His hands slide down your arms slowly, deliberately, then back up again like he’s reminding your body he’s there.

“You’ve got me,” he says. “That’s all I care about.”

Your breath steadies a little more.

“All I care about,” he repeats, voice dropping. “You. Breathing. Staying with me.”

The way he says it makes warmth bloom low in your stomach despite the tears.

He sees it. The tiny shift in your breathing. The way your grip on his neck changes.

His thumb drags slowly along your jaw.

“Come on,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “Let’s get back in bed.”

You nod, still a little shaky.

He helps you down the hall and you crawl into bed first. He follows immediately, pulling you into him before the sheets even settle. Your back presses to his chest, his arm wrapping securely around your waist.

He exhales against the back of your neck.

“Still breathin' weird,” he murmurs.

“Sorry.”

His arm tightens. “Don’t apologize.”

He rolls you slowly so you’re facing him instead, one hand sliding under your thigh to pull you closer until your leg drapes over his hip. Your bodies align naturally — chest to chest, knees tangled.

“There,” he whispers. “Better.”

You swallow, wet eyes locked on his.

His hand moves in slow, deliberate paths — down your side, over your hip, back up your waist. Not rushed. Not grabbing. Just steady contact.

“You feel that?” he asks softly.

“Yes.”

“That’s me. I'm right here."

Your breath hitches — but not from fear this time.

His fingers slide into your hair again, gently tilting your head back so he can see your face better in the dim moonlight.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to hold it together with me.”

Your hands slide up his chest, over his shoulders, to his neck again. You feel the way his breathing shifts when you do.

His thumb traces your lower lip slowly.

“Still with me?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

The praise makes your stomach flip.

He leans closer, forehead brushing yours. His voice drops, softer but heavier. “Tell me you’ve got me.”

“I’ve got you,” you whisper.

He smiles faintly. “That’s right.”

His hand slides from your hair down your back, fingers spreading warm between your shoulder blades before drifting lower — slow enough that every inch feels intentional. His thigh presses more firmly between yours.

Your breathing starts to change again — slower, heavier.

“You feel safe?” he murmurs.

“Yes.”

“Yeah you do.” His nose brushes yours. “Because you’ve got me.”

Your lips are barely apart now. Every exhale grazes his mouth. Close enough that it makes your head spin.

His hand drifts over your hip again, thumb drawing lazy circles that make your toes curl slightly under the sheets.

“Relax,” he whispers. “Let me take care of you.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair.

He inhales slowly, deliberately, and you follow without thinking.

“That’s it,” he says. “Match me.”

Your bodies are flush now. No space between you.

His lips brush yours when he speaks again.

“I'm right here, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your breath catches. “You're right here," you say back, barely a whisper.

His hand tightens just slightly at your waist.

“That’s right.”

His mouth grazes the corner of yours, lips not touching but close, then your jaw, then back again.

Your leg hooks more securely around his hip.

He hums softly at that. “See?” he whispers against your lips. “All that shaking’s gone.”

You nod faintly.

“Good.” His thumb traces along your side again, dipping lower and then back up, keeping you aware of him. Of every inch of him.

“You wake me up next time,” he murmurs. “I don’t care if it’s every night.”

“I will,” you whisper.

“That’s my girl.”

Your lips almost brush when—

A sharp metallic rattle echoes from the porch. The string of cans clatters loudly.

You both freeze.

You hear a bark and JJ exhales through his nose and huffs a quiet laugh.

“That damn dog,” he mutters.

Despite everything, a breathy little laugh slips out of you.

He smiles down at you — soft, fond. Overwhelmed by love that he won't admit to out loud.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

You’re still a little breathless, still warm from how close he was, but you nod. “Okay.”

He brushes his thumb across your cheek one last time, wiping away the final tear then presses a gentle kiss to the same spot.

“Stay here,” he murmurs against your skin before he sits on the edge or the bed to lace up his boots just in case. Then he steps away, turning toward the door — leaving the warmth of him lingering against your skin.

“Be careful,” you whisper.

He gives you a look like when am I not? — then grabs the shotgun and heads down the hallway.

The cans rattle again.

Louder this time.

He doesn’t even peek through the boards.

“It’s fine,” he calls back lightly. “Probably just—”

He opens the door.

A wall of biters slams against it from the other side.They’re packed shoulder to shoulder on the porch, rotten hands clawing, teeth snapping. The door rips from his grip as their weight forces it inward.

“Shit—!”

He throws his entire body against it, boots sliding against the floor as he shoves back.

“Y/N!” he shouts, voice sharp with a fear you’ve never heard before. “Y/N! Open a window! Get your shit and get out!”

Your heart drops into your stomach.

The door splinters. Dead hands wedge through the gap.

He fires once — the blast deafening in the hallway — and a body drops, but three more press forward towards him.

“I’m not gonna leave you!” you yell back, scrambling to lace up your boots with shaking fingers.

“Go!” he screams. “Go up the road! I’ll meet you there!”

The door bursts fully open.

He fires again. And again.

You grab both of your backpacks and sling them over your shoulders. You hobble toward the side window, throw it open, and climb out as fast as your foot will allow.

“JJ!” you shout once more.

“Go!” he screams back.

You listen. You limp away from the house and down the road as fast as you can, every step agony, heart hammering in your ears.

Inside, JJ is forced backward.

He runs through the hallway. Through the kitchen. Shoving past grasping hands. One snags his shirt and he rips free, stumbling over an overturned chair.

He dives through the back window, glass shattering around him and hits the ground hard.

Then he scrambles up and takes off.

He rounds the bend toward the road—

—and freezes.

A car with a white cross on the rear windshield is speeding away in the distance, tires skidding against pavement.

Your name catches in his throat. His bag lies in the middle of the road.

But you’re not there.

For a second, the world goes silent.

No wind. No insects. No breath in his lungs.

This.

This is it.

His worst fear.

Not biters.

Not dying.

Not pain.

It’s this.

You gone.

Not knowing where you are. If you’re hurt. Who you're with. If you’re scared. If you’re calling for him.

His chest caves in.

“Y/N!” he shouts into the empty road.

The car is already too far.

His legs feel locked for half a second —

Then something snaps.

And he starts running.

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You smile despite yourself and head out of cell block A, heading straight to your room first, still moving a little slower than you’d like. Every step reminds you you’re not fully back yet.

When you push open the door, you pause.

On your nightstand there's a folded pair of soft pink pajamas, small bottle of rose scented lotion, a Gatorade, half a box of chamomile tea, a Cherokee rose candle and wildflowers stuffed into an old wine bottle.

Your throat tightens.

The girls, obviously.

You peek into JJ’s room. He’s not there but it’s a disaster. Blanket half off the bed.  Boots kicked into opposite corners. A pile of clothes. One of his knifes stabbed into the top of his nightstand.

You take the stairs slowly. Your legs still feel like they belong to somebody else.

As you're walking, four familiar faces round the corner. Sarah, Kiara, Cleo and John B.

“You’re back?!”

They all smile wide at you, relieved.

“You’re back,” Kiara repeats, already stepping forward.

You can’t help but smile, even if it feels a little tired. “Yeah. Pope said I’m not contagious anymore. I still feel kinda shitty,” you admit with a small shrug, “but… way better. Way, way, way better.”

Sarah exhales like she’s been holding her breath for a week. “Oh my God.”

Cleo pulls you into a hug first, careful, but firm. Kiara joins immediately. Sarah squeezes in from the side. You laugh weakly as they wrap around you.

“We thought—” John B starts, then stops himself, swallowing. “We’re just really glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” you murmur into Kiara’s shoulder.

When they pull back, you glance around automatically.

“Where’s JJ?”

They all exchange a look.

“He’s in the watchtower,” John B says. “Switching with Rafe soon.”

Kiara snorts softly. “He’s been losing his mind over you.”

“Like, actually unhinged,” Sarah adds. “Hasn’t slept. Won’t eat unless someone forces him to.”

Cleo nods. “Man’s been pacing like a caged animal.”

Your chest warms and aches at the same time.

“He disinfected your whole room,” Kiara says. “Twice.”

You blink. “He did?”

John B grins. “Yeah. And he's been extra aggressive. Keeps threatening to punch me for no reason."

Kiara nods. "He's been real snappy when he's not being weirdly quiet."

You huff out a soft laugh, looking down at your shoes so they don’t see how much that affects you.

The girls hug you again — tighter this time.

“We’re really glad you’re okay,” Sarah says into your hair.

“Yeah,” Cleo adds. “Don’t do that again.”

You pull back, wrinkling your nose slightly.

“Okay I'll try. Um... I probably smell horrific, sorry about that.”

They all pause.

Kiara squints at you. “You kinda do.”

Sarah covers her mouth, laughing. “Just a little.”

Cleo nods bluntly. “Yeah, babe. You stink.”

You gasp softly, offended but smiling. “Wow Thanks guys.”

John B waves a hand in front of his face dramatically. “It’s faint. But it’s there.”

You shake your head. “Yeah, okay. I’m gonna shower.”

“Good,” Kiara laughs.

You start backing away toward the stairs again, heart beating a little faster now.

“Tell him I’m alive if you see him,” you call.

John B grins. “Oh, he’ll know.”

And as you turn toward the showers, legs still weak but steady enough, there’s something fluttering low in your chest.

After your shower, you slip into the little pajama set realizing that you forgot to thsnk you. It's slightly loose because of the weight you’ve lost over the last few days.

When you step into the hallway, you almost collide with Rafe.

“Shit, hey. You’re out.”

“Yeah.”

“How’s Carmen?”

“Still sick. But way better.”

He nods once. Relief flickers across his face. “Good.”

You smile faintly. “I heard you were going to switch with JJ?”

“Yeah. Watchtower. I was gonna head up in about half an hour.” He eyes you. “But I’ll go now.”

“You don’t have to. I can just—”

He looks at the way you’re subtly swaying.

“You’re wobbling,” he says flatly. “You’re not climbing that ladder.”

You sigh.

“He’s been losing his damn mind,” Rafe adds, softer.

Your chest aches.

“He’ll be happy to see you.”

You nod, shoot him a small smile and go back to your room.

Your rub your new lotion all over yourself, light the candle and lay down on your bed. The sheets feel unfamiliar after so many nights on a cot. The soft flicker of the flame throws warm light against the concrete walls.

You’re beyond happy to be somewhere that smells good for once. To be home.

A few minutes later, you hear boots in the hallway. Fast. Then a door creaks open — JJ’s.

You hear him moving around quickly. A drawer slamming. Boots hitting the floor. The rustle of clothes being yanked off and replaced. The thud of something dropped in a hurry.

Your heart starts racing.

Then your own door creaks open. He steps in and just stops.

You both say it at the same time. “Hey.”

He doesn’t move right away, just looks at you. Slowly. Carefully. Taking you in.

You’re thinner, still a little pale, cheeks pink, dark circles still faint beneath your eyes. But you’re upright. Breathing steady. Alive.

His jaw tightens like he’s holding something in. He walks toward you slowly and when he gets close enough, he look at the pajamas.

“You’re wearing the ones I got you,” he says quietly, smiling a little at how adorable he knee you'd look in them.

You lips part a little and your cheeks get pinker, hardly noticable in the low light. “You got them for me?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah.” He shrugs, suddenly shy. “Grabbed ’em on a run yesterday. Figured you’d like ’em. Sarah helped me pick them out.”

Your eyes flick to the flowers.

“Those too?”

He nods. “Made John B pull over. There was a whole field of ’em.” He smiles faintly. “You’d love it.”

Your throat tightens. You reach for him.

He sits beside you carefully and wraps his arms around you, gentle, so gentle it almost hurts. He just breathes you in. Like he’s memorizing it.

“I missed you,” he says into your damp hair.

“I missed you too.”

His hand slides up your back, careful not to squeeze too hard.

“You still look a little sick,” he murmurs.

You huff. “I still feel a little sick. But Pope said I shouldn’t be contagious.”

He studies your face like he doesn’t fully trust that. But he almost doesn't care.

“You look more tired than I do,” you say softly.

He lets out a breath of a laugh. “Yeah. I haven’t been sleeping great.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

He shrugs again, pretending it’s nothing. “Kinda got used to sleeping with you. Missed my buddy.”

Your stomach flips and you shift closer without thinking.

He lies back slowly, guiding you with him, and you curl into his side like it’s muscle memory. His arm wraps around you immediately. You both go quiet for a second.

“I thought I was gonna lose you,” he admits softly.

You lift your head slightly. "I know."

He shakes his head against the pillow. “No. Like… I really thought that was it.” His voice wavers just a little. “Realized how much I can't.”

Your swallow, eyes filling a little. “I’m here,” you whisper.

He nods “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You’re here.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead and you melt into it.

"Let's get some real sleep," he smiles softly.

You nod before burying your face in his chest. "Yeah, let's do that."

The next afternoon, everything feels almost normal again as you sit up in the watchtower with JJ playing Would You Rather. It's a really pretty day. Almost too pretty.

His boot nudges yours. "Your turn."

“Alright,” you say. “Would you rather lose a hand… or lose all your hair?”

He doesn’t hesitate, looking almost shocked that you'd even ask such a ridiculous question. “Hand.”

You blink. “Wow, you didn’t even have to think about that.”

He scoffs. “Could you imagine me bald? I’d look insane.”

You giggle, picturing it. “You would not look insane.”

“I absolutely would,” he insists, running a hand dramatically through his precious blond locks. “I got a weird shaped head. I just know it.”

You reach over without thinking, fingers brushing through his hair at his temple, pushing it off his forehead. “You do not.”

He stills slightly at the touch and then you can see the way his shoulders relax, the way he leans just barely into your hand before catching himself.

“But yeah, don't cut it off,” you smile, letting your hand fall, suddenly flustered.

"I won't, don't you worry, sunshine," he smiles back. Then he clears his throat and points at you. “Ok, my turn. Would you rather have to listen to Carmen and Rafe go at it every night… or step in biter guts barefoot once a day?”

You choke on a laugh. “That’s disgusting.”

“It’s a serious question.”

You pretend to think, tapping your chin. “Okay, that’s actually hard.”

He grins. “Right?”

“…Biter guts.”

“Yeah,” he nods immediately. “Same.”

You both laugh, the sound carrying lightly over the yard. Then you have another coughing fit, but way dryer now.

"That's it. Let it out, girl," he laughs, patting your back.

You giggle once you regain your computer then tilt your head, studying him.

“Would you rather survive this alone out there… or with a group of people you can’t stand?”

He doesn’t smile this time. “Anything but alone.” The answer is instant.

You nod slowly. “Yeah?”

“I’d go insane by myself.”

“Same.”

He shrugs, looking out over the fields. “If I’m alone, who am I surviving for?” The words come out easy. Casual. Like he didn’t just say something enormous. “What’s the point of making it another day if there’s nobody there to see you do it? If you don’t got someone to come back to. To... share it with.”

Your chest tightens.

The wind brushes through the tower as you're both quiet for a second, thinking.

You look at him. He’s staring straight ahead down the road, jaw tight, like he didn’t mean for that to be heavy.

“Yeah,” you say, softer now, nodding slowly. Then you force a grin. “Okay, okay. I got one.”

He glances at you. “Hit me.”

“Would you rather be stuck in a watchtower with me for a month. With food and drinks…” you lean closer, narrowing your eyes, “or share a cell with Daryl?”

He pretends to think.

You narrow your eyes further. “Don’t you dare.”

He rubs his chin dramatically. “Hmm. One month. Just you...”

“JJ.”

“Well,” he says finally, grinning, “I’d definately be stuck in a watchtower with you.”

“Yeah?” you smile.

“You actually like me. I'll make him like me one day though.”

You scoff. “Who said I like you?”

He smirks. “You love me.”

You roll your eyes automatically. “I do.”

He freezes.

Your brain catches up a half second too late. “…You’re like my family,” you add quickly.

The tension softens.

He smiles, warm and easy. “Love ya too.” It's not the way he wants to say it but it still feels good.

You smile back.

He shrugs again. “But yeah. I wouldn’t mind it, honestly.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“It's safe up here. And I like when it’s just the two of us.”

Your smile widens. “You do?”

“Yeah.” He hesitates. “It’s just… easier.”

You lean your head against his shoulder.

He looks down at you, something soft and unguarded flickering across his face.

For a moment, the world feels small and safe and contained inside the tower.

Then his posture stiffens. You feel it before you see it. He straightens slightly, eyes narrowing at something in the distance.

“What?” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer at first.

Then—

“Shit...hey. Hey.”

You lift your head and see six trucks coming down the road.

Your stomach drops.

Behind them there's a tank. An actual tank.

“That’s a fucking tank,” JJ breathes.

“I see that.” Your heart begins to pound, confused.

His hand is already reaching for the walkie. “Rick,” he says into it, voice tight. “I think we got a problem. Six trucks approaching the gate... and... and a tank.”

They all park and the tank’s turret immediately begins to turn.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Toward you.

“Shit.”

He grabs your arm and drags you down just as—

BOOM.

The tower beside yours detonates and you both scream, covering your heads as the shockwave rattles the platform beneath you.

“Okay. Okay,” he mutters, breath uneven, eyes wide, holding you tight. “We’re good. We’re good.”

Below, the yard fills with people.

Rick. Daryl. Glenn. Maggie. Beth. Carl. Sasha. Tyrese. Bob.

Then John B. Pope. Cleo. Kiara. Sarah.

They all look up toward the watchtower that you're both in for a moment.

Carmen stumbles out shortly after, still pale, still weak, Rafe steadying her at her side.

A man stands on top the tank with an eyepatch and his hands on his hips.

“Rick!” he calls. “Come down here! We need to talk!”

Your heart sinks. “That’s him,” you whisper. "The Governer guy Rafe was talking about."

JJ nods grimly. “Yeah.”

Rick steps forward. “It’s not up to me. There’s a council now. They run this place.”

The Governor tilts his head. “Is Hershel on the council?”

One of the truck doors opens and a woman guides Hershel out. Your breath leaves your body. His daughters, Beth and Maggie's hands slap over their mouths, eyes even more full of fear now.

“What about Michonne?” the Governor calls. “She on the council too?”

Another truck door opens and Michonne is pulled out now.

Rick’s voice is steady. “I don’t make the decisions anymore.”

“You’re making them today, Rick,” the Governor says. “Come down here.”

JJ squeezes your hand tight.

You try to listen. Try to breathe.

You see Daryl roll out a bin and start handing out guns, trying to be as low key as possible.

Two biters stumble from the woods and the Governor shoots them both.

You both flinch each time, knowing that the sound will draw in more of the dead from all over the area.

Rick gestures. You can barely hear him, but you do hear him try to reason that "We can all live together."

The Governor shakes his head, jumps down and grabs Michonne’s katana from the bed of a truck.

Then he presses it to Hershel’s throat.

You clamp a hand over your mouth. “No."

JJ’s jaw tightens. “I have a clear shot of him, should I take it?”

You shake your head frantically. “No. That could start something, JJ. Just... just trust Rick.”

Rick keeps talking.

Hershel looks calm. Almost proud of whatever Rick is saying. He even smiles a little.

For a second it looks like the Governor might listen.

Then his lips move and you can faintly see him whisper "Liar."

And he swings the sword. The blade slices into Hershel’s neck and time stops.

You hear screams. You might've screamed.

There's immediate gunfire.

You’re already moving.

“We gotta go,” JJ says.

You nod then grab your rifle and your backpack and follow him down the ladder.

The tank drives slowly through the fence, leaving a gaping hole. The governor's people follow behind.

The prison erupts into war. Bullets whiz past your head. You fire back blindly.

The tank blows a hole through the prison wall.

Then another.

Dust and smoke swallow everything.

People are running toward the armored bus that eveyone had always said would be your escape plan if anything like this were to ever happen.

Then bus drives away, leaving all of you.

“We’ll figure it out,” JJ shouts.

You dive behind the garden wall and bullets chip the concrete beside your face.

A man aims directly at you—

Then a shot rings out from another direction and he drops.

You turn and see Carmen with Rafe beside her.

You and JJ smile in relief, and then a shot cracks through the smoke.

For a split second, you don’t understand what happened. Then you see Carmen’s body jerk. A red bloom spreads across her throat.

“No!”

She crumples.

Rafe's eyes go wide and he quickly kills the man who shot her.

The world narrows to the four of you. You and Rafe drop to your knees beside her as JJ continues to stand, gun ready in his shaking hands.

Blood is everywhere. It spills through your fingers the second you press your hands to her neck. It’s hot and slippery and relentless, pumping between your palms no matter how hard you push.

"Shit, shit, shit."

Rafe is shaking so hard he can barely get his hands under her head. He lifts her gently into his lap, cradling her.

“It’s okay,” Carmen whispers.

“It’s not,” you choke, tears blurring your vision.

Her breathing is wet. Every inhale bubbles faintly around the blood in her throat. Her fingers twitch weakly against your wrist.

Biters are closing in, walking up the hill towards the prison. Gunfire cracks somewhere behind you.

JJ stands frozen for half a heartbeat, staring at the blood soaking your hands — at how much there is. Then he snaps back to himself and starts firing.

One biter drops. Then another. Then another.

But he keeps glancing back.

Carmen’s eyes find Rafe’s.

“You’re my boyfriend. By the way,” she says weakly, like she had told you she would.

Rafe blinks at her, shattered and confused and trying so hard not to fall apart. “Y—yeah. Yeah, sure. Yeah. I’m your boyfriend.” His voice cracks completely on the last word.

She smiles. It’s small and crooked, but it’s there. Then she looks at you slowly. “See. Easy.”

JJ doesn't hear the exchange as he kills another man running at you all.

A broken laugh tears out of you through your sobs. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” she breathes.

Her hand shifts weakly, searching.

You grab it immediately, squeezing as gently as you can, your other hand still pressing against the wound like maybe if you just try hard enough you can hold her here.

“I’m really glad,” she chokes out in a whisper, eyes flicking between you and JJ. “That I met you guys.”

Your chest caves in. “Don’t,” you beg. “Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m serious.” Her voice is thinner now. Airy. “I had fun.”

Another biter stumbles closer. JJ shoots it without looking away from her this time.

His jaw is clenched so tight it’s trembling.

Rafe presses his forehead to hers. “You’re not done,” he says desperately. “You’re not done, okay? We can fix this. We can—”

She looks at him like she knows.

“I had fun,” she repeats softly. “That’s enough.”

He kisses het gently for just a moment.

Blood is still seeping between your fingers, but slower now.

“Good luck out there,” she murmurs.

The words hit like a goodbye she’s already accepted. JJ steps closer, lowering his rifle for just a second.

“Don’t,” he says hoarsely.

She gives him the faintest smirk. “Later, idiots.”

Your vision tunnels.

“Don’t make me haunt you.”

“Later,” you sob.

She turns her head slightly in Rafe’s arms then looks at him and smiles. It’s soft. Peaceful.

And then her eyes go unfocused.

Her chest rises once. Twice. And doesn’t rise again.

Rafe makes a sound you’ve never heard before before closing her eyes. You let out a choked sob. JJ just stares, eyes wet and wide, squeezing your shoulder.

Then you all begin to move again. Because you have to.

You look back once and see biters descend on her.

You can’t watch.

You and JJ fight your way through, losing Rafe in the smoke.

Another explosion tears through the yard.

Someone screams, “Grenade!”

The tank erupts from the inside and more fire billows into the sky.

You see Daryl running, Rafe behind him.

“Go!” JJ shouts.

"No, no, no, we have to find every—"

"We have to go."

You run.

Through smoke.

Through trees.

Away from the prison.

Away from another home.

You don’t stop.

You just keep running.

Just the two of you.

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A/N: I'm sorry guys🥺 Sobbed my eyeballs out writing the ending.

I didn't want to kill Carmen at all, it just worked with the storyline based on TWD timeline and the 3 future chapters that are already posted. I wish that she was in those so I didn't have to😭

I am GENUINELY mourning I love her sm and I so grateful that some of you did too💘

Taglist: @daggersanddresses @outerbanksgirly @shayyaps @andrealux21 @wolfwar @obxobsessedbitch1 @maybanksbambi @bambigirl10 @holyfujjj @moonlitpogue @mmayii @bithewayellie @jayjsbambi @redhead1180 @gemmjuice @lotusinlove

Every cough that echoes down the corridor makes his jaw tighten and his heart race.

John B and Sarah try to talk to him. Kiara and Cleo and Carmen do too. Everybody does. Even Rafe checks on him but he's not having any of it. He's completely beyond sick to his stomach with worry.

Pope is the only one whose words he listens to. But unfortunately they're not what he wants to hear at all.

When Pope comes to his cell, JJ is on his feet before he even says anything, panic already written all over his face.

“What?” he asks, voice tight. “What happened?”

Pope lifts his hands slightly. “First of all — she’s still alive.”

JJ freezes. Then the air rushes out of him in one shaky exhale like he’s been holding it for hours. His hand comes up to his chest, pressing hard over his heart as he sinks back down onto the edge of his cot.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “Okay. Okay.”

Pope steps inside the cell.

“How is she?” JJ asks, quieter now. Afraid of the answer.

Pope hesitates.

“Not great,” he admits carefully. “High fever. Weak. The coughing’s… bad. But there are people in there declining way faster than she is.”

JJ swallows. His eyes glass over despite him blinking hard like he can stop it. “Yeah?” he asks, voice rough.

“Yeah,” Pope says firmly. “She’s still fighting.”

JJ nods, staring at the floor. Fighting tears. Failing a little.

“You need to try to sleep,” Pope says gently. “Even an hour. You’re no good to her if you collapse. And you gotta keep your immune system up."

JJ shakes his head immediately. “I can’t.”

“You have to—”

“I can’t,” JJ repeats, voice cracking now. He drags a hand down his face. “I can’t lose her, Pope.” The words come out choked. Small. Nothing like how JJ Maybank usually sounds.

Pope’s expression softens.

“I know,” he says quietly.

JJ looks up at him then, eyes wet. “I can’t.”

Pope steps closer, putting a hand on JJ's shoulder. “Hershel and I are doing everything we can,” he says. “We’re monitoring vitals. Rotating fluids. Trying to keep fevers down.”

JJ nods, barely.

“We’re not giving up on her."

JJ inhales shakily and nods again, more to himself than anything.

“Okay,” he whispers. But he still doesn’t lie down.

After a while, JJ heads for Cell Block A.

Tyreese is standing at the window facing it, staring in even though he can't see into any of the cells.

JJ walks up beside him.

The coughing from inside is constant and loud.

“Hey,” JJ says quietly.

“Hey,” Tyreese answers.

He looks completely wrecked. One eye is swollen nearly shut — like he’s been in a fight — but it’s more than that. His shoulders sag. His face is hollow.

He looks like he hasn’t slept at all either.

Tyreese glances sideways. “Your girl in there?”

JJ doesn’t correct him. “Yeah.” He swallows. “Yours?”

He goes still. “No,” he says after a second. “She was one of the first... Karen.” Tyreese says. His voice doesn’t shake — but it sounds scraped raw. “The sickness didn't kill her though. She was murdered last night. Then burnt out back. Somebody killed her and dragged her out there.”

JJ’s blood runs cold.

“So was David. We don’t know who did it. But it’s someone here.”

The corridor suddenly feels too small. JJ feels like his heartbeat is echoing off the walls.

“You think they did it to stop it from spreading?” JJ says, vision tunneling.

“That’s what I figure.”

Bootsteps approach and he sees Daryl emerge from a hallway.

“Oh, there you are,” Daryl mutters to Tyreese. “Took me damn near forever to find you.”

He nods faintly at JJ.

JJ nods back, still processing.

“What you doin’?” Daryl asks.

“Somebody needs to stand watch,” Tyreese says.

Daryl’s eyes flick to JJ.

“He knows what happened,” Tyreese says. “I told him.”

Daryl studies JJ for a beat. “We’re lookin’ into it. Maybe keep it on the downlow for now.”

JJ nods again.

Daryl turns back to Tyreese. “Man, I wanna find ’em too. Put a bolt in ’em for what they did. But these people are cut off. This ain’t like where Karen and David were. Nobody’s gettin’ in there without a whole bunch of folks seein’ ’em.”

“My sister's in there,” Tyreese says. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

"Sasha's sick?" JJ asks quietly, still dizzy, mind still moving a million miles a minute.

"Yeah."

“Standin’ guard ain’t gonna do no good unless we come back with them meds.”

JJ looks up. “Where y’all goin’?”

“Veterinary college. West Peachtree Tech. ’Bout fifty miles out,” Daryl says. “Herschel’s pretty confident that it'll have what we need. Thinks people won't think to look there for medicine for people.”

JJ glances at Tyreese, who’s staring through the window again like he can will Sasha to survive.

“I’ll stay right here, man,” JJ says quietly. “Make sure nobody gets through.”

Tyreese doesn’t answer right away.

“Alright,” Daryl says finally. “We’re gassin’ up by the front gate. In case you change your mind.”

Tyreese looks at JJ.

“I’ll be right here,” JJ repeats.

After a long pause, Tyreese nods and walks off toward the yard.

The second he’s gone, JJ pulls his bandana up over his mouth and nose and slips inside.

The air is thick. It smells awful. Like blood, rot and something else he can't name.

He walks past cells.

There's people coughing up blood into rags.

A man shaking so violently on his cot he looks like he’s seizing.

In one cell, a biter slams into the bars — someone who didn’t make it. Its fingers claw toward him.

He winces and keeps moving.

Then he sees you.

You’re lying on a thin cot, staring at the ceiling. Your chest rises and falls too fast. Your body trembles with small, constant shakes.

“Y/N,” he says softly as he approaches the bars.

You turn your head slowly and you look so pale it scares him. There’s a dark hemorrhage in your red rimmed eye.

“JJ.” Your voice is barely there.

“Hey,” he breathes. He takes you in fully now. “God… princess…”

You try to smile. It doesn’t quite work. “I know. I look like shit.”

His throat tightens.

“I’ll be okay,” you choke out in a whisper. Even you don’t sound convinced. “You’re not supposed to be in here. You need to go.”

“I just wanted to check on you,” he says. “I just... I had to.”

You just look at him. He looks exhausted. Glassy-eyed. It looks like he hasn't slept in almost twenty four hours. Because he hasn't.

“Daryl’s got a group goin’ out,” he adds quickly. “They’re gettin’ medicine. Some place Herschel knew about. It’s far, but… they seem sure about it. Could have something for you by tomorrow.”

You nod slowly. “Okay… okay. That’s good.”

His tired eyes start to shine. You can almost see his lip wobble under his bandana.

“JJ… don’t do that,” you whisper, your own eyes filling. “It’s gonna be okay.”

He nods too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“You really need to get outta here,” you say gently. “I’m happy to see you. I miss you so bad. But you’re stressin’ me out. Don't want you gettin' sick too.” You give him a small, sad smile.

He nods again. “Okay. Yeah. Yeah, sorry.”

A beat.

“I miss you too. I lo—” He stops himself. The word hangs there, unspoken. He swallows it down like it physically hurt. “—It's gonna be okay,” he finishes weakly.

You nod, too out of it to catch the slip. “Yeah. It’s gonna be okay.”

“See you soon.”

“Soon.” You try to smile before bursting into another coughing fit.

He forces himself to step back. To turn and walk away from you.

When he gets outside the block, he slides down the wall beside the door. The bandana falls from his face.

And he cries.

He should’ve said it.

Or maybe he shouldn't have.

He doesn't even know anymore. He's so tired.

If that was the last time he ever saw you alive, he would never forgive himself.

He tries to tell himself that it wasn't the time anyways.

He sits there in the dark corridor, head in his hands, praying with everything he has that it won’t be the last time.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩𖦹⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

You make a small sound in your sleep as you instinctively snuggle closer. He looks down at you and that’s when he sees it:

The bruising along your cheek. The faint swelling at your lip. The different shades of purple surrounding your swollen eye.

The day before slams back into him and his breath catches. His arm tightens around you before he can stop it.

You stir at the movement and for a split second, you panic, body going rigid, heart jumping into your throat.

Then you feel him. And then the pain.

You look up. It takes your brain a second too. You blink up at him, eyes still heavy with exhaustion.

He’s already looking at you.

You see it happen in real time — the way the memory settles behind his eyes. The guilt. The anger. The fear.

“Hey,” he says quietly, voice rough from sleep.

“Hey,” you whisper back.

You study his injuries, which have worsened overnight. You reach up slowly, carefully, and brush your fingers just under his eyebrow.

He winces a little.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

“It’s okay.”

You swallow. “You’re still here," you say quietly and it comes out softer and more suprised than you meant it to.

Something in his expression breaks just a little at that. “Yeah. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Your eyes get glassy, but you don’t cry. You just nod.

He shifts carefully so he can prop himself up a little on one elbow. A gentle hand comes up to cup your cheek. “You okay?” he asks quietly. Almost sounding a little scared.

You think about it: Your ribs ache. Your face feels stiff. Your head is heavier than ever.

But he’s still here.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

The honesty makes his throat tighten. “Yeah,” he says softly, scooting closer and brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Me neither.”

You both sit in that for a second.

“I had a dream,” you say quietly. “That it didn’t happen.”

He swallows hard. “Wish I could say the same.”

Your hand drifts down without thinking, resting over his heart, just feeling it beat beneath it. Just reminding yourself that he's alive.

“I thought you were gonna die,” you whisper.

His jaw tightens.

“Thought I was too. And you... I thought they were gonna…” He can’t finish it.

But you both know.

Silence again.

After a moment, he tries to lighten it — just a little. “You know,” he says softly, “we look kinda badass.”

You blink at him.

He gestures weakly to both of your faces. “Matching black eyes and everything.”

You let out the smallest huff of a laugh.

He smiles like the sound means everything to him. Like part of him was scared he'd never see you smile ever again, even if it's small.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs quietly before he can stop himself. And this time, he doesn’t correct it.

You don’t freeze either. You just look at him.

“Yeah?” you ask softly.

He shrugs a little, wincing at the pull in his back. “Yeah.”

There’s something fragile there. Unspoken. Still complicated. Still tender.

"Always gonna be my girl. My best friend. I'm sorry I made it weird for a second. Never want us to be like that ever again."

"It's ok," you whisper, tears threatening your eyes. "Me neither." You shift closer carefully, wincing at the pain before resting your forehead against his.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“For what?”

“For staying.”

His hand slides to the back of your head.

“Always. Never gonna leave you like that again.”

You close your eyes for a second, just breathing him in.

But then there’s a soft knock at the door that makes you both jump.

“Hey,” Cleo’s voice calls gently. “We come bearing breakfast.”

JJ glances at you first before answering, like he’s checking in without words. You give the smallest nod.

He pulls back and sits up a little. “Yeah,” he says. “Come in.”

The door opens slowly. Cleo steps in first, Carmen right behind her. They’re each carrying mismatched plates piled with thick slices of homemade bread with homemade jelly, Beanie Weenies and a handful of strawberries on the side.

They both pause when they really take you in.

You and JJ are propped up against his headboard, shoulders touching, hair messy. Your bruises are blooming darker in the morning light. Both of your black eyes are more swollen shut, JJ's especially.

But the two of you finally aren't apart and Cleo's expression soften at that.

They hand you the plates. You both say thank you but neither of you eats yet.

Cleo and Carmen sit on the edge of the bed. For a moment, no one says anything.

“How’re you feeling?” Cleo asks gently.

JJ shifts a little. “Like hell. Alive, though. So that's cool," he says, trying to lighten the air.

You swallow. “Sore.” The word feels small compared to what’s sitting in your chest.

Carmen studies you for a second, like she’s weighing something. Then, very carefully, she asks, “Yesterday... did they…?”

She doesn't finish the sentence but you both immediately know what she's asking and answer immediately. “No.”

Your grip tightens on the plate in your lap. “They didn’t. They just—” Your throat closes for a second. “They just made me get undressed. But they didn't get that far.”

Cleo’s jaw tightens. Carmen nods once, slow.

“I’m really sorry that happened to you,” Carmen says. There’s no pity in it. Just sincerity. “Been in similar situations more than a few times. It's terrible. Sticks with you. That shouldn’t have happened.”

Your brow furrows. "I'm so sorry that happened to you too."

She squeezes your hand and shakes her head. "Don't worry about it."

You squeeze back and look between them. “Thank you. For coming in yesterday. For stopping it.”

Carmen smiles sadly. “You don’t gotta thank us for that.”

Cleo nods.

“Yeah, we do,” JJ says quietly, jaw tightening a little as he remembers how you looked before he heard bell ring. In your underwear, crying, covered in your own blood. “You saved her.”

Cleo's gaze flicks to you, then back to him. “You saved her too.”

JJ doesn’t respond to that. He still wishes he could've done more.

You swallow and look at Carmen. “I’m sorry… you had to kill somebody too."

Her expression doesn’t change much. She leans back on her hands slightly. “I was alone a long time,” she says. “I don’t know how many men I’ve killed at this point.” She pauses for a moment. “And two women.”

The room goes quiet.

“It gets easier,” she continues. Not cold. Just honest. “Hopefully you won’t have to do it again. But you never know, unfortunately. There are some pretty terrible people out there. And sometimes you gotta do whatever needs to be done."

You swallow hard at that as your mind flashes to the third man. The one who you didn't kill who ran into the bathroom.

JJ feels the shift in you immediately. His eyes slide over to your face, reading it like he always does.

Cleo clears her throat gently. “Everybody’s worried about you two downstairs. They wanted to come check on you too. They just… didn’t wanna crowd you.”

“We’ll probably be down in a little bit,” you say softly.

“Take your time,” Cleo replies.

“Yeah,” Carmen adds. “Enjoy your gourmet breakfast.”

That earns a faint smile from JJ.

They stand. Cleo squeezes your foot gently before heading for the door and Carmen lingers a second longer, meeting your eyes.

“You’re still here,” she says quietly. “That counts.”

Then they step out and close the door behind them.

The room falls quiet again.

You stare at the door for a long moment before JJ squeezes your shoulder gently.

"He’s still back there," you say quietly.

JJ’s expression shifts, but he keeps his voice steady. “If the horde didn’t get him in that bathroom. Or if he didn't bleed out."

You nod faintly.

He exhales through his nose. “If I ever see him again — which we more than likely won’t — I’ll make him wish he died that day. Promise you that.”

You go very still. And not because you’re scared of him, but because you know he means it. You tilt your head back to look at him. His jaw is tight, eyes steady — not wild, not reckless. Just certain.

Your chest aches in a way that has nothing to do with bruised ribs. Gratitude floods you first, warm and overwhelming. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t question whether you’re worth the risk. In his mind, it’s simple.

You've always have been worth it. Worth anything and everything.

Your throat tightens as you stare at him like he’s something sacred. Like he doesn’t even realize what he is.

Your hand slides up to his cheek, thumb brushing carefully under the swelling of his eye.

“Okay,” you whisper.

But what you mean is thank you.

What you mean is I trust you and that you have so much love for him filling your chest right now that you're scared you'll combust.

You set your plate on the nightstand and curl into his side without another word. He sets his plate down too and wraps both arms around you, holding you close.

His chin rests against your hair. And as he stares at the wall over your head, something settles into place inside him. He realizes that has more than one reason to go back for that backpack.

He needs to see if the man is still there. And if he is, he needs him dead.

Downstairs, an hour later, after making yourselves eat, you tell everybody everything that happened.

Not every detail. Not the parts that make your hands shake. But enough.

How they made you get undressed.

How you fought.

How he fought.

How Carmen and Cleo came in just in time. How you grabbed the gun and pulled the trigger.

Everybody looks sick, then angry, then sympathetic. Sarah and Kiara carefully hug you both. John B and Pope both look at each other and shake their heads.

No one treats you differently afterwards, but they move softer around you.

And from that day on, you and JJ are inseparable. Like your nervous systems rewired to each other.

If you go quiet mid conversation, he notices before anyone else does. If there's a loud noise, his head snaps toward you first.

He notices every time you flinch at sudden sounds. At raised voices. At hands reaching unexpectedly.

Sometimes you’ll be fine one second — laughing even — and then you’re not there anymore. Eyes distant. Breathing shallow. Somewhere else completely.

He always sees it. His fingers will brush your lower back. Or he’ll tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Or press his knee against yours under the table — grounding you without making it obvious.

He sleeps with you every single night. No discussion.

If one of you wakes up from a nightmare, the other’s hand is already searching in the dark.

You both pretend you don’t need it. But you do.

Three days after the incident, you and JJ are up in the treehouse.

You’re sitting against the wall trying to get back into your book. It's open in your lap but you can hardly finish a page without realizing you couldn't repeat a single word over again if you tried, mind somewhere else completely.

JJ’s asleep with his head resting on your thighs, one arm slung loosely over your hip like even unconscious he doesn’t trust the world not to take you.

JJ shifts in his sleep. His mouth twitches slightly like he’s mid conversation in a dream. You glance down at him and the corner of your mouth lifts.

You love seeing him peaceful like this. The injuries on his face still don't look that great but they're healing.

You set your book down gently beside you and run your fingers through his hair.

“Princess,” he murmurs in his sleep, barely audible.

You blink, then let out the softest little laugh. “Yeah,” you whisper back. “I’m right here.”

His mouth twitches into a sleepy smile, and your chest tightens in that sweet, aching way that almost hurts. He shifts slightly, brow furrowing like the dream’s changing.

“Can I have some?” he mumbles.

You tilt your head. “Some what?”

“Gummy sharks,” he adds, words slurring together.

You snort before you can stop yourself, biting your lip to keep from laughing too loud. “Oh my god.”

He hums impatiently in his sleep, like you’re the unreasonable one.

You smile wide as you smooth his hair back from his forehead. If you had any gummy sharks you'd definitely give him some.

You lean your head back against the wooden wall of the treehouse, fingers still moving through his hair, and stare out the open window at the quiet stretch of woods beyond it.

You see a deer step into the clearing below.

Big. Still. Beautiful.

Your breath catches.

You gently shake JJ’s shoulder. “JJ,” you whisper. “JJ.”

He jerks awake instantly, fully alert, hand reaching towards the knife in his hip.

“Are you okay?” he asks immediately, voice rough with sleep but sharp with panic.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly. “There’s a deer.”

He blinks and then scrambles up, still half asleep, hair messy.

He peers out the window. “Holy—” he whispers. “That’s dinner.”

Before you can even process it, he reaches for the gun resting against the wall and presses it into your hands.

“You got this,” he murmurs, sitting back down to watch.

You freeze. The weight of the gun in your hands feels different now.

He doesn’t notice at first. Or maybe he does — but too late.

It’s the first time you’ve held a gun since the store.

Since the sound. Since the blood. Since the way it felt to keep pulling the trigger.

Your hands start to shake a little and when JJ sees it and his expression shifts instantly.

He opens his mouth — like he’s about to say never mind — but you’ve already lifted it.

You squeeze the trigger and the crack of the gunshot splits the quiet afternoon.

The deer drops.

You lower the gun slowly.

JJ lets out a breath. “Nice shot,” he says — but softer than he usually would. Careful.

You don’t answer. Your eyes are fixed out the window. But you’re not seeing the deer. You’re seeing the blood spraying all over the shelf. The man's life instantly leaving his eyes. The body hitting the dirty floor.

Your lip starts to wobble.

“Hey,” he says gently.

You don’t respond. Your breathing becomes shallower.

He leans forward, peeking out the window for half a second. Below, John B and Pope are already standing in the yard staring toward the woods, wide eyed from the sudden shot.

“Yo!” JJ calls down. “Can ya'll go grab it?! Before the biters do!”

They nod and take off toward the gate.

JJ pulls his head back inside immediately and he’s with you again.

“Hey,” he says softly, kneeling in front of you.

Your fingers are still locked around the gun and he gently pries it from your hands and sets it aside.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I shouldn’t have just handed it to you like that. I didn’t think. I just— I didn’t think.”

You shake your head weakly. “It’s okay,” you whisper, eyes glassy and shoulders trembling.

He moves closer without hesitation and pulls you into him.

You press your face into his shoulder and the sob that comes out is small but broken.

His hand slides up into your hair, holding you steady.

“I can still see it,” you choke out. “Every time I close my eyes.”

He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “I know.”

Because he does know. He knows that trauma doesn't dissappear.

It follows.

Later that day, JJ stands at the kitchen window with his hands braced on the counter.

Outside, you’re in the garden with Sarah and Kiara. The three of you are crouched between rows of scraggly flowers and half dead herbs, trying to make something soft out of a world that isn’t.

Sarah says something. He can’t hear what, but you throw your head back and laugh loudly. Real and so bright.

JJ’s chest physically loosens at the sound. The corner of his mouth tips up into something stupid and soft.

Carmen walks into the kitchen, still laughing at something Pope had said before she follows JJ's line of sight out the window. Then sees the dopey smile spread across his face.

“Oh my God,” she mutters.

He doesn’t turn around. “What?”

“You are down horrendous.”

He squints but doesn't argue, just keeps watching you. He has to chew on his cheeks to try not to smile as you smack Sarah in the forehead with a forehead with a daffodil.

"Oh my god, you're in loooove."

He scoffs immediately. “I am not in—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head, smiling despite himself. He knows nobody can read a person better than Carmen so he doesn't admit to anything but he doesn't even try to argue. “Shut the hell up, Carmen.”

“Never.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, still watching you as you bend down to pick something. You tuck hair behind your ear. You say something to Kiara. You look lighter than you did a few days ago.

Then his smile fades.

His jaw tightens.

“Actually,” he says quietly, still staring out the window, “don’t shut the hell up. Because I need to talk to you.”

Carmen raises an eyebrow and leans her hip against the counter. “Talk to me.”

He finally turns around. His expression is different now. It's focused.

“I’m goin' back,” he says. “To that town you took us to. I need my backpack.”

Carmen studies him. She already knows what that means.

“I want you to be my backup,” he adds. “But I get it if you don’t wanna—”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Sure.”

He blinks. “Yeah?”

“I don’t mind at all.” She folds her arms. “But we should give it a day or two. Let your back heal up a little more. Let the biters clear out a little.”

He nods once. He knows she’s right. He just hates waiting.

Then she tilts her head slightly. “What if he’s still in the bathroom?”

“That’s kind of the thing,” he says quietly.

Carmen waits.

“I hope he still is.”

Carmen nods once. “Me too.”

For a second, the air in the kitchen feels heavier. They both agree that some men shouldn't be allowed to keep walking around after trying to do what he did.

She pushes off the counter. “If you don’t kill him,” she says evenly, “I will.”

JJ’s mouth twitches — not quite a smile, but close. “I will. If he’s there.”

“If he’s there.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a beat. Then they step forward and shake on it.

“How do you think she’s gonna react?” she asks quietly. "About you going back."

JJ’s jaw shifts as he glances back out the window.

“That’s what I’m scared of."

The second he tells you about the run, you absolutely spiral.

That night, the room is dim except for the oil lamp flickering on the nightstand. You're pacing back and fourth, arms wrapped tight around yourself.

You stop pacing long enough to press your palms to your eyes, trying to steady your breathing.

“I don’t want you going back there,” you say, voice trembling.

JJ’s sitting on the edge of the bed watching you carefully. “Hey,” he says softly. "I'll be fine. I just gotta get my bag. Maybe grab the dead guys' guns and their bags. They owe us that much."

You shake your head. "I can't go back there."

"I didn't say you're going. I'd never make you do that."

"Please don't go," you say, voice wobbling.

He sighs, chest aching at the sight of you looking so scared. And the fact that you're this scared for him.

"What if the guy who survived is still there? What if he—"

"I'll kill him," JJ interrupts, completely nonchalantly, shrugging like it's nothing. He neglected to tell you that that's the main reason he'd planned to go back in the first place. He also neglected to tell you and Carmen that he's terrified of the man who survived finding the map where he'd marked where you lived. "Carmen's backing me up. And the guy's got a gunshot wound in his arm and had to wait out a horde. I'll be just fine. Promise." He holds out his pinky but you don't hold yours up to lock it around his like you always have.

Instead you shake your head and continue pacing.

You're silent for a moment, then tears fill your eyes again. You lean over his dresser. “What kind of stuff is even in that bag that’s worth going back for?”

He drops his hand and shrugs. “Just... things.”

You narrow your eyes. “JJ. What things?”

He sighs. “My dad’s lighter.”

You freeze and your expression shifts immediately.

“Oh.”

He nods once. “And Pictures. Pictures of us. You. Me. The Pogues. Before everything went to hell. And my phone.”

You stay frozen.

He keeps going, softer now. “Ammo. Some other stuff we could use.”

You nod slowly.

"There's something I found for you in there. It's nothing big, but still..."

Your eyes snap back up. "Something for me?"

He nods.

You can't help but smile at this for a moment.

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out at first.

“I’m just really scared,” you admit. And this time it’s not frantic. It’s small. Your voice wobbles. “I can’t— I can’t sit here and think about you walking back into that place.”

He stands and crosses the room.

You don’t even realize you’re stepping back until your back lightly hits the wall.

He’s close now. Close enough that you feel the heat of him.

“You think I don’t know what that place is gonna feel like?” he asks quietly. Not harsh. Just honest.

Your breathing picks up again.

“I do,” he says. “But I can't stand the thought of them taking anything else away from us than they already did.”

His hand lifts — hesitates — then gently brushes a tear off your cheek.

You swallow.

"Look at me."

You try not to but you can't help it. You look.

God, he's handsome.

He leans in slightly, voice lowering. “I’m not leavin' you.”

Your heart slams for a different reason now.

He’s so close.

Close enough that his thigh brushes yours. Close enough that you can feel his breath.

You tilt your chin up without meaning to.

“I need that bag,” he murmurs.

Your pulse feels like it’s in your throat now. And also maybe a little lower in your body.

“I’ll be smart,” he says softly. “I won’t do anything reckless.” He wipes another tear away, thumb warm against your skin. “You trust me, right?”

The question makes your stomach flip. You nod immediately. “Yes.” Barely above a whisper.

You don’t even argue anymore. You just look at him with those wide, glassy eyes and let him steady you.

He feels the shift too as his thumb strokes your cheek. The way you melt instead of fight. The way your breathing slows because he’s the one talking.

His gaze drops for a split second before he catches himself. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Good.”

He steps back like he physically has to pull himself away.

“I’m gonna shower. I'll be right back.”

You nod again, still a little dazed.

He grabs clean clothes and heads into the bathroom, looking back at you for a moment before leaving the room.

You’ve already crawled into bed, pulled the covers up to your chin. You look small. Soft. A little wrecked. A little flushed.

Absolutely fucking adorable.

You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand as the door shuts.

Then your hand slides down your stomach and into your panties. The fear is still there but god, did he just distract you from it.

God, do you want him.

In the bathroom, JJ braces his hands on the sink for a second before turning the shower on.

He exhales hard.

He shouldn’t have stood that close.

Shouldn’t have looked at you like that.

He presses his forehead briefly against the cool tile and lets the tension drain out of him under the water.

He tips his head back and lets the water run over his face, but it doesn’t help.

He can't stop thinking about the way you were looking up at him. All pretty and completely submissive.

How you'd kissed him a few days ago in the heat of the moment, before he stopped you. Because it felt wrong. But also so goddamn right.

His eyes flutter shut as he begins to tug at himself. And he doesn't feel bad for doing it. He feels like he has to to keep it together.

Because now his brain is doing that thing.

Dragging him back to the night he'd let himself fuck you. And he lets himself really remember it.

The way you'd ground yourself against his lap in nothing but your soaked panties. The way you kissed his neck. Licking, sucking nipping at the skin like you were completely starved for him.

The way your hand wrapped around his dick before smiling and calling it pretty.

You telling him how good he was stretching you. Saying how bad you wanted him. The way your legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into you. All while you made the most beautiful noises he's ever heard.

The desperation of it all.

And in his bed, you're thinking of all the same things as you push your own fingers into yourself over and over and over.

The way his tongue twirled around your nipples before sucking your skin into his mouth, covering your breasts in marks like he was claiming you as his and nobody else's.

The sound of the palm of his hand slapping against you as he shoved his fingers inside of you repeatedly.

Him putting his fingers in his mouth afterwards. And then yours, letting you taste yourself.

JJ fucking hard into the mattress and murmuring sweet but also down right dirty praises into your ear and mouth.

Him calling you baby.

The way you held eye contact as you both came harder than ever.

You both come hard together without even knowing.

By the time he shuts the water off, his pulse has evened out — mostly.

He pulls on clean clothes and heads back into the bedroom.

You’re still in bed, covers pulled up, watching the door like you were waiting for him.

He pauses when he sees you all soft and flushed and his chest tightens for two completely different reasons at the same time.

He crosses the room and slides into bed beside you without a word and you move toward him immediately. He wraps an arm around you, tucking you against his chest.

“You okay?” he murmurs into your hair.

You nod.

“Please be so safe.”

His arm tightens.

“I will be.”

You nod again. "Goodnight, JJ."

"Night, Princess. Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams."

The next day is torture.

JJ and Carmen leave early to go back to the town.

You reorganize the pantry. Twice.

You sharpen knives that don’t need sharpening.

You stand at the window more times than you can count, staring down the road like you can make the the car drive back down it with your mind.

Every worst case scenario loops in your head.

By mid afternoon, your chest feels tight enough to crack.

And then you see the Bronco. You're at the gate pulling it open before they even reach it.

When they get out they look wrecked. Covered in blood.

Your stomach drops.

“Is any of that yours?” you ask, wide eyed, scanning them.

JJ shakes his head quickly. "No."

Carmen shakes her head too. “Just biters. Lots of them.”

You exhale shakily. But you’re still searching his eyes.

“The man,” you ask quietly. “Was he still there?”

JJ’s jaw tightens. "No.”

Your stomach twists. “Did you get your backpack?”

A beat.

“No.”

Somebody had taken it. Fear flickers behind his eyes for half a second before he masks it.

Later that night, you're all in the living room.

You’re tucked into JJ’s side on the couch, your head resting against his shoulder giggling as Pope argues about whether canned peaches count as "real dinner".

JJ doesn’t laugh as loud as he normally would.

His arm is draped around you, but his hand keeps shifting like he needs to make sure you’re still there. His thumb brushes slow circles against your hip.

You tilt your head up at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says automatically, looking down at you. “You comfy?”

You nod, curling a little closer. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He adjusts immediately anyway, tugging the blanket higher around your shoulders.

Across the room, John B throws a peach at Pope and Kiara groans, and the moment fills with noise and warmth and firelight and the kind of laughter that feels almost normal.

But JJ isn’t watching them. He’s watching you.

Your lashes. The way the firelight catches in your eyes. The little crease between your brows that only shows when you’re thinking too hard.

He swallows. “You know,” he starts, voice low. Almost lost under the arguing. “If things were… different. Like, if the world wasn’t—” He gestures vaguely.

You look up at him again.

He hesitates and you can feel his heart beating. Fast.

“I think I would’ve—” He stops himself. Clears his throat. Shakes his head once. “Never mind.”

“What?” you press gently.

His jaw tightens for half a second like he’s fighting with himself. Then he looks at you fully.

“I just…"

Suddenly glass shatters.

Nobody moves at first.

Then something wet splashes across the far wall.

And fire explodes up the curtains.

It happens so fast it doesn’t feel real. The flames roar upward, heat blasting across the room in a wave.

“What the hell—?!” Pope shouts.

Another crash. Another bottle. Another bloom of fire in the hallway. Somebody's throwing Molotov cocktails.

“Move!” Cleo snaps.

JJ is already on his feet, pulling you up with him. Smoke is building thick and black near the ceiling. The fire spreads like it’s been waiting for this house its whole life.

Everybody sprints upstairs to grab their backpacks.

In JJ's room, he grabs a backpack that he'd found on the run with Carmen, his bat, knife, waterbottle and gun. You grab your own bag and weapons and you both run downstairs. Everybody is running outside, but JJ goes into the kitchen and begins opening all the cabinets, shoving food for everybody into the bag with shaking hands.

“JJ, we have to go,” you say, voice breaking.

“I know,” he breathes. “Just—just gimme a second.”

He moves fast. Focused.

The ceiling creaks. Smoke fills the air.

“JJ.”

He looks at you, face lit orange by firelight. “I’ll meet you outside,” he says. “Go. Now.”

“I’m not leaving you—”

“Go!” he snaps, but it’s not angry. It’s scared. “I’ll be right behind you. I swear.”

The fire’s spreading too fast.

You hesitate then nod and run out the door.

You burst through the gate coughing, lungs burning. Everybody's already outside, weapons up, watching the tree line.

Flames crawl across the roof of the mansion. Glass blows out in violent bursts.

“Where’s JJ?” Kiara demands.

“He’s coming,” you say. You try to make it sound certain.

Suddenly you hear a gun cock beside your head and feel cold metal press against your temple.

Everything stops.

The man from the farm supply store steps from the shadows near the trees. Eyes wild. Bandage on his arm dark with blood.

"Hey, babygirl. Long time no see."

The fire crackles behind you. Wood collapses somewhere upstairs.

“How’d you find us?” you ask, voice steadier than you feel.

He smiles and pulls something from his jacket.

The map.

Your stomach drops.

“Your friend left this behind,” he says, opening it up and tapping the circle JJ had drawn. “‘Home.’” He looks back at the mansion, flames devouring it. “Doesn’t look like much of a home anymore.”

Your pulse is roaring in your ears.

“Lower your weapons,” he says, pressing the gun harder against your head. “Or she dies.”

One by one, they hesitate.

You shake your head at them slightly. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “Just do it.”

He starts backing toward the trees, dragging you with him. “Maybe I’ll take her somewhere quieter,” he mutters.

The fire behind you gives a thunderous crack.

And then—

A gunshot.

The man’s body jerks, the gun slips from his fingers and he drops instantly.

You stumble forward as strong arms wrap around you from behind.

JJ.

His hands are shaking as he pulls you tight against his chest.

“You’re okay,” he breathes into your hair. “You’re okay. I got you.”

You turn in his arms. His face is streaked with soot. One sleeve is singed.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He just nods.

Behind him, the roof caves in.

Poguelandia 3.0 collapses in on itself.

Silence settles except for the fire.

Pope swallows. “That fire's gonna pull every biter for miles.”

Sarah’s voice is small. “Where do we go?”

JJ doesn’t take his eyes off the burning wreckage as he pulls the backpack that he'd left in the store off of the dead man.

“Anywhere,” he says.

You all peer through the gate one last time, turn and run into the woods as your home burns down behind you.

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JJ exhales through a quiet smirk and rolls closer, crowding your space in that way that makes your stomach flip. His hand slides over your hip, warm and familiar, thumb hooking into the edge of your panties. “Mm,” he hums. “Sorry, baby.”

"S'ok," you smile, pressing your ass against him without thinking.

He groans quietly, pulling you against the growing bulge in his boxers.

“I think I can fix that,” he says softly, placing gentle kisses to your neck, reaching up to grope your breast through your crop top. "Let me fuck you to sleep, pretty girl."

Your breath stutters as hr begins to rub you between your legs, the corners of your lips curving up. He just watches your face, waiting.

“You want me to?” JJ asks, quieter now.

You turn your phone off, set it on the nightstand, and turn fully toward him, hands sliding up his chest. Your voice is barely above a breath.

“I do.”

JJ’s smile turns slow and satisfied as he pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours.

“Good,” he murmurs, making you lift your hips so he can pull your panties down your legs. “Then let me take care of you.”

He pulls off his boxers and climbs over you, pressing a tiny kiss to your lips before pausing, like he needs a second just to take you in. His hands rest on either side of your head, blue eyes soft as they trace every sleepy detail of your face.

You can’t help but smile up at him, eyes heavy, cheeks warm. How could you not blush when JJ Maybank looks at you like that? Like he can’t even believe you’re real.

“God,” he murmurs quietly, thumb brushing along your cheek. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your smile widens, shy and fond, and you reach up to tug him closer by the back of his neck. “You’re staring,” you whisper, amused and a little breathless.

“Yeah,” he admits easily, forehead resting against yours. “Can’t help it. Kinda stuck on you.”

He kisses you again, slow, lingering and completely unhurried. When he pulls back, it’s only to press a kiss to your nose, then your cheek, grinning when you let out a quiet little laugh.

“Get comfy,” he murmurs, voice gentle. “I got you.”

He slowly pushes himself inside you and you whimper softly, fingers pressing into his shoulders as he stretches you perfectly.

His breath shudders. "God, baby, so wet for me."

He begins to thrust into you slow and unhurried, rocking you gently, more soothing than demanding, like he’s trying to lull you instead of overwhelm you.

“JJ…” you whisper, voice shaky. “God… feels so good.”

Your breath turns uneven, little sounds slipping out of you without permission. Soft, needy, the kind that make his jaw clench as you cling to him.

"I love your dick so much," you giggle breathlessly.

He groans quietly at that, forehead pressed to yours. “Yeah?” he murmurs. “I know. I can hear it. You sound so pretty. Love all your cute little noises. 'Specially when you're all sleepy like this."

You whimper softly, hips shifting like your body’s chasing the feeling.

JJ lets out a low, pleased sound. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice warm and steady. “Just like that. You’re doin’ so good. Love when you grind those hips against me," he smiles, reaching down to help guide you.

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip as your thighs begin to shake.

"Can feel you squeezin' on me. You gonna come already, baby?" JJ whispers, breath warm against your ear.

He feels you nod.

"JJ," you gasp as he pushes himself into you as deep as he can go, over and over and over. Your breath stutters. Your thighs tense, a quiet sound catching in your throat as you let yourself let go.

"That's my girl," he smiles as he watches your face contort with pleasure. "Feel good, sweetheart?"

"Yes," you choke out. "Please keep going."

"Oh, I will. Ain't gonna stop fucking you 'til you go limp underneath me," he whispers. "Probably won't even stop then. That ok?"

"Yes, JJ," you whimper. "That's ok. Fuck me as much as you want. Feels so goddamn good."

He groans. "You're so perfect, you know that?"

You let out a quiet giggle, eyes fluttering shut as you melt into him, relaxed in that boneless, hazy way only he ever manages to give you. Body completely loose and trusting.

Your pussy squelches as he fucks you slower now, taking his time, JJ's eyes practically roll back at the sound.

You make a soft noise, already half asleep, and it wrecks him.

“Look at you,” JJ whispers, thumb brushing gently along your jaw. “All relaxed. Lettin’ me take care of you.” A quiet, breathless laugh slips out of him. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your lashes flutter, lips parting just enough for him to kiss you slow and deep.

Your eyelids begin to grow heavier. “M’gettin’ really sleepy,” you mumble, words slurring just a little. “Don’t… don’t stop, okay? Please.”

His breath stutters, something dark and affectionate flashing in his eyes. He kisses the corner of your mouth, slow and lingering.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he murmurs. “Not even a little.”

You smile faintly, nose brushing his cheek. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he says immediately.

Your sounds soften, turning into quiet little whimpers against his neck. “Feels too good,” you whisper. “You make me feel so safe.”

That does something to him. His hold tightens, protective and steady. “Good,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “Go to sleep, baby. I got you.”

Your lashes flutter as you smile up at him. “Night, JJ…”

"Night, Princess. Sweet dreams." He presses a slow kiss to your lips, gentle and sure, then another to your hair, staying close as your body finally relaxes completely. You go heavy underneath him, breathing evening out, trust written all over you.

“That's it,” he smiles even though you can no longer hear him, mouth brushing your skin. “That's my girl. All mine."

He buries his face in your neck, peppering kisses to your soft skin as he continues to move his hips against yours, slow and controlled as to not wake you up.

"God, I'm so fucking lucky," he whispers to nobody, pulling back to look at you. He pushes up your crop top, revealing your perfect tits and goes back and forth between them, sucking each nipple into his mouth, groaning and swirling his tongue hungrily.

You whimper in your sleep and he can't help but smile.

The room is quiet other than JJ's soft groans, your breathing and the sound of your wet arousal with each thrust.

Finally, JJ can hold it in anymore. "Shit, baby," he whimpers, filling you like he always does. "Oh my god."

He goes still, breath shaking as he buries his face back into your neck.

For a moment, he just holds you.

"I love you so much," he whispers even though you’re completely gone to the world. JJ swallows hard, chest tight, and presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Jesus,” he whispers. “So beautiful like this.”

He takes his time, quiet and gentle, cleaning you up you up between your legs—slow, considerate, like it matters that you stay comfortable. He fixes the blanket when you stir, smoothing your hair back when you frown for just a second in your sleep before relaxing again.

“There you go,” he murmurs softly. “All taken care of.”

He watches you for a long moment after that, heart doing something stupid in his chest. Your face is peaceful, warm, completely unaware of how hard he’s falling.

JJ slips back in beside you and pulls you against him, arm firm around your waist, protective without even thinking about it. You immediately curl into him, fitting perfectly, like your body knows exactly where it belongs.

He exhales, resting his chin on the top of your head.

JJ stays awake longer than he needs to, thumb tracing slow circles against your skin, memorizing the way you feel like this—safe, warm, here. Only when his body finally gives out does he let his eyes close.

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