#non gendered reader

“Yaaa-chOOOO!” 

Hunter startled awake, his hair a messy halo without the bandana. 

Y/N across the room, tucked deep in the covers, attempted to blow their nose quietly. 

Not quiet enough for Hunter, though.  He rolled off the couch where he slept in the fixed-up basement and padded over to the bed where Y/N lay. 

“You ok?” He whispered. 

“Oh...sorry to wake you.” Y/N paused, face squinching... 

Then sneezed again. 

“Allergies” Y/N winced “And it set off my migraines.” 

“Oof” Hunter commiserated. 

Y/N blew their nose again.  “Yet ANOTHER reason I sleep down here...”  Massaging their forehead.  “The dark helps...” 

“Can I get you something?” Hunter wanted to help.  He HATED when his senses were overwhelmed. 

“Drugs in the medicine cabinet upstairs...” Y/N trailed off. 

The basement door opened. 

“Knock-knock?”  Echo's voiced carried down the stairs.  “Ok to come down?” 

“Yeah.”  Hunter answered. “Y/N’s not feeling too hot.” 

Echo's boots clomped down the wooden stairs and thumped over area rugs covering the cold concrete floor.  He made his way through the semi-darkness, appearing at Hunter’s side with a tray. 

Hunter could smell warm chamomile tea and buttered toast.   

“I...heard sneezing...” Echo’s smartass smirk at Hunter, whose dad sneeze was legendary among the Batchers for his "Turbo Sneezes” per Omega...and CLEARLY wasn’t his brother who was suffering down in the basement.  “Figured SOMEONE could use some TLC.” 

Echo was ALWAYS the earliest riser in the household.  He took it upon himself to take on “Caf Duty” and start breakfast as Wrecker slept in and took on “Dinner Duty” later in the day.  Tech hardly ever slept, so he would infodump while Echo scurried around the kitchen and later help with “Breakfast Dish Duty.”  Eventually Crosshair would stir with “Doggie Duty” as he fed, let out, and walked Batcher.  After that Cross joined his brothers for breakfast, letting Batcher clean his plate of whatever food wasn’t eaten.  Omega and Wrecker were always the last out of bed.  

Crosshair would send Batcher to the second floor to rouse them so they all could eat together. 

In the past Hunter usually awakened when the first Batcher stirred, but sleeping in the dark cool basement gave him the best rest he’d had in a very long time.  His brothers, Omega, and Batcher refrained from waking Hunter, preferring to let their sergeant sleep.  The dark circles under Hunter’s deep-set eyes even seemed to lighten up since settling in at the new household. 

Besides, Hunter could smell EVERYTHING being cooked in the kitchen above him.  Everyone KNEW he’d awaken and creep upstairs when he was ready...and hungry. 

Their host, Y/N kept a totally different schedule.  They slept most of the day and were active in the afternoon and at night where Y/N would paint, make intricate beadwork, and write for a living.  Part remote work and part local artist run co-op shop downtown paid some of the bills. 

Y/N’s past roommates helped pay the rest. 

Until they moved out due to a change in jobs in another state, which happened to correspond to The Batch landing in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.  The clones had NO money to contribute, so they made sure to pitch in with cooking, cleaning, small repairs to the home, weeding the large backyard garden, ANYTHING to help their host.   

The Batchers slowly started to acclimate into living the “slow life” with no war.  Right in the Heart of Amish country and allergy season. 

Y/N sneezed again. 

Echo set the tray down on the bedside table, handing Hunter a mug of caf.  “Here Sarge.” 

Hunter grinned, nodding his thanks. 

“And for our host.”  Echo cooed, handing Y/N the tea and meds. 

“Thanks.  You’re an absolute dear, Echo.” Y/N smiled while stifling another sneeze.  “These should take the edge off...”  Gulping down tea with the meds “Gotta run to the grocery...” 

“Yeah, kitchen’s pretty empty.” 

Hunter chuckled “Heh, Wrecker’s become quite the cook.”  While patting his belly. 

His pants had been getting tighter since their arrival to Earth.  Y/N introduced Hunter to sweatpants, and he hadn’t worn anything else since. 

Crosshair nicknamed Hunter “Sergeant Sweatpants” regarding his new fashion choice. 

“Um, I’m gonna need someone to drive me.”  Y/N struggled, embarrassed to even have to ask.  “This migraine is going to be a DOOZY.  I can shop but driving in this condition isn’t SAFE.” 

“Well go for you.”  Hunter brightened, excited at the notion of getting out of the house. 

“Yeah.”  Echo chimed in.  “That should be an easy mission.” 

“Uh...you...sure?”  Y/N gave both clones an expression of concern.  “Leave your weapons home...ok?” 

“Now, don’t you worry.”  Hunter stood tall with confidence “We’ll take care of EVERYTHING.” 

Wrecker had just finished dusting the living room.  Then pulled the vacuum from the front hall closet.  Since his large frame wouldn’t fit in Y/N’s Honda Civic, Wrecker would be staying home with Omega... 

And the NEW kitten. 

Hunter initially didn’t want her to get too attached to anything they may have to leave behind when the Marauder was finally repaired. 

But that was BEFORE she ventured next door to play with the Amish children in the barn... 

Of COURSE Omega came home with a kitten! 

NONE of the brothers could say no to her.  Batcher immediately fell in love, letting the kitten sleep curled up with her.  Y/N caved when they saw how well “Oddball”, the runt of the litter, fit into their household.  An adorable redheaded attention hog, bicolor-eyed tabby (green-blue), with a deformed ear. 

“Hunter!”  Omega skipped up to him “I found coupons for cat food and kitty litter!” 

She dutifully handed Hunter the coupons, shopping lists, and Y/N’s debit card. 

He smiled at her.  She looked SO HAPPY... 

Like a regular child living a life with no war, no bounty hunters, no major stressors. 

Hunter felt his eyes get a little misty.  It would be AMAZING to stay here... 

Enroll Omega in school this fall.  The brothers could find jobs, hobbies, branch out and make new friends.  He could possibly start dating Y/N.... 

His heart swelled a bit as he beamed like a goofball. 

“Very responsible.”  Hunter nodded to the coupons in his hand.  “Proud of you, Mega.” 

He leaned over, kissing the top of her head. 

That’s when Crosshair sidled up to them. 

“When was the last time you WASHED those...excuse for pants?”  Crosshair nitpicked. 

Hunter, unfazed, clapped back.  “Probably the last time YOU smiled.” 

“OK CHILDREN.  LET’S LOAD UP!”  Echo joked as he passed them both, opening the front door.  “Daylight’s a burnin’.” 

“Good luck on your mission, Cadets!”  Omega saluted Echo while holding tiny Oddball.  

Echo smiled and winked back at Omega. 

“BYE!”  Wrecker yelled over the vacuum.  “MAKE GOOD CHOICES!!!” 

“YES MOM!!!”  Crosshair yelled back as he pet Batcher on the head, then followed Sergeant Sweatpants out the door 

Tech was ready! 

He had inspected the older model Honda Civic an hour before any of his brothers walked out the door. Tech dutifully checked the oil, washer fluid, and tire pressure per specifications of the owner's manual located in the glove box.   

He adjusted the driver’s seat to perfectly accommodate his “optimal driving experience.” 

Then found his favorite radio station for “ambiance” ... 

But Crosshair jumped into the back, slithered between the seats, up the center console, touching the dial, and erasing Tech’s settings. 

“WHY must you do THAT?”  Tech sassed. 

“I’m certainly NOT listening to your Classist music.” Cross sassed back. 

“It is CLASSICAL music, Crosshair.” 

“Whatever...it sucks.” 

Echo loaded up in the front passenger seat next to Tech.  Hunter sat in the back behind Tech, next to Crosshair. 

Hunter covertly pulled the rear passenger lap seatbelt buckle out all the way, laying it RIGHT where Crosshair would be sitting. 

Cross settled on the local rock station. 

Tech rolled his eyes and sighed. 

Echo eyed them both. 

Crosshair slid back between the seats sitting down... 

“WHATTHEFUCK!” he jumped as his skinny hind end came down on the metal buckle. 

Hunter’s low laughter rumbled in the cabin. 

“Liked you better exhausted and apathetic.” Crosshair muttered. 

Echo turned around to address Tech, Hunter, and Cross in a comically stern manner.  “Don’t make me make Tech stop this car.”  

“And, if you both cannot refrain from squabbling”  Tech also threatened playfully “The trunk is spacious enough to fit one of you inside it.” 

“REALLY?”  Crosshair smirked.  “The Don’t Make Me Separate You line.  Know you stole that from the ‘Grumpy Old Men’ movie.” 

“That’s like, your opinion, man.” Tech sniffed, adjusting his rear-view mirror to see Hunter making stink face at Crosshair.  “Besides, ‘The Hangover’ portrayed a man in the trunk for humor. 

“The Big Lebowski!”  Echo clapped Tech on the shoulder. 

“Frustrated Mom Humor.”  Tech countered grinning, nodding back at Echo. 

They had both been researching the media and culture of Earth since their arrival.  Movies, shows, and commercials played NONSTOP in the living room. 

Hunter was relieved he slept in the basement but couldn’t help piling on. “’Goodfellas’ was more the movie I had in mind for you.”  He grinned at Crosshair. 

“Dweebs” Cross sighed.  “Besides...you didn’t bring your knife.” 

“Buckle up, shut up, or something.”  Hunter deadpanned.  “Don’t have ALL day.” 

“Hunter is correct.”  Tech added.  “This vehicle stays parked until ALL the occupants are safely and securely belted in.”  He raised a pointer finger into the air.  “Remember, Click It or Ticket.” 

“Oh dear Maker...”  Crosshair whined.  “Can’t I just stay home with Wrecker and Omega?” 

“NO!!!”  Everyone else barked. 

The Honda Civic sped...within the speed limit...over the hills on the back roads of Lancaster County’s farm country. 

The Batcher’s were absolutely PLEASED with their FIRST successful trip on Earth without Y/N to chaperone. 

With Echo as navigator, they found the local grocery, shopped with minimal bickering, and adhered to the list Y/N had given them.   

The amount of food for seven people, one dog, and the new kitten filled up the Civic’s trunk to the brim. 

There was NO room for the case of Friskies and huge bag of kitty litter.  Hunter slid the case of food under his feet on the backseat floor. 

The bag of litter sat between Hunter and Crosshair on the back seat.  Neither minded as it worked as a divider between the two of them.   

It gave Echo some peace, too. 

Crosshair lost himself in a new box of toothpicks.  Hunter flipped through a recipe magazine he snagged at the register.  Tech found a radio station everyone surprisingly agreed upon. 

Coasting along AT THE POSTED SPEED LIMIT was pure perfection for Tech... 

Much to the consternation of the jacked-up monster truck aggressively creeping up on the Honda Civic’s rear end. 

The truck had been following since they turned off the main highway from the grocery store onto the sleepy two-lane road towards home. 

Tech clocked them since they started following...closely, then backing off, then coming up the rear of the Civic closely again. 

Their total lack of civility and the rules of the road frustrated him. 

There was NO logical reason for them to drive in this manner! 

Crosshair also covertly watched the truck closely, suspicious of their driver's intent more than driving skills. 

Echo napped in the front seat. 

Hunter couldn’t be arsed to care.  He flipped through recipes imagining Omega and Wrecker’s excitement of their next culinary adventure. 

Quite comfortable in his often-worn sweatpants. 

Lancaster County is a verdantly green, heavily forested land with rolling hills, and endless farmland.  Truly a pleasurable experience to drivers who enjoy taking the quiet and less traveled “Scenic Route”. 

For those that are IMPATIENT though... 

Two miles was all it took for them to LOSE THEIR SHIT! 

The large truck ROARED as it swerved out of their lane into the space of the oncoming one...almost hitting the Civic as it did so. 

The passenger and driver of the truck yelled “GET THE FUCK OFF THE ROAD!”  Through their open windows. 

Crosshair and now Hunter GLARED at them.  The yelling awoke Echo who had a less than happy scowl on his face. 

Tech was INSENSED by the WRONGNESS of this jacked up monstrosity and its driver crossing over the DOUBLE yellow line into the opposing lane. 

He leaned out the window attempting to give them a very much needed infodump lecture on the merits of safe driving. 

Oh, the soon to be seen irony... 

They LAUGHED at him. 

The passenger flipped The Batcher’s the bird, which did really NOTHING as the clones hadn’t caught onto the deep offense that gesture was meant to serve them. 

However, he then screamed “FUCK OFF YOU GOGGLED-EYED DUMBASS!” 

That did it.   

He vowed to GET EVEN. 

Tech MASHED down on the accelerator and the little Civic whined, then jumped as it met the truck’s speed, denying it the option to pass and proceed on in the proper lane. 

“WHOA!”  Echo yelled, holding on for dear life. 

Hunter scolded, bracing himself in the backseat.  “This isn’t the SAFA TOMA POD RACE, Tech!!!” 

Tech only registered Hunter and Echo at the periphery of his senses.  He was stubbornly going to resist letting the truck over. 

He wouldn’t let them have their way immediately... 

Tech intended to have the occupants of the “modified monstrosity” sit in discomfort for a while. 

Crosshair silently watched the situation unfold. 

The driver’s road rage took over, he swerved perilously close to the Civic, almost hitting it. 

Tech didn’t flinch and kept up with the speed of the truck.  The Civic’s engine screamed as the needle on the speedometer climbed. 

Both vehicles quickly approached a bend in the road. 

Hunter began to sense IMPENDING DOOM.  “TECH!  LET HIM PASS!!!” 

“I absolutely REFUSE to yield to an imbecile choosing to ignore the rules of the road!” 

“YOU’RE breaking the rules of the road!”  Echo boomed. 

“HE INSTIGATED THIS ALTERCATION!!!”  Tech leaned closer to the steering wheel, assumed his racing position that Echo knew very well from watching the pod race footage... 

The hair on Hunter’s neck stood on end.  “TEEEEEEECH!!!!” 

The truck refused to fall back, then swerved dangerously close again. 

Crosshair had enough.   

He calmly pushed Hunter’s feet off the cat food, pulled back the plastic packaging, and yanked a can out of the pack. 

“WHAT are YOU doing?”  Hunter yelled as Crosshair climbed out the window and leaned across the top of the Civic’s roof. 

Hunter stretched across the kitty litter bag and grabbed Cross’ leg to steady him. 

The truck’s passenger screamed EVERY possible obscenity and slur at Tech in an absolute RAGE. 

Crosshair aimed expertly, then LOBBED the can of Friskies at the passenger of the truck, hitting him squarely in the head.  It knocked the man unconscious, sending his baseball cap out the window. 

The driver instantly regretted he mistook the occupants of the little Honda Civic beater for granted.  But he STILL refused to fall back behind it. 

Crosshair laughed manically.   

Then was YANKED back into the car by Hunter.  “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!” 

Echo had about enough.  “BELT IN!!!” 

Tech kept up with the truck speed for speed. 

Hunter let go of Crosshair, then gripped the back of Tech’s seat... 

“IF I DON’T MAKE IT HOME IN ONE PIECE FOR OMEGA...TECH, I SWEAR...!!! 

Echo could see Hunter’s FEAR...he was speechless. 

Were they all going to die?  In his case...AGAIN! 

Both truck and Civic reached the bend in the road as a SEMI TRUCK emerged from around it! 

Its driver blared the horn. 

Echo suddenly found this voice, screaming.  “ABORT MISSION!  ABORT MISSION!!!”  

Crosshair’s voice went into terrified falsetto... ”WHATTHEFUCKTECHLETTHEMTHEFUCKOVERKARKDAMMIT!!!” 

Tech SMILED...with INTENSE PLEASURE, leaving the driver of the truck in the oncoming lane with NO escape.  Tech SURELY guessed the driver was soiling his pantaloons. 

NOBODY fucks with TECH!!! 

Room and time were running out for the truck... 

But Tech knew there was a tiny window of opportunity for the truck to escape.  He had calculated within the next few seconds, he could let off the accelerator, therefore leaving room for the truck to slide in front of them, and avoid impact. 

In 3...2... 

Echo suddenly slammed his foot down on the brake, locking up the Civic’s wheels. 

“NO ECHO!!!”  Tech yelled. 

The truck lurched in front of the Civic JUST before the semi passed by horn blaring... 

And drove away at top speed. 

Hunter, Crosshair, and Echo SCREAMED in terror as the Civic slid off the road at top speed, onto the embankment, skidding for what seemed forever 

Tech kept calm as the embankment raced by them.  He held onto the steering wheel like a trooper...well a CLONE trooper. 

In all honesty, in that precise moment, Tech was VERY frustrated with Echo for thwarting HIS plan to allow the truck back into the correct lane. 

Tech had the PRECISE moment to do so figured down to the perfect millisecond. 

It was almost like... ART. 

But EVERYONE in the car FAILED to trust his calculations, therefore he couldn’t HAVE HIS MOMENT... 

Then the Civic carrying 3 screaming men and one frustrated contemplative neurodivergent, hit a LARGE rock. 

EVERYTHING ground to a VIOLENT halt!!! 

Tech was punched in the face suddenly by the driver’s airbag. 

Echo’s airbag failed to activate, and he bounced off the dashboard harmlessly with a comical loud CLANG... 

But his cybernetics DESTROYED the Civic’s dashboard and cracked the windshield. 

Hunter had already braced for impact by holding onto Tech’s seat, relaxing, feet holding down the remaining cans of Friskies for safety's sake. 

Crosshair became a human accordion against the back of Echo’s seat.  He laughed-screamed...vacillating between the dark humor of the situation and NOT wanting to die...his normal edge lord demeanor totally forgotten. 

And THAT bag of kitty litter? 

Since it was every clone for himself with nobody holding onto it, the 40lb bag sprang from the backseat and SLAMMED into the ruined dashboard. 

Exploding SPECTACULARLY! 

TOTAL WHITEOUT!!! 

The Civic sat peacefully by the side of the road, front axle broken, totaled and NEVER to be driven again. 

The birds chirped. 

The spring breeze rustled the green forest leaves. 

All was quiet on that lonely Lancaster County Road... 

... 

... 

... 

Hunter BURST out of the car COATED in white litter dust, choking, and wandering blindly willy-nilly.  His senses TOTALLY muted. 

Crosshair shakily stumbled out as Echo’s car door swung open... 

And he FELL from the passenger’s seat onto the muddy, torn up grass. 

Powdery white as ghosts, spitting out litter, and gagging. 

And Tech... 

The frustration had left him upon impact.  His consciousness did too. 

Sucker punched by a Honda Civic airbag. 

He lay pinned to his seat, looking like a powdered sugar pastry with goggles.  He’d be ok.  In the past he’d been hit by much bigger and harder stuff in The Wars.   

Good thing clones are made tough. 

Crosshair and Echo could hear Hunter coughing and gagging on the other side of the car...somewhere.  Then a car horn BLARED, breaking the silence. 

Cross shot up to his feet, glancing over the Civic, out towards the road. 

Hunter stood smack dab in the middle of it cowering...expecting to be mowed down by the oncoming car. 

“HEY!”  Crosshair shouted, more for help than any scorn. 

The driver, a scared elderly woman, stopped just short of Hunter. 

She was TERRIFIED by the sight of a powdery man scowling at her. 

Hunter’s scowl was from the tremendous sneeze building inside his head.  It was followed by what looked like convulsions... 

Then Hunter let his TURBO Dad Sneeze go! 

It was loud, violent, and purged the dust from his face. 

The woman got a look at Hunter’s half face skull tattoo... 

AND PEELED out, driving at top speed to get away. 

In her opinion, a doped-out gang member with facial tattoos attempted to flag her down on that empty lonely country road while his hoodlum buddies waited in the shadows.  The ladies at Bingo night would SURELY clutch their pearls! 

Leaving all four clones alone on that quiet, empty country road with NO assistance. 

Wrecker sat at the kitchen table wracked with worry.  He REFUSED to eat...which for Wrecker means he’s REALLY upset. 

His brother’s left at noon.  The sun was just starting to set. 

Where were they?  What happened??  Was everyone ok??? 

Omega and Y/N sat with Wrecker at the table, attempting to eat. 

Oddball was the only one with a hearty appetite as Omega hand fed the kitten bits of her stew. 

Flashing lights and the sounds of horses coming down the street roused Wrecker, Omega, and Y/N.  They raced to the front door and spilled out onto the porch... 

A light Amish buggy pulled by a bay horse was the first to arrive.  It’s flashing safety lights illuminated the front yard in strobe effect.  Then a larger, heavier open carriage pulled by a two Belgian Draft horse team pulled next to the front curb... 

Towing the remains of Y/N’s Honda Civic. 

They were SPEECHLESS. 

The driver waved in greeting.  “Good evening, Y/N.” 

“AMOS???” 

“That’d be me.”  He nodded.  “Brought yer people back.  Cars not drivable.”  Good neighbor Amos nodded towards his brethren.  “They wrecked it near Jedidiah's farm.” 

“Hello!”  Jedidiah waved.  “Where should I put it down?” 

“OH MY GOD!!!”  Y/N put both hands up to their head in dismay.  Their brain locked up transfixed by the sight of the damage. 

“HUNTER!”  Omega ran towards the buggy.  “ECHO!  TECH...CROSSHAIR!!! 

Wrecker stepped down calmly yet cautiously from the porch and addressed Amos “Are they still alive?” 

Amos chuckled.  “They’re fine, ma’am.  Just a bit roughed up...and dusty.” 

“Ma’am???” 

“Oh...uh...”  Amos pointed at Wrecker’s chest.   

He had forgotten to take off Y/N’s flowery kitchen apron.  

“Assumed you were...”  Amos flustered “Well...our ways are a bit...different from yours.” 

“OH...” 

Hunter tumbled out of the buggy first, dragging Echo with him.  Then Crosshair emerged, who CAREFULLY assisted Tech down to the driveway pavement. 

They were ALL coated in white dust, which gave them an aged appearance as it settled in all the creases of their skin. 

Tech had his goggles pushed up onto his forehead.  Both eyes were blackened, and with the white dust and his dusty goggles pushed up... 

He looked like a skinny defective panda. 

“We’re ok Omega.”  Hunter reassured while pulling Echo quickly towards the house.  “Gotta clean off his cybernetics and prosthetics ASAP, or he’ll be impaired.” 

“I’ve got him.”  Omega relieved, eyed Hunter.  “You better inform Y/N with what happened.”  She then took Echo inside. 

Crosshair passed Hunter while dragging Tech along and remarked “I feel SO sorry for YOU.”  Cross wasn’t being an ass.  He really meant it. 

Hunter stood in the flickering light. 

He could see Y/N standing on the porch, still in shock. 

Hunter gathered himself, then approached Y/N “I’m...SO SORRY.” He grimaced. 

“YOU...SAID...’DON’T WORRY WE’LL TAKE CARE OF EVERYTHING!”  Y/N shouted.  “WTF is...THIS???” 

Amos and Jedediah glanced at each other uncomfortably, then back at Wrecker... 

Who had been silently taking it ALL in. 

Y/N continued to use their “Outside Voice” in anger and disbelief.  Hunter’s voice could be heard offering hushed and embarrassed appeasement. 

Wrecker cleared his throat, then inquired “Where’s the groceries?” 

Jedidiah pointed “In the trunk.  But you won’t be able to get anything out of there.  It's jammed.” 

Wrecker casually strolled over to the Honda Civic, grabbed the trunk lid, and ripped it free from the car.  Then set it down onto the grass, pulled all the bags from the trunk, lined them up on his strong arms, and carried it all to the house. 

Jedediah and Amos stared in silent interest. 

Wrecker stopped suddenly and turned around.  “Uh...almost forgot.  Just leave the car there.”  He nodded to the curb.  “How much do we owe ya?” 

“Nothing, neighbor.”  Amos pointed over to the house next door.  “My farm’s right there if you need anything else.” 

Jedediah blurted “We could use a pair of strong arms for our next Barn Raising...” 

Wrecker chuckled.  “I’ll take you up on that!  Thanks...’night.” 

Both men nodded back, then dismounted from their buggies to unhook the Civic. 

Wrecker descended the stairs, stopping at the bickering couple. 

Y/N and Hunter stopped arguing then faced him. 

“Let’s go inside.”  Wrecker quietly urged. 

Hunter shut the hell up, grabbed one armful of groceries, and stepped into the house. 

With a now free arm Wrecker hugged Y/N.  “It’s gonna be ok.  We’ll figure it out.” 

They embraced him, walking inside. 

Jedediah turned to Amos and spoke in Pennsylvania Dutch.  “The new visitors are rather odd EVEN FOR the English...” 

“Yes, Jedediah.  I cannot figure them out.”  Amos mused.  “They DEFINITELY aren’t from around here.”* 

(*True Fact: Anyone who has lived in Lancaster County for FOREVER, especially the older families will remark on your newness to the area with some variation of this statement.)

To read Chapter 3 "GRIN AND BEAR IT":

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/804164698875592704/lost-found-in-amish-paradise?source=share

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“Chair, are you sure a chair?” You asked, looking over at Nicholas. Taking a moment to look over his broad frame as he pulled off his shirt. “I said chair, I meant chair,” he clarified, watching you now as you struggled with the toy chest, his toy chest. “Can you not find the ropes?” he asked. “No sorry, I was distracted by the chair request. I am entirely confident you could escape from a chair.” You said before tugging the bundle of ropes out of the box. “Got them.” Nick gave you an approving nod then and started walking toward the sitting room. “I could get out of a chair, or at the least knock it over, but I the point is that won’t, I thought that this was about submission?” he asked looking over to you catching up with him. “Yeah but, are you actually going to take everything I dish out?” You teased, “You don’t typically /submit/ well Galitzine.” He shrugged a shoulder, “I said I would.” He said stopping in front of an open backed chair, “This one will do.” He said nodding. “Yeah, you said you would because you want to do kinky shit to me. And I said only if you do this.” You quipped, “Correct,” Nick nodded, “That’s how these sorts of things work, I stroke you, you stroke me back..” You heaved a little sigh, “Pun intended?” “Absolutely, are you ready?” He asked taking a seat in the chair.

“You know I don’t think that taking a crop to my ass counts as a ‘stroke’ Babygirl,” you teased taking a finger and booping the tip of Nick’s nose. “Mhn, your perfect ass sweetheart, don’t forget that it’s perfect.” He said it wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. You couldn’t help but giggle as he lifted your shirt, dipping his head under it and giving your stomach kisses, soft little nips. “Stop, you’re not in charge here,” you said pulling your shirt back. “Right sorry,” Nick said despite resting his hands on your waist, giving your hip bones a lil squeeze, looking up at you, “Bonus points if you undress for me, gorgeous.” He said flashing that charming smile. “Alright alright,” you said shoving him to sit back in the chair some, undoing the bundle of ropes, “Hands behind your back.” Nick flashed another grin, and nodded, sitting back and putting his hands behind the back of the chair. “Work down, start at my shoulders,” he began and you cut him off, “I know, I know,” But Nick kept talking, “Back of my arms, yes, wrap down, wrap around the chair when you reach a part of it, taught but not tight.”

“Does the daddy switch ever fucking turn off?” You teased as you tied his arms back behind the chair, “No,” he answered cooly. “Wait,” you said pausing as you tied his wrists together now, adding a lil bow for good measure, “How am I supposed to do this without breaking my back?” You asked stepping back in front of him. This earned you a laugh from Nick, cool, amused, a soft chuckle. “Well, there’s always the option to get on your knees for me, pumpkin.” You cocked your head and reached up, popping his cheek, it wasn’t really a slap, more just a ‘stop being annoying’ gesture. “Mhn, now now, love, if you’re going to hit me do it right.” He said, his jaw tightening as those familiar bedroom eyes and confident smile focused on you. “Serious?” you asked, “As a heart attack.” He answered immediately, and you nodded to him, before pulling back, and slapping him a bit harder this time

Immediately his eyes fluttered, pale cheek already reddening as he looked back up at you, “Impressive for someone who’s begged me to breed them before.” He teased, and like that, another slap. His opposite cheek already reddening. “Mhn, thank you.” He said in a purr. But as you stepped closer, hand on hip, giving your best threatening look as you grabbed his chin between your fingers. “Are you going to really submit to me? Are you going to be a good boy?” You asked in your best stern voice. “I’m.. certainly going to try.” His voice was lower, softer, dangerously close to his morning voice, and it sent shivers down your spine. “Well, good.” Was all you could manage, and you noticed his faint smile. “Do you like that? Being in control of me?” He asked, and you pressed a finger against his lips, “Stop saying things like that, you’re ridiculous, and I’m determined to be the one making a mess of you, not the other way around.” And he gave a soft ‘Mm’ noise, like agreeing but opening his lips, eagerly sucking at your finger in such a graphic way as he watched you. “God you’re such a whore!” You scolded with a laugh as you took your hand back. “Don’t make me punish you.” Both of you knew it was an idol threat, you were barely managing the domination, but it was worth it to say it.

You did step back now, finally pulling off your own clothes, discarding them to the side as Nick watched with such an enamored expression. “Incredible, darling.” He said running his eyes up the length of your body, “Like artwork.” You couldn’t help but laugh, it was that or blush. “Silver tongued bastard.” You said stepping closer, resting both hands on his face, making him look up at you. “Mhn, I am.” He hummed, “Which is why you should be sitting on my face.” He almost purred those words, smiling up at you. “Shut up,” you whispered half against his lips, leaning in to kiss him then. This silenced him though, as he gave the softest groan into that kiss, sitting up straighter so you wouldn’t have to bend over as much for the kiss. The kiss was desperate, hungry, and tongue-y, licking into each other’s mouths, as your hands found his hair, playing in it all the while.

Once you finally broke the kiss though, catching your own breath, Nick was looking up at you, panting himself. His eyes starving as they watched you move. “Pillow, if I’m going to be on my knees?” You asked but he shook his head, “Of course, get whatever you like darling.” With a nod you stepped to his couch, grabbing a pillow and tossing it on the floor in front of the chair he was strapped into. And once you got on your knees in front of it, you couldn’t help but notice Nick grinning down at you, “So pleased with yourself aren’t you?” you asked, your hands running up and down his still clothed thighs. “How could I not be?” he cooed. “We’ll see how long it lasts,” you said, reaching up to tug off the pajama pants he’d been wearing, so cozy from this morning. They slipped down rather easily, the stretchy material making quick work of it. And once you tossed his pants aside, you quickly tugged his underwear down and tossed it aside as well.

“Mhn, I always forget how pretty your cock is.” You said softly, running your hand over his still half soft length. “You’re so sweet,” he answered in such an affectionate way. At your touch though, Nick was immediately spreading his thighs wider, sliding down some in the chair, just so everything was a bit easier for you. Admittedly, how easily he submitted like that surprised you, but you reminded yourself it didn’t mean anything yet. “Let’s get you hard first, or it won’t be any fun right?” You asked. “Of course sweetheart, you’re in charge.” He hummed in response, watching as you picked up the bottle of lube you’d brought in with the ropes. After flipping the top open, and using your free hand to gently hold Nick’s cock, you drizzled a thin line of the lube down his length. “Holy shit, that’s.. so cold.” He laughed, giving a little shiver, and looking down at you with an amused look, “Imp.” He scolded you, and you couldn’t help but laugh at him. “I couldn’t resist,” you admitted as you used both hands, massaging the lube over his skin, before wrapping both hands around his length, slowly moving up and down his cock. Your eyes shifted between his face, how his eyes fluttered shut and his full lips parted silently, the softest smile on them; and his now hardening cock in your hands. It really was so pretty to you, so very now hard and… pink.

“That feels nice,” he whispered after a moment, his eyes opening back up to look down at you. “And you look so fucking good on your knees for me.” Even from this stage, he was still trying to play daddy. “Glad you like it, and the view,” you teased, one hand holding his cock now as the other slowly worked up and down focusing just at the head. “How’s that feel?” You asked quietly. “Incredible.” Nick panted, as if you couldn’t tell, as if he wasn’t completely hard at your touch now. “Good, now you can wait!” you said playfully, wiping your slick hands on his thighs, partly to clean them, partly because you knew he’d follow that with an ‘Oh gross, come on!’ and he did.

“Shh,” you cooed, your hands moving to pull at his calves some, “Scoot closer, I want to get to your ass easier.” You said, and Nick happily obliged. He scooted as much more forward as the restraints allowed, but it was plenty for you to have room to complete your next task. Your hands reaching to spread his ass and crouch even lower, almost underneath him. It wasn’t exactly like he was sitting on your face, but it was enough to bring that memory to mind, as you pressed your lips against his skin, kissing gently, and beginning to give soft licks at his entrance. You heard him curse above you, giving a low groan as you began to use more focused, intentional licks. “Thank you darling,” he panted, “That feels amazing.” You didn’t really stop to answer him, just mumbling a soft ‘welcom’ Nicky’ against his skin, before pressing your face tighter against him. Both hands keeping his cheeks spread as you teased his hole, your tongue poking and prodding, lapping over him, completely fueled by the beautiful noises he was making as you did.

He wasn’t shy about it, moaning loud, and desperate, peppering in ‘so fucking good’ and ‘just like that’ in between his compliments to you. Once you did finally pull back, fingers massaging over that hole as you sat back up in front of him, he was already panting heavily. “Want more Babygirl?” You couldn’t help but pull out that nickname, and he was far too worked up to care about context at this point, “Please.” You grabbed the lube again, this time applying it to your fingers, and to his entrance, massaging it for a moment before pushing a finger into him. He made the softest groan as you did, quite like he was adjusting to it. “It’s just a finger Nicky, it’s not too much right?” You teased. But again, Nick was far too worked up to feed into the banter, “No,” he panted, shaking his head. “Good.” You cooed, pumping your finger into him steadily, resting your free hand on one of his thighs, keeping his legs spread apart. “Will you touch my cock, please?” he asked after a moment. “No,” you said flatly, “Not until I decide you deserve it.”

Nick whined at your denial, “But I’m being so good for you,” he pleaded. Your answer came in the way of pushing a second slick finger into him slowly, smiling as he made a more desperate sound. “Fuck, please.” He whined again, his voice growing more desperate. “I said no Nick,” you said more firmly now, but that didn’t stop him from giving a whimper. “I’m going to keep asking,” his words almost broken as you worked those two fingers into him. “Shit,” he gasped, his head falling back against that chair, biting his bottom lip as he just whined against it. “I know it’s so much,” you soothed, “But you can handle it for me.” It didn’t seem to help, all it did was make him give a pathetic groan, “I really can’t, I need more, please.” You pretended to think about it for a moment, “Like another finger, you want another finger?” You asked, picking up the lube to make sure a third was well lubed and ready for him. “No,” he whined, and it sounded more like a dry sob, “Like you playing with my cock, just a little, please.”

“Mhn, sorry Babygirl, best I can do is another finger,” you teased, pushing the third into him gently then. As you did, Nick made an almost choked whimper, tossing his head to the side, resting it against his shoulder, like trying to hide it there as he whimpered. “Oh, so dramatic,” you cooed. “I’m sure you’ll be okay when I find your sweet spot baby,” you said as you worked those three fingers into him. “I won’t be!” he sounded so exasperated, like you were literally killing him. “Fuck!” he was a bit louder then, almost yelling it, but in such a desperate frustrated way. Your fingers were working into him steadily now, pumping into him constantly as you pressed your thumb against his skin, just under his balls. Adding the slightest massaging pressure in unison with your fingers. All it got from Nick was a choked sob, and you could feel him clench against your fingers, but he sounded on the verge of tears.

“I.. swear to fucking god.” He began pleading already, “Every time your fingers… fuck.” He whimpered again, lips falling open in a desperate moan as he tried to speak. “Every time your fingers… hit just the right spot..” he gasped, biting his bottom lip before speaking again, “It’s like I’m seeing starts, I’m so..” and he whined again, “Fuck baby!” his tone was so desperate you couldn’t help but smile, even if it did just make you move your fingers faster. “You said you could take it Nicky,” you shot back at him, recalling all the times he’d said something similar to you when you got overstimulated. “You have.. no idea.” He panted, “It’s like having your back scratched everywhere except the spot that itches.” He gasped, “Except it's a fucking orgasm!” That came out as another dry sob, and you could tell he was on the verge of tears now. “Well, can you beg for me?” You asked him, your hand on his thigh beginning to rub up and down his inner thigh, just teasing him with that stimulation so close but not quite close enough.

Immediately he broke into those begs, “Please.” He gasped, “Please, fuck please, please touch my cock, I’ll do anything.” He whimpered so loudly, looking back down at you now. His expression desperate, brow furrowed, he looked a mess, red cheeks and swollen lips. You could feel him clench against your fingers again as he made such a pathetic whine, “Please… baby, please, please touch my cock. I’m sorry, I’m sorry for teasing earlier.” It was another dry sob. “I’ll.. please I’ll do whatever after this, get you off however you want, please. I need it, I need to cum for you so bad, please.” There was a smile on your lips as you raised your hand JUST above his cock, not touching him yet. “You promise to fuck me extra hard after this?” You asked. “Yes!” he exclaimed, “Yes anything please!”

As soon as you lowered your hand, wrapping it around his cock, he made the most pathetic sobbing noise, whimpering as his hips arched toward you some, “Thank you, thank you, please more, please.” He begged immediately. But as you began moving your hand, slowly up and down his length, that was all Nick needed. He was giving those dry sobs, nodding to you with that same desperate look, “Thank you so much yes, just like that, can I cum baby? Can I cum for you please?” It made you giggle, and not in a mean way, because honestly, he was so endearing like this. “Of course Babygirl, show me what a big load you worked up for me.” As soon as you gave him permission though, stroking him a bit faster, your hand just tight enough. Your fingers still working inside of him, pumping just hard enough, and he was crying out, sO loudly. His head fell back his shoulders seeming to arch against the restraints as he reached his orgasm. And he made such a mess, shooting ropes over your hand, and wrist, over his stomach and thighs, some even managing to reach his chest. For a brief moment you noted how close it got to his perfect lips, maybe you should try that again later. But Nick kept making those pathetic little sobs as he rode it out, his body jerking with each slight touch of either of your hands, whimpering, and whining. And as you slipped your fingers out of him, you wrapped both hands around his cock. Using both to stroke him now, letting your wrists twist slightly as you moved them up and down his cock. If you thought he was loud before… oh now, it was obscene, he gasped and yelped, immediately launching into more pleading, “Okay okay stop! Please no more!” His voice sounding so much like a sob you had to look up to see if it actually was. “What’s wrong baby, I thought you wanted me to touch your cock?” You teased, but the only response you got was a soft, desperate, “Please stop.” Just so defeated sounding that it did make you stop. “Oh Nicky, okay, it’s okay I’m stopping.” You cooed as you took your hands off, “It’s okay baby.”

Once your hands were off him, he was relaxing some, just panting softly as his body almost went limp. And you grabbed your shirt from the floor, wiping your hands just to stand up and cup his face in your hands, “It’s okay baby, you did so good.” You soothed him, petting at his face lovingly, your thumbs wiping at the moisture in the corner of his eyes. He gave you a soft nod, “Kisses, please?” How could you even think about saying no? Leaning down you kissed him, reaching behind him to start undoing those ropes, untying them as fast as you could, kissing him so gently. His own kisses were soft, but desperate, like he thought he might die if you didn’t keep kissing him. Once his arms were free, he wrapped them around you, pulling you to sit on his lap, just pulling you close up against his body. After a moment he broke the kisses, nuzzling his forehead to yours, his face against yours. “Sorry, I’m getting you sticky.” He whispered, seeing as how your body was pressed against him.

The ride up was familiar terrain, and with the promised payment of around 200 cans (two hundred!) sitting safely in a storage unit, you considered the whole thing a win-win. The only con? You’d been forced to leave Ellie at home, a conversation you’d mistakenly left to Joel. You tried to explain that the bridge crossing was safely abandoned, and assured her you’d be back the day after tomorrow, but she wasn’t having it. 

“I miss you when you’re gone! You can’t just leave me behind again!” 

“It sucks, I know… what if I bring you back something cool to make up for it?”

“Fine, but you better make it good.” 

“I will, I promise.” 

Having smoothed things over, you’d started out optimistic; Joel allowing the brush of your hand against his own as you passed folks shoveling snow and raking leaves, cheeks rosy as summer faded and made way for the fresh, icy winter air. You delighted at Joel’s unexpected patience and humor for Johanna, and as the three of you rode, your laughter hung between the dense firs like streamers. 

Then a FEDRA unit caught your unsuspecting trio by surprise up near the river bank, a mere two hours after setting out. Things had spun out of control quickly, and in the scuffle to escape Johanna had suffered a fall. You’d found the only cover you could in this shithole of a shepherd’s shack, fending off gunfire while you and Joel tried to figure out how you’d get back to Jackson with no horses and dwindling ammo. In your effort to push the little girl under a solid table for cover, you’d been careless and exposed yourself to the aim of one remaining officer.  

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

“Fuck!” You stumble, back thudding against rotting wooden panels. “Fuck i’m stupid. fuck. fuck. fuck!”  

 “Shit.” Joel kneels over you, wild eyes reflecting your own. The steel of his shotgun  gleams in the blistering sunset. Flustered concern etched in his forehead. “He’s down. How bad is it?.”

Wheezing in the dust and dripping sweat from your furrowed brow, you move your unsteady fingers over dirt-scuffed denim to get a better look at the sizable hole entrenched in the muscle of your inner thigh. 

“Ahhh..I- I don’t know. Pretty deep.” 

You shoot a dirty look to the bloodied bullet sitting just to your left. What a piece of shit. How could something so small cause so much fucking damage?  

Warm, velvet red ripples steadily from the split skin. 

“Bullet still in there?” He’s breathless. 

“No.” You bite out.  “Clean shot.” 

You lift your hand, blood sticky and gross on your palm. He clicks his tongue as if it isn’t that serious, but the way his face whitens betrays him. This was all wrong. He should never have let you take this job. He should’ve convinced Maria to pick someone else. 

“Okay. Okay. That’s alright. Scooch up now, I'll grab the kit.” 

“No, no i’ll do it. Just…keep watch. I’ll be alright.”  You rebuff his hovering anxiety, with more certainty than you feel. Mostly for his benefit.

Waving his hesitant form away with marginal annoyance, you grumble out a half-serious “s’fine.”  

You will be, right? Fine? You’ve been through worse injuries than this. It’s not like you’re infected.  Reaching up to rifle through the drawer beside you one-handed, you note that you can no longer feel the sting of your fingers, pinched over the wound to keep it closed.

Joel still hasn’t moved an inch, so you wave him off once more, needle and thread secured in hand. “Need you to keep your eye on the driveway, Joel.” 

 Christ, It’s only your lives at stake here. The last thing you need is him losing focus when he’s the only one with a gun, and you need him to actually use it if you want to make it out of this alive. 

He reluctantly concedes, mumbling to himself. Anger and adrenaline still burn bright and hot in his chest at the sight of your wound, so while you pull on the edge of the thread with your teeth to free it, he turns away to focus on something else that isn’t covered in your blood, eyes landing on the corpse of the last soldier outside. 

He knows he should feel bad that he’d gunned down that young boy without hesitation, should feel guilty. Some of these “officers” were still just kids, shoved out in front of threats as fodder. 

But he doesn’t feel bad. He’ll do it again.

FEDRA radio static crackles from beneath the rest of the bodies splattered in the overgrown grass.

“Second unit ten minutes away, over.” 

Okay. No reason to panic. You have ten minutes. This is fine. 

You try hard not to focus on the mess as you thread the rusty needle with far more force than is required, slippery hands pressing the tip into the top section of flesh that’s split open. You push, wincing. 

And the stupid thing breaks. 

Snaps in two. Like it’s nothing. 

No. no. no no no no. 

Joel’s back is turned, and he misses the horror splashed across your features. Your heart beats out of your chest.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

 “I broke it.”

 He whips around, reaching for you immediately. “What? Broke what?” He spots the split metal beside you, red thread hanging limp, and picks the two ends up with an unreadable expression. 

 Forcing your eyes down purposefully into your mangled, pulsing leg, you barely see the fat lining through the ripples of blood and muscle. Fuck, that’s disgusting. Swallowing back a wave of nausea, you tear your sweat-soaked flannel over your head, pulling it as tight as you can stand. You can’t stitch it up, so this will have to do for now. 

You shiver. Then two hands are firmly gripping your shoulders as you wither beneath Joel as he looms over you, dizzy and disorientated in panic. You grip his wrists to stop from losing face. 

“Fuck. Okay…s’fine…just keep it wrapped. Won’t be long til’ the last of those dirty fuckers show up.” The timbre of his voice is deep, trembling. “I’ll take care of them ‘n then we get the hell out of here. We’ll head straight to Tommy’s..” He pauses. “You just gotta hold out for a bit longer, okay?” 

You nod but can’t bring yourself to look at him as he brushes his large palm against your cheek in reassurance, standing to take his position against the wall by the door. You chew on your lip, tasting blood. How long can you really last like this? Night is closing in. The temperature is dropping fast. Your flannel is already wet. The reduced circulation will slow it down, give you maybe fifteen minutes of grace to figure something out. 

But then what? 

The faint rumble of engines sends electric shocks zip-zapping up and down your spine and Joel stands up straighter, index finger hovered over the slope of the trigger. He’s itching to pull it, to kill them all,  end this horror of a day. Bury it in the past where it belongs. He’ll take you back home where it’s safe and run you a bath and forget this ever happened, banish it to the recesses of his nightmares. 

Glossy with cold sweat, your pulse flutters. The ominous creep of a slippery puddle has begun to form between your inner thigh and the mottled floorboards. You count the seconds. And breathe. In and out. In and out. Think. think. think.  

The silence is suffocating as you mull over your possible options. You could look around for another med kit, but what would be the chances? Plus, you can barely move and it would be a waste of energy. What about something to plug the hole? Tampons, pads…anything? Sweeping the barren room, you can’t see shit in the shadows except Johanna’s small frame, lying flat against the mattress.  She’s been eerily still and quiet throughout the standoff, and you wonder if she’s afraid. Tear tracks stain her little cheeks. You chide yourself at forgetting to check on her. 

“You alright, honey?” 

She nods, but you notice the odd angle of her leg, and how she quivers. You had forgotten how dependent young children were, because Ellie was older and fairly self-sufficient now. An adult could potentially manage with a broken leg on foot for a while on regular terrain, but not a 6 year old. She needs a doctor, antibiotics. Joel will need to carry her back to Jackson. 

The thing is, the numbness in your thigh that’s creeping steadily toward your hip tells you that the bullet has almost certainly nicked your main artery. Logic suggests you’d never make it to Jackson in time to stop bleeding out. Not even if you could run, let alone being unable to walk by yourself. 

You watch the blood pool and spread, sinking into bug-bitten damp planks. Soaking the soil beneath. There shouldn’t be this much of it. 

You turn back to Joel warily, angling yourself so that only your good leg is facing toward Johanna. She’s already seen far too much today. 

“How many rounds you got left?” You ask. 

“Enough.” He lies.

“Even if you manage the whole unit, I can’t run like this.”  You gesture to your leg, but he doesn’t look. 

“I’ll carry you. S’fine.” He swears, wavering. Convincing himself. 

“Look at me, Joel.” You hiss. 

You’re glaring at him as he methodically checks every part of the gun and frustration bubbles up inside you. You do not have time for his denial. 

“Joel!”  

He looks up at the sound of your growing desperation and you shift, grimacing as your thigh pulses with blistering pain. His eyes lower as you gingerly lift the shirt so he can see how bad it really is, plastered and dripping in the evidence of your failure. The uselessness and futility of it all. He starts toward you. “Don’t fuckin’ take it off! Jesus christ.” 

“Hand me the gun, Miller.” 

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” 

You try to push back the tears that are brimming in your eyes. How can you convince him?

“Cop on, for christ’s sake. You only have two hands. If you give me the gun you can get the hell out of here and ta-”

You don’t get to finish your explanation as he slams the shotgun down on the table. The walls shake with the impact of it. “What kind of man do you fuckin’ think I am? Huh? You really think i’d leave you here? Abandon you?”

You exhale gratuitously, trying to get ahold of yourself so you don’t ruin this more than you already have. “It’s not about me Joel.” You plead,  “I know what kind of a man you are. But look at that kid, she can’t fucking run!” 

“ Don’t make this difficult for me” You whisper, biting back a wave of grief at how beautiful he looks in this light, even in his anger. 

His eyes bore holes into yours. Silent. Unwavering. He won’t let you do this, there has to be another way. He’ll find it. 

You look him dead on, mustering all the courage you have left in you. 

“Could you live with yourself? if you let her die, just because you’re too much of a coward to let me go?” You almost regret the weight and severity of your words, but you’re pulling your last card here. Somebody has to survive this mess and you’ll do what you have to do, though it breaks your fucking heart to know you’ll never get the future you were imagining this morning - that you’ll  never feel the warmth of the sun again or be able to see Ellie grow up, never have the garden you wanted so badly, or feel the rush of exhilaration when you ride out with Joel for a job.  You’ll die right here when he leaves you behind and you have to make him do it.

Because if he doesn’t take the girl and get the fuck out out, all three of you are done for. 

“You’re a dad, Miller.” You change tack, voice softer now, lilted. “You know what you have to do.” Your heavy, tired eyes flit to the left. 

He’s silenced by that, pained gaze turned to where the youngster is sat. He knows her leg hurts and he can see the bone is resting at an odd angle. You’re right, she can’t run. But there has to be something he can do.

Joel looks at her like he has to double check several times before turning back to you - words twisted and caught in his throat.  A large, soft hand rests on your thigh. “I-I’ll find another needle and thread and we’ll patch you up right here, okay? You…you can run if it’s stitched. We’ll make it.”  

Tears burn your eyes as you see the devastation mirrored in his own. The longing. You turn your head down, snaking your hand through his curls and pressing a lingering kiss to the top of his head. Savouring every part of him as much as you can. 

“I’m dying, Joel.” You release the words in one breath, but you surprisingly find you accept them easily. Naturally. You’d thought it’d be difficult to actually acknowledge it, but there’s no apprehension or venom in your voice. 

“Don’t. Don’t you fuckin’ dare say that.”

You open your eyes and take him in, heartbroken. All orange and red and purple, soft and dream-like.  A smile touches your cheeks and Joel marvels at that, how beautiful and angelic you are, even while you’re bleeding out in front of him. It’s too much for him and his chest constricts painfully. How could he have let this happen? You can’t be dying. He won’t let you.

“You have to let me go, Miller”  

His head ducks down and he swallows thickly. Joel has felt helplessness before, more times than he cared to remember. This time it’s also denial that crushes him as he scrambles, trying to find a solution he knows already doesn’t exist. This is all happening too fast, his whole life falling down around him. What would he say to Ellie? She would hate him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Not if he did this. 

 “I won’t. I won’t fail again.” 

Panic rises in you at his reluctance and you grip his hand as tight as you can. “You’ll fail me if you don’t get that girl to a doctor! I’ll never forgive myself if she doesn’t make it home to her mama, Joel.” 

“It’s not your fault.” You add, softly, though he shakes his head ever so slightly. 

You hear the disruptive crackle again. “Unit dropping in five, over.”

He stands abruptly and you do too, taking his outstretched hand and letting him support your weight as you both peer across the lawn, searching for the vehicles, but unable to see much beyond the winding driveway and thicket of trees. 

The engines are a little louder now. Shouts and orders echoing distantly from empty streets and the valley edges. There’s nothing else alive here to make noise, save for a few infected wandering the edges of town. 

Joel’s arm slides comfortably around you and you lean into it. So warm and good. Always there for you. Looking after you. Supporting the weight of your whole world. And as much as your exhausted body is begging for his touch, screaming for the comfort of his arms, dying for him to pick you up and carry you home and wrap you up to lie lazily in his bed, it would be real fuckin’ selfish of you to give in. 

Your heart pangs as you think of Ellie. She’ll never forgive you. 

Tears are streaming down your cheeks now, but you don’t care anymore and you look at Joel, really look, trying to etch every detail of this man’s face into your memory. God, he was beautiful. Every gentle line and every hair, the tug of his soft mouth and the glint of his eyes. 

Your left hand grips his over the cold metal and you steel your resolve. This time you have to be the strong one. For him. For her. 

“Give me the fucking gun, Joel.” 

There’s a moment of silence where you think he might fight, might try to convince you there’s another way, try to make you run with him even though you can’t even stand up properly. But  his grip relaxes and a huge wave of relief washes over you. Adjusting your position, you struggle unceremoniously with his help to a spot underneath the window that’ll give you the cover you need while you do this last thing. Your muscles relax against the floor, eager to rest. He reluctantly lets you slide down. 

At the kickback of a truck that’s too close, he moves over to Johanna and crouches, motioning for her to climb onto his broad back. “Come on now, sweetheart” 

“What about her?” The girl’s voice is quiet, resigned. 

“Don’t you worry honey, I’ll be right behind you.” The lie is smooth and sweet in your mouth. Too easy, too sure. Parental. Joel’s been rubbing off on you. You reassure her even as you begin to tremble. 

Joel’s expression is unreadable and he takes a shaky step toward you, holding his cargo carefully. She clings to him and you try to steel yourself.

Doors shut and slam in the near distance, and you realize they must be equipping and briefing down at the turnoff because they don’t know you know they’re coming. You give Joel a pointed look at the open back door, a silent directive. Go. They’ve parked up. You need the time.  Instead, he advances til he’s right in front of you.  

“What are you doing?” You croak, not wanting to prolong this, for his sake as well as your own. Aren’t you suffering enough? “You gotta go, Joel. You got like, five minutes to put as much ground as you can between us.” 

“Let me look at you, for christ’s sake.” one last time. Committing to his own memory your sure grip of the shotgun he taught you how to use, searing into his brain the way your hair is curling in the humidity and the pretty silhouette of your nose. The inky brush of your eyelashes. When he’d picked you up two years ago in Arizona, you couldn’t even set a trap. Now here you are, willing to do the unthinkable for a child you don’t even know. 

Would he still have stopped to throw you in the back of his truck, all that time ago,  knowing now that going with him would end this way? That you’d never even make it to 30? That being with him was a death sentence? 

He’s not strong enough to say that he wouldn’t have done everything exactly the same, and he thinks that’s fucking selfish. But what was his life without you? Knowing your warmth and your life and your joy, could he have ever consciously chosen to live without it? He’d never meant for this to happen. He had promised to protect you, not to leave you behind to die in some dirty shack. After all you’d been through and all the cards you’d been dealt, he’d sworn to make sure he’d take care of you for the rest of your life. That pain and death would be kept at bay. That you wouldn’t have to worry anymore. 

 Anger and despair and frustration all battled for dominance inside him, leaving him raw and broken  in front of you. He’d coped with so much death, lost Sarah’s mom, then Sarah. Nearly lost Ellie. How could he give you up like this? Even when there was no other choice, no other way?. 

In that moment he feels completely pathetic in the light of your bravery. Guilt crawls up his spine, twisting and pulling. He’s failed you. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You, frustrated,  sniff back the sob that’s trying to break out of you. “No, Joel, it’s-”

“I’ll come back. Tonight.”  He interrupts, tormented. His own sorrow crashing over you both. You shake your head. He can’t. Plus, you don’t want him to see whatever sorry state you’re sure your body will be in by that time. 

“You gotta stay with Ellie, Joel.” 

 Reminded suddenly of the book in your bag and not wanting to forget your promise, you use your good leg to boot it over towards Joel. “Here,” Worn canvas slides along the floor and he retrieves it with his free arm, pulling the strap over and looking inside, realizing he’s looking at the book you’d been yarning your mouth off about.

“Promised her i’d pick something up. She was so mad at me for leaving her behind.” You offer, laughter mute and subdued. 

He pulls it out. 

“Give it to her yourself.” He returns, pleading. 

Your gaze softens. “You’ll tell her I’m sorry?”

He curses and runs a hand over his face and his pain in tandem with your own is unbearable. So you close your eyes. The smell of him is still so intoxicating and you breathe deeply, willing it to linger, to comfort you.

The truth is, you’re only being brave for his sake. You know that if you let him see how afraid you really are, he’ll never be able to leave. You lean back against the wall, hoping it will ground you.

All of a sudden, his warm mouth is on your forehead pressing a kiss into you, and the intensity behind it blinds you despite the fact you can’t see anything anyway. The kind of kiss that’s supposed to stay with you. The only way he can. You’re dizzy, suddenly. You defy the urge to reach up and keep him held tight against you forever. 

“I’ll bring you home, I promise.”  The hope in his voice almost breaks you. If you do your job right, there won’t be enough of you left for that.  

“I’ll be here.” You let the sobs tear through your body, gripping the shotgun as if it’s the only thing grounding you. Your heart squeezes painfully. Sounds become louder. Boots on gravel, metal clicking. You were out of time five minutes ago. 

“Go.” You cry, unable to hold it back. You are fatigued now, everything hurts, every cell in your body is aching for rest and comfort and he has to leave now. 

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

He has to force his legs to move, every bone in his body, every instinct denying the act. The weight of the little girl in his arms barely registering. She’s passed out from the shock, breathing steadily against him.  He can’t tear his eyes away from your shaking hands as he backs towards the door. 

 I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. So fucking sorry. Please forgive me.  Please be alive. I’ll come for you. 

The thud of his boots grows quieter, and you wait several minutes (trying not to fall into the clutches of a greedy sleep) until there’s nothing but the encroaching sound of your killers and the hum of their vehicles. Blinking away your tears, you realize with mid-sob that a warm weight is over your lap, stifling the chill that ripples away from you like waves in a pond. Eyes adjusting back to the light, you  discover the culprit is his tattered, worn leather jacket. Of course. It’s been placed over you so carefully, so quietly, that you didn’t even notice. 

Clutching it against you, you allow yourself to let go now. You cry and cry and cry until you’re empty, choking, throat hoarse. You don’t care if the FEDRA boys hear you, you don’t care if anyone hears you. Joel’s gone now, he won’t have to listen to this pathetic demonstration of your fear. 

Please, God, let her live. Let her live, let her live. I’ll do anything you want. Keep her alive for me. 

Joel’s not a believer in higher power, but you are, so he prays to your god anyway, as the scent of fir smothers the air, and the cacophony of the forest sounds too much like you. Reminds him of your sweet smile and the honey in your brown eyes as the sun dipped into them. How many afternoons passed by, lazily drenched in summer heat, like two cats gorged on life? How many moments has he spent, mapping and memorizing you? He’s walked away, but everything inside him is still there, in the shack with you. He hopes that you won’t be cold now. That his jacket will keep you warm enough and that maybe, maybe, you can slip away before FEDRA even gets to you. Maybe you can hide. 

It’s logically close to impossible.  

He feels like a hypocrite, muttering promises under his breath as he stumbles through the night, and wonders how could he pray now? Offer words up to a God who had condemned you both here? And who was God to choose? To turn the wheel, throw the dice on who’s life to give and who’s to take away? How was that fair at all? To take away your future like that? His future, too? 

He also makes different kinds of promises. Ones he’ll keep to himself that involve his baser self. An eye for an eye. They took you from him? He’d take everything. Destroy the whole organisation from the inside out. 

FEDRA and the whole damn world could go blind for all he fucking cared. He wasn’t fighting for justice. You deserved more than that. You deserved to have somebody avenge you. You deserved to know that you meant enough to somebody, were loved enough, that they’d tear apart the world for you.

 He doesn’t think he’s ever run so fast in his life. 

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

You hiccup,  wiping your blurry eyes on the back of your hand with your shirt. His shirt. Sniffing and hoping Joel won’t find your face covered in tear stains and snot after you die, (despite the absurdity of it, you’d be so embarassed) you cock his shotgun and take a preliminary aim out of the corner of the hole in the glass window pane. By your own calculations, It’ll take the six men at the bottom of the winding driveway about a minute to get up the lawn, and you need to give Joel as big of a head start as you possibly can, although he’s likely already far enough away. You spot three more younger boys bringing up the rear.  They walk slowly and using your other hand, you pull the leather jacket over you, settling against the window frame further because you’re tired and you’re  done moving. 

“Come out with your hands up, Miller!” 

You bite your lip and stay silent. You wanted to wait as long as possible before engaging them and having them realize Joel isn’t with you, but one of the older officers with a “commander” badge fastened to his lapel slipped your eyeline and has come far too close to your position near the door.  You decide quickly that you’ll pick him off before he can spot you. With a twitch of your index and a bang that’s absorbed into the hungry night sky, the man’s dead in the dirt with a splatter the size of Texas covering his front. 

Unexpected chaos erupts. The younger officers are not as well trained as you had assumed they would be. To your dismay, they immediately panic,  breaking formation and begin firing.  Your own shots only take down two more. 

The planks of the door blister and break and shrapnel and dust fills the air. You instinctively turn away from the window.  “Shit!” 

You have seconds left to reload and you’re too slow. But you’d known it was coming to this. Every moment of your life, every choice you made, leading you to this moment. You know you must look pathetic like this, crouched under the frame, bleeding out, cowering. In pain. But you’d do it all again for him.  Joel was safe now, he’d make sure Johanna got back. That was all that mattered. 

Your life in exchange for theirs. You, for two futures. More than fair. Jackson wouldn’t suffer through the winter. Ellie would still get her book. Joel still had time, he could find someone else, maybe even love again. 

Boots thud and voices yell and a piercing pain suddenly blooms from your chest. Vermillion unraveling over your chest like an unfurling flower in spring. The door collapses into the frame and soldiers spill into the shack. Everything is hazy and distorted, shapes dissolving this way and that, voices shrill and every noise and sensation amplified. Faceless men. Toy soldiers. The overstimulation is painful, and you feel someone shaking you - hard. Another is clicking his fingers in front of your eyes, trying to keep you conscious. 

“Hey, look at me! Miller. Where’s Miller?!” 

“Don’t worry boys.” You cough out, laughing.  It’s strange in your ears. Everything is ringing.  When Joel finds your shot-up corpse, he’ll lose his mind, and as much as you hate that he’ll have to see it, you get a kind of sick satisfaction knowing they’ll have to suffer at his hands for what they’ve done. That your pain won’t go unpunished.

“He’ll…he’ll be back for-” You can’t manage to finish  because blood has backed up in your throat, but you’re sure they get the picture.  The iron taste is  final in your mouth, filling up your lungs.  You stop trying to hold yourself up, there’s no point. The soldiers are yelling, still trying to communicate with you. You’re done now. 

As you hit the floor with an exhausted thud, you close your eyes against the sensory overload and it’s as if your subconscious knows you must be on the way out, because as FEDRA hands pull and grab at your shivering body and slick liquid pools on your stomach and waist, you’re enveloped  by the arrest of your own memories, soaked in endorphins, dripping in affection. Your favourites flash before your eyes. The afternoon in the wheat field, your poems, the first time you’d met Ellie. His hands on your body for the first time, delicious currents rippling through your skin at his touch. His kisses, soft and luxurious, every touch for you so contradictive to everything else he had to handle in his life. The fire in your veins a result of his devotion to your pleasure - a way for him to reconcile the other things he’d had to do before you came along. 

You know it isn’t real, know it’s that thing that happens to your brain when you die, but in your delirium you can swear that you hear Ellie’s tinkling laugh, feel the tender relief of Joel’s hands hot over your skin, melting away the bitter pain of the cold. You know you feel his breath on your neck and his kiss on your temple. You take it all, and you reach out - knowing he’s there. Whatever happens now, wherever you go, he’ll hold you. He’ll keep you safe. 

“It’s cold here. It hurts, Joel.” 

“‘S okay baby. I’m here now….no more pain. No more cryin’.” 

He’s mouth-wateringly warm. 

“I’m so afraid…so…so tired” You try to remember how you got here and what you were doing, but everything is so heavy around you, suppressing you.  

“I know y’are. I know. You did well, sweetheart, we’re so proud of you. You’re so brave. My brave girl. But I need y’to let go and rest now, can you do that for me? ”  

Of course. You’ll do anything he asks. You acquiesce easily, curling into him. So, so sleepy… 

“Okay. Will you stay with me?” 

“ I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”