“Josh--”

Doubt. Seemingly endless doubt. Because wasn’t Josh always the one to push him in Ashley’s direction? Wasn’t he the one to tell him to grow some spine and talk to her?

And then Josh drops this fucking bombshell. And yeah, Chris thought he was taking the piss, setting him up for a dumb joke, but now he’s pleading, hands anchored into the front of Chris’ shirt. Stuttering start, now spluttering and wide-eyed and please believe me!

  A snorting giggle while Chris is leaning against Josh’s shoulder  --  not quite a cushion for his cheek, but it’s Josh, so, whatever, you know?  “Nnn  --  it’s  --  it’s  --  awh fuck, I can’t even--”  More giggling and snorting against Josh’s shoulder.  Poor Josh, poor no-name.  No names, forgotten names, it’s all the same.

     “O-OK, I--”  One last snicker, an arm coming to lazily snake around and pull at Josh’s other shoulder  --  Chris, The All-Encompasing Hugger.  “I got it, bro, I got your name.”  And it’s a dead-on, hazy-eyed contact right now, with Josh’s mouth in an upturned, bemused pout, and Chris’ a Cheshire cat grin.  “But you’re gonna have to gimme a kiss, first.”

  It’s readily given.  It’s a bump against his nose, too, that makes him squawk, but it’s a hold with hands where they can grab (respectfully, of course, on both sides; no unnecessary funny business), and a little bit of...  breathy noise.  That’s normal.  Josh, now close to his name, is enjoying himself, and so’s Chris.

  Both still cloudy-minded when they part to breathe, but Josh manages to grind out,  “My name.”

     “Joshy.  Joshua.  Jawwwwsh.”

     “You nerd!”

     “Jawsh!”

  Hands are still anchored into shirts.

The howling, dying cries of the man echo of the mine walls; Jake is still wary, looking over his shoulder just in case the... wendigo follows after him.

When did it take Josh? When he looked in a different direction, when he was following after the rest of them? They’d all huddled together after the first attempt, then made to move somewhere safe. Safer. If there was such a place.

The water is so fucking cold; swears the skin of his lower body is constricting, stretching thin. But he hears something else under the now gurgling bubbles of the dead (OH, DESERVEDLY DEAD) man. Familiar panicked breaths -- how close, now?

“Josh?” It’s barely a whisper. Don’t attract monsters with your noise. Don’t move if it’ll see you. “Josh, it’s me. It’s Jake. Buddy...”

Hunched over and rocking, unseeing, maybe half-hearing. So Jake climbs out of the water, and stumbles close, his own breath a shiver in his ribcage (and it might be too loud, might alert the thing, but God, the cold, the relief) as he pulls Josh and shakes him, and pulls him closer again. He wraps around Josh like a blanket.