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imagine-you · 9 months

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These Wolves Keep On Scratching At My Heart [Isaac Lahey/Reader] (1/?)

Summary: Growing up as a human in the Hale pack wasn't easy, but you wouldn't have traded it for anything. When you're twelve, a fire takes away most of your family, except for your father and two of your cousins. You're adopted by a kind deputy and officially become a part of the Stilinski family since your father can't care for you and your cousins have fled town. You think life can't possibly get any more complicated until you're eighteen and your brother's best friend gets bitten by a rogue alpha out in the preserve. Word Count: 3.9k Notes: Reader is Peter's daughter (I'm pretty sure Malia won't exist in this fic) and there's a lot of story to tell here, so please be patient with me! I promise I will explain everything. If you like this, letting me know would make my day! Read on AO3 The splintering of wood and the roar of the flames was deafening. Smoke had engulfed the house, leaving everything hazy and disorienting.

You didn't know how the fire started or where everyone went, but there was only one person you had on your mind as you stumbled towards your bedroom door.

"Dad? Dad?!" You called, panic leaking into your voice.

Everything felt like it was abruptly tilted to the side and you didn't realize that you were falling until you hit the floor.

"I've got you. You'll be alright," you heard a voice say before arms scooped you up off the floor. You were cradled against someone's chest as you coughed, attempting to take a breath. "You'll be alright," the person repeated, attempting to reassure you, even though their voice was fearful and strangled.

The next thing you heard was the sound of breaking glass before you felt like you were flying. You let out a cry of anguish when you felt yourself fall, the sight of your father's face watching you from the window the last thing you saw before you hit the ground.

"Y/N! Y/N, c'mon, wake up. You're having that dream again."

You jolted awake, the smell of smoke seemingly lingering in your room before you focused on your brother.

"What?" You groaned, attempting to shake off the nightmare and focus on Stiles.

"You were screaming in your sleep," he told you, his expression a mix of worry and dismay. "Again."

That didn't really surprise you. Whenever you dreamt of the fire, it always brought up memories and feelings you wished would stay buried. But since the fire had swept away your whole life, leaving you to rise from the ashes and start over, it was hard to ignore the effect it had on you.

"I'll be alright," you assured Stiles, unknowingly echoing the last words you ever heard your father speak. "What are you doing up right now? Isn't it late?"

"I was going to Scott's, since Dad's on a call and you were asleep. I was on my way out when I heard you."

Even in the dark of your bedroom, you could see Stiles fidgeting. Either he was nervous about something or he was up to something. Knowing your brother, it was probably a bit of both.

"Why are you going to Scott's so late? You do remember school starts back up tomorrow, right?"

Stiles rolled his eyes before flopping down onto your bed, ignoring your grunt of protest. "Yeah, but winter break was boring, and I've got something fun and adventurous in mind for tonight."

You narrowed your eyes at Stiles, knowing that whatever he had in mind was likely something that would get him into trouble. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Stiles denied, tone light and mischievous. "Want to come with me? See for yourself that I'm going to be an upstanding citizen and simply have some fun with my best bud?"

You knew Stiles was up to no good, but you also hoped that if Scott was along for the ride, then he would keep your brother out of trouble.

"Go," you sighed, settling back into bed. "At least one of us should be well-rested for tomorrow."

"That's why you're the genius of the family," Stiles told you, barely avoiding the pillow you aimed at his head, before he was rolling off your bed. You heard him groan as he hit the floor before he bounded up, shooting you a grin. "See you later," he said before he hurried towards your bedroom door. He paused just before he reached it and turned to look at you. "Maybe it's time you go visit your dad again," he offered, his voice low and cautious. "You were calling for him in your sleep."

"Yeah," you agreed, trying to keep the longing out of your voice for Stiles' sake. "I'll go after school tomorrow."

"Good," Stiles said before nodding at you, as if he was giving you his seal of approval, and then left your room.

You closed your eyes, attempting for a few minutes to go back to sleep, but you knew it was useless. Sleep would elude you until you quieted the maelstrom of memories and fears that plagued you from when you were only twelve years old.

You didn't remember much about the fire. It seemed like one night you went to bed and by the time you woke up, you lost a family and were on your way to gaining a new one. You remembered waking up to smoke and flames, before trying to get to your bedroom door to look for your dad. All you wanted in that moment was your dad, because you knew he would make it all okay.

Once the police and firefighters arrived, you were found half-hidden in a pile of debris and leaves, knocked out with a broken arm. No one could figure out how you ended up outside the house or why no one else tried to leave. Most of your family had been found in the basement, and you knew they must have been going for the tunnels, but it didn't make sense to you why they couldn't get out. Nothing about the fire made any kind of sense and you knew there were mysteries to unlock.

The only other survivor of the fire was your father, but he was in no position to take care of you. He was currently in a care facility, since his injuries from the fire were so extensive. You tried to visit him at least once a week, but it didn't make it any easier on you to see him like that when you remembered the man who had taken care of you your whole life. He never spoke about your mom, but from what you gathered, you were better off without her.

When Derek and Laura fled town, not even bothering to tell you goodbye, you didn't realize it was the last time you would hear from them. You were never sure if they were running from something dangerous or if they simply couldn't handle living in the same town that had robbed them of their pack, but you never quite forgave them for practically abandoning you.

The kind deputy who found you shivering and lost amongst the debris had taken pity on you that night. After realizing you lost most of your family in the fire and had no one else to care for you, he decided to make you a part of his family. You supposed there might have been another pack out there who respected your aunt enough to take you in, but you wouldn't have wanted to leave Beacon Hills. Not as long as your dad was still there.

The Stilinskis had made you feel like a part of their family from day one and you couldn't have been more grateful for them.

Over the past six years, the fire and events surrounding it had weighed heavy on your mind. None of it made any sense to you and even though people wanted to dismiss it as a tragic accident, you knew it wasn't anything as simple as an electrical fire.

The only person who seemed to really agree with you was Mr. Stilinski and while he tried his best to hide the evidence from you, you knew he was still trying to force the pieces back together so he could finally see the whole picture.

But you had a feeling he would never see the whole picture. Not unless he discovered all the supernatural ties that were holding Beacon Hills together.

You didn't even realize you had managed to finally doze off before you were woken by the sound of your dad berating Stiles.

"What the hell did you think you were doing going out in the woods by yourself at this time of night? At least you had the sense not to drag Scott into it. Really, what kind of kid hears there's a body in the woods and then decides to go looking for it?"

"I was just trying to help you and the force out! I mean, it's a big preserve! It really could've been anywhere."

"Nice try," you heard your dad sigh. "Just get to bed, alright? You've got school tomorrow and I'm not letting you skip because you're too tired."

"I would never," Stiles scoffed before you heard his bedroom door close.

You waited until you heard your dad's door close before you got out of bed, keeping your steps light as you crossed your room. You opened your bedroom door, poking your head out cautiously, making sure the hallway was actually empty, before you stepped out of your room. You made your way to your brother's room, barging in before quickly closing the door behind you.

"Y/N? What the hell?" Stiles exclaimed, turning quickly in his computer chair to face you. "I could've been doing something that would have been incredibly traumatizing for both of us if you witnessed it!"

"Please," you sighed, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. "You're shameless, but you at least manage to lock the door if you're going to do something like that."

"Fine," Stiles groaned, reclining back in his chair. "Weren't you going back to sleep?"

"I was," you admitted, giving Stiles an unimpressed look. "Weren't you going to hang out with Scott and respect the law or something?"

"I was," Stiles argued, affecting an innocent tone. "I totally respected the law and didn't get into trouble at all."

"You went looking for a dead body in the woods," you reminded him.

“Oh," Stiles scoffed, trying to wave it off. "You heard about that, huh?"

"It's a little hard to ignore when our dad is berating you for something like that. What the hell were you thinking? You could have been hurt or killed or any number of terrible things." Stiles didn't know about the things that could be found out in the preserve, but you certainly did. You remembered the lectures from your dad when you were just a kid, telling you it wasn't safe for a human out alone in the woods at night. "And what about Scott, huh? What happened to him?"

"He might still be out there, actually," Stiles admitted with a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. "But he's a smart kid. He'll be fine."

"Fuck," you hissed, standing up. "Call him. Now," you told Stiles. "See if he's alright."

Stiles groaned before pulling out his phone, typing away a text instead of bothering to call his best friend to see if he was alive. After a few moments, he made a sound of triumph before waving his phone at you. "He made it out! He's totally fine."

"Okay," you sighed, choosing to trust your brother. "Just...next time you decide to go out into the woods, tell me, alright? I'll go with you."

"Got it," Stiles agreed, focused on his phone yet again.

You rolled your eyes, before reaching forward to pat Stiles on the shoulder. "Good talk," you told him before leaving his room. You were still worried about Scott, but you knew that Stiles would never let anything bad happen to his best friend. So, you went back to your room and climbed into bed, hoping that sleep would claim you soon.

When you woke in the morning, you were less than excited to start the last semester of your high school career. Stiles would be starting the second half of his junior year, but once June hit, you would be done with high school. You would have to figure out where you wanted to go to college and what you wanted to do with your life and the thought of that opened up a deep pit of dread and anxiety in your gut.

You groaned as you rolled out of bed, mindlessly going through your usual morning routine of styling your hair, putting on your clothes, eating breakfast, and then brushing your teeth.

Stiles' jeep was already gone by the time you walked outside. You were sure he had already left to pick up Scott, which gave you more hope that Scott was actually okay and not currently wandering around the preserve.

You climbed into your own jeep, a newer model than Stiles' with half the sentimental value. You got the car when you were sixteen and a lawyer contacted Mr. Stilinski to let him know that your dad had set aside a fund for you to be able to get your dream car when you got your license.

When you were a kid, you had wanted any and every flashy car that would let you go fast. Your dream car changed at least once a month and your dad had promised you that he would buy you whatever you wanted as soon as you got your license.

It hit you pretty hard when you realized your father had made preparations for your care in the event that he wasn't around to see you grow up. Even though you were grateful he was still alive, it still hurt that he couldn't speak and couldn't respond to anything you told him. You wondered if it hurt him too to watch you grow up and get older and live a whole life without him.

You didn't think much of the night before until you got to school and noticed Scott and Stiles standing outside. Stiles was in the middle of his usual fruitless attempt to get Lydia Martin's attention as you approached the pair. Scott seemed worried about something, which prompted you to sling an arm around his shoulders and ruffle his hair.

"What's with the long face, McCall?"

"He's freaking out about some animal that bit him last night," Stiles said, waving it off as if it wasn't a big deal. "There's not even a mark on him. It was probably a mosquito."

You tried to keep the alarm off your face, because it really could have been nothing. But curiosity would always get the best of you and you couldn't help but fish for more information. "Animal? What did it look like?"

"I didn't get a good look," Scott admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. "It was big and had red eyes. It bit me and I ran away. I think it was a wolf?" Scott's voice went high and confused on the last word as he sent an unsure look at Stiles.

"Bud, I told you, there are no wolves here. It was probably a rabid rabbit or something," Stiles dismissed, urging you and Scott towards the building. "Now, c'mon, let's go get this shitshow over with."

Your mind was spinning as you tried to get through your classes. All you could think about was a rogue alpha out in the preserve, biting people and leaving behind a trail of confused omegas in its wake. Beacon Hills had been relatively quiet on the supernatural front since the fire. The only thing even remotely supernatural around town was your dad, but he hadn't left the care facility in years. You supposed Deaton counted, but if Deaton posed a threat, then you supposed you did as well.

Halfway through your anatomy class, you pulled out your phone, shooting a text to Deaton.

'We've got to talk. It's important.'

Knowing Deaton, you wouldn't hear from him until it was a little too late, so you had to do something before the situation got completely out of control.

You thought the day couldn't get any worse until word about the new girl started floating around school.

"She's so pretty. Think she'll go out with me?"

"Her family moves around a lot. Maybe her dad's in the military."

"I heard her last name is Argent. I wonder if she's French."

All anyone seemed to want to talk about was the new girl including Scott and Stiles.

"Look, she's already been sucked into Lydia's orbit," Stiles pointed out with a groan. "You have no chance, buddy," he told Scott, giving him a consoling pat on the back.

"Well, Y/N's friends with Jackson, right? Can't you put in a good word for me?" Scott wondered, turning to you with a hopeful grin.

You shook your head, watching Allison, wary of any move she might make. "No," you answered Scott, finally tearing your gaze away from the new girl. "You should stay away from her."

"But--" Scott tried to object, but you were already walking away. You didn't have a good explanation for why Scott shouldn't go near Allison and you certainly couldn't figure out how to tell Scott he was probably a werewolf.

You passed Allison, Lydia, and Jackson, ignoring Jackson's nod of acknowledgement in your direction. You didn't have the energy to deal with Jackson, even though you would hear all about how you ignored him later. There were just too many things going wrong in too short amount of time and you were starting to feel like you couldn't breathe.

You opted to skip your last class of the day and head right for the care facility. The nurses knew you by now and most took the time to smile at you and ask how you were doing as you passed them.

Seeing your dad helpless and catatonic never got any easier, but you couldn't deny it helped knowing he was still there for you.

"A lot has happened since last week," you started, taking a seat in front of his chair. You reached out to take his hand, glad for the physical assurance that your dad was still with you.

When you were younger, the doctors and nurses explained to you that talking to your dad on a regular basis might help with his overall recovery, so you made sure to visit him as often as you could. "I started the last semester of my senior year today. I should be graduating in June." You glanced down, unsure how to continue. You didn't want to say anything that would worry your dad, but the only other person you could talk to was Deaton and that was bound to be more annoying than helpful.

"So, I've talked about Stiles and I've mentioned his best friend Scott. His mom works in the hospital and he's like a brother to me too." You let out an incredulous laugh, not even sure you could believe what you were about to tell your dad. "Last night, Stiles and Scott went looking for a dead body in the preserve. I don't know if they ever found it, but something did find Scott. I think...," you trailed off, wondering if there was any possibility where you could be wrong. Maybe it was a rabid animal and Scott simply needed a series of shots. But no, your life had never given you much luck, so it wasn't about to start now. "I think he was bitten by an alpha."

You weren't sure if it was just wishful thinking, but you could have sworn that your dad's hand twitched in yours. You glanced down at it, but it was still and unmoving as usual, filling you with a guilty disappointment.

"And now I've got to worry about my brother's best friend turning into a werewolf, but I've also got to worry about the new girl. She's an Argent," you explained with a wince. "Why are there hunters in town? Are they looking for the alpha or are they trying to settle down here? I don't like any of this," you sighed, trying to fight the tears that wanted to fall. You didn't know how to fix any of the messes that had sprung up just in the past day. If you were still part of the Hale pack, then your aunt would have taken Scott in and showed him the ropes. She would have hunted down the rogue alpha and sorted them out before hunters could converge on your territory. None of this was anything you were capable of fixing alone and you suddenly felt so lonely that you couldn't stand it.

"Dad," you pleaded, your voice breaking on the word. "I don't know what to do."

Your phone buzzed with an incoming text just as a tear escaped down your cheek. You hastily wiped it away before pulling your phone from your pocket.

'Want to help me and Scott search for his inhaler in the woods? Doofus dropped it last night running from Thumper.'

"Shit," you groaned, moving to stand up. You let your dad's hand slip from yours, trying to fight off the usual guilt you felt whenever you left him. "I have to go. I'll see you later," you told him as you stood. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and grabbed your bag, not letting yourself look back at him all alone in his room, since you knew it always broke your heart to leave him.

Stiles had sent you the location where he parked his jeep, and it wasn't long before you pulling up next to his car.

Scott gave you a wave when he saw you and it hit you all at once that loveable, dorky Scott was likely turning into a werewolf.

"Hey, guys," you said, joining Stiles and Scott near the hood of Stiles' jeep. "What happened to your spare inhaler?" You asked Scott, watching his expression fall.

"That was my spare inhaler and mom's gonna kill me if I lose it. You know how expensive those things are?"

"Well, no one wants to make Melissa mad," you mused, thinking of the last time she really got pissed off with Scott and your brother. Her anger had nearly boiled over until it hit you and you would do just about anything to avoid Melissa McCall's wrath. "Let's get this over with," you sighed. "I don't want to be out here once it gets dark."

"Yeah," Stiles laughed, bumping companionably into Scott's side. "Wouldn't want to run into whatever took an imaginary bite out of Scott. Although, I have some theories about that, y'know. Wolves and bites and howling and all that."

"What? What are you talking about?" Scott's voice went high and panicked, but you knew your brother all too well.

"You've got a disease, Scotty," Stiles started, turning a grim look towards Scott. "It's called lycanthropy."

"What is that? Is it bad? Am I gonna die?"

"No, not bad," Stiles said, shooting you a grin. "Just comes around once a month...during the full moon." Stiles threw his head back and howled before giving way to laughter. "Lycanthropy, Scott. It means you're turning into a werewolf."

Even though you knew your brother was kidding, hearing the words coming from him still sent a shiver down your spine. If only he knew the danger was all too real and you were quickly running out of time before Scott became a huge problem.

"Stiles, come on, this is serious," Scott groaned, kicking aside some leaves in an attempt to find his inhaler. "What if I have rabies or something? What if I've got an infection?"

"Scotty, you're fine. If it was something serious, you would've been in the hospital by now."

Scott started arguing with Stiles, but you noticed an eerie stillness fall over the little pocket of forest you were standing in. You didn't realize you were being watched until you looked up and saw him for the first time in six years. A whole host of emotions fell over you, ranging from anger to betrayal to longing to happiness, before settling on confused.

"Derek," you found yourself muttering, your tone fused with disbelief.

What the hell was he doing back in Beacon Hills?

#teen wolf #isaac lahey #isaac lahey x reader #teen wolf imagine #isaac lahey imagine #twkosamh fic #reader insert #reader is a hale #reader is a stilinski #isaac lahey x you #my fic

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dustydaddyyy · 7 months

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iv: miss you | joel miller x f!reader

flash point (series) masterlist

pairing: pre-TLOU! joel x fem!reader (no use of y/n!) summary: on a particuarly wet night, you run across tess servopoulos and joel miller, and they help you out of a tight spot chapter warnings: canon-typical violence and gore, swearing, nightmares, mentions of stab wounds, FEDRA is basically an authoritarian regime, fireflies are not much better, constant POV-changing (sorry not sorry I'm trying to be an omniscient b), a lot of jokes about joel's old-man status, the slowest slow-burn of slow burns (because I'm trash and like to make you all wait for it), joel is kind of slightly less of an asshole in some parts of this chapter (when is joel not an asshole tbf), !TW!: mentions of parent death and suicide

a/n: *cracks knuckles* time for some character backstory hehehe. also more sam interactions because mark my words he's going to be an important character. we're not going to be talking about how long this took me to post. all i can tell you is that chapter 5 will be up by the beginning of next week, as well, so stay tuned xx K

"I've been holding out so long

I've been sleeping all alone

Lord, I miss you"

It was always the same nightmare.

Same field, same sky, same scream.

You were always frozen, unable to move, watching helplessly as the figure advanced past the barbed wire of the zone slowly, arms so thin they looked like they could snap, shoulder blades visible against the thin material of the dirty shirt. You would watch in horror as the figure spread their arms wide, as if welcoming death, before opening their mouth. The scream always felt as though it were straight in your skull, echoing through every cavity in your body and sending white hot fear through your stomach.

You’d always woken up the same way, as well, sitting bolt upright in bed, gasping for air as your thundering heartbeat echoed in your ears, eyes wide and filled with unshed tears.

Tonight had been no exception.

You try to keep your breathing under control as you sit upright, eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. For a scary, disorienting moment, you have no idea where you are, gaze scanning the room for any hint of familiarity before your brain catches up and your memories fill you in.

Joel's apartment. Joel's couch.

Breathe.

The nightmare hadn't been new, but somehow, tonight, it had been worse. You were used to waking up in cold sweat and having to remind yourself it was just a nightmare, before falling back asleep, but tonight it was different.

Maybe it was the unfamiliarity with the environment, or simply the fact that this one had felt even more vivid and unsettling than the ones that had come before. Your heart pounds like a frantic drum as the remnants of your nightmare cling to your mind like cobwebs, a lingering haze of terror that refuses to dissipate.

It takes a second before your heartbeat settles again. Wiping the few tears that managed to escape your eyes from your cheeks, you try to take deep breaths. Casting a ghostly glow through the half-shut curtains, the moon is the only source of light as it hangs low in the midnight sky. Slowly you lower yourself back down onto the couch, hands trembling as they grip the sheet you'd been given by Tess, eyes staring up at the grimy ceiling. It's a warm night, one of those that makes every piece of clothing cling to your body. You had discarded your shorts long ago, leaving you in only the old but clean smelling t-shirt Tess had handed you before going to sleep.

Desperately trying to close your eyes and go back to sleep, you twist and turn. You lie awake for a good long while, but nothing seems to work, the adrenaline of your nightmare coursing through your veins and keeping your mind awake. Swallowing hard, you take a deep breath and sit up again, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and burying your face in your hands, trying to shake off the lingering fear.

"Jesus," you whisper to yourself as you straighten out, before standing on shaky legs and quietly padding over to the kitchen. Normally, you'd have some shame about walking around somebody else's kitchen in the middle of the night in nothing but your underwear, but thankfully the shirt Tess gave you is too big, and just about long enough to cover your ass. You turn the faucet on, the water coming out a measly and unstable stream, before you cup your hands under it, bending down to splash some water on your face. You're not expecting it to work, but you still find the that the cold water helps ground you a little as you straighten back up, using your t-shirt to wipe the drops from your face.

You try to pull open a few cabinets as quietly as possible, looking for a glass. As you peer into the third one, which is filled with what looks like old coffee tins, a voice sounds from behind you.

"Glasses are under the sink."

You can't help the sharp intake of breath as you turn around to give Joel a wide-eyed look. He's standing –or rather, leaning– against the doorframe of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest as he peers at you. The dim moonlight reflects off the bare skin of his arms in his t-shirt, and it takes a lot of willpower not to stare at the grooves of the muscles in his biceps, smooth and powerful.

"Fucking Christ, Joel," you breathe out as you pinch the bridge of your nose, "Give a girl a warning if you're going to do that."

"How would I have made sure you weren't stealing if I'd said I was standing behind you?" he asks, and you raise a single, sarcastic eyebrow.

"How do you know I'm not stealing from you, then?" you ask him, and for the first time since you've met him, Joel doesn't seem to react to your inflammatory tone, and he shrugs.

"You'd have looked in those tins," he says simply, and you press your lips together as you realize he makes a more than valid point.

You say nothing as you turn away from him, opening the cabinet he pointed out and pulling out a glass of water. Joel tries his hardest not to look at the way Tess' shirt rides up slightly over the curve of your ass to reveal the seams of your underwear, exposed skin illuminated by the peeking moonlight, but it's a force stronger than himself. It's silent between the two of you as you run the tap and fill up your glass, before taking a few big gulps.

"Couldn't sleep?" Joel asks suddenly, and again, you take notice of the fact that his tone is devoid of its usual gruffness.

"Yeah," you say, turning back to look at him, glass in hand.

Joel's eyes zero in on the t-shirt you're wearing, and he realizes with a start that he recognizes the faded logo on the chest and the once vibrant color of the material. Sure, Tess had appropriated the shirt a long time ago when it had stopped fitting Joel, but seeing it on you still sent a shiver through him. He wasn't sure how it made him feel.

"You an insomniac or something?"

"Sometimes," you say with a tight-lipped smile, "Why are you awake? Except to make sure I'm not stealing from you, apparently."

It's dark, so you aren't sure, but you swear you can see Joel's mouth twitch ever so slightly into what you might've considered a smile.

He shrugs. "Couldn't sleep either, I guess."

Joel wonders if you can tell that he's lying.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that once upon a time, Joel had been someone's father, but he was a light sleeper. This meant that he'd easily been awoken by the sounds of your crying whilst you'd been having your nightmare. He hadn't moved a muscle at first, assuming that you were awake and not wanting to get involved in personal business that didn't concern him, but eventually, he'd heard you wake up with a gasp and a cry and realized you'd been having a nightmare.

Usually, Joel would've relished an opportunity to get on your nerves. Maybe it was the peace of the early hours of the night, or maybe he'd been far too well acquainted with how these kinds of nightmares could rattle you, but he felt no urge to tell you about what he'd heard.

Besides all of that, he also figured it was none of his damn business, anyway.

You let out a hum as you nod, leaning against the counter, eyes on the floor between your feet. After another few beats of silence, Joel speaks up again.

"Do you trust him?"

You look up in surprise at his question, and Joel feels the need to elaborate.

"This. . . Samuel."

You give a nod, letting a breath out through your nose. "With my life."

There's another beat of silence.

"Ain't he FEDRA?" Joel asks again, and for a second you can hear the usual abrasive, skeptical tone. Your eyes move to meet his in the dark, gaze suddenly piercing through him as you give a little shrug and a slight raise of your eyebrow.

"I used to be FEDRA," you state simply, and Joel fights hard to keep the surprise off of his face, "You trust me."

"That's still debatable," Joel says, and you give a small huff of laughter, before taking another sip.

"Fair enough," you say with a nod, your eyes focusing on the water in your glass.

Joel really wants to ask you what you mean when you say you used to be FEDRA, but he doesn't. After a second, you let out a breath, looking up and giving him a semi-awkward smile.

"I think I'm going to try and get some sleep," you tell him, "When all of this has gone smoothly, I still have to work an 8 hour shift."

"You're going to jinx it."

"Anyone ever tell you you're kind of a pessimist?" you tell him with a tight lipped smile, and he shrugs his shoulders, making an indifferent face.

"Not to my face," he tells you, and you nod again as you push off of the counter. As you step past him, you stop for a second to look at him sideways, corners of your mouth twitching ever so slightly.

"Well, you're kind of a pessimist, Joel Miller," you tell him, your voice a semi-whisper, before you move on and away, disappearing through the doorway and into the darkness of the living room.

The next morning, you're gone before Joel and Tess even wake up, leaving nothing but a pile with the folded sheet and the t-shirt behind. You'd managed to sweet talk your manager into letting you open, having no problem letting yourself into the dark Starbucks to go about usual opening activities until you hear the sound of a truck pulling up in the alleyway followed by a few firm knocks at the backdoor. You open the door with a smile, and the soldier that greets you, frowns.

"You're new," he mutters, and you pretend to look surprised, "Where's Lucy?"

"Sorry," you say in your best apologetic tone, "Lucy said I could open today. . .she said she's sent word it would be me instead of her?"

"Fucking tower's been down again because of the storm last night," he mutters, before he takes a minute of silence to look down at you. Then, he sighs. "Whatever, I don't care enough. . . she tell you how this works?"

You nod. "You're just dropping off, right? Someone else comes by to do inventory and handle pick up?"

"Come on," he beckons you out into the alley, where the truck has been parked back first, canvas cover flipped open to reveal the contents of the truck, "Pick up's not until closing time, but someone will be by in a half hour to inventorize. . . he's always fucking late, that one, but he'll be there. Then pick up will be later in the day. . . help me with this, will you? Partner's out sick and fuck knows central couldn't spare me the extra kid."

Together you spend the next 5 minutes lugging crates, barrels and boxes into the back of the Starbucks. When you're done, you give the soldier a blinding smile as he closes up the truck.

"Thanks for the help," he tells you, and you nod, smile still on your lips.

"Anytime," you tell him in a sweet voice, "Thanks for not being a dick about it."

The soldier snorts slightly. "What's your name?"

"Jenny," you lie smoothly, and the soldier gives a small nod, the beginnings of a smile on his mouth.

"Thanks for the help, Jenny," he nods, before giving you a crooked grin, "I'm Jack. I'll see you around?"

"Sure thing," you beam, and it feels almost unnatural to smile this much this early in the morning. Despite this, the smile stays plastered on your face until the truck disappears around the corner of the alley.

There's a rustling sound behind you, followed by a voice.

"Jenny?"

You roll your eyes as you turn to face the source of the voice. Sure enough, Joel and Tess are standing at the back of the alley, having seemingly appeared out of the shadows.

How did they do that?

"I bet there are a million Jenny's in the QZ," you say with a shrug, "Means he'll have a harder time finding me if he decides to come looking. . . now come on, we don't have a lot of time."

They follow you inside the room, and when she catches sight of all the crates, Tess lets out a low whistle.

"This is a lot of shit," she says, raising a single eyebrow as her fingers run over the top of one of the boxes, which is labeled 'Penicillin', "Could sell this for a small fortune."

"I'd advise against it," you tell her as you walk over to one of the 4 barrels of fertilizer, "FEDRA might be sloppy with some things, but the one thing they're meticulous about is the medicine."

"Go figure," Tess says with a snort, before she watches as you grab the edges of one of them, before nodding towards her.

"Help me with this, please?" you ask, and for a second, a look of surprise crosses over Tess' face.

"Please?" she repeats, almost bemusedly, "You got some nice manners for a thief."

"Only cause I like you," you return semi-jokingly, and Tess lets out an agreeing hum.

"Can we focus?" Joel interjects, and when you turn to look at him, he's raised an unimpressed eyebrow, "This ain't fucking tea time, you know."

It takes all three of you to move the barrel of fertilizer back out of the door and against the wall, and when you're done lugging and have gone back inside, Tess gives you a look. "Now what?"

"We wait," you say, pacing slightly in front of the door, and Joel frowns.

"I thought we were on a schedule," he notes, raising another skeptical eyebrow, "On account of the entire working population of the QZ going to said jobs in about an hour, and all of that."

"Thanks for enlightening me," you snap at him, and your mind works overtime as you stop in front of the barrel, heaving a sigh.

Where was Sam?

You knew he was working a shift this morning, this shift, because you'd had a sneaky look at the roster he'd stuffed in his pants pocket when he'd been passed out in bed two nights ago.

"So, this is your great plan? Wait around?" Joel continues, crossing his arms and giving you an unimpressed look.

"Do you have a fucking better idea, hm?" you say, stepping towards Joel, hands curling into fists, your lack of sleep catching up to your temper, "Because all I've heard out of your mouth so far has been criticism, and it's starting to seriously piss me off."

"I ain't afraid of you," he counters as he crosses his arms, looking unbothered, and your jaw tightens as you take another step towards him.

At that exact moment there's a sound, and a pair of headlights illuminate the alley; then, the sound of a motor switching off and a car door slamming shut drift through the air. A few moments later there's a hurried knock on the back door. You give Joel another furious glare before stalking over to the door and opening it in one fell swoop. Sam is standing on the doorstep, peering down at a sheet of paper you assume is the inventory list, end of a cigarette between his lips.

"Sorry I'm late, couldn't find my fucking lighter," he mutters, before pulling the cigarette from his lips and dropping it on the floor, "You do know you've got one barrel out–"

His voice stalls in his throat as his eyes fall on you, the smoke of his last drag disappearing in the air around him. "Speedy? What are you doing here?"

You give him a dry smile. "Working."

"You never work the morning shift, you'd hit someone over the head with a coffeepot," he retorts matter-of-factly, before he narrows his eyes at you, "You up to something?"

"No," you deny, slightly offended, but when Sam gives you an expectant look, you shrug your shoulders as he steps inside, door closing behind him, "How come I always have to be up to something?"

"I've known you for over a decade, speedy, I know when you're up to something."

"As delightful as this conversation is, can we get on with it?" comes Joel's voice from behind you, and you resist an urge to suck a sharp breath between your teeth.

You wouldn't say Sam is a jealous man, but he isn’t exactly amenable to strangers.

Sam is silent for a second as his eyes move between Joel, Tess, and yourself, the playfulness in his eyes gone. "Who's this?"

His voice is tense, like an elastic that's been pulled taut, and you swallow slightly.

"Doesn't matter," you dismiss, shaking your head, "Look, Sam, I need your help."

Sam's eyes move between you and the two people standing behind you, expression unsure.

"Yeah?" he asks, raising a single eyebrow as he observes the scene, "With what?"

"The blue barrel in the alley outside. . . I need you to write it off the inventory," you tell him, and you watch Sam's eyes move from Joel and Tess to you, jaw falling open slightly. Then, he closes his mouth, eyes becoming stormy as his jaw twitches in anger.

"Are you serious right now, speedy?" he asks you, and you resist the urge to correct him on the nickname in front of Joel and Tess, and you watch as Sam runs his tongue over his top teeth in frustration, "Can I talk to you? Privately?"

"Sam–" you say, but he doesn't give you time to react as he takes a hold of your forearm and all but drags you through the door of the backroom to the front of the shop and out of earshot. Tess and Joel exchange a look at the action, both wordlessly taking a step a little closer to the doorway.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Sam tells you as he rounds on you, eyes narrowed into an expression that makes it clear he isn't happy, "Tell me you're joking, right now."

"Sam, please," you ask, and your voice is surprisingly vulnerable, "Listen, you know how I told you I stole from the wrong people. . . ? Look, all I need to do is this, and then we're even, but I need your help."

"You've got some goddamn nerve, asking me this. . . you're putting me in a fucking impossible position, speedy," Sam hisses at you, eyes bulging slightly, "What if someone notices, hm? Then it's my head on the chopping block."

"They won't notice. . . they can't notice something they never knew they even had," you assure him, putting a hand on his forearm, "Please, Samuel."

After a second of brooding silence, Joel hears Sam sigh.

"What do you even need a barrel of fertilizer for?" he asks, and you let out a breath, giving him an almost guilty look.

"It's better if you don't ask questions," you tell him, your voice slightly uneasy, "Just–. . . please?"

Another beat of silence.

"What's your big fucking plan, then?" he asks, "Even if you had a car, how are you going to move this massive barrel across the QZ without at least 50 guards on your ass?"

"The abandoned church on Salem," you say carefully, knowing he isn't going to take it well.

"That's been boarded off for a very good reason, and you know it," Sam says immediately, shaking his head, "There is no way in hell."

"Come on, Sam," you plead, "I know FEDRA cleared it out forever ago and just keeps those signs up to avoid people sleeping in it."

"How the fuck would you know that, hm?" he snaps at you, before Joel hears him sigh again, "Nevermind, don't answer that, I don't even want to know."

"It's on your delivery route, all you have to do is drop us off with the barrel so I can keep it there all day and move it as soon as it gets dark."

"That all?" he asks you sardonically, and for some reason, Joel finds himself getting irritated at this kid's tone with you. It wouldn't kill him to be a little nicer about things.

Eventually, Sam speaks again.

"Fine," he says, "But I'm not taking your little criminal friends in the truck with me, that's out of the question."

"How the hell am I going to move it, then?" you ask, and you sound put out.

"You can figure that out, since you're so clever," his voice is biting, filled with aggravation, and after a second, Joel hears you sigh.

"Yeah, okay. . . I'll figure it out. Thanks, Sam."

"Don't mention it," he says bitterly, before Joel and Tess hear his heavy boots walking back towards the backroom before he appears in the doorway again, eyes settling on both of them for a second. Then, he looks over his shoulder, looking back at you.

"Come on then," he tells you, his tone irritated, "You think I've got all day?"

Joel feels another stab of annoyance as he regards Sam, but he doesn't say anything, instead exchanging a glance with Tess.

"What's the plan?" Tess asks carefully, even though she's fully aware of it, and the soldier gives her a look.

"Go home," he tells her, rather bluntly, "She can handle it from here."

"I think we'll wait to hear that from her."

Joel doesn't know why he says anything; maybe it's the frustration at his tone, maybe it's the fact that he has stakes in this particular plan succeeding, but he gives the soldier a raised eyebrow as he receives a glare.

"It's okay," you say hastily as you watch Sam open his mouth to deliver what you're sure is a scathing rebuke, and you give Joel a look that clearly means 'drop it', "I'll meet you there."

Joel shakes his head. "And then what? You gonna move that thing by yourself? Not to diminish your abilities, but there's no way in hell you're moving 300 pounds of fertilizer in your lonesome."

"Who said anything about her doing it alone?" Sam interjects, and now Joel raises a single eyebrow.

"You did," he returns bluntly, not giving a damn if he knows he's been listening to their conversation, and Sam squares his shoulders, "Just now, actually."

"Not just a criminal, but an eavesdropper, too?" Sam says sardonically, before turning to you with a frozen, sarcastic smile, "This is the company you're keeping, lately, hm? Real nice."

Joel is about to open his mouth again to tell this little punk exactly what an eavesdropping criminal will do if he keeps speaking to you the way he is, but you beat him to the punch.

"That's enough, Samuel, we don't have time for this shit," you tell him, your voice firm, "I don't need to remind you about keeping bad company, do I?"

Your tone is biting, and clearly it works, because the soldier clamps his mouth shut with a furious glare as you turn back to Joel and Tess.

"I'll be fine," you say with a nod, mostly talking to Joel so he doesn't start anything when there isn't any time for it, "I'll meet you there. . . promise I won't run off with your shit again."

You say that last part with a small smile, which neither Joel nor Tess return, but eventually Tess gives a short nod.

"Tough crowd," you mutter to yourself, before you feel Sam's fingers close over your forearm, which makes you wince slightly, "Ouch, Samuel."

"Come on, then," he says in an irritated tone, ignoring your yelp of pain as he pulls you forward towards the door, "But if we get caught, I'm ratting you out."

Joel and Tess follow you out, and as Sam angrily stomps over to the truck, lifting the tarp from the back, you pull a set of keys out of your pocket and use them to lock the back door.

"You guys go already, you'll need the head start. . .if you cut through the abandoned post office on 5th, you'll get there in 10 minutes, tops," you say as the lock clicks, before grabbing the edges of the barrel.

Tess nods. "Meet you there?"

You give an agreeing hum and a nod, before there's a banging noise as Sam gives the back of the truck a whack.

"Let's fucking go, speedy," he lets out in an exasperated breath as he starts to walk back towards you.

"Sure you got it from here?" Joel huffs out as his eyes move between you and Sam quickly, and you give a small nod, shooting him a furtive smile.

"Yeah, thanks," you say, and you sound genuinely grateful, which catches Joel slightly off guard. He looks at Tess, nodding once, before they step away from you and start to jog down the alley, making sure to glare at Sam in passing.

"Not sure I liked the way that kid grabbed her," Joel lets out gruffly as they round the corner, and Tess gives him an unimpressed look.

"Barely 20 hours ago I had to pull you off of her when you grabbed her in the exact same way."

"That was different," Joel grumbles, and Tess' eyebrow raises.

"How, exactly?" she asks him, but Joel ignores her and gestures for her to move on.

Back in the alleyway, Sam lets out a grunt as the two of you lug the barrel into the back of the truck.

"Unbelievable," he mutters to himself, shaking his head, "You're going to get me killed one day, you know that?"

"Let's hope later rather than sooner, hm?" you answer as the barrel drops into the truck bed with a decisive thump.

Sam lets out a grudging hum, before gesturing towards the back.

There's a moment of silence as you exchange a look, before you make a face.

"You can't be serious," you tell him, and his eyebrows raise.

"No way you're riding in the front, speedy," he tells you, and this time he doesn't sound angry, "I'm sorry, but there's no way I can explain you to anyone if we get stopped. . . besides, wouldn't you rather stay anonymous?"

You give him an annoyed look, before you clench your jaw and grudgingly get in the back of the truck, sitting down next to the barrel on one of the makeshift wooden benches nailed to the side.

"Thank you," Sam says in a breath, before giving you a furtive smile, "See you in 5 minutes."

Then, he unties the tarp at the top of the truck so it falls to cover the contents of the back, you included.

The ride is semi-smooth, except for a moment where Sam gets stopped at a checkpoint because his 'buddy', Carter, wants to know if he has any cigarettes to share. It gives you half a heart attack when you feel him bang his rifle on the metal side of the truck in a joking greeting.

"Sam-my," he says, his voice low and arrogant, "Late on the early shift again, hm?"

"I overslept," Sam says, and you can tell from his dry tone he isn't totally enamored with Carter.

"I would say it happens to the best of us, but. . . we're all here, Sammy."

His smug laugh floats through the morning air, and it makes you roll your eyes.

Jesus Christ, this guy.

As you suspect, Carter just wants a cigarette. But as he leans through the window, you hear him clear as day as he speaks to Sam. "You got anything extra today? For my pain, you know."

There's a grunt from Samuel as you listen to him rummaging around, before Carter lets out a contented hum and clears his throat, stepping away from the truck. "Alright, come on, let him through."

The truck rumbles down the street as you leave the checkpoint behind, and barely a few minutes and a corner later, it stops and the motor switches off. You hear Sam's footsteps as he jumps from the driver side and walks around to the back of the truck, before lifting the tarp.

"Out you come," he says, and you clamber out as inconspicuous as possible, which you're not going to lie, is hard.

Finally your feet hit the ground in front of him.

"You know," you say as you stand up straight to face Sam, your face barely a few inches from his, "I wouldn't let Carter walk all over you like that."

"I can't remember asking for your opinion," he tells you with a sarcastic smile, and you raise your eyebrows slightly, making a face.

"You could take him."

"I don't want to, speedy," Samuel says with a scoff, shaking his head as he lowers the latch of the truck, "I'm not interested in making enemies like you are."

"I don't make enemies," you defend slightly, and even though Sam doesn't look at you, you can tell on his face he doesn't believe you.

"We've been here barely two months and you already owe the wrong people too much money."

"Who said it was money?" you ask again, and when Sam doesn't answer you, you let out a breath through your nose, pursing your lips.

"Is that why you didn't want Joel and Tess in here? Didn't want them to know you bribe your buddy Carter for some extra minutes of sleep? He just a smoker. . . ? Or does he use something stronger?"

"Oh, bite me," Sam tells you with a narrowing of his eyes, and you give him a half-smirk as you stare him challengingly in the face.

"Anywhere you like, Sammy," you tell him teasingly, and he lets out a scoff, shaking his head as the corner of his lips pull upwards.

At that moment, you hear footsteps at the end of the relatively small street, and you turn your head to watch Tess and Joel approaching.

"We all got there in the end!" you say brightly, and you're met with Joel's scowl as he scoffs.

"Speak for yourself, sweetheart, you came in a truck."

You watch as Sam's brow crinkles just slightly at the sound of the nickname Joel uses, but you move on as quickly as you can.

"A man your age, should be keeping fit," you say in a robust, mocking voice, before making a face at him that drips with false concern, "Wouldn't want to risk you dropping dead from a heart attack at the ripe old age of sixty-five, grandpa."

"Means a lot coming from someone who's been alive less than two decades," he snaps back, "Tell me, do you remember what a rotary phone is?"

"I know perfectly well what it is," you reply swiftly, and Joel makes a momentary face like he's considering it.

"How's the day going to work?" Tess interjects suddenly, gaze resting on the expression on Sam's face, whose eyes keep flitting between you and Joel.

You heave a sigh. "I'm going to have to go back to work, but I'll get here as soon as I get off at 3pm."

Tess nods. "Works for me, I got a 4:30pm job to get to. It should finish before curfew at ten."

"I'll stay in the area to make sure nothing goes wrong, then," you say with a short nod, before eyeing them both, "And then your friend and his dudes can do the rest."

"Dudes," Joel repeats, his voice slight with disdain.

"Men, goons, brutes. . . whatever," you say with a wave of your hand.

"You're in luck, my final shift of the afternoon is somewhere around here," Sam says sarcastically, before shooting you a look, "Although not very sure about the coincidences of that."

"M'staying," Joel grunts, exchanging a look with Tess, "Don’t have much going on today, anyway.”

You bite back a snippy comment about how he has no life, concluding that you all don’t really have that much of a life in a post-apocalyptic hellscape.

“I need to go back to the shop,” you say, giving a half-apologetic look, “I can’t miss this shift, and if my boss finds out I skipped after begging her for it in the first place she’ll fire me faster than I can even apologise.”

“Go,” Tess says with a nod, and you give a half-hearted smile before you walk away, Samuel in tow. Joel watches as you exchange a few words, not missing the way Sam’s hand brushes over the side of yours as you talk. Tess also seems to notice, brows raising slightly as she observes your interaction, but she says nothing.

She looks away instead, wondering what the fuck she’s going to do to kill 8 hours with the man-turned-brick-wall that was Joel Miller.

True to your word, you're back at three in the afternoon. The sun is still high in the air, which is thick with humidity. Boston didn't get many hot days, but when it did, they were also horribly humid. Joel and Tess are standing right where you left them, or rather a combination of standing and sitting. They look bored.

You hold up a paper bag as you approach.

“Anybody want a snack?” you ask semi-flippantly, and Joel shoots you a glare from his position leaning against the brick wall, beams of sun illuminating his feet as the rest of him stands in the scarce shade. When you receive no answer from neither him nor Tess, you give a dry smile.

“Not all at once.”

“This isn’t a picnic,” Joel snaps, and you give him a look.

“Who pissed in your oatmeal this morning, grandpa?” you ask him, before your face turns jokingly serious, “Tell me, did you run out of raisins?”

The glare Joel delivers is furious, but you shrug your shoulders in mock innocence.

“Out there you can be as mouthy as you fuckin' want,” you imitate his voice, exaggerating his accent as much as you can as you throw his words from last night in his face, “This counts as out there, right?”

Joel can see in your face that you’re enjoying talking smack to him; your eyes have a twinkle to them he’s not sure whether he likes or loathes.

“I don’t sound like that,” he says finally, resolving not to give in to your digs, because he knows that’s exactly what you want. He watches with some satisfaction as you let a breath out through your nose, almost a huff, eyebrows moving up momentarily as you turn away from him and go to sit down against the wall. Tess is sitting on it, peeling an orange in silence.

The silence doesn’t last very long, though. Joel’s eyes land on your twitching fingers; you’re not someone who likes silence – it makes him wonder why.

“Where the fuck d’you get an orange?” you ask Tess, hand coming up to shield your eyes from the sun as you look up at her. She meets your gaze with a nonplussed look.

“Went to the market,” she returns sarcastically, “Selection’s great this time of year.”

Joel feels a distant urge to smile at her snark as you give her a dry smile.

It’s silent again, and for a second Joel rests his head against the wall and allows himself to close his eyes, the only sounds coming from the people in the street around him. It seems silly, but like this, Joel doesn’t have to see. Sure, the sounds of the QZ are quite a bit different from what cities used to sound like, but it’s still nice to close his eyes from time to time and pretend it’s the same.

His ears perk at a new sound, like something scraping against wood, and when he opens his eyes to investigate, they fall on you sitting against the wall. Your knees are pulled up, and Joel’s eyes have to look past your knees to see that you have that tiny blade clutched in one hand and a stick in the other, using your knee to sharpen it to a tip. You’re focused, eyes staring as the blade rolls over the wood, chips curling elegantly before falling into your lap.

“The silence was nice,” Joel comments, and you actually find yourself rolling your eyes, but you don’t look up at him.

“I didn’t say anything,” you tell him pointedly.

More silence. Joel’s eyes feel like they’re staring holes into your head.

“You one of those kids that can’t sit still?” he asks eventually, clearing his throat as he crosses his arms and peers down at you. Your mouth curves slightly but you still don’t look up at him, focusing on your stick.

“So what if I am?” you reply, your voice smooth but Joel discerns the slight defensive tone, “And I’m not a kid, Joel.”

There it is again. Joel hates how much hearing you say his name like that affects him. He looks away, directing his surly expression across the street. There’s a FEDRA checkpoint set up there, and he watches as Sam chats to another soldier. Occasionally, they stop someone, and search them, but it doesn’t get much more exciting than that.

You’re done sharpening your stick; you discard in the dust at your feet, before breathing a small sigh as you look across the road at the checkpoint.

"What's the story?" Tess asks you as she follows your line of sight to Sam, who is standing at the checkpoint actually laughing with one of his fellow soldiers.

"Hm?" you ask her, and she gives you a look as she nods in his direction.

"With your soldier."

"He isn't my soldier."

"He's something," Tess says matter-of-factly, and you let out a sigh.

Joel pretends he isn't listening as he leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes survey the square, but his ears are very tuned into the conversation. As much as he hates to admit it, he's just as curious about the nature of your relationship to Sam as Tess is.

"I've known Sam a long while. . . we met in FEDRA military school," you say finally, and Tess' expression barely changes as her gaze bores into yours, eyebrows moving up as they silently ask you to continue your story.

"Here in Boston?" she asks, and you shake your head.

"No, uh," you clear your throat, and Joel notices the way your fingers twitch nervously around the blade, "San Francisco. . . I was there before I came here a few months ago."

"Didn't they have a full-scale insurrection in San Francisco?" Joel speaks up, and you turn your head to look at him, nodding as your eyes fall back on your fingers, which twirl the knife around in your hands.

"Yeah, it was carnage," you say, swallowing, before your eyes move back up, resting on Sam again, "We barely got out of it alive."

"How'd you end up there in the first place?" Tess asks, and you give her a cautious look.

"How come you're suddenly interested in my life story?" you ask her, your tone almost defensive, and she raises her eyebrows as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"If this goes right, I have a nasty little feeling we're going to be seeing a lot more of each other, and I don't like going into my partnerships blind," she tells you, and you nod with a small scoff, "And I guess we've got time to kill."

"I guess we do," you say sarcastically, and Joel watches as you click the blade into the handle, before putting it in your pocket.

"Outbreak day was the day before my 10th birthday," you explain, swallowing, hands clasping together in your lap, "My parents owned a convenience store in Fresno."

"California?" Tess interjects, frowning, "The hell d'you come all the way out here for?"

"It wasn't my choice," you tell her, sighing as you clear your throat, and Joel watches from his peripheral as you start to pick the skin around your nails.

You’re nervous.

"By some miracle, we lived through outbreak day. . . then, for a while, we were in the San Francisco QZ, but that didn't end well."

"We heard that all the way over here."

You nod, swallowing. "Fireflies. . . just like you have here, I guess, only more willing to risk collateral damage for the cause."

When neither Joel nor Tess speak, you clear your throat again. "San Francisco QZ wasn't always bad. . . it started out relatively okay, but more people just kept coming, and for some reason they handled it badly. I mean the center of the city was heavily fortified, and probably the safest you'd find on the west coast. . . but you had to get in there, first. Most people lived on the outskirts, and into the surrounding Bay Area. . . FEDRA still had some control. There was a fence for infected all the way across the Bay bridge, but it became the number 1 breeding ground for crime and squalor. . . and resistance. People were starving, poor, and angry, and looking for someone to blame."

"Recipe for disaster," Tess mutters, and you nod, swallowing hard.

"They ignored the Fireflies for a long time, they just let them do their thing, it was all mostly non-violent. I guess we got lucky, because they allowed my dad to run this little store right on the outskirts of the inner city. . . he used to let the Fireflies use the storefront to move goods easily in and out of the zone and the suburbs without treading on FEDRA's toes."

"Your dad was a firefly?" Tess interjects, one of eyebrows raised, but you can't decipher whether she looks impressed by or dismissive of the fact.

"No," you say, pointedly, "He believed in the cause, definitely. . . but he had us. . . he couldn't commit to it like others."

"Touching," Joel mutters, and your eyes deliver a stinging glare as you regard him, before taking another breath and looking away.

"The first time the Fireflies took a more radicalized approach to their resistance, I remember I was in the store. . . I would help my dad, and the FEDRA facility two blocks down got blown up by a car bomb from the street. . . 14 soldiers died, all teenagers that were training at the academy they had there."

"Jesus," Joel lets out a sour breath, shaking his head as he looks away again for a second, eyes on the abandoned church.

"I remember my dad arguing with some guys on our doorstep that night. . . the SF Fireflies had had a change of leadership," you explain, and Joel notices the way you wring your hands nervously as you tell them, his own arms crossed as he regards you. "He refused to help them any longer and they weren't pleased. . .they tried to threaten him but he wouldn't give in. I guess someone overheard the conversation in the street because when I got back from school the next day, he'd been arrested–" your voice stalls in your throat for a second and Joel watches as you swallow, hard, before you continue, "They hung him in the square, for everyone to see. . . I didn't find out until I walked past him on my way home from school."

The silence that follows is heavy, and as you look down at your fiddling hands in your lap, Joel and Tess exchange a shocked look.

"I'm sorry," Tess offers after a second, and you nod. Even though you aren't looking at them, Joel watches as you swallow hard, your eyes blinking furiously, before you take a deep breath and look back up.

"Yeah, well–" you clear your throat again, offering a bitter half-smile, "I guess everyone's got a shitty story."

"What happened after that?" Joel asks, and you shrug.

"My mom enrolled me in the FEDRA academy a few months after that. . . I would spend weekends at home to see them, but most of the time, I was there. . . it's where I met Sam."

"Them?" Tess asks, and her tone is surprisingly gentle, and she watches as you swallow hard.

"Yeah, I had a little sister," you explain, nodding, "My mom was pregnant when the outbreak happened, and Grace was born a couple of months after outbreak day. . . she was 6 years old when my dad died."

"Are they here? In Boston?" Tess asks, and the minute you look at her, and she sees the pain in your eyes as you shake your head, she wishes she'd never asked.

"No, uh–. . . Gracie died of typhoid fever the next year, and my mom hung herself a few months after that– a couple of days after I turned sixteen."

Another silence follows as your purse your lips awkwardly, your eyes swimming with grief as your fingers pick at each other. Joel feels a familiar tightness in his chest; he wasn’t necessarily surprised you’d been through what could only be described as a pile of shit, but hearing it still stirred uneasy feelings for him as he thinks about his own loss.

If Sarah had been alive, she would’ve undoubtedly told him to be nicer to you.

Finally, Tess breaks the silence again.

"Why'd you come out here?" Tess asks, and you shrug. Joel watches as you blink furiously a couple of times, but when you clear your throat and look back up at them, he can still see the tears lingering in the corners of your eyes.

"Furthest away I could get," you admit, taking another breath, "The group of fireflies who took over San Francisco, they were out for blood. . . they hung as many FEDRA soldiers as they could get their hands on, young and old, and they didn't care who you were."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Tess breathes, and you nod.

"I hadn't worked for FEDRA for a while by that point, but–" you voice quiets in your throat as you press your lips together, "Let's just say I wasn't very popular."

"How'd you two get out of here?" Tess asks, and your eyes fall on Sam again.

"We managed to drive a truck up to Seattle, but they were having their own problems. . . we got separated in the mess of it all. . . Samuel managed to get out in a fleeing FEDRA convoy, and they relocated here. . . I walked."

"You what?" Joel lets out before he can stop himself, making no effort to hide the shock in his voice, "You walked? You walked from Seattle to Boston?"

You shrug as you look between him and Tess. "Where the fuck was I gonna go otherwise? We'd agreed on Boston months before that. . . we'd heard it was better here."

Joel lets out a scoff, shaking his head. "That makes no fucking sense. . . How are you even alive?"

You shrug. "How is anyone alive? We're in the fucking apocalypse, dude. . . I guess my spite got me far."

"That's a lot of fucking spite to go on," Tess says, raising a single eyebrow disbelievingly, "How long did it take you?"

"To Boston? About two months, give or take," you tell her, and Joel lets out another scoff, shaking his head as his gaze rolls over the crowd again, but you ignore him, "Got lucky and found a bike somewhere on the border with Canada. . . cut the time in half."

An impressed expression crosses into Tess' eyes, and when you look to your side, Joel is frowning at you again, and you can tell from his eyes that he can't decide whether or not to believe your outrageous story.

"Look, believe whatever the fuck you want, but that's the honest to god truth," you say with a sigh, before getting to your feet as your eyes go from Sam back to Joel and Tess as you wipe your hands on your jeans uneasily,, “Do you need me here? Cause frankly I smell like shit and I need a shower.”

Even to you, it sounds like a clear lie.

Tess disguises her surprise well, but Joel can read her face because it mirrors his feelings. The unease in your face and voice at talking about your past is intriguing, and Joel can’t shake the feeling that hadn’t been the whole story.

“As long as you’re back for the actual pick up,” she says, and you nod your head, “Cause I gotta go at 16:30, and if I leave Joel to it, the dude’s going to end up with two less teeth than he started rather than with a barrel of fertilizer.”

You try to bite back the small smile that grows on your lips, but you don’t hide it well as Joel scowls at Tess.

“Don’t deal in anger management meds, huh?” you ask, an ounce of your earlier cheekiness returning as you look at Tess, who snorts.

“My life would be easier,” she comments, and you actually chuckle as you step away.

“You two are real fuckin’ funny,” he says, his voice a deep but sarcastic growl, and you give Joel a furtive glance over your shoulder.

“All in good fun,” you shoot back, “See you later.”

With that, you flounce off and down the street, fingers tapping nervously against your thigh as you start weaving through the people.

The minute you’re out of earshot, Tess heaves a breath. “Jesus fucking christ.”

Joel nods along with an agreeing hum, eyes meeting her stormy ones.

“She can’t be a whole lot older than–”

“27,” Joel says quietly, clearing his throat as he looks at his feet for a second, not wanting to meet Tess’ intense stare, “She’d be two years younger.”

The silence that follows is heavy, before Tess scoffs and shakes her head.

“At 27 I was fucking my way through Detroit city,” she says with a raise of her eyebrows, “Not fighting for my life.”

Joel makes a face. ��Thanks for the information.”

“What?” Tess asks, raising a single eyebrow as she looks at him, “You’re not a prude, Joel, so don’t act like one.”

Joel’s eyes shoot her a warning look. Not an acceptable topic of conversation right now.

Tess says nothing more, only the remnants of a cocky smile on her lips as she heaves a sigh, before her eyes zero back in on Sam.

“What’s their deal?” she asks, practically squinting at him, “Are they together?”

Joel lets out a noncommittal grunt, shaking his head as he looks at Sam across the street. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so, or you don’t want so?” Tess asks him, and Joel can feel her eyes boring into the side of his face as he ignores her comment.

“He invited her in one night, she said no.”

Tess makes a face, sucking some air between her teeth. “Ouch.”

Joel nods and makes an agreeing hum, before he tears his eyes away from Sam and back to Tess with his usual, indecipherable stare. Her gaze is equally difficult to read as she stares right back at him, but says nothing before she looks away again with a breath.

Eventually, Tess leaves for her job. Joel stands in the same spot, occasionally stretching out or sitting on the little wall when his back starts to protest too loudly, eyes trained on the church and occasionally going back and forth to Sam. He knows the soldier is watching him, too, but Joel doesn’t mind, expression unchanged and as surly as ever.

You come back just after darkness has fallen, when the FEDRA checkpoint has had its last shift rotation and the people of the QZ have started retiring to their homes in time for curfew.

“Have you not moved?” you ask Joel as you approach him, and it takes almost all of his willpower not to jump in surprise. He doesn't know how you'd snuck up on him that way, and makes a mental note to keep an eye out for you doing it in the future.

Joel doesn’t answer you, just letting out a noncommittal grunt that makes you roll your eyes.

“You’re not really a man of many words, are you?” you ask him, sounding bemused, and Joel gives you a look.

“Trust me, I’ve got plenty of words for you,” he tells you, and your eyebrows raise as you put a mocking hand over your chest.

“Still angry with me for fixing your watch? And solving your supply problem?” you ask him, batting your eyelashes.

“I never asked for you to fix my watch, sweetheart,” he replies in an aggravated tone.

Your lips plump ever so slightly into a mocking pout. “You’re hurting my feelings here, Joel.”

Joel lets out a grunt. “Thank god I don’t give a damn about whose feelings I’m hurting.”

“Taking your role as bitter middle-aged criminal very seriously, I can see,” you say with a snort, and Joel shoots you a glare, but you aren’t looking at him anymore.

Your eyebrows knit together as you look at something, before your teasing expression falls away and it becomes guarded. “That your guy?”

Joel turns to watch Peter approaching them from the end of the dark street. His lips are twitched into that same smile that gave Joel the creeps the first time he met him. He gives Joel a nod, and behind him, two young-looking guys come out of the alley, too.

Joel is immediately on edge; the unnerving smile, the rifle one of the guys is wearing, coupled with the way all three men looked at you, sets him on high alert.

“Hello there, Joel.”

There’s a small crease in your brow at the tone of his voice as you come to stand level with Joel, who nods at the man. His whole body is tense as he stands as straight as he can, eyes never leaving Peter. He wonders whether you’ve noticed the change in the air yet, but he doesn’t want to stick around long enough for you to figure it out.

“We’ve got your fertilizer,” he grunts, nodding towards the church, and an impressed expression crosses Peter’s face. Then, he looks at one of the guys standing by his side, motioning with his head. The guy stalks off towards the abandoned church, as Peter looks back at you.

“I gotta say I’m impressed, shit’s been real hard to get my hands on. . . didn’t think you’d have it in you,” Peter muses, before his eyes move from Joel to you, “Maybe it has something to do with this lovely lady, hm?”

Joel doesn’t have to look at you to feel the shift in your demeanor as you stand next to him, and he watches your shoulders square from his peripheral and you give Peter a cold smile.

“You’re smooth,” you remark, your tone tinged with sarcasm, “What do you need all this fertilizer for?”

Peter’s smile becomes icy.

“Putting your nose where it doesn’t belong gets people killed around here, honey,” he says, Joel feels something stir in his stomach at the sound of the nickname and the implicit threat, “But if you’re done asking questions, you're welcome to come with us for a drink. . . promise we’ll show you a real nice time.”

Joel feels his fists balling up, and out of the corner of your eyes, you notice his shoulders tensing even more.

“I’ll pass,” you say, almost immediately, raising a single unimpressed eyebrow, “As. . . appealing as that sounds.”

Peter lets out a hum, shrugging his shoulders. “Your loss, honey.”

Joel still doesn’t love the look in his eyes as they linger on you, running down your figure.

At that moment, the man he’d sent to check on the merchandise comes back, giving a curt nod. “It’s all there.”

“Great,” Peter says through a breath, before he pulls out another wad of ration cards tied together by some string. He tosses them at Joel. “That’s the rest of it.”

Joel gives another silent nod, but he doesn’t check the ration cards, eyes instead trained steadfastly on Peter as he looks back at you, not wanting to take his eyes off this fucker for even a minute. Again, the twinkle in the guy’s eye gives Joel the creeps.

“You got a home I can walk you to?” Peter tries again, but as you open your mouth to reply, Joel loses his cool.

“She’s fine where she is,” he snaps, his voice steady but not any less threatening as he glares at Peter, who puts up his hands defensively.

“Didn’t mean to tread on anyone’s toes,” he says in a nonchalant voice, calculating gaze moving between you and Joel, “Ain’t she a little young for you?”

“That’s none of your business,” you snap at him, and you’re starting to sound more annoyed by the minute.

“Let’s go,” Joel lets out in a low voice, and to your surprise, you feel his hand close around your forearm. It’s surprisingly gentle as he pulls you back, before showing Peter his back.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Peter calls after both of you, but Joel pays him no heed as he pulls you down the street with a hasty walk.

“Dude,” you say when they’re out of earshot, shivering slightly as you pull your arm out of Joel's grip, “What is with that guy? He’s fucking creepy.”

Joel gives an agreeing hum, nodding as he peers over his shoulder. “He’s definitely got an unnerving gaze.”

“Understatement of the goddamn century,” you snort, before you frown as Joel follows you when you take a left in the alley towards your apartment. "What are you doing? You live the other way.”

Joel peers over his shoulder again. “Walking you home.”

You raise a single eyebrow. “I’m not helpless, Joel. . . I can walk myself home.”

“I never said you were, trust me,” Joel says with a snort, remembering the press of your blade against his stomach like it was just yesterday, “But something tells me Ted Bundy's starving twin back there doesn’t react very well to being told no, and I don’t need your sudden unexplained disappearance on my conscience.”

It takes a significant amount of your willpower not to say anything teasing, instead nodding. “Thanks.”

You walk mostly in silence, but when you arrive at your street, you see that somebody is leaning against the building, arms crossed and clearly waiting. It’s Sam.

“You’re a popular girl tonight,” Joel notes with a raise of his eyebrows as he slows down slightly, and you let out a small snort.

“It has to do with my irresistible charm,” you tell him jokingly, raising your arms, “Half-dead and struggling to make ends meet. . . it’s the new sex.”

You watch with some satisfaction as the corner’s of Joel’s mouth twitch slightly into what you can only assume would be a smile, before he stops completely, eyeing Sam.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says, giving you a look you can’t decipher, “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

You give a small nod, suddenly feeling a little awkward as you’re overcome with an urge to bid him goodbye in some way, but you don’t know how. Instead, you keep your hands by your side, swinging them awkwardly as you look back at Sam.

“You know where to find me,” you say with a small chuckle, before heaving a breath, “Night, Joel.”

Joel says nothing, just nods once at you, before he turns on his heel and disappears down the street, darkness swallowing him up.

taglist:

apart from those of you who explicitly asked to be added, i also took the liberty of tagging some of you that showed interest in more parts (if you do not want to be tagged, please please let me know, in which case i apologize in advance for doing so!)

@tanushreeg27 @user1112223334449890171 @frecklefacelm @samarav @alyssiamarierenee @platinumblondeedition @huntersandpie @lizlil @lumpypoll @pedro-pascal-3nthusiast @phryne-fish @ponyboys-sunsets

as usual, replies, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #the last of us

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