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Robb lines up the boxes of granola bars, bottles of water, and boxes of bullets on the shelf. Pushing them so each is in a straight line. Nudging them again so they alternate. One pushed in, one jutting out. One pushed in, one jutting out.
It was a practiced monotony. Put the supplies on the shelves. Take them off. Dust the shelves. Draw patterns in the dust. Put the supplies back on the shelves. If it was a particularly bad day he’d go outside. Check the traps. Poke himself on the barbed wire to make sure it was still sharp, and to make sure he was still here.
A hand on his shoulder made him turn, heart racing, and grab for the knife he kept strapped to his thigh, but he was only met with Jon hushing him.
“Jesus, Jon.” Robb whispered, letting his arm drop to his side. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, I nearly killed you.”
“What are you doing up?” Jon asked softly, turning his dark eyed gaze on Robb, then to the shelves.
“Oh, you know.” He shrugged. “Just. Sorting stuff.”
“I think those boxes are in no danger of falling off the shelves. You should get to sleep.”
“No, I’ll stay up. Just to keep watch.” Robb shrugged Jon’s hand off his shoulder and went back to pushing boxes back and forth.
“We don’t need someone to keep watch. Haven’t for a long time-”
“But what if?” Robb exclaimed. “If one gets in, and we’re all asleep? Bran and Rickon are sleeping on the first floor, because we can’t get Bran up and down the stairs. They’d get to Bran first, before any of us could-”
“If walkers were knocking down our door, we’d hear it. And by the time Rickon heard so much as a scratch, he’d be up, guns in hand.”
Robb smiled a sad smile and cast a glance outside the kitchen, where he could see Rickon passed out on the couch. The shaft of light from the moon struck the top of the youngest Stark’s auburn curls. He looked so peaceful, still just a kid. If this was any other world, no one would know that his small, 8 year old hand was curled around a handgun.
“It’s sad. Isn’t it? Rickon never got to be a normal kid. Or Bran. Or Arya.” Robb said, breaking the silence.
“Arya was never a normal kid anyways.” Jon snorted. “I think she loves the apocalypse. Gives her a chance to kill things and not shower.”
“Yeah, I think that’s the worst part for Sansa. Not the killing for survival.” Robb smiled. “She’s gotten good at that. The showers. She wanted to go shopping. Take selfies -”
“Date Joffrey Baratheon.”
“Don’t remind me.” Robb groaned, leaning up against the counter. “That absolute prick. He also wanted to have Jeyne Poole on the side.”
“Yeah, but Jeyne was in love with you since preschool.”
“She was Sansa’s friend.” Robb made a face. “I could never date her.”
“Yeah, you only had eyes for Theon Greyjoy.”
Robb froze from where he stood tapping his fingers against the table, and Jon must’ve realized his mistake immediately. It was like all the air had been sucked from the room.
When you lived in a world where the dead came back to life and most people in the world had died already, speaking of the dead was getting easier and easier.
But there was one name the Starks knew better than to mention around Robb.
The last Robb saw of Theon was in the Eyrie. The two of fought their way up from the Riverlands together, before they found any of the others, the Eyrie was supposed to be safe. But more importantly, the Eyrie was where Sansa was. But when they got to the Eyrie, it was already overrun. They’d found Sansa, alone in the great hall, fighting through a crowd of walkers with an axe that probably weighed more than her own body. Between the three of them, they managed to fight their way out, but there was only one bridge. Theon said he’d go last. He had the arrows, he could pick off the walkers. Robb could fight ahead. He said he’d meet them on the other side.
Robb couldn’t think about it.
“Hey.” Jon said softly. “We’re all here, Robb. We couldn’t have found each other without you.”
Robb nodded but didn’t say anything. Choosing instead to push around more boxes.
“You think we should head out soon?” Jon nudged, intent on changing the topic. “We’re
about a few days travel from finally reaching the North.”
“Yeah,” Robb said. “Then another few weeks from Winterfell if the roads are clear enough.”
“But we’re almost there.” Jon smiled slightly. “And to think, we came all the way up from King’s Landing.”
“Well you were already up North-”
“Well I couldn’t well leave you all.” Jon snorted. “Family comes first.”
“I feel like that’s what we all thought.”
“And you’re sure about Winterfell?” Robb asked. Jon nodded, running his hand along the counter and inspecting the thin layer of dust.
“The North is safer. Too cold for the dead to move up there. And soon enough everything will be covered in snow. Winter is coming, after all.”
“Winter is coming.” Robb echoed. “Let’s give it a couple days. Enough time to grab enough supplies to last us til home. I don’t wanna stop until we get there.”
Home . It was a nice thought.
“Now get some fucking sleep. I’ll keep watch the rest of the night.”
*
The next morning, Robb ignored his dreams of Theon, strapped on his holster, slung on his backpack, and ignored Jon’s questioning look when he got into the kitchen. Robb the 18 year old slipped away once again, it was time for Robb the leader to wake up.
“I’m gonna go on a run this morning.” Robb said, to no one in particular, refilling his dinged up water bottle, his university’s name slowly chipping from the side.
“I’ll come!” Arya chimed in, pausing briefly from cleaning the blade she’d stolen from a museum back in the Stormlands.
“Arya, do you have to do that at the table?” Sansa interrupted. “We eat here.”
“For now.” Arya shot back. “We’ll be moving on soon anyways.”
“How soon?” Rickon whined. The youngest Stark put his feet up on the table, mostly just to watch Sansa rage silently in her chair. “I’m getting bored. I wanna kill things.”
Jon materialized suddenly in the kitchen doorway, his dark hair even fluffier than usual after just waking up. He made a beeline for the cabinet, pausing to ruffle Arya’s hair on the way over, and downed some ancient and terrifyingly potent energy drink.
“We’ll head out tomorrow.” Jon said, like he was here the whole time and didn’t consume approximately 15 servings of caffeine. “That means we gotta stock up on supplies today.”
“We don’t want to stop until we reach the North.” Robb agreed. “Sansa, do you want to hold down the fort over here?”
Sansa nodded, and beside her, Bran stiffened. Robb knew he’d never bring it up but he knew what Bran was thinking, that they needed someone here to protect him. The truth was, they needed Bran. Even if they were awful people who would even consider leaving their brother behind, he was the brains of the operation. Robb couldn’t even count the times Bran’s quick thinking saved his life, and that was just him.
“We can start packing up.” Sansa added. “And Bran can do some repairs on the car.”
“Does that mean I can come kill zombies?” Rickon asked, excitedly.
“Arya, you can take Rickon to pick up supplies. Food. Bandages. Water. Medicine. Anything we really need.” Jon nodded, Arya swung her feet off the table and sheathed Needle, as she named the sword. Rickon whined something about that being too easy. “Robb and I are out to get gas for the car. There’s a gas station about a mile from here, should be easy enough to get to. We’ll meet back here this evening.”
The last words had barely left Jon’s mouth when Arya and Rickon shot out the front door weapons in hand and packs on their backs, hollering and whooping as they always did when it was time to go out.
“You think they’ll be ok on their own?” Sansa asked when they vanished around the curb. Robb nodded.
“Arya’s 15, she’s old enough to hold her own out there. Besides, she made it all the way to the Riverlands from fucking Braavos by herself.” Robb said. “She crossed the fucking ocean.”
“Yeah, but can she take care of Rickon?” Sansa asked quietly.
“Rickon’s not exactly a helpless baby either, that kid knows how to kill walkers.” Jon snorted.
This answer seemed to satisfy Sansa, who went back to braiding her hair.
“Be safe.” Bran said quietly from the table, and that was all Jon and Robb needed to grab their weapons and race out of the house, just like Rickon and Arya.
The sidewalk outside the house they were using was empty, minus a few scattered bodies of walkers that Arya and Rickon already cleared. Robb and Jon could’ve taken the car to the gas station, it would be much faster and they might be able to carry more, but travelling on foot would attract less attention, and the car was still shot through with bullet holes Bran needed to patch up.
So they walked, down the middle of the road, occasionally bickering over who had the highest walker count. It was like the video games they’d play in the basement at Winterfell, only real. And terrifying. And emotionally scarring.
The walk was quick and uneventful. As they crossed the highway, a walker popped out of the woods, but Robb decapitated it quickly with a swing of his axe. Jon griped that he should’ve had dibs on that one, but the rest of the walk passed in relative silence, until they rounded the corner and the gas station popped into view.
Silently, they approached the pumps, a walker snarled at them, from where it was locked inside a car, face melted off by the sunlight.
“Should I?” Jon asked, gesturing to the walker with his gun. Robb just shook his head.
“It’s not getting out of that car anytime soon. Not worth the bullets. Or the noise.”
Jon grunted in acknowledgement and went to the nozzle of the pump with an empty gas canister.
“We’re really heading out tomorrow.” Robb said in wonderment, standing guard as Jon filled another container. “We’re going home.”
“I just, can’t believe we all found each other after all.” Jon said quietly, cracking a rare smile and squinting up at the sun. “I mean, I came all the way down from the wall, Bran and Rickon left Winterfell just so we could find the rest of you. Arya crossed the fucking ocean from fucking Braavos , and you and- you found Sansa.”
“I wish mom and dad were here.”
“Yeah.” Jon said, and they lapsed into another still silence.
“You all set to be out here?” Robb asked, and Jon nodded. “I’m gonna check the store. See if they have anything we need.”
“Grab me another 5 hour energy.” Jon shouted at Robb’s retreating back as he pushed open the glass door.
The convenience store was quiet, like all the background noise from outside was sealed off by the cracked glass door. Robb’s boots squeaked loudly on the linouleum as he crossed the aisles of knocked-over shelves. He picked up a few bottles of tylenol from the floor, a 5 hour energy, and shoved a handful of granola bars into his backpack when he spotted them. All the way at the other end of the store, was the last pack of poptarts.
Poptarts were Bran’s favorite.
Drawing his knife from his holster (the ridiculous thigh holster Theon always used to make fun of), he crossed the room slowly, there was something in the air that was making him nervous.
He walks with as quiet footsteps as he can manage on the ridiculously squeaky floor. He’s close enough to see now, they’re strawberry frosted Poptarts. Universally acknowledged as the best fucking kind. They’re almost close enough for him to grab now, he just has to grab them and run out the door, then he’s back within earshot of Jon.
He’s close enough to reach them now, and Robb extends a hand to the shelf, bracing his legs to sprint back outside, and his fingers brush the box-
Right when cold, dead hands grab the back of his neck and pull him away.
“ Jon !” Robb calls out, but the walker is strangling him, he can’t speak, he can’t breathe. His knife is still in his hand, but his hand busy trying to push the zombie’s gnashing teeth away from him.
His free hand drops the Poptarts and flails to his back, trying to free his axe. I am not dying today . He thinks to himself. I have to get my family home to Winterfell. And I am not dying for a box of Poptarts.
He gives up on the axe, and uses the last gasp of air to bring his fist smashing into the walker’s face, tearing open his jaw and sending him sprawling backwards.
Robb gasped at the sudden freedom of air, but in that split second he noticed two more walkers appear from behind the abandoned Dunkin Donuts counter.
“ Jon !” Robb screamed again, less for help, more to know if he was okay. But the walkers were approaching, now he had time to grab the axe from his back and smash clean into the first walker’s head, he spun, the momentum of the weapon driving itself into the legs of another, Robb dove down and drove his knife into the eye socket of the walker. The spray of blood splashed into his eyes, and in that second he could hear the third walker rasping and shuffling closer. He wiped the blood out of his eyes and spun around, pulling his axe from the legs of the dead walker. But the damn thing was stuck, and the walker was getting closer. So close that he could smell the rotting flesh.
“Come on, come on,” He whispered to himself, stomping on the walker’s leg and breaking the knee, trying to pull his axe loose. The walker was close enough to bite him now.
Close enough that when the arrow went through the walker’s head, the tip brushed the top of Robb’s curls.
The walker fell away to the side, and standing in its place was a ghost.
It shouldn’t have been possible. He thought the last time he’d ever see that face was frozen
Robb skittered backwards and reached grabbed his knife, pointing it at the newcomer’s head with shaking hands.
“You’re dead.” He whispered. “I’m dead. Aren’t I? Aren’t I, Theon?”
Theon was silent, but dropped into a crouch, sliding his bow across the floor and putting his hands up, but Robb kept his knife pointed at his dead best friend, blue eyes open wide and afraid.
Robb was frozen to his spot, and Theon kept looking at him like that. Theon who was dead.Theon who got left on the other side of the last bridge in the Eyrie.
“Robb.” Theon whispered, his voice low and hoarse, and that was all it took to send Robb toppling over the edge. Tears welled up in his eyes, the sensation unfamiliar to him. Robb didn’t think he’d cried since this had all started, all it’s been was cold, throbbing, numbness.
This was new, this was familiar. The knife fell clattering to the floor, but Robb’s fingers extended towards Theon, hand still shaking. Hell, his entire body was shaking now.
“Theon,” Robb breathed, unable to stop the words now. “Theon, Theon, Theon-”
“I’m here.” Theon whispered, reaching out his hand to close the distance between them. The minute their fingers touched, the spell was broken. Theon felt solid enough, real and alive , and Robb couldn’t hold himself back anymore.
He slapped Theon hard across the face.
“Where the fuck were you?” He shouted, Theon’s face was frozen in total shock, and for once in his life, Theon Greyjoy didn’t know what to say. “Do you know how long it’s been? Months , Theon. Months . All the times it was just me and Sansa out there, Sansa still fucking traumatized by what Petyr Baelish put her through and me, fucking broken after losing you and you never bothered to show up until now and I never got to tell y-”
Robb was cut off suddenly by Theon’s hands on the collar of his jacket, pulling him in close. For a second, Robb thought Theon was really a zombie, that he was about to bite Robb’s face off, and that would be it. But Theon just brought their lips together softly, and all of Robb’s resistance melted away, and he fell into Theon’s arms, hands clutching frantically at Theon’s dirt and blood streaked jacket.
“ Robb !” Jon called out distantly, Robb heard him faintly, but kept his eyes screwed shut and his mouth on Theon’s, kissing him like it was a mirage, one final hallucination before a zombie bit his face off, or some rogue gang murdered him for supplies.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Theon pulled away first, Robb was still too dazed to look at anything but the familiar dark eyes and the mouth twisting up in the smirk Robb used to hate.
“Snow.” Theon nodded up in acknowledgement at Jon, who was looking down at them with a combination of shock, amazement, and disgust.
“Of all the fuckers to come back from the dead that I can’t kill. This is just my luck.” Jon lamented, but the usual distaste didn’t meet his eyes. In fact, Jon was-
“Are you crying Snow? Did you really miss me that much?” Theon laughed, a hand still tangled in Robb’s hair. Robb was listening to the conversation like it was happening underwater, until Theon’s hand dropped to clap him on the back and shake him back into reality.
“Theon.” He said. That was the only thing he could say, the only thing that his brain could even come up with. Until he shook himself out of it once again and glared at the dark haired boy. “You have so much explaining to do.”
“It’s a long story.” Theon said, pulling Robb to his feet. “Luckily we’ve got plenty of time to talk about it.”